by Tiffany Snow
“Tell me what happened,” I said. “How’d you find me, rescue me, get away?” It was all a foggy memory to me, feeling more as if it had happened to someone else than to me.
“Maybe you should start,” he said, his fingers combing slowly through my hair. “You got into my thumb drive.”
I twisted to look up at him. “Was I not supposed to?”
“You were supposed to take it to Lance.”
“Well, it wasn’t as though you left detailed instructions,” I groused. “And what the heck were you doing with that kind of information anyway? It could’ve gotten you killed.”
“Says the woman who blackmailed the most powerful man in the world,” he gently retorted. “That wasn’t what I’d intended to do with the information.”
“Then what was your plan?”
“What was important, was how I got that information on the senator’s supposed suicide,” he said. “But it’s all right now. I bartered that for those helicopters that got us out of the South China Sea.”
“Bartered with . . . ?”
He winked. “The same man you blackmailed.”
“I didn’t realize you were on such close terms with the president.”
“He and I have a business relationship. In this case, I was more than happy to let him know how I came by that information.”
“Which was?”
“Gammin,” he said.
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”
Jackson shook his head. “He had it on his home system that I hacked into. The president has known for a while that those files were out there somewhere. Gammin told him he was trying to find them, so he could destroy them and protect the president. He was grateful to hear of Gammin’s duplicity.”
“Grateful enough to send American helicopters into disputed Chinese waters?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“I guess it helps to have friends in very high places.”
His response was to kiss my forehead again. “Anything for you.”
“I thought the president had betrayed me. That he’d sent those men after me.”
“No. Gammin did that. But I don’t think we’ll need to worry about him anymore.”
I cuddled closer, inhaling the scent of him. I’d been afraid I’d never be in his arms like this again. “Hold me tighter,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
His arms pressed me closer to him. It was quiet, save for the low volume of the television playing a rerun of Castle. I could hear his heart beating underneath my ear, the slow, steady sound as reassuring as the sun rising in the east.
“Kuan helped, too,” he said. “Told us Lu had taken you. Your crew at Vigilance found the island. Clark put together the strike team. Kuan and I took care of the technical details to help them get in and out.” He paused. “It was a team effort.”
Tears stung my eyes. All those people had gone to such trouble and effort just to get me back? It was illogical for them to put themselves at such risk for me alone, yet the effect on my emotions was . . . overwhelming.
“You have a lot of friends, China,” Jackson said. “They all care about you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it still took a few minutes before I could trust my voice to speak.
“Did your lawyers clear up everything with the DoJ?” I asked.
“The preemptive pardon pretty much took care of it,” he said. “The press had a feeding frenzy and the president will definitely pay a political price. But it took care of the problem. The stock has stopped its freefall. The DoJ has closed its investigation.”
I had a surge of satisfaction. It wasn’t often that the good guys won the day and the bad guys got what was coming to them.
“I love you,” I said, looking up into his eyes. It was suddenly imperative that I tell him. This time, there was no threat of imminent arrest or separation, but if anything, the past few weeks had shown me that you had to seize the moment . . . or the moment would pass you by and might never come again. And regretting something I didn’t do seemed much worse than regretting something I had done.
“I love you, too,” he said, his lips curving into a soft smile. “And as soon as you’re all better, I look forward to showing you how much.”
We were as close as it was possible to be, which was exactly what I needed. And I fell asleep with Jackson’s arms holding me, his breath stirring my hair, and his scent all around.
It took another two weeks before I went back to work. I wore jeans and my Sunnydale Blood Drive T-shirt. I was still sore and the catalogue of my injuries—from the gunshot wound to the cracked ribs—was putting a big dent in my pretax health cafeteria plan. But I was alive, so I didn’t complain.
“Welcome back, boss,” Roscoe said, bursting into my office, looking like a somewhat-cheerful Eeyore. Derrick, Mazie, and the whole gang trailed after him. One person was carrying cake, another had several bottles of champagne. They set the cake on my desk. “We’re glad you’re not dead.”
“Thank you for that, Roscoe,” I said. “As am I.”
“We’re breaking the no-alcohol-at-work rule,” Mazie said. “But I thought this deserved champagne.” Several people opened bottles, their corks making a festive pop!
“Chocolate cake, cream cheese icing, with fudge sauce on the side, and vanilla ice cream,” Derrick said. “Did we miss anything?”
My smile was so wide, it hurt. “That’s . . . incredible. Thank you all so much. I wouldn’t be here if not for your work to find me. I don’t have the right words to tell you how very grateful I am.” Indeed, even those words felt so inadequate. But I didn’t know what else to say.
“Raises speak for themselves,” Roscoe said with a shrug. There were chuckles around the room.
“A toast,” Mazie said. “To the best boss ever. Clever, smart, beautiful, and the instigator of Casual Every Day.”
“Hear hear!” the crowd responded, raising glasses all around.
My face flushed at the effusive compliments and I pushed my new glasses up my nose. “Wow, you guys must really want that raise,” I said when it had gone quiet again.
More laughter, though I didn’t see what I’d said that was funny.
“Time for cake,” Roscoe said, brandishing a knife. Soon everyone was chatting, happily munching on cake and drinking champagne, spilling out of my office into the hallway outside.
I scanned the crowd, noticing one face very conspicuously absent.
Clark.
“He’s not here,” Mazie said in an undertone, sidling up to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, taking a bite of my cake.
She looked at me, a smile playing about her mouth. “Of course not.”
Being the boss, I did have to wrap up the party and tell everyone to get back to work, but I stood at the door and thanked everyone as they left. I was surprised at the warm smiles and even the hugs I received in return. I wasn’t that thrilled about the hugs, but thought it would be rude not to accept the embraces.
I had so much work to catch up on that I was there long after I should’ve left to go home. My cell rang at about eight o’clock.
“I’m sorry,” I said by way of greeting Jackson. “I’m just swamped.”
“I know you are, but you don’t want to overdo it,” he said. “There will be plenty of time tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay, I know. I’ll be home soon.” It was slightly odd that that popped out of my mouth. Technically, my home was where I paid the rent. Yet, I’d just said it in reference to Jackson’s house. Hmm.
I had to promise two more times before he’d let me go and when I finally hung up, there was a warm feeling inside. Someone who loved me was waiting for me to come home.
I logged off my computer and turned out the lights. The skeleton crew was down on the floor but it was deserted up by my office. I locked my door and turned to head down the darkened corridor to the elevator . .
. and nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Clark!” My hand flew to my throat, the shock and surprise—as well as a bloom of pleasure inside—made my heart race. “You startled me.”
He moved closer, well within my eighteen inches of personal space. “Sorry I missed your party today.”
I swallowed, suddenly nervous. I hadn’t seen him since he’d carried me out of that cell. My memories were vague, but I’d had dreams about it since then. Dreams of him touching me and calling me “baby.” I’d chalked it up to too many meds. The idea of Clark calling me “baby” was laughable.
“It’s okay,” I said, releasing a breath. “I know you’re busy. Though we should probably schedule a time to debrief, for the record.” I realized I was pleased to see him, to talk to him. My smile wasn’t even my fake one.
“Sure.”
There was an awkward pause. I couldn’t see his face in the dark, whereas mine was illuminated in a shard of light. I pushed my glasses up again.
“Thank you,” I said at last. “I haven’t had a chance to say that, to you or to the other men who rescued me. You put your lives on the line and . . . I’m exceedingly grateful.”
“Your face is still bruised,” he said, ignoring my thanks. He lifted a hand toward me. I stopped breathing for a moment, but he dropped his arm before his skin could touch mine.
“I’m actually much better,” I said into what felt like an uncomfortable silence. “The ribs aren’t causing me pain anymore, and the hardware the doctor put inside my mouth to stabilize my cheekbone has done its job. I expect I’ll make a full recovery without any lingering issues.” The nightmares were another story.
“You shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness. “I should’ve been there. Shouldn’t have let you leave my house.”
I frowned. “I fail to see how you could have forced me to stay,” I said. “Not only am I your boss, the abduction of an American citizen by a Chinese businessman on US soil is . . . unprecedented. No one is to blame. It was just an . . . unfortunate incident.”
“An unfortunate incident?” he echoed. I nodded. He stepped closer and I had to tip my head to look up at him, but now I could see his face. The stark pain in his eyes made my breath catch.
“Clark . . . I’m not Sayeeda.”
The name made him flinch and I instantly regretted saying it.
“You easily could have been,” he said. “Nearly were. They weren’t gentle with you. Another beating, you would’ve been dead.” His voice was low and filled with emotions I couldn’t name. “I can’t do this, China,” he continued. “Not again. Do you know why I’ve worked alone for so long?”
I shook my head, words failing me. I couldn’t blink, the intent light in his eyes holding my gaze captive.
“Because I don’t want to care. Caring brings nothing but pain, and guilt, and sadness.”
“What are you saying?” Did he mean he cared . . . about me? Not just the job?
“I’m resigning,” he said. “But I wanted to say good-bye before I left.”
My stomach dropped and for a moment, I was speechless. I certainly hadn’t expected . . . this.
“Clark . . . I . . . I can understand how you’d be upset—”
“I’m more than fucking upset,” he ground out. “I was lazy, and complacent, and you paid the price.”
“I have to disagree,” I argued, frantically trying to think of how to convince him not to leave. “On the contrary, I think your work at Vigilance has been outstanding. Aside from some possible anger management issues which can easily be addressed with the staff psychiatrist, and perhaps some team-building exercises—”
“Stop,” he interrupted. “I’ve made up my mind.”
My throat grew thick and I looked away, blinking rapidly, and gave him a curt nod. “Obviously, it’s up to you,” I managed. “If you choose to make a decision based on emotions rather than logic—”
“I’m not doing this based on emotion,” he interrupted.
“Of course you are. You’re afraid.”
He stepped closer, my back being pushed to the wall.
“What am I afraid of, China?”
I swallowed hard, tipping my chin to look up at him. I could smell his cologne, the scent bringing back a flood of memory and feelings.
Me in his arms. Hurting. Terrified. My face buried in his neck, smelling the scent of his skin and sweat. The sound of bullets and the taste of my own blood on my tongue. His voice in my ear. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“You’re afraid of failure,” I blurted. “Afraid that a wrong move will put someone else in jeopardy. And while that’s laudable—”
He kissed me.
Clark and I had kissed before, back when it had been him playing a role, and it had been good. But that had been all about seduction and lust. This wasn’t.
Need. Longing. Fear. Those were what I felt now, but I didn’t know if those were his emotions, or mine.
Time stopped, the world faded, and it was just Clark, his lips on mine, his body pressed against me. His tongue swept inside my mouth, caressing and tasting me like he’d never get enough. His kiss felt urgent, desperate, as though he teetered on the edge of something deep and dark.
His hand cupped my jaw, the roughness of his palm gentle against my cheek. When he finally drew back, he trailed his lips up my injured cheekbone, pressing a kiss to the still-tender skin.
I stared at him, my eyes wide. My thoughts were frozen as I struggled to process what had just happened. Speech was impossible, even if I had an inkling as to what was appropriate to say.
He spoke, his voice a low growl. “If I stay, I will fuck up your life. Guaranteed. You don’t want that.”
But Vigilance will be losing a very valuable asset. I fought for logic through the morass of emotions clogging my brain. “You—” My voice cracked and I had to clear my throat. “You will be missed.”
He looked at me and I couldn’t make myself break his gaze. He reached out, grasping the long strands of my ponytail and draping it over my shoulder. “You’re special, China, and not just because you’re smart. Remember that.”
I had that frustration of not having the right words to say what I was feeling, and then my chance was gone. He was gone.
I couldn’t move for a moment, reality taking too long to sink in. Clark had left, and I’d never get to see him again.
My chest ached, and it wasn’t because of my injured ribs.
My cell rang and I glanced at it. Jackson. The man who loved me—who I loved—was waiting for me. At home. I pressed the button.
“Yeah, I was just on my way to the car . . .”
23
President Blane Kirk loosened his tie, sliding it from underneath the collar of his shirt and tossing it on the nearby sofa. The jacket had already been discarded. It was easier here at Camp David. Not quite so formal. Not quite so strict. And not quite so scrutinized. The last reason was why he’d come.
“It’s about time.”
Blane turned to see his half brother walk in the room. He already had a drink in his hand.
“Thought you were going to make me wait all night,” he groused, sprawling on the sofa and propping his booted feet on the walnut coffee table. “Leader of the free world and all.”
“It’s good to see you too, Kade,” Blane said, pouring himself a measure of scotch. He sat in the leather armchair across from his brother. “Sorry I kept you waiting.” His dry sarcasm made no impact on Kade though, who just shrugged.
“’s okay. Luckily, you’ve got pretty damn good booze, brother.” Kade raised his glass and winked one clear blue eye, the black brow above curved in a wicked arch. “Thought I deserved to sneak a little. I’ve been a . . . very . . . good . . . boy.”
Blane sighed. His brother’s self-assured arrogance wasn’t news to him. But then again, he’d earned it. Kade’s skills had proven to be very useful over the years. Especially now. In politics there were few wh
o could be trusted absolutely. Blane could count on one hand those who fell into that category.
Trust had proven even more fragile—and valuable—given his ex–chief of staff.
“Did you get the files from Gammin’s computer?” he asked.
“Of course,” Kade said. “You always ask, as though you doubt my mad skills.” He took another drink of his scotch. “Just sorry I couldn’t pinpoint the son of a bitch sooner.”
“It’s my fault. I trusted him. I should’ve seen that he’d changed. He’d become . . . obsessed with reelection, power . . . the whole nine yards.” Blane shook his head. He’d not wanted to see the man Gammin had become. He’d been with Blane for such a long time. A trusted confidante.
“Shame about him selling that chick to the Chinese,” Kade said. “Total dick move.”
Blane agreed. “I’m glad Cooper came to me. She didn’t deserve that.”
“Yeah, blackmailing the president takes some major fucking balls.”
Blane grimaced. “No kidding.” He took another swallow. “You’re sure no one knows it was you?”
“Please,” Kade snorted. “They think I’m some Taiwanese kid going to MIT. Kuan something or other. She’s smart though, gotta hand it to her. If I hadn’t caught that bot she hijacked on me, things could’ve gone way different.”
“What bot?”
“Oh, she tracked me, thinking she’s all smarter and shit. Had to find a stand-in super quick. Sell it, you know? And she bought it.”
“Just so long as nothing leads back to you. The press gives me a hard enough time as it is, having my brother as an adviser. I don’t need to give them more ammunition.”
“Relax. Think of us as the Kennedy brothers.” He tipped his head and made a face. “Without the bullet wounds.”
Blane’s cell rang and he glanced at the screen. Ann. “Hey, babe,” he answered.
“Cate won’t go to sleep until you sing the song,” she sighed. “I’ve been trying to placate her for fifteen minutes. Do you have time?”
He laughed softly, pleased despite the inconvenience to his wife. “Of course I can sing to her. Put her on.” He glanced at Kade.
“Aw, c’mon,” Kade said. “I wanna hear a lullaby, too.”
