Dark Secret (DARC Ops Book 1)

by Jamie Garrett

  So good.

  “God, you're so tight,” he moaned into her ear. “Is this okay?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “Do I feel good?”

  “Mmm,” Mira groaned. “Fuck...”

  He started pumping a little harder.

  “Yes...”

  And harder.

  “Oh, God, more.”

  She moved her elbows out and collapsed flat onto the table, her head turned to one side, her cheek pushing back and forth against the tabletop as he worked her.

  “Fuck me,” she pleaded. It had never been like this before, never felt this exhilarating. An almost spiritual experience, Mira feeling the edges of her very being evaporating, leaving nothing but the glorious feeling of Jackson's throbbing cock inside her.

  And then an even better feeling, the raw electricity of an orgasm building up from her toes and into her belly. Jackson reached around and pressed his fingers hard against her clit. Ecstasy exploded up Mira's spine and into her brain in blinding white flashes, her muscles contracting and her inner walls clamping down hard around him as she came again.

  And then Jackson came hard, as if he'd been waiting for her pleasure before letting go of his own control, thrusting deep and then holding his hips flush against her body as he spasmed in ecstasy, his groan low and guttural. She could feel him pulsing and twitching, climaxing hard, emptying himself inside her.

  He collapsed onto Mira, thoroughly exhausted. She could feel his abs flexing against her back with each hard breath as he struggled to get his breath back.

  “Oh my God,” he panted.

  “Yeah,” was all she could say, also out of breath, and almost out of her mind.

  He helped her off the table a moment later, handing Mira her clothes and helping her dress. There was still that pesky interview to deal with. Working as a team, they tried to hide the evidence, brushing the sex from each other's wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair. But there was nothing to be done about flushed cheeks and dirty minds. They'd have to live with that.

  Mira could so live with that.

  “Thanks for lunch,” she said, grinning.

  Yeah,” Jackson laughed. “Best I ever had.”

  * * *

  Mira sat alone in Jackson's office, doodling in a sketchbook. When she heard the reporter's familiar clacking heels she spun around with a cheerful grin. “Annica! Hey! How was your lunch?”

  “Uh... Pretty good,” the reporter said hesitantly as she pulled back one of Jackson's chairs and sat.

  “Good,” said Mira, sounding as perky as possible. “What did you have?”

  “Lentil soup.”

  Poor girl.

  “Mmm. Sounds good,” Mira said with a smile.

  Lentil soup... What a boring way to spend a half hour...

  “How was your lunch?” Annica asked.

  Her lunch was incredible. Absolutely fucking goddamned incredible. “Pretty good,” she said with a modest little grin.

  “Where did you end up going?” asked Annica. “I was waiting for you in the lobby in case you wanted to keep up the interview.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I stayed here. Please don't take it personally, but, I kinda needed a break from the questions.” Mira shrugged innocently. “Low blood sugar. I can get grouchy.”

  “She's all better now,” said Jackson, fixing his tie as he entered the office. “I whipped up something special for her in the break room.”

  “Aww,” said Annica. “How nice.”

  Nice, indeed.

  Life was good again. Mira could handle this. And Annica finally finished the interview.

  After all the questions, and after Annica made her exit, Mira was happily faced with the prospects of being alone with Jackson again. Behind a locked door, even.

  “So...” she said with a devilish grin.

  “No,” he laughed. “No way. My P.A. has a key.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, feeling like a shamelessly horny schoolgirl. “I was just kidding.”

  “No you weren't.”

  “Fine, I wasn't.”

  Jackson got up and circled around his desk. The fact that his body was approaching hers was enough to send a pleasant shiver up her spine. A nice little flashback.

  “I've got something for you,” he said, pulling a chair close to her and sitting. He leaned over and pecked her softly on the forehead.

  “A kiss?” she asked.

  “No.”

  He leaned over again, this time meeting Mira halfway for a hot kiss on the mouth, his tongue surging forward and swirling with hers. She savored it for a moment, Mira enjoying more flashbacks. More of that lip... That tongue...

  When Jackson pulled away, he'd taken hold of her hand and pulled it out flat. “Now close your eyes,” he said.

  Mira closed her eyes.

  And a second later, she felt two small metal objects fall into her palm. What were they? Tracking devices?

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  She saw two small diamond earrings sparkling from her hand.

  “Oh my God... Jackson...”

  Oh my god, He was serious about her. Maybe even too serious.

  She was almost overwhelmed, until Jackson said, “Don't worry, they're fake.”

  Mira laughed. It was a relief. She hated receiving gifts, especially jewelry so expensive she’d been afraid to wear it.

  “But hey,” said Jackson. “It's the thought that counts, right?”

  “Let me guess. Tracking devices?”

  He smiled. “Exactly. But really nice ones, though, right?”

  She laughed again. “They're wonderful. Thank you.” Although she was mildly disappointed that they were back to business. In fact, she had almost forgotten the whole thing. Multiple orgasms seemed to have that effect on her.

  “I made up some fake documentation for my identity at the Ball,” he said. “I'll be there as Tom Wainwright.”

  “Okay. And who is Tom Wainwright, exactly?”

  He grinned sexily. “Tom is your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, he is?” She nudged him with her elbow.

  “Yes. And he's crazy about you. Didn’t you know that?”

  They stayed in his office for the next hour, planning and rehearsing for the Ball. But Mira was so distracted she could barely retain anything—other than her suddenly having a boyfriend. One that was apparently crazy for her.

  18

  Jackson

  It was the first time he'd seen her in heels that high, her legs defined and flexing as she confidently descended the stairs in front of her apartment. She wore a black cocktail dress, a short and sleek little number. Jackson hoped he could keep his focus. Tonight was an integral part of their mission and he had work to do. Unzipping her dress with his teeth wasn't part of it.

  “Mira,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “You look absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled him back in for a kiss on the lips, her tongue darting out to lick across his lower lip. “It's our first date, you know.”

  “You’re right.”

  She smiled. “A real date.”

  A heat bloomed inside Jackson at the sight of her smile. From the beginning, he’d been prepared to make their night at the Embassy Row Ball special. For authenticity’s sake—or at least that’s what he’d told himself. It would be easier that way, to blend in as a happy couple. But now that it had actually become their official "first date," Jackson had gone all out with the black tuxedo and limousine. This night was now important to him in more ways than just the job.

  “Where's the champagne?” Mira joked as the limo sped away.

  He smiled and brushed his finger along her cheek. “That comes after. We've got work to do.”

  “Fine,” she said with a pout.

  “You can have a whole case later if everything goes well.”

  “I might want more than champagne when this is over.” Her grin, and the way she bit her bottom lip… God, he was five seconds away from rolling up the
privacy window and asking the man behind it to take the scenic route.

  Mira laid her hand on his leg, curving down inside his thigh.

  Another option was to turn around and head back to her apartment. Maybe spend the whole night being a couple of irresponsible, unpatriotic, sexual gluttons.

  Jackson grabbed her hand as it slowly inched towards his crotch. And then he held it like a nice and proper gentleman. “Behave yourself,” he said. “If you keep that up we won't get anything done.”

  “Oh, I don't know. I think we'd get something done.”

  Aside from his newfound goal of having as much sex with Mira as possible, wherever and whenever possible, Jackson still had a few other less important objectives to reach. One of them being a thorough investigation of the Tanzanian embassy and its guests. They were all armed with recording devices and bugs, and the knowledge that Langhorne's plans had somehow filtered through the embassy.

  “Where are Matthias and Tansy?” asked Mira.

  “They're already there. I got them in with the banquet staff. If you want to get anything done in this town, you need to know some people in the banquet business. It's like an analogue backdoor.”

  “Sneaky, sneaky...”

  “Let's just make sure we get out of there just as smoothly.”

  “We will,” she said, playing with her earrings.

  “Please, stay out of trouble. Okay? I'll be keeping my eye on you, but...”

  “But what? I've got my earrings, remember?”

  “Just don't go disappearing. Promise me.”

  Mira snuggled up to him, curling her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”

  * * *

  For the most part, she kept that promise.

  To be sure, Jackson kept a lock on her as he hovered around the room and talked to various guests—or at least pretended to talk to them. People just assumed he had a good reason for being at the ball, that they’d have something in common, including a shared boredom that would facilitate random, arbitrary small talk.

  No hors d'oeuvres yet?

  Guess not.

  Damn. We're here too early.

  I tried telling my wife that.

  Me too. You're with A. Johnson, right?

  Um, yeah. Until he fires me.

  Jackson had lived and worked in the District long enough to be able to bullshit any angle necessary, whether he was with A. Johnson, or maybe he was even A. Johnson himself. Who the hell was A. Johnson, anyway?

  More importantly, where was Mira?

  They’d put her to work early, helping a group of Tanzanian immigrants find their tables, then having an in-depth discussion with the ambassador, and then talking for some reason with the soundboard guy. Currently, she was positioned at the entrance in a "greeter" capacity. Jackson swung by when she had a minute alone.

  “What are they paying you?” he asked.

  “What? Shh...” She looked so cute when she was embarrassed. And she was easily embarrassed.

  “That doesn't sound like enough. They're working you hard.”

  “Fine,” she said quietly. “They are. Grab me a drink?”

  “I'll get you a soda.”

  “Jackson,” she whisper-yelled, as if to imply a great need for something stronger, perhaps a stiff gin and tonic.

  Taking the hint, Jackson wandered over to the growing crowd in front of the bar. It looked like things were starting to pick up. A live band had begun playing and the hall filled with the brassy notes of African Jazz. Jackson turned back to look at Mira, the cinematic quality of her beauty now accentuated by the music. He watched her interactions with the guests, her warm smile, an engaging glance. She might be the first woman he'd actually felt excited to introduce to his friends, his family. How could they not love her? Jackson would be a fool not to, either.

  While in line for a drink, he made a quick call to the rest of the team. Tansy was already casing out a few sensitive "off-limits" areas at the rear of the building. And Matthias was already bored—which wasn't necessarily bad. Given his background, the man had almost a built in radar for people who were acting a little odd. A part of Jackson was hoping the night would go as uneventfully as possible, whether they collected any evidence or not. The whole thing had sounded suspicious from the start, and so having Mira simply come away from the night unscathed would be considered a success.

  After his calls, Jackson grabbed two cocktail glasses and made his way back to Mira, or at least, in the general direction of where he’d last seen her. He now stood in the middle of the banquet hall, holding two drinks, looking for Mira while probably looking utterly lost in the process. He did a slow three-sixty scan of the room. But she was still nowhere to be found.

  Thinking it might be easier to track down her earrings, Jackson pulled out his cell to check on their whereabouts. No pressure. He wasn't looking for Mira. Just some stupid earrings... They would usually appear as a blinking dot in the black and green radar screen of the custom app. He'd tested them just hours prior. But now, there was nothing but blank space. He tried adjusting the search frequencies, and still nothing.

  He took a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm, and then took a long sip from one of his drinks before placing them both down on a random table.

  “Tansy, we got a problem with the earrings.”

  “Don't worry, Jack,” Tansy’s replied over the phone. “She's with me.”

  “With you?”

  “Well, not exactly. But she's somewhere in the back rooms here. She crossed through the kitchen with Chuck and I followed them.”

  “Where are you now?” asked Jackson.

  “I'm just...uh...” Jackson could hear his footsteps, and then the creaky opening of a door. “I'm just trying to go where I saw them last. A storage room.”

  Jackson’s suspicions twisted into a slight panic. Why would Chuck take her into a storage room? And why would Mira agree to it?

  “Wait,” said Tansy. “Wait a minute.” His voice began to sound strange. Worried.

  “What is it?” barked Jackson.

  “Hold on... What the hell is this?” Tansy swore loudly.

  “What!?”

  “The earrings, Jack. They're on the ground. Crushed.”

  19

  Mira

  Darkness.

  A splitting headache.

  Something stuffed into her mouth.

  And then she woke up to find herself strapped to a chair. Nylon moving straps, the kind with metal clamps. The were wrapped tightly around her like she was an expensive piece of furniture, their edges digging into the skin on her arms and legs. And what the hell was in her mouth? A piece of cloth? It was hard to breathe with her mouth taped shut.

  And then Mira realized that she actually was gagged and bound in some strange room. This was actually happening. She screamed as she struggled against the straps.

  “Ah, there you are,” came a familiar nasally voice from behind her. “I don't hit people in the head with hammers very often, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, really.”

  She looked around for an escape.

  She was in a wine cellar. One door. No windows.

  “I mean, you were breathing, so that was good. But, you never know. People breathe when they're in a coma. Right? Well, wait. Are you in a coma? Do people scream when they're in a coma?”

  Mira cursed at him when he stepped into view.

  Chuck.

  He walked in front of her, still speaking in that familiar, friendly co-worker tone. “Hey, buddy. Long day, huh?”

  She screamed again. Why the fuck was she gagged and bound? And why was Chuck her captor?

  “Yeah,” he said calmly. “Sorry I had to hit you so hard. I wanted to just chloroform you, but, well... you had to go and be stubborn about it.”

  He touched her, one hand running through her hair, and her entire body tensed.

  “That's gonna be your downfall one of these days. Being so stubborn.” She felt his hand land on her sh
oulder, squeezing it. “Yep,” he said, patting her. “You're a hard nut to crack, Mira. Gave me no choice.”

  Fuck this. She leaned sideways, squeezing his hand between her head and shoulder, pinching it there until he drew it away.

  “Feisty girl,” he said. “I like that.”

  She tried telling him to go fuck himself, but there was too much tape.

  “What?” he asked. “What are you trying to say?”

  She tried again.

  “I can remove that gag if you want. But you gotta be nice. Can you be nice?”

  She tried to convey through her eyes what her mouth was unable to say. Mainly, a searing hatred.

  “Can you be nice and quiet?” Chuck asked again.

  Mira nodded. Sure. She'd be quiet.

  “I hope so,” he said as he walked up to her. “Because I hate having to hurt you.” He ripped the tape off with one swift pull. It felt like part of her skin had come off with it. “I bet you know why I'm doing this.”

  Oh, she had an idea. She'd always felt uncomfortable around Chuck. Something about him had just been "off." And given her uncovering of Langhorne’s misdeeds, it wasn’t too big a stretch to assume his loyal-to-a-big-fucking-fault personal assistant would be involved too. But still, it was a mind-fuck to watch him lording over her as the evil captor. He'd always seemed awkward and creepy, but through it all, he’d been at least benevolent. Was his true personality so thoroughly heinous?

  It couldn’t be, could it? She expected him to break out in laughter at any minute, finally letting her in on the practical joke. But then she remembered—and felt—the throbbing side of her skull that could very well be cracked.

  “Yeah, I know why you've kidnapped me,” she said.

  “And why is that?” Damn, he didn’t even deny it.

  “Because you're scared of going to jail.”

  “You're half right. I am scared of going to jail. But that's unrelated. The reason I've got you here is to fix what your little virus destroyed.”

  “What virus?”

  He sneered. “Play dumb one more time and see what happens. I dare you.”