She felt both men tense up. Jeremy’s arms snugged her a little closer, and Marc’s hands trembled slightly.
“Why? And by whom?”
She focused on the first question because, at the time, it had been her first question, too. “That’s what I could never understand. Why me? Sure, my folks were well off, but we weren’t rich. And there never was a ransom note.” April exhaled deeply. “That question, why, is one that will never likely be answered. As to what I recall? I remember a hand over my face, with something noxious smelling on the cloth that was held there. I remember waking up, groggy, nauseous, and disoriented. Tied up, but not tightly. I almost remember…in my mind it’s a monster, a monster that had captured me.” April shrugged. “I was about twenty at the time.
“I did see a psychologist afterward, and she said that, in time, I’d remember, when my subconscious thought I could handle the revelations. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Lord, woman.” Jeremy’s curse brushed her ear.
“You must have been terrified. That might be why you haven’t remembered everything.”
“There are only two other things I remember. I remember a knife in my hand and seeing a lot of blood, and I remember being found walking down the side of a road by a sheriff’s deputy.” She looked up and met Marc’s gaze. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder at Jeremy.
“That was in Pennsylvania. That’s where I’m from. Afterward, when I was as recovered as I was going to get, I moved. I was afraid to do it at first, to leave the safety my parents had given me for a year and just go off on my own. But I knew if I was going to have any kind of a life, I had to do that very thing. I was proud of myself when I settled in Austin and enrolled in college. U of T let me transfer from Penn State, and so I completed my degree here in Texas.” She gave them both a smile.
“A couple of years ago, my father retired, and he and mom both moved to Austin, to be closer to me.”
“Do you have nightmares about what happened to you, April?” Jeremy asked.
She wasn’t surprised Jeremy asked that question. She couldn’t really tune into their private communications, but she had the sense that was a question Jeremy hadn’t asked Marc.
“Sometimes. There’s never anything concrete that I remember, nothing more than what I’ve told you. I just wake up crying—scared and feeling kind of broken and almost desperate to escape.”
“Did they ever catch the person or persons who kidnapped you, baby?” Marc asked.
She met his gaze. “No.” This part was almost worse for her than the incident itself. She knew it was because this next part had been told to her by the authorities and her parents. “I was missing for several days, and my parents were frantic because they didn’t know what had happened to me.” She felt the tension rising inside her and fought it. She was damn well going to be as open with these men as they’d been with her.
Determined to answer every question, she pressed on. “Mom and Dad were waiting by the phone for someone, anyone to call them. I can’t imagine the hell they were going through when days went by and there were no clues and no one called.”
“How long until they found you?” Jeremy asked.
“Five days, and apparently I was almost a hundred miles from where I’d been taken. I honestly don’t remember a damn thing other than what I’ve told you—and all those memories are kind of disjointed, like I’m viewing a bunch of still photographs that someone else described to me.
“The last conscious moment I remember before everything went to hell is leaving my final class—ethics—and feeling happy, though I’m not sure why. Looking forward to something, but I’m not sure what.”
“Have you considered hypnosis?” Marc met her gaze, and April had the strange sensation that he could see deep down inside her deepest thoughts and fears. Then his question hit her.
“No!” Okay, maybe that was a bit too assertive. April lowered her voice, but there was nothing to do for the slight headache behind her eyes or the tension in her shoulders. “No, there’s no need, Marc. I have the odd bad dream. Nothing more. That happened nearly ten years ago. I’ve learned to just let it go. I can’t change what happened, after all. There’re no do-overs in life.”
“No, baby, there aren’t.” He leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. She wanted more. She reached for him, and he captured her hands.
“It’s late, nearly one in the morning. Let me tell you how the rest of this night is going to go. We’re going to head upstairs and have a nice, warm shower. Then we’re going to relax in the hot tub until we’re all loose and our headaches are gone.” The way he looked at her told her he knew she was in pain.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to meaning so much to someone, or a couple of someones, to the point that I can’t hide a damn thing.
Not even the little bit of sour inner grumbling she’d just done, if that expression in Marc’s eyes could be believed.
“And after the hot tub?” She was really, really hoping his answer was lots of hot monkey sex.
“We sleep. We’re going to settle down in the middle of the big-ass bed we just got and sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.”
“Well, hell.” April felt the pout on her own face. She guessed she didn’t blame either man for the chiding looks.
“We’d really love to make love with you, Penny Lane,” Jeremy said.
“But we’re not thinking one-night stand here. You need to be held, April. You need to know that we’re not after something transitory. Maybe after we’ve snuggled you close through the night, you’ll feel that’s true.”
Having a man in control of the physical intimacy seemed like a great idea—when she was thinking paddles and blindfolds and bondage. It’s not so great when they’re going to keep me safe even from my own desires.
Marc cupped her face. “I have a feeling that obedience—surrendering control—when it comes to sex is going to be a bit of a learning curve for you, Nancy Drew.”
She could only call his grin wicked, even if the heat in his gaze nearly scorched her. Behind her, Jeremy had the poor grace to snort in amusement.
Unwilling to give voice to her thoughts—that maybe what she needed more than anything was a little discipline—she leaned forward and gave him the smallest kiss.
“I’m usually a pretty fast learner. But something tells me I’m about to find that might not always be the case.” She couldn’t quite read Marc or Jeremy completely, yet. But the mischief she saw in their eyes sure as hell took her mind off her troubles. She couldn’t wait to discover what happened next.
Chapter Five
Sam Matthews, chief of staff for Congressman Philip Kardigan, opened the innocuous-looking door, set among so many doors in this part of the Capitol complex. A glance at his Rolex assured him he was exactly on time.
Matthews stepped through the outer door and waited a moment for it to close behind him. Then he opened the inner door. The officer on duty—a sergeant, U.S. Marine Corps, according to the uniform and insignia—greeted him by name. As usual, Matthews scanned the serviceman’s name badge.
“Mr. Matthews, please remove your cell phone and any other electronic devices you may have, sir.” There was a small box awaiting his belongings. Once he’d deposited them and signed in, the sergeant slid the box into a cubbyhole with a door, closed and locked the door, and recorded the storage unit number beside his name.
“Thank you, sir. Desk eight has been assigned for your visit.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Frond.”
Matthews grabbed a bottle of water from the tray set out as a concession to the humanity of those entering the inner sanctum, as it were, of this Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility (SCIF). Then he headed directly to his assigned spot. Once he’d settled, another service member approached, a meaty file folder in hand.
This member, a lieutenant in the Army, gave him the file folder, watched as he signed the accompanying label, co-signed it with his initials, and
then stepped back—but not out of sight.
Slipping into parade rest, eyes directed at the opposite wall, the lieutenant would remain until Matthews indicated he was done with the materials.
No time limit constrained him as he opened the folder, and set out to review the last few weeks’ worth of reports issued by the various leaders within the intelligence community.
These reports invariably weren’t included in the PTB, the President’s Daily Briefing, of which his boss received a copy. No, these documents were finely detailed, including the AARs (after action reports) written by various agents in the field in the aftermath of whatever operations had been carried out.
Matthews didn’t make notes, not by hand or, obviously, on his cell phone. Making notes of any kind was against the rules. There were plenty of military personnel on hand to ensure that top secret material was viewed only by those persons cleared to see them, and only then within the confines of this secure room. Members of congress and their code-word-cleared staff generally had one shot to read the information, and it was the reader’s responsibility to remember that which was important.
The rules were in force because of the principle of “need to know.” There was nothing barring a member or his designated staff from returning the next day to view the same documents again. That was a measure he knew many of his colleagues employed and generally the only way of retaining more of the top-secret information.
Unless, of course, one possessed an eidetic memory, which Sam Matthews did.
Matthews skimmed the printed material. He’d scan everything, of course, because he needed to be ready for whatever questions the congressman might pose. And because he was aware of certain events, he took careful note of any AARs written on missions close to certain areas where the congressman had particular interests.
The congressman had taken on a partner during their last “fact finding” mission nearly three months before to parts of the Middle East and Asia. This partner, in particular, had been impressed by the congressman’s commitment to a shared goal, which the lawmaker had demonstrated in an unequivocal manner during their meeting. As a direct result of the congressman’s bold action, this partner was arranging for major financing to help the congressman with the next, and final, phase of his five-year plan.
In just over six months, Congressman Phillip Kardigan from the great state of California would announce his intention to run for the presidency. Matthews, the congressman’s only confidant and a man with his finger on the pulse of their party’s mood, would soon be Chief of Staff to the President of the United States. He was certain of that.
Of course, now that they were getting all their plans solidified, this was a very dicey time for them. They’d already mapped out a strategy, let it be known what Kardigan would stand for. He was solidly against the country being involved in long-term wars that never seemed to move the yardstick further along the course to victory. On that, the congressman and his new multi-billionaire secret partner were in complete accord.
Kardigan wanted American troops on American soil, only. Their partner wanted them the hell and gone out of his own country.
The fucking asshole couldn’t fawn over the congressman enough once he showed him how strongly he held those beliefs.
Asking the billionaire to kill an American spy, captured and held prisoner, went a long way toward sealing the deal between them. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that the congressman was dead serious about his goals.
Matthews pulled his attention back to his reading. He worked quickly, feeling complacent and in control as he perused document after document.
And felt everything inside him go cold when he read the next report.
It was an AAR on a rescue mission to retrieve a captured agent, executed by an Air Force black ops group. He knew those coordinates because he and the congressman had been there not all that long ago. He focused on the date of the operation. Good Lord, that happened just two days after our visit!
His stomach pitched, thinking that if the operation had gone down two days earlier, it was possible that his and the congressman’s bodies would have been among the toll being reported in this account.
Useless thought. Yes, it was a useless thought. Of course, that never would have happened. The congressman was blessed. Matthews hadn’t ever believed in destiny until he came to work for Congressman Kardigan. Kardigan had the kind of luck that many called heaven-blessed.
Well, at least I know how it was Assar was so emphatic that the congressman’s wishes had indeed been carried out.
He committed to memory the number of dead and the other pertinent information on the raid. The operation had been termed a success yet failed to say that the American captive had been liberated. Matthews was used to bureaucratic double speak used by everyone, even the military. In this instance, some black ops phrases didn’t necessarily mean what one would assume. The mission would have been termed a failure only if the hostage had remained alive and in enemy hands.
A success could mean the target had been rescued, and it could also mean that when the rescue team had departed, there was no one left alive, including the target.
The last report he picked up to scan was a status update on sources and methods, issued by the C.I.A. Mathews read and then stopped short.
He read the last page a second time just to be certain he had it right. Then he closed everything up and nodded to the lieutenant. He waited until the lieutenant took the file.
Matthews got up, feeling urgency surge through him. He did his best to appear calm, to walk with the same economy as always. He kept his expression bland as he collected his personal property. He nodded pleasantly to Sergeant Frond and exited the first door.
Inside, Matthews was seething. That operative Assar had assured them was dead was very much alive, had been debriefed, and then had been released of his service obligations. The fucker had been repatriated and was now a civilian living in Texas.
Matthews had to find that agent and find him fast. He might have been beaten and drugged, but he’d been conscious when the congressman had looked at him, shackled to that rickety wooden chair. Yes, there’d been that ridiculous light shining into the man’s face, almost surely blinding him. But Matthews couldn’t take the chance that, somehow, Marcus Jessop hadn’t seen them.
He needed to figure out the solution to this situation—actually, he had a solution in mind and needed only to make arrangements—and then he needed to tell the congressman that they had a potentially very serious problem, but that he, his loyal chief of staff, had handled it.
* * * *
April stretched, her eyes opening slowly as she awakened warm, comfy…and alone.
The scent of coffee and bacon teased her and answered the question of where Marc and Jeremy had gone.
She couldn’t remember when she’d slept so well. She’d been pretty certain when those two men had tucked her in between them the night before that, before even five minutes had passed, they would have been all over each other like chocolate on peanut butter.
After all, they’d been warmed up by the shower and the Jacuzzi and a tantalizing amount of foreplay and then had crawled beneath the sheets together, totally naked.
But instead of hot, steamy sex, she’d fallen asleep. Dropped like a stone, as near as she could tell, and she didn’t think even three minutes had passed when it happened. Well, Marc did say he was in control when it came to sex, and yeah, things pretty much happened as he’d announced they were going to.
For some reason that darned dominant man seemed to think the time wasn’t quite right yet for them to have sex. She didn’t let that bother her, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who’d wanted to dive right in last night.
Jeremy had certainly been more than a little interested in taking this relationship to the next level. She sighed as she realized the truth of the matter. Marc was more tuned into her than she’d imagined. He’d known she was exhausted and had chosen to give her what she needed
rather than what she wanted. I’ve heard Doms do that sort of thing a lot.
April tossed the blankets off and turned to her left and then realized she’d either have to roll or crawl to get out of the bed. This is a huge bed. It was also unexpectedly comfortable. The need for caffeine and the need to pee got her moving. The scent of Marc imprinted on the pillow closest to her nearly derailed her. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and then set her agenda. Pee, coffee, conversation. She needed to know exactly what the parameters were in this thing they were building between them, and the only way she could do that was to ask.
No one could ever accuse her of not having her priorities straight.
She left the master bathroom and took a moment to gather her clothes into a neat pile. She wasn’t going to get dressed because she fully hoped to need a shower later before she could do so.
A quick look around the bedroom revealed hers weren’t the only garments on the floor. Wanting to send a message in two parts, she scooped Marc’s shirt, shimmied into it, and headed toward the enticing aroma of coffee.
April followed that seductive scent to the kitchen. Marc was at the stove, cooking, while Jeremy stood against the adjacent counter from the stove, coffee cup in hand.
“Ah, the pitter-patter of little feet.”
April nearly snorted her appreciation of Marc’s sense of humor on display.
“These babies are a size eight, I’ll have you know.” She extended her leg, which made the shirt she was wearing creep just slightly higher on her thighs. She then rotated her bare foot, this way and then that. The sun coming through the kitchen window kind of made her pretty red toenails sparkle, but of course, the men were too focused on where that shirt was sitting and what was revealed with her leg elevated to even notice her toes.
Score one for me.
“Mine are a size 13, wide.” Marc made a point of moving his gaze up her body in a slow and steady maneuver. He licked his lips then smiled. “So, compared to that, your size eights are little.”
Love Under Two Bad Boys Page 5
