by Black, Regan
Of everything he’d survived to reach this point, a small, previously unknown piece inside him realized that would be his breaking point. So many things he’d dealt with in his cold, unfeeling way, but this one woman had slipped through his defenses.
“Most people do what’s comfortable,” she said, “no matter how bad it is for them or the people who love them. Change is a noble concept –”
“Yeah,” he interrupted, turning to his side and putting his back to her. “I get it.” Protecting her didn’t erase the missions accomplished at Gabriel’s requests. Planning his long-overdue escape didn’t change the man he’d been or the things he’d done while under their control. Even if they erased the false charges from his official record, he’d been forever altered by the things he had to do for that small measure of redemption.
Amelia didn’t believe people could change.
He felt her hand on his shoulder. Instead of pain, he felt a gentle connection, a positive awareness. Why did such a simple touch make him want to beg, to prove he could be different. Sane. Stable. For her.
“John?”
“What?”
“What is it you think I need to change?”
If this was one of her interview tactics, it was a good one. She wasn’t perfect, but tenacity, persistence, ethics, and discretion were all traits he valued – even when they made protecting her a challenge. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Senator Larimore?”
Was she kidding? “I couldn’t care less about the senator.”
“Good. His kind doesn’t change. That leaves you.”
“Go to sleep,” he muttered. It’s not a big deal.”
“It must be if you brought it up.”
“Call it a moment of weakness.”
“Hmm, that would be a first.”
He grunted, refusing to be amused or flattered. His weakness for doing the right thing had landed him in this whole warped situation. And it was becoming more and more obvious that he was developing a soft spot for Amelia. Not smart. For either of them.
Her gentle scent teased him now. Her body was mere inches away and he could still feel the velvet touch of her kiss behind the couch, the delicious weight of her breasts in his palms.
He remembered enough of the signals to know she wouldn’t refuse him if he did make a move. An intelligent man with an ounce of self-preservation would have slept on the floor by the door. No, not him. He’d let her insist on sharing the bed. Convinced himself it was for her own good, in case she tried to sneak out and run down another lead.
Well, maybe he hadn’t entirely convinced himself. John couldn’t decide it that was a good or bad thing.
Gabriel would gladly use her against him, despite the promise that John would get his name back, his record cleared if he kept her alive. Not to mention the two million dollars.
For her sake, he had to reestablish the distance, remember his place in her life was temporary. Had to keep his end game the top priority in his mind.
She sighed softly and shifted back to the other side of the bed. Smart woman.
“For the record,” her quiet voice enveloped him, “I don’t think you need to change a thing.”
Her words shocked him. He would have called her a liar if he didn’t know better. Amelia was too honest for her own safety – his present assignment to protect her proved that much.
He rolled over, right into her. “You mean that.”
“Yes.” Her palm rested lightly on his cheek. “Your soul isn’t black, John.”
Right here in her arms, he almost believed it. He was about to argue, or apologize, or something, but she pushed him gently to his back and showered him with kisses.
First his lips, then the scars along his neck. Her mouth traveled lower and, despite the dark, she laid a tender kiss on every place they’d shot, stabbed, and burned him to test his enhancements.
None of it caused pain, only tremendous pleasure.
She whispered nonsense about beauty, strength, and courage as her hands and mouth stroked gently along his skin. If he’d had the ability to speak, he would have turned those words back to her.
He buried his hand in the silk of her hair when her mouth closed over his rigid cock. This had to be a dream. Closing his eyes, he prayed it would last forever. Wet and hot, her mouth brought him too close to the edge, but this wasn’t how he wanted to finish.
He drew her close until she stretched on top of him. With a hot kiss, she straddled him, taking him into her hot, wet body in one slow, exquisite glide.
She was heaven in his arms, a reward he didn’t deserve, but wouldn’t relinquish.
This time he let her set the pace, followed her lead, and reveled in the glory of her body seizing a startling passion with his.
“John,” she panted his name as the orgasm claimed her and he knew whatever happened, he didn’t ever want to lose this identity. John Noble was the man she knew, the man she believed in. That was the man he wanted to be.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday December 22, 5:27 a.m.
It was the quiet that woke him. The lack of ambient noise inside or outside the house might as well have been an air horn.
Carefully, without disturbing Amelia, he raised his head to check the bedside clock. Blank.
The power was out. Cut or as a result of the rain?
He listened for any sound that didn’t belong, grateful the rain had let up some. With Ben out there, any direct attack would be foiled.
He heard a creak near the top of the stairs. John tensed. Unless Ben had left his post to chase butterflies or play with explosives. Unwilling to take a chance, John slipped out from under Amelia’s pliant body.
Silently he crept to the space behind the door, waiting and listening.
“Just me, man,” Ben said from the hallway.
John stepped out into the hall and moved away from the bedroom door. “Why did you cut the power?”
“Not me. That was Mother Nature.”
John couldn’t decide if that was good news or bad. “Did you get into the office?”
“Yeah. You didn’t mention the cat.”
Unsure how Amelia felt about it, he hoped Ben hadn’t done anything rash. “Tell me you didn’t kill it.”
“That’s low, Noble.”
“Sorry.”
“The boss ran the story. It will hit newsstands any time now. I didn’t even have to say anything.”
“Good.”
“He seems cool, but I can take him out if you want.”
“No, he’s on our side.”
“Right. I’ll remember.”
John hoped so.
With the story going live today, it could mean dodging more threats or none at all. John wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. Most of all, John wanted to be sure Amelia had a long and happy life. “Do you have a lead on a body if I need to fake her death?”
“I can figure it out.”
“Thanks.”
“Did she find out what happened to the shooter in the airport?”
“I forgot to ask her to look.”
“You’re distracted, you lucky bastard.” Ben shook his head. “Last I saw, a couple of Messenger’s dogs were leading him away.”
“Shit.”
“It happens,” Ben agreed. “Not sure if he was part of the program or if he’s now a new recruit.”
“Stay close.”
“Per the usual, man.” Ben gave a mock salute and faded back down the stairs.
John couldn’t recall the last time he’d worked with anyone. If Gabriel found out Ben was alive and helping him, any chance of a clean escape for all three of them was gone. How the hell did life keep throwing this shit at him?
In the bedroom, he heard Amelia sigh in her sleep. Whatever he’d been, the last twenty-four hours with her had changed him. Again. He knew he wouldn’t ever work for Gabriel again, but he realized going forward alone wasn’t the right thing either. He wanted to seize the opportunity she offe
red and reclaim life on his terms.
John returned to the bed, taking her in his arms. Fully awake, he reviewed her situation from all angles again. He didn’t want to believe a contingency plan would be necessary, but Larimore’s assassins were too well informed and had come too close to succeeding yesterday. John simply couldn’t be everywhere at once and having Ben as an extra pair of eyes made things remarkably easier.
Gabriel would expect him to bolt as soon as Amelia was out of danger.
John built his escape route with meticulous care from nothing more than a vague fantasy of slipping away from Gabriel’s program. Now was his chance to go, to start over, and while a woman shouldn’t make a difference, Amelia had changed his mind.
About a lot of things.
There was always a perfect solution, John just needed a bit more time to find it.
* * *
Amelia woke to a peaceful quiet, surrounded by John’s warm, strong body. She’d never felt so relaxed or secure.
Whatever happened with the story, with John, she wanted to carry this moment with her for the rest of her days. She hoped there would be decades of days to remember this bliss. Extending the fantasy, she hoped John was around to help her create more memorable days.
“You’re awake.”
“So are you.” She pressed her butt against his legs, smiling at the hard erection pressing back. “Nice.”
“Yeah.” He nuzzled her ear. “But it will have to wait.”
“Did something happen?”
“Power’s out and I need caffeine.”
“I take it Mother Nature killed the power?” She twisted in his arms so she could look at him. “Or did you get up and slay some more dragons in the night?”
“Mother Nature.”
His hesitation was barely perceptible. Something else had happened, or was on his mind, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment by raising questions he’d only evade.
“The cell signal is weak, and my cell battery is almost out of juice. We should go into town if you want to know Bernie’s decision about the story.”
“As if he would let anyone else print that.”
“You’re confident,” John said, kissing her nape. “Know anywhere to get a paper?”
She laughed and rolled out of bed. “Let’s hurry.”
They rushed through a fast shower and dressed quickly. She chose a fresh cream sweater and clean jeans, inordinately pleased he didn’t fight her when she handed him a clean, pearl gray shirt to replace the one the bullet had ruined to go with his black trousers she’d washed.
It was a relief to step outside and discover the rain had finally let up.
At the car, he opened the passenger door for her and this time she let him drive while she plugged in his cell phone to charge.
They left the peninsula, headed for the main street when his phone rang.
“It’s Bernie,” she said when the display came up.
“Good luck,” he replied, patting her knee.
“What did you decide?” she asked by way of greeting.
“I ran the presses all night and let it go live online at five am when the papers hit the stands.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let it go.”
“You should know I’ve already fielded calls from Larimore’s attorneys demanding your sources.”
She snorted. “I’m pretty sure he knows my sources, he just hasn’t run them down yet.”
“You may be right. Do me a favor and lay low for a few days. Let this blow over.”
“And here I thought you’d want my next article pitch.”
“It can wait.” She listened to him slurp his coffee. “Go away, cat. If you’re in town it will only make matters worse,” he said to Amelia. “I’m telling you people have been hanging around the building asking when you’ll be in. I may have to request more security.”
“I know a good bodyguard.”
“Just be careful,” Bernie said and he ended the call.
“The story is out. Online too,” she said. She glanced at the phone. “A major news agency could pick it up anytime.”
“That’s good.”
“Except you’ll leave.” Could she sound more needy?
“Are you firing me already?”
“Not just yet.” Her palms were damp and she rubbed them on her jeans. In less than twenty-four hours she’d become attached to him. “As you said things could still be problematic.”
“True.”
“At least the rain stopped.” Needy and mundane. What a lasting impression she was making. Although by his own admission, if he saved her, he’d forget her. The idea made her sad when she should be celebrating.
A bright winter sun, so long obscured by thick clouds, crept over the horizon and the wet streets and storefronts sparkled.
“And the temperature’s dropping,” he said. “Maybe it will be a white Christmas.”
She hadn’t given the holidays any real consideration, hadn’t done the first bit of shopping for the few people on her list. It would be nice to think of normal, everyday things rather than threats and trouble.
“Pull into the lot around back,” she said, pointing out the small sign as they passed a busy café.
He parked the car and they headed inside, where the locals let out an impromptu cheer. At his baffled expression, she explained. “It’s just a local kid makes good kind of thing. They carry The Torch mainly because I grew up out here.”
“We carry it,” said the woman behind the counter, “because it’s the last independent paper and our Amelia has common sense.”
John snagged a copy off of the stand. “Quite an endorsement,” he whispered at her ear.
She gave him a light bump with her elbow. “Mr. Noble, Clara Watkins. Clara does her best to see that everyone within a twenty mile radius stays caffeinated.”
“Whatever you wish, it’s on the house today, my dear. What that right bastard’s done is unforgiveable.”
“She’s read your work.”
“Every day,” Clara said with an emphatic bob of her head.
Knowing better than to argue with Clara about the payment, Amelia placed her order for a tall coffee with hazelnut creamer, and a fat blueberry muffin.
She felt John’s eyes on her as she walked toward an empty booth for two. Always alert. She liked that. Hoped she wouldn’t be missing him too soon.
John joined her a few minutes later with their complete orders. “She wouldn’t let me pay either.”
“That’s because she likes you.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“I beg your pardon. It must be because she can tell that I like you.”
“Is that a fact?”
“How does it look?” She changed the subject by snagging the paper from his hand. “Oh.” She read through the first half of the article, printed above the fold. “Bernie did a great job.”
John murmured an agreement, but his attention was on his cell phone.
“He didn’t cut anything to soft-sell it.”
“Have you seen the comments on the online edition?” He turned his phone display her way.
She winced, blocking the view with her hand. “Tell me it’s not all trolls.”
“Go ahead and look for yourself.”
She pulled her tablet out of her purse and brought up The Torch website. Nearly all of the comments were positive about her and the courage of her sources. “Wow. Usually there are more than a few commenters hating on me and the topic by now.”
“Personal privacy is a hot issue. Wasn’t that how your source hooked you on the story?”
She shrugged. “More than a little.”
When their order arrived, Amelia continued alternating between people-watching, checking comments on the website, and scanning to see if another agency had picked up the story.
John seemed at ease, but she knew if she asked, he’d be able to give a detailed description of every person inside and more than a few of those who’d wandered by outside
. “Press conference in twenty minutes outside of Larimore’s home,” he said quietly, nodding to the television screen mounted on the wall behind her.
“He has to know he’s caught,” she said. “Oh, I’ve got butterflies.” She pushed her muffin aside and studied her tablet. “Looks like CNN just picked it up.”
“That’s great.”
She knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t douse her delighted expression. “I wouldn’t mind being syndicated.”
John’s phone vibrated with an incoming message. He frowned as he read it. Turning off the display, he excused himself and stood up. “I won’t be long.”
She expected him to go outside and make a call. Instead, she watched as John greeted another man who joined him on the sidewalk. From her perspective, it seemed he kept one eye on her through the window.
The stranger was vaguely familiar, but Amelia knew she’d never been introduced. She didn’t forget profiles like that one. Three piece suit, slightly older with a hint of gray at the temples, he carried himself with an elegant grace. Still, when he shifted slightly toward the door, she saw John’s shoulders tense. Part of her wanted to run and a small paranoid voice in her head said that’s what the suit wanted too.
Predator.
The word echoed in her mind and as much as she tried, she couldn’t shake it.
She stayed in her seat, suppressing the urge to flee, and considered her options. There was a camera on her tablet, but it would be too obvious if she stood up and took his picture. Instinctively she knew better than to be obvious around the suit. She discarded other, equally stupid options and finally decided to start an online search.
If she only knew what she was looking for.
Her first source had given her almost too much information about Larimore and his daily habits when he’d agreed to talk. She had spent hours combing through archives of camera angles from various stores and security companies who served the financial district and other places high-powered people congregated. She’d tracked Larimore’s patterns within Boston to confirm her accusations that he wasn’t always doing what his constituents expected.
Looking through that backlog now was a long shot, but better than sitting here and letting the fear strangle her.
