by SM West
I cock my head to the side, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, and grab her waist. Effortlessly and swiftly, I lift her off my lap. I hastily tuck my cock back in, all the while emitting yes or no grunts into the phone.
“Let me call you back,” I bitterly say.
“Ry, what the hell?” she challenges.
She pulls on her panties and yanks her dress down. My hand clasps her wrist, halting her movement. Her eyes meet mine. Irksome confusion shrouds her face.
My blood is on fire, the battering of my heart, roaring in my ears. My desire for her is instantly replaced by the crushing thought of what she’s done. Barely able to restrain my raging emotions, I intake a long, slow breath.
“What did you do?” Tate shudders at my unmistakably icy tone.
“What are you talking about?” she asks cautiously.
“Your father?” The disappointment and rage churning inside me leave little room to play her games. “Now is not the time to test me, Tate. You know damn well what I mean.”
At this moment, the notion of her readily admitting her deceit is extremely important. It’s foolish and irrational but her opening to me on her own, to confess, is a dire need of mine. Not getting it would almost be a greater betrayal than the act itself.
“No, I don’t,” her voice is concerned and confused.
I flash back to mere minutes ago, with her on her knees, pleasuring me. Me at her mercy. Was her boldness driven by her need for me or her calculated need to control me, control the situation?
I’m a good judge of character, never one to dismiss my gut instinct. Not once did I have any inclination Tate was duplicitous or using me. Yet I can’t deny all the times she’s surprised me and lied to me. Fuck.
But when we’re together, you can’t fake that need. Our connection is like two magnets undeniably drawn to each other. Is it ego? Was I so caught up in my desire for her I chose to believe it was mutual? Dodd’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Wolfe, no tails. All clear. We’re coming up to the hotel.”
“Drive around the block for another ten minutes or so.” My eyes never leave Tate.
“Got it.”
“Ry, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” she pleas.
“Your father is dead.” I watch intently as her eyes widen and she gasps.
“What?”
“You just fucked with this case. Royally.” My cutting voice rises with each word. “I can’t fix this. I’d be tampering with evidence.”
“I…I didn’t do anything,” she screams.
“Seriously?” I ask incredulously. No longer able to control the deep-seated sense of betrayal, I spew harsh, angry words. “You’ve been running around behind our backs. Making your own little plans, thinking about your own little world, not about the ramifications. Forget what it could mean for my job or Coop’s or never mind it’s against the law. This makes you no better than them.”
Her eyes blink back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. A myriad of emotions skitters across her face from shock to hurt to anger.
“Why are you so quick to blame me? You said so yourself, Bobby wants my father dead. He orchestrated the car crash. This could be him,” she implies as her voice cracks. She scampers away from me. “Let me out of this car, now.”
“It very well could be. You were the last one to see him. Your mother found him,” I deliver in a deep tone that I don’t recognize. “Tate, you don’t exactly have a stellar record of telling the truth. You’d have succeeded had we not intercepted your package for Bobby,” I cryptically say, suddenly aware Dodd could be listening.
Despite how furious and beaten down I am, I’d never jeopardize her safety or freedom. That’s the absurdity in all of this. I understand she was surviving, pushed to her limit, forced to plot murders. And while I shouldn’t condone it, I can’t hold it against her. She felt she had no choice.
All I wanted was to protect her. Take care of her. Rid her life of the two men who relentlessly tried to destroy her. I can’t do that if she won’t let me in.
“You don’t trust me? And you’ve been reckless and foolish. First Bobby and now this,” I lash out.
My anger’s only growing, as is the disappointment. I love her and that’s why her betrayal hurts so much. It fucking guts me.
The really messed up thing is I’m not mad at the act, the actual planning and execution of a murder. I’m spitting mad that she never trusted me to tell me. She never thought I’d help her.
Yeah, it could have cost me my job or some serious jail time, but I get her need. I wasn’t tortured, abused or held captive. I want to kill them both with my bare hands knowing Tate was at their mercy.
“Oh God, Ry, I do trust you,” she declares.
She’s racked with sobs, tears stream down her cheeks. She’s trembling. The urge to comfort her is painfully overwhelming. My jaw clenches and my fingers curl into fists. I won’t bend this time. I want to believe she trusts me and maybe she does on some level, but she hasn’t let me fully in.
“You need to tell me everything.” Even in her current state of distress, I can’t take my eyes off her. The pull inescapable.
What she says is true. Bobby could be behind this. What’s nagging me is her call to Jones and her visit, it’s all too coincidental. And in my line of work, I don’t believe in fucking coincidence.
“That’s all I am to you isn’t it, an asset? A confidential informant,” she vehemently fires.
The car stops. She opens the door. I frantically follow, grabbing her before she escapes into the hotel. Twirling around, her arctic eyes chill me.
“I. Am. Done. Wolfe,” she hisses. “Let me go.”
Holding on tighter, I realize what the fuck’s happening. My mind is clouded with doubt and countless thoughts and emotions. She’s leaving. Maybe she’s innocent? Maybe she didn’t do it? She’s not safe. She’s mine.
“We. Are. Not. Done,” I gruffly assert.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Wrenching out of my grasp, she backs away from me. “There was never a ‘we’ so we can’t be done. We never got started. Leave me alone,” she shouts, fleeing into the hotel.
People are milling around, some staring. Dodd clamps his meaty paw on my shoulder, preventing me from chasing her. No words are needed, he’s right. I need to let her go. For now. We need space and time. But we’re not done. I don’t give a fuck what she thinks.
Strung tight, I slam my fist into the roof of the car. My knuckles come away broken, bloodied and sore. The pain is a relief, overriding the gaping emptiness where my heart used to be.
“You alright?” Dodd asks.
“Fuck. Get me, Noel, NOW,” I roar. Dodd hands me his phone.
“Spencer? Get your ass over to the Surrey right now,” I order.
“Wolfe, I’m right here. I’ve got you in my sight. Across the street,” he calmly says.
My eyes find him instantly. His face conveys he saw it all. We haven’t talked about Tate. Still, he knows. He’s got my back. I’m not sure of his motives, but I’m grateful he’s kept his mouth shut.
“Get your ass up there. I don’t give a rat’s ass what grief she gives you, you get into that room. And you’re glued to her side. Make sure she’s safe. You’re on her for at least the next twenty-four until I can figure something out.”
“On it,” he responds.
Running across the street, he enters the lobby without acknowledging Dodd or me. Fuck, Dodd. He saw everything. Without a word, we get into the car and leave.
Thank fuck I trust Dodd. We’ve worked many cases together and have been in a few tough spots. He would’ve heard some of what we said. He’s no dummy, he’ll have no problem putting two and two together. But he won’t say anything. He owes me. I helped him out a few years back. And what went down sure as shit wasn’t on the up and up.
My mind’s reeling and body’s exhausted. I want nothing more than to protect her, be with her, but she won’t let me near her now.
With that thought, I bang my bloody fist against the upholstery. Shit, it hurts, but I deserve it. I should have waited for more information on Warren’s death instead of accusing her, but it feels like something’s still off. She’s still holding back.
“DON’T YOU DARE,” I SHRIEK, pathetically scurrying away.
I foolishly glance back, Coop’s on me. His hands encircle my waist, lifting and tossing me into the air. I brace for impact. Despite knowing what’s coming, I scream as my back hits the cold water.
Sinking to the bottom of the pool, my hands impulsively latch onto my breasts, worried my bikini top took a trip in the other direction. Still intact. The other hand checks my bottoms; still on. Phew, crisis averted.
Once my feet firmly land on the bottom, I push up, naturally rising. Coop’s now in the pool. I swim by his strong legs, treading water, then his impressive torso before breaking through the surface.
“Jerk,” I mumble, wiping excess water from my eyes.
“Ah, you loved it TT,” he chuckles, nabbing my neck and pulling me into his side.
“You tell yourself that asshole.”
I poke his side and swim to the edge of the pool. He laughs, begging me to stay between his chuckles. I’m pretending annoyance and he knows it. I’ve no desire to stay in the pool with him. He’ll toss me around like a football or constantly dunk me. Been there, done that, way too many times.
Pushing up on the ledge, I’m up and out. Patrick saunters out in navy board shorts, a white t-shirt, wayfarers and three beers in hand.
“What’d I miss?”
“The usual,” I mutter, taking a beer. “Thanks.”
“Tate’s being a suck and won’t play,” Coop playfully whines before taking a long pull on the beer Patrick hands him.
“You two are like children,” he scolds, shaking his head. “Cut it out.”
In unison, we chant, “He/she started it.” All of us laughing at our juvenile behavior.
A big, relaxed smile spreads across my face at the easy banter and camaraderie I share with these boys. Well, men. I think of them as boys, though there’s no denying they’re one hundred percent men.
Coop eventually coaxes Patrick into the pool to toss a football. I close my eyes, pop my earbuds in and catch some rays.
It’s been two months since I surprised Coop by crashing his life in Los Angeles. Like him, I didn’t know I was coming until hours before my flight. Patrick’s presence was also a surprise.
After that horrific day with Ry in the limo, I was a complete and utter wreck. With all of his accusations, a deep and wide fissure dissected my heart. The pain so heavy and acute, I didn’t have the energy or fortitude to fight Noel when he stormed into my room.
I lay on my bed sobbing uncontrollably, hoping my shattered heart would kill me. I realized no matter what, I’d always be deeply, madly and hopelessly in love with Rylan Wolfe.
We’d both been wrong. I’d broken Ry’s trust in me. I understood that, yet it hurt so damn much to realize he had so little faith in me. We were done. My focus had to be on the second part of my plan, start a new life, as quickly and as painlessly as possible.
Noel stayed a few days, urging me to get my ass out of bed. He kept stressing I was in danger and we had to move to a safe house. It was during my crying jag that a wild and crazy thought came to mind. A way to solve my immediate problem.
Without stewing on my harebrained idea, I acted. It surprised me as much as it did Noel when I asked for his help. Without question, he made the call. I knew there was the possibility Ry would find out and stop it, or show up. I was prepared for that.
Gia Adessi arrived sooner than expected. Dressed so unlike an FBI agent, I wondered if she moonlighted as a working girl. Her black dress ended just below her butt cheeks, her breasts spilled over the neckline. Heavy, dark kohl eyeliner and Chinese-red lipstick completed the look. Even scantily clad, she was beautiful.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked disinterestedly. I wasn’t buying her act. She was very interested. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been there.
“Can you arrange for me to leave the US? I want to stay with my brother in London.”
“Why don’t you ask Wolfe?” she asked defensively. As his name passed her lips, a lightbulb went off. “You don’t want him to know.”
“Can you help or not?” I asked, ignoring her. I wasn’t going to discuss him with her.
“I told you it wouldn’t last. Ry gets bored easily and you’re nothing special,” she sneered. Her lips widened into a nasty grin, assuming he’d dumped me.
“You know what, forget it. This was a bad idea. I thought you had connections and could help me. I was obviously wrong,” I replied, suggesting my disappointment was in her abilities rather than her lack of willingness to help.
“I never said I wouldn’t do it,” I held my tongue to her snarky reply. “Let me make a few calls. It’s going to be tricky with the investigation ongoing. We do want you in a safe place and watched, though.”
Never one to pass up the opportunity now was my chance to probe for more information. Information Noel certainly wouldn’t share.
“Do you know who killed my father?”
Gia shrewdly examined me. Surely, she understood my need to know who killed my father. Unless Wolfe had shared his hunch with her, or the agent driving the car, what was his name? Dodd.
No, Ry wouldn’t do that and he’d make sure Dodd didn’t say anything either. No matter what had happened, without a doubt, Ry would protect me, dissuade any suspicions or guilt pointed my way.
“No, we don’t. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, we suspect your husband. Right now, we’re waiting for the tox results. We’re hoping to trace the drug back to the killer. We’ve only just started.”
I didn’t ask for more. While she made her call in the next room, I patiently waited.
“Okay, I’ve got approval, but you need a bodyguard. An agent with you at all times. We’re going to outsource it and you’re picking up the tab,” she stressed.
“Okay. Whatever you need. Thank you. When can I leave?” I eagerly asked.
I was on a flight to London in less than twenty-four hours. I didn’t question why Gia helped me. Leaving New York City meant I was thousands of miles away from Ry. And while her motive bothered me, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
I spent a month with Max. The first couple weeks were unbearable. My mother called endlessly, pretending she didn’t know we were together. She demanded we return for our father’s funeral. After the first conversation where I said no, I never answered her calls again. Eventually, I destroyed the SIM card and replaced it.
Max endured her threats and tirades demanding to know where I was. We weren’t fooled, more puzzled as to her charade. She finally left him a vile message saying our father had been buried.
London wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. I was in a dark and lonely place. My heart heavy and broken, and try as I might, nothing appealed to me. Ironically, without my drive to bring vengeance, seek blood and crimson carnage on those who had done me wrong, I was lost and numb. Every day, the thought of getting out of bed seemed impossible. Everything ached.
At first, I clung to the idea of connecting with Max. But he was busy. I hardly ever saw him. Medical school was demanding with crazy shifts, papers to write, and tons of reading and exams. We were like two strangers living in the same flat. On the odd occasion, when we crossed paths, he was concerned with my appearance and lack of vivre.
“Tate, are you sick?” He’d say, placing a hand on my cool forehead.
“No,” my voice was gravelly and thick from having not spoken in days.
“Then why are you in bed at 11 am. What’s wrong?”
The room was pitch black. Like a tomb. I rolled away from him, pulling the covers up to my neck. He gently rubbed my back and soothingly spoke to me.
“You can tell me what’s wrong, Bear. I want to help you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Nothing was
wrong. Everything was wrong. My body hurt all over. A large, black void had replaced my heart and I didn’t have the foggiest idea how to get it back.
“Listen, you need to get up,” he implored. He pulled the curtains open. The skies were gray, the pitter patter of the rain louder and sharper without the thickness of the drapes.
“I will,” I lied. “Don’t you have school?”
“Yeah.”
“Go. I’ll shower and get out,” I tried real hard to sound upbeat, releasing the breath I was holding once the door closed.
Two days later, my phone woke me. The drapes were still open, I’d never bothered to close them, and it was still raining. I reluctantly answered, glancing at the screen. It hardly ever rang, only three people had my number, Max, Julia and Ronald, my FBI shadow.
Since Max had found me in bed, he’d taken to calling me several times a day. If I didn’t answer, Ronald would check on me or Julia would call.
It didn’t take long to realize answering the bloody phone was just easier than ignoring him. I didn’t recognize the number. Without the energy to think it through, I answered.
“Hello.”
“Tate?” Hearing his low, sexy rumble across the Atlantic jolted me upright in bed.
“Ry?” I responded breathlessly. My hands shook, my heart rate raced.
“Tate, how are you?” He asked like we’d been speaking just yesterday rather than six weeks ago.
“I’m…Ry, how’d you get this number?”
“Ronald,” he chuckled. “Did you think you could hide and I wouldn’t find you? The world’s big but not that big and besides, I’m highly motivated. I do work for the FBI,” his voice was flirty.
Kicking the big, brawny Ginger, Ronald, in the balls was a fleeting thought. I should have known he’d eventually find me. Gia wouldn’t give up my location. Ry was a resourceful guy.
“Yes, you are,” I quipped. Surprised I’d found it in myself to play his game.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered low and seductive. Or maybe I wished it, but his sincerity and longing were evident. We hadn’t spoken since that fateful day in the limo. “It’s been too long. I wished you’d talked to me before leaving.”
