The Avenger

by Jo Robertson

  "My student? Keisha, too?'

  Jack nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing across her cheek.

  What wasn't he telling her?

  "Carl and Henry and Susan?" She spoke their names respectfully as if the victims had become personal friends even though she'd never known them.

  "All of them," he confirmed. The heat of Jack's body brushed against hers, inviting her to bury herself in the security of it.

  She fixed upon his chin, arms wrapped around her body, afraid to let go. "Howard confessed and then just keeled over from a heart attack?"

  He lifted his hands, palms upward in a what-else gesture.

  "You're lying to me," she said flatly, scooting under his arm. "You're lying to me and I don't know why." She hurried down the hall and started up the staircase to the master bedroom.

  Jack caught up with her at the door to the bathroom, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and swung her around to face him. "What do you want me to say, Olivia? Tell me, and I'll say the words. Randolph's dead. The Dead Language Killer's violent rampage is finished. Isn't that all that matters?"

  Uneasiness hovered at the edges of her mind. "When I saw you back there in the church, that look on your face I… " She shook her head. "I'll never forget it, Jack. You were a stranger, someone I've never known."

  "I told you what happens when I go through the transformation, how the drugs enhance the Change."

  "But that… that was something different. I know I said I could live with it, but I don't know if I can live with the secrets."

  "You won't have to," he said and pulled her close.

  His lips whispered against her temple and, oh God, a thrill of desire shot through her. He had such power over her. It frightened her at the same time it rippled hot waves of pleasure through her blood.

  "What do you mean?" Her words came out unsure and breathless.

  "I don't want to keep secrets from you." He slipped his clever hands beneath the waistband of her shorts.

  "But – "

  He slid his hands over her hips and lifted her up, pressing her into his groin. She couldn't think clearly. Her heart thundered in her chest, the pull of need for him stronger than anything she'd ever known. Flames of fire danced along her nerves. God, how had she lived without this all those years?

  She pulled back, held his face in her hands. "You want me to trust you."

  He covered her hands and rubbed one thumb over her lips. His voice was kind and gentle. "Yes, Squirt. You have to trust me."

  "I do," she answered, breathing into his mouth. She trusted him, believed in him, she thought. What else mattered?

  She opened her lips and probed his mouth with her tongue in urgent, desperate jabs. His big hand cupped her breast and teased the nipple through her thin cotton top while his fingers tangled in her hair.

  "I want you so much," she whispered beneath his lips. "I've waited so long."

  Jack moved his hands over her gently at first and then with increasing ardor. He groaned a deep growl of desperation. "God, Livvie, I promised myself I'd go slowly, be considerate, prove I could control my lust for you."

  His fingers tugged at her slacks, slipping them over her hips. She ripped the buttons from his shirt and trailed her fingers over his chest, down his hips and thighs to take him in her hand.

  "But I can't," he moaned. "When you… hell, I lose all control around you."

  And that was perfect, she thought, because this wasn't the time for tenderness.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Jack was sure Olivia didn't trust him completely. Why should she? He had a history of abandoning her and never explaining why. Sorry was a sorry word, he thought. It didn't nearly describe the ripping of his heart when he realized how he'd hurt her.

  She slept with her back to him, her small, perfect body curved into his. He thought how odd it was that his long, broad body accommodated her slender form so perfectly. Her head lay within the circle of his arm as he stroked the dark strands of hair that tangled like black silk across the pillow. The smooth length of her back and the gentle curve of her hip delighted him as his fingers traced the outline of her body.

  Morning's light had just peeked through the bedroom window slats when she stretched drowsily and turned in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest.

  "You've got to stop watching me while I sleep," she complained grumpily.

  "Make me." He trailed his fingers down the sleek line of thigh and cupped his hands over her flawless ass.

  "I'll make you all ri – " She laughed softly. "Oh ho, what's this?" she joked, encircling him with her slim, cool fingers.

  He took her mouth and felt that primitive urge to mate. Mine, he thought, she's always been mine. No matter who she'd been with she never belonged to anyone else. Desire heated his blood, lust tightened his muscles, and love swamped his heart.

  "What did I ever do to deserve you," he muttered at her ear, his tongue teasing the soft flesh of her jaw.

  "Absolutely nothing." She smiled dreamily and, in an unexpected movement, flipped over until she was straddling him. "But I'm going to extact recompense right now."

  Palms flat on his chest, she dipped her head and took his mouth in a possessive plundering. Her long hair enveloped him, a dark curtain surrounding them, while her busy hands caressed his flanks. "You have the most gorgeous body," she murmured. "So strong and elegant, so powerful."

  "So scarred," he continued, "so battered, so worn."

  "Hmmm, so… mine." She continued her assault on him, batting his hands away whenever he tried to touch her, caress her. "My rules, this time."

  She slid down his aroused body, kissing her way across his chest, circling his nipples with her tongue, trailing along his still bruised ribs. "Ah, gently, sweetheart," he groaned, half in pain, half in passion.

  "Hmm, sorry." She glanced up at him, those brilliant eyes dark as rich green velvet.

  She pushed over his midsection, farther down his body, her breasts brushing sweetly against his groin. And then she took him in her mouth, sweet mother of God.

  He tried to pull back. "No, Livvie, don't… " He ended on a moan and his control lasted half a minute as he pulled her roughly up, flipped her over, and lay panting between her legs. "Much of my strength has diminished, love, but not my ability to tame you."

  He touched her between her thighs, seeking the wet, sweet core of her and found her slick and hot. He clamped down on his need and stroked her until he felt the first climax lift her over the edge and shatter her against his hand.

  "Oh God." She dug her fingers into his hair and hung on tightly while he worked his fingers inside her.

  "Look at me," he muttered. "Open your eyes and look at me, damn it. I want to watch you."

  Those amazing emerald eyes fluttered open, glazed over blindly, but clung to his as she shuddered and slowly relaxed.

  "Again," he whispered. "And again." He plunged into her hard and furious at first, but when he felt his imminent release, switched to slow, agonizing strokes that tested his will to its zenith. He watched as her mouth opened, her eyes fluttered, her breath panted in gentle puffs of air. He felt her inner muscles clamp furiously around him and climaxed a moment after her in a furious explosion of pleasure, pain, and love.

  "God, I love you," he whispered as he collapsed on her, "love you to the ends of the earth."

  Their bodies were slick with sweat, their hearts thundering like a herd of wild horses, their breathing an exercise in agony. Afraid of crushing her small body, he rolled off and gathered her close against him.

  They slept the deeply satisfied sleep of lovers long familiar with one another's needs and desires.

  Jack woke hours later to the odor of coffee and bacon wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. He smiled. Olivia, being unusually domestic, he supposed. Showering quickly, he dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

  As he shaved using one of Livvie's pink disposab
le razors, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked lighter, he thought, less ragged, more relaxed. He frowned, knowing the hardest part was still ahead of him.

  How to explain to Olivia what he'd done? How he'd planned for this day? What he had yet to do? Would she understand?

  He sighed heavily and padded on bare feet down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Baltimore, Maryland, Invictus Headquarters, Six Months Later

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Already alerted by Higgins, the Judge rose to meet Jackson Holt as he strode through the office door in his usual brash manner. The agent looked better than he had in a long time, but a kind of raw edginess showed in the way he jerked his head at the director and threw his long body into the leather guest chair.

  Warren extended his hand. "Excellent work, Jack."

  Jack ignored the proffered hand.

  Warren coughed to cover the awkward moment. "You look well," he said. "Fully recovered?" He didn't need to ask. He'd gotten daily updates on Jack's health from Dr. Davis, who supervised the fragile and dangerous recovery in a specialized wing at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

  Jack nodded briefly, steepled his fingers, and waited until Warren had seated. Shuffling papers across the desk, the Judge covertly sneaked looks at his young protégé. He'd never seen the agent look so calm, yet agitated at the same time.

  Shit, something serious was in the wind.

  "I haven't received your DLK report yet," he mentioned, keeping his voice casual. "Will I have that soon?"

  Jack merely continued to stare at a spot directly over the Judge's right shoulder, out the window at the sprawling expanse of Baltimore and the Chesapeake Bay. Warren shifted uneasily in his chair, following the direction of Jack's eyes.

  He reached into his bottom drawer to remove a cigar from the lacquered box. A gift from the president of Columbia on Warren's last visit there. He started to offer one to Jack, but remembered he'd given them up. What was it he'd said months ago when he began the assignment?

  Something about being a warrior.

  Jack didn't look much like a warrior now. The battle scars were there, sure, but there was quietude beneath the tanned flesh, composure below the furrowed brow, satisfaction around the mouth. Not at all the Jackson Holt the Judge was accustomed to interviewing upon return from a complicated mission.

  His concern and curiosity were now thoroughly piqued. "Would you prefer to give an oral report?" he asked.

  "No, I think not, Warren. You'll get the written summary. Tomorrow, maybe later." Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a legal-sized envelope. "But first… "

  Tossing it on the Judge's desk, Jack rose and meandered to the window, his hands stuffed in his pants pocket, his back towards the room.

  "What the hell…?" Warren sliced open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. He read the paragraph three times before commenting.

  "A letter of resignation? After all these years with the Organization, you think you can just walk in here and resign?"

  Warren's blood pressure rose in tandem with his anger. "What the hell kind of a fool do you think I am?"

  The Judge hadn't seen this coming. He'd expected a request for an undefined leave of absence, a recruiting assignment, hell, even temporary non-field assignments. But not this complete severance.

  "We're the only family you've ever had, Jack," Warren sneered. "What the fuck you think you're gonna do instead of Invictus?"

  Jack turned to face the man who'd been a father-figure to him for nearly twenty years, the person who'd become his whole family from the age of seventeen when he'd been ripped from his foster family and Slater. From Livvie.

  He felt the sick bile of betrayal, both given and received, burn his throat. The Judge was right in more ways than he knew. Jack vacillated between remorse and fury. Pissed that he showed any reaction, he unclenched his fists.

  Warren wouldn't miss the signs.

  Sure enough he didn't, and the knowledge seemed to curb the director's temper. "You know as well as I do that there's no going back from where you've been," he reasoned.

  With considerable effort, Jack reined in his emotions. He had to believe otherwise if he intended to have any kind of future with Livvie. "You think so? I've served Invictus nearly twenty years and – "

  "You're a valuable commodity, Jack, and we own you," Warren snapped. He took a calming breath and continued, "And besides that, it's nigh impossible to go back to the real world." He stepped forward tentatively. "Come on, Jack, you know that."

  A commodity, Jack thought, all these years he'd been a product, and he would continue to be bought and sold until his usefulness ended.

  The Judge stood close to Jack near the window. "Jack, men like us… we're not good with civilians." He sniffed the cigar and put it in his jacket pocket. "We're hell on families. We're not made to be husbands and fathers. You said it yourself. We're born to be the warriors in this sorry-assed world."

  Suddenly weary of the battle, Jack decided he wouldn't explain further. The letter said it all. He wasn't returning to Invictus. The confrontations with Howard Randolph and Ted Burrows had been the death knell to his work.

  From the moment that Olivia had stared wide-eyed and terrified into his eyes, he knew he'd never be able to return to the messy work of the Organization, no matter how noble or necessary the Judge made the cause seem. He couldn't stand the agony of living with himself if he did. The anguish of never having Livvie in his life.

  That price was too high and he damn well wasn't paying

  He smiled when he felt like grinning and caught himself

  "What the fuck are you smiling for?" Spittle gathered at the corners of the Judge's mouth, his breath matched his mood, stinking and foul, and his eyes were unfeeling pits.

  Jack gazed at Warren, saw the rage and exhaustion running through every line and crease of the map drawn there. The dark cast to the eyes, the knowledge not only of what he'd done himself, but what he'd ordered his agents to do. And the horrible necessity that required that kind of work. Those kinds of decisions.

  Jack knew one day he'd look into a mirror in some god-awful third-world country and see those same signs etched on his own face. If he didn't quit right now. While he had the chance.

  That's why he smiled when he felt like grinning. Hell, felt like laughing out loud. But of course, he wasn't about to tell the Judge that.

  The director stood within inches of Jack's face, his florid complexion threatening apoplexy. He jabbed a thick forefinger at Jack's chest, punctuating each word. "We own you, Jack. Don't. You. Forget. That."

  Warren barely reached his shoulder and as Jack looked down at him, he wondered how he'd ever respected this puppet of a man who stood before him, issuing his puny threats. Well, maybe not so puny. The Director of Invictus could make good on many of his threats.

  But he didn't know about Jack's ace in the hole.

  "There's a Swiss bank account," he began. "Unnumbered, of course."

  A cloud of serenity floated over him as he spoke the words. "But that's not important, Warren. What you need to know… " In imitation he punched a finger into Warren's shoulder. "is what's in the safety deposit box associated with the account."

  Understanding crawled slowly across the Judge's face, but instead of speaking, he clasped his right hand over his chest and sank into his chair. His movements were so dramatic that Jack nearly laughed aloud until he realized the man was truly shocked, his face ashen, his lips slack, his eyes vacant.

  Jack pressed two fingers to Warren's carotid artery. A fine steady pumping drummed gently beneath his fingers. He felt surprisingly relieved the old man hadn't croaked. He pushed the button to summon Higgins.

  Maybe Jack was beginning to heal after all.

  Warren looked up at him, twisted his lips. "You won't make it," he wheezed. "In a month, a year, you'll come crawling back."

  Jack bent close to the Judge's ear. "Remember how I said not to fuck with me, Warre
n?"

  The Judge shrugged and managed a weak smile. "Sorry, Jack, but I'm afraid that happened a long time ago."

  Jack straightened up. "It'll work." He pushed past the doubt. "I can make it work."

  Higgins rushed in, took in the situation, and offered the Judge pills and water. His color returned after a few moments. "Get out," he snarled to Higgins.

  "You're a goddamn fool if you think it's that simple," he told Jack after Higgins left.

  "The documents make it that simple. The meticulous accounting of every single one of my missions. Names, dates, places, all chronicled in neat little notebooks." Jack jerked his head angrily. "Extremely damning evidence. I think you'll leave us alone."

  "Documentation means jack," Warren snorted. "You think that'll protect you if I want to go after you?"

  Jack balled his fists and jammed them in his pockets, wanting more than anything to smash something until his hands were bloody stumps.

  "This is really about that broad, isn't it," Warren jeered. "You think that's gonna last? You think she won't wake up every morning and see the blood on your hands? Be disgusted by you?"

  With Warren's taunts ringing in his ears, Jack turned on his heel and marched out the door of the Invictus office, down the long flight of stairs to the lobby, and out into the brisk Maryland spring. Hailing a taxi, he directed the cabbie south on I-95 toward Washington, D.C.

  He slouched in the back of the cab, thinking furiously all the way to Washington. Damn it all! Damn the whole Invictus Organization! The Judge was wrong.

  *

  Olivia waited for him at the Lincoln Memorial, standing at the base of the statue, reading for the tenth time the immortal words carved there. She hadn't wanted to wait in Baltimore where Invictus had its home. She much preferred this place with all its history, the bustling, but elegant old city with stirring monuments and memorials. Californians spoke of antiquities in terms of decades, but this place reached back into the centuries. She wanted to savor it before she returned home.