by Lisa Hughey
“This is bad.” She paced back and forth in front of the window, one hand to her mouth, the other on her hip, her eyes wide and trouble. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
“It will be fine.” Of course, I was lying. What I really wanted to do was shake her and tell her to snap out of the hysterics. But for the time being we needed her cooperation.
I took her arm gently.
She snatched it away. “If you weren’t pregnant, I would punch you.”
“Fine. When I’m not pregnant anymore, you can punch me.”
“A baby,” she wailed. “What kind of mother will you be?”
That barb hit home.
What kind of mother? The kind who stole other babies away and sent them into dangerous situations for a government who was now throwing me under a bus.
My throat tightened. I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t even breathe. I didn’t know anything about being a mother.
“Thea. That’s enough,” Jordan said calmly.
I found my voice and pushed my defensiveness deep down inside me where it could hide forever. “We won’t ever find out if you don’t help me. Us.”
I could be the pushiest bitch on the planet when I needed something, and we needed her on board right now. Or we were going nowhere. “You with us or against us?”
Thea didn’t say anything. I started reviewing ways to incapacitate her for an extended period of time.
We could steal her car. At least that would get us out of the city, and then we’d need to dump it, in a river preferably, and get a new one.
Just the effort needed to plan the minor op had me dragging. I was so freaking tired.
Thea continued to hesitate.
I readied my body, thinking about strike points and carefully calculating so I would only render her unconscious but not kill her.
Jordan stepped in front of me, his gaze boring into mine. “No.”
Shit.
Now it was both of them against me. Worse case scenario, I bet she had some drugs around. I could put them both to sleep long enough to get out of Dodge. But dosing sleeping pills was always dicey.
Jordan hadn’t moved. “Thea. We need your help.”
Finally, she sighed. “What do I have to do?”
TWENTY-FIVE
October 18th
9:45 pm
New York City
She was having a baby.
They were having a baby.
Jordan was smiling. A great big grin energized him. Every molecule of his body was filled with joy. A baby.
He’d envisioned this part of his life happening differently. He’d thought taking the step to becoming a father would involve long bouts of careful consideration before the actual deciding. But everything had changed with a few significant words. Staci was pregnant.
He shouldn't be quite so happy yet. He knew it but couldn't help the smile on his face. He wanted to be a great father.
Determination blossomed through him. He would be a great father. The best father a kid could ever have.
Shit. He didn’t know anything about being a dad. He’d been raised by his mother and his aunt. Thea’s father had been around, but he’d died young. Besides, Jordan wasn't going to be any kind of father unless he could get them out of this situation.
Staci lay on the sofa, sound asleep. Intending to gently nudge her awake, he leaned down, but she shifted in her sleep, making room for him to slide in behind her.
Just for a second.
Just a second to hold onto her and forget about their problems. Which were legion.
Deliberately he eased in behind her. His head fitted beside hers on the pillow, and his arm automatically went around her waist to pull her snug against his chest. He brushed a light kiss against her hair.
The familiar weight of her breasts was soft against his forearm. But the ridges of her ribs, so slight under his shirt, and the roughness of her once silky hair against his cheek were unfamiliar. Different.
She was different. They both were. Different wasn’t bad...it just was.
He should focus on other, more crucial things, but his mind kept going back to Staci, and the baby.
Jordan knew the moment she drifted awake. Her body tensed slightly, and then relaxed into the cradle of his embrace.
He squeezed her gently, somehow needing to say it out loud. “You’re having a baby,” he whispered.
“Oh my God,” she shuddered. “I didn’t do this by myself. You were there too."
He waited, refusing to get mad before he heard where she was going with it.
“You know when it happened.” Staci continued.
He knew exactly when she'd gotten pregnant. He even wondered if he’d subconsciously invoked this situation.
He’d known he wasn’t using birth control. Instinctively, he'd wanted to claim her.
He held her firm against him, just in case she planned to get up. This was important. “That night–you were right there with me.”
“I know.” She rubbed her palm over his forearm, her hard callouses catching on the hair. “I could have stopped, insisted you put on a condom, and I didn’t.”
She was quiet.
He’d gone back to that night over and over again, after she left, after she was imprisoned, and after she’d been listed as dead.
“We’re both very careful about protection,” he stated deliberately.
“I was on the pill.” She shrugged. “I guess it didn’t work.”
He’d wanted to bind her to him. In an act of pure insanity, pure possession he’d wanted to mark her, make her his in a way that couldn’t be undone.
Some might think he’d been caught in the heat of the moment. But he wouldn’t lie to her. Not about this. “I remember a calm, clear decision to...not use a condom.”
“Why?”
He knew why, but putting the emotions, the feelings into words would make him sound crazy. He’d embraced the primitive and totally anti-modern feeling. “You were mine.”
“You Tarzan, me Jane?” She snorted. “A little caveman of you, wasn’t it?”
But she was laughing not angry.
“Yeah.” He still wasn’t sorry.
Even after she’d gone, all he’d felt was satisfaction. He’d marked her in a way he’d marked no one else. He’d wanted to believe with total conviction they’d stay together, even if it hadn't felt like it at the time.
“I was committed to working things out.”
“Really? You could have given me some clue.”
“Just because I thought we’d work it out doesn’t mean I wasn’t upset about the whole CIA thing.” More about the lies than the CIA, although frankly he hadn’t told her everything about himself either. “Because I was.”
“Yeah. I got that,” she said drily.
So he had to be truthful, to himself at least, and give her a little leeway. Wasn’t that what you did when you loved someone? Compromise. Understanding.
So he said, “I just needed a little time to deal with the information. It was a shock.”
He’d worked enough covert ops to understand you were never sure of your friends and associates. The only life important to them was their own and occasionally a spouse or child.
You never knew what another person’s triggers were, sometimes even if you’d known them for years. So how could he, in good conscience, stay angry with her?
Especially since he was keeping a few secrets of his own. “I forgave you before you’d even cleared the Atlantic.”
“Might have been nice if you’d shared that with me.”
They hadn’t been able to discuss any of this while she’d been thousands of miles away.
“I was hyper-aware of every single word we exchanged over that damn Sat phone.”
“You just sounded....”
He'd sounded stilted and mad and dissatisfied because she was thousands of miles away and they’d had a bunch of issues to talk about.
That right there should have told him how he truly
felt about her. In the past, if a woman had issues she wanted to talk about he was heading for the door...not anxious to have a conversation about it.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” He should have been more truthful.
She sighed. The breath pushed out of her forcibly, and he could feel the contraction of her diaphragm against his arm. “What a mess.”
“Yeah.”
Except he couldn’t view her pregnancy as a problem.
A complication, perhaps. Mostly he was worried about the drug in her system and how it was affecting her and the baby.
He had to bring it up. Until now, she’d been blowing him off, but this was important. “I’m worried about this DNA drug in your system.”
“You really believe I was injected with something?”
“I know you were.” He’d heard Susan Chen talk about the drug and its side effects. He knew Staci needed the antidote.
“I don’t want more drugs,” she said almost plaintively.
“I know.” She didn’t like drugs. Almost as much as she didn’t like hospitals. “But you may have to give in. Have you noticed anything different?”
She slowly grew more stiff, tension tightened her muscles. “Everything is different,” she whispered.
Jordan knew what she was thinking. Everything was different after being tortured and on the run. How the hell was she, were they, going to get out of this situation?
Staci looked back at the now silent television. “I’ve just got to find out what someone thinks I know that’s so important they’d release my name and face to the media.”
Jordan’s stomach knotted. She was in serious danger.
“They’re trying to destroy my credibility.”
“I’m pretty sure they succeeded.”
“Why?” Staci asked. “I wasn’t bothering anyone. The Afghanistan trip was personal. I wasn’t exposing Department 5491.”
“It’s too coincidental. Everyone who received the DNA drug is also on that list. What’s the correlation?” Jordan asked.
Staci shifted to look back at him. “I don’t know.”
His senses had slowly awakened from their dormancy, and details were registering. The swell of her breast against his arm. The curve of her butt nestled against his hard on. Like a trained reaction, his body had responded to arousal stimulus. He shifted slightly trying to put some distance between her body and his.
But she followed, rubbed her ass against his granite cock. “Is that a cell phone in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”
He laughed. “Smart ass.”
But then Jordan’s cell phone vibrated...and his amusement disappeared. Things were going to get tense again soon.
“It’s better than thinking about how much trouble I'm in.”
Yeah. And the trouble wasn’t just going to go away. They needed help. He'd made a call. He just hoped Staci would understand.
“You shouldn’t just assume the reason for them calling the press conference is related to your investigation of Department 5491.”
“It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“What about your trip? Maybe they didn’t like where a private citizen was going in the Afghan country. Maybe they didn’t want you criticizing the efforts of the military projects there.”
“I didn’t see anything. Just a bunch of poppy fields and villages clearly engaged in the Commander’s Emergency Relief Program, or Operation: Rebuild. Both programs aid the villagers with infrastructure, building schools with running water, building roads, medical supplies, all in exchange for helping the military secure the areas and keep the Taliban from encroaching.”
“What about the local people?”
“Many of the natives are happy we’re there. Since we changed the aid program and are trying to emancipate them from the prior government and get them started on a new path, they welcome us.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “The villages I saw, the warlords got along with the army and vice versa.” Staci frowned. “They take advantage of the negotiations to destroy their poppy fields and earn the money back from the US government. The U.N. gives them new crops to plant and supplies.”
“What about your activities for the CIA? Maybe someone else in the government doesn’t like what you are doing so they decided to out you.”
“Yeah but I can’t do a Valerie Plame and have my day in court. I’ll be dead before that happens.”
“Assuming they even take you to court. They could just ship your ass to Guantanamo.”
Staci rested her hand on her belly. “It’s a possibility.”
Jordan’s cell vibrated again. He checked the display, but he already knew who it was.
He got up from the sofa. “Let me get Thea on her way.”
“What?”
The gurgle of the coffeepot covered his footsteps. “She needs to go rent the car.”
“True.”
Jordan hustled Thea out of her apartment before she could do more than give Staci the evil eye and threaten her. “Don’t fuck up, or I will find you.”
Staci rolled her eyes.
Jordan walked Thea to the elevator, checking the hallway, worrying about what to do about Staci.
He had to figure out what was going on before Staci bolted.
She was going to. If she got the chance. He’d seen the intent in every gesture she’d made, every glance she’d given him. She was out of here.
The truth was like a Ka-bar to the heart.
She'd be gone unless he found a way to stop her from leaving. He’d been wracking his brain for any lever, any hammer he could use to keep her here. Because if she walked, he’d never see her again.
He’d do anything to keep her. Anything to make sure she stayed with him.
Anything.
As they came to a stop at the elevator, Thea brought him back to the present. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”
“It will be fine, miha.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It has to be,” Jordan said fiercely. “Leave the keys under the front seat. Don’t come back until we’re gone. I don’t want anyone to see us with you.”
The elevator doors slid open. “You hear what you are saying?” Thea accused.
“It will be fine,” he soothed. Jordan ran a finger over Staci’s scarab, still in his pocket. He should have returned it to her, but he didn’t want to let go of the amulet. As if he held onto the necklace, he could hold onto her.
Thea bussed his cheek gently and then stepped into the elevator. “I hope you are right. Be safe.” She stared at him with a worried frown as the elevator doors closed.
Jordan's phone buzzed again. Safe. He’d make sure of it, assuming Staci didn't kill him when she discovered what he'd done.
TWENTY-SIX
October 18
11:30 pm
New York City
While Jordan walked Thea to the elevator, I rifled through Jordan’s bag, wanting to be armed for whatever came next. Both times when his cell buzzed, he’d tensed. That behavior hit the top of my suspicion meter.
Pulling out his Glock, I chambered a round, then assessed the apartment’s exit strategies. The front door was the only way out.
No balcony, no terrace, just windows that looked out over Central Park and didn’t open.
While Jordan was still outside the apartment with Thea, I used the sink in the kitchen, rubbed some water through my hair and over my face. I had to be alert, ready for whatever came through that door. I positioned myself on the sofa, facing the door, weapon at the ready, using the arm of the sofa to prop up the gun.
Someone knocked.
“It’s me,” Jordan called softly.
He could get back in, so I assumed he gave me the heads up for a reason.
“I brought friends.” Jordan walked in slowly, hands out in front of him. There were two people behind him. A man, very short blond hair, sculpted features, good body, carried himself like a fighter, intense gray eyes. A woman, str
eaked short blonde hair spiked every which way, well-dressed, clearly in excellent condition, and a scowl on her face.
Were they here to take me in? Had Jordan betrayed me?
Pain wrapped around my ribs and threatened my air. I thought about those coffee mugs in the prison which I’d conveniently, for him anyway, forgotten.
Shit.
I had to stay calm if I wanted to get out of this alive. I was fairly sure Jordan wouldn’t let me get killed. He wanted the baby too much, I thought mockingly. And tried not to let that truth hurt.
“Jesus, look at you.” The woman’s eyebrows rose, her mouth a round o of shock.
I lifted the Glock.
“What the fuck?” she snarled.
I stared at the three. “Why the ambush?”
“It’s not an ambush,” Jordan said calmly, slowly, holding still, hands up and out. As if he would catch the bullets if I started firing. “Unarmed here, Stace. Put the weapon away.”
“We’re trying to help you.” Ungrateful bitch. I could almost hear the woman tack on.
Something about her was vaguely familiar. Her hair was glossy and artfully streaked with blond. She wore cream wide-bottomed linen pants, a wrap-around black linen top tied at the waist, and low-heeled black shoes.
I realized why she looked familiar. I had an outfit just like hers. My hair used to be the same colors. Our facial features were different but otherwise it was like looking in a mirror. Or looking in a mirror before I’d become a human toothpick.
“Yeah. They’re your clothes. I didn’t give them back.”
What the hell was she talking about?
“Jamie,” the other man put a restraining hand on her arm. He said to Jordan wryly, “I take it you didn’t tell her we were coming.”
Jordan flushed. “Better not to.”
“Yeah, it’s working out so well right now.”
The woman just stood there, her face a serene mask, but I knew better. She was pissed. Which frankly, I didn’t get. I was the one who’d been ambushed.
“Let’s discuss this rationally,” Jordan continued in that low, calm voice as if we were discussing whether to have beer or wine with dinner. “Staci, this is Lucas Goodman.”
The handsome man tipped his chin at me, his gaze trained on, and never leaving, my weapon. Smart man.
