Dangerous Alliance

by Kyra Davis

  But of course I’m just being paranoid. I don’t care how important Travis and Edmund are, what they did was blatantly criminal. They’ll go to prison.

  They have to go to prison.

  Don’t they?

  Lander said they would. Did he mean it? He had to have meant it . . . Right?

  You may not want me afterward.

  Why had he said that? What had he thought I was going to find out?

  For a few minutes I sit in silence, my hands folded in my lap. I want to push the thoughts I’m having out of my head.

  And I can’t.

  But I have to! I should have trusted my mother, and when I didn’t, I lost her. I lost myself. I have to learn to trust him.

  I reach for my phone and call Lander. This time the recorded voice doesn’t faze me.

  “Lander, I need to talk to you. Tonight.”

  I hang up the phone.

  It’s not a choice anymore. I have to see him.

  He has to make me trust him.

  chapter twenty-nine

  * * *

  He doesn’t call back, but somehow I know he’s coming. I pace around the room throughout the day trying to see my new place through his eyes but I can’t do it. I can’t do it because I’m too distracted. My mind keeps replaying my brief history with Lander. My hatred, my passion, my love. Has there ever been a human being in this world about whom I have felt this consistently conflicted? The tenderness I feel toward him, the caring, the weakness—I can’t shake any of that.

  And yet I know he’s not exactly the man I thought he was. Not in the beginning when I thought he was my enemy, and not later when I thought he was my partner.

  Because to assume that Lander is my enemy would imply that he’s working against me, that he wishes me harm. He isn’t and he doesn’t, I’m sure of that. But to say that he has ever been my partner would imply that the two of us have been on equal footing, that he’s been working with me toward a common goal.

  But I don’t fully believe that anymore. I believe that Lander is working for himself and that would make him just like me . . . or at least just like the woman I used to be before he had the audacity to alter my worldview.

  And I don’t know what to do with that.

  I imagine suspicion to be like the ghostly gray smoke you get once you blow out a bunch of birthday candles. Slow curling remnants of extinguished flames. You may be too distracted by the celebration to really notice it, unless you take a moment to stop, breathe in, and taste the air.

  That’s what I’m doing now. I’m tasting the air, and it’s beginning to taste a little bitter.

  He arrives at six. I spot him through the window, approaching my building as I sip my freshly brewed coffee. It doesn’t surprise me that he knows where I live despite never being told. When have I ever told Lander anything? All this time he’s expressed concern about Micah and the very real possibility that he’s watching me. But no one has been watching me as close as Lander.

  I buzz him in without bothering to address him through the intercom, put my coffee down on the island that divides the living room from the kitchen, and stand in front of the open door to my apartment, ready for anything.

  When he appears he’s not wearing a suit. Instead he’s in black denim wash jeans and a lightweight black long-sleeved sweater. There’s something about him tonight that puts me in mind of a criminal.

  “I assume you’re still angry,” he says.

  I close the door slowly and turn to him, expecting him to be examining the changes that I’ve made in my life. The posters on the wall, the books organized on the shelves, the hanging fern. But his eyes stay with me, and for a moment I can’t decide if his unwavering attention is a compliment or an insult.

  “I don’t think I’m angry. At least not at you . . . not yet.” I go over and retrieve my coffee, sipping it slowly. “Who are you, Lander Gable?” I ask, careful to extract any venom or sarcasm that I might inadvertently express with that question. “What did I sign up for when I signed up with you?”

  “People are going to jail, Adoncia. Sean White resigned tonight. And now there might be state charges brought against him as well since he met with this Gonzales person right here in the city.”

  “He met with Javier too.”

  “I’m having a hard time proving that. I don’t have photos, and to be honest, although I’m pretty clear about what organization Javier works for, I can’t really prove that either.”

  “So White is out of a job and he’s probably going to jail. But what about Edmund?” I ask. “What about Travis? He hasn’t even been called before the committee.”

  “He has,” Lander corrects. “He was subpoenaed, but it didn’t look like they were going to call him. This afternoon they changed their minds. He’ll be testifying tomorrow. I will be testifying as well.”

  “You.” I put down my coffee. “And what do you plan to say? What is your goal?”

  “You know my goal.”

  “I don’t know that I do.” I step forward, put both my hands on his cheeks as I guide his face toward mine. “Lander,” I breathe, “I need you to tell me the truth, even if it’s ugly. You can lie to every other person in the world, but not me. I need to be able to trust you. Right now I need that more than anything else in the world.”

  “I know you think I’ve been cold,” he says quietly. “Please try to believe me when I tell you that I hate being away from you. I dream about you, I fantasize about you. But I’m just trying to make sure we win.” His hands move to my waist. “If we play this right, we can win.”

  “What does winning look like, Lander?” I slide my hands under his shirt, feel the careful craftsmanship of his muscles. I had almost forgotten what he feels like. “What do you want? Do you want the destruction of your family?”

  He pulls away, paces around the room. “I’m doing everything I can to ensure that you get your revenge. It’s going to happen.”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I asked. Tell me what you want, Lander. Tell me the truth this time. Please, I’m literally begging you, make me trust you.”

  He stops and turns to me. I can see the determination in his eyes, but I also see the worry. “There are things you may not want to hear . . . but if I can get you what you want—”

  “What I want is the truth.”

  He inhales sharply and turns away, as if considering how to begin. “You may have been right about my mother. It’s possible that she chose to make a sacrifice for me. It’s possible that’s why she didn’t tell me about her illness or lack of care.”

  “Ah.” I walk over to my poster of Bellona, as if seeking support from the one woman I’ve always channeled for strength.

  “But,” Lander adds vehemently, “without them there would have been no sacrifice to make. Travis could have helped her, my father might have been able to save her.” He moves into my space, grips my wrist as if he’s afraid that he’s about to say something that might scare me, as if he needs to hold on to me to keep me from running away. “I want revenge, that wasn’t a lie,” he says quietly. “The only thing I didn’t mention is that I also want more.”

  And now, with just those few words, I see it all.

  “You want the company,” I say as his grip tightens. “You want the Gable name all to yourself.” I shake my head. “For me this has always been about one thing. But for you? It’s been about everything. Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want everything.”

  He stares at me for a moment and now I see a new emotion. Relief.

  In an instant his lips are against mine, he’s grabbing me, pressing my back against the hard wall as my breasts are crushed against the only slightly more yielding pressure of his body. In that moment I know the source of his longing, I understand why, right now, his need for me is so great.

  It comes from knowing that at long last I finally understand him. And I’m the only one who does. And for as long as that’s true he will need me.

  At times he may hate me
for it too.

  We have so much in common.

  “When this is over, I want to come back to you. But things will be different.” I use my free hands to feel the contours of his erection. “You don’t make the rules, Lander Gable,” I whisper. “You don’t get to tell me when it’s my turn to play.”

  “You still want me,” he says in a low voice. It’s a statement, not a question. “Do you want me now, Adoncia?”

  I look into his eyes and whisper, “Yes.”

  And with that one word the floodgates are released. Months of pent-up passion, frustration, desire, anger, longing . . . it all comes out now.

  With one hand Lander rips my shirt open, destroying it. Letting go of my arm, he forces down the straps of my bra until it is down to my rib cage, my bra straps restraining my arms to my sides as he leans down to tease my hardening nipples with his tongue and fingers. I moan, arching my back, demanding more.

  And he gives it to me. He rips the bra off, leaving it in no better condition than the shirt. I yank off his belt and reach into his pants. I take hold of him and, ever so gently, apply pressure. “My turn,” I whisper. I ease my hold and with my free hand I push his pants and boxers to the floor.

  He stays perfectly still for a moment, and then suddenly he moves, catching me off guard, pulling my hand away, and then with one leg he sweeps both of mine out from underneath me, like a wrestler. I fall backward, but he catches me before I hit the floor. For a moment I’m stunned, but then his kisses bring me back, making me insane as I claw at him. How dare he stay away for so long. How dare he! I claw at his back as he rips away the rest of my clothes and in an instant I feel him enter me as I cry out, pulling him closer, biting his skin. Our savagery is reckless and uncontrolled. As we tussle we roll over and I’m on top now, filled with passion and so much fury. I rock against him violently, and when he grabs my leg I press my hand against his chest, hard, as if holding him down. Fire lights up his eyes and he turns us over again. This time he holds my arms down against the floor as he thrusts inside me. I wrap my legs around him, embracing him, rocking with him even as I struggle to free my hands. And when I do I scratch my fingernails down his sides, this time drawing blood.

  He cries out in surprise and I immediately use the advantage to turn the tables again, pushing us over once more so that now I’m on top. I put my hand on his throat as I ride him forcefully, thrusting myself onto him. He grabs at my waist, but I grab him by the wrists and push his arms down onto the floor as I continue to set the rhythm. This is my territory, this is my game, this is my life. I move forward and back, rocking against him, pushing him so deep inside me that the explosion comes quickly, taking me over as he comes with me, pulsating, filling me, satisfying me with what can only be a victory.

  I collapse by his side, staring up at the ceiling, still unable to catch my breath.

  Yes, I need Lander. And he needs me.

  God help us.

  chapter thirty

  * * *

  When Lander left that night we agreed that we would be in contact every five weeks until the Justice Department finally reaches its verdict. Five weeks is too long . . . but so is ten years. Lander’s right, I can’t risk losing what I’ve worked for. But on the other hand, I need to know I can count on him. I need to know when I will see him, that I can trust him. That he’s more than just a lost dream.

  And the next day the loose grip I have on my trust for Lander becomes a little more secure as Travis is called in front of the committee. I make sure I’m in front of the television when it happens, but watching Travis be questioned by the Senate subcommittee isn’t as riveting as I expected it to be. Partially because he’s too good. Not one question trips him up. Yes, yes, now that he’s reminded, he did meet with this man. No, of course he didn’t know he was a criminal. He would never associate with criminals. All he knew was that man had been referred by Sean White. A man in Travis’s position isn’t in charge of verifying the employment of his investors. That’s left to others. It would seem that their systems failed them though; anti-money-laundering compliance wasn’t what it should be at HGVB.

  “But Mr. Gable,” one senator says plaintively. “We have been informed that some of the evidence of these criminal transactions was found in your home.”

  This is the only time that Travis seems genuinely irritated by a question. “I find that surprising since I have never once engaged in correspondence on this matter. Nor have I had any other type of communication that dealt with accounts that were not in compliance with US regulations. It’s possible that I have saved some files and emails that I had yet to get around to reading or, in my haste, skimmed without ever fully grasping the meaning of what was being said.”

  “Are you suggesting that your work is rushed, Mr. Gable? That you aren’t smart enough to understand emails from your own employees?”

  There’s a spattering of uncomfortable laughter from the congressional hall. Travis remains impassive, but I think I see his hand shake, just slightly, as he reaches for his water.

  “I have many responsibilities at HGVB. I may, at times, not have been as diligent as I should have been.”

  I lean forward and wait for the senator to ask him why this information was found not only in Travis’s home, but expertly hidden in his closet door. I wait for them to point out that some of the emails—emails addressed to him, some written by his own father—were extraordinarily straightforward in their purpose. He’d have to be more than hurried to misunderstand them; he’d have to be severely mentally challenged.

  But they don’t push that hard. They go on about how people at the bank knew but they don’t specifically accuse Travis of knowing.

  It’s like some of the articles that cite “an executive” made this or that incriminating statement. The company got the responsibility, not the individuals involved.

  But then, this is just a Senate hearing. The Justice Department is the one that will be bringing criminal charges against Travis and Edmund.

  But the funny thing is, after all this time, the testimony I’m anxious to hear is not Travis’s. And as Travis walks away I find myself sitting on the edge of my secondhand sofa, clutching the cushions beneath me, waiting for him to show up on my screen.

  And then he does. Lander, walking toward the table, owning the room as if he’s about to address eager shareholders, not angry senators. When he takes his seat I notice that he does not have a paper in front of him. The impression being that nothing has formally been prepared.

  I know differently.

  If he handles this the way I think he’s going to handle this, I’ll know exactly what I’m dealing with. For once in my life, I feel like I’m one step ahead of Lander.

  “HGVB is more than a bank to me,” Lander begins. “It was founded in part by my great-great-grandfather, and while it is now a public company, I have always felt that I have a unique responsibility to ensure that it is fulfilling its obligations to its customers, to its shareholders, and to the community as a whole. And when you’re talking about a multinational entity, the community is the world.”

  I shake my head, marveling at the skill with which he delivers his bullshit. “I am younger than my brother, Travis Gable. I have not been working for the bank for as long as he has. Nor am I as well versed on every HGVB policy and bank subsidiary as my father. However, in the short time that I have been building my career at HGVB I have found that there are things happening at this bank that are simply unacceptable. Our compliance officers have failed us. Many of our executives—”

  There’s that word again.

  “—have failed us. Initially, I attempted to address our weaknesses internally, but as the scope of our failings became clear I realized that this had to be dealt with on a national level. As many of you here know, I have done my best to be helpful in this investigation. And while I may not have known about some of the mistakes that were made at HGVB, as a vice president, I feel that I too am responsible for this debacle. On behalf of HGVB B
ank, my bank, I apologize, although I know that any apology at this point is horribly inadequate. I am here today to answer any questions and concerns you may have and that the American people may have, and to pledge to you that as one of the more recently appointed VPs I will do everything in my power to overhaul systems that are egregiously inefficient and put in place new policies and controls to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again.”

  “Wow.” The word comes out of my mouth like a puff of air. His execution and delivery were perfect. He managed to associate Travis and Edmund with the old guard, the corrupt guard, and make himself look like the face of the future of international banking.

  And from that moment on the senators are literally eating out of his hand. They throw him softball after softball. When they do slam HGVB, they seem to be almost apologetic about it. They don’t want Lander to think they blame him.

  And yet, while his skill has impressed me, he hasn’t surprised me. I do know who I’m dealing with now. He values revenge.

  But he values his own advancement more.

  My heart is beating against my chest. I left my revenge in the hands of a man who will never care about it the way that I do.

  And if something goes wrong, if the people who hurt my mother don’t pay? I will hold Lander responsible. Before, he got the best of me by drawing me away from my anger. But if he betrays me, if he even fails me, summoning up the anger I’ll need to make him suffer will not be a problem.

  When the hearings are over the days begin to blend into one another again, until they become weeks, then a month. We’ve passed the five-week mark, but I don’t know what to ask or what to say. I don’t even know where we stand. I don’t call Lander. Worse yet, he doesn’t call me. But I’m so very aware of him. Sometimes, when I step out onto the streets of New York I think I can feel his presence wrapped up in the chaos and strength of the city. It’s inescapable. One night I walk by his building, pausing only momentarily to look up at the towering skyscraper. The wind is unseasonably cold and I clutch at my jacket, pulling it tight, trying to protect myself from the chill.