Mallory fought disappointment. What was Tennyson about to say? Would he ever risk opening up again?
CHAPTER 15
When Tennyson’s phone rang, he slipped away from the lunch Grant had brought up to the suite.
“Stone, what’s going on?” Tennyson asked.
“Where are you?”
“Atlanta.”
“Listen, we need to talk.”
“Go ahead. I’m all ears.”
“No, we need to talk in person.”
Tennyson bristled. That didn’t sound good. “I can’t leave Mallory.”
“I’ll come to you then. I’ll catch a plane from DC. I can be there in a few hours.”
Tennyson glanced at his watch. That would put him here this evening. “Okay, if it’s that important.”
“I’ll be in touch when I land. I’ll come to you.”
Mallory looked up at him with curiosity when he returned. “You look very serious.”
He forced a smile. “Just taking care of some business . . . Where’s Grant?”
“I think he ran to the bank.”
Tennyson put his phone away. “Listen, I’d like to go through some self-defense moves with you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Self-defense?”
He nodded. “You have Kori and me watching out for you, but it never hurts to know some moves of your own. What do you think?”
She swallowed hard. “It seems reasonable.”
He hesitated a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. “I’m going to have to touch you . . .”
So he’d noticed just how badly she reacted when someone made physical contact with her. Of course he had. He was observant. He was paid to be observant, for that matter.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll . . . I’ll be okay.”
He studied her another moment before nodding. “Why don’t you go get changed into something more comfortable then.”
They met five minutes later in the living room. Tennyson had already cleared away the furniture, leaving an open area. Mallory’s nerves buzzed with anticipation.
Was she ready for this?
No, she was past ready for this. Self-defense classes should have been one of the first things she’d done. How silly of her to think that since she’d been rescued she was out of danger.
“I just want to run through a few moves with you,” Tennyson started. “First of all, if you have a choice, run. If someone grabs you, go for the knees. If you’re able to reach their face, go for their eyes. Let’s look at a few scenarios. You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
She appreciated his concern and his attention to detail. She forced a nod, ready to get this over with. “Let’s do it.”
He studied her one more minute before nodding. “Okay, let’s say someone comes at you from behind.”
He motioned for her to turn around. With a touch of anticipation, Mallory pivoted away from him. Her blood pounded in her ears as she waited for what would happen next.
Breathe, Mallory. Breathe. None of this is real. Just practice.
“You’re walking, and someone grabs you.” Tennyson seemed to hesitate before putting his hand on her shoulder.
Her stomach squeezed as memories pummeled her. She pushed them away, determined not to shrink from his touch.
“I want you to pull your knee up, and then slam your foot back into my knee,” Tennyson instructed.
Feeling slightly light-headed, she did as he asked.
“Perfect. That will throw someone off guard and give you the chance to run.” He paused. “But what if that doesn’t work?”
“I have no idea.” Maybe under normal circumstances, Mallory would. But all she could think about right now was Tennyson’s hand on her shoulder. She had to concentrate on staying lucid.
These were important lessons. She needed to learn them. Her life could depend on it.
“I’m going to put my hand over your mouth for a minute,” Tennyson said.
He stood close behind her, close enough she could feel his body heat. His breath was warm.
Part of her wanted to run. The other part wanted to drink in the moment.
“Are you okay with this?” Tennyson asked quietly.
Was she? She had no idea. She nodded anyway, not wanting to seem as weak as she felt. “Yes.”
He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her midsection and pinning her arms. “Any time you feel uncomfortable, tell me, and this is over.”
It’s over! It’s over!
She forced herself to remain quiet. Forced herself not to think about the night she was snatched. Forced herself to remember that this was Tennyson, that she could trust him.
“If someone pins your arms like this, and then places their hand over your mouth like this, you’re going to feel defenseless.” Tennyson’s hand went over her mouth. “You won’t be able to scream.”
At the moment, she didn’t want to scream. No, her thoughts volleyed from terror to realization about how firm Tennyson’s abs were as he pressed into her. About how good his leathery cologne smelled, about how—despite her fears—she’d even gotten this far with this training.
Maybe most people couldn’t see it, but this was a big step for her.
“Your first move should be to elbow me. But what if that doesn’t work?”
Her heart pounded in her ears.
“I want you to use all the strength you have in your core, and I want you to try and propel me over your shoulder.”
Okay, she could do this. She counted to three, grabbed his arm, and tried to leverage him off of her. It didn’t work.
“Think of me as one of Torres’s men, Mallory. You can do this.”
One of Torres’s men? Her blood wanted to freeze at the thought. She closed her eyes. Their pictures flashed through her mind. But they only stopped at one image.
Dante Torres himself.
Revulsion welled in her. For the past. For what he was doing to her now from the grave. For how the memory of him affected her future.
She let out a grunt and jerked Tennyson’s arm. The move wasn’t graceful, but she managed to flip him over her shoulder and onto his back.
Then she stood there, a trembling mess as she stared down at him.
She’d halfway expected to see Dante lying there.
“Good job, Mallory.” He sat up, that concerned expression in his eyes again. “I know that wasn’t pleasant. But you did it. You should be proud.”
A surge of adrenaline rushed through her. She had done it. She’d overcome not one but two fears today. The fear of Dante. And the fear of being touched.
Part of her wanted to fall into Tennyson’s arms and celebrate this victory.
Instead, Tennyson grinned and raised his hand. “Fist bump.”
Her heart sank, but she raised her arm anyway. “Fist bump.”
After Tennyson showered, he picked up his phone and saw he’d missed a call from his friend Leigh Sullivan, the forensic anthropologist. He only knew Leigh through his relationship with Admiral Kline, but he was glad he did.
He called her back.
“Tennyson, long time since we’ve spoken,” she started.
“Too long. I’m sorry for that.”
“No apologies necessary. What’s going on?”
“How would we go about reexamining Dante Torres’s remains?” he asked.
She remained silent for a moment. “What?”
“I know this sounds strange, but some new revelations have come to light. There’s more than one person who believes Torres may have survived.”
“I examined his remains myself, Tennyson.”
“And they were hard to identify, correct?”
“Well, that’s correct. But all the marks—”
“Are you a hundred percent sure, Leigh?”
Silence stretched again on the line. “No, I’m not. But it’s not as simple as making a request. This is a big deal, Tennyson.”
“I know it is. That’s why I’m asking f
or your help. What do I need to do?”
“You’re going to have to go through someone more powerful than me.”
“Admiral Kline might have some pull.”
“He would be a great starting point. But you’ve got to realize that he’s not going to want to open this can of worms. He’s just now recovering from his daughter’s death—if that’s what you’d call it. A parent never fully heals when they lose a child.”
“I know, Leigh. I do. And I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t important.”
She was quiet another moment. “Let me talk to him. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Leigh.”
He stepped from his room and saw Mallory pacing in the living room. His stomach clenched. She’d been a trooper during their training. He knew she was uncomfortable with both his touch and the scenarios he’d presented. But she hadn’t shrunk away from it either.
Now he just had to resist the urge to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. Not only would it be professionally inappropriate, but she also wouldn’t welcome the action. But sometimes she just got that lost, far-off look in her eyes and that screamed to him of her need to have someone in her life. A support system. An honest one, full of people who really were looking out for her best interests.
As soon as she spotted him, she hurried toward him. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that something was wrong.
“Tennyson, I’d like to go for a walk.” She nodded toward the window, where the sun shone brightly, and a blue sky waited.
“A walk? That’s not a good idea. What’s going on?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear, and the familiar scent of strawberries wafted toward him again. She’d just gotten out of the shower, and the amazingly clean scent that surrounded her made his throat go dry. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to push those thoughts aside.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” Mallory stared up at him with big, luminescent eyes that were a strange mix of woman and child.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Mallory.” He cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t sound as hoarse as he thought it might.
Her cheeks reddened, and she looked away. “Earlier, when you were teaching me those moves . . . that was a victory for me. I’m glad you taught me what you did. But right now, I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’m in prison again. I can’t really explain it. I just need some fresh air. I know it’s risky, but . . . please?”
“Any time you’re in public, there’s more risk.”
She stared at him. “So is that a no?”
“I would need to scout out the area first. I haven’t done that.”
“Because it’s spontaneous, no one else should realize I’ll be out there either, right?”
His jaw flexed. “I can only make recommendations to you. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“What if I want to do it anyway?”
“Then I’ll make it work.”
She stood. “I don’t want to be difficult. I just want some fresh air.”
“I know, Mallory. But my job is to keep you safe.”
“If you’re with me, I should be okay. Right?”
Flashbacks of Claire hit him. If only he were invincible. But he wasn’t. And if something happened to Mallory on his watch, he’d never forgive himself.
“I guess Kori can walk with us also and keep a lookout.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude filled her voice. “I appreciate this. Let me grab something warmer, though.” She slipped inside her room.
A few minutes later, they stepped out onto the sidewalk of downtown Atlanta. Tennyson walked beside Mallory, while Kori trailed behind.
The day was brisk but sunny. As they strolled down the street together, Tennyson wished they were doing so to enjoy each other’s company. Instead, he was on duty. He needed to remember that.
Mallory tucked her hands in the pockets of her black coat, looking slightly preoccupied but overall content.
“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” Tennyson asked.
“No, I just want to stretch my legs.”
“Let’s keep going then.”
He scanned the area as they walked, looking for any sign of danger. His eyes stopped on a man across the street, walking a dog. Not any dog—a poodle.
Tennyson glanced at Mallory, watching her reaction. Her gaze was transfixed on the animal, and her skin looked a little paler than before. The sight could definitely be a trigger for her, a cause for unpleasant memories.
Tennyson’s gaze swung back across the street. The sixtysomething man with gray hair appeared ordinary enough, and a lot of people had poodles for a pet, he realized. But he had to take every precaution and be careful not to let down his guard.
“Mallory?”
She glanced at him, snapping out of her daze. She continued to walk, a little more somber now. “Dante liked poodles.”
“I know.”
She kept facing straight ahead, and her voice sounded duller than it did before. “He had six of them. I wonder what ever happened to those dogs.”
“They weren’t there when we raided the compound.”
Her lips twisted with disbelief, and her steps slowed, but only for a second. “Really? That surprises me.”
Tennyson pulled his gaze away from the man across the street, determining he wasn’t a threat. “Why’s that?”
“Dante took those dogs everywhere with him.” Her lips pulled downward, as if the memories were ones she didn’t want to recall.
“Maybe he caught wind that we were coming and sent them somewhere safe.”
Finally, she nodded and raised her head to the breeze. Her eyes didn’t look sad, or happy. They simply looked contemplative. “Maybe.”
Tennyson continued to study everything around them. Cars coming and going. People taking strolls. Business people hurrying along.
No Torres. No Sanchez. No sign of any apparent trouble.
He was thankful for Kori’s silent but watchful presence behind them.
“Any updates on Jasmine?” Mallory asked.
“No, I’ve been unable to trace her. I haven’t given up yet, but she’s been harder to locate than I anticipated.”
“I wonder why that is.”
He shrugged. “Some people are more challenging than others. It doesn’t help that we know so little about her.”
As his gaze drifted across the street again, someone familiar caught his eye. He squinted, unsure if he was seeing correctly.
Was that Grant?
Tennyson slowed his steps, trying not to let Mallory know what was bothering him.
He watched another moment. It was Grant. Mallory’s manager was approaching a restaurant. And he wasn’t alone. He was talking—leaning in, as if the conversation was secretive—with a tall, dark-haired man.
Before Tennyson could reach them, both slipped inside the uppity burger joint.
There was nothing strange in itself about going into the place. But Grant had told Mallory he was going to the bank. Why would he hide the fact that he was meeting someone?
Unless he had something to hide.
He almost told Kori to take over so he could follow the men. But he decided against it. Mallory’s safety was the first priority.
“Tennyson?” Mallory asked.
He realized Mallory had been talking. With one last glance at the restaurant, Tennyson took her arm and urged her down the street. He’d talk to Grant later—once Mallory was safely tucked inside.
“Sorry about that. What were you saying?”
But even as she spoke, his mind remained on Grant.
That evening, Tennyson stepped out into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind himself so he wouldn’t wake anyone up.
Ethan Stone stood against the wall, looking as mysterious as ever. Everything about him screamed spy. He had dark features—black hair that always looked ruffled, a five-o’clock shadow—and wore a black leather coat. Yet his eye
s were an icy blue.
“You made it,” Tennyson said.
Stone straightened. “Of course.”
“What was so urgent that you had to speak in person?”
His expression was grim as he stepped closer. “It’s about Torres.”
“What about him?”
Stone bit down before answering. “The scope of this is much bigger than we anticipated.”
Tennyson tried to imagine where he was going with this. “He’s alive?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s worse than him being alive or not. It’s what members of Inferno are doing. Rumor has it that they just sent a major supply of weapons to the rebels in Berna.”
Tennyson’s shoulders sagged with relief, at least temporarily. What Stone had shared wasn’t new. “We knew Inferno was going to do that. They’ve been doing that since before I got out of the navy.”
Stone gave a terse shake of his head. “You don’t understand. If this rebel group overthrows the government there, they’ll have access to the country’s nukes.”
Tennyson felt himself go still. “Berna has nuclear capabilities? Are you sure?”
Stone’s shoulder pulled up in a half shrug. “That’s what I heard through the grapevine. A very reliable grapevine.”
Tennyson raked a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So what does this have to do with us? I’m not sure how telling me this in person is helping anything.”
Stone looked left and right before pulling something from his jacket pocket. “These are the pictures of the man that some believe to be Torres.”
Tennyson took the photos and began shuffling through them. He squinted, studying glimpses of the man in each one. There was certainly a resemblance to Dante Torres, but he wouldn’t call this definitive proof.
“This still doesn’t give me any answers,” Tennyson said.
Stone raised his chin. “Until we catch this guy, we won’t know any answers.”
Tennyson continued to study each photograph. There was a picture of the man drinking coffee at a street-side café. Another one of him wearing sunglasses, walking on the beach. A third of him on a cell phone while in a car.
“Did you run the plates?” Tennyson pointed to the license plate in the photo.
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