Dark Lies (DARC Ops Book 6)

by Jamie Garrett

  “Tucker?”

  He was saying something, but Macy could barely hear him through the rest of the voices, the noise coming on at once now.

  “Tucker,” she said louder, “who is it?”

  She could see him when he finally turned around to answer, Tucker’s face fully lit and frozen pale.

  33

  Macy

  She stepped out of the shipping container and was submerged immediately in explosions of light, the ticking of flash bulbs almost drowning out a voice that ceremoniously called out her name. Dark silhouettes were on both sides, lining the narrow aisle between containers. More flashes of light, blinding her. It all happened too fast that she had no time to worry about messed-up hair, the bed marks crumpled onto her face, or the flush in her cheeks from the most amazing orgasm of her life. She was sweating, still, her legs shaking slightly as they strained to work, to hold her up as she walked unsteadily toward the refracted lights of what appeared to be a camera crew. Boom mics and tripods and wires everywhere. Men in uniform, watching.

  “Macy,” they called. “Macy Chandler.”

  She suddenly felt panicked without him. She turned around, looking for her man, finding him right behind her, his hands gripping onto her shoulder. His calm voice: “It’s okay. You’re okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “What?” She stopped, turning to face him again as the flash bulbs lit up his beautiful face. His cheeks still crimson with her love, his glow just like hers. A smile—thank God—that relaxed her. With him she felt more relaxed, but still utterly confused. “What is this?”

  More yelling behind her, men calling her name. Questions she couldn’t make out.

  Tucker’s eyes were still locked on hers. “Should I tell them to take a hike?

  “Who? Who are they?!”

  “Macy?” came a voice behind her, louder and more distinct than the others. She turned to see a man in military uniform staring at her. “Macy Chandler, welcome to international waters.”

  She didn’t know what to say, or feel, or think, or do. She finally said, “Why?”

  And it got a roaring laugh from the crowd.

  Tucker waved some of the cameras away. “Can we give her a little room, please?”

  “Can we have her step up to the mic?” one of the reporters asked, pointing to a temporary stage. The backdrop looked to be a wall of containers. A perfect photo op, Macy realized.

  The man in the uniform smiled at her. “Could you follow me, please?”

  “It’s okay,” Tucker said.

  “What is it?”

  “A press conference,” Tucker said. “At least, that’s what I think it is.”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Uniform said, guiding Macy up the stairs. “And there’s someone up here that wants to meet you.”

  The flood lights turned on, and standing atop the stage was a woman in a dark-blue dress. Her hair and makeup looked like a Hollywood production, the results of a team and of multiple laborious hours. Looking at her, Macy felt like she was staring at a foreign species.

  “Hi,” the woman said with a smile. Bright white teeth against the glare. “I’m Audrey Adams.”

  “Secretary of State, Audrey Adams?”

  She nodded, shaking Macy’s hand.

  “I’m not exactly up to date with our new government,” Macy said. “I’ve only heard about you.”

  “I’ve definitely heard about you,” Audrey said. “We had to keep it a secret during the campaign. But absolving people like you is one of our highest priorities. Agents in your situation that have been so poorly mistreated. It’s horrific. It’s criminal.”

  Macy was inclined to distrust her, a reflex learned from too many broken promises—especially the slippery promises of politicians. There had been far too many of those. So here, for Aubrey, and for the cameras, she would stay polite, civil, and she would welcome the help. But she’d keep her guard up. It was exhausting. She’d had it up for so long, a fortification against the outside world—and especially against her own government. It was such a standard fixture that she surprised herself at the sudden weakening of her guard. It happened in the warmth of Audrey’s smile. Or was it Tucker’s hand touching lightly against her lower back, calming, reaffirming? She had learned by now that his touch could do wonders. But could it restore her faith in humanity?

  Audrey and the United States had some work to do.

  “And we need to tell these stories,” Audrey said into the microphone, continuing her little speech. “Macy’s story, and the stories of all other Americans that have suffered for so long at the hands of a crooked and corrupt administration.”

  Two minutes ago, Macy was naked and sweaty with sex, well on her way to her second orgasm. Now she was up in front of the lights and the cameras and the professional smiles of politicians. She couldn’t believe it.

  Was she on TV, too?

  “Is this live?” Macy whispered off-stage to the uniformed man. And then the sound of her name again from Audrey drew her attention back to the speech.

  “For too long,” Audrey said, “for four years too long, this brave American has received zero support, zero news coverage, zero humanity. She was a nobody, a shadow, a victim like so many of the previous administration. I am here today, at the behest of our new president, to officially welcome Macy Chandler out of the shadows, and back into the light of the United Sates.”

  She felt dizzy.

  “As part of our president’s ongoing commitment to right these wrongs, we stand here today to apologize, and to begin, together, the long and hard process of her recovery.”

  With every word of it, Macy’s knees felt weakened.

  Aubrey turned to her. “I know it’s been quite the whirlwind, including this surprise here, but, well, what do you say, Macy? Any words for us?”

  She couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped her lips, or the camera flashes popping off in a strobing frenzy. Voices from the behind the glare poured in, overwhelming her: “Macy? Any comment? Anything for the public?”

  She shrugged. “No.”

  Another wave of strobe lights and excited chattering. Macy turned around, expecting to see Tucker. But he was gone.

  “She might not have anything to say today,” Audrey said. “But we still do. The president will be remain outspoken on this issue, and will remain diligent, because the job is not yet done. In order to assist the other the victims, American heroes just like Macy Chandler, the president has assigned a special task force of agents and prosecutors on the case.” Audrey paused to reach over for Macy’s hand, holding it loosely and saying to the cameras, “We will put a stop to this.”

  Despite the cameras, and the roaring crowd, Macy had looked away again, off-stage, for Tucker, eventually finding him standing among the crowd below. He was staring up at her, clapping furiously. He mouthed something that Macy couldn’t understand. And then he smiled.

  34

  Macy

  She wanted to ease into it, at her pace and on her own terms. With the luxury of no longer being a fugitive, she could take her time acclimating to life back on US soil. So she began her return in Hawaii. It’s America, yet far away enough from the mainland to still give her peace of mind. Peace also came in the form of lazy afternoons in a beach hut in Kauai, where the only major task was collecting fresh fruit around the hut. Maybe paying the local boys to crack some coconuts, and return later with the day’s catch. Fresh fish like ahi tuna, gutted, cleaned, and marinated already in garlic and butter. Macy handled the fire to cook it with herself. She didn’t mind that. For a change, it was nice to be able to enjoy a fire in a leisurely way, and not depend on it for her very existence. This wasn’t the windswept outskirts of a Sudanese desert, where she would huddle all night next to a pile of coals to keep from freezing. It was just another Tuesday night, early evening with a book, lying in a hammock and listening to the sound of waves crashing ashore. She could even fall asleep out here, in open air, in plain sight until the sun di
pped below the ocean.

  Macy could do other things at night, private things inside the hut after Tucker arrived a week later. During the day, too. His arrival also meant having another pair of hands around, allowing Macy more time to relax and recover from his attentions. In the sleepy lulls in between making love, Tucker would take over the tasks of her island boys. He’d become her island man, climbing down off a tree and returning home with a machete in one hand and net of coconuts in the other.

  She would hear his footsteps, bare sandy feet on the wood planks. By now she knew the exact sound of them. She lay in bed without a worry, without her customary one-eyed sleep. Even at his touch, when he crawled onto the bed, she knew. The feel of his hand, the size of it, his strength, had been etched in her mind, deeper with every application. With every session in bed, and on the floor, and in the sand.

  Tucker was here with her now, running his hand from her ankle to knee, and then folding warmly around her thigh. He lay in close to her, against her back, his warm lips on the nape of her neck pulling her away from the clutches of sleep.

  “It’s okay,” he said when she stirred. “You can keep sleeping.” But his hand didn’t stop. And neither did his mouth. When he finally pulled his soft kisses away from her bare back, he whispered, “I just need to take care of something.”

  She felt his hand drop to her hip, around and behind, squeezing firmly on her bare ass. Massaging. Despite closed eyes and pretended sleep, Macy couldn’t help herself, her groany anticipation. Neither could she help rolling over for Tucker, her island man. She closed her eyes, and felt him. And he took care of her.

  “How long do you think we can keep this up for?”

  “You tell me,” she said, rolling over to see his tanned face. “You seem to be keeping it up just fine.”

  Tucker grinned. “Well, I’m sure that could go on forever. That’s the problem, though. We won’t be able to leave here.”

  The sun had set a half hour ago and it was time for the next phase, to go outside to enjoy the night breeze. They could toss a few more logs on the fire and watch it get nice and big. The whole night awaited them. A slow glass of wine, lingering conversation. Maybe a whole month of Hawaii, if they wanted. And maybe a whole life after that.

  “We’ll keep it up,” she said, her fingers tracing down his stomach, “for as long as we want.”

  “Except I can’t exactly work remotely. Jackson will want me back, eventually.”

  “Yes, you can.” She grazed her hand over his cock through his shorts and felt him grow hard again. “You’ve been doing it so well. And we’re halfway across the Pacific, almost as remote as it gets.”

  “That’s not work,” he said.

  Her hand kept teasing him. He was so dependable that way. “It’s pleasure,” she said. “But seriously? We’ll have to move on eventually, won’t we? It’ll be years before I see any money from the courts. Months, even if I publish my story.”

  “And you still have to finish it,” Tucker said.

  “Huh?”

  “The book,” he said. “At some point you have to actually write it.”

  She laughed, drawing her hand away from him. “Yeah, well, that’s also why we’re here.”

  Tucker grinned. “Sure.”

  That hand would eventually have to start doing another kind of work. Sometime much more boring. Typing. Macy shrugged. “You can support us in the meantime, while I finish the masterpiece.”

  “How? With coconuts?”

  “And hauling wood,” Macy said. “And fixing the wind damage on the front thatching. And learning how to reel in a daily supply of ahi tuna.”

  “That’s all?”

  “No,” she said, turning her back to him, offering herself again. She wanted to feel his touch.

  “That reminds me,” Tucker said. “I should get started on that fire.”

  “Exactly.”

  He moved away, his weight leaving the bed. “Hey,” she cried, listening to his footsteps slap quietly out of the hut, down the steps and onto the sand. Macy called again, “Hey!” But all that she could hear, aside from the wind and the waves, was the quiet thudding of fire logs. And then moments later, his ax, splitting them.

  After the ax and the wood had gone quiet, and after another ten minutes following that, Macy finally felt alone—and not the good kind of alone. For the first time since Africa, she’d felt it again. A certain nervous energy. A sense of foreboding.

  She’d done just fine the whole time before Tucker arrived. Even alone at night, when she could only hear the noises of the beach and of the wildlife around her. But now that Tucker was here, she’d made herself vulnerable again.

  It was healthy to be vulnerable.

  Macy told herself that again as she waited to hear from him.

  “Tucker?”

  She was sitting in bed now, a sick feeling in her stomach.

  No, it was healthy. It was okay.

  She was adjusting.

  She knew there’d be a lot of work to do. On her book, on their new relationship. But most importantly, she would have to work extra hard on herself. That was also part of the rationale for Hawaii. She hoped the peace and positives surroundings would draw inward. And so far, they had.

  Except right now, when she focused on the sounds outside the hut, the footsteps drawing near. It was an unfamiliar sound. Unfamiliar footsteps. A pair of them.

  35

  Macy

  She froze.

  From outside, a woman’s voice called, “Tucker?”

  And then a man’s: “Macy?”

  Neither of them was familiar.

  She scrambled back near a small table beside the bed. There was a small drawer underneath that held her loaded Beretta. For the first time since she arrived at Hawaii, she thought about using it. Her hand moved automatically, drawing it out and steadying it on the doorway.

  She stood silently, fixing her gun sight to entry, her hands deadly still.

  When the footsteps came closer, she forced herself to take a deep breath. And to hide the gun. She lowered the Beretta to her side, and then tucked it behind her back. “Who’s there?” she called. It was her best attempt at a calm and pleasant voice, and not the ravings of a gun-toting paranoid delusional. She didn’t always have to greet strangers with a gun. That wasn’t normal. And it definitely wasn’t healthy.

  “Hello?” she called again. But no one answered. The footsteps had also gone quiet. She moved the gun over to one side, so she could reach it even faster, and made her way out of the hut, moving slowly and listening to every sound. Over the waves, she thought she heard voices again, muffled and indistinct. When she stepped down into the breezy darkness and into the sand, she saw three figures standing at the edge of the campfire light. They were bathed in dark orange and barely recognizable. But she recognized Tucker’s voice.

  That was all she needed.

  She felt safe again. She felt normal.

  For a moment, she thought about returning back to the hut, at least to slide the gun back into the drawer. She could then return to greet their guests as a normal, unarmed person. But Tucker’s voice reached her, calling her over cheerfully. “Come on,” he urged. “Get over here.”

  A man and woman stood next to him. Macy had never seen them before, but they stared back at her with familiarity, and with warmth. All three were smiling, walking now into the light of the fire, everyone warming up together as they met, introduced to her and shaking her hand. The woman first, Mira. And then Jackson.

  “I guess you could say he’s my boss,” Tucker said, “checking up on my vacation. Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s inaccurate,” Jackson said.

  “What is? You’re not my boss?”

  “No, you’re not on vacation.”

  Mira grabbed Jackson’s arm. “Come on, play nice.”

  Jackson pulled his arm free and wrapped it around her, pulling her tightly against his side.

  “I’m on vacation,” Tucker said, wa
lking over to Macy.

  “Damn right he is,” she said, first smiling to him, and then looking suspiciously to Jackson. “You didn’t come here to take him away, did you?”

  “Only sort of,” Jackson said.

  “How’s that?” Tucker was now standing behind her. Macy leaned back against his chest. Both couples staring down the other.

  “I’m not taking him far,” Jackson said.

  “We’re in the middle of the Pacific,” Macy said. “Everywhere is far from here.”

  “Not the mainland. That’s pretty close.”

  “Mainland USA?” Tucker said.

  “No,” Jackson said. “Hawaii. The big island.”

  Macy and Tucker, at the same time, breathed out a relieved, “Oh.”

  “So the vacation can continue,” Mira said, smiling at Macy. “I know that’s what I’m doing. He thought he could come here without me.” Another dirty look to Jackson.

  But Jackson kept his easy smile. “See? It’s perfect.”

  Macy hadn’t ever met the man, but from what he’d heard from Tucker, whenever Jackson said something was perfect . . .

  “It usually isn’t,” Tucker said, laughing. “Perfect to you was almost a death sentence in New Orleans. Remember that?”

  “I remember New Orleans was what got you your stripes.”

  “Guys?” Mira said.

  The subtle command was quietly understood, Macy enjoying the efficiency of Mira getting them to shut up about work. She smiled again at Macy, shrugging her shoulders.

  “You’re right about me not being the boss,” Jackson said, pointing to Mira. “That’s the one you’ve got to look out for.”