The Guardian

by Marliss Melton

  Then suddenly she knew. She could find the house Peter had photographed this morning. First thing in the morning, she’d locate it and confess everything.

  A feeling of calm resolve filled her as she made up her mind. Jackson might possibly never forgive her. On the other hand, her warning had to count for something. If there was even a slim possibility that he’d offer her a second chance, she was willing to take it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jackson glanced over at his daughter, who eyed him sleepily from the kitchen table. “You sure you don’t want blueberries in your pancakes?”

  With Silvia away that weekend, he was the one cooking their breakfast and attempting to whip himself into a more cheerful mindset. But between the tragedy off the coast of Algeria and the aborted search of Ibrahim’s office, everything in his life seemed to be going to shit. And that included his relationship with a sherry-eyed beauty who’d opted to stick to her own path of justice rather than rely on another individual. And in so doing, she had denied them the possibility of a future together, one that had seemed so fraught with possibility.

  What more could he have promised her that he hadn’t already? He’d gone over it in his mind a thousand times. Obviously she wasn’t as drawn to him as he was to her or she’d have taken him up on his offer. For days now, he’d felt drained, incomplete. His zest for life—so recently rediscovered—was crushed.

  “Gross,” Naomi said in answer to his question. “Blueberries are mushy and they turn your pancakes purple. Why can’t we have chocolate chips?”

  “Because blueberries are better for you.” He winced at his own surly tone.

  Just then the sound of a car, rare because of their location at the end of the street, had him glancing out the window. He didn’t immediately recognize the sleek, burgundy Jaguar circling the cul-de-sac outside, but his sixth sense urged him not to dismiss it.

  “Honey, have you seen that car before?” he asked when it slowed and parked, its rear fender facing the house so he couldn’t see the driver.

  Naomi looked out the window by the dinette table. “Oh, yeah. I saw it here yesterday. A man was taking pictures of the river.”

  Jackson’s antenna for danger shot straight up in the air. Taking pictures? In the same instant, who should step out of the car but Magdalena Xenakis Alexandra?

  Speak of the devil, he thought grimly.

  Watching her strike out toward the house in jeans that fit her shapely body like a glove, his hormones immediately started celebrating while his brain cautioned him that she was probably up to no good.

  “Toby!” he shouted, turning off the stove before he burned breakfast. “Naomi, go wake up Mr. Burke.” He waved her toward the back hall when she balked. “Go on.” The minute she was out of sight, he stalked toward the door and snatched it open.

  Lena pulled her hand away from the doorbell and took a healthy step backward.

  “What are you doing here?” He raked her gauzy blouse for any signs of a hidden camera. She must have left her purse, and hence her pistol, in the car, and he didn’t see anything on her person that could conceal a lens, but he didn’t put it past her to not be wearing a wire.

  “We need to talk . . . Jackson,” she said with wide, watchful eyes.

  The sound of his name on her lips made his heart stop before it took off galloping. “Come inside.” He didn’t leave her much choice. Hauling her into the kitchen, he shut the door behind her, spun her around and thrust her against the door’s facade in order to thoroughly frisk her.

  Memories of Wednesday night and how sexy she’d looked with her breasts bared and her thighs spread scorched his senses, making it nearly impossible to keep his touch impersonal as he patted her down. Dipping his fingers into her jeans pockets, he discovered a set of car keys. He felt up under her gauzy blouse for a concealed listening device, but the only things his hands encountered were full, soft breasts encased in a snug tank top.

  At her sexy-sounding gasp, he swung her about and caught her chin in his hand, turning her head from one side to the other to examine her earrings and the silver choker at her throat. Neither looked capable of concealing a camera. He even gave her sequined sandals a cursory glance.

  “Satisfied?” she asked when, at last, he let his hands drop to his sides.

  “Hardly,” he grated through clenched teeth. Christ, just standing before him, exuding her seductive scent, she had an arousing effect on his body. If not for Toby and Naomi’s presence, he would take her, right here, right now against the wall.

  Just then, Toby barreled into the kitchen with his hair disheveled, stubble on his jaw, and a yellow T-shirt that read: ALCOHOL, TOBACCO, AND FIREARMS. WHO’S BRINGING THE CHIPS?

  “We have a visitor,” Jackson announced to Toby’s astonished face. “She’s clean.” Curling a hand around her elbow, he marched her unceremoniously through the living area. “Stay inside while we talk to our guest,” he instructed a wide-eyed Naomi.

  Lena let herself be escorted through sliding glass doors onto a shady deck. Jackson’s colleague joined them, pulling the door shut to keep the preteen out of earshot.

  “Sit,” Jackson said, pulling a chair away from the wrought iron table topped by glass and an open umbrella.

  Wincing at his suspicious tone, Lean stiffly obliged. He dropped into the chair opposite hers, while the other agent chose the chair between them. A moment of tense silence ensued, and then Jackson said, “Talk.”

  Lena narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not a dog.” She had expected him to be upset, but was common courtesy too much to ask?

  “Amen to that,” drawled the other agent, shattering the hostile atmosphere with a wolfish grin.

  Jackson shot him a look that said, Shut the fuck up. “Tell us why you’re here,” he commanded. “Please,” he tacked on.

  Lena shivered under the cool shadow of the umbrella. Eyeing Jackson’s hard face, she wondered, with a pang, where the man was who’d sworn to woo her with a fine meal and a soft bed.

  “I’m here to warn you, that’s all,” she told him stiffly, “I don’t want to jeopardize your situation at Gateway. I swear it.”

  The mistrust radiating off him scarcely seemed to subside. Lena glanced hopefully at his colleague, who had yet to be introduced. That man, at least, seemed to be withholding his condemnation.

  “Warn me of what? How long have you known who I am?” he tacked on before she could answer his first question.

  “Less than a week—though I’ve questioned your identity from the start.” Her gaze skittered over him. Dressed in a heather-gray Polo that matched his silvery eyes, she had to admit the preppy look suited him far more than a sleeveless T-shirt. “Even when you dress like a thug, you don’t look like one,” she said.

  At this, the other agent threw back head and roared with laughter.

  Jackson glared at him again, his eyes shooting fire.

  “I would never betray your cover,” Lena rushed to assure him. “I might have at one time, but things are different now . . . between us.”

  Emotion flickered on his face and was gone. Then he asked in the same cold voice, “What do you want to warn me about?”

  His tone left her with little hope of reconciliation. “When I couldn’t find any criminal records on Abdul Ibn Wasi, I made the mistake of sending your image to my boss,” she admitted. “This was right after you broke into my place. I was royally pissed and hungry for retaliation.”

  Her news met with ominous silence. Lena looked down at her bracelets and idly turned them. “I asked him to help me identify you.” Biting her lip for courage, she looked up and met Jackson’s chilly stare without flinching.

  “So your boss identified me,” he guessed, with crisp consonants that betrayed his disgust. “Did he say how?”

  “With the help of a senator.”

  The agents shared a baffled look.

  “Which senator?” asked the other man.

  “I don’t know. Peter never said. But now he’s all w
orked up about Gateway being under federal investigation. He thinks Uncle Sam is violating the civil rights of Muslim Americans, and he’s going to blow your cover, Jackson. He took pictures of the two of you leaving Gateway yesterday. Then he followed you here and took pictures of your vehicles and your daughter.”

  Jackson visibly paled beneath his tan. “No,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “You get those pictures the hell away from him. I won’t have Naomi targeted by Five Percenters trying to get back at me.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “No, it is not okay!”

  “The pictures of her are all blurry,” she assured him. “Plus, he’s not going to publish them. Peter might be a jackass, but he’s only trying to make a political statement; he would never put a child at risk.”

  Jackson’s jaw muscles jumped. “You’d better be right about that.”

  “I am.” She pushed the apology through a strangled throat. “And I’m sorry, about everything.” The disillusionment radiating off him made her want to crawl into a dark corner and cry. “If I’d had any idea this would happen, I swear I never would have asked for Peter’s help in the first place. I take complete responsibility. And, if it’s any consolation, I can warn you when Peter’s exposé is on the verge of publication.”

  “How long do we have?” the other man asked.

  Glancing at him, Lena was relieved that he wasn’t looking at her as if she’d initiated a countdown to Armageddon.

  “It depends how deeply he wants to dig before he goes public. But I’ll find out,” she promised.

  Jackson shoved his chair back without warning. “You should have left the area when I goddamn asked you to.” For a moment, he loomed over her like he had something else to say, but then he left without a word, stalking into the house and sliding the door forcefully shut behind him.

  Stung by his condemnation, Lena crossed her arms to ward off her sudden chill. Tears of self-pity and remorse stung her eyes, but she refused to shed them with the other agent eyeing her so closely.

  “So, you want to stay for breakfast?”

  The hospitable inquiry drew her attention to his crooked smile. His devil-may-care attitude might have cheered her if she weren’t so stricken by Jackson’s condemnation.

  “I should go.” She started to rise.

  “Stay.” He came up out of his chair just far enough to lay a hand on her shoulder and push her back down. “The damage is done,” he reasoned. “Might as well stick around and watch the day get better.”

  “That’s very philosophical but—”

  “Tobias,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand for her to shake.

  She did so, noting that his hands were powerful and square, just like the rest of him.

  “Nice to meet you, but I really think Jackson would rather I leave.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” he said with a wink.

  Just then, the glass door opened, and Jackson stood at the threshold looking back and forth between them. “Might as well stay for breakfast,” he said tersely.

  Eyeing him in surprise, Lena read nothing in the rigid lines of his body but betrayal.

  “I don’t want to intrude on your family time,” she balked.

  “Stay,” he repeated in a tone that brooked no arguments. “Toby, go tell Ike what’s going on.” Swiveling toward the kitchen, he left the door wide open.

  “Be right back,” Toby said to Lena as he jumped up to do Jackson’s bidding.

  Alone, Lena took in the view. The Patuxent River, calm and cerulean blue, kissed the sandy beach at the end of a long run of steps, where folding chairs and a red plastic bucket suggested happier times. Considering how furious Jackson was, it was gracious of him to invite her to breakfast. Or was he merely holding her here while he waited to see what the powers that be wanted him to do with her? That was probably it.

  Sensing she was being watched, she glanced back at the glass door and found Jackson’s daughter standing just inside staring at her.

  “Hello.” Lena summoned a friendly smile.

  “Hi.” The girl managed a shy smile of her own. “You’re very pretty.”

  The comment evoked a bitter laugh. She didn’t feel pretty at the moment. “I’m sorry for intruding on your time with your father,” she apologized.

  “That’s okay. I’m used to him being busy.”

  The girl stepped cautiously out onto the balcony. Her fresh face and wise-looking eyes reminded Lena of Alexa. A knot swelled in her throat.

  “Are you going to have breakfast with us?” the preteen asked.

  “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. Then maybe you can come down to the beach with us afterward.”

  The offer just proved how unaware she was of the circumstances. “Maybe,” Lena answered.

  “You could borrow one of my grandma’s swimsuits. She went home to water plants this weekend.”

  “We’ll see.” At least Silvia Shultz wasn’t around to formulate a negative opinion of her. It was hard enough to cope with Jackson’s censure.

  “Orange juice or milk?” he asked from the open door.

  “Orange juice, please. Here, let me help.”

  “Talk to Naomi,” he said shortly. He looked at his daughter who said she wanted milk, and then he disappeared.

  “Naomi, that’s a pretty name,” Lena commented.

  “Thanks.” Naomi slipped into the chair Toby had vacated.

  “How old are you?” Lena asked.

  “Twelve and a half.”

  “So grown up. Let me guess: You’re going into seventh grade?”

  The girl grimaced and sighed. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t look too thrilled about it.”

  “That’s ’cause there’s so much drama in middle school. You don’t even know who your real friends are.”

  Lena’s heart sank. That was probably the way Jackson felt about her right now. How would she ever redeem herself?

  The more Jackson dug into his plate of pancakes the more he had to fight to hold onto his resentment.

  Damn it, Lena had compromised his cover by involving her boss! But that had been done unwittingly, argued a voice in his head. Watching her interact with his daughter across the table on the deck, he admitted he still wanted her, not just physically but in every aspect of his life.

  You love her, a little voice inside his head accused, causing him to realize their changed circumstances hadn’t altered his feelings for her.

  Nor was he the only one basking in Lena’s company. The dimple flashing on Naomi’s right told a similar story. He hadn’t seen his daughter work so hard to impress a stranger since he’d taken Eryn ice skating the winter before Ike came home injured from Afghanistan.

  “You’re not married, are you?” Naomi blurted.

  Jackson felt his face heat and quickly hid that fact behind his coffee mug.

  “No.” Lena wiped her mouth with a napkin as she shook her head.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “Naomi,” Jackson warned.

  “That’s okay,” Lena assured him, though her face was distinctly flushed. “No, I’ve never been married.”

  “My dad was married to my mom,” Naomi said matter-of-factly, “but she died in a car accident.”

  Jackson laid down his fork.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Lena’s sincerity cut straight to his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her and see her pity. “I know what it’s like to lose a member of your family. My sister died when she was just few years older than you.”

  “How’d she die?”

  The pancakes in Jackson’s stomach were turning into concrete. “Sweetheart,” he firmly interrupted, “how would you like to take Lena to the beach while Mr. Burke and I have our morning conference?” Ike had scheduled a 10:30 teleconference even before he’d gotten word of Jackson’s cover being blown. The Taskforce lead didn’t want Lena to walk out the door before they all discussed what to do about her
.

  “Yes!” Naomi cried, giving up all pretense of eating. “You want to play at the beach?” She didn’t wait for Lena to answer. “Let’s go!” Gathering up her plate and utensils, she started to carry them inside. “I’ll find one of Grandma’s suits for you to wear.”

  Looking bemused, Lena rose more slowly. “Does this mean I’m being held for questioning?” she asked the men as Naomi slipped into the house.

  Jackson blinked. He’d like to hold her hostage for an eternity. “Don’t know yet,” he retorted. Right now he liked having her on the end of his hook, squirming and groveling for his forgiveness. “Toby and I have a phone conference with our boss. Once we’ve spoken to him, I’ll know where we stand. We shouldn’t be long, and Naomi could use your supervision.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. Looking anxious but resigned, she followed Naomi inside.

  “You scheming SOB,” Toby murmured with glint of approval in his eyes. “You’re just keeping her here in the hopes of getting some action later.”

  Jackson sent him a long, hard look. “I cooked, so you get to clean up,” he declared, ignoring Toby’s evil chuckle as he left him to clear the table.

  Sequestered in the office to browse his emails, Jackson admitted to himself that Toby was right. Lena might have jeopardized their investigation, she might have rejected his vision for the future, but he still wanted her, desperately.

  At least she’d warned them of her boss’s intent, he reminded himself. A lesser woman might have just walked away and let the dice fall wherever they rolled.

  He swiped a hand over his face. With so much uncertainty, it was impossible to know what the future held for anyone.

  Toby pushed into the room just as Ike’s image appeared on the screen, accompanied by a warning chime. “We caught a break,” Ike announced, getting right to the point. “And it was the hip hop music like you suspected, Maddox. Job well done.”

  Toby hit him hard on the back. “Atta boy, Jack!”

  Ike plowed ahead. “We knew Zakariya had a habit of visiting a certain music site, but we didn’t realize, until you suggested it, that the music he was putting down as his top ten picks was encoded. This is how the imams have been flying under the radar. Zakariya disseminates Ibrahim’s messages for him, communicating with his Five Percent followers via the music. They call it God’s Hop.”