by Cynthia Eden
“I’m sorry,” Mac said.
Jamie glanced over at him. They were at McGuire Securities headquarters—her, Davis, Mac, Brodie, Jennifer, Grant and Grant’s wife, Scarlett. The whole group had assembled. Two days had passed since her abduction. Two days of talking to cops, of answering hundreds of questions and of putting her past to rest. Finally.
“Sorry?” Jamie repeated. “You saved us! You—”
“It’s my fault you were taken.” Mac stared down at his fisted hands. “I didn’t think, I just reacted when I heard about Davis. My job was to protect you, and I failed.”
She walked to him. Davis stood a few feet away, watching silently.
Jamie hugged Mac. “You didn’t fail at anything. I... I didn’t tell you the truth.” Her confession time. She’d already told this part to the cops, but not to Mac. She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “When Henry called me, he offered an exchange. He said he’d leave Davis and Sean—just as they were.” One alive, one dead. “If I came to him. He told me where to meet him, and he told me that I had to come right then.”
Mac’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t tell you that part. I just told you to go after Davis because he was what mattered to me.”
“Dammit, Jamie...” Davis swore.
Right. He hadn’t heard this part yet, either.
“Henry would have kept coming after me,” Jamie said. “And you rushing to keep your brother alive—that wouldn’t have changed things. I wanted you to go after Davis. Because I needed him to be safe.” Her gaze slid to Davis. “I rather like the world more, when he’s in it.”
The door opened then. Jamie turned and found Sullivan standing in the doorway. Only...he wasn’t alone.
Garrison Westport stood just behind him.
“What the hell?” Davis snarled. He lunged forward. “Get that guy out of here!”
Jamie grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Sure, she might feel the exact same way about Garrison Westport but—
“He has something to say that I think you all need to hear,” Sullivan said. A muscle jerked near his jaw. “After that, we can all kick him out.”
Garrison—looking tired and pale and much older than he’d looked just days before—crept into the office.
His gaze flew all around the room, seeming to dart everywhere...except to Jamie. Or Mac.
“He did it,” Sullivan announced.
Davis shot forward—Jamie tightened her hold on him, trying to keep him from attacking the guy.
“He’s the one,” Sullivan said, “who pulled strings at the US Marshal’s office...he got Jamie her new life. Well, it was him and her father. They worked together back then.”
Her father?
Garrison’s head bowed. “Not that it did much good.”
Jamie shook her head. “What?”
“When I was in Connecticut, I paid a little visit to your father. I was already a bit confused about the US Marshal’s involvement—I mean, your case isn’t the type that would normally get you protection from their office.”
He saw my father?
“Your dad admitted that he’d been the one to contact the US Marshal’s office, only he had help.” Sullivan’s gaze slanted toward Garrison. “In order for you to get your new life, a whole lot of money changed hands.”
Garrison had always been good at tossing his money around. And he used that money on me? She’d used his blood money and hadn’t even known it.
Garrison wasn’t looking at her, and Jamie couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“When he killed your brother...” Garrison’s gaze was directed toward the floor as he began to slowly speak. His fancy suit was wrinkled. “I knew... I knew his obsession with you wasn’t going to stop. I knew he was a threat. But he was my son, and a father is supposed to watch out for his son...”
“He hurt me,” Jamie whispered. “You made everyone doubt my story. Made my own parents turn from me....”
“I’m sorry,” Garrison rasped. “I didn’t know what else to do—Henry was my family and I—” He broke off, seemingly unable to say more.
Maybe there was no more to say. The guy had been given a choice—Jamie or Henry. He’d chosen his flesh and blood over her life.
“When your father came to me, demanding protection for you, I called in favors. I paid more money than, well... I paid as much as necessary. I got you a new life. I thought you would be safe. I thought you’d be happy.”
“Look at me,” Jamie demanded.
Garrison’s gaze rose.
“When did you realize he was after me again? When did you realize he’d found me?”
Garrison’s gaze cut to Sullivan.
“Me!” Jamie demanded, anger sharpening her voice. “I’m here. The woman your son tried to destroy. Do me the courtesy of looking me in the eyes.”
Garrison nodded. “Your mother—”
Her mother? First, her father and now, her mother? She’d thought they’d written her off years before.
“She began writing to me. She wanted to know where you were. Hated living in the past and needed you, and she blamed me for everything. Henry found one of her notes, but he thought it was from you. I saw the obsession kick to life again, like a match striking. And then I started checking all of the accounts. Money was missing. He’d hired people to find you over the years, but, luckily, I’d learned about most of them. I fired them, and no one seemed to ever get close to you. The US Marshals had been so good at their jobs.”
And I kept running. Never staying in one place too long. Until I came here.
“About a month ago, his behavior became more...erratic. That’s when I contacted Sean Nyle. I needed to make sure you were safe. And you seemed to be. Henry—at that same time, he told me that he was going to check himself in for more counseling. He told me that he realized he was sick again.” He stepped toward her. “I believed him! I thought he was better—he was recognizing that he was getting out of control. I never imagined that he was just tricking me...”
“He fooled you for a long time.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Yes, he did. He hired an actor—”
“One he’d been using for years,” Sullivan threw in.
Garrison paled even more. “He’d been hunting for you, all that time, and using that man to cover for him when he needed to disappear.”
Davis growled. “He won’t ever hunt her again.”
“No.” Garrison’s voice had gone hoarse. “He won’t.” His stare held Jamie’s. “I’m sorry.”
She could only gaze blankly back at him.
“I want to make this up to you,” Garrison said quickly. “I will pay for your house to be rebuilt, I can pay to expand your clinic, I can pay—”
“You can’t pay,” Jamie gritted out, “to make pain disappear. I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you. Just get out of my life.” Because he was a reminder of the past that she never wanted to see again.
She wanted to think about her future. About hope.
Not hell.
His lips trembled, and the guy seemed legitimately confused. As if he couldn’t understand why she didn’t just let him throw money at her.
“Information,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “That’s what I can give you.” His gaze—slightly feverish now, with desperation—swept over them all. When he looked at Mac, he paled even more, and a long shudder shook his body. “You don’t even know...but I do! I can help you!” He nodded quickly.
But Davis marched toward him. “We don’t want any help from you.” He pointed to the door. “Sullivan, he’s done here. Take him out.”
Sullivan opened the door.
“But—your parents!”
Everyone seemed to freeze then.
“I know...al
l about your mother.”
Jamie’s gaze snapped up toward Davis. His face had locked down, but his eyes blazed with fury.
“The same US Marshal I used... I, um, I may have paid an investigator to break into his files. It was just when I needed to make sure Jamie was still safe!” His words tumbled out at a frantic rate. “Only...when I was accessing those files, I learned more.”
Now Grant strode toward him. “You mean when you were breaking into secure government files? Committing an illegal act?” He made a sound of disgust. “I think we’re done. My family doesn’t need you jerking us around any longer—”
Sullivan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re done now, Westport.”
“She was in the Witness Protection Program! Her name came up... I was cross-referencing when I found out from Sean Nyle that Jamie had moved to Austin. Your mother...” Now he was shaking as he continued, “She came here when she was twenty. She was originally Ada Gregory—she came here—”
Sullivan spun him around. “This better not be some line.”
“It’s not! I have the files. I can give them to you.” Garrison smiled weakly. “That makes up for it, doesn’t it? For the things I did?”
Jamie’s stomach clenched.
But Davis pulled her close. Hugged her tight. “Not even close. Get him out of here.”
And Sullivan pushed Garrison out of the door. The others glanced at Jamie, at Davis, and then they, too, slipped away.
The door closed behind them all. Davis didn’t let Jamie go. He held her even more tightly. “There is nothing in this world,” Davis said softly, “worth more to me than you are. Nothing. Do you understand?”
His eyes were holding hers, that green stare so deep and true.
Jamie nodded.
“I want to spend my life with you. I want to be with you, always. When you’re ready for more, for the next step, you tell me. For now, I’ll just be...here. Loving you.”
The next step. Marriage? Family?
Jamie wet her lips. “I’ll be here, always,” she told him, her heart racing, “Loving you.” Whatever came their way—any threats, any secrets, any sins from the past—they’d face them. She knew that now. They’d face everything together.
Together, they were stronger. Together, they were happier.
Together, they could defeat any darkness that came their way.
Epilogue
Everyone loved a good wedding. Well, nearly everyone.
Jamie was so nervous that her stomach ached. Her hands were shaking, and she’d pretty much shredded the bouquet.
She wasn’t having some big, elaborate affair. That wasn’t what she’d wanted. She’d just wanted to marry Davis, to be with him.
His family was there—his brothers, his sister, his sisters-in-law. His family—now hers.
And...her parents were there. Because Sullivan had told Jamie more about her mother’s pain. About her father’s grief. Too many years had passed. They’d all changed. Jamie had decided that maybe...maybe they should all have a second chance. Would that chance work? Only time would tell.
“You may kiss the bride.”
He turned toward her, and Jamie was just so relieved. They’d made it through the ceremony. She’d done it—and Davis was leaning forward. He was going to kiss her. He was going to—
He stopped and stared into her eyes. “I love you.”
She smiled at him. “I love you, too.”
He kissed her. Probably not the light peck that the Justice of the Peace had been expecting. Hard and deep and sensual.
And when he pulled back, Davis whispered, “So...who do you want to hit with your bouquet? I know how much you like slamming it around in a crowd.”
His words were so unexpected that Jamie laughed. And when she laughed, the last bit of her fear and pain slipped away. This was a day of new beginnings. A day of joy.
This was her day. She lifted her bouquet. No single ladies were there, but there were a few single men. She sized up her prey.
And she threw the bouquet right at Mac.
* * * * *
Read on for a sneak preview of FATAL AFFAIR,
the first book in the FATAL series by
New York Times bestselling author
Marie Force.
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Fatal Affair
by Marie Force
ONE
THE SMELL HIT him first.
“Ugh, what the hell is that?” Nick Cappuano dropped his keys into his coat pocket and stepped into the spacious, well-appointed Watergate apartment that his boss, Senator John O’Connor, had inherited from his father.
“Senator!” Nick tried to identify the foul metallic odor.
Making his way through the living room, he noticed parts and pieces of the suit John wore yesterday strewn over sofas and chairs, laying a path to the bedroom. He had called the night before to check in with Nick after a dinner meeting with Virginia’s Democratic Party leadership, and said he was on his way home. Nick had reminded his thirty-six-year-old boss to set his alarm.
“Senator?” John hated when Nick called him that when they were alone, but Nick insisted the people in John’s life afford him the respect of his title.
The odd stench permeating the apartment caused a tingle of anxiety to register on the back of Nick’s neck. “John?”
He stepped into the bedroom and gasped. Drenched in blood, John sat up in bed, his eyes open but vacant. A knife spiked through his neck held him in place against the headboard. His hands rested in a pool of blood in his lap.
Gagging, the last thing Nick noticed before he bolted to the bathroom to vomit was that something was hanging out of John’s mouth.
Once the violent retching finally stopped, Nick stood up on shaky legs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and rested against the vanity, waiting to see if there would be more. His cell phone rang. When he didn’t take the call, his pager vibrated. Nick couldn’t find the wherewithal to answer, to say the words that would change everything. The senator is dead. John’s been murdered. He wanted to go back to when he was still in his car, fuming and under the assumption that his biggest problem that day would be what to do about the man-child he worked for who had once again slept through his alarm.
Thoughts of John, dating back to their first meeting in a history class at Harvard freshman year, flashed through Nick’s mind, hundreds of snippets spanning a nearly twenty-year friendship. As if to convince himself that his eyes had not deceived him, he leaned forward to glance into the bedroom, wincing at the sight of his best friend—the brother of his heart—stabbed through the neck and covered with blood.
Nick’s eyes burned with tears, but he refused to give in to them. Not now. Later maybe, but not now. His phone rang again. This time he reached for it and saw it was Christina, his deputy chief of staff, but didn’t take the call. Instead, he dialed 911.
Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart and making a supreme effort to keep the hysteria out of his voice, he said, “I need to report a murder.” He gave the address and stumbled into the living room to wait for th
e police, all the while trying to get his head around the image of his dead friend, a visual he already knew would haunt him forever.
Twenty long minutes later, two officers arrived, took a quick look in the bedroom and radioed for backup. Nick was certain neither of them recognized the victim.
He felt as if he was being sucked into a riptide, pulled further and further from the safety of shore, until drawing a breath became a laborious effort. He told the cops exactly what happened—his boss failed to show up for work, he came looking for him and found him dead.
“Your boss’s name?”
“United States Senator John O’Connor.” Nick watched the two young officers go pale in the instant before they made a second more urgent call for backup.
“Another scandal at the Watergate,” Nick heard one of them mutter.
His cell phone rang yet again. This time he reached for it.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“Nick!” Christina cried. “Where the hell are you guys? Trevor’s having a heart attack!” She referred to their communications director, who had back-to-back interviews scheduled for the senator that morning.
“He’s dead, Chris.”
“Who’s dead? What’re you talking about?”
“John.”
Her soft cry broke his heart. “No.” That she was desperately in love with John was no secret to Nick. That she was also a consummate professional who would never act on those feelings was one of the many reasons Nick respected her.
“I’m sorry to just blurt it out like that.”
“How?” she asked in a small voice.
“Stabbed in his bed.”
Her ravaged moan echoed through the phone. “But who... I mean, why?”
“The cops are here, but I don’t know anything yet. I need you to request a postponement on the vote.”
“I can’t,” she said, adding in a whisper, “I can’t think about that right now.”
“You have to, Chris. That bill is his legacy. We can’t let all his hard work be for nothing. Can you do it? For him?”
