Rules of Re-engagement

by Loreth Anne White

  She pulled back sharply, breathless, her skin pulsing with each beat of her heart. She looked up into his eyes—and her heart stalled.

  She was looking into the face of a stranger. His arctic eyes were almost inky black. And so was his hair. It made his skin seem darker. It made him look exotic, dangerous.

  If he had appeared at her door looking like that, after sixteen years, she would not have recognized him. She would have needed a great deal of convincing to believe that it was in fact the man she was once going to marry.

  He slipped a pair of black shades over his eyes. “Ready?”

  She glanced toward the doors of her father’s building. And the choices she faced could not be more stark. Her future, her whole life, hung on the moves she would make now.

  “Olivia?”

  She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  He touched two fingers to her lips and blew her a kiss. “I’ll be waiting. Right here.”

  She inhaled deeply, turned and headed for the revolving doors. Then she hesitated, stopped, turned back to face him.

  Worry crossed his features.

  “He’ll check on you. He’ll look Henri up.”

  “And he’ll find that Henri exists.” He came up to her, placed his hand on her arm, just above the bracelet. A subtle reminder? “It’s okay, Olivia,” he said. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the black glasses. “If he looks, he will see that Henri Devilliers entered the States yesterday. He’s an arms dealer, a shadowy character who will make him very nervous. He won’t be happy that Henri is seeing his daughter. It will worry him, eat at him.”

  “You’re trying to force his hand, aren’t you?”

  He pursed his lips, shrugged slightly, in a casual offhanded manner that made him seem incredibly European.

  “How come he will find this Henri exists?”

  “He’s a ghost, a cipher of sorts we created some years ago to facilitate various weapons transactions. He’s a convenient cover when we need him. And we’ve just added you to his portfolio of interests—or conquests, shall we say.”

  She studied him, wondering where Henri began and where Jacques ended, and how her old Jack really fitted inside this man. There was so much that was familiar about him, yet so much that was foreign, dangerous. Sinister. And exciting—if you were into high-risk adrenaline. And deadly secrets.

  “Did you take Harvey, Jack?”

  “Harvey is safe, Olivia. We can’t afford loose ends right now.”

  So his men had taken him. It was her fault. She’d brought this on her friend. She glared at Jack. “If anything happens to him—”

  “It won’t.”

  A bubble of resentment erupted deep inside her. “So you’re monitoring my cell phone.”

  He said nothing. Even his expression was silent.

  She stared at him, trying to read him. She hated the idea of his men listening to her, just as much as she abhorred the notion of her father spying on her. The sooner she got to the bottom of this, the sooner she could get back to her old life. If she spent too long with Jack, she was going to get burned. That she knew already. The only thing she could do now was to try to control the degree.

  She spun on her heels, took the last steps to the revolving door and entered the tower—committed now to going in, all the way to the truth. And its consequences.

  The revolving door emptied her into the huge Venturion lobby, and she felt momentarily disoriented. The black expanse of marble floor gleamed around her. Fountains splashed into rectangular glass pools. The doormen, flanking the entrances like sentries, nodded politely to her. She hadn’t really ever noticed how much they looked like bouncers as opposed to doormen. She looked up at the vaulted skylights, searching for cameras. She hadn’t really given them much thought before, either, though she’d known they were everywhere.

  Heart pumping, she crossed the marble floor and made for the row of bronze elevator doors.

  Sun streamed through the wall-to-wall windows of her father’s vast office, bouncing off chrome and glass and gleaming polished wood. The towers of Manhattan sparkled below.

  Olivia inhaled deeply, flicked her hair back over her shoulders, clutched her purse tightly in front of her and entered the door.

  “Olivia!” He got up from his desk immediately, came straight over to her, kissed her warmly on the cheek, then he went to close the door behind her.

  “I’m so glad you came.” He took her hands in his, instantly catching sight of the silver bracelet. A frown flickered over his brow. “Jewelry?”

  Nerves scattered through her. “It’s…a gift,” she said, thinking about what the contents of that little gold capsule could do, of the Congo footage Jack had shown her, of those innocent villagers. Of her dad’s alleged involvement.

  He lifted her hand to examine the silver cuff. “It’s unusual,” he said, turning her wrist over.

  “I know.” She forced a smile. “It’s a designer piece. Kind of artsy, don’t you think?”

  “You don’t wear anything like this. You hardly ever wear jewelry at all.”

  Why was he pushing the issue? He’d never commented on her jewelry preferences before. Was he perhaps looking for the ring from Grayson, wondering why it wasn’t on her finger?

  “The giver was rather insistent that I wear it.”

  His smile faded and his eyes turned cool. “Who is he, Olivia?”

  She withdrew her hands quickly, walked over to the windows, her heart racing a million miles per minute. She stared out at the cityscape, beautiful in the fall sunshine. But the beauty seemed somehow removed. “You knew there was someone in my apartment last night, didn’t you, Dad?” She turned to face him. “That’s why you phoned at that hour, wasn’t it?”

  A strange look shifted into his eyes. He said nothing.

  “You’re having me watched, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t move a muscle in his face, and when he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “Why don’t you sit, honey, let’s talk.”

  “No, I’m okay standing, thanks. I want to know why you have men spying on me.”

  He sighed. “Don’t put it like that, Olivia.”

  Her heart sunk. So it was true. Her own father, the man she had always trusted, had people spying on her, reporting back to him. She felt truly violated.

  “I want to know why.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “You have no Secret Service protection, Olivia. Grayson is a powerful man, and that makes you a target, even if you don’t want to accept it. I just want to know that you’re safe, honey.”

  Those men probably have orders to get you out of the country ASAP if things go sideways….

  He stepped forward, reached for her hands again. “You mean the world to me.”

  “I…I know, Dad.” That’s why Jack is using me to get to you. She felt sick—used. “But I want you to call those men off. It makes me feel…defiled. It’s an invasion of my privacy. If you felt so strongly about this, the least you could have done was tell me.”

  “You’d have refused, Olivia.”

  “Yes, I would have.” Olivia stared at him. “Will you call them off?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.”

  “At once?”

  “Anything you want.”

  Silence stretched awkwardly between them. Her heart began to thud again.

  “What happened with Grayson?” he said finally.

  She sighed. “I’m not going to marry him, Dad. I told him I needed time to think about it. I didn’t want to break it off with him until he left office, but I’ll have to now.”

  His jaw tensed. “Why?”

  “Because…because I’m seeing someone else.”

  Shock flickered through his eyes and then was gone. “Who is he, Olivia?” His tone was devoid of emotion. “Was he the man in your apartment last night?”

  “His name is Henri Devilliers. He’s Belgian. I met him in Den Hague. He’s here on business and he’s come to see me.” The lie came out too easily. And she des
pised herself for it.

  The muscles in her father’s neck bunched tight, but his voice remained level. “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “A few years.” Another lie, another little step toward deceit, betrayal. But he had also betrayed her trust by having her watched without telling her. It made her feel ill. It was not a father’s right.

  He exhaled sharply, ran his hand over his blond hair. “This is a bit of a…surprise, Olivia. When were you going to tell me.”

  “I…I was going to tell you this week, while Henri was in town, but you forced my hand by having me followed.”

  “How serious are you, with this…this man?” His voice had taken on an edge. That was unusual—and a measure of just how much she’d upset him. Her father was usually a model of self-control.

  “I think I love him.”

  He paled, turned his head away sharply, then whipped it back. He wasn’t hiding his anger at all now. It was glittering in his eyes.

  “Olivia, you should have told us this.”

  “Us?”

  He hesitated. “Me, and Grayson of course, he de serves to know.”

  The strands of doubt Jack had planted in her mind threaded closer, weaving together in a soft web.

  “My personal business with Grayson is just that, Dad. Mine. Personal.” And inside she knew a part of herself was pushing, fishing. She needed to see just how connected her father and Grayson were behind her back.

  He ran his hand over his hair again, another sign of his distress. “Look, I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m just worried about…things at the moment. And you know I’d love to see the two of you together. You make the perfect, beautiful couple.” He smiled warmly, and his eyes were light again. “Forgive me. Why don’t you stay for a while? I can have some lunch brought up. We can talk about this.”

  She shook her head, feeling a sudden overwhelming loss. “I…Henri and I have plans.”

  He nodded slowly. “All right. But be careful, Olivia.”

  “Careful?”

  “You don’t really know this man—”

  “I know him very well, Dad.”

  He grinned. “I guess I mean I don’t know him. It’s a father thing. When will I get to meet him?”

  She swallowed against the pinch of tension in her throat. “Soon. I…I’ll speak to him, ask him.”

  He nodded, something hidden in his eyes. “Well, I’ll be seeing you on Monday, then.”

  “Monday?” she said, momentarily confused.

  “The thirteenth,” he reminded her. “The yacht, the big announcement, remember?”

  Her heart kicked sharply against her ribs. “Of course. You…you never mentioned what the announcement was going to be.”

  He smiled. “It’s a surprise. I don’t want to tip off our stockholders prematurely.”

  “Of course,” she said again, her voice strangely flat to her own ears. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can make it, Dad. I plan to be in Los Angeles with Henri on that date. He has some business there.”

  The words just came out of her mouth. She just needed to say them. She wanted to give him a chance to prove it was all a lie—that there were no bombs set to detonate in Los Angeles, Chicago or New York. She desperately wanted to hear that he had no objection to her going to L.A. on that date.

  But his hands tensed at his side and a small vein popped out on his temple. “I need you with me, Olivia,” he said quietly. He stepped up to her. “I need you there in your mother’s place. Do this for me, please. It’s a major coup for Venturion, for me, for all of us.” He took her hands. “She’d want you there, by my side.”

  She stared at him in shock. How dare he? How dare he throw her mother into this, play on those emotions in her. She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sure you’ll all do just fine without me.” She walked past him, aimimg for the door, feeling like something had been stolen from her, feeling more alone and lost than she could ever remember.

  Samuel Killinger felt his heart break as he watched his daughter leave. She was slipping from his grasp, his control. He could feel it.

  He stalked over to the windows, rammed his hands into his pockets and glared at the skyline. She looked so much like her mother. She was so much like her mother. She was the living, breathing symbol of the love he and his wife had shared…before the crash.

  Before he’d killed his wife by driving too fast, before his love of speed and impossibly expensive cars had stolen the woman he loved above all—Genevieve. His childhood sweetheart. His beautiful young bride. The only woman he had truly ever wanted in his bed. The only woman who had made him feel completely whole.

  Yet he was the one who had destroyed her.

  Bitterness, guilt and self-hatred seethed through him. He’d never been able to stanch the cesspool of destructive emotions that haunted him over that fateful night. He’d never managed to dull the raw pain when he thought of her.

  He didn’t even want to. Holding on to the pain kept his love alive.

  And so did Olivia.

  Olivia represented everything that was good and true and beautiful in his life, and Samuel wanted nothing but the best for her. He wanted to keep her safe. From destructive men like himself. From men like Henri Devilliers. Who in hell was he anyway?

  Anger pulsed at his temples.

  Where had he come from? Why now? This was a really rotten time for his daughter to go searching for whatever it was she felt was lacking in her life. And what in hell was wrong with Forbes that he couldn’t hold on to a woman? Forbes had looks, wealth, power…and soon he’d be one of the most powerful men in the world.

  He spun around, grabbed the phone on his desk, jabbed a button. “Keep watching her,” he said sharply. “But be extremely careful. She’s made you. I do not want her to see you again. And I want everything you can dig up on that man she’s with—and I mean everything. His name is Henri Devilliers. I want to know where he was born, who his parents are, where he went to school, what he does for a living. I want to know what he eats for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I want to know which way he brushes his goddamn teeth! I want to know about every woman he’s ever screwed in his entire life! Got it?”

  He hung up, his blood pressure soaring. This was not good. He never lost it with his men.

  He sucked air deep into his lungs, blew it out in a controlled stream, then picked up the phone again. “Vice President Forbes, please. It’s Samuel Killinger. It’s urgent.”

  When Forbes came on the line, Killinger wasted no time on pleasantries.

  “Olivia is seeing another man.”

  Silence stretched over the distance to Washington.

  “Who?” The single word hummed with quiet, dark fury.

  “His name is Henri Devilliers. We’re running a check on him as we speak. Apparently, she’s been seeing him for several years—in Europe, which is why we never picked up on it. We should have put that tail on her earlier.”

  “How could you have allowed this to happen?” said Forbes.

  Killinger felt himself begin to vibrate with anger all over again, but he kept his voice level. “I should be asking you that question, Grayson. The man clearly possesses something you don’t.” Like balls.

  “I don’t like the timing. I want everything on this man,” Forbes snapped.

  “Like I said, we’re on it.” Killinger hung up quietly, trying to control his anger at Grayson Forbes. He could give the man a presidency, but he could not give him mojo.

  He stalked back to the window, his mind racing. If Olivia refused to come to his yacht, he would have to find another a way to get her out of the country—before Monday.

  Chapter 8

  11:59 Romeo, Venturion Plaza,

  Wednesday, October 8.

  Jack was outside, waiting, pacing the plaza, his big black coat moving like a cape behind him.

  He stilled the instant he saw her.

  Olivia glanced around nervously. The men she’d seen earlier were gone. People seemed to be wa
lking with purpose, no one looking at her. Had her father called the bodyguards off already? His power was suddenly frightening. She knew he wielded influence, but she’d never been on the receiving end. It had never scared her before.

  The seeds of doubt planted by Jack were taking root in her soul. As was a growing sense of loss.

  She began to walk away from him, unable to face him. She was mourning inside, grieving the bond she thought she’d had with her father.

  Olivia was only beginning to understand how potent an influence her father may have been in her life behind the scenes, how blind she might have been to his machinations.

  She could see Jack in her peripheral vision. He was coming after her, cutting across the plaza with smooth, confident movements. Her heart quickened. She was afraid of him, too—of his intensity, of her own reawakened desire for him.

  He caught up to her, grabbed her, whirled her round and kissed her as if he owned her.

  He did own her. For now anyway. She was bound to him by more than the metal cuff—she was committed to this journey to the bitter end. And whether she liked it or not, he was the one calling the shots.

  He gripped her by the shoulders, held her at arm’s length, his gaze piercing. “How did it go?”

  He was uneasy. He’d handed her the equivalent of a loaded gun and had sent her up there trusting she wouldn’t use it. Now he was worried she had.

  “What happened, Olivia?”

  She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want her father to be guilty of anything. She wanted to believe in Jack. But that meant accepting too many other things. Oh God, she was going to throw up. “I just want to get out of here, Jack, please.”

  He removed his shades and studied her. The compassion and concern in his rough and arrogant features tugged at her, bringing tears threateningly close to the surface.

  He nodded slowly. “D’accord,” he said, brushing her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. “Where would you like to go?”

  Her eyes began to burn and the world blurred. “The ocean. I’d like to go to the ocean, Jack. To the Hamptons.” Where the wind would blow cold off the sea and clear her soul. Where she could think.