Rules of Re-engagement

by Loreth Anne White

  He crouched in front of her, placed her foot in his lap and began to pull out pieces of glass, sopping up blood that welled from the cuts.

  He concentrated intently on his task, his big, rough hand working the delicate tweezers with dexterity and speed. He found the large shard he was after, tugged. It came free and he released it into a saucer he’d placed at his side. It hit the china with a clink.

  Olivia stared at the bloody piece of glass, the pain in her foot almost a welcome diversion as he dug back into her skin, trying to grasp another sliver. Pain made her feel real somehow. It gave her something safe to focus on.

  She watched his head, the way his wet hair glistened like ink in the firelight. She thought about the silver streaks he’d covered with the dye. It reminded her of how much time had passed between them, and how differently they might have grown had they been together. A strange sadness ached in her.

  He glanced up. “You okay?”

  She nodded, tears suddenly threatening her eyes. What was happening to her? She was a mess. She couldn’t think straight anymore. She didn’t even know how to be consistent in her feelings for this man.

  Her phone chimed and she jumped in fright.

  They looked at each other, then at her purse on the table where the noise was coming from.

  He set her foot down gently, scooped the purse up and brought it over to her. He held it out. The phone rang again. Her heart quickened and her eyes shot to his.

  “Take the call,” he said softly.

  She took her purse, opened it, removed her phone and checked the incoming number. It was her father. And this time she knew why he was calling. Indecision froze her.

  “Answer it, Livie,” he said as he crouched back down in front of her.

  She swallowed against the pinch in her throat and put the phone to her ear. But she’d lost her ability to speak. She couldn’t even say hello to her own father.

  “Olivia?”

  “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  Her dad was strangely silent for a moment. “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “No, I’m not. Some men just tried to abduct me.”

  Jack’s eyes flashed up to hers, and his body tensed, ready to snatch the phone from her.

  “Oh God, are you hurt? What happened?”

  “Henri…rescued me.”

  Jack relaxed visibly, picked up her foot again, began to swab it with cold disinfectant.

  “Where are you, Olivia—where did this happen?”

  He knew damn well where she was. This farce was going too far. Bitterness leached into her chest. “I’m at the beach house.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened, Olivia.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, her voice growing stronger, colder. “All I know is that Henri and his men saved me.”

  “His men?”

  Jack dried her foot, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “He travels with bodyguards.”

  Her father sighed heavily. “Do you know why he travels with bodyguards, Olivia? He’s a black market arms dealer. He’s a dangerous man with questionable connections, and I don’t want you around him. Whoever tried to abduct you was probably trying to get to him. He has enemies, Olivia. And people who cross Henri Devilliers disappear.”

  “So you checked up on him?”

  “Of course I checked him out.”

  She felt her heart go numb.

  “Have…have you been to the police, sweetheart?”

  “No.”

  “It’s probably better that you don’t. I want to know exactly what this Devilliers is involved in. I’ll send my own people to look into it. In the meantime, I want you to come home.”

  She closed her eyes. Her father was a bold-faced liar. He wanted to cover this up, just like he wanted to cover up who really killed Elizabeth.

  “I’m not coming home. Henri can keep me safe.”

  She watched as Jack taped adhesive sutures to her cut. Her father was silent, for too long, but she was beyond trying to bridge the gap.

  Finally he spoke and she heard the shift in tone. “I want to meet this man.”

  “Yes,” she said. “He wants to meet you, too.” She felt nothing in saying it. She was playing the charade now, fully, being a traitor—a mercenary—just like him, just like Jack. They were all the same now—all three playing their parts to their own ends.

  “Can he postpone his L.A. business for a few days, perhaps join us on the yacht?”

  This was it—this is what Jack wanted from her. This is where her father needed her to be. She could feel the circle closing in. “I’ll ask him.”

  She lowered the phone, held her hand over it. “My father wants to know if we will both join him on his yacht on the thirteenth.”

  Jack nodded his head slowly, something unreadable in his eyes, the stress muscle throbbing at his jaw line.

  She cleared her throat. “He says it can be arranged.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it, I’ll see you then, sweetheart. Let…Henri know it’s formal attire.”

  She hung up and began to shake.

  Jack scooped her into his arms held her tight. She couldn’t feel anything, just cold. She felt distant from both Jack and her father. She felt strangely isolated from herself.

  Jack released her. “You feel any warmer?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  His eyes softened. “Go up and get dressed,” he said gently. “I need to organize a few things with my guys, then we head straight for the airport.”

  Olivia climbed the stairs, reached the top, heard him begin talking on his phone. She edged behind the wall, listened.

  “We’re in—I have an invitation from Killinger. Affirmative, we leave for the Caribbean ASAP. Have the jet fueled and pilot on standby at JFK…no, I don’t think we need the chopper rental, we’ll use the day to drive up. I could use the time with her. Yeah…I have her trust, but I’m worried about the final showdown. I need to work on her a bit more, just to be sure. Okay, we’ll go over strategy on the plane.”

  I need to work on her a bit more.

  Anger leached into Olivia’s chest. She was a pawn. Plain and simple. She clenched her teeth and fisted her hands at her sides. These two men in her life might love her, and she might love and hate them both in a fierce cocktail of emotions she couldn’t even begin to articulate, but the black reality was that they would both probably sacrifice her for a higher purpose. She could see that now.

  She was on her own, and she’d do well to remember that. She wasn’t going to be played, not anymore.

  Chapter 12

  16:00 Romeo. Road to Manhattan.

  Thursday, October 9.

  They stopped at a coffee shop on the way back to New York. Jack ordered sandwiches, but Olivia wasn’t hungry.

  She stood apart from him, trying to keep weight off her sore foot. Behind the counter, a television screen was set to the CBNN twenty-four-hour news channel. She looked up, caught sight of President Elliot’s face. Her heart accelerated. The camera cut to a close-up of Dr. Ruger.

  Olivia moved away from Jack, leaned over the counter. “Could you turn that up?”

  The server reached behind her and bumped up the sound. The news anchor was talking now. “White House spokesman Andy Fischer has denied allegations that the president is ill. Speculation about the commander in chief’s health, however, continues…”

  Olivia felt the blood drain from her head. She glanced at Jack. He was waiting in line to pay. She looked at the television again.

  “Veteran Elliot-watcher Mel Berkowitz is with us in the studio this morning. Mr. Berkowitz, how do you think this will affect the campaign…”

  Olivia placed her hands on the counter, as if it would stop her world from tilting further. This was real. This was here in this coffee shop, on this television, real people watching, everyday people. Innocent people.

  Her father had done this.

  Her eyes shot to Jack. There were still two peo
ple in the lineup in front of him. She wanted nothing to do with this…with him. Or her father.

  She swiveled on her heels, pushed the door open, stepped into the fresh air and let the mist of fine rain kiss her face. She began to walk, and she kept on walking, right through the parking lot, past the Lamborghini, across the street, cars swerving around her and honking as she went. She didn’t care. She just kept walking, faster and faster.

  Jack hurried the cashier as he watched Olivia through the window. He picked up the coffee and sandwiches, phone to his ear. “You got her covered, McDonough?”

  “Yeah, want us to bring her in?”

  “No. Don’t touch her,” he said, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “She’s cracking. If we lose her now, we won’t get onto that yacht. Just keep an eye on her. I’ll take care of it.”

  He put the coffees and sandwiches into the car, got in, fired the ignition.

  He caught up to her heading down a side road. He turned in, drove slowly up behind her. She wasn’t limping anymore, she was numb, walking right through her pain, both mental and physical.

  He cursed softly, tension mounting in him. This was not good. He drew up alongside her and opened the door. “Get in, Olivia.”

  She gave no indication she’d even heard him, she just kept on going, her face deathly pale, fine rain sparkling like diamonds in her thick chestnut hair. He cursed again, wound down his window, drove slowly behind her, tires crackling on the wet surface, the wipers snicking over the windscreen. “Olivia—”

  She walked faster, her breath misting in the cool air.

  He pulled out into the road, drove ahead, stopped the car, got out. He walked back to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, halting her. He held her still. “Olivia,” he said gently.

  She pushed him away. “Please, just get away from me, Jack.” She spun round and stalked off in the other direction.

  He grabbed her arm, jerked her around. “Olivia—”

  “Let me go!” She had a wild look in her eyes.

  “Olivia, please, will you get in the car. We can talk—”

  She held out her arm. “Just take this thing off me, Jack, and let me go!”

  “Where to? Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know! I just…I just want out.”

  He had to make her think, logically, rationally. “Out from what, Olivia?”

  “You. My dad. Grayson. The past. This…this thing.” She held out her wrist, moisture filling her eyes. “I can’t play this game. I can’t do this, Jack. I’m not like you.”

  “You have to do this, Olivia.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the rain. “He’s my father! Dammit, Jack, I love him. How am I supposed to accept he’s a terrorist? How…how am I supposed to live with that?”

  He tightened his grip. “That, Olivia, is why you have to do this. You are the only one who can get me close to him. You can’t back out of this now.”

  “I want to talk to him. I want to ask him why…why he tried to destroy you all those years ago, why he hurt me—” Her voice cracked. “A whole chunk of my life has been a damn lie. Do you realize that? I…I thought I was a strong person, Jack.” Her tears were streaming now. “I thought I was in control of my life. I’m not. I never was. He was controlling me. He…he took you from me. I don’t want any part of this anymore. I just want out. I want myself back…. I…don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  He held her steady. “Look at me, Livie, look into my eyes. You have to stop running.” He cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to keep looking into his eyes. “Remember that Congo footage? Remember what happened to those infected with the pathogen?”

  Her bottom lip wobbled.

  “You do not have a choice, Livie, and neither do I. You are part of this. So am I. Our pasts are tied into the future. We can’t walk away. We have to see this through to the end.”

  She stared at him, rain and tears glistening on her face.

  He softened his voice. “Livie, I know you. You’re about justice. And so am I.”

  She glanced away. “I just don’t want to believe that he’s done this,” she whispered.

  “Don’t let him finish it, then. Save him from that ultimate sin. Help him.”

  Her eyes searched his deeply as if looking for answers he couldn’t give. How did one explain the betrayal of a parent?

  “Come,” he said gently, “let’s get in the car.”

  She let him lead her in.

  Jack started the vehicle, his heart pounding. He’d finally broken her down.

  But he’d almost gone too far, and the taste it left in his mouth was one of bitterness and remorse, not victory.

  The rain lashed at them as they neared the city, and the sky hung gray and low, the somber weather outside reflective of how Olivia felt inside. Jack had put the top of the car up, and the windows were streaked with shivering rivulets of rain. She stared at them, watching the world fly by, her past unraveling.

  Jack was right. She did run from things.

  She could face all manner of horrors in her job, but when it came to personal demons, she buried her head in the sand.

  Did that make her weak?

  Even the strongest man had at least one pivotal weakness, a vulnerability the rest of the world might never see, yet it often shaped who he was, even fired his strength. Her father had once told her that. How much, she wondered, had been in reference to himself?

  She glanced at Jack, his profile so rugged, his strong hands so relaxed on the wheel, so in control. He was like a rock, the one constant in her life. “What do you think my father’s greatest weakness is, Jack?” she asked.

  He cocked a brow in surprise. “Guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  “Yeah. Over your mother’s death.”

  “I don’t see how his remorse over that accident so long ago is his weakness now.”

  “You, Olivia, are the living symbol of what Samuel Killinger lost that night by driving too fast. You look just like your mother. You’re the last living bit left of her. Your father is so possessed by this notion that he has tried to control your life, contain you so that he can protect you. He will do almost anything to ensure your well-being, and that gives us something to use against him.”

  Her jaw dropped. “When on earth did you get to be so psychoanalytical?”

  He grinned. “I didn’t. That’s what our profiler came up with, using the information we gave her.”

  “You have a profiler?”

  “Yes, Dr. Emily Carlin, here in Manhattan. We give her the info she needs, she does her thing, provides us with a report, and then we decide how to move—on certain leaders of state, for example. Knowing how a dictator’s mind works can really help shape military strategy.”

  “Did you have her profile me?”

  He shot her a look and chuckled. “Nope. That I managed all by myself.”

  She studied his face. What had her father put this beautiful man through? What had she put him through? What had to have been going through his mind during that time? He’d only been twenty-three. On the run, alone, accused of murder—one of the most powerful, albeit clandestine, groups in the country trying to make sure he went down for it.

  And she’d deserted him.

  A rawness ripped through her, so powerful it twisted her features and flooded her eyes instantly. She took a deep breath of air.

  It was time to pick sides and stand firm. It was time to do the right thing.

  It was time to stop running.

  “Jack?”

  He glanced at her, saw her face and pulled over instantly. Concern touched his eyes. “What is it, Livie?”

  “Jack… I am so, so sorry.” It was all she could say. How could you put what she felt into words? The utter remorse, the regret. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I am sorry I never…I am sorry—”

  He placed the palm of his hand against the side of her face, looked deep into her eyes, something so incredibly de
ar and gentle in his own. She didn’t need the words. She didn’t need to tell him. He understood. She could see it in his eyes.

  “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “You need to forgive yourself, Olivia,” he said softly.

  Tears rolled hot down her cheeks. “I love you, Jack. So much.”

  His own eyes glistened sharply. The corner of his lip twitched. Rain beat down on the soft roof. Traffic rumbled by.

  “I’ve always loved you, Olivia,” he whispered, leaning closer. “I never stopped loving you.”

  “But I betrayed you. I let you down.”

  “It hurt.”

  “Can you understand…what happened to me?”

  He sucked in a deep breath, looked away for a second. “I don’t know.” He turned back. “Can you?”

  She bit her lip. His answer hurt incredibly. She needed him to understand.

  “Maybe some things can never be understood. Maybe they just need to be accepted. And maybe then we can move on.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ve both been given a second chance here. It’s what happens next that matters. That will be our test.”

  “What will happen on the yacht, Jack?”

  Something moved like ink through his eyes, and his features shifted again. So did the tone of his voice. “Do you trust me?”

  Unease tightened her chest. “I…I’m not sure I like the way you said that, Jack.”

  “I need you to trust me, Olivia.” The intensity in his voice was alarming.

  Nerves skittered through her stomach. “Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you. I believe in you. I…I’ve picked my side, Jack. I’m in your hands, now.”

  He kissed her hard and desperately on the mouth.

  18:02 Romeo. JFK.

  Thursday, October 9.

  He checked his watch. The time difference had gained him almost a day on the flight over from São Diogo. He pulled out a stool, seated himself at the bar, dialed the private line he used to communicate with Samuel Killinger.

  Killinger picked up instantly. “Yes?”

  He heard the uncertainty, the nerves, and pleasure rippled through him. He’d surprised the man.