Checkmate

by Kris Norris

  “I’m not that transparent, Kendall. You’re the one with everything to lose here.” He paused again. “All right. Since you’ve sweetened the pot for me, I’ll give you another chance. I’ll have the map delivered first thing in the morning.”

  “What? It’s only been one week. We’re not ready…”

  “Are you backing out already?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Feel free to leave lover boy behind if you think he’s not up to it. Just make it to each checkpoint on time, or it’s game over. Oh, and Kendall…try not to get yourself killed along the way. I’m looking forward to our…reunion.” He hung up.

  Kendall dropped the phone, her mind numb. After all she’d been through, she couldn’t believe it would end like this. She closed her eyes, unable to stop her body from shaking.

  “Kendall?”

  She looked up, her mouth drawn tight. “You bastard!”

  “Kendall. We need to talk.” Dawson reached out to touch her, but she bolted off the couch.

  “Don’t touch me!” She wiped her arm even though he hadn’t made contact. “How could you?”

  “I did what had to be done. If I’d caught Garrick, you’d be thanking me right now!”

  “But you didn’t. I warned you what the risks were, but you had to waltz in there and play the hero anyway!”

  “That’s not what this was about, and you know it. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, or Trace.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Dawson. You do what’s best for you, and your job, and the fucking Bureau! Trace is just another number to you…another forgotten percentage point. No one really expects you to get anyone out alive, so what do you care?”

  “You know I care, Kendall! More than I should.” Dawson moved toward her, close enough to touch her, but he kept his hands clenched at his sides. “Now tell me what you promised to give Garrick.”

  “Go to hell!”

  She stormed out of the room and down the hall, ducking into the study, searching for something, anything. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but it must be there. She stopped, not sure whether she wanted to scream or cry. She threw open the bar, grabbing the first bottle she could find. It felt cold in her hands as she snatched a glass off the counter and sat down on the stool furthest from the door. She despised liquor, but the whiskey was smooth and hot, burning her chest until the pain started to wane. She had to stop the pain before it smothered her. She drained the cup and poured another.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dawson stomped outside. “Damn that woman!” He marched across the grass, kicking the tree as he stood beneath its swaying branches. The night was cool and crisp, and he could hear the wind whispering through the leaves. He knew she’d be angry with him, disappointed even, but he hadn’t thought she’d look at him as if he was the enemy. Mitchell was right. He’d crossed the line, and now there was no way back. He cared for Kendall in a way he’d never cared before. He wanted her to need him, to allow him inside those damn walls of hers.

  He cursed, remembering how good she’d felt against him. How soft her skin had been as he’d skimmed it with his fingers. He could still smell her sweet earthy scent on his clothes and feel the soft play of her hair fisted in his hands. He needed to touch her again. Ease the pain he’d caused. Hear her scream his name as he brought her to orgasm with his mouth, drinking the sweet creamy fluid of her release.

  He had no doubts she’d be tight, and he relished the thought of entering her a breath at a time. Feeling every inch of her channel grip his cock as he edged his way inside, filling her until their bodies were merged, moving as one. He’d pause with his shaft locked deep, giving her time to adjust to his pleasurable intrusion. Show her how much he needed her. But in the end, he knew his need would take over, and he’d end up pounding into her, tunneling back and forth until her eyes rolled back in her head, and she climaxed as she’d never done before.

  He sighed, wishing there was a way to bridge the gap. But he’d betrayed her, even if it was in an attempt to save Trace. He released a long, slow breath, glancing back at the house. He needed to clear his head, calm down before he faced her again. He headed for the path.

  Thirty minutes had passed before Dawson found himself standing at the door to the study. He could see her slumped on one of the bar stools, a half empty bottle of whiskey in her left hand. She was trying to pour herself another drink, but was having a hard time getting any of it in the glass.

  “I thought you didn’t drink?” he said, his shoulder resting against the frame.

  She tilted her head, but didn’t answer. Instead, she rose the cup to her lips, downing half of the liquor.

  “Can I come in?”

  “You’ll do whatever you want, so why ask?” Her jaw was clenched and her hands were shaking.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Kendall. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You were holding that off until after I’d taken you into my bed.”

  The tone in her voice cut him, and he wanted to run over and shake her until she came to her senses. “Is that what you think? I only pretended to care so I could fuck you?”

  “Just leave me alone, Dawson. I don’t want to think.”

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “There’s nothing left to say. You’ve made your choice. It’s over.”

  “I want to know what you promised to give Garrick.”

  “None of that matters now.”

  “There’s still a chance I can get to him, if I know what his weakness is.”

  She glanced at him, eyeing his sleeve as she swirled the whiskey around in the glass. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I got careless.”

  She looked away, but not before he saw the pain shadowed in her expression. “I should’ve told you about my mother being his lover.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed what happened tonight. I still would’ve gone after him.”

  “But at least you would’ve understood his motivation better. Maybe then you wouldn’t have gotten…careless. My mother loved him. Or at least that’s what I read. She’d written him a bunch of letters. Garrick sent them to me, with her picture, when I was sixteen. I guess he wanted me to know.” She fingered the rim of the glass. “My mother wanted to leave my father for him. For him, do you believe it? That monster…”

  Her voice faded. He clenched his jaw. He wanted to reach out to her, but knew she needed to get through this first.

  “They’d been sleeping together for several months. She liked that he was powerful…dominating…the exact opposite of my father. She’d always complained he was spineless. I bet she never imagined he’d be strong enough to go up against a man like Garrick.” She took another swig of whiskey, spilling half of it on the table. “She described everything he did to her in detail. How he seduced her. How he made love to her.” She snorted in disgust. “She liked it rough. Loved when Garrick tied her up, took her in the most primal ways. There was nothing tender about the relationship they shared. It was pure, raw, unadulterated sex.”

  She gave Dawson a fleeting glance. “I saw you staring at her picture. I know you were thinking what everyone else has always told me. I look just like her. In fact, my father always used to say I could’ve been her twin.”

  The price has always been the same. You know what I want from you. You’ve known for some time. Ever since I gave you that special package.

  Dawson drew a short breath. That’s why Garrick was still chasing them. He wanted Kendall, and in a way that made him sick. “That’s what you agreed to, isn’t it?” He didn’t hide the anger in his voice. “You agreed to give yourself to him and be his…his sexual slave…in exchange for Trace’s life!”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? I needed to buy us more time, and that’s what he wanted to hear. It was the only thing I knew would please him.”

  “I won’t let you do it. I won’t let that monster have you!”

  �
��What does it matter? You never intended on going through with the race in the first place.”

  “Kendall.” He stepped closer to her.

  “Trace is still alive. But he won’t be. This time tomorrow he’ll be dead.”

  Tears rolled down her face and her voice wavered, but she sat still, running her fingers up and down the glass. Dawson wanted to scream. It was killing him to see her like this, knowing she didn’t want him to comfort her.

  “There’s still hope.”

  “Hope? Trace was always the one who made the daring rescues. I’m just the helpless damsel in distress.”

  “There’re a lot of ways I could describe you, but helpless isn’t one of them.”

  “I read the files. The ones you had on the kitchen table. The ones that told you everything about Garrick’s attempts. But they only tell half the story. Do you know why Trace got shot in the shoulder ten years ago and not me?” She looked him in the eyes.

  He held her gaze. “No.”

  “Because he pushed me out of the way. Garrick stepped out of nowhere and lined me up in his sights. He was going to kill me. Trace saw that, and stepped in front.”

  Dawson reached for her, not caring if she wanted him to hold her. “None of this is your fault. Garrick’s sick. You aren’t responsible for that.”

  “Trace saved my life, and now I’m just going to sit here and let him die!”

  “Kendall…”

  She stood up, pulling out of his embrace. She took two steps away, swaying toward the floor before he caught her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. She looked scared, broken, and he couldn’t stop the stab of pain that tore through his heart.

  “Easy,” he soothed.

  She started sobbing. He grimaced, carrying her over to the couch. “Rest,” he said, placing her on the leather cushions.

  “Dawson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Earlier. When you kissed me… I would’ve let you in.” She closed her eyes.

  “Rest,” he whispered, touching her on the shoulder.

  “I wanted you to make love to me. I’ve never wanted any man like that before. I’ve never cared like this before.”

  Her voice was quiet and slurred, threading the words together into one. “Go to sleep,” he said, covering her in a soft blanket. “Go to sleep.”

  Dawson stood up and stared down at the woman who’d kidnapped his heart. Even asleep her lips were frozen into the beginnings of a grimace. Pain and guilt collided, giving him an ache no amount of alcohol could drown. There were rules, protocol, lines he couldn’t cross. But as she shifted on the cushions, sighing out a breathy little moan, he knew he’d do anything just to see her smile. He cursed and walked out the door, muttering under his breath as he entered the kitchen, ignoring Mitchell’s knowing smile.

  “How is she?” asked Mitchell, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “We just sentenced her brother to death. How do you think she is?”

  “It was the right move to make. And if you hadn’t allowed yourself to fall for her, you wouldn’t be second guessing yourself.”

  Dawson glared at him, but didn’t speak. He felt hollow, insignificant. He grabbed the cup Mitchell offered him and walked back down the hall, trying to ignore the way Mitchell shadowed his every step, as he stopped at the doorway. Mitchell gazed in the room over Dawson’s shoulder. Kendall was lying on the couch, her body still cloaked in the blanket he’d placed over her. She looked so vulnerable, so alone. He closed his eyes, fighting the need to take her in his arms and love the pain away.

  “You’re taking this one too hard, buddy. You know what’ll happen if you don’t let it go.”

  “I made her a promise.”

  “You know better than to make promises you can’t keep,” warned Mitchell.

  “I didn’t intend on breaking this one.”

  Mitchell tapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you get some rest while I call headquarters. They need to know about the change in plans.”

  Mitchell took two steps before Dawson grabbed his arm. “Wait, Mitchell.”

  “What?”

  “Do me a favor? Let me call HQ.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t think you were up to that.”

  “Just let me handle it, okay? I need to be the one to make the decisions. I owe her that much.”

  “Whatever you say, buddy, but I think it’ll only make you feel worse.” Mitchell headed back to the living room. “Get some rest. She’ll need you tomorrow.”

  Yes, he thought. And she’s going to get more than she bargained for.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Kendall.”

  She groaned, but didn’t waken.

  “Kendall.”

  Kendall blinked. “What?” She looked around, finally focusing on Dawson’s face.

  “Take these.” He was holding a glass in one hand and some pills in the other.

  “What are they?”

  “Don’t question me, just take them.” Dawson shoved them in her mouth. “It’s not like I’m trying to poison you. Despite what you think, I’m not the enemy.”

  She looked at him, but didn’t answer.

  “How bad do you feel?”

  She grabbed her head, moaning as her vision blurred and shifted. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Can you race?”

  She stilled. She must have heard him wrong. “Don’t joke about that. It’s not funny.”

  “Good, because I’m not joking.” Dawson reached down and picked some clothes up off the floor. “I went through your stuff. I hope these are okay.” He handed her the pile. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping my promise.” He smiled. “Now, do you need help or not?”

  “No.” She sat up, clutching her stomach as the nausea washed over her. “Oh, God.”

  “Here,” he said, pulling off her sweater. “We don’t have much time.” He grabbed one of the shirts and slid it over her head.

  She tried to ignore the tingling feeling of his fingers against her skin as he trailed them across her back and down her arm, praying he’d attribute the flush in her face to her hangover.

  “I could probably do this with my eyes closed if you’d prefer,” he offered.

  She rolled her eyes. He’d touched her body and sipped her nipple into his mouth yesterday, and here he was worrying about whether she’d be embarrassed to have him see her in her underwear. “You saw a lot more of me yesterday. I hardly think there’s need to worry.”

  A soft moan trembled from his lips as he smoothed the shirt across her back, lingering just long enough to make her arch against his hand. “You know it might be prudent not to mention that. After all, I’m wearing running tights.”

  He moved back, and she smiled at the bulge in his pants, resisting the urge to run her fingers along its length. Instead she looked up at his face, one eyebrow arched in question. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I believe Trace is alive, and I’m not about to let Garrick go free.” He reached out his hand and helped her up. “Just promise me you’ll do exactly as I ask. No hero stuff once we get to Garrick’s hideout.”

  “But what if—”

  “Promise me,” he interrupted.

  “I promise.”

  “Fine.” Dawson walked to the door, holstering a gun down the back of his pants. “Just one more thing. I’m telling you right now. If I have to choose between saving Trace and saving you, I’ve already made my decision.”

  Kendall only nodded as she followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  “You’re up early,” said Mitchell. “Why the funny outfit?” he began, but stopped when he caught her gaze. He glared at Dawson. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Now’s not a good time, Mitchell.” Dawson brushed past him, grabbing some food from the pantry.

  “I suspect not.” He walked over and turned Dawson to face him. “There’s no way I’m lettin
g you risk your life, and Kendall’s, because you’re feeling guilty!”

  “This isn’t about guilt,” said Dawson, pulling away from Mitchell. “It’s about saving a man’s life!”

  “Bullshit! We both know you’re doing this because you don’t want your girlfriend to hate you.”

  Dawson threw Mitchell against the fridge. “Don’t push me. Besides, I’m the one calling the shots on this one.”

  “Yeah, and you’re the one who’ll have their ass hung out to dry when the Director finds out about it.”

  “There’s the phone.”

  Mitchell glared back. “You didn’t tell her about the shirt covered in blood, did you?”

  Dawson tightened his grip. “Don’t.”

  “What shirt?” demanded Kendall. “Dawson, what’s he talking about?”

  Dawson released Mitchell and stepped over to her. “It’s nothing. Let’s just get what we need.”

  She grabbed him by the sleeve. “Tell me. I need to know.”

  Dawson snarled, glaring once more at Mitchell. “When we hit Garrick’s place last night we found Trace’s racing shirt. The one he was wearing when Garrick took him. There was a cut across the chest and there was blood on it.”

  “No,” she gasped, stepping back.

  “Hey! It wasn’t enough to kill him.” Dawson moved closer and framed her face in his hands. “He’s alive, Kendall. I finally understand what Garrick’s about. You’re right. He won’t kill Trace as long as he thinks he can get to you. He wants you to suffer. Whether that means killing Trace while you watch, I’m not sure. But he’s alive, and we’ll get him back.”

  Kendall nodded, unable to speak. She had to believe. After all, Trace was depending on her.

  “This is crazy,” said Mitchell. “Even if you’re right, he’ll kill you once you reach him. You can’t honestly think any of you will come out of this alive.”

  “Funny, I was just thinking the same about him,” said Dawson.