by Meli Raine
“Do it,” she hisses. “Take me. C’mon, Drew. What are you afraid of? I want it. I want you. Let’s just get it over with,” she says, egging me on. Lindsay is an emotional pendulum. The arc is too wide.
Too extreme.
I chill immediately.
What the fuck is this game?
“No,” I say, my voice ragged and torn, like she’s shredded my vocal cords. “No way. I’m not going to screw you against the side of a building because you want to get it over with, Lindsay. I can’t be some weird version of a revenge fuck.”
My cock is screaming ten thousand different versions of Yes, you can! while the rest of me wants to duct tape her mouth shut and stick her on a helicopter back to that mental hospital because maybe Lindsay isn’t done cooking yet.
She might need some more time there.
And I may be the biggest goddamned sucker on the planet.
“It’s just sex, Drew,” she says viciously, her hair a disaster, eyes practically glowing. I tuck myself back in, using every stress-control technique I can think of to regain impulse control.
I get in her face, our lips a half inch from each other, and my eyes cross until I can’t see her anymore. All I see is red. “I am not going to let you turn me into a monster like those guys four years ago, Lindsay. I don’t play that game. You can stand there and tell me you hate me after spending tender time in bed with me and letting me inside you just enough to know all of this is a big sack of shit.”
Her lips curls up in a snarl, but I can see she’s fighting on the inside. Lindsay’s a great liar, but not when it comes to how she feels about me.
“Tell me the truth about that night,” she insists.
“I already did.” Except she’s right – I didn’t. I continue. “I won’t help you in your quest to convince yourself that I am bad. I refuse. The first time we make love, it won’t be in anger, and it sure as hell won’t be up against the side of your house within earshot of a security detail you just emasculated.”
She laughs. It’s the sound of broken glass dropped on a tin roof. “Who did I emasculate, Drew?”
“You’re not like this,” I snap back, but the crazy fire in me is calming down. It has parameters now. Borders. I can manage this. I can get myself back to baseline.
“Like what?”
“Self-destructive.”
“You think this is self-destructive? Hah! It’s self-preservation!”
“The fact that you can’t tell the difference makes you dangerous, Lindsay.”
“Fuck you!”
“No. We’ve established that already. Quit begging.”
“You wish I begged!”
Tension radiates like live wires between us. She’s looking at me with such a mix of hatred, lust, and determination that I want to let her run away.
With me right on her heels.
But I can’t.
Because I have a job to do.
I look up at the open window. “I assume you can’t scale walls?” I ask her.
She huffs.
“Then we need to go back in the house the normal way. Through an actual door.” I reach for her arm to guide her. She wrenches it away. My fingertips burn with the feel of her.
That’s all I’m getting for now.
I guess it’s better than nothing.
At least she’s still here, weaving her way through the bushes alongside the house’s foundation, finding grass and a stone path that winds around to the back door.
My gun is in my waistband. Lindsay’s in sight.
Just another night at work, right?
Chapter 4
Lindsay sits on her bed, pretending to read on her phone. Her long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, eyes hard, mouth tight.
She looks like her mother.
The whole pretending-to-be-bored schtick makes her seem even more like Monica.
Except Monica really is bored most of the time.
Every few seconds, Lindsay’s tongue pokes out to lick the tiny split in her lip. It’s healing slowly from the car accident. God, that was just a few days ago, wasn’t it? Time telescoped the second the helicopter landed on that island five days ago, when I checked her out and brought her back to her real life.
Paulson’s standing near the door, taking it all in, silent. Gentian’s nervous, primed for emergency where one no longer exists.
This is my tactical team. This.
I couldn’t ask for better people.
“Is this going to take long? I’m hungry,” Lindsay whines.
I roll my eyes.
“Should have thought about that before you decided to skip out on us and nearly create an international scandal.”
“I aim to please,” she says with a smirk, not looking up from her screen.
It’s all an act. She knows it, I know it, and Paulson definitely knows it. He frowns, giving me a look that asks, Fill me in later?
I nod.
“Lindsay’s attackers have been texting her. Started during or right after the car was tampered with.”
Paulson perks up. “You trace the texts?”
“Yes. The first batch came from a phone registered to Lindsay.”
Gentian and Paulson give her hard looks.
She finally reacts, dropping her phone, palms up. “I didn’t do it!”
They look to me to verify.
“I was with her during the entire time when she allegedly bought the phone that the texts are from. She couldn’t have done it.”
“Not even an online purchase? Or set up someone else to do it for her?” Paulson asks.
“Fuck you,” Lindsay exclaims. “I’m right here in the room! You’re talking about me like I’m not even here. Of course I didn’t do it!”
Paulson’s eyes dart to her. “It’s nothing personal. The truth never is.”
She snorts.
“It’s possible,” I concede.
“Drew!” Lindsay gasps, her voice small and hurt. I wish she’d just yell at me. Now I feel like shit for hurting her. I am too reactive, too pumped.
Too emotional.
“But highly improbable,” I continue. “She does know how to use the darknet, though. Could hire someone to do all this for her,” I add. “Plus, she’s using covert systems to communicate with her hacker. Book reviews written in code. Signing up for text message alerts for sweepstakes.”
“Really simple tools,” Mark muses.
Her eyes bulge. “How do you know I....?” She winces.
Ha. Caught.
“I suspected. We have evidence. You just confirmed it.”
“I confirmed nothing other than the fact that I hate you.”
I sigh.
Paulson smirks.
“I know.” I give her a tight smile. “You’ve said that already, so no need to repeat yourself, sweetheart.”
“But I never hired anyone to do this! I swear to God I’m not pretending to be in danger.” The desperation in her voice makes my gut tighten. Her anger turns into a tearful plea to be believed.
I reach for her and press my palm on her shoulder. She closes her eyes, one tear trickling down the line of her straight nose, down the side of the nostril and over the crest of her upper lip. She’s sending more mixed signals than a malfunctioning Super-8 ball.
“I know,” I say softly. My emotions are all over the place.
Her eyes fly open. We look at each other, each second more intense than the last, until she’s all that I see. All that I know.
All that I love.
And all that I protect.
“I know you didn’t set this up. They did. They’re gunning for you, and we need to figure out why.”
“And stop them dead,” Paulson adds.
Lindsay jolts. It’s like she forgot other people were in the room, too.
“Dead?”
Paulson shrugs. “If that’s what it takes.”
“Oh,” she whispers. Then her lips settle into a not-quite-smile that makes me hold my breath.
This would be so much easier if we could take John, Blaine and Stellan out, but that’s not how this is going to work.
Nothing’s simple when it comes to those three.
“You know where they are?”
“Yes.”
“How’d they buy the phone under Lindsay’s name?”
“Our darknet guy says they’ve been all over Russian sites and other places, hiring people to surveil her. Mimic her. It’s four years ago, only with higher stakes.”
“What do you mean?” Lindsay drops her phone and sits up, leaning intently, listening fully.
“We know you know this, Lindsay. Drop the act.”
“Know what?” Her face is blank. Too blank. I know when she’s hiding something.
“You have a friend who helped you access the darknet from your time on the Island.”
Her eyes flicker with emotion she snuffs out, fast.
She says nothing.
“You’ve been communicating with him – or her – by using online retailer reviews.”
She snorts. “You’re crazy. Quit saying that.”
“But I’m not wrong.”
Paulson’s eyes ping between us. He already knows this information. I told him earlier, when I figured it out and brought him in on the case.
“Do you have any idea how ludicrous you sound? Reviews? I’m using book reviews to communicate with someone? I’m not that nerdy.”
“Let’s pull up some of the reviews you’ve left on books lately, Lindsay. Shall we?” I pull out my own phone and tap the links I’ve stored in it.
Emotion fills her face.
It’s anger.
“I don’t have time for this crap, Drew. I’m exhausted, and Daddy’s going to chew you out for wasting his time.”
I ignore her and talk to Paulson instead.
“Clever, like I told you. If you’re constantly being monitored, how do you communicate with someone your watchers aren’t supposed to know even exists? You use code, right? Encrypted code. Except Lindsay isn’t a developer. Not a coderchick. So what does she do? She uses books.”
“Shut up, Drew.”
“Reading’s therapeutic, right?” I continue, ignoring her. “The people at the mental institution likely encouraged her to read. Pre-approved books. And when she asked for permission to leave reviews on book retailers, she probably got an enthusiastic yes. Her interest in literary pursuits was progress.”
I flash her a look designed to put her on guard. “You picked some of the most ridiculous books, but you and your helper were smart. Self-help books. Make the staff think you were focused on self-care.”
“You’re inventing all this, Drew.”
I smile. “I have your file from the Island, Lindsay. It’s all in there.” I know – and she knows – that I don’t have all the information. That’s okay.
Eventually I will.
Right now, though, I have to make her think I know more than I really do.
It’s the only way to mine her for new information.
“You want me to think that.” But she’s shaky. She might as well give it up. I figured it all out two days ago.
Almost all of it.
Every bit except for the identity of her internet helper, but that’ll come in time.
“Finding Your Inner Bitch: 365 Ways to Be Angry,” I quote with a chuckle. Paulson smothers a grin. “Nice book. We decoded your review.”
Lindsay just shakes her head slowly. She’s fighting a grin, though.
“Want to know what it actually says? You used one of the simplest codes in the world. The third letter after each punctuation mark in the review is the message.”
Lindsay’s face twists into a mask of anger and she snaps, “Cipher.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re going to talk about how I communicated with him, have the intelligence to use the correct words. It wasn’t a code. It was a cipher, dumbass.”
We’ve progressed to name-calling. Great.
“She’s got you there,” Paulson mutters.
“I wasn’t in this branch of military intelligence,” I bite off.
“Biggest oxymoron ever,” she says with a sigh.
“You pulled that old joke out? Oh, my hurt heart,” I say, hand over my chest. “Bottom line: we figured it out. We know what you asked your contact to research, and we know you’ve been surveilling Stellan, Blaine and John for the last few months.”
“Not surveilling. Just wanted to know where they were.”
“But you acted like you didn’t know about their success.”
“I didn’t! I only knew where they were. Not who they’d become.”
“You’re lying.”
“I swear!”
“You’ve sworn before.”
“But I mean it now!” She frowns. “I knew they were in the press. The first year there, I got secret Internet access. But the last two years they completely cut me off. That’s why I started doing the book review things.”
I give her an I told you so look.
“Fine. Yes, you figured it out.” She half smiles. “I fooled everyone but you, Drew.”
“Remember that, sweets. I will always know your secrets, especially if having them puts you in danger.”
“Don’t call me sweets! And I was never in danger. At least, not on the Island.”
“What do you know about your internet informant?”
“Plenty.”
“Who is it?”
She goes silent. Then she smirks. “You don’t know, do you?”
Paulson cuts me a look. I’m pretty damn sure Lindsay doesn’t know who her informant was, either. This whole situation stinks to high heaven. When you don’t know who to trust, trust no one.
Fox Mulder had it right.
“No, I don’t.” Why not be honest? One of us has to be.
“Don’t expect me to tell you,” she says with a huff.
“I don’t. Because you don’t know, either.”
She recoils slightly.
“We’ll figure it out. Everyone leaves breadcrumbs.”
“This isn’t exactly Hansel and Gretel.”
“It’s pretty damn close, Lindsay.”
Paulson looks at us both. “You need me, still?” The first rays of morning light peek through the window. I yawn. Jesus – it’s got to be morning soon. A seven a.m. meeting for the day shift is coming on us fast.
“You want to come to the seven a.m. briefing?”
He glances at his phone. “Might as well. It’s in forty minutes.” He looks at Lindsay, then me, eyebrows up. “How about I go talk to the other guys and meet you in the conference room. Same place as before?”
I nod. He leaves.
“Aren’t you leaving, too?” Lindsay’s voice is hostile as hell, but two can play that game.
“Not yet.”
Her long, heavy sigh should enrage me.
I laugh instead.
“You just put your life in danger. You put your father in danger by extension. And you’re sitting here rolling your eyes and sighing like a tween with an attitude.”
“You mean I put Daddy’s presidential campaign in jeopardy.”
“No. I said what I meant, Lindsay.” I get right in her face. “You put his life in jeopardy. Because if you’re kidnapped, do you have any idea what kind of bounty your kidnappers could demand? A presidential candidate’s daughter?”
“He hasn’t declared yet.”
“You think that protects you? He’s declaring tomorrow! You’re on a plane tonight for Sacramento!”
“WHAT?”
Oh, shit. No one told her.
“Anya was supposed to brief you.”
“Been a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Busy stealing my weapon.
Along with my heart.
“Considering I’ve been with you for ninety-eight percent of the time since you’ve been home, Lindsay, how could I not notice?”
“And yet you haven’t.” Hurt
shines in her eyes as she looks at me. “Tomorrow? The official announcement’s tomorrow?”
“He waited until you were home. We’ve kept the car crash out of the papers so far, but he wants to declare. And you have to be on stage.”
“I don’t have to do shit.”
She’s all bark and no bite. She’ll go.
She has no real choice. All the rules are different when you’re born into money and power.
If she refuses, Monica and Harry will put the thumbscrews on her. I should know.
They’ve gone over this contingency plan.
They’ll call Stacia from the Island and turn her into Lindsay’s on-site, 24/7 therapist. Therapeutic babysitter. If Lindsay thinks it’s bad having my security detail on her like ants in a sugar bowl, wait until she sees the back up plan.
She’s watching me as I think it through, waiting her out.
“They – those bastards can’t get me. Not again.”
“They won’t.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true. Do what I tell you. Do what Harry asks. Just stick with the plan and don’t deviate and we can get through this.”
“The campaign?”
“No. That’s a cakewalk, Lindsay. I’m talking about them.” I gesture toward her phone. “Whatever game Stellan, Blaine and John are up to, they won’t win.”
“I hate this. I fucking hate this. I hate being under a microscope. I hate that I don’t have my life. I hate being an extension of Daddy and being paraded around like a prized animal. I hate that I can’t even flee my own awful life! I can’t run away. Please, Drew, let me run away. Let me go.” She dissolves into thick tears, her voice earnest and pleading.
It’s the first sign of true emotion I’ve seen in her. Authentic. Raw.
And it breaks my heart.
But I can’t say yes.
I can’t.
Bending down, I don’t touch her, but I do move closer. Her head’s down and her hair’s a mess, smashed with twigs and mulch, making her seem wild, feral, like a child of the forest, primeval and savage.
“I wish I could give you a better answer, Lindsay. But if you leave, you’re a target. You’d be captured and used as a weapon against your dad.”
“I’m a prisoner no matter what. I don’t know who to trust.”
I open my mouth to argue, then snap it shut.
