by Meli Raine
Monica snorts just like Lindsay did a moment ago. “What are you doing here, Drew?” Monica shouts, her voice a hard knife blade. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
The look Lindsay gives me says, I’m sorry.
“He’s being an ass, Daddy. Following me here while I was on a run.” She points to her earbuds. “Listening to some Jane’s Addiction.” She stresses the word Jane.
Jane.
Right.
“Escort him off the grounds,” Harry says in a monotone, as if telling his personal assistant to hang the dry cleaning on the back of his office door. I’m no one. Nothing.
Not worth emotion.
It hits me.
That’s a good thing.
Because when you don’t elicit an emotional response from people, what are you?
Invisible.
I’m perp-marched off the grounds, where I find Mark Paulson leaning against the main gate, shaking his head slowly.
“Someone located your car.” He nods to a black SUV. “They’ll take you to it.” He sighs. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Quit?” I purse my lips and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“We’re on the same side, Drew.”
“I know.”
“She’s still going to Jane’s place tonight.”
I grin. “I know.”
And with that, I get a nice escort back to my car, courtesy of the United States government.
Chapter 18
Gated apartment complexes are a complete joke. Lindsay’s out of her SUV, escorted by Silas to Jane’s apartment, and I’m watching the entire thing from a chaise longue next to the apartment complex pool, being chatted up by a senior citizen named Phyllis who thinks I’m the new pool guy.
Five minutes later, I’m checking out the broken pool pump using a back entrance to Jane’s apartment. Nice old Phyllis wanders off to make me cookies. I won’t ever eat a single snickerdoodle, but it made her leave.
Jane lives on the first floor. Could she be any stupider? What single woman chooses a garden apartment? I make a mental note to tell Anya that her daughter needs to put personal safety at a higher priority.
Scratch that.
No, I don’t.
Because I don’t exist.
If I don’t exist, I can’t pick the lock on her back door in ten seconds flat, and if I don’t exist I can’t slide into her apartment and hide in the bathtub while Lindsay and Jane chat in her tiny galley kitchen, each holding a wine cooler and sharing a plate of chicken wings.
And if I don’t exist, I can’t wait her out.
Good thing I don’t exist.
That leaky shower head sure does exist, though. I wait them out, hoping Lindsay still has a bladder the size of a pea. We joked about it for years, road trips dominated by bathroom stops.
By the time she finally comes into the bathroom and locks the door, my hair is soaked, and there’s a cold line of wet cloth running from the nape of my neck down my ass crack.
I wait until she’s vulnerable.
Slowly, with agonizing care, I peel back the shower curtain and look for her, ready to shush her.
Except she’s not on the toilet.
She’s in the far corner of the bathroom, smirking, fully clothed and giving me a once-over look that makes me swell.
“Took you long enough.”
And then her mouth is on mine. We’re hungry for each other’s touch and taste. She’s all grapes and sour apple, with a sweet ’n sour scent lingering as our tongues tangle, her hands sliding under my wet shirt to find my back, the heat of her palms making me groan.
We don’t even have to say it. Being back together, being free together with the secrets of the past poured out between us leaves me pulsing with anticipation.
With need.
Lindsay feels it, too.
“What’s with the ninja costume?” she asks, laughing against my jaw.
“Ninja pool man,” I whisper, biting her earlobe.
Her hand cups me, making me hiss, the promise too much. “Don’t get me going. Not when we can’t do anything about it.” She ignores me and begins stroking me over my pants, touching me in unspeakable ways.
At least, I can’t speak right now.
“Jane left. We’re alone. I can finish anything you start, Drew. I can’t believe how much I want you.”
That’s all I need to hear.
“Not here, though,” I warn. The fact that Jane made herself scarce tells me she’s close to Lindsay, which is a double-edged sword. I want Lindsay to have friends, a confidante. On the other hand, the more people know about my actions, the more at risk Lindsay is. Jane’s trustworthy.
To the extent that anyone is.
“Where?” she gasps as I circle her nipple with my thumb, making it peak, the reaction arousing. She sighs, a breathy sound that pushes against my jaw as I kiss her again. I can’t get enough of her. I need to be in her, need to make her know how much I want her, how incomplete I am without her near me.
A cheap apartment bathtub in an unsecured location isn’t cutting it.
“Can’t do my place,” I whisper. “I’m sure I’m being watched.”
“Same with my house,” she hisses as she reaches down the front of my pants and very expertly wraps her fingers around my hard shaft.
All logic shatters into a thousand soft pieces of groaning bliss.
“Jesus, Lindsay, don’t do that!”
She strokes once, twice.
I start to shake and grab her wrist, hard.
“Not like this,” I insist.
She lets go of me and in a flash, pulls off her panties, throwing them casually aside. They catch on the light switch.
“It’s right here, right now, or nowhere, Drew.” Hands on her hips, she gives me a jaunty smile. Bold and powerful, eager and bright, she’s suddenly the Lindsay I knew four years ago.
I can’t say no.
Hell. What man could?
And who would want to?
We’re on the floor in seconds, her legs wrapped around me, mouth hard and urgent against mine. We’re seconds away from just riding each other when I stop, shaking, and pull away.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I don’t want to just have a quick fuck.”
Her laugh is unexpected. “You don’t? Are you sure you’re a human male, Drew?” The sardonic tone makes me wince. You’ll regret this tomorrow, that tone says.
“I meant I don’t want just that.”
“When did I ever say that was all we were going to do?” she whispers, licking the edge of my ear as she sits up, her hand on my ass. “Let’s take what we can get and find room for more after.”
Oh, God. Everything happens so fast. We’re locked in a bathroom in Jane’s apartment, half naked and full-blown crazy, panting and hot and aroused and hard and then I’m in her, all slick warm velvet and cream, her thighs tight on my hips, her fingernails scratching my back over my shirt, her warm, wet breath urging me as I slide into home.
Over and over and over, her hips arching up to catch me, Lindsay takes without mercy. I’m flying, flipping her so I get better traction, pumping hard as she begs for more, her body tensing, her orgasm seconds away.
As my hips move and she meets me every inch of the way, momentum builds, my breath in my ears and her scent all over me, our naked skin sliding and slipping. Our bodies are in tandem as she moans my name, her neck stretched and taut, her fingers digging into me as she clenches and releases into the abyss that has no name, no face, no label.
Just pure energy.
I can’t hold back, my cock jerking as my thighs shake, her gorgeous body under mine, turning me on and making me a live, naked wire as I come hard, muffling my shout in her hair, my pulse so fast it’s like I’ve skipped dimensions. Every move she makes incites me, excites me, makes me want her more.
“I can’t get enough of you,” she moans in my ear right before she kisses me, our teeth cr
ashing, lips moving with a hunger that I mirror.
I’m still coming, incapable of speech, my hands on her breasts, her ass, her hips – I want it all – and then we’re both twitching and panting, my head spinning, and Lindsay laughs so hard I fall out of her.
Evicted.
She’s half propped up against the bathtub, her skirt around her waist, the back of her hair a rat’s nest and she’s hooting, giggling so hard she makes an adorable snorting sound.
Which means this is the perfect time to give her my gun.
No, not the flesh one I just fired into her.
A real one.
She crab walks, scrambling to get away from me as I hand her the tiny pistol.
“What the fuck, Drew? Is this some military custom I don’t know about? Sleep with your girlfriend and give her a gun or something?”
Girlfriend.
All the air in my body whooshes out. White spots dot my vision, then clear to give me the truest vision of Lindsay I’ve ever experienced. We’re ragged and sweaty, soaked in each other’s musk and half dressed, on Jane’s bathroom floor, as a group of enemies seek to destroy us.
And I’ve never been happier.
She is radiant.
I press the tiny pistol into her palm as I kiss her deeply.
“You need this. Just in case. And you need something even more important.”
This is when I pull out my syringe. I came prepared.
Her eyes bug out.
“What the hell, Drew? My mom speculated you might be on drugs, but -- ”
I show her the microchip.
Now she pulls away from me.
“What the hell is that?” The mood is gone.
“A microchip.”
“You’re the Terminator, aren’t you? A cyborg from the future. This explains so much.” She’s rambling and starts to stand, searching for her panties. I point to the light switch.
“Why are you so focused on time travel, Lindsay?” I stand, too. I’m faster at getting dressed, and by the time she makes eye contact, I have the syringe with the chip in my hands, ready to explain.
“Because right now, I want to be anywhere, any time, but here. Now. What the hell, Drew?” She looks at the gun in her hand, then pings to the syringe in mine. “What is this? You want to...”
“Microchip you.”
“I’m not a pet!”
There are so many replies to that one. I smartly hold them all back and just look at her. I lick my upper lip and taste her.
“This is simple. Your dad is making all the wrong decisions.”
Bang bang bang.
We both jump and I almost drop the chip, but catch it at the last second.
“Ms. Bosworth?” It’s Silas, from the outside door. “We need to get you home.”
What he’s really saying is, Get the fuck out of there, Drew.
“We don’t have much time,” I say tersely. “I need to insert this in you.” I pull out the alcohol swab and grab her wrist.
“In me?” She snatches her hand back.
“Yes.”
“I have an ‘insert one item per day’ limit with you, Drew.” She shoots me a smug smile, but she’s creeped out.
“Not today.”
She just blinks, the truth of what I’m saying slowly sinking in, her cheeks going red.
“You’re not kidding.”
“No.”
“You think I’m in that kind of danger? So much danger that I need to be chipped so you can track me in case they – in the event of a -- ”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you just slept with me?”
Bang bang bang.
This is all too much, too fast, too jumbled and full. Emotion and action don’t mix for me. They just don’t. You act on instinct and override fear to get the target to safety. Sometimes I’m the target. Most of the time, it’s someone else.
You don’t feel for the target, though.
And the target never has feelings for you.
But this is different.
The stakes are higher.
The stakes are everything.
“I slept with you because I can’t keep my hands and heart off you, Lindsay. I want to chip you so I never have to stop touching you and loving you.”
Her neck snaps back with shock, anger melting into desperate love. “Oh, God. It really is that bad.”
I give her a look that says it is.
She deserves the truth.
“You cannot trust anyone. Not a single soul,” I say, holding out my hand. She puts her shaking palm in mine and squeezes.
“Not even Jane?” she asks.
I don’t reply.
Because I don’t know.
Then I drop to my knees at her feet.
“Again?” she gasps. “Now really isn’t the time for -- ”
Bang bang bang. “Ms. Bosworth!”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Silas!” she shouts.
“I’m not going down on you, Lindsay. I’m looking for the best place to plant the chip,” I explain. Just under the ankle bone? No.
I grab her hand again, pinching the fleshy web between her thumb and index finger. One swipe with the alcohol wipe, then jab.
“Ow!” Her other hand is on my shoulder, digging in, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t jerk away. Acceptance on her part surprises me, but she’s always been smart. Quick. She gets it.
I wish she didn’t have to.
“This is so surreal, Drew,” she whispers. “It’s like Find My iPhone, only now it’s Find My Lindsay.”
Exactly. That’s the whole point. “Everything about the last week has been surreal, Lindsay. Welcome to my reality.”
“I want to live in your reality with you,” she says as I throw on a small Band-Aid over the fresh cut. Looking down, she rubs my hair. I look up. “I hate that I’ve spent the last four years thinking you didn’t love me. That you betrayed me.”
“That’s exactly what they want to do, Lindsay. Distort reality. They want everyone to think that lies are true and the truth is a lie.”
“How the hell do we win?”
Bzzzz. My phone.
I know it’s Silas.
“Answer the door, Lindsay. Let Silas in.” I grab her and give her a swift, fierce kiss, then nudge her towards the door. She looks back at me, so many questions in her eyes, but she nods and does as she’s told.
Gentian appears in the hallway as I leave the bathroom. I realize I have no idea what Lindsay did with the pistol I gave her. Maybe she stored it in her bra?
Can’t think about her breasts right now.
No.
“Foster, you’re out of your mind.” He is seething. “You could do time in federal prison for all this.”
“It’s a fucking set-up, Gentian.”
“I know that. So what are you doing here? Get out. Go away. Hide. Leave the country, Drew.”
I look over his shoulder, down the dim hallway, to where Lindsay is searching through her purse. She finds a compact and checks herself in the mirror, lips red with kisses, hair a mess.
“No way. I can’t leave her.”
“You’ll leave her if you end up in prison, Drew.”
“I have enough contacts in the system to avoid that, Silas. I’m being framed. With enough time and investigation, we can out the truth and -- ”
“Listen to yourself.” His voice is low and hard. Silas has never talked to me in this tone before. Then again, I’m not his boss anymore. “I say this as a friend, Drew. You sound like some naive conspiracy theory nutcase on a cable channel series. You know damn well the people after you and Lindsay can make you disappear. Or worse. You need to hide.”
“If I hide, Lindsay comes with me.”
His hair curls as he runs an angry hand through the space over his left ear, then rubs his mouth. “Then you’ll have a manhunt unlike any other with you as the target. A presidential candidate’s daughter being kidnapped by her stalker ex-boyfriend?”
“That�
�s not -- ”
“That is exactly how the press will spin this. Senator Bosworth, too. The whole damn machine goes into damage control and you become the scapegoat. It’s so obvious. Jesus, Drew. Mark told me you were being unreasonable, but I didn’t think you of all people could be so stupid!”
His words cannot sink in. They can’t. No matter how right he is, I can’t leave her.
“Let me take her back to The Grove. Give you time to sort this out,” he says.
I’ve told no one about the microchip. At least there’s that.
“Paulson is personally there right now. Our techies are working on the text issue. They know who Lindsay’s darknet contact was when she was at the Island and think there’s a link,” he adds.
“A link?” Lindsay’s voice is high with anxiety. “What do you mean, a link?”
The implications of what Silas is saying hit me. Hard.
“He means that whoever helped you when you were on the Island is potentially behind setting you up for your fingerprints on the brake lines of your car, for buying the phone that texted you threatening messages, and now setting me up.”
Her gasp breaks my heart.
Bzzz.
That’s Silas’s phone. He takes a look, his face hardening. Cold eyes meet mine.
“She needs to get home. Now.”
“Please, Drew. What does this mean? What are they doing? My darknet person on the Island helped me to have outside access. To know what the outside world said about me. They didn’t -- ”
I ignore her words, but walk past Silas and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“We need to know who it is,” I snap.
Silas gives me a look. “No shit.” He pauses. “Sir,” he adds, his voice bitter.
I turn to Lindsay. “We need to know who it is.”
Her face goes slack. “I don’t know who my informant was.”
I hold my breath. Pretty sure she’s doing the same.
This is a standoff.
I break it. I have to believe her.
I kiss Lindsay’s temple. God, she still smells like us, like me, a faint whiff of my own musk in her hair. “Silas will take you home. Mark’s there. He’s right. I’m a liability to you right now. If they’re after me, too, then being with you ups the danger for you.”
Years of living with other people telling her what to do for purposes bigger than herself makes Lindsay remarkably accepting. “Fine,” she says, resigned. Her ankle rubs against mine.
