by Linda Verji
“Work stuff?” Damián asked when he caught her staring at her phone for the umpteenth time.
“Mm,” she answered distractedly.
He would’ve left it like that but tonight was about repairing their relationship. It was about getting back to who they were before Lincoln shouldered his way back into their life– a couple who shared every single thing about their day and supported each other. So he prodded, “Or is it something to do with home?”
She didn’t even lift her eyes to him as she said, “Something like that.”
What kind of answer was that? He waited for her to say something more but she was now typing on her phone. He held back a frustrated sigh as he turned his attention back to the road. Hopefully, when they got to the restaurant she’d put away that phone and start concentrating on them.
But Damián’s hopes were not to be realized. As soon as the maître d’ settled them at their table. Aiko was back on her phone and typing as if she was going to get award for it. It only got worse as they ate. Her attention alternated between her food and her phone. Each time he tried to talk to her it felt like he was pulling her away from something that was more important than him.
Barely holding back the frustration from seeping into his voice, Damián tried again, “So how did the lunch with Caroline go?”
“It was okay.” She shrugged as she stared at her phone. Just shrugged. No details or anything. It was enough to snap the thin thread holding his patience.
In clipped tones, he said, “I’m really trying here.”
That drew Aiko’s attention and she lifted her gaze to him. “Sorry?”
“I said I’m really trying here,” he said. “But you’re giving me nothing. This dinner was about us but you seem to be more interested in your phone.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” There was genuine remorse in her gaze as she set the phone beside her plate. “I know you’re trying. I’m just…” Her words drifted into silence as she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re just what?” he prodded.
“Don’t worry about it.” She lowered her gaze to her plate as she reached for her fork. Poking at her green beans, she murmured, “I know you don’t like it when I talk about him.”
Why wasn’t he surprised? He didn’t even have to ask who ‘him’ was. Lincoln. Fighting the urge to heave a sigh, he said, “What’s happening with him?”
Aiko must’ve detected something in his tone because she stared at him for a long moment before finally saying, “You remember I told you he was leaving?”
Of course, Damián remembered. It had been the highlight of his week.
At his curt nod, she continued, “He said he was leaving with Brenda for Baton Rouge. Every time we’ve talked since he left he’s been telling that he’s there. Thing is Brenda called me today, and she says that he dropped her at the airport and said he was coming back to my dad’s place. But he’s not at my dad’s either. I called him but he just sent me a text saying that he’d call to explain everything later. He still hasn’t called, and now he’s not even texting back.”
Why was Damián not surprised that Lincoln had lied about his whereabouts? The guy had been fishy right from the day he’d appeared in their lives – with his fake amnesia story. It was no shock that his fishiness still persisted.
“Lincoln is an adult,” he dismissed. “He can make his own choices of where to go or stay. You don’t have to police him.”
“I’m not policing hi-” She stopped talking to flash him an irritated glance. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course I don’t understand,” Damián shot back. “We’re supposed to be having a romantic dinner and resolving our problems. Instead here we are talking about Lincoln. Again. It feels like I’m putting in all the effort and all you care about is Lincoln. Can we have one night where he is not the star of the show? One night!”
“Fine.” Aiko’s lips straightened into a thin angry line. “You don’t want to talk about Lincoln? I won’t talk about Lincoln.”
Apparently that meant that she wouldn’t talk at all. Dinner was a silent tense affair that only got worse by the minute. If he’d known that this was how it was going to be, Damián wouldn’t even have wasted his time and energy organizing this romantic bullshit. If she was going to be angry at him, then he preferred for her to do it at home where he could escape into his study or sleep.
They didn’t even order dessert. As soon as her plate was clean, he asked for the bill. Aiko stood up and walked out of the restaurant while he was paying their bill. He found her waiting for him outside by their car. The trip home was sullen. This time he didn’t even bother trying to engage her. If she wanted to spend all her energy and thoughts on Lincoln, that was her business.
Both Zoe and Seraphina were asleep by the time the couple got home. Damián stopped by their rooms to check on them before going back downstairs to his study and poured himself a drink. Settling behind his desk, he sighed and stared up at the ceiling.
What was happening to them? All they did was fight these days. How he wished it could just stop. As uncharitable as the thought was, he wished that Lincoln had never crawled out of whatever hole he’d been in all this time. The man was destroying the best relationship Damián had ever had.
LINCOLN HAD NO idea where he was. The three suits had bodily dragged him out of his room then tossed him into the backseat of an SUV before throwing a black hood over his face. That black hood was so reminiscent of Lincoln’s time at Ryang’s hands that it had immediately set him on edge. The only reason he wasn’t in full panic mode yet was because he was sure that the men who’d brought him here were American law-enforcement agents. Those bad suits and the military-like stiff bearings screamed government.
The drive seemed to go on forever (Not that Lincoln was in any position to judge since he was busy trying to calm his racing pulse and trembling limbs) but eventually they came to a stop. The men were even rougher with him as they forcibly hauled him into a room, chained him to an immovable metal chair then removed the hood.
Lincoln found himself in a small bare room, his chair directly facing the only door in the space. There were no windows, the only lights came from the naked overhead bulb and they had taken his watch so he couldn’t even tell the time. What struck him most about the room was its smell. The metallic smell of blood merged with the stomach-turning odor of vomit to form a concoction that was lethal enough to make a man’s nose and eyes bleed.
Hearing murmuring on the other side of the door, he shouted out, “Hey, what do you want from me?”
The murmuring stopped, but no one came into the room.
Christ, what had he gotten himself into? He had no idea why he was here or which agency had him, but he was reasonably sure that it was Partridge who’d sold him out. It was no coincidence that these people had only come for Lincoln after he’d visited Partridge’s office or that they had known exactly where to find him. He was also sure that this had something to do with his inquiries into how he’d been freed.
Were these the people who’d rescued him? Or were they also interested in finding out how he’d ended up here? Had they brought him here to give him information or to torture it out of him? Lincoln started to tremble then because he wasn’t sure that he had the strength to handle any more torture. North Korea had taken everything he had to give.
Nonetheless, he pushed the fear from his voice before shouting, “Hey, can I get a lawyer in here?”
“Shut up in there.” The voice sounded annoyed.
“I know my rights. You can’t keep me in here without-” Lincoln stopped speaking when he heard keys jangling.
Shortly, the door swung open and a thickset, brown-haired man emerged holding keys in one hand and the other hand plastered onto the gun holstered to his waist. His eyes glittering with rage, the man yelled, “Listen here, you traitorous piece of garbage. You have no rights here. No lawyers will be coming-”
&n
bsp; “I’ll handle this, Rogers.” An auburn-haired woman in her early forties appeared in the doorway behind the man. Like the other agents, she was wearing a suit but hers looked more expensive. Judging by how the man straightened up when she spoke it was obvious that she out-ranked him. She took in the room and Lincoln with one efficient sweep before moving into the room. “You can leave.”
The male agent started, “Are you sure-”
“You can leave. And close the door behind you,” the woman cut in coldly. Her thin lips lifted in a smile that didn’t reach her icy green eyes as she stared at Lincoln. “Mr. Ware and I have lots to talk about.”
As soon as the male agent left the room, the woman dragged a rickety chair from the corner of the room and set it a distance in front of Lincoln. He watched her silently as she settled on the chair then daintily set one leg over the other.
“Well, Lincoln. How does it feel to be back from the dead?”
“Can’t complain,” he returned flippantly. “But it would feel much better if I was out of these things.” He jerked at the handcuffs.
The woman laughed. “That won’t happen. At least not until you tell me everything I want to-”
“Look, lady,” he cut in. “I don’t know who you are or what you want from me but-”
The woman moved so fast, Lincoln barely saw her coming. She rose to her feet and swung a short brutal punch that connected with his jaw. Savage pain ripped through the right side of Lincoln’s face stunning him into immediate silence.
“Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking.” The woman, who definitely did not hit like a girl, lowered herself back into her seat. “Now, where was I?” She flashed a cold smile. “Oh, yes. I was about to tell you that you have two options either tell me what I want to know and leave here. Or don’t tell me what I want to know and never leave. Simple.”
Lincoln glared at her in defiant silence.
“I see you’re wondering what it is I want to know.” She studied him keenly. “Well, Linc- Can I call you Linc?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “Well, Lincoln, I want to know why you’re still alive.”
He worked his jaw to ease the pain before retorting, “I don’t understand the question.”
“Maybe I should explain myself better.” Her fist flew towards his face again.
WHAT SEEMED LIKE hours later, Lincoln sat slumped back against his seat with several lacerations and deep bruises on his face. The lady agent, who he’d since discovered went by the name Chastity Spencer, paced in front of his seat.
“You know this would go much easier if you just told me the whole truth.” Spencer glared at him.
“That is the truth.” He didn’t even know how he managed to speak through his swollen jaw.
She’d been working him for so long that he was now numb to pain. At first he’d refused to answer her questions, but soon he’d discovered that the only way out of here was via the truth. Unfortunately his truth didn’t seem to be what they wanted to hear.
His eyes fixed on Spencer, Lincoln said, “I don’t know why they kept me alive. I assumed it was because they were trying to negotiate with Liberia or trying to get more information.”
“You’re lying.” Spencer advanced slowly toward Lincoln; her hand an anger laden fist. “They let you live because you were their spy. You were the one who told them your unit was on the way. You knew that Koreans were going to catch up with your team and kill them that’s why you separated from the pack - to save yourself.”
“I separated from the unit to create a diversion for them to escape,” he shot back. “Ask Partridge.”
“Partridge says you insisted on pulling away from the others even though no one wanted you to sacrifice yourself.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “And now we know that the whole Jesus act was just a load of bullshit. You weren’t being a hero. You just didn’t want to get caught in the trap you’d set for them.”
“What trap?” Lincoln jerked violently in his seat. The movement sent waves of pain across his body as the handcuffs bit into his wrists. “Look at my fingers. Look at my leg. The torture marks on my body. If I was in on it with the Koreans would they have treated me like that?”
“I don’t know.” Spencer shrugged. “Maybe you had a falling out.”
“Bullshit,” he retorted. “If we had a falling out then why did they let me go?”
“My question exactly.” Her eyes blazed at him as she said, “They should’ve killed you when we refused to pay your ransom. Yet you’re still here. Why?”
Lincoln’s eyes widened. “You knew I was alive?”
The hard look in Spencer’s eyes gave him all the answers he needed.
A sudden coldness hit at his core leaving him feeling breathless. “You knew I was alive and didn’t come for me?” He framed it as a question because he refused to believe that that was what happened. No way. They wouldn’t – couldn’t have left him to die at the hands of the enemy.
“You can save the offended act for someone who gives a damn.” She settled in the rickety chair opposite him. “You know what I think? I think you reunited with your bffs and decided to make another go at this spy thing.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Lincoln yelled out the words in an out-of-control fury. His entire body was shaking with more anger than he had ever felt in his entire life. He’d sacrificed himself, given his life for his unit, his country, and this was what he was getting? Being left out in the wind, being beaten up and accused of being a traitor? It was unbelievable. “If I knew who orchestrated my release or why they did it, I would not be in San Diego looking for answers.”
Spencer’s face hardened. “It’s all just a cover so you can worm your way back in. Maybe get yourself declared some kind of hero and add a few more medals to your name. Eventually, some dumb politician will hand you a cushy government job where you could siphon information from and send it to your pals.”
“They’re not my-” Lincoln didn’t even know what to say anymore, because nothing he said seemed to be making any difference. Spencer had already made up her mind about what had happened and was just waiting for him to rubber stamp it.
“They’re not what?” she prodded. He said nothing only stared at her. Spencer returned the stare with a cold one of her own, then suddenly erupted in laughter. “Okay, you don’t want to talk right now? Don’t worry. We have a lot of time. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to tell the truth.”
Her last words ringing ominously behind her, she left the room but not before turning off the lights. Maybe it was accidental, maybe it was deliberate. But the darkness was worse torture than any punch she’d thrown at him because it brought back memories of his small, dark, smelly cell in South Korea. Those memories crashed into his psyche like a rogue wave battering a damaged ship. They flooded him with recollections of the fear he’d felt, the hunger, the pain… Ryang.
It felt like he was suffocating. Like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs and replaced by the darkness. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, he began to tremble and his heart started a rapid beating. His breath bursting in and out in panicked gasps, he yelled out, “Someone turn on the lights.”
Nobody did.
CHAPTER 18
Damián was in his office the next day when his father called him.
“I might have something for you about Lincoln,” Archie said into the phone. “Find me at the club.”
Any other time Damián would’ve dragged his feet, but this was way too important to postpone. Twenty minutes later, he was backing his car into the driveway at his father’s Sports Club.
Cradling his phone to his ear, he asked, “Where are you?”
“We’re playing on the eastern course,” Archie responded.
Hitching a ride with a caddie, Damián followed his father’s directions. He found him playing with two similarly-aged buddies of his.
“That was fast,” Archie greeted when the
cart Damián was in came to a stop beside them. Like his friends, the older man was clearly dressed for a day of golf; a white flat cap, powder blue polo, white pants and white sneakers.
Once Damián was out of the cart, Archie introduced, “George, Whitfield, you remember my son, Damián?”
“Yes. Yes.” George, a thickset, balding man, stretched out his hand to greet Damián. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here.”
“With you professionals around, I’d only be embarrassing myself,” Damián said with a smile as he shook the man’s hand then did the same with Whitfield.
“You’re not that bad.” Archie patted Damián’s back. “I’ve seen your swing.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s your son,” Whitfield, a slender, white-haired man, teased.
“If I’m not mistaken, you own Coltech Consult, right?” George cut into the conversation. When Damián nodded, he added, “I’ve heard good things.”
“I would hope so.” Pasting a smile on his face, Damián said, “If you don’t mind gentlemen, I need to borrow my father for a few minutes.”
“Be our guest.” George lowered his voice to a murmur that was still loud enough that all the men could hear his words. “He probably needs a break after all the ass-whopping he’s been receiving here.”
“Well, I never,” Archie sputtered. “The only reason you’re winning is because you’re cheating.”
“Cheating. Shmeating.” Whitfield smirked. “You politicians are all the same. Missed the class on losing gracefully.”
Archie protested, “I’m not losi-”
“Dad,” Damián cut in giving his father a pointed look. He was not here to referee an argument between the older gentlemen.
