Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series)

by James, Leigh

  “Wait for just a minute,” he said, cradling me to him, stroking my back. He kissed my hair, making me feel all warm and fuzzy and lustful again.

  “I meant what I said, Liberty. I don’t want us to ever be apart again.”

  My heart started pounding. “I know,” I said, looking up at him. “I meant it, too.”

  “Okay,” he said, and he smiled at me. “So no more disappearing acts.”

  “But do you understand why I did it?” I asked.

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “I know you wanted to help me,” he said, slowly. “I’m guessing that you wanted to try to pay me back, or something ridiculous like that. For finding Ray.”

  “Well,” I said, considering, “that was part of it. I guess.” He waited for me to collect my scattered thoughts. “I did feel like I needed to pay you back — for helping me. You came to Vegas and you found me. I didn’t know about the connection with my father at the time, but since I met you…it opened up a whole new world to me.” Not only did I fall in love for the first time, you showed me what it’s like to want something more. To have hope for the future.

  I exhaled; I decided to be honest. Completely, totally honest. It was now or never.

  “You have a lot more money than I’ll ever have —”

  “Liberty, don’t be ridiculous!” he said, sitting up beside me, but I held up my hand.

  “Let me finish,” I said. “It’s not about the money. It’s about life experiences. You’re a professional. You’ve travelled the world. You’re older than me, you’ve had a child. You’ve had models for girlfriends,” I said, smirking up at him.

  He shot me an annoyed look. I frowned and kept trying to explain. “I just felt like we were never going to be equals. And I wanted that — I want that,” I said. “I don’t want it to be that you’re doing all the giving, all the teaching, all the time. I want to give something back to you. And it’s impossible. You’re impossible.”

  I got up, grabbed my wine and flopped back down beside him. I traced the lines under his muscles on his chest. Delicious. Mmmmm. But I couldn’t think about that right now. “There’s only one thing you didn’t have,” I said.

  “Catherine,” he said.

  “Catherine,” I said.

  “And you,” he said, running his hand down my face. “I want you. You have no idea how much.”

  “Well, I do know, actually. Because that’s how much I want you.”

  He sighed. “You wanted to find her because it would give you some kind of equilibrium with me,” he said. “Which I think is ridiculous. But you risked your life because it was so important to you.” There was a touch of awe in his voice.

  “That isn’t all of it,” I said, wary now. The post-sex glow was still with me, but it was fading. Crud, I thought. He didn’t want to hear this — not now, maybe not ever.

  I took a deep breath. “There’s something else, something I realized when we captured Ray,” I said. “It was that no matter what he’d done, I wanted to put it behind me. I didn’t want the trouble with me anymore.” I took another long sip of wine and then handed John my glass so he could have some.

  “I didn’t want that to be the rest of my life — being angry at him, being angry at my mom. I don’t need revenge,” I said, shrugging. I realized that all I wanted was you and our three imaginary babies and an unmade bed and Sunday morning pancakes and family movie night, I thought, all the things that people think are normal, pedestrian, boring. I don’t want an exciting life filled with intrigue, assignments, hostages and guns. I want a no-need-of-a-firing-range kind of life.

  And I want you, I thought, looking at him. And you are anything but normal and boring.

  “It made me start thinking about you, and us,” I said. The sheet was pulled up to those infuriating, mesmerizing divots near his hips. I tried to look away but I couldn’t, so I gave in and let my fingers trace their outline. “I wanted to try to find Catherine…because I thought it would help you,” I said. “I thought it would ease your pain. And I was hoping that if you had some kind of closure, that you’d stop doing what you do.”

  “Huh?” John said, looking over at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I said, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, “that if you found Catherine, and made peace with her, you might stop capturing bad guys for a living. And beating them. And shooting people and getting shot at. Stop living dangerously, every day of your life.”

  “Why would finding Catherine have anything to do with that?” John asked. He looked perplexed. “I don’t follow.”

  “Ummm…” I had to remember that I was dealing with a guy, here. Adriana, one of the girls I worked with at the Treasure Chest, had told me once: “Men are like dogs. They need food, drink, exercise. You need to pet them every day. They get excited when they see you.” She’d looked down disapprovingly at the book I was reading, something by James Joyce that I’d only understood about a quarter of.

  “No big ideas,” she’d said, shaking her head firmly.

  I had to make this simple, because John probably wasn’t used to psychoanalyzing himself. He probably didn’t look for a motive behind every choice he made. Not like I did.

  “I thought that if you weren’t upset about her anymore, you wouldn’t want to kill every bad guy you could get your hands on,” I said, lamely. “I was hoping that it might help you not look for revenge all the time.”

  He sat there, looking surprised. “…You think I do what I do...for revenge?” he asked.

  Uh oh. I nodded at him mutely.

  “For what they did to her?”

  I nodded again.

  “Huh,” John said, draining the rest of the wine from my glass.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “Just huh. For now. I’ll have to think about that some more. Now, let’s get dressed and go see your sister. Then it’ll be your turn.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, following him off the bed.

  “We’ll review your psychological profile after this,” he said.

  “Huh,” I said.

  “You look nice,” John said, eyeing me appraisingly as we got into the elevator.

  “Thanks,” I said. “A stranger bought this for me.”

  “I gave them pretty specific instructions,” John said and laughed.

  I looked at myself in the reflection on the inside of the door. A short black skirt made of a thick, hammered satin, with a little ruffle around the hem; a low-cut off-white silk tank top and black gladiator heels. A beautiful lacy bra and matching underwear. I’d lost so much weight that I wasn’t filling out the top like I used to, but at least my hair was clean. I made sure to keep my arms turned in, so he didn’t see the marks.

  “Was it the concierge?” I asked. I was baffled that someone in a hotel would go shopping for you.

  “Someone who works for them,” he said. “She sent me pictures while she was at the department store, and I approved.”

  “I’m so glad,” I said, and took a small curtsy.

  John moved over and putting his arm protectively around my waist. Thank goodness we were alone, so we could touch each other freely. “You look beautiful, but you need to eat. You’re too skinny. It’s making me upset.”

  “Well, that mac and cheese was pretty good,” I said, even though I’d only managed to have a couple of bites before he’d hustled me out of our room. “And I’ve heard that Southern food has a lot of bacon in it —”

  “It’s in almost everything,” John said.

  “Then we should just stay here for a couple of days, and I’ll be back to my normal weight in no time.” At least he wasn’t going to make me go running anytime soon. That was a bonus.

  “We’re heading back later tomorrow,” he said. “Eva’s coming up.”

  “Ah yes, Eva,” I said, jolted suddenly back to reality. Sasha first, Eva second. “So we’re just staying tonight? And my sister’s going back tomorrow?”

  “Unless you want her to come with
us,” he said.

  I just looked at him, taken aback. I wasn’t ready to think that far ahead. “One step at a time, John, one step at a time.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said, and I knew he was thinking of Catherine.

  “What is the plan?” I asked. I had to prepare myself for my sister and her questions, of which there probably would be many. “I mean, we’re heading back east tomorrow…then Eva…then what?”

  “We’ll have to get Catherine settled,” he said. “She’ll have to stay at a hospital or some kind of facility. She might have to be committed involuntarily, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I have a friend, a psychiatrist, in Boston. He can help us. And hopefully, she’ll get better,” he said. “I don’t know — she needs to be assessed. I need to hear a clinical opinion.” He was quiet for a second, drumming his fingers against my hip. “And there’s some other stuff going on.”

  He didn’t say anything further and I waited for a beat. “Like what?” I asked. He cleared his throat, looking straight ahead. “Umm…waiting for an answer, over here,” I said.

  “There are some business issues I have to deal with,” he said, keeping his hand firmly around my waist. “And I want you to wait for me at home while I take care of them.”

  My stomach dropped, for a number of reasons — not the least of which was that he referred to “home” like it was our home. It made me woozy. Ridiculously happy woozy. “What sort of issues?” I asked, trying to stay on point.

  “Our old friend we sent to Brazil,” John said, shrugging as if he was trying to play it off.

  “Darius?” I asked, my heart pounding. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re getting some mixed signals. I need to take care of it before it becomes an issue,” he said.

  “Do you have to go down there?” I asked, petrified at the thought of him being in yet another dangerous place, far away from me.

  “I might,” he said. I could tell he was trying to keep his tone light. “It’s a fluid situation right now. We’ll have to see what happens.”

  “John,” I said. “Please, don’t do this. I’m back. I’m safe — stay with me and be safe, for once. You have plenty of money. You don’t need to do this anymore.”

  “Liberty. You know it’s not about the money,” he said, turning to look at me, “and despite what you said earlier, it’s not about revenge. It’s about doing what’s right.”

  “Can’t we be done with doing what’s right?” I asked. “Haven’t we been in enough danger since we met? Can’t we just be normal? And safe?”

  “Of course,” John said, pulling me closer. “I want to be normal and safe. That’s what I want, too.” He nuzzled my neck. He was so trying to get what he wanted.

  “So?” I asked, running my hand down his chest and then slowly over the front of his pants. He stirred against me. Two can play this game, I thought.

  “So,” John said, pushing his crotch against my hand and kissing my neck, “if you want this to be my last assignment, it will be.”

  Now I felt slutty, woozy and thrilled all at the same time. Liberty, there was a “but” in there — I heard it even if your lust-addled brain didn’t, my inner voice said.

  “I can’t leave Darius out there unattended,” he said, breaking the spell. I pulled away from him, from his rising hard-on. “I can’t do that to Cruz. And I can’t do that to the general public.”

  I sighed. Now the “but” was clear — he would quit the business, but he was going to finish what he started with Darius first. Did he understand how much I hated guns? And violence, and all the fear that went with it? Had I not made that clear enough?

  The pleasant wooziness and heat between my legs completely evaporated. “One last assignment?” I asked, my heart sinking.

  “That’s all I’m asking,” he said.

  “It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice, here,” I said.

  “You always have a choice,” he said, leaning over me. “And you should always make the right one.” I sighed again, heavily, resigned. I knew full well that he meant I should choose what he wanted, because he believed to his core that he was right.

  I separated myself from him and adjusted my clothes. I wan’t going to make it easy and give him an answer right now — that is, if he was even waiting for an answer from me. It sounded as if he had his mind made up. The elevator doors opened and I caught one last look at my reflection and the beautiful clothes. I suddenly remembered what I’d promised Catherine.

  “Did you have your personal shopper pick up anything for Catherine?” I asked, feeling guilty. “She doesn’t really like what Matthew got for her to wear…I promised I’d buy her something else.”

  “We’ll get something tomorrow,” John said. “Let her sleep on it. Or in it. I know she hates that shirt, but I think it’s good for her.”

  I laughed, picturing her looking positively pissed in the shirt with the hot-pink smiley face. My laughter came to a sudden halt, however, as we crossed the beautiful, opulent lobby. I was going to see my sister. Sasha. My stomach twisted into a knot. My palms started to sweat and I pulled my hand away from John, embarrassed.

  “It’s okay, babe,” he said into my ear. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll talk about that other stuff later. Tonight, we’re gonna go have some delicious food — it’s supposed to be the best skillet-fried chicken ever. It’s a family style restaurant and Sean’s meeting us there, so we’ll have a buffer — or I will, anyway. So you and your sister can talk.”

  John nodded to the valet as he hailed a cab for us. “Thank you for doing this,” I said. “I’m mad at you about Darius, and some other stuff, but thank you for caring enough about me to call Sasha.”

  “You’re welcome,” John said, “and it’s my pleasure. This is for me, too — I’m excited to meet her. I feel like it’s going to give me another piece of you.” He ran his hand gently, carefully up my arm. “What’s she like?”

  “She’s really smart. She always did better than me in school. And we don’t really look that much alike,” I said, “except she’s blonde, too. Neither of us look like our mother.”

  Sasha was complicated. She was very temperamental, but also practical. Maybe she was practical first and secondarily temperamental about all the things she couldn’t control. Which, in our house, had been pretty much everything. My mother made her crazy. When we all lived together, she pretty much yelled at my mom and punched things, like the nearest wall, every day. But if things were going right — which they rarely were in our house — she could be a doll.

  “She was angry a lot of the time,” I said, remembering. “She and my mom did not do well together.”

  “You got along better with your mom?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I guess I was more forgiving…I always thought of her as sick. I felt sorry for her. Sasha just thought she was a total fuck-up.” I didn’t like to remember my mother that way. I tried to relax, to block everything out, as I snuggled against him. Too soon, we pulled up outside a pretty red brick building with a line out the door. I sat up and scanned the crowd. John got out and opened my door. I was briefly distracted by the sight of him in his jeans and an untucked blue button-down shirt. Another part of my body snarled hungrily. I instinctively stuck my chest out and smiled up at him.

  “Before I forget to tell you, you look hot,” I said, flushing.

  “Dinner’s gonna be great, but I can’t wait to get back to the hotel,” he said, lowly, leaning down and helping me out of the car. “I keep catching glimpses of that bra.” Heat spread through my belly, and I forgot about everyone — Sasha, Darius, Catherine — but him for a moment. He pulled me up and into an embrace, crushing his lips to mine. I clung to him, not caring who saw us. He put his tongue in my mouth and I couldn’t help responding — I groaned and put my hands around his back, pressing myself against every inch of him. He was my anchor, my center. I was going to hold onto him forever.

  “Jesus, Liberty, get a room,” said a familiar voice
, chiding me, and I turned my head so abruptly that John was suddenly stuck kissing the side of my face.

  I couldn’t speak. There she was, all of a sudden, appearing out of the crowd on the road next to me. John brushed his hand briefly across my face and released me; I heard him talking to the driver, paying him. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. It was my sister, right in front of me — in a black tank top, jeans and flip flops.

  “You cut your hair,” I finally said.

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “And you lost, like, thirty pounds, and have a hot older boyfriend you can’t keep your hands off of.” She approached me slowly.

  “Hi,” she said, cautiously coming closer. I could see her eyes were filling up with tears.

  “Hi,” I said, and I had to hold my breath so I didn’t start bawling.

  “Liberty,” she said, and the tears spilling over, “I am so sorry.” She exhaled and tears were all over her face and her nose started running. She hugged me to her. I was an ugly crier, but Sasha was even worse. Her face got red and puffy in about a minute, and when she cried hard, like she was starting to do now, her breath came out in little sobby puffs. “I. Am. So. Sorry,” she sobbed out, wetly, into my hair.

  Hurt shot through me, to my heart, when I realized just how much I’d missed her. How alone I’d really been without her. “It’s okay,” I said, as I looked at the ground and started crying, too. John came over and grabbed my arm and hers, gently separating us and steering us towards the sidewalk, away from the crowd. He left us there and went and spoke to a woman in line. He came back with a package of tissues, which he silently handed to us before he stepped back on the sidewalk, giving us our space.

  Sasha and I both blew our noses loudly. That was another thing we had in common — not only were we both ugly criers, we were loud nose-blowers.

  “He seems nice,” Sasha said, looking over at John.

  “He’s wonderful,” I said, wiping my face.

  “Should we just get this out of the way? Get it all out there?” she asked, looking at me. “Or should we calm down and have dinner first?”