* * *
Lauren was happy she was getting her arm cast off today. Rehab had been slow until this last week when her appetite returned with vigor. Since then her physical therapy had been working wonders. Actually, much to her surprise, her libido had returned as well.
Her therapist was Rodrigo, and he was a hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid muscle. Rodrigo was able to pick her up and move her with the ease of a paperweight, and it turned her on to no end. His hands were as soft as they were strong, and his accent had her melting on most days before they even started.
She loved his smell and his touch, and it had really helped her along, she believed, because as soon as she was able to she was going to jump his bones. She had spent the last few days actually chronicling all the events that had led to up to where she was now. One of the things she had decided on was that maybe her last hook up wasn’t as innocent as she had thought.
Maybe Humberto tipped off Cecelia and that was how it all came apart. Either that or Cecelia was really close to Hurst and she figured this tactic would work on any sane person; they just didn’t know I’m not sane.
It had been nearly impossible to get her mom to leave. Of all her flaws, Elizabeth did have very protective instincts once the chips were down. That was a good thing to know, she supposed. Jerome and J.P. were wonderful and although she could see they were scared for her, they were stoic around Elizabeth and that helped. Not much, but it helped.
She was formulating a plan. She was even thinking of kidnapping Cecelia and extracting some information out of her. The reality was, however, she had no idea how to put that together and it would also make her a criminal. But at this juncture, even irrational thoughts got a place in line.
J.P. gave her some heartfelt advice—and that was “to be a reporter and to be professional.” Jerome told her more directly that, “Revenge is the strongest path to blind stupidity and mistakes. You’ve already had a couple of tastes of how revenge clouded your judgment and now you need to start working smarter.”
Well, she certainly would start working smarter, so kidnapping that bitch and beating the truth out of her was out, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be tricked into thinking she fucked with the wrong person.
When the cast came off her arm, it felt like it was floating to the ceiling. She now had a scar on her left forearm as the ulna had a compound fracture and they had put a plate and a pin in. She discovered that Jerome had been handling things and taking care of her medical bills almost from the start, so she had received excellent care. Her fingers moved well—which made her happy because she wrote the old fashioned way, she typed it all out. No word encryption software for her.
Rodrigo came in and gently washed the sticky stuff off with soap and warm water. She was still unable to do it herself, as her spine still wanted nothing to do with twisting. Everything still had to be straight forward for her, so Rodrigo had to maneuver around her to do his job.
This Rodrigo was one cool character. He never acted attracted to her at all, except the one time she’d caught him looking lustfully at her in a mirror. That had thrilled her to no end, as it meant he wasn’t gay. He must have had so many women, Lauren thought, a real Casanova for sure. He was always talking about something pleasant, too, never about anything negative.
After the adhesive removal, he talked her into a body sponge bath. As she was living temporarily in heaven, she decided to look at her phone. It was amazing how one could think they could not live without something, but when one got things put into perspective, that thing seemed so inconsequential. There were no Twitter cravings when one was fighting for one’s life.
That is . . . until Jerome went and bought her a new phone and then added all her multimedia information into it. Now she had some curiosity. She recalled a certain freak out she’d had not long ago when she thought she’d lost her phone while eating. She ran back to the restaurant but couldn’t find it and was just about to have a meltdown when the waiter walked back out with it. Her relief was equivalent to getting a lost dog back. So transforming from that to not even being too excited to be able read her emails was a big jump. It was nice to read her emails though, she would admit.
The swelling had gone down in her left eye so she could now see almost normal again—she’d had an eye test that morning.
Rodrigo found the spot on her spine while gently massaging. Oh man did it hurt—and feel good at the same time. Unfortunately for her, one of her deep erogenous zones lay just off her hip centerline. Every time he hit it, her back gave a suggestive twitch, which hurt as the spasm slightly tweaked her spine. But there was no way she was going to tell him that it hurt. When Rodrigo reached over to get the towel he had placed there earlier, she felt just how much that back twitch turned him on.
Her phone made a familiar sound, it was programmed to make the Austin Powers voice, “Oh yeah, baby,” whenever Scott posted a new article. It was her one super joy since getting her phone back. She did not notify him of her situation, as she knew he would be the one person who would not have taken no for an answer, he would have come and taken her home. And quite frankly, she believed she would have let him.
Rodrigo hit the spot once more and it was more than she could take. She turned around slowly, not covering up. His eyes became sparkled like he was getting to have his wildest fantasy come true. She asked if they sell condoms downstairs and he only smiled as he pulled out a condom. Of course.
He looked like the cat that ate the canary as he closed her door and pulled the protective curtain around. He was definitely a Casanova of the highest order, as she soon found out. Scott’s article could wait.
The week went well as she was making an amazing recovery and soon she would be released. Rodrigo was giving her another back massage—actually it was his last as today they would be moving her to a rehabilitation center for her final institutionalized stint. This pleased and saddened Rodrigo because it meant his over-sexed American friend was leaving his care, but it also meant she was getting better.
And it was too bad she thought, because she’d finally found a man who had not only found her G-spot, but had become close and personal friends with it. He’d made love to her the last four days in a row, and she had to admit that he had set a new standard that might be hard to achieve for the next man she was intimate with.
Rodrigo could have ruined her for all she knew, she couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone beforehand who had had this kind of impact on her. But alas, what the hell would they really talk about at the end of the day. She knew that Scott would be the only man who could keep her mind happy as well as her body.
Then she had a start. She’d forgotten to read his last article. Fortunately, this massage was Rodrigo doing his job, as they’d already had sex earlier. She was very relaxed already when this massage started. She was now reading a very interesting Scott Bailey article.
Robert Leme, the creator of the Internet sensation Top of the Heap, was set to release his much anticipated second edition of the franchise when he’d suddenly decided to collaborate with some new people and came up with a fusion of his game based upon a vision of a man named Tom Holsinger.
Holsinger’s idea was to challenge true American patriotism, which he claimed was not dead. His mission would be to not only award the winning prize of a million dollars, but to also add two people to the board of directors for his new game franchise, American Pride.
The idea was to grow this into a new type of political party. They wouldn’t be entering politics per se; they just wanted to have a voice. Leme was crediting the inspirational idea of this to Tom Holsinger from Seattle, as well as listing four others of the creative team who fine-tuned it.
Scott concluded that such a game, one woven from such a loved franchise as Heap, could have a real chance of doing just that, creating a voice rising from the Comicon sect. Scott ended the article with, “it appears that Leme is trying to make a virtual Occupy Movement with some cash incentives for joining—never a b
ad idea and a lot better than freezing your ass off in the street. This writer gives a ‘thumbs up’ for ingenuity and a patriotic heart.”
There were two file pictures at the end of the article, one of a mousy looking Robert William Leme and one of Tom Holsinger. She’d almost glossed over them as Rodrigo had hit “the spot” on her back again (the little rabbit), but alas, he had already conquered her today, so the answer was no.
Then she really focused on Holsinger and she just about had a heart attack! It couldn’t be?! But it was . . .
She used to go to sleep every night looking at his picture, dreaming of the day she would kill his fucking ass for the heartbreak he’d caused so many people. She looked again, and yes, it was he for sure. Apparently no one else could see it as they didn’t have this guy on their every thought like she did. Rodrigo moved to the side and his bulge gave an indication that he was up for round two before they moved her off.
Tempting as it was, the vacation was over. She had to get out of here soon, and although she thought the sex had helped rather than hindered her recovery, she now needed her mind focused. She was heading back to the U.S. with a purpose.
She gently let him down and told him she was sore. He was a sensitive lover and although she accused him of being a Casanova, he declared he wasn’t, and that he only loved one woman at a time. He used the word loved, and she was pretty shocked by that. She’d found men to be the much weaker of the two species. Sex didn’t always have to lead to love, and if the rest of the world would get that, maybe the divorce rate would come down.
They moved her to the rehab wing and a forlorn Rodrigo left her to the care of a new set of people that were going to accelerate her recovery. She told them she wanted to be on a plane to Seattle as soon as she could and her new doctor said it might be possible within a week.
She’d settled in her new bed and tried to control her rage to a point where the coming week wouldn’t feel like a couple of years, but the reality was, she knew it would now that she knew the truth. When one wanted to stop the clock, no chance, and when one want to speed it up, no chance there, either. Clocks only worked at one speed, the speed of reality.
* * *
Chase greeted his visitor with enthusiasm, as it wasn’t everyday one got a visit from the President’s Chief of Staff. Of course, Kim Callahan was anything but a visitor to Chase, she was his protégé. Chase had her marked since her sophomore year in college. She was amazing and his agency wanted her loyalty so they set out to prove themselves to her. For fifteen years she had the luxury of getting any job she wanted. If she applied, it was hers. It led to a great many discoveries for her, and ultimately landed her in the position of a lifetime at the age of thirty-five. Of course, it wasn’t the CEO's chair he had groomed her for, as his life took a more political turn.
She might have been the youngest to take the seat, but she was hardly the luckiest. Almost as soon as her name was on the door the trouble started. Kim was as good as there was, and she helped lead the U.S. through arguably one of its roughest patches. The U.S. and all militaries lost a certain amount of swagger that year—a single man had brought them down. Not any man, Chase reminded himself, but a renaissance man, the kind that happened every century or so. But unlike most of his predecessors, he got away from the war to tell the story.
Pablo Manuel was a very special man, and actually Matt had given him the moniker of man/boy, as had many others due to his angelical features. His brain was anything but adolescent though, and his automated military had not only caused massive loss of life, it also tried to sink a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.
Because of the acts of savagery and death cast upon his family by a drug cartel, Pablo’s head had became filled to the brim with hate and revenge, and then by fate he was given access to the information that enabled him to change the world.
Chase was so proud of Kim for getting his other protégé through the crisis. TJAC (Thomas Jefferson Action Committee) was founded to defend their country when no one else would or could. It lived because the few that sat at the table truly believed that the world needed ultimate right to battle ultimate evil, and evil was casting its shadow over every land.
Privileged all, contrite none, they had been trying to do what they could as a collective of good, even if at times in underhanded ways. They talked Lawrence Caulfield into running for President and helped him win, but pitting those two against a whole playing field of Special Interest was turning out to be a losing battle.
The problem wasn’t with Lawrence’s Administration, or Kim’s ability to handle the next crisis. No, Chase chided himself, we can put a person in the office, but we can’t make the most powerful office in the world effective anymore. The American political system had clogged arteries, and Chase was bothered because the answers were not going to be easy. It was going to take a major bypass surgery to get Special Interests out of Washington.
Kim approached wearing a smart brown skirt, tailored perfectly for her body and a beige top. Her hair was in a bun as usual, but this meeting she was sporting two new things. He held out his hand, “Hello, Kim.”
She gently replied, “Chase,” and retrieved her hand, not missing his gaze upon the ring. He looked smarmy, and Kim hated smarmy, especially when she knew its root was based in her flowerbed.
Chase almost sniggered, “So how’s married life treating you.”
It was no secret that she was a staunch supporter of “the single life.” She had seen too many Washington careers clash with romance and wanted no part of it. As a matter of fact, she’d apparently said it enough times that friends starting doing impressions at her wedding. Even retired CIA Director Bob Thompson got in on the act, and it was a real knee slapper she was told.
“It’s been wonderful, Chase, and thank you for asking.”
He was bursting with the laughter from a secret inside joke and then he asked, “Are those prescription glasses?”
She was trying to find a good story, but Chase was like a father to her, so lying was pointless, “Ray suggested I get them.”
He looked puzzled, and asked again with too much smarm, “Ray suggested?”
Kim exhaled a patient trying breath for her mentor, “Yes, we were driving and I missed an exit sign, so he thought I didn’t see it. So we argued and he made me agree to see an Optometrist.”
“Don’t tell me, he was right”?
“Yes, Chase, he was right, and now I need glasses to drive.”
Chased smiled, “Well, it’s your fault for marrying a spook anyway, you’ll never get away with anything again.”
“He’s not a spook and you know it, he’s ‘the spook.’”
Chase had to agree with that, her husband was a legend. He was the last line of defense to ensure that the wrong person didn’t end up in America’s most secretive agency. He was also the one who’d figured out that the American citizen, Matt Hurst, was kidnapped by the man/boy and that he was not duplicitous in the crimes committed on our soil.
In fact, it was Ray Callahan who figured out that said citizen Hurst then enlisted himself into the CIA and drove a stake right through the heart of the man/boy’s plan to destroy the records of all the money in the world. Stock markets, banks, militaries—all were plotted to go down, except their own captive stopped them cold in their tracks.
This was also the reason for their meeting, as currently Hurst was missing. Kim opened a folder and looked at the note, “He came back in through Sea/Tac three days ago.”
Chase thought about that, “Three days, huh?”
“Yeah, and he had his wife and kid with him, but he traveled under the alias. What do you make of that, Chase?”
Chase had to think long and hard about what he thought about it, as he was the one who had sent Matt to Mexico. The job was simple, go in and extract a Drug Lord that was polluting the U.S. with his toxic waste. The only thing was, that Drug Lord was an actor, as were all the people there in his entourage. It was a family all right, but they were hired to
play a part.
Matt Hurst was supposed to pull the trigger and end a life, even if there were small children around, yet the gun would not have fired, as the bullets had no primer. The gun they’d left him did not have a firing pin, but instead had a sensor in it, and every time the trigger was pulled, it would register it.
Chase knew that he had been testing the gun the night before as the sensor went off more than twenty times while Matt was practice shooting people in the Square. The reason he had to put Matt through this ordeal was because the other members of the TJAC board had a rare disagreement with Chase. Their contention was that he had gone too far around the bend, and once one did that, it tended to change a man in a bad way. He either became shell-shocked and withdrawn or he became a hardened killer.
Matt had to go deep undercover to bring down Pablo Manuel, and in the process fell in love with one of his sycophants—he had even impregnated her. It had taken under twenty people to operate an automated army that took out a carrier group, yet Matt Hurst killed them all single handedly—well, almost.
Chase wanted to show his loyalty to this great American; to be able to give him something that could never be acknowledged in the history books, yet would be a salve for his future.
Unfortunately, the other board members thought him too damaged to be their agent provocateur, too prone to senseless violence. Even after he went through training with a retired West Point instructor, getting his stamp of approval in all areas, they still were not convinced.
Of course, now every one of them had a guilty conscience because they were culpable for pushing Hurst too far and he snapped. Chase knew that he would not take that shot, but he was the only one who had that conviction. No one on the counsel wanted to face the fact that they were wrong, and worse, that Hurst suddenly did not like whom he was working for and was going to leave, something that had yet to happen in their organization.
Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3) Page 12
