Brianne's Secret

by M. S. Parker

Muscles clenched as fire followed her touch. “Please, Tess. Now I’m the one begging.”

  She smiled down at me as she moved to straddle my waist. She rolled a condom over my erection, and it took everything I had to not come all over her hands. As she rose up on her knees, she reached down and threaded her fingers between mine, leaning forward until she could brush her lips across mine. Then she sank down on my cock, engulfing it inch by inch in tight, wet heat. By the time we were completely joined, I was running through baseball statistics in my head to keep from losing it like some fifteen-year-old virgin.

  I squeezed her hands, and she responded by tightening around my cock. I swore, sitting up and spinning us around so that she was underneath me. I pinned her hands above her head, loving the way her eyes darkened as I held her down. I rolled my hips, and she moaned. I kept my eyes on her face as I pulled back, and still when I snapped my hips forward.

  “Fuck, yes!” She dug her nails into the back of my hands.

  I drove into her, setting a punishing pace that had us both panting, bodies straining toward the ultimate goal. It wasn’t a race, not even with every part of me demanding I reach climax as quickly as possible. We’d get to it together.

  We’d figure out the rest after that.

  Sixteen

  Tess

  Two fucking days and the only thing I had to show for it was the splint removed from my now-healed fingers. Well, that and a lack of sleep that came with having Clay staying in my room with me ever since he’d come to see me Monday evening. We hadn’t been working together, and we hadn’t been talking about what we were doing when we were away from the hotel.

  Honestly, we hadn’t been talking much at all. Not for real anyway. Aside from sex talk, we’d limited our other conversations to small talk about things we’d done during our time apart. With sixteen years, we had plenty of topics to cover without touching on anything serious.

  Just because we hadn’t been talking about what we were doing, however, didn’t mean I couldn’t account for Clay’s movements…or that he hadn’t been trying to snoop on me. Yesterday and today, we’d gone our separate ways after breakfast, or at least had appeared to anyway.

  I’d suspected that he wasn’t going to easily give up finding out what I was doing, so I’d walked slower than normal, pausing every few feet. I’d been pretending to window shop outside a jewelry store when I caught a glimpse of Clay’s reflection in the glass. I continued on to a little café, acting as if I hadn’t seen him at all. After ordering an expresso, I found a seat, took out my notebook, and started writing.

  I’d cleared the story with my editor shortly after I’d talked to Clay and his father. I had a plan, but it never hurt to do a little extra preparation. I’d found that writing down questions as I thought of them was better than trying to come up with something off the cuff, and that’s what I did until, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clay glance at his watch, look at me, and leave. It became my turn to follow him.

  I repeated all of that this morning, and he did everything the same too. After leaving me at the café, he went to Capitol Hill where he met his father for an early lunch. After that, he headed back to the hotel for ten to fifteen minutes. I assumed he was checking to see if I’d returned since that wasn’t really enough time to do anything else, and I doubted he’d forgotten something twice in a row. He then went to a different hotel and met with Agent Matthews. I didn’t want to risk getting too close, so I sacrificed hearing their conversation for not getting made. Thirty minutes of watching them talk while a middle-aged waitress flirted with both of them was enough for me, and I left to pursue my own leads.

  Unfortunately, none of those actually led anywhere. Not surprising since my attempts to speak to Secretary Ganesh had been met with polite but firm variations of ‘his schedule is full,’ and I still hadn’t been able to track down Bri. Mom hadn’t heard from Brianne, and Red Care continued to insist that no one by her name had ever been a part of their organization. In fact, they now said that the name Taylor MacIntosh wasn’t on any of their lists either, even prior ones. When I asked about the group who’d been kidnapped by the drug cartel in Costa Rica, I’d been told that an ‘incident’ had occurred, but no one had been hurt. I asked about the two members who’d been killed, and that was when they inevitably hung up on me.

  Granted, their responses would still be an important part of the story, but I’d hoped to speak to at least one person who wanted justice for the two people murdered by the cartel. One person in an organization known worldwide for helping those in need had to care that two lives had been lost.

  The thing that kept nagging at me though was that I didn’t think they were lying. Not the people I spoke to anyway. Something told me that what I was being told was exactly what it said in whatever record system they accessed to find the information. I didn’t think Red Care was covering up what had happened to two of their workers – or the whole group for that matter. Whoever they answered to had been the one to alter the Red Care records.

  And they were either the person Brianne worked for as well or someone close.

  Bri might’ve been in the army at one time, but I’d kept the blinders on long enough. Things just didn’t add up, not the least of which was how Brianne had the knowledge and ability to drug both Clay and me and get us on a private plane before we woke up.

  I wasn’t sure which part interested me more, the who or the why. Either one would most likely make a good story, but I wouldn’t be satisfied until I knew it all.

  Tonight offered me the best opportunity I’d have to find out if I was on the right track with my suspicions about Secretary Ganesh and Congressman Kurth. Clay had been surprised when I’d reminded him this morning about the fundraiser his parents were having. He’d agreed we should go together, but I could tell he was curious about why I wanted to go. That house, after all, held a lot of memories, and not all of them were good. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Being back in DC had brought back a lot already. The worst part was that even the good memories would bring their own problems, particularly guilt over continuing to deceive Clay.

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I zipped up the side of my new dress. I wasn’t sure how fancy this fundraiser was, but I was smart enough to know that if people were being invited based on the amount of money they would be willing to donate to charity, their income bracket was quite a bit more than my own.

  The clothing stop I’d made when I’d first gotten to DC had been more about wearing something that didn’t smell than about looking nice. Finding an appropriate dress for tonight had meant shopping for something nice but not budget-breaking. I’d just recently paid off my student loans, and I didn’t want to run up credit card debt any more than I already had. That had meant a trip to a thrift store in the hopes that I could find something that didn’t make me look like a child or a woman desperate to prove she wasn’t a child.

  I’d loved this dress from the moment I first saw it. Charcoal gray velvet, with long sleeves and a skirt down to my ankles, it would keep me warm tonight. A modest slit up to my knee on the right side would keep me from getting overheated. The neckline was a bit lower than I normally liked, but the light gray lace inset made up for the cut and gave me enough cover to be comfortable. A pair of inexpensive matching heels added three inches to my height, and a bit of light makeup finished everything off.

  Since I felt self-conscious doing my hair and makeup, Clay was in the other bedroom, changing into the clothes his parents had sent over, and the thought of going out there to face him set off another bevy of anxious butterflies. I’d gone to a couple school dances in DC and in Arizona, but never with anyone. Or, rather, I’d gone with a group instead of a specific guy. I’d been asked, but in Arizona, I hadn’t ever found anyone I’d trusted enough to take me and not expect anything in return. In DC, it’d been a different reason that had kept me from agreeing to go with any of the guys who’d asked. As an adult, I’d even gone to weddings alone, dancing only when I hadn�
��t had much of a choice in the matter.

  For two years, I’d imagined what it would have been like to have Clay take me to a dance. I’d pictured a corsage that would match my dress and the suit he’d wear. Maybe he’d go all out and rent a limo, or we’d simply take his car. I wouldn’t have even cared if Brianne had gone with us, as long as Clay was my date.

  Now, we were going somewhere together, sort of like a date, and I felt like I was a teenager again, hoping that the cute guy I was crushing on would think I was pretty. I mentally scolded myself even as I poked at the simple style I’d swept my curls into. Yes, Clay and I were still having sex, and yes, we were going to the fundraiser together tonight, but this wasn’t a date. Merely two friends with benefits who happened to be going the same place and deciding that it would be simpler to arrive and depart together. He hadn’t even asked me to go with him, so it definitely wasn’t a date. And I didn’t really care that it wasn’t. I was going for my own reasons that didn’t involve Clay.

  That thought brought along with it guilt that was harder to ignore than my nerves. I liked Clay, I really did, and I was enjoying our time together, but that didn’t mean I had to put my career on hold simply because it might look bad for his father. Besides, I would’ve wanted to be with him these last few days even if I hadn’t been looking into his dad. That meant I wasn’t using him. My journalistic interests just happened to align with my physical ones.

  I’d been giving myself the same pep talk a couple times a day ever since I’d decided to apologize to Clay with his father nearby, fully intending to do whatever it took to get the story. Almost whatever, anyway. As long as Clay was clean, his life wouldn’t get screwed up. I’d get the information I needed and go back to New York. Clay could continue on with the life he’d had before Costa Rica. We’d both be happy.

  “Tess, we need to get going.” Clay’s words were accompanied by a knock on the door. “My parents don’t really do the ‘fashionably late’ thing.”

  I opened the door and smiled. “I remember.” I would’ve added something else, but I was stopped by the slack-jawed expression on Clay’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” The word came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There’s nothing wrong. You look…wow.”

  I blushed. It seemed it didn’t matter how old I was, a compliment from him would always be enough to turn my head. “You look great too.”

  For a journalist, my vocabulary sure sucked around him because there was no way ‘great’ was adequate enough a word to describe Clay Kurth in a tux that had clearly been tailored just for him.

  He gave me a sheepish smile. “It’s been a few years since I’ve worn a tux. I’d actually been hoping it wouldn’t fit or would be out of style, but apparently, my mother not only had a new one made every year, she made a point of contacting my dry cleaners to check on my measurements.” He started to run his fingers through his hair but stopped himself before he made a mess of what I now realized was an expensive new cut. “She also made a point of telling me that she donated the old one every year to a charity that helps low-income high schoolers with clothes for their proms.”

  Between the clothes, the haircut, and the lack of stubble that had been there just this morning, Clay looked less like an FBI agent who’d spent the last month and a half trekking through Costa Rica and fending off a drug cartel and more like the politician his parents had always wanted him to be.

  I was overly and uncomfortably aware once again of just how far apart our two worlds really were. It had been easy to forget in Costa Rica when we’d been sharing the same hotels and searching the same dive bars. We might be sharing a bed at the moment, but reality had set in.

  “They wanted to send a car and driver, but I told them it wasn’t necessary.” He held out his hand. “As you’ll see in a moment, they didn’t listen.”

  We rode the elevator down to the lobby, pretending to ignore the stares of the other guests. It wasn’t hard since I was intently focused on his hand clasped around mine. A silly thing, since we’d been doing a lot more than hand-holding, but here, the gesture meant something to me. Something that I was sure it didn’t mean to Clay, so I didn’t let myself get carried away. I would enjoy it, but not allow enjoyment to become expectation.

  It was a little hard to keep my head out of the clouds when we stepped outside, and I saw the sleek black town car waiting for us, complete with a uniformed driver who held the back door open. The whole drive to the Kurth house, I kept waiting for my life to turn back into a pumpkin, but we arrived at the house without any issues. Then the driver opened my door, and Clay held out a hand to help me from the car and the flash of cameras nearly blinded me.

  This was going to be a weird night.

  I’d been more worried about fitting in than I’d admitted to myself. Even as Clay introduced me as an old friend, all I could think was that someone was going to say that they knew who my family was and that I didn’t belong there. One part of my mind said it was irrational to think that anyone in DC other than Clay’s family would remember a kid from sixteen years ago, but another part couldn’t stop thinking about the different police benefits Darius had taken my mom to, benefits where people like this would have mingled.

  After a glass of expensive champagne and an hour of polite small talk, I finally started to relax. It helped that Clay had been at my side the entire time, his hand occasionally resting at the small of my back. The warmth of his touch grounded me, kept the surreal nature of my surroundings from overwhelming me, and by the time he handed me a second glass of champagne, I found that I didn’t need it. I sipped it anyway, not about to let a good glass of alcohol go to waste, but I was able to savor it better now than I had been.

  “So, Miss Gardener, Clay says you’re a reporter with the New York Times.” A portly gentleman with a red nose and wispy gray hair gave me the sort of smarmy smile I associated with most politicians.

  “I am.” I offered a polite smile of my own.

  “You must be a brave young woman, to enter such an uncertain field,” he continued. “How did your parents feel about you becoming part of an industry moving away from print and into the electronic world?”

  I’d met men like him before, ones who expected the naïve little girl to swoon over their attention, fawn all over their clichéd pick-up lines designed to sound intelligent and remind the object of their affection just how fortunate they were to be graced by their presence.

  If he thought I’d fall for any of that bullshit, he was in for a rather rude awakening.

  “I haven’t seen my dad in twenty years, but my mom was happy with my choice,” I answered honestly.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how his parents had felt when he’d told them that he was going into a soul-sucking line of work, but it was just then that I noticed Clay and his father making their way to an unobtrusive door at the back of the ballroom.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, not caring one bit if my newfound admirer wanted me to stay. I was here to work.

  I smiled at the guests I passed but didn’t make eye contact. One hint that I was interested in talking could cost me everything. I needed to know what Clinton Kurth was saying to his son, and if it had any impact on the story I was pursuing. As the pair exited, it was all I could do not to run. Only the knowledge that running would draw attention to myself kept me at the same steady pace. As it was, I felt like I was going to be caught any second.

  My pulse thudded in my ears as I slipped through the door only a couple minutes after Clay and his father. It might have been sixteen years since I’d last been in this house, but I remembered where this corridor led because, aside from a bathroom and a closet, the only place it could go was the library.

  I’d always loved the library. Clay had always preferred mysteries to my biographies and autobiographies, but we both loved a well-written book. We’d spent many a rainy afternoon in there, and hearing the voices coming from the end of the hall confirmed
that the library was where father and son had gone.

  I slowed my approach when I was only a few feet away from the doorway, not wanting to risk my shoes making any noise to alert them to my presence. I missed a few sentences as I got myself close enough to hear, but what I heard was enough.

  Seventeen

  Tess

  “…that’s a lot of money. I didn’t know you had those types of connections, Clay.”

  “Really?”

  “Those are the sorts of people who can make or break a campaign. Especially if they’re the kind of people who fly under the radar. Unless there’s dirt there for the press to dig up.”

  “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. No one’s going to find anything.”

  I couldn’t get the conversation out of my head. Clay and his father had been talking in stiff, hushed voices, but I’d heard every word clear as day. Only a few minutes and then I’d scurried away, but everything had changed. Congressman Kurth, who I’d always admired even after we’d moved to Arizona, was as crooked as the rest of Washington, and Clay was involved in whatever it was.

  I’d known I wouldn’t be able to pretend everything was all right, so I’d found Mrs. Kurth and given the excuse of a migraine. I’d told her I’d take a taxi, but she’d insisted the town car take me back to the hotel. I’d thought about getting a new room, but that’d definitely tip Clay off that something was wrong. If I wanted to get the whole story, I had to stick with Clay until I got enough evidence to support what my article would say. Rule one of journalism was to protect sources, but rule two was corroborate everything. Half of an overheard conversation at a party wouldn’t cut it.

  When my phone rang, I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over to grab it from the nightstand. I’d hoped to be sleeping by the time Clay got back, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. Maybe a distraction would help. The screen showed a number I didn’t recognize, but I answered it anyway.