by Amber Malloy
“Paris a few years ago,” he said. “I picked up her camera and caught her off guard. She made me promise to delete it.”
“I totally see why you didn’t.” She took her laptop back. “Um, look… I need to apologize to you. We don’t deal with men, and this could have been handled a lot better. Most of us volunteer our resources, but Daisy and I are paid. I’m the resident shrink, and I’m the one who made the decision to separate you two.”
“Why?”
She packed her laptop into her case. “Remy allocated you as primary, which makes you our main client.”
He shook his head. “Sorry… I’m not really following.”
“We knew the congressman was coming to the hospital and that he would send dirty cops. The odds that he would cause a scene to get you arrested were extremely high. We couldn’t risk your image…” She grabbed her phone and eyeglasses off his table before she let out a sigh. “I feel like we treated you unfairly. Our clients are usually wives of high-profile men who beat the shit out of them or commit sexual assault, and we have to deal with the effects of…” She wiped away a tear. “So, uh, Remy will be moved until we can sort through all the evidence. It will be sent to a big-time hacker and she’ll tie up all the loose ends.” Bumblebee hefted her bag onto her shoulder.
“The no-contact rule has been put in place because Brooks has a lot more access as president-elect,” he automatically repeated Daisy’s words from earlier. His phone rang for the millionth time that day. A number he didn’t recognize popped onto the screen. As he was reaching to hit decline, she stopped him.
“Answer it.” Before she let herself out of his condo, Knox accepted the call.
“Knox.”
“Gavin,” Remy said with a raspy voice, “I don’t have long.”
The use of his first name… It was a bad sign.
“Baby.” He let out a ragged breath that felt like he had held it in since this whole thing had begun.
“We can’t—” she started.
Knox hurried to the balcony and opened the door, since he always got the best reception there. “Stop,” he growled. “I don’t care what office that monster runs for, just…”
The brilliant rays of the sun rose over Lake Michigan. With so many thoughts colliding around his head at once, he leaned over the railing and decided to spill his guts.
“When I asked you to marry me, I was wrong to make it seem like a favor. It was the only way I could think of to get you to say ‘yes’. I loved you then and I should have told you, even if it scared the shit out of you—or me, for that matter. It was arrogant as fuck to bring you home while this asshole is still on the loose, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s been years and he’s not going to stop. He’s never going to—”
Refusing to hear the words that would inevitability end them, he steamrolled right over her. “Remy, the amount of time I’m willing to wait for you is infinite.”
“We’re leaving. I need the phone,” someone told her.
“Knox.”
“Say it, baby. Tell me what I need to hear. Say it,” he begged.
“Tag.” Remy choked back a sob. “You’re it.” The line went dead.
Officially shredded from the inside out, he slid his back down the balcony door. He didn’t know how long he sat like that, but the alert went off on his phone. Bumblebee had sent him the picture of Remy that he’d taken in Paris. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the balcony glass and prayed that he would wake up from this nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The press had hounded him nonstop. Three weeks into Remy’s absence, the front office wanted him to do a sit down with 60 Minutes or 20/20, anyone who would help shine a better light on what had happened. Knox had declined all offers.
Five weeks after the attack, the football season had begun with the usual fanfare. In his head, Knox pretended Remy was on assignment. Of course, it had to be some remote location since he couldn’t call, text or FaceTime her.
He had done his best to keep it together. With two-and-a-half months down, he didn’t have much longer to go. Unfortunately, the congressman’s campaign had picked up steam. He’d referred to the attack on his niece once or twice in his speeches but had kept clear of implicating Knox again.
The minute that the playoffs were over, Knox would scour the ends of the Earth to find her.
For his last season, he wished he could say things were great. The division between the rookies who wanted more playing time and the veterans who knew how to get the job done was getting worse.
“How’s the wife?” Doug shouted. The rookies joined him in a laugh. Physically worse off than ever, the linebacker looked like shit.
“You need to be asking why you’re sitting on the bench.” Andre stepped in line with Knox. They stood in the wings, waiting to run out on the field.
“Maybe if everyone wasn’t so busy kissing your dried-up fucks’ asses, we would get our playing time, showboat and wife killer,” Doug growled.
He wished he had the energy to beat the shit out of Doug, but he didn’t care enough to bother.
As the crowd roared, the team jogged onto the field. Knox’s fans continued to show up for him. The press had reported that Remy’s attack had to do with an obsessed stalker, which had helped him. Attendance at the games remained high.
The media still wanted to know details about her assault, but Doris had kept things under wraps. She’d spun the narrative to the press that his wife needed time to heal.
At the end of the fourth quarter, Knox knew they were a shoo-in for the playoffs. His stats might have seen better days, but he’d still held his own. One field goal up, the Mavericks were in possession, but he couldn’t see Andre.
He palmed the ball and jogged backwards. Shifting to the right to get a better position, he heard the hit then felt it.
Lights out… Everything went to black.
* * * *
The team doc flashed a penlight in his eyes. After having been taken to the team’s second locker room, Knox sat on a bench.
“Concussion,” the doctor announced. “I need to talk to Bane. I’ll be right back.” He slipped out of the room before Knox could say anything.
“Fuck!” Andre hit the locker door with his fist.
Knocked unconscious for the first time in his career, he would be out for the next game. It was a recently implemented protocol, a mandatory light return.
“That’s it!” Andre hollered.
Knox gestured for Mooch to block the door. The kid sighed and slid into the running back’s path.
“I swear… If you don’t move,” Andre cursed.
“Look, man. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of this, but the fucking bastards are trying to get both of you out,” Mooch told him.
“He’s right,” Knox interjected. “If you beat the crap out of Doug, then the rookies will get the next few games and piss off the rest of the season.”
“That druggie is mad that Lisa finally bought a clue and left his ass. You know he blames you.” Andre turned and stalked the locker room. Mooch’s face switched from his usual impassive frown to mild interest.
“Remy,” he muttered. Bile worked its way up his throat. Knox fought to push it back down. His head hurt like a mutha.
“Did Lisa change her number?”
“Yeah, Lashonda told me she knew that dope fiend wouldn’t leave her alone, so… Argh-h-h-h!” Andre punched the air.
“Mooch, go make sure Doug is gone,” Knox said. He hated to make the only rookie he trusted do their grunt work, but if the jerk hung around, Andre would hand his ass to him.
“Are you out for good?” the running back asked. “This would be the perfect time to cut loose and find Remy. If it was my girl, I know I would.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he confessed.
“Shonda misses her. I know that doesn’t mean shit, but…”
“No, it means something. Thanks,” he told him. “So what ha
ppened on the field?”
“Our guys blocked your view, then Doug let the opposition whack the shit out of you. A linebacker on your left was about to snap your freaking spine, but Mooch got him. Trust me. That douche was seriously trying to hurt you.”
“Now I owe the kid,” he said, not completely surprised. Mooch had upped his game this past season.
“Hey, so while you’re out on medical, stay with me and Shonda. Hawk is at an away game.”
Knox raised his eyebrow.
“There’s this thing called a phone. Damn, man. How hard did they hit you? I will never bitch down and say I watched hockey.”
He laughed but stopped the minute every muscle in his body rebelled against him. Leaning to the side, Knox threw up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nail guns, saws and numerous sounds that would drive a sane person crazy echoed throughout the cozy cottage. Ushered out of the United States in an amazingly swift fashion, Remy had been sent to an estate in Florence, Italy. Since the villa had been vacant for years, the roof had seen better days. A small team of locals was fixing it up.
Barely awake, Remy threw on a sleep shirt and went down to the kitchen. With coffee heavy on her mind, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Claire Knox in the kitchen.
“Chèri!” Before Remy could back out of the doorway, Claire called to her. “I forgot how late you sleep. Sit.”
Sighing, Remy took a seat at the café table. Holding two china cups, Claire stepped away from the stove.
As a politician’s wife, Claire had learned to school her delicate features eons ago. Not the least bit fooled, Remy could tell the woman was simmering with anger underneath her tightly controlled façade.
“Coffee?” Remy asked, but didn’t hold out too much hope for the good stuff.
“Non, thè de fleur. S’asseoir,” Claire admonished her in French before setting a cup in front of her.
“The doctor said I didn’t have to go cold turkey, and—”
Claire held up hand. “Tea. Now tell me, sweetheart. What the hell were you thinking?”
Buying herself some time, she picked up her cup and blew. The flowered leaves smelled divine but the drink didn’t hold a candle to coffee.
“All these years…” Claire continued to reprimand her. “We’ve worked so hard at keeping you safe, then you lose your mind. Why did you go to the one place you weren’t supposed to?”
She didn’t have a good excuse. Settling on silence, Remy even contemplated tears, but she knew Knox’s barracuda of a mother wouldn’t fall for it. “Uh, well, Gavin asked…” she petered off, sounding ridiculous, even to herself.
“My son dug a stupid hole playing games with the tabloids and he needed to crawl out of it by himself.” A cookie-cutter Stepford wife, Claire sat across from her, dressed from head to toe in Chanel. Her Auburn hair, which was perfectly coifed, held only a small amount of gray. Claire was distinguished and beautiful, and Remy figured that the vast majority of Canada’s residents didn’t have the foggiest idea that she was the true leader of their country.
Generally, her husband’s mom held a sweet disposition. She’d never had to encounter the full weight of Claire’s wrath. Remy sincerely regretted striking the match that had ignited it. For the past six years, they had worked together without Knox’s knowledge. If Remy had stayed away from the US, they might have had enough evidence to finally nail the congressman.
“This is not only about you and Gavin’s determination to act out some modern-day version of Romeo and Juliet.”
While Remy giggled at the image, Claire glared at her. Considering she was officially sequestered to the Florence villa until further notice, Remy bit her lip to stifle her laughter.
“That villainous fuck cannot obtain more power,” she seethed and set down her tea. “Various meetings with world leaders have been held and we all agreed that this man will not be the next President of the United States. Everything we worked for… Dammit, Remy.” She slammed her hand down, rattling the cups, before putting her fingers inches apart. “This was how close you were to dying and giving that man the one thing he should never be… The title of leader of the free world.”
Too angry to feel guilty, Remy snapped back. “Next time I’ll jump out of the way of the knife faster.”
“Had you held up your end of the deal, you wouldn’t have been stabbed at all.”
Remy opened her mouth to disagree, but Claire was right. She had promised never to be in the same country as Brooks.
“Lucky for all of us, I was able to intercept you from that dreary publicist. She was hell-bent on shipping you to Lord-knew-where.”
“Sorry,” Remy said, sincerely this time. “I should have bailed in Barbados. I’m just…tired of the constant grind of staying three steps ahead of him. For five seconds, I wanted to be normal.”
Claire tapped her well-manicured nails against the ceramic tile on the table and blew out a breath. “Normal is overrated. Ask my son. It’s precisely the reason he had a temper tantrum when he found out his wife was far more popular than him.”
“In his defense,” Remy smirked at Claire’s backhanded compliment, “we never told him what I was really up to. Come on. I’m one step away from being a spy for the Canadian government.”
Since the prime minister’s wife had the inside track on world events, she would often provide Remy with ideas on what country to hit next. Then, she would use a lot of Remy’s work to push her own agenda to a world platform.
“Oh, I must have missed the part where America no longer has access to Google. How silly of me.” The women shared a laugh for the first time that morning. “Gavin is focused and sweet, but that ego…” Claire threw up her hands. “This time he needs to stew in his own mess for longer than a quick minute. He is so spoiled, that one.” Claire reached a hand for Remy to take. Hesitant, she frowned, certain the gesture was a trick.
“Before you two married, I told Knox you would crush his spirit. If you die, Requiem, it would shatter him into pieces.” Relinquishing her reserve, she grasped Claire’s hand. “We have an excellent hacker working on the congressman. I’m positive we’re going to win this time. Now tell me”—she grinned—“how’s my baby’s baby?”
After the stabbing, Remy had found out she was pregnant. Although the first trimester was almost over, she still worried about another miscarriage. The doctor had assured her she had entered the safe zone.
“So far, so good,” Remy admitted, hoping it would stay that way.
* * * *
Knox sat in a corner booth at Moe’s, which was packed to the gills. It had taken him a while, but he’d finally gotten the appeal of the blues bar. The regulars were there for the bands, maybe the appetizers, and apparently nothing else.
Once his concussion ban had lifted, the Mavericks had gotten back to business and won their division. Up next were the playoffs. Shooting for an unheard-of third Mega Bowl win, he counted down the weeks until he could finally leave the country to find Remy.
Knox held up his phone. “Mama.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mom cheered on FaceTime. “Are you sure she won’t mind?” During his time off, he’d found Remy’s football article on his iMac. Apparently, she had finished the piece before the attack.
“Papa said you used to pick them with Remy, so I trust you.” He’d allowed her to choose the photos for the article.
“This story is magnifique,” she told him. Remy had written about the pain of the game and what the players went through to achieve all those accolades on Sunday afternoons.
“It’s good, oui? Have you heard from Requiem?” he asked her.
“Why would you ask me that?” Mama appeared genuinely confused, but he knew better. Anyone from the outside looking in would think his father ran the country, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
It honestly hurt too much to talk about, so he didn’t wait for an answer. “I have to go, Mama. Email me what you pick.” He waved Bumblebee, w
ho had just entered the bar, over to his booth.
“Je t’aime. Au revoir.” She blew him a kiss and disconnected.
“This place?” Bumblebee opened her eyes wide and slid in next to him. “What the hell?”
“Charming, isn’t it?”
“That’s a word that doesn’t apply here.” She handed him a huge manila envelope. “Before we get started, can I ask you something?” She nodded toward the TV screens mounted on the wall.
One of the tabloid magazines was picking apart the quarterback scandal. Ever since they had made the playoffs, the networks had run that crap on a loop. Thankfully, Doris had gotten all the women in the magazines to come forward and confess that he had been completely faithful to his wife and it all had been for publicity, plain and simple.
“Sure.” He took a swig from the mug of his guilty pleasure for the week—draft beer and a basket of wings. He had to hand it to Andre. These damn things were good.
“The other chicks… You did it for a reaction, but why?”
“Uh, crap.” Rubbing the back of his head, Knox thought about blowing off her question. “Ego. I never took Remy’s job seriously. Every now and then I would catch an article. ‘A cute little hobby’ was all I thought. I had no idea she was into such heavy shit. We never talked about it and I was too arrogant to look.” He took another drink from his mug. “We had a few extra days around Christmas. Originally, I wasn’t going to go to see her, but I found a charter and headed to Greece.” He slid the basket of wings over to her. She smiled and took one. “Remy didn’t expect me, and when I got there, a full-on riot was taking place. Borders were being closed, tanks pointed at kids… I was lucky to find her.”
“Oh, I got it.” She took a bite of the chicken. “This is good,” she mumbled over the wing.
“What do you get?”
“If she’s going to risk her life, why can’t she do it with you?”
Knox snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Bingo.”
“Wow, that was seriously selfish.”
“Thanks. And you can kindly stop eating my wings now.” He pulled the basket out of her reach.
