I sat up in bed, throwing the covers off and stretching my arms overhead. I stretched my neck from side to side, and that’s when I spotted it—the note.
My name was written in block letters on a folded piece of paper placed on top of my bag. I walked over to it, frowning.
Sadie,
There’s breakfast downstairs for you in the kitchen. Help yourself to anything. I wanted to be there when you got up, but I had to go to work. I’ll be back in the afternoon.
Z
I flipped the paper over and then read it again. Disappointment settled in my stomach, but I sighed and tried to shake it off. He’d be back in the afternoon, so that meant I had the day to entertain myself.
Wearing my pajamas, I made my way down the stairs. The kitchen and living room were one big open-plan room on the ground floor.
Judging by this end of the house compared to the living room we were in last night, it looked like Zane mostly occupied this small corner of the house—kitchen, his bedroom, and the front room. It was the only area that actually looked like it was lived in.
A smile stretched over my lips when I walked to the kitchen island. He’d laid out fresh croissants, danishes, and prepared the coffee machine for me. When I opened the fridge it looked like he’d done groceries that morning—fresh fruit, a full carton of milk, a couple yogurts and a dozen eggs. He must have been up at dawn to have time to do this before I woke up.
What did he eat when I wasn’t here? Apart from the fresh groceries, a couple beers, and a few random condiments, the fridge looked pretty bare.
I started the coffee machine and tore into a croissant. I don’t know if it was the orgasms or the deep sleep, but I inhaled the pastry before my cup of coffee was even brewed. I looked through cupboards and drawers curiously as I waited for my coffee, and then grabbed a danish.
I munched on it as I looked through the kitchen.
I was snooping, and I didn’t care. It was fascinating to see how Zane lived. Everything was in order—all his mugs had the handles facing out, all the cutlery was perfectly stacked, and the kitchen utensils lined up in the drawer. It looked like him—ordered, disciplined, controlled.
I opened another drawer on the edge of the kitchen and grinned.
“Found your junk drawer, Zane,” I whispered to myself. Even someone as tidy as him had a drawer full of bits and pieces. There were old elastic bands, a set of keys that probably didn’t have a lock, assorted cords and phone chargers. He was human, after all.
With my coffee finally ready, I poured myself a mug and wrapped my fingers around its warmth. I sipped contentedly, letting my feet carry me through the house. I poked my head into untouched living rooms, a theater room, and what I assumed was a ‘man cave’ with a bar and a pool table. He had a recording studio tucked into one corner of the house, with four guitars standing in the corner. I plucked the strings, wondering if Zane would ever play for me.
My mug was half-empty by the time I got to a locked door. I rattled the door, but it wouldn’t budge. In my wandering through the house, nothing had been locked. Everything was open, ordered, tidy. I stared at the door, as if I’d spontaneously develop x-ray vision and be able to see inside.
Why was it locked?
Would it explain why he left, all those years ago? Would it explain what the CIA was investigating?
I took a deep breath and sipped my coffee, staring at the door. When Zane had told me he was in the CIA, at first I hadn’t believed him. Then, I thought the CIA were protecting my father. But now, I knew he wasn’t protecting him at all. My heart squeezed as I thought of the conversation I overheard between Thomas and my father. I didn’t let myself think about the fundraiser. It was too painful.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t know my father at all.
I tried the doorknob one last time and sighed. It wasn’t going to budge. The rest of my wandering through the house wasn’t quite as fun from then on. My mind pulled me back to the locked door. I didn’t stop wondering about it until I found the library at the far end of the house.
There was a small coffee machine—the kind with the pods—so I refreshed my cup and started walking up and down the rows of books.
I smiled when I found The Count of Monte Cristo. It had been one of my favorite books growing up. That, and The Three Musketeers, obviously. I sighed as I thought of my dog, D’Artagnan. He was probably wondering where I was right now.
I pulled The Count of Monte Cristo off the shelf and dusted it off. It was as big as a brick, a dense, long story of betrayal and revenge that never failed to give me chills. The book was an old, leather-bound edition. I opened it up and sniffed the pages—I’d always loved the smell of old books. I found a comfy, plush armchair and set my coffee down, and then I lost myself in the story of Edmond Dantès.
My nose was firmly buried in the book as I read about Dantès’ escape from prison, when a shadow obscured the library’s doorway. I looked up, brushing my hair off my forehead.
“What time is it?”
“Just after three,” Zane replied. I’d been reading for hours. He walked towards me and flipped the book over to look at the cover. He snorted, shaking his head. “Of all the books in this library, this is the one you picked up.”
He stared at me curiously. There was a spark in his eye, and a look I couldn’t place. The closeness of his body made my blood run hotter and I found myself blushing for no reason at all.
I shrugged. “It was one of my favorites when I was a kid.”
Zane sat down in the armchair across from me. I handed him the book and watch him flip through the pages. “This book sustained me when I was on my second tour.”
“In the Marine Corps?”
He grunted in acknowledgement, reading one of the pages.
I sank back down in my chair. I didn’t want to seem too eager, in case Zane didn’t want to talk. I’d only heard him mention his time in the military in passing, and a shadow always crossed his face when he did.
But this time, he just flipped through the pages of the book and sighed.
“What do you think about Dantès?” His voice was casual, but he never asked a question without reason.
His eyes settled on my face. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling like we were in the lecture hall, and he was asking me about an obscure trade law. I took a deep breath.
“I understand his feelings.”
Zane arched his eyebrow. “You do?”
“He had everything taken away from him! His career, his beloved fiancée—even his life was thrown away. His father died. He was locked up for what, nine years?”
“Fourteen.”
“Right. So for fourteen years, six of which he was in solitary confinement, he just thought about being betrayed. That’s gotta change a man, you know, stewing in your own thoughts like that.”
“So you think his vengeance was justified?” Zane’s voice was low and dark.
I took a deep breath. “Well, I…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like he could have used the treasure, his fortune, and his time after he escaped for something more… productive, I guess.”
Zane grunted.
“But maybe it was the only way that he could move on,” I continued. Zane’s eyes stayed steady on me. He closed the book, folding his hands on top of it. I took a deep breath. “You know, the people that locked him up ruined his life completely, and they showed no remorse. Maybe the only way he could get over it was to give them a taste of their own medicine.” I sighed. “But I don’t know. It seems like such a waste of a life. He just seemed so consumed by bitterness.”
“You think avenging his past, avenging his father and his failed marriage—you think that was a waste of a life? He ended up riding off into the sunset with his new lover.”
I stared at Zane, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. He seemed to almost admire Dantès, like he thought the character had lived the ideal life. I stood up and walked to him, setting the book aside and sliding onto his lap. He
wrapped his arms around my waist and I leaned against his chest.
“Maybe I’m more of a ‘forgive and forget’ kind of person.” I nuzzled into his impossibly muscular frame. “I haven’t been through that kind of trauma, though.”
“No,” he said softly, stroking my hair. “You haven’t.”
13
Zane
Holding Sadie in my lap was a constant battle between my hardened heart and her sweet, soft warmth. She lifted her face and pressed her lips to mine, and my bitterness lost the battle, for now.
I tangled my fingers into her hair and inhaled her scent. I held her close and deepened our kiss. She whimpered against me, and my cock throbbed.
I’d thought about her all day. During my lectures at the university, and then when I met Mikhail. I’d tried not to show how distracted I was, but the only thing on my mind was getting home and holding this sweet angel in my arms.
Sadie’s stomach grumbled so loud we stopped kissing. Her eyes widened and she started laughing.
“I’ve only eaten a croissant and a danish.” She nodded to the book, shrugging. “Got distracted.”
“Understandable.”
I stood up, setting her down on her feet and holding her close to my chest. I nuzzled my nose against hers, not wanting to let her go.
“Let’s eat something, and then I can eat you.”
Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. “You… you want to do that?”
“Sadie,” I chuckled. “I’ve been dreaming of eating that sweet pussy of yours since the day I saw you at that concert.”
With her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips soft and swollen, she’d never looked so beautiful.
But her stomach had other ideas. It growled loudly, interrupting any ideas I had of taking her right here in the library. She grinned, shrugging.
“My stomach has spoken.”
“I grabbed some Thai food on the way home. It’s in the kitchen.”
Her eyes brightened. “You are amazing. Put a ring on my finger already!” She laughed, scrunching her nose and patting me on the chest.
I chuckled with her, but my heart thumped. It didn’t seem like such a terrible idea, and that in itself terrified me more than anything else. I’d spent the past fifteen years in my very own version of the Count of Monte Cristo. I was about to exact my revenge, to finally avenge my parents and be at peace with their death.
And here was Sadie, a bubbly wrecking ball crashing happily into my heart. She tucked the book under her arm and headed towards the door. I followed her. Her shorts—which looked like pajamas, now that I was really seeing them—had ‘QUEEN’ written across the ass. I watched the letters sway from side to side from the library all the way to the kitchen.
She attacked the bags of takeout with a big, Cheshire-cat grin on her face. Opening one container of red curry, she inhaled and shook her head.
“That smells so good.”
She licked her lips, and my mind was very, very far away from food. Sadie turned to the cupboards, only hesitating for a second before opening the right one. She grabbed a couple plates and cutlery as if she’d lived in this house for years.
“You seem to know your way around,” I grinned, leaning my elbows on the marble island and watching her.
“I snooped.” She laughed, shrugging. “All alone in a big house, what was I supposed to do? It helped me keep my mind off… things.” She held up a container. “Rice?”
I nodded. She served up a couple plates, and then brought her plate over to the table. She moaned and shook her head as she ate.
“This is so good.”
“Hunger is the best sauce.”
She grunted, nodding. “It’s not like me to forget to eat. I got distracted. I haven’t read that book in years.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, and then I cleared my throat. “So, Sadie,” I started. “We need to figure out the next steps.”
Her fork paused in its path towards her mouth, and she nodded. “Right. You mean, with me convincing my dad that I don’t want to marry Thomas?”
My spine stiffened at the mention of his name. Thomas Balmoral was quickly rising to the top of my Hate List. I nodded once.
“I think it might be bigger than that.”
She studied me. Her eyes were intelligent, and I knew she was taking it all in. She was smart, astute, even if she was a little innocent. She turned back to her food, taking a careful bite and chewing slowly before answering.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She finally asked.
I took a deep breath. “Sadie… there are things that I can’t tell you. There’s a certain security clearance required, and it could jeopardize—”
“I get it.” She pushed the food around her plate, chewing her lip. Finally, her eyes dragged back up to mine. “It’s my life, though, Zane. I have a right to know what’s going on.”
She was right.
I’d brought her here, away from her friends and family, and she had to trust that I had her best interests at heart. I did—and that surprised me. I wanted her to be safe, maybe even more than I wanted to avenge my parents.
The past fifteen years of my life were blowing away in the wind. The single-minded focus that had ruled my life since I was a teenager wasn’t quite so clear anymore, and I didn’t know what to think of it.
So, I took a deep breath. “Your father isn’t the man you think he is.”
She snorted bitterly, pushing her plate away. “You think?” She shook her head and stared at the ceiling, blinking tears away. “My own father tried to force me to marry the man who assaulted me. He also only wanted me to marry Thomas to fulfill some deal. Do you have any idea how that feels?”
She stared at me for a few moments. I took a deep breath and I dipped my chin down. “I do.”
“How could you?”
My heart twisted. If only she knew the truth about my past, about my childhood, she’d understand why I knew how she felt. She’d understand the deep, bottomless darkness in that kind of betrayal.
She stood up, taking her plate to the sink. Leaning against the counter, I saw her shoulders cave in, and I went to her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her trembling body against mine.
“Zane,” she whispered. “What is going on?”
I took a deep breath. I had to tell her. I had to share something with her. She was cooped up in this house, all alone, with only her thoughts for company. It was a wonder she’d been able to read, or smile, or laugh at all. A weaker woman would have been too scared to do anything but worry.
The fact that she hadn’t dissolved into a depressed, catatonic mess said volumes about her character. I held her close and breathed in the scent of her hair. It gave me strength.
“You father is cooperating with the R—”
My phone rang. It was the ringtone I had associated with Chris, and I knew he would only call me if it was an emergency. He knew I was with Sadie.
I sighed, unwrapping my arms from around Sadie’s body and pulling out my phone.
“Yeah?”
“Zane, we have a problem. Blanchet is kicking down Mikhail Ivanov’s door as we speak.”
“He’s doing what?”
“He’s screaming about his daughter. He thinks the Russians took her.”
“Fuck. I’m on my way.”
Sadie turned to look at me, her big green eyes filling with tears. I hung up, touching my fingers to her chin as I kissed her gently.
“I have to go.”
“Where?”
I sighed. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Just… don’t go anywhere. It’s not safe for you.”
“What isn’t safe, Zane? Tell me what is going on!”
Her eyebrows were drawn together, and my heart started to harden again. I just kissed her again and walked away. Once I’d dealt with Ivanov and Blanchet, I would explain. But right now, she would have to wait.
I took my own car to Ivanov’s and found Chris in the van
parked just across the road. The van door slid open as I walked up, and I ducked inside. I nodded to him and Gary, one of the analysts assigned to our operation. He only came out in the field if we needed tech support or if it was an emergency.
“What’s the situation?”
“Blanchet showed up here, ready to blow a gasket. He was pounding on the door, yelling for Ivanov to give him back his daughter.”
“Why would he think Ivanov took her?”
“He knows Ivanov has been getting antsy about the vote—probably think he wants leverage. To be honest, I wouldn’t put it past the Russians.”
“Where’s the daughter, anyways?” Gary said, sliding his headset off his ears.
Chris and I exchanged a glance. “She disappeared last night. As far as we can tell, Balmoral showed up with an officiant. Looks like they were going to marry last night, and she split.”
Gary let out a sigh, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why rush the wedding? It’s supposed to be public—one of the biggest social events in D.C. this year.”
“Something else is riding on that wedding,” Chris said. He glanced at me once more, and Gary heard something on his headset.
“I’m picking something up here.” We slid our own headsets on and could hear voices on and off.
“Where is she?”
“Mister Blanchet… not appropriate… control your daughter.”
The sound fizzled out again, and Gary sighed. “They’ve got signal blockers all over this place. I can’t get a clear line.”
“I have to go in there.” I reached for the van door and Chris clamped his hand on my arm.
“Zane.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Let them work it out. If you show up now, you’ll raise all kinds of alarm bells.”
“Ivanov could kill Blanchet.”
“He’s not going to kill a fucking Senator in his own house.”
“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of, and that’s why I don’t want you to go in there. You’ll put a target right in the middle of your back.”
The Protector: The Complete C.I.A Romance Series Page 11
