Anti Hero

by Skye Warren

  Warmth suffused her cheeks, and she looked away, uncertain. They’d done this once before, and it had nearly broken her to lose him then. Could she survive it a second time?

  Her gaze turned to the backstage, filled with lights and other equipment.

  And two stone-faced guards watching the crowd while Moreland spoke.

  “How will we talk to him?” she asked, cursing herself for a coward. She should have been able to look Nate in the eye, to tell him she wanted him. Tell him she loved him. The fact that she couldn’t said more about her fear of intimacy than it ever did about his profession, his heroism. She’d wanted to leave her childhood in the past, but it was following her around with this story.

  Or maybe she was the one who couldn’t let it go.

  When she chanced a glance at Nate, he still had that gentle look in his eyes. “We’ll be waiting for him.”

  Then his head lowered. His mouth touched hers, and she lost all sense of time and place. She wasn’t backstage, desperate for answers, on the run for her life. She was only heat and sensation, the sum of parts that touched Nate—her mouth, her hands. Her breasts.

  He backed her up against the wall, and she stumbled over thick cables. He steadied her until she leaned back, opening to him. He was a drug, her drug, and she felt her limbs go lax with every inhale.

  Suddenly, he was gone. His hand caught hers.

  Awareness returned in bright flashes of light. Applause. Cheering.

  The guards had stepped onto the stage now, still off to the side but flanking Moreland. Which meant they weren’t watching backstage. Nate caught her hand, and they dashed into a greenroom in the back. He shut the door behind them.

  “Did they see us?” she asked, breathless.

  “I doubt it,” he said, pushing her deeper into the room, half-hidden by a rack of suits. “He wouldn’t still be talking if they suspected anything.”

  She touched her lips, which still tingled. “Is that why you kissed me? To make them think we were two horny college kids?”

  His lids lowered. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

  Heat raced through her veins. “He might not come back here.”

  Nate glanced at the lighted vanity and the spread of fruit and cheese. They weren’t exactly Hollywood, but the university could draw big-name speakers. “He likes to think of himself as a celebrity. He’ll come.”

  She twisted her hands together, then forced them to her side. She was a reporter for the Daily, an award-winning newspaper. And this was the story of a lifetime. She’d felt that from the first time she looked at Moreland.

  Maybe only someone with her past would have been that suspicious.

  A deep breath. Maybe this story had always been meant for her. “So we wait.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The look of surprise on Moreland’s face was gratifying.

  The guns that his thugs pointed at them, less so.

  Nate stepped in front of her smoothly, palms up. Unarmed. “Gentlemen,” he said, that good-old-boy twang thicker than usual. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “I just have questions,” Sofia added, pleased that her voice didn’t shake.

  Moreland’s shrewd eyes took them in quickly. He nodded to the men who looked more like thugs in suits than an official security detail. “I don’t think these two are any threat to me.”

  She lifted her chin and stepped beside Nate as the thugs reluctantly shut them inside. “Senator Moreland, I’m Sofia Reyes with the Daily. Do you mind if we record this conversation?”

  “The Daily. I heard about the unfortunate events, of course.” He gave her body a slow perusal. “Glad to see you made it out fine.”

  She felt Nate tense beside her. He wouldn’t like any man checking her out, but Moreland’s gaze felt especially slimy. She gave private thanks that he stayed silent, letting her run the interview. She was grateful for that.

  And she was grateful that he was here. His presence gave her strength.

  “I must object to the recording,” the senator said with a genial smile. “This isn’t a formal interview, after all.”

  Reluctantly she nodded and tucked the recorder in her pocket. She would play by the rules even if he didn’t. “Senator Moreland, you spend a great deal of your travel time in Mexico. Is there a reason for that focus?”

  His smile didn’t slip. “We share almost two thousand miles with the country. Of course our relationship is important to our well-being as a nation.”

  A very nice sound bite. “But your stance on immigration has been strict. In fact your opponent described it as extreme.”

  “Good fences make good neighbors. Mexico is a beautiful nation, but they’re suffering from a variety of social issues.” His beady eyes didn’t break contact with hers. “Drugs. Prostitution. Violence.”

  Her breath caught at the warning in his words. He was threatening them, even while his words could be printed and look like a concerned politician. Fear rose up in her chest, but anger too. This was what she’d become a reporter to fight, the kind of corruption she had once seen at the lowest level. And he was the top.

  It was time to stop playing nice. And the truth was, one of the male reporters at the Daily would have opened with this line of questioning. “Is that why you visit Mexico every other month? To confirm that prostitution and violence are still present?”

  A flash of rage ripped across his face. “Young lady, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

  “My newspaper was bombed for the data we had. Data about your trips. Whatever this is, I’m already deep. I’m already a part of this, and I’m not going to let it go.”

  His eyes narrowed; then suddenly he relaxed. His moods changed quickly, from screaming in anger to smiling at his supporters. That was part of what made him so dangerous.

  Now he turned to Nate and gave a genial smile. “You look military.”

  “Special Forces,” Nate said, his voice taut.

  “Then you’ve seen what it’s like in these third-world countries. The poverty. The danger. It’s no place for a woman to visit.”

  Her teeth ground together at the blatant sexism, but she was gratified by Nate’s terse reply.

  “Women already live there.”

  Moreland leaned back, looking pissed. “So they do. And I do whatever I can to help. There are limitations, of course. My first priority is to my country.”

  “Help?” she asked softly. “Is that what you call it? You’ve been documented with ties to Antonio Lopez, a known cartel leader.”

  His expression turned pinched. “Those photos were taken a long time ago. And I met with him to see if I could convince him to stop. You go public, that’s what I’ll say.”

  And that was what he’d say about the hidden photos, the ones that showed him with men in Austin. Of course, she hadn’t figured out what they proved. Something bad or he wouldn’t have been willing to kill. Something bad enough that he wouldn’t be so sure he could convince everyone with his denials alone. She needed to figure out what they meant.

  She wouldn’t find that in the greenroom of the auditorium, but she might get something. A clue. A damned lead. Her chances were better now that he was riled up. “Senator, even speculation can derail a presidential campaign.”

  “I have not confirmed nor denied my candidacy,” he spat at her, the words practiced.

  She had expected that, but she hoped he wasn’t expecting this. “Won’t you miss your hillside mansion if you have to live in the White House?”

  His nostrils flared. “What do you know about that?”

  “It’s under an umbrella corporation, but I traced it back to you. It looked like a beautiful place on Google Earth, but I’m not sure why you’re keeping it a secret.” She paused, then went for the kill. “Or, for that matter, the warehouses in East Austin.”

  The pause felt thick with his anger, an animal backed into a corner.

  “My privacy is extremely important to me,” he finally said, his
voice low. “My private investments are none of your business.” He turned to Nate again. “Maybe you should keep an eye out for your girl. Like she said, she’s already in deep. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. I wouldn’t want her to end up as one of my…investments.”

  The threat couldn’t have been more blatant if he’d spelled it out in neon letters. Nate made a low growling sound. “She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Sofia could feel him holding himself back, and she prayed he’d keep it in. The guards outside would shoot first and ask questions later if Moreland ended up hurt.

  “You do that,” Moreland said, his words oily. He snapped his fingers, and the guards stepped inside. “Show these two out.”

  One of the guards started to reach for them, but Nate smoothly stepped in front of her. Whatever the guard saw in Nate’s eyes, he chose to step aside.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They made it outside the building, Nate tense beside her. He had always been careful with her, always made sure to stand closer to the street when they walked together, always silently swept a room before they entered it. And that had been before the bomb. It made sense that he would be more careful now, but she felt something more.

  Maybe it wasn’t even Nate. Maybe it was in the air around them, the crackle of danger that she hadn’t been able to register outside the Daily’s office that day.

  “Nate,” she murmured, her voice shaky.

  He grabbed her hand and sped up, moving them along the shadows of the large auditorium. “Exiting to the north,” he said.

  She blinked, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “What?”

  He glanced back at her. “Almost there.”

  Only then did she realize he was speaking into some kind of communication device. Had he been wearing it the entire time? Then their conversation probably had been recorded after all. Moreland had been careful enough with his words that it wouldn’t matter.

  “Two minutes to the meeting place,” Nate said.

  The urgency in his voice made her breath catch. This was more than being careful. He thought something would happen. And then something was happening.

  All she heard was a pop. A gun? Another explosion?

  Then a rush of sound, and she realized it was a car zooming by them. She barely had time to register that before Nate pressed her flat against the brick. She saw a flash of glass, of a smooth metal barrel, and then the bullets came.

  Nate was shouting something. Pieces of brick pinged into her hair.

  “What’s happening?” she managed to say in a rush of breath.

  “Moreland,” Nate said shortly.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it felt like a shock. It was one thing to know he was dirty, to suspect him, and to feel the whiz of bullets by her ears. “Why?” she said numbly. “We didn’t get anything.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter,” he muttered, pushing away from her body, moving them deeper into the shadows. “We’re digging and that’s enough for him to get rid of us.”

  Get rid of them. She swallowed hard. There was fear there, for herself. More than that she felt fear for him. What had she gotten him into?

  Nate pressed a hand to his ear, listening. When he turned to her, his expression was grave. “Our backup is pinned down. We have to cross this green to the east.”

  She understood that if there were any other way, he would suggest it. If he believed this was their only route of escape, then it was. Even if that meant running right into the cross fire.

  “On your mark,” she said, her voice only a little wavery.

  He nodded. “Whatever happens, don’t fucking stop.”

  He meant if he got shot, she could keep running. She’d never leave him behind like that, but she didn’t bother arguing. She just nodded, because the sooner they ran, the sooner they’d get across.

  His gaze took in her features as if memorizing her. “I never should have let you leave.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise. Before she could form a response, he took off running, pulling her behind him. She stumbled first and then found her footing. Spongy grass sank beneath her feet.

  They made it halfway across the green before the shots came again. Clumps of mud shot up at her almost as fast as the bullets, and she twisted her ankle. The ground padded her fall, but she still felt the impact in her brain, her vision a whir of lights against darkness.

  She heard Nate swear. Then his hand was lifting her. The world turned upside down, a firm shoulder beneath her stomach. They were moving again. Running?

  He was carrying her. No, his knee. It was too much for him to run, for him to support her weight as well as his, but he hadn’t asked. He’d just acted like the hero that he was.

  Impossibly he moved so much faster, even with a permanently injured knee, even with her weight, than she’d been able to run behind him. Dark blades of grass blended together in a long glistening streak.

  Then they were on pavement again. She felt it in the burst of speed.

  A car door opened.

  She barely had time to register the world turning right-side up again before she was pressed into the backseat. Nate murmured to someone. Directions? Orders?

  Then the vehicle jolted forward, pulling away from the bullets, from the men out to get them.

  “We clear?” Nate murmured, and she knew he was still talking to someone else.

  She didn’t hear the response, but she felt it in the relaxation of his body.

  Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. “How can he just— At a university!”

  “I know, gorgeous,” he said, running his hands along her arms, warming her up. “He’s a fucking maniac. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead he felt along her ribs, her hips, her legs. Making sure that she was still in one piece, because God, she didn’t feel like it.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” she asked. “That’s why you didn’t want me to come. You knew what he’d try.”

  “I suspected. If he was as dirty as you thought he was, if he knew you were digging, he’d be desperate enough for this.”

  “He’s escalating,” she said, a strange numbness creeping through her. The explosion had been huge, but easily explained as a terrorist attack. Lots of different factions and people would be interested in waging retaliation against the Daily. A newspaper wasn’t worth its salt if it didn’t make enemies. People had been injured, but no one killed, thank God.

  But the people shooting at them, there’d been no terrorist group to blame, no excuse for a dead reporter. Everyone would know that whatever her story, she’d been the target. And still he’d attempted to have her killed. Was he that smug that he’d never be caught? Or was he just insane?

  “If you get a clear shot, take it,” Nate said as he pulled an earpiece out. “I’m going dark.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the easy way he operated. Of course she knew he’d been in the military. She’d had no doubt that he’d been incredibly competent and, yes, dangerous. This felt like more than old habits, though. This felt fresh.

  She had known this man before. At least she thought she had.

  Now she stared at him through fresh eyes, realizing things he’d never told her.

  “You never left, did you?” she breathed.

  He gave her a glance, a little wary. “What?”

  “You’re in black ops,” she said, accusing. “With Ford, I bet.”

  He turned and looked out the window, at nothing but black. No answer. That meant yes.

  “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

  “Why put you in danger?” he said as if this wasn’t a revelation. As if this didn’t change everything. “The PI thing is a cover, and it was better that you believed it.”

  She still couldn’t believe he’d kept this a secret from her. And she couldn’t believe that she, a reporter, hadn’t figured it out before now. But then, he was damn good at his job. And she
had been blinded by love.

  Shock still resounded inside her, coloring everything he’d ever said or did. Every moment he came to her late at night, slipping into her bed when she was already sleeping. Every bruise and cut he’d ever gotten while they had been together. “Why a PI?” she asked because it was all she could manage.

  A large shoulder lifted. “It lets me snoop around, ask questions, go into places I’m not supposed to be. People find out I’m a PI, they assume I’m there to dig up dirt on a cheating wife. That’s familiar to them. Safe, even. Unless they’re the wife.”

  She didn’t laugh. “So all this time,” she said slowly, “none of it was real?”

  In the dark interior of the car, she couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel the gravity. “I did real jobs. That’s how the cover stays solid. A few angry husbands and wives coming to my offices, a money trail, keeps it legit.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  “The rest of the time I was working with Ford.”

  She turned away, staring blankly out the window. Feeling more alone than she had even after the blast.

  A soft touch on her arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “You were wrong about one thing. Everything with you was real, Sofia. If you believe anything, believe that.”

  She stared at his shadowed profile, not sure whether she could trust him. Not sure that she could trust the feelings inside her—the respect for what he did, the fear that he would be hurt. The love that surged up even stronger.

  “You were wrong about one thing too,” she finally said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Moreland did give us something. He told us what he’s shipping.” I wouldn’t want her to end up as one of my…investments. “Women.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sofia thought they’d go back to Ford’s house, but instead they checked into a low-rent motel in the west side using a fake ID and cash. She wouldn’t have looked twice at the fake IDs. She’d known he would have them as a private detective.