Surrender to Me

by Donna Hill

  From the time he was old enough to walk and talk, his father, Branford, began to groom him for politics. And from the moment Rafe was old enough to think for himself he resented what his father wanted for him. The last footsteps he wanted to walk in were his father’s and that caused a rift between father and son that had spanned the better part of his adult life.

  Fortunately, his sister Lee Ann married Sterling, a senator, and Justin had taken up the Lawson mantel, gotten his law degree and had begun to carve a name for himself in civil liberties law with his private law firm. It was only a matter of time before he pursued public office.

  Rafe went behind the bar and fixed himself a quick shot of bourbon. Sure it was early, but what the hell. He placed his phone on the bar top. 11:30. His staff would arrive soon to prep for the five o’clock opening. He sipped his drink, picked up his phone and called his brother.

  Justin answered on the third ring. “You’re on speaker so don’t say anything crazy.” He chuckled.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “I didn’t see you leave last night.”

  “Yeah, kinda flew under the radar.”

  “Hmm, I know what that means. So...what’s up?”

  “Look, there was this woman there last night...”

  “Oh really?” Justin teased.

  “This is different,” Rafe said, pacing in front of the bar.

  “What do you mean?”

  Rafe paused a moment, trying to piece what was running through his head together. “I don’t know, man. I saw her and...anyway, she’s been on mind.”

  “Okay... I know you’re not asking for my advice.” He chuckled.

  “Not exactly. More like a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  “All I know is her name is Avery and she works for the Secret Service. She was on the VP detail.”

  “Whoa. Okay. And...”

  “And I need you to use some of your connections to find out her last name and how I can reach her. I’m sure Dad knows, but he’s the last person I’d ask.”

  “Hmm. I’ll see what I can find out. Is it really that important?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Don’t think I’ve heard that tone in your voice before. This is new.”

  “Guess it is,” he said, the realization hitting him. He took a swallow of his drink. Frowned.

  “Actually, I get it. Ran into this woman weeks ago at a bar downtown. Couldn’t shake her, and damn if she wasn’t the bartender at Granddad’s party.”

  “What! But you were with what’s-her-name. The one none of us like.”

  Justin grumbled deep in his throat. “Yes, the situation got a little awkward. But at least I know where she works. It wasn’t until last night that she actually knew who I was.”

  “What does that mean? You been seeing her in disguise? Using a false name?” He chuckled.

  “Naw. I just never told her I was a Lawson.”

  “For obvious reasons. I get it. Say no more. But now that she knows what’s your next move?”

  “I plan to see her again. There’s this connection. Ya know?”

  “Yeah, bro, I think I do.”

  The front door opened and the club manager Carlos walked in with Paul the house chef and Rafe’s favorite two waitresses Simone and Leslie right behind them.

  “Gotta run. Duty calls.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Meeting a client.”

  “So you’ll check that out for me?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Cool. And, J...”

  “Yeah...?”

  “Good luck with your lady friend.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s her name by the way?”

  “Bailey. Bailey Sinclair.”

  “Bailey. I like it.” He chuckled. “Be easy.”

  “You, too.”

  Rafe pocketed his phone and greeted his staff, all the while wondering how long it would take Justin to find out what he wanted to know.

  Chapter 2

  Avery Richards planted her feet, aimed her Glock and fired six rounds in rapid succession. She extracted the earplugs and removed the protective goggles. The paper target floated toward her like a ghost in a bad B movie. Five to the chest and one right between the eyes.

  “Not bad.”

  Avery gave a cursory glance and chose to ignore the comment.

  Mike Stone, often her detail partner and unrequited suitor, stepped into the booth next to hers. She wouldn’t characterize their relationship as adversarial but it was often tense. Mostly because Avery was damned good at every aspect of her job, she had seniority and she didn’t fall under his questionable charms.

  Mike was accustomed to having what and who he wanted. The fact that he couldn’t live out what he believed to be his manifest destiny with Avery irked him to no end. It didn’t, however, stop him from challenging her whenever it suited him. Quite frankly she was tired of his bullshit male ego and planned to ask to be reassigned.

  She’d been hired under the first female head of the Secret Service. Avery didn’t have the same rapport with her replacement and she didn’t want to play the victim card. But the fact was she didn’t trust Mike and that could prove tragic if placed in a life or death situation. She didn’t want to pull her trump card and ask for favors from her senator father. She needed to work this out on her own. That or simply shoot Mike and put them both out of their misery.

  “Ever think about just wounding?” He put on his goggles.

  “You. I have, yes.”

  He laughed and plugged his ears. “Dead suspects tell no tales.”

  She rolled her eyes, holstered her weapon and detached her target sheet. “Have a good day, Mike,” she said. The drip of sarcasm pooled at her feet.

  The sound of gunfire followed her out of the target range.

  * * *

  When Avery pushed through the heavy steel door and entered the long corridor that led to a row of offices, she ran into her friend Kerry Holt.

  She and Kerry had trained together when they first joined the service six years earlier and they became fast friends. Kerry was the one person in whom she could confide without it coming back to haunt her.

  They exchanged a quick hug.

  “I thought you were off today,” Kerry said.

  “I am. Just getting some practice in.” She tipped her head toward the range.

  “How was that party the other night?”

  “I thought it would be the typical stuffed-shirt event, but if I wasn’t on duty I would have had a ball.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She lowered her voice. “I met Senator Lawson’s son, Rafe.”

  Kerry’s green eyes widened. “I’ve only seen pictures. Is he as gorgeous in person?”

  “That would be an understatement.” She pushed out a breath. “There’s something about him.” Her gaze drifted off.

  “Did you give him your number?”

  “No! Don’t be silly. I was on duty.”

  “So.”

  “So? I’m not going to lose my job for a turn-on.”

  “You need a turn-on. When’s the last time you got some?”

  Avery made a face. “Is that all you can think about?”

  “Yes.”

  They laughed.

  “You’re a mess.”

  “Maybe but you still should have given him your number.”

  “For what? I live in DC and he’s in Louisiana.”

  “Hmm. True. Anyway, what are you doing later?”

  “Heading to the gym, then home. Stop by and I’ll fix us some mimosas.”

  “Don’t have to ask me twice. I’ll bring Chinese from that place we like.”

&
nbsp; “Sevenish?”

  “See you then.” Kerry’s pager went off. She pulled it from the clip on her hip and checked the number. “Duty calls.”

  “Always. And don’t forget the extra hot mustard.”

  “Got it.”

  They parted and headed in opposite directions.

  Maybe she should have given Rafe her number, but now that she thought about it he hadn’t asked. Just as well. Relationships were difficult in the best of circumstances. Long distance was worse. Beyond that, her career didn’t make for the best in partnerships. At any given time she could be called on to travel halfway across the globe. She’d lost count of how many dinners, getaways and “sleepovers” she’d had to either cancel or end abruptly. Compound that with being the daughter of Horace Richards, the ranking senior senator, and she was never quite sure if a man was with her because of genuine interest or to get close to her father.

  Kerry was right, though. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man—in every sense of the word. She did miss being touched, waking up with someone beside her, having doors opened, being told that she was beautiful, having someone to look out for and protect her for a change. Wishful thinking.

  She got behind the wheel of her Navigator and headed away from headquarters. The imposing images of democracy stood firm against the horizon; the Capitol, the White House and in the distance the Lincoln Memorial. A surge of pride filled her. This was the life she chose—to protect and defend. It was the life she’d been groomed for since college.

  * * *

  Avery spent a full two hours in the gym, part of her weekly regime. She not only worked out to stay fit but for health reasons, as well. Her mother had died of a massive heart attack when Avery was only fifteen. The doctors had warned Linda Richards that if she kept up the fried foods, didn’t quit smoking and lose the weight, her outlook was not good. Linda remained stubborn and determined to hold on to her southern-style soul-food cooking, brushing all well-meaning advice aside.

  Avery remembered Sunday dinners being more of an extravaganza than a meal. Two kinds of meats—one of which was always fried—collards and string beans seasoned in fatback, six-cheese baked macaroni, sweet tea and pies that would set off diabetic alarms.

  Eat up were her mother’s two favorite words.

  Growing up Avery believed that everyone ate the way her family did, even as she put on the pounds herself. By the time she turned fifteen, shortly before her mother’s death, she was 190 pounds at five foot five.

  Instead of tears Avery mourned with food, pushing beyond two hundred and ten pounds by her seventeenth birthday. It was her own brush with a health scare that finally turned her around.

  It was three months before her high school graduation. For about a week she’d experienced shortness of breath and mild dizzy spells. She wouldn’t tell her father. It was bad enough that he looked at her with a mixture of disgust and sadness. The decision was taken out of her hands when she collapsed in the school stairwell.

  Two days in the hospital, dependent on an oxygen mask and lectured by doctors, nurses and nutritionists, Avery came home determined to live.

  * * *

  Wrapped in a towel Avery stepped out of a long, hot shower and walked through her two-bedroom condo. It was almost six. Knowing Kerry she would arrive any minute. She had a penchant for turning up early for any and everything. Avery decided on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

  After getting dressed she put a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill then curled up on the couch to catch up on the news until Kerry arrived.

  There was the usual litany of disasters, fires, floods, home invasions and yet another unarmed black man shot by police.

  Avery’s stomach turned with anguish and disappointment. Anguish for the family and friends and community and disappointment in the profession that she was part of.

  As the names of the fallen continued to climb she’d begun to question how the country that she loved had devolved into one of fear of the very people sworn to protect you, and she’d begun to question if in fact she should stay in her line of work.

  The newscaster skillfully switched gears to talk entertainment politics. Her heart lurched. There on the screen in bold, living color was Rafe Lawson on the night of his grandfather’s birthday party. He was on the small stage in the center of the massive ballroom, playing the sax. Avery leaned in.

  “Rafe Lawson, one of Louisiana’s most eligible bachelors, and the eldest son and heir to the Lawson legacy is seen here playing a tribute to his grandfather Clive Lawson. The celebration of the 85th birthday of the patriarch was a star-studded affair that included a surprise visit by Vice President Reynolds, a long-time friend to the senior Lawson. His son Senator Branford Lawson is actively campaigning for the seat of Chairman of the Homeland Security Committee.”

  Avery couldn’t tear her eyes off Rafe and wished that she could hit replay when the station segued to the weather. As if deflated she flopped back against the pillows of the couch. Her pulse continued to race and that funny feeling in the pit of her stomach remained. Crazy that he could have the same effect on her through a television screen as he did up close and personal.

  For a moment she closed her eyes and inhaled. His scent awakened in her memory. The sound of his voice, slow, easy and deep, whispered in her ear. A shudder rippled through her and her eyes flew open. She jumped up and went for the wine that was chilling in the fridge. She couldn’t wait for Kerry.

  She poured a full glass and took a deep swallow. If Kerry hadn’t rung the bell when she did, Avery was certain she would have put on her sneakers and ran Rafe Lawson out of her system.

  “Hey, girl.” Avery stepped aside to let Kerry in. “Hmm, smells good,” she said, eyeing the bags in Kerry’s hand.

  “I am starved.” Kerry breezed in and went straight to the kitchen to put down the bags. She moved around Avery’s kitchen like it was her own, taking out plates and flatware. “Drinking without me?” she said, noticing Avery’s glass of wine. “Thought we were doing mimosas.”

  “We are. I just needed something to take the edge off.”

  Kerry stopped emptying the bag of its food cartons. “Why? Something happen?”

  “Not exactly.” She twisted her lips to the side. “Sort of.”

  “Okay. I’ll bite. What?”

  Avery told her about seeing Rafe on television and the crazy way it made her feel.

  “Wow. Sounds serious.”

  “No, it sounds crazy.” She opened a carton and loaded her plate with stir-fried vegetables and generously drizzled them with hot mustard.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Kerry crunched on a spring roll.

  “Sum it up to a pleasant memory and move on.”

  Kerry threw her a skeptical glance. “Right.”

  “I will. You’ll see.”

  Kerry chuckled. “Whatever.”

  * * *

  For the most part Avery was as good as her word. In the ensuing weeks she’d all but put images and thoughts of Rafe Lawson in her rearview. Every now and again she had a flash but quickly pushed it back where it belonged. Her tough schedule was a big factor.

  Since the night of the party VP Reynolds had been so impressed with her that he’d requested Avery as part of his second-shift detail, which was great for her as it left a good chunk of her day free and occupied some of her evenings. Evenings that would more than likely have been spent alone anyway.

  She was at her desk reviewing status reports when she got a call from the lobby security advising her to come down.

  “Be right there.” She reached into her desk drawer, removed her Glock and slipped it into her underarm holster, then shrugged into her navy blue suit jacket.

  Her low-heeled shoes clicked rhythmically against the granite floors. She stopped at the bank of ele
vators and pressed the down button. Mike walked up and joined her for the wait. Inwardly she groaned and hoped that he wasn’t riding all the way down.

  “Morning. Heading out?”

  “Good morning. No, just to the lobby.”

  “Listen, Avery...”

  The doors swished open.

  Avery stepped on and faced forward.

  “I’d really like to take you to lunch sometime.”

  She was so taken aback by the clear tone of sincerity and almost boyish look in his eyes that she couldn’t respond. Her lips parted as the doors closed.

  Avery shook her head in disbelief and leaned against the back wall of the elevator. That was new and different. Mike had never formally asked her out. He’d always insinuated what a good catch he was, taunted her about her work ethic and goaded her whenever an opportunity presented itself. This was the Mike she’d never met before, but she still didn’t trust him.

  The doors opened on the main floor. She buttoned her jacket, made certain her ID was visible and walked to the security console.

  “Agent Richards. I got a call.”

  “Yes, Agent Richards. Senator Lawson’s son is here to see you.”

  Her heart felt as if it jumped from her chest to her throat and a hot wave rolled through her from toe to head.

  She swallowed. “Thank you.” When she turned toward the waiting area, she heard her own gasp when she spotted him. His back was turned to her, but his long, lean form was unmistakable framed within the towering bulletproof windows that looked out onto the nation’s capital. The white collar of his shirt peeked above the black jacket that matched his slacks, but when he turned there was not the expected tie, but rather an open collar revealing the tease of hot chocolate. The aura that wafted around him was palpable, even from where she stood.

  “Oh, lord,” she murmured. She couldn’t tell what he saw or what he was thinking behind the dark shades that shielded his eyes, only that his lush lips moved into a slow smile while she approached.