Jack buried his nose in her hair. “Don’t,” he said quietly.
“You’re the only one I can talk to about this.”
“And I’m not fucking strong enough to hear it.”
Right now she felt like he was the only strength she had. “I need you. I just need you to listen.”
“You don’t need to talk. Neither one of us do,” he said quietly. “The world could be blasted from existence and we would cease to exist, and I would still be loving you. There isn’t a damn thing you could say to me that I don’t already know. I don’t want to talk. Just let me be with you.” He led her to the bed. “Please.”
They didn’t speak. He held her, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, occasionally humming an off key tune. It comforted her but couldn’t keep her apprehension from growing. When he rolled over and fell into a rhythmic breathing pattern, she knew he’d unintentionally fallen asleep.
Her mind drifted toward thoughts that had once consumed her when there had been nothing else to occupy her time. Of what the government would do if they got ahold of her again. She couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be worse the second time around, but she’d always underestimated evil. Now that she was being delivered to Santos with a fucking bow around her neck, he was engineering his revenge. Sleep wasn’t going to happen.
Jack was lying there, his hair falling into his eyes. He always looked years younger when he was asleep. She swept her palm across his hairline and he reflexively rolled over and put his arm around her. Strong and secure. The way it always felt when he was touching her.
Caroline stared at the ceiling, her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
He shifted on top of her, his lips meeting hers. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
“I know.” He kissed her again. “Did you think I was asleep?”
Hell, someone should be getting some rest. “I hoped so.”
He pulled her to him. “I won’t sleep until this is over.”
“This is the second time you’re letting me go, knowing I might not come back.”
He took a shaky breath. “Yes.”
Her husband could reassure her all he wanted. She’d still have that seed of doubt in her mind. “Do you hate me for it?”
He held her tighter. “There is nothing you could do that would ever make me hate you. Nothing.”
“Sometimes I hate myself for it,” she whispered.
“This is going to work,” Jack said. “We’re going to wrap this up and have you home in time for dinner.”
Which home? She wanted to ask but held her tongue. She snuggled closer. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
He kissed her. “You tell me all the damn time without a single word.”
It was easier to bury her head in his shoulder than look him in the eyes. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. You terrible, wonderful man.”
“A somewhat backhanded compliment,” Jack said. “One I will most graciously accept.”
He really was beautiful. The stress of the past few years hadn’t dampened his features. Except now she thought of more than just the physical aspects when she looked at him.
“You don’t always have to be strong,” he whispered.
“I do,” she said. “Especially tonight.”
“Tonight is the one time you don’t have to be strong. Let me be strong for you. Carry that with you tomorrow.”
He was right. He’d get her through anything. Caroline thought about the family photo concealed in her uniform jacket. About the medal and the wedding band around her neck. About every memory they’d collected through the years. They finally had their family back and there was a risk it would be torn apart again. She didn’t want to regret anything else, not when she might only have a few hours left on earth.
“People never really think about the last time they’re going to have sex with someone,” she said. “The last time they’re going to kiss them goodbye. The last time they’ll hear the other person’s voice. We take our relationships, our spouses, our partners for granted until one day, poof, it’s over. Maybe we’d all be a little better off if we lived each day as if it might be the last.”
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
“You hate that phrase.”
“You don’t.” She stroked his cheek. “I want to give you your sweet memory.”
He closed his eyes, pressing his nose to her hair. “I love you more than life itself,” he murmured. “And I am constantly in awe of you.”
“Please,” she said. “Give me something to remember tomorrow when everything goes dark and all of my options turn bad.”
Jack kissed her. “Quiet,” he ordered. “Not another word.”
She smiled and did exactly as he said.
*****
All night. He’d been inside her all night. That was probably the closest to forever she was going to get. They’d only done it once, wanting to make it last, knowing that neither one of them would be sleeping anyway. He spent time on each scar, loved her, held her, made her realize they made her more beautiful, more appealing, more desirable. Made her view them as victories, not losses. As the light started peeking through the windows, Jack finished inside her, sweeping her hair back, whispering words of love. They had a little time. Time to hold each other and watch the sunrise.
“We should get ready,” he finally said. “Not much time left.”
What a gloomy way to phrase it, even if it wasn’t his intent. Maybe she could attempt to be playful. “Want to shower with me?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You go first. I’ll make breakfast.”
She lingered in the bedroom after he helped her get dressed. She knew she should eat, that she would need her strength, but the concept of food made her feel nauseated. What she needed, offensive though it seemed, was some time by herself. Jack didn’t question it. He merely kissed her on the forehead and shut the door as he left to take his own shower.
Letters. She should have written letters. Did she have time? No, she’d trust Mo to help Feef. She’d trust Chrissy to tell all the stories she hadn’t yet shared. She’d trust Jonesie and Crunch and Gig to keep the flame of rebellion. But Jack…Jack would need a letter.
It was short. She knew exactly what to say. He’d be expecting more but it didn’t feel right to wax on. She folded the small sheet of paper and tucked it into her jacket before heading into the kitchen.
*****
June mornings in southern California weren’t supposed to be cold, but Caroline shivered as they walked across the tarmac toward the plane.
“You’ll get there early afternoon,” Jack said. “We’ll be tracking the flight, communicating with our contacts. Be flexible. Don’t try to tell friend from foe. Stall when you can, but not if it compromises your safety. Your rescue team will be right behind you.”
She still wasn’t sure how that part of the plan was going to work, but their advisors had reassured her that the California Republican Army had aircraft that could evade radar detection, whether through altitude or other means. She’d have to trust it worked, or she’d be on her damn own with Santos.
“I know,” she said softly. “We’re the last ones here.”
“Only fitting,” he said. “The plane won’t leave without you anyway.”
They had a few minutes. Too much time and not nearly enough. One hug each, she explained, because if she did more than that she wouldn’t be able to leave. The scene seemed all too familiar, like a snowy night in Harrisburg. The last time she’d been convinced that she’d never see her children again. Except now she was prepared.
Marguerite saluted her. “Good luck, Commander.”
Caroline humored her, returning the salute before turning to Sophie. “Don’t let her lord her position in this rebellion over you. I want to hear about it all when I get back.”
Sophie smiled, her lower lip trembling. “See you later, m
om.”
Never goodbye. Always see you later.
Christine kissed her cheek. “Get it done, Punky.”
She felt like she was trudging toward oblivion. Thank God she’d already run into Jones, Crunch, and Gig and said her goodbyes prior to heading to the airstrip.
Just one person left. Caroline swallowed hard. “Well,” she said.
“Well.” Jack motioned toward the plane. “We’ve done this drill before.”
She could give him more than a hug. She leaned in for a long kiss. “This time I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. I love you, John Montgomery McIntyre. Don’t you ever doubt that, not even for a minute.”
“I like when you repeat my best phrases back to me.” He straightened her beret before kissing her a final time. “Finish that bastard off and get your sweet ass back here.”
She reached into her uniform jacket and handed him the note. “Don’t read this until I’m gone, okay?”
He faltered a minute before shoving it into his pocket. He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there for more than a few seconds. “Be fearless, my love.”
Now she really was going to cry if she didn’t scoot. Somehow she managed to stand up a little straighter, her shoulders back and her head held high. “I will,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Caroline and a two person crew landed at Reagan in the early afternoon. The airport wasn’t crowded; fewer flights were going in and out of the nation’s capital. She wondered what the few stragglers in the airport must think, watching a woman dragged from a military transport plane, shoved roughly into handcuffs, and placed in the back of a presidential limo to be taken God knew where.
Her escorts were U.S. Army, she thought. Hard to tell who was what. The uniforms were a little off but looked to be military issue. The odd stillness that had overcome the United States during Santos’ reign had intensified. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the unease. She wondered if everyone felt it. So many people in the District appeared to simply be living their lives, going about their day, oblivious to what was going on. But there were signs. An increase in graffiti, some of it subversive. A strange quiet, as if the city’s heartbeat lay dormant. More empty buildings and abandoned businesses. How on earth had Santos convinced so many people that things were fine? Were they unmindful only because it may not have affected them directly? The apathy was astounding.
It didn’t take much. Cracks appearing in the foundation. A load bearing wall starting to lose its stability. Itty bitty clues that left a structure standing perfectly fine until it collapsed into rubble. The signs could all be there but in the end, a democratic system could be destroyed in seconds. Especially if no one demanded accountability.
Caroline closed her eyes, doing her best to focus on something other than the scenery. She could draw strength from love. Confidence. Courage. But love left her vulnerable. Soft. Hopelessly helpless. She had to hope that whatever it gave her was enough, and those who gave it to her would understand regardless of the outcome.
She thought of the photo in her jacket. Of the note she’d written Jack. Of all the memories – new and old – that she’d made with her family and friends. She wasn’t done yet. Yes, she could get through this. Forget the twisted reality, the destructive arcane parallels racing through her mind. She had to look at Washington, her Washington, one more time.
Some government buildings were damaged, but the Jefferson Memorial remained intact. The Smithsonian. The Capitol, the rotunda bright white against the cloudless sky. Metro stops and hotels and museums. She embraced them all, extricating the splendor from the squalor.
The car drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, turning toward the White House. Caroline spun around, catching a quick glimpse of the military statues facing the North Lawn. Von Steuben. Kosciusko. Jackson. Rochambeau. Lafayette. All heroes. All dead. When the vehicle came to a stop the soldiers yanked her out of the back seat without a word.
*****
The White House was a curious place. A paradox. Meant for all the people yet most Americans had never seen how it truly looked on the inside.
Caroline had, more than once. Granted, she’d never been escorted down the hall to the Oval Office in handcuffs. She much preferred her other visits. There were a few people milling around. Staffers, maybe? She knew she was supposed to avoid eye contact but couldn’t help wondering about them as she walked by. Were they her spies? Her helpers? Were they the ones who would bust in and liberate her in the nick of time? Or were they just as complicit as Santos and his cadre of followers?
She’d never been given the specifics of who was coming to rescue her; lack of knowledge meant she had nothing useful to disclose, if Santos took it that far. Curiosity was enough to keep her on her toes. She had to keep him talking. He adored the sound of his own voice and would want to give her a damn good lecture. She could take it.
A competent president would be able to focus. Would know what to emphasize, from policy down to procedure and etiquette. But a cantankerous leader was brittle. He’d be the worst incarnation of a Bond villain or monologuing evildoer, believing his opinions and observations were far superior to anyone else’s.
Yes, she could keep him talking. Poke the bear, so to speak. She kept her gaze on the end of the hall as they reached the Oval Office. The soldiers knocked, waited briefly, then opened the door and dragged her inside.
“Well.” Santos rose from his desk. “Look who’s here.”
He wasn’t her president. He wasn’t a president at all. She stood there and didn’t say a word.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked. “That will change.”
Good. Her silence pissed him off. Round one was underway. Santos strode around the desk, leaning against the front.
“Leave us,” he said.
One of the soldiers stepped closer to Caroline. “Sir-”
Santos waved him off. “I said leave us.”
Cocky and bombastic. He didn’t need security. Not when he was up against a handcuffed woman. His physical and mental inferior. This was good. Better than anticipated. If it was just the two of them, he would never notice if she got him on a tangent. There would be no one to bring him back to the topic at hand.
Keep him talking.
Caroline heard the door click behind her. She was sure there was a security system in place, maybe even cameras. She couldn’t try anything stupid. And yet... “Lorenzo,” she said.
He frowned. “I believe you meant to say Mr. President.”
She could play this game. Play it well. “Lorenzo.”
“Insolence. How charming. And what a cute little outfit you’re wearing. Pretending to play soldier?”
She stood a little taller. “Doing a pretty effective job of it, actually.”
“Yes,” he said. “Never would have taken you for it, but people can surprise you.”
They certainly can. She shrugged in spite of the handcuffs. “I live to give.”
He propped one foot up on a chair, resting a hand on his knee. “You’ve had quite a few adventures. Trying to destroy all the good I’ve done. Don’t think I don’t know where you’ve been.”
“That’s funny,” Caroline said. “According to my sources, you didn’t even know I was alive until a week or two ago.”
Santos laughed. “Such a nasty woman. Were you this disrespectful to Jeffrey?”
“Oh, I was much worse.”
“I’m not surprised.” He swung back around his desk, pulling a handgun out of the top drawer. “That must cease, unfortunately. My indulgence ends now.”
He was moving faster than she had planned. His eagerness was positively peevish. She hadn’t anticipated it, had to slow him down a little. Were there any more guns in there? Would she be able to create a distraction to allow her to slide past him and search for herself?
No, that was unwise. She could hear Jack and Christine yelling at her to think rationally. Be practical. Keep. Him. Talking.
“You must be quite up
set that Murdock ran to Canada,” Caroline said. “Did he grow a pair or did you cut them off?”
“Jeffrey was too ambitious for his own good. He was never able to properly interpret my directions.” Santos let the gun drop to his side. “Bernard had the same problem. It’s probably why he met the same end as you.”
Vice President Gunderson had indeed bitten the dust. “Did you take care of him yourself?”
He chuckled. “No. I generally don’t get involved in the…dirty work, so to speak. You’re a notable and worthy exception.”
“How nice for me,” she murmured.
Santos tucked the gun into his pocket. “Such a shame you didn’t want to join my team. If nothing else, you’re good for a lark.”
“Perhaps you should have offered me the position of court jester. I may have accepted.”
“I do regret how you were treated while in custody. When you were being questioned, the guards were under orders not to touch you inappropriately. They knew if they crossed the line, their heads would be on the chopping block next. Jeffrey took it a bit too far. For that I apologize.”
What an empty statement. Caroline flexed her crooked fingers, sucked in a breath sharp enough to feel the numbness below her ribcage. “How chivalrous of you.”
He took a step forward. “On the other hand, if he hadn’t been so singularly focused on personal vengeance we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”
Indeed we wouldn’t. “I’ll send him a thank you card. I’m sure he’ll love getting prison mail.”
“Quite plucky, aren’t you? You should be taking this a bit more seriously.”
She watched him pat his pocket. Maybe if she was lucky he would literally shoot himself in the foot. Where the fuck was her backup? Had something happened? She’d been told their arrival would be minutes after her own. Her palms started to sweat. “I am fully aware of the gravity of my situation.”
He took the gun out again. “Getting eager, aren’t we? I bet you’re trying to figure out if I have any other weapons in my desk. Looking to make a move? Maybe catch me off guard? Trying to play the earnest heroine yet again? It won’t work this time.” Santos raised the gun, pointing it at her head. “On your knees,” he said.
Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6) Page 28