by A Rosendale
“Try to get cleaned up,” he suggested. He waited for her to disappear behind a swinging door before taking his own advice. The first thing he did was remove his muddy black T-shirt and rinse it in the sink. He rang mud and water out of the garment and held it under the hand-drier until it was only slightly soggy. Then he splashed water over his face and hair and scrubbed blood, dirt, and soot from his skin.
With the backpack settled back in place, he leaned against the vanity and stared at his reflection. Aside from the wrinkles that had creased his skin since turning 40, his green eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. They stung painfully. There was a visible cut on his temple, but he was able to place a butterfly bandage over it that hid the bright red blood. He felt suddenly old and exhausted. His body ached inside and out.
Stifling a groan, he adjusted the bag and went to meet his asset.
* * *
Although the seats in the back row of the plane didn’t recline, it was the most comfortable place Dirk could imagine when he sat down. The woman occupying the economy window seat cast him and Sonya a disgruntled glance and turned away from them.
Thirty minutes into the flight, Sonya leaned her head against his shoulder and snuggled against him. Any thought Dirk had of sleeping on the plane was dispelled at that moment. He was left with an endless swirl of anxiety centered on how much this woman reminded him of Alma.
* * *
Sonya woke as the plane descended over Texas. She yawned and shot Dirk a smile. “Thanks for the comfy pillow.” She rubbed his shoulder appreciatively. A tired smile was the only reply she received.
“It’s kind of handy to travel without luggage,” she joked as they passed the baggage claim and went straight to the waiting line of taxis.
The cab pulled away from the curb outside Sonya’s apartment building and she turned to face Dirk on the sidewalk.
“I can never thank you,” she said quietly. Without preamble, she placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him into a kiss. The gesture so shocked Dirk that he didn’t react. Gentle at first, a familiar urgency filled her and she pressed herself desperately to him. After a long moment, Dirk found it in him to pull away.
Sonya lowered her hands to his shoulders and held his gaze. “Do you want to stay the night?” she asked in a low voice. “I mean to rest. You look exhausted.”
Despite her justification, Dirk had been in this situation before. There would be no rest if he accompanied her upstairs. In fact, ten years ago, he’d already be wrapped in her arms. With a firm shake of his head, he took her hands from his body.
“I can’t,” he replied.
She nodded dejectedly.
“The FBI will be in touch tomorrow,” he added. “You…you did really well out there, considering.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice small instead of dark and seductive. “And truly thank you for everything. I hope…I hope your wife appreciates you the way you deserve.”
‘After four months, who knows,’ he thought bleakly. “Thank you.” He squeezed her hands and waved down a passing taxi. It wasn’t until she was safely inside that he directed the driver back to the airport.
This flight allowed him a brief nap. The vibration of the landing gear woke him. He rubbed his face and gathered his bag.
* * *
Alma looked up in surprise as Dirk entered the bedroom. He crossed directly to the bed where she was folding clothes and swept the neat piles to the floor.
“Dirk!” she chastised, but before she could get further, he had scooped her towards him to meet in a hungry kiss. “Cooper,” she argued with a stolen breath.
He filled all of her senses. His smoky scent was intoxicating.
“Is asleep,” he replied airily and scooted them both up on the bed.
* * *
The fierce, intense passion that filled Dirk was breathtaking. She couldn’t recall power emanating from him like that before. Even now his touch was electric as he trailed his fingers over her bare skin. Alma’s vision was still swimming when Dirk’s low voice cut the silence.
“How do you do this?”
“Do what?” she asked in a whisper, brushing her fingers through his hair.
“How do you draw me across the country, hell, across the world to be completely and utterly sated in your arms?” His fingers faltered and he propped himself on an elbow to look down on her with her hair, so neatly tucked in a bun moments ago, now fanned on the pillow.
She laughed gently. “That’s an easy one.”
“Then please enlighten me because nothing and no one has ever held this magnetic power over me,” he begged.
Her smile was gentle and warm. “Because you love me, and I love you. That’s always been the reason you come back to me.” She brushed a hand over his scruffy cheek.
The combination of her words, touch, and smile eased him into truly relaxing for the first time in months. “You’re right. I love you more than anything in the world.” His kiss was tender this time, lacking the urgent intensity of earlier.
The baby monitor crackled with Cooper’s post-nap sounds. Alma smiled, pecked him once more, and untangled herself from the sheets to dress. Dirk allowed himself a minute more of relaxation, lingering in the Alma-scented bed. Then he, too, rose and donned jogging pants. He was just wiggling into a fresh shirt when tiny footsteps sounded in the hall. Turning, he found Cooper standing in the doorway staring at him. For a moment, he worried that his son didn’t recognize him. But a second later, a wide smile crossed the toddler’s face and he raced across the wood floor.
“Daddy!”
‘Nothing will ever compare to that sound,’ Dirk thought as he scooped the boy into his arms.
* * *
“That cough is pretty wicked,” Alma noted. Cooper was down for the night and Dirk had just stepped out of the shower. She picked up his discarded backpack from the foot of the bed.
“Smoke inhalation,” he answered gruffly as he toweled dry in the attached bathroom.
Alma was about to reply when a pair of black heels tumbled from the bag. Frowning, she picked them up and stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “There was a woman on this mission?”
Dirk looked up from drying his hair. He looked between the shoes and his wife. “Yes. The asset was a female scientist.”
“And she gave you her shoes as a memento?”
The edge to her voice was unusual and he furrowed his brow. “No. During our…escape through the forests of Switzerland, her shoes became impractical. I just forgot to return them to her. I’ll put them in the mail tomorrow.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and leaned back on the vanity.
“So you know her home address?”
“Alma, what’s this about? We’ve trusted each other explicitly since we got engaged.”
She shook her head and tossed the heels to a corner of the bedroom. “I don’t know. It’s…you’ve been gone a long time and…I guess my mind has been wandering lately, that’s all.” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorway and cast a glance back at the shoes. “So what happened with her?”
‘Persistent,’ he thought. ‘A quality I’ve always admired of hers.’ “I’m bone tired. Can we do this tomorrow?”
Her raised brow answered his question.
“Fine. Can we at least sit down?”
They sat on the foot of the bed, Alma in her jeans and T-shirt and Dirk in his towel with glistening hair. He combed it back with his hand, noted that he needed a haircut, and started a footnotes explanation of his time with Sonya.
“She kissed you and then asked you upstairs? And you came home instead?” Alma demanded incredulously.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
A light of understanding dawned and her expression lightened. “Which explains…” She motioned to the bed.
Dirk nodded with the hint of a smile.
“And it explains your question.”
“Yes. And your answer was spot on. You hold every bit of my love, Alma. T
here’s nothing to give these estranged women who think they owe me a favor. This particular woman even said, and I quote, ‘I hope your wife appreciates you the way you deserve.’”
“Well, clearly I don’t by questioning your loyalty.”
He smiled and brushed her cheek with his rough fingers. His soft green-blue eyes held hers. “You are the most amazing woman, Alma. I have known it since the moment I met you and you’ve only reinforced the fact over the years. You treat me too well.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “Far too well,” he added in a whisper.
Chapter 40
“Dirk? Cooper?” Alma called from the entryway. She loved her job with NOAA, but days when she could be spending time with both her husband and son together were agonizingly long workdays.
“Backyard,” Dirk called.
She smiled from the porch. Cooper was running around the grass, giggling happily. Dirk was stretched out on his back in the middle of the yard. Every minute or so, Cooper would ‘attack’ him by running full tilt toward Dirk and throwing himself at him. Dirk would scoop him out of the air to tickle, then release him to repeat the game.
“Mommy!” the boy yelled as she descended the steps. He changed direction and barreled toward her to be swept into her arms.
Dirk remained where he was, smiling at them. Alma carried their son over to him and the three of them lounged back in the grass.
“How was work?” Dirk asked as they gazed up at the clouds rolling across the sky.
“Long. I’d much rather be here with you two!” She tickled Cooper as she said it and his high-pitched giggles pierced the muggy afternoon.
“I have to go to D.C.”
She frowned at the news. “When?”
“I leave Sunday. Johnson’s appeal starts Monday.”
“Didn’t you go to that a few years ago?”
“Yes. He gets the opportunity to appeal every five years. I want to be there in case…”
“In case he manages to get pardoned?” she supplied.
Dirk’s frown matched hers. “Yeah.”
Cooper had settled at their serious tone and stared at the sky from where he lay between them.
“What would that do? Do you think it’s a possibility?”
“I’m not sure.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. Cooper looked at him and tried to copy the expression. “He still gives me the creeps and not many people do, if you know what I mean. I intend to make it more difficult for him to be pardoned.”
“Will he know you’re there?”
“I don’t plan on advertising my presence, but somehow I think he’ll know.”
“If he ever gets out, do you think…” She put a protective hand on Cooper.
Dirk’s expression darkened even more and his son gave up trying to imitate it. “I don’t know.” He put a hand over hers on their son’s chest. The boy grinned at the attention. “I swear I’ll protect you both, no matter what.”
Alma forced a smile and nodded. “I know you will.”
* * *
Dirk had submitted a report to the District Attorney, who was pushing to keep Johnson behind bars for the remainder of his ninety-nine year sentence. He hoped the report would serve its purpose: to remind the judge of the politician’s disastrous plot ten years ago, one that would have cost thousands of lives and put national security in jeopardy.
Now, he sat in a far corner of the courtroom with a notebook open on his lap. While the idea was to blend in with the multitudes of reporters eagerly scribbling notes around him, he was making notes of a different kind. His attention remained on the proceedings, but he wrote in a steady, uninterrupted cursive hand.
It wasn’t until the defense attorney said, “Congressman Johnson would like to make a personal statement to the court,” that Dirk turned his full focus on the people at the front of the room.
“Let me remind you, Counselor, that your client is no longer a congressman,” the judge said curtly.
The attorney, Max Browning, nodded submissively.
“Bring in Mr. Johnson. Let’s hear what he has to say.” The judge sounded bored, as if his week should be ending, not just beginning.
Ten minutes later, Eric Johnson entered the courtroom. An excited chatter filled the seats around Dirk. His notebook lay forgotten on his lap as he followed the suited man’s progress to the defense table. Johnson had lost some weight since his last appeal five years ago, but his suit was still impeccable.
‘Probably has his own personal tailor on the inside,’ Dirk thought bitterly. He rubbed his cheek at a remembered blow to the face dealt by the brutal politician ten years ago. Jaw clenched, he sat back to listen to Johnson’s statement.
A long-winded twenty minutes later, the judge motioned to the DA, who spent a moment conferring with his aid. She passed him a document; he straightened his jacket, and stood.
“Your honor, I have a statement prepared by a government agent documenting the exact actions of Mr. Johnson and the projected fallout. May I read it to the court and enter it into evidence against the defendant’s supposedly sincere address?”
Johnson and his counsel sat down as Dirk’s statement was read aloud. When the report concluded, the judge sighed and sank back in his seat. After a few minutes of tense silence, he sat up and took a deep breath.
“Mr. Browning, Mr. Johnson, please rise. At this time, Mr. Johnson, I am denying your appeal. Domestic terrorism will never set well with me.” Then Judge Flynn shook his head and retired to the anteroom, robes swishing in his wake.
Dirk felt a rise of relief that was instantly quelled when Johnson turned to scan the courtroom. It was as if he knew his nemesis was nearby and had singlehandedly manufactured the report that kept him behind bars. They locked gazes. Dirk set his jaw and stared back with stubborn confidence, but the chill Johnson’s furious glare sent down his spine was all too real.
Browning took his client by the arm, breaking the tension, and they disappeared through a private door. Dirk stifled the shiver of a cold sweat and stuffed his notebook in his pack and quickly left the courtroom.
He paused outside next to a grooved column to take a deep breath.
“Pretty intense stuff in there, huh?”
The voice came from a man standing nearby. He was dressed in a store-bought suit and smoking a cigarette. The tinge of gray in his hair pegged him as a few years older than Dirk. Without a practiced eye, Dirk would have never noticed the automatic pistol hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket.
“Yeah. Intense,” he replied vaguely. Something about this man was familiar.
“You get some good stuff for the paper?” He motioned to the satchel where Dirk had stashed his book.
“Oh. Yeah. It’ll make the evening issue. You a reporter?” he asked, even though he knew otherwise.
“No. Just an interested party.”
Dirk raised a brow, prodding.
The man nodded to his bag. “Off the record?”
“Of course.”
“Wyatt Ramsey. Agent Wyatt Ramsey, FBI.” He held out a hand.
Sudden realization dawned. Agent Ramsey had been the agent in charge of Congressman Johnson’s arrest. Dirk shook his hand firmly. “Tony Preston, Boston Times. Pleased to meet you.”
Ramsey shot him a look that said he’d been around the block, too, and didn’t quite buy the alias. But then he smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you, Tony. You’ll be in D.C. long?”
“Overnight, at least. I’ll just email this article to my editor, then I’m off to see the sights.”
“Enjoy. It’s a nice city, besides the crooked politicians.” He nodded back toward the courthouse. Then he put out his cigarette on the handrail, tossed the butt in a nearby trashcan, threw Dirk a friendly wave, and descended the steps to street level.
* * *
“Well?” Alma asked anxiously. Her voice crackled slightly on the long-distance line.
“He’s back in prison, at least for now.”
“’For now’? That doesn’t
sound very promising.”
He shrugged in the empty hotel room. “It at least prolongs the inevitable.”
“And what do we do when that happens?” It was unusual to hear such apprehension in her voice.
“I’m working on that. It’ll be okay.”
He could practically see her swallow her worries and resume her tenacious exterior. “What are your plans tonight?”
“Thought I’d catch up with some old flames,” he answered offhand. In person, his grin would have instantly revealed his jest.
“Hmm,” she hummed shortly.
“Too soon?” he laughed.
“At least be smart enough not to bring her shoes home,” she returned humorously.
“I’m actually just going to grab dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in the capital and turn in early. I’ll be home mid-afternoon tomorrow.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Wuv you, Daddy!” Cooper’s voice called from a distance.
His smiled. “I love you both, too. Bye.”
Dirk straightened and tightened his necktie, shrugged on a sports coat, headed into the city.
Chapter 41
Marcel’s was relatively uncrowded, as was expected for a Monday night. Dirk occupied a table for one in the corner by the kitchen. He could view the entire restaurant, but he was shadowed by low lighting and the constant flow of wait staff traffic. It was by habit only that he’d requested the table. He intended on enjoying the five-star cuisine in a comfortable, safe setting with nothing work related on his mind. He’d brought his satchel and hardbound notebook along to continue adding thoughts as he ate.
“You are enjoying the meal?” an Indian waiter asked in heavily accented English.
“As good as always,” Dirk beamed.
“You visit often?”
“Not in years, but I can see the quality and service hasn’t faded with time.”
The immigrant blushed and begged his thanks as he backed away from the table.
Dirk sipped a fine wine and relished every bite of the seven-course meal. Dessert sorbet melted in his mouth and he was just finishing the last sip of red wine when commotion across the room caught his attention.