Hard to Handle

by Raven Scott

  Until then, Kaylee chose to be completely selfish for the first time in her life, and steal a few more hours with Sam. Because it would likely be over once she told him everything.

  She worked from home again on Wednesday and Thursday. Her dad had called her on Monday night to let her know Jason Holt would leave the paper, effective immediately, and Mark McMann would manage the local news desks until a new editor was hired. Of course, Kaylee asked if Jason’s leaving had anything to do with what she had told him on Friday, but George Clement was very good at executive explanations, only saying that the timing was a coincidence and the decision had been in the works long before then.

  Kaylee was skeptical, but too relieved to press further. Mark was a good man to work for, and he might consider returning her to city politics. She decided to wait a couple of days for things to settle down again before she raised the subject.

  Thursday evening, at twenty minutes after six o’clock, Sam knocked on her apartment door. She looked at herself in the bedroom mirror one last time, wearing a short navy-blue dress, tailored to fit her body perfectly, and tawny-brown leather pumps with five-inch heels. Her hair and makeup done flawlessly to look like it had required minimal effort. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  There he stood, legs wide and arms spread open with his hand braced high on each side of the door frame. His head was dropped forward as he looked down at the threshold for several long seconds. His white cotton dress shirt seemed strained over the bulk of his shoulders and arms. The welcoming smile on Kaylee’s lips wobbled with uncertainty. There was an unmistakably chilly vibe radiating from his stance.

  “Sam?” she questioned, taking a step back. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, and Kaylee felt slapped by the coldness in his eyes.

  CHAPTER 9

  On Thursday afternoon, three days after meeting Kaylee Stone in the alley beside the Baltimore Journal, Sam strolled through the office at Fortis headquarters with two other field agents. They were returning from a mission to retrieve sensitive digital photos stolen from the computer of a high-level White House official.

  “How did it go?” Lucas Johnson asked as he approached them.

  “It was a little messy, but the job is done,” Sam explained as Lucas joined him and they walked toward Sam’s office.

  “Whose blood?”

  Sam looked down at his dark grey cotton top, now ruined with dark red smears.

  “The wanker wasn’t very willing to cooperate, and was bonkers enough to take a swing at me,” Sam explained simply. “It took a little convincing, but he’ll live.”

  “Anything on your calendar for the rest of the afternoon?”

  “Nope. Just going to shower and change. What’s going on?”

  “Ice is here, and I thought we could give him an update on things.”

  “I thought he wasn’t coming in until tomorrow.”

  Lucas shrugged with his usual easygoing attitude. “The life of a spook is unpredictable, I guess. We’re in my office.”

  Sam nodded, then went into his office with the private bathroom. When he joined his friends wearing a fresh white shirt and dark grey slacks, Lucas was leaning back in his chair with a big grin on his face while Evan DaCosta was standing with his arms across his chest, looking as serious as ever. Dressed in his tailored designer suit and handmade Italian leather shoes, Evan looked the part of a vice president at the family business, DaCosta Solutions, a huge defense contractor for the U.S. federal government. Only three civilians knew his real job as a field operative for the CIA, with a lethal effectiveness that earned him the name “Ice.” Two of those people were there in the room, and the third was Evan’s father, the CEO of DaCosta Solutions.

  “I was just telling Ice that I’ve already started planning his bachelor party,” Lucas said, obviously enjoying himself. “I’m thinking a weekend in Brazil.”

  “What happened to Greece?” Sam asked as he and Evan clasped hands and bumped shoulders.

  Sam had met Lucas early in his security career as a security agent with the MI5, the British secret service. They had both worked with Interpol to shut down a criminal organization that was targeting financial markets in the United States and across Europe, and the two men had remained good friends for several years later. Two years ago, Lucas had made Sam an offer, to join a new firm of elite professionals that provided specialized asset protection and security solutions to private-sector clients, and introduced him to Evan. As a consultant for the U.S. Secret Service and several other top government agencies, Lucas had genius-level skills in cyber security and intrusion detection. Lucas and Sam would be managing partners, leading a team of military and police-trained agents and analysts, with Evan as a silent investor.

  Now, two years later, the three men had a strong business relationship.

  Lucas waved a dismissive hand. “It’s still under consideration. But Ice has a huge family in Brazil so we can have an even bigger party there. Enjoy the local dishes.” His pretty, golden-brown face held a big grin.

  Sam raised a brow to the man next to him. Evan’s smooth, reddish-brown face held the look of exasperation, but he just shook his head tolerantly. He and Sam were of similar size and stature, with Sam just an inch taller. Lucas was the smallest at around six feet, two inches tall and had a more slender frame that neither of his best friends let him forget about. But the computer geek was just as lethal.

  “The wedding is still two months away,” Evan told his best man, Lucas. “Plenty of time to work everything out.”

  “Not for the party I’m planning, my friend. But we can discuss it later. You said you spoke with George Clement?” Lucas asked with more seriousness.

  Sam knew that the DaCosta and Clement families were close friends and neighbors, and that Evan was engaged to their daughter, Mikayla.

  “Yeah, I called him earlier to ask about the situation at the Baltimore Journal.

  “He told me this morning that he wasn’t moving forward with any further investigation into the matter,” Sam said, a little confused. “Holt claimed not to know who paid the bribe, so Clement considered the matter closed.”

  “I know. I saw the update when my flight landed,” Evan said, uncrossing his arms to plant them on his hips. “That’s why I called him. The man I know would never let a situation like this go unresolved.”

  “What did he say?” Lucas asked.

  Evan looked at the two men with sharp intensity.

  “That he was resigning as CEO of Clement Media, effective immediately. He’ll only remain on the board of directors.”

  Lucas sat up.

  “What’s going on, Ice?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I think we’ve stumbled into something bigger than a bribe in the media,” he replied. “George just turned fifty, and he loves his work. Every instinct I have says he’s being coerced.”

  “So, we’ll be looking into who is applying pressure,” Sam concluded.

  “No.” Evan sighed while the other man looked at him with obvious surprise. “He’s made me promise not to have you guys work on it any further. The assignment is closed.”

  “Are you sure about this, Ice?” Lucas asked.

  “No. I think we should complete an investigation, find out who’s involved and neutralize the threat. But we won’t because I promised,” Evan replied with obvious internal conflict. “But I did convince him that we should continue to monitor the Journal and all the other Clement publications for any other corruption. So that’s something.”

  Sam nodded. “We have a full security review under way from the Journal. Raymond should have the results today or tomorrow morning. We can implement a similar plan across the whole firm.”

  “Good,” Evan replied with a sigh.

  “You boys want to grab a meal when we’re done here?” Lucas asked, always trying to lighten the mood.

  “Thanks, but I have plans for the evening,” Sam told them.

  “Huh. You do clean up pretty good, Sammy. Who
is she?” Lucas teased, but Sam ignored him. “What about you, Ice? You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Yeah, all right. Tomorrow, I have to tell Mikayla that I told George she shouldn’t work at the Journal anymore, and it won’t be pretty.”

  “Clement’s daughter works at the paper?” Sam asked, surprised. That information had not been shared with him or Raymond, nor had they seen the name Mikayla Clement on the employee list.

  “Yeah, for the last year or so.”

  “Doing what?” asked Lucas, clearly just as unaware.

  “She’s a writer, but no one knows it’s her,” Evan explained. “I didn’t even know until a couple of months ago. Mikayla can be pretty stubborn when she wants something, and she’s always wanted to make it as a journalist without her father’s influence. So she writes under another name.”

  Sam tried to stay calm and objective, but his heart was now beating like a drum. Somewhere deep in his gut, his instincts were on high alert and telling him something god-awful. He cleared his throat and worked his jaw before asking the question.

  “What name?”

  “Kaylee Stone,” Evan replied completely unaware of the bomb that he had just dropped. “It’s a nickname she’s had since high school, and her mom’s maiden name.”

  Lucas and Evan were talking, but Sam couldn’t hear their words. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His head was filling up with every intricate detail of the last three days—the moment he saw her rush out of the building and falling from a turn in her ankle; the look of fear in those big, sparkling eyes; that stunning smile and the sound of her laughter at his silly, sarcastic comments; the smell of her skin; the sweet, tight feel of inching deep . . .

  “Sam?” He looked at Evan, then Lucas, both of whom were staring at him strangely. “You okay, man? You look paler than usual,” Lucas teased with a chuckle.

  “Yeah. Fine,” he replied vaguely. But nothing was fine. The reality of Evan’s words were the exact opposite of fine. It was the most impossible, inconceivable truth. Sam had slept with his client’s daughter, who also just happened to be engaged to his business partner. The wedding invitation was sitting on his desk at home, and Sam could clearly recall the printed words, though he had paid little attention to them before:

  Mr. George Clement and Mrs. Evelyn Stone-Clement invite you to celebrate the union of their daughter Mikayla to Evan DaCosta . . .

  “I met her,” Sam finally said.

  “Who? Mikayla?” asked Lucas.

  “Yeah,” he confirmed in a cold voice. “Raymond and I did, on Monday, outside the Baltimore Journal building. She had hurt her ankle walking through the alley. She introduced herself as Kaylee so I had no clue who she really was.”

  “Is she okay?” Evan asked with obvious concern.

  Sam nodded, forcing the words out of his mouth. “She’s fine. It was just a light sprain. I gave her a ride home.”

  “I spoke to her on Tuesday, and she never mentioned it,” mused Evan.

  Sam closed his eyes, formulating the words that should be spoken next, to tell the rest of what had happened. But he couldn’t do it. Not right then, in front of Lucas. This was something he would need to reveal to Evan in private, man to man; then he would face the inevitable fallout. However unintentional it was, Sam had committed the biggest betrayal imaginable, and there was no way they would all walk away unscathed.

  “I have to head out,” Sam finally said, ignoring the raised eyebrows as he strode out of the room.

  He was on autopilot, quickly walking to his office to open his laptop. As fate would have it, there was now a new message in his email inbox with a file from Raymond. The result of their security audit. Sam didn’t bother to open it. He grabbed his car keys and left the building. Anger, disgust, and shame were clogging his throat, slowly choking him until he couldn’t breathe. How the fuck had he let this happen?

  It was so obvious now. The expensive apartment. Her incredible sophistication and graceful demeanor, like that of a society princess in an entry-level job. Kaylee worked for Holt. She had to be the one who had told her father about an editor taking her off a story. That she suspected interference from city hall. It explained why Clement had hired them only to investigate Holt and kept the scope so tight. He was worried about getting Mikayla involved, particularly if no one else knew she was his daughter writing for the Journal under an alias.

  Sam didn’t remember the drive from Alexandria to Baltimore that night. He arrived at her building just after five o’clock, but sat in his car for over an hour reading the many stories on the Web written about the beautiful and generous Mikayla Stone-Clement.

  Even as he found himself knocking at her door, Sam didn’t know why he was there. What did he intend to accomplish by confronting Mikayla with the truth? Did he hope that it was all a big, crazy misunderstanding? That his Kaylee didn’t already belong to someone else—a good man whom he considered a friend? That there was some explanation that would make the whole thing less horrific? When he looked up at her standing in front of him, wearing a sexy dark blue dress and looking even prettier than before, he felt such hot rage that he was afraid to move.

  “Sam?” she asked, stepping back. “What’s wrong?”

  Then he knew for certain. It was all true. Sam strode past her, into the apartment, careful to ensure they did not touch. He heard the heavy door close, then the soft clicking of her heels behind him as she followed his path into the living room.

  “Sam?” she repeated. There was now a hint of real concern in her voice.

  “What are you playing at here, Mikayla?” he finally asked, his back still to her.

  There was a long pause. He clenched his teeth hard at the sound of her low gasp of surprise.

  “Wait—” She stopped and only silence followed. Sam dropped his head and planted his hands on his hips, waiting for the lies, denials, pleas. Nothing came. Finally, after a few long minutes, he turned to face her. Kaylee was turned away from him with her arms wrapped around her waist, staring off into space with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “You know who I am,” she stated rather than asked.

  “Mikayla Stone-Clement. Daughter of George Clement, CEO of Clement Media,” Sam spat. “Engaged to Evan DaCosta, vice president of European operations at DaCosta Solutions.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Does it matter? How long did you plan to hide your identity?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  Sam swallowed the torrent of filthy words that were coating his tongue.

  “You’re sorry?” he finally muttered.

  She looked at him, but he refused to acknowledge the sadness and remorse in her eyes.

  “You’re sorry!” he yelled so harshly that she flinched. But she continued to look at him squarely, almost defiantly.

  “Yes, I am,” she repeated, clearly trying to stay calm. “I didn’t plan this. It just happened. We connected, and I—”

  “We connected. So you thought nothing of lying about who you are and cheating on your fiancé?” snarled Sam.

  She swallowed. “It wasn’t nothing. Obviously, I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

  Sam felt sick all over again. “You cold, selfish bitch.”

  She slapped him, hard. It took Sam a few seconds for it to register. This tiny five-foot, four-inch woman had just had the audacity to hit him when she was the lying cheat.

  “You don’t know me,” she shot back. “I’ve known you for five minutes, so you have no right to judge me. Yes, I screwed up. I made a mistake! And I’m going to have to answer for that, but you have no right to call me names!”

  “I have every right,” Sam yelled back.

  “Why? Because we slept together? Look at you. I’m sure this is a regular Tuesday for you,” spat Kaylee. “So don’t accept my apology, I don’t care. Just get the hell out of my apartment.”

  Sam was speechless, and the look of pure disgust was etched on
his face.

  “And what about Evan? You’re just going to marry him? Then continue sleeping around behind his back?”

  “Of course not!” Kaylee yelled back, then slapped her hand over her mouth and turned away. But not before her eyes shimmered with tears. “You have to go.”

  Sam knew she was right. There was no point to this confrontation, nothing left to air out.

  “Why don’t you wear your engagement ring?” he demanded, trying hard not to sound like an angry caveman.

  “What difference does it make?” she asked in a defeated tone.

  “Jesus, Kaylee. I deserve more than just a polite sorry! I want an explanation!”

  “Why, Sam?” she sneered, walking away from him. “So you can continue to chastise me? I’m nothing to you. Just some random girl that you gallantly patched up. And I think you’ve been adequately repaid for your help.”

  “Is that what you think? That I go around sleeping with every woman I run into? Or is it easier for you to pretend what happened between us was nothing.”

  She sighed and dropped her head in her hands.

  “Maybe that would make this easier. I don’t know. But I know it’s not true,” she said softly, turning to look at him from a few feet away. “It was something, at least for me. It just makes this ten times harder.”

  Sam felt some of the anger drain out of him. She was right. They had both felt that rare, intimate connection both in and out of her bed. And that was what was eating at him, creating the bitter, stale taste of guilt in his mouth. She was scheduled to marry Evan DaCosta within a few weeks. He had accepted the fucking invitation! But Sam still wanted her. Even now, with the truth of her unforgivable betrayal between them, he wanted her. And it made him sick.