by Tiffany Snow
Silence.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Coop.” Fingers tightened on my foot and ankle. “I will fight you for her.”
“She’s marrying me.”
“But she’s not married yet.”
More silence.
“Why? Why her? Why now? You were gone. Left. Now you’ve been back for, what, two days? And decide that she’s the one for you? I call bullshit.”
“Sometimes you don’t know that something’s worth fighting for until you’re faced with living without it.”
A delicate snort. “What, did you read that off a fucking Hallmark card?”
“What’s the matter, Coop? If you’re so sure you’re the one for her, then why are you worried? Don’t you think she can decide for herself who she wants?”
“China is . . . special.” I felt fingers combing through my ponytail.
“You say that like you think she should be on the short bus.”
Jackson’s reply was sharp. “You know that’s not true. But you and I both know that China can be blinded by her . . . issues.”
“You mean, her personality?”
“You’re deliberately being obtuse.”
“She’s not a science experiment, to see if you can make little Einsteins together.” It was hard to mistake the undercurrent of anger in his voice. By now I was awake, but dared not move a muscle to give myself away.
“I never said she was. But she and I . . . we’re cut from the same cloth. I understand her the way few else would or could. We belong together.”
“If you ask me, your issues would be better resolved with a shrink than getting married to China.”
“No one asked you.”
“Just saying.”
“And I could say the same for you.”
Another pause. “Then I guess it just comes down to who she wants, doesn’t it.” Clark’s hand curled around my toes, warming them.
My eyes were shut and my breaths were slow and deep. I didn’t want to think about what I’d just heard. I couldn’t process that, for some incredibly unknown reason, these two men had each decided they wanted me. Me. China Mack. An awkward, average-looking girl with too many brains and not enough boobs. A girl with more fandom toys in her office than shoes in her closet. Someone who had a schedule for each day of the week and was physically incapable of eating Thai food on any day but Thursday.
The silence lengthened and only the television could be heard. I didn’t want to deal with any of that conversation. It made my heart hurt. I loved Jackson fiercely . . . but then what did I feel about Clark? Was Mia right? Did I need to take a good, hard look at our relationship and see if there was more to it than friendship?
My head ached and the lethargy I’d felt earlier crept back into my bones. The pain medication was doing its job, and I welcomed sleep with open arms.
I woke up the next morning with no recollection of how I’d gotten to my bed or of anything during the night. I must’ve slept like the dead, though I still felt as if I could sleep for another six hours. The headache I’d gone to bed with was still there, a dull throbbing that said it was going to stick around all day. Awesome.
“Brought you some coffee,” Mia said, pushing open my bedroom door. She carried two mugs and shoved the door closed with her foot. “Thought you might need it.”
I sat up and reached for my glasses, sliding them on, and the world came into focus. I took the coffee she handed me.
“What time is it?”
“Early o’clock,” she said, taking a sip from her own mug. “Clark is anxious to get going.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“Packing the car. Lance brought ’round the Beemer for him to use. Roomier than your car.”
I glanced at the pillow next to me. It had an indentation.
“Jackson slept in here last night with you,” Mia said, answering my unspoken question. “Clark slept in the office.” She took another sip. “I’m thinking this trip might be a little awkward, especially considering the mutual freeze-out they were doing this morning. Thought I was going to have to heat up the coffee again, it’s so chilly.”
A euphemism. I recognized it and let it pass.
“I . . . heard them talking last night,” I said haltingly. “I think they thought I was asleep.”
Mia’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “Ooh, this sounds good. So what did they say?”
I briefly recounted the conversation. Her eyes grew rounder as I spoke, and the coffee seemed to be forgotten in her hand.
“So . . . what do I do?” I asked her.
“I have no idea,” she said. “I’m not you. But marriage is a big deal, and you shouldn’t rush into it if you have any doubts that Jackson’s not the right man for you.”
“How do I know? What if I make the wrong decision?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I took a long gulp of my coffee and changed the subject. “Are you packed?”
“Just waiting for my laundry to finish drying.”
“Did you e-mail your teachers that you’ll be gone?” I asked.
She nodded. “A couple of them sent my assignments already.”
I wasn’t worried about Mia keeping up with her schoolwork. She was a math whiz and had no trouble keeping her grades up. If anything, some of her classes weren’t challenging enough and bored her.
“I should get in the shower,” I said, finishing my coffee. Setting it aside, I stood up, and immediately a wave of dizziness washed over me. I swayed and grabbed onto the bedside table.
“Aunt Chi!” Mia sprang up, dropping her cup, and latched on to my arm. “Are you okay?”
My vision had darkened but was clearing already. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just stood up too fast. Got a little light-headed.” I patted her twice. I’d gotten better with random affectionate touching since she’d moved in. I still had to remind myself to do it, but at least I thought about it more often.
“Are you sure?” She sounded terribly anxious, which was terribly sweet.
“I’m fine. Promise. I just need a nice, hot shower.”
Mia still looked a little unconvinced, but took our mugs from the room. I was glad she’d finished hers before dropping it. Coffee would’ve stained my duvet.
A shower did help me feel better, and when I was done getting dressed and drying my hair, I felt more energetic. I hesitated for only a moment before slipping on my engagement ring. As far as I was concerned, last night’s overheard conversation had never happened.
I finished packing and hauled my suitcase down the hall, running into Clark as he stepped out of the office.
I gasped in surprise, then immediately thought of everything I said I wasn’t going to think about. My face flushed and I had no idea what to say. His blue eyes gazed unblinkingly down at me, his dark brows like arched wings, and a lock of his hair brushing his forehead. I was even more strongly reminded of the Man of Steel as he loomed over me—his navy-blue T-shirt stretched over the muscles in his shoulders and biceps.
“Let me get that for you.” He leaned over me, bringing our faces way too close, as I stood, frozen. His fingers brushed mine as he took the suitcase from my lax grip. “After you.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I hurried down the stairs, only to meet Jackson as he came in from outside.
“’Morning,” he said, brushing a kiss to my lips. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t remember much.”
“You fell asleep on the couch,” he said. “I carried you upstairs and put you to bed. I don’t think you moved a muscle all night.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for taking care of me,” I said.
He smiled and pulled me in for a hug. “Of course. It’s what love and marriage is about. Good and bad, richer and poorer, in sickness and in health.”
“Here’s her suitcase,” Clark said from behind me. “Might want to stick that in the car, Coop. I believe carrying heavy things is in the fine print of those vows.”
&n
bsp; Jackson’s jaw grew tight as Clark thrust the suitcase at him. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I gratefully grabbed it, slipping away from the two men to answer. The number wasn’t one I recognized.
“Glad you’re still alive,” the man on the phone said.
I frowned, moving farther into the kitchen so the sound of Jackson and Clark arguing was lessened. “Who is this?”
“Your new boss, remember?” Ah, yes. The scary guy, Kade Dennon. “That was a hell of a car wreck.”
“Was it you?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. “Did you sabotage the car?”
He snorted. “Please. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be so sloppy. And you wouldn’t be talking to me because you’d be dead.” He paused. “I take it you’ve found Slattery by now?”
I didn’t answer.
“Thought so. I’m hoping you have a really good reason that you haven’t turned him over to me.”
“He didn’t do it,” I said. “He’s being framed. The same person that sabotaged our car also took a shot at him. And it’s the same person who shot the president.”
“And what do you have to prove this?” he asked.
“Right now, just the same message left at each scene,” I said. “A Gemini talisman, possibly a reference to an Operation Gemini. We’re following up now on who would know what that could be.”
“This guy doesn’t seem very competent,” Kade commented. “He’s oh for three.”
“Not quite,” I said. “Two men are dead under suspicious circumstances.”
“A vendetta, then,” he said, his voice flat.
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” I said, “so I’m not qualified to render that opinion . . . though it would seem a logical conclusion. Perhaps you could speak with the president and see if he can shed any light on what Operation Gemini was?”
“Hold on a second, now, I’m giving the orders around here.” The words weren’t very friendly, but he said them easily, which meant I had zero clue as to whether he was serious, angry, or joking. Since assuming he was serious was the best choice, I went with that.
“My apologies,” I said. “I meant no dis—”
“Got it,” he interrupted me. “I’ll check back in with you in a couple of days. I’m not thrilled that some nutjob with an ax to grind is out there taking potshots at people. In the meantime, don’t die.”
“Yes, sir.” He ended the call almost before the words were out of my mouth. I guess he wasn’t into social norms, which was fine by me. I didn’t know why he was letting me pursue this investigation—I wasn’t law enforcement, by any stretch—I was just glad that he was. It would be a lot harder to prove Clark’s innocence if he was behind bars.
I found Mia in the kitchen, packing snacks for the trip.
“Hungry?” she asked.
My stomach rolled at the mere mention of food, and I shook my head. “No, thanks. Are you almost ready? I think the guys are.”
She nodded. “Yep. I particularly enjoyed watching Jackson fit my Hello Kitty suitcases into the trunk.”
I grinned at the mental image. “Did you call Oslo and let him know we were coming?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Dad wasn’t home, so I talked to Heather.” Heather was her stepmom.
“You need to stop freezing her out,” I said. “Heather loves you, and being a stepmom has got to be really hard.”
But Mia was already shaking her head. “It’s fine. We’re polite and get along okay. It’s not as though we have to be best friends or super close.”
“But there’s also no reason why you can’t,” I persisted. “I mean, if I’d had a stepmom, that would’ve been nice.”
She stopped packing the snack bag and looked at me. “Really? Because, think about it. As hard as losing your mom was, what if you’d had a stepmom and been close to her. Then something happened to her, too.” She shook her head and went back to packing. “It’s better to just keep your distance.”
I frowned as realization dawned. “You’re afraid if you let yourself get close to Heather that she’ll leave like your real mom did?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Aunt Chi.”
“But surely you know you can’t predict someone’s future behavior based on an entirely different person’s past actions—”
“I said”—she zipped the bag closed—“I don’t want to talk about it.” Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she passed by me. “See you in the car.”
Okay, well, that hadn’t gone well. So much for taking up a career as a therapist. And now Mia was angry with me.
I leaned over the counter, bracing my arms flat out, and rested my forehead on the chilly granite. I felt much older than twenty-four. My body ached, my head hurt, I was still tired, and I was really, really sick of people.
“Hey, you okay?” Clark’s hand slid over my back to my shoulder, squeezing slightly.
I shrugged, still facedown. “I’m tired,” I said. “And I don’t want to do any of this. I just want to go to work and do my job and come home to my usual routine. I don’t want to be responsible for saving anyone. That’s not what I ever wanted.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” The hard edge to his words made me straighten.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, that’s too bad,” he repeated. “Your opportunity to change paths passed a while ago. Maybe you told yourself that you didn’t have a choice. Maybe that made things easier. But with your exceptional ability and talent comes responsibility. Now, if you want to crawl into a hole and pretend you’re just like everyone else, don’t let me stop you. But enough of the whiny, poor-me, sob routine.”
I stared at him, openmouthed. “Whiny, poor-me, sob routine?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re not a kid, Mack. You’re a big fucking deal with a lot at stake. You may not like it, but nothing’s going to change unless you go at this head-on, fix the problem, and decide your own course. For sure, crying in the kitchen sink isn’t going to do a damn thing.”
“I was not crying,” I retorted, stung. “I don’t cry.”
He opened the refrigerator and snagged a bottle of water. “Maybe not, but you sure whine a lot.”
“I-I . . .” I was speechless. He’d utterly stumped me and left me standing there feeling embarrassed and red-faced. Had I been indulging too much in my own discomfort when people’s lives were at stake?
Clark had taken a long drink while I stammered. He watched me until I gave up trying to say something, then he took a step closer and I had to tip my head back. “Make a decision, Mack,” he said, his voice softer. “You’re either in or out, but half-ass is only going to get you or someone else killed.” He reached out, taking the length of my ponytail in his hand and laying it gently over my shoulder. “You may not want to hear it, and I know this is hard for you, but you’re made of all the right stuff. You’ll figure it out.” With a crooked half smile, he turned and walked away.
Okay, then.
He was right; I had been whining. I’d been whining about Jackson. I’d been whining about Clark. I’d been whining about my job. That wasn’t the person I wanted to be. No, I wasn’t happy right now, but the only way to get to the end of this job was straight through the middle of the mess I was currently in.
Starting with a road trip.
12
Somehow, Jackson had played Tetris with the luggage, managing to get it all into the trunk, despite Clark’s weapons, which were alongside Mia’s Hello Kitty suitcases.
“Why two suitcases?” he’d asked Mia. “We won’t be gone long.”
“One’s for my clothes and one’s for my makeup,” she’d said with a toss of her blond hair. “I call shotgun.”
Which was how Mia ended up in the front with Jackson, and me in the back with Clark. I had my laptop open, searching for anything I could find on Mark Danvers . . . which was precisely nothing.
“How can there be nothing on this guy?” I muttered, frustrated.
“No luck?” Clark asked.
> I shook my head. “It’s like he doesn’t exist.”
“If he was in the military, then his records will be in Saint Louis,” Jackson said. “The National Personnel Records Center is there.”
“We’ll be driving right by there,” Clark added. “Between the three of us, we should be able to con our way in and find what we need.”
“I can help, too,” Mia said. We all looked at her. “What? You never know.”
“It’s about twelve hours or so to Saint Louis,” Jackson said. “We can stay the night there, go to the center in the morning.”
“Maybe,” I echoed, unconvinced.
The ride was twelve hours and felt twice that. After only four hours, I was ready to ride on the roof. Outside.
“Let’s play Twenty Questions,” Mia suggested somewhere in West Virginia.
I perked up at the mention of a game. I loved games and puzzles. “Okay.”
“I’ll go first,” she said.
We stared at each other.
“Well?” she asked, at last.
“Well, what? I’m waiting for you to ask a question,” I said.
“But I said I was going first.”
“I know. I was letting you ask the first question.”
“No, I meant that I was going to answer questions first. You have to guess.”
“But that’s not what you said—”
“Is it a person?” Clark interrupted, shutting us both up.
Mia turned away in a huff. “Yes.”
My eyes couldn’t roll hard enough. “Are they alive?”
“Yes.”
“Female?”
“Yes.”
“Famous?”
“Yes.”
Jackson was getting into it now. “Actress?”
“No.”
“Singer?”
“No.”
“TV personality?”
“No.”
We all fell silent for a moment, then I tried. “She’s a political figure.”
“No.”
“Is she famous for doing something?”
“Yes.”
“Is she a famous athlete?”
“No, and that’s ten questions.”
“Okay, so she’s famous for doing something, but nothing athletic or in entertainment,” Jackson mused.