“Jack, may I suggest for a moment that love—healthy love—is not about saving or being saved? Samantha, for all your descriptions of her, may be damaged, but she doesn’t seem to need saving. Nor, frankly—do you. Perhaps what you both need—what you both are looking for—is to simply be understood. To be accepted and loved for who you are, regardless of your badness or your issues or your foibles,” Carmichael pointed out.
“I’m not trying to be her white knight. I’m trying to be her partner.”
“Jack, you bought out her main competitor. Now you’re threatening your own father to get him to comply with her wishes. That’s not partnership. That’s blackmail.”
“What? I’m Italian. I’m one-hundred-percent certain I have mafia blood in my family history,” he quipped, though he saw Carmichael’s point. “But just because I love this woman passionately doesn’t mean it’s unhealthy. You weren’t with her last night. You didn’t see what I saw. You can’t understand the pain she’s in. If I’m in a position to help her, I’ll do it. Besides, she asked me to bring my father to the table with this information.”
Carmichael sighed. “Jack, has it ever occurred to you that having a genuine appreciation for who your partner is and an acceptance of that person is typically effortless. True love, true compatibility, is generally typified not by your need, but by the fact that you ‘get’ each other without the urgent, must-have-you-now stress that fixation breeds. You’re doing all of these things—falling back into these I’ll-do-anything-for-you patterns—because you’re trying to prove your love.”
Okay, so maybe he had a fair point, though Jack wasn’t entirely ready to admit it.
“Look, I can see how this might happen, just given your personality and your approach to life,” Carmichael continued. “Where you’ve been focused and single-minded and driven in the past has been rewarding. Now, I think it may be a blind spot.”
Jack thought about the absolute rush he’d felt at seeing Sam again—holding her in his arms after months apart. The closest thing he could liken it to was a powerful shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins, making his heart pump hard with life and love and vitality. When Jack was with Samantha, everything felt more vivid. He’d felt more acute and trenchant than he had in months. Perhaps Carmichael was right. Maybe Samantha had always been the drug; the ultimate hit he’d been chasing. Because when he was with her, even when she was tearing him apart—he’d rather be with her than separated, he’d rather take whatever she had to give than move through life feeling everything half-measure, restless and apathetic, without really understanding why.
“What matters to me is taking accountability for my actions, which I’d think you would encourage,” Jack responded. “If that means holding my father’s feet to the fire and indirectly, that of the CIAs, then so be it. I’ve never not done what I thought was right at the end of the day. It just took me a bit longer to come around to it this time. As for Samantha—last night felt like a breakthrough for both of us. It was intimacy without sex, which was a first for us. She’s never let go with me—never allowed herself to be that vulnerable with me before.” Jack remembered the way she wept in his arms, the excruciating pain of it, but the release it felt like too, like she was laying down an incredible burden—for once, allowing him to help her shoulder it. Last night meant more to him than he could put into words.
“I think that’s a great step, Jack,” Carmichael told him. “I’m just asking you to consider that your unwavering belief in your own abilities and your guiding principles is what keeps you functioning at a high level of work, but that kind of self-image can create pretty significant blind spots. That single-mindedness may have worked for you in the past; after all, you’ve been able to take great gambles with your Midas stash and make fast-paced decisions with enormous success. That said, there is a difference between not seeing something coming versus seeing it and ignoring that it’s there.”
“What are you suggesting?” Jack asked, increasingly impatient. “That I renege on my promise to Samantha?”
“I’m suggesting you ask yourself whether you’re doing all of this because you love Samantha or if you’re afraid of losing her. Love has a nasty habit of dredging up all that is unloved within ourselves when it’s wielded like a tool or weapon. You can’t make this woman love you the way you want. You can’t make her stay. She either will or she won’t. Just remember that no matter what you are willing to do—no matter what you’re willing to sacrifice—you can’t buy what you want from her. Samantha will choose you or she won’t. That isn’t your call. I want you to be prepared for that reality, and avoid spinning out if you don’t get the result you’re hoping for.”
Jack’s mouth compressed. “You may be the most depressing therapist I’ve ever had.”
Carmichael shrugged, though his eyes were compassionate. “They don’t call me Dr. Feelgood for nothing.”
“No one calls you that.”
“Oh, alright. You caught me.” Carmichael laughed softly through the pixilation of the screen. “I know I’ve spent the last half hour giving you an earful, but for what it’s worth: you’re on the right track, Jack. The fact that you were kind to Samantha without forcing her into declarations or commitments or decisions last night is a good thing. Throughout all of human history, there are two reasons why people fight: because we demand to have our love proven or we demand to be in charge. Try doing neither for a few days and see what happens. Just love her and let her be. Who knows? She might continue to surprise you.”
Chapter 18
April—Afternoon
Wyatt Ranch, Texas
S A M A N T H A
Jack was doing it again. Charming the pants off of pretty much anybody and everybody who crossed his path. First Aunt Hannah, then Uncle Grant, who took to showing him what it meant to run a three-hundred-acre Limousin cattle ranch. Jack even got ole’ Gus to crack a smile, while he showed him how to saddle his own horse. At one point, Jack had the old cowboy laughing so hard with his quips, the poor guy was wheezing into his hat.
“That man can’t ride for shit, but he’s a decent shot, and his lasagna is even better than Hannah’s,” Uncle Grant declared as they stood at the edge of the corral, watching the horse trainers showing Jack two new foals. He gazed at them in wonder, running a hand down their velvet softness, his smile brilliant in the late afternoon sun.
Samantha’s look was disbelieving. “You tell her that?”
“Ah, hell no, missy,” Grant replied with a chuckle. “Hannah’d kick me in the rear so hard, I’d be into next week. But I think she suspects it’s the truth,” he added conspiratorially.
“You just gave me plenty of ammo,” Sam told him, haughty. “Better not get on my bad side, Uncle.”
“You got any other?” Grant teased back, winking at her.
Sam let out a genuine laugh, surprised at how good it felt. She felt lighter than she had in… well, she couldn’t remember feeling this light in a good long while. Too long. Strange, considering she had more terrible and stressful things going on than she could count on one hand, but there it was. Like a slice of sunlight filtering through the creaks in a tightly shut door. It had been a long time since she felt this warm and good.
Since the night with Jack, a heavy weight had lifted. There were still so many unknowns, so many complications and issues, but for the first time, she was allowing herself the incredible gift of being supported and cared for by the people who loved her most in the world. It was a difficult, late-in-life lesson for a woman who’d never been good at asking for help, but as Sam looked around her, she saw clearly who surrounded her, each person willing to go to the mat for her, no matter what. Her family, her team… her eyes fell on Jack as he laughed at something Gus was saying, his smile bright in the sunlight.
Sam looped her arm under the crook of Grant’s elbow, resting her head against his shoulder. “You like him?” she asked tentatively, his approval suddenly very important to her.
Grant nodd
ed. “He’s a good man, Sammy girl. And he loves you something terrible, poor bastard,” he teased.
She smacked his arm lightly, making him grin. She smiled back, the first genuine smile she’d had in a long time before she pressed her nose against his big arm and breathed in the scent of hay, leather, and saddle soap that reminded her so much of her youth.
“I shouldn’t be listening to the opinion of someone who’s so easily swayed by lasagna,” she said into his sleeve.
“Well, it’s some damn good lasagna.” Grant smiled down at her, blue eyes twinkling. “What else do you need but to be taken care of by someone who knows how to feed ya? Can’t beat that with a stick.”
She laughed softly. “You’re so country, you think a seven-course meal is a possum and a six-pack.”
“Hey, now,” Uncle Grand protested with a grin. “You may be all slicked up and citified, honey girl, but you’re still as country as dirt, and don’t you go forgetting it. Besides, possum’s good eating. Softer than armadillo anyhow.”
And that little gem sent her into another conniption of laughter, her shoulders shaking at her uncle’s plainspoken humor. He chuckled right along with her, wiping his eyes with mirth as they both enjoyed the simple pleasure of sharing a joke and shooting the shit in the soft heat of the afternoon sun.
“What’s so funny?” Alejandro asked as he strode up to them, holding his phone.
“My uncle’s taste in men,” Sam replied with a laugh.
“And possums,” Grant added with a twinkle in his eye.
“I don’t think I want to understand,” Alejandro replied with a look, before holding up his phone. “Sandro Roman just called. He’s been trying to get ahold of Jack, but he hasn’t been answering.”
“Hey, Jack—” Grant called out across the corral. “You got your phone on you?”
Jack’s dark head raised in question. He patted the pockets of his dark jeans, then his shirt pocket. “Guess I left it in the guest house,” he called back. “Why?”
“Sandro’s flying in as we speak,” Alejandro told Sam, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “He’ll be at the airfield in less than an hour.”
Grant cocked his head. “Why?” he looked down at her. “You invite him?”
A shiver of dread and anticipation ran up her spine. Sandro either had news about her father or he was going to find some good reason to drag Jack away. The thought of him leaving left her feeling instantly bereft, the lightheartedness she’d just felt retreating under the shadow of her misgivings.
Jack strode across the corral toward them, wiping the sweat off his brow with a bandanna. “What’s up? Everything all right?” he asked as he kicked up dust behind him.
“Your dad’s on his way here,” Alejandro told him without preamble.
Jack’s brows shot up, then lowered, silver eyes glinting with a kind of cocksure impudence, like he’d won a bet. “He call you?”
“Yeah,” Alejo nodded. “He’s been trying to get ahold of you the past few hours, with no luck.”
Jack got a boot up on the grate and vaulted himself neatly over the wooden fence. He met her eyes as he came to a stop in front of her, knowing she’d understand what it meant that his father was coming here.
“He your ride home?” Grant asked, surprised.
“Not unless she wants him to be,” Jack replied softly, still looking at her.
“Sandro says he’s got a friend with him,” Alejandro added. “Someone Sam knows.”
Sam cocked her head. “Who?”
“Admiral Roland Morrissey.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Of all the names she hadn’t expected to hear…
“Roland?” her uncle crowed, surprising her. “Holy hell, that’s a name I haven’t heard in years!”
Shock reverberated through her. “You know Admiral Morrissey?” she asked her uncle.
“That sailor wasn’t no admiral when I knew him, missy.” Grant grinned wide, a look of nostalgia crossing his face. “We came up together—me, Roland, and your dad all served together on the USS Midway back in the day. He was a little younger than us, but he was stationed in Okinawa too.”
“How do you know Morrissey?” Jack asked Samantha, curious.
She nodded slowly, still standing there in some kind of suspended disbelief at the unlikely coincidence. “He was my commanding officer in the Navy. Morrissey also got me the intel on Nazar, as well as the air support and SEAL Team Six for the op against Nazar in Afghanistan.”
“No shit?” her uncle asked, tipping his hat back and rubbing his brow. “Small world.”
Yeah. Too fucking small. Her skin felt hot. If he was showing up with Sandro, it couldn’t be for a good reason.
“So he’s an Admiral now, huh?” Grant asked.
“He’s a jefe at the five-sided puzzle palace,” Alejo replied, using army slang for the Pentagon. “Joint Chiefs of Staff now.”
“Shee-it,” Grant whistled, impressed. “I’d better go let Hannah know we’ll have a couple honored guests tonight for supper.”
“Thank you, Grant. Sorry for the last minute notice,” Jack told him, his impeccable good manners saving her the awkwardness of having to try to explain her stunned silence.
Grant left them, striding across the pasture up to the house.
“What the fuck?” she whispered to herself, trying to make sense of it all. Morrissey had recruited her into the Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center when she’d still been in the ROTC. She’d known him since she was twenty-years-old. Never once had he mentioned knowing her father or Uncle Grant. Even when he’d seen her just a few months ago to give her intel on Nazar, he hadn’t said anything. And now he was flying out with Senator Sandro Roman?
“Morrissey must know something if he’s with my father,” Jack told her as soon as Grant was out of earshot. “That was the terms of our agreement.”
“What terms?” Sam demanded, finding her voice again.
Alejo’s gaze darted back and forth between them, brows up to his hairline.
“I told my father I knew were Lightner was,” Jack confessed. “I’d only tell him if he brought me solid information about your father’s involvement with the CIA.”
Her eyes narrowed. She looked at Alejo, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly with a silent I didn’t tell him shit confirmation.
“How do you know where Lightner is, Jack?” she asked slowly, carefully, like she was stepping in a minefield.
“I overheard your conversation on the phone with the woman who saved my life in London,” he admitted candidly, his gaze unwavering and unrepentant. “And I used that information to get Dad to come to the table with something meaningful for you.”
“Dammit, Jack!” She pushed her hands through her hair. “Lightner’s mine! Now your father is going to bring in the CIA, Interpol, and the fucking British Intelligence right into the middle of my goddamn op! I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here! It’s taken us months to get this far—months! Any fuck-ups now and we could lose him forever.”
“Not if we misdirect the Senator and the Admiral long enough to give the team time to pin him down,” Alejandro interjected. “The meet goes down tonight. Plenty of time to get in and get out, unscathed. No one will be the wiser for it.” He looked at Jack. “Unless you can’t keep your mouth shut.”
Jack crossed his arms, his answering gaze defiant. “I never told my father that intel came from you. I can just as easily tell him it came from one of the mercs who are after the bounty on Lightner’s head, and I can lead him anywhere. All you need to do is act hurt, emotional, and upset, and he’ll assume you’re too weak to attack right now.”
“I am hurt, emotional, and upset, Jack.” Sam glared at him. “I have to go back up to that house right now and have the hardest conversation of my life with Grant.”
Alejandro looked at her. “He doesn’t know?”
“No. I didn’t want to tell him anything until I had solid leads. I didn’t want him to fee
l like this.”
“Like what?” Alejo asked her.
“Like an open wound,” she answered grimly. Sam had been lying to Grant for months. A lie of omission was still a lie. Even if she’d done it to protect him. Now she’d have to go up there and confess the whole ugly, sordid story before warning him that his old friend and fellow midshipman coming to dinner very likely had something to do with his best friend and a boy he considered a son dying that long ago night.
Jack touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, tesoro. I thought I was giving you what you wanted,” he told her sincerely. “Lightner was the only immediate leverage I could think of to give him. I never planned on telling him anything else without your knowledge.”
The rational part of her mind knew that Jack had delivered exactly what she’d asked for. There was no way he could have known Morrissey was involved somehow. And even if he had, he couldn’t have foreseen the significance.
“I know.” She nodded shortly. “Just keep your father and Morrissey away from my team,” she told him before turning toward the house. “I need to go speak with my uncle before they get here.”
*
April—Late Afternoon
Houston, Texas
W E S L E Y
“We got a fuckin’ problem,” Wes said as soon as Carey answered his phone.
“Well, you can’t ever have too many of those,” Carey drawled sarcastically.
“Travis Brandt fingered Mack McDevitt for motive,” Wes told him as he paced across his hotel suite. “He brought up some seriously legitimate points. I just don’t know how we look into it without raising eyebrows or getting his tail up.”
“For the last time—it ain’t Mack,” Carey sighed. “I’m still tracking Sakurai. The guy’s a ghost.”
Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 31