Savage

by Krista Holt

  I re-focused on the plan and graduated with honors today. Step one, check. The next was to move to D.C. Thanks to a favor I was owed, I had a job waiting on Capitol Hill and Becca was going to move with me.

  “I’m happy for you, Reagan. And I’m so proud of you. I know you were hung up on that guy for a while, but I’m glad you moved on and focused on what’s important.”

  I tug at the hem of my dress. “Yeah. The job will be good.”

  “I can tell you don’t want to discuss him, honey.” Her eyes fill with sympathy. I’ve been told we look a lot alike. The same brown hair and blue eyes, though she swears I get my wit from my father.

  “It was a mistake. He was a mistake.” I shift back in my seat, letting the waiter drop our food on the table.

  “I just want you to be careful. These types of mistakes are harder to fix the older you get. I love you and I will never regret my time with your father, it gave me you, but I wish I had picked a better man. It’s important to find the person that will be there for you, someone who will stay through the good days, and the hard times.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “No, Reagan, listen. You need to learn this lesson, and learn it the first time.” She squeezes my hand again. “In hindsight, there were warnings with your father, signs he wasn’t as reliable as I thought he was, but I ignored them. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no mistake to make. He’s gone, and trust me, I learned my lesson. It won’t happen again.”

  “If you’re sure.” She pats my hand one more time before digging into her sandwich.

  I eat mine with much more thought, weighing her words. Were there signs with Nic?

  Of course there were. That’s why hindsight is such a painful gift, because I can see them now. The small little details that didn’t quite add up, the ones that should have warned me he wasn’t who I thought he was. The trouble was I didn’t listen.

  We finish our lunch, and I walk my mother back to her car, promising to call her as soon as I’m settled in D.C.

  “I love you.” She tries to keep the tears from falling down her face. “Give them hell, show them how to fix the world.”

  I laugh, fighting my own tears. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. You and Becca behave.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  “Bye, sweetie.” She gives me one last hug and then climbs into her car.

  I wipe away fresh tears as she drives off, leaving me very much alone. She’s got her own things, her own life. I know if I called and said I needed her, she’d drop everything and come, but I can’t. This is my life. I need to face it by myself.

  Shaking off my melancholy, I head back to the dorm and grab the last of my things. I pack everything into my car, and then head to the housing department to drop off my keys.

  I wait in line behind three recent graduates, all there to return their keys. Becca texts me, letting me know she’s already on the road and will meet me at the hotel we plan to stay at tonight. I wish we were traveling to D.C. together, but we each own a car and there’s too much stuff between the two of us to fit in one vehicle. So, we’re both driving.

  “Next!”

  I step up to the counter, and the administrator asks for my room number as I slide my keys over the counter. She pulls out one last form for me to sign. I scrawl my name with a flourish, and turn to leave.

  “Oh wait, Miss! One second!” she calls after me.

  “Yeah?”

  “There was a delivery attempt to your dorm this morning. Since no one was there, they left it here. It’s in the back office, just give me a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  She returns with a vase full of peonies, my favorite. Hues of red, pink, and orange blend flawlessly in a bouquet with a thin gold ribbon wrapped around the glass vase. She hands them to me along with a small, black box.

  “I need you to sign here.” She whips out another form.

  I sign quickly, wanting to rip open the ivory envelope taped to the black box. It’s oddly familiar.

  I juggle everything in my hands as I walk back to my car. After carefully opening the door, I set the flowers on the passenger floorboard before I climb into the driver’s side. My hands sweat a little as I run my finger under the flap, ripping the envelope open. I pull out the heavy paper, and his handwriting floods my vision. The Italian.

  Reagan,

  I miss you more than I can put into words.

  Congratulations on today, you deserve everything and more.

  –Nic

  I wait for a flood of emotions, but nothing comes. This doesn’t make any sense . . . why would he do this after all this time?

  I set the note to the side and carefully open the box. Inside is a slim, black leather case. It creaks as I raise the hinged lid, slowly revealing a diamond bracelet. I really don’t understand.

  I run my finger over the strand of diamonds before holding it up at one end. The stones shine in the afternoon sun, each one throwing fiery sparks of light into the interior of my car as it twists back and forth.

  A small gold tab dangles at the other end, catching my attention. I nudge it with my nail, and it turns over, revealing an inscription: “Yours. All Yours. Forever.”

  Tears fill my eyes as everything comes roaring back, all the pain and unanswered questions. I’m not better. I’m not over it. I’m still hurt, and it’s not fair. Today should be one of the happiest days of my life. It’s the beginning of a new adventure, a new phase, but instead of celebrating and eagerly planning my future, I sit in a car surrounded by my past and cry.

  CHAPTER 6

  6 Months Later

  “Reagan, we need to talk.”

  I glance over the top of my computer monitor, meeting the smirk of my co-worker Scott. “Nothing good ever comes from those words.”

  His square jaw twitches. The action plays up his dark blond hair and deep green eyes. He’s been out of the Marines for almost five years but kept the buzz cut and insane fitness regimen, shaping him into the all-American, good guy he is deep down.

  “That’s not necessarily true,” he insists. “It could be followed up with, ‘I want to give you a million dollars.’”

  I bookmark the latest copy of a Social Security reform bill I was reading before he interrupted me. I have 200 more pages of complicated legislative language to get through before I can type up a briefing for the congressman. The House votes on the bill tomorrow morning, so I don’t have time to play twenty questions with Scott, but it’s impossible to resist.

  “Are you going to give me a million dollars?” I give him a teasing grin.

  “No. I’m going to give you something better.” He takes a seat on the corner of my desk. “I want to give you an opportunity.”

  My gaze narrows, regarding him suspiciously. “Is this like the opportunity you gave me to clean out the gunky build-up at the bottom of the coffee pot? Because that was disgusting, and I won’t do it again.”

  He chuckles at the memory. “No, it’s nothing like that. I swear. It’s a good thing.”

  “If you say so,” I reply, but a little part of me is intrigued by his proposal. “What is this mystery opportunity?”

  “Did you know our boss, Congressman Eric Cameron, is not only the democratically elected representative for the southern part of Kentucky, but he also serves as Chairman of the House Oversight Committee?”

  “Gee, thanks.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve been working here for six months and had no idea.”

  “I thought as much.” He grins.

  I try to hide my smile of my own. “While I appreciate you explaining something even newbie interns are aware of, is there a point to all this?”

  He sobers a little, standing to his feet. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer. Grab a pen, some paper, and follow me.”

  “Scott,” I snap at his retreating back. He doesn’t stop or slow down, so I hurriedly grab a legal pad and pen, and slip i
nto my heels, taking off after him. He pauses outside the chief of staff’s office, waiting for me to catch up. “You kept Brent waiting?” I hiss. “Are you crazy?”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he whispers conspiratorially, throwing open the door to Brent’s office, not bothering to knock.

  Brent looks up from his computer. “Reagan, great. I was wondering what was taking so long. Have a seat.”

  I shoot a glare at Scott, who feigns complete innocence, and take a seat in front of Brent’s massive wood desk.

  “You wanted to see me?” My hands nervously run over my skirt, smoothing imaginary wrinkles.

  “Yes. As you know, Scott is a split staffer between our office and the Oversight Committee. I know you haven’t had a lot of firsthand experience with the committee itself, but I’m sure you’ve seen the news?” I nod quickly. “Then you know they’ve had some developments on their current investigation. Scott thinks we should tap another staffer for some extra help, and I agree. He recommended you.”

  I look over at Scott, catching his subtle wink. Thankfully, Brent doesn’t notice. His salt and pepper head is turned toward his computer, checking incoming emails.

  “I talked it over with the congressman and he agrees.” Brent clears his throat, turning his attention back to us. “He’s been really impressed with your work, and he’d like to offer you the opportunity.”

  I take a breath, and act like my heart isn’t racing with excitement. “What exactly would this include?”

  “That’s a little bit harder to define,” Brent replies. “You’ll assist with whatever the committee needs help with. But the short answer is basically whatever Scott tells you to do.”

  “I see.” I catch Scott’s pleased grin out of the corner of my eye. “Despite that, yes, I would love the opportunity.”

  “I thought you would,” he says with certainty, like the outcome of this conversation was already set in stone. “Your title will remain the same, Junior Legislative Assistant, but you’ll be expanding your responsibilities. There’s a small pay bump, but, to be frank with you this isn’t a nine-to-five position. We expect you to work long hours and be available whenever you’re needed. Day or night.”

  “I understand. I can do that.”

  “Great.” Brent stands from behind his desk, signaling that our brief chat is over. Scott stands just a second after I do, cracking the door open for me. “Scott will run you through what’s been happening with the investigation,” Brent says. “If you have questions, let him or myself know. Otherwise, you both will be pretty autonomous in managing your work for this office and then whatever the committee needs done. I trust you won’t let anything fall through the cracks.”

  “Of course not, sir. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

  “You earned it, Reagan. We’re happy to have you take on bigger tasks for us.”

  I nod, trying to ignore the glowing feeling growing in my chest. This is exactly what I’ve wanted, to work hard and be recognized for it.

  I follow Scott back to our cubicles. He waits for me to sit down in my office chair before he takes up residence on my desk corner again.

  “This is a big deal, isn’t it?”

  “This is a very big deal,” he confirms. “This investigation is going to be huge. I know you’ve heard some things on the news, but there are so many things the press doesn’t know yet. It’s going to be groundbreaking. Career making even. For better or worse.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If we screw this up, not only does Cameron look bad, but we do by extension. If we can score a win, Cameron gets the credit, but maybe we can create a name for ourselves in the process.”

  I steel myself against the anxiousness stirring in my stomach. “So what do we need to do? I mean, I have to get this finished for Cameron,” I gesture to the lengthy bill still up on my computer screen, “but then I could help with whatever you need.”

  Scott checks his watch. “Tell you what, I have a meeting to get to now, but let’s schedule some time to talk tomorrow morning. I want to walk you through everything from the beginning, including listening to the audio file of the tip the committee received. That’s what started it all. Do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow?”

  With a couple of clicks, I pull up my calendar. “No, I’m pretty open.”

  “Good. Let’s do ten o’clock.” He points to the blank appointment box, smashing his finger onto the screen.

  I smack his hand. “Would you stop doing that? It leaves smudges and then I have to clean the screen. Every. Single. Time.”

  He laughs, letting me shove him off my desk before disappearing to grab whatever he needs for his meeting. I pull up the Social Security bill again and get through a couple more paragraphs before he drops his portfolio on top of my inbox. Hurriedly, he pulls on his navy suit jacket and tugs at his cuff links.

  “Are you grabbing drinks at Cap Lounge later with your roommate?”

  “We should be.” I check my phone in case Becca has texted me to cancel the plans we made this morning. She hasn’t.

  “Maybe I’ll swing by, and finally convince you to have a drink with me.”

  My brain stalls, unable to come up with a snappy reply. Scott has dropped a few “more than co-workers” hints over the past months, but I’ve always been able to deflect them.

  “Uh . . . yeah, maybe,” I stammer. “There should be a few of us, I guess.”

  Scott grabs his paperwork. “I’ll meet you there. Stay out of trouble this afternoon.”

  I mumble some sort of reply as he leaves, waiting until the office door slams closed to slump in my chair. I could have handled that better. It’s not that I haven’t contemplated saying yes to Scott’s subtle invitations, but something always stops me. Or rather someone.

  The Italian still occupies dark corners of my mind, lingering when he shouldn’t be. It’s been well over a year since I’ve seen him or talked to him. There have been no more gifts, flowers, or mysterious notes, but sometimes I swear I see him on the street, or in a crowd. It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on my heart, but I hate that he still has this much power over me. I shouldn’t care anymore. I should be over it.

  “Oh, Reagan,” Brent hollers, appearing around the corner. “I forgot to give you this.”

  I take the piece of paper he’s waving at me. “What’s this?”

  “Standard procedure. It’s a non-disclosure agreement and a declaration that you aren’t connected with any foreign governments or criminal elements. Shouldn’t be a problem. If it were, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Didn’t I sign one of these when I was hired?”

  “Yes, but this is for the committee and it’s specific to this investigation. Read it over and get it back to me tomorrow—before you discuss anything related to the investigation with Scott. I need this on the record before you’re read-in.”

  “Yeah, sure thing.”

  “Great. I’ll leave you to it.”

  My eyes run over the first couple of sentences. There’s nothing particularly concerning to me. I have no foreign relatives, no affiliations with any foreign organizations, but the final paragraph snags my attention.

  “The individual, by signing this documentation, hereby agrees to not enter in to any relationship, business or otherwise, with any individuals of a known criminal syndicate or terrorist organization. If any such connection currently exists, the staffer or prospective staffer must terminate the relationship immediately. If any relationship is revealed in the duration of your employment with the House of Representatives, penalties may be applied, up to and including termination of employment and possible criminal charges should the Department of Justice deem necessary.”

  With a deep breath, I grab a pen and sign my name. There’s no turning back now.

  CHAPTER 7

  I walk through a haze of cigarette smoke and pull open the door to Cap Lounge.

  Loud music and the smell of cheap beer greet me like old frie
nds. The place is a little run down, with its small booths and battered barstools, and there are plenty of sticky surfaces, but it’s familiar. Becca and I try to stop by a few times a week after work.

  “Reagan, back here,” Becca calls out to me.

  It takes me a second to find her in the crowded room, standing toward the back with a few of her work friends. I grab a beer from the bartender before I join them.

  “Hey!” I greet her, shedding my coat.

  “Hey yourself!” She pulls me toward an open table. “Can you please explain this to me?” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone, showing me the short text message I managed to send her on my walk over.

  “Oh, that.” I take a sip from the cold bottle. “I got a promotion of sorts.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Of sorts?”

  “Yeah. My job stays the same, but now I’m also helping Scott with an investigation the Oversight Committee is handling.”

  “Okay, hold on.” Becca sticks her hand in my face. “Two things. One, is this hot Scott?” I barely hold back a laugh, not wanting to encourage her. “And two, is this the investigation into the FBI? The one about the Mob?”

  I frown. “How do you know about that?”

  “I may work for the FDA, but I watch the news. That investigation is all over it. They’re coming up with all sorts of punny, mafia-related headlines. I think my favorite was ‘Leave the gun, take the Capitol.’”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I groan. “Does no one bother to research anything anymore? The Oversight committee investigates corruption within federal agencies. It doesn’t go after criminal organizations.”

  “Trust you to take the fun out of it.” She rolls her eyes, and waves at the bartender, ordering us another round. “So, there’s not going to be a Pacino or DeNiro coming to the apartment late at night to whack you?”

  I choke mid-swallow. “What?” I cough. “No! Why on Earth would you think that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’ve seen The Godfather. It’s basically a Sicilian art of war how-to guide. You know, I’ll get you before you get me.” She gestures her hands in a comically, stereotypical Italian way.