Mal felt more than a little out of his element.
When Grace had called to arrange a meeting, she’d asked him to meet her at this Philadelphia address just off Walnut Street. What this place was, though, he wasn’t sure.
The club—he called it that because it seemed to fit—didn’t have a name. At least, there was no sign on the outside of the building, just a plate with a number. The entrance had been located on a small alley a few blocks from the DeMarcos’ office. The one-block alley had been scrupulously clean, no graffiti or trash in evidence. And while there had been other doors, Mal would bet they were false. The club seemed to run the entire length of the alley.
A man with an Egyptian accent in an understated thousand-dollar suit had answered the door and asked him for a name. Figuring he didn’t want Mal’s name, he said DeMarco and the man had almost smiled. Almost.
Then the man had invited Mal in with a polite wave and led him through two rooms to deliver him into the DeMarcos’ presence. Along the way, they passed other men in dark, expensive suits carrying coffee, tea, cookies, cigars. He’d seen one man walk by with a laptop on a silver tray.
His escort stopped in what had to be the library. The hexagonal-shaped room was open to the second story and floor-to-ceiling bookcases—made from gorgeous dark cherrywood—filled four of the five walls.
He tried not to gape, but he probably wasn’t doing such a great job of it. The place just looked too…English to be located in some Philadelphia alley. Several clusters of brown leather chairs and sofas gleamed in the soft green glow of glass-shaded lamps sitting on inlaid wood tables.
And then Frank spoke and Mal snapped to attention.
“Have a seat, Mal.”
Aye, aye, sir. He sat on the tapestry-covered wing chair directly in front of the DeMarcos. Frank’s expression reminded Mal of his father when he’d come home after curfew, but Grace spoke first.
“We’ll get the preliminaries out the way. Please don’t look at this as a reflection of your skills, but we knew you were a plant, Mal. Right from the start.”
He wasn’t quick enough to stop his mouth from hanging open for a few seconds.
“We had a heads-up, dear. From someone farther up the food chain than the man who hands you your assignments. As you’ve probably already guessed, we still have several ties to the government.”
“We didn’t know what Janey was up to.” Frank’s voice was gruff and hard. “She and Luke covered their tracks well.”
Mal stiffened, ready to jump to Janey’s defense, but Grace must have read his mind. Or maybe he was just that transparent when it came to her daughter.
Grace held up her hand. “We’re not angry with her.”
“Actually—” Frank uttered a short laugh, “—I’m damn proud of my girl. She’s good at what she does.”
Mal nodded. “Yes, sir, she is.”
That got him a smile from Grace but a sharp look from Frank.
Maybe he should keep his mouth shut.
“Your father had a reputation for being a scrupulously honest man and so do you,” Frank continued. “We didn’t want there to be any taint on your investigation so we didn’t tell the boys or Janey.”
“We really had no idea why we were being investigated,” Grace jumped in. “But we are not criminals. We thought it best to let you discover that on your own.”
“What if I hadn’t?”
“Then other measures would have been taken,” Grace said.
Mal didn’t bother to ask what those measures would have been. Grace and Frank had friends in places even the president didn’t know about.
“Will you be at the hearing tomorrow?” Grace asked.
Mal’s heart started to pump furiously in anticipation. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been ordered to make a full report.”
Grace nodded. “Then we’d like to thank you for coming and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Frank stood. Interview over.
But Mal didn’t want to leave. He wanted to ask about Janey. Would she be there tomorrow? Would he get to see her, to talk to her?
Slowly, he rose. He couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. So he shook Grace’s outstretched hand and then Frank’s.
Frank held on. Though his grip wasn’t bruising, it was tight.
“She’ll be there.” Frank looked him straight in the eyes. “But you hurt her again, you won’t be dealing with Nic. You’ll be dealing with me.”
Mal couldn’t help it. He grinned.
***
The hearing room was in a restricted area of the Pentagon, a windowless alcove deep in the bowels of the building.
When Mal had checked in this morning, he’d been directed to a first-floor room, where he’d been stripped, searched, wanded and then, after re-dressing, taken to an elevator and blindfolded.
Blindfolded. He’d been speechless. And curious as all hell.
When they’d removed the blindfold, he’d been here.
Three walls painted a rich shade of white framed a fourth wall filled with books, maps and file boxes. A desk centered at the far end of the room faced the door and two long tables faced the desk.
Several four-star generals mingled in one corner while Gallagher spoke in hushed whispers with Assistant Director Phillips in another. Phillips’s face was pale. Gallagher nodded to Mal when he entered and Mal drifted toward them, only to stop when a door on the other side of the room opened and a man stepped through.
Dressed in a plain blue suit with a white shirt and sedate paisley tie, the older man with close-cropped white hair and evidence of years of sun exposure resembled any number of military men in the building. But when the generals straightened at his entrance, Mal figured he was anything but a secretary.
The man nodded to the generals, walked to the desk, set his briefcase on the top and started taking out files. Mal continued on to Gallagher and Phillips.
Mal raised an eyebrow at Gallagher, who shrugged. “Got me. I’ve never been in this area of the building. I doubt you’d find it on any map. You ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened again.
And the DeMarcos entered.
Grace and Frank—no blinders for them, of course—held Janey between them, with Jimmy and Nic, also blindfolded, led by two MPs behind them.
As soon as the door closed, Grace slipped the cloth from Janey’s eyes. She blinked quickly, then peered around the room.
When her gaze settled on him, her expression held no hint of her emotions, good or bad.
Mal had the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness.
Then the man behind the desk spoke.
“Please sit.” His voice was low-pitched, cultured. Old-money New England, Mal guessed. “This won’t take long.”
As everyone moved to obey, Mal knew he’d be sitting at one table with Phillips and Gallagher while everyone else sat at the other table.
Frank and Grace greeted each general as if he were an old friend, which he probably was. Janey kept her gaze straight ahead as she took a seat.
The man at the front desk took tiny wire-framed glasses from his shirt pocket, perched them on his nose and looked at a paper before him. Then he looked straight over the top of the glasses at Mal with pale blue eyes.
“Malcolm Laughlin.”
Mal shot to his feet to stand at attention. “Yes, sir.”
The man’s face softened infinitesimally. “You have a report to make. Let’s hear it.”
Before Mal could begin, Phillips rose, showing more backbone than Mal would have thought possible.
“Sir, before he begins, I’d like to state that Agent Laughlin was under my orders at the time of the investigation.”
“Yes, I’ve read your report, Phillips.” The blue-eyed man glanced at Phillips for a brief second. “Now let Laughlin continue.”
Phillips faded back into his seat and Mal dived in. “In January, I received an assignment from Assistant Director Phillips to infiltrate and in
vestigate the DeMarco Agency for alleged ties to known criminals, namely Thomas Carabini, arrested for weapons smuggling. He had implicated the DeMarcos in his testimony.” Mal didn’t bother to go into greater detail. He knew the man in front of the room had read his entire report.
“And did you find anything illegal during your investigation?”
“No, sir. I believe a lack of communication between federal and local agencies is to blame for this fiasco, sir.”
The man behind the front desk nodded, his expression approving. “Not afraid to speak your mind, are you, Laughlin? A lot like your father. I admire that.” He tapped the folder in front of him. “So, in your opinion, the DeMarcos are innocent of the charges leveled against them?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man nodded and closed the folder. “I want to say how sorry I was to hear about your partner’s death. The loss of one so young is tragic.”
Mal felt the lump in his throat tighten. “Thank you, sir.”
The man turned. “Got anything you want to add, Frank?”
Frank stood, imposing in a classic blue suit. “I think we’ll leave it at that. Nice to see you again, John. It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” the man said. “I believe the last time was when Janey was a teenager.”
Mal looked to find Janey grinning. She rose beside her father. “Sorry to have caused trouble again, sir. However, I was working with the police. This time.”
John smiled. “I believe that’s all in the report. And, as there was no harm done on either side, we’re going to forget this happened. Thank you all for coming.”
Mal watched Janey walk out the far door with her parents and brothers without a glance in his direction.
***
“What the hell am I going to do? She wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Mal, you’re wearing a path in my floor. Take a seat.”
Mal couldn’t sit. He’d wanted to follow Janey and force her to talk to him, but short of making a scene, it wasn’t gonna happen. Jimmy and Nic had glared at him before the MPs had blindfolded him and led him back to Gallagher’s office.
“You’re sure they won’t be taken out another way?”
“Damn, Mal, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this agitated.”
“Haven’t been.”
“So it’s like that, eh?” Gallagher laughed. “Well, if it’s any consolation, my wife hated my guts before she said yes to my proposal. We’ve been married twenty-five years.”
“Janey doesn’t trust me.”
“Now that’s a whole other problem.” Gallagher leaned back in his chair. “And a tough one. Course you did try to connect her to gun smugglers.”
“I wanted everyone involved to pay for Dev’s death and now I’ll lose the woman I love because of it.”
“Yep, that’s a dilemma, all right.” He paused and watched Mal pace for a few seconds. “And here’s what you do about it.”
***
Mal sat in his Jeep Wrangler, deliberating on a plan of action.
He’d waited for four hours for the DeMarcos to leave the Pentagon but it was almost as if they’d vanished. No one had seen them leave. At least not through any of the main exits.
So Mal drove back to Philadelphia.
Well, you’re not getting anywhere sitting in the car, son. Go to the door.
Yeah. That would work.
But what if she refuses to talk to me? What the hell am I going to do then?
You’re gonna beg, son. You’re gonna do whatever it takes.
Sometimes his dad did have all the answers.
Mal walked to her door and rang the bell, straightening when he heard the locks disengage. At least she wasn’t going to ignore him.
And there she stood, in the center of the doorway, her expression neutral, her gaze calm, watching him.
She was so beautiful in bare feet, jeans that fell several inches below her belly button and a tight black T-shirt.
“Mal.”
She didn’t seem surprised to see him and he couldn’t decide if that was good or bad for his cause.
“Janey.” Was she going to ask him to come in or should he just start to grovel now? His throat felt as dry as the Sahara and he swallowed—
“Do you want to come in?”
Stepping away from the entrance, she waited, her expression revealing nothing.
At least she hadn’t slammed the door in his face. He stepped over the threshold before she could change her mind.
Turning, he saw her lean back against the now closed door, arms crossed over her chest. Waiting.
So he said exactly what was on his mind. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry you were hurt because I lied. I could argue that I was only doing my job but that would be a lame excuse. It started as a job, Janey, but when I realized what was happening, I should’ve come clean. I should’ve told you who I was.”
“When you realized what was happening, Mal?”
Her expression showed absolutely nothing of what she was thinking and his hand curled into fists at his sides.
“That I was falling in love with you.”
Was her gaze warming at all? Her mouth not pulled as tight?
“And I’m just supposed to take you at your word?” Her eyebrows lifted until they were curved high over her stormy blue eyes. “Now that you’ve said you love me, I’m just supposed to sigh and bat my eyes and fall at your feet?”
“Hell, no.” That wasn’t the Janey he knew and loved. “I just want to know that you’ll hear me out, that you’ll give me a chance to make amends. I don’t know how to undo the damage I’ve done. I can only say I’m dying inside because I know I hurt you.”
She continued to stare for several seconds before she pushed off the door and headed toward the kitchen. He couldn’t help himself. His gaze dropped to the sway of her hips, the angry twitch of her braid down her back.
He wanted to wrap that braid around his fist and—
Better yet, he’d undo that braid and let the dark silk of her hair free so he could sink his hands into it.
She stopped at the table, her back still to him, and braced her hands on the top. “I thought I could trust you, Mal. I thought…” She turned to face him again, her eyes holding the faintest sheen. “I don’t know what to think now.”
His gut tightened. Christ, if she cried…
“Janey, I don’t know what to tell you except I will do whatever I can to help you trust me.” He examined her expression for any hint of her feelings but she just stood there, as if waiting for him to go on.
Goddamn it, what did he say to make this right? His heart started to race and that void opened in his chest. This was all for nothing. She wasn’t going to forgive him. There’d be no happily ever after.
He closed the few feet between them, close enough that she tilted her head back to look at him. He wanted to grab her and kiss her but he figured she’d slap him. Which he probably deserved. “Janey, please, help me out here. What do you want me to say?”
She cocked her head to the side. “You know, that’s the thing, because I’m not really sure. You are who you are, Mal. I understand wanting to avenge your partner. If anyone hurt my family, I’d want them to pay.”
But… There had to be a “but” coming. He braced for impact.
She stuck one finger in his chest. “I can forgive you for being a male chauvinist and thinking I needed your protection from Bennett. And I understand why you stayed undercover as long as you did. I understand loyalty and confidentiality. You’re not a man who takes those things lightly and I don’t know that I could ever love a man who did.”
The sparkle in her eyes had returned, and his heart leaped at the pretty flush on her cheeks.
And when she finally smiled, he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her.
Instead, he let her lift her arms to circle his neck so she pulled him down to kiss her.
Her lips pressed against his, her heat se
eping into his body and warming him from the inside out until he thought his blood might boil.
God, yes. This was what he wouldn’t be able to live without for the rest of his life. His arms crushed her to him as a wave of emotion so intense he nearly couldn’t breathe swept over him.
Her arms clung, her body softening, pliant against his. She kissed him as if she was still angry but wasn’t going to give up.
He wouldn’t let her give up. He had the only woman he’d ever loved in his arms and he wasn’t about to let her go until she’d either forgiven him or put him out of his misery.
Reluctantly, he released her lips, but he had the most important thing left to say. “I love you, Janey.”
Her expression transformed with pure pleasure. “I love you too.” She nodded at the floor and he looked down to see a duffel bag by her feet. “I was coming to find you. You wouldn’t have gotten away that easily. And I do trust you, Mal. It just took me a little longer to trust myself.”
A weight he hadn’t known was suffocating him lifted off his chest. “It’ll be an adventure.”
“I have no doubt.”
About the Author
Stephanie Julian is the author of the Magical Seduction, Lucani Lovers and The Fringe series from Ellora’s Cave, and the Forgotten Goddesses series from Sourcebooks Casablanca. She’s a former reporter for a daily newspaper who enjoys making up stories much more than writing about real life. She’s happily married to a Springsteen fanatic and is the mother of two sons who love her even when they don’t have any clean clothes and dinner is a bowl of cereal.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9306-3
Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Julian
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Sex, Lies and Surveillance Page 24