by Harley Slate
“Thanks, honey, but I'd rather you stood on the other side of the room.” Cherry strokes her daughter's face. If she's ever going to tremble once that whole night, that's the moment. But she's not ever going to tremble.
And Emily's not trembling either. Her arm goes tighter around her mother's waist. “Not gonna happen, Mom. I'm not going anywhere. Jessica isn't going to let anything happen to you, and I want you to know I trust her completely.” She looks at me. “I want both of you to know it.”
Quentin has already phoned the chopper that flies in our emergency surgeon. Julian has stopped running the bogus programs on the various monitors. Nobody's bothering to try to convince Gavrolovic he's getting any more money. Not that he cares. Whatever got through to his accounts isn't going to end up in his pockets anyway. It's going straight to a corrupt politician. Same place all money goes in the end.
Staffers walk back and forth yelling into devices. Tension runs high. Eventually, Gavrolovic, Cherry, Emily, and I are escorted out of the basement and up a flight to the clinic.
“I never asked,” Emily says. “How many rooms does this place have anyway?”
“I never counted,” I say.
The surgeon comes in already wearing scrubs, gloves, and mask. She looks annoyed at our less than sterile attire. “I'm going to have to ask everybody who is not essential medical personnel to leave.”
Nobody moves.
“Fine. Well, at least put on some fucking masks and tie your fucking hair back.” That last is aimed at Emily of the luxurious tumble of coconut-scented tresses.
The nurse, a young ex-Army medic, passes around the masks.
“The trigger is the drop in temperature when the device is removed from the body.” I'm guessing, but it's the right guess. It better be. I'm putting our lives on the line.
The surgeon squints at the monitor. She wears reading glasses, which she takes off and puts back on to emphasize the fact that she's squinting. “That isn't the trigger.”
So much for my much-vaunted instincts. I feel a cold fist grip me around the heart. If Emily's mother is killed right in front of us...
“There's nothing else,” I say. “What else could it be? Gavrolovic has been wearing his implant for seven weeks, during which time he's flown all the way from Hong Kong to Los Angeles. If it was a motion trigger, it would have already gone off.”
“Think about it another way,” the surgeon says. “If it was a significant amount of explosive material, it would have been detected at Hong Kong airport. They can pick up a flu virus at twenty paces, you think they'd miss an explosive?”
“He came in on a private jet so he was able to skip the screening. We've done the chemical analysis. Trust me. Gavrolovic has done it multiple times. It's definitely...” I drop my voice so only the doctor can hear. I don't think Cherry or Emily know anything about explosives, but you never know what people pick up on the news. I don't want them to hear the name of the chemical in question and think the situation is even worse than it is.
The surgeon considers that for a moment. “It can't be on a hair trigger.” Like she's telling me something we don't already know.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. It wouldn't be helpful to bite off the doctor's head before the surgery even gets started. “Again, if it was a motion trigger or a distance trigger, it would have already gone off. What's left? It's got to be a heat trigger. When you attempt to remove it, it goes off as soon as it detects a change from normal body temperature.”
The surgeon is no longer looking at the monitor or even Cherry's arm. She's tapping Gavrolovic's arm. “In seven weeks, he never walked into a cold shower or a hot sauna or, hell, the Ice Bar in Red Square?” She can't mean Russia, so I assume she means the one in Vegas. “He never had a fever or a chill? This implant is right beneath the skin. It isn't going remain at that famous ninety-eight point six every minute of the day. Just going about his life, the device is going to be exposed to multiple changes in body temperature.”
What the hell is she trying to say?
I can't see the surgeon's grin behind the mask, but I can see the sparkle in her eyes.
A new, brighter light bulb comes on in my head. This time I don't just think I know. I actually do know.
“It's going to be OK,” I say. “It was all a big bluff.”
Gavrolovic looks angry. Yeah, he's getting it too.
“This is good,” the surgeon says. “Everything's going to be just fine.”
Cherry Dearborn, who doesn't yet really understand, smiles too. She knows whatever it is, it's good.
The surgeon, like many rich people's surgeons, does a lot of cosmetic work. Her sculptor's hands possess a far higher level of craft than she needs to glide an implant out of a tiny incision. She moves carefully‒ the device does contain a trace of explosive material, the better to run the bluff‒ but there's no real reason to assume it can actually go off. Cherry is soon shaking out her arm, which is numb from the five-minute surgery and the two neat, nearly invisible stitches.
All this time, all these weeks, Gavrolovic was sweating hard, thinking he could explode at any minute. All this time, he was so panicked he couldn't work out the truth for himself.
How do you trigger a tiny bomb from halfway around the world? Answer: You don't have to trigger anything. The victim's mental state will be their own prison.
Nobody enjoys being bluffed, and a proud man enjoys being bluffed least of all.
Now Gavrolovic is pushing up and away and heading for the door.
“Doesn't he want his device removed?” asks the doctor. “Give me a minute here to finish up, and I'll be right with him. It's one stitch.”
“Let him go,” I say. “He'll be all right after he simmers down. I assume he wants to keep the souvenir as a reminder.”
Gavrolovic is gone before I finish talking. I can hear my people in the hall swarming to escort him back to his vehicle. If he wants a come-to-Jesus meeting with Qwan on his own territory, we'll let him go for it. When an enemy is determined to self-destruct, you let him.
“You really should have had that creep arrested,” Cherry says.
“Mom.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Let it go.”
“He kidnapped me. Well, he paid some fucking mercenary to kidnap me.”
“The actual kidnapper has paid the ultimate price, ma'am,” I say. “Maybe we'd better let it go at that.”
“I don't like the idea he could come after us again.” Cherry's not backing down on this, and she turns to her daughter for support. “You know, honey, I have actual things to do, places to go, and people to meet. As in I had an actual fucking date I was supposed to be meeting tonight before all this bullshit.”
Southern girls. Gotta love them.
“We don't need to arrest anybody and get involved in a big ole hairy police mess,” I say. “Mr. Gavrolovic's going straight after the man who put the first implant in his arm. And I promise Mr. Qwan is not going to respond with an apology and a bouquet of roses.”
The financial news from China could be very interesting in the next few days. In my opinion, a revenge attack will be a suicide mission, but Gavrolovic was always about getting out there and fucking up, rather than hanging chill and proceeding with caution.
I'll be shocked if he manages to live out the week.
Chapter Twenty
Emily
“There's going to be some new rules around here,” I say.
Jessica looks around the pink bedroom, a perplexed expression on her face. “Why did you bring me here?” The bed's too small, the sheets non-existent. The floor is scraped and bare. The mirror over the sink's still metal instead of glass.
Nope, the private in-house prison hasn't gotten any prettier since the last time I saw it. I'm well aware even the tiniest guest room has more amenities than this attic dungeon. Now I'm rubbing her face in it just to see her pretty nose crinkle.
Turnabout is fair play and all that good happy crappy.
“I've brought you he
re for the same reason you had me brought here. To send a message.” We're alone now, and I can be a little bit serious and a little bit playful.
So I push her on her back, and she lets me. All this crap, all this night and all this excitement, and her clothes still look as crisp as the moment she put them on.
Not for long, Jessica Blaire. No, not for very fucking long at all. You're going to get all rumpled up.
“As I said, new rules.” I sit high, as if seated in a saddle instead of atop her long thighs.
She shivers. “Tell me your new rules.” As she speaks, she curls an arm around my waist, the better to pull me down hard on top of her. There's nowhere else for me to go, thanks to the size of the tiny bed.
And there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Nowhere else on the whole fucking planet.
She feels like a personal-sized playground sprawled out beneath me. Warm and solid and sturdy enough for anything. When I lay full-length on top of her, my titties rubbing her titties, my delta grinding into her delta, both of us are deliciously aware of the heat between us. Her pupils are so blown the blue eyes are mostly black.
You want me so bad. I can see how bad you want me, there's no hiding it.
Yeah, it's all about my rules tonight.
Our faces are so close. Our eyes are locked. She lifts, and I descend, and our mouths are claiming each other in a long kiss. There's honey on her tongue, and she knows how to suck and how to lick. I shiver all the way down to my toes, but somehow I find a way to remember what I need to say. Wriggling, squirming, I break the kiss again and push myself up on both hands, my belly on top of her belly, my eyes gazing into her eyes and...
Fucking hell! All the long warmth where we're touching...
It's doing such distractable things to me, and I don't want to be distracted. Not now, not yet.
I swallow.
Nibble the side of her mouth. Think a little more. There are things I have to say, but I need to open with appreciation, because I do appreciate her. I honestly do.
“We trust each other,” I say, the words coming slowly as I pick and choose the best way to express what's spilling out of my heart. “We do. We might have doubted each other for half an hour, but then the trust came rushing back. We've proved ourselves to each other. I know you've proved yourself to me. The way you went in there without question to rescue my mom, that was fucking great. The way you took her right inside the security basement even though you thought she was a walking bomb... that was a hero move. For that, you'll always be my hero. Are we clear?”
She blinks. “Clear,” she says, her voice a cautious croak of desire.
I kiss her on the side of her velvet chin. Then on the side of her mouth. Then the little notch at the side of her nose.
She made mistakes. Putting me in this room was a mistake, a fucking big one. But I'm not perfect either.
“I don't know about being anybody's hero.” She takes a deep breath. “What I did for your mom... It was the right thing to do. I wasn't going to let anything happen to your mother, Emily. Failure wasn't ever going to be an option. If she's in the security theater with my people, everybody on my team gets it, they understand in their gut that failure isn't an option. It never is, where my people are concerned. I'm going to keep you safe, and my people are absolutely dedicated to keeping you safe. You, your mom, anybody who ever mattered to you... they're under my protection now.”
Feels so good to hear her say that. Jessica Blaire can be a scary person if you're on the wrong side of her. But if you're on the right side...
“Taking your mom into the security bunker was the right thing to do,” she says. “There wasn't any time to waste, since we weren't sure how long your mom had before the explosive got triggered. Agreed, we all knew the device was small, that it probably wouldn't hurt anybody but your mom, but nobody could be certain of that. My people are fearless. They do what needs to be done, and they'll take the risk to keep us safe. Give them the credit, not me. Everybody there had courage. Everybody in that room. Including you.”
I rock on top of her. Maybe I do a little grinding. A hero's reward. “You were fearless. A lot of people would have managed the situation from a remote location. You chose to put yourself at risk when you didn't have to.”
“Yes, I did have to. A general who commands from the rear isn't much of a general.” She smiles up at me, and then we're kissing again. Honey tongue. Honey lips.
She's so sweet, and yet so fierce. Honey and heat. Steel cloaked in velvet. My lips feel swollen from the intensity of the soul kiss we exchange. My toes curl. Maybe my toes will always curl when we kiss.
Ah. No “maybe” about it. Somehow, I just know.
My toes will most definitely always curl when we kiss.
I'm letting myself get distracted again. I catch my breath. Kiss her not full on the lips but on the corner of her mouth. Follow up by kissing her on the ear. How I love doing that, planting little kisses everywhere on that beautiful face...
I breathe into that ear. She twitches.
I have her attention, and not just because of the way I've straddled her lithe hips. She rolls her head back a little to gaze up into my eyes.
“Tell me why we're in this room,” she says. “I want you to feel free to say it. I'm not here because you want to tell me what a hero I am.”
I smile at the thought she feels a need to give me permission. “Sending me away, locking me up in here, that was a shit move. It was lack of trust. A momentary lapse of trust, but it happened.” I touch the corner of the mouth I'd just been kissing. “You know that. You're a smart woman. You do know that.”
“It was a shit move, and it will never, ever happen again. I freely acknowledge it, and I'm so, so sorry. I had a stupid thought. I believed your mom might be in on it, and if your mom was in on it, you might be in on it.” Those ice-blue eyes, the color of Arctic cold, don't look so chilly to me. They look a little guilty. “I'm going to make it up to you. I promise you. I'll make it up to you and your mom both. I never should have doubted you. Not even for a minute.”
I know she's sincere, but I can't forgive her too soon. Mainly because she doesn't want me to. I rock a little harder. “I'm not my mom. I don't target people to rip them off.”
“I know that. I know you're my sweet, sweet Emily. My candy girl.”
And then we're kissing again. Somehow, we can't hold a simple conversation without the endless, eternal kisses. Just not fucking possible. I'm breathless for a while, partly because I'm using my lips to unbutton her shirt button by button. One of them snaps off and flies away to make a clattery sound against the rugless floor.
I stuff my hands in her open shirt to rub them all over her splendid breasts. Her bra is the wispiest possible French lace, and I can feel every little goose pimple pop up on her cute nipples. My own top? I don't know where it went, but it's gone. My own nipples? Diamond-tipped from the force of my desire.
She notices, of course, and she employs that way of using thumb and forefinger to caress a nipple and draw it out long, and the resulting tingles are going all the way down to my core. Then she pushes the voluptuous globes of my round boobies together, the better to trap her face in my perfumed decolletage. When she inhales, the rush of air tickles me.
When she breathes out...
I thought my nipples could cut diamonds before. Now? There are no words. My toes are curled into the soles of my feet. Invisible butterflies are migrating somewhere in my core. Never have I felt such a confounding throb of desire.
“Nakey,” she says. “Let's get rid of the fucking clothes. Right fucking now.”
“Not until I've had my say.” Because once we're naked, there's going to be no more going slow. No more breathing.
No more talking.
“Christ, Emily, then say it. Say anything. Whatever it is, I'm sure I deserve it, so hurry up and say it.”
I sit up tall, aware of my voluptuous boobs bobbing as I gesture around the tiny cell. “This room, it'
s got to go. No more prison room. You don't need that, Jessica. You're out of that kind of life, the kind of life where you need a secret room in a tower to secure your prisoners. I know damn good and well you're not entertaining kinky girlfriends here. You've had this place for a long time, and it's a holding cell. A place for bad guys.”
She curls her head up to look at me. “I can't deny it. Business disputes in my industry tend to be handled privately. They don't go to court.”
“You're out of any business that has to be handled privately. You have enough money, Jessica. It's time. Past time.” I'm sitting tall on top of her, but we both know she could flip me over in an instant. She has the physical power.
The psychological power too.
And yet she doesn't, although she does sit up a little more beneath me. Instead of clutching and flipping, her strong hands reach tenderly to grasp my smooth shoulders, and she gentles me back down on top of her, and I let her pull me down in a slow, sweet descent that's entirely under my control.
“And why should I be taking orders from you?” she asks, her voice husky from the intensity of her need. There's a light of something like happiness in her eyes when that fit body shifts hungrily beneath mine. “Mmmm. Sounds like somebody's getting kinda bossy. Somebody's trying to tell me what to do. Now you need to tell me why I should listen.”
I'm sprawled all over her, the whole weight of me pressing down hard on top of her. I wriggle for a minute, and she closes her eyes.
As crazy as she makes me with her strength, with her easy beauty and experience, I can make her crazy too. I have the power. If I take it.
Still, it's hard for me to say what I need to say. It would be easy for me to let the sex become a distraction and leave those words unsaid forever.
We don't need easy right now, though. We need truth.
“You should listen to me because you love me,” I say. “Because...” I take a deep breath because I've always been taught to hold back. Saying the l-word is like jumping off a cliff. She jumped off the cliff already. But she was a fighter, a woman of courage, ex-Army, a billionaire.