Slave to Love

by Julie A. Richman

  “You’re just saying that.”

  He’s shaking his head, “I had to leave that night or I was going to go all Bob Mannon on you.”

  Laughing, “He’s now a verb. I love that. So…”

  “So, let’s get through TFV1 and then no holds barred. Okay? Let’s do this.”

  “Let’s do this,” I whisper back.

  Taking my hand, he stands and pulls me to my feet. “We have a really long day tomorrow and I’ve got to get out of here before I don’t get out of here, and I keep you up all night. Walk me to the door.”

  At the door he faces me. He still hasn’t let go of my hand.

  “Sierra, Sierra, Sierra.”

  “What?” I’m smiling up at him.

  “This is what.” He bends down to kiss me, pulling my body into his.

  Part of me wants to whisper the word “stay” in his ear. But I also know by letting him walk out the door tonight means that when we finally come together in three weeks, it will be with the freedom to share the depth of what I ache to express.

  Taking my face in both hands, Hale deepens the kiss and my entire body reacts. Waiting to make love to this man is going to make it a very long three weeks. I want to see his chest bare and know what his arm muscles look like when he cups my face.

  Finally pulling away, Hale just looks at me with a smile. And then he rubs the back of his fingers over my tank top, the pressure and warmth from his touch coaxes my irreverent nipples to strain against the uneven fabric in their quest for more of his attention.

  “Something to remember me by, mermaid.”

  Taking the hand that just stroked me through my shirt, I return the surprise, guiding his fingers into the hemline of my shorts and placing them directly into the warm, wetness for which he is directly responsible. The look on his face is pure shock, followed by enjoyment and self-satisfaction when he realizes just how my body has responded to his kisses and his touch.

  “Something to remember me by.” I smile and press his fingers deeper into my wetness.

  “Bob Mannon can kiss my ass and stay the fuck away from my girl.” His breath in my ear is hot as he pulls my head in with one hand for a rough, demanding kiss. The other hand stays inside my shorts, slowly exploring uncharted territory for a future claim. I want to urge both his kiss and his touch further, deeper.

  As our lips part, our foreheads come together. “I will definitely remember you by that, mermaid. Every single night for the next three weeks.” He withdraws his fingers, finally, and places a soft kiss on my lips.

  His strides take him to the Lotus and away from me far too quickly. I don’t want this day, this amazing, out of the blue Sunday, to end. He’s warned me multiple times that he will somehow be changed for the next few weeks and I want the man who spent the day with me to stay. Maybe forever.

  As he reaches the Lotus, I can tell by the look on his face that he has just thought of something. Something he wants to share with me. Smiling, “My bungalow was bigger than his,” he informs me, testosterone barely in check.

  “I’m betting it was a lot bigger,” and I love the smile that brings to his face.

  Standing in the doorway long after he’s gone, I put off the inevitable entrance into my home, where there are still remnants of him scattered throughout my living room. I just want to delay the oddly painful feeling that his soul still permeates the premises, although he’s physically gone. Parting is beginning to feel like a little death.

  And as I breathe in the crisp fall air, a thought makes me smile. My girl. He can call me that any time. Or all the time.

  It’s with a smile and an extra latté that I enter his office the next morning still riding the crest of Sunday’s high and floating on the promise of what three weeks’ time will finally bring. Merely two feet through the door’s threshold, the bottom drops out and I plummet without warning, a surfer whose board has been hijacked by a shark at the wave’s apex.

  I barely recognize the man on the far side of the desk. He resembles Hale Lundström, and if I look hard enough, I might find a remnant of the man whose kiss made me believe that I could actually have it all. That it was really going to happen for me. But with every moment I stand there, coffee cup in each hand, those remnants dissipate rapidly, evaporating into the ether and I’m left with this sinking feeling that it was all a fantasy, from the night in the King Cole Salon right through to last night in front of my fireplace.

  Well, I can’t say he didn’t warn me. He did, he tried to warn me, multiple times. I just had no idea it would be like this.

  I can see it in her eyes. She sees it. She feels it. And every fiber in my being is screaming “Wait for me, Sierra. Wait for me.” Three weeks really isn’t a very long time, but when things are so new, as they are with us, there is no security in the realness of it all. And three weeks is an eternity that just might be interminable.

  “Come on in.”

  “I figured extra caffeine couldn’t hurt.” She places the coffee cups on the desk.

  “Before you take a seat, please shut the door.”

  We’re alone, behind closed doors and it’s time to tell her what is going on. Up until now I’ve been very stringent about only giving partial information. Everyone knew their part and nothing more. I never handed out the key to successfully build the puzzle. Classic military strategy.

  “I trust you, Sierra. You’re a professional who can be relegated sensitive materials and information without worry that you will betray a confidence.”

  “Well, thank you.” She squints as her head slightly cocks to the right.

  I can tell that she’s perplexed by that statement.

  Grabbing a yellow legal pad, I begin to create a list, adding to each line. When I’m done, I look through it, mentally counting the entries. After I am sure it is correct, and that I’ve forgotten nothing, I put the pen down and wordlessly slide the pad across the desk to Sierra.

  Watching her face as she reads through the list, it is easy to see the shock register and increase as she works her way down the page. Silently, she looks up at me. There are so many questions swirling for her as our eyes meet. Extending my hand across the desk, I gesture for her to return the paper. From my left drawer, I extract a silver lighter. Flipping back the smooth top with my thumb, in one fluid motion, my finger is across the spark wheel and the yellow paper is in flames. Dropping it to my desk, I let it burn out. The expression on Sierra’s face is priceless. Our eyes meet again.

  “Hale, what are you doing? What was that?” Her eyes are the size of saucers.

  “The confirmed attendee list for TFV1.” I feel a huge weight lift as soon as it’s out of my mouth. The first of the secrets has been exposed.

  “They are all going to be there?”

  I nod.

  “How is that…” she can’t finish the sentence as her brain is outrunning her mouth. “Hale, some of these people can’t be on the same continent together, much less in the same room. And some of them, are they even allowed in the United States? How is this happening?”

  “When I told you that I needed people that I could trust to be discreet…”

  “Does the government know you’re doing this?” she cuts me off before I can even finish my sentence.

  “I am doing this as a private citizen and a U.S. businessman. I’ve reached out to government connections who are providing assistance in security, logistics and facilities. The President, Secretary of State and Director of Homeland Security are all aware of who will be on U.S. soil that weekend, what the meeting’s agenda entails and what I hope is the outcome result of the weekend.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A pact among the participating nations to help ensure that war is not fought on the technological front as well as how to build safeguards and back-ups to our systems together to stave off technological terrorism.”

  “By countries or rogue groups?”

  “It could be either, so we’re looking to accomplish two things: this group o
f countries represented entering into a pact as well as working collaboratively to develop shields against factions outside of government who can launch cyberattacks that have global implications.”

  I watch as Sierra sifts through the ramifications and how all-encompassing they are.

  “And you are doing this as a private businessman?”

  I shrug and smile, “As the head of a tech company, I often interface in a much more positive way than governments do.”

  “These are some very high level players.”

  “Yes they are, and while a few are just figureheads, some of the other players, such as the other ministers of technology are much more involved in their countries technical infrastructure and development.”

  “Do some of these people know who their fellow participants are?”

  Nodding, “They know the scope of what’s happening and the need for it. A well, planned world cyber-attack could literally bring countries to their knees. Actually it could decimate the planet and change the world as we know it.”

  “You’re right, people would die without Amazon and Facebook,” her voices drips sarcasm.

  “Energy grids, water supplies, mass transportation systems, banking and commerce, gas pumps, water treatment facilities, nuclear facilities, warheads, satellites, and so much more. We all know the possibilities. Organized governments generally are not the issue, they are the safety net, if you will, because if they initiate an attack, the retaliation would be on their end and they know that. Every so often a crazy despot ends up at the helm and we worry he’ll push the wrong button, but for the most part, it is lone wolf hackers, religious extremists and underground anarchists who can wreak havoc on the world as we know it because we are so dependent on technology for every facet of our daily existence.”

  “How are we getting them in and out of here? How are we keeping them safe? What safeguards do we have in place each step of the way? What are the contingency plans? What am I supposed to be doing?” Her mind is spinning. “Hale, what am I supposed to be doing?”

  Moving a manila file across the desk that says, Sierra, I tell her, “Review this, commit it to memory and burn it. If there is anything you forget or have any questions about, just ask me. This outlines the next three weeks as well as your involvement that weekend.”

  “Burn it? Are you serious?”

  “Sierra, in thirty minutes I expect the contents of that folder to no longer exist. Is that understood?”

  Her head snaps up from the folder to look at me, eyes narrowed. Ms. Stone does not like to be given orders and as far as I am concerned, we are executing a highly sensitive mission and it is imperative she understands the chain of command, her position in it and how things will unfold.

  She doesn’t answer and I repeat the question. “Is that understood?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she begins and stops herself. My eye contact with her is very direct and in that split second, I can see that the entire picture has come into very clear focus. Including who I am. “It will be done,” she acquiesces.

  As she stands to leave, the intercom on my phone buzzes, our receptionist, Ashley, announces, “Mr. Lundström, Colonel Hoffmann is here to see you.”

  “Please show him in.”

  Walter Hoffman is coming through the door just as Sierra is leaving. Cutting a sharp figure in uniform, Walt has always had an eye for the women.

  “Ma’am,” he greets Sierra with a smile and a nod. With his pale blue eyes and gray hair, there is something very Paul Newman-like about his looks.

  “Colonel,” I’m on my feet and across the office to meet him with my hand outstretched.

  Extending his hand to me, “Lieutenant Colonel, it’s good to see you again.” He addresses me by my last rank.

  “Sir, this is Sierra Stone, she is a member of my logistics team.”

  “Ms. Stone, it’s a pleasure.” He extends his hand for a long, warm shake. Too long. “I look forward to working with you.” He’s devouring her with his eyes and she is savoring it, her shoulders doing a little dance.

  “And I you.” She smiles warmly at him. “Shall I close the door on my way out?” she addresses me.

  “Please,” is my terse single word response.

  We have both totally pissed one another off this morning.

  I feel lost. That man before me was a total stranger. In my office, I stare at the spires of the Frost Bank building, so familiar, and yet so different from this vantage point. Kind of like Hale Lundström. Today a military strategic ops guy sat before me, well-groomed in an expensive suit, not the man nuzzled into my neck on my living room floor.

  With a sigh, I open the folder and start to peruse the week by week activities leading to the event. As I read through the details, I’m fighting tears and I really don’t know why. I think it’s because I really want to know this man, and this morning has been an eye opener, and the only thing I’ve learned is how little I really know about him.

  Refocusing myself on the material before me, which is about to be incinerated, I review the logistics and agenda. The event is taking place in a facility that I had no clue even existed. It was one of Lyndon Baines Johnson’s secret cold-war facilities here in central Texas, equipped with an enormous bunker, which will be fully outfitted for the event. That seems so odd to me, like the clips I’ve seen on PBS of schoolchildren lining up in the school hallways, heads down, during Cold War air raid drills.

  Forty-five minutes later I text Hale. I don’t have a lighter.

  Come to my office.

  As I approach Hale’s office, the door opens and he extends a hand for the file. Handing it over to him, I search his face, his eyes, for something, anything. Forcing a small smile I just want to let him know I’m still in this with him. He doesn’t return my smile.

  “Thanks, Sierra.” And with that, he closes the door.

  Walking back to my office, I’m fighting tears again, still not understanding why. I just need to get myself as focused as he is on what lies before us. Based on what he has shared with me this morning, this event is more than a high-level tech think tank conference, this is something no government or the United Nations has ever pulled together, and here is Hale Lundström at the helm of this, brokering and constructing an international alliance that could shape global technology’s security for the foreseeable future.

  And it hits me like a brick just how big this is, how important. I’m proud of him, I’m in awe of him and I’m honored he saw something in me to choose me to be part of this team. And with this newfound clarity finally crystallized in my mind, the picture becomes so much larger and I feel almost giddy, I can’t wait to experience this with him. His prodigious focus is not a slight on me, and I need to check my ego at the door. This is not about me at all, this is about something so much bigger than any one single person or individual relationship. And I wonder if this is a crusade for Hale, and he the charismatic commander, leading the charge.

  One of the toughest things about this is not being able to share it with anyone. It’s exciting and I want to brag about this man. But I can’t share it with anyone. And in the meantime, I can’t even share with him.

  Sitting in my chair, I stare out the window ticking through a daily calendar in my head of what I need to accomplish for the next few days. I cannot wait to see this happen and to be part of this historic event. Now that I understand what is behind Hale’s aloof behavior, I can let go of my own insecurities. This is a mission, one that needs to be pulled off with exact precision and he knows the level of focus that entails. He doesn’t need that focus to waver because of me. I’m not going to become a burden.

  I get it.

  Three weeks. I can handle three weeks. Reaching toward my neck, I let the mermaid’s delicate chain run through my thumb and forefinger. Laughing aloud, I think I called this one correctly. I knew accepting a chain from Hale Lundström would be just the beginning of the chains that would bind me to him and I was right. The events of this morning have now bound
me to him even tighter, as we share both a secret and a quest.

  Three more weeks. And I will no longer be wrapped in just his chains, I’ll also be wrapped in his arms.

  I get the all clear from Garber on his sweep of the property as the sun sets over the hills in the west. This beautiful remote section of Hill Country is an area of the Texas landscape with which I had previously not been familiar. As the guests are served their dinner in the expansive formal dining room, the fall sky is providing a pink and orange Impressionist’s canvas that reminds me of Italian ices in summer.

  Surveying from the perimeter of the facility’s rustic Texas themed ballroom, I feel a deep satisfaction as I scan the room, dotted with antler chandeliers hanging from rough-hewn wooden beams, and marvel that these participants have come together with a common goal. I’ll need to send a thank you to the commanding officers at Lackland Air Force Base for making the transportation of many of these guests possible. The news media has no clue that the occupants of this room are even on U.S. soil this weekend, and won’t, until they have safely arrived home. In attendance is only one tech blogger, whom I trust implicitly, but even with the history we have, I’ve made him sign his life away via a myriad of legal documents that nothing from this weekend is leaked and no reports appear until all occupants are safe on their home soil.

  Quickly pushing the momentary satisfaction back where it belongs, I focus on making sure I am honed in on everything that is occurring and that nothing seems or feels out of place. I see Sierra approaching from the left. She has been invaluable performing the tasks needed to make this weekend possible, exceeding my every expectation, and it is impossible not to notice that tonight she looks even more beautiful and radiant than I’ve ever seen her. She too is caught up in the magic of this weekend and all it represents.

  “Your opening speech was so compelling. You had everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. I really believe you’ll accomplish everything you’ve set out to do this weekend. I don’t think there is a person in this room that is not onboard with the mission.” She ribs me with her elbow.