by Shayla Black
But admittedly, she seemed to be in this part of the house an awful lot lately.
He shook it off. He refused to think the worst of her without proof. Elizabeth wasn’t some spy, and she’d proven that today when she wouldn’t even listen in on two old men.
And if she wasn’t listening in? Roman had asked when he’d told his friend the story. What if you caught her leaving a meeting? How can you know?
He knew. His gut knew. His heart knew. He would not let Roman’s paranoia wreck his happiness.
So why couldn’t he silence that little voice whispering and poking at him?
“I was about to give him his nighttime meds,” the nurse said. “They put him to sleep fairly quickly. Do you want me to hold off? I know you don’t get much time with him.”
He heard a hint of judgment in the man’s tone, but Zack didn’t come back with any of the logical excuses he could give. Nor did he explain to the man that his father had only ever spent time training him to be perfect, to make right all the wrongs the world had done to him by not giving him the political power he sought. He could say his father had never once thrown a baseball with him but had grounded him as a second grader for not making the top reading group. In fact, his father had locked him away with tutors, denying him playmates because his son should always be the best without question.
No one wanted to hear that now. When they looked at his father, they couldn’t see the tyrant he’d been, or the unfeeling bastard who had driven his mother to the bottom of a bottle again and again. Nope, they saw a sick old man and his entitled son who ignored him.
“Yes, please. I’d like to spend a few moments with him alone.”
The nurse backed off. “Of course, Mr. President. I’ll be across the hall. Let me know when you’re done. Or call out if you need me.”
Because good old dad could be hard to handle. He used to only be abusive verbally, but the disease that had infected his mind turned him violent from time to time. “I will.”
Without looking back, he entered his father’s rooms and couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to walk into his father’s office as a child. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever been in his father’s bedroom. His mother’s from time to time, but not often. No, he’d been left to nannies, who had taken care of his personal needs. If he’d been summoned to see his father, it had always been in his overtly masculine office. He remembered how small he’d felt going in that office, even after he’d grown taller than his father.
Now he eased into a room filled with medical equipment and a man who seemed to have shrunken in on himself. Still, Zack felt oddly apprehensive entering the man’s domain.
“Hello, Father.”
The old man looked up, his eyes showing no recognition at all. “Who are you?”
He sank down on the couch opposite his father’s lounger. Frank wore a set of royal blue pajamas that looked like they’d come straight out of the 50s. “I’m Zack. I’m your son.”
What would his father say if he’d answered a different way? If he’d said he was Sergei? Would that register with him at all?
Zack watched his father carefully, looking for any sign that suggested his father was acting. Could he manage such a feat when he took all those medications? Zack had watched him swallow the pills before. He certainly paid for them every month, just as he paid for the nurses and doctors who took care of his father.
His father shook his head. “Zachary is fourteen years old. You can’t be him. Did one of his ridiculous friends send you here? If I’d known he would fall in with that crowd, I would never have sent him to Creighton.”
Well, dear old dad never had liked his friends. They were the one thing Zack had never relented to his father about. “I remember you cursing them all and telling me I wasn’t allowed to go back there.”
His father’s head snapped up. “I enrolled you in a better school, but you were rebellious. You said if I removed you from Creighton you wouldn’t perform.”
“I told you if you enrolled me in a new school I would tank every single class I had so I couldn’t get into Yale. You locked me in my room at the start of the summer and refused to let me out. After a week, you took my books and my computer, and I wouldn’t give in. The week after that, you took the sheets off my bed. I wouldn’t give in. Then you fed me sandwiches and water twice a day until the fall term started. I still wouldn’t give in.”
It had been a long three months, but in the end, he’d gone back to Creighton and the subject of his friends hadn’t come up again. He’d drawn a line in the sand and for the first time found out that he had power, too.
He was doing the same now with Elizabeth.
“Stubborn boy. Couldn’t see what was best for you.”
“I deserved to have a personal life. They were my first real friends. I certainly wasn’t allowed to have any playmates when we lived in Russia.” He needed to ease his father into the past or his memories could go wildly askew.
A ghost of a smile crossed his father’s face. “Moscow. I didn’t want to go, but there was power there. I wanted to stay and run for office again, but my father told me to go.” He frowned suddenly, as though he’d lost his train of thought. “I was the ambassador.”
“Yes, you were. We lived in Moscow for many years.” Zack leaned forward. “Do you remember Nata?”
He used the nickname the household had used for his nanny, Natalia Kuilikov. When he closed his eyes, he could see the young woman she’d been. She’d taken care of him until he’d been sent back to the States for schooling. He preferred to remember her as young and vibrant, not as the corpse he’d seen months ago. Somewhere along the way, she’d come to America and been nearby, though he’d never known it.
“Where am I?” His father looked around, blinking as he tried to reorient.
Zack sighed. This was probably a fool’s errand, but he still felt compelled to try. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “You’re in the White House. Where you always wanted to be.”
Pleasure creased his face. “I ran for president.”
He had. His father had been a congressman in his younger days and had made a run at the White House after a couple of terms. He’d run out of funds just after the Iowa caucus, but he’d gotten his ambassadorship by campaigning for the man who ultimately won, and he’d settled in there, vowing all the while that his son wouldn’t make the same mistakes.
Instead, Zack had made all new ones.
“You did, but you ended up going to Russia instead.”
“Why would I go to Russia? I don’t know anyone there.” He frowned and stared at his hands.
“You went to Russia because you were the ambassador,” Zack prompted.
“My father wanted me to go to Russia. Connie wanted to go to England. But the old bastard threatened to cut off my money if I didn’t do what he said. He insisted that it was my destiny. I don’t want to go to Moscow. I don’t think good things happen there. We should stay here. Connie and I should stay in the States so I can run again. I’ll form a committee and raise money. I’ll show my father. But we shouldn’t go to Russia.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Why did Grandfather want you to go to Russia? The English post would have been far more prestigious.”
“Nasty goat demanded I go, said I’d make a name for myself. It’s cold in Moscow. Colder than here. I hated the cold, but he said it was best for me, that it would make me strong. Then the putz who won gave the English position to that other fool, and I had no choice.”
“When did you meet Nata?”
His father shook his head. “Why is she screaming? Stop that screaming now. You’re going to wake the household.”
“Who was screaming?” His heart rate ticked up. His father had never talked about their time in Moscow. Ever. Even when he’d been perfectly sane, his only comment on his stint there was that it had been productive.
His father stood and pointed at something Zack couldn’t see. “You. You bitch. What have you done?
You’ve ruined everything.”
The last words were screamed at some invisible being, his father’s bile and vitriol rising to the surface. His legs were shaking and he looked in danger of falling over.
Zack stood and reached for him. “How did she ruin things? Who are you talking to?”
His father’s hands trembled and his eyes went wide as he looked at Zack. “Why did she do it? Such a stupid woman. She was the problem. I should never have married her. I should have found someone smarter, someone less emotional. She’s the reason we’re here. God, there wasn’t even any blood. It looked like a damn lifeless doll.”
“What did Mother do?” Bile rose in Zack’s throat but he forced it back down. He knew exactly what his mother thought she had done—accidentally killed a baby.
She thought she’d killed him.
“Who are you?”
The tension that had threatened to split the air only moments ago was gone in an instant. Zack felt his heart sink.
His mother had smothered a baby. Most likely, her baby. The real Zack Hayes.
The nurse rushed in, concern stretching across his face. “Mr. Hayes, you know you shouldn’t be up. You can’t stand or walk for more than a few minutes. What has you so upset?”
“Could you call for my son, young man? I need to talk to him about those boys. They’re going to get him into trouble. I can’t have it.” His father’s shoulders straightened, but his legs wobbled beneath him and he started to collapse.
The nurse eased him back into the chair. “Mr. President, he needs rest and his meds now. It’s been a long day.”
Zack couldn’t agree more. It had been a very long day.
Moments later, he emerged into the hallway. His constant shadow, Thomas, was waiting for him.
He didn’t say a word, merely walked away from his father, his parents’ sins weighing on him with every single step. He turned down the hall that led to his private residence, though nothing in his life was truly private.
Had Natalia Kuilikov given her son so no one would ever know that Zachary Hayes had died as an infant? Was that why she’d been so kind to him as a boy? Why she’d held him in her arms and rocked him to sleep, always with a smile? Because she’d been his biological mother? Was that why Constance Hayes hadn’t taken much interest in him? Hell, seemed barely able to look at him.
What the fuck did he do now?
His father’s delusions didn’t substantiate anything. That’s what he was sure Roman would say.
But the Russians must have proof if they were coming after him. He should call Roman and Connor and tell them everything he knew. They had to find a way to do a DNA test. There had to be some distant cousin or relative they could exhume. Something.
“Good night, Mr. President,” Thomas said. “I think you’ll find Ms. Matthews has also retired for the evening.”
Elizabeth.
He wouldn’t call Roman or anyone else tonight. That could wait. Everything he needed was behind that door.
He walked through, pulling at his tie and tossing it aside, along with his jacket. He would burn off all of his anxiety and pent-up stress in her gorgeous body. He would throw her on the bed and not let her up until morning. Then he could start again tomorrow with a clear head.
Zack prowled through the residence, a hungry lion scenting his prey, but when he reached the bedroom, he froze.
Elizabeth was sitting up against the headboard, reading a book, her blonde hair piled on her head. She looked soft and sweet all tucked in right where she should be.
The need to brand himself on her faded as another need took its place.
She looked his way and her eyes lit up. “Hey. I was worried you were going to be at it all night. Is everything okay? Well, as okay as it’s going to be, given that we’re talking about the Middle East.”
“Everything is perfectly normal—all fucked up,” he quipped as he reached her side at the edge of the mattress.
She scrambled to her knees, her hands on his shoulders as she searched his face. “What’s wrong?”
He pressed his forehead to hers and anchored his hands to her waist, breathing in her scent. This was what he needed, to be here alone with her. “What would you say if I wasn’t Zack Hayes?”
She gasped and pulled back enough to cup his face in her palms and stare into his eyes as though she willed him to believe her. “I would say I love you.”
“I love you, Elizabeth.”
She smiled. “I love you, no matter who you are. No matter what comes next.”
“If I step down?” It might be the easiest way to circumvent whatever the Russians had planned, though it felt easy and he worried that might be giving the syndicate exactly what they wanted.
“Then we can go to Paris,” she whispered. “Like we planned.”
He kissed her softly. This wasn’t about burning stress and anger off. This was about building something new. It was about stepping out of the shadow of the past and forging a new future.
Zack lowered her to the bed and started the best part of his day.
Chapter Ten
Sara glanced at the clock the following day. Two o’clock in the afternoon. Not that she had any other means of telling the time. It wasn’t as if she could check the position of the sun by looking out the window. The bunker had no windows. How many days had passed since she’d seen the sun? Breathed fresh air? It was starting to get to her. She had bunker fever.
She also had been way too close to the sexiest man in the world and having to constantly resist his touch fever. Yes, that was definitely starting to wear on her, too.
A fluttering sensation caught her attention and she placed a hand on her belly. Soon she would need bigger clothes because her daughter was growing. She wouldn’t be able to hide behind large handbags or black clothes for much longer. People would start talking and she would have questions to answer.
Who is the father?
Well, Great Aunt Tilda, the father is a notorious playboy who died but magically came back from the dead, and I have no idea what I’m going to do because I love him…but I can’t trust him.
That wouldn’t raise more questions at all...
The real trouble was Mad wasn’t going to conveniently fade into the background. Even if she asked him to.
With a sigh, she stood and stretched her back. Hours and hours of poring over historical records documenting Zack’s family back for generations—and trying to ignore the pull toward Mad—were taking a toll.
“Would you like me to rub your back?” He glanced her way from the kitchen table where he’d set up a workstation of his own.
The first couple of days she’d let him rub her feet, but then she’d had a dream where he’d massaged her arches before those big hands had begun drifting up to her calf and skimming over her knees. Soon, he’d started rubbing her thighs, then brushing over her… Well, she’d woken up in a terrible state of need and thought seriously about finding Mad on the couch and inviting him back to bed with her.
Letting him close to her again would be a terrible mistake, so after that dream she’d stopped saying yes when he offered to touch her, even if he only meant a helpful massage.
How long would they be stuck in here together? How long could she possibly hold out? “No, I’m fine. I just need a nap.”
He stared at her before his gaze strayed to her belly. “Are you okay? Is she okay?”
His hands weren’t the only things threatening to rip through all her good sense. In the days they’d been stuck in this bunker together, he’d taken care of her in ways she wouldn’t have thought were in Mad’s nature. He’d always been good about seeing to her happiness and welfare when they’d been dating, but that had largely involved throwing around cash. Here, he’d done it all himself. He helped her cook and did the dishes afterward. He’d taken to doing the laundry and straightening up.
Domestic Mad was way more dangerous to her heart than the bad boy she’d fallen in love with. This Mad was one she could envisio
n spending her life with.
“I’m fine, but scouring these records all day tires me out. And she’s moving around a lot. I just need to put my feet up for a while.” She ran a hand over the swell of her belly. “You’re playing around in there, aren’t you? Doing somersaults because you’re my little gymnast.”
“She’s moving?” Mad stood, wearing a silent plea.
“She’s always moved, but she’s big enough now that I can really feel her.” It had started a few weeks before, an odd fluttering in her abdomen that had become stronger in recent weeks. Recently, she’d even felt a kick or two. “I’ll get back to reading in a while, then I’ll make some dinner.”
She walked to the small bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress.
What the hell was she going to do when she and Mad could finally leave here? Something would happen soon, one way or another. Either Mad would be forced to go on the run again or they would all be free. Either way, she and Mad would be apart…and she would have to mourn him all over again.
“I miss our walks on the beach,” she said to her daughter.
“You talk to her?” Mad stood in the doorway, looking honestly curious.
He was dressed casually in worn jeans and a T-shirt. Sara wasn’t used to seeing him so dressed down. He’d always worn a suit for both work and play. Occasionally, when they’d been in New York, he’d bummed around in khakis and a dress shirt. But until now, the only time she’d ever seen him wear T-shirts was to go to the gym.
And when he wore nothing but a pair of athletic shorts… He taunted her with his perfect chest and abs. Even in the bunker, he worked out every day without fail. And because they were in such close quarters, she couldn’t really avoid watching him. She often wondered if her eyes bulged as he lifted the free weights Roman had sent down or did pull-ups on the bar attached to the bedroom doorframe. It was hypnotic, watching the controlled way he lifted his own weight up and lower it down slowly. It was arousing.