by Lee Winter
“What size did you say?” Lauren choked out.
“Eight.” He grinned and patted her knee. “You’re looking well, by the way. Unresolved sexual tension agrees with you. Suits kitty Cat, too.”
“How did you know?”
His smile widened. “You just told me.”
“I hate you.” She said sourly, earning a snicker.
“Oh my god,” Lauren said as she kicked off her shoes when they got home. “That was surreal.”
Ayers smiled, radiating satisfaction. “It was. It was,” she repeated. “Did you hear when the good professor called the government culpable of a crime against its people that’s more devastating than if it had set off a nuclear bomb in every capital city? And that, just because they didn’t make the worm, buying it or even bidding on it makes them an accessory after the fact.”
“That man was born for this moment,” Lauren giggled, still feeling a little lightheaded.
Ayers led them upstairs. “Let me just drop off my notes and we’ll have a nightcap to celebrate.”
“Sure,” Lauren smiled and followed her. They headed into Ayers’s office, and as usual, her eyes were drawn to the beautiful view. The lighting in the gardens twinkled, and the outside lights illuminated the room enough to not bother putting the interior light on. An odd shadow in the ferns caught her attention, and she stepped forward for a better look.
“Man, we’re going to blow the top of Frank’s head off with this story,” she said as her gaze followed the shape.
“Funny you should say that.” A masculine voice cut through the silence. Ayers gasped, her bag slipping from her fingers to the floor. A man stepped out of the shadows and pinned them both with a cool stare.
“You’re not going to run your story,” he said matter-of-factly. “Either of them.”
Lauren stared at his features, wondering why he seemed vaguely familiar. Then she noticed the Italian suit. Dolce and Gabbana. One of the men Sands had noticed following him.
“Who are you?” Ayers snapped. “How did you get into my house? You realize my security firm will already be on its way—”
“Bransky Security is a little short staffed right now. For several reasons.” He smiled, and Lauren was struck by his perfect set of Hollywood teeth. What was it with this town?
He slid his hand pointedly into his pocket. It bulged. A surge of adrenalin flooded Lauren, and she did the first thing she could think of. She lunged.
She’d seen a domed glass paperweight on the desk and rushed forward, fluidly scooped it up, and pitched it toward his head with her deadliest fast ball. It was heavier than a softball, the wrong shape, and she hadn’t exactly warmed up. But her muscles remembered, and the throw scorched like a rocket—powerful and screamingly fast.
Gabbana was faster.
His head flicked out of the way by the barest of margins, and the paperweight smashed into the wall behind him. She heard Ayers’s breath hitch behind her.
The man looked unshaken.
“Ms. King I presume? The softball star turned party writer. Your father and brothers must be so proud.” Derision dripped off his voice.
Lauren heaved in a breath and tried to collect her racing thoughts. “How do you—”
“Who are your superiors?” Ayers interrupted, placing a stilling hand on Lauren’s arm.
He ignored both questions. “Your digging into a certain matter is putting national security at risk,” he said. “This is a fluid situation, so I can’t give you operational details. But your government is asking you to put the good of your country ahead of your need for a scoop. Let us do our job.” He gave them both an alligator smile, all glittering teeth and implied threat.
“We can’t do that,” Ayers said icily. “This story is in the public interest. We have to report it. That’s our job.”
“I have asked nicely,” he said, his voice becoming menacing. “But this is not a request.”
“This is how you deal with national security stories now?” Lauren asked incredulously. “Break into journalists’ homes without even showing ID and threaten them? Hell, I smell another scoop.”
“Ms. King,” he said with a condescending smile that was mostly oil, “why would you want to stand in the way of your government keeping you safe and instead aid and abet our enemies?”
Lauren paled at the implied threat.
“You’re going to paint us as traitors?” Ayers asked in disbelief. “No one will buy that for one second when they see what we’ve found.”
“That’s what Edward Snowden thought. But who is he now to average Americans? To your readers? They think he’s some computer guy who sold secrets to the Russians. Come on, you know how these things go. Especially you.” He swivelled to look at Ayers. “Michelle Hastings?”
She looked at him blankly.
He snapped his fingers. “Oh that’s right. You might know her as Stephanie. Now she knew how to spin a story. All about the things she’d found in her boss’s locked drawer. She was really quite the actress. Could have fooled anyone. Well, not anyone. Just you.”
Lauren felt her stomach clench at the blow and it wasn’t even aimed at her. Ayers’s jaw tightened, and her expression shifted from stony to murderous.
“So I have to ask,” Gabbana continued with faux concern. “Are you really sure about your facts this time, Ms. Ayers? Prepared to risk what’s left of your reputation and the future of this innocent young woman who has placed her trust in you?”
Ayers flicked a glance at Lauren and then glowered at the man. She did not speak. Lauren, however, felt the tightness of her hand that still rested just above her elbow.
She subtly stroked the fingers until Ayers’s grip eased a little.
Gabbana observed the action. His calculating eyes gleamed briefly, which did not go unnoticed by Ayers. Her hand returned to an almost pincer grip on Lauren’s flesh.
She tried not to wince.
“What do you want?” Ayers snapped.
“I’ve already told you. Your story doesn’t run. And don’t bother doing an end run around your publisher again. We’ve enlightened him as to how he should be more vigilant of his staff going rogue. He’s being surprisingly helpful in agreeing with our position.”
“What have you got on him?” Ayers asked.
“Got on him?” the man repeated. “Ms. Ayers, your publisher freely chose to take this course of action. Mr. Harrington fully understands the importance of national security. And, well, he does own a generous amount of SmartPay shares. Be it patriotism or greed, he made a very intelligent decision. We’re expecting you’ll make the same decision. Now, one last question. Where’s the laptop? The pink one.”
“Never heard of it,” Lauren said. She folded her arms.
“Is that so?” A photograph came out of his pocket and landed on the desk between them. It was of Lauren holding the laptop as she left Sands’s house.
“I don’t have it.”
“I’m aware of that. Your two friends do. They were tracked to your neighbor’s apartment. Joshua Bennett. Where are they now? Where is the device?”
Lauren shrugged. “Haven’t seen it since the CIA took it. Or they might have been NSA. Hard to tell.”
He paused just for a moment, but the flicker of doubt was there. “Don’t lie.”
“You’re not with either of them,” Ayers said in dawning realization. “Who are you?”
“An interested party from DC. And this is your only warning.” He tilted his head, assessing her for a moment, and then something shifted in his expression. Suddenly he lunged, taking Ayers by the neck, hauling her around and against him.
Lauren took two steps forward but froze when Gabbana squeezed Ayers hard enough for her to cry out.
“Uh uh,” he warned Lauren. “I wouldn’t move an inch.” His hand was pressed around her neck, his fingers and
thumb squeezed the pressure points under her ears and caused her face to redden and eyes to water.
Ayers stared unwaveringly back at Lauren, eyes defiant.
“I’ve been patient,” he said conversationally. “Now, tell me where it is or your dear friend suffers the consequences.”
Lauren gave a cold laugh. “You talk about hurting one of the most famous journalists of the past decade? You think no one will care? You’re a fool.” She grabbed some of the photos from the top of Ayers’s desk and thrust them at him. “She’s dined with presidents.” She threw a photo at his feet. “World leaders. Bill fucking Gates.” She tossed more photos. “You think none of these people will care what happened to her?”
He smirked as she held up the last photo. “Some old bat?” he retorted. “I’m terrified.”
“You fucking should be,” she said, smashing it viciously into his face. “And that’s Helen Thomas to you, you prick.”
“Bitch!” he bellowed, letting go of his hostage and clutching at his face.
A long glass shard was embedded in his cheek, protruding up toward his eye. Blood gushed from the wound, and he howled in pain.
Ayers had dropped to her knees, gasping for air, and seemed to be reaching for something behind the door.
“Bitch,” he repeated with menace, blood bubbling from his nose and seeping out of his eye socket. He fumbled for his pocket.
“And you’re a stupid asshole,” Lauren said and kicked him between the legs. She felt immense satisfaction when he doubled over clutching his groin.
A siren sounded in the distance. He began to reach for his pocket again, hand trembling this time.
“Last chance,” he said, voice slurring as his blood loss increased. “Where’s the laptop. Or you’re both in a fucking world of trouble.”
“Says the man bleeding all over the floor,” Lauren said, watching him slump lower. She crouched down and mocked him. “What’re you going to do?”
“You’re insane if you print that story. There are many powerful people who will fight you. You’ll be called a traitor. You’ll be hounded. Your friends. Your families.” He coughed and bloodied saliva bubbled out of his mouth.
Lauren studied him. “That’s your opinion. But don’t you know the first rule of journalism? The story always comes first.”
The siren was loud now, and Lauren watched as his breathing grew more ragged.
“This?” He spat at her. “This story’s nothing. It’s hardly worth the nightmare headed your way.”
His head dropped to his chest. The hand in his pocket twitched and Lauren watched in slow motion as he began to pull something out.
Her mind screamed gun, and her head began to move reflexively to one side as she tried to scrabble out of the way. Time slowed. She slid her eyes fearfully over to Ayers. Only to find she was not where she had been. She saw metal flash out of Gabbana’s pocket.
There was a whoosh of air, a sickening thunk, and a clatter. Her eyes widened in shock. A hammering noise pounded in her ears, and she realized it was her own racing heart.
Gabbana was sprawled out in an unconscious tangle. Two feet away lay a bloodied lump of metal. She saw Ayers drop beside her, kneeling, moving her lips. It took a few attempts for her brain to catch up to what she was saying.
“Are you okay? Lauren?”
She nodded. “Are you?” she asked, checking Ayers’s arms and face. No blood. Okay.
“No, no blood,” Ayers gave her a strange soft smile.
“Oh, I said that out loud.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Ayers pointed to a wrought-iron book end. “I may not pitch as well as you, but it’s twice as effective when they never see it coming.”
Thundering footsteps entered the room, and Lauren jumped. Fingers rubbed her arm, and she heard Ayers’s soothing words near her ears. “It’s my security team. When he was bleeding out on the floor, monologuing about our sad futures, I was able to reach the panic alarm.”
Lauren looked around at the mess. “Oh shit! I smashed your photo of Helen Thomas. He’s wearing half the glass in his face.”
“I actually think Helen would have approved. And by the way, that man may be many things but there’s no way he’s from DC. Everyone in DC would have recognized her in the photo. She was such an institution.”
“Huh.” Lauren stared up at concerned eyes regarding her. “Who was he then?”
“No idea. We may never know.”
The security guards moved the man out of the office and dragged him out of the house.
“Catherine?”
“Mmm?”
“Did you just attack an armed man about to kill me?”
Ayers rolled her eyes. “It sounds so heroic when you say it like that.”
“You saved my life. You don’t get to pretend it’s nothing.”
“Says the woman who took on two brutes in Olencha and didn’t even mention it. But if it makes you feel better, he wasn’t armed. He was reaching for his cell phone.”
“Did you know that at the time?” Lauren asked.
Ayers said nothing.
“That’s what I thought.” Lauren smiled. “Damn, you are a hero.”
A man wearing a security uniform strode back in. “We have him in custody, ma’am. We’re sorry he got as far as he did. He cut the feed on the video and bypassed a number of sensors. We’ll have more information when he wakes up. A doctor’s treating him now. He seems to have a bad facial injury.” The man shot an approving glance at Lauren.
“I think he has a partner somewhere,” Lauren said, remembering the shadow in the garden.
“We already found him. He incapacitated a few of my men on patrol. They’re only unconscious. We’re waiting to hand both intruders over to the police. There’ll be a full report in the morning. And I have a cleaning crew lined up for eight tomorrow to sort out the, ah, situation.” He pointed to the bloodied mess on the floor.
“Thanks,” Ayers said. “Sorry for your men’s injuries.”
“They’ll recover. We can leave men on your gate tonight, if you’d like.”
“I would.”
“Ma’am.” He nodded and left.
“Can we be anywhere but here now?” Lauren asked and scooped up Ayers’s notes and her bag.
“Good plan,” Ayers agreed and led her from the room.
“Hey, I’m sorry about your ex. Finding out she was definitely playing you the whole time,” Lauren said softly.
Ayers’s jaw hardened. “I think I’ll have to process that later. He may have been lying just to get a reaction. And right now, I don’t want to think about that.”
She opened a door at the end of the hallway.
Lauren looked around and saw a large master suite. There was a queen-sized bed in the middle of a room that was luxurious and clearly well lived in. The walls were cream and the artwork tasteful.
Lauren’s eyebrows lifted. Ayers’s bedroom?
Suddenly Ayers realized where they were—she’d obviously headed there by rote.
“I didn’t, ah…” She stopped and bit her lip, her cheeks growing pink.
Lauren observed her hesitation, the slight fidgeting, her high color.
“We can if you want,” she said, suggestively brushing her fingertips down Ayers’s arm. “Just now I thought that was going to be my last moment on earth. That kind of puts things into perspective.”
Her gaze drifted to Ayers’s lips. The other woman tensed and shook her head. “It’d only end in tears,” she said. “I’m leaving LA soon.”
Lauren considered her uneven breathing. She took a step forward. “I know that,” she said. “But we’re alive. And that’s worth celebrating.”
Ayers’s chest rose and fell, her expression pinched. After a moment, she whispered, “Please go.�
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Ayer’s jaw tensed, and Lauren stepped back. “Okay.” She gave a wan chuckle. “Besides I need a shower anyway. Gotta wash five levels of terror off me.”
Ayers didn’t reply, or even move.
Lauren took the hint and left.
Thank-god-I’m-alive showers were amazing, Lauren thought, sighing blissfully. Steam had fogged the glass walls, and she was blasting her body with a heat much higher than she normally liked.
She heard a faint knock, and before she could answer, the en suite door slapped open. Lauren spun around in shock to see a hazy, faceless shape in front of the fogged-up cubicle. She wiped a circle of steam from the glass and peered out, heart in her throat.
Ayers’s gray, stormy eyes stared back.
Lauren watched, fixed to the spot, as the shower door opened and Ayers stepped in, still clothed in the white button-down shirt and dark cotton pants she’d worn that evening.
“You’re still dressed,” Lauren said in shock.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Ayers whispered and leaned forward. Her eyes glinted. “We’re alive.”
She took Lauren’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and kissed her hungrily.
They stumbled backward. Lauren hit the back wall, wrenched her lips away, and moaned. Ayers’s mouth journeyed relentlessly down to her neck, nibbling and tasting, biting and soothing as Lauren hissed under her devilish, naughty teeth.
Her flailing brain tried to process what was happening. It had to be the adrenalin. Ayers was on some we’re-not-dead high and wanted to feel. And Lauren was there. Naked. Available. Very wet.
She shivered as Ayers bent over her collar bone and licked, then lowered teasingly to dance down between her breasts. Then her maddening tongue slithered down further.
It shouldn’t be enough, a small part of her brain whispered. She shouldn’t want to have Ayers so much, this way. It was careless and crazy, and Ayers had told her there was no future. But god, she wanted it. Any piece she could have of her.
With a desperation she hadn’t known she felt, Lauren threaded her fingers possessively into silky hair, tugging, stroking, claiming, and then pulled Ayers’s mouth against her breast. Like an offering.