Point of No Return

by Rita Henuber

  The warm DC afternoon turned into a muggy thunderstorm evening with a steady rain. By the time they reached Honey’s neighborhood it was raining watermelons and frequent lightning illuminated roads turned into streams. On the designated street, he squeezed the lawn mower between two oversized SUVs.

  “See,” Honey said, “we had a larger car and—”

  “Got it.” He kissed her to eliminate any further convo on the subject. “You want to try and wait it out?”

  “No. It’s four blocks from here. We’re going to get wet.” She opened the door and stepped into the driving rain. “May as well enjoy it.” She turned, stomping, splashing water, then belted out, “Just singing in the rain.”

  He grabbed their gear and unfolded himself from the seat. Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting her face as he joined her. They locked arms and stomped and splashed their way to her house.

  They entered through the garages and like dogs shook off as much water as possible. Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Honey on the steps removing her boots.

  “Get those clothes off.” she said, peeling away her jeans. “You can’t go upstairs dripping.” She grabbed towels from a cabinet and tossed him one then worked at wiggling out of the wet shirt.

  He pushed off the wall and held her arm. “Let me.” He pulled the shirt over her head and off. His warm hands molded her breasts. She put her hands on his chest with every intention of holding him off. He shook his head and gave her one of his willpower-sucking smiles. He gave her a quick kiss.

  “People upstairs,” she managed against his lips.

  He paid no attention and delivered one of those melt-your-bones, suck-away-your-breath, mind-altering kisses he did so well, unhooking her bra at the same time. He broke the kiss. “Nope.”

  “What?”

  “Note.” He sat on the step beside her and removed his shoes. “On the door.” He tipped his head toward the door at the top of the stairs. “Says, House yours. Staying at bomb shelter. Whatever that means.”

  Honey twisted to see yellow legal-size paper with large black lettering taped to the door, ending with, Talk tomorrow.

  The bomb shelter? Geezus. Kara took Buck and Coop home? They might just need to shelter in that basement to be safe from Theresa.

  Jack stood and came out of his jeans and shirt. He was a commando kinda guy and she took full advantage of the view as he dried.

  “You going to ask me in?” he said, wrapping the towel around his waist, amusement in his voice.

  “We can do in right here.” She reached for the towel.

  He took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Up.”

  “Okay. Would you like to come in, Mr. O’Brien?”

  “I would.”

  She danced up the stairs with him close behind. The moment they entered the kitchen lightning illuminated the space.

  She took his hand, leading him to a small room. When the door closed, low-level lights glowed and she pushed a button and they began to move up.

  His eyebrows tried to join his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. My bedroom is on the third floor and I don’t want you tired to begin with.”

  The elevator opened into the sitting area of her bedroom suite. “Put the bags here. Bathroom’s there. Another one is down those stairs and to the right. Anything you need should be in the cabinets.”

  Jack dropped the bags.

  “In case someone is watching.” She pressed a key on a wall panel. “Blackout shades. With those down, we can have some light and no one would know we’re here.” Soft lighting, mimicking candlelight, came on. She took his hand and led him to her bed but stopped.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  • • •

  She didn’t respond. She had never brought a man up here or even into this house with sex in mind. Never even considered it. Why? Why now with Jack? What would Doc Freud have to say?

  “Honey?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve had a man up here.” She turned and he stroked her arms.

  “You want me to sleep in another room?”

  “No.” Fuck Freud and all the psychobabble in the world. She’d been waiting for Jack. It was as simple as that. She turned. “I want you here in my bed.”

  “We don’t have to . . .”

  She put her fingers over his lips. “I want you.”

  “And I want you. Tonight is my fantasy.”

  She stuck a finger in her mouth and sucked. “What do you want me to do?”

  He backed off a couple of steps. “Stand right there and peel those panties off. Lean from the waist to do it.”

  She did as he asked, keeping her gaze on his cock, watching it grow. He stroked it, helping it along. Watching him made her hot and wet.

  “Spread you legs and lean over again.” She did

  “Come up slow, then turn around and do it again.”

  She turned, saw her reflection in the full-length dressing mirror and laughed. He was checking her flanks in the glass.

  “Over.” His voice was raspy and his breathing rapid. She bent and it was hotter than hell watching him come to her. He laid a big hand on her back. He didn’t enter her but slid his dick in the fork of her legs then out.

  “Damn.” He threw back his head and groaned. “So hot and wet.”

  She reached between her legs, wrapping him in her fingers, squeezing. He jerked back, breaking her grip. He swept her hair to one side and cupped her breasts, holding her firm to his chest. He walked them backward to the bed, watching their reflection.

  He released her and threw back the covers. “Down.”

  She could barely get her breath. She was on another plane of desire. He climbed on the bed, kneeling between her legs, and used his knees to spread them farther. Each sweep of his hands over her thighs felt like a branding iron.

  “You are so beautiful. You have no idea what it does to me seeing you like this.” He leaned and licked from the top of her mound to her breasts leaving a moist trail of molten lava. “You taste so . . .” He sucked on each nipple until they were hard, then kissed his way over her body, finally pinning his mouth on hers and thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. She sucked it and thrashed wildly below him. He broke away, put his hands next to her head, bracing himself, the tip of his cock pressing at her entrance. “Guide me in.”

  She reached down, positioned him at her entrance and he moved, slow.

  “Not slow.” She thrust her hips up, trying to take in more of him. A deep groan escaped him and he plunged in.

  The night was a blur of pleasure.

  • • •

  The next morning they decided not to tempt the lust gods and showered and dressed separately. Honey laid out her class-A uniform, the full fruit salad of ribbons and badges on her blouse. She wanted to make an impression. On the plane, they’d decided to go to Quantico and share what they had with Colonel Ramsey. They would call Saunders and together determine the next step. Drawing on each of their contacts would increase the possibility of success to make an end run around insiders allowing Global to operate. Then it would be over. She checked her watch, seven twenty. Ramsey would be at work by now. As soon as Jack came up, she’d call the colonel and tell him they were on their way with news.

  She pulled on her skivvy shirt, thought about last night in her bed, and smiled. Last night was different. It certainly wasn’t the difference she thought would come. Not a breakup. Not a fuck-fest. Two commitment-phobic people had made love. Did he feel the same way? Soon their problems would be solved. Global was done. The world would be right and . . . Jack startled her.

  He was standing in the doorway, clean-shaven. She remembered him at the cabin after he’d banished the hairy beast. Now his handsome face was totally free of obstruction. “I was getting used to—” She stepped toward him and stopped. Jack, cell in hand, looked like the man she’d first seen at the lake. Pain. Grief. Anger filling his expression.

 
“They took Ali.”

  Something inside her burst like a lightbulb under a boot.

  Chapter 22

  “This is it,” Jack said as they slowed in front of a brick-fronted home. The pathway to the front entry was flanked with short plants sprouting pink and white flowers and a perfect lawn. Shrubs closer to the house were neatly trimmed. All welcoming and inviting to a visitor if it hadn’t been for a half dozen black SUVs, three sheriff’s cars, and crime scene vans lining the drive and street. Jack drove onto the lawn between an SUV and a sheriff’s vehicle and rammed the gear shift into park. “Ready?”

  She nodded and he swung the door open, heading for the house in a full-out run. A deputy the size of a bull stood, arms crossed, feet spread wide, blocking the front door. As Jack approached, the deputy put one hand up in a stop gesture, resting the other on his holstered gun. Words were exchanged and without breaking stride Jack pushed the man aside.

  Honey reached over and removed the keys from the ignition. She touched her chest where the H&K and knife would be if she was wearing her vest, took a deep breath and left the SUV. The deputy watched as she advanced on the walk. The man was huge and intimidating. It was security theater. His department probably used him for that purpose on a regular basis. He held up a massive arm and gave her the same stop gesture he’d given Jack. She stopped.

  “You family?” He narrowed his eyes. “Only family inside.”

  She spread her arms to the sides, palms out. “I’m an intelligence officer working with the family. My ID.” She held out her military ID card.

  The deputy, whose name badge said Barber, took the laminated card, looking suspiciously from it to her three times. She waited quietly.

  “I’ll need to ask”—he tipped his head in the direction of the house—“before I let you in.”

  “Certainly.”

  He moved inside, standing in the wide entry until a man in a generic dark government agent suit came from the left. The deputy nodded in her direction and gave the man her ID. He examined it, looked at Honey and disappeared.

  The deputy lumbered back. “You’re clear.”

  Honey caught sight of Jack at the end of the hall talking to an attractive woman.

  “Sorry about that,” the deputy continued. “I have to check. You know.”

  Jack disappeared and she returned her attention to the deputy and smiled. “Don’t ever apologize for doing your job.”

  He nodded and returned the smile. “Go on in.” He stepped to the side, allowing her access.

  Voices, one of them Jack’s, came from the back of the house. To her left the man the deputy had spoken with reappeared.

  “In here, ma’am.” He tipped his head back in the direction he’d come. He didn’t wait for her to enter first. She followed him into a sunny living room. Two overstuffed sofas, a low coffee table between them, flanked a fireplace and a mantel where two trifolded American flags in glass cases rested. Two wing chairs were arranged near a front-facing window, a lamp and stack of books on the table between them. A formal room. Not a room where the family spent time. Not a room she would pick for an interview. She preferred the kitchen or family room, where a subject was comfortable and more likely to speak freely. Here was fine with her. It would be easier to give short perfunctory answers to questions.

  A second man rose from a sofa. Both men stood, posing, hands on hips, jackets pushed back and displaying the service weapons holstered at their waists. They had every intention of tag-teaming her. Not today.

  Honey removed her Oakleys and cover and stuck out her hand to the closest agent. “Major Thornton, USMC Intelligence, and you are?”

  The man blinked. His hand moved slowly from his hip to take hers. “Special Agent In Charge Justin Meyer, the lead on this case. This is Agent Paul Carpenter, NCIS.” Honey leaned in Carpenter’s direction and they shook.

  “Didn’t know you were intelligence,” Meyer said.

  Honey said nothing.

  “We’d like to ask a few questions,” he went on.

  “Of course. First, may I have my ID, and I’d like to see yours.” She held out her hand.

  The men exchanged glances. Her ID was returned. Badge wallets were retrieved from jacket pockets and held at eye level for her to read.

  Honey stuck the leg of her glasses into the corner of her jacket pocket and secured her cover into the waist of her pants. “May I?” She held out a hand to Meyer. He shrugged and passed the wallet over. She stood, hand out, until Carpenter followed suit. Badges in hand, she checked the photo on each ID to the face of the owner, then ran her thumb over the badge. Satisfied, she handed the wallets back.

  “You didn’t bite them,” Carpenter said, smiling as he attached the wallet to his belt.

  “Mind telling me what that was about?” Meyer, said replacing the wallet in his jacket pocket, displaying the badge.

  “You can buy fake badges on the net.” They knew she was yanking their chain. “It’s about being diligent, SAIC Meyer.” She found that Special Agent thing odd but knew bureau men appreciated being addressed appropriately. “I’m an intelligence officer, cautious by training.” Contrary to what he’d said, they’d confirmed that already. Before they left her house, Jack had given an agent the deets of where he was and who he was with to facilitate clearing them.

  “Take a seat, Major.” Meyer gestured to a sofa. Honey caught the official, all-business tone shift in his voice and she sat in the middle of the designated piece of furniture while the agents sat in separate chairs.

  “What’s your connection with the family?” Meyer asked casually. It wasn’t a casual question.

  Honey ran her index finger up and down the clef in her chin. “No connection with the family. I met Jack O’Brien four days ago.” She watched for any detection of her stretch of the truth. The two exchanged glances and Carpenter threw in a raised eyebrow.

  “Would you call yourself a friend?”

  Honey pursed her lips and shook her head. “Acquaintance.”

  “You stayed three days in a cabin with Jack O’Brien and he spent last night at your home in Georgetown,” Carpenter said. “Mind explaining what you were doing?”

  Honey took a moment. “As a matter of fact I do.”

  “Major,” Meyer said and shifted in his seat, “a child has been taken. I’d think you’d want to do all you can to help.” He took a pen and spiral notepad from his jacket pocket.

  “Agents—” She paused and gave them both a deadly serious look. “I said I minded explaining what I’d been doing the last three days. I never implied I wouldn’t help.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs. “I don’t want to dick around and waste your time. I’ll tell you what I can. I was sent by the DoD to interview O’Brien about his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths.” By the time they could ferret out she’d been at Global this ordeal would be over.

  “Why?” Carpenter said, an edge to his voice. “That was a car accident.” Honey smiled. The man was an easy read and it was clear he knew the circumstances of the couple’s death.

  “You know the O’Briens weren’t killed in a car accident. It’s a simple leap to understanding what I’m working on.” She straightened. “Today I was going to meet with high-level personnel and recommend investigations into the deaths be reopened. I suggest you”—she gave Carpenter a hard look—“consider doing the same. And you”—she looked at Meyer—“look carefully at the reports on the O’Briens’ deaths. In particular, the who and why the investigation ended. You’re the guys in the white hats. I’m telling you, if I have a microscopic dot of information that would help you to get that child back, I will tell you.” She meant that. If there was a way in hell they could act, she’d spill everything she knew right now. The guys in the white hats didn’t stand a chance against Global or getting Ali back. They were law enforcement and this was a combat zone. She leaned back. “I doubt I’m a suspect. I understand you have to clear both O’Brien and myself. Let’s get that done so you can move
on to finding leads.”

  Carpenter and Meyer exchanged a look. “Tell us about the last twenty-four hours,” SAIC Meyer said.

  She gave them the spiel she and Jack agreed on. Jack would say the same with enough variation to keep it from sounding rehearsed. “I was ready to leave the cabin and my rental car was a nonstarter. He’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. A tow wasn’t available for twenty-four hours. I needed to get back. O’Brien offered to drive me to Nashville in his truck.” She paused. “And I use the term truck loosely. He suggested he come with me, attend the meeting and lend weight to my recommendation the case be reopened. And . . . it had been some time since he’d seen his family.” Both men scribbled notes. “We got in late. It was storming. My place was close. He stayed in a guest room.”

  “Did he tell anyone he was coming?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Why didn’t he check his phone before this morning?”

  Honey gave Agent Carpenter a how the fuck should I know look but said, “I can’t answer for him. I don’t think the guy was expecting a call saying his niece had been kidnapped.”

  “If you were in different bedrooms, how can you be sure he didn’t leave your home?”

  She displayed an appropriate amount of indignity. “I have a high-end, obscenely expensive security system. It was armed. If Mr. O’Brien had attempted to leave I would have noticed.” All accurate statements.

  “Maybe you went with him,” Carpenter said.

  “There is a time stamp recording system and video cameras at entrances. The time stamp documents on and off, in and out, on a system in my home and at a secure, tamperproof, remote location the security company maintains. If it comes to needing the proof we were there, your techs can have access.”

  Carpenter nodded.

  Jack appeared in the doorway. “You through questioning the major and ready to get out and find my niece?”

  Meyer stood. “We’re done for now.”