by Rachel Grant
“So I applied to Ranger school. It took a few years to get in, but once I succeeded, they couldn’t deny me combat tours. Hell, they trained me too well not to use me.”
“How long were you in the Army?”
“Almost twelve years.”
“How long have you been out?”
“Nearly three.”
“Did you leave the Army because you wanted to buy Raptor?”
“No. I left because my mother was dying—also leukemia. She wanted me home for her final days, and I couldn’t deny her that. She passed away four months after I left the service.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for that too.”
His arm tightened around her. “Thanks. She…well, we had issues because I’d joined the Army instead of following the path she wanted, but she was my mom. We remained close. ” He idly traced circles on her back. “Within a month of my leaving the service, the deal for Raptor was in the works. I had money—trust fund, inheritance, investments that paid off and then some. An insane amount of money, which meant I could buy the company outright. No need for investors. I could run it my way, undo the damage Robert Beck had done.”
She glanced around the room, glad it wasn’t festooned with Beck’s garish rococo furniture. This room, at least, looked like it belonged to Alec. “And this is all yours now.”
“Yep.” He grabbed her ass and pulled her closer. “And everything in it is mine.”
She laughed, strangely not put off by the idea of belonging to Alec. She’d never belonged to anyone before. Never really belonged anywhere. “And the senate seat? Why politics now?”
He smiled. “I still haven’t gotten to that?”
She chuckled. “No.”
“A few years ago, Senator Talon resigned, causing a power vacuum. Everyone expected the woman who replaced him to run for the seat in her own right, but she declined. Finishing out his term was enough for her. Maryland has always been a toss-up state. With my background—Harvard, Army, Rangers, and Raptor business experience, a lot of people put pressure on me to run. I could draw votes from both ends of the political spectrum.”
“You’re young for a senator, though, aren’t you?”
“If I win, I’ll turn thirty-six right after the swearing in. Young for a first term, but not unheard of. And frankly, I think every three months in Afghanistan adds about three years to life experience.”
“What was the kicker? It doesn’t sound like you wanted politics. What made you decide to run?”
“Two things. My mom, for starters. I’ve always felt guilty I hadn’t followed the path she wanted. Now she’s gone. It was something I could do for her. Too late, but not too little.”
“And the other?”
“The US Attorney General. We became friends after he vetted me to purchase Raptor. Curt called me and said he wanted, just once, for a politician he could believe in to run for office. Curt’s opinion means the world to me, and he’s a man who made his name going after crooked politicians. It’s hard to ignore a plea like that.”
She’d known he and the attorney general were friends but hadn’t realized they were so close. “And now? How do you feel? Do you want it?”
“Honestly, Isabel, I’ve learned something these last few days. I thought I was doing this for my mom. But what’s happened here is jeopardizing the campaign. Like everything I’ve ever done—with the exception of being a Ranger—politics was mine. A cakewalk. In the bag.” He glanced sideways at her. “Until you came along and got the compound closed. That was the first ripple. Then there was that trouble with one of my campaign aides last month. Now I’m told my disappearance is being called a publicity stunt. Stimson, my opponent, is saying I’m wasting FBI resources investigating a faked abduction at the same time he’s casting suspicion on me being involved in something dirty. When I announce the training is canceled tomorrow, I’ll be defaulting on a government contract. That won’t go over well. It costs the government a lot to pull these trainings together—and I’m not talking about the fees Raptor charges, I’m talking about the administrative end that can’t be refunded. My campaign manager is freaking out. I bet there are ten messages on my phone since I checked at midnight.” He grimaced. “Right now, the campaign is in havoc. I could lose this thing.
“And the one thing I’ve realized in all this is, I want it. Not because of my mom. Not because Curt stroked my ego. But because it’s right. For me. Just like the Army was right. I need to serve. I served as a soldier for as long as I could. And when it was time to do something else, I thought Raptor would fulfill that need. And it does, but it’s not enough. As a senator, I can serve, I can give back to this country that has given so much to me and my family.”
“What will you do if you lose?”
His voice hardened. “One thing I’ve learned in the Army: never plan to lose. Losing is not an option.”
A yell tore Isabel from sleep. She sat bolt upright before she was fully awake, disoriented, heart pounding. The man by her side let out another low groan. He sounded like he was in excruciating pain. “Alec,” she said, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re having a nightmare.”
His face turned toward her. His eyes were open but eerily blank.
“Alec?”
He lunged toward her, hands reaching for her throat. She scrambled backward and fell from the bed, her feet still tangled in the bedding.
He growled—pure predator—and grabbed her ankle. She kicked upward to free herself, connecting with his chin. Freed, she crab-walked backward to escape. “Alec! Wake up!”
He froze with his head cocked, then looked to his left, as if a sound had drawn his attention. With a roar, he launched himself off the bed and landed on top of her.
She tried to knee him in the balls, but he deflected the blow.
He’s going to kill me.
She shoved at him, but he was too heavy. Too strong. She swung out, aiming for the healing cut on his temple, connecting with her fist.
Alec cursed as he released her and fell backward.
Isabel scooted back until she hit the wall, wondering if she should grab the gun on the nightstand. The one he’d given her and said he wanted her to carry at all times for protection.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision. “Alec. It’s me.” She suppressed a sob. “Isabel.”
She crawled toward the nightstand, then stopped, out of his reach but short of being able to grab the weapon.
This is Alec. My Alec.
She couldn’t aim a loaded gun at him. Ever.
“Iz?” he asked softly. She met his gaze in the dark room, just discerning that his eyes were focused. They widened in shock. “Oh my God. Iz. I—”
He reached for her, but she held up a hand. “Prove you’re awake. What did I tell you my name was when we first met?”
“Jenna Hayes.”
Relief swamped her. She leaned toward the nightstand and turned the switch on the lamp.
He blinked in the sudden light. “Did I…attack you?”
She nodded.
Blood dripped down his temple. She’d reopened the gash. “Oh, Iz.” He ran a hand across his face. “Honey. I’m so sorry.”
He hadn’t hurt her. Not really. But what did it mean? Had he dreamed he was assaulting her, or someone else?
Hard to believe that just hours ago, he’d been inside her, that she’d held his gaze until a hard, fast orgasm caused her to close her eyes as she came apart. He’d made love to her to erase her fear, but now she feared him.
“It’s okay.” She forced the words out, knowing she didn’t mean them.
Losing is not an option. Even in his nightmares he refuses to lose.
“No, it’s not.” He stood and took a step toward her but stopped short when she backed up, remaining out of his reach.
“Was that PTSD?” Guilt swamped her. Here she was, suspicious and afraid, and the episode had probably been triggered because he served his country. Like Vin and so many others.
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“Not PTSD. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.” He shook his head as if to clear it. Again, he ran a hand over his face. “I dreamed I was in a cave, strapped to a table, in agony. No one touched me. It was eerily silent—almost like negative noise—silence so loud it blocked everything, even my ability to think.
“Then a sound broke through—ironically, the words were from a musical, the one about the hills being alive with music.”
She swallowed as the meaning of that sank in. “The title song from The Sound of Music?”
He nodded. “You, your voice, jarred me out of my agonized trance, and I yelled out. A man wearing a ski mask and some sort of voice-altering mouthpiece came into my line of vision and hit me in the solar plexus with a thick stick, knocking the wind out of me so I couldn’t make a sound.” His gaze dropped to his wrists. “The restraints were simple Velcro—probably so they wouldn’t leave obvious marks—but that also meant they were weak. Probably not a problem when I was being zapped with infrasound, but that pain had stopped. I was alert. And enraged.”
His jaw was tight with anger. His fingers curled into a fist. He stared at his hand, then met her gaze, his eyes clear but burning with leashed fury. “I’m well trained to channel that rage into brute force. I ripped my right hand free and grabbed the stick. Using it for leverage, I got my hands on the man in the mask and pinned him to the table. I felt a blow on my temple. Then I woke up—or blacked out. I’m not sure.”
She cleared her throat, about to ask if he’d seen the lynx petroglyph, when there was a sharp knock on the outside door. Isabel glanced at the clock. Five a.m. Who the hell would come knocking at this hour?
“Shit,” Alec said. “This early means it must be important.”
Isabel grabbed her clothes from the floor and pulled them on, while Alec donned his jeans. He didn’t bother with a shirt and wrenched open the bedroom door. Isabel followed him through the sitting room.
More pounding, this time accompanied by Nicole’s sharp yell. “Alec Ravissant, you sonofabitch. Open the dammed door!”
He turned to Isabel. “Don’t tell her about my dream.”
She nodded. Nicole remained a suspect. “Do you think she’s mad about the compound being shut down?”
“She hasn’t been told yet. This could be about the cameras in the firing range.”
In spite of the tension between them, Isabel smiled. Years from now, when she was feeling isolated and alone and this fling was but a distant memory, she would have the moment Alec had shot out the cameras just so he could be with her to replay in her mind. She would revel in the heat and exhilaration that infused the memory.
Alec slid back the dead bolt and opened the door.
Nicole snarled and thrust her iPad into his hands. “Explain this, you bastard.”
Isabel read the headline on the screen over Alec’s shoulder. Dead Soldier’s Sister is Suspect in Senate Candidate’s Alleged Abduction.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bile rose in Alec’s throat as he read the Baltimore Sun article—which quoted Nicole directly as having stated Isabel was suspect, in words eerily similar to those she’d said in his office yesterday. Isabel’s arrest on the restraining order violation was mentioned, and the FBI was quoted as offering no comment on the ongoing investigation. But it only got worse from there. The article proceeded to neatly lay out the case against Isabel, attributing the speculation to “confidential sources within the Ravissant campaign.” She was painted as imbalanced, possibly dangerously so, with a strong vendetta against Alec in particular.
The stricken look on Isabel’s face triggered a fresh wave of horror. “I had nothing to do with this, Isabel.”
She turned to Nicole. “Did you say what the article quotes you as saying?”
Nicole grimaced even as she nodded. Alec had to give her credit for being honest.
Isabel took a step back. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are, Isabel. But that doesn’t mean I won’t consider all possibilities. Tell me you don’t suspect me. I dare you.”
Isabel glared at Nicole but said nothing. She turned to Alec. “And you. You’ve been seducing me even as you’ve been looking for ways to use me to get your campaign back on track?” She jabbed a finger at the offending iPad. “Don’t think I don’t see this for what it really is. I’m the perfect goddamned suspect, because if I take the fall, your campaign won’t have to face questions of whether you have dirty operatives on the payroll. You won’t be tainted by scandal.”
“Isabel, I told my campaign manager in no uncertain terms you’re off-limits. When I find out who did this, their ass is fired.”
“Right. When they single-handedly saved your campaign with this smear piece?”
“Watch me.”
“We’ve got other problems to deal with first, Rav,” Nicole said, her voice stiff with anger. “Someone quoted what I said in a private meeting in your office. If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
Alec was damn tempted to point a finger right back at Nicole, but exchanging suspicions would get them nowhere fast.
“Who was present when you said it?” Isabel asked.
“Hatcher, Rav, and me.”
“And Hans,” Alec added. “He can hear everything said in both our offices.”
“Hatcher could have done it to save your campaign,” Nicole said. “He needs you to win to secure the CEO position.”
That balloon would never float. Alec knew Keith was adamantly opposed to using Isabel that way. He’d been outraged by Carey’s suggestion. Nicole’s casting suspicion on Keith hinted at her own desperation.
“I think we need to sweep my office for bugs again.”
Isabel felt as if she’d been hit with infrasound. Her pathetic life had been laid bare in the papers in an appalling exposé. She’d been labeled antisocial. A loner. Out for revenge. Jesus, put up a sketch of the Unabomber next to the piece, and no one would bat an eye. She’d been tried and convicted by the Baltimore Sun. Not too surprisingly, the paper had endorsed Alec weeks ago.
A search for bugs in Alec’s office turned up a listening device. Meaning once again, everyone was a suspect, and yet as much as it hurt to consider it, Isabel couldn’t help but wonder if Alec was behind it. He had the most to gain. She only had to remain the prime suspect until after Election Day. After that, she could be neatly cleared and he could claim no harm, no foul.
Except she’d been made to look like a bitter, grieving, vindictive sociopath in an article that was certain to go viral. All harm, all foul. Whether she was guilty or innocent didn’t matter. What mattered was Alec couldn’t lose with her taking the spotlight.
He was down in the polls, and he’d told her himself losing was not an option. He could have done this.
She closed her eyes and remembered last night, when she’d finally released her guilt over wanting him and enjoyed every minute of being in his arms and taking him into her body. There’d been a connection that was more that sex. More than fulfilling the need for orgasm. But what if, for him, it had just been a means to an end?
The suspicion settled in and made a home with her deepest insecurities. Seducing her could be a way to control her. To convince her to play the game, take the heat until the election.
She’d returned to his suite alone while he called his campaign manager, supposedly to demand answers. He didn’t want her in the room while he made the calls. She dropped onto the couch and picked up Gandalf, who seemed annoyed to be woken, but he settled onto her lap anyway.
They hadn’t had a chance to finish discussing his dream, which they both knew was memory. He’d heard her singing the title song from The Sound of Music in the dream. What she hadn’t told him yet was she had sung that song on Thursday, but it hadn’t been while she was working for the DNR.
She’d sung it during her lunchtime foray onto Raptor land to look for the cave.
Apparently, she’d gotten close.
Alec hung up the phone, having
just granted an impromptu, angry interview to the reporter who’d skewered Isabel. He had no clue how the reporter would slant the piece. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for politics, but how could he sit back and watch the press go after Isabel, all because of him?
She’d saved his life, and they’d flayed her.
It would only get worse if she were his girlfriend or wife—she would be an open target as the candidate’s—or senator’s—wife. As far as he could tell, only the youngest children of politicians got a free pass. And sometimes not even them.
He ground his palms into his eyes. Nearly six a.m. and it had already been a helluva day.
He’d assaulted Isabel in his sleep, and he’d yet to tell her he’d seen the lynx petroglyph in his dream. A dream that wasn’t a dream at all.
He’d heard her singing, which meant she’d been near the cave as he was being tortured. If she could narrow down where she’d been when she sang that song, they’d have a starting point for the search. But the article had undermined every ounce of trust Alec had managed to build with her.
He was falling in love with her, but from the look in her eyes, she not only didn’t trust him, she was back to dislike. Possibly even hate.
And he couldn’t exactly blame her.
Did she once again think he might have had a hand in covering up Vin’s murder? Had they gone all the way back to the start with the awful article?
He tilted back in his chair and stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. He’d had about four hours sleep, and much as he wanted to crawl back into bed with Isabel, he had a feeling she wouldn’t welcome him.
I attacked her.
He feared what he could have done if she hadn’t woken him with the blow to his temple.