Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series)

by Leigh James

  “My property is right on the water,” John said. “You’ll love it. I mean, I hope you will.”

  “If you like it, I’m sure I’ll like it,” I said. “Is your father there? Am I going to meet him?”

  “Yes,” he said, and he sat up a little straighter. “He’ll be there. He’s getting older, and he’s been ill, but he’ll want to meet you.”

  I hoped there were more clean clothes for me somewhere so I could look presentable. “Is he a bounty hunter, too?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being too nosy all at once.

  John laughed and shook his head. “No, he’s an investment banker,” he said. “He’s a desk guy, a numbers guy. But he has family money, and he made a small fortune in banking. I begged him to make an investment in my company several years ago, we’ve been partners ever since.”

  “What did you do before that?” I asked.

  “I was in the Navy. Intelligence,” he said. “All of the guys who work for us are ex-military.”

  Okay, so now I understood how he had the skill set. But what had made him want to start a bounty hunter business? I didn’t know how to ask him gracefully, so I decided to be blunt. “How did you end up doing this?” I asked.

  He coughed. “Long story,” he said. He rubbed his eyes and then he poured us both some more wine.

  “I’ve got time,” I said gently.

  “I lost someone very close to me,” he said. He took a sip of wine and then closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch.

  “My daughter. She was taken from me. She was only eighteen. She was on vacation in Mexico when she was abducted. Possibly for a sex ring, or maybe she was doing drugs. I don’t know. Her friends said they left her in the hotel. She was supposed to come meet them at a bar but never showed.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, like he had a headache. “We never found her,” he said, sitting up and finishing his wine in one gulp.

  I sat there for a moment, speechless. “Oh, John,” I said, and I reached out to hug him, to hold him. “I’m so, so sorry.” I pulled his head to my chest and I stroked his hair.

  “At first, I went through the proper authorities. Then I used any power or influence I had with my peers in the government, called in every favor I could. I got nowhere. No one knew what happened to her,” he said, softly. “I went myself and looked, for a year. I had a few leads, but they went nowhere.”

  His voice was resigned. “She was gone, without a trace. I can't help thinking that someone did it to get back at me. I don't know who. A lot of the work I did for the military was highly classified — I didn't always know who my targets were or whom they were working for. So someone could have wanted to hurt me, and maybe they had better information than I did. It's all speculation. I've been over it in my head so many times that all the possibilities start to run together.”

  “She could still be out there,” I said, cringing that I was saying the wrong thing, hurting him more.

  John just sighed. “It could be true. I wish it were, but then again, God only knows where she is and what her life’s like if she’s alive.” He paused for a minute. “I’m pretty thorough, though; I don't have much hope. But I’m still always looking for her.”

  I blew out a deep breath and stroked his face. I couldn't believe that this had happened to him. He looked so perfect, so clean and pulled together. Like his life had been spotless. I would have never known that he had suffered this kind of loss.

  “After that I couldn’t bring myself to go back to my regular duties. They didn’t seem important anymore. So with my father’s backing, I started our company and hired some of the best guys I’d worked with.” He shrugged. “We’ve been doing it for five years.”

  He sat up and looked at me. “I told you I believe that everything happens for a reason. I suffered over what this could mean for a long time.” He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, but continued. “I came to understand that the reason this happened to me was because it inspired me, and I’m in a unique position to help other people. I have suffered a terrible loss; but I can help people who also suffer. I might have never found this path otherwise.”

  He opened his eyes and smiled at me, ruefully. “Plus, catching bad guys makes me feel better.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, some pieces of the puzzle starting to fall together. “What’s her name?” I asked. “Your daughter?”

  “Catherine,” he said. “I was too young when I had her. I was about your age.” He poured himself some more wine, but I waived it away. I needed to be clear, to understand him, to be there for him.

  “And her mother?” I asked, afraid. Afraid she was beautiful, totally perfect, and still around somewhere.

  “Long gone. Married to a startup guy in Southern California,” John said. “We weren’t good for each other. She was a ‘free spirit,’ which really just ended up meaning that she was unapologetically irresponsible. We didn’t stay together long.”

  He shook his head. “She was never much of a disciplinarian. I blame myself, really. She let Catherine go to Mexico on spring break with her friends when they were seniors. I was deployed then, didn’t even know what was going on. I only spoke to them sporadically.” He put his face in his hands and I rubbed his back, wanting desperately to help, to ease some of his pain.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said to him, softly.

  He sat up and cupped my face in his hands. “You are an angel,” he said. “Thank you. But what I’ve done I can’t undo. And it’s my cross to bear.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  KNOCK KNOCK

  We slept next to each other again that night. On the couch, with his arms wrapped around me. I dreamt of crystal blue waters in Mexico, of dangerous shadows, of my mother hiding in a corner. Then I started having a dream that we were both taking our clothes off and rubbing up against each other. I woke up with a start, sweating, my heart pounding. John jumped up, too. We looked at each other and laughed.

  I was really glad he couldn’t see inside my head.

  “We're almost there,” John said, and what felt like a jolt of electricity ran through me. Today was tomorrow, and we were going to be doing something today.

  He rubbed my back, making me feel warm again. I snuggled back against him, hoping he didn’t notice the sheen of sweat.

  “I would say that I wished we lived on this bus, so that we can stay together on this couch forever, but…” he leaned down and slowly kissed the side of my face, from my the top of my cheek to my jawbone. “...it’s a bus.”

  He kissed me like that some more and what felt like liquid heat rolled through my body, making me ache. I turned and kissed him on the mouth, greedily, not caring that I was sweaty and that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. He kissed me back, hard. It was like someone lit a match — I was burning. Nothing else mattered. On pure instinct, I wound my legs through his and pressed my pelvis up against him. I needed to feel him against me. I heard him take a sharp breath and then he kissed me some more. I could feel a certain part of him pressing against me, hard and hot. This is what I was looking for. I didn’t know it until I felt it; it made the ache almost unbearable. To my utter horror, I found myself grabbing his behind, crushing him against me.

  He sat up suddenly, breaking our embrace. “Liberty,” he said, breathing hard. He kept his hands on my shoulders as if to hold me at arm’s length. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “We’ll be in Rhode Island shortly. Let’s wait until we have some actual privacy.”

  I sat up, cringing. Inexplicably, my eyes filled with hot tears again. I wrapped my arms around my legs and put my face against my knees, completely humiliated. Now I knew what I was feeling: rejection. I couldn’t control myself around him, but he was still in control.

  He was way out of my league. If he was a fairytale for me, I was probably a boring rerun for him. I looked at his rumpled hair and shirt, his tan face, his piercing blue eyes, and his bulging ... muscles. I tried not to look at the bulge in his pants, because my a
che was throbbing, hurting me. I felt crestfallen. The way he looked, and how sophisticated he was, I was probably a multiple boring rerun.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It was true; I didn’t. I’d never acted like this in my life.

  “Don’t be crazy! Are you being crazy?” he asked, leaning down and scooping me into his arms. “Don’t you know I feel exactly the same way?” He kissed my face gently and wiped away the stray tears I’d allowed to escape.

  “Don’t you know I want exactly the same thing?” He asked, his voice suddenly fierce. He pushed me back gently on the couch and spread my legs apart with his knees.Then he pressed against me, hard, so hard I had to hold my breath so I didn’t cry out. “I want this more than you, but,” he said. He pressed against me then, down there, crushing me with his hardness in the spot that ached.

  “But?” I cried out and arched my back, trying to get as close to him as I could through my clothes.

  “But,” he said, and forced himself against me one more time. I heard myself moan. Then he abruptly sat up. I heard myself groan in disappointment. It was official: my body had taken over. I was operating on auto-hormonal-pilot. Come back. Come back, I thought. I sat up and looked at him pleadingly, all traces of self-consciousness and pride gone.

  “But,” he said, untucking his shirt to cover himself and sitting up resignedly, “we’re on a bus with a dozen guys, one of whom is my prisoner. I want to wait until we’re alone.” He leaned over and kissed my face tenderly, then whispered in my ear. “I want to be alone with you. I want to take our time. I want you to be loud, if you need to be.” He smiled a wicked grin and I felt myself blush, instantly, from my neck up to my hairline.

  How was I going to do this? I had no idea how to do this. I was definitely going to do this. But...When he touched me, there was no question. When he let go, I had nothing but questions.

  This was going to be tricky. All of it.

  * * *

  I went back to my seat in the front so I would keep my hands off John. The good news was that Darius didn’t have the guts to even raise his eyes in my general direction. The bad news was that we were almost there, and even though I was happy about the prospect of a shower and clean hair, I was also afraid. I still didn’t know why I was here or who we were after. My old life, my real life, seemed far away. We had gone through New York, Connecticut, and then finally, we were in Rhode Island. I could tell it was New England because the way the houses looked changed: they had shutters, chimneys, two front doors. It was June and it was beautiful out; everywhere you looked were green lawns, rosebushes, and road construction.

  “Why is there so much construction?” I asked John, as we drove by another set of workers.

  “New England has four seasons,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Fall, winter, a brief spring, and road construction. We pride ourselves on having nice roads in New England ... except Massachusetts. Don’t get me started on Massachusetts!” he said, and then resumed talking to the guys in the back.

  Matthew was looking at me in the rear view mirror. “Aren’t you tired?” I asked. He’d been driving almost straight through, with a few bathroom breaks and what seemed like a pretty short nap.

  “Nah,” he said, “I’m used to it. Besides, we’re almost there.”

  He kept looking at me. I raised my eyebrows at him, expectantly. “Wait till you see it,” he said, and turned his eyes back towards the road.

  I watched as we turned down a residential road. It was a ritzy area. There were lots of brick walls and long driveways. Again, I felt out of my element — my element being crowded apartment complexes with tired carpets, insects and the occasional broken bottle in the parking lot. Then Matthew turned down a gravel driveway and we stopped at a wrought-iron gate. There was a single star etched into the iron; it was fitting, because I felt like once we crossed the threshold, we were going to be in Never-Never Land, a place that was beautiful but wasn’t really possible for regular people. You would have to be magic to live here … like John was.

  There must have been some sort of security camera, because Matthew stuck his head out the window and then a few moments later the gate swung open. I could see the rolling green grass of an enormous lawn as we followed the gravel driveway to the house. But it wasn’t a house; it was an estate.

  The facade was grey brick, with massive arched windows. Two red brick chimneys jutted out from either side of the roof. I could see the ocean behind the house. It hadn’t been visible from the road. The view was soothing to look at: the lovely house did not interfere with or detract from the sun-dappled green grass and the sparkling ocean. It was like the house belonged there; like it had organically grown there.

  I saw Matthew watching me from the rear view mirror. He pulled the bus forward into the driveway, past the house, and parked it. Then he turned around. “I told you,” he said, reading my expression, and smiled.

  I stood up, happy to be able to stretch. I was a little shaky. John appeared at my side. “Hi,” he said. “You ready to get off this thing?”

  I nodded and followed him off the bus silently. The rest of the guys were grabbing bags, talking. They sounded upbeat. Everyone was probably glad to be home, if that’s what they called it. Everyone except Darius. I could hear one of the guards yelling at him, telling him to move it.

  I wasn’t sure where they were taking him.

  Getting off the bus was disorienting. The scent of ocean air, the rolling green grass, was such a contrast to the muggy air of the bus. I’d never seen the Atlantic Ocean before; I couldn’t wait to swim in it. It must be more forgiving than the harsh Pacific that I was used to. John was next to me, his shirt open at the throat, the sun glinting off his hair, which, I now saw, had flecks of grey and blond in it. “Feels good, doesn't it?” he asked, turning his face towards the sun.

  “It's so beautiful,” I whisper, trying to take in the enormous house and grounds. I don't belong here.

  “You're more beautiful than all of it,” he said to me in a low tone. He lightly ran his finger up my arm. A delicious spasm erupted in my lower abdomen. Anticipation. Anticipation of what, I wasn't exactly sure — but I had a general idea. I smiled at him, trying to keep my cool.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking down, feeling a creeping blush. This was exhausting. I needed to take a shower, wash my dirty hair, and clear my hormone-addled brain.

  “Okay, so now you have to make a choice,” John said, smiling at me kindly. “House? Or barracks?”

  “Huh?” I asked. “What's a barrack?”

  He pointed behind me. A long red row house, with simple white windows, was at the other end of the property, near the edge of the forest. “It’s where the guys sleep. It’s pretty bare bones: bunk beds, communal showers —” he laughed here, and I just scowled at him. “Not for you, Liberty. You would have your own room and your own bathroom. Or you can have the Princess Suite in the house. King bed, luxurious bath with a whirlpool tub. And no smelly guys around.”

  I looked at him and bit my lip. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. “It depends,” I said, looking at the ground.

  “On?” John asked, his voice impassive.

  “On whether or not you’re a smelly guy," I said, and surrendered to the crimson blush that was flaring up to my forehead.

  “I always stay in the barracks with the team,” John said. “But we do go to the house to watch the Red Sox. And the Bruins. And the Celtics. And the Patriots. And for dinner every night. So we’re actually there a lot,” he laughed.

  “I want to be near you,” I said, looking at the ground. It was true. Inexplicably true. I didn’t want to be five feet away from him, and I didn’t know what that meant.

  “That’s what I want, too,” he said, and put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the red house. “We’ll be neighbors. I’ll always be near if you need me.” He reached down and grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.


  Something happened to me then. Some small spark of hope lit up in my heart. I hoped this was real. I hoped this would last. It was the first time I had let myself hope for something for a long, long time.

  I regretted it as soon as I felt it. Strippers can’t blush, and strippers don’t get happily ever afters. This stripper needed to wise up, I thought to myself. Fast.

  * * *

  He’d taken me on a brief walk around the grounds, showing me the beautiful gardens, pool, and view of the dock and water; in the interim, someone had prepared my room. It wasn’t saying much, but the barracks were much nicer than my apartment. The floors were concrete and the walls were bare white but everything was immaculate, like it was scrubbed down on a daily basis. Someone had put adorable blue and white striped cotton sheets on my bed with a matching comforter, a bunch of coordinated pillows, and left several books there to read. Pride and Prejudice, The House of Mirth, all four Twilight books. Someone knew what I liked. It was freaky — someone knew exactly what I liked. A shiver went down my spine, and it wasn’t the pleasant kind. There was a dresser that had piles of neatly folded clothes on top; someone had bought more clothes for me as well. I peered into the bathroom and saw an abundant amount of expensive shampoos, soaps and lotion, along with what looked like a new makeup kit on the vanity.