Jack smiled at her, touching her nose. “Because besides my family, you’re the only one who’s ever tried to protect me. It’s…endearing.”
“Mitch protects you.”
“He’s my Carey equivalent. He’s basically family,” Jack replied, tracing up to her brow with a fingertip. “Don’t you know I can take care of myself, baby?”
“Maybe I’m trying to protect myself.”
“No, baby,” Jack shook his head. “You take care of everyone. That’s why they follow you anywhere—why they are loyal to you through anything.”
“That’s the job.”
Jack laughed again, kissing her forehead. “You’re an idiot if you think loyalty’s something you can pay men for, tesoro. And you’re no idiot. You know men are only loyal for three reasons.”
“Name them.”
“Love, fear, and respect,” he answered, punctuating each answer with a brief kiss.
“Not sure about the first but I definitely like the last two,” she replied, kissing his throat.
“But the first is the best…”
“No—it’s the most fickle and erratic. That makes it the most dangerous,” she countered.
“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But it’s also the most powerful, because you can’t command it.”
Jack slipped his hand into the tangle of her hair, lifting her up and over him. He looked up at her, his free hand running down her neck through the valley of her breasts, coming to rest on her heart again. Samantha watched him, her eyes warming. “Now that you have me here,” he began, tugging her down so he could kiss her again. “How will you command me?”
Samantha drew his hands up, holding his wrists down by his head. Her hair cascaded around them, a veil shielding them from the night and the world beyond it. Jack relaxed in the seclusion with her, reveling in the moment and his body’s response. God, how he loved her. But he didn’t say it. Jack knew she’d push away, create distance when he could feel her drawing closer to him every day. But it wouldn’t be long before he’d either let it flow out of him unchecked, or she’d finally open her eyes to it. Either way, he felt the confrontation coming; could taste it like ozone before an electrical storm.
Jack felt Samantha brush up against him, teasing. He slid his hands from her grasp, tilting her hips so he could surge into her, sitting up to kiss her mouth while she groaned into his. He pulled back a little, relishing the delicious friction, before pushing up into her again. “You belong to me,” he whispered.
But Samantha shook her head.
“Yes,” he insisted, pulling her hair so he could kiss and lick her neck.
“I belong to no one,” she gritted out, rolling her hips as she peered down at him, a glint in her eye while she undulated, her skin pearlescent in the moonlight.
Jack twisted her hair in his fist, twining it over her shoulder so he could push up to his elbow and kiss the exposed skin there. Bite it. He met her push for thrust, making her gasp, showing her he wouldn’t back down. “We belong with each other, tesoro,” he insisted, pinching her nipple, making her cry out in pleasure laced with that little edge of pain. “You’ll see it, baby.” She twisted on him in retaliation, clenching him so hard with slick inner muscles Jack thought he saw stars.
“And what will I see, Jack?” she asked, cinching her legs around his waist while they worked each other.
“Inevitability,” Jack answered, teeth clenched with the pleasure. “Certainty,” he continued, pressing his cheek against her breast as she rose and fell against him. “Non pensavo di poter provare un sentimento così profondo prima di incontrarti.”13
“I don’t understand you,” she groaned, her hand finding his, bringing it to her sex, registering their duality and their connection. “Something about experience… Jesus, God that feels good…” she shuddered, pressing his fingers tighter to her clit. “Depth of feeling… Christ, yessss…” she hissed, her head falling back as he worked her.
“You understand me, tesoro. You just don’t want to…”
In the darkness of the room, they took each other, straining toward the climax, even as they tried to stave it off, draw the moment out. At one point, they stopped struggling for power, lacing their fingers together, stoking the sensations within each other as they twined together like an intricate knot.
“Jack—” Samantha cried out as her body shook with long, luxurious spasms.
“Let go, tesoro,” he breathed, coming deep. “Just let go. I’ve got you,” he promised, following her as he hid himself within her, clasping her tighter than he’d ever held anyone.
Chapter 19
November—Thursday afternoon
NBS Corporate Headquarters, New York
S A M A N T H A
“We’ve selected the team who will be going to Brazil, and after careful consideration as well as your outstanding recommendations from two of our subsidiaries, we’d like Lennox Chase to insure and lead security for the group of journalists, photographers, and camera crew we’ve selected.”
Sam smiled at Rick Landiss, the Executive Producer of NBS’s flagship news program, one of the most esteemed and longest-running broadcasts on US television. They sat in his large corner office in Midtown Manhattan, and she was struck with the brief thought that her dad would have loved to have met him. She’d grown up watching Landiss anchor the Global Record, an early pioneer to investigative reporting, long before the era of twenty-four seven news networks.
“Mr. Landiss, I’ve been watching this show for as long as I can remember. It would be an honor to protect your crew,” Sam smiled. “Carey and I have the perfect team in mind to accompany your group, though we can talk through some of the specific locations and types of interviews you’re looking to conduct to do a bit of fine-tuning.”
Carey nodded, adding, “The men we have in mind for this assignment are all experienced in the region and have the language skills and the contacts to make sure your team has the coverage to conduct their interviews as safely as possible.”
Rick sat back at his desk, steepling his fingers as he regarded them. Though he’d long since stepped away from the camera to produce, he had the steely look and character of a man who’d seen and heard it all in over thirty years of hard-nosed journalism. Sam liked his no-nonsense style and his unwavering blue gaze.
“I’d like you to work directly with the photojournalist we’ve hired to lead the story,” Rick told them. “He’s put together the initial storyboards and the type of interviews we’d like to conduct for this four-part series. You should know he’s used to running an independent operation with little-to-no interference, so I need to make sure his move to prime time is as seamless as possible without affecting the integrity of the work.”
“Of course,” Sam replied. “Is he used to reporting in unstable situations or has he had any exposure to combat?”
Rick nodded. “He’s done several assignments in the Middle East and Africa. He’s actually broken a lot of stories major news networks were either unwilling or unable to investigate. But, like I said, he’s been operating either on his own or with two or three other photojournalists, so moving to a more extensive news and production crew with a broader team of journalists will be his introduction to the majors.”
“Have we heard of him?” Carey asked.
“If you follow the Associated Press and Reuters, probably,” Rick answered. He reached for a file on his desk, handing it to them. “Wesley Elliott. He operates an indie agency out of Austin with his partners Martin Perry and Chris Fields. They rep photojournalists and reporters who work mainly freelance, but Wes has been focused almost entirely on fieldwork. He did a powerful set of stories on Syria before most people even knew where it was.”
Sam felt her breath catch though her face remained polite and attentive. She felt Carey look at her, though she didn’t acknowledge it, glancing briefly down at Wes’s picture as she fought to appear unaffected. Wes looked a little wild with week-old scruff and a keffiyeh tied around his neck,
his favorite Nikon in his browned hand. She was surprised to even recognize that camera. But then, he’d carried it with him everywhere, even all those years ago.
Perhaps it’s because you didn’t want to remember, her mind whispered. He took so many photos of you with it.
“Does he have prior experience in Brazil?” she asked, handing the file over to Carey, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Some,” Rick acknowledged. “Though he does have contacts through his network,” he added. “Wes has already got a lead on who he’d like to interview for the first two segments on Movimento Passe Livre as well as the Black Bloc youth demonstrators in Rio and Sao Paulo. You heard about the violence last week with the teachers and trade unionists demonstrating in Rio? We originally had this scheduled to kick off a month from now, but he’s itching to get down there and get some initial interviews going while the getting’s hot. We’re months away from the World Cup, and tensions are high.”
“Where is Wes now?” Sam heard herself ask.
“In Austin, prepping,” Rick replied. “We’d like the team on the ground within the next few days.”
“That’s not a problem,” Carey answered smoothly when Sam didn’t immediately respond. “We’ll send our team leaders to Austin tonight to sit down with him first thing tomorrow and start working through the details.”
“Team leaders?” Rick asked, his brow knitting in question.
“Yes,” Carey responded. “We have one person run point with Mr. Elliott at all times, a second to manage tactical operations in the background, and in this instance, we recommend a third leader to manage transport and logistics. Depending on how large the total crew you send is, we generally have at least eight to ten on guard at all times.”
“Can this team be discreet?” Rick asked.
“Very,” Carey responded confidently. “The team is comprised predominantly of former Special Forces operatives who are used to working subtly in both surveillance and reconnaissance. They won’t be obtrusive or a hindrance in any way. In fact, with their language skills, connections, and knowledge of the city, Mr. Elliott and your crew will likely find them a great resource.”
“Good,” Rick nodded. “We don’t generally outfit our news crews with this level of protection detail, but in this instance, with tensions this high, I don’t want to take any chances.” He paused, taking a sip of coffee. “But let me be clear: I also expect the quality of this investigative reporting to remain exceptional. You need to enable this team to do their job to the best of their ability,” he said, leveling them both with a meaningful stare.
“Of course,” Sam assured him, her voice steady even though her throat was cotton dry. “We have a great deal of experience in inconspicuous protection, and with our experience in Brazil, Mr. Elliott will likely find more the team more of a help than a hindrance.”
They knocked out the rest of the details in the remaining thirty minutes of their meeting with Sam struggling to remain focused over the barrage of suppressed emotion. She kept seeing flashes of the Wes of her memories combined with the photo she’d glimpsed in the folder, wondering at how she could have forgotten the intensity behind the near-leonine shape of his amber eyes. He’d been a head-turner in his early twenties. But with a little age and maturity? God help her.
“We’re sending the team down in the jet in two or three days. I can confirm the dates by tomorrow,” Rick was saying.
“Our leads can go with Mr. Elliott,” Carey answered. “If your assistant could email me his contact information, I’ll forward it to my men now.”
As Rick called in his assistant, Carey glanced at her, his minute expression asking if she was okay as she answered with the briefest of nods. Carey stood to greet the assistant, pulling out his smartphone as she emailed him the data from her tablet.
Sam proceeded to go over some of the high-level contractual details with Rick, forwarding him and his legal team the actual documents from her tablet as they spoke.
“Will you or Carey be part of the team?” Rick asked her.
Carey glanced at her, waiting for her answer.
Sam’s face smoothed into a cool, professional smile. “The team we’ll assign you is top notch. But if you require us for any reason to engage in the region, we’re happy to oblige where appropriate,” she assured him.
Rick stood with her, shaking the hand she extended. “I look forward to working with you, Ms. Wyatt, Mr. Nelson,” he nodded. “I hear your team are the some of the best in the business,” he said, gifting a rare smile.
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “We’ll do our utmost to ensure the safety of your team while they put together what I’m sure will be a very impressive piece of investigative journalism.”
“The ratings will tell,” Rick replied.
*
November—A few hours later
Teterboro Airport, New York
S A M A N T H A
It was already snowing in New York. Sam watched the beginning of gentle flurries in the cold night air. She briefly wondered if it would be snowing in Chicago for Thanksgiving.
“He looks the same,” Carey commented. “Just a few years older.”
No, Sam thought, still looking out the window of the jet as she sipped the mineral water Harris had given her after she’d gotten seated. He was different. Seasoned. More intense.
Carey put down his tablet and flipped open the file folder Rick had given them on Wes. “You want to read this file? It’s basically his résumé and a little bit of his portfolio. He’s done well for himself.”
“He was always talented,” she responded, eyes tracking the snow lit by the jet’s wing lighting.
“Got a great break with AP and Reuters just after he graduated A&M,” Carey told her, reading the file. “He was in Yugoslavia covering the uprising against Milosevic while you were going into the Navy.”
“I’m graduating, Sammy. And you’ve got another year before you’re in the service. It’s a great opportunity. A dream come true. I can’t pass this up…”
The flurries were becoming a little thicker, coming down a little bit harder. She laid her head back against the headrest.
“He was in Gujarat during the Muslim fire-bombing of that train while you were deployed to Afghanistan the first time.”
“Yours is the only photograph I carry. You’re the last thing I see every night. Anywhere I am. Always…”
The jet began a slow taxi toward the runway.
“He got his first major news spread for his work in Darfur while you were on your second tour.”
“I feel like I’m walking around without a piece of me… I miss you, Sammy. God, I miss you so much…”
Sam listened to the shuffle of papers.
“Looks like he was in the Sudan for a while before he transitioned to Turkey and Northern Iraq,” Carey continued. “He got some good coverage of the Kurdish insurgency into Turkish territory. Looks to be right about when you decided to go to law school.”
The blue lights of the runway were soothing. She loved the vibrant color, glowing in the cold, black night as the jet turned, taxiing faster. Harris picked up their glasses, letting them know they were second in line for takeoff.
“He started his agency with a couple photojournalist buddies while you were at that law firm.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sammy. God, never that. But we can’t keep doing this. I have to end this before we pull each other apart. Forgive me for not being there for you right now. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through, but you’ll see your way through it—like everything else. You’re the strongest person I know, Sammy. You are the love of my life…”
Sam had read that last letter so many times that it had finally fallen apart in her hands. And then it was—enough. She’d let him go, and if she was honest, she relinquished a big part of herself when she did it.
The jet began the smooth acceleration toward liftoff. She closed her eyes, enjoying the momentum. She loved the sen
sation of barreling down a runway, headed somewhere far, fast—a new city, a new direction. She relished the exact moment when gravity finally loosened its hold.
“He won a Pulitzer for his photos in the Green Zone when we were setting up shop at Lennox.”
The jet lifted seamlessly, the roar of the engines quieting as they began the ascent.
Carey put down the file. “Since they’ve got about twelve people, I think we should double the team size.”
“We still agreed on Talon, Rush, and Michaelson?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. Rush will work great with Wes. Michaelson leads logistics, and Talon will be on overwatch as usual. I want to send Henri with him—they can balance each other.” Carey paused, waiting for her to weigh in. When she said nothing, he continued. “We can send Talon and Henri down to Rio to get the rest of the team there prepped and ready while Rush and Simon go to Austin to meet Wes.”
The jet leveled out. She heard Harris beside her, pouring her another water.
“Could you pour me a bourbon, Harris?”
Carey looked up from the folder. “Make that two.”
“Will you want the usual for dinner?” Harris asked.
“Sure,” Sam answered, closing her eyes again.
Carey was silent for a while, but she could feel him watching her.
“You going to be all right with this?”
She said nothing.
“I can make sure you’re up to speed while I run interference. We have a few gigs coming up that will be more focused on negotiations anyway. I think this will be ninety-five percent security. They’ve all worked Brazil, and Rush is ready.”
The captain announced their altitude, the weather, and time to Chicago.
“Sammy—”
“Your drinks,” Harris announced quietly, setting the bourbons in front of them on the small table.
“Thanks, Harris.”
Samantha opened her eyes and looked at Carey.
“I’m fine, Bear.”
“Fine as in actually okay or as in fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?” he asked, leaning toward her.
Complicated Creatures: Part One Page 30