Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  Wes ordered and then wandered over to the sitting area, kicking back on one of the arm chairs.

  “You two ever sleep?” he asked, watching Evan clean his gun as Simon messed around on his tablet, one eye on the television.

  Simon shrugged. “Game’s on. Try not to miss a chance to see Newcastle beat Manchester City if I can help it,” he replied with a smirk, turning the volume up slightly. “And I love the Portuguese and Spanish sports casters—they make more noise than the bloody fans.”

  Wes chuckled. “True. That’s pure entertainment value alone.” He watched the game for a few minutes before saying, “I feel like I’ve watched more soccer in the last fifteen years, but I’m still a diehard football fan.”

  Evan high-fived him while Simon scoffed. “This is football. Not that helmet, padded shite.”

  “Whatever,” Evan replied, grinning at Wes. “You see South Carolina beat Clemson last week? Fifth straight win, baby!”

  Wes shrugged. “Mizzou beat A&M to reach SEC. I’m pretty much out now,” he admitted, a little forlorn. He didn’t get to watch many games, but he always tried to stay on top of his alma mater’s scores. Made him feel a little closer to Texas no matter where he was in the world.

  “Yeah, that’s a shame,” Evan sympathized. “My boss would agree with you. I can hear her now, cussing up a storm. She’s still pissed A&M didn’t break Top Ten this year.”

  “Is this the Carey chick you talk to everyday?” Wes asked, getting up to get a beer from the mini bar. “You guys want one?”

  “Nah. We’re dry on the job, remember?” Simon said, watching the tube.

  “At,” Wes looked at his watch, “two in the morning?” He turned away from them, looking for a bottle opener in the wet bar area.

  “Old habits die hard.” Evan shrugged. “Nah. Carey Nelson is a guy. He runs the security side of Lennox Chase. Sam Wyatt runs the Human Asset Protection division; she’s more the negotiations and client-partner side. She’s the one who’s the A&M grad.”

  Wes’s whole body stiffened in shock. He fought not to choke on the beer he’d been knocking back. Thankfully he was still facing away from the guys so they couldn’t see the apoplectic expression of surprise that had taken over his face.

  “I thought she was Naval Academy like you,” Simon remarked.

  “Nah. She was Naval ROTC at A&M,” Evan clarified. “She and Carey are both Texan, but hell, I like ’em anyway. We Southerners gotta stick together, right?”

  Wes closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pull it together. “Damn straight,” he replied, swinging around to lean back at the bar. His skin felt hot and tight.

  “Well, they don’t make them like that in the British military,” Simon commented, still watching the game.

  Evan chuckled, “They don’t make them like that anywhere. She’s a one of a kind.”

  Wes ran a trembling hand in his hair, hiding his response by gripping the back of his neck. Evan was right. She was. No one knew that better than him. She was the summit you dreamed about after falling off the rock wall. The high you try to chase after that first hit. Sammy was the girl you spend the rest of your life measuring other women against. All guys have them. All guys know.

  “Bring me another bottle of water, would ya?” Simon asked.

  Wes grabbed a bottle from the bar, tossing it to him as he found his motor functions again, attempting to school his expression. Simon caught the bottle without looking.

  Sammy was the boss. Of course she was. And she knew he was on the NBS team. If she worked with the clients, she’d know that. Of course she did. Wes reeled at the implications, trying to absorb the reality, think through the facts. He needed more information. It was clear neither Evan nor Simon realized Wes and Sam knew each other. That they had a history so dense, it hurt to even remember the outermost edges of it.

  “Who’s this now? Your boss?” Wes asked casually, sitting down again and propping a foot up on the table.

  “Yeah,” Evan answered, blowing off a brush he’d been using to clean the gun chamber. “Been working for her for almost three years now. I didn’t serve with her in the Navy, but she had a reputation as one of the best interrogators in the Middle East.”

  “No shit?” Wes said, trying to control his heart rate and appear nonchalant.

  “He’s not kidding. We even knew about her in the SAS,” Simon affirmed, eyes still on the game. He groaned when his team lost a shot. “Sodding bastards, how could you miss that goal?”

  “What made her so good?” Wes asked Evan over Simon’s tirade. He wondered briefly if either men heard the hitch in his voice.

  Evan shook his head, a small grin on his mouth. “She’s ruthless when she wants to be. Creative. She’ll get what she’s looking for, come hell or high water. I think the interrogations were more psychological than anything. She’s got a way about her.”

  No kidding. She can tear the heart out of you with just a look, Wes thought. He was saved from his rumination by a knock at the door. Evan gestured him down as he went to do the door, pulling out a 9mm from his holster while Simon moved silently to the wall adjoining, eyes on the door.

  “It’s room service, guys,” Wes sighed. “Not Hezbollah.”

  “At this hour, I don’t care if it’s your mum,” Simon muttered, holding his own gun up as Evan answered the door.

  A nervous-looking man attempted to wheel the food in before Evan stopped him, taking the check off the tray and signing with flourish before politely kicking him out with some cash and an obrigado e boa noite.22

  Wes avoiding asked more questions about Sam, trying not to be too obvious. “How did you guys get into this anyway? Is this kind of stuff a typical field for guys getting out of the special forces?” Wes asked, tucking into his sandwich.

  “Not necessarily,” Evan replied. “I got into it because Carey trained me at BUD/s and recruited me when he heard I was thinking of getting out after my last tour.”

  “How many tours did you do?”

  “Two,” Evan replied.

  “I’d ask but I don’t suppose you’d tell me where,” Wes said.

  Evan shrugged noncommittally.

  “And you?” Wes asked Simon.

  “I took some shrapnel and ended up being honorably discharged,” Simon answered, popping an empanada into his mouth. “But the thought of going back to merry old England and doing a nine-to-five bored me to tears. Went private with a different group that handled more hostage and rescue situations. Got tired of getting my ass hung out to dry, so voilà! I’m here now.”

  “It’s so much better here, man,” Evan stated between bites of a bauru sandwich. “Carey and Sam check on the status of all their teams first thing every day. They don’t take any other meetings until everyone’s accounted for,” Evan told him. “They put the team first before anything.”

  “Isn’t that typical?” Wes asked.

  Simon snorted into his food, still watching the television.

  Evan looked at him, amused. “No, man. You get used to being expendable. You’re trained to give it all and leave it on the table, but everyone knows that if you don’t make it out, that’s the cost. When you go private, it’s harder to justify without God and country, ya know?”

  Wes nodded. “So what’s different about your company?” he asked.

  Evan polished off his sandwich. “Because to Sam and Carey, we’re as much the assets as the clients are to them. They know all of us, and in some cases, we fought together, so we have that bond, and in all cases, we’re handpicked.”

  “How many people work for them?”

  “In our division?” Evan asked.

  Wes nodded.

  Evan thought for a moment. “About a hundred globally. Not bad for almost three years old.”

  “So she started it,” Wes clarified.

  “You have a lot of questions all of the sudden,” Simon stated, shifting his eyes from the match on the television to Wes. His gaze was steady and watchful.

 
Wes struggled not to fidget. He feigned casual instead. “I’m a journalist. Goes with the job. Besides, I’ve been in the field for over a dozen years, and I’ve never had the luxury of a security task force. Sue me if I’m a little curious about how this all works. This whole thing is about as normal to me as pterodactyls flying down from Sugarloaf Mountain.”

  That got a chuckle out of both of them.

  Evan, by far the friendlier of the two, answered his earlier question. “This business was originally centered on kidnap and ransom, which started getting really lucrative in certain parts of the world in the early nineties.”

  “Like Latin America,” Simon added.

  “Like Latin America,” Evan agreed. “But it also became a way for rebel factions, militias, and terrorists to raise cash in Eastern Europe, the Russian satellite states, and parts of Southeast Asia really quickly. Nab a well-to-do somebody and get money for delivering them back to safety.”

  “And you can imagine the kinds of places and the kinds of training it requires to deal with groups like this on their home turf,” Simon interjected.

  “The perfect gig for ex-special-forces types who don’t want to go back to a job in the City?” Wes surmised.

  “Fuck yeah, it is,” Simon answered. “Only this time, you get paid really well to do it.”

  “So there are several groups out there that specialize in this skillset and work closely with insurance underwriters,” Evan continued.

  “But I thought Lennox Chase was an insurance company?”

  “Exactly,” Evan stated, finishing his meal. “That’s the genius of it. Sam became an attorney after leaving the Navy. She was negotiating mergers and deals with high-level executives. Carey was running a security company protecting these high-level executives. They decided to join forces and pitch the idea of providing preventative insurance before K&R became necessary, cutting down payouts for premiums. That’s why the division is called Human Asset Protection. Lennox Chase just happened to be the first takers.”

  “I should do a story on you guys,” Wes murmured.

  “Nah, not us,” Evan said. “You should see Sam and Carey in action together.”

  “Really? Why?” Wes asked, feeling his heart speed up again. He remembered Carey as Ryland’s friend. Last time he’d seen Carey, he’d just been a kid, barely in high school.

  “They’re an amazing team,” Evan commented, snapping Wes back from his reverie. “Like two halves of a whole brain in the field. I don’t think they even need to talk to each other. It’s like watching a Vulcan mind meld.”

  Simon laughed out loud. “The danger twins. I like it.”

  Wes felt his heart constrict. Were they just business partners? More than that? His head throbbed with the implications.

  “I’m glad you’re up,” Evan said, shifting topics. “I was going to talk to you about this in the morning, but I’m ninety-five percent certain the demonstrations are going to get ugly tomorrow. We need to talk about logistics and how to get what you want accomplished without killing you in the process.”

  *

  November—End of the month

  Sam’s office in the Loop, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  “How was check-in with Rush and Michaelson?” Sam asked, reviewing end-of-the-week status reports with Carey in her office, the late Friday afternoon sun filtering through her windows.

  “Wes apparently wants to do a story on us.” Carey smirked. “He was asking a lot of questions last night, according to Rush. And Simon wanted to know how Wes knows you.”

  Sam’s gaze snapped up. “What?”

  “Wes wants to do a story—”

  “What in the actual fuck, Bear?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “Did he tell Simon he knew me? How did Wes hear about me?”

  Carey shrugged. “Dunno. But Simon said his body language gave it away pretty quickly. Said he tensed up tighter than a virgin at the mention of your name.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He ain’t comin’ for ya today, Sammy girl,” Carey chuckled. “Why does it matter? It was only a matter of time before he found out you were at the other end of the leash. You want to tell me why you’re still so broken up over this guy?”

  She blinked, pushing back from her desk to turn and look out her window. It had been a crystalline, sunny day and now the late afternoon sunlight glinted off the buildings of downtown Chicago like hot coals. Sam drew in a slow breath. The pressure she’d felt ever since Wes came back into the picture built behind her eyes. “I’m not broken up, Bear,” she countered. “Just figured he’d do his thing, we do ours. I just don’t really want to visit Christmas past, you know?”

  Carey observed her for a moment. “That’s the funny thing about history, Sammy. You can’t outrun it. And it’s the damndest thing—it often repeats itself.”

  “What do you know about it?” she snapped, her voice laced with anger. She could taste the bitterness in her mouth, fueled by that awful pressure banding around her temples and making her head throb.

  “Not much,” Carey admitted. “I was just a kid, but I remember how messed up you were back then. Between your daddy and Ryland, and then Wes. Momma said you’d gotten your heart broken so many times, she didn’t think you’d ever be able to put it back together again.”

  “Your momma’s a screaming romantic, and you know it,” Sam said flatly. “I’m fine. Stop fucking pushing it,” she replied flatly, staring outside. “And getting over what’s left of your family dying takes a helluva lot more juice than getting over a lover, let me tell you.”

  Carey stood. He was behind her before she knew it, wrapping strong arms around her. She stiffened as he drew her back against him. Sam briefly considered throwing him as she forced herself to relax into his grip.

  “I take offense to that,” he murmured, resting his chin against her head. “You think I don’t know you’re calculating how to get out of my hold? I’m not Ryland, but I’m just as much your brother. Always have been.”

  “Bear—”

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “Just shut up and lean on me for a little while. I don’t know what happened, but it fucked you up good, Sammy. You were never the same after that. And it wasn’t just your daddy and Ry passing.”

  She closed her eyes, throat working as she fought off the wave of emotion that his words evoked. Fuck… she could feel tears rising up from nowhere. This wasn’t like her to react—wasn’t what she wanted to revisit. The pressure behind her eyes became overwhelming.

  “It’s the middle of a freaking work day—” she started, struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice. She held onto the anger with both hands, trying to push it up and out of her. Use it to fight Carey—and the emotions he was encouraging—off.

  “So we’re the bosses, big deal,” Carey countered, squeezing her closer. “No one can see us. No one can see this, Sammy. I’ve got you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. It was such a sweet, kind gesture, Sam couldn’t hold back the rush of emotion that accompanied it. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling.

  Anger. Hold onto the anger…

  “Why do you push? Why are you always fucking pushing?” she snarled, elbowing him hard and jerking away.

  Carey caught and squeezed her tighter. “Because you’ve been twisted up around this axle ever since his name came up, and I know you. I can see you’re messed up over this.”

  “I’m not—” she denied on a choke, as the tears she hated so much sprang from her clenched eyes, hot and furious. Sam couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone see her weak. She hated the sudden need to hold onto Carey, the vulnerability she felt at the accuracy of his assessment. In fact, she hated Carey in that moment, for knowing her so well, for making her acknowledge that she wasn’t all right.

  “You take care of everyone all day long,” Carey said, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “All day long. You’ve got your shit and everyone else’s all toget
her. I know that. I know what you can do,” he murmured. “But you’re not alone in anything. Never have been. Let me take care of you, baby girl. It’s my job. It’s my privilege as your brother,” he told her, hugging her tight. “Whatever’s happened, I’m here, Sammy. I’ve got you. I’ve always got your back.”

  “I can’t,” she rasped. “I can’t, Bear!”

  Sam registered distantly that she’d begun shaking like a leaf. The harder she tried to control it, the harder she shook. She could always control it. She could always detach when feeling became too intense, too acute.

  “I’m here, Sammy,” Carey murmured. “I’ve got you. Just feel. Just let yourself feel…”

  The thick bands of his arms tightened. And somehow, the restraint felt good. It felt stabilizing and necessary. She was shaking so hard now, it felt like she was having convulsions. Thick, painful tears rolled down her face, wetting her blouse. A sob tore out her chest like it had been wrenched from her. Sam struggled, against him, against herself, the sounds tearing, wrenching.

  She knew this sound. She’d heard it before. When her mother died. When her granddaddy died. When her father and brother died. When Wes left her with a letter, alone at their funeral. It became a blur of painful recollections. One long, awful loop that brought her to the door of darker memories.

  Memories of making men in dark rooms in foreign countries cry out, breaking them down to nothing but grief and pain, because she knew how to do it, knew exactly how it felt to be taken to the brink and dropped. To feel hopeless.

  Devoid.

  And she became good at it; real good. Samantha was too good at taking fear and wrapping it like a cord around someone’s neck, strangling the air out. Because she knew agony. Slept with it close to her. Held onto pain like a weapon.

  Now after all these years, she used it like a shield.

  No one got in. Because no one got out.

  No one got out…

  She didn’t deserve this, she thought. She didn’t deserve someone to hold her.

  To forgive her.

  To love her.

  “Yes, you do, Sammy. You do,” Carey said against her hair, following her as she collapsed forward, one hand clutching his arm, the other flattened against the glass of the window, so cold against her hand.