by Anna del Mar
She took my hand and, together, we walked on the beach. It was hard to believe, but by the time we returned to the cottage, dragging the plastic chair along, I’d been out for over an hour, and twenty-five steps of progress had multiplied into a mile and a half.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clara
On Tuesday, I began to pay in earnest for missing Monday. The work piled up. My phones wouldn’t stop ringing and I couldn’t catch a break. But it had been well worth it. Noah had opened up about his injuries. He’d come down to the beach. We’d repeated the feat on Monday, so it wasn’t a fluke. After that, we’d spent the day napping, making love and lounging together, my definition of heaven on earth. I could see the difference in the gleam of Noah’s eyes, where hope lightened the darkness like a bright flame.
My perceptions weren’t totally subjective. I’d had my scheduled monthly session with Dr. Dodd first thing this morning. The session was about me, not about Noah, but after we finished, I couldn’t help asking.
“How’s Noah doing in the program?”
Dr. Dodd laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Noah said you’d ask.”
“Oh?”
“He said you were a nosy witch and a pain in the ass.”
“Did he now?”
“I have to guard my patients’ confidentiality.” He knuckled his very Freudian beard. “But in your case, Noah anticipated that you’d ask and authorized me to give you my general assessment. So I’ll tell you my honest opinion: Noah is without a doubt the hardest worker in the program. Whatever drives his need to get well is a powerful force.”
I’d left walking on cloud nine. To top it all, when I got to the office and checked on the blog, I realized with a start that the posts Noah and I wrote together had made a huge splash. The number of subscribers had almost tripled in the past few days. Lots of guys had come on board and several couples had chimed in. A whole new set of potential advertisers were banging at the door.
Annette Collins noticed. She called me, salivating. She wanted to know about the article’s progress. I told her I was still working on it. Then I sent Noah a message and encouraged him to check out the blog.
Tons of views=fluke, he replied, but I didn’t think so.
Mother saw fit to wrench me back into the pits of hell with a sudden appearance at my office. She looked particularly stunning, modeling a lilac designer suit that deepened the color of her eyes and would probably sell out of stock in Virginia by tomorrow.
“Where were you this weekend?” she demanded when she came into my office unannounced and sat down on the chair across from me, with Diana in tow. “And why didn’t you come to work yesterday?”
“I was in New York,” I said. “Remember?”
“I called you several times and you didn’t answer.”
I took a calming breath. Time to rehash the old conversation. “Do you recall when you and I talked last month and I told you that I needed time to disconnect?”
Her eyebrows came up. “Yes?”
“That’s what I meant,” I said. “Time off. Time without the cell. Time for me.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, it’s not the weekend anymore, so I’ve added a few meetings with prospective donors to your schedule.”
“Mother.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose.
“Stop being difficult.” She pushed a paper across my desk. “Here’s the list.”
I scanned the names on the paper. “I thought we agreed that we’d keep your politics separate from the foundation’s goals.”
“I don’t see any conflict of interest in accepting donations from people who are well connected in Washington.”
“I do,” I said, “especially if the donations come from lobbyist groups, political operatives and media types who are directly involved with your campaign.”
Mother rolled her eyes. “Now you’re being finicky.”
“Do you want people to say that you’re using the foundation to advance your political agenda?”
“No.”
“Then let me do my job.”
“Fine.” She got up from the chair. “But don’t blame me when you don’t meet your fund-raising goals and we have to close down programs.” She hesitated at the door. “And Clara?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Ed Durant is on your schedule for a private meeting Thursday,” she said. “Make sure you land that donation.”
She walked out the door like a woman who knew her will would be done. I couldn’t believe she’d put Durant on my schedule. For a private meeting no less. I gritted my teeth and groaned inwardly. Pangs of pain radiated from the sides of my face where my jaw was tightly hinged, generating the beginnings of what promised to be an epic headache. I made a concerted effort to unclench my jaw and massaged my temples. Why was I here? Why couldn’t I just walk away from all of this?
Diana waited for my mother to leave before she marched over to my desk and hammered me with a furious stare. “You weren’t in New York this weekend,” she spat out with a ferocity that stung.
I fisted my hands on my lap and met her gaze. “What is it to you?”
Her golden eyes steeled. “I have resources in New York,” she said. “You weren’t there. Don’t lie to me. Care to come clean?”
I’d always resented Diana for interfering in my relationship with Mother. I hated that when I was a child, she treated me as if she thought she had the authority to scold and discipline me. Sure, every once in a while she played peacemaker, but more often she pissed me off.
“My whereabouts are none of your business.”
“Wrong.” She braced her hands on my desk. “Your whereabouts are my business, especially if they affect your mother.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your mother has worked very hard to secure her position in the senate. She’s up for reelection next year. You will not derail her career. Whatever it is you’re doing with your weekends, be careful, Clara, or I’ll put you back on twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
Without another word, Diana stalked out of my office, wide strides eating up the distance to the door, leaving me with another worry to add to my list. I groaned aloud. I didn’t want to be under my mother’s microscope at this point in my life. I wanted to protect my relationship with Noah at all costs. But I also had a mind to send my mother and Diana to hell. What were they going to do? Fire me? Find someone who worked harder than me? Yeah, good luck with that.
Wednesday found me overseeing sitting arrangements for the gala. Talk about mundane work. I could be working on the clean water project or the school lunch program for developing nations, but no, I had to spend hours on end explaining to the event planners why we couldn’t sit certain parties together without risking a brawl or triggering someone’s political sensibilities.
I’d spoken on and off to Noah, brief conversations fitted quickly between our crammed schedules. No time for sexy games this week. He looked terrible on the screen. His eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed by purple smudges. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he wasn’t getting any sleep. He was stressed about work, frustrated about what he interpreted as lack of progress in the PTSD online program and really mad at himself because he hadn’t been able to walk down to the beach on his own. I worried.
By Thursday morning I’d made up my mind. It was Noah’s birthday and although I’d originally thought to celebrate with him over the weekend, I missed him too much. I needed to see him, he could use my support and I was craving him like crazy. I wasn’t exactly self-indulgent or impulse driven, so I shocked the heck out of my system when I threw my schedule out the window.
“I’ll be leaving right after my appointment with Mr. Durant,” I told Lori. “I’m taking off tomorrow.”
Lori ga
ve me an incredulous look, reached across the deck, and pressed the back of her hand on my forehead. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I said, shrinking from her touch. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you never, ever take time off.”
She was so right. “Do you need me to stay?”
“Take your time off.” Lori picked up a pile of signed documents from my desk. “You deserve it. We can manage without you for one day. And if your mother calls, I’ll tell her you’re in meetings all day.”
I smiled at my friend. “Thank you so much, Lori.”
“I just hope he’s worth your time.” She winked before she stepped out of my office.
Was it that obvious?
Ed Durant arrived at one o’clock sharp, elegantly dressed in a leisure Armani. I went to shake his hand but he seized mine midreach and lifted it up to his mouth.
“My dearest Clara.” He kissed my knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to our meeting.”
I reclaimed my hand, took a seat on the couch and motioned to the chair across from me. “Please have a seat, Mr. Durant.”
“Oh, no need to be so formal with me.” He disregarded the chair and sat down next to me. “After all, it’s only you and I today.”
I didn’t like his familial tone. I didn’t like it at all.
He flashed Lori a dazzling smile as he accepted the cup of espresso she offered. She looked like she might swoon on her heels as she walked out of my office. I raised a hand in the air, trying to get her attention to ask her to leave the door open, wide open. But she never looked back. She stepped out of my office and closed the door behind her, leaving me cut off and alone with Durant. Too late now. I whipped up my chin. Never show fear.
He sipped on his coffee and smiled. “So many beauties, so little time.”
I straightened the jacket I’d pulled on over my wrap dress and cleared my throat. “Have you decided whether you’ll be making another donation to the foundation?”
“Indeed.” He settled his cup on the coffee table, leaned back and, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, crossed his legs. “I’m a great admirer of the Luz Foundation’s work and I hear that you’ve got some security needs in Nigeria that might require some additional funding.”
Talk about dangling the lure in front of my nose.
“True,” I said, “but we’re waiting to hear from a couple of grants.” A lie, given I’d gotten two denials first thing this morning.
He broke into an irritated grin. “Playing hard to get, Clara?”
My heart stopped. “Not playing at all, Ed.”
He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
He slid over on the couch and, after causally placing his hand on my lap, traced the geometric patterns on my dress with his fingertips. A waft of high-end cologne invaded my senses, the flowery scent he favored. My stomach revolted.
“I’m prepared to double my contribution.” He scooted even closer, cornering me at one end of the couch. “Yes, you heard right, double the money, for you, to use at your discretion.”
It was an awful lot of money and it could make a huge difference to lots of people in need, especially if it went a hundred percent into programming. But this was Ed Durant offering a donation and there would be strings attached.
I clasped my hands on my lap and tried to keep my professional composure. “The foundation appreciates your generosity.”
“And I appreciate you, Clara.”
His hand slipped beneath my wrap dress. His cold fingers startled my flesh and crept up my inner thigh. My face burned. My heart hammered my ribs. An image of all of those Nigerian girls going to school kept me in place, but it was a memory of Noah’s scowling face that shattered my sense of duty.
I growled. “Take your hands off me.”
He gave me a startled look. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to touch me.”
He withdrew his hand from under my skirt, then held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Happy?”
I leaped up from the couch, stalked across the room and, putting the desk between us, sat down in my chair. “If you came here to support the foundation’s work, you’re welcome. Otherwise, there’s no point to this meeting.”
“We’re in a surly mood today.” Amusement brightened his stare and lifted the corners of his mouth. “But that’s okay, Clara. A girl like you can be forgiven for shelling out attitude every now and then. After all, you’re a Luz and you’re also your mother’s child.”
I kept my face neutral and my ass in the chair, but it took some effort. I let my silence do the talking. Wearing his petulant grin, Durant got up from the couch and ambled around my office, making a big show of inspecting the paintings, textiles and sculptures displayed on my shelves, produced by the foundation’s artisan cooperatives all over the world. He picked out a photo from the shelves.
“I know you.” He held up the picture of me surrounded by a host of smiling little girls in Nigeria. “You’re a philanthropist at heart. All those millions, helping millions. You’re a charity junkie. You’re snared, Clara. You won’t say no to me. You can’t.”
Bull’s-eye. Was he right? Was I afraid to fail those girls, the board, Mother? Was that why I hadn’t told Mother to shove it and resigned from the foundation?
“You need to know.” I straightened in my chair. “I’m not who I was two years ago.”
“But you will be, for me, for them.” Durant waved the picture in the air before he returned it to the shelf. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ve got a big night coming up in a week or so. The foundation’s gala. Let’s make it bigger, better, unforgettable.”
“Ed, I—”
“Don’t fuss.” He came around the desk and stood above me, shrewd brown eyes fast on my face. “I’ll take care of the special arrangements. I promise they’ll be most...discreet. And, should everything go according to plan, you can follow up the gala with a very special announcement that will wow the public, guarantee your board’s admiration and please your mother enormously.”
For an instant, I actually considered his proposal. For a whole ninety seconds I was relieved that the funding problem for the girls’ school in Nigeria had been resolved. And then....
What was wrong with me?
The donation was tempting, but the temptation itself revealed my deepest personality flaws. I straightened in my chair. I had morals and a budding sense of self that deserved a chance.
“I don’t want to—”
“Quiet, Clara,” he said, meandering to the door. “None of this has anything to do with what you want. It’s about what I want.”
I was afraid to ask. “And what is it that you want?”
His stare chilled my bones. “An encore.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Noah
The picture of a German shepherd flashed on my computer screen. The words “damn dog” came to mind but, sitting in my office, staring at the goddamn image, I wasn’t allowed to say what the picture showed. Instead, I had to call out the first thought that the picture evoked in me. The exercise was part of Dr. Dodd’s behavioral modification program. The doctor himself was leading my remote session from his office in Bethesda. I wanted to be doing anything but this.
“Noah?” The doctor’s voice came over the comm in my ear. “Look at the picture, fire off a memory. Come on. You can do it.”
“Yeah, right.” My eyes fell on the German shepherd. “IED.”
A huge X flashed on the screen, along with a loud noise, a crash followed by the hair-raising screech of metal. I cringed even before the electrode pads adhered to my skin delivered the jolt that zapped my hand. The jolt buzzed through me, an annoying jerk. An obnoxious robotic voice said, “Try again.”
The pictur
e of the German shepherd flashed on the screen again.
“Bomb sniffer?” I said.
Black X, loud screech, sharp jolt. “Try again.”
Jesus Christ. “Man’s best friend.”
The screen lit up with a green check mark. The sound of applause echoed in my office. No jolt. Instead the obnoxious robotic voice announced “Very good.”
Damn shrinks and their torture devices. How was this childish game going to help me get the hell out of my house?
“This is stupid, Doc,” I grumbled into the mic. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
Dr. Dodd’s classic shrink face came on the screen, stereotypical down to the wire-rim glasses and the beard.
“Thought modification therapy has been very successful in helping transform negative thoughts into positive thinking patterns,” he explained. “The idea is that we’re helping to reprogram the brain to form new affirmative connections.”
Reprogramming, my ass. I felt like a fucking kindergartener. Didn’t the doctor understand I had some other things I needed to be doing? Like tracking Josephus, for example, before he activated his next murderous recruit, or mining Annette Collins’s database, which I’d breached last night, or following up with my friend the fire investigator, who’d called to say that his report would be ready by next week.
“Noah,” Dr. Dodd said. “I wouldn’t put you through it if I didn’t think it could help you.”
I sighed. “Total waste of time, if you ask me.”
“These sessions are a program requirement.”
The doctor didn’t have to remind me that if I didn’t complete the requirements, I could be kicked out of the program. What would Clara say if I gave up?
I hadn’t flunked out of anything in my life. I’d made it through the Naval Academy at the top of my class. I’d been top one percent as I completed the SEALs’ most advanced training requirements, the toughest, longest training pipeline known to man. I ran one of the world’s premier counter-terrorist teams. I wasn’t going to flunk behavioral modification therapy 101.
“What the hell,” I said. “Let’s get this shit done and over.”