Rules of Re-engagement

by Loreth Anne White

  Olivia tensed suddenly and her heart began to race. She had no idea that image even existed in her memory.

  She held her head, as if doing so could force her mind back. Perspiration prickled over her body as a quick flash of Grayson stumbling after Elizabeth flared into her mind. Fear raced through her chest. Had she blocked this?

  Her eyes shot to Jack over in the kitchen, his back to her. Her breathing became ragged. She’d buried this memory and it was coming free now because she was back here, in the same place, with Jack. Because being with him had awakened her deep inside.

  Another bit of memory flashed in her mind—Jack, asking her if she’d seen Elizabeth, concern on his face, him mentioning he was worried about Grayson.

  Oh, God. She put her hand to her mouth.

  Was it true? Was this really her weakness? Did she have an ability to bury stuff like this and not even know she’d repressed it?

  She thought of the therapist—her father’s therapist. He’d brought him in. He’d instructed him to give her medication, sedation, hypnosis. To help her cope, they’d said. But perhaps their true intention had been to distort her perceptions of that night.

  Smaller snatches of memory attached to the bigger images, dragged into her consciousness. She recalled her father coming into her room, his face grave, him telling her Jack was guilty. That was the word he’d used—guilty—even before the investigation. She remembered being introduced to the lawyers, all telling her she couldn’t speak to Jack, that it would hamper Elizabeth’s right to justice. They’d told her about the letter that had been found in his pocket…told her that Jack had been having sexual relations with Elizabeth. She remembered how this news had broken her, how she had crumpled, not wanted to live, how the doctor had then come in again and drugged her again. And…then Jack was dead, and the therapist told her she needed to put it all behind her and move on.

  What had been the point of dwelling on his betrayal when he was gone and was never coming back?

  Olivia tried to breathe as the realization overwhelmed her—A whole chunk of her life had been a lie.

  And it was her fault. She was the one responsible for what happened to Jack. She could have fought back and helped him all those years ago. She should have seen through the deception. Through her own father’s machinations.

  Tears burned in her eyes as guilt and remorse flowed through her.

  Jack was truly innocent. And she’d known it all along. She looked up. He was coming toward her with two mugs of steaming tea in his hands, his chest naked, his jeans worn in the most sinful of places.

  Her heart buckled in pain—and love—for him.

  She had to acknowledge her own guilt. She had to ask him if he could ever forgive her.

  But as she was about to speak, his satellite phone vibrated with a dull buzz. He quickly set the mugs down, reached for it and scanned a text message.

  His face changed as she watched him read the communiqué. His body grew hard, his muscles almost rippling with sudden adrenaline. His ice-gray eyes cut to hers—his scar pulling his mouth into a hard sneer.

  Her heart stilled.

  This was not Jack. This was a stranger. And she could see murder in his eyes.

  “Go upstairs,” he growled, his voice hard. “Now. Get dressed. Fast. Lock yourself in a room and do not move until I come for you.”

  Fear ripped through her “What is it, Jack?”

  “Do it!”

  They were surrounded by the enemy. Jack cursed violently as he hit McDonough’s number. “How many out there?”

  “Can’t tell,” his partner whispered. “Davis has gone around the south flank again. I’m going to come round the north side. And, Jacques…December is dead.”

  “I’ll be ready.” He hesitated. There was no time to ask, to react, to mourn, but he had to know. “How did he die?”

  “Our prisoner escaped, got to him in the hospital, pulled the plug on the ventilator.”

  Jack closed his eyes as rage ripped into his heart. But he didn’t have time for grief—only vengeance. He found his control, opened his eyes. He could feel nothing now. Just lethal purpose, his mind focused like a laser.

  He reached for his gun, strapped his knife to his ankle. He glanced up the stairs. Olivia should be safe up there. He pulled on his boots, flicked out the lights, waited in the darkness.

  He heard the first gunshot.

  Then another.

  He positioned himself behind a central pillar of rough wood, listening.

  He heard more gunfire, automatic, and almost simultaneously the huge picture window that faced the sea shattered in an explosion of sound and fell in a crumpling, clattering curtain of shards to the floor.

  Then all was still, deathly silent, just cold wind intruding through the big black space where the window once hung. The fire flared up in the wind, tossing strange monster shadows at the walls.

  Jack sensed a presence. More than one.

  He took a step. Glass crunched under his foot. He stilled. He heard another movement, somewhere to his left.

  He removed his knife from its sheath and breathed steadily, waiting.

  A masked figure lurched out of the dark, the quick gleam of a knife in his hand.

  Jack grabbed the knife arm, moved sideways, twisted and plunged his own blade where he knew damage would be lethal.

  The man exhaled sharply, slumped over Jack’s hand. Jack lowered the man to the floor quietly, yanked the knife free.

  He moved toward the open window. He had no idea how many were out there, and who had been hit by gunfire—his men or theirs.

  But he felt no fear. This was for December Ngomo, a fallen comrade. His death was somehow Samuel Killinger’s fault. And no soldier of Jack’s would die in vain.

  There was a small rustle of movement to his side, inside the house. Jack spun around and fired, hitting the man as automatic fire went wide, ricocheting through the house.

  Another man came at him from the back, fast. Turning, Jack met the assailant’s charge with a violent blow to his throat. The man sagged to the ground, and Jack plunged his knife fast. He waited, listening for more men.

  A scream ripped through the house.

  Olivia!

  He charged up the stairs in the dark, three at a time, feeling his way. He crashed open the door to her room.

  The window was open. A white muslin curtain flapped in the storm wind, the rain pooling on the wood floor.

  She was gone.

  Chapter 11

  05:00 Romeo. Hamptons beach house.

  Thursday, October 9.

  Jack flew to the window, looked down. A ladder reached up the wall. There was nothing below, just darkness, rain and thick swaths of swirling mist.

  Then he heard another scream, carried on the wind, coming from the darkness near the water’s edge. His heart turned ice-cold. They were taking her by sea. He should have seen it coming.

  He slid down the ladder, hit the roof below, bounced off and rolled as he thudded onto hard sandy ground. He crouched in the reeds, orienting himself, the rain cold on his naked torso, the taste of water and salt in his mouth.

  McDonough materialized at his side.

  “They got Davis,” he whispered.

  Jack cursed bitterly. Two men in one night was two too many. He spoke through clenched teeth. “How many men out there?”

  “Looks like four left. They came by water—they’ve got her down on the beach.”

  Jack assessed the situation quickly. “You take the right.”

  They hunkered down and ran quietly over the sand, the fog swallowing their approach. Jack could see the men now, dark shapes moving in and out of the swirling layers of blowing mist. Olivia was wearing white, a wraith between men in black from head to toe. She’d stopped struggling.

  He told himself to relax. These men had to be her father’s; they would not risk hurting her. They only wanted to get her out of the country. But he couldn’t let them take her. If he lost Olivia, he would lose h
is only bargaining tool with Killinger. It would cost the mission.

  And millions would die.

  The rain was coming down harder now, lashing sideways at them. He gave McDonough a quick signal, and they moved fast, attacking in unison.

  The assailants didn’t know what hit them. Jack overpowered two men, killing them quietly. McDonough took care of the third man, leaving only one, who was now scrambling backwards toward the boat, dragging Olivia with him.

  Jack walked straight toward him and Olivia.

  The man glanced over his shoulder toward the boat, saw that he wouldn’t make it. He hesitated, stopped, and positioned Olivia in front of him, pressing his gun to her temple. She remained deathly quiet, her eyes impossibly huge and dark against wet, pale skin. Rain glistened over her face, and her wet nightgown clung to every curve of her body, exposing her to these men.

  “Back off,” her captor ordered, “or I shoot her.”

  A quiver of violence speared through Jack. He forced himself to rein it in, stay focused. He said nothing. He kept walking slowly, steadily toward the man, his eyes locked on the man’s face.

  Her captor retreated slightly, pulling Olivia with him. “I said back off or she dies!”

  Jack could hear the fear in the man’s voice, and this fed him. He went right up to him, knowing the man could not run, because Jack would shoot and kill him before he made it two feet. He also knew Killinger would probably kill the man himself if Olivia was harmed.

  Jack reached the man, raised his gun, held his arm straight, and pushed the muzzle against the man’s forehead. “Let her go,” Jack growled, angling his weapon hard into the man’s temple. “Or you die.”

  McDonough stood silent, watching, ready.

  “I…I’ll kill her,” the man warned.

  “You won’t hurt her. She’s wanted alive, not dead.”

  “I’ll do it, I swear.”

  “Then you will die anyway. Let her go and you might see another day.”

  The man released Olivia, very slowly, and McDonough lurched forward and grabbed her away.

  Jack looked into the man’s eyes and squeezed the trigger.

  “Jack!” Olivia shrieked in horror. She broke free of McDonough’s hold and stumbled wildly up the beach toward the house. McDonough started to run after her.

  “Let her go,” Jack yelled as he watched her stagger over the sand toward the house. He felt sick to his stomach.

  Olivia was never going to feel the same about him now.

  He dropped to his haunches, checked the man’s pockets. McDonough joined him and began searching the others.

  Jack pulled out ID, shone his flashlight on one of the cards. McDonough came to his side. “Looks like they’re all Venturion Security,” he said grimly. “They’re Killinger’s men.”

  Jack nodded and stared up the beach, in the direction she’d run. “I should’ve seen this coming,” he whispered. “She told Killinger she’d be in Los Angeles in six days. Kidnapping his own daughter was his last resort, the only way to get her safely out of the country. Hell, I’d have done it myself.”

  McDonough was studying him quietly, rain glistening over his face. “You knew her from before, didn’t you?”

  Jack’s eyes cut to McDonough. Only McBride, Zayed and Ngomo had been privy to that information. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “How’d you know?”

  McDonough was silent for a while, just the sound of surf crunching in the mist and wind. “First time I’ve ever seen you get riled like that.”

  Jack cursed softly.

  “Go to her,” said McDonough. “I’ll call for backup, take care of this.”

  “Where’s Davis?”

  “Round the side of the house. He took a bullet in the head. It was quick, Jacques.”

  Jack nodded, remorse, bitter and foul, filling his mouth “It’s Jack,” he said through his clenched jaw. “That was my name. Jack Sauer.” He didn’t have to say it. But it came from his gut anyway. It was as if he needed to reclaim the past for himself if he was to go up to that beach house to try and reclaim Olivia. Especially in the face of what she’d just seen him do. “We were engaged. Once.”

  “Go to her,” McDonough said. “She needs you. I’ll handle this.”

  Jack stood, slapped the man on the shoulder, and held it for a moment. McDonough nodded.

  And Jack ran up the beach after Olivia.

  He found her sitting in a crumpled wet ball on the deck stairs, sobbing, rocking.

  “Olivia—” He touched her shoulder gently.

  “Get away from me!” She yelled as she jerked away and jumped to her feet. Mascara streaked her pale cheeks, and her hair stuck in wet strands over her face. “I don’t know you, Jack! I…I thought I did. I thought that maybe you were still the same inside. But you’re not.” She whirled around and staggered inside, over the broken glass. A shard cut into her foot and she sucked her breath in sharply, but she kept on going, limping into the living room, toward the fire, toward warmth.

  Jack followed her into the house, his boots crunching on glass as he turned on the lights. She’d left a trail of bloody footprints over the wood floor, and his heart twisted violently at the sight of it. It was a primal reaction, not a sensation he could articulate, just a fiercely protective reflex…couched in anger. He’d lost Ngomo, Davis. And now he was losing Olivia.

  She sat next to the fire, huddled over, shivering.

  He went to her, lifted his hand to touch her, aching to feel her, to envelop her in his arms and hold her tight against his chest.

  She whirled to face him, raising both hands in warning. “Don’t—” her voice was hoarse, cracked “—don’t touch me again. Ever.”

  This was his fault. He’d been too damn busy loving her, too damned involved in his own emotions to have picked up on the warnings in time. Even McDonough had noticed his loss of control. He cursed himself. He should’ve stood guard instead of making love. Guilt swamped him. And now she was lost to him.

  And not only that, but now the mission was in jeopardy.

  “Olivia,” his voice was flat. “I need to touch you—I need to look at your foot.”

  She glanced down, almost surprised to see her own blood.

  “You’re in shock, Olivia. You’re not thinking straight. I’m going to find you a blanket, get you warm. And I must stop that foot from bleeding.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “You killed him, Jack. I know you’re a mercenary—I know sometimes you take lives, but this…this was in cold blood.”

  “I saved you, Olivia.”

  “You gave him an ultimatum. He let me go, and then you shot him.” Her voice cracked. “You shot him in the head. Point-blank. Right there. Just like that.”

  He fell silent for a while, just watching her, struggling to find the right words, trying to get a grip on the aftereffects of adrenaline and testosterone still humming through his body.

  “Olivia,” he said finally. “I couldn’t let him live. We can’t leave any loose ends. It would jeopardize the mission.”

  “The mission? What the hell happened to you, Jack? What happened to the things you used to believe in?”

  His gut twisted. He took a step toward her. “They killed my man out there Olivia.”

  “Doesn’t give you the right to kill them.”

  His voice grew cool, measured. “Yes, I gave that guy an ultimatum, just like your father gave President Elliot and his nation an ultimatum. And yes, then I shot him. Just like your father will still launch the bio attacks and kill millions of innocent people. Olivia, that man was not innocent.” He came even closer, his voice going lower. “There are no rules in this war.”

  She shook her head in raw disbelief. “There is never justification for murder, Jack.”

  “Tell that to your father.” He paused. “Do you know why those men wanted you? Have you even thought about that?”

  Confusion, then fear, touched her eyes.

  “They’re your father’s men, Olivia.”
r />   He let it sink in.

  “They came under his orders, prepared to kill to get you safely out of the country before he launches the attacks.” He cursed softly under his breath. “Your father fights dirty, Olivia. But he’s met his match, because I can play dirty, too.”

  “Revenge is—”

  “Enough.” He cut her off, his tone brooking no further debate. “I need to fix your foot, and we need to get out of here before the cops arrive.”

  Olivia stared in shock as Jack, still shirtless, the blood of another man on his torso, moved coolly around her house, cleaning himself up as he searched for first-aid supplies.

  She glanced at the big void where the window once was, the glistening glass shards all over the wooden floor, and she shuddered violently with the horror of what had just happened.

  She could flee. Out that window. His words snaked into her mind. “We all have our weak points, Olivia…yours is to run away from things you can’t face…. You can’t run away from this one.”

  But she wanted to. Desperately. Her eyes shot to the staircase. Her shoes were upstairs…if she could get to them before he came out of the bathroom—

  Too late. He appeared from the doorway, towels and medical supplies in hand.

  “Take that nightgown off,” he said as he set the supplies next to her.

  She blanched, suddenly insanely vulnerable. This was a man she didn’t understand anymore.

  “Come on, Olivia, the clock’s ticking. You need to dry off, warm up, and we’ve got to get out of here.”

  She lifted the sodden fabric slowly over her head and stood naked in front of him, feeling incredibly exposed. But there was no sexual interest in his eyes. No kindness, either.

  Yet there was still tenderness in his touch as he wrapped a blanket gently around her. She drew it tight around her shoulders and watched him stoke the fire. This man was an enigma to her. One minute he was a warm and incredibly attentive lover with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life, and in the next he was a cold-blooded killer.

  Jack Sauer may not have murdered Elizabeth all those years ago, but the forces that had shaped him during his exile had turned him into a man who was capable of acts she could never condone.