Freedom Fighters

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Carmen deliberately dropped her gaze from his face to the flesh that appeared. He pulled the shirt from his shoulders, dropped it to the ground and waited.

  The scars were horrible. Carmen acknowledged that grim fact, then made herself look at them closely.

  One large mark scored the side of his flat stomach, close to the left hip. It disappeared inside his jeans. The part she could see was a pink, crooked ridge of scar tissue, that zig-zagged across his flesh. Over his pectoral muscle on the right side was a white, mottled disk of flesh the same as the one on his face. The one on his face was smaller and all but invisible under the four day growth on his cheeks. There were more round scars on his belly, on his arms and shoulders. The pectoral one was the largest.

  The scar that started at the base of his neck, that was always visible inside the open collar of his shirts, petered out just over the breastbone. It looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to the skin there.

  Carmen swallowed. “There are some people who don’t qualify as human in this world.” She lifted her gaze back to his face.

  “That’s not all of it,” Garrett said, his voice low. He turned his back to her.

  Carmen caught her breath and tried to smother the sound. There were more white circles on his lower back. The flesh over his shoulders writhed with healed cuts and slashes. Some of them were an inch across and thick with scar tissue. Others were fine white lines. They laid over each other, a mishmash of lines.

  Carmen didn’t need to ask what they had done to his back. She could see it in the way the scars laid over it. Someone had beaten him. She didn’t know what they had used. From the range of sizes and thicknesses, she could tell more than one implement had been wielded.

  She drew closer. Gently, she touched one of the biggest scars.

  Garrett flinched, then grew still again.

  “The scar is just as warm as the rest of you,” she whispered. “I thought it would be cold. Dead flesh.” She stepped around him, to stand in front of him. “I can understand why you want to hide them.” She pushed up onto the balls of her feet and kissed him. “But if you don’t fuck me now, I will find Angelo and take care of business with him. I’m horny, Garrett. Stop teasing me and do something about it.” It was crude and challenging.

  Garrett’s eyes narrowed and his scowl returned.

  That’s better, Carmen thought, with satisfaction.

  He moved fast. With a surge of power, he pulled her up against him with one strong arm behind her back. “Don’t tease unless you mean it,” he growled and kissed her. Hard.

  She liked it hard. She liked any way Garrett kissed her. It made her body throb again.

  He lifted her. Her shoes dropped from her feet. He lowered her onto the bed as he pushed the covers to the end of it. His mouth barely broke contact with hers. His leg tangled with hers and he leaned over her.

  Carmen slid her arms around his neck and her fingers found puckered skin on the back of his shoulder. Curious, she traced the elongated scar and Garrett tore his mouth from hers and shuddered.

  “Not good?” she asked quickly.

  “Sensitive,” he said. His mouth picked up in a faint smile. “Good sensitive,” he added.

  That gave her an idea. Carmen sat up, leaning on one elbow, which forced Garrett to sway backward. She pushed on his shoulder, forcing it even farther back, until he lay on the bed next to her.

  “Stay there,” she commanded and flipped her knee over his hips, so she straddled him.

  Garrett’s eyes narrowed. She saw his pulse, beating heavily at the base of his throat. He didn’t protest.

  She licked the edge of his chin, tasting salt. The scrubby beard scraped against her tongue. Then she worked her lips down the underside of his chin, where the skin grew softer and the beard sparser, until she touched bare skin. She kissed her way down his throat. She felt his growl against her lips.

  “Tell me to stop if you don’t like it,” she murmured, then deliberately ran her tongue over the pale, scarred flesh at the base of his throat.

  He hissed, sucking in his breath between his teeth. His hips shifted beneath her thighs.

  Smiling, Carmen pushed her knees farther back along the length of his thighs and rested upon him. She licked and stroked every single scar and the flesh in between, exploring the ridges and dips with her tongue and her lips.

  Garrett squirmed, his chest rising and falling quickly. His breath grew ragged and from the corner of her eye, Carmen could see his hand fisted in the sheet, straining the cotton.

  She moved backward, as she made her way down his long torso. His pelvis thrusted in reaction. She paused with her mouth over the button on his jeans. Then she got off the bed and looked down at him. “You’re wearing way too much clothing.”

  She undressed him, taking her time. Then she studied him.

  The scars were all over his body. His thighs had more of the same elongated ridges as his back carried and there were white disks everywhere. Not even the fine, delicate skin over his pelvis had been spared. The long, jagged scar on his left hip ended just above the pelvic ridge.

  Garrett watched her, wariness adding more tension to his already taut body.

  So, Carmen seduced him. She took her time, letting her fingers explore every little ridge and crease, as Garrett writhed beneath her, his breath harsh and loud.

  She took him with languorous delight, riding him, until her pleasure tore away the pretense and she let her head roll back, blind to anything but the peak that gripped her.

  Before she could recover, Garrett reared up off the bed. He gripped her waist and flipped her beneath him. He leaned over her, watching her, his gray eyes half-closed with pleasure.

  Carmen tried to gain control of her breathing, for she panted heavily, but she couldn’t. She wriggled as she had made him writhe. She was just as helpless to stop.

  “Tables turned,” he told her, his voice deep and rough.

  This time, he drove her to the utter edge of oblivion, working his body against hers, measuring her responses and directing them. He controlled her pleasure, channeling it, until they climaxed together in hard, mutual waves.

  As their hearts slowed, Garrett met her gaze. There was no animosity in his eyes, but a reserved expression shuttered them.

  Carmen’s heart gave an extra hard jump. She knew what that reservation meant.

  Garrett released her and moved onto the bed next to her. The bed was small enough they had to stay close together to fit, so he turned on his side. He trailed his fingers over her shoulder, making her nerves twitch.

  The silence between them stretched onward. Carmen sought for something, anything to say, to break it. All the usual post-coital conversational subjects would be wildly inappropriate right now. Garrett wasn’t an average Saturday night date.

  Garrett cleared his throat. “You said something about ‘next time’.”

  “I did?” She frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, indifferently. Yet his fingers stopped moving.

  The halt of his hand alerted her. Carmen didn’t let herself stiffen or move. She didn’t look at him. Instead, using the most casual tone she could muster, she said. “Would you like a next time?”

  He was silent for a long moment. Then his fingers stroked gently over the base of her throat. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.” She matched his soft tone.

  After a moment, he laid down, his head pillowed on his arm. His hand came to rest on her arm. The silence settled between them again, only this time it held no tension. Carmen relaxed. A huge yawn caught at her.

  “I should go.” She turned her head to check Garrett’s reaction.

  His gaze was steady. “You don’t have to.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Stay, if you want,” he added.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” There was just enough of the sarcasm she was used to that she relaxed again.


  She turned on her side. “A mattress. Luxury,” she murmured, sleep taking her fast.

  She realized she had fallen asleep when she woke, startled by movement. A sheet and cover dropped over her and Garrett’s body settled behind her. His arm tucked over her waist and his hand slid under her breast.

  Carmen stared at the ghostly moonlight coming in through the high window. What now? She wondered. What is Garrett thinking now?

  Unlike any man she had ever met, she couldn’t fathom his motives, his desires. She never had. He had the upper hand.

  Chapter Eight

  There were secret service agents everywhere. Their presence told Olivia this really was happening. She glanced at Nick as they approached the bench at the bus stop where they had been instructed to wait. Nick seemed unruffled.

  There were agents in black suits scattered across the pavement and standing under the awning of the newspaper stand behind the bench.

  It was six in the morning and there were few people up and about. It was Sunday and it would be hot and humid. The sky already had the washed-out, pale-blue tone of late summer.

  Across the road, sprinklers were watering the lawn under the big old trees.

  From among the security suits, a man wearing a far more fashionable suit stood up and waved. “Nick!” he called.

  Olivia stared at the man. Adán Caballero, one of the biggest A-List actors in Hollywood, sitting on a bus stop bench at six in the morning, on Pennsylvania Avenue. Amazing.

  Olivia had started this junket to Washington with the impression that her family connections were more valuable to Nick than her worth as a diplomat. However, after a week of kicking their heels and taking useless meetings, Olivia admitted to Nick she clearly didn’t have the weight he needed to get things moving with the White House.

  Nick nodded, his hand in the pocket of his trousers and a far-seeing look in his eyes. “It was worth a try. Your father is good at his job. He’s looking out for the President, which is exactly what he should be doing.”

  “Then it’s a stalemate,” Olivia said.

  Nick was silent for a long while and she got the impression that his thoughts were racing, yet nothing showed on his face. Then he smiled. It was a predatory expression, one that reminded her of his nickname. The Red Leopard.

  “If your family connections won’t do it, perhaps mine will.” He picked up his cellphone from the coffee table between them and thumbed through his contacts, then dialed.

  “Adán…is this a good time?” he asked.

  Olivia raised her brow, puzzled. She wasn’t aware of any Adán in Nick’s family, although her knowledge of his relations was sketchy. Vistarians were passionate about their families and counted cousins, second cousins and even more distant relations as part of the core family. Even adoptees like Daniel were included and the lack of familial blood didn’t seem to be a barrier at all.

  She had a lot to learn about the family she had married in to, if Nick had a relative he thought would have more influence over the White House than her own father. The only Adán she knew was the Hollywood film star, Adán Caballero.

  Nick nodded. “That’s right. A week now.” He listened for a moment, frowning. “You’re reading my mind. Would it be a problem?” Then he laughed. “If that’s what it takes. Thanks, Adán.” He listened for a minute, his frown deepening. “You don’t have to do—”

  This time, even Olivia could hear the strident tones at the other end.

  Nick lifted the phone away from his ear and looked at it, then put it back. Then he said with a mild tone, “Well, if you insist, then of course you should. I appreciate it, Adán. We all do.”

  He put the phone back on the table. “Adán will give the President a call. They play golf together whenever they can carve out time for a round. Adán’s sure if he spots the President a stroke or two, he’ll agree to a meeting. Unofficially, of course. Although even five minutes with the President will be enough.”

  Olivia felt no surprise that someone who was the President’s golf buddy could swing a private meeting. Washington worked on relationships like that all the time. Deals were struck over lunch and a handshake that could change the course of history.

  “Adán who?” she asked. “I’m still learning your family tree.”

  “My aunt’s son. My aunt is Karen Lord. Adán Caballero is her son.” He frowned. “He’s insisting on dropping everything and coming to Washington to set up the meeting. He wrapped on Tuesday, so it won’t upset any contracts.”

  Olivia sank down onto the chair opposite Nick. “Adán Caballero,” she repeated blankly. No wonder Nick thought he might have the clout to swing a meeting with the President of the United States. Adán’s mother was Karen Lord? She had been called a goddess at the peak of her career in the nineteen sixties.

  “All I have to offer is a paltry Chief of Staff as a father,” Olivia said.

  Nick grinned. “Welcome to the family.”

  That had been Friday night. Now they stood at a bus stop on Pennsylvania Avenue. Adán Caballero gripped Nick’s hand and pounded him on the back, a wide smile on his face.

  “Adán, meet the newest member of the family,” Nick said, drawing Olivia forward. “Olivia Davenport de Castellano. You haven’t met her husband, Daniel, either. He’s Duardo’s brother.”

  “This war is adding to the family at light speed,” Adán said. “I thought wars depleted families.” He picked up Olivia’s hand and went to kiss it. He paused and studied the bandages. “War wounds?” He raised a brow.

  “Absolutely,” Nick said. “And in the service of Vistaria, too.”

  Adán dropped her hand and took her shoulders instead. “Welcome to the family,” he said and kissed both her cheeks.

  Olivia found her tongue. “It’s good to meet you. I wasn’t aware of the family connection until Nick phoned you.”

  Adán smiled. It was the same sexy smile that graced magazine covers and billboards. He winked. “Nicky likes to use me as a trump card. It’s good to know the fame is useful for something.” He glanced at Nick. “You will have seven minutes with Richard. That’s how long it takes to the get to the cathedral.”

  “It’s seven minutes more than I could have arranged for myself. I’m grateful, Adán.”

  “How is it going?” Adán said. “There not much on the news and that’s filtered anyway. How is it really going?”

  “We have a tiny toe-hold,” Nick said. “The next week will decide things. One way or another.”

  Adán sobered. “What can I do?”

  “Keep talking about what is happening on Vistaria. Draw attention to us.”

  “I mean, what can I do to really help?”

  “That is helping.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do know. Your face is too well known, Adán. You step foot on Vistaria and Serrano will have you in irons and will parade you around like a prize chicken. He knows your family connections, too.”

  The agents shifted and drew closer to them, hemming them in.

  Adán sighed. “I don’t like sitting in Hollywood and play-acting while this is going on.”

  “Everything you do and everything you’ve done is far more effective than anything we can do in Acapulco. You’re helping, Adán.” Nick grinned. “Besides, movie goers the world over would shoot me if anything happened to you.”

  Adán gave Nick a sour smile as the Presidential motorcade pulled up beside them. An agent opened the door and stepped back.

  Adán climbed in first, then Nick waved Olivia into the car and stepped in himself. Richard Collins the Third sat in the far back corner and was shaking Adán’s hand as Olivia settled on the seat opposite them.

  Once Nick was sitting and the car was rolling once more, Adán spoke, using English. “Mr. President, may I present Nicolás Escobedo, President Pro tem of Vistaria.”

  Collins turned his attention upon Nick. “Nicolás Escobedo. Your people did well, at the White Sands. I’m sorry I can’t acknowledge you of
ficially.” His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. There was more gray in them than the television showed. The hazel eyes beneath them were alert and gleaming with intelligence.

  “This is Olivia Davenport de Castellano,” Adán added. “Señora Davenport is Vistaria’s Ambassador to the United States.”

  Collins’ eyes twinkled. “It is good to meet you at last, Olivia. You have your father’s eyes and, I’m told, his stubbornness.”

  “I prefer to think of it as knowing my own mind, Mr. President.” She leaned forward. “Is there any way to break this deadlock between you and Mexico? You’re both waiting for the other to acknowledge us.”

  “I think it’s far too early to start talking about diplomatic treaties,” Collins said. “You’ve yet to win your country back.”

  “I agree completely,” Nick said. “Although, allies don’t need diplomatic treaties to work together.”

  Collins looked at him. “You want our military aid.” He said it as if it was a fact.

  Nick shook his head. “We can win this war without the United States. You, however, might want to provide aid and troops just to ensure the outcome.”

  Collins smiled. “Out of the goodness of our hearts?”

  Olivia recognized that the President was asking indirectly what was in it for the United States. It was a fair question.

  “You saw what Serrano did at the White Sands,” Nick replied smoothly. “You can infer from there what sort of man Serrano is. Do you want a man like him leading a nation lying so close to your own borders?” Which told her he had understood the President’s irony, too. Then Nick added the kicker. “Vistaria is eighty miles from the coast of California, Mr. President. That’s closer than Cuba.”

  The President made a harrumphing sound in his throat and Olivia hid her smile. No President liked to be reminded of the Cuban Missile Crisis, but in this case, it was an apt analogy. If Serrano gained control of Vistaria, who would he turn to for allies and friends? He had ruined any chance of winning America’s approval.

  She looked through the tinted window as the car turned. They were pulling up in front of the cathedral.