Lady Liberty

by Vicki Hinze

  “Just hang on.” Relief slammed through Jonathan and he softened his tone. “Don’t help me, and don’t hurry. Just hang on, okay?”

  “Okay” Her bravado faded and her voice went with it. She sounded fragile, frightened, determined. “Okay I can do that.”

  “Of course you can.” He pulled the cord back to him at a steady pace. “You can do anything you put your mind to doing. I’ve known that about you for a long time. Gabby says it’s your stubborn streak. I think it’s your intense focus. You’re a determined woman.”

  “I like your rendition better, but Gabby is probably right. My mother called it my bitch streak.”

  “What about your dad?” Closer and closer. Two more pulls, hand over hand, and she would be at the base of the rock. He would have her. Oh, God, please let him have her. Then he faced the obstacle of pulling her up without banging her against the rocky ledge.

  “My dad seldom said much of anything—except for how I’d failed to meet his expectations.”

  “Well, at least that didn’t happen often.” Steady. Steady. He stretched and locked a grip on the limb. It was raking the rocks, scraping out chunks of wood and losing strength. It could break.

  “It happened with monotonous regularity” Already thin, her voice shook. “My parents didn’t like each other very much, and they liked me even less.”

  “I’m sorry.” Steady, damn it! Any jerk and he could lose her. He had to keep her talking. She was calmer when talking. Her talking and calm and him pulling steady, she would survive this. They would survive this. “Gabby thinks you had a charmed life with your folks.” One more. The jagged boulder scraped his chest. He cursed its sharp edges, but if the rock wasn’t in the way, he wouldn’t be struggling with this. He wouldn’t have had the chance to pluck her out of the pit. No one could reach her from the ledge. If he could just keep her steady for one more pull, she’d be okay. He clasped the limb and shifted his weight, crouching on the slick rock.

  “I’m sorry, too. Not about Gabby. She thought what I wanted her to think. I’m sorry about my parents.” Sybil rambled, clearly trying to take her mind off what was going on around her. “They didn’t know each other well. Their marriage was more of a strategic business alliance than a spiritual union. By the time they realized they had nothing in common and didn’t like each other at all, they were married and I was on the way”

  She was coming up. Her chest cleared the sludge. She was getting closer to the pit wall. Too close. He leaned back a little, using the rock for leverage, and pushed her away.

  She jerked, gasped. “Hey we’re going backward down here.”

  “Are you in the mood to kiss a rock with your nose and knees?”

  Evidently that reassured her because, without missing a beat, she picked up talking where she had left off. “You know, it’s a sad thing, Westford, but I’m not sure either of my parents really loved anyone in their lives.”

  Something cracked. He darted his gaze to the limb and saw not just signs of fatigue from being scraped across the edge of the rock but a serious stress fracture. What now? He checked Sybil. Her waist was above the sludge; her waist, the top of her skirt, the tail of her jacket… and finally, her feet. Her feet had cleared the sludge. He couldn’t leave her dangling midair and go scrounge up a replacement. This limb had to hold. “No one? Including you?”

  “Including me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, clearly struggling to keep herself together. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. Hell, I don’t usually dare to think about it.” She stretched and snared his ankle with her right hand. “You bring out the worst in me, Westford.”

  Jonathan dropped the limb, inched down, and grabbed her under the arms. Realizing he had stopped breathing, he lifted her up. Tears glistened in her eyes, blurred his own. “I have that affect on some people.”

  “Yes, you do.” She looked up at him and swallowed hard.

  “I’ll work on it.” Her breath warmed his wet face and he smiled, backed off the rock, and then set her feet on solid ground. She clung to him, shaking hard, slumping against his chest, his stomach, his thighs, the briefcase flat against his back. There was nothing in the world that could keep him from closing his arms around her and pulling her tighter. He could have lost her. God Almighty, he had come so close to losing her…

  “Don’t work on it.” She clasped her arms around his waist, clenching her fingers at his back, holding him in a death grip, as if only by crawling inside him would she feel safe. “You keep me honest with myself.” Her heartbeat thundered against his chest as ferociously as his own pulse pounded in his temples. “I don’t want to, but I think I need that.”

  What the woman needed was him, but she’d probably die of heart failure if he suggested it. She needed more time to get used to the idea of him being more than a guard in her life.

  She shuddered, pressed her face against his chest, and clenched fistfuls of his jacket and shirt. He pressed his cheek against her gritty hair. The quicksand covering her soaked through his wet clothes and the grit grated against his skin. He welcomed every sensation, each smell and sound and tactile response. They all proved she was alive. A few more minutes of holding her and maybe he could believe it. Maybe then he could ease his hold on her. But not just yet. Not just yet.

  “I almost died, Westford.” She burrowed closer still.

  “But you didn’t.” Muffled against his chest, her words arrowed into his heart. “You bury your emotions more than anyone I know, and it’s not healthy. Let go, Sybil. You know it’s safe to let go with me.” He cupped her shoulder with his palm, rubbed soothing circles on her back.

  “I don’t want to let go. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

  She was afraid if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop. Afraid the fear would consume her, her mask would shatter, and she would never again be in control and safe. Neither Liberty nor Sybil Stone could let that happen. After Austin, she honestly believed all that was left of her was the mask.

  Realizing that, Jonathan didn’t push. He just held her and kept on holding her, and what seemed like a long time later, her shaking finally eased to trembling, and then she calmed down.

  Letting out a shuddering sigh, she opened her fists, splayed her spread fingers on his back, and then looked up at him. Her eyes brimmed with the tears she refused to cry, and she gave him a shaky smile that threatened to rip his heart right out of his chest. “Thank you, Westford.”

  No tears. No hysterics. Either of which would have been perfectly natural and acceptable. “Does that mean I’m not fired?”

  “I’m still debating.”

  “I could quit. You’re pretty dangerous company to keep these days.”

  “You’re not quitting.”

  “Don’t I get a say in the discussion?”

  “Of course, provided you choose the option I want you to choose. You know, you’re not bad looking, Westford, which is a perk since you’re in my face more often than not. And I don’t suppose I can be a taker and not give back.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need me.”

  “I need you?”

  “Obviously” She shrugged, and he squeezed her sides. “You’re holding on pretty tight.”

  “The rock’s slippery. I didn’t want you to fall and crack your skull.”

  “No.” She denied that possibility with pure sass and stroked his chest. “You need me to look out for you. Otherwise, you’d have made some smart-ass comment about my hard head cracking the rock.”

  She had him on that one. “Okay, I need you.”

  Sybil liked the sound of that more than she wanted to admit. But then that nag, doubt, crawled out from under its rock and raised the question she’d come to dread: Does he need the woman or the veep? Well, it was about time to find out. She screwed up her courage and asked, “Are you being honest, or sarcastic?”

  “Are you saying you can’t tell?”

  Now, how should she respond to that?

  While she was
deciding, he asked a second question. “What option exactly are you insisting I choose?”

  “Staying with me, of course,” she admitted. “And don’t bother trying to push off that nonsense about me being dangerous company to keep. I’ve always been dangerous company. That entire line of thought is a moot point.”

  Jonathan couldn’t track that leap. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve told you too much to let you leave me now.”

  “About the Code One?”

  “Hell, no. About my life.”

  “I see. We’re victims of the old I-could-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you dilemma.”

  “It’s only a dilemma if you’re not where I can keep an eye on you.” She let her hand slide down to his waist. “It’s a huge sacrifice on my part to put up with you, but I’m willing to make it.”

  “For the good of your country, of course.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, deadpan. “It’s one of the many drawbacks of public service, but duty is duty” She tilted her head. “Besides, I can’t repay you for saving my life by killing you. Word would get out—it always does—and that could undermine my credibility in future negotiations.”

  Adorable. Messy as hell, but adorable. “You could be right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” She squeezed him to her, melding their thighs.

  Jonathan would swear black was white as long as she kept touching him.

  “You need to remember that you have duties, too, West-ford. So which do you choose? Do you stay with me, or do I kill you?”

  “I suppose if you’re willing to make the sacrifice and put up with me being in your face all the time—”

  “I admitted your looks were a perk.”

  “You did,” he conceded. “I should shoulder my fair share of the sacrifices, too, so I guess I’ll stay” Only God could pry him away from her now.

  “Wise decision.” The teasing gleam in her eyes turned serious. “Did I remember to say thank you, Westford?”

  “You did.”

  “Well, aren’t you going to acknowledge it?” She frowned. “Maybe I made the wrong choice here. Maybe I should just kill you—”

  He swallowed hard and stroked her sleek chin, interrupting her midsentence. “You’re welcome, Sybil.”

  She looked at him, beheld him, as if at that moment in time he were the only thing in the world that mattered to her. “Jonathan?”

  He liked it. A lot. As much as seeing her dazed. “Mmm?”

  “Would you consider it unethical or harassment or anything if I kissed you?”

  His heart banged against his ribs.

  “I mean, I am making you stay. So if kissing me would offend you in any way, then of course I wouldn’t want—”

  He lifted her to him, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her hard. Kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her since she was a junior congresswoman and he first had noticed her, with all the passion and desire and longing that he had felt for her from that day until this. Mind? Oh, sweet Jesus, he’d prayed for this. For her to just once—just once—kiss him, touch him, and want him to kiss and touch her. To just once let him show her that he loved her…

  When their mouths parted, Sybil buried her face in the crook of his neck, swearing she hadn’t felt anything she knew damn well she had felt. There was something potent in his kisses, something unearthly. If she had any sense, it would frighten her. Obviously she didn’t, because she wasn’t afraid, she was fascinated. She’d never felt so connected and attuned to a man. The moment he looked at her, much less touched her, it was as if a homing beacon went on inside him and she was mesmerized by it. She really hated loving that. But having felt it once, and hating loving it, she was determined to get used to it, provided he gave her the chance. There was something special about Westford. Something significantly different that she just couldn’t seem to put her finger on.

  I told you.

  Gabby’s voice, inside her mind. The reminder jerked Sybil’s head right out of the clouds. Now what?

  Try honesty

  Easy for you to say Your judgment doesn’t suck. You hated Austin at first sight. It took me fifteen years to discover he was a lying jerk. No, I don’t think so, Gabby. Honesty is fine for some people, but I’ve tried it. It just didn’t work out.

  Westford is different. You said so yourself. Try honesty, Gabby repeated. I’ve been right so far, haven’t I?

  Okay Okay But if this blows up in my face, I swear I’ll get Conlee to make your next assignment in Iceland—in the winter.

  Fair enough.

  Sybil leaned back and looked up into Jonathan’s face, traced the crinkle lines beneath his eyes with the tips of her fingers. “I wasn’t honest with you, Jonathan.”

  He stiffened and his fingers at her waist bent into her flesh. “About what?”

  “You staying with me.” God, this was hard. “If you wanted to go, I wouldn’t kill you.”

  His grip gentled. “Sybil, what are you trying to tell me?”

  Do it, Sybil. Do it.

  Will you shut up and give me some space? This is hard, damn it. I’m scared.

  Of Jonathan?

  Even to Sybil it sounded ridiculous. But she was afraid of him. Of course she was afraid of him. He made her feel. He could hurt her. God, she didn’t want to be hurt again.

  “Sybil?” He stroked her face. “What is it?”

  “I’m glad you’re back with me. But I don’t want you to feel stuck, Jonathan. If you don’t want to be—”

  “So you spilled your guts to me, kissed me, and now you’re hell-bent on wrecking my career?”

  “No!” How could he even think it? “I know David asked you to come with me to Geneva. It wasn’t your idea, and I don’t think it would have been your choice.”

  “So you’ve changed your mind already and you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “No, Jonathan.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  Irritated because he was never this damn dense when it came to his work, she glared up at him. “I’m trying to tell you that when you left me, I missed you—though, at the moment, only God knows why”

  “You missed me.” He sounded dazed.

  She liked that. “Yes.”

  “So do you want me to stay with you, or not?”

  Leave it to him to cut through the bone and dive right into the marrow. “I want you to do what makes you happy”

  “Stay or go, Sybil?” He pinned her with an unrelenting gaze. “Choose.”

  “Stay.” The word rushed out of her mouth, and she was furious that he’d forced her to admit it out loud. “I want you to stay.”

  “Why? And don’t tell me because I need you. That’s been established.”

  How could she tell him how she felt when she didn’t understand it herself? She knew what he needed, but she couldn’t give it to him. She didn’t have it to give. She couldn’t survive another mistake or take those kinds of risks again. Dear God, not again.

  “I ran from you once, Sybil. I won’t run again. And I won’t let you run from me.” He let his hand drift over her hair, down her jaw to her chin. “I understand the fears. But I have to know why you want me here. That’s important to me, too.”

  He was as torn as she was, and just as confused. “I want you with me because… because I need you.” She sniffed and inhaled a cleansing breath. “But I can’t have you—not even if you were willing and wanted me. I know that, and I guess asking you to stay anyway makes me a selfish bitch.” She blinked hard. “I am selfish, Jonathan. I need you in my life.”

  Something hard in his chest softened, and the truth settled over him like a shroud and then turned to stone. Once again he had crossed the line and fallen in love. And once again she was out of his reach. He couldn’t have her because she couldn’t have him. He had no idea what that meant, but apparently he didn’t fit into her professional world or her plans. He’d always known that could be a point of contention, but he’d thought they could overco
me it. Now, for reasons of her own, Sybil didn’t even want to try. That left him with limited options. Actually, with one option: to fight against loving her with the same tenacity he had fought Austin Stone.

  By the time Austin entered the sleek building traditionalists described as the bane of Georgetown, Secure Environet was humming. The level of activity was notably higher than usual. People rushed back and forth through wide corridors leading to private offices, conference rooms, and Austin’s favorite place: the lab. The air virtually crackled with intensity, proving Plan B was unfolding as designed.

  His adrenaline pumping, he cleared the security checkpoints, keyed and entered his private elevator, and then rode up to the seventh floor. When the door squeaked open, his personal assistant, Patrice, a very sharp black American mother of two, looked over from her computer screen. She was wearing a conservative green suit. Patrice seldom wore a suit—unless she intended to hit him up for a raise or a special perk. Which, he wondered, would it be?

  “Morning, Dr. Stone.” She gathered a stack of message slips from a slotted sorter on her desk.

  “Good morning.” Austin kept walking. “Have maintenance do something about that elevator door. It sounds ancient.” He entered the hallway to his private office, glanced at a portrait of Einstein on the wall, and then at his pride and joy—an original Dali. “Any notable messages?”

  “Plenty of them.” In his office, she poured him a cup of coffee at the oak bar and then followed him over to his desk. “It’s been wild around here this morning.”

  Austin settled into his seat. “What’s going on?”

  “Several dozen condolence calls on the former Mrs. Stone, sir.”

  Well trained, Patrice knew better than to refer to Sybil as the vice president. At Secure Environet, he was God, and Sybil was merely his powerless former wife.

  “The other messages are business related.” Patrice set the cup on his blotter. “We have a security-system failure on a classified DoD site. Engineering needs you down in the lab ASAP”

  Excellent. Austin nodded. Events were unfolding on cue.

  “You’ve also got a message from the White House. Mildred. There’s been no further word on the former Mrs. Stone. I’m having the media monitored in case they turn up anything.” Sympathy tinged Patrice’s voice. “President Lance would appreciate a personal briefing on the system failure. Evidently, the technical questions weren’t answered to his satisfaction.”