Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series)

by James, Leigh

  John came back at intervals to sit near Catherine. I let him be alone with her. She didn’t look at him, looking out the back window instead, probably hoping for gunfire to suddenly erupt.

  I tried to calm the jumble inside my mind. It was pretty busy in there: I kept thinking about food (particularly burgers, milkshakes and French fries), Eva, sleep, sex, Catherine, the holidays, Sasha. John. His presence overshadowed everything else; nothing else was quite as important. Only the burger came second, closely followed by thoughts of my sister.

  I was going to see Sasha tonight. That was the thought I kept circling around. I was afraid to let it take center stage, to have to address it directly. So much had happened since I’d last seen her.

  I hadn’t seen her since before Ray started going after me, since Mom had gone from bad, to worse, to almost dead, to dead. Sasha didn’t know about my real father, unless John had told her, which he might have. It was all mixed up in my brain; I couldn’t remember who knew what.

  Sasha had never called me while I was in Vegas. She’d talked to John but never met him. She had to have some vague idea about what he did. That would be an interesting conversation. She didn’t have a clue about my time in Mexico. She’d just lent me the money. I hadn’t told her what I needed it for. It was none of her business.

  All of a sudden I laughed out loud, earning funny looks from Sean and Matthew. I was picturing us all at dinner tonight. Me, Sasha, John, and Catherine — I could imagine her looking pissed, trying to drink chilled vodka while wearing handcuffs.

  The fried chicken better be pretty freaking good.

  “What’s that?” Matthew asked, turning from the front seat. John was still sitting in the back with the silent Catherine.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “My sister’s meeting us in Nashville. I was just picturing us all at dinner tonight — one big, happy family.” I giggled. It was going to be ridiculous. I could feel other eyes on me: I looked back and Catherine was looking at me with an expression of disdain on her face.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked.

  “You, among other things,” she said, turning to look pointedly at her father and then back out the window.

  “Love the shirt,” I called back to her. I didn’t turn to look at her reaction; instead I watched as Matthew laughed without noise in the front.

  John sighed behind me. His hopes for one big happy family, if he had any, were probably sinking fast. “I called your mom,” he said to Catherine.

  “What’d she have to say?” Catherine asked flatly.

  “She’s going to come out to see you,” he said. “She’ll stay for a couple of days.”

  “Coming out where?” Catherine asked.

  “Rhode Island,” John said, matching her flat tone.

  “Why are you doing this?” Catherine asked, turning to him. “This is ridiculous. I’m an adult. It’s not like you can lock me up and homeschool me. I have a life — and it has nothing to do with you.”

  “Catherine, I’m your father. I care about you,” he said. I could hear the pain in his voice, the guilt. “I wasn’t the best dad in the world. That doesn’t absolve me of responsibility for you.”

  “I’m sure you feel guilty about what happened. And you should. A lot of it was really bad,” she said. “I was beaten, drugged, and raped. For weeks. By lots of different guys.”

  She stopped for a second. Maybe she was afraid to reveal too much. “But it doesn’t matter now. Someone saved me. And you don’t know him, and you don’t know me — you never did.”

  “I know he’s a criminal,” John said, not backing down. “I know what he does for a living. I know hundreds of people disappear or die in his part of Mexico every year.”

  Catherine snorted. “You don’t even understand. His people are the only ones who care,” she said. “You’re so fucking American, John. So ignorant. The cartels are doing what they’re doing down there because there’s nothing else. They provide the only jobs. They’re the only hope. What’s the alternative — do nothing and starve? Wait for Al Qaeda to show up and start recruiting people?”

  John sighed. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “But spare me the foreign policy lesson, please. I’ve been down there many times over the last six years, looking for you. The government was no help to me. That doesn’t mean I condone your boyfriend’s choices.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. I tried to casually look over my shoulder and saw that they were staring at each other. Blue eyes to blue eyes, neither one backing down. They looked very much alike right now. I shivered at the thought.

  “They are the enemy, Catherine, all of them. Even him,” John said.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “I owe him my life — I belong with him. So either you let me go or he’s coming for me. So just let me go,” she said.

  “I can’t,” John said. He sounded hopeless, more lost than before. “I can’t.”

  It was a long day. John sat beside me, silently checking his email, for the rest of the ride. I wanted to ask him what sort of cases he had now but didn’t. Catherine hadn’t moved. She was still looking out the window, her injured foot propped up, waiting to be rescued.

  The bright spot was Stop N Go burger. John and Catherine stayed in the van. “Shouldn’t I take her to the bathroom?” I asked the guys, once we were inside. “We’ve been driving forever.”

  “No,” Sean said. “We can stop on the side of the road somewhere. She’ll just make a scene here or run. Guaranteed.”

  “She’s been turned,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “One hundred percent. She’s a believer.”

  “Do you think it’s reversible?” I asked, while we waited in an endless line. “John mentioned something…some kind of syndrome hostages get, when they think they’re in love with their captors.”

  “Stockholm,” Matthew said, nodding. “It could be. She needs intensive therapy.”

  “She’s in love with him,” I whispered.

  “That’s what it sounds like,” Sean agreed. “That’s some crazy shit.”

  “One big happy family,” Matthew said, and laughed. “This makes my in-laws look almost normal.”

  I just glared at him and waited. I was more than a little impatient for my 3x3 with lettuce, tomato and spread. And don’t forget the chocolate shake and large fries, my inner voice whined. I’ve been waiting for those.

  Don’t worry, I thought. I’m on it. And I wasn’t planning on forgetting any of it, not a crumb. Not any time soon.

  The sun hadn’t set all the way when we got to Nashville, but I wished it would. I was ready for it to be night. I didn’t want to see Sasha in the harsh light of day. I didn’t want her to see how skinny I was, or how much my face had aged over the past two years — even though it wasn’t wrinkled yet, it’d definitely changed. I think maybe I just looked harsher.

  The world will do that to you.

  John went into the back and took the handcuffs off Catherine. “I expect you to behave,” he said, coolly. “Otherwise, no cigarettes and no vodka.”

  “Got it,” she said, and turned to me. “Are you going shopping while we’re here?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said, as the guys got out of the van, discussing something.

  “Can you please buy me something to wear besides this stupid fucking tee shirt?” she hissed.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But…” I hesitated. “Remember that game we played? The one you taught me: I do something nice for you, you do something nice for me?”

  She just looked at me. “What,” she said, flatly.

  “Please go easy on your dad,” I said. “He’s been so upset about you for so long. He really does love you.”

  “You are so juvenile,” she said. “But whatever. Deal.”

  “Just be nicer,” I said. “Nicer equals Neiman Marcus. Otherwise, I’m getting you a Hello Kitty sundress.”

  “I told you — it’s a deal,” she said. “I fucking hate Hello Kitty.”<
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  John stuck his head in. “You ready?” he asked us.

  “Sure, Dad,” Catherine said, without a trace of sarcasm. John tried to hold back a smile. She shot me a look over her shoulder as he helped her out of the van, making sure I saw.

  Maybe I was finally getting somewhere.

  The hotel, the Avignon, was stunning. Soaring ceilings, stained glass, rich oriental rugs. It was pure Southern opulence. “Wow,” I said to John as we stood in the lobby for a second, waiting to check in.

  “I know, right?” John asked. “I’ll bring you back here sometime, under more normal circumstances.” He smiled at me and the butterflies started swooping around.

  Things were looking up. Catherine had behaved, without cuffs, during check-in. I’d nodded my approval at her as she went into the elevator with the guys. Neiman Marcus, I mouthed to her, and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “What was that?” John asked, after the doors closed.

  I just shook my head at him. “Nothing,” I said.

  When we got to our room I let out a sigh of relief. Alone. The stress of the ride started to ebb out of me in the privacy of our own space. John went to take a shower and I sat on the big, comfy bed. “What time are we meeting my sister?” I asked, looking at the clock. It was already almost eight.

  “Nine,” John called. “She’s probably not even checked in yet.”

  “She’s here? At our hotel?” I asked. All of a sudden, the stress was back — but I had to admit, I was excited. I was still pissed, and I was nervous to see her, but the excitement was predominant. My sister! Finally!

  “I booked her across the street,” John said. “Just in case you needed some space.”

  “Can we put Catherine over there, too?” I asked, and I heard him snort in laughter from the bathroom.

  “I wish,” he said, and turned the water on.

  I took the opportunity to call room service. The 3x3 burger I had for lunch and the upcoming fried chicken dinner be damned — I was starving. I also needed a drink before I saw Sasha. I had to calm down. I ordered a bottle of white wine and the Baked Tennessee Mac n Cheese, roasted shrimp and Sweet Onion Bisque (which mentioned something about bacon in the description). Mmmmm, bacon. Anything with bacon was good. My mouth started watering while I ordered.

  The waiter showed up just as John came into the room, steam trailing behind him, with a towel slung low around his hips. My mouth dropped open at the sight of him. Yummy, I thought, and for a second I didn’t care about the food at all.

  John looked at me and smiled, but there was a smolder, a need behind the smile that I recognized. My heart rate picked up. Ridiculously, I felt myself spread my legs and stick my chest out at him: stripper pose.

  You’re such a predictable ho, my inner voice said.

  “Madam. Sir,” said the waiter, looking between the two of us. He set out the wine and food and backed as quickly as he could out of the room.

  “What did you order?” John asked. There was a husky edge to his voice that made a wave of pure heat roll through me.

  “That,” I said, and I jauntily pointed to where he was covering himself with the towel. We both laughed and I poured us some wine. I took a quick sip. I was nervous, all of a sudden. I let out a shaky breath and laughed again.

  “Are you nervous about seeing your sister?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Among other things.” I wasn’t sure if I remembered what to do with him — it all seemed like a long time ago, and it had happened so fast.

  “Come here,” John said, not moving from where he stood.

  I went to him. He clasped the back of my neck with one hand, gently pulling me against his chest. He kissed my face softly. I moved against him, feeling his heat, the closeness of him. I put my glass down and put both hands on his gorgeous, rock-hard chest. He was so big. It thrilled me, to have him standing over me, kissing me urgently. My protector. My hero. He was larger than life to me — his biceps, his pectoral muscles, that little indent on each side of his stomach that ran parallel to his hips — I ran my hands down all of it, looking up at him, relishing the beauty and strength of his body.

  Mine, I thought — I hoped, I wished — with all my heart.

  He let go of the towel; it dropped to the floor and he twined both of his hands through my hair, crushing his lips to me. Then I could feel all of him pressing against me. We moved rhythmically, our bodies taking over, remembering each other. All my fear and nervousness drained away. All I could feel was the heat, the pulse, of our need for each other.

  He pulled back for a second. He looked at me intensely. “I can’t be away from you ever again,” he said. He kissed me, tenderly, and then pulled back again. “I don’t ever want you out of my sight,” he said, and kissed me again. He pulled back. I felt dizzy.

  “I can’t live without you,” he whispered, and then closed his mouth over me, claiming me. Then he pulled back again.

  “I love you,” he said. We looked at each other for a beat and I held my breath.“Don’t ever leave me again.” He gently guided me onto the bed, kissing me, and I could feel his need in his kisses. He took my clothes off gently. I could hear myself breathing hard.

  “I love you,” I said, and looked up at him. “I’m yours.”

  He kissed me again and I arched my back and tried to pull him onto me. He laid down carefully, his whole body hovering over me for a moment. I felt covered by him, protected. Then he lifted himself off and ran his hands lightly up and down my body, so tenderly my eyes filled with tears. He leaned down and gently traced his lips up and down the inside of my arms, over the newly-forming scars. He ran his hands gently over my ribs. He looked up at me and his eyes burned brightly — with need, but also with pain. He leaned over and covered my body with soft kisses, brushing his lips tenderly over me. Then he kissed me again, pulling me up, and held me to him.

  As I sat on his lap I could feel all of him, long and hard and needing me, needing release. He kissed my breasts and stroked my back, gently. I moved so that he was pressed in between my legs, and I rubbed my wetness back and forth along his length. With each stroke, I needed him more. We were both panting, moaning. I slid myself against him, again and again, until I was shaking with need. Then I moved myself onto his tip, positioning us, and then slowly all the way down, to his hilt, letting him fill me completely. I cried out in shock, pleasure and relief. It felt so good to have him in me. All the way in. My eyes filled with tears; I was overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, mixed with desire and pleasure and relief. He flexed his hips and pulsed like into me for a moment, slowly and gently.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, and I opened my eyes. “Look into my eyes.” I did as he continued his gentle thrusts into me, making my body quake. His eyes locked to mine and they told me everything I could ever want to know. “I love you,” he said, thrusting slightly more urgently, building up to it gently. “You are mine.” I closed my eyes again as I cried out in pleasure and he started to move into me harder, then stopped. He was breathing hard. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”

  I opened my eyes. “I’m not hurt,” I said, wild with need for him. “I love you, John. Now please — don’t stop!”

  He laughed and kissed me again, and I could feel the joy and relief between us. He flipped me onto my back and slid in and out of me, still gently, but with an urgency that made me moan. As he picked up the pace his breathing became more labored, and I could tell he was close, but trying to hold back. Each thrust into me brought me to edge, making me dizzy, making the world beautifully blurry. “Come in me,” I whispered, cupping has ass lovingly and pulling him all the way into me. He leaned up and pulsed for a minute, all the way in, and then I felt my body shaking in climax around him.

  “You. Are. Mine,” he said, as he pulled out and thrust back into me, exploding. I screamed in pleasure.

  Afterwards, we laid still that for a while, as the room got darker and darker.

  “I just want to make one th
ing clear,” he said, still lying mostly on top of me. “I need to know something,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That you believe I love you.” He rolled off me.

  “Don’t!” I said as he pulled out of me, missing him instantly. He just brought me onto his chest and played with my hair.

  “I believe you,” I said. He’d followed me to (and around) Mexico…he hadn’t let go of me since…I believe he believed he loved me. I still felt like it was too good to be true.

  “When you left, I had a bad feeling that it was because you didn’t trust me, didn’t trust that what I was telling you was real,” he said.

  I sighed. “John, it was more that I was worried that you were going to figure out that I wasn’t perfect, and wasn’t good enough for you. And that sooner or later, you were going to come to your senses.”

  “I have been perfectly in control of my senses — at least most of them — since I met you. I love you. It’s not going to change. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, babe,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked. My voice was thick. “Really? But why? Why me?”

  “There are so many reasons…but the simplest one is this. I met you, and everything changed from that moment on. I’ve never felt a pull toward someone like I felt for you. And you were so wonderful, from the very beginning…I need you to believe it,” he said. He put his hand over my heart and kissed me. My head started to spin and I felt wet, hot, almost immediately. Again.

  I tried to climb on top of him, but he gently pushed me off.

  “We have to get ready,” he said. “We have to meet your sister.”

  Oh shit. That had totally slipped my mind — which was pretty amazing, given the circumstances.

  “Okay,” I said. I sat up quickly. I stopped for a second; I felt positively dizzy. There was too much love and lust and nervous energy buzzing around inside me. He pulled me back down.