by Jenifer Ruff
Reese stood with her hands on her hips and waited. “You’ve had this car almost two years. Isn’t the lease up soon anyway?”
Holly looked up. Her eyes were dry. “It’s only been a year. And it can’t be turned in like this. In case something did happen and the police are looking for it.”
“They’re not.”
“You don’t know that. I’ll leave the car here and talk to my father tomorrow. He’ll know somewhere I can take it where they won’t ask questions.”
“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to leave it here. It’s not private. Your garage is private.”
“Reese! You’re the one who insisted we leave the scene. And you’re trying to convince me nothing happened, like I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. Calm down. Don’t say the scene as if it was a major accident. For all you know the only damage is to your car. Everything is going to be fine. I have a car cover I can put on it. No one is even going to know it’s here.”
“Okay. Go get it,” Holly said. “I’ll feel better once it’s covered.”
Holly waited in the driver seat. She debated calling Quinn, but didn’t. Reese returned ten minutes later carrying a blue car cover stuffed into a giant trash bag. She had changed out of her wet clothes into a pink hoodie and black leggings, and pulled her hair back. “Got it.”
Holly stepped out to assess the damage. A massive dent marred the back side and part of the rear spoiler sagged toward the ground.
“See? It’s not so bad. Totally fixable. And I don’t see any missing parts. So, that’s good.” Reese put her arms around Holly and hugged her. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“No, I better get home. I’ll take an Uber.”
Reese clasped Holly’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath.”
Holly inhaled slow and deep, but looked away.
“Look at me.” Reese waited until Holly turned. “Accidents happen. It’s not a big deal.”
Holly wrapped her arms around her chest and hugged herself tightly. Accidents happened all the time. But leaving the scene of an accident? Not so much.
Chapter Nine
Los Angeles
September 24th
Quinn woke to the creak of the front door, followed by thumping noises and the soft squelching sound of the refrigerator opening and closing. A glance at the watch he never removed told him it was zero two hundred hours. Light flooded the bedroom. He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the glare and Holly’s figure inside the doorway. Her hair was wet and curling. Smudges of black mascara sunk into tiny creases below her eyes. And she’d been drinking. He could always tell. The only good side was that when Holly was intoxicated, she wanted sex, which wasn’t the worst thing he could think of. It might help them reconnect. It would certainly be a good start.
“Hey.” He sat up in the bed.
“When did you get home?” Holly said. She removed her necklace with a sharp tug and tossed it toward the Art Deco dresser, where it hit the edge and slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivered, and leaned against the wall.
“Around nineteen…I mean, around seven. Where have you been?”
“With Reese. Her new boss had a party. She wanted me to come.”
“I didn’t hear the garage door open or close.”
“I didn’t drive. I had a drink at Reese’s apartment so I left my car there and took an Uber.”
“You could have called me. I could have picked you up.”
“Oh, too late.”
“Looks like you got caught in the rain. That was something, wasn’t it? The storm?”
“Yes. I need to take a shower.” She pulled off her soaked blouse and let it fall to the carpet, revealing her eighteenth birthday gift—perfectly shaped breasts, still as good as new. She stumbled stepping out of her skirt but steadied herself against the bathroom door frame. Quinn heard the door click shut behind her. He was surprised she hadn’t shed her clothes and joined him in bed like she usually did after a few drinks. He got out of bed and picked up her necklace, along with her wet blouse, panties, and bra. He dropped the clothes in the hamper, turned the light off again, and returned to bed. He intended to wait up, but it seemed like the shower ran forever. He fell back asleep before she tiptoed across the floor and quietly slid onto the opposite side of their king-sized mattress.
Quinn watched Holly snoring, a short, soft whistling sound, against her pillow. Sleeping more than a few hours challenged him. His mind was constantly on overdrive. He worried about what could go wrong if his team didn’t do everything right. Nightmares often plunged his subconscious into worst case scenarios. Someone from the watch list being more of a threat than realized or someone flying under the radar slipping into a crowded mall with a semi-automatic or a suicide vest, renting a helicopter and spraying a chemical weapon over the Dodgers Stadium, touring the water treatment plants and poisoning the water supply. His imagination had no limits while he slept.
Holly’s tangled hair fanned out above her head in every direction like a peaceful Medusa. He gently moved a section covering her forehead. She stirred and opened her eyes. Just as quickly, she closed them. He placed his hand on her backside and moved closer, his thighs against hers. He trailed his fingers slowly along her hip and stroked her inner thigh. His breath quickened. Suddenly, she turned over and scooted away, toward the edge of the bed.
He lay next to her for a few more minutes, aching inside. The emotional distance between them seemed even greater when they were only inches apart. With a lump in his throat, he got out of bed and went for a long run in the crisp morning air.
Later, he was changing a kitchen light bulb when Holly appeared. She wore a short ivory-colored robe he had never seen before that showed off her long legs. Her arms were wrapped tightly across her chest. Despite sleeping late, she looked like she had been awake for most of the night. She glanced around the kitchen. “Did you get the newspaper?”
“Yeah, but I guess I left it by the front door. You know, I don’t have anything planned for the day. I’m wide-open for whatever you want to do.”
“Oh. Sorry. I have plans. Meeting Dad for something.” Holly uncrossed her arms and walked off to retrieve the paper.
“I’ll go with you,” Quinn called after her.
Holly was back and spreading the paper out on the kitchen counter. “What did you say?”
“I’ll go with you to see your father. What is it about?”
She looked startled for just a second. “Thanks, but it’s not a good idea. Coming with me, I mean, because, um, I have a spa appointment after.” Her eyes moved to the left when she told him her plans for the day, a sign she wasn’t being truthful. “I’m also checking out a new gallery with Reese.” She looked down to scan the newspaper pages.
Quinn frowned slightly at the mention of Reese’s name. “Do you want to meet for dinner? Rick was talking about a new place in Malibu. He’s the young new guy.”
“The senator’s son?”
“Yes. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant now, but I’ll get it.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I’m free. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“I have to get ready.” She walked away but turned around after a few steps. “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“I would like to spend the whole day with you, but I already made these plans. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. It’s okay. I should have asked you sooner.”
Holly had been unusually nice. None of her comments were facetious. He watched her walk away. There was less of a side to side sway in her hips, like her whole attitude had been taken down a notch. Something was going on. Holly was hiding something.
Quinn rubbed his chin. He wasn’t a quitter. Besides that, he was Catholic. Or at least he had grown up Catholic. When he was young, he’d spent countless hours over the holidays listening to his grandfather grumble about the divorce rate in the context of the world going to hell in a handbasket
. Quinn wasn’t going to give up on this marriage, but he wasn’t sure what he needed to do. There was so much distance between them that needed to be closed. Talking about the more dangerous aspects of his job had always made Holly excited, like lead-him-to-the-bedroom excited, which made them feel closer. Yet, he couldn’t share anything that wasn’t about to be public knowledge. Unless…he suddenly had an idea for later.
“Quinn, I’m home,” Holly called, walking in from the garage. Her usual confidence had returned, along with the sway in her hips.
“Great. I’m starving. We have a reservation.”
“I have to change my clothes. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Sure.” Quinn opened the garage door. “Wow. What’s this?” A Porsche Cayenne filled Holly’s side of the garage, next to Quinn’s Ford F-150.
“It’s temporary. My father needed a red Mercedes for a shoot. I’ll get it back in a few days. You can drive us in this one. It’s fun. I’m going to shower. Be right out.”
Quinn entered the bedroom and saw Holly’s clothes on the floor outside the closed master bathroom door. He was bending down to pick them up when he heard her voice. She said, “He’s going to have it fixed.” There was a long pause, followed by, “He didn’t ask. I didn’t see anything about it anywhere, did you?” Another pause. “You were right, Reese, everything is going to be fine.”
Holly came out a few minutes later and met him in the kitchen.
There were three knocks at the front door.
Holly spun around, her eyes wide and the color draining from her face. “Someone is here.”
Quinn looked at her strangely.
“Who do you think it is?” Holly gripped the side of the counter.
“No idea.” Quinn headed toward the door and opened it to find out. “It’s a package from UPS.”
“Oh.” Holly’s shoulders relaxed and she exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath.
“Is everything okay?”
She picked up her purse and smiled. “Of course, let’s go.”
That night, after a romantic dinner at the restaurant Rick recommended, Holly removed the four decorative pillows from her side of the bed, folded down the duvet, and slid under the cool sheets.
Quinn placed his hand on the curve of her hip. “We had a big day this week, my team did. I’m proud of them.”
“What happened?” Holly asked, her ear against the soft pillowcase, facing away from her husband.
“So, you know how Rashid analyzes the results of our scanning software? It searches for key phrases in different languages. He looks for anything that sends up a red flag warranting further investigation. Well, yesterday, he intercepted some troubling conversations. Men with assault rifles planning to make a statement at Universal Studios. The assault teams weren’t available, so we had to go.” Quinn averted his eyes, struggling to look serious, “We showed up at their apartment with a SWAT team.”
“Who knows this?” she said. “Is it public knowledge?”
“No. No one knows. It’s top secret. You can’t tell anyone. Okay?”
Holly nodded and her lips appeared to relax into a conspiratorial smile.
“It was tense. Really tense. We surrounded their apartment and tried to burst in and catch them off guard, but they were prepared. At one point, I didn’t know if we would all make it.” In the past, Quinn had explained the primary responsibilities of his job, gathering and monitoring intelligence, but she didn’t question the plausibility of his story.
With her eyes glued to Quinn’s, Holly’s fingers found his arm. She gently stroked the surface of his skin with her nails, satisfying an itch Quinn didn’t know he had. He kept the Hollywood-style details flowing as best he could until his story reached its heroic conclusion. The good, brave guys won and the bad guys were captured. By then, Holly had already removed his shirt. Her hair cascaded around her face as she sat on her knees and leaned over him to trail kisses from his neck down his torso.
“Holly?
“Hmm?”
“Don’t share what I told you with anyone. I could lose my job. Promise?”
“I won’t,” she murmured, without looking at Quinn. She sat up, pulled her shirt over her head—revealing those perfect breasts—tossed it on the floor and returned to being a loving wife.
Quinn stretched his quads and hamstrings on the beach in preparation for a long morning run. Facing away from the ocean, he could see the top of the house he and Holly had purchased four years ago, thanks to her father and the incredibly lucrative porn industry. The white stucco siding and blue tiled roof rose high into the air, competing with the surrounding homes for the ocean view. He was used to the incredible house and location by now, but from time to time, it still caused him embarrassment. No government employees he knew owned anything so expensive. He looked away when his phone beeped. He was not expecting the text he received from one of Holly’s friends.
Holly told me about the terrorists you stopped. We were going to take the kids to Disney on Saturday. Is it safe now?
A few minutes later, a second text arrived, from Reese. My new office is close to where you arrested the men with the assault rifles. Have all the terrorists been captured? I feel like I should tell my boss, just in case.
Quinn pounded through the sand. He’d thought fabricating a story was a good idea, knowing how the dangerous aspects of his job used to be a huge turn on for Holly. He’d made a mistake.
It took two miles to decide how to respond without embarrassing Holly or himself. He had no choice but to call both women before they spread his fake story to all their friends. He leaned into a lifeguard stand while he made the first of the two calls. “Hey, sorry to give you a scare,” he said when Reese answered, “but there’s nothing to worry about. Everything Holly told you is from an episode of SWAT Team. She was joking. Trying to see who watched the show.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I think I saw that one. I thought it sounded familiar. Well, she had me fooled. Although, I don’t know that it’s funny at all, Quinn.”
“Sorry. If you don’t see it on the news first, you’re not going to hear it from me. You know that.”
“If you told me what you know I’d be running out to stockpile food, right? Ha-Ha.”
Quinn laughed politely. What Reese didn’t know allowed her to function normally—to agonize over choosing the perfect outfit for an event, to stress about the last five pounds of weight she wanted to lose, or the late payment on her credit card. He would allow her that ignorant bliss, to some extent. “It’s important to keep a one-month supply of water and non-perishable food on hand. One gallon of water per day, per person. It never hurts to be prepared.”
“I’ve seen the water gallons and all the jars of peanut butter at your house. It looks like you have a few months’ worth. Holly doesn’t even like peanut butter, it’s almost all fat, did you know that?”
“I’ve got a year’s worth of supplies. Peanut butter has an incredible shelf-life.”
After making the second call, his heartbeat had returned to normal and his adrenaline rush had disappeared. The ocean breeze stirred up goosebumps on his sweaty skin. He dropped to the sand for fifty pushups before continuing his run. Images of another woman, the one he thought he saw in Georgia, entered his mind. He blocked them out by running faster. He was wrong about what Holly needed. She didn’t want to connect, she only wanted to hear his stories so she could entertain her friends. And after insisting she keep his information secret, she had apparently insisted the same thing to everyone she told. He tightened his jaw and began to sprint, his muscles burning, his lungs taking steady gulps of breath, desperate for more oxygen.
Chapter Ten
Kareem – Syria
September 24th
Forty miles away from Aleppo, in an underground bunker beneath the most extravagant building in his residential compound, Al-Bahil sat on a throne-like chair behind an ornate desk, smoking a cigar. His open-necked shirt revealed a mass of black hair. Bowls
of nuts and a tin of cookies had been set out before him.
“Kareem, my genius scientist. Come in.”
To enter the room, Kareem had to walk between Al-Bahil’s two bodyguards. Dressed in black, as always, with their military-style automatic rifles, one reached his arm forward, causing Kareem to quickly step back.
“Chill,” said the guard. He stared at Kareem before extending his arm again, handing half a Twix bar to the other bodyguard. Then they both laughed as if Kareem was an insignificant fool.
Kareem felt his face grow warm with anger as he continued into Al-Bahil’s office.
A phone lit up on top of the desk. Al-Bahil picked it up. “What is it?”
Kareem listened to Al-Bahil breathing loudly into his phone. He struggled with where to aim his gaze and settled on his hands.
Al-Bahil smiled. “Really? Praise Allah.” There was a long pause. “Send the details. Great news.” Another pause. “Peace be upon him.” He put his phone down and slapped his desk. “That was great news. Usama Onamar has died. Do you know who he is, Kareem?”
Kareem’s mind raced through possibilities. “No,” he said softly.
“He was a wealthy oil baron. He willed an enormous sum to our organization. Millions.”
“Great news,” Kareem forced a smile.
Al-Bahil laughed deeply. “Maybe I should finally buy a new car. The Mercedes has seen better days, hasn’t it?”
Kareem offered a half-smile, unsure of the right response.
“Do you know why I haven’t bought a new one, Kareem?”
“No. I don’t know. Because the one you have still works?”
He laughed again. “Funny, but no. And it’s not that we couldn’t afford one. We can afford a thousand Mercedes. Ten thousand of them, maybe more, I don’t know what they cost. I set up that fancy lab for you here, didn’t I? But it isn’t wise to order luxury vehicles with bullet-proof windows and impenetrable siding. Someone may want to know where those vehicles are going, and who they’re for. And we don’t want that, do we?”