by Leah Braemel
“Do you really believe that? That it was your fault?”
“I’m the one who fucked up. I’m the reason she ended up with her picture splashed over the fucking tabloids.” How they’d managed to get that video of the two of them in their bedroom he still hadn’t discovered.
“Bugger that,” Troy snarled. “Stop feeling so goddamned sorry for yourself, man. From what I’ve heard, there was nothing you could have done to have saved your daughter’s life. People die and most times there’s nothing you can do about it but suck it up and move on.”
Chad whirled to face him. “You’re preaching to the choir about death. I know all about it. My father was killed in the line of duty-shot by a goddamned drug addict during a routine traffic stop. My mother was murdered eight years later.” He clenched his fists “Less than a year after Emily died, my sister got shot. She may not be dead but she’s in a wheelchair because I couldn’t protect her. So do not talk to me about how people die.”
“Take your head out of your goddamned arse for once and stop blaming yourself. You were, what, eleven when your father was killed? There is no way you can blame yourself for that. You were living in Boston when that sick bastard lured your mother into showing him that home she had up for sale. There was nothing you could have done to have helped. There was nothing anyone could have done. As for your daughter, her death wasn’t your fault either. It is what it is. Stop blaming yourself.”
It is what it is. How he hated that phrase. Nothing was as it should be. The anger, the ire, drained from Chad as if Troy had pulled a plug, leaving him with an emptiness that was even worse. “I keep thinking I should have seen something, some sign.”
Troy squeezed his shoulder. “Lauren feels the same way. Not about you being responsible, but that she should have seen something too. You two need to talk before you leave, about that if nothing else.”
“How would you know?”
“I just do.”
They’d been stuck on a plane together for hours with nothing to do. If Troy had recognized her, maybe they’d talked. He closed the cover on his suitcase and zipped it shut. Stay. I don’t want to be alone tonight.
What about tomorrow night? Or last night? Or the night before? She’d been the one to run away last time, now he was walking away from her. Self-preservation, instinct, he didn’t know which was placing the suitcase by the door, but he’d be damned if he’d let her rip his heart from his chest again.
Maybe that was the question he should be asking himself: why did she still have the power to hurt him after all these years?
“Because you still love her. More’s the pity.”
He stared at Troy. “What?”
“You asked how she still had the power to hurt you.”
He’d said that out loud?
“I know you look at that picture in your desk a half dozen times a day. You still love her.” Troy tapped the top of Chad’s suitcase. “So, what are you going to do about it? You going to run? Because that hasn’t worked for either of you so far, has it?”
Chapter Seven
From the brightness of the clouds overhead, the sun was up on the other side of the mountains, though it had yet to reach the lower edges of the hill. A thick mat of pine needles and already-fallen leaves littered the path, crunching beneath her feet as Lauren jogged along the path. She ducked beneath an overhanging branch, taking care to make sure it didn’t fling back into her companion’s face.
She’d hoped to slip out of her room that morning without anyone noticing. But as soon as her door had opened, Andy had stepped out. The lack of time between his door opening and hers made her wonder if he’d been listening for her. Then she noticed the camera mounted on the wall opposite her door. Not listening. Watching.
She glanced back to assess him. Like her, he’d dressed for the occasion, although his holster held a Glock whereas hers had a Sig Sauer. Something about the way he carried himself told her he’d not be afraid to use it. An intricate full-arm tattoo flowered from beneath his tee’s sleeve, stopping just above the wrist. Probably so it wouldn’t show beneath a dress shirt. “How far do you normally run?”
Andy ducked beneath a tree branch before he answered, “About five K. I run more on the weekends.”
They’d run the perimeter of the compound-or the estate, as Chad referred to it-twice, which meant they were approaching the length of a regular run for them both. Although there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, Andy wasn’t breathing hard yet, which gave her the impression “more” probably meant he ran marathons. What impressed her most was that they weren’t running on a smooth city sidewalk. The rough trail they followed wound its way up and down the side of the…well, it was more than a hill but less than a mountain. They were high enough that the air was thinner than in D.C. Not as thin as in Colombia, but Andy wasn’t showing any signs of having trouble getting enough oxygen.
Face it, she told herself, the man was in shape. Chad had chosen his people well.
Pounding on the track behind them had her turning and ducking behind the nearest tree. Her hand was still reaching for her holster when she realized Andy already had his gun drawn and his body placed between her and whoever was intent upon catching them. Two seconds later, Troy jogged into sight and Andy lowered his weapon. “Hey, boss, what’s up?”
Troy hardly looked at his man as he spoke, his focus completely on Lauren. “I’ll take over here. Why don’t you get some grub?”
His gun holstered, Andy nodded and sprinted off toward the main house.
Lauren stepped back onto the path, watching him disappear down the hill. “He’s good.”
“He is. Damned good. But I wasn’t the one who hired him initially. That was all your ex-husband’s doing.” With the emphasis on ex. “Thought you should know-Chad’s asked to be reassigned.”
Shit. “You can’t let him leave. Not if you want him to stay alive.”
His hand slapped arrhythmically against his thigh as he stared off in the distance, no doubt considering the same ramifications and alternatives they’d already gone over. “How long do you think you’re going to be able to fool him?”
“Hopefully until we catch Harris.”
He turned a bland look on her. “That’s not what I was referring to.”
This was not a conversation she wanted to have. With a sigh, and a silent prayer that Troy wouldn’t follow, Lauren reversed her course.
“Running won’t help. I want an answer and I want it now.”
“I’ll answer your question once we’re farther away. I don’t want Chad overhearing this conversation.” She pushed on, speeding up if he got too close. The muscles in Lauren’s legs ached, protesting each step she took as the path led back up the side of the hill.
“You’re not going to lose me if that’s what you’re hoping,” he said finally, not even breathing heavily, goddamn him. “Now tell me, when are you going to tell him the truth?”
“After we neutralize the threat.” Then she’d lock them both in her room until he agreed to give their marriage another chance. Or he’d convinced her there was no way she deserved one. Which was more likely.
He slapped at the branch she’d pushed out of her way but threatened to hit him. “Why don’t you just tell him the truth? It’s his life-he should get a choice in how it plays out.”
“So why didn’t you say something to him in the office when the arrangements were being made? You could have told him last night too, but you didn’t.” If he had, Chad wouldn’t be sleeping at the desk in his bedroom the way he had been when she’d checked on him.
Troy cursed again. “Let’s get this straight; I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for him. Poor bugger’s been through enough without Cooper and you playing mind games on him. He’s had enough of that, don’t you think?”
She’d had enough mind games to last her a lifetime. Thalia’s. Cooper’s. Was that what she was doing to Chad? Manipulating him? No. Other than keeping him safe, once Harris was fou
nd, she’d accept whatever decision he made. For better or worse. She ducked under an overhanging branch. “It’s not a game.”
He grabbed her and forced her to face him. “You know what I don’t get? You work for an organization that’s sanctioned both by the feds and the U.N. for all you try to claim it’s not associated with any of them. Which means you probably have a safe house or two of your own hidden away. Why not just grab Chad and protect him yourselves?”
“That’s not our style.”
“Bullshit.” His gaze hardened. “You’ve been infiltrated, haven’t you? Harris is one of your guys, isn’t he?”
She turned her back on Troy and started running again. If he wanted to continue the conversation, he’d have to follow her. Which the bastard did, damn it.
“What? Didn’t like being questioned? Fine, you’ll have to answer Chad’s questions later.”
“I know.” God help her then.
“Here’s another question for you: why did you do this? Arrange to be placed in the same facility as him? Weir’s story could have served its purpose-we could have guarded you separate from him. But you guys manipulated us just so you two would be put together. Why is that?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Yeah, lady, it is. Miller is my friend and I don’t like people who playing fucking mind games with my friends.”
“Guess what, you don’t know everything about me. Or Chad. Or our marriage.”
“I know more than you think.”
“You know nothing but what you overheard when I was talking with Thalia.” Half the building had heard that argument.
“I know you ran away after accusing him publicly of having been responsible for the death of your daughter.”
She stumbled and had to grab onto a sapling to steady herself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t there but I know what you left behind. Chad’s a man with more dignity and honor than most men have these days. A man who was only trying to protect his family the best way he knew how, and you walked away from him when he needed you.”
“I was there for him while the press camped on our front lawn, taking pictures through the cracks in the blinds that got plastered over the internet for anyone and their brother to see. I lived with the headlines speculating if we were into sex games like those from Thalia’s club. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be the butt of night show monologue jokes when a video of you and your husband having sex goes viral?” She still hadn’t figured out how they’d filmed that footage. “I lived with the neighbors who gave us sideways glances every time we left our front door, with those who didn’t bother with glances but with outright suggestions of what they wanted me to do for them. You weren’t there when I discovered my co-workers were passing around Photoshopped pictures of me or hear the snickers and suggestions when I walked past them.”
She whirled away from him and stared at the trees swaying overhead. Her body quivered, torn between wanting to race along the path, to put as much space between her and Troy as she could, and decking the smug bastard. “You weren’t there when the press followed us to the cemetery to visit Emily’s grave on her first birthday.” What should have been her first birthday.
“Do you know how it felt to have to watch the news showing your daughter’s gravesite being trampled by press who didn’t give a damn about respect? To find graffiti and damage done to her gravestone the next day?” She forced herself to face him again. “I had to deal with the catcalls and hate mail accusing us of being single-handedly responsible for 9/11. I was there for the death threats. And the bomb threats. Me. Not you. So don’t you dare judge me.”
“No, I wasn’t there.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but the intensity in his gaze, his white-knuckled fists, told her he was barely hanging on to his own temper. “But Chad was. And you let him think it was all his fault when it wasn’t.”
“I didn’t.” She closed her eyes and swayed. She had. Which was one of the reasons she was here, wasn’t it?
“I know what you told him, Lauren. I also know what really happened.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t have a fucking clue.” Only her therapist knew what really happened. And Cooper. And Harris if he’d gotten into her psych files. So much for doctor/patient confidentiality.
Troy clamped his hands on her shoulders, ensuring her attention. “All Hauberk employees have to have regular psychiatric evaluations. Even the managers. Chad thinks you hold him responsible for not being able to save your daughter. Apart from his decision to protect his sister, he thinks that’s why you ran from him.”
She resisted the urge to press her fingers to her mouth in horror. Did Chad truly believe she thought him responsible? “He did everything he could. I don’t blame him.”
Troy stepped closer, staring down at her like a judge and jury ready to pronounce sentence. “I’ve read your reports too.”
“No. You couldn’t have. Those are sealed and kept in…” Dear God, had it been Troy who had broken into the Dr. Brewer’s files? Not Harris?
“You think you’re the reason Emily’s dead.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That if you’d just said something about what you’d been worrying about, if you’d talked to your doctor or her pediatrician you could have saved her. You think you knew there was something wrong with her, didn’t you?”
“No!” Except Troy echoed what she’d wondered all this time so her denial lacked conviction. Why else had she been so obsessive about checking on Em all those months?
Grief knifed through her as sharply as it had when she’d cradled her daughter’s lifeless body in her arms. If it hadn’t been for Troy’s hold on her, she’d have dropped to her knees.
Damn it. She’d locked that guilt away deep inside, hadn’t had to face it in years. Damn him for releasing that flood gate. Needing to strike out at everything that had happened in those years-the press, Thalia’s manipulations, even Chad’s failure to come after her, to leave the States and fly to England, had her struggling to breathe. She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed-hard-making him stumble back. “Fuck you. You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Chad is still hurting. Same as you. When neither of you could have saved your daughter.”
“I know that!”
“Then for Christ’s sake, stop playing your stupid fucking games. Stop hiding from him. Tell Chad straight out and let him up his own mind about everything. About you. And about why you made those decisions. And where you went after you left him.”
Chapter Eight
“We’re positive, Chad.” Sam stared out from the video chat session on Chad’s laptop screen. “There’s absolutely no record of an Edward Weir owning any mines in South Africa. There’s no record of him coming into the country any time in the past year either. I’ve put out some feelers about this Light Brigade Investigators’ firm Weir says he hired. They’re legit as far as we can tell, and the guy I spoke to at their international office told me exactly the same story as Weir.”
Chad leaned back in his chair. If this had been a setup Sam wouldn’t have told him Weir hadn’t checked out. He’d be telling him the threat had ramped up or something to keep him there. “I’ll ask Lauren about it. She may be able to shed some light on the situation.”
“Nah, tell Troy to do that. He can be in charge until we figure the rest of this shit out.” Sam rolled an unlit cigar between his fingers and frowned. “I’m telling you, buddy, something’s hinky about this whole set-up. I look back on it now-the phone call I got about the story on you, then Weir phoning right after? I’m thinking they were deliberately timed that way but damned if I can figure out why.”
“But why? What would Weir have to gain?” Why would Lauren lie to him? No, this had to be a set-up; he just couldn’t figure out their aim.
“Hey, bud?” Sam interrupted. “I hate to ask this, but is it possible Lauren’s a spy for another protection agency? Th
at maybe she’s workin’ for our competition and they’re lookin’ for a way to discredit us? Or at least discover our weaknesses?”
“If I were the competition, I wouldn’t use the ex-wife of an employee. That would make them more suspicious.” He’d set it up with someone they didn’t know. Someone who they wouldn’t suspect to be anything other than who he’d said they were, and he damned well would have made sure their cover story was in place.
Sam cursed softly. “Listen, buddy, I don’t like this. I feel like a goddamned puppet being manipulated and I don’t that feelin’. Why don’t you head back? I’ll have Sandy arrange a flight for you out of Burlington.”
Puppet being manipulated. If Sam hadn’t agreed to let him leave, he would have tagged Sam as the prime puppet master. So just who was pulling the strings? And why?
Chad straightened the laptop so it was aligned with the edge of the desk. “Tell Sandy I should be able to make it to Burlington by this afternoon. I still have to find Troy and tell him I’m leaving.”
Sam leaned forward, his face taking up nearly the entire tiny video chat screen. “You watch your back while you’re there, buddy, you hear? Tell Troy to watch his too.”
“Thanks. I will.” Yeah, Sam wasn’t behind this. Sam would have just locked him in a room at his private club. “You know for a while there I thought maybe you and Thalia were setting me up.”
“Shee-it, no.” The cigar disappeared, jammed back into Sam’s pocket with such force Chad was surprised the seams hadn’t ripped. “No, if I wanted to do that, I would have locked you up in a room at the club until you listened to me.”
Chad suppressed his smile. Did he know Sam or what?
“I would have staged a fuckin’ intervention or whatever the fuck they’re called,” Sam continued. “I fuckin’ well wouldn’t have locked you in with the ice queen and hope a little global warming set in.”