by J. Saman
“Get some sleep, Ivy. Not only are you drunk and about to fall over, but you’re ridiculously difficult to understand.”
“Right? That’s what I said.” Claire smacks me on the shoulder and I do practically fall over. Again.
“Yeah,” I nod solemnly. “Good night then. Thanks for the fun ladies. Cheers.”
They walk out, Ryan carrying a passed-out Kate in his arms, but before I can shut the door he turns to me with a soft smile. “He’s worth it. I know you’re leaving and it’s not meant to lead anywhere, but he’s crazy about you.” Ryan sighs, as if he’s telling me things he shouldn’t. “He may test you, but he’s not doing it intentionally. Luke has a lot of issues and his sense of self-worth is non-existent, but he is worth it, and I can promise you that everything he does, he does for a very good reason.”
“Thanks.” I offer a tight smile and he gives me an equally tight nod before walking off. Shutting the door, I engage all three locks before leaning my back and head against the wood, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
I don’t know why I’m readily exploring all of this.
The simple reality is, I’m going to Boston and Luke is not coming with me.
So why am I so addicted to this feeling?
Why do I not want to let it go?
The fact that he may or may not be in New York is not exactly what’s sticking with me right now. It’s not even all the cryptic rubbish about how Ryan doesn’t know what Luke’s doing or even bother to ask, though there is way more there than Ryan was letting on.
No, it’s the weird timing of the FBI raid ten years ago that’s burrowing a hole in my brain.
Something about it isn’t quite right, and either Ryan is cognizant of it or he’s blatantly ignoring the obvious, because if what Kate was saying is true, he should have been arrested as well. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol swimming in my system, but this is sticking with me and I can’t shake it.
There is more here than meets the eye, I just know it.
Chapter 19
Luke
10 years ago
I haven’t slept all night, but I’m the farthest thing from tired imaginable. No, instead of being tired, I’m wired. I’m on fire and jazzed up and angry and frustrated and mad as hell. I realize I’m just using synonyms here, but it’s only adding to my point.
Ivy. Beautiful, angelic, sexy-as-all-sin, Ivy, fell asleep in my arms after the best sex I’ve ever had. After the best sex anyone has ever had in the history of sex. Yeah, I’m that confident. That’s how good it was. It was life-changing sex, and I had to leave it all behind because I’m a fucking degenerate who doesn’t deserve her.
Worse than that, I’m going to prison.
Not jail, mind you. That’s for pansies who have to sleep off a drunken night or douchebags who hit their girlfriends.
I’m going to prison.
The official school of hard knocks. I have a hearing set up for Monday with the dean, my advisor, and a few professors, to determine if I can stay in school. What that really translates to is my expulsion.
I could fight it.
Throw out the old, innocent-until-proven-guilty line, but what’s the point.
Whether I get expelled or not, I’m still going to be in court for however long that shit takes and then prison. I also got a call from the lead Fed guy and he asked me again to roll over on everyone else in the hacking ring.
Again I refused.
And not because I’m some do-gooder, benevolent asshole either.
It really boils down to two reasons.
First, I made the choice to get involved with the ring in the first place. That was on me and no one else, so bringing down others to soften my sentence is not only selfish, it’s just wrong.
If they do their shit and don’t get caught, well, lucky them.
Second, turning on my friends and opponents is exactly something my father would have done to save his measly, pathetic ass, and I refuse to be like him even to the smallest degree.
So that brings me back to Ivy and why I had to run out on her.
It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms before I sank deep inside her again. But I left before she could ask questions and desire things that I was desperate to give her.
It was a chicken-shit thing to do. I admit that fully.
And that’s why I’m sitting here in Bean & Leaf, hoping that she comes in so I can talk to her. I couldn’t do that while I was wrapped up in her—literally—but she’s the kind of woman who deserves better than what I gave her. She’s the kind of woman who deserves explanations and excuses and apologies, because the idea of intentionally hurting her is gut wrenching.
I got all of that from just one night with her. Imagine what days, or months, or years could do.
After two hours of sitting in this chair in the back of the coffee house, Ivy walks in with a friend whom I’ve never seen before. They’re smiling and laughing, and Ivy looks so beautiful in a cream-colored sweater and jeans. Her ice blue eyes scope her surroundings, but her discerning gaze doesn’t find me as I’m partially camouflaged behind a plant.
Get up and go to her.
I can’t.
I can’t move because she looks happy and gorgeous and I want her. I want her so goddamn bad that my fingers ache to touch her again. And what would I say to her anyway? Oh hey, sorry to run out on you after having the best sex of my life, but I’m facing federal charges and prison time? Yeah, no. She’ll slap my face and I’ll deserve it.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
I feel like if she notices me, I’ll do something, but if she doesn’t, I won’t.
I’m such a coward, but I can’t stand to see the look of disappointment that I’ll no doubt receive. That might be worse than anything.
Stop being a pussy!
Right.
I stand up, about to approach her when my phone vibrates in my hand. Reflexively, I look down and see it’s a number I don’t recognize. Just as I draw my eyes up to find Ivy again, I get a glimpse of her back as she walks out.
Fuck.
I could always try again tomorrow. That’s so pathetically lame, I want to kick my own ass.
My phone is insistent so I open my flip phone, press it to my ear and say, “Hello?”
“Mr. Lucas Walker?” A deep male voice fills my ears and instinctually, I know this won’t be good.
“Yes?”
“My name is Michael Sanders, I am an attorney with Sanders, Kaplan and Cross based out of Los Angeles.”
“Okay . . .” I have no idea who this guy is because I’m positive I did not contact him. I’d have to sell every organ in my body to be able to afford a decent attorney, let alone a Los Angeles one.
“I have your file in front of me, and would like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss your case.”
“Listen, I can’t afford you. I have no idea what your rates are, but I know they’re beyond my budget. Unless you’re the public defender I’ve been assigned, I’m going to have to pass.”
He chuckles into the phone like my predicament is amusing to him. It’s not. Nothing about this is amusing and it pisses me off to the point where I’m about to hang up on the asshole when he stops me short.
“My retainer and services are being covered for by a third party who has given me carte blanche for whatever you and your case might require.”
“I’m sorry, did you say a third party? Who?” I sit back down, suddenly unable to stand. I’m shaking like crazy and it’s not from the three cups of coffee I’ve consumed in the two hours I’ve been a patron in this coffee shop.
“Yes, he asked to keep his identity confidential, for obvious reasons, but he did tell me to let you know—and I’m quoting here—that you were the best adversary he’s faced and that when all of this blows over, he’d like your help with some work he has.”
I’m wracking my brain, but coming up empty. Probably because my mind is swirling with the dangerous drug,
hope.
“I’m sorry, so you’re my lawyer and I don’t have to pay you and you’re going to handle my case?”
“Yes, Luke. That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he says this like I’m a child, but right now I don’t care about his condescending tone. My acrimony is nowhere to be found, because holy shit, I have a lawyer. “I’d like you to come by my office Tuesday morning first thing. This case is far too sensitive to discuss over the phone, and a lot of the details are being withheld by the FBI. I have a motion in to the judge to get those disclosed, and I should hopefully have them before we meet. But I can tell you that there are a significant amount of holes here and that may work out in our favor.”
I’m smiling. I can’t help it.
This may all turn out to be a dream and not something that will keep me from going to prison, but for the first time since I was arrested last week, it feels like my life might not be so lost.
“Great, I’ll be there Tuesday morning. Um, what’s your address?”
He laughs that laugh again but this time, it’s not so aggravating.
“I’m going to have some documents couriered over to you by later this afternoon. You don’t have to worry about anything, Luke. I’m going to take care of it all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sanders.”
“It’s Michael, Luke. Call me Michael, and we’ll talk soon. Have a good rest of your day.” And then he hangs up and I’m left staring at my phone.
I’m grinning like an idiot, but I don’t care.
I have a lawyer.
A real fucking, bought and paid for lawyer. And there is only one person I can think of who wouldn’t want their identity revealed and who would consider me an adversary. That’s the guy I was competing against from MIT with the handle, ThePerfectLie.
According to this Michael Sanders, ThePerfectLie has work for me after I’m cleared of the charges.
I didn’t even know happiness could come in this form.
Maybe after I meet with my new lawyer on Tuesday and I have a better sense of things, I could try again with Ivy. Beg for forgiveness and pray she gives me a chance.
Standing up, I slide my phone back into the pocket of my jeans before readying my stuff to leave when two men—clearly not college kids—position themselves in front of me. They’re dressed almost like everyone else, but it’s the small, subtle differences that have the icy sting of paranoia pricking at my skin. They look too normal. Too casual. Like they’re trying just a touch too hard to blend in with their designer jeans, black boots, graphic tees and short coiffed hair.
“Luke Walker, have a seat,” the blond with green eyes says.
“No thanks,” I say, hoping I portray a confidence I don’t feel as I move to brush past them.
“We weren’t asking,” the one with dark hair, dark skin and golden eyes says. “Sit.” It’s a command and the look in their eyes says not to mess with them. That in doing so, I may be risking my life. Maybe I’m overdramatizing this, but I doubt it and their hard-nosed, authoritarian, all business yet perfectly causal stance and expressions tell me that I’m right.
I sit down.
“Wise decision.” They sit too. To any onlookers, we might portray the image of grad students and friends. However, there is nothing friendly about this little impromptu meeting.
“How long did it take you to hack into the federal government’s mainframe?”
Oh shit.
Neither of them have offered a name or any identification, but they are the type of men who don’t have to. Their intimidating presence and irrefutable knowledge imply they’re government.
And once again, I’m screwed.
I don’t even bother denying it.
“Did you really think that a smashed computer and hard drive would be enough to cover your tracks?”
Yes, yes I did. Motherfucker!
“You’re good, Luke,” the dark hair guy says. “Very good. And it took us a solid four weeks to find you.”
“But we did find you,” the other guy adds like it wasn’t glaringly obvious.
“I have a lawyer and nothing to say,” my voice is surprisingly even, given the workout my heart is getting right now.
“You do have a lawyer, but he won’t be able to get the file he wants from the FBI,” the blond laughs. “Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s going to get the one that says you were arrested for hacking into the bank. That’s the one we’re making public. But your other crimes? You will not be set in front of a judge for those.”
“What the fuck?” I bark out.
That’s not even legal. Is it?
“We’ve been watching you,” he goes on, ignoring my outburst. “Monitoring your activity. We tipped off the FBI about your final challenge in the ring. We had them lined up and waiting, and they arrested you for the bank infiltration on our order, but we’re not interested in that. And though you may have a lawyer, you’re looking at a lengthy prison stay.”
Whoever these guys are, they know I hacked the government and got me arrested for some other charge so they’d have leverage against me.
Blackmail.
That’s what this is.
Entrapment.
Another good word.
I swallow hard. This is the part of the game where they play let’s make a deal, except this is not a game and there is no deal.
“So what do you want?” I need to get to the punchline here before I have a stroke.
One guy slips me a white business card with a handwritten address on it and nothing else.
“We’ll see you there at three p.m. today. If you tell anyone, we’ll know, so don’t.” They stand up in unison and leave without saying anything further.
I stare at the card and then to where they just left.
Then it hits me hard, like a truck being slammed into my chest.
They’ve got me and they know it.
And just like that . . . I’m done.
Chapter 20
Luke
“What the bloody hell did you do?”
“Oh, come on, you’ll love it.”
“Rack off, I’m not doing it. I’m going to chunder everywhere if you get me in that thing.”
“You do realize I only caught about every other word, right?”
Ivy sighs, but she doesn’t look any more relaxed as I pull her up to Seattle’s Great Wheel. Truth be told, in all the years I’ve lived here I’ve never done it, but I want to do lame touristy things with her so she’ll want to come back after her year away.
It’s a pathetic attempt at best. I get that. Fully even, but what the hell, right? Could be fun.
“Now is not the time to make fun of my accent. I don’t like heights. That American enough for you?”
“You’re locked in there, Ivy.” She throws me a look that tells me that didn’t help my cause. “Come on,” I pull on her hand. “We can make out the entire time. It’s beautiful up there. Or so I’m told.”
“Luke?” She chews on the corner of her mouth. “Can’t we just go eat or do something else?”
“Come on, baby. Live a little. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Ivy’s wooden posture relaxes a fraction, and she gives me the slightest of nods.
I got back from my ‘business trip’ a few days ago. At first, Ivy was distant with me—probably because I didn’t call or text her almost the entire time I was gone. That and two days ended up being four. She never once asked me about the trip. Not even a simple question. That threw me off. I was expecting an onslaught after Ryan filled me on her little drunken night with Claire and Kate, but instead I got nothing.
Her silence is far more disconcerting than the idea of the onslaught.
But the simple fact is, I missed her.
I missed her to the point of near insanity. During that brief hiatus from her, I realized I’m doomed.
I’ve never experienced this sort of paradox before. There’s so much internal strife and conflict, I’m arguing with myself
no matter what position I take.
I want to keep this going. I want to be with her and try the whole long distance relationship thing. A real relationship.
But I don’t want to tell her about my past. I don’t want to tell her about my family. And I can’t tell her what I was really doing when I said I was in New York. That last part is non-negotiable, and I assume secrets aren’t the best thing for a relationship.
And what I was actually doing could endanger her life if my identity was discovered.
See my dilemma here?
That, and there’s the whole issue of me not being good enough for her. Nowhere even fucking close.
The second they lock us in our little space bubble and we sit on the bench seat, she starts to shake.
Shit. I didn’t think she was really that serious about the heights thing.
“You’ll be fine.” I wrap my arms around her, holding her close to me and kissing the spot on her neck just above her collarbone. “I promise to feed you after.”
“If I sick up, it’s on you. Literally.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Would it help if I gave you an orgasm while we were in here? You know, to help you relax.”
She’s smiling a little now as she elbows me in the ribs. “How will I ever survive without you?” Ivy muses, but I freeze and so does she. Suddenly, this small pod we find ourselves in is suffocating.
I’ve been putting this off and Ivy’s been avoiding it as well, but I wonder if being stuck in here for however long this thing takes is not a perfect time to bring it up.
Today is Thursday. She leaves on Wednesday and we haven’t said a word about that.
But, screw it.
“When you leave next week, is that it?”
Ivy looks down at her hands that are folded neatly in her lap. “How can it not be?”
“Do you even want to talk about it? I mean, it’s only a year and it’s Boston, not Australia.”
She shrugs, looking out the window as we start to move, but evidently she thinks better of that and turns back to her hands.
“Are you saying you want to do that?”
There is so much freaking hope in her voice that my chest clenches at the same time my gut sinks. I inwardly sigh. Why did I bring this up? Can I go back in time thirty seconds and retract my question?