Known I’d saved Barrett from a terrible fate at his hands. Known I could have ordered him to move away from her.
Known that by killing him, I’d become a murderer. Yet, it was the only option I’d had. I’d never be able to live with myself if I let Barrett’s pain and torture go unavenged.
On the main floor, we’re met by FBI agents and local police as they start to fill the house for processing. No one stops us as I lead her out.
No one looks twice at us.
Until we make it down the front porch steps, my arm still locked tight around Barrett’s shoulders, and come face to face with Kynan and Willis Henry, the director of the FBI.
Both wear concerned expressions, which I know has everything to do with the dead body in the basement. That shooting happened less than five minutes ago, but they’ve already been informed I’d killed a man.
What else did they know about it?
“Mr. Britton,” Director Henry says gravely. “We’re going to need to talk to you about what happened down there. I’m going to ask you go with two of my agents back to our offices in Washington.”
I don’t dare look at Kynan, but I can feel the tension rolling off him. “Can this wait?” I ask, nodding to Barrett as I pull her in closer. “She’s had a very traumatic experience, and I want to get her home.”
“We’d be happy to help arrange transport for Ms. Alexander to either a hospital or to her home—”
“I don’t want to go to a hospital,” Barrett interrupts, her voice sounding a little shrill. “And I want Cruce to take me home. I’m sure you can appreciate what I’ve been through, and you can always talk to Cruce tomorrow.”
“This is a criminal investigation, Ms. Alexander,” the director answers cautiously. “I cannot begin to imagine what you suffered, and we’ll obviously need your statement, too. I can have an agent accompany you to save you a trip to our offices.”
“I think your ‘criminal’ investigation needs to be focused on the actual criminals,” Barrett snaps hotly. “You know… the man who had me kidnapped and tortured. Richard Munford.”
Director Henry’s gaze moves from Barrett to me. “Mr. Munford is saying you shot his employee in cold blood. That he was unarmed and helpless.”
“He tortured me for hours with an electric cattle prod,” Barrett snarls, pulling away from my embrace and getting in Henry’s face. “He was getting ready to rape me, and he had just threatened to shove that cattle prod inside me. You should be giving Cruce a medal.”
I actually go dizzy upon hearing this.
He had threatened to rape her with that fucking electrified stick?
“That fucker deserved the bullet between his eyes,” I growl at the director.
“Jesus Christ,” Kynan mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I think you need to come with me,” Director Henry says with a resigned sigh.
“Wait,” Barrett says shrilly, moving to put herself in between me and the director of the FBI. She even holds her arms stretched out as if she could physically keep us apart if either of us didn’t want that space. The wounds on her wrists are glaring, and I, in turn, glare at Henry for even attempting this shit while Barrett clearly needs to be taken care. “How can you even do this? What in the hell is wrong with you? Cruce did nothing but protect me and my knowledge. He’s an American patriot, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Easy there, Barrie,” a deep voice says from behind us, and I jolt when I recognize it as the president’s. I turn to see him. He’s staring at Barrett as if he’s on the verge of tears.
Director Henry stands straighter, puffing his chest out slightly as Barrett pushes past me to move into her uncle’s arms. He hugs her tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, and she starts crying again.
His eyes pop open, pinned directly on Willis Henry, and a hard resolve tightens the president’s jawline.
He presses a kiss to the top of Barrett’s head, then gently pushes her into my arms. I gather her close while the president puts his arm on the director’s shoulder and leads him a few feet away.
I can’t hear exactly what’s being said, so I focus on Kynan. “How fucked am I?”
“I have no clue,” he replies with a worried expression. “But that little comment about the man deserving a bullet between his eyes didn’t help.”
It was the truth, but yeah… should have kept that to myself.
“You going to lecture me on being so irresponsible?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says without hesitation.
“Going to fire me?”
Kynan rolls his eyes. “No need. You’ll probably be in prison.”
Barrett jerks at that, whipping around to Kynan. “No. They can’t.”
“They can,” I murmur, and she pushes out of my embrace with a glare. “You know I didn’t have to kill that man, Barrett. But I did, and I’d do it again even knowing the consequences. What he was about to do to you and imagining what he’d already done… I just… I couldn’t let that go.”
She shakes her head, not wanting to listen.
“You remember what we talked about on the boat that day?” I ask. It takes a moment for realization to set in, but then she gives me a tentative nod.
“We talked about regrets,” I remind her, although she’s right there with me. I can see it. “And I don’t regret this, Barrett. Please know, no matter what happens, killing that man is something I will never regret.”
“It’s not fair,” she cries out, flinging herself into my arms, burying her face in my chest. Pressing my lips to the top of her head, I hold her. Let her cry it out. Trying to shove down the realization I might not ever get to hold her again.
Kynan makes a rough coughing sound, obviously fake. When I raise an eyebrow, his eyes flick over to where the president had just been talking to Directory Henry.
But Henry’s gone, and the president watches me hold his niece with a weird expression on his face. A little perplexed, a little affronted, a little resigned, but mixed with a slight tinge of happiness.
He moves toward us, and I give Barrett a tiny squeeze before placing my hands on her shoulders to push her slightly away from me. When she sees her uncle approaching, she immediately starts to implore. “Please, Uncle Jon… can’t you do—”
The president holds up his hand in a signal for silence, and Barrett immediately quiets. He looks left and then right, making sure there’s no one standing nearby. His Secret Service detail is a good ten yards off, watching us but outside of hearing range.
He steps in closer. In a voice so low I can barely hear him, he says, “I just called in the biggest favor of my career. Cruce… you’re free to go. I’d appreciate it if I can leave Barrett in your care while I stay here to monitor things.”
Holy shit.
He just pulled me right out of a murder investigation.
Gave me a free pass for killing that man.
Barrett gapes at me in stunned silence a moment before slowly turning to her uncle. His eyes stay locked on me, though, and his voice is rough with emotion. “Cruce… that’s twice you’ve gone above and beyond for me. First, you saved my life, then you saved Barrett’s. I can never repay you, but if you think of any way I can—”
“You already did, sir,” I say with a nod of my head. He’d just absolved me of murder. “We’re absolutely even.”
The president reaches out, then touches his fingers to Barrett’s cheek. They share an exchanged look of love and gratitude. He then smiles before pivoting on his foot to walk away.
Grinning, Kynan winks before following the president.
Together, Barrett and I watch the bustle of federal and state authorities swarming the estate. I reach down, gently take her hand.
Barrett pins me with a soft, questioning smile.
“Let’s go find transport to D.C. so we can get you a burger and some onion rings,” I suggest.
Her smile notches up to mega-wattage. “Sounds like the best plan I’ve ever heard.”
CHAPTER 25
Barrett
I come awake slowly, smiling as I stretch my body. It’s been three days since Cruce rescued me. The first thing I do upon conscious awareness of each new day is smile. I’m so grateful I’m alive and in bed next to the man who has quickly become my everything.
Blinking my eyes, I take him in.
He’s on his back, hands tucked behind his head as he stares at my ceiling. Of course he’s awake, because he always rises before me. Which concerns me, because he’s not been sleeping well. Restless, tossing and turning. He’ll wake up, lean over me, and watch me in the dark. Sometimes, he touches my face. I don’t let him know I’m awake.
I drag my eyes down Cruce’s body. His chest is naked, but I know he has on his boxers under the sheet he has pulled up to his waist. There’s a bandage over his wound under his left clavicle, a painful reminder of all he went through to save me.
He hasn’t tried to make a move on me once, either too worried about how I’ll react or simply because he’s not attracted to me anymore. Maybe what we had built during those precious island days wasn’t real. Heightened by stress and danger, perhaps we’d bonded over things that weren’t grounded in reality, which maybe weren’t strong enough to last in normal life.
Reaching a hand out, I move to place it on his chest. For a moment, I’m distracted by the scabbed wounds on my wrist. They feel fine, but they sure are ugly. They’re going to leave permanent marks, so I’ve decided to just accept them as battle scars and leave them as a good reminder of what I can survive.
“Hey,” I murmur when he doesn’t react to my touch. Just a few days ago, this would have bothered me so much I would have withdrawn. I might not have even had the guts to reach out and touch him, too worried I might be rejected.
But that was the old Barrett who was stuck in a lab working scientific mojo for the greater good. New Barrett had survived kidnapping and torture, and I’m not waiting around to see what life may or may not hand me.
Cruce rolls his head until his eyes lock with mine. His lips curve slightly as he takes me in. “Morning.”
I scoot over to him, then put my head on his good shoulder and drape my arm over his stomach. His arm comes around me, holding me close.
Yes, he cares for me. He’s never hesitated to show it in any respect since he walked me out of Munford’s house. He’s held me close, hugged me, and sweetly kissed me. He’s done everything but touch me in the ways I want to be touched.
While in bed with him on Marjorie Island just days ago, I remember wanting to touch him. Dreaming I’d touched him, then making it real.
I shift my arm, sliding my hand over his abdomen and edging it farther south. Cruce tenses and holds his breath while my fingers creep under the sheet.
They move under the elastic band of his boxers, travel through the trimmed, crisp hairs, and right to his cock. Just like I did all those days ago when I’d started all this between us.
Cruce’s breath slides out of his mouth in a sigh as I wrap my hand around him. When I tip my head back to look at him, his eyes are closed, bottom teeth dug down into his lip.
I squeeze… stroke.
He groans.
“Feel good?” I ask.
His eyes pop open, travel down to stare for just a moment, then I’m flat on my back and he’s on top of me. Mouth on mine, one hand at the nape of my neck and the other at my hip. His erection is pressed solidly between my legs, and I drown in his kiss as I hang onto his shoulders.
Hang on so tight as I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.
Cruce tears his mouth free, eyes fierce. “You okay?”
I frown. “Um… yes. Ready to be better.”
“No,” he growls with a hard shake of his head. “Are you okay… to do this?”
I blink, confused at first, but then it hits me. He’s worried because I was almost raped. Maybe even worried I’m still too fragile from my torture.
Bringing a hand to his face, I rub my thumb through the bristles of his short beard and give him a reassuring smile. “I am more than okay for this. In fact, I really, really need this, Cruce.”
Relief fills his eyes, but it’s immediately replaced by heat. He touches his lips to mine again, this time so reverently my eyes get a little wet.
I slip my tongue into his mouth and touch it against his, the vibe of the kiss turning a bit dirty. It spurs Cruce on, telling him it’s okay to go fast and a little rough if he wants. His hand moves into my panties, fingers gently probing. My hips surge up, legs spread wantonly.
I should be embarrassed about how wet I am when he slips inside me, but I’m not. It’s a testament to how much my body belongs to him. That just his kiss does that to me.
Wiggling, I manage to reach down between us… get my hand back around him. He groans into my mouth, and we use our hands on each other until it’s unbearable.
Until nothing else will satisfy me except having him inside me.
I release him, pull my mouth away from his, and mutter, “Get your damn underwear off.”
My hands are now pushing at the elastic band, and I give a kitteny growl in frustration.
Laughing, Cruce rolls slightly off me. He takes over, pushing his underwear roughly down his legs. I use the moment to take care of my own panties, shucking them down my legs and wriggling out of the stupid, obstructionist things. Then, I whip my t-shirt over my head and toss it to the floor.
I go still as I feel the quiet weight of Cruce’s stare.
His eyes roam all over me, my nipples puckering in response to how intense he appears right now.
Like he could devour me.
Cruce seems to bristle with some type of energy as he rolls my way again, settles in between my legs, and puts his hands to the backs of my thighs. I shift, let him spread me wide, and I take him in my grip.
I guide him to me, feel him press and breach me slowly.
A long slide into my body until our pelvises are pressed tightly to one another.
I can’t help but groan at the feeling of full completeness. Cruce intently watches where we’re joined as his hips pull back, then he slides his long length out almost to the tip before pressing deeply back in.
“Fuck,” he grunts, an awed expression washing over his face as he peers down at me. “Feels so fucking good, Barrett.”
“So good,” I murmur, reaching to palm his face… touch his beard.
One of his hands comes up, takes me by the forearm, and pulls me away so he can examine my scabbed wrists. He dips his head, then places his lips there tenderly before dropping his weight onto me.
Linking our fingers together on both sides, Cruce raises my arms above my head and proceeds to slowly fuck me… torsos pressed together, the only movement his hips as they thrust in and out.
It’s slow, luxurious, and consuming.
When his mouth comes back to mine, he fucks me just as sweetly with his tongue.
It goes on and on, and I don’t want it to end.
Yet, all good things do, but with Cruce, at least they end with fireworks. We both orgasm hard and slow at the same time. Brutal shudders of ecstasy rip us apart and let us bleed back into each other.
Cruce merely wraps his arms around me, even as we’re still shaking, and holds me through it.
♦
“I needed that,” I murmur, long after we’ve come back down to earth. “I needed to know that we’re okay.”
“Hmmm,” he says, sort of an agreeing type of non-statement. I figure the power of speech might still be absent after how hard we both just came.
“I was thinking of going into the office today,” I say, and he shifts toward me.
“You sure?” he asks with concern. “I mean… it’s only been a few days since—”
“I’m sure,” I cut him off. “I sort of need to have some normal me time, too. Sitting around and doing nothing makes me feel a bit weak.”
His eyes cloud a little, but he gives a nod to show he understands.
“Why?” I ask, shifting so there’s some distance between us and I can see him better. “The danger is over, right?”
“Right,” he replies, but then he backtracks. “It’s just… until the FBI can finish their investigation, we don’t know if there are other people out there with the same line of thinking as Munford.”
“But I’ve already given the formula up,” I point out. “It’s out in the open.”
Which is true. I’d turned over all my notes and my laptop to the director of my lab and the scientists representing the United States Department of Energy. I’d met with them to go over things and explain my theory. I’d been grilled, as I should have been. They’d tested me as best they could, but let’s face it… if they’d known all this stuff, they could have figured it out themselves.
“Yes,” Cruce counters. “But that’s not public knowledge yet.”
I sigh in frustration. “How much longer will this have to go on?”
“Until the FBI can finish their investigation,” he replies, his tone patient if a bit resigned.
I feel my eyebrows draw inward as something hits me. “Why don’t you just escort me?”
Cruce’s gaze cuts away from me, but there’s a flash of guilt he can’t hide. But just as quickly, he gives me his regard again.
The hardening of his jaw is a foreboding tell.
“I need to head back to Pittsburgh,” he says. I blink in surprise. It was the last thing I thought I’d hear from him, yet… how could I not consider this?
Cruce doesn’t live in D.C. anymore. He has another job in another city. It dawns on me all at once that I’ve been hiding for the last few days—thinking I was ready to return to normality, while having no clue what that actually meant.
“Oh,” I murmur, averting my eyes from Cruce to focus on the bathroom door. Suddenly, I have an overwhelming need to escape this bed.
We’d just re-solidified our intimacy… and for what?
For nothing, I think.
I start to roll away from Cruce, but his arm comes around my waist to stop me. He pulls me back, hand to my chin, and forces me toward him. “I have to get back for a debriefing and to figure out what my next assignment is going to be.”
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