Chapter Eight
Her
He drives like a demon. He really knows what he’s doing. The car rocks as he swerves through one hard turn after another. I see him watching me in the rearview. The sparks in his eyes light little trickles of fire in my thighs and in my breasts.
The thoughts that I had about him earlier, they haven’t gone away. The more I see him, the more I need him. The more I feel drawn to him, the more sure I am that I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. And the more things I want to do with him.
In dark parts of my mind, my body curls around his, pulls and sucks on his hard strength. I know my instincts are so often bad but the feelings for this man are so strong. Again, I ask him,
“Who are you?”
“I told you. I’m your savior.” We’re speeding over the Potomac River, across the Francis Scott Key Bridge.
“See,” I tell him, “The more you talk like that, the less I trust you.” An evil slice of a grin crinkles the sides of his eyes. He knows that I’m lying. I can feel that he does. Like he’s making it a game.
But, again, it’s probably my instincts, playing me wrong as always.
We speed off the bridge and onto Spout Run Parkway. He drives fast through Maywood and into Cherrydale. I haven’t seen any Hummers or red and blue lights behind us since we left the bridge.
He’s taken us winding through the leafy darkness of a residential neighborhood, into a quiet street. Ahead is the traffic of the He parks with the lights off. The two military vehicles speed past the end of the street in the bright lights of the traffic on Lee Highway. A string of police cars and unmarked vehicles with red and blue lights flash along after them.
He’s evaded them. At least, he has for now. He really does know what he’s doing. He opens the glove box and takes out a pair of license plates.
“I won’t be a moment,” he says, “Wait here.”
Of course, I don’t have any choice. As soon as he steps out, he locks all the doors. He walks to the front of the car and crouches in front of the hood. Then he moves around to the back and he crouches again. I guess he’s covering the license plates over with the ones he took out of the glove box.
I slide over to the far side of the seat. The doors on both sides are automatic. Like the one on the side where I got in. If I could get out now, which I most likely can’t, he’ll catch me easily.
If I hit the button as soon as he unlocks the doors to get back in, by the time my door slides open far enough for me to climb out, he’ll either have lunged over the seat at me or else he’ll run around the front.
No matter. If I can slip out the door in time, I’ll head for the rear of the car.
He walks slowly, all the way around the car. Looks in through the front windshield. When he sees that I’ve moved to the far side of the car, he pauses. He peers in.
When he gets around to the driver’s door, as soon as I hear the locks click, I push the button to open the door. But I stay looking at him. I hold eye contact as he’s climbing in. I’m trying not to let him see that I did anything. I think he knows something is up.
Calmly, I look forward out of the windshield and nod at the street ahead. I ask him, “Did you see? More cop cars.”
As his head turns to look, the door is open just enough for me to jump out. He runs around the front of the car after me. I guessed right. I run to the back and around.
I run hard. I’m a good runner. I’m sure he’s faster, though. My plan was – well, I used it all up. My plan was to get away. To get a head start on him. I hadn’t thought what to do next. Maybe I didn’t believe it. I have to believe it now.
I run harder. Step up a gear. If I can make it to the end of the street, maybe there will be enough people in sight that he won’t grab me.
I expect he’s very fast. I’m sure he has skills. He probably knows a way to grab hold of me so that it isn’t too obvious. So it looks like we’re holding hands or something. He’s devious. Still, if I can get out to where there are more people, in time, I can turn. Then he would have to come at me while I back away. Maybe we circle each other.
Perhaps a cop car comes by? Or part of the convoy turns back to search. Or there are people on the sidewalk? In DC, it happens.
It’s never a good look, for a man to be physically chasing a woman down. Will anyone do anything about it? I have no idea. But as I run, I don’t have a better plan.
I don’t dare take the time to turn. I’m running too hard to hear what’s behind me.
I’m almost to the end of the street. I can’t see anything ahead but the rushing lights of traffic passing. The closer I get, the faster it all seems to be going, and the more hopeless I feel. I hear him. I hear his running feet. Closer.
I’m nearly at the end of the street.
He overtakes me and runs around in front of me, with no sign of effort at all. I have to stop or I’ll run into him. I’m afraid now. I feel that’s what I want to do. To run into him. This can’t be a sudden Stockholm syndrome. Why am I so insanely attracted to this man, when I have every reason to think that he’s likely to do me harm?
The cars and trucks going by, even if they can see me, nobody is going to do anything to help. The SWAT team that was pursuing us? I guess I was hoping they would somehow be here waiting, or they would come back. Pass by and see us. But it’s no good. He’s lost them. He’s too good.
I’m feeling a rise of panic. I tell myself it’s because I’ve been running. I’m stressed. My heart rate is up. I feel the blood pressure in my temples. I don’t know how to cover up the sensation of panic that’s vibrating through me.
I haven’t ever felt in so much danger before, and I never had to go so hard against my instincts. I feel like now it’s just me and him. And I want him so much. The scent and the heat of his body, the fire in his eyes, inside me, every breath is a long, silent moan.
It’s so wrong. I want to jump on him. Wrap myself around him. Paint myself on him and cling to him.
He looks into my eyes. “I know you can’t believe it,” his voice drips like hot caramel, “but I’m going to protect you. You’re safe with me.”
I’m tingling all over. My thighs quiver. I have to concentrate to keep my breathing level and even.
Supposing what he tells me is true? I want it to be true so badly I could burst.
Chapter Nine
Him
Her face shines in the streetlight and her eyes gleam.
“Is Richard Drinkwater safe in that box? How long are you going to leave him in there?”
She is breathing hard. I love that she has the spirit to make a run. And she has the wit to try and change the subject.
“You know that he’s a traitor, don’t you?” I stand in front of her. She isn’t going to try and run around me. Not yet, at least.
She says, “You’re not exactly on the side of the angels yourself, are you?”
I like that. She’s not thrown and she’s not intimidated. I’m big and I’m powerful, but she isn’t afraid. “Depends on whose angels you cheer for. I am on the side of the good guys, though. I’m for peace and order, and your Deputy Secretary is very definitely not.”
She throws me back a look, defiant. “So you kidnapped him in the name of peace and order?”
I tell her, “I will explain, I promise. When I tell you, you will understand.”
“And have you kidnapped me in the name of peace and order?”
“I told you. I’m protecting you.”
“From whom?”
“From that SWAT team, for a start.”
“They’re a US SWAT team, remember. They’re on my side.”
“After you ran out of the archive, you had the instinct to get out, didn’t you? To get out of the building and get far away.”
“Yes.”
“And your instinct was right. But somebody called to make you come back. Didn’t they?”
“Yes.” Her voice changes. I’m getting through, at least some. “How do you know?”<
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Every part of my body aches to just take her. She’s going to be mine. She’s the woman I need. My cock is throbbing hard. My balls are swollen tight and they ache. My whole body is impatient, zinging with urgency. Take her!
But I need her to be ready. I’m exercising will and discipline over my urges. I have a will of iron. But it’s never been tested in this way before. I could just take her. But I want to make her love me. She will. But I don’t know how long I can wait.
Holding my voice steady I tell her, “I know because I know what’s happening.” When I take a breath, the scent of her hair in the night air makes me sigh, “I will tell you. But I need you to trust me.”
“Okay.”
“No, I don’t mean I need you to say it. I mean really. I need you to really trust me.” Her eyes watch me. Studying my face. Searching my eyes. I ask her, “What do you want to do now?”
She has to think about it.
“I can just let you go. Drive you to wherever you’d like to be and let you out. But that SWAT team isn’t looking to carry your books or walk you home.”
“Why would they be after me?”
“You’ve seen something you shouldn’t have.”
She thinks some more. I can see that she’s not ready to believe me. I think she wants to, but she can’t. Not yet. She isn’t going to discount what I’ve told her either.
She says, “I don’t know. I guess I want to talk to the Director.”
“Was it the Director who called you and told you to go back to the State Department?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have a lot of contact with her, day to day?”
“No, none. She’s only spoken to me one other time.”
“Right. So why do you think it was she who called you?”
“I don’t know. I guess just because it was important.”
“If you talk to her, you know that she’ll tell you to come in again.”
“I guess so.”
“I need you to be safe, Saskia. These people are not your friends.”
“You’re an enemy spy. I don’t think I should be taking your advice.”
“You have to look after yourself first. Imagine if I’m wrong, you’ll have taken some precautions you didn’t need.” I have to make her understand. “Think. If I’m right and you don’t take care, if you simply do what she asks you. Think what might happen.”
I don’t want to spell it out for her.
Instinctively, I think she can take a shock, but I can’t risk it. I say, “You could tell her that you’ll only meet her. Alone. And you’ll do it somewhere you can be safe. Off the department premises. Somewhere public.”
“I could do that.”
“If she can be trusted, she will understand and respect it. Let me give you a secure phone. Take you somewhere safe. Somewhere the call can’t be traced. Then you can call her.”
She looks up. Unsure. “Somewhere safe? Where would that be, Moscow?”
“No.” I can’t prevent a laugh. She is pretty wonderful. I tell her, “I know somewhere. It’s not far. About a twenty-minute drive from here. There’s a place near the airport, between two communications towers. Communications traffic is too dense there for a call to be traced in time. I’ve got a phone that routes through all kinds of places in Thailand and Indonesia. You can make a call safely for about a minute and a half, and we’ll be safe.”
“And nobody else will be monitoring that super-secure phone?”
“There, you see? You don’t trust me at all.” I laugh.
And it’s not completely true. Not now. I’m getting through to her. We both know it. She is beginning to trust me a little bit. And she wants to trust me more.
I say, “You don’t know me well enough, so you’re right not to trust me yet. But you won’t be saying anything insecure. And I know for certain that your Director won't. You’ll be completely safe.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
I tell her straight. “To build trust. I want you to trust me.”
“Why?”
“It’s going to be hard for me to protect you if you keep on running away. And I’m going to protect you.”
“But why?”
I want to hold back. “I don’t want to tell you this until a little later. When you trust me a bit more than you do now.”
“You want to protect me, you’ve got a reason, and you don’t want to tell me what it is. But you want me to trust you.”
“Yes.” She’s too smart for a glib answer. So I’ll just tell her. “Okay. I want to keep you safe, to protect you.”
“Oh-kay…”
“I want to keep you with me. Forever. I want you to have my babies.”
“You’re…” Her face is beautiful when she laughs. Her cheeks have dimples. “I can’t believe you just said that. You don’t know me at all.”
“I know that you’re the woman I need. I know that you are what I need in my life.”
“I can’t… you’re… I don’t know where to start. You must be insane.”
“Do I seem insane to you?”
“Not now, no.”
“Well, then.”
“You do when you’re driving. And you might have seemed a bit insane when you injected the Deputy Secretary.”
“And you’ve reminded me. I’ll have to give him another shot in about ten minutes. Can we go to the airport now so you can make your call?”
“How do I know you’re not just taking me there so you can lure me onto a private plane and smuggle me out to Moscow?”
“You sound as though you might like that.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“We are making progress.”
By a chain-link fence, the inside of the van is flooded with light from the runways and landing lights. The blacked-out windows cut down the glare but we’re both blinking. I make the connection with the satellite phone.
I set a timer on a cellphone so she can see the seconds count. She understands not to let the call run more than a minute and forty-five seconds. She tells the person who answers to connect her with the Director immediately.
They’ve been waiting for her call, as I knew they would. I’ve warned her that there will be a number of people listening in. She handles herself well.
She’s put through quickly. She says, “Madame Director?” and then she listens for a moment.
Calmly, she says, “When I saw the armed men, I didn’t feel secure. I felt like I was under threat.”
I can’t hear what’s being said on the other end, but I can imagine it easily enough. I’ve prepared her the best I can. After a pause, she says, “I understand, Madame Director. But I won’t come in. Not yet. I don’t feel safe. I will meet you. But alone. You and I. Nobody else.”
The Director agrees. Too quickly for my liking. Saskia says, “No. Only in a public place. Somewhere I can be confident that there’s nobody else waiting or hiding.”
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