I shook my head.
“Go lie down and get some rest.”
“Where?”
“The same place you slept last night.”
I watched my father walk out the front door of Wilder’s uncle’s house, wondering if he was crazy or if I should do as he said.
I slowly ascended the staircase, like I had at Wilder’s house, alone. Had he left through some other exit I knew nothing about?
I crept down the hallway and peered into the bedroom where I’d experienced the most incredible sex of my life, but more importantly, as I’d told him, the first real connection I’d ever felt.
Wilder was sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly where he’d been when I went downstairs.
“No more lies,” he spat without looking at me.
I walked closer.
“Who is he to you?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Z.”
I sat down next to him. I’d never told anyone most of the things I’d told Wilder in the span of a few hours. “He’s my father.”
“Holy Mother of God,” he groaned. “Do you know he…never mind. His last name is Alexander. Yours is King.”
“Kennedy King Alexander is how my birth certificate reads. Not that anyone could ever get their hands on a copy of it.”
Wilder turned and faced me. “When I was telling you about my sister and Pinch, you said the lie would be what bothered you the most.”
“And you said you would’ve preferred not to know.”
“What else is there…I don’t know what to call you.”
“Wren. Call me Wren like you’ve been doing. It’s my name.”
“Okay, Wren, what else is there? Because I’m telling you that if you say in two hours that Vera is really your mother, I’ll lose it.”
“My mother is dead. That isn’t a lie.”
“I’m sorry for that.” He reached over and brushed a tear from beneath my eye, one I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
“Why me?” he asked.
I scooted back on the bed so I was resting against the pillows. Longing for the closeness we’d felt before, I reached my hand out to him.
“I’ll answer you,” I said when, to my surprise, he came to lie next to me. “But first I have a question for you.”
He studied me.
“I’ve told you everything about me, Wilder. Tell me one thing about yourself. Answer my question.”
“Okay.” He kept his eyes on me; he didn’t look or shrink away.
“Why me?”
He went so long before answering, just staring into my eyes, that I began to doubt he would.
“It isn’t a short answer,” he finally said.
“Neither of us is going anywhere.”
He didn’t laugh or smile; he just continued staring into my eyes.
“The reason I’m taking so long to answer, Wren, is because these are things I haven’t begun to admit to myself.”
My first inclination was to move away from him, but since he didn’t, I stayed still.
“I knew the minute you waltzed into my office that I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never felt that way before.” When he cupped my cheek with his palm, I felt as though I might melt with relief.
“First of all, and I’m sorry for being a typical man, but you’re magnificent.”
I raised a brow.
“You’re gorgeous and you know it.”
“I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy.”
Wilder rested one hand on my breast. “No, sweetheart, there’s nothing boy about you.” He left his hand where it was, and I covered it with mine. There was no better feeling in the world than having his hands on me again.
“I have an idea,” he said, taking his hand away and sitting up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling really naked at the moment, like I’m about to expose myself to the world.”
“Yeah, I feel that way.”
“So let’s really go for it. Clothes off, secrets exposed, feelings revealed, all of it.”
“Are you serious?”
Wilder’s expression changed as did his voice. “Let me see you.”
I hesitated. Could I open myself up more than I had?
“Now, Wren.”
I stood. My hands were shaking as I unfastened my blouse and let it fall from my shoulders. I waited for him to do the same. He only fussed with one button before pulling the shirt off over his head. Then he put his hands on his hips.
Because he’d told me before that he wanted me to take my pants off before my bra, that’s what I did now. I removed my boots and socks, and stepped out of them.
Wilder took off his shoes and socks.
“That isn’t fair. Take your pants off.”
“Two things. First, you know better than to use that tone with me. Second, once my trousers are off, I will be completely naked, as you know.” He motioned for me to remove my bra.
I unfastened it and let it fall to the floor.
We stood, staring into each other’s eyes. I wiggled out of my panties at the same time he let his pants drop. He held out his hand, and I took it.
“You’re shaking,” he said, bringing it to his lips.
“Since we’re exposing secrets, I’ll admit I’m terrified.”
He led me over to the bed. “Of?”
We lay down, side by side, and faced each other. My eyes filled with tears.
“Tell me why you’re terrified, Wren.”
I took a deep breath.
“Say it.”
“You first.”
“No. Say it,” he repeated.
“I’m terrified that you’re not going to want me.”
Wilder smiled. “That isn’t what you were going to say, but that’s an easy one. Take one look at me, and you’ll know exactly how much I want you.”
I’d already noticed.
“Fair is fair. Plus, it was my turn anyway. So I’ll tell you. I’ll warn you that the words aren’t going to be flowery or romantic. I haven’t had time to prepare.”
“I just want to hear how you feel.”
“I’ve already told you that you’re absolutely gorgeous, and when you sat your luscious arse on the edge of my desk, I almost slammed the door on poor Mrs. Udele, and ravished you there and then.”
“I felt the same way.”
“When I leaned forward and almost touched you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Next, I suppose, was your wit. You’re quick and I loved that.”
“Keep going.”
“You’re smart. No, that’s not right. You’re bloody brilliant. You drink bourbon. You’re funny, did I already say that?”
“You did.”
“Don’t interrupt me; I’m on a roll. You are so badass, but in the car, the way you responded to me. It was so perfect.”
“Do all—”
Wilder put his fingertips on my lips. “We are talking about you and me. No one else. Understood?”
“Okay.”
“What were the words you used? Standard operating procedure? No. I assure you I’ve never come close to feeling the way I do when I’m with you. Everything about you excites me. Everything.”
“Even knowing who I really am?”
“Bloody hell, don’t get me started on that. You have no idea all the questions I want to ask that I know you can never answer.” He went from smiling to serious. “Your turn, Wren. Why me?”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who I believed was strong enough not to walk away.”
“You knew that right off?”
I shook my head. “At first I thought it would just be, you know, sex. But then, Sanborn.”
“You know I was never with her, right? I swear it.”
“Yes. I got it. Seriously, though. I told you before that I knew everything about you.”
“Yes,” he said, grinning.
“But there was a part of me that hoped, once I got to know you, I wouldn’t be as attracted.�
�
“How did that work out for you?”
I swatted at him, and he kissed me.
“Z—my father—warned me.”
“Don’t get me started on that either. My God, I don’t want to think about the conversations he and I had.”
“Wilder?”
“Yes, Wren?”
“Why are you being like this? You were so angry.”
“I already told you why.”
“Tell me again.”
“I knew the minute I met you, I couldn’t let you go.”
“And now?”
“Nothing has changed.”
We lay together, just like that, for so long that I lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was getting dark.
“I’ll light a fire,” he said when I shivered.
I watched as I had the night before, loving the way his body moved.
“I have more questions,” he said, crawling back up on the bed.
“Okay.”
“What happens next?”
“Z is waiting for word from Washington. Neither of us thinks Sanborn figured out my real identity, but we have to make sure.”
“And then?”
“There are a lot of suspects in terms of who killed Matthew.”
“Can I help you narrow them down?”
“You sure you want to?”
Wilder puffed out his chest and flexed the muscles of one arm. “Haven’t you heard? I’m MI6 now.”
19
Wilder
“I usually have a lot more sophisticated equipment at my disposal,” Wren said the next morning at breakfast.
Much like the night before, we got very little sleep as we wrung pleasure from each other. It felt different to me, though. Closer. More of the connection Wren had talked about.
“Should we ask Z to come in?” she asked.
“Do you usually work with him?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?” I asked, smirking.
“He’s MI5, Wilder,” she answered, rolling her eyes.
“Bugger me, I can’t even say anything!”
“About what?”
I told her about the conversation I’d had with George and how she’d condescendingly told me she didn’t have any trouble with Wren because she was DHS. “I bet you could kick her ass, though.”
Wren leveled her gaze at me. “I could kill her quicker.”
I put my hands on my chest. “My God, woman, that was hot.”
“Are you sure about this, Wilder? I mean, once the scent leaves the rose, will it still be as sweet?”
“Now that was flowery.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Are you afraid I won’t think you’re cool anymore?” I tried to sound like a California surfer, but it fell as flat as my attempt at a Southern accent the first day I met her.
“I’m serious.”
“Then I will be too.” I folded my arms on the table. “Last night, while you were snoring, I gave this a lot of thought.”
“You said you’d be serious.”
“I am. And you were snoring. But back to my point. Here’s what I know about you, Kennedy King. You have a photographic memory. You carry more information in your brain than most people could learn in ten lifetimes. My guess is the real reason you were in the UK was to attend a meeting of the ASG, but it was thwarted by Caird’s murder. The way you gather as much intelligence as you do is because no one on earth, except for me and I don’t know who else other than Vera and your father, know who the hell you are.”
I got up and poured her more coffee and then got myself another cup of tea.
“I know that anyone who sails a ship, flies an aircraft, makes national policy decisions, fights wars, locates targets, responds to natural disasters, or even navigates with a cell phone, relies on the NGA. And before you make fun of me for it, yes, I know that comes directly from the website.”
“And you say I have a photographic memory.”
“I can assure you, I don’t. It took me several attempts to remember all of that.”
“Last night?”
I raised a brow. “I did go through training, Miss King. I’ll admit I don’t know exactly what you do, but I don’t care, because I know that ultimately, you’re responsible for making sure the bad guys get what they deserve.”
“Not directly, necessarily.”
“Don’t even think about selling yourself short.”
“I have to tell you something else.”
I’d been pacing, but sat down beside her. When she turned and looked directly at me, a pain had settled in the middle of my chest, and I needed an answer. “Last night you said there’d be no more lies.”
“This isn’t, or wasn’t, a lie. And it isn’t a secret. It’s just something I’ve thought about.”
“Out with it.”
“For a while now, I’ve thought you would be an excellent addition to the NCGI.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
She looked hurt, and that hadn’t been my intention.
“What I meant is that I don’t think I’m qualified.”
“That’s what training is for. What can’t be taught, you already know. It’s in your character, Wilder.”
“I’m flattered.”
“I’ll admit you were on the right track at the hospital. Most of the work I do is with the NSA.”
“NGA is yet another cover.”
“So to speak. I mean, it’s whom I work for. Just not in the capacity most people immediately think of.”
“Sanborn was NSA.”
“Yes. Before my time there, though.”
“How long has it been?” I started doing the math. “Never mind. I’m feeling ancient.”
“Wilder, don’t fish. You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you well know it.”
I was about to say something juvenile, but Kennedy fucking King was sitting beside me, so I refrained.
“There’s a lot done at NCGI that isn’t necessarily intelligence related,” she said.
“And what fun would that be?”
“I agree.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“At this point, I’m an open book, Wilder.”
“Z. Texas?”
“The ranch was handed down from my mother’s family. He tried to make it work after she died, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He eventually hired one of the ranch hands to manage the day-to-day operations—until Quint was old enough to take over.”
“You said before that you and Quint don’t talk much.”
“It isn’t as dramatic as I made it sound. We don’t have much in common. I mean, I can get out and mend fences and even inseminate cows, but my heart isn’t in it any more than Z’s was. Quint loves it, though. He got more of our mama’s blood.”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
“Six.”
I knew that the hard period at the end of the word meant she didn’t want to discuss it, but like she said, we weren’t going anywhere, and who knew when I’d have this chance again. “Tell me about her.”
Wren looked into my eyes. I read what she was trying to convey loud and clear, but I chose to ignore it. “Tell me,” I said again.
“She was beautiful,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“That isn’t a surprise.”
“I don’t look anything like her.”
“What do you remember about her?”
“She was a rodeo queen, and fine. Like spun sugar. I remember her hands were so delicate. She had long nails that she kept perfectly manicured. Even when she’d ride out on the ranch, she never broke a nail. I don’t know why I remember that. Maybe because I bite mine.”
I grasped her hand and kissed her fingertips.
“She had white-blonde hair. Quint got that. I don’t know where I got mine. Z’s hair is dark brown.”
“Maybe from o
ne of your grandmothers.”
“That’s where Finley Harlow came from, by the way. Finley was Z’s mama’s maiden name, and Harlow was my mama’s mama.”
Like when she told the story about the cow and the lightning, her accent went deeper with this one.
“She was smart. College educated. She and Z met at Oxford.”
“He was a lucky man.”
Wren stopped talking and looked into my eyes. “She didn’t tell him her real name either.”
I smiled. “Why not?”
“King?”
“I’m not following.”
“King Ranch? It’s the biggest ranch in all of Texas. Almost a million acres. My mama wasn’t part of that King family, but whenever anyone heard the name, that’s what they assumed. Z wouldn’t have known the difference.”
“What else, Wren?”
“She was affectionate. Always holding me when I went to sleep. She’d sing to me. I missed her so much when she was gone.”
“Who took care of you then?”
“I did.”
Two words and I knew the most important thing there was to know about Kennedy “Wren” King. She grew up the day she lost her mother, and she’d been fending for herself ever since. I didn’t doubt that Z was a decent enough father, but I’d seen Z and Wren together. How could a father hide his love for his daughter as well as he did?
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about Z.”
“I do what I do today because of my father. Never once did he try to hold me back. I told you about the day Vera came to my graduation. Afterwards, I was so nervous about calling her. Z’s exact words were, ‘remember who you are and that she came to you.’ It was all I needed to hear.”
“I’m starting to like him a little more.”
“He’s your boss. You better like him.”
“He’s as much my boss as Sanborn is yours.”
She laughed. “It isn’t the same thing at all.”
“You’re right. Let’s talk about Caird. You said there were many suspects, but are there? If he somehow got mixed up with United Russia, doesn’t the list end there?”
“Not necessarily. It could be someone proving their loyalty.”
“You have someone in mind.”
“The most obvious are the fellow CSTO countries: Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan. None have the might of Russia, and one might need something UR is unwilling to give.”
The Lord and the Spy Page 11