Blind Vigilance

by Emily Kimelman Gilvey

  She is a huntress.

  "There are other ways to take care of problems like Billy Ray Titus." I blink at her.

  "Dan." Consuela's voice edges into annoyance. "Homeland Security does not assassinate US Citizens."

  "Doesn't it?" I ask.

  She frowns. "You're a conspiracy theorist."

  "I'd say I'm data driven."

  Her lips quirk into a half smile as she steps back from me.

  She takes in a deep breath and lets out another sigh, and I wonder what's going on with her today. Consuela has seemed down all morning. She stretches toward the ceiling, fuzzing my brain out for a minute as I watch her. The shirt she's wearing rides up to the waistband of her slacks and then slips over smooth skin, exposing a line of flesh.

  Dear God in heaven, have mercy on my soul.

  When I tune back in, she is in the middle of a sentence.

  "—so, I guess you're done."

  "What?" I shake myself, trying to catch up while my eyes are still stuck on her stomach, even though the brief flash of skin is gone.

  "Dan."

  I drag my eyes up to meet hers, passing by her frowning lips en route. "I said," she enunciates as if speaking to someone with a processing problem, "that your work here is done."

  "It is?"

  Her eyes flick to the screen, then back to me. "You gathered the data you promised and built the pages. We can take it from here. You did it within your timeline." She cocks her head, looking at me like I'm the crazy one.

  I glance at my calendar. She's right, my deadline is in a few days—but I've never worked in Newtonian time, preferring Einstein's. It's all relative. I did do everything I promised...

  "Wait." I lean back in my chair, swiveling to fully face her. "You can take it from here?" What does that mean?

  "Yes. You're free to go." She doesn’t sound happy about it.

  "So, I'm no longer an asset?"

  "You'll always be an asset, Dan." She smiles down at me.

  "Does that mean our relationship"—I wave a hand between the two of us just so she is totally clear who the “our” in that sentence refers to—"is no longer a professional one?"

  She rolls her eyes. I stand up slowly. Consuela braces, her eyes narrowing.

  "Since it's my last day, consider buying me lunch?" Her head cocks. "Off campus."

  “Okay…”

  It's cold outside, and I hunch into my down jacket. Consuela pulls her scarf tighter as we cross the courtyard, headed to the city street. A spark of insight ignites in my mind. I can't believe I missed this. Love does make you blind.

  "It was you in Sydney's phone," I say. Consuela's eyes dart to meet mine, but she keeps walking. She doesn't answer. "I found a bug in Sydney Rye's phone; it wasn't classic Homeland Security though. You didn't code it. Who did?"

  "I'm not going to share information with you."

  "No way was it your team," I say, working through the problem out loud. "It had hints of Fortress Global to it. Their department has a real slickness I've always admired. Leaves a trail of slime though."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Are you working with some of Robert Maxim's coders?" I hold up a hand to stop another canned response. "I'm not actually asking. I'm thinking out loud."

  "Far be it for me to interrupt a genius at work," she grumbles as we enter the park.

  "Did you bring any of Robert's guys in? Would they work with you?"

  She doesn't look over at me, just keeps walking. I stare at her hard. Consuela stops walking and turns to me, her breath blooming white in front of her face. Her eyes are almost accusatory. You don't know me well enough to read me, asshole. Or do I?

  I face her fully, putting my hands on my hips and really look at her. She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin, letting me look, daring me to see her.

  "Robert Maxim is alive," I guess. She doesn't flinch. Gives nothing away. "He's working with you." Same cold, unflinching stare. It dawns on me. "Not you. He's working with Declan Doyle… on the international organized crime task force." Her eyes narrow. I've guessed right. It was all right in front of me this whole time. "I'm right."

  Her nostrils flare, and spots of color flash on her cheeks. "No, you are not."

  I shrug and turn to keep walking, all casual stroll with a friend. "If you say so. Makes sense though. Robert is obsessed with Sydney. Of course he'd want access to her phone." But what is that snake up to?

  Consuela falls into step with me. "And you're not obsessed with her?" she grumbles.

  "No, I'm not," I say it quietly, hoping she'll hear the words I'm not saying… hoping she can read me. The way I just read her. She stops and looks up at me, anger filling her gaze. What's she pissed about?

  "It's cold out here," she says. "Let's go back inside. I'm not hungry anymore." She turns back to the office, not waiting for my reply. I follow, my mind sifting through this new information. Robert Maxim faked his own death to then join Declan Doyle on the international organized crime task force. Is he trying to protect Sydney… or destroy Joyful Justice? Maybe both.

  Consuela pushes in through our office door and starts taking off her coat, her movements jerky, like she's really pissed. It draws my focus from the Robert Maxim problem. "I should have watched you closer," I mutter. Shit, I wasn't supposed to speak that out loud. She won't figure out I meant surveillance, right? Yeah, Dan, she's a real idiot; that's why you're so into her. You love dumb broads.

  Crap.

  Her breathing is still heavy, but some of the fire in her eyes cools at my words. I hang up my coat, and when I turn back to face Consuela, a smile broadens her mouth—that one she gets when she's hunting. Sly, skillful, foxy as all fuck.

  "I hid, Dan." I don't get it, so she goes on. "I knew you were watching us. I didn't know how, or I'd have stopped you. So I got myself demoted. I made you stop looking at me."

  My mouth gapes a little. I don't ever want to stop looking at her again. She's so brilliant. "I'm in love with you." The words pop out before they've even formed in my mind. They just jump right out of my heart and into the air bypassing all protocols meant to hold them in place. Like an electron that quantum leaps from one location to another, skipping all space and time in between. Scientist don't know how it happens. They just know it does.

  She blinks and steps back. Blinks again.

  Well, now that the truth is out there... I take a step forward. She backs up and hits my desk. Consuela puts up a hand, and I stop. We stare at each other. She fumbles behind her for the phone.

  "Don't."

  She shakes her head. "This can't happen."

  "It already has."

  "You're an asset."

  "I'm yours."

  "Stop it!" Consuela takes her hand off the phone and points a finger at me. "I will not let you ruin me."

  "Ruin you?" It's my turn to shake my head. "I'm not ruining you! You've chosen to be blind to your reality." Oh, the irony. "I know you, Consuela Sanchez. You want to do good, make the world a better, safer place—"

  "Within the confines of the law," she cuts me off.

  "When the laws are created to oppress some and lift up others, then you're working at cross purposes, can't you see that?" My frustration is gurgling inside of me, crawling up my throat, tightening my fists, and beating my heart like a drum.

  "The law is an evolving system. We have to have a system, Dan. Otherwise it is just anarchy. That's why we'd never work; you're a freaking revolutionary, and I'm an officer of the law."

  "So you'll admit you've thought about us working?" Her lips tighten and eyes widen. Caught ya. "At least admit you've thought about it."

  "Of course I have!" Her outburst feels so good I can hardly stay on my feet. "But just because I think you have a hot body doesn't mean I'm going to throw my whole life away to touch it."

  Ouch. "You cowardly liar." I say it low, so quiet that she actually leans a little forward to catch it. "You know it's not just physical." Her nostrils flair, and she goes
to reach for the phone again. I huff out a sound of disgust, and she turns back to me.

  "Fuck you," she says.

  "It would be making love, and you know it."

  She takes in a stuttering breath. I take a step forward. My hands are shaking, but I keep walking toward her. Consuela shakes her head. I stop. She wets her lips. Again. I walk forward.

  Tears fill her gaze, and I rush to close the distance between us. My arm finds her waist, pulling her against me. We stare at each other, so close now, closer than we've ever been. Her chin is tilted up, her watery eyes holding my gaze.

  I brush my fingers across her cheek, and she closes her eyes. A tear trembles free and slides down her cheek. "I love you," I whisper, this time on purpose. This time because I want her to know, to really know that I love her.

  She opens her eyes. My heart beats even harder, pounding at my rib cage. Hers pounds back. Dipping my fingers into the hair at the base of Consuela's neck, luxuriating in the silky depths I have dreamt of, I lean down, my eyes sliding closed as she lifts up to meet me.

  The door opens behind me, the hinges creaking as loud as a thunderclap. Consuela tries to rip free of me, but the desk is behind her and we are tangled. It's not that I'm holding her so tight—it's that we have crossed a bridge too far.

  "Freeze, asshole!" It's Tweedledum. Fantastic. Just awesome. "Hands in the air."

  I unravel from Consuela and begin to lift my hands. "That's unnecessary," she says, stepping around me to face Tweedledum. "We're fine here."

  Consuela's voice is even, but her hair bun is loosening, and one long strand hangs over her shoulder. There is color in her cheeks—a bright pink flush of excitement.

  What will she do now? Send me away? Or send my guard out of the room? "Are you sure," Dum asks.

  "Yes." She clears her throat and straightens her shoulders. "Leave us."

  My heart gives a leap, and I bow my head to keep from doing anything crazy… like grabbing her in front of Dum.

  He leaves, the door clicking quietly into place. I stay very still, my hands by my sides, fingers twitching, head bowed, gaze on my feet. Consuela isn't moving either.

  "Your contract is fulfilled," she says. "You should go."

  "I—"

  "I'm engaged." She drops the bomb. It explodes inside my chest.

  "What?" I choke out, looking up at her. Hard eyes meet mine.

  "I am getting married."

  "Who?" I'm incredulous.

  "None of your business."

  "But—"

  "That was a mistake," she says, referencing the best moment of my life. The one that happened seconds ago. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too," I say. "Me too." I slam my laptop closed and sweep it off the desk and under my arm before whirling toward the door.

  "Dan..." I turn back to her. "The computer stays."

  I snarl at her. Not on purpose, it just pops out. Striding back to the desk, I lay the laptop down. She isn't looking at me. I'm choking.

  I whip my coat off the hook. My hand on the knob, I turn back to look at Consuela. She stands behind her desk now, eyes focused on her computer screen—as if she is so unaffected that she is just reading her email.

  Liar. Coward.

  I rip the door open, filled with self-loathing and frustration. Tweedledum waits for me. He blinks when he sees the expression on my face. I need to get out of here immediately.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sydney

  "I hate leaving you here," Mulberry says, his breath warm on my forehead as I burrow into his chest.

  "I'm right behind you," I promise, looking up at him. "I'll see you in the jungle." I smile, my heart tugging at that idea… We will be together in the sunshine soon.

  Mulberry sighs. "I know." He kisses my forehead, his warm lips lingering. "I love you," he says against my skin.

  Last night broke something in me, knocked down a wall. He got in, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get him out. Maybe I never could.

  Mulberry leaves, and I turn back into the hotel suite. Blue taps his nose to my hip as I move into the bedroom, the only one of the two we ended up using. I pull Robert's letter from my duffle—Mulberry had someone pack it up and bring it from my apartment and to the hotel. The paper's softer now, the creases threatening to split. I don't open it, just hold the paper, my heart aching.

  Robert is really dead.

  I feel at once relief and deep fear. I trusted him in a way I've never trusted another man. I knew he could keep me safe. I was wrong. No one can keep me safe. There is no such thing.

  Blue lets out a growl and races into the other room. Shit. I left the gun Mulberry gave me in the fucking living room. That's one way to not be safe. I race after Blue.

  The hotel suite’s door opens as I enter the living room. The gun is on the high table behind the couch, mere feet away. I'll make it.

  Robert Maxim steps into the room, stealing my breath and stilling my forward momentum. Emotions pour through me—relief, anger, confusion… and then back to relief. Back to anger. He’s not dead.

  Blue taps his nose to my hip, asking permission to go say hello, but I stop him with a light touch.

  I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for Robert. I will not run to him. The motherfucker tried to make me think he was dead… for my own good I'm so sure.

  Anger and relief are now neck and neck, tightening my jaw and swirling up my throat, making it impossible to speak.

  He smiles at me, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Good to see you, Sydney."

  His suit is classic Robert Maxim, tailored to perfection, gray with subtle pinstripes running through it. The material looks like pure money. He hasn't bothered with a tie. The top button of his cream shirt is open, exposing the notch between his collarbones. He’s grown a beard, the same black and silver as his hair but with glints of copper too.

  Even in this spiffy a suit, most men couldn't look as rich. Robert oozes wealth and power the way a slug leaves a trail of slime. It makes me grit my teeth.

  "You think this is funny?" I snap.

  He cocks one brow in that way he does—all arrogant, controlled monster. Takes one to know one. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

  "Did you?" Something moves behind his eyes—a shadow of doubt. I should make him suffer. "I figured you'd show up somewhere. You're like a cockroach, you always survive."

  "I'll take that as a compliment coming from you," Robert says, breaking eye contact to glance around the sitting room.

  The door stands ajar behind him, and Blue lets out another low growl right before the sound of the elevator doors opening reaches me. I close the distance between me and my gun, gripping it with both hands as I move toward Robert to shut the door.

  He intercepts me in a fluid motion, fast enough to stop me but slow enough not to spook me. Oh, he knows me too fucking well.

  Robert's body blocks the door, and his hand rests on my forearm, keeping the gun down and his touch light. "I'm expecting someone," he says, his face way too close to mine. But I don't shy away from his gaze.

  His blue-green eyes—the warmth of the Caribbean and the ice of the arctic—wait for me. He always waits for me. How can one man be so patient and yet move so fast. Hot, cold, fast, slow… all the contradictions. Yes, Robert Maxim is all of the contradictions.

  My gaze flicks behind him, and Declan Doyle walks into the room. Robert steps into me, forcing me to either press against him or move back. I let our bodies meet for a brief moment before sliding away, getting enough distance to aim the gun if I need to but keeping it down.

  "Declan," I say. He nods at me. "You two together is quite the conspiracy. What's up?"

  "We need to talk, Sydney," Declan says, moving past Robert toward the windows. Declan glances over his shoulder at me as he pulls a shutter aside, his gaze roaming the street. Dust motes twirl in the beam of sun around Declan. He's wearing a black sweater, cashmere judging by the way it absorbs the light. The gold watch on his wrist spar
kles—as hard as his sweater is soft. Dark indigo jeans and scuffed-up boots complete the look of handsome, wealthy, white tourist. The bulge at his right ankle gives the only indication that he might be something more.

  He turns, his eyes meeting mine—the sun makes them glow a warm brandy brown. He closes the shutters again and turns into the room. "Sit." He gestures to the couch.

  "I like standing."

  "I heard you were supposed to be on bed rest."

  My jaw tightens again. If one more man tries to make me lie the fuck down, I'm going to start shooting.

  "She's fine," Robert says. "Bed rest isn't proven to be effective, you know? It's antiquated really." I meet his gaze, finding it placid. Just the facts. Sound obstetrical advice from Robert Maxim. "Sydney does a very fine job of taking care of herself," he continues. "I'm sure she knows what's best for her and the baby."

  Hearing those words shouldn't feel this good.

  "Fine." Declan shrugs. "We can do this standing. We need to talk about Joyful Justice."

  "I don't think it's necessary for us to talk," I say.

  Declan's eyes drop to my stomach. "I'm assuming you're on some kind of leave."

  "You know what they say about assumptions?" I smile.

  Declan rolls his eyes. Oh, what? I'm not mature enough for you?

  I'm still holding the gun with both hands, ready to raise it if I need to. Declan lets his gaze rest on it. "There is no way you have a permit for that." He moves toward the leather chair across from the couch and takes a seat.

  "You're making yourself at home," I say, ignoring his comment about the permit. He's not taking me in over an illegal weapon. We all know that. I feel Robert's gaze on me. When I turn to him, he's smiling. "You're in too good a mood," I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

  His grin widens. "I'm happy to see you, even if you won't admit the same."

  "I don't trust you."

  He starts toward me. Blue lets out a warning growl. Robert stops, meeting my dog's gaze. Blue's growl deepens, and his hackles slowly rise.

  "What are you doing, Robert?"

  "Saying hello to Blue, reminding him that I mean you no harm. Ever."