No one came.
Not my mother, not Mags, not anyone.
No one came to see that I was okay, to check on me, to comfort me. They left me to my misery. They left me isolated, empty, and alone.
I thought of Zane. I wanted to talk to him.
But what would I say? What could I say?
My mind started turning circles around me. The ugly, nasty voices started getting louder in my head. I saw the way he’d looked at me, when he put me in the car and sent me home. He looked at me like I was damaged.
He’d saved me, but he didn’t want to stay with me. He said it was because it wasn’t appropriate, and he didn’t want to cross a line, but I knew the truth.
He thought I was dirty. Damaged. Unclean. He was disgusted by me, just like my father was, just like Thomas was. And I was disgusted with myself.
Maybe my father was right. Maybe it was my fault. But it wasn’t because I’d asked for it—no, it was because I hadn’t.
He got impatient, and I should have known. I thought he’d be happy to wait until marriage, but I was wrong. I wasn’t good enough to wait for. I should have given it to him sooner, and then this wouldn’t have happened.
Maybe I did deserve it.
I curled into a ball and pulled the blankets up to my neck, staring at the bedroom wall as my heart shattered.
9
Zane
Berk debriefed me on Sunday. When I told him I tossed the microphone, he looked like he wanted to rip my head off.
“What did I tell you about having eyes and ears on Blanchet at every opportunity? What the fuck are you trying to do here?”
“I told you, the situation became dangerous. I recognized one of Ivanov’s men at the fundraiser.” Lie. “Balmoral started threatening the Blanchet girl, and I had to toss the bug.” Almost true.
Berk sighed. He was standing across the table from me in one of the conference rooms at the mission’s headquarters. He had to leave for Langley in an hour, and I knew he wanted to give them a good report. Telling his superiors that his chief operative had tossed his mic at the first opportunity wasn’t exactly something to shout from the rooftops. He leaned his fists on the table and dropped his head.
“Which man of Ivanov’s was there?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“You know all their names.”
“Not this one.”
“Find out who it was. Find out how he gained access to the fundraiser. Find out why Ivanov is interested in Thomas Balmoral. I want to know everything. If we don’t get dirt on Blanchet, quick, he’s going to get away with this. We don’t have enough to charge him with anything at this point.”
He waved me away. I kept my head down while leaving headquarters, taking public transportation back to my house. I went in a back door, glancing around to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Dennis Norton was supposed to be at home all day today—I couldn’t be seen sneaking around. I went straight through the house and out the front door, got in my car and went to Ivanov. Playing both sides of this was getting exhausting.
“Deniska,” he said with a smile, when I walked into his office. “Sit, please. Tell me about the fundraiser.”
I sighed. “There was some altercation between Thomas Balmoral and the Blanchet girl. He was getting close to another woman and she didn’t like it.”
I didn’t want to tell him about the stairwell. I didn’t want to tell him that the altercation was mostly my fault—for obvious reasons.
Ivanov nodded, tenting his fingers in front of his face. “Okay. Is the damage irreparable?”
“Unclear.” We stared at each other, both of us wearing masks as we tried to read what the other was hiding.
“Shame,” Ivanov replied slowly. “I was hoping Mr. Balmoral would be useful to our deal with Blanchet. Nothing like applying a little bit of pressure to the family to get things done.”
Anger flared within me. That sounded a lot like a threat to Sadie. I kept my face neutral and glanced down at my nails to compose myself. It was a practiced motion, one I used whenever I needed to look nonchalant. I glanced back up at Ivanov.
“I’ll keep my ears open.”
Ivanov nodded, and dismissed me with a wave. I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as I got back in my car, keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel as I made my way back home.
I resisted the urge to contact Sadie. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and to tell her that I would protect her, always. I wanted to hold her and feel her body next to mine.
But I couldn’t.
Any contact between us would be suspicious. It would bring me closer to being exposed and to blowing the whole operation.
As much as I wanted to see her, to kiss her, to fuck her, I had to stay away. I’d gotten too involved already. I lied to my commanding officer and omitted the fact that I’d threatened to kill Thomas Balmoral. I might have ruined the wedding plans, which would anger Blanchet and turn him against me. To make matters worse, Ivanov wanted to bring Balmoral on board.
I was pretty sure I’d ruined that possibility.
Everything was a mess.
Ever since I heard Sadie’s name, my entire plan had gone to shit. I’d inserted myself in the center of their family drama when I should have been an outsider, a puppeteer, a silent observer.
I needed to distance myself.
I ached for Sadie, and I knew I had to make her mine, but I couldn’t.
Not yet.
When Sadie didn’t show up to class on Monday, I was worried. When I didn’t see her on Wednesday, I was alarmed. When class rolled around on Friday and she still hadn’t shown up, I was incensed.
Something wasn’t right.
I’d kept my distance all week as the worry and fear knotted in my stomach.
The time for distance was over.
It was time to act.
As soon as I finished the lecture on Friday, I ignored the students clamoring for my attention and shouldered my way out the door. I jumped in my car and called Chris.
“I need you. Bring the van.”
“Where?”
“Blanchet’s house.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I hung up, not wanting to hear his protests. I glanced out the window—the sun was going down. I hadn’t seen Sadie in almost a week, and it was becoming painfully obvious that I needed her. I needed to see her wild red hair, always falling out when she tried to tie it back. I needed to see those bright green eyes following me from one end of the classroom to the other.
I needed to smell her sweet perfume when she leaned in close to me.
I was drowning without her. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, couldn’t do anything. The thought of her suffering on her own after what happened last weekend was driving me insane. The thought of vultures circling around her—her father, her fiancé, the Russians—it was making something flare up inside me that felt a lot like animalistic instinct.
I pulled on black pants and grabbed a black zip-up hoodie—by the time we got to Senator Blanchet’s house, it would be dark out and I could move unseen. I went to the living room and lifted up the rug. I pulled up a floorboard and reached inside, pulling out a Smith & Wesson M&P pistol and a shoulder holster. I swung the holster on and strapped the gun to the side of my body, and then pulled on my hoodie. I slid a knife into my boot and replaced the floorboard and rug.
Touching my side, I took a deep breath. It felt good to have a weapon at my side. Since I’d gone undercover, I’d been unarmed much of the time. I was supposed to be a lawyer, after all. Lawyers don’t walk around strapped.
But I missed it.
I missed this. I missed the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and the sense of calm focus that came with it. I missed the heightened senses and maybe most of all, I missed the danger.
Chris pulled up at the back of my trio of houses. His headlights were off, and for the thousandth time, I was grateful to have him by my side. He nodded to me and
we drove away in silence.
Finally, when we were nearing the Senator’s house, Chris spoke.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I have a bad feeling.”
“You have a bad feeling?” He glanced at me, arching his eyebrow. He had a scar cutting across his forehead, through his eyebrow and down to his temple. I’d been there when he got it, during our second tour together in Iraq. Chris knew me inside and out. His clear, blue eyes watched me, and I shrugged.
“The Blanchet girl is in trouble.”
“And that’s our problem because…?”
“Because if the Russians are behind it, Blanchet will blow the deal. Three years of work will be fucking ruined.”
Chris nodded. I could tell he thought there was more to the story, but I wasn’t about to tell him that I was falling for Sadie. I needed to tell myself that I was in control. Maybe if I pretended that this was about the operation, I’d start to believe it, too.
I just needed to know that she was safe.
We pulled up outside the Senator’s house, parking on the street behind another car. I slouched down in my seat, scanning the area. Chris handed me a pair of binoculars.
The front of the mansion looked quiet. The lights were on, and it looked exactly as it always did.
“Zane.”
Chris motioned to a car. It stopped outside the gates and I leaned forward.
“No fucking way.”
“Is that…?”
“Thomas Balmoral.”
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Thomas Balmoral shouldn’t be anywhere near Sadie. That sick fuck had done enough to her.
“He’s engaged to the girl,” Chris said, glancing at me sideways.
“I thought the engagement was off.”
“You didn’t tell Berkeley that.”
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t told Berkeley a lot of things.
We watched Balmoral make his way through the pedestrian gate at the front of the estate and up the well-lit path. He rang the doorbell. I watched Nathan Blanchet—that fucking bastard—shake Balmoral’s hand and let him in.
“Fucking hell,” I said under my breath. “Wait here. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Berk.”
“Zane what the fu—” I slammed the door. Hugging the shadows, I made my way to the back of the estate. My heart was thumping, but my senses were on high alert. I stretched my hands, scanning the street for any sign of movement.
When I ducked into the back alley, I took a moment to compose myself. I needed to find out where Sadie was, and why Balmoral was there. I slid through the garden gate, where I’d come just a few weeks ago. I used the same trees and shadows to approach the house. Instead of heading for Sadie’s window, I ran along the side of the house.
It was early September, and the evenings were starting to cool down. Still, the Blanchet’s had their windows open.
“She’s in her room,” Nathan Blanchet said. “Hasn’t come out all week. Hasn’t eaten anything.”
“Why not?” Thomas asked.
Like you don’t fucking know. Rage started to crescendo inside me. My blood burned hotter and I chanced a glance inside the room. The two men were sitting across from each other, sipping cognac and smoking fat cigars.
Senator Blanchet didn’t have a care in the world that he was welcoming a would-be rapist into his own home. The two of them made me sick. They deserved every bit of the hell that I was going to bring down on them. I would ruin both their lives.
But I’d get Sadie out of there first.
“The officiant should be here within the hour. We’ll get this over with, and then we can finish the deal with Ivanov.”
The officiant?
“You sure Sadie won’t give us any trouble?”
“She’ll sign the damn wedding certificate if I have to hold her fucking hand the whole time.”
They both laughed. My rage intensified. My heart pumped hot, thick blood through my veins and I turned towards the back of the house. I needed to find Sadie and warn her.
They were trying to get her to marry against her will.
Even though I was in danger, even though I despised Blanchet with every fiber of my being, I felt a sliver of relief at the thought that Sadie didn’t want to marry Thomas Balmoral.
Over the week, I’d worried that it was me she didn’t want to see. I’d worried that I’d scared her off, that I’d overstepped my bounds.
But I didn’t.
She was just sequestered, isolated, prepared to be traded like some bargaining chip in a dirty deal.
I walked on the grass to keep my steps silent. When I got to the back of the house, I scanned the siding to see if I’d be able to climb it. A trellis with ivy went up the side of the house, but there was no way that thing was supporting my weight.
I would have to scale one of the columns—in direct line of sight to the kitchen windows. It was risky. Actually, no. It wasn’t just risky. It was downright idiotic.
With a deep breath, I calculated the amount of time that I’d need to be on the column. Three to four seconds, tops, and then maybe ten seconds to climb it. I glanced inside the windows. I needed fifteen seconds, but it would be safer to do it in ten or twelve.
I would have to be quick. Sadie’s mother was at the sink, and then she wiped her hands and left the room.
The coast was clear. It was now or never.
My muscles tensed, my heart thumped, and I slowed my breath. I needed to rely on my training. Calm. Discipline. Visualize.
Execute.
But then, I heard Sadie’s window slide open. I paused, ready to spring forward. Every muscle was like a coiled spring and I trembled where I stood.
“Here, give me that,” Mags said in a hushed whisper. “Good. Come on, just like the night of the concert.”
I didn’t hear Sadie, but I knew she was there. I could sense her. My breath caught, and admiration crept into my heart.
She wasn’t helpless at all. She was taking matters into her own hands. She knew she was in trouble, and she was running away. I took a step back from the awning and watched the two young women climb out of her window. I wasn’t going to let them jump off that thing. They’d been lucky not to break a leg last time.
“Sadie,” I hissed.
They froze.
“Sadie, it’s me.” I stepped into the light for a second. Sadie’s eyes found me, and they widened. Her mouth dropped open and I nodded. “Come down on this side, I’ll catch you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Hurry! There’s not much time.”
She glanced back towards her bedroom door. “They’re coming.”
Movement passed over the window and she took a step towards it. Her dog, Dart, poked his head through.
“I have to go, Dart,” she whispered. He whined, and she shushed him. The dog fell silent, just like when we were kids. She had an unreal connection with animals. Dart watched her as she turned back towards me and walked to the edge of the awning.
Mags urged her towards me. One by one, they hung onto the edge and dropped into my arms. I grabbed Sadie’s small hand in mine and we ran along the side wall towards the back of the estate. There was no sound except our staggered breaths and muted footsteps on the grass. When we reached the back gate, Mags was huffing.
“Harry is waiting on the street. Thanks for the help.” She took Sadie’s hand and started to drag her away.
I shook my head. “No way. The first place they’ll look for her is your place. Sadie has to come with me.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Mags said, planting her hands on her hips. Her jeans were ripped, and she wore a short leather jacket. Her hair had streaks of blue in it. “She is not going with you.”
“Guys, I’m right here.” We both turned towards Sadie. She looked from me to Mags and back again, and nodded.
“Mags, I have to go with him. It’s the only chance I have. I can’t implicate you in this.”
“You know
this guy?” Mags nodded her head towards me, looking me up and down suspiciously.
Sadie nodded, wrapping her arms around Mags. “Thank you for everything. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”
“You better tell me exactly what the fuck is going on with your dad, with that dickface Thomas, and with this fucking guy.”
A grin tugged at my lips. I liked Mags more and more every time I saw her. She gave me one last scowl, and then nodded and disappeared through the gate.
Sadie turned to me and slipped her hand in mine. We both turned towards the house when a howl rang out behind us.
“Dart,” Sadie breathed.
Then, a shadow appeared at her window, screaming her name out into the night.
“We have to go.”
Without another word, I led her out of the gate. Chris, the goddamn hero, had brought the van to the back of the estate. I slid the door open without a word and jumped in with Sadie. Chris slammed on the accelerator before I’d even closed the door, zig-zagging through the streets as Sadie and I collapsed on the van’s floor, panting.
When Chris finally slowed the car down to a legal speed, he glanced in the rear-view mirror and shook his head.
“So are you two going to tell me what the fuck is going on here, or what?”
10
Sadie
I watched Zane from my seat on the floor of the van. He scanned the road through the windscreen, and then looked through the back of the van. He sighed, relieved.
He nodded to me. “You got your phone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Give it here.”
I frowned but did as he said. He popped the case off and sighed. “Internal battery.”
The driver grunted.
Zane rolled down his window and tossed my brand new, top of the line, expensive phone right out into the street.
“Hey! What the—” I grabbed the passenger’s seat, but Zane silenced me with a look.
“We can’t risk it.”
“Risk what?”
“Being traced.”
“Zane,” I laughed. “What are you talking about? How would my father trace my phone?”
The Protector: The Complete C.I.A. Romance Series Page 8