Chapter 25
Marc was allowed entry into the Homeland Security meeting, but sat near the back as he watched the proceedings with great interest. The large room held a massive wooden table in the middle with comfortable leather chairs all around. Along the walls was another row of chairs, filled with those taking notes and supporting the main delegates at the table. He observed Kendall as she sat in between Cliff and Fahdil. Estelle was sitting with some of the DHS personnel and members of the IOC that filled out the table. Will, Karen, and Bob sat behind the others from the NCBRT. Karen held some of Kendall’s papers and handed them to her as needed.
Cliff began speaking but as he began to babble in techno-terms the other could not understand, Fahdil interrupted, suggesting Kendall present her research findings. Cliff’s eyes narrowed in anger as he shot Estelle a pointed glare, but he kept silent.
Marc knew Kendall preferred the lab to public meetings but noted with pride as she spoke eloquently, captivating the audience.
“As Dr. Wallace was saying, we all recognize the potential for terrorism to come not from a bomb, but in a way that would be designed to overwhelm our emergency rooms, hospitals, doctors, and build terror in people who would not know if their food, water, or even air was safe. And obviously, at an event such as the Olympics, where you have a large gathering of people from all over the world, the threat of such a terrorist act is concerning.”
Looking directly at the members of the IOC, she continued, “Most of these biological causes need an incubation period. This affords the terrorist time to escape or to keep terrorizing before anyone knew what had happened. It could take the medical community days to even realize what they were looking at was a biological terrorists’ attack.”
“So the symptoms could look like something else?”
Nodding, she looked behind her to indicate Karen should begin the PowerPoint. As it flashed on the boards on either side of the room, allowing all occupants a chance to view it easily, Kendall continued.
“As you can see, many of the symptoms could look like food poisoning or flu—”
“But not necessarily death?” another person asked.
Nodding, Kendall agreed. “The attack does not have to cause a large number of deaths to be effective since the intent is terror, which causes panic and chaos. In fact, many of the biological agents on the lists you have been provided are not fatal.”
Fahdil continued with the presentation, reviewing the different agents to be aware of and the potential symptoms they could cause. Cliff jumped in as well, at times talking over Fahdil, causing Marc to grin at the pompous scientist’s fight for attention. As his eyes wandered back to Kendall, he saw her gaze land on him, her lips curving ever so slightly. They shared a quick smile before the IOC began asking about prevention and treatments, areas of Kendall’s expertise.
Nodding to Karen and Bob to continue to the next presentation, Kendall said, “As long as incapacitating agents aren’t used, making sure to have national planning for these attacks is effective. Recognizing the signs and symptoms early is paramount. The strategic stockpile of antibiotics and antivirals, which can be expensive, would be beneficial. Although a terrorist group might be able to create a variant that is resistant to most antibiotics, this is unlikely.”
The others around the table began to murmur as she mentioned, “Anthrax, Ebola, Plague, Botulism, Smallpox, and Cholera are, of course, on the lethal end of the spectrum. On the low end is Brucellosis, Tularemia, Q fever, Mycoplasma, and Mycotoin.”
As the meeting droned on, Marc studied the participants carefully but was unable to ascertain any overt discord or danger. As the meeting came to a close, another session was planned for the next day.
Walking over to Marc, Kendall smiled up at him, leaning back as she asked, “Were you bored silly?”
“Not at all,” he replied, honestly. “It was nice to see you at work.”
Scrunching her nose, she replied, “I prefer my lab work, but the dissemination of my lab results is important.”
“I thought you were sexy as fuck,” he whispered, his breath tickling warm against her ear. Looking at the now empty room, he said, “Do we need to go back to the hotel with the others?”
Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, we were all going to have dinner together to make sure we’re ready for tomorrow’s summit.” Cutting her eyes upward, she peeked at him through her long lashes. “But after we eat, you and I can disappear to our room.”
With a quick kiss, Marc leered his agreement.
A few minutes later the group left the building and stepped outside to hail taxis. Kendall’s phone vibrated and she stepped away from the noisy group to answer the call.
“Hello? Hello? I can’t hear you,” she said, stepping further away. The sound of squealing tires brought the group’s attention toward the road behind where the taxis were lined up against the curb. Several pedestrians screamed out a warning as a black sedan with dark-tinted windows jumped the curb, heading straight for Kendall.
Marc sprinted toward her, his arms outstretched as he took her down, twisting mid-air so that he landed on his back, taking the brunt of the fall. Grunting as he rolled quickly, he placed her underneath him before jumping up to pursue the vehicle, but it had already bounced back onto the road, swiping the taxi nearest them. With no identifiable license tag, he cursed as his head swiveled around toward Kendall again. He ran to her noting her disheveled hair and torn stockings.
Kneeling by her side, he noticed her skinned arms and knees. Scooping her into his arms, he placed her in one of the waiting taxis and, turning to the others standing open-mouthed, he shouted, “Get back to the hotel. I’ve got her and I’m taking her somewhere safe.”
Karen ran over with Kendall’s purse and shoved it into the back seat. Marc thanked the intern then slid into the seat next to Kendall. Giving the driver an address, he turned to assess her injuries. They appeared to be superficial but she was holding her wrist, which was beginning to swell. Bending swiftly, he slipped off his shoe and unwound the elastic bandage tape from his ankle.
“Marc, don’t. You need that!” she protested through gritted teeth. She kept her eyes on him, not wanting to look down at her wrist and seeing what she was afraid she would see.
With the tape in his hand, he said, “Right now, you need this more than I do. Come on, sweetheart, let me have your hand.”
Afraid to let go, she twisted around to face him. She grimaced again and his gaze jumped to her face. “Where else does it hurt?”
“Just some aches,” she replied. “My wrist is the worst of it.”
He gently wrapped her swollen wrist in the bandage, keeping just the right amount of tension on it. He lifted his gaze and saw pain flash through her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her focus on her wrist and not his face.
“You’re sorry?” he said, eyes wide. “Kendall, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Seeing her confusion, he shook his head, cursing. “I took my eyes off you. I allowed you to step away to take the call. Then, in my haste to get you safe, I didn’t get my arms wrapped around you low enough for you to fall without you hurting your wrist—”
“Marc,” she stopped his tirade, her eyes focused on the man who had saved her life, more than once, sacrificing his own body to do so. Gaining his attention, she continued. “This is not your fault. This is the fault of the asshole who tried to run me down.”
Sucking in a deep breath as his nostrils flared, he nodded. “You’re right, and I’m not giving him another chance.”
After the taxi dropped them off at the hotel, he rushed her into the elevator and said, “We’re going to the room and then I’m calling my co-workers. We’ll get someone to pick us up and then we’re getting out of here.”
“But the meetings—”
“Your team can handle them. I want you out of here.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, her brain having trouble keeping up with his plans.
“My place,” he announced.
*
Several hours later, Kendall gazed out of the window of the SUV as Bart drove her and Marc along the country road toward his house. Blaise was in the front seat, having come along to check her out. He had re-wrapped her wrist as well as Marc’s ankle, having had the forethought to bring along a first aid kit. She had wanted to make a quip about them always rescuing her, but the words stuck in her throat as the enormity of the situation hit her. Instead, she had melted into Marc’s embrace as they sat in the back seat. She remained quiet as the men talked around her and about her. It should have been offensive but, truthfully, she was glad someone else was in control because out-of-control was all she felt right now.
Marc breathed easier as they approached his driveway. He had insisted Kendall call Kenneth and, after assuring her father that she was fine, Marc took the phone and told Kenneth of his plans, letting him know that the rest of the delegation would finish the week of presentations, but she was going home with him while the Saints continued to work on discovering who was after her.
After gaining Kenneth’s unequivocal appreciation, Marc had disconnected and handed the phone back to Kendall, noting the way she quietly cradled her injured wrist with her hand. Wrapping his arms around her shoulder, he had pulled her in, allowing her to rest her head on his chest.
Now, as Bart turned the SUV onto Marc’s driveway, Kendall moved slightly so she could see more. The winter had stripped the leaves from many of the trees, allowing the evergreens to stand out in stark relief, their lush, green branches creating a backdrop for the log cabin coming into view. Smiling for the first time in hours, she leaned closer to the window, amazed at the picturesque scene. Whirling around, she grinned toward Marc. “When you said you lived in a cabin, you really meant a true, log cabin, didn’t you?”
“He built it by himself,” Blaise commented from the front seat.
“I had some help, as I recall,” Marc replied.
“Yeah, but only with the heavy stuff. We helped with the framing, but you did everything else,” Bart stated.
“I think it’s wonderful,” she gushed.
“You haven’t seen the inside yet,” Marc joked.
Giving him a pretend glare, she said, “I’ve lived in a true shack in the middle of the woods during a blizzard. I have a feeling this is much more than that!”
The group laughed as Bart came to a stop outside the front porch. Sobering, Bart added, “Jack wants the two of you at the compound as soon as you can make it.”
Marc nodded but his eyes cut in doubt toward Kendall. Bart noticed and added, “No worries. The women’ll be there too.”
Doubt was replaced by mirth as he realized that, after watching each Saint fall for a woman and those women becoming family, he was about to bring Kendall into that fold. Knowing what the other women would assume with the introduction to her, he felt panic hit his chest for a second. Is this what I want? Kendall? Then a resounding affirmation hit him and he grinned as he alighted from the vehicle and jogged to her side. Yes, this is exactly what, and who, I want in my life.
As Kendall’s door opened, she watched as Marc’s handsome face slid into a broad smile, sending her pulse into overdrive. She squeaked as he reached in, plucked her from the seat and held her against his chest. Laughing, she protested, “It’s my hand that’s hurt, not my legs.”
“I couldn’t figure out how to assist you out of the car without hurting your wrist more,” he confessed as he bent to kiss the end of her nose. “Welcome to my home,” he said, taking her elbow and escorting her up the front steps to the porch. Looking over his shoulder, he called out, “Tell Jack we’ll be there in about an hour. I’d like to get her settled first.”
Stepping through the front door, Kendall was enchanted. Thick logs lined the walls of the open floor plan. The living room, with it’s red and brown braided rug in front of a stone fireplace, was to the left. To her right was a kitchen and dining area, separated from the living room by an L-shaped counter. The furniture was rustic and masculine. “Oh, my gosh! Your home is charming!” she enthused.
Marc lifted his eyebrow in surprise. “Charming? Never thought of my house as being described as charming.”
Whirling around, she looked up at him, her forehead scrunched. “No? And what do your other lady friends call it?”
Holding her gaze, he admitted, “I’ve never had any women here…other than the Saints’ girlfriends or wives.”
Her mouth opened to respond but then snapped closed just as quickly. Finally, offering a small smile, she said, “So, are you going to show me around?”
Grinning, he waved his arm in an expansive circle and said, “Well, you’ve seen the living room and kitchen.” He watched as she stepped around the counter and viewed his kitchen.
“I’m impressed,” she admitted, her gaze landing on the modern appliances, granite counter tops, and the view out his window of the surrounding woods. Moving back toward him, she followed him down a hall, past a door on the left that opened into a small office filled with books, and two doors on the right, one for a small bathroom and the other for the laundry and mud room. A door leading to the yard on the side of the garage was beyond the washer and dryer.
She noted the room was neat, but not overly so. Muddy boots lay against a wall with a mop and broom hanging from hooks. Some dirty clothes were piled on top of the washing machine and the room had a musty odor.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t been home since I left to fly to Alaska to meet you.”
Giggling, she replied, “It’s fine. I love your house…it feels like a real home.” Sighing, she added, “I never felt very invested in my apartment in Louisiana, so it has a bit of a sterile appearance.”
Moving back into the hall, he began to ascend the L-shaped staircase to the second floor. Upstairs, two doors led from a small landing. “Here’s the guest room,” he announced throwing open the door to a large room, simply furnished, and through another open door she could see a bathroom. The iron bedframe held a double mattress with a multi-colored, patchwork quilt as the covering. Smiling, she then followed him into the master bedroom, complete with king-sized, log bedframe and another patchwork quilt as it’s cover. Through a doorway, she stepped into a huge master bathroom, with separate shower and deep bathtub. Turning back, she observed Marc leaning against the doorframe, a mixture of pride and uncertainty in his eyes. Rubbing his hand over his head, he shrugged as he said, “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
Rushing to him, almost knocking him over in her enthusiasm as she threw her arms around his neck, she gushed, “I love it! I can’t believe you built this place yourself. Oh, Marc, it’s gorgeous.”
As the uncertainty left his face, leaving pride in its place, he bent, sealing his lips over hers. They stood in the doorway of the master bathroom for several minutes, their kiss speaking volumes.
His lips were strong and soft. Firm and yielding. Powerful. Masterful. As she clung to his shoulders, she knew whatever she needed to do to make this relationship work, she would do it.
He groaned as his tongue swept inside her warmth, tasting her essence, and mint, all at once. He loved this house…loved the Saints…but was falling in love with this woman.
Their lips continued to plunder each other’s mouths as their bodies pressed tightly together. Sighing softly, she lowered her heels and he held her against his pounding heartbeat while she touched her swollen lips. She had felt lost in his kiss…and then found, all at the same time.