CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Matt
By the time they had returned to the loft, Matt had calmed down some. He’d been doing so well with controlling his foolish temper in the past month, his recent outburst caught him unaware. It was like a downhill slide with no brakes that only accelerated until he hit bottom.
And he reached bottom when he’d yelled at Grace like a lunatic. He felt guilty afterward, but his woman gave no quarter, and he was thankful she called him on it. Matt realized this was how she’d gotten under his skin. She had the body of a siren and the mesmerizing eyes of a gypsy. But in the end, it was who he was with her. He could be volatile Matt, and she’d stand up to him, but she’d never tried to change him. And yet, he wanted to become a better man for her and their baby. Being with Grace wreaked havoc on the walls of his heart. He was handling these unfamiliar emotions by trying to control the situation. She was right when she said he was keeping her in a cage, because he was selfishly putting her where he knew he’d find her while he sorted out the upheaval she had caused in his jaded existence. The truth was he didn’t want her to have a life outside of him, and he knew that wasn’t going to work. He’d been battling with the need to own her—body, heart, and mind. This thing with Kyra had prematurely exposed his fucked-up obsession with Grace. That was why Matt wanted to marry her as soon as possible. What if he scared her away with the depth of his need for her?
He was royally fucked.
But he didn’t care as long as Grace belonged to him.
He tossed back a tumbler of whisky and let the amber liquid burn down his throat.
Grace had excused herself to their bedroom, citing the need to take a bath. Matt had not been invited and that, in itself, told him he had fucked up some, but she hadn’t exactly been bitchy about it.
Sometimes he asked himself if letting a woman dominate his emotions this way was worth it, and it always came back to one answer—as long as the woman was Grace. He would put up with all the frustration he’d gone through over and over this last month if it meant that, in the end, she would be his.
But, dammit, enough with asking for space.
Matt slammed the glass on the kitchen counter and stalked toward the bedroom. He opened the door and stepped inside. Grace was sitting at the edge of the bed in a fluffy white robe that hit mid-thigh. Her hair was gathered haphazardly on top of her head, with tendrils framing her face. Her skin glowed from her bath, but she was massaging her temples. Were pregnant women supposed to take baths?
“Babe, are you okay?”
“Shh …” she mumbled as she laid on the bed and curled into a fetal position, her hands now over her head.
Matt’s heart plunged to the soles of his feet. Anxiety like no other ratcheted through his marrow. With long strides, he closed the distance between them, sat beside her, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Dammit it, Grace,” Matt hissed. “If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Tell me”—he kept his voice level because she looked distressed herself—“what’s going on?”
“Quiet,” she groaned. “The Atlanta airport. I’m remembering stuff and … just … don’t … talk.”
Matt shut up and withdrew his hand from her shoulder and clenched his fists on his thighs. It was either that or crawl into bed with her and absorb her agony. The compulsion to give her comfort was overwhelming, but just like all other emotions he was trying to sort out about her, he was learning when to take charge, and when to let her be.
So he watched helplessly as Grace moaned and thrashed on the bed.
*****
Grace
It was the post-traumatic stress that triggered it. I lowered my body to the warm water of the bath. I had to be careful because I was pregnant, but this twisted knot of tension inside me needed to loosen up. But the events of the day suddenly hit me. I’d been five minutes into my bath when the image of Kyra holding a gun on me morphed into a scene at the airport. A man dressed in a long leather jacket was threatening me.
Everything flashed at the same time and my poor brain got fried. This wasn’t a regular memory, it was a traumatic one, which was probably why it was the last holdout in my amnesia.
Breathing exercises helped to calm my racing heart. Somehow, I managed to put on a robe and make it back to the bed. My mind tried to block the images again as I heard Matt asking me what was wrong. I couldn’t be a coward about this. These last pieces of my memory held the answers to all the burning questions to what exactly happened at the airport.
Therefore, I opened my mind and I got sucked back into that day.
I checked the arrivals screen and saw that I just made it on time to meet my contact. I was here to meet Antonio Escobar—the cartel’s accountant. Troy set up this meeting, but all the negotiations were between me and the accountant. If the information he had for me proved usable, I would have to go directly to the DEA Administrator and the Attorney General. Troy provided the safe house in Tennessee. The accountant was financially savvy enough to redirect some of his funds to buy his cover to fly to the U.S. It helped that he had relatives in Dallas, Texas.
I stood surreptitiously by the baggage claim for Jericho Airlines flight from Dallas. It was up to fate now. The accountant could pass me, and I wouldn’t know. Troy made me wear a dumb Georgia slogan button: Georgia on my mind. The person who stood by me briefly and coughed would be my signal. I kept my gaze nonchalant, pretending to search ahead, but was actually looking at passers-by on my left. A few seconds later, my instinct picked up a passenger. He was dressed in a long-sleeved polo and khakis. He was dark-haired and looked Latino, but it would be foolish to assume that the accountant was Mexican. Drugs were a global business, and the cartel bosses had been known to hire private security contractors from other countries. Why not an accountant? I was right, though. The man stood briefly beside me, did a very fake cough, and I had to fight the urge to cringe. He held a briefcase and pretended to scan the conveyor belt for his luggage. Meanwhile, I turned around and walked to an area I knew would be good for us to exchange information. I never once glanced back to see if he was following me, but I knew he was. But I was feeling an uneasiness I couldn’t shake.
There was a narrow corridor between the restrooms and a convenience mart. Given the Monday morning rush, it was impossible to find an isolated area in the airport that was open to the public.
“Ms. Levinson?”
“Yes,” I said shortly. “You have something for me?”
He handed me a small envelope. My fingers closed over it and I felt the key.
“The Veritas Bank of Dallas, safety deposit box number … aren’t you writing this?”
“No, I can memorize it.”
“439-112. My cousin is the bank teller there.” He handed me a business card, his hand shaking from nervousness.
I reached into my purse, hid the key and card, and pulled out a smartphone and an envelope. “Troy’s men will be waiting for you at the safe house. There’s cash in the envelope and your booking for Jericho Airlines flight to Memphis. The smartphone is already programmed with Troy’s number. His men will meet you at Memphis International Airport. Go to the Jericho Airlines counter and check in. I’ll be a couple of steps behind you.”
I let him leave the corridor first and followed him about ten paces back. I was making sure he got through security before I left the airport. When he fell in line at the ticketing counter, I hung back and resisted the urge to tap my feet. I had not had that compulsion in years, but it didn’t explain why my anxiety level was at an all-time high. I saw two men approach, one looked at me briefly before returning his vision to Escobar. I was already moving forward when two men shouldered their way through the queue to get to the accountant. Strong fingers gripped my bicep when I felt a gun poke at my ribs.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a sinister voice said. I looked up at the man who held me. He was of medium height with tanned skin and brown eyes. “Ms. Levinson.” He started to yank me away when an explosion echoed in the distance. The man cursed beside me and I caught Escobar looking at me in horror. Screaming ensued, and I was about to stomp the feet of my assailant when a shattering explosion tore through the Jericho Airline ticketing counter.
Something sliced through my thigh before blackness consumed me.
I regained consciousness to chaos and screaming.
Then I blacked out again.
*****
Matt
Grace had stopped thrashing. She uncurled from her fetal position and rolled on her back. She smiled at him weakly.
“I’m whole, Matt,” she whispered.
“You weren’t anything less to me, gypsy,” Matt whispered back as he gently positioned her further into the bed and got in beside her.
Propping on his elbow, he searched her face. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?”
“We need to go to Dallas.”
Matt gave a brief nod. “I guess what you need is in a safety deposit box?”
“Yes. It’s a flash drive,” Grace rubbed her face on his chest. “The accountant is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. He was closest to the bomb that went off. I think it was in a suitcase of a person ahead of him.”
Her body shuddered against him.
“Shh … you can tell me about it tomorrow. Why don’t you go to sleep?”
“The man who died beside me?” Grace looked up at him, but there was a faraway look in her eyes. “He held me at gun point. He was the one who told me to trust no one. I guess he’d been double-crossed, a loose end that needed finishing.”
“Matt, only Troy knew about my meeting with the accountant.”
He stiffened. “Are you telling me Troy sold you out?”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep.”
She appeared too tired to do anything but comply. Her steady breathing a few minutes later told him she had dozed off. Matt lowered one leg to the floor and was about to get off the bed when her delicate hand grabbed his arm.
“Don’t leave me,” she murmured. Was she dreaming? His throat constricted with emotion, shaken by the knowledge how three simple words could empower him as well as bring him to his knees.
“Matt,” her eyes half-opened. “Stay.”
A sense of ownership, responsibility, and most of all, love—yes, love—swept through him. He was in love with Grace.
“Shh … I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. He stood up and quickly removed his jeans and shirt. He somehow maneuvered Grace under the covers and climbed back into bed with her.
Decisions needed to be made tomorrow. He was determined more than ever to tie her to him, but for now it was enough that she was snuggled close to him. There was nothing else that felt more right in this world.