Chapter Ten
There she was!
Walking out of the building where Suzanne Huntington ran her business. Together with the business of her husband, which, alas, was security.
That was quite unfortunate. Frederick was hoping to conduct his business with Suzanne Huntington alone. He didn’t want any input from a security guy. All security professionals in his experience were professionally paranoid.
Not good.
Particularly not good when Frederick was showing his face shortly before Anne Lowell disappeared.
So he shot laser beams at the two vidcams at the gate of the compound and at the two just inside the door and turned in time to see Anne Lowell walk down the driveway clinging to the arm of the man who looked like an ugly bruiser.
Looking good, our Annie. Well, she’d just learned that the man chasing her was now dead. She must be feeling that sweet sagging sensation of relief at a danger passed. She was intact, safe, and her nemesis was dead. The most fundamental, most primordial of sensations, that of a dead adversary. The human animal was primed to be awash in endorphins when danger was averted. Simple biology.
So her guard would be down, which was good.
Unfortunately, the guard of the man by her side was not down. He walked arm in arm with her, checking on her but checking on his environment as well. Calmly quartering his field of vision for any possible threats. The man’s dark gaze swept to Frederick’s face, lingered like a spotlight. It was very uncomfortable.
Frederick knew who the man was, besides clearly being Anne Lowell’s lover. Morton Jackman. Frederick always did due diligence and had taken a look at the business website of Suzanne Huntington’s husband. He’d even studied the faces and brief CVs of his employees and had recognized the man who’d been by Anne’s side at the art show.
The headshot of Morton Jackman on Alpha Security International’s website showed an unsmiling portrait with a number of piercings that were now gone. Former SEAL, which was not good news. More or less everyone in the company was a former SEAL including the two owner-partners.
SEALs were formidable adversaries. As they walked toward each other, Frederick gave himself an almost exaggerated feminine walk and simpered at Jackman. That usually worked with machos, amused them, distracted them. But this Jackman didn’t let down his guard at all. Frederick got a full appraisal, head to toe, and he was very glad he wasn’t armed because something told him Jackman would figure it out. Maybe by the way he walked.
And then they were gone and Frederick was walking into the building. He was wearing his Borsalino and kept his head tilted downward. There was no question of blinding the two vidcams at the entrance. Half the security company would come roaring out.
No, he needed to keep his eyes on the ground, face hidden by the larger-than-normal brim and continue.
The left-hand side door, he knew, was Suzanne Huntington’s business. There was no security camera above her door. He knew there would be one over the door of ASI but all they would see was his back and an expanse of very expensive charcoal-colored cashmere.
He was buzzed in, walked over the threshold and...paused. In admiration. My, the woman knew how to create an ambiance. He was instantly taken with the room, instantly put at ease by the colors and shapes, the soft furniture, the faint smell of potpourri. Truly remarkable.
“Mr. Andrews.” The woman coming toward him with a smile and outstretched hand was stunning. Dark blond hair caught up in a French twist, Grace Kelly face, slender figure. Wearing a Donna Karan suit if he wasn’t mistaken. Warm and elegant. “Welcome. Do please take a seat.”
Instead of leading him to one of the two client chairs in front of her desk she took him to a small damask-covered sofa and sat down beside him.
The office was a very eloquent advertisement for her services. It was highly decorated without being overwrought, modern without being stark. Every single object struck just the right note, including its owner.
She smiled at him. “How can I help you, Mr. Andrews?”
“Well, I have a small investment firm...”
“Not so small,” she said.
Very well done. It was a flattering comment while also a warning. I do my research. Frederick looked again at Suzanne Huntington and this time noticed the sharp intelligence in her gaze, not just the elegance and beauty. This woman was not to be trifled with. He had to keep his best game on.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her words. Not commenting because a very wealthy man knew he was very wealthy and nothing else needed to be said.
“So.” He leaned back, a man at ease with himself and the world. “I’m thinking of relocating, at least temporarily, to Portland. Portland makes a good hub. I need decent premises for my business and myself. I recently looked at a property that would be large enough both for offices and home premises. Each part would need a different look, of course.”
“I’m familiar with a lot of properties in Portland, Mr. Andrews. Which one would this be?”
Frederick smiled. “Please, Mrs. Huntington. Call me Paul. I suspect we will be doing business together.”
She cocked her head, smiled. “Of course, Paul. And you must call me Suzanne.”
“Excellent, Suzanne.” He watched her face carefully. “The property I was thinking of would be the penthouse at the Sorensen. Either a rental or I might just buy. Would make a good tax break.”
By not a flicker of a long eyelash did Suzanne betray anything other than polite interest. She knew perfectly well that the decorator of the penthouse at the Sorensen would be landing a public relations coup. Big spreads on decorating websites, AD, you name it. Frederick knew her portfolio and it was already impressive. This would make her a nationwide name.
“That’d be an interesting job,” she said with a polite smile, cool as silk.
He nodded. “I’d want the office to make a statement. Investment is as much about psychology as about data. And I’d want the home premises to be very comfortable. Other than that, I’m open to any designs you might care to offer.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “I often do business with Ingram Realty so I’m familiar with the specs of the Sorensen penthouse. I could get some preliminary designs to you by next week. Give you several options, so we could narrow down what would be to your taste. I often find that clients recognize what they want when they see it. And it isn’t always easy to articulate the kind of look you want. So I always give a range of looks.”
Frederick beamed. “That would be excellent,” he enthused. “By the way—before making an appointment with you, I happened to stop by the Beckstein Gallery. Which is how I got your name, by the way. I was simply blown away by the renderings of your designs. Whatever designs you do, I’d love to buy them. Even the ones we don’t go for. It’d make for an interesting collection on one wall—variations on a theme. You have an extraordinarily fine hand. My congratulations.”
If he was expecting her to take credit for the renderings, he was wrong. She smiled. “You’re quite right, they are extraordinary, but I can’t take the credit for them. They are all by a friend of mine, Lauren Dare. She is very talented.”
Frederick managed to hide the leap of delight he felt. Lauren Dare. So that was the name she went by here.
Silly, silly girl, he thought. Lauren was her grandmother’s name. How sentimental. Sentiment got you killed.
“Funny.” He cocked his head. “I met the gallery owner, Mr. Beckstein. He gave me to understand that you were the artist.”
She had the grace to blush, a very becoming rose. “That’s because until very recently, Lauren had some...problems. Ah, fiscal ones. And it was easier to pretend that I was the artist. But now her problems seem to be, ah, over. And I’m sure she would enjoy the work.” The blush was gone and she narrowed her eyes. “Her price just went up, though. Way up.”
Frederick nodded. A price increase was no problem. He pulled out his cell. “Could I have her number?”
Suzanne opened her mouth then closed it. Frederick could see the calculations running through her head. Her friend was free and clear, the bad guy after her was dead, but still...
“Um. I think she is in the process of changing providers. I have your cell number and I will be sure to pass it on to her. She’ll contact you herself.”
No, my dear, Frederick thought. I’ll be contacting her first.
He stood and she stood with him. He buttoned his jacket, put on his overcoat, heavy and warm and expensive. God, the rich had such a nice life. He kept his hat in his hand, ready to don it the instant he crossed the threshold.
“Well,” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you both.”
“Yes, indeed.” Suzanne pulled open her door. “You’ll definitely be hearing from me and from Lauren.”
Yes he would. And Suzanne Huntington would be getting an email from the personal assistant of Paul Andrews in about a week. Paul Andrews was switching the focus of his investments to San Diego. It had been a pleasure, he would keep her in mind...yada yada.
Happened all the time in the business world.
On the way out Frederick kept his eyes on the ground, the brim of the Borsalino covering his face.
Outside the compound, he walked up the street and around the corner where his driver was waiting. He called his pilot and quietly made arrangements to have “the briefcase” delivered to his hotel.
The rich were different in many, many ways. The rules governing ordinary people didn’t apply to them. He’d been cursorily examined upon arrival in the private part of the airfield, called general aviation, and the plane wasn’t examined at all. Inside a compartment in the plane’s hull was a briefcase with an untraceable weapon and several preloaded syringes of fentanyl.
Frederick wasn’t operational, had no aspirations to being operational. He’d observed Alfonso’s and Jorge’s goons from a distance, and with great distaste. He himself was an intellectual and he solved problems with his mind.
Some problems, however, required action, and this was one of them.
The fentanyl was to put Anne Lowell under.
The gun was for the thug by her side.
* * *
“Oh my gosh!” Lauren bounced in her seat. “I can buy that big wireless Mac desktop for my graphic work! No more laptops for me!” She rubbed her hands. “I can actually declare myself to the IRS, pay taxes.” She slanted a glance at Jacko and scrunched her nose. “Believe it or not, that’s a biggie. I hated evading taxes. And I’m going to buy myself at least three pairs of high heels! Louboutin! Red! And...maybe a puppy. But only if you promise to share in taking him out for walks.”
She turned her head to look at him fully, smiling.
Jacko clenched the steering wheel and tried not to look at her. She was flushed with happiness, electrically alive, heartbreakingly beautiful. It took every ounce of self-control not to slam on the brakes and reach out to her.
But it was snowing and if he pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine, she’d freeze. He wouldn’t be cold, no sir. He was never going to feel the cold again, not as long as Lauren was with him. Near him. Even the thought of her filled him with blazing heat. They could put him in a snowy ice field naked and if she was nearby, there’d be a melted circle of water around him.
A puppy. Jesus. A dog. He’d never had a pet, never. As a kid there hadn’t been enough to eat for him, let alone a pet. So he’d never had one, not even a goldfish. Pets required work and required his staying in the same place for more than a day or two. In his SEAL days it would have been impossible, of course. SEALs couldn’t keep their wives, let alone their dogs. You could be wheels-up at any minute with no advance notice. And these last few years working for ASI? Well, he’d been one to volunteer for anything that took him out of town. Hotel rooms were more welcoming than his place.
Only now could he admit to himself that his apartment was spare and cold and depressing. He never really liked coming home, which was why he worked out of town as much as possible and when he fucked, he slept over at the woman’s house, whoever the woman of the day was.
And now? Permanent girlfriend. Living in that pretty house with Lauren, sleeping with her every night. And a dog.
“Puppy, huh?” He pretended to scowl. “What kind?”
“Golden retriever,” she replied. “The kind with the long eyelashes. The kind that—”
“Pees everywhere?”
She laughed. “That’s the one.”
Lauren was irresistible when she laughed. She looked like an imp, face alive with delight.
“We could do that.”
She laughed again, sobered, put her hand on his forearm. He kept his face forward but in his peripheral vision he could see her looking at him..
“So...you’ll be okay with living in my house? You wouldn’t miss yours?”
Considering there wasn’t much in his place to miss...”Nah. But I’ll be moving in the TV.”
“Okay.” She considered. “I think it will fit on the living room wall. You wear a headset if you watch late at night.”
He slanted her a glance. “Making ground rules already? That was fast.”
“Yeah.” She tightened her grip on his forearm. “But I think I’m really easy to live with, though I haven’t lived with anyone since my college dorm roommate.”
His heart leaped. She’d never lived with another man. He had no idea why that was important to him, but it was. “I’ve never lived with anyone either.” Though he couldn’t count his sex partners, no one had lasted more than a couple of weeks. Most a couple of days. “I think I snore.”
“Yeah, you do. I forgive you, though. Seeing as how you did everything you could to keep me safe. Thank you so much.”
She waited, looked at him expectantly. Oh man, oh fuck. This was the moment, the perfect moment for him to tell her what he felt. He hadn’t so far. He hadn’t because...he couldn’t. Everything was deep in his chest, so tangled and so hot it hurt. But nothing of that hot, wet tangle of feelings could make it up through his throat to tell her what she wanted—needed—to hear.
That keeping her safe was his top priority. That he’d defend her with his life. That she was now absolutely vital to his well-being. That he...he shied away from that thought. Telling her...that...would hurt. He’d never told that to a single human being in his life.
His whole life had been about being invulnerable, in every way. Nobody could hurt him, man or beast—he wouldn’t allow it. He’d been like that since he was five, maybe even earlier. Nobody gave a shit about him so he learned to take care of himself right from the get-go and never depend on anyone. He grew big really fast so no one had bullied him, ever. He’d learned early to project that don’t fuck with me vibe. It was ingrained.
So giving Lauren what she deserved—an indication of just how fucking important she was to him—well that was hard to do. But he had to tell her. How his chest would cave in if something happened to her or if she walked away from him.
He knew he didn’t even really have to say The Words. She was smart. She’d read between the lines if he opened up to her.
But...he couldn’t. He could fuck her nearly to death but he couldn’t tell her what he felt. A lifetime of never expressing emotions stood like a huge, towering mountain of granite between them.
Lauren could sense something was going on inside him. Though his face was impassive—it took a freaking effort for him to show anything—inside he was vibrating with stress. She glanced at him, eyes wide. Waiting to see if he said anything.
No.
He couldn’t. Fucking couldn’t.
The only thing he could talk about was facts. The outside world—that he could do. “We’re here,” he said and swerved into her driveway. The first time she’d been to her house since they’d left a couple of days ago.
Lauren was talking again, a happy rush of words. He should be listening to what she was saying because she was always interesting—but right then all he could pay attention to was her flushed, happy, beautiful face. Hear the happiness in her voice. She chattered as he helped her down from his SUV and as they walked up her driveway.
Then she stopped, fell completely silent.
Jacko stood by her side as she reached out to touch her front door, as a primitive tribesman would a talisman. Touching it as if it contained special magical powers. And maybe it did because her face just shone. Something was touching her, deeply.
She glanced up at him and opened the door with the key in her purse. The door swung wide and she gestured with her hand for him to walk in.
She wanted him to go in first because—because this was going to become his home too. It hit him with full force right then. She’d agreed to living together, to sharing a home. This home, which was now by some twist of fate going to be his home.
Shit. He’d never had a real home before. He’d moved from his mother’s trailer, which was never clean and grew only more desolate and battered with each passing year, to barracks. The barracks were a huge improvement but basically he had a cot assigned him in an enormous space. Nothing was his, not even the cot. Just the navy-issue trunk at the foot with a few belongings. Not many.
The navy had been his home until he retired and rented his place in Portland. It wasn’t his home. It was where he slept and watched TV and listened to music. If ASI had set up bachelor quarters somewhere, that’s where he’d have lived.
And now...this. He hadn’t had much of a chance to look at her space. He’d been way too blown away by Lauren herself.
But looking around, feeling tense muscles relax, drawing in air that still smelled of flowers and her, it hit him like a sledgehammer that for the first time in his life he was home.
Lauren switched on the lights and turned the heat on. Somewhere a boiler kicked in. She trailed a hand along the back of the couch in the pretty living room, picked up something soft across the back of it, lifted it to her cheek.
“I thought I’d never see this place again.” Her eyes were shiny when she turned to him. “I thought I had found a safe haven so I worked to make this place my home, and the other day when I left—” she gave a faint smile, “—when I tried to leave, it hurt. It felt like something was cutting me up from the inside. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this place. Leaving Suzanne, Allegra, Claire. Leaving you.”
Jacko let out a long breath. “I would never have let you go. I would have found you, wherever you went.”
She smiled. She was crisscrossing the house, touching things, touching him when she passed by.
Though Jacko wanted more than anything to pick her up and throw her onto her fancy bed with the billion pillows and flowered sheets, he understood she needed to do this. Needed to connect by touch with the life she’d lost, but now was hers again.
“That’s a nice thought, Jacko. But Felicity is good. Very good.”
He cocked his head. “Felicity?”
She sighed. “I guess now I can talk about it. Felicity isn’t her real name. It’s sort of her internet handle, after the character in Arrow.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Felicity Smoak?” She laughed at his clueless expression. “Very pretty and very smart character on a TV show. My Felicity is just as smart as the character. She gave me a new identity and even my secret job.”
Jacko did impassive very well. Or thought he did. But apparently Lauren saw right through him. She laughed again, which was good. Great even. If he could make her laugh, she could laugh at him for the next hundred years.
“You’re dying to know—I can tell.” Lauren pulled out her MacAir from her big purse, put it on the coffee table and switched it on. She sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her.
He didn’t need another invitation. He sank into the cushions, happy to be sitting next to her. Happy she was here. Happy he was here with her.
“Okay, pay attention. Felicity lives in the darknet. You know what that is.”
“Yeah.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, you would. Of course you would. I don’t know what she does for a living—I suspect she’s involved in computer security. I’ve often thought that she might work for the NSA. For some reason, she understands innocent people on the run. She got me my new identity and she’s really good at it. She spent a lot of time creating Lauren Dare, giving her an impeccable background and supplying perfect ID. She said she hoped I could be Lauren Dare forever.”
“You can.” Jacko reached out, wanting to cup her face. He settled for tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Who knew if she wanted to go back to being blond? He didn’t give a shit. She could go purple, or shave her head like him for all he cared. “You can be anything you want to be. Anyone you want to be.”
“I can, can’t I?” Lauren smiled. “Maybe I will just stay Lauren Dare. Anne Lowell wasn’t too happy a person. Lauren Dare is. And there’s yet another person inside me.” She brought up Google and typed quickly. “Voilà!”
The screen showed a website in French, of all things, www.chenet.fr. She clicked on the small British flag on the upper right-hand corner and the site morphed into English. There was a carousel of pictures floating right to left. On the top of the site was a name in flowing script: Fabiola Chenet.
Jacko pointed. “Who’s she?”
“My avatar. My alter ego. Here.” She clicked on Bio and there was one of those Facebook-type photos that hid more than revealed. Half a face, the other half hidden by a long fall of platinum hair, dark sunglasses, face cropped just below the nose. Completely unrecognizable yet alluring. Jacko would never have been able to connect her with Lauren. “There you go. Meet Fabiola Chenet. She studied graphic art at the Paris Design School, did a year at the Royal College of Art, so her English is very good. If you check the schools, you’ll find her CV. Got very good grades.” She smiled faintly. “Though Felicity gave me some Bs, for authenticity.”
Jacko leaned forward, acutely aware of the heat of her body next to his. “So...what am I looking at here?”
She smiled secretively and clicked on a thumbnail image. It suddenly filled the monitor and Jacko sat back. “Whoa.”
A beautiful woman seen from the back, face in profile. Long black hair piled on top of her head. Arms out, in the process of twirling. She was dressed in a long black dress laced up loosely along the back, showing plenty of smooth satiny skin. As she twirled, the hem of her long black dress lifted and became sleek blackbirds. Like crows only with thinner beaks. The blackbirds lifted from her graceful hands, too. The overall effect was stunning, a woman who was magic.
“That’s beautiful.”
The smile broadened. “Thanks. It’s the cover of a fantasy novel about a shape-shifter woman who can command animals. She has been exiled and must make her way back to the castle.” She pointed a finger at a misty fortress on a granite hilltop in the background. “See?”
This was something entirely different from what Jacko had seen her do. This was artwork that told a story, that grabbed you and pulled you right into the picture. You could see the woman’s power, the trek ahead of her, the wild animal kingdom that was hers to command.
“You did that.” Jacko shook his head.
“I certainly did. Watch.” She clicked and the carousel of images continued floating across the monitor, enlarging as they reached midpoint then reducing again to a thumbnail. Many of them were fantasy images, magical and enticing. Some were portraits, the faces always interesting, with an element on the cover that showed whether this was a tragedy or a comedy. The colors were perfect—sharp and clear and glowing.
She sat back, satisfied. “These are all book covers. So—that’s how I’ve been earning my keep, thanks to Felicity who set me up, created me, created Fabiola. If anyone checked the website’s IP address, it’s in France. Fabiola is very successful and she pays all her taxes in France.” Lauren wrinkled her nose. “Nobody should complain about taxes in this country. Not after being stuck in the French system.”
“No, it wasn’t thanks to Felicity. It was thanks to you and your talent,” Jacko growled. “She just allowed you to use it.”
Lauren sobered, turned to look at him, utterly serious. “I thought I’d lost it all. If I’d been forced to run I don’t know whether I’d have had the courage to keep this business up, and it’s just now taking off. I have more commissions than I can handle. And I love it. I love interacting with the author, reading the book to get the feel of it, giving the book a face. I was on the verge of losing everything and now—” She stretched out her hand to him and he took it. “Now I think I have everything I could possibly want.”
Keeping his eyes on hers, Jacko brought her hand to his mouth. A romantic gesture, but it was not out of romance. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He just wanted to feel her skin on his lips.
Lauren sighed and without changing tone said, “What took you so long?”
Jacko blinked. “What?”
“You hung around me for four months. Every time I turned around, there you were. Apparently we drove Allegra, Suzanne and Claire crazy because you weren’t making your move. Why not?”
Time for honesty. “You scared me,” he confessed.
Lauren’s eyes went wide. “I—I what?”
“Scared the shit out of me. You terrified me.”
She looked him over and he knew exactly what she was seeing. He was 240 pounds of pure muscle, a trained killer. Though he didn’t have the many piercings he’d had a few years ago, he was still heavily tattooed. Shaved head, the works.
Lauren, on the other hand, weighed less than half what he did and she was an artist. And a sweet woman on top of it. She probably had never hit another human being in her life. He’d grown up fighting bare-knuckled until he got into the navy. Then they armed him.
Her eyes narrowed, face lit with mischief.
“I like the idea of terrifying you. I like it a lot.”
Jacko fought a smile. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” She leaned forward, a few inches from his face. She pursed her lips and he thought she was going to kiss him but instead she said, “Boo!”
He jumped, gave an exaggerated shudder of terror. She laughed. God it was good to hear her laugh. Light, carefree. A laugh of delight.
Then she sobered and her hand tightened around his. “That was fun.” She searched his eyes. “But I don’t want to do that. I don’t like to dominate.” He gave a small nod. Her eyes remained steady on his. She was telling him something really important now. “And I don’t like to be dominated.”
“No.” Fuck no. He didn’t want to dominate her. BUDS training had been all about breaking strong men. Or trying to. Everything had been thrown at him—physical, verbal abuse, cruel punishments, DIs screaming in his face. They hadn’t broken him, not even close. But he did understand bone deep what it was like to have someone try to break you.
He didn’t want one molecule of anything like that near Lauren. In the same room as Lauren. She was magic. She made him feel better just being around her. He didn’t want that magic gone. He wanted to protect that magic from the outside world; he didn’t want to crush it. God no.
And maybe all things considered she was as unbreakable as he was. Maybe more. Because, shit, he couldn’t have taken the pressure of being hunted for two fucking years. Looking over his shoulder day after day after day. He’d have taken the fight to the enemy, that was his nature and he’d been trained to do it, but Lauren couldn’t do that. Two women had died. If he didn’t shave his head, every hair on his head would have stood up when she told him that. She didn’t have the tools to resist armed men so she’d done the only thing possible—run.
He couldn’t say all that. He didn’t have the words for that, but what was on his face must have been reassuring because she nodded sharply. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Something in his voice made her smile.
“So.” She stood. He stood, too. “I’m hungry—how about you?”
It hadn’t even occurred to him but now that she talked about food... “Starving.”
“Good thing when I was running away from home I didn’t take the time to empty the fridge out completely. I’ll cook, you’ll set the table.”
Another thing he’d been taught in the navy. Tactics.
“This is a test,” he said. “You’re seeing how domesticated I am.”
“Bingo.” She smiled but was still watching him carefully.
Well, this was easy. “I was in the military.” He looked down at her, wanting to dispel the slight anxiety that he saw in her beautiful face. He reached out, smoothed the small furrow between her brows. “I take orders well.”