Naughty and Nice by Sarah J. Brooks (80)

Now, as the tube carried me closer to the station he’d mentioned, I shook my head. Meeting Patrick was a terrible mistake. I saw his image in my mind, the picture I’d seen online of him in his bathing suit pressing in at the corners of my vision. I shut my eyes; there was no way I could think of him that way. I needed to put any thoughts of Patrick as anything other than an NCA agent out of my mind before they could take root. More than they already had, at any rate. I was with Brad, and my meeting with Patrick was one hundred percent business.

Business about Brad. My instincts were still highly activated, though I hadn’t yet found anything that tied Brad directly, or even indirectly, to any sort of questionable activity. I kept this in the front of my mind as I stepped off the tube and walked quickly to the restaurant. I watched for Patrick with every step, but, when I walked into the bistro he’d suggested, a small corner café that served what smelled like absolutely delicious pastries, he was nowhere to be found. I scanned the patrons and, not seeing him, realized I had a chance here to back out, to disappear. I could text him from the hotel and let him know I couldn’t find him, or something had come up, or anything. I didn’t need to go through with what I was beginning to think was a huge mistake.

“Cassie!” Patrick shouted. I turned and my stomach sank as I saw him running down the block toward me.

I waited until he got closer. “Hi,” I said reluctantly.

“Hey,” he said, arriving at my side. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had to run into the office for an hour and do some paperwork.”

“You’re not late; you’re early,” I said, looking at my watch.

“I’m late if I arrive after the person I’m supposed to be meeting arrives. You’d be surprised how many people call me and cancel meetings.” He gave me something of an amused expression that suggested he was, somehow, inside my head and knew exactly what I’d been planning.

“Surprised, yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “Should we go inside?” I figured I might as well get things over with.

We ordered coffee and pastries, and then sat at a table near the plate glass window overlooking the street.

“Listen,” I said. “At the risk of being like, apparently, everyone else who calls you, I think this might have been a huge mistake.”

Patrick regarded me with smoky eyes; they were a gunpowder gray with flecks of blue, and they seemed to stare right through me. I felt my breath catch in my throat. My stomach began fluttering, though I wasn’t sure if it was happening because I’d called to meet Patrick, or because of how he was looking at me, or both.

“I don’t think it was a mistake,” he said slowly. “I think you had some time to think about our conversation from yesterday, and you maybe have some suspicions you’re not quite sure what to do with.”

I started to object, but he shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me. His eyes bored deeper, and I caught a whiff of a scent—shampoo, cologne—and I had to shift, too, because I was, to my horror, becoming aroused.

He continued. “I know he’s your boyfriend and you care about him. And, I know that you don’t want to say anything—anything—that could get him into trouble. But, have you thought about the possibility that Brad is a victim as well?”

“A victim of what?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You tell me.” He sat back. His shirt collar was open one button more than it likely would have been if he’d been sitting at the office. I could see, even from that small amount, the smooth skin of his chest beneath the stubble of his unshaven face and neck. I blinked slowly.

“I don’t know anything; I told you that.”

“So, then,” he asked, taking a sip of coffee, “why did you call to meet you this morning?”

I played with the remaining bits of my pastry on the end of my fork. “I’m honestly not sure,” I said. “I mean, it’s possible, I suppose, that I thought about what you said. And it’s possible, I suppose, that I started to think about some things Brad has said, or things people around him have said, and I maybe think that being safe is better than being sorry. Is that possible?” There was a testy quality to my voice that I didn’t much care for, but I knew I needed to show some strength here.

“It’s very possible,” Patrick said. “So, why don’t you tell me what things Brad has said that you’ve been thinking about?”

I shook my head. “That’s the thing,” I said, “it’s nothing specific. It’s just…”

“A feeling,” he finished.

I looked at him sharply, but his eyes were neutral. He took a sip of coffee as if we were two friends just hanging out and getting caught up.

I said nothing, so he continued.

“Listen, Cassie, what do you know about Brad White for certain?”

I sighed. “I know that he’s 31, and he’s the owner of Legacy, a chain of luxury hotels that has expanded worldwide. I know that he’s never been married and has no children. I know that he’s a billionaire, and that he’s very charitable. He contributes to thousands of charities regularly, and there are a few that he serves on the board of trustees and things like that. I’ve done my homework on him, Patrick,” I said.

“I believe you,” he said. “Have you ever looked through his texts? Checked his computer?”

“For what?” I demanded.

“I don’t know, for other women? Is he seeing anyone else?”

“I don’t think so, but he could be. And he has every right to; we haven’t talked about being exclusive.” I realized, bitterly, that I was feeling jealous of a woman who may or may not even exist. It hadn’t occurred to me that Brad would feel the need to withhold the fact of him dating someone else, if he was. I’d just assumed his attention to me was for me alone.

“So you’re not even curious?”

“Listen, Patrick, I’m not some stalker, and I’m not some victim. I don’t search through my man’s stuff constantly looking for ways to catch him doing the wrong thing, or to twist stuff I find into that happening. I don’t look at his texts, I don’t read his email; I don’t even know…” I stopped. I didn’t even know where he lived in London. He had a condo, I knew that. But I didn’t know where it was, and I’d never been there.

“Don’t even know what?” Patrick prompted.

“Nothing,” I said. “Never mind. The bottom line is, I’m not some sort of spy.”

He smiled at this, the corners of his mouth widening to reveal straight, white teeth. He had two small dimples that appeared and small laugh lines near his eyes. My arousal, which had stilled, returned.

“You’re better than a spy,” he said, a small laugh in his voice. “You’re a journalist.”

***

A few hours later, I was back in the hotel after leaving Patrick and stopping at the Embassy to check on the status of my passport. Brad had given me the name of his friend and said he’d texted him to let his friend know I’d be stopping by. It turned out to be a wasted trip; his friend wasn’t there. Still, I went through the usual paperwork to get an expedited replacement passport. A bored woman said that this sort of thing happens all the time, looking at me like I was an irresponsible kid, and then she said that sometimes the passports even get returned to the Embassy.

I opened the French doors to the balcony and stepped out, the moisture of the foggy air cool against my skin. I took a deep breath and blew it out. I had been telling Patrick the truth; I was not the type of woman to go skulking behind her boyfriend’s back looking for evidence he was being unfaithful. I’d always trusted my instincts about who I picked to date in the first place. And, the few times I’d been wrong, well, the guys had been doing me a favor by giving me a reason to break up with them. So, I never worried.

The one piece that was worrying me was that Brad hadn’t yet invited me over to his condo. We’d been seeing each other every day since I’d landed in London… him inviting me over seemed a logical step. I decided to put my worry to rest.

Hey baby, I texted. I’m getting bored of the hotel. Can we do dinner at your place tonight? I’ll cook.

I waited. He responded within a few minutes. Are you sure you don’t want to go out?

I’m sure.

A few more minutes passed. I held my breath, anxiety building. What would he say?

Sure, then. I’ll have to make sure the place is cleaned up before you get there, though, ;-) Meet me in the lobby at six and we can head to my place.

I grinned and texted back. Sweet, thank you. What do you want for dinner?

We spent most of the day exchanging inappropriate texts, and, around five, I went out to a market near the hotel to buy the makings of fish and chips for dinner. When I got back, I put everything in the fridge behind the front desk. As I took the elevator back to my room, Brad texted again.

Pack your stuff; no sense in you coming back to the hotel.

My heart skipped a beat and I smiled. Patrick pulled at my mind for a moment, but I pushed him away. I packed quickly and I was downstairs to meet Brad promptly at six.

Brad

“Fuck,” I sighed. “He’s here? Today?”

Simon’s voice on the other end of the phone was somber. “Yes, Sir; he’s here.”

My head was spinning. I’d been going crazy all week with meetings, trying to balance Cassie at my condo, and keeping the front of Legacy going with the continuing pressures from Manuel Brown. And now, according to Simon, Manuel Brown was here in London.

“Well, obviously I will need to arrange a meeting,” I said. I shook my head. Manuel’s appearance in London couldn’t have been good news to any degree. “I’ll text his contact number. I’ll let you know if I’m permitted to bring an associate.”

I could almost see Simon nodding on the other end of the line. “It would be safest for you to bring me,” he said.

“Yes, but…” I paused. If I could prove to Manuel that I was meeting him alone, perhaps I could have some interaction with Antoine. “I can’t take any chances.”

“Understood, Sir,” Simon said. We got off the phone and I leaned forward, my head in my hands. The timing on this couldn’t be worse. I had just invited Cassie to stay with me for the remainder of her time in London. I’d thought that doing so might give her more patience with her passport and may even convince her to stay longer as her own idea. But, I was already hiding this secret from so many people; I didn’t need another to add to keeping my lies straight.

My phone pinged. Assuming it was Cassie, I grabbed it and looked. The number was unrecognizable, but I knew exactly who it was.

Meet me at the warehouse in fifteen minutes.

It was Manuel Brown.

My stomach jumped and my heart shot into my throat. I glanced at my watch as I stood up, shoveling papers into my briefcase and clearing off my desk. It would take me at least that amount of time to get to the warehouse if I left immediately. I grabbed my coat and flew out the door. My driver scrambled to attention and opened my door; I gave him directions to the warehouse and told him to go as fast as he could without getting us arrested.

He expertly weaved through traffic and had us to the warehouse in twenty minutes. Not good enough. I told him to wait and I stepped out of the car, nervous energy pressing through me with every step. I walked quickly to the back of the warehouse. My lips tightened, along with my jaw, as I saw a plain, black Lexus parked in the back.

A man stepped out of the car and, for the first time in years, I was face to face with Manuel Brown.

“Mr. White,” he said.

“Sir,” I said, bowing my head.

“Let’s go in.” He looked at me with intense eyes. He was just a shade taller than I was at six foot two, and he was not a small man. He had gotten far with his domineering presence, yet he also had the ability to blend into a crowd and remain unseen for a surprising amount of time. I followed him, cowed. I’d seen both sides to him.

He opened the door; how he had a key to the lock I had no idea. He pushed the door open and gestured for me to walk in.

When he flipped on the lights, I saw the same sight I’d seen the first night when the shipment had come in. This was a big one; millions of dollars’ worth of guns, ammunition, grenades, and bombs and bomb-making equipment lined the walls. Anyone who walked in would have thought it was a military base, not a private inventory.

“What does this look like to you?” Manuel asked. He wasn’t looking at me. He stood next to me as we both looked at the expanse of the warehouse.

I didn’t know how he wanted me to answer. I glanced over at him to see if his face would betray any sense of pleasure or displeasure. I had to assume he was displeased; there was no other reason for him to travel all this way.

“Sir, if there’s something wrong, I’ll fix it immediately. I followed the specifications, but it’s not a problem…”

“Stop, Mr. White,” Manuel said. “You’ve done well.” He nodded his head slightly toward a floor to ceiling stack of blocks that looked like train cars. “Those are the AA-12s?”

“I believe so, Sir. Each block contains ten thousand, Sir.”

Manuel nodded and he turned to me.

“Very good,” he said. “I knew I put the right person in charge of this branch of the project.”

“Sir,” I began, emotion flooding through me at the thought of Antoine. “When will I get Antoine back? When is enough enough?” I bit my tongue to try to take the words back in, but, of course, they were already out. Manuel cocked his head at me as if he was surprised I was asking. As if I already knew the answer to such a silly question.

“Mr. White,” he said slowly. “You do very good work for me. You do good work for me because you are properly motivated. I would be very foolish to take that motivation and destroy it.”

My stomach sank.

“The time will come when you and Antoine will have the chance to be reunited. But, that time is not now. It’s not in the near future. What you can do to get your son back,” he sneered these last words, “is to keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His look silenced any negotiation or objection I might have come up with, and I nodded, my eyes downcast. I wondered if Antoine was near; if he had traveled with Manuel to London.

“Is he here?” I whispered.

“In London?” Manuel burst out laughing, a sound that echoed around the warehouse and chilled my bones. “Mr. White, how stupid do you think I am? If he was, I’d never tell you. But, no, he is nowhere near London. He is safely hidden away, where he will remain, until such time as I decide that having the two of you together will benefit me.”

I nodded.

“This is just the beginning, Mr. White. All of the things you see around you, all of this is just the planning stage. See the bigger picture. There is so much left to do before we’re finished. I have lots and lots of plans ahead.”

His voice, the tone and quality of it, sent shivers through me. He was an insane lunatic… and he had my son.

The Billionaire’s LEGACY

Dark Secrets

Sarah J. Brooks

Cassie

I stared at the phone in my hand in complete disbelief. There’s been an accident. The man who owns the phone… he… he’s in bad shape. The caller’s voice echoed in my mind, and I began to pace the room, all thoughts in my mind focused on Patrick, envisioning all kinds of horror about what the caller had meant by ‘bad shape.’ I immediately redialed Patrick’s number, but no one answered. When his voicemail clicked through and I heard his voice, I began to cry. I felt helpless; I thought about what hospital he might be at, but I realized I didn’t know any of the hospitals in London. I called his number again, and, again, no answer.

I wandered around the house, keeping my phone in my hand. I looked at it every few seconds, suddenly not trusting that my ringer would go off. Twice, I checked the volume. The caller’s voice kept hammering at my brain. I just came upon him like this… I called an ambulance… He’s alive… Are you his wife?...

My phone rang and I jumped.

“Hello!” I said into it without checking to see whose number it was.

“Come to University College Hospital. Take the tube to Euston Square, and you’ll be within walking distance. I would advise you to get here quickly.”

“Who is this!” I demanded, but the caller hung up immediately. I called Patrick’s number back immediately and there was no answer. Frustrated, I yelled into the empty air. “Fuck!” I shoved my phone into my pocket and ran to get my purse. I needed a way to get to the hospital, and the only other person in the house was Mrs. Wheeler.

“Mrs. Wheeler!” I yelled, running into the main entry of the house where I knew she would be able to hear me. She did, and came to the top of the stairs.

“Miss Cassie?” she said, questioning alarm in her voice.

“Mrs. Wheeler, I need you to drive me to the tube station, or to University College Hospital, wherever that is. I need to get there now!”

A look of panic crossed her face. “Mr. White?” she asked, her voice trembling

“No,” I said, “he’s fine. This is… a friend. Please, I need to go now!” I waited until I saw her begin to move, then I ran back into the kitchen. A moment later, she had her keys in hand and her coat on. We got into her car and she began to drive.

“Who is your friend?” What happened?” she asked. I knew her questions were normal, but I didn’t have answers and that only frustrated me further.

“Please just drive,” I said, my head in my hands. “I can’t even think right now.”

She drove silently for a moment, then I heard her inhale, a warning that she was about to speak.

“University College Hospital is one of the best in London,” she said, her eyes on the road. “Your… friend… is in good hands.”

I nodded and looked over at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. And, thank you for driving.” I knew my voice had chastised her and I felt bad, a glimmer of shame pushing through my worry about Patrick. I didn’t know why I was acting this way; why I was feeling so upset over a man I barely knew, who I had very little connection to. If it was Brad in the hospital, that would be understandable. But Patrick was… well, what was he? A friend? Hardly. I swallowed hard as I realized how deep my panic ran within me and what that suggested about how I truly felt about Patrick. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to get control.

“It’s someone I met here in London, who also knows Brad.” I added that last bit to show, I hoped, Mrs. Wheeler that I wasn’t trying to keep any secrets. “I’ll have to call him when he’s done with his meetings for the day; he’ll want to be informed.”

Why was I lying? I didn’t have anything other than a sensation of energy coming off of Mrs. Wheeler that the words coming out of my mouth were the right ones. I had always been a big believer in intuition and feeling, and I knew that the last thing I needed was for Mrs. Wheeler to drop me off and immediately contact Brad.

“I’m sure he will,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “Would you like me to call him so you can focus on your friend?”

“No, thank you,” I said sincerely. “I’ll get a feel for the situation when I see our friend and call him.”

Rather than drive me to the tube station, Mrs. Wheeler drove me directly to the hospital and offered to wait. I managed to gracefully get out of that by reminding her that I didn’t know how long I would be, and Brad would be expecting dinner when he got home from his meeting. Finally, I entered the hospital.

I was directed to the intensive care unit, where a nurse asked me how I was related to Patrick.

“I’m his sister,” I lied.

“I’m going to need to see some identification,” the nurse said. She was severe, her hair pulled straight back. She looked at me as if I was the person who had hurt Patrick coming to finish the job.

“That I’m his sister?” I said, thinking fast. “Isn’t the fact that we’re practically identical enough for you?” I was grateful for my reporter instincts and the fact that I didn’t scare easily. The best defense being a good offense and all that.

“Even if you did look identical,” the nurse said grimly, “I’m afraid you don’t anymore.”

My eyes must have convinced her that, if even not his sister, I was someone who was important to him; I felt my stomach jump into my chest and I nearly burst into tears.

“Go ahead on in,” she said quickly, looking around. “You have five minutes. Don’t speak loudly to him, don’t startle him, and, whatever you do, don’t touch him for bloody sake.”

I nodded and walked in the direction she’d nodded. The ICU had only three rooms, and I walked to Patrick’s door, took a deep breath, and walked in.

My gasp was loud in the room, standing out against the machines, beeping and pumping. I bit my tongue to keep from fainting. The door closed behind me.

“Patrick?” I whispered. I walked to his bedside. Whoever had beaten him had done it with the intent to kill, and may have very well done it; I had the sense that if I was going to get any information out of Patrick, it needed to be soon. His face was unrecognizable, swollen beyond belief. Black eyes, a jaw that needed badly to be reset, and a nose that I could tell was broken through the layers of bandages. His collar bones were twisted, and I could tell that he would need surgery, perhaps multiple surgeries, to repair the damage.

He didn’t stir. I reached out to touch his hand, stroking the skin between the blood pressure monitor attached to his finger. His skin was cool to the touch, and stretchy, not at all like the strong, firm hands I realized I’d committed to memory.

“Holy fuck, Patrick, who did this to you?” My voice was a whisper, but I felt as though it echoed through the entire hospital. I bit my lip.

Out of the corner of my eye, something moved. I glanced over and nearly screamed when I saw a man sitting in a chair in the corner, so dark and hidden I may have walked out without seeing him at all had he not flicked his watch, catching the light.

“Who the fuck are you?” I exclaimed. “I’m getting the nurse.” I began to walk toward the door.

“Stop,” the man said. I stopped in my tracks; his voice was non-negotiable and sent the blood in my veins to chilling.

“Who are you?” I whispered. I realized I had, unconsciously, stepped between the man and Patrick; Patrick was protected behind my back.

“My name is Mavin Toller,” he said. “I’m the one who called you.”

“No, you’re not,” I said. “The man who called me didn’t know Patrick. If you don’t tell me who you are right now, I’m going to get the nurse and I’m going to call the police.”

“You’ll do absolutely nothing of the kind.” The man made a move to stand, and I jumped, startled. He laughed and shook his head, settling back into his chair. “Easy, there, Cassandra.”

“Who are you?” I repeated myself like a broken record. “How do you know Patrick? Did you do this to him?”

To my surprise and shock, Mavin Toller began to laugh. “Did I do this to him?” he sneered. “Obviously not; I expected you to have a little more sense than that.”

“Well, what are you doing here? How did you find him?”

“You have a lot of questions for someone in your position,” he said, still sitting, his chin resting on his hands, which were popped up by his elbows on the chair arms.

I was silent. I wasn’t going to give this man any information. I knew he was telling the truth about being the one who called; I recognized his voice. Also, I could see Patrick’s cell phone—or at least one that looked exactly like his—on the man’s thigh. Its silver case stood out against the darkness.

We stared at each other for a few moments, the only sound in the room the beeping of Patrick’s heart machine.

“What do you think Bradley would say about you coming to the rescue of another man?”

I stared, my mouth open. My mind reached to the ends of itself for an understanding of how Mavin Toller knew about my relationship with Brad.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” I said, my voice cold, “but my relationships are none of your concern. And I am not here to rescue anyone. You called me, remember? You told me to come to the hospital. So, here I am.”

“Yes,” he said, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Here you are.”

Brad

When I turned my phone back on, my messages pinged immediately, dozens of them, all from Simon. I sighed and called his number.

“What the fuck, Brad!” he fumed. “Did you shut your phone off? Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

I rolled my eyes and tried to stay calm. I wasn’t in the mood for anything to have gone wrong on even the most simple of levels. My conversation with Manuel Brown was still burned into my brain and his words repeated over and over. He had me right where he wanted; he considered me motivated. He wasn’t going to give Antoine back until he was good and ready. And, the more I asked, the worse it would be for me.

“Brad!”

“What?” I said sharply. I hadn’t realized Simon had been talking.

“Did you hear a word I just said? The place burned to the ground!”

“What?” I stared at the phone. “What did you just say? What place? What burned?” My breath caught in my chest and I could feel my heart pounding.

“The Morocco site. There’s been a raid. Infidels broke in, stole everything, and torched the place. We have inventory in the open, Brad. In the open!”

“Does Manuel know?” I asked dully, already knowing the answer.

“Of course he fucking knows!” Simon swore. “He’s the one who called me, because he couldn’t get ahold of you. Why do you think I was texting you and calling so much? You turned off your phone and now we’ve lost precious time.”

I struggled to stay in the conversation with Simon as my heart began to jerk in my chest. Antoine. Manuel had assured me that Antoine was safe, and he credited part of Antoine’s safety with the ‘good work’ I had been doing.

“Who were the infidels? Moroccans? Or foreigners?”

“We don’t know,” Simon said. “We have a team on its way to investigate, subtly, of course. But, as I said in one of my messages, we have a plane chartered and ready to go. We need you on that plane.”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, of course. Do we have a damage report?”

“The initial observations are grim,” he said. “The inventory that’s still at the site is burned beyond repair. The building itself has been reduced to basically rubble. There’s no way we won’t have to completely rebuild it.”

“Where is Manuel?” I asked. “Is he going to the site? He can’t beat us there.” I could hear the panic in my voice as the realization of what was happening began to settle in. I felt a mix of urgency and shock blending in my bloodstream, and it was getting hard to breathe.

“He said we have twenty-four hours to take care of it before he sends in another team. Brad, if he sends in that other team, we’re dead. You know that.”

I knew it. And I knew that, more importantly, my son would be dead. No use for me meant no use for him. I swallowed. “Yes,” I said. “I know. When does the plane leave?”

“Tonight,” he said. “I’ve got it all arranged.”

“We’re dead,” I said suddenly, the thought too large to stay in my brain.

“Pardon?” Simon asked, startled.

“We’re dead. Manuel will never understand this incompetence. He’ll never understand how something like this could happen.”

“Don’t, Brad; Manuel will know that this is not your fault. It was terrorist activity, probably completely unrelated to the project. If anything, Manuel will be watching to see how you fix the situation. If you can fix it properly, he’ll probably reward you.”

“And if I don’t…” I closed my eyes and shook the thought out of my mind, the images passing through my brain too painful to allow to take root.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Simon warned. “You’re savvy and will have this fixed by this time tomorrow. I have every confidence.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “And I’m sorry; I didn’t realize the severity of the situation.” My apology was useless and I knew it.

“Don’t let it happen again. We need to trust each other, Brad. You have to trust that I wouldn’t call you unless it was an emergency.”

“It won’t happen again.”

I hung up the phone and went to the computer to check my email and to look up the blueprint for the Moroccan storage facility. It was one of our older facilities, since Morocco had been one of our first storage sites. Unlike the newer facilities that were equipped with fire retardant paint, Morocco had old paint and a layout that deterred fire rescue. I shook my head, wondering how this site had been passed over for updating. I would need to personally look at each facility, worldwide, and assess its fortitude.

Several hours passed and it was dark by the time I looked up. I realized I was starving. I checked my watch; it was after eight o’clock. I walked into the kitchen ; a note from my housekeeper said that dinner was being kept warm in the oven. I opened the oven door and sniffed deeply, my stomach growling in response. It was a roast, moist and juicy, with potatoes and carrots. At least one good thing; it was my favorite meal.

“Hey,” a voice behind me greeted. I turned and saw Cassie standing in the doorway. She looked exhausted; far more tired than she had seemed the last time I’d seen her this morning.

“Hi, baby,” I said, walking to her and encircling her in my arms. I kissed the top of her head as I pulled her to me. Her sweet scent filled my nostrils and I felt myself pressing against her not just for being attracted to her, but for the stability and support her body offered mine.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” I said. I held her out and looked at her. “Where were you today? What did you do?”

She looked at me and a shadow crossed over her face. “Nothing much.” She shrugged. “Mostly just hung around the house.”

“Well, I want you to pack your bags. Right now.”

Her face brightened, and I plastered a smile on my face. I had to make everything seem believable; I had to make it seem like this was just an ordinary romantic vacation.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her face beginning to flush with excitement.

“Just… somewhere. Don’t ask questions.” I took the roast out of the oven and began to cut it into slices. “Go pack now; I’ll finish dinner.”

“Listen,” she said, not moving. “I really don’t know about traveling right now. I mean, I still don’t have my passport. Can I even go anywhere?”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “We’re taking my plane; you don’t need a passport.”

“You have a plane?”

I paused, anger boiling up inside me. I needed to stay calm and in control. Antoine’s life depended on it.

“Yes,” I said. “Now, please, go get packed and ready. We’re leaving tonight. I promise I’ll answer all of your questions on the plane.”

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going? So, you know, I know what kind of clothes to pack?”

I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Morocco,” I said finally. “We’re going to Morocco.”

Cassie

Brad’s plane was magnificent, no question. I boarded and was immediately overwhelmed with the… wealth. That was the only word that came to mind. The entire interior of the plane had been gutted and replaced with couches upholstered in cream leather. Two recliners were positioned toward the rear of the plane, angled toward one another, with a chess board sitting between them.

“Brad,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “This is…”

“I don’t try to flaunt my wealth,” he said soberly. “But this is a special occasion. I wanted to treat you. I know you’ve been struggling lately. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I can sense it. I want you to be able to let go of whatever is stressing you out and relax.” He leaned in and kissed me, his lips warm on mine. I kissed him back, wishing that I could be in two places at once. Mentally, I was doing exactly that. One part of me was here, in my body, on the plane; the other part of me was sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for Patrick to wake up. I pushed Patrick out of my mind; if I thought about him for too long, I would cry; I wouldn’t be able to explain that to Brad.

“It’s just so amazing,” I said, covering my worry. Before we had left, our conversation at dinner had revolved around my job. Brad said that bringing me to the Morocco Legacy property would give me another angle for a story; he promised that we would sit down for another “exclusive.” I told him that, if I didn’t get back to New York soon with a lot of stories in hand, my boss was going to fire me. It may have been a slight exaggeration, but not by much. My editor had been understanding, accepting my stories via email and holding meetings with me over Skype, but I could tell her patience was running thin.

If, on the other hand, I could break a story about a big billionaire secret… she might be a little more willing to give me some latitude.

Of course, that would mean figuring out what, if anything, Brad was hiding. And, now that Patrick was in the hospital, I had no one to help me figure that out. And, what was worse, clearly someone was after Patrick. It had crossed my mind that someone, maybe the same person, could be after me. Given that thought, getting onto a plane had been a relatively easy decision.

Still, leaving Patrick to fend for his life alone in a hospital bed had not been an easy decision, and I felt my stomach tie up in knots at the prospect of him succumbing to his injuries before I could return to see him again.

The pilot instructed us to be seated for take off. I sat on one of the couches nearest to where I was standing and belted myself in. Brad smiled and sat beside me, taking my hand in his. As the plane gained speed and lifted into the air, I slid against him and he put his arm around me.

“It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered. I looked up at him. Something in his tone was strange, as if he wasn’t just talking to me, but to himself as well.

“It is,” I said. “I know.” I squeezed his hand, offering him reassurance but not knowing exactly why. “How long have you owned the plane?” I asked, thinking I was changing the subject.

“Awhile,” he said. The plane continued to climb, but the pilot came on and said that we were stable enough to undo our seat belts, so long as we stayed seated. “Listen, Cassie, I try to live a normal life. I try to not brag about being wealthy; in fact, most people have no idea who I am when they run into me in daily life.”

I nodded. I had witnessed this first hand. Anytime we went out to eat or went shopping, Brad paid cash, in small bills. He never flashed a black card, or paid with hundreds, or flaunted his wealth in any way. It was part of the reason I found being with him so amazing. He knew I didn’t care about his money; he didn’t seem to care about it either. In the time that we had been together, he had made it seem as though he was a perfectly normal guy who just happened to have a few billion dollars.

“I don’t brag because the money I have has come at a much higher cost than the money is worth.” He stared at a spot on the wall. I followed his gaze to the window, to the blinking light on the wing of the plane. “One of the things I love about you, one of the first things that drew you to me, was that I can see that you know that money isn’t everything. You wouldn’t believe some of the shallow people that come into my life, saying they’re someone they’re not, threatening, promising…” He shook his head. “All manner of lies. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you’re not that way.” He looked at me, his eyes meeting mine directly and deeply, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was as if he was urging me to confess… what? I hadn’t done anything. I reminded myself that any thoughts I’d had about Patrick had been just that, thoughts, and barely formed at that. Visiting him in the hospital had been something I’d kept from Brad, but only because Patrick was investigating him and I didn’t want to open up either one of them to trouble and danger.

“I didn’t grow up around money,” I said. “It’s easy for me to not act greedy for something I never even had in the first place.”

He regarded me with his serious eyes, and then he ran the outside of his fingers along my cheek. A shiver of arousal moved through me and I closed my eyes, reaching for his hand. I gripped his fingers with my own and held his hand to my face. It felt warm and solid, and, for at least a few moments, it was a centering force, drawing me to stability as the plane climbed higher into the night sky.

It was the first time Brad had directly addressed his money with me, and it made me doubt that he had any sinister secrets; perhaps he was the one in a billion billionaire… the one who had come by his money honestly. Perhaps Patrick was wrong after all.

“I think the plane has leveled off,” Brad said, and, just as he finished his sentence, the pilot came onto the intercom and confirmed that we had. “I have an idea.” He grinned at me and arched his right eyebrow in an expression that must have made his high school girlfriends swoon all over themselves.

“Oh?” I asked, playing innocent, pretending that I couldn’t see the bulge in his jeans plain as day. “What’s that, Mr. White?”

“Ever join the Mile High Club?” he asked.

“Funny you should bring that up,” I said, trying to control the smile that I knew was playing on my lips. I could see him trying to ignore it, though it was clearly arousing him. “I always said I was saving myself for… a private plane owned by a billionaire on its way to Morocco.”

He burst out laughing, breaking the remaining tension in the space from our serious conversation.

“It’s true!” I insisted, nodding to punctuate my words. “I swear! I always said I would love to do it, but I wasn’t going to just do it on some commuter flight from New York to LA, right?”

“So you decided it had to be a private plane destined for Morocco and owned by a billionaire,” he mocked.

“Do you not believe me?” I pouted, letting my intentions show in my eyes.

“I believe that I’m going to make all of your dreams come true in short order,” he said, his voice suddenly husky as he began to get down to business. He started by unzipping my sweatshirt. I’d worn a simple black tank top and black bra underneath, and he dispensed with those in just a few moments, and then laid me on my back on the plush leather.

He stood on his knees, straddling my legs, and pulled off his t-shirt. I reached forward to unzip his jeans, and he pulled them off, then he reached down to pull off my leggings.

“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known,” he said, his eyes scanning my body. I reached up for him, wanting his body pressing against mine even more than I wanted his admiration. Suddenly I was ravenous for him; I wanted him inside me, and I wanted it rough. He was tremendously hard, his cock pressing between my legs, and I grabbed it with both hands and began to stroke his shaft furiously. He groaned and gasped in alternating breaths, his hands holding down my shoulders. I sat up quickly, my core muscles straining, and kissed him. His tongue pushed into my mouth and we folded into each other. I wrapped my right leg around his hip and released my grip on his cock. He grabbed himself with his hand and lined himself up with my pussy, soaking wet and ready. He plunged into me deep and fast, and my gasp turned into a moan of pleasure as I felt his fullness inside of me. He wrapped his arms around me to keep me sitting up as he thrust against me. The angle was new and different, the pressure on my clit direct and constant.

“Oh my God, Brad,” I moaned. “I want you deeper. I want you so deep inside of me that I can feel you in my throat…” I realized there were no words for the appetite I had for him, that my desire was completely insatiable.

He pulled out and pushed me back onto the couch. His sudden vacancy left my body confused and wanting, and I looked at him, his cock glistening with a mixture of my wetness and his pre-cum.

“I want to fuck your tits,” he said in a low voice. “Squeeze them for me.” I grabbed my breasts and pressed them together, creating a deep, tight canyon for his cock to settle into. As he fucked my chest, I saw his hand reach back and felt his fingers pressing into my clit. He slid his thumb faster and faster over the hard, pulsing nub, and my groans turned into cries as I tumbled into my orgasm. I pressed my breasts together harder, catching the tip of his cock with my tongue as he thrust upward, until he groaned sharply and pulled back again. He quickly spread my legs and found his way inside once again, the waves of my orgasm still causing my muscles to twitch and shudder.

“Oh, Cassie,” he moaned as he came, his cum flowing into me and reaching every available space inside. He arched his upper back then rounded it as he spent himself, once again hitting the hair trigger of my clit and pushing me into another orgasm. I let this climax wash over me; I laid back and simply enjoyed the pulsing sensations of each small explosion in my body.

Afterward, we lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs. My mind was blank save for Brad’s body pressed safely against mine. I drifted off to sleep content. No matter what happened, we would face it together.

Brad

The scene that lay before me sent shivers of dread and devastation through me. The infidels hadn’t just stolen from the storage facility. They hadn’t just set fires. They had demolished every brick, every window, every load bearing wall in the place.

“Did they drop a bomb on the place?” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, though Simon, standing next to me, took it upon himself to answer.

“No,” he said grimly. “Though if they had, there might have been less damage.”

It was dawn, and under normal circumstances I would be groggy and wanting only to find my way to my suite and rest. Instead, I had sent Cassie to the hotel and made up an excuse about having to handle an emergency with the Legacy property in neighboring Mali. “Just a few phone calls,” I’d promised as I sent her off in the town car that had been waiting to pick us up at the airport. “Go and take a shower, then get some rest. When you wake up from your nap, I’ll be there and we can go grab something to eat.”

The lies flowed from my mouth easily, but only because I was well practiced at doing so; each time I looked into Cassie’s eyes and lied to her, I realized that she was special. The only other woman I’d ever felt guilt about lying to had been Lorinda. I winced at the thought of her name and closed my eyes.

“What do you want to do first?” Simon asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“We need an inventory,” I said. “We need to get a team to go in and pick through every single piece of rubble, no matter how big or small. I want every piece of weapon, every shred of shrapnel. I want every molecule accounted for one way or another. Then,” I said, “we’re going to find the people that did this, and we’re going to make them sorry.”

Fury rose within me as I realized that the infidels were going straight for Manuel Brown and they had only unintentionally gone through me to do it.

“I’ll set up the team immediately,” Simon said, taking out his phone and beginning to press at the keys rapidly. “I’ll have them here and working within the hour.”

“When will we be seeing Manuel?” I asked. I knew whatever answer I got would be too soon. This was a significant loss; a message being sent to Manuel by someone, someone with equal, or perhaps greater?, power than his own.

“He’s on his way, Sir,” Simon said. “If we can have the team in place by his arrival, it will look better for you. For us.”

“If the team isn’t here by the time he arrives, Manuel will find me digging through the rubble myself.” I ran my hand through my hair; it came away thick with sweat from the already daunting heat of the day. “I’m not losing anything further from this mess.”

I stalked away from Simon and toward the pile of destruction that had once been a warehouse full of the majority of our West African stockpile.

I was knee deep in the mess supervising the small but strong crew Simon had called together when a black town car pulled up, kicking up waves of dirt and dust behind it. I stared, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand as the door opened and Manuel Brown stepped out.

He walked over to me and I could tell that he was angry, obviously, but there was something else in his eyes. Fear? Disbelief? I was trying to figure it out when he began to speak.

“Please explain to me how this happens, Mr. White,” he said. “Please explain to me how I conduct business with you in London and have nothing but praise for you. I give you a picture of your son. I assure you that he is safe and healthy. I expect that this reward will produce quality efforts from you. Then,” he paused, his voice darkening even further. “Then, I get a phone call that you have allowed someone to breach our security system. You have allowed someone to destroy my property completely and maliciously. Please explain this to me.”

He stood at the edge of the black pile that marked the perimeter of what had once been a solid, invisible in plain sight storage facility.

“Sir,” I began, but I had no words. “Sir, I can assure you that we will have the warehouse rebuilt and the inventory replaced within the month. Simon has taken a full inventory of what survived the… the attack… and I have people manually comparing that list to the existing inventory. We will conduct an investigation into how the perimeter was breached, and we will find out who did it. When we do, I can either take care of them myself, or, if you would prefer, I can turn them over to you.” That was the best offering I could give.

He pursed his lips and looked over my shoulder. “I don’t like when people destroy what belongs to me,” he said. “When you find them, kill them. When you kill them, alert me. I don’t want to hear a word from you until that happens.”

He turned and walked away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and covering his nose and mouth with it.

I sighed, my breath trembling in a burst of anxiety. He wouldn’t kill Antoine… not this time. He wasn’t done with me yet.

Cassie

“Hello, is this Ms. Cassandra White?”

“Yes,” I said, guarded after seeing the unknown number pop up on my cell phone. I was sitting on the lanai in my bathrobe sipping a glass of champagne while Brad did some work at the computer inside the suite. We had been in Morocco for nearly two weeks. Over the course of the first several days, I’d felt anxious nearly around the clock, wondering what we were doing there, sure that it couldn’t be as simple as just being on vacation. I’d exhausted myself watching Brad’s every move. My worries had compounded when I saw him leaving the suite early, earlier in the morning than he’d said he would, multiple days in a row. I’d weighed my options: I could follow him, risk getting caught and perhaps even a break up, or I could drink champagne and be on vacation. I chose the latter, breaking up my relaxation with writing an article on the Moroccan Legacy, a hotel completely unique to the area and one that had employed hundreds of locals.

“This is Nurse Yates from University College Hospital.”

My anxiety spiked and I sat upright on my chair. Patrick. “Yes?” I said.

“As I’m sure you are well aware, we have a patient in our care by the name of Patrick Shim. He says that you are his only living relative.”

“He says?” I asked, excitement pushing my anxiety aside. “He’s awake?”

“He’s awake; that’s why I’m calling.” The nurse sounded tired and stressed out. “To tell you that he’s awake, and he’s asking for you.”

“He hasn’t called me,” I said.

“He says that we’ve lost his cell phone,” the nurse said dryly. “He’s got quite the attitude on him.”

I grinned as tears poked at my eyes. “Yes, he certainly does. You should have tried growing up with him.”

“No, thank you,” the nurse said. “I’ll put you through.”

I waited, my eyes closed in a silent prayer of gratitude, nearly doubled over in my chair with the excitement of hearing Patrick’s voice.

“Hi, Cass,” a quiet, subdued voice said.

“Patrick?” I squeaked out. “Is that you?”

“Alive and well,” he said. “Well, not well…”

I couldn’t help it; tears poured out of my eyes and fell down my cheeks. “You’re alive, though,” I said. “That’s something.”

“Where are you right now?” he asked, his voice straining. I could tell that each word was work for him to get out, and the image of his misshapen jaw pushed into my mind.

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Your jaw.”

“Tell me where you are,” he repeated. “Let me worry about my fucking jaw.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m in Morocco. With Brad.”

“Is he there with you right now?” Patrick’s voice sounded livelier.

“Yes,” I said. “Well, he’s not with me, with me; he’s in another room on a conference call. I’m out on the lanai enjoying a lovely breakfast; it’s really amazing here.” I realized I was rambling, in shock over hearing Patrick’s voice.

“That’s great,” he said. “I’m thrilled for you. Listen, have you heard Brad mention the name Antoine ever?”

“Sure,” I said easily. “Antoine is one of the general managers of the London Legacy property. He and Brad are really close.” Brad had told me often enough about how much he admired Antoine as a mentor and as a man. “Why?”

“No, not that Antoine… this is a younger man. Possibly even a teenager. He’s never mentioned anyone like that?”

“No,” I said. “Are you sure the name is Antoine? Because Antoine is an older man.” I shrugged, though there was no way for Patrick to see me. “And he’s a very cool guy. Brad trusts him completely, and I do too.”

“You can’t trust anyone completely,” Patrick said.

“Including you?” I teased.

“This isn’t funny,” Patrick said, his voice straining. I felt bad immediately and dropped the smile from my face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s not funny. Who is Antoine? Why are you asking?”

“The men who attacked me, they know your name. They know that you’re with Brad, and they know that you travel with him.”

I felt fear coiling in my stomach; suddenly, the champagne felt like a nauseating weight. “How do they know that? Who were they?”

“I’m figuring that out, slowly but surely. There are a few names that keep coming up. Antoine is one. Manuel, another.”

I shook my head. “Neither of those are names Brad has ever mentioned. Except for the GM Antoine.”

“And Simon is the third.”

“Simon? Simon is Brad’s business partner,” I said easily. “I’ve met him twice; once at a benefit and once when he came to the house to have a business meeting with Brad. But…Simon would never hurt you. I don’t think he’d be physically able to do anything that would even pinch, never mind…” Never mind do what was done to you, I thought.

“The names aren’t coming up because they’re the suspects in my assault,” Patrick said. “They’re coming up because they’re on an interest list. Brad’s name is on it too.”

“What ‘interest list’?” I asked.

Patrick paused. “I can’t tell you. It’s not safe.”

“Oh for Christ sake,” I said. “I’m not the one laid up in the hospital. Have they moved you out of ICU yet?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to reach through the phone and take them back. “I’m sorry,” I said in my next breath.

“You need to remember, Cassie, that you are in danger. It may not seem like it, but you are. You might feel like you’re protected in your little Moroccan fortress, but there’s a whole lot going on around you that you’re not able to see. I’d feel better if I was there to protect you…”

I snorted. “I have plenty of protection here, already,” I said.

“But I can’t be,” he said loudly, overriding my comment. “And so I’m doing everything on my end to safeguard you as much as possible. Have you seen Simon in Morocco?”

“No,” I said, confused. “Why would he be here? This isn’t a business thing, Patrick; we’re just on vacation.”

“Are you sure about that? Didn’t you just tell me that he was on a conference call?”

“Well, he’s doing little bits of business here and there, of course,” I said defensively. “He’s the owner of one of the biggest luxury hotel chains in the world; it’s not like he ever truly gets a vacation all to himself.”

“So you haven’t seen Simon, or anyone named Manuel or Antoine there in Morocco in the two weeks you’ve been there?”

“No, I told you! Wait—how did you know we’ve been here two weeks?”

“The nurse said you came to my room on the night I got to the hospital, but that you hadn’t been back since. I used my detective skills.” I heard strain in his voice as he shifted.

“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Because I need to get back to my vacation.” Truthfully, I was embarrassed that Patrick knew I had rushed to his bedside after hearing about his attack. I wanted to sink into the floor. The only saving grace I had was that we weren’t face to face; I was an entire continent away.

“Be careful,” Patrick said. “And keep your phone on you. Mine disappeared; I think the nurses took it. But, I’ve got a new one on its way from the department. I’ll text you the number when I have it. I want to make sure I can reach you at all times; can you promise that you’ll respond to my texts?”

I heard his words, but my mind was stuck on him saying that his phone had disappeared and that the nurses had taken it.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Promise me, first,” he said.

“Fine, I promise. Now, answer me this: do you know anyone named Mavin Toller?”

“Mavin… no,” he said. “I’ve never heard the name.”

“See what you can dig up,” I said.

“Why are you asking? Who is he?”

“Just do your detective thing and get back to me. I promise I’ll answer.”

We hung up a few minutes late, and I sat back in my chair, my brain buzzing with both champagne and dread. I was suddenly faced with a lot of work; I had names to research, for starters, and I needed to find out exactly what Brad was doing when he was ‘working’ while we were here in Morocco.

I stood up and stretched, then carried my champagne flute and the bowl of half eaten fruit back into the suite. It was a habit from my pre-billionaire dating life that I couldn’t shake, no matter how much Brad made fun of me.

“Brad?” I called into the suite. “Honey?”

There was no answer. I set the dishes on the counter and walked to the door of the room Brad was using as a makeshift office. I frowned as I realized Patrick was right. If Brad and I were truly on vacation, why did he need an office?

I rapped my knuckles gently on the door. “Brad?” I called out again, quietly this time, and pushed the door open.

The room was empty; Brad was gone. I looked around, confused, then walked back to the kitchen. I grabbed my phone to check for texts, even though I knew I would have seen one from Brad when I was talking to Patrick if one had come through. Nothing.

“Where the fuck are you?” I wondered out loud.

I walked back into the office and began to look around. The computer was on its screen saver and, when I clicked the mouse, it opened immediately to the password page, of course. I sighed, then noticed a stack of papers next to the computer. They looked nothing like the previous documents I’d seen, the ones with the listings of all of the weapons, and relief washed over me. These were simple financial spreadsheets.

I flipped through the papers, just confirming that there wasn’t anything in there that was out of the ordinary, that would suggest that Brad was doing more than just running his hotel while we were here in Morocco.

About three quarters of the way through the pile, a flash of black caught my eye. It stood out against the white computer paper both for the image color and its texture; it was a photograph. I pulled it out and looked at it, my mouth open.

It was a picture of a young boy. I couldn’t say how I knew; there were no identifying features on the picture at all. No names, no writing, not even a date. But, I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this boy was named Antoine. And his eyes… his eyes were the same eyes I had looked into so many times. They were Brad’s eyes.

I heard a noise and looked up. Brad stood in the doorway glaring at me.

“Cassie! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Cassie

I looked up in shock at the sight of Brad standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely furious. The picture of the boy felt like dead weight in my hand and I dropped it onto the desk as if it was burning.

“Hi,” I said quietly, not knowing exactly what to say; I was so surprised. I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. I had absolutely no reason to be in his makeshift office, and there was no way to disguise what I was doing: snooping. Plain and simple.

“What are you doing?” Brad walked into the room and over to me, his anger mixed with what I could tell was confusion; apparently he couldn’t believe what I was doing either. He snatched the picture off of the desk and held it in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I just came in to look for you, and…”

“And you thought I would be hiding under a piece of paper on my desk?” He pushed past me and began to gather up the papers that were covering the desk. The picture of the boy got mixed in with the rest.

“No,” I said, “obviously. I just… Brad, who is that boy?” He looked at me sharply. I pointed to the stack in his hand. “He looks like you,” I said slowly, feeling the flush rise more harshly into my cheeks.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, “whatever you think. It’s a picture of me. When I was younger.” There was something about the way he answered that twisted my instincts. He sounded both rehearsed and genuine. His eyes, they were both lying and completely believable. I began to realize that there was a lot more to Brad, to his life, than I knew. I shook my head and stepped back.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess… I guess I don’t have any reason to doubt you… do I?” I could hear the tone of my voice, begging him to confirm my belief in him. He did just that.

“Honey,” he said, setting the stack of papers on the desk. He stood me up and put his arms around me. “You have no reason to doubt me. Who else would that picture be?” He kissed my neck and I felt his hands squeezing my hips, making their way down to my ass.

I had a lot of ideas on who the picture might be, but, I realized, part of what was leading to my confusion was that I knew that if Brad had a son, there was no way I wouldn’t know about it. He’s not the deadbeat dad type; he has plenty of money, and I imagined him finding out he had a son, how happy he would be. No way would he not acknowledge his own flesh and blood. So, against some of my reporter instincts that were yelling at me that I was letting him off the hook too easily, I moved my face toward his, caught his lips with my own, and kissed him.

He groaned and pushed the papers off of his desk and onto the floor. I grabbed his laptop and set it on the chair, leaving us the full expanse of the desk. He picked me up, his strong arms making quick, light work of me, and he set me on the desk, kissing me hard. I pulled him toward me and laid down on the desk, pulling him down on top of me. He quickly pulled off his shirt and I followed suit; I watched his eyes explore my body, pausing to appreciate my breasts, and my flush of embarrassment turned to a flush of arousal. I felt his cock, hard against my thigh as he sat over me.

“You’re delicious,” he said. “Absolutely, fucking delicious.”

I smiled. There was no trace of anger on his face or in his voice. He didn’t care that I had been in his office… or he had just gotten very distracted.

I wrapped my legs around his hips. “Come here,” I whispered. I reached for him and, as he lay on top of me, we quickly got rid of our remaining clothes and all I could feel was his hot skin above me and the cool desk below me.

He kissed my chest and worked his lips toward my nipples, which were hard and waiting for his touch. He sucked them individually, then cupped my breasts with his hands and pressed them together around his face. He moaned into my cleavage, then growled as he gently bit my left nipple. I gasped as a shot of ecstasy shot straight through me, a direct line to my pussy, which was already wet and waiting for what it hungered for. His cock was absolutely rigid, and it moved along the inside of my hip as he shifted himself to be hard against me. I spread my legs wide and he wrapped his hands around my thighs, positioning my legs over his shoulders as he slid down off the side of the desk. My pussy was so wanting, almost physically reaching for his attention, and he tugged me down toward him, giving me a mischievous grin through my legs as he did so.

The angle at which he pressed his mouth to my pussy was absolutely divine, and I felt myself relax into him. His hot mouth began to lap up my juices, licking and kissing my inner thighs, my labia, and teasing my clit as he passed over it with his tongue. I squirmed and groaned under his touch, my legs pressing against his shoulders.

“Someone has quite a grip,” he said, smiling.

“Shut up and fuck me,” I said, feeling a surge of power; there was something about fucking on his desk, in his office; I couldn’t believe I hadn’t done that before. We hadn’t done that before. It was the biggest turn on!

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and he latched his mouth onto my clit and sucked, hard, sending me over the moon in an orgasm that made me cry out so loudly the vague notion of neighbors popped into my mind. I laughed, the waves of my climax shuddering through me, until I felt him shift again and, suddenly, my pussy was filled with him, his thick, strong cock sliding into me easily. He groaned as my vaginal muscles massaged his cock and he began to thrust into me, slowly at first, then faster and faster as I came down from my first orgasm, knowing I wouldn’t come down all the way before he probably brought me to my second. Drops of sweat poured off of his bare chest and I kissed him, our salty tastes mixing together. I pulled him closer to me, forcing his pubic bone to press against my clit.

I could tell from the pace of his breath that he was going to come, and I gave myself over to my second orgasm, crying out as he pumped harder and harder, until he released in a loud moan of pleasure that nearly rattled the windows. When we finished, we both lay together, sweaty and laughing, his head on my chest, my knees bent with my feet wrapped around him.

“Delicious,” he said again, lightly stroking my nipple with the soft pad of his fingertip.

I was nearly dozing but woke up when my nipples became erect, happy with the attention Brad was continuing to give.

“You’re so incredible,” I said. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said in a near whisper. “Ever again.”

I was about to ask him if he was serious or kidding when I heard my phone ring in the next room. I felt my body react and forced myself to stop and stay right where I was. I felt panic rising in my stomach and hoped that Brad thought the sudden increase in my heart rate was from him. The only person who would be likely to call me was Patrick, and I had promised him I would answer when he called me back with any information about Mavin. I hadn’t expected him to call back so quickly.

I squished my urge to jump up and answer the phone. It rang five times and then stopped.

“Your heart is beating practically out of your chest,” Brad observed, and I bit my tongue.

“I’m, uh, a little turned on right now,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie. “I might be ready to maybe see if the second time could be as good as the first?” I pushed the phone call out of my mind, and Patrick along with it. I couldn’t call him back with Brad in the house anyway; that’s something I should have thought of. I just hoped Patrick wouldn’t worry and think something had happened because I hadn’t answered the phone. I knew I needed to at least text him, and soon.

“I think it’s worth investigating, Miss Investigative Reporter,” he said, trailing the same finger that had been stroking my nipple up and around my throat and my jaw to my cheek.

“I’m not an investigative reporter,” I murmured as I moved to kiss him. “I just do fluff travel pieces.”

“Well, call me fluffed, then,” Brad said, and he shifted so I could feel his cock, already hardening again.

As he began to kiss me, I pushed all thoughts of NCA agents, phones, pictures, fading from my mind as Brad’s mouth overtook my remaining sensibilities.

Brad

I stood at the site and surveyed the progress the workers had made in just a few short days. It was nothing short of impressive. The site still looked like a bomb had hit it and demolished everything, but the crew had been working around the clock to separate the rubble that was actual rubble from what was equipment and inventory that could be salvaged. The entire site stretched out before me and I still felt the sinking sensation of failure moving through me. I tried to imagine what the site must have looked like through Manuel’s eyes, and that increased the sensation, a squeezing pressure in my chest. I took a deep breath and was surprised to feel it shaking as it moved out of me. Manuel, as he’d said, had not been in touch. His last words to me echoed in my mind. I don’t like when people destroy what belongs to me, he had said. When you find them, kill them. When you kill them, alert me. I don’t want to hear a word from you until that happens.

“Hola, Senior,” one of the crew members nodded to me as he walked past, carrying an armload of wood scraps and metal as if it was nothing. I nodded back. The crewman had reminded me to find the foreman and let him know I was pleased with the work they were doing. I calculated quickly how much the entire job was going to cost, and I added ten percent as a bonus to be paid to the workers. I nodded, the act of calculating easing, slightly, the squeezing sensation in my chest.

I continued to walk around the site, surveying the work and adding to the growing list of things I needed to do. Whenever I thought of Manuel’s words, I didn’t know where to begin. He seemed to think that I knew who had done this; he seemed to think that I had some way of accessing the infidels in order to kill them. I knew that if I didn’t contact Manuel within a reasonable amount of time, he would assume I hadn’t completed my task. Then… would he take away something of value to me? Permanently? I pushed the thought out of my mind before the emotional sensations could double me over.

What I needed to focus on at that moment was contacting all of the sites I’d been in touch with to get a fresh load of inventory imported from those sites. Whatever the condition of the facility was, there was no way that Morocco could go any longer without the security our inventory provided. I’d been coordinating with several countries and, as I scrolled through my texts, I knew we were in decent shape. The only contact I hadn’t heard from was my South Africa contact. I sighed and put my phone back into my pocket. The South African contact was a newer acquisition; I’d just been there less than a year earlier. Though I’d been impressed with the facility and the organization, the primary contact I was working with had expressed a distinct lack of leadership ability. I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t heard from him.

“Coming along, Sir; we’re working as fast as we can.”

I turned to look at who had spoken, and I smiled when I saw the supervisor of the crew approaching. I shook his hand and complimented him and the workers.

“There will be a bonus for you and your men if you can continue at this pace,” I said. “I know it’s a lot, but the progress you’ve made already is extremely impressive.”

The man seemed to almost blush through the sweaty flush his skin had taken on in the heat of the day.

“Sir, we know that this is important. I made sure the crew understood that this was not an ordinary job.” He was obviously choosing his words extremely carefully.

“I appreciate your sense of urgency,” I said.

He shook my hand again and walked away. I stared after him, deep in thought. I knew that I was probably going to need to fly to South Africa for at least a few days to jumpstart the transportation of the inventory to Morocco. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be any sort of an issue… but I wasn’t in Morocco alone. I winced as the thought of Cassie came into my mind.

Cassie, who had gotten so close to discovering one of my biggest secrets. I could still feel the jolt to my heart I’d felt when I’d opened the door to the room I was using as an office and saw that it wasn’t empty. Saw that she was sitting at my desk. Saw what she held in her hand. I shook my head, trying to clear it and remove the anxiety surging through me. So close. I had said that the picture of Antoine had been a picture of me, gambling on the fact that she had only been looking at the face, not at the background. She had seemed to believe me, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I was in the clear. I needed to make a decision quickly: either bring her in to help me, or cut her loose. Another mistake like what had just happened could cost lives. Cassie’s… mine… Antoine’s…

I needed to come up with an excuse that would be believable for why I had to fly to South Africa immediately.

My phone rang; the caller ID came up with Simon’s picture.

“What is it?” I asked into the phone. Simon and I had given up greeting each other with hellos and how-are-yous ages ago.

“Just checking in on South Africa. I’ve received manifests from Egypt, Turkey, and Russia; South Africa is the only one who we’re still waiting on.”

“I’m aware,” I said testily. “I think I’m going to need to go down there and deal with that asshole personally.”

Knowing exactly who I meant, Simon responded without skipping a beat. “I think that’s a shrewd decision. I know it’s a… disruption…” he paused, “but, it will ultimately take less time and be more effective in the long run.”

“You have no idea how disruptive,” I said.

“Does she know anything?” Simon asked, again, knowing exactly who I was referring to.

“Not yet,” I said. “I don’t think. There was a close call the other morning, but… no, I don’t think so.”

“I don’t want to remind you about her job, Brad, but I do want to urge you to be even more careful around Cassie than you would be around another woman. She’s not just going to take what you feed her without question.”

“Yeah, you know something? I fucking know that!” I snapped into the phone. I immediately stopped, closed my eyes, took a breath. Simon was my greatest ally in the world, and I didn’t need to fight with him. Especially when he was right.

“When are you going to go to Johannesburg?” Simon asked, ignoring my outburst.

“As soon as possible. Today, most likely. I need to talk to Cassie, tell her something she’ll believe, then I’ll take the plane.”

“Are you going to leave her in Morocco?” he asked.

“Yes, and you’re going to keep an eye on her.”

“Me?” He sounded surprised.

“Unless you’d rather go to Johannesburg and deal with that mess,” I said.

“I’ll guard her around the clock,” he said quickly. “Not to worry. Do you want morning and evening updates, or would you like them hourly?”

I smiled. “Morning and evening unless it becomes necessary for you to update me more often. I’m hoping that everything will just go according to plan for at least a few days. We’ve earned that.”

“Indeed,” Simon said, and we ended the call.

I kicked a rock and thought again about what Simon said about Cassie being a reporter, and my stomach wrecked itself all over again as I remembered her holding Antoine’s picture. If Manuel found out that someone put together the connection that Antoine was my son, he’d have that person killed by sunset. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Worst case scenario, if Cassie did find out for certain, she’d likely break up with me, which would make it harder to protect her. She’d be open to harm, and, worst of all, the last opportunity for me to get Antoine back would blow away in a puff of smoke.

South Africa first. Then, I would deal with Cassie and confess the truth to her. The more I thought about it, the more I felt confident that, once all of these other obstacles were removed, she would be able to help me get the information I needed to get Antoine back, alive.

Cassie

“You are absolutely, one hundred percent, fucking kidding me!” I yelled, not bothering at all to try to rein myself in. “Are you serious?” I slammed my hand, which had been floating in the air emphasizing my thoughts, down on the kitchen counter. I saw Brad wince, and at least then I knew that he was feeling slightly guilty over abandoning me to go to South Africa.

“Honey, you know I wouldn’t do it if it was at all avoidable.” Brad’s pleading tone did nothing to diminish my anger.

“I know that we’re supposed to be on vacation? And I know that you’re not supposed to be working right now? I know those things; do they sound familiar to you?” The counter separated us, and I was glad. The last thing I wanted was for Brad to do what I was coming to know as typical ‘Brad behavior,’ doing something wrong and then wrapping his strong, firm arms around me and somehow, magically, getting me to forget why I was ever so silly as to be mad in the first place. Not this time; that counter was serving as a cock block and I wasn’t going to remove it.

“I know, I know,” he said, his voice full of regret and exasperation. “There’s a huge crisis in Johannesburg at the property, though, and it’s not something I can handle over the phone.”

“What crisis?” I demanded. “What crisis is so important that you have to leave me here, by myself,” I emphasized, “and fly there?”

He ran his fingers though his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration as he did. “It’s a combination of things,” he said. “They’re too complex to explain. Not that you wouldn’t understand,” he said quickly, responding to my snort of derision, “it’s just too stupid and boring to even go over. I basically have to go down there and clean up someone else’s mess, that’s the short of it.”

“So I stay here by myself on a completely fucked vacation because someone else messed up? You do realize I’m completely trapped here without my passport, right? I mean, do you get that? This isn’t you taking the car to work; you’re taking the plane, my only mode of transportation out of the country, and leaving me here. What if I have an emergency? What if something happens in my life? Or does that not matter to you?”

I was laying it on pretty thick, and I knew it. I also knew that I didn’t have a lot more leeway before Brad, who wasn’t used to having to explain himself to anyone, especially to a dime-a-dozen girlfriend, would get fed up with my yelling.

To my surprise, though, he didn’t bite back; he agreed with me.

“I do realize that,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that Simon is here; if anything happens, you can text him and he’ll be to you in a minute, and I’ll be back on the plane in an instant. I promise we’re going to get your passport straightened out the second we get back to London; I’ll handle it myself with the Embassy the second we touch down. And,” he looked at me, his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of apology, “I’m sorry.”

I glared at him. “Whatever,” I said. “I’m going to go get some air.” I grabbed my purse and phone from the counter and I walked out the door. I heard him calling behind me, but I ignored him. I felt my begin to fade as I walked out onto the street and toward a small restaurant I knew was a few blocks away. I figured I could grab some coffee and a snack, calm down, and make it back to the hotel in time to say goodbye to Brad. A voice in my head that was still angry suggested that not being able to say goodbye to him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but the voice in my head that was falling more and more every day for him told me I owed him a big fat apology. That he wasn’t used to having someone else’s needs to consider, and that I was on a fully paid for vacation in Morocco with the man of my dreams, and perhaps I should simmer down on the attitude. That voice almost made me turn around and go back to the hotel, but I kept walking. I did decide to text Brad, though, as a compromise.

Hi Baby, I’m sorry. I just love being with u. I know u have things u need to do. I’ll be home in a while and I’ll bring u something to eat.

I thought about clarifying that I would bring him food, but I envisioned him fantasizing about me instead and left it as it was.

I walked into the restaurant and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee, then took out my phone. I had thought earlier in the day about contacting my editor, and this was as good a time as any. I dialed her on Facetime and waited as it rang through. When the word ‘connected’ appeared, a surprising amount of relief flooded through me.

“Hi!” My editor said. “What a surprise! A great surprise! How are you?” Her smile was broad and I could see her office in the background of my phone screen. It made me homesick a little, nostalgic for the Monday morning meetings we would have in her office.

“I’m amazing,” I said, forcing a smile that was bigger than how I felt onto my face. “I’m talking to you from Morocco!”

“Seriously?” my editor asked. “What on earth are you doing there?”

I explained, but I left out the part about Brad going to South Africa.

“How is the situation going with your passport? I’m dying a little without our Monday staff meetings.”

I smiled at her being on the same wavelength as I was; that was part of what made us such a great team.

“It’s going to be resolved as soon as we get back to London,” I said. “Brad has promised to take care of it the second we get back; I’m not having any luck with the Embassy, but I’m pretty sure he has more pull.”

“Are you sure you can trust him?” my editor asked, laughing at her joke. I paused, and then I laughed too.

“Of course!” I said. “He’s my boyfriend, after all.”

“Maybe he’s keeping it from you so that you have to stay with him in London,” she said. “Wants to keep you all to himself.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “I’m sure that’s totally it. You may need to come and get me.”

We laughed for a while longer; it was so great to talk to a familiar face. When I rang off of Facetime, I sat back in my seat and stared at my blank phone. My editor had asked me point blank if I trusted Brad. Of course, she had been joking, but the question was a valid one. Did I trust him? It was a question that kept coming up again and again, with a seemingly different answer every time.

I sighed and flagged down a server to pay my bill and order a sandwich to bring back to Brad. I thought about texting him, but he hadn’t responded to my earlier apology text and I didn’t want to push it. The server thanked me and, about twenty minutes after wrapping up my conversation with my editor, I was back out on the street heading back to the hotel.

I don’t know what made me turn around to look behind me. Maybe I heard a weird sound—a horn honking, or someone laughing—or maybe I just felt something strange. When I reached the end of the block near the restaurant, I turned around and looked directly behind me, into the eyes of a man looking directly into mine.

“Excuse me,” he muttered. He ducked his head and shouldered his way around me, bumping me as he went. The sandwich I was carrying for Brad fell to the ground and spilled out of the container onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, no problem!” I yelled after him. “Asshole!” I groaned as I looked at the sandwich on the ground. It wasn’t salvageable. I picked up the remnants and put them into the cardboard container, then tossed the whole thing into the trash bin at the curb. I turned and walked back toward the hotel.

As I walked a breeze picked up and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. I hugged my arms around me and looked ahead for the hotel. A familiar shape caught my eye about halfway up the next block, and I stopped. It was the man who had run into me. It may have been my imagination, but I thought he was watching me.

Don’t be stupid, I thought. No one even knows you’re here. Except Brad. And Patrick… I walked past the man, keeping my attention on him out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t move, and I relaxed. I was getting paranoid for no good reason. All of the worry I’d had for Patrick, the danger he said I was in, the questions about trusting Brad… it was all starting to play tricks in my head and make me see things that weren’t there.

Patrick came into my mind and I hugged my arms around myself even tighter. He had called back the other day while I was with Brad, but he hadn’t left a message with any details, and he hadn’t texted since. I knew that he was still in the hospital; I’d checked to see if he’d been discharged, and the nurse said he was still there. I knew I’d get a call from the hospital if anything happened, so he must have been making progress. Why, then, had he not called me back?

When I got back to the hotel and keyed into the room, I called Brad’s name. He didn’t answer. I walked into our bedroom and his suitcase was gone.

I had missed him.

Brad

The flight to South Africa was roughly ten hours, which was ten hours I had planned to think about how I was going to work with my contacts there to get the goods shipped back up to Morocco as quickly as possible. It turned out to be ten hours I thought about Cassie. She was absolutely right; I was leaving her at a time when I shouldn’t be. She had no idea how right she was, unfortunately. I didn’t blame her one bit for being angry. I hoped that I’d be able to wrap up business in a day or two and get back to her. Simon would, I knew, keep a close eye on her, but I wouldn’t feel completely at ease until she was back in my sight again.

When the plane landed, my pilot said that he needed to do a little bit of maintenance while we were there. I gave him the green light for whatever he needed, and then I contacted the Johannesburg Legacy property to have a driver come to get me. I crashed as soon as I got to my suite, and I woke up the next morning to a flurry of texts and calls from Simon, assuring me that he was keeping his eyes on Cassie and that she was fine, and from a contact I’d lined up to watch the progress on the Morocco site clean up. According to the contact, the bonus I’d paid the men was paying off; the work was moving even faster than it had been before. The full building would take close to six months to reconstruct, but there was an underground storage area ready. As soon as we had the inventory ready to deliver, the message said, there would be a place for it.

I spent my first full day at a small café in Johannesburg with my South Africa contact. I tried to explain the urgency of the situation, but it was like banging my head against a deaf wall. Nothing was getting through. After a few hours, I sighed and stood up, excusing myself to go stretch my legs.

While I was out getting air, I texted Cassie.

How are u? I’m going to be wrapped up here soon, can’t wait to come home to u. Miss u.

I clicked send, and waited a few moments, hoping she would text me back right away. She did, but it wasn’t the message I’d hoped for.

Are u having me followed??

I paused. Simon had promised to stay under the radar, and he hadn’t texted me to say that she had spotted him. A sharp stab of fear pushed through me.

Are u being followed? How do you know? No, I am not having u followed.

I sent the text back quickly, the lie about not having her followed flowing easily through my fingertips.

Never mind, she texted back. Just being paranoid. When are u coming back?

I’ll be back soon, I texted. Sooner than planned, maybe. I needed to check in with Simon and find out how likely it was that Cassie had spotted him. Of course, I reasoned, Cassie didn’t know Simon was out of London, and, if she saw him in Morocco, I would almost certainly have heard about it.

I quickly texted Simon. Has Cassie seen u following her?

No. The reply was instant.

Are u sure? She just texted, thinks someone is following her.

I’ll be on the lookout.

I had to go back in and work with my contact. Frustrated, I turned off my phone and walked back inside.

A few hours later, business concluded, my driver brought me back to my suite and I settled in with a cocktail.

My phone rang; I answered. “Simon,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been keeping close tabs on her. She hasn’t seen me, but there is someone following her. I don’t think he’s been following her for long; he’s not subtle about it and I would have noticed. You need to get back here.”

Ice ran through my veins as I swallowed the bit of scotch in my glass. It tasted like sand.

“Who’s tailing her?”

“I have a description but no other information yet. I’m running what I have through the system.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Is it one of Manuel’s men?” I was trying to keep my voice controlled, but the sound of the ice rattling against my glass betrayed the shaking of my hands.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. I heard Simon inhale.

“I don’t think so, Brad. He’s dressed extremely casually, a hooded sweatshirt, torn jeans. He’s designed to blend in, not stand out.”

I closed my eyes. Manuel’s henchmen all wore suits. They were impeccably dressed all the time.

“Then who?” I asked.

“It’s possible,” Simon began slowly, “that he’s from the same group responsible for the destruction of the Moroccan site.”

“I’m leaving right now,” I said. “I’ll be there before tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a reply, I disconnected Simon. Immediately, I called my pilot and told him to prep the plane for take off. “We have to leave tonight,” I said.

“Yes, Sir,” the pilot said. “I’ll get it fueled up and we’ll be ready to go by the time you get here.”

The next call I made was to my driver. He promised he’d be there in under ten minutes. I quickly polished off my drink, the scotch a searing, soothing burning in my throat, and I threw the few clothes I’d unpacked back into my suitcase. My phone pinged; the driver was waiting downstairs. I flew to the lobby and got into the car, quickly telling the driver to contact the hotel and explain my early departure. As he drove to the airport, I called Cassie.

She didn’t answer; my call went straight to her voicemail. I tried to make my voice sound normal. “Hey Honey, miss you. Call me when you get this, doesn’t matter what time.” I opened up my text app to send her a message, but thought the better of it. I didn’t want to scare her, and texting her to see if she was okay immediately after calling her to see if she was okay, well, she might begin to suspect that I thought she might not be okay, and I couldn’t have that.

Instead, I sat back in the car and closed my eyes. The scotch was roiling in my belly and I knew that as soon as I got onto the plane I needed to get some food into my stomach quickly.

The driver, a former professional race car driver, got me to the airport and onto the tarmac faster than I thought possible. I got onto the plane, stowed my bag, and got myself settled in for take off. The engines were on and the pilot told me that the ground crew was doing the final safety check and then we would be on our way.

Relieved, I closed my eyes and tried to let the hum of the engines relax me. When we began to move, I sighed; I was on my way back to Cassie.

Suddenly, there was a shudder and a huge jolt; the plane listed to the right and my seatbelt was the only thing holding me in my chair. The lights flickered, and the plane came to a stop.

“What the fuck is happening?” I yelled to the front of the plane. There was one flight attendant, a woman I’d hired years earlier to be the first mate attendant on all my flights. “Marie, what the fuck is going on?”

“Let me check with the pilot, Sir,” she said nervously, standing up and looking out one of the windows. “But it looks as though we may have blown a tire.”

“Blown a tire? What does that mean? How does a plane blow a tire?” I undid my seatbelt and stood up, preparing to follow Marie into the cockpit.

“Sir, please sit. Do you want something to drink? I’ll take care of everything with the pilot; I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m probably wrong about the tire.”

But, she was not wrong.

“Debris on the runway, Sir,” the pilot said grimly. “Blew two tires on the right side. We’re grounded for awhile.”

“Not acceptable!” I roared. “Get another plane. Get another plane right now.”

“Yes, Sir, of course.” The pilot nodded and looked at the co-pilot, who scrambled out of his seat and got onto the phone in the cockpit.

The tightness in my chest was back, my heart pounding loudly. All I needed to do was get back to Cassie. I needed to get there before it was too late.

Cassie

I woke up the first morning Brad was gone with a feeling of emptiness weighing on me before I even opened my eyes. I laid in bed thinking about what Brad and I would be doing if we were on a normal couple’s vacation. My thoughts read like an article I would have written for Destination, and I realized I should be on my laptop writing them down. No reason my fiction shouldn’t turn into someone else’s reality, I reasoned.

I dragged myself out of bed and stopped at the coffee maker before grabbing my laptop and heading out onto the balcony. I began to type, foregoing checking my email in the interest of getting the ideas out of my head and onto the paper before I forgot them.

After I drained my brain for a few minutes, I went back into the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee for the day. I stood in the kitchen in my robe, wondering what Brad was doing in Johannesburg. Wondering more how long it would take him to get back home.

There was a knock at the door and I jumped, the sound scaring me out of my coffee trance.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Open the door, Cass,” a familiar voice said on the other side of the door. I frowned. It sounded like… but it couldn’t be…

“Patrick!” I exclaimed as I opened the door to a bruised Patrick wrapped up in various casts and bandages. “What the fuck! What are you doing here? Get in here!” I set my coffee down on the counter and guided him in, being careful to avoid jostling his injuries too much. We walked to the couch and sat down.

I stared at him, feeling both relief and irritation at him for being there.

“Hey,” he said, winking at me with the eye that was the lesser black of the two.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” I said. “You look like death. How did you convince them to let you out of the hospital?”

“I’m out AMA,” he said. “Against Medical Advice.” His expression grew serious. “I needed to get here.”

“How did you even know where I was?” I asked. “And how did you know Brad wasn’t here? How does everyone around here seem to know everything except for me?”

Patrick ignored my whining and fixed his gaze on me. “Don’t worry about the details. You have people watching out for you, that’s all I’ll say. I’m here because you asked me to look up Mavin Toller. How did you hear that name again?”

I looked at Patrick, sized up his injuries, and I decided to tell the truth.

“He was in your hospital room,” I said. “The first time I got there, when you were unconscious, when the nurse said you were probably going to die. I walked into your room, and he was sitting in the corner in the dark.”

“He was in my room?” Patrick’s expression closed off, but not before I saw a sliver of both surprise and fear cross over his face.

“That’s not when I found out his name, though,” I continued. “He’s the one who called me, from your phone, I might add, to tell me that you had been hurt. I would never have known if he hadn’t called, and, if something had happened to you…” I trailed off as I felt a lump rising in my throat and I realized, to my horror, that I was about to cry.

“It’s okay,” Patrick said, reaching his hand out and covering mine with his warm palm. I felt a wave of calming energy move through me. “I didn’t die. I’m tougher than I look.” He smiled, then winced as he shifted.

“You look like shit,” I said, smiling, trying to keep things as informal, as easy, as they’d always been between us.

“Mavin Toller is an extremely dangerous man,” Patrick said. “I’ve got some of my team on him, keeping tabs on his whereabouts. He’s still in London, so you’re safe as long as you’re here.”

“I’m safe?” I asked. “What does this guy have to do with me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Patrick said, and I could tell from how he answered that it was a question that had frustrated him. “I don’t know which of us he’s after.”

I paled. “He’s after me?”

“Honey,” he began, then stopped as his shocked look mirrored my own. “I mean, Cass, I’m here to protect you. Whoever he’s after, if anyone, we’ve got it. No one is going to touch you.”

I felt a flush rising in my cheeks. He had called me ‘honey,’ and the word had rolled off his tongue so naturally it seemed like it was my name.

“Are we safe to go to breakfast?” I said suddenly, standing up. “I’m suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic.”

Patrick smiled and stood up, more slowly and with more effort than I had. “I love a woman who doesn’t scare easy,” he said.

I let the comment slide and we walked downstairs and out of the hotel into the street. “There’s a place close to here,” I said. “I haven’t been there, but Brad…” I paused; mentioning his name in front of Patrick seemed wrong somehow. “Brad says that they’ve got really amazing breakfast.”

“Let’s give it a shot,” he said. “Lead the way.”

We found the restaurant and were seated right away. Brad was right, the food was delicious, and it was fast. We had ordered and were served within just a few minutes, and the breakfast plates the server set down in front of us were heaped with eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast.

“What a solidly American breakfast,” Patrick said wryly, staring at his plate.

“This looks like the most amazing food I’ve seen in ages,” I said, digging into the hash browns. I ate in silence for a few seconds before I realized Patrick wasn’t eating. I looked up at him, my mouth full of bacon. “What?” I mumbled through my food.

He grinned. “Nothing. Just… watching you appreciate fine dining.”

“Fuck you,” I said. “I’m starving. And, according to you, each meal I eat could be my last, so I’ll be enjoying every bite, thank you.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t joke about that,” he said in a low voice.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing a bite. “I really am. I know, it’s not funny and it’s nothing to joke about. Remember, I was the one who saw you when you weren’t even able to say your own name. How shitty you feel now is nothing compared to how you must have been feeling when I had to look at you. I was terrified.”

“I’m sure you were,” he said. He reached his hand across the table. I looked at it, and looked back at him. Time seemed to stop for a moment; at least my heart skipped a beat. I put my hand in his. “I’m grateful you were there, and I’m sorry you were scared. I’m going to make sure you never have to be that scared again.”

“Because you’re NCA,” I said firmly, “and because it’s your job.”

“Exactly,” he said, giving me a long look. I ignored the flush rising in my cheeks as he pulled his hand away and picked up his fork, stabbing it into his eggs.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where is it?” he asked.

I looked around and pointed to the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. “It looks like that’s the way,” I said.

“I’ll be watching,” he said. “And if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming in to get you.”

“Ohh, what a turn on,” I joked, in spite of him needing to continually remind me of how un-funny this situation was.

“Don’t test me on it,” he warned.

“Okay, okay!” I said. “Chill out. I’ll be back in four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.”

I grabbed my purse and walked toward the bathroom, feeling Patrick’s eyes on my back the entire way.

The bathroom was a single toilet and sink in a space the size of a small closet. I sighed, thinking that I would never get used to non-American bathrooms, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need to actually go to the bathroom; I had needed to get away from that table, away from Patrick, away from his looks and his hands and his protection. I took some deep breaths and splashed some water on my face.

I was about to open the door when there was a sharp, loud knock.

“I’m coming, chill, Patrick!” I said as I opened the door. My mouth dropped open to gasp, or maybe scream, but I got neither out. It wasn’t Patrick at the door; it was a man whose face I couldn’t see. He had a black hoodie on, and the hood was pulled over his face. What I could see was a gun in his hand, pointing directly at me. It didn’t look like any gun I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen that many in my life, but I still recognized it for what it was… and I knew I was in trouble.

“Come with me, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

Cassie

I woke up and stretched, then got out of Brad’s bed and walked into his kitchen to make some coffee. It was undeniable that staying at his condo was better than the hotel. Even though the hotel had endless amenities, Brad’s condo was completely decked out in everything I could have ever asked for, including a housekeeper whose job it was to make me breakfast, though I’d told her several times already that it wasn’t necessary. And, it just felt like being home, far more than sleeping at the hotel.

I was surprised when I walked into the dining room and saw his laptop sitting, open, on the table. When Brad hadn’t been in bed that morning, I assumed he’d already gone to work. I held my coffee still in my hands and I looked around, listening for any sounds.

“Brad?” I called out.

Mrs. Wheeler, the housekeeper, poked her head out of Brad’s study. “He had to run some errands, Ma’am; he said to tell you that he’ll be back later. Did you want me to make you some breakfast this morning, Ma’am?” The look on her face was so hopeful I had to smile.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. I’m just going to have my coffee for now. Did Brad say when he’ll be back?”

“No, Ma’am,” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head. “Mr. White just said to tell you he wouldn’t be gone all day.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” Mrs. Wheeler disappeared back into the study, and I returned my gaze to the computer. I walked over to it, all the while glancing around the room looking for cameras, microphones, some sort of equipment that would rat out to Brad that I was even thinking about sniffing around on his computer. It wasn’t as though I wanted to snoop. More and more, I wanted to find evidence to disprove the things Patrick had said about Brad. Things that implied I needed protection from him, that suggested he had stolen my passport. If I looked at it that way, looking on the computer was for Brad’s benefit and for my own.

I put my hand on it and lifted the lid, sure it would be under password protection, and, of course, it was. I wouldn’t have the first clue as to what Brad’s password would be, but, of course, I tried the obvious ones. All the basic passwords like 123456, BradWhite, and, of course, Legacy. Nothing worked. I sighed and closed the lid. Without the password, his laptop was nothing more than a paperweight, and a temptation.

I took my coffee to the sun room, a corner room of the condo that had been designed to be an outdoor oasis on the 30th floor of his building. Brad’s condo was the corner unit, and the sun room had two windows encased floor to ceiling in glass, and the ceiling itself was fully glass, giving a view of the sky. It was an incredible room; I’d never seen anything like it before outside of magazines.

I called my editor, wincing as I imagined how annoyed she’d be that I was still in London. I had been emailing regular articles to her, but, still.

“I have someone here who’s helping me with my passport,” I assured her. “I’m sure it’s not going to take much longer. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“Who’s helping you?” she asked.

I hesitated. “Um… Brad White.”

“Bradley White?” she exclaimed. “Of Legacy? That Bradley White? Billionaire Bradley White?”

“That’s the one,” I sighed.

“Why is he helping you?”

I rolled my eyes. “We have… sort of a… thing going, I guess.” I rushed through the end of the sentence. It was the first time I’d acknowledged that Brad and I were dating to anyone.

“Can you get an exclusive?” my editor asked, ever the businesswoman.

“I can try,” I said. And I was immediately ashamed of myself. I hadn’t thought about approaching Brad as a journalist beyond that first interview in Belize. I wondered what would happen if I wore my journalist hat around him now… what would happen if I asked him some pointed questions about his past, about his money, about whether or not he had any secrets.

“Do what you need to do,” my editor said. “And, when you’ve done it, get the fuck back here already; the place is basically falling apart without you.”

I assured her that I would be back as soon as my passport was straightened out, and we hung up. I stood in the living room and thought about Patrick saying that Brad had stolen my passport. He seemed so sure… but, then, Brad had given me the number of his friend at the embassy. I hadn’t managed to get ahold of him yet, but that didn’t matter.

As if he had a direct link to my brain, my phone pinged. I looked down at it; it was Patrick.

Wondering if you had the chance to give our conversation some thought.

I sighed, my stomach doing the same flip-flops it did when we were at breakfast. I shook my head to try to get the thought of him out of my head. The fact was that he was incredibly good looking. Far beyond what I was willing to admit to anyone except my deepest self. I didn’t know what to do about it aside from just acknowledging it. Yes, he was hot. So what? I was dating Brad, and Patrick was looking to put him in prison for God knew what. Talk about sleeping with the enemy. I had to figure out a way to cut all ties with Patrick, that was the plain truth of it all. If Brad found out I was talking with someone from the NCA, well, I could only imagine how angry he’d be.

I deleted Patrick’s message and went back to the bedroom. I spent some of the morning doing some writing, and then I went for a walk. I couldn’t get over the air in London; it was thick and wet, not like New York air at all, though a person could use the same adjectives. It had a smell and a quality all its own, and I found myself getting sleepy as I walked through the grey early afternoon. When I got back to the condo, I laid down on the bed and took a nap.

I was with Patrick, walking in a field. I had the distinct impression that we had teamed up, journalist and NCA agent, looking for something important. Crop circles, drug activity, terrorism, something. Except we were holding hands. Every once in a while, our shoulders brushed together; it took me a few times before I realized he was doing it intentionally. I looked up at him when he did it again; he grinned down at me with his dimples. Then, he leaned in and kissed me. It was far more sensual than I could have imagined, and I gave myself over to him. I wrapped my arms around him and he drew me close to him, his hands around my waist. He lowered me gently to the ground, the grass of the field soft beneath us, and he kissed me passionately as he laid on top of me. I could feel his hardness pressing against my hip, and he began to move up and down, grinding against my body.

“Ohhh,” I groaned.

“Hey, baby,” a voice said. Confused, I looked at Patrick as he faded away. I slowly awoke and opened my eyes. Brad lay on the bed next to me, his face hovering over my own. “Must have been a nice dream.”

I smiled. “The best,” I said, and I snuggled in close to him. I was wet, aroused, and I knew that, while I may dream about Patrick, my real interest was with the flesh and blood man that was here, ready for me. At least, I thought so.

I leaned over and met Brad’s lips with mine. I was still a little groggy from my nap, but my mouth knew exactly what to do. I felt his tongue exploring mine, pressing against it, circling it with the tip. Each breath brought more excitement, more energy, into my body. I rolled on top of him and sat, straddling his hips. I smiled down at him; his eyes were kind, and I knew that he wasn’t dating anyone else. That part I didn’t have to worry about one bit; he was all mine. And I was all his. I pulled my shirt off over my head and pressed my biceps against my breasts, pushing them together to create more cleavage than I had naturally. He reached his hand to my hips and lifted me, quickly shimmying out of his jeans. I smiled at his penis, hard as ever, standing out at a ninety degree angle from the rest of his body. His boxers were tented like crazy, and I pulled them down past his knees and over his ankles to release his cock. Rather than let him enter me immediately, I slid my body up his, pressing his cock between my breasts.

He groaned and looked down at me. I pressed my breasts together, creating an enclosed space for his cock, and I began to move up and down, pulling and stretching his cock as I titty-fucked him. Every few moments, I broke away from him and took his cock into my mouth, wetting it with my saliva and tasting his pre-cum.

“Fucking Christ, Cassie,” he groaned. “It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon!”

“And?” I said, pausing to look up at him. “Your point?”

“I barely know my own name,” he moaned, “never mind a point to anything. Oh! My god…” He closed his eyes as I gripped his shaft with my hand and began to suck the head of his cock hard, creating a vacuum with my tongue and lips. I could feel that he was close, and I knew I could finish him off there, but I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel him there.

Keeping my hand on his shaft, I slowly shifted upward and positioned his cock just beneath the entrance to my pussy, which was dripping wet. As I slowly lowered down on top of him, replacing my hand with my vagina, he groaned softly. His hips began to buck involuntarily, and I settled my weight on him. I put my hands on his chest and I started to move, rocking back and forth, up and down. I moved faster and faster, thrusting against him, feeling energy building in my clit as I pulsed my hips into his.

“Oh fuck, Cassie, I’m gonna…” and he exploded in me. I felt the surge of hot cum move into me, and the heat pushed me over the edge into my own orgasm. I cried out as the sensations poured over me, my muscles contracting and twitching.

I sat on top of him until we had finished, not moving, just absorbing his fluids and his energy. I opened my eyes and looked down at him; he was looking up at me.

“Afternoon delight,” he said. “Plain and simple.”

Brad

I still had my afternoon delight sex session with Cassie on my mind as she ran some errands; she wanted to cook dinner for me, something I had protested and she had insisted upon, and she said she needed a few things from the store.

I sat at the dining room table, my laptop open, and a picture of Antoine in front of me. I thought about the moment Manuel Brown had handed it to me. How he had held it up next to his own face, and, for a moment, I saw an image of Manuel and Antoine together, Antoine his prisoner. He said it was a reward, for all of my work with the London warehouse. It was supposed to be a positive gesture… but it just rang of superiority. The picture Manuel had given me was not the school picture it should have been; it was a polaroid, snapped at a moment where Antoine had clearly not expected to be photographed. He was looking up at the camera, but his face wore an expression of surprise. The picture both calmed me and infuriated me. Antoine was still alive; the photograph was time stamped. But, he was thin, and dark circles clouded the space under his eyes. He was not smiling. His eyes… I couldn’t bear to look into them for long. Not only because they were the eyes of my son, but because they were also the eyes of his mother.

I sighed and set the photograph aside. I sorted through the emails I’d gotten that day. All of the emails I received in regards to anything with Manuel Brown were encrypted, except for the ones that went to an anonymous email address. Those messages came primarily from Simon. Simon and I had set up a separate email system for just the two of us. I clicked on a message that, by my watch, had arrived sometime between when my cock was being engulfed by Cassie’s incredible tits and when she shifted it and took it into her wet, gorgeous pussy. I shifted in my chair; I was getting hard again just thinking about her. I took a breath and shifted my thoughts.

The email from Simon was an important one; I had just started to read it when I heard the door open and Cassie call out. She needed help with the groceries she’d purchased. I quickly pulled the email to the desktop so I could look at it later, and I went to help Cassie.

All through dinner, I watched Cassie, trying to figure out the best way to ask her to help me without arousing her suspicions. Without arousing the suspicions of Manuel Brown or his heavies. I wondered if my thought to involve Cassie was too dangerous, too stupid. I’d already lost one woman to Manuel Brown’s clutches; I couldn’t bear to have it happen again. Plus, if Manuel found out that I had talked to someone about the inventory, about the warehouses, he would likely kill Antoine. I knew this with a certainty I wasn’t even willing to admit to myself.

Cassie looked at me and chewed her potato thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever sat across at the dinner table,” I said sincerely.

She blushed and laughed. “Stop it, I’m serious.”

“So am I!” I said. “You truly are. I wish you didn’t have to leave to go back to the states.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, right now it kind of looks like I might never go back. Hope you like me as a roommate.”

“I like you just fine as a roommate,” I said. “But what makes you say that?”

“My passport isn’t moving forward, and I still haven’t found my original. You know what the worst part about it is? I don’t know what else was with my passport. What if I lost money? Or something important?”

“Well,” I said, sipping the red wine Cassie had picked out at the corner market on her way home, “are you missing anything else?”

“Not that I know of,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I could be.”

“That’s true,” I admitted. Then, a lie: “Did you talk to my friend at the Embassy?”

She shook her head. “I can’t seem to get ahold of him.”

I put on my best confused face. “Oh yeah? That’s really weird. He must be on vacation or something. Do you want me to call for you?”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, hesitating. Her voice was filled with doubt; Cassie wasn’t used to relying on other people to get results for her.

“It’s no bother, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Her expression darkened for a moment, then she seemed to shoo a thought away. She smiled. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll stay until it gets worked out. I talked to my editor today, and everything is fine.” She held up her glass and we toasted. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” I said, smiling at her and squeezing her knee under the table. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“I think I pissed off Mrs. Wheeler,” she admitted.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said, smiling. “She can consider it something of a paid vacation while you’re here doing all the cooking. Besides,” I lowered my voice. “You’re actually a better cook.”

We finished dinner, and, though Cassie was talking about interesting things, I couldn’t keep focused on what she was saying. No matter what angle I thought about taking, there was no way I could think of to enlist Cassie’s help without filling her in on everything, which would likely get her killed. Anxiety built in my stomach and twisted my food and the wine all up in knots.

“Let’s go out tonight,” I said suddenly. I had no idea where I wanted to take her, but I felt the walls of my condo closing in on me and I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I need to get out of here.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, her instincts dead on, as always.

“Nothing,” I assured her. “I just want to take you out on the town. We can go out for cocktails and dessert. Nothing fancy, you don’t even need to change.”

“You’re so weird,” she said with mock suspicion. “But, I guess you can take me out for dessert if you’re going to twist my arm. Kidnap me. Hold me for ransom.” Each phrase, though unintentional on her part, pushed deeper at the truth.

“Okay, okay!” I said nervously, interrupting her. “I get it, I’m totally taking you against your will. Now, let’s go.”

We left the condo in the nick of time. As we rode down in the elevator, my phone pinged with a message from Simon.

Are you available?

No, I texted back.

I need to speak with you asap.

Tomorrow, I responded.

No, he texted. Now.

Tomorrow. I’m turning off my phone.

Brad!

I didn’t respond and did, in fact, turn my phone off. I looked over at Cassie; she was frowning at me.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, but even I recognized the strain in my voice.

“More billionaire deep, dark secrets?” she asked, squeezing my hand.

“Something like that,” I said, distracted. Simon texting me could only mean one thing: Manuel was still in town, and something wasn’t right.

Cassie

The day after our dessert and cocktail outing, I woke up with a sense of déjà vu. The day was beginning just as the day before had: me waking up alone in bed. I gazed over at the empty side of the bed and sighed. I moved my hand across the empty sheet, hoping to still feel some warmth from Brad’s presence, but the sheet was cold.

I laid in bed trying to figure out what to do with the day. Brad had offered me the full use of his credit card, which was currently in my purse, so I could go do some shopping. But, I had no desire to go out and buy things for no real reason; I had gotten that out of my system in the first few days.

I had work to do; I knew that. I got out of bed and dressed casually in yoga pants and a t-shirt. I made my usual coffee and grabbed my laptop from my bag. I opened it and frowned when the screen didn’t light up.

“What the fuck,” I said out loud, pressing buttons. I plugged the cord into the outlet, assuming my battery was dead. After a few moments, however, I realized that wasn’t the problem. My laptop was dead. “Dammit!” I swore, pushing the computer away. I knew that Brad could have his tech people look at it, but that wasn’t going to help me until I got home.

I walked around the condo, pacing, trying to keep my thoughts away from the bad things and moving only toward memories of Brad and me together. Then, it dawned on me; I could use his computer if it was still available. I walked into the dining room and smiled when I saw the laptop sitting on the table. I opened it and started it up, then clicked on the “guest” account next to Brad’s name and password blank.

The computer happily beeped and, within a few seconds, I was looking at the desktop. It was blank except for a few icons. The usual ones—the recycle bin and some shortcuts—were there, of course. There was also an icon that looked like an Outlook email dated from yesterday. I looked around, my finger hovering over the mouse.

Don’t you dare, I thought to myself. Brad trusted me, and I didn’t want to do anything to violate that trust. Of course, when he left in the mornings, he tended to be gone for hours; it was more likely than not that I would be able to get away with looking at whatever I wanted to on the computer without him walking in on me.

I listened for Mrs. Wheeler, but I didn’t hear her. I knew she was probably taking advantage of me being out and about in the condo to clean the bedroom.

I closed my eyes and clicked on the email. When I opened my eyes, it took me a moment to take in all of the information before me. The email was a pdf file of an invoice that looked like an extensive inventory. The items listed in the description weren’t anything I recognized; it looked like just a bunch of letters and numbers. The quantities were mind-boggling, though. In that column, next to the description, the numbers ranged from 500 to 10,000 and everywhere in between. I scrolled down through the list. What on earth was this? And who was it to and from? I looked at the subject and address headings, but I didn’t recognize either of the email addresses; neither had Brad’s name in them.

My eyes caught on one description: AK-47Z. I knew what an AK-47 was… but what was an AK-47Z? Was it just a coincidence that the letters and numbers were the same as a semi-automatic weapon? There was no way, was there? That this list could be a listing of guns; what on earth would Brad be doing with that?

I selected another description and plugged it into Google. I knew I needed to remember to erase the history and cookies when I was finished. The page that came up stunned me. It was a modified version of a gun known for its ability to fire multiple rounds per second. The modification had been to add grenades to the chamber, so that the gun would not only fire bullets, but it would release a grenade at the same time. I read through the articles quickly, double checking my work by looking at multiple sites. Each site I looked at confirmed what I had read on the others.

My stomach sank. What was Brad involved with? Clearly he worked in some form with illegal weapons. I felt fear beginning to press in on my brain. Was he a buyer? A seller? Or was he just a contact for the type of person who would buy and sell these weapons? That wouldn’t make it right, of course, but… my brain struggled to understand. The more I read through the list, the worse it got.

I had a thought and began to add Brad’s name to the weapon in the search engine. If he was involved, his name should come up at least in proximity to the weapons. But, to my confusion and relief, no results included both the weapon and his name.

I looked back at the two addresses. I couldn’t make out any way that either address could relate to Brad; they looked like spam addresses. And, why had it been sitting on the desktop? Was it a test for me? Had he left it there for me to find? Had he disabled my computer so I would? He was certainly capable.

“Stop it!” I said to myself out loud. “Stop it right now.”

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” Mrs. Wheeler called from the next room. I slammed down the lid on the laptop.

“I’m fine,” I called. “Sorry, just talking to myself.” I waited, my breath shallow, for Mrs. Wheeler to come into the dining room to confirm I was telling the truth. The laptop was closed; hopefully that would make it blend in.

But, she didn’t come into the room, just called back that she was sorry to bother me. I counted to thirty and then opened the laptop again. I erased the cookies and browser history, and wiped down the keyboard. I basically wanted to get rid of anything that would connect me to viewing anything on the computer.

I tried to click on Brad’s account once again, but the password protection was still in effect. So, clearly he didn’t want me seeing everything, if, in fact, he had lured me to finding this one particular email.

I closed the computer down again and began to pace from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and back again. I was restless, waiting for Brad to get home so I could ask him… what, exactly? What’s that invoice with tens of thousands of illegal weapons doing on your computer? How involved in illegal activity are you? Does it bother you that I’ve been in regular conversation with an NCA agent?

The more time passed, the more upset I got. I called the Embassy and asked for Brad’s friend. Again, I was told that his friend was unavailable. When I asked about the status of my passport, the woman who had answered the phone said that she was sure the paperwork was being processed.

“We’re doing everything we can, Miss,” she admonished me.

I hung up the phone and continued pacing. I checked my phone every few seconds, willing Brad to call me. Of course, he didn’t. I began to piece things together. For instance, where was he right now? He always told me he had meetings, and I’d had no reason to think he was being dishonest.

You still don’t, the voice in my head said. Oh come on! another voice argued in my head. He’s living a total lie!

I shook my head, making the argument in my mind disappear. I had to talk to Brad. I called him… and got his voicemail.

I was about to shut my phone off and go pour myself a cocktail so I could think when my phone rang. It was Patrick. Of all times! I clicked “accept” and took a deep breath.

“Listen, Patrick,” I began, “You have to stop calling me—”