Undefeated, page 7
Petey and I sit across from each other and I begin to shovel fries into my mouth like this is an eating contest that I intend to win.
“Can I get your number?” Petey asks. I choke, my eyes tearing, and cough. “Jeez,” he smiles. “Women don’t usually have that reaction.”
I take a sip of my water. “I’m sure you’re quite the charmer,” I say. “And you’re very handsome; that superman jaw works for you.”
He grins.
“But I’m decidedly not on the market.”
“I see.” He takes a bite of a fry. “No wedding ring though. And Tara isn’t married, I looked you up. In fact, Tara doesn’t have much history…”
“Trust me,” I say. “My boyfriends are very much real.” Unlike Tara.
“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll give you mine, and if anything opens up, let me know.”
I laugh. “Well, you’ve got balls, Petey.”
“That I do,” he agrees with a grin.
“Maybe next lifetime,” I say.
But I accept his card when we’re done eating. “Amazing to meet you,” he says. “And thanks again.” He glances down at Blue before turning and walking away.
“Ready?” Luisa asks.
I nod, watching All-American walk away…it’s not a bad view.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The car ride from the international airport to the private one lulls me to sleep, Blue’s head on my lap, his body stretched across the seats next to me. Blue’s head lifting off my leg wakes me as the car comes to a stop in front of a low-slung building.
The driver, John, gets out and comes around to open my door. I’ve gotten strangely used to people opening my doors for me. It used to bug me—a combination of I can do it myself and I’ll do it when I’m ready. But now I recognize it as a custom that isn’t trying to mess with me. While yes, I can open my own door, it’s not a sign of weakness to have someone else do it. And I don’t have to hurry myself in order to match their speed.
Blue leaps over me and out the open door and I grab my duffel off the floor, following him out into the sunny day. Inside the small private airport an Indian woman in a navy pantsuit greets me. “Welcome,” she says, her eyes warm and smile wide. “I am Lakshmi, we are happy to have you here.”
“Thanks, it’s good to be here.”
“Your friend has already arrived,” she says, gesturing to a closed door with the words “waiting room” over it in three languages—English, Fijian, and Hindi, the three official languages of Fiji.
“Oh, good,” I say. “Has he been waiting long?”
“Not too long,” she answers with a smile. “Your plane is ready whenever you are.”
“I guess we’re good to go.” I smile, headed toward the door.
She nods. “I will inform your pilots, and we will coordinate with traffic control.”
I push into the waiting room and find Dan, Nila, and Frank on the other side. Dan looks up from his phone and grins. My eyes prick at the sight of them all. “Hey, Dan,” I say.
“Hey,” he says back. Dan sits in a wheelchair, his leg in a cast and propped up. His eyes still sparkle the same pale green, but his once chin-length sandy blond hair is shorn. A jagged scar, pink and healing, starts at the crown of his head and dives behind his left ear. A car accident can seriously fuck you up. Especially when it’s on purpose.
He was attacked by a group of “Action Men” back in Washington DC. They rammed his car with their own, breaking the fuck out of his leg and fracturing his skull. They had a fake ambulance nearby and loaded him in. We’re not sure what their plan was because all the people involved died.
Dan looks okay, though…not as tan, not as healthy, not as vibrant as usual but breathing and smiling. In lives like ours, violence and the repercussions are normal, but I never get used to seeing people I love hurt. Or dead. I push away the thought, refusing to ride those rails right now.
Frank and Nila, Blue’s puppies, stand on either side of the wheelchair, their tails wagging. They both have the pure white coat of their mother—a Kangal mastiff who belonged to Rida. My heart clenches for a moment as Rida’s face swims in front of my mind’s eye. I push those images away too, concentrating on the room I’m in and the happiness I feel at seeing Dan and my dogs again.
“Hey, guys,” I say, which they take as an invitation to run forward. I crouch down and hold out my arms. Frank, as tall as Blue but not yet as broad, has paws that still look too large on him. Nila, smaller than her brother, has a piercing blue gaze that radiates fierce intelligence. She reaches me first and I wrap my arms around her. She leans into me, a soft sigh escaping. Frank barks and spins, trying to figure out how to be closer to me.
“That dog is a real doofus,” Dan says.
“I know,” I say as Frank pushes his sister out of the way and maneuvers himself center stage. At which point he flops onto his back, paws in the air, and whines. I rub his belly. Frank’s whine morphs into a weird purring sound that makes both Dan and me laugh.
The door to the waiting room opens and Frank rolls back to his feet, facing it with a loud bark of excitement. Nila comes and sits by my side, leaning against my leg while Frank acts as though Lakshmi might be his long-lost best friend—his tail whipping around with such joy that I can’t help but grin.
“Your plane is ready.”
Dan begins to roll himself forward, and I circle around to give him a push. “Thanks,” he says, placing his hands in his lap.
There is a special wheel chair lifting device over the stairs of the plane. Dan faces me as it slowly clicks up. He rolls his eyes at the oh so special treatment and I grin back at him. On board, Dan maneuvers into a large leather seat. The flight attendant disappears with his chair, now collapsed for storage. He props his leg up on the seat across from him and rests his head back, closing his eyes. A line of sweat beads his forehead.
“You okay?” I ask, taking the seat across the narrow aisle. Blue sits on my right, against the plane wall, and puts his head in its spot on my lap. Nila curls at my feet and her brother cuddles against her. She growls at him softly, a warning he totally ignores as he makes himself comfortable with his head on her back.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Dan answers my question without opening his eyes. “Just tired.”
I stare at him, grateful for the moment to examine my friend without him looking back. Dan’s got surfer good looks—blond, tall, broad, athletic. Not what you usually think about when you picture a computer genius. He recently fell in love with a Homeland Security Special Agent—Consuela Sanchez.
She arrested me and then agreed to help me bring down Robert Maxim. The fucker trapped me into marriage—you can do that when you’re a witness with the potential to make a federal case stick. A Federal case that would have left me imprisoned for the rest of my life. Pregnant for the first 9 months, and then separated from my child for the rest of my life. He had a shit ton of leverage over me. As my husband, Robert could refuse to testify against me. Which he did.
But Consuela saw through the bullshit. She recognized I was served up on a platter, a reward for all Robert did to help Homeland Security bring down some of the most powerful criminal organizations in the world.
I don’t know the details of what happened between Dan and her, but I do know that her niece was kidnapped and we got her back. Consuela was suspended and couldn’t help me bring down Robert anymore. At least not right now…
And I’d kind of stopped trying to escape the prison he built for me. When I realized the doors weren’t locked, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable. If anything…being his wife unlocked doors for me. And what was a piece of paper? A legal document. It’s not like I spent much time giving any fucks about the law. Why start with marital ones?
“What?” Dan asks, his eyes opening and sliding to me.
“Just looking at you.”
He sighs. “The hair,” he says. “I know, it’s not my best look.”
“I think it’s nice to see your face.” He smiles and it looks pained. “You want to talk about what happened with Consuela?” I ask.
“Nope.” He closes his eyes again. “You want to talk about your love life?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
We both laugh.
Then we both sleep.
The plane jerks so hard I wake from a shot of adrenaline. Lightning flashes outside the window, and I’m pretty sure it’s real. The plane drops fast and my stomach lurches. Frank and Nila are both flat to the floor, pressing themselves to the carpet as if their lives depend on it.
I push one hand into Blue’s ruff, finding some comfort there, and cup my stomach with the other. The plane tilts drastically and I hold my breath. “Fuck,” Dan says next to me.
I turn to see him trying to steady his broken leg.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, his jaw tight.
“We’ve hit a squall,” our captain says over the intercom. “We should be out of it soon.” His voice tips up on the last word as we drop again, becoming weightless for a few terrifying moments before slamming back into air that will hold us. Frank whines and Nila scoots closer to him, pressing her side against his in comfort.
I wrap my arm around Blue, holding him close.
“She said she couldn’t,” Dan says, his voice pained.
“What?” I ask, looking over at him again. “Consuela?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “She said that our lives were too different. That she loved me.” He pauses as though the memory hurts to release. I know that feeling—words can be sharp as glass and just as cutting. “She said she’d always love me, and I’d never be gone from her heart, but she couldn’t be a part of my world. That she still wanted to do things the way they are supposed to be done. Change things from the inside.” He looks over at me and his eyes are tortured. And it’s not because the plane is acting like a toy some three-year-old got a hold of and is flying around his house like a fucking psycho.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words useless but the only ones I have.
“I didn’t want to leave.”
I nod, understanding. The plane tilts again and I can see the ocean out Dan’s window, whipped up and way too close. My heart hammers. We may be about to die.
“I’m in love with Mulberry and Maxim,” I confess. Dan’s eyes widen. “I told them I want them both.”
He barks a laugh. “What?”
“I know that’s not what they want. Or what is the normal thing. But it’s what I want. So I told them the truth.”
“Fuck, Sydney.” The plane drops again then surges back up, making my stomach queasy.
“Everyone I love dies,” I say, the truth ripped out of me as the plane dances with death.
“Not everyone,” he says. “Maxim and Mulberry are still here.”
“And you,” I say. My hand reaches out and his meets it. Our fingers twine. “I love you, Dan.”
“I love you, too.” Dan says.
Tears blur my vision. Dan squeezes my hand. Our gazes hold. The plane lurches, pulling a sound from my chest. Dan’s grip tightens.
Then the plane steadies—not entirely, but there is a shift. The light outside brightens. “Fuck,” Dan says, his head falling back on the chair again.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Sorry about that.” Our pilot’s voice comes back on the intercom. “But we should have smooth skies for the rest of the flight.”
A laugh bubbles out of me sounding a little hysterical. Dan looks over and also laughs, not sounding totally sane either.
We release each other’s hands and mine comes back to my stomach, to where my son slept through the whole thing. He shifts now, the adrenaline probably hitting him even as it fades from my system.
Dan rubs his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he says again.
“Yeah,” I agree. “How is your leg?”
“Fine. Are you okay?” he asks, his gaze dropping to my stomach.
I nod. “Yeah, that was scary.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it was.”
I take in a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Blue shifts closer, and I run my hand down his back.
I look over at Dan again. He’s staring out the window—blue skies fill the glass. “I am sorry about Consuela. She might change her mind,” I say.
Dan’s jaw tightens. “Maybe,” he says, his voice hiding something.
“What?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Come on, Dan. I told you stuff.”
He smiles, turning back to me. “Yeah, that you’re going full poly on me.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not labeling myself. I’m just being honest.”
“I get that, I do.”
“That’s all Consuela is doing too. I know she loves you. She risked everything to be with you.”
“Well, she isn’t anymore.”
“Maybe she just needs time.”
“What she needs is me.” Dan says it with such finality I almost believe him.
“That’s on her, though.”
“I know.” Dan’s voice is harsh. “You know I know that.”
“Good…so you’re not going full stalker on her.”
“She keeps a paper diary.” Dan says the word paper as if it’s his arch-nemesis.
“Smart girl.”
“Yeah…she is. I think she’s taking a job in Senator Jackson’s office.”
“Senator Eunice Jackson?” My mind runs around gathering the information I have stored about her. A Californian, liberal but tough. There was talk of her running for President…same as Consuela’s ex, Richard Chiles. They are both on the Senate Intelligence Committee.
When I asked Robert to help me pass legislation legalizing sex work, we went to Richard. The bill is being researched now. Robert calls it my wedding gift. I call it justice.
Turned out Richard, Consuela’s ex and Robert’s “man,” was a complete asshole. I know, shocker. He was involved in the kidnapping of Consuela’s niece—as a way to protect Robert.
That’s the thing about my husband. He is so powerful that people are willing to do anything to protect him. If he falls, so do they…
Wait.
My mind trips over itself trying to sort through the thoughts all rushing at once.
Robert Maxim’s power protects him.
He protects powerful people.
If we’re all trapped in some kind of complex web, Robert is the fucking spider. Shit. I’m in love with the problem.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A balmy breeze pulls strands of hair free from my ponytail and lazily brushes them around my face as I watch the small aircraft land. Merl is onboard, and I can’t wait to see him.
We’ve been on the island for one day. It’s the most substantial element of a tiny Pacific archipelago, owned by Joyful Justice—the vigilante network Merl helped found and I now help run—and used as our operations base.
The airstrip runs across some of the only flat landscape. The rest of the island is dominated by a mountain: an extinct volcano a paranoid billionaire turned into a hotel-style bunker residence in preparation for the end of the world. He died before his envisioned apocalypse and Joyful Justice bought the island.
Before doing so, we brought in a team of volcanologists for an unusual kind of home inspection. After a careful investigation, they assured us that the volcano was no longer active, though they could not make similar promises about some of the surrounding islands. That uncertainty probably worked to our benefit, scaring away other potential buyers.
The irony that a billionaire built our hideaway prepping for an ending, and we got it for a song, with plans for a new beginning, doesn’t escape me entirely.
Merl appears at the top of the steps, framed by the arched doorway of the private plane. Wearing a black suit, thin tie, and dark sunglasses, his long tight curls tied in a man bun, and flanked by his Doberman Pinschers, the man cuts one hell of a figure. Wind whips along the runway, flapping his suit jacket and exposing the shimmering black satin lining.
When I wave, a grin takes over his face, exposing the gap between his front teeth. Merl jogs down the stairs, his three dogs trailing behind him. He moves like the martial arts master he is, fluid and graceful.
We embrace. The scent of him fills my senses, the warmth of him settles my nerves, and the strength of him lends me a little of his confidence. “Thanks for coming,” I say.
Merl leans back, looking down at me. My smiling face reflects in his sunglasses. I’m rounder and softer than I’ve ever been. More vulnerable than I could ever imagine.
“I’m always here for you. You know that, Sydney.”
I smile and nod, ducking my head to hide the stinging behind my eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones turning me into a freaking fountain of emotion over here.
“I’m sorry about Rida,” Merl says, his tone gentle and kind. I nod, not trusting my voice.
Frank whines loudly behind me and we both laugh. His tail thumps against the tarmac with brutal force and when I turn to look back at him his whole body manages to wag while also staying seated.
Blue lets out a low warning growl. They are in a stay command. “He’s learning,” Merl says.
“I guess,” I answer, grinning. “A part of me hopes he never truly does.”
A gust of wind hits us, carrying the scent of ocean. The sea is only a few hundred yards away.
“Come on,” I say, looping my arm through Merl’s. “I’ll show you to your room and you can tell me about all the gossip from Costa Rica.” Merl laughs. He spends most his time at Joyful Justice’s training camp in the jungles of that Central American country. Merl developed his own martial art—Inviting Fire—and trains dogs with more ease than most people can train themselves.
We move toward the van, parked at the edge of the tarmac. “Follow,” I call to Blue, Nila, and Frank. Blue and Nila rise elegantly to their feet while Frank bursts into action, launching himself forward and slicking himself to my side with enough force that I bump into Merl. “Easy,” I tell him. He backs off a little but stays close, his brown eyes—both the color of Blue’s one eye—shining up at me and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
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