Текст книги "Falling for Danger"

Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

My nails scraped down his abs, his muscles contracting beneath my touch, another groan coming from his mouth. I’d learned now that he liked an edge with his sex; that it was a release for him in a way that wasn’t necessarily physical. He struggled with control—over his nightmares, over the parts of himself he was clearly uncomfortable with, over his feelings for me. But this was the one place that was safe for him to lose control, where he trusted me completely.

So I gave it to him, using my body to shroud him in all my love.

I sank down to my knees, removing first one shoe then the other, followed by his socks. He stared down at me, his eyes dark, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I reached higher, my fingers resting on his belt buckle. I undid his belt, my fingers trembling slightly—emotions bubbling to the surface, raw and unrestrained. The button of his jeans came next, and then I pulled the fabric off of his lean hips. I dragged his boxers down until he stood before me naked and aroused. My breath hitched, my nipples tightening, a steady throb building between my legs.

I circled his cock with one hand, my free hand caressing his balls, and then my tongue darted out, dragging along the underside, tasting him from base to tip.

He groaned again, his hips canting toward me, and a rush of arousal pulsed between my legs.

This, too, felt familiar—the taste of him, shape of him.

I circled my tongue around the head of his cock, each lick sending another shudder through him, his body jerking against my touch. I parted my lips, wanting all of him. He thrust inside, his head falling back, his hands at his sides clenched into fists as I sucked him deep.

He was so beautiful; he had a warrior’s build, all of his scars the sign of a man who had been through hell and survived. He had a different kind of strength, the kind that came from life tossing him about and beating him down. I didn’t care what he’d done or who he’d become to get to this moment. All that mattered was that he was here now.

My hands came up to Matt’s hips, resting on either side as I steadied myself, using my mouth to bring him closer and closer to pleasure. His fingers dug into my scalp, pulling my hair as he tilted my head back with one hand, changing the angle, thrusting deeper.

My jaw ached, mouth swollen, the cheap carpet rubbing my knees, the bite of his fingers adding to the sensations flooding me as he fucked my mouth.

I’d never been more turned on in my life.

I looked up, our gazes locking, the savage expression I found there—like he’d lost a piece of himself somewhere along the way and found it inside of me—shattering me. His free hand clasped mine, pressing our palms together, fingers linked, holding on tight while he came, while the tension drained from his body, and I gave him some semblance of peace.

Chapter Fifteen

More details continue to emerge about the brutal slaying of James Ryan. His death appears to be the work of a home invasion with a deadly end …

–Capital Confessions blog

Matt

I sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning my gun, watching while Kate dressed for dinner with her parents—and for breaking into her father’s office.

In the past few years, there had been plenty of times when I’d been afraid, overcome with the sensation that some bad shit was about to go down, my hard-won survival instincts going into overdrive. I’d never experienced anything like the fear I felt now at the thought of sending her into the lion’s den. After what had happened to my father, I clung to the hope that she was still safe, still alive, because for all of his depravity, her father harbored some affection for her. Too much to actually kill her. It was a lot to hinge everything on, but right now I wasn’t sure I had much of a choice.

Kate came out of the bathroom, her hair in loose curls, wearing a blue and white striped dress that reminded me of something she would have worn when she was younger, trying to please her parents. She definitely had the part of prodigal daughter down, and it hit me that as much as I’d been playing a role over the years, so had she.

“You know, it’s not too late to take a gun. We could figure out a holster for it. They wouldn’t even know that it’s there.”

We’d spent time at the shooting range, but she’d been too uncomfortable to take a gun with her tonight; at least she would have it in her apartment in case she needed it. Considering I didn’t think I’d breathe easy unless she was in a fucking panic room, it wasn’t much of a consolation.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

In the last ten minutes, she’d started pacing back and forth, her short strides little bursts of nervous energy as she muttered to herself under her breath.

“Freaked out. Mentally steeling myself for a draining dinner. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the face when I know what he’s done. How I’m supposed to pretend everything is normal. I’m afraid he’ll see through it immediately and all of this will blow up in our faces.”

I was afraid she’d push him too far, that if she got too close, threatened his power too much, he wouldn’t be afraid to make her another casualty in a long list of them. I was scared shitless.

“You know they’ll talk about what happened to your father,” Kate added.

“They will.”

Especially if her father was suspicious about her sudden reappearance in their life and wanted to test her loyalty. I took a deep breath, trying to prep her as I would anyone going into a mission, not wanting to let the emotions raging inside me cloud our goals. Fucking impossible.

“Look, the best lies are grounded in truth. He was my father. You were engaged to me. People will understand if you’re shaken up about it, if it dredged up old memories of my death. So if you get uncomfortable, just channel that and sell it. It’ll give you an excuse if you clam up or can’t handle it. Just stick with your instincts and what feels natural.”

She nodded, flattening her palms over her dress, tucking her hands into the pockets on each side. “You’re right. That’s good advice. I can definitely use that.”

“I’m more worried about you getting into his office.”

“Me too.”

“Remember what we talked about—if it feels too dangerous, if you think there’s a chance that you could get caught, don’t risk it. It’s not worth it.”

She nodded, a gesture that was entirely too capitulating to be believable. She was determined to see this through and nothing I could do was going to stop her.

I handed Kate the panic button, wishing I were going with her, the thin line of communication between us not nearly enough.

She slipped it into the pocket on the side of her dress.

I swallowed past the giant lump in my throat, offering a silent prayer that she would be cautious and refrain from taking risks with her life.

“If you need anything when you’re in there, if you get scared at all, you press that and I will come for you.”

I had not given up the use of a gun and had armed the shit out of myself. I had no qualms about taking out her father if it meant keeping her safe.

I reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward me, the same feeling that this would not end well that had been plaguing me for days now bubbling up to the surface.

“Promise me that you won’t take any risks. At the first sign of danger, you’re out of there.”

She nodded.

There were too many pieces moving around, too many contingencies, too many fucking stars that needed to align in order to make this happen. And if her father was so paranoid that he’d had my father killed to cover his tracks, then it made sense that he would have disposed of any incriminating information. But we were running out of opportunities to gather proof, and the security was way too tight to get into the house unless we took advantage of this opportunity.

And still, it felt like a bad fucking idea.

Kate

All it took was me stepping over the threshold, and suddenly the urge to flee nearly overpowered me. I’d forgotten how much I hated this house, how my happy memories here were few and far between. It had never been a home; there had never been anything real here. Everything had been about pretense and image, our entire family clay to be molded for my father’s political career. A house built on the blood and bones of all the people he’d stepped over to get ahead.

My fingers curved around the little button in my pocket, careful to keep from pressing it, but reassured by its presence, by the knowledge that Matt was close by.

I exchanged air kisses with my mother, clung to every shred of self-restraint to keep from shuddering as my father hugged me. My parents’ friends, the Brysons, were nice enough, their son, Michael, the kind of preppy that somehow came across as perpetually smug. It was only Wednesday and it had already been a long week, the prospect of dinner having filled me with dread all day at work.

I started drinking through the cocktail hour, needing the liquid courage to get through my mission and to keep from wanting to scream. I clutched the button a little tighter, clinging to Matt like he was my lifeline, ignoring the repeated looks my mother shot my way, which I knew conveyed her displeasure at my doing something so unladylike as keeping my hand in my pocket.

Whatever.

We sat for dinner, the catering staff my mother had hired for this evening setting out the various courses. Conversation was stilted and polite, and then I heard Matt’s father’s name come up, and I saw my opportunity.

We’d gone back and forth on what excuse I could use to get away from the table without arousing their suspicion, but still giving me enough time to search my father’s office. Matt had suggested saying I was ill, and up until now I’d thought that would be the best play; but now, listening to them discuss Mr. Ryan’s murder in graphic detail, I knew the perfect getaway would be to leave the table in tears—or as close to tears as I could manage. My father wasn’t prone to emotional displays so he certainly wouldn’t come after me, and emotions made my mother uncomfortable so I didn’t have any worries in that quarter, either. It was the perfect excuse.

I ducked my head, mustering up some sniffling noises, covering my face with my napkin as I pretend-dabbed at my eyes, willing some tears to well up.

I could feel the stares drifting my way. Good. Let them think I was making a scene at the table, let their embarrassment and discomfort give me the opportunity to flee.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, still using the napkin to shield my face from the rest of the group.

I was possibly overacting a bit, but I figured I had years of painful history on my side. Everyone knew I’d gone off the rails when Matt had “died.” It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that I wasn’t over it, that bringing up what had happened to his father would only dredge up old wounds and memories.

I walked out of the dining room, my heels clicking against the hardwood floors as I lengthened my stride, ignoring the low murmurs behind me, relief filling me at the absence of footsteps trailing after me. Then I was bounding up the double staircase, heading for my father’s office on the second floor.

My breath hitched, my legs shaking as I neared my destination.

Focus. Keep it together. You can do this.

I strode past my bedroom door, then Blair’s, wave after wave of nostalgia crashing over me as I remembered the nights we’d stayed up in each other’s rooms talking and laughing while our parents were out at some gala. Or the times when I was older and they’d been out of town or simply absent, and I’d snuck Matt into my bedroom.

My father’s office sat at the end of the hall. My heart raced as I neared the door, each step taking me closer and closer to the point of no return. Was I really going to get away with this? I checked my watch, making note of the time, figuring I only had a fifteen-minute window before I’d have to explain my absence and someone might come after me. They’d been starting the main course when I’d fled, so hopefully they’d be distracted by the food and not pay much attention to how long I’d been gone.

So far luck hadn’t exactly been on my side, but a girl could hope.

My gaze darted back and forth, my fingers gripped tightly around the panic button, as I checked to see if anyone was upstairs. I didn’t know if their habits had changed, but as far as I knew my parents still employed Mrs. Tremaine, a live-in housekeeper who had been with us since Blair and I were kids, and that was it. She’d been responsible for cooking on nights that my parents weren’t entertaining, taking care of the house, and occasionally, child-rearing. We’d had a nanny when we were younger, but Mrs. Tremaine had been our favorite.

The hallway clear, my hand closed over the doorknob, and I was relieved when it gave way beneath my palm.

I stepped over the threshold, closing the door gently behind me, a chill sliding down my spine as I entered his inner sanctum. I remembered the day my life had changed, when I’d been on the other side of the door listening to my father and Matt’s discuss his unit’s ambush. This room contained my ugliest ghosts.

I fought back against the panic beating in my chest. I’d do a quick search of his desk and computer. I just had to focus, had to somehow ignore how my surroundings made my skin crawl. I took a deep breath, grabbing the tiny flashlight out of the other pocket of my dress, shining the beam in the direction of my father’s massive desk.

I began sifting through the papers stacked in piles, most of it correspondence that he needed to reply to. Another wave of nostalgia hit me as I remembered sitting at his desk when I was a little girl, “helping” him reply to letters. That was the hardest part of all of this—not all of my memories of my father were bad. But after everything that had happened, every memory I had seemed tainted, and I couldn’t decipher what was the truth and what was a lie.

I scanned each letter quickly, shoving the memories from my head. Everything looked to be perfectly normal, letters from constituents, nothing out of the ordinary or incriminating. I put the papers back in their stacks, not sure it even mattered since I feared he’d figure out that I’d broken in eventually, but trying my best to cover my tracks. James Bond, I was not.

Maybe Matt should have snuck in. I could have tried to figure out some way to get him into the house. He was likely way better at this than I was.

Fuck. I was running out of time.

Heart pounding, I went for the drawers next, rifling through the contents, the detritus of my father’s life. The computer taunted me, its presence a blinking light that said, “Try me.”

I abandoned my search of the drawers, checking my watch again.

Seven more minutes and then I needed to start heading downstairs. I couldn’t afford to arouse my father’s suspicion, especially if I came up empty. We hadn’t worked out a “plan B” yet, but I figured we were heading into the territory of needing one.

I turned on his computer, sucking in a deep breath at the sound of it whirring to life. The house was huge and there was no way they could hear the noise from the dining room downstairs, and yet each sound felt like a scream breaking through the air. My heart beat so rapidly I swore they could hear it downstairs, as though I was something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story, my organ somewhere under the floorboards of the house of my childhood that had never felt like a home.

The monitor lit up, the computer prompting me for a password.

My fingers hovered over the keys, wondering what someone like my father would have used for a password. I’d considered this possibility in the days leading up to tonight, and still didn’t have a clue. A random series of numbers? A birthday or anniversary? The year he was first elected to the Senate?

Fuck.

I searched around his keyboard, the monitor, looking to see if he was one of those people who kept his password written down somewhere close by so he could reference it in case he forgot.

Nothing.

Frustration filled me, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to start trying likely combinations, figuring I had a few attempts before the computer would lock me out.

I froze. The sound of footsteps against the hardwood floors broke through the quiet night, sending ice through my veins. I held my breath, listening to them get closer, closer, praying that it wasn’t my father, that he wouldn’t come into his office. I was afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, wondering if I should dive down behind the desk, when all of a sudden the sound became quieter, and quieter, and then finally, disappeared.

I stood there for a moment, my body hunched over the keyboard, waiting …

Silence filled the night around me.

I breathed out, relief coursing through my veins.

Close fucking call.

My fingers hit the keys again, trying the year my father had first been elected for the Senate.

Incorrect password.

Fuck.

Okay, a birthday, maybe? But whose? My parents’ anniversary? He didn’t really strike me as the sentimental type.

I began typing again, trying my father’s birthday—

The door swung open with an ominous creak and then the whole room was flooded with light.

Fear slammed into me, the hairs on my body standing up, goose bumps pebbling my skin. I turned slowly—dreading what I’d find there—and my gaze connected with an open doorway and the sight of my father standing in the entryway, staring at me.

Chapter Sixteen

We have it from a very reliable source that Kate Reynolds is no longer on speaking terms with her family. We wonder what—or who—reopened this rift …

–Capital Confessions blog

Kate

We stared at each other, and then my father shut the door behind him.

I gripped the panic button so hard the edges dug into my skin, my finger itching to press down.

I didn’t.

Now that the moment I’d feared was upon me, I couldn’t imagine involving Matt in this. He’d paid enough at the hands of my family.

My father stopped on the other side of his desk, facing off with me.

I pulled my hands out of my pockets, jerking my head up to meet his gaze.

“Did you think I believed your little homecoming?”

I shrugged, adopting the same veiled nonchalance he flaunted before me, even as I mentally weighed the odds of him having me killed in the middle of a dinner party.

“Did Ryan put you up to this?”

My breath hitched.

“I know he’s alive.”

Fear slammed into me, my heart racing as my worst nightmare came true. For a moment I felt like I was splintering apart, as though my body couldn’t contain the panic seeping through my bones.

It took everything I had to shut it down.

I swallowed, some of the tension easing from my body, and then I met his gaze.

“Did you figure that out when you tortured James Ryan?”

I was the daughter of a killer, made even more dangerous by the fact that he wasn’t evil or crazy. He was smart and ambitious. This wasn’t emotional for him; it was business. That made him very hard to destroy. There were no chinks in his armor, my only play to beat him at his own game.

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to answer that question? Let me guess, Ryan made sure you came here with a wire.”

Actually, we had figured my father was too cunning to implicate himself and had thought the wire too risky. I didn’t speak, though. There was no point to answering his question. I’d already learned a long time ago that sometimes the best offense was to say nothing at all, letting your adversary fill the silence with the secrets you needed. Human nature being what it was, people loved to talk about themselves. People like my father with egos the size of Texas were their own special breed of narcissist. I played to his weakness now.

My father jerked his head toward his computer. “What did you think you would find there? A note saying, ‘I did it’? Proof that you could use to bring me down?”

I ignored that, too. If I was going down, then at least I’d get some answers.

“You had me stabbed.”

I wasn’t going to let him control the conversation, wasn’t going to allow him to take the upper hand from me. I wasn’t a young girl anymore, and I wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty if I needed to.

Anger flashed into his eyes—the color so disconcertingly similar to Jackie’s. “That never should have happened.”

So despite all of his atrocities, there was a part of him that was protecting me. Sort of.

“But it did. I was in the hospital. I had stitches. I collapsed on the fucking street. Did you lose control of your employee? Did he fail to follow orders and strike out on his own? How about when he broke into my apartment on my birthday?”

“You should never have been involved in this,” he snapped. “None of this would have happened if you didn’t start giving information to that blog.”

So he did know about my involvement with Capital Confessions.

“Do you really think there’s anything that happens in this town that I don’t know about? I knew the minute you started leaking information about this family.” His gaze narrowed, his expression shrewd. “How did your sister feel about you airing her personal business for everyone to see?”

Of all of my regrets, selling out Blair was my biggest one. Trust him to land his barb precisely where it hurt.

“At least Blair talks to me. It must be really difficult for you to keep up the facade of family values when you don’t have any family to speak of.”

“Your sister will come back. She’s having a moment with that boy, but she’ll eventually realize that she has a duty to her family, to our name.”

“You’ve lost Blair. You’re crazy if you think she’ll ever have a relationship with you again. Maybe the rest of the world doesn’t see it, but we do. You can’t pretend you’re anything other than a monster.”

“That’s rich coming from you. It’s like looking in the mirror, isn’t it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Do you think Blair would break into my office? That she would sell out her family to a trashy blog? Do you think she would put everyone else’s needs after her own? You want to take me down and you’ve had no moral qualms about how you do it.”

He almost sounded proud.

“I haven’t killed.” I held his gaze, clinging to that essential difference between us. “And you’re wrong. We aren’t the same. Maybe you taught me to be ruthless, how to play the game, but everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Matt. Everything you do is for your own fucking greed.”

“Does that boy have any self-respect or does he just hide behind your skirts?”

“What is this, 1920? Good luck with the female vote with that attitude. He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s not afraid to ask for help when he needs it, knows I’m not some weak, helpless creature who needs protecting.”

“You’ve betrayed your family for him.”

“He is my family. He always was. Matt and my sisters are my only family.” My gaze narrowed speculatively. “It must really piss you off to see us so close, to see Jackie treated as our sister. You can’t bury that shit anymore. Can’t hide behind all of your lies.”

“Do you really think I’m scared of a blog like Capital Confessions? I’ve been in the Senate longer than you’ve been alive. Blogs like Capital Confessions come and go. I’m not afraid of the nonsense they print about me.”

Even he couldn’t be so arrogant as to think he was above public opinion. For all of his money and power, he still held an elected office. Upsets happened all the time, so unless he wanted to lose his seat, he needed to start caring.

“I think you’re going to have to be extra careful if you’re running for president. I think you’ll be under a level of scrutiny you avoided when you ruled over Virginia as an incumbent with a wealth of connections and support. I think your opponents will have deeper pockets behind them and will be able to dig for dirt more than anyone you’ve ever run against. You just better hope that they don’t find the bodies you’ve buried.”

I took aim and fired.

“You killed James Ryan—one of your oldest friends—to cover up the fact that he was diverting arms that should have been going to American troops and instead sending them to Afghani warlords with interests contrary to the United States—with your assistance. For what? Money? Campaign contributions?

“You killed Matt’s Army unit because they got too close and realized you were a traitor to your own country, sending weapons to the other side, because they saw payments go down that would have implicated you. All those bodies so that you could cover up your treason.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but otherwise his expression remained calm.

“Did you get that information from those papers James Ryan sent you?” he asked.

I froze. What?

“You didn’t know, did you? Of course he sent them. Who else do you think had access to that information?”

My gaze narrowed, not sure I believed anything he said, feeling like I no longer knew which way was up.

“Why? Why would he do that? Why would he risk implicating himself?”

“Because he didn’t know it was his son’s unit. Because when he found out his son was alive, he wanted to do right by him. Because he was a fool who didn’t have what it takes to follow through. To reign.”

My eyes closed. So it hadn’t been intentional; Matt had just been a casualty in his father’s greed.

I opened my eyes and stared at the man whose lap I’d once sat on, who’d bought me a bike when my mother refused to get me one, and wondered where the hell it had all gone wrong.

“Did you? Did you know Matt was in that unit?”

I didn’t know why the question mattered so much, but it did. Maybe for the same reason that Matt had asked me what his parents’ reaction had been to his funeral. Because even though we knew better, and even though we told ourselves we really shouldn’t care, we did care. They were still our parents and their indifference still hurt.

“It didn’t matter.”

It was the final confirmation of what I’d always known to be true, the ultimate shattering of any ties we’d ever had between us. Killing his daughter’s fiancé was less important than protecting his business relationship. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and at the same time, it still stung. He truly valued nothing above himself.

“Is nothing sacred to you? Nothing off-limits? You abused the trust of the people who got you elected. Did you forget about them? That you serve your constituents? Did you ever care or did you just get into politics to hoard power?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You know nothing of what it takes to run this country. Nothing about the behind-the-scenes machinations that are required to make this country work. You’re so fucking naive to think that you have any right to judge me. That you should have a seat at the table.”

“Is this how you sleep at night—you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you’re a special snowflake who’s immune to the law and common human decency?”

“One day you will grow up and you will realize that sometimes people have to be expendable. That sacrifices have to be made.”

He wasn’t even the littlest bit sorry. He genuinely thought his behavior was excusable, that somehow allowances could be made for all of the destruction he’d wrought.

“I will never think that. Will never look at people as a means to an end.”

“Then you will suffer for it. Don’t be stupid. Don’t throw your future away on some boy. You have a good job. Good instincts. You could be so much more than this.”

I couldn’t believe he actually thought he could sway me, that he knew so little about who I was.

“What? I could be you? No, thanks. I want no part in what you’ve done.”

“This is bigger than just me. You’re smart enough to know that. You won’t be safe forever. That boy has a target on his back, and if you’re with him, you’ll be caught in the line of fire.”

A chill ran down my spine. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You need to think really hard about what you’re doing. About the choice you’re making here. Regardless of what you’ve thought about me, I haven’t been your enemy. You don’t know what it means to have me as an enemy, and trust me, you don’t want them as your enemy.”

So it wasn’t just him and James Ryan. How deep did this thing go? Where did it end? Was he right? Was I naive? Was this merely the cost of doing business?

“Does it mean you’ll have me tortured to get what you want?” I jerked my chin, ignoring the thread of fear filling my veins. “You’ve been my enemy since you ordered to have Matt’s unit killed. I would have thought that a master strategist like you would have realized that a long time ago.” My voice rose, promise shining through as I made the vow I was determined to keep. “I’m going to take you down.”

“With what proof? You have nothing; you wouldn’t be here if you had what you needed. Do you really think I got this far by being careless and making mistakes? That I’m going to be outsmarted by a child? There is nothing to find.”

I still wasn’t giving up.

“If you think that’s going to stop me, you don’t know me at all. One way or another, you will pay for what you did.”

“Careful, Kate, that sounds like a threat.”

“It’s a promise.”

I strode past him, not bothering to glance his way, crossing over the threshold, feeling like I could breathe as soon as I left his office, even as my shoulders buckled under the weight of the bounty on my head.

I walked down the hall, my footsteps growing faster, ready to get the hell out of this house. I hit the stairs, memories of all the other times that I’d felt like this, times when I’d choked on the manners and image of being a Reynolds. I reached the base of the staircase just as my mother emerged from the dining room, a frown on her face.

“This is unacceptable,” she hissed. “The Brysons are about to leave. You’ll come say good-bye to them and apologize for your rude behavior.”

I sucked in a deep breath, wondering if this was the last time I’d ever see either one of my parents. It was a shitty ending, yet strangely apropos.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to do that.”

Her gaze narrowed. “It was too much to hope you’d changed, wasn’t it? That you’d finally become the daughter I’ve always wanted you to be, rather than a rebellious, angry girl intent on destroying this family with her carelessness.”

I ignored the barbs. I wanted to believe it was just my father, that I at least had one parent who wasn’t wholly consumed by greed.