I DRAG through the motions of living. Check into the Sheraton. Get some new clothes. Shower. Feed myself.
It all feels like swimming through mud.My mind is forever circling Tom. Wishing I’d said I loved him.
Wondering where he is. If he needs help. If he’s a danger to others.Did I do the right thing not putting him down?I have to believe I did. His mind and rational thoughts were intact—he just struggled with animal urges. He’ll figure it out.
Except guilt gnaws at me.I should be with him, helping him figure it out.The way he helped me.Why did I let him go off alone? He needs me.I force myself to move forward, the way I know Tom expects me to. I make multiple copies of the confession to safeguard it, then log in and file an offilill LIL report on what went down with Director Scape, leaving out the parts about Tom’s wolf problem. I don’t leave my contact information—not yet. IIN A MOTEL ROOM, I pull out my tablet to contact Jasmine. I need to let her know she’s safe and what this means. I don’t know how she’ll take the marking thing. If she wants me to stay away, I will. As long as I know she’s safe, I’ll respect herwishes.I log into the secure server we have for messaging, enter my password, and provide a retinal scan.She’s already left me one. I wish I’d said it—you know what I mean. I smile. Then read, I’m going to F with the recording tonight. He should have the authority to ensure everything comes out right before I return.A prickle of fear rolls over me. It’s not attached to any rational thought—just a knowing. Something’s not right. Is Jasmine still in danger?Oh, Lord. How could I have left her unprotected?Fuck, fuck, fuck. I yank electronics out of my bag, plug in my phone, tablet, laptop. I get into the records from Director Sc
IT’S EIGHT P.M. when I get dropped off by my Lyft driver in front of the Senator’s house. It’s a showy, manicured estate in Georgetown. Much nicer than a former LIL director turned senator should be able to afford. He must come from money.I clutch my attaché case and walk up the sidewalk. The door swings wide and the senator steps out with a warm smile.“Jasmine Gray. Come in, come in. You have your father’s eyes.” “Do I?”“Come in, have a seat.” He gestures to an overstuffed sofa. “My wife is out tonight, but I can play host. Would you like something to drink?”“No, nothing.”He sits down in the chair beside me and balances one ankle on his knee. “I’m glad we finally get to meet. Are you feeling better?”“Yes. Actually, I lied when I said I had the stomach flu. Someone tried to stop me from seeing you.”His bushy whit
I SEE the four meatheads hustling out of the Grand Cherokee parked in front of Senator Flack’s house, weapons in clear view. They’re private mercenaries by the look. Military trained. Probably from a high-profile, top-secret security company.Hopefully, their presence means Jasmine’s still alive. I race around the side of the manor, climbing up to look in each window.Oh God.Jasmine’s on the living room floor, her wrists, ankles, and mouth taped with duct tape. The four goons stand around her, jawing with Senator Flack. I’m going to kill them all.There are bars on the windows or I’d bust through this one right now.I need a distraction. I grab a grenade from the duffel Otis packed for me, light it, and throw it into the front yard, then race to the back of the house. The grenade explodes, and the men inside the house shout and run out the front door. It takes me thirty-five seconds to pick the lock on the back
I DON’T WALK out of FBI custody until noon the next day. It took some red tape to cut through, but with the recording on my phone of Senator Flack ordering his lackeys to kill me, and my boss, Agent Tentrite presenting the report I filed yesterday, they released me without charge.Tentrite escorts me out, a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about wiping that file on your dad and telling you to back off. I should’ve questioned my orders a little closer.”“No, I understand. You were just doing your job.” I look around the busy lobby. “Where’s Agent Dune?” I ask. “Has he been released?”“Yes, he walked an hour ago. He turned in his resignation.”My heart plummets. He’ll be leaving again. He has to. Just because he came back to save me doesn’t mean he can stay.And yet the idea of letting him go again is like my face scraping concrete.I walk o
JASMINE and I slide in behind Bryce and Johnson on the Space Mountain ride. Taking them to Disneyland was the first thing Jasmine wanted to do when we left D.C. I guess she’s been promising a family trip for years.I’m loving it. Every slice of apple pie Americana I get feels like I’ve won the lottery. It’s the life I never thought I’d have—the cotton candy, the girl, the kid. Well, he’s not ours, but a nephew is close enough.And I’m all about getting to know Jasmine’s family. I want to absorb everything that is Jasmine for the rest of my life.After this, we’re going to Kentucky to visit my mom. Hopefully, she won’t have a heart attack when she finds out I’m still alive. I want to hear from her the story about my dad—everything she knows. And I want to make up for the years I stole from her. Well, I probably can’t ever do that, but I’m going to try my best.The ride
THIS IS the most tense I’ve seen Tom. I find it fascinating and somewhat swoon-worthy that the guy doesn’t flinch in life or death situations, it’s the emotional ones that get him.And yeah, showing up to tell your mom you’re not actually dead must be a doozy.We drive to a beautiful but rustic cabin-style mountain home and get out of the SUV we rented in Lexington.“Wow, is this the house you grew up in?” I ask before I realize it’s probably too new for that.Tom doesn’t take his eyes off the structure as he shakes his head. “They arranged a big pension payout for her when I died. It was part of our negotiations.”Oh God—he died. This woman grieved her only son. What will she think when we just show up at her door?The door opens, and a slender woman in her early fifties comes out, suspicion crawling over her expression.We walk toward the house, but every step seems to ta
“YOU’RE SO HARD.”Tom grunts under me. His big body splays out on my massage table, his face hidden, resting on rigid biceps. I’ve been kneading his shoulders for a half an hour and he hasn’t relaxed once. If anything, he’s gotten more tense.I run a hand over the breathtaking expanse of his back, tracing the black vines of his tribal tattoos, scratching lightly. A breath rattles out of him, half growl and half something softer, gentle. A purr.“You can turn over now,” I suggest delicately, and hold up the towel to help him turn with modesty. I never sneak a peek with clients, but with Tom, I can’t stop myself. The solid curve of his buttocks, the ridge of his hip, the barest glimpse of something fat and long nestled in a base of wiry hair—He flops on his back and the source of his tension becomes clear.“My. You are hard.” He’s eithe
I PARK my motorcycle at the Rio Grande gorge bridge and walk down to check out the scene at the end of the bridge.And it is a scene. There are vendors assembled on the side, some with tables set up, some operating out of buses or the backs of pickup trucks. There are pinon nuts for sale. Local honey. Jewelry. The vendors are a mix of Native Americans and hippies.A bridge stretches across the Rio Grande gorge, a nauseating six hundred or more feet above the giant canyon. I hear a tour guide telling someone it’s one of the highest bridges in the country. I recognize it from Easy Rider and one of the Terminator movies—favorites of mine.I scent the air, catching the smell of coffee, ice cream, sweat. The sun beats harder in the high altitude and my leather riding jacket suddenly feels too hot.I peel it off and toss it over the seat of the bike. I don’t know why, but I have a good feeling about this rest ar