A Brutal Tenderness (22 page)

MacLeod won’t recover from this revelation, it’s simply too
damaging.
I can’t recover from his negligence of Jewell that left her
unprotected in his own home.
It’s what he deserves. Terrible deeds returned to their owner.
Justice prevails.

I’m taking the biggest gamble of my life. An unlikely
supporter stands forty feet away, ready to do her small part,
play her small role. On the exterior I appear calm, collected, in
control. On the inside I’m a bundle of tangled nerves

What if Jewell doesn’t feel as I do? What if I’m wrong and
she rejects me?
I slant my head in Carlie’s direction, and she flips me the
bird and grins.
I grin back. That’s Carlie communication—contrary.
The fruit of our labor lies in my breast interior pocket, the
small velvet box above my heart. The steady drumming of it
moves the tiny package in time with my pulse.
When Jewell exits, it takes all that I am not to jog to her as
she struggles with a nurse on one side, a crutch under her arm,
steadying a body that is accustomed to grace.
The reporters swarm around her, and when she spots Carlie,
who waves like a princess on a float, Jewell gives a tentative
smile as microphones jam up underneath her nose.
I frown. Fucking vultures, they don’t care about a woman
traumatized, just what kind of story they can write to exploit
her for their gain.
Timing is everything, and I notice the nurse take the crutch
as Jewell stands awkwardly without it.
Wait.
She answers a question or two, distracted.
Wait.
I straighten from my slouch against the government-issue
SUV as Jewell’s eyes fall on me. We stop breathing as we regard
each other.
My eyes narrow down on Jewell, the sun setting ablaze hair
that’s been changed back to her natural shade, the highlights
like spun copper, caught in the sunlight of the morning.
I make my way to the bottom of the flight of concrete
steps, taking her in like a forbidden fine wine, her emerald eyes
without a bit of indifference, all for me.
For us.
Jewell’s hair flows around a deep green puffy jacket, her
simple black top and yoga pants, missing a leg, provide a
glimpse at her toes peeking out from the soft cast she wears to
keep her knee stationary.
My eyes travel back up to her face.
I get nothing. Her face, once an open book to me, looks
shell-shocked, closed, unreadable.
I hesitate. Maybe I’ve lost my money on this gamble.
Then she cocks her head to the side and the sunlight that
had backlit her moments before catches her just right, and I see
the same thing on her face that I know rides on mine. I take off
my sunglasses, putting them in my front pocket, and charge up
the steps. The reporters go silent, one lone photographer keeps
his video camera rolling, the whine of it is all I can hear as they
split in the middle, allowing me to pass.
Not that I need permission.
The nurse at her elbow moves away, a knowing smile on her
face. My eyes slide to hers in subtle thanks, then move back to
Jewell.
“Agent Steel! Agent Steel!” a woman reporter trumpets
beside me, and I ignore her so completely she moves back.
Undeterred, she steps forward again. “Tell us what plan the
FBI has for Miss MacLeod.”
The question blindsides me; the Bureau is the farthest thing
from my mind in those few moments as I approach Jewell.
They lean forward to capture my quiet statement. “I don’t
know,” I reply honestly. Finally, I reach for Jewell and cup her
face, and as if she anticipated the move, she leans her cheek
into my caress and a little sound escapes me before I can hold
it in. I use my other hand to cage that face I love, dream about,
hope for. My large hands capture Jewell within them.
I never want to let go.
I never want to look anywhere else.
Jewell’s brought me to this point, where brutality and
tenderness meet.
Her green eyes open and I answer her. The reporters hear
and I don’t care . . . I don’t care.
“My plan is to love her.”
Jewell’s tears shimmer, her eyes the swimming green of
summer grass as she rises up on tiptoe. I release her face and
lift her from the ground, wrapping my arms around her waist
as her casted leg dangles. I slowly consume the lips she offers,
taking everything that’s mine with savage possession, a love so
deep it borders on pain as she returns everything back to me.
I feel the heat from the camera bulbs that flash and sear, our
embrace immortalized.
Our love.

I can’t get enough of her. I know I’ve gone overboard as I scoop
Jewell up in my arms, bride-over-the-threshold style, and
retrace my steps down those broad concrete steps.

Carlie waits at the SUV, opening the door as I approach,
tears cascading down her mocha skin, those dark eyes not
looking like twin orbs of hate anymore.

“You bitch,” Jewell whispers from my arms, and Carlie and I
grin at each other as I slide Jewell into the front seat.
“Guilty,” Carlie says, raising her hand as the reporters take
after us, beginning to swarm the car. She smirks. “I’m not
gonna lie, it was fun as hell to have this surprise waiting for
you.”
“Hop in, Carlie,” Luke Adams says from the driver’s side,
giving a chin jerk at the reporters.
Jewell turns, and I forget that she doesn’t know Adams as
anyone but Brock.
“Ah!” Jewell yells and begins to scramble awkwardly out of
the car.
Fuck, the reporters are here, looking from Jewell to me to
Luke Adams.
“Time. To. Go!” Carlie says.
“No,” Jewell says in a low, frightened voice.
“He’s an agent, Mackey,” she answers.
Jewell gives Luke Adams a suspicious look, and I sigh,
taking her out of the front and telling Carlie, “You sit in front
with Luke.”
The cameras never stop clicking, the shutters sounding like
rattlesnake tails in motion.
“Yeah, baby,” Carlie says, winking at Luke, who shifts
nervously in his seat.
“Agent Steel, tell us about the relationship between you and
Miss MacLeod . . .”
I look at the reporters, their mikes front and center.
“I think I made that abundantly clear earlier.” More than I
meant to.
“Yeah!” Carlie says loudly, “a picture’s worth a thousand
words. Why don’t ya go write them?” She cocks a brow, and
Adams covers his guffaw with a hand.
Damage control.
I position Jewell in the backseat as gently as possible, poke
the mike that prevents closing the door out of the way, and shut
the door.
Luke pulls out, Carlie riding shotgun with a constant
stream of words.
“Those frickin’ reporters. Can’t they see they’re intruding?
Ugh!” Carlie huffs, folding her arms across her chest and
slouching in the front seat. Luke’s eyes flit to mine in the
rearview mirror.
“Uh, no. No silent guy-eye communication. Spill it or else,”
Carlie says.
“Excuse me?” Jewell says from the backseat.
I lift our laced hands and raise them, kissing the back of
her wrist. Her eyes rise to meet mine, dilating, the ebony of her
pupil eating the green, and my breaths come quicker just from
her look.
Jewell’s next words chase the heat, leaving me cold.
“That’s quite a show you put on, Agent Steel,” Jewell says,
taking her hand out of mine.
I shake my head, Carlie’s eyes meeting mine as she turns in
her seat.
Jewell moves farther away from my body.
What the fuck is this?
“Jewell . . .” Carlie begins, but Jewell looks at her in anger.
“Here’s the thing.” She levels us with a stare. “I can hardly
walk. I have one of my attackers driving this car. And Cas
decides now that I’m well ‘enough’”—Jewell quotes with her
fingers—“he’ll take me on as an actual girlfriend?” Jewell
laughs, the brittle sound of it like broken glass in the confines
of the car. “No. Where were you when I was lying in that
bed for almost a month, so despondent they had to give me
something so I couldn’t cry?” Her eyes meet mine and there’s
heat in them.
Not the exciting kind.
The pissed-off, accusatory, I-want-to-grind-my-stilettointo-your-heart kind. Not the reception I’d hoped for.
I open my mouth, but Carlie interjects before I can say
anything. “Luke Adams is an FBI agent, Mackey.”
Jewell folds her arms, looking out the window. She begins in
a low voice, “I know now that he isn’t Brock.” She swipes at a
tear and I reach to wipe her face. “Don’t, Cas,” she says, and my
hand freezes.
The surprise I have for her in my pocket hangs like a frozen
lump against my chest, the warm circle of symbolism now
feeling like a noose.
I drop my hand to my lap. I want to punch something.
Finally I’m able to act on my feelings for Jewell only to be held
up by her distrust.
“You lied to me, Cas,” she says, turning away from the
window. Her eyes nail me to the spot, the tears rolling out of
them. “I know, I know”—she looks from me to Carlie—“he
was doing a job. Catching the bad guys.” Jewell’s eyes flick to
mine again. “And I’m thankful you caught them before  .  .  .
before . . .” She covers her mouth as a sob erupts.
I move against her.
“No,” she says, trying to push me away.
“Yes,” I whisper, ignoring her as I hold her and the sobs
come. Harsh sounds of a shattered heart, the pieces floating
away with the wetness of her sorrow.
“Oh, Mackey,” Carlie says, crying along with her.
Luke stops the car outside Carlie’s house, his fingers
bleeding to white with the grip on the steering wheel. He’s the
driver, he’s my partner.
Witness to my unraveling. To the end of a successful case
that leaves behind broken bits that might not ever be repaired.
I’ve envisioned this scenario a hundred times in the last
month, and I never saw it coming to pass like this. I feel like
my fucking heart’s being pulverized inside my chest.
I hold Jewell against me, stroking her hair. Her body feels so
right against me it’s like a part of my own.
Jewell scoots away and I let her, even though it feels like
an amputation. I swallow as our eyes meet, and my throat
convulses painfully over the lump that’s there.
“I need time . . . Cas,” Jewell says, rolling her full lower lip
inside her mouth, nervously nibbling at it. And even with all
the emotional turmoil inside the vehicle, my body responds to
her unconscious gesture. Seduction without intent.
She sees my reaction and breathes out a shaky exhale, a loop
of chemistry come full circle. We’re hopeless against the pull of
each other. Even after all that we’ve been through.
I turn to Carlie, who gives a subtle shake of her head.
“Okay,” I mutter, my chest giving that same pulse of
tightness. I sweep my hand over my skull trim, taking a deep
breath, trying to calm myself.
Then I take both of her hands in mine, my eyes locked with
hers. “But if you think I’m giving up on you for one second,
then you don’t know me.”
Jewell looks at me. “That’s the thing, Cas . . . I don’t. Know.
You.”
Of course she doesn’t, I think, she’s only got part of the
story. It’s so clear to me because I’ve always had both sides, but
Jewell only knows the side I show her.
“How old are you? What’s your favorite color? Do you
have a family?” She asks rhetorically. Jewell doesn’t want those
answers right then, she wants to make a point.
I’m an intimate stranger.
“Twenty-six,” I say, adding, “black.” I laugh, that’s almost
too easy. My eyes darken, and Jewell watches the cloud pass
over my expression. The other question she asks isn’t easy.
Finally I answer.
“Faith.”
Jewell’s eyes snap to mine, the other people in the car
forgotten as the wheels of her mind turn in front of me, the
gears transparent to me.
“Blaine . . .” Jewell whispers.
“Yes.”
“
The
Blaine,” Jewell asks, though I think she knows.
I nod.
Carlie looks from one to the other of us. “What the fuck,
Mackey? What is it?”
Jewell looks an accusation at me, then faces Carlie. I take
another deep breath as Jewell recounts what I already know she
put together. “Faith . . .” Jewell swallows, casting her eyes down
at her knotted fingers.
Carlie leans between the two seats in the front, reaching
forward and squeezing Jewell’s shoulder. Jewell speaks softly,
but her damning words carry perfectly in the small space.
“Faith wanted me to meet her cousin—”
“Like a blind date thing?” Carlie asks in clarification.
Jewell nods, swiping the first tear away, and I hold my
breath. “She said he was perfect for me—perfect.” She looks
at me and sees whatever’s in my face, and her gaze shifts to
Carlie. “We were going to get together with her boyfriend . . .
and Blaine.” Jewell looks down at her hands again, and I watch
the teardrops spatter on her fingers. I take a deep breath to stop
from dragging her into my arms again. “But we never got the
chance.”
Jewell looks at me. “She said you’d help her . . . me.”
I nod. “I was supposed to,” I say with quiet remorse.
“Why didn’t you come, Cas? Why did  .  .  . why did Faith
die?”
She left off the words: because of you.
I open my mouth to give my shameful excuse, then close it.
It’s in that moment when I become aware that it’s never been
Jewell’s fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. My subconscious has
been circling this truth for a very long time. It’s Jewell who’s
brought the realization full circle. There’s a rap on the window
that makes us all jump.
Jewell sees who it is and gives a squeal as she punches open
the door, my hand reaching for the back of her shirt as Agent
Clearwater rounds the front of the car, opening the door as she
slides out and scooping her up against himself.
“Brad!” Jewell says breathlessly, and his smile is genuine, the
scar at his throat a jagged and healing angry red swath like a
rippling twisted rope.
“It’s good to see you, Jewell,” Dec says, letting her down
gently. Jewell hangs onto his forearms as she searches his face.
Jewell begins at his head, then her eyes skitter to a stop at the
wound at his throat.
“What? Brad . . .”
“It’s Decatur Clearwater, Jewell.”
Jewell removes her hands from his arms as if burned, her
eyes instantly on guard.
Fuck. This just keeps getting better and better.
“Is anyone who he says he is?” Jewell asks softly, her voice
holding an edge of hysteria.
“Jewell . . .” I begin.
“No.” She holds up a finger. “Don’t talk to me. This whole
thing is part of some . . . game.” Her eyes bounce from Luke
Adams, aka Brock, then land unnervingly on Dec, aka Biker
Brad. They fall on me last, with bruising intensity.
I don’t flinch under her scrutiny.
“A lot of time,” Jewell adds in a low voice that is thick with
her retrospection, her eyes on mine.
My stomach knots with those words.
“Come on, Mackey,” Carlie says, sliding her arm around
Jewell’s waist.
They hobble together toward the condo that Carlie
Stanton’s parents have for a weekend play place. Jewell’s
temporary home.
I move to follow, but Luke stops me with a hand on my
arm. “No, man, just . . . let her go for now. This is a lot to take
in.”
I feel that small bulge in my pocket. A sudden urge to
chuck it in Elliott Bay grabs me. I stifle it.
There might still be hope. Jewell says she needs time.
The grief of that time away from her crushes in on me from
all sides. If someone told me before this whole thing happened
that another human being would have a hold on my life like
Jewell does, I’d have laughed in his face.
I’m not fucking laughing now.
I wait at the curb, the SUV running behind us, Luke and
Dec flanking me as I watch Jewell’s slow progress up the steep
steps of the building. I ache to help her, hold her. But she’s set
her limits with me.
It’s a rare bright and clear day. Late January weather bites
at our faces as the wind from nearby Elliott Bay kicks up. It
stings my neck and I welcome the minor discomfort as I watch
the former ballet dancer disappear inside Carlie’s first-floor
accommodation.
I hold my breath for a sign, anything that will give me that
spark of hope.
Jewell turns at the last moment, her eyes steady on mine.
Then she looks away, doing a slow pivot as Carlie helps her
through the door. The glass swallows the women as they move
deeper inside the gaping mouth of the building.
I know that look.
I want to erase it from Jewell’s face. It’s the same one I see
every day in the mirror.
Condemnation.