Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (26 page)

Not now, not ever.

She’d removed her glasses and put in contacts. She drew a deep breath, focusing on him with a look that told him their first private moment of the day wasn’t going to end well.

None of this is going to end well, dumb fuck. Read the tea leaves. You’re so fucking upside down over her you’ll be crapping out of your eye sockets before this job’s over.

“Sam, I’m sorry last night ended the way it did.”

“Just to be clear, I’d prefer not to talk about masturbation with you.”

“And I’d prefer not to be called the equivalent of a human dildo.”

She flinched, but nodded. “Fair.”

“I just wanted to talk about why you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying.” Eyes nonplussed, expression cool, her tone was quiet and subdued.

“Come on, Sam. As a lawyer, I know you’re trained in the art of a damn good poker face.”

“Are you saying I’m good at lying?”

“No. I’m saying I know you were crying.” Detecting a glimmer of hurt in her eyes, he continued in a softer tone. “But what I don’t know is why and I sure as hell don’t know why you’d deny it with me.”

She glanced into her purse, mumbled that she’d forgotten something, turned and strode into her bedroom. As he waited, he reminded himself that he’d taken the job with the healthy expectation that things wouldn’t work out between them. He also reminded himself that the baseline goal for him was to walk away from her this time with the capability to expunge her from his brain, body, and soul. Right now, he had little hope of meeting even the baseline objective.

He hated having a need that he couldn’t fill, but hated more that she had a need that he had no goddamn clue how to fill.

Her tears the night before proved something was wrong.

But what?

Glancing around the beige, well-appointed living room, his eyes rested on the treadmills. Dammit. More blood flowed to his dick as he remembered doing her against the wall after their run. Instead of taking the edge off of his desire once she’d opened up and decided sex was a good idea, the last twenty-four hours had only managed to whet his appetite for more.

He wasn’t wrong about the tears. The drops that had fallen on his chest, along his cheeks, his lips, and his chin, as she surprised him by kissing him gently and slowly—when he’d fully expected her simply to mount him and ride until she came—they’d been tears. He’d held his goddamn breath, not knowing what to do. He’d been so fucking shocked he felt like he’d been transported to another world. He’d have sworn another woman had entered the room and Sam was gone. That moisture was tears, no matter how much she denied it. He’d bet his left testicle that she’d been crying and he was pretty goddamn fond of both his right and left.

How could he help her, when he didn’t know what the fuck was wrong?

She reentered the living room. Evidently the break had given her time to regain her composure. She threw him a cool gaze, and his heart responded with a beat that was a steady metronome of time ticking away. At that moment, sharp slivers of certainty shot through his veins.

Face facts, buddy. Instead of walking away from this job with her expunged from your mind, you’re only going to have her more deeply embedded there. Backfire is going to be a fucking bitch on this one.

He folded his arms, gave her a cool stare, and waited for her to say something. She wouldn’t. She imitated his posture, squared her shoulders, and jut out her chin, proving she could beat him even at a silent staring match, when he was a master at it. And the most pathetic goddamn thing was that he was pissed because she didn’t want to sleep with him after sex. Sleep. Really sleep. Most women he’d been with loved to hold on afterwards. No. Not Sam. At least not the Sam she was now.

The Sam she was now didn’t want him to hold her. Didn’t lean into him in all her warm and naked and sweetly exhausted glory and hold on as she fell asleep. Didn’t want him to kiss her and tell her how much he loved her.

She had to fucking know he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t love her. Right?

Nope. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. She’s just having sex with you because you’re good at it.

As she stared at him and remained perfectly silent, his thoughts continued to race. Not holding her after having sex was like having icing without the cake. Great while he was feasting, but just weirdly empty after. Would’ve been fine with any woman he didn’t give a damn about. Rolling over and going to sleep—or better, leaving—was just fine with any other woman.

But not her.

Just how irritated he was by Sam’s seeming inability to touch him after sex brought up a mountain of emotional issues, none of which he wanted to think about as the silent match continued.

Please God, it’s Jesus here. You know I don’t bother you for much. But I’m at a loss. Can’t seem to think this one through. Please do something to take my dick out of the equation. Because it’s getting in the way. Is this TMI, God? Of course not, you know what’s going on down here. She’s the one for me. The one. The only. And I’m blowing my chance with her. I royally fucked up in the first go round and I’m fucking up again. I’m smart enough to figure this out. To figure her out. I think. If I could just fucking
think
instead of constantly think about fucking.

When I’m with her my body takes over. All my body wants is to make love, cuddle, repeat, when I need to figure out how to persuade her that she loves me back. Making love to her obviously isn’t doing the trick, and she’s certainly giving no indication she wants to hear the words. Help me figure this out. That’s what I’m praying for. Please.

In a voice as moderate and cool as he’d ever heard her use, she said, “I’ve done some thinking. It would be best if we keep our contact on a professional level from here on out. What happened last night was…” her voice trailed, “unnecessary and distracting.”

“Distracting?” Suddenly seething at her, instead of wallowing in the slow-bubbling-simmer he’d been feeling all morning, he tried not to show just how pissed off he was.
I’m cool. Dammit. I’m the one who doesn’t fucking show emotions.
“Unnecessary? That’s what you call it?”

She gave him a nod. “And tiring. I’d have been better off with a few hours of sleep,” she said, her voice as clear and calm and unemotional as any he’d ever heard.

“Understood,” he said, allowing the word to drip with sarcasm. Though he didn’t. Dammit. They had to talk. Or do something. He had to find a way to icepick through her cool resolve, because the slow-easy-melt method wasn’t producing anything but misery on his end.

She arched an eyebrow. “You disagree?”

He stepped closer to her and bent his face to hers. With their lips almost touching, he said, “Totally. Given the slightest bit of encouragement from you I’ll be back at it. With great enthusiasm. And by the way, I know only one of us is being honest here.”

He gripped her hips, pulled her closer, and cupped her ass. With one butt-cheek firmly in the palm of each of his hands, he pulled her to him, rubbing her soft belly with the hard ridge of his erection, using his body to give her his message without words.
I want you. I need you. I can’t stop thinking about being inside of you. This is what you do to me and I know you want me too. We have something rare. It isn’t just sex. It’s real, dammit. That’s why it’s so good. Don’t you understand that? Why can’t you enjoy it? Be thrilled by it. At least excited.

Bending his face close to hers, he drew willpower up from his toes and stopped before letting his lips graze the perfectly applied red lipstick on her goddamn perfect lips. “I’m willing to bet you won’t hold out either. If you recall, you made the first move after our run, and I didn’t go looking for you last night. I found you in my bed. Asking for sex. With me. And your goddamn tears were fucking real.” He released her, almost groaning with the effort of letting go when all he wanted to do was hold on.

She turned on a heel and strode out of the room, her butt-cheeks, perfectly cupped by the slim fitting skirt, flexing with a fuck-you message as she walked with each purposeful, solid stride.

The woman had mastered the art of the pissed-off exit. What he needed her to do was to turn around and confront him, deal with their past, and tell him exactly what the fuck was wrong, so that he could fix it.

Obviously, his simple reappearance wasn’t doing the trick.

In the ensuing silence as he followed Sam down the stairs, Ragno said, into his earpiece, “Sorry, big man, but your day’s about to take a turn, and not for the good. Though with that bomb Samantha just dropped,” she said, concern filtering into her tone, “I suspect things are already pretty dim in the City of Light. By the way, I’m pretty sure she could’ve done without the last couple of asinine statements from you. Sweet Jesus, Zeus. No woman needs that kind of reminder. Even when she is being a bitch.”

“Sorry. I should’ve muted the mic.” On every job he’d ever been on until now, even the first job he’d worked for Samuel Dixon, when he’d first met Sam, he’d managed to keep personal drama out of it. Back then, his connection with Sam had been instant and real, but they’d only become intimate after the three-week job was over. Which explained why, for the first four days after he showed up on her doorstep, all they’d done was have sex. They’d kept at it, until the phone call that had changed his life came through.

“Not a problem on my end and frankly, this is one area where I’d love to meddle, cause it sure sounds like you’re royally screwing up on your own. Knew you were headed into the world of complications the minute Samuel Dixon made the hiring call,” she said, her tone low and concerned. More friendly than the clipped business tone she typically used. “I’m here if you want to talk. Don’t know if I’m really qualified to give relationship advice, but I’m a woman and, last I checked, I’m still one of your closest friends. You’re in deep—”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, tough guy. I’ve got a list of things demanding your attention. Theresa needs to talk to you. ASAP, she says.”

“What’s wrong?” His ex-wife wasn’t the type to do an ASAP call while he was working. His heartbeat ratcheted up as he stopped on the first floor and helped Sam into her coat. Then again, Theresa had tried calling him the day before, and he’d had Ragno keep her updated. He’d told Ragno to tell Theresa he’d call her later, and he hadn’t gotten around to it. His mind had been on work and Sam and he’d only concentrated on those two things.

Dammit
. He’d forgotten to call his ex back.

Sam cast him an odd glance, as though she was wondering whether he really expected an answer at all, much less with agents and her team all in the foyer, putting on overcoats. He pointed to his ear, and whispered, “Ragno.”

Ragno responded with, “Not sure. But she sounds unhappy. As in tell him to damn well call me now. Also, Dixon wants to talk to you. ASAP.”

“Wait. Is Ana okay?”

“As far as I know, yes. Agent Martel has reported no problems, and you and I would be the first to know if she had.”

“Tell me about the other things,” he said. “The car ride’ll give me about fifteen minutes to talk. Doubt I’ll get to all the items, so I need to prioritize.”

“Aside from Theresa, and Dixon, I’ve finally managed to get Blaze to agree to a phone call. I’ve talked to his scheduler. He is available for the next ten minutes. After that, they say two days from now. Can you believe that? This motorcycle gang leader has a scheduler, like he’s the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I’ve got a host of other issues, including bounty hunt issues and management issues.”

“Blaze, Theresa, Dixon, in that order. After that, I’ll tackle the rest of the items. If I run out of time, I’ll communicate mostly via text and email when I’m in the courtroom, but talk when I have to.” Zeus could speak in the mic with barely a twitch of his lips, quietly enough that no one in the room would hear him. Yet Ragno would be able to hear him, loud and clear. It was a practiced skill.

“Sam,” Zeus said, scanning the sidewalk as they stepped into the gray, chilly morning. “Second car.”

She turned to follow his direction, a poised, statuesque woman in a black cashmere overcoat, tied close at her narrow waist. Without making eye contact, she hesitated at the rear door of the car. He opened it for her and slid in next to her. Jenkins got in and sat on the other side of her. Zeus gave the driver a nod, wishing like hell he didn’t have to smell the sweet rose and jasmine of her perfume while attempting to suppress the foul mood she had caused.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As the cars moved forward, Ragno said, “Zeus. Power up your iPad. I’m sending a link for a video chat with Blaze. Beginning in thirty seconds.”

“Where is he?”

“His people won’t say.”

He opened his iPad and waited for her link. “You can’t figure it out?”

“Not yet. They’ve got serious encryption protocols in place, and they originated the call. I may be able to figure it out later. Here’s the link.”

When Zeus clicked, a guy with long brownish-blonde hair that fell across his broad shoulders appeared on his iPad. He wore a black T-shirt, a white leather vest, and a cluster of silver and gold chains around his thick neck. A tattoo of red, orange, and blue-black flames crept down his right arm and up his neck. He wore a tough-guy look in his blue eyes that indicated he could deliver bad shit—anytime, anywhere. Zeus knew enough about the guy to know that he did.

Sam glanced at his iPad, and Zeus turned it just enough so Blaze wouldn’t see her. Best if Blaze thought his conversation private. The audio would be transmitted through the feed in his ear.

“So,” Blaze said, “you’re Jesus Hernandez.”

“That’s right. Thanks for the call.”

Cool eyes assessed Zeus. “Would prefer an in-person chat. I’ve got some bullets saved for you, and your agents. Hollow tip. Wondering why you’d want to talk to me.”

“I hear you have information on TRCR.”

Blaze gave Zeus a slight frown, but other than that, there wasn’t even a flinch that showed surprise. “You heard wrong.”

“Don’t think so. My sources are damn good.”

Hard blue eyes stared directly into his. “If I did have information, what would you do with it?”

“Depends on what the information is.” Zeus scanned the road as the car turned a corner. Light traffic. Pedestrians talking on cell phones. Nothing abnormal.

“Tell me who said I talked about TRCR.” His harsh tone indicated he considered it a transgression of the highest order.

“Can’t do that.” Zeus absorbed a bit of the menace that crept through the iPad screen, conveyed by Blaze’s eyes and the red flush that had crept across his cheeks. “I can tell you that the whole world is looking for Maximov. Me included. And if you have information that leads to him, I’ll damn well pay for it.”

“Don’t know if my information will lead you to Maximov. What I can tell you, is the TRCR consists of some evil motherfuckers. The sooner they’re shut down, the better.”

“For who? You?”

Blue eyes burning with an intense look of hatred, he spat out, “For the whole fucking world.”

“Tell me what you know.”

A cool headshake greeted him. “Not unless you agree to end them. Or promise an assist so I can.”

“Didn’t think you were the sort of guy who asks for help.”

Blaze’s frown reappeared. “You’re damn straight. That should tell you how big they are.”

“Can’t promise I’ll come in to fight your fight for you without knowing what you’ve got to say.”

“That’s fair.” He gave Zeus a shrug. “Have your people call me if you ever get serious. In the meantime, when TRCR makes a bang by blowing up good Americans who are doing nothing but living their lives in the grand old U.S. of A., home of the formerly-free and now-scared-shitless, whether it’s the Vegas strip—”

“Whoa. Do you have information indicating they were involved in the New Year’s Eve bombing?”

“No.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What I’m telling you is they’re capable.”

“Shitloads of people are capable. Including you.”

“Understood.” He arched an eyebrow. “And so are you. Fuck it, and fuck you. Call back when you’re serious, cause I’m tired of this bullshit call. In the meantime, I’m giving you a big heads up so I can say I told you so. There I was, being a fucking stellar American citizen by making a call that could get my ass, and my people, in some serious trouble, and this is the thanks I get? Should’ve known not to call those pussies. They’ve pawned me off to a private security contractor, who runs a firm that consists of murderers-for-hire?” He narrowed his eyes. “I should lock you in a room with the widows of my men your agents have killed. Go fuck yourself.”

The screen went dark. The car took a right, and a delivery van pulled up on the side of them. The dark-haired driver looked down, into the car. Right when Zeus was about to tell the driver to accelerate past the van, he did. Zeus breathed easier.

“Ragno?”

“Yep.”

“Now he knows I’m interested.”

Ragno chuckled. “It went better than I expected. He’s in Texas, by the way. South of Sierra Blanca. Hudspeth County. Near the border. Barrows managed to break the encryption while you guys chatted. Which happens to be in the general vicinity of where he told the Department of Homeland Security TRCR was based. Now…Theresa’s holding for you.”

“Put her through.”

“How can you do this to her?” Irate, Theresa’s voice was far from the usual amicable-yet-slightly-perpetually-pissed tone that she used with him. This morning she was irritated, with great gusto, and wasn’t trying to conceal it. “Come on, Zeus. Every after-school activity on hiatus for the next three and a half weeks? That’s insane. Ana is hysterical over it. And by the way, I should be hearing about your parenting decisions from you. Not from Agent Martel. And we should be having discussions about them. You don’t get to issue orders like a—”

“Not a parenting decision. A security decision. One of the judge’s wives was killed yesterday.”

“I’m not an idiot, Zeus. Ragno told me about it, and it was blasted all over the news. I was expecting a call from you.” Zeus hadn’t touched base with Theresa after communicating with Agent Martell about the additional security measures to be employed for Ana and Theresa, in light of the heightened threat directed at the ITT proceedings.

“I’ve upped security for you and Ana and assessed how to proceed.”

“No shit. I feel like we’re living in a combat bunker. Agent Martell, plus her team, now make six.”

“So what are you not understanding? You go to work. Ana goes to school. After, you both go home. Period. Just three weeks, Theresa. Everything will return to normal when this trial is over.”

“Three weeks is an eternity to a six-year-old. How can you not comprehend or consider that? I fully understand the need to curtail activities. Art? We’ll make do at home. Piano? She’s probably thrilled. She hates to practice anyway, and without practice, it is all a waste of your money. But dance? No way. There are three mandatory practices three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, from 5 to 7:30 p.m. Mandatory, Zeus. Understand? She has to go.”

“No.”

“Then you can be the one to tell her she won’t be in the recital.”

A red light couldn’t be avoided. Zeus glanced around as their car stopped. A yellow Peugeot. Two women inside talking, their heads turned to each other. A black Fiat, with a gray haired man, two hands gripping the top of the steering wheel, staring dead ahead. Nothing particularly interesting. Or threatening.

Sam, sitting next to him, was scrolling through filings on her iPad, giving no indication that she was paying attention to the conversation he was having with his ex.

“What do you mean? Recital’s in March.” He knew, because being invited to do a solo dance seemed to be the most exciting thing that had ever happened in his daughter’s life.

“Yes, and if any student misses four classes in the first quarter of the year they can’t be in the recital. Period. It’s a Las Munequitas school rule.”

“Oh come on.” He stretched his legs, accidentally rubbing against Sam as he did. She shifted away from him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“To you, maybe, but in the world of dance schools and recitals, it’s pretty standard. Las Munequitas is the best, Zeus, and Ana is lucky to be in it. She is really, really good, and to be invited to do a solo at her age is almost unheard of. When I told her you wouldn’t allow her to go to rehearsals, she cried all night.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. If anything ever happened to Ana, especially anything I could’ve prevented, I’d die. I’d place the bullet in my goddamn fucking brain myself.

“Do what you do best, Zeus. Make it safe for her. It is simply a dance school for young girls in Coconut Grove, for God’s sake. If Black Raven can’t protect Ana when she goes there, you tell me what, exactly, are people paying your company a fortune for?”

“It isn’t a necessary risk.”

“Damn you, Zeus,” Theresa answered. “How can you be so cold?”

He shut his eyes for a second, thought of his little girl crying all night, thought of her absolute joy when she talked about her costumes for the dance recital, and bent. As they crossed the bridge leading to the Ile de la Cite, he said, “I’ll talk to Agent Martel and see if we can work it out.”

“Hurry. There’s a class this evening. I’d like to tell Ana your answer before she goes to school, so she isn’t miserable throughout the whole day.” Something in her tone told him she wasn’t done.

“That it?”

“Samantha Fairfax is the one, isn’t she?”

Fuckitall.
“Excuse me?”

“The reason why your heart was never in our marriage. I saw you on every news show yesterday, holding her.”
Carrying
her, he mentally corrected his ex-wife. “I put two and two together when her name was familiar. Seven years ago, you went on a job for a few weeks. The Dixon job. We were having issues.”

Issues?
Even before the job, I told you we needed to see other people. My way of saying I didn’t want to move our relationship forward.
It was a damn hard statement to make to someone he’d been seeing for three years, someone who’d been a lifelong family friend, who his mother adored.

As he sank further into the seat, she continued. “I’d figured out I was pregnant, I didn’t tell you right away, and you got shot while on the Dixon job. The job for the billionaire. Her grandfather. I wrestled with the decision whether and when to tell you. I had no idea where you were when I made that phone call. You came back and proposed, looking like a man who was doing the honorable thing.”

Her voice was quiet and controlled, the tone of a woman who had the confidence that came with being undeniably correct. The French government buildings loomed in the distance. As he let his ex have her say, Zeus scanned the streets for signs of trouble, trying not to be distracted by the raw pain in her voice. “But you weren’t a man who was excited to be proposing to the one great love of his life. You always referred to the job where you got shot as the Samuel Dixon job. Odd, that you never mentioned Samantha Dixon Fairfax, even though you were different after that job, and the differences had nothing to do with getting shot. After seeing the look on your face as you ran through the streets with her, I know. She’s the reason why you could never be happy with me. Isn’t she?”

Zeus didn’t know what to say.
Yeah. You’re right
seemed damn callous, especially when he’d always denied that there was anyone else. Which had been the truth. Once he committed to the idea of the marriage, he never would’ve gone back to Sam.

Not that Sam would have taken him back, a fact that was now perfectly clear. The problem was that once the excitement of their new marriage wore off, once Ana was born, and they settled into routine life, Theresa sensed something was missing.

Yeah, dumb shit. Like your heart.

Four or five years into it, Theresa got worn down by what she called their spark-less marriage. His distraction-by-design. His half-hearted presence, even when he wasn’t working. The way he was distant with her, especially during sex, and afterwards. Finally, she’d been the one to file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences in the pleadings. In person, she’d told him she was tired of being lonely.

He got it. He understood. Totally.

Next to him, Sam shut the cover to her iPad and bit the side of her lip as she looked out the front window of the car. One of the many new security measures in place was that no pedestrians without proper clearance were allowed within a mile of the building that housed the trial. In comparison to the crowds that had lined the streets the last couple of days, the empty sidewalks on the Ile de la Cite seemed eerie. Sam glanced at him, a worry line bisecting her brows.

He mouthed, silently, to Sam, “We’re fine.”

“Answer enough,” Theresa whispered, tired of the extended silence with which he’d greeted her question, the exact silence he always gave when he chose not to go down an emotional road. “I only wish that you’d been honest from the start. With me. With yourself. We didn’t have to play the charade. I didn’t, at least. Don’t know what you were trying to prove to yourself. Yes, I needed you, but not that badly. Let me know your decision as soon as you can about dance school. Goodbye.”

The phone clicked, and Theresa was gone.

“Ragno,” he said, “You heard that?”

“Want me to say no?”

As the car pulled up to the side door of the courthouse, the one he’d decided the Amicus team would enter, he said, “Nope. Need you to act on it. Ask Vick to draft a plan for team coverage while Ana’s at Las Munequitas. Also, send me the plan for school coverage and transfers. I want to reevaluate logistics and coverage for both Ana and Theresa. Monitor their GPS trackers from here on out.”