When He Was Bad (13 page)

Half-dozen roses in hand, Van pushed open the hospital door. He frowned when he saw the room empty.

“Irene?” He checked out the bathroom but found that empty, too. He walked out of the room and crashed into his sister.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s not in there.”

Van walked over to the nurses’ station. “I’m looking for Irene Conridge.”

The nurse frowned. “She isn’t in her room?”

“Would I be here if she were?”

“Calm down, Mr. Van Holtz. I’m sure she’s around somewhere.” She stood and leaned over the counter, focusing on a nurse walking out of one of the other rooms. “Josie, did you check on Conridge?”

The nurse nodded. “They took her down to X-ray.”

Van felt the growl in the back of his throat. “Why? She’s already had X-rays.”

His sister put a hand on his arm. “Who took her to X-ray?”

The nurse shrugged, not seeming remotely concerned. “Must be a new orderly. I’ve never seen him before.”

The only thing that kept Van from going for both nurses’ throats was his sister’s hand on his shoulder, her cool voice in his ear.

“Not here. Not now.”

Van turned on his heel and stalked out. As soon as he made it outside, the flowers he’d bought for Irene were slammed against the wall.

“I shouldn’t have left her.”

“You went to get flowers,” his sister argued. “How long were we gone? Ten minutes?”

“I shouldn’t have left her,” he said again. “We have to find her.”

“You don’t think they’ll try and take her out of the country again, do you?”

“That’s it.” Van walked over to a pay phone outside the hospital. “I’m sick of this shit.”

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“We’re Van Holtzes, goddamnit,” he snarled, shoving coins into the pay phone. “Grandfather always said we stick together in the worst of times. Even when we despise each other.”

His sister’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t be calling
him
? Have you lost your mind? Dad will skin you alive.”

“Dad’s still licking his wounds. This is
my
mate we’re talking about. We both know I’ll do whatever I have to to get her back…and I
will
get her back.”

Irene stared up at the ceiling. She’d spotted the vent as soon as they dragged her into this room, kicking and screaming. But with her arm in a cast—and itching like Satan—she’d never be able to get up and out of it. So she’d had to come up with other options. And she had.

They’d brought her to a top-secret Air Force base. Somewhere in Texas.

She would say that they’d treated her well. Good food, wine, TV with cable and some ridiculous amount of channels. Perhaps twenty? Who in their right mind would spend time flipping through twenty channels?

But with all the good food and everything else came questions. Lots of questions. They wanted to know what the Soviets wanted, and whatever it was they wanted it for themselves. As if she would ever trust human males with anything so dangerous. Oppenheimer never got over what he unleashed on the world; she wouldn’t go down the same road.

Not only that…but she missed Van. To her horror. She missed another human being. What next? She’d start crying over cat commercials and buying cookies from those little fascists, Girl Scouts? Whom, to this day, she never forgave for not letting her into the local troop. Bitches.

Even worse, she wondered if Van missed her. No one ever had before. Irene was not the kind of woman people missed when she wasn’t around. Instead they mostly felt relief. Her students this semester must have been in absolute heaven with all the times she’d been out of the office the past few weeks.

Well, no bother. Everything was set. And they’d regret the day they ever set eyes on her.

Agent Harris walked into the room with two cans of ice-cold soda and smiled at her. She hated that smile. She hadn’t seen anything that fake since Jackie and Paul had talked her into going to dinner with them at the Playboy Club.

“Here you go, Professor Conridge.” He placed the can in front of her.

“Thank you.”

“You know, Niles Van Holtz is quite determined.”

“Yes. I’ve learned that.”

“He’s actually contacted the president about you.”

Irene snorted. “Reagan? He won’t help. He still hasn’t gotten over me doing a comparison between him and Hitler that time I was invited to the White House.”

Harris cleared his throat and sat down catty-corner from her. “Why don’t we talk a little about Jenny Fairgrove?”

“Jenny Fairgrove?” Irene blinked. “Oh, yes. She wants to be my teaching assistant. Although I doubt I’d give her the honor.”

“And why’s that?”

“She’s perky. For that alone I won’t give her the job.”

“That seems pretty harsh.”

“Albert Einstein could apply to be my TA, and if he were perky…I wouldn’t give him the job either. Of course after finding out that Mark worked for you the entire time, I’m not sure I’d trust anyone. And how is his face doing?”

Harris’ jaw clenched. “You fractured his right cheekbone with your cast.”

Irene stared at Harris but didn’t respond. Finally, the agent snapped, “Well? How do you feel about that?”

Blinking slowly five times, she flatly replied, “I feel nothing.” She shrugged. “It’s a gift and a curse.”

Irene glanced at the never-speaking agent, Marshal. “Do you think you could get me something for a headache? Aspirin is all that I require.”

The stalwart agent glanced at Harris, who gave him an affirming nod. He walked out, closing the door behind him, and Irene returned her attention to Harris, Mark’s shattered face already forgotten.

“So why are you asking me about Jenny Fairgrove?”

“We have intel she’s not quite who she says she is.”

Irene stared at Harris until he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Something wrong, Professor?”

“You’re of Scandinavian descent.”

“Uh…yes. I am.”

“Yes. I can tell from your bone structure.” Then she slammed her cast against his nose, angling it so she knocked him out but didn’t kill him.

Irene knelt beside his prone body and dug into his pants until she found his set of keys.

“Gotcha.”

“He said you were determined.”

With a sigh, Irene gripped the keys in her hand and glanced over her shoulder.

She didn’t know who this man was, but he didn’t seem friendly.

“Dr. Conridge?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He motioned to her. “Come on.” He held his hands out to her. “Let’s get you up.”

Really big hands took surprisingly gentle hold of her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“And you are?”

“All you need to know is I’m family.” He patted her on the head and she had the overwhelming desire to punch him in the testes. Which meant only one thing…

“You
must
be a Van Holtz.”

He grinned. “You can call me Uncle Edgar.” He pushed her toward the door. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was in Bogotá.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t you cute” seemed to be his only answer. “Now, let’s get you back before that nephew of mine turns the whole Pack and the United States government against him.”

Irene sighed. “I really wish I’d known you were coming.”

Uncle Edgar, who was an inhumanly large man, stared down at her, his eyes narrowing.
He looks
exactly
like Holtz.
“Why?” Although he looked like he didn’t want to know the answer.

Unfortunately he received that answer anyway thirty seconds later, when the east side of the base blew.

Before he could say anything, Irene explained, “Don’t worry. I took out the part of the base they’d closed down. But it’ll still wipe out the”—the lights flickered and went off, leaving them in complete darkness—“electricity.”

“Good thing I can see in the dark then, huh?” He took hold of her arm. “Let’s go.”

“What about Harris?”

“Don’t worry about him. He won’t be bothering you again.”

“Oh?” She didn’t need light to make herself crystal clear.

“No. No. I won’t kill him. Although I could. And your mate probably wants me to.” He led her into the pitch-black hall, and she let him because she really had no choice.

“You’re CIA, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you cute,” he said again.

“Yes. I’m painfully adorable.” He led her outside, the airmen scrambling to put out the strategic fire she’d planned. “Is there ever a time that the Van Holtz men don’t sound pompous?” she asked, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“Not since before Christ.”

Van stormed into the Van Holtz house and he watched every Pack member but his parents disappear. Even his sister grabbed her mate’s arm and pulled him from the room.

“Well?” he snarled. “Any word from Edgar?”

“Nope,” his father replied calmly, turning the page of his
Wall Street Journal
. The old man’s wounds had completely healed, a six-month trip around Europe for him and his mate booked, and the disturbing noises coming from behind their bedroom door suggested Old Man Holtz was thoroughly enjoying his retirement.

“Then I’m done waiting.”

“And what will you do, my son?” his mother asked as she worked on her needlepoint.

“Something!” he roared. “Which is more than any of you are doing. My mate is gone and no one cares!”

“Of course we care,” his mother chastised gently.

Afraid he’d say something that would irrevocably damage his loving relationship with his parents, Van turned and walked up the stairs toward his room. Throwing open his door, he tore off his jacket and tossed it across the room, moving over to the phone. He picked up the receiver but stopped when he heard sounds he found annoying and exhilarating all at the same time.

Tapping and beeping.

Dropping the phone back in its cradle, Van walked out of his room and across the hall. He pushed the door open, ignoring how it snagged on the multitude of wires and cords.

And there she sat. At her computer, plugging away at something he never would or wanted to understand.

He heard her give a little curse, annoyed that the fingers of her right hand weren’t moving as fast as she’d like them to. And he sensed that they hurt a bit too, since she kept bending them and wincing.

Van gave himself a moment to enjoy seeing her there…safe. And where she belonged.

She cursed again and turned sideways in her chair, bending her fingers and frowning down at her defenseless cast.

“Don’t even think about taking that cast off, doc.”

Irene’s head snapped up and she gave a relieved smile…seconds before she jumped out of the chair and charged into his arms.

Van held Irene tight against him, his relief at having her back in his arms nearly dropping him to his knees.

“I didn’t think you’d ever get home,” she said into his neck.

“Me?” he laughed. “You had me worried sick.”

“Blame the government. They wanted my formula.”

“Did they break you?”

Her sniff was arrogance personified. “Not in this lifetime. Although…”

“Although?”

“I wish I’d known your uncle was coming. They were really quite upset about the damage.”

Unwilling to release her, Van pulled back enough to see her face. “Damage?”

“From the explosion,” she answered simply.

“I don’t want to hear this, do I?”

“Probably not. Besides, your uncle said he’d take care of it.”

“Good enough.” Van lifted her and carried her back into their bedroom, slamming the door with his foot.

He laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her. “I missed you, doc.”

“I missed you, too.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, then they both sighed sadly.

“What have we done to ourselves?” Van asked.

“I don’t know. I was so happy not caring about anyone. Now I have all these…these…
emotions.
And it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?” Van began pulling off her clothes. “I’m Alpha Male of the Van Holtz Pack. That’s a female magnet, doc. I should be knee-deep in pussy. Instead I’m madly in love with you. Can’t imagine my life without you.”

“What about me?” she demanded, leaning up to let him get her T-shirt off her before she took hold of his sweatshirt and lifted it up. “My life was organized and controlled.
I
was controlled. Now all I can think about is having sex with you. The most irritating human being I’ve ever known.”

“Like you’re a ray of frickin’ sunshine? Uncle Verner is still trying to recover from that game of Risk.”

“If you can’t handle world domination, don’t pick up the die.”

Van stood at the end of the bed and dragged her jeans off. “Oh, that’s a very nice way of talking about your own family.”

“Family? When did they become family?”

“As soon as you agreed to marry me.”

“I never agreed to marry you.”

“Yes, you did. You just don’t remember.”

Irene got on her knees and undid his jeans. “Holtz, I have a memory computers dream about.”

“Don’t brag, baby. It’s tacky.” The fingers on her right hand wouldn’t cooperate, so he helped her get his jeans unzipped and pushed them down, kicking them, his shoes, and socks away. He shoved her back on the bed, pushing her into the mattress with his weight. “We’re getting married. Just deal with it.”

“Fine. But I’m not changing my name.”

“That’s fine. But we’re having a wedding.”

She made a clear sound of disgust.

“I don’t want to hear it, doc. I’ve got a lot of family. We’re having the wedding. A year from now, I’ve decided.”

“Well, I don’t have time to sit around worrying about napkins with our names on them and flowers or whatever.”

“I’ll handle all that.”

“Yes. You will.” She lifted her right arm with its cast above her head and wrapped her left around his neck. “Now. I’ve gone without sexual intercourse—”

“Fucking.”

“…f
ucking
, for four days. Get to work. You have much to make up for.”

Since she’d had the printer going nonstop for forty minutes, she never heard a thing. Then Jackie slapped her shoulder.

Startled, she spun around in the chair. “What?” She stared thoughtfully at her friend. “What’s with the dress?”

Jackie looked at the white dress she held in her hand and back at Irene. “It’s for you.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to any dinners tonight.” She faced her computer. “Holtz will understand.”

“Not this time, he won’t.”

“Besides,” Irene added, “I would never wear white to a charity dinner.”

“Irene Danielle Conridge!”

Glancing over her shoulder, “What? What did I do?”

“Apparently you forgot your wedding.”

Irene rolled her eyes. “No way. That’s not for a year.”

“It has been a year.”

“Don’t even try it. The wedding isn’t until October.”

“It is October.”

“October 1985.”

“It
is
1985.”

Irene’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “Not the 19th, though.”

“Yes, Irene. It’s Saturday, October 19th, 1985.”

“But it’s not eight o’clock.”

“No. It’s not.”

Irene let out a breath.

“It’s seven-forty-five…p.m.”

“Damn!” Irene stood up, rounding on her friend. “
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
”

“We’ve been telling you. Didn’t you notice the decorations, the people coming in and out…the dress fittings? Or how about when I walked in an hour ago and told you that you needed to get dressed for the wedding?”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

Jackie’s eyes closed. “Tell me you at least showered.”

“Uh…yesterday.”

“Oh!” Jackie stormed out into the hallway. “I need She-wolves! We have an emergency.”

“Aren’t you blowing this out of—”

“Shut up!”

She glanced at Jackie’s already protruding stomach and groused, “I’m so glad you and Paul decided to breed.”

“Don’t make me kill you. Because I
will
kill you.”

For the next thirty minutes, the She-wolves and one jackal subjected Irene to a litany of physical abuse including a shower, forcing her unruly hair into a lethally tight bun, slapping what she considered useless makeup on her face, and forcing her into a white sheath dress she’d never buy for herself.

Standing outside the closed doors leading to the ballroom and the waiting groom and guests, Irene glanced down at the bracelet Carrie placed on her wrist while Jackie put a matching necklace around her neck.