Complicated Creatures: Part Two Read online

  “We may have been going opposite directions, but our paths have brought us together again. And I’m ready now, Sammy. Ready to love you the way you need,” he told her. “Because I’m the only person in the world who knows how to, Sammy.”

  Jack’s face entered her mind, unbidden. The passion in his face when he told her he was falling in love with her, the way he’d kissed her the last time—

  Wes leaned forward, gently touching his mouth to hers, the press delicious and heady. And all her senses, once so finely attuned to him as a girl, turned toward him again like a gravitational pull. Sam listened to her heart pounding in her ears, felt her skin warm and prickly with awareness as he kissed her with teasing, mouthwatering kisses designed to tantalize and overpower any lingering doubts and defenses. It amazed her how she remembered him. She thought she might recognize his mouth and scent even if she couldn’t see him.

  Sam opened her eyes. What the hell am I doing?

  She pulled back a fraction, startled at what she’d allowed. Wes smiled down at her, caressing a finger along the plane of her cheek. He looked at her openly with the torch he still carried, the faith he had in their once-long-ago love.

  Maybe he was her soul mate, she considered fancifully. Maybe he was destined to return to her, a once-painful memory now healing some of the damage she couldn’t possibly fix on her own. But in that moment, he was unknowingly holding a mirror up to her, showing her the scars, all the obstacles and regrets holding her back. Because he did know her. Wes knew her before she’d had to withstand all the pain that had burned and forged her. He knew the girl she’d had to leave behind to survive it.

  No, she’d done better than survive it, she thought, pulling away.

  Sam stood, dusting off her jeans and picking up her cowboy hat.

  Wes watched her quizzically, rising slowly as well.

  “Wes, you were the love of my life once,” she told him, sliding on her hat. “And a girl never forgets her first love, no matter how hard she tries.” She ran a gentle hand down his arm before reaching his hand. “But you opened up a doorway when you left me. And I walked right through it. And now I’ve got to see it through.” She squeezed his hand, looking up at him. She watched Wes debate whether to push his position or yield to her decision. Something in her eyes must have helped him reach conciliation, because he finally squeezed her hand back.

  “You’re gonna go get that sonofabitch, aren’t you?”

  Sam felt a grin stretch her face as she let him go. “I told him not to harm a hair on Carey’s head,” she replied. “He didn’t listen.”

  She picked up Valkyrie’s reins and swung up smoothly. Wes came to stand beside her, his hand on her calf as he looked up at her.

  “You make enemies the way you make proselytes, Sammy girl,” he remarked, bemused. “With moxie.”

  “Is there any other way?” she replied, turning Val. “Don’t wait for me, Wes. We’ve both been holding onto the past for too long. And we both deserve better.”

  He squeezed her calf before letting her go and stepping back. “I never deserved you, Sammy, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight like hell to get you back,” he shouted as she took off in a gallop.

  Chapter 10

  December 8th—Late Night

  Jaime’s house in Oak Park, Illinois

  J A C K

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Jack glanced up from the fireplace he’d been staring at during his rumination, his smile faint as he looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Story of my life.”

  Jaime shuffled into the living room in his pajama pants and a bathrobe, the gauze bandages visible underneath the terry cloth. Jack’s mood darkened as he watched his brother slowly take a seat at the other end of the sofa.

  “Why are you up?” he asked, watching Jaime suck in a tight breath as he leaned back against the cushions.

  “Need painkillers,” Jaime muttered.

  “Didn’t the nurse give you some before you fell asleep?”

  Jaime shook his head. “Told her no. I hate feeling all doped up. I can’t think properly—”

  “Jaime,” Jack sighed. “You got shot a few days ago. Give yourself a goddamn break and take the pills.”

  “What’re you drinking?” his brother asked instead, eyeing the crystal cut glass in his hand.

  “Scotch,” Jack answered, taking a sip before turning back to look at the fire.

  He could hear the reproach coming—

  “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

  And there it was.

  “My brother was nearly killed and I broke up with my girlfriend in the same week. Color me traumatized,” Jack replied, droll.

  Jaime sighed.

  “Just say it,” Jack muttered, feeling the tension tighten his temples. “I can feel you thinking it ever since I told you, so just fucking say it.”

  Jaime watched him for what felt like minutes.

  “It’s a mistake,” he finally said aloud. “You made a mistake, Jack.”

  Jack’s fingers tightened around the glass. He fought the urge to drink down the rest of the scotch.

  “All your life, the only thing you ever gave a damn about was our family and your business,” Jaime continued. “You moved through everything, flowing right over everyone; you just kept going.” Jaime rubbed his neck. “I never saw you open up for anyone until Sam. Before you met her, you never gave a damn about anyone enough to bother.”

  “That’s the fucking problem,” Jack muttered, taking another slow sip of Macallan. “I turned myself inside out for her, and she left me hanging. That’s not love, Jaime. That’s self-flagellation.”

  “Hey, love hurts,” Jaime replied teasingly. “Didn’t Nazareth sing that? It must be true then,” he joked.

  Jack sat back, rubbing his tired eyes. “It was The Everly Brothers first. 1960.”

  “And you think I’m a nerd.” Jaime smirked, pushing himself up slowly before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and a bottle of his painkillers. He downed a couple, returning to sit down next to Jack before he put his arm around his brother.

  “Sitting up all night, drinking like a bum, and being depressed isn’t you, man. If that doesn’t show you how wrong you are to give this woman up, what does?” Jaime squeezed Jack’s shoulder gently before standing again and shuffling toward the staircase. “I love you, Gianni,” Jaime told him, his hand on the banister. “I love that you take care of me and my daughter, no matter what. But you need to take care of yourself too, you know?” Jaime yawned, starting up the stairs. “Stop hitting the sauce and get some sleep, man.”

  Jack nodded, waving him off. He looked down at the scotch in his glass.

  “Ai mali estremi, mali rimedi,”16 he said before taking another swallow.

  As Jack lowered the glass, his eyes fell on the prescription bottle Jaime’d left on the coffee table. He glanced back at the staircase, wondering if he should take it up to him.

  Jack picked the bottle up, holding it up so he could read the label in the firelight. Dilaudid, 4mg, every four to six hours as needed.

  Jack stared into the fire, his thumb rubbing the ridges of the bottle cap as he thought through every reason he shouldn’t.

  I haven’t touched anything in over four years.

  He twisted the bottle cap a fraction.

  It just hurts this bad right now. It’ll get easier.

  He twisted the bottle cap again.

  Fuck, they’ll all be so disappointed… Jack imagined Jaime and his parent’s faces. Mitch’s consternation.

  He heard the unlocking click of the bottle cap.

  I just need a little rest. I just need to forget her for a while—

  The bottle cap popped off, landing on the coffee table. He palmed two small white pills.

  I can’t take any more of this, trapped in my head, wondering if I made the worst mistake of my life. I just need a little relief, he thought. Just tonight…

  Jack held the p
ills in his palm, rolling them around in his hand.

  Last chance.

  Nothing’s ever hurt so bad. Nothing’s ever hurt like this…

  Jack tossed the pills in his mouth, washing them down with the scotch. He closed the prescription bottle slowly.

  Just this once.

  Just for now…

  He closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillows as the minutes passed and his body slowly loosened, the tension fading from his limbs and mind as he became lax in a languorous trance.

  There. That’s better.

  I’m alright. I’m alright.

  Am I alright…?

  Jack drowsily set down his empty glass and put the bottle back in the kitchen cabinet before wandering to the room he stayed in whenever he was at Jaime’s. He stretched out on top of the bed, his heart beating slowly as his mind became a pleasant, hazy blur of half-formed thoughts and recollections. He smiled lazily in the dark.

  He’d missed this. He missed how this felt. He missed—

  Jack frowned.

  He missed her. God, how he missed her.

  Jack focused again on the lethargy that pulled him slowly under. Not battling it, just allowing it to happen. He shifted, turning on his side. Unwittingly, he reached out for her, imagining her stretched out beside him, her back curled to his chest. He sighed, tipping toward unconsciousness.

  “Samantha,” Jack breathed.

  Samantha.

  *

  December 9th—Morning

  The Pentagon, Washington D.C.

  S A M A N T H A

  “Lieutenant Commander Wyatt. Long time no see.”

  “Sir.” Samantha stood, rendering a snappy salute to Admiral Morrissey. “Always a pleasure, sir.”

  Admiral Morrissey saluted back with a smile, despite the fact Sam was retired and wearing a sleek YSL business suit rather than her Navy dress blues. “At ease,” he chuckled, shaking her hand. “Aren’t you a sight after all these years?” He smiled, his brown eyes warm. “Once Susie hears you’re in town, she’s gonna want to invite you to dinner.”

  Sam smiled back at her former CO, her heart warming. This man taught her so much in the time she’d served in the Navy. He’d headed the Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center out of Houston for years before being promoted to admiral during the Iraq War. He was one of the shrewdest men she’d ever had the good fortune to meet, and he’d taught her a great deal about naval intelligence. Admiral Morrissey still sported the deep tan of a man who’d been outdoors most of his life, but his brown hair was nearly completely white now.

  “Very few pleasures in the world match your wife’s Napoleon cake, sir. How’s her bakery doing?” Sam asked.

  “Wonderful,” he smiled, leading her into his office. “She’s become the premiere wedding cake designer in town. I’m lucky if I get to see her at all during the summer,” he told her, pride in his face.

  “She always was gifted,” Sam agreed, glancing around at the handsome office and heavy mahogany furniture as he gestured toward the guest seats. Admiral Morrissey’s private office boasted a stunning view of the Potomac River. “You’ve done well, sir,” she admired. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “You would have done better if you’d stayed,” he replied, sitting across from her.

  “Once a soldier, always a soldier,” she answered with a smile.

  “I’ve been keeping track of you over the years,” Morrissey continued. “You’ve made some impressive moves in the private sector.”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s been a good challenge. You know I was never one for idle hands.”

  “Or resting on your family’s laurels,” he commented, his expression approving. “I’ve been waiting for you, actually. Can’t say I was at all surprised when you called a few days ago.”

  “Sir,” Sam inclined her head, “I wouldn’t darken your door if it wasn’t of life-threatening importance.”

  “Samantha Wyatt, you oughtta know you can darken my door anytime,” Morrissey chided, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a file. “I’m just sorry to see you again under these circumstances.” He handed her the file, red-stamped “Classified.”

  As she flipped through the pages, gory crime-scene photographs, and investigation notes, Morrissey sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.

  “Retired Corporal Cartwright was the first victim nearly two weeks ago. Foul play was suspected, but given his alcoholism and drug use after his discharge from the military,” Morrissey shrugged, “there was no way to tell whether it was linked to his other debts and issues.”

  Samantha nodded. Two shots. One to the knee. Fatal shot to the head. He’d been weak already, beaten and tortured by the looks of it. He was one of two constant guards at the facility they’d held Arman in. And given his remains, Sam suspected he’d told everything he could remember, and he’d named names.

  So that’s how Ibrahim Nazar had figured out who she was after all these years.

  “When Staff Sergeant Moon was found slaughtered just outside a bar near Altus Air Force Base in Oklahoma a few days later, the military police put two-and-two together.”

  “They didn’t get to Colonel Collins in time,” she murmured, looking at the mangled, charred pieces of his body in the photo.

  “Sadly, no. He was killed about four days ago.”

  When she was laid up in Rio…

  Sam drew in a shaky breath. “Are their families alright?”

  “Unharmed,” Morrissey assured her. “Cartwright was divorced. His ex-wife is living in another state. Moon was single, and Colonel Collin’s wife was out of town visiting their daughter when it happened.”

  Sam exhaled.

  So she was the only one left. The last piece on the chessboard for Nazar to enact revenge upon.

  “Sir, he attempted to kidnap me in Rio last week,” she told him as she sifted through the investigation notes.

  “I heard.”

  Sam glanced up.

  “You wouldn’t by any chance know how a Leviathan plane full of cadavers ended up in Caracas, would you?”

  Sam shrugged, looking back down at the file. “Sounds like a run of bad luck.”

  “Isn’t Leviathan your top competitor?”

  “What can I say?” she smiled briefly. “The market’s a real killer these days.”

  Morrissey tutted, though a begrudging admiration lit his eyes. “When that news came from the CIA, I knew you’d be fine.”

  “Sir, Nazar is being protected by Leviathan. He’s back in Afghanistan.”

  “We know,” Morrissey nodded.

  “Is the military or the CIA planning any retaliatory action?” Sam asked.

  Morrissey stood and walked over to his window, looking out over the Potomac as he clasped his hands behind his back. “You killed Nazar’s son in 2006, correct?”

  “July 2006. Yes, sir.”

  “You thought using him as bait would lure his father out?”

  “Yes, sir. Our strategy was simple. We took Arman to a highly visible location—a brothel he was known to frequent before his capture—and laid in wait until either his father came to find him or until he sent his men to lead us back to him.”

  “Nazar’s an elusive bastard, I’ll give him that,” Morrissey muttered before turning back to her. “There will be no sanctioned retaliatory moves against Ibrahim Nazar on behalf of the United State government,” he told her, his voice firm.

  “Sir?” Sam stood, anger spiking her veins as she schooled herself to remain calm and collected. “You mean to tell me we’re allowing him to get away with murdering three U.S. citizens who served our nation with valor?”

  Morrissey smiled grimly at her. “I said ‘sanctioned,’ didn’t I?”

  Sam sat back down as he walked back toward his desk, handing her another folder.

  Sam opened it, speed-reading the document.

  “A great deal has happened in the last eight years, Sam,” Morrissey started. “Nazar has found his way
back into the good graces of the U.S., as well as NATO allies, by supplying the coordinates of several crucial Taliban insurgents.”

  “You mean warlords who were taking over the opium fields he left behind when he fled to Pakistan, sir?” Sam replied, her expression sardonic as she looked up from the file.

  “A deal’s a deal,” Morrissey shrugged. “The powers that be agreed to let him back into his home country, with the express condition that he give us viable intelligence on disruptive influences and threats to U.S. and NATO security both there and abroad, in addition to the guarantee that he wouldn’t leave Afghan soil,” Morrissey told her. “That also means we can’t officially sanction an assassination attempt on him either.”

  “But he was funding the Taliban before he fled,” she argued.

  “Well he’s not funding them now,” Morrissey pointed out. “He turned snitch, and now he’s got a full-time protective detail protecting him from the very groups he once supplied. How well do you think that man sleeps at night?”

  Samantha closed the file he’d handed her. “With all due respect, sir, this is horse shit.”

  Morrissey chuckled. “I think I like you even better now, Samantha. Nice to see some fire back in your gut.”

  “It was always there, sir,” she replied.

  Morrissey leaned back, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes assessing. “You were cold as ice when you served in intelligence. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. Now I can see the flare in your eyes. It’s a good change.”

  “Nazar not only threatened me, he killed good men I served with, harmed someone I love, and attacked a business I’ve worked hard to build. That’s not flare you’re seeing, sir,” she told him, her voice resolute. “It’s the righteous fury of an extremely pissed off woman.”

  Morrissey shook his head, a little mirth playing around his mouth. “I pity Nazar and Lightner. Those idiots just took you on at their own peril.”

  Sam held up the file. “So you’re hiring me and my team at Lennox Chase as subcontractors?”

  Morrissey nodded. “Gets you access to our air bases in Afghanistan, arms, supplies, coordinates, intel… everything you’d need except active U.S. military personnel.”