Complicated Creatures: Part One Read online

  Rebecca’s mouth opened, closed…opened.

  Jack lifted a hand, cutting her off at the pass. “I’ll have a courier send you anything else that belongs to you this week,” he told her. “Now, seriously—please just leave.”

  Rebecca snatched up her coat, shoving her arms through it, massacring him with her eyes. “You don’t screw a woman like you did me for months and then just turn to the next one, Jack. There’s such a thing as karma.”

  Jack’s chin jutted up. “Good thing you’re not in charge of it, then.”

  She picked up her duffel, stepping past him with her shoulders squared. “I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I ever saw in you.”

  “Likewise,” he replied, slamming the door.

  Chapter 15

  October—Wednesday lunch

  West Village, New York City

  S A M A N T H A

  “Hey, Sammy—you all right?” Carey asked, setting his papers down on the restaurant table.

  Sam was staring out into space, her thoughts drifting back to Sunday evening and Jack’s frantic voicemail. “I’m sorry. That was mortifying. Please, please let me in. Or come over. Just…I need to see you.”

  “You’ve been head-in-the-clouds all morning. You want to review these proposals or what?”

  Sam snapped out of it, realizing she’d been staring out over the tables at Sushi Nakazawa toward the front door like she was waiting for Jack to walk in. Her cheeks colored as if she’d been caught watching porn at work. She shook her head, a rueful smile on her face. “Sorry, Bear. Too little sleep. Could you repeat that?” she asked, sipping her tea.

  They’d decided to meet over a late lunch after client appointments all morning. Given the mid-afternoon timing, there were only a few idle diners, giving them privacy and the run of the place.

  Carey regarded her, shrewd gaze assessing. He crossed his arms after a moment, leaning on the table toward her. “You want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low.

  Sam shrugged. “Nothing to talk about unless you like listening to a woman’s worries,” she replied, thanking the waiter as he refilled her cup.

  “I know we just started this, but Samantha, it’s already more than I’ve experienced with anyone else. Call me. Come see me. Please.” She’d listened to his voicemails a couple times before deleting them. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do with him when she returned to Chicago.

  “Give me the request for the proposal?” she asked, pointing at the paperwork sitting next to his elbow.

  Carey’s brow furrowed. “Sammy, I say this with love, but you’re full of shit if you think it isn’t perfectly obvious that you’re totally distracted and it’s not due to lack of sleep.”

  Sam said nothing, continuing to hold out her hand for the sheaf of papers.

  He sighed, handing them to her as he walked through the details. “NBS wants to do a primetime feature on Rio de Janeiro with the World Cup and Olympics coming up. Rick Landiss, the executive producer, wants to walk us through the specifics once they figure out the crew, but it sounds like a four-part feature on the socioeconomic and political situation in Rio before the Games. They have a tentative timeline of two months out.”

  “Why does he want us?” she murmured, riffling through the contract. “He has basic security on payroll already.”

  Carey nodded. “Normally, that would be fine, but he wants to hire freelance to work with some established anchors, and he knows those types of photojournalists don’t take kindly to the babysitters they normally employ. He also hinted at needing people who could provide translation and assistance with local contacts.”

  “So NBS wants security who can blend in with journalists, speak Portuguese, and have contacts in Rio they can leverage to get the difficult interviews.” Sam thought about it a moment. “I’d say Rush, Talon, and Michaelson for sure. What do you think?”

  “Rush is ready to take a lead role now,” Carey agreed. “And he’s easy to get along with, so it’s more likely he’d be a good fit. Talon on background security and sharpshooting makes sense. Why Michaelson?”

  She shrugged. “I can think of a couple good reasons. First, he needs to do a hands-on gig without us, see how the guys typically operate. Second, who else would be better for negotiating the nightmare clusterfuck they call a road system in Brazil?” she pointed out. “He’d be perfectly positioned to lead transport and teach some of the guys a few things.”

  “I like it,” Carey agreed, sitting back as the waiter delivered their dishes.

  Sam’s mouth watered as she looked over the hay-smoked skipjack and the tender sea scallops.

  “How many pieces we get here?” Carey asked.

  “Twenty-one pieces total, hand selected by Chef Nakazawa,” she replied, picking up a piece with her chopsticks.

  “Christ,” he groaned. “I’ll need a burger after this. How can this be enough?” Carey groaned, biting into his nigiri. Then he groaned for another reason. “Forget it. I’ll just order three more helpings of this heaven,” he sighed in pleasure.

  “How many people do they anticipate will be on the ground?” she asked.

  “Anywhere between ten and fifteen,” Carey answered.

  “Okay,” she nodded. “Build the proposal around those three guys running point. When does Landiss want to meet?”

  “Mid-November.”

  “Who else is bidding?” Sam asked.

  Carey scooped up a wad of ginger, tossing it in his mouth. “Lord, this is good,” he sighed. The waiter hastily cleared their dishes, setting down succulent pieces of medium-fatty tuna touched with Japanese mustard over cloud puffs of white rice. “Leviathan was approached peripherally, like us, but nothing definitive. I think it’ll be a two-horse race.”

  “They’re going to love that we’re stealing their people and their clients,” Sam smirked.

  “By the way, Kurt made good. Avi Oded finally returned my call,” Carey informed her, biting into his sushi.

  “Really? You two got a meet set?” she asked, knowing how badly Carey had wanted to recruit the ex-Israeli Sayeret Matkal operative.

  “Better than that. He’s going to be here in New York on Friday, visiting his daughter. I’d like to give him an offer. Take a look,” he said, handing her his tablet.

  Sam kept half her attention on Carey’s chopsticks, preventing him from reaching them over the lip of her plate to snag her tuna while she reviewed the contract. Carey had been stealing food from her plate for as long as she could remember. Probably one of the reasons he’d grown so damn big, she thought to herself, eyes skimming through the offer.

  “Whoa, that’s a big number,” she murmured, reading the draft of Oded’s financial package. “You want to bring Oded in at Michaelson’s level?”

  “Well, yeah,” Carey shrugged, spearing the mackerel the waiter had set down after clearing the previous dish. “He’s one of the top counter-terrorism and hostage rescue guys from the Israeli Defense Force. We don’t have another specialist in deep recon at his level. Think of the team he could develop and train up. It’d be another sound investment.”

  “Why’s he interested in jumping ship?” she asked, wondering if Avi Oded was being set up as good-looking bait from Leviathan now that they were losing men to her left and right.

  “Kurt said he was asked to go to Afghanistan for the Nazar gig too. Apparently, Oded told them to shove the assignment and took an indefinite vacation to St. Tropez.”

  Her brows rose. “Nice middle finger.”

  “Kurt figures he’ll be quitting anyway. Might as well get while the getting is good,” Carey reasoned.

  “How many more are Michaelson and Henri talking into coming over?” she asked, sipping her tea.

  “At least four more high profile ex-Special Forces guys from various countries. I feel like I’m reading profiles on one of those dating websites,” Carey grinned. “And I want them all.”

  “Got a lot of experience with that, do you?” she teased, h
anding him back his tablet.

  Carey colored, distracting himself with yet another piece of sushi, this time wild yellowtail from Hokkaido.

  “You and Willa still good?” she asked.

  He glanced up, a big, happy smile on his mouth.

  “Carrick Nelson. Why I do believe you are in love,” Sam chuckled. “You’ve got that doe-eyed look about you.”

  “Doe, my ass,” he looked affronted. “I’m a twelve-point buck, at least.”

  “Hmm. We’ll see what Willa has to say about that,” she replied archly.

  “Does this mean we get to talk about relationships now? Because if we’re going there, I’d like to know how Milwaukee was.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “You get to ask me about my sex life never.”

  “Hey—you started it.”

  “What are you, five?” she smirked. “Besides, Willa’s my girl. You hardly know Jack.”

  “I know him well enough to know he wanted to kill Simon with his bare hands last Saturday,” Carey responded.

  “So he’s got an over-developed sense of chivalry,” she responded, fiddling with her teacup.

  “Uh, no. That’s not what that was. Christ, you’re blind,” Carey huffed.

  “Really? What am I missing then?”

  “That guy’s gone over you. He’s been in deep since the day we went sailing at least.”

  She thought about Jack’s text this morning: “Where are you, Samantha? I’ve left you half a dozen messages. Please come over. I want a redo of what we missed out on Sunday. Talk to me. Please.”

  “It’s casual. Nothing. Hell, it’s probably already over,” Sam admitted after a moment, wondering where the hell the words were coming from. She never talked about this kind of stuff with Carey.

  The waiter brought tiger shrimp on delicate white plates.

  “Why?” Carey asked, watching her.

  She picked up her sushi. “I’m not exactly Ms. Commitment,” she replied, biting into her shrimp. “And he’s got women taking numbers to get in line at his door like a deli counter.”

  “Bullshit,” Carey spluttered, laughing.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

  Carey lifted his phone, grinning. “Cause he won’t stop texting me asking when you’re coming back.”

  She chuckled. “Now you’re my dating answering service? My how the mighty have fallen.”

  Carey downed his tiger shrimp in a single gulp. “Only desperation gets a guy to contact the best friend.”

  “He had Rebecca Holland at his place on Sunday when he was supposed to be making me dinner. Hardly desperate, I’d say.”

  Carey’s eyes widened. “He’s got some balls.”

  She shrugged. “No big deal. Just a bit of fun.”

  Carey watched her until she lifted her brows. He held up his hands. “None of my business.”

  “Exactly,” she murmured. “You see Marvin loaded up my meetings in Asia? I think I’ll leave Chicago on Friday or Saturday since I’ll lose a day traveling.”

  Carey nodded. “Marvin’s got you scheduled for two weeks’ worth of meetings now, right? You want me to fly over after I meet with Oded?”

  Sam shook her head. “Nah. Hold down the fort in Chicago and keep your eye on London. I’ll be meeting with the usual clients in Hong Kong and Singapore. Hopefully picking up a couple new ones in Japan and Korea on the return leg.”

  Their waiter set down two gorgeous pieces of Alaskan ivory king salmon. Carey issued a little moan of excitement over his favorite sushi. She loved how easily Carey found joy, just like when he’d been a boy. Sam smiled into her tea cup.

  “What?” he asked, looking at her with bright, happy eyes, the sushi halfway to his mouth.

  “Thank you, Bear,” she told him quietly.

  “For what?” he asked, his face a question mark as he chewed, his chopsticks inching toward her piece of salmon.

  For being you, for being my best friend, my brother, my right-hand…

  “For not eating my piece,” she smiled, popping the second piece of salmon into her mouth.

  *

  October—Thursday night

  The Whitney, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  Sam walked into her bedroom, shedding her dress and unwinding her hair from the French twist she’d worn all day. She’d had what felt like a long, endless week of prospective clients to acquire, distressed clients to dispense with, reports on her division’s progress, pending promotions, budgets, issues… It was all exhausting, and she had even more ahead of her in Asia tomorrow. She considered bathing and sleeping, but she was too wired and restless to lay down.

  You’ve been avoiding him all week.

  Sam admitted to herself that she missed him. Actually missed seeing him, talking to him, his touch… Dear God, his touch. She’d always been so good about taking her pleasures while remaining separate; affectionate but uninvolved. But this…this was proving too difficult to ignore in the usual way. Sam was craving him, addicted after one evening of the long and luxurious hit that was Jack Roman.

  He’d sent her flowers each day this week, according to the concierge. It was a lovely, traditional gesture that both surprised and seduced her when she walked into her penthouse. There was decadently fragrant jasmine interwoven with orange blossoms, stunning, highly cultivated orchids, dramatic and heady magnolias, and ambrosial, blush-tipped peonies that smelled so luscious, she’d closed her eyes as she’d breathed them in.

  Each day a new set of flowers… Each day a new note on heavy linen card stock, neatly followed by a bold, scrawling “-J.”

  Monday: You’re intoxicating.

  Tuesday: Everywhere, small reminders. How you look, how you taste, your scent. I couldn’t stop thinking of you if I tried.

  Wednesday: I’m waiting for you.

  Thursday: Come to me.

  Sam glanced at her watch. It was just after eleven. She wanted to go to him, knew he’d be waiting for her, but she was apprehensive, unsure of what it meant to already miss him, to want him this badly when she’d become so good at not wanting anyone or anything too much. Not wanting anything made her good at her job. She always had the upper hand, and having few vulnerabilities kept her calm under the inevitable pressures. But there was something so deliciously alluring about walking the knife’s edge with Jack, of allowing herself the pleasure of being near him while trying not to fall into the crucible of his heat.

  Sam considered why she was so taken with him, examining the puzzle pieces of what she knew about him in the short time they’d spent together. Jack didn’t downplay himself or over amp. He was smart without the pretentiousness; affable and humorous with the right amount of self-deprecation. He was aware of his attractiveness without being shameless about it. But what she liked most, what she was most surprised by, was how thoroughly he lived life without simply languishing on his good fortune and family name. Rather, he enhanced that fortune, working around the conventions that came with his family ties with a slight rebelliousness that was so subtle, one might never see past the high polish he was so good at presenting. In the quiet moments she’d spent getting to know him, she liked that Jack was so unexpectedly grounded despite all the trappings. She could see why women flocked to him, even beyond the physical gratification and the spoils. She couldn’t blame Rebecca for her lapse of composure at losing him. Jack Roman was the real deal, the total package. Any woman would be lucky to have him. And she did have him. For now…

  Sam took a deep breath, finding her swimsuit and slipping into it, wondering if her regular nighttime swim would be enough to draw him out and if she would be disappointed if it didn’t. While she wasn’t entirely ready to step up to his door and announce herself, she wasn’t going to alter her routines in favor of avoiding him. In fact, if she got very lucky, Jack would save her the effort and come to her. A short, wonderful interlude before she hit the road again in the morning.

  The pool was dark and silent, steam risin
g gently as she turned on the lights. The autumn night air was chilly, making the pool feel warm like bath water. She floated, enjoying it for a moment, before diving underwater, swimming up from the bottom quickly to begin her ritual.

  Would he come?

  He’ll come, her confidence assured her.

  But if he doesn’t? Her heart asked in kind.

  He will.

  And if he does?

  Sam flipped, kicking out fast, her heart racing.

  And if he does…?

  Sam breathed deep, launching into a smooth breaststroke, bracing against the cold air before sluicing back into the warm saltwater of the pool. She lost track of the strokes, focusing on form and movement, loosening muscles tight from a day of sitting in endless meetings and the quiet flight home. As she finally slowed, she saw Jack standing at the edge of the pool, watching her with eyes so pale, they reflected the pool lights.

  Sam dipped back, pushing her hair over her shoulders before swimming to the edge where he stood, smiling at her with that sexy grin of his. He knelt to his haunches, running a hand down the side of her face as he wiped the wetness off one cheek with his thumb.

  “Did you come back to me? Or was it just the allure of a swim?” he asked, tilting her face upward. Jack leaned forward, kissing her gently before drawing back a fraction, waiting for her answer.

  “The pool,” she answered, turning her face to capture his thumb, giving it quick bite. “I missed the pool,” she teased, lowering back down until only her eyes were above water.

  He was wearing his late-night uniform of dark lounge pants and a soft tee. Jack gazed at her for a moment before stripping down to dark boxer briefs. She admired his beautiful, athletic body illuminated by the reflections from the pool before he slipped into the water, moving toward her slowly. Jack circled her before ducking underwater. He slid his hands up over her legs first, sliding up her waist and back, his mouth finding hers before he’d even fully emerged from the water. His kiss was hot and dazzling.