Rules of Re-engagement
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But not with Grayson.
A sudden nausea swooped through her stomach. Guilt swamped her chest. Her hands felt clammy. “Grayson I…I’m sorry, I need some time. I need to think about this. We haven’t—” she lowered her voice, conscious of staff “—we haven’t even slept together in months. I thought that maybe—”
“That maybe I was losing interest?” He laughed easily, lightly, but she could see in his eyes that he was anything but taking this easily. He grasped her hands, a little too tightly. “Look, Olivia, no one said dating a vice president was easy. We have no privacy, no real time to ourselves, no policy book to follow. We’re writing our own rules here. But we’re right for each other. We always have been.” He reached up, moved a lock of hair off her face and looped it gently behind her ear. “And that other thing—” he smiled “—I’ve arranged for a room tonight.”
Panic kicked at her heart. She knew in this very instant how wrong this was. She could not sleep with him again. She’d allowed this to go too far. Her association with Grayson had been pleasant. He’d been good company during her deeply lonely times. He’d helped her see some of her major UN projects through the power halls of Washington. He’d given her causes audience before Congress and the Senate. With Grayson’s alliance, she’d been able to help the less privileged people of the world—refugees, political prisoners held without cause, human rights abuse victims. Her work was her life and he’d smoothed roads for her.
She wasn’t going to lie about it—Grayson Forbes had helped her help others. And that was partly why she’d kept on seeing him, partly why she’d slipped so easily into the convenience of the relationship, the friendship.
But she should not have allowed this to happen.
She honestly hadn’t seen it coming. She’d been about to end it.
Olivia looked into his eyes, her heart twisting. She didn’t want to hurt this man. And she didn’t want to turn him down in front of all these people. It would humiliate him. It would make him furious. And fury in Grayson was a terrifying thing. He couldn’t hide it as well as her father could.
“Grayson,” she said firmly, “this is really bad timing for me.”
His eyelids flickered sharply, and his fist curled over a napkin. She covered his hand gently with hers. “Please, give me a bit of time. I…I’ve been under incredible stress at work, with this refugee project, and the trial in the Hague. And—”
“You’re making excuses, Olivia.” There was a new hardness in his voice, an edge born of hurt. “The timing is perfect. All those things you mentioned have just been wrapped up. I know this. That’s why—”
“That’s why I need a holiday, a break. Out of town. Just to get my thoughts together. I haven’t been feeling myself lately.”
His mouth flattened, and the light left his eyes. Her guilt deepened.
“Can we wait until after the election to talk about this?” she said softly. “When things have calmed down, when you leave office, maybe we can go away together, like normal people, away from the cameras, the press, the politics, bodyguards. We can talk about things.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “Why now? Why the rush?”
“There is no rush. I’ve wanted this for a long time, Olivia. Much too long.”
She took the ring off, her hands beginning to shake. She held it out to him. “It’s beautiful. Everything is beautiful, the restaurant, the music. You. But I’m not ready.”
He glared at the ring. Then he closed her hand so tightly around it she could feel the stones cut into her palm. His eyes burned into hers. “Keep it. Call it a thinking ring. Mull it over for a few days, and I’ll give you another when you say yes.” He smiled suddenly, falsely, reached for the bottle of wine, poured a glass for her and then himself. “Because I know you’re not going to turn me down, Olivia.”
She stared at the burgundy liquid still swirling in her glass. “I…I really think I should go, Grayson. I—”
“Come on, sweetheart, we’ve been together far too long for games like that. You’re here now, share a meal with me. Please.” He raised his glass. “And let’s have a drink—” His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over the crystal rim. “To our future…and to your answer.” He sipped, his eyes locked on hers.
Olivia reached for her glass and took a deep swallow—too deep.
22:58 Romeo. Olivia Killinger’s apartment.
Manhattan. Tuesday, October 7.
Jacques lifted the edge of the drape slightly with the backs of his fingers and watched the black SUV come to a stop down in the street outside her building. The agent opened the door, and Olivia climbed out.
His heart thudded quietly in the dark.
Another vehicle, some distance behind the SUV, pulled into a parking space behind a sedan that had been stationed across from her building since he arrived. Changing of the guards—there was more than one outfit watching Olivia tonight.
Whoever was in that sedan would have seen him enter her building. They would not, however, know that he’d been heading for her apartment.
He watched the way the row of yellow lights under the portico caught auburn glints in Olivia’s hair. Then she disappeared. She’d be up any minute.
He dropped the drape, moved into position near the door, waited.
The elevator bell clanged softly down the hall. He timed it mentally, how long it would take her to walk down the hall. A key slotted into the lock, turned. His body tensed.
After sixteen years, he was going to hear her voice again.
Olivia paused. Something didn’t feel right. It was as if there’d been a subtle shift in the chemistry of the air. She leaned toward her door, listened, but could hear nothing. She frowned, shrugged it off. It was her; it had to be. Her whole world had shifted on its axis tonight and she was just feeling off-kilter, that’s all. She pushed the door open, stepped into her apartment and reached for the hall light switch—
A hand grabbed hers. She opened her mouth to scream, but another clamped down hard over her lips. She was twisted around sharply, dragged into the apartment. The door slammed shut—and all was dark. Panic punched her heart. She struggled maniacally, but the grip on her only tightened. Her attacker was male, huge and incredibly strong. His limbs felt like iron.
“It’s all right, Livie,” he whispered against her ear, “hold still, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She froze. Livie? Only one person in this world had ever called her that, and he was dead.
“Relax.” He spoke low, quietly, his breath warm against her neck. She could detect the scent of expensive aftershave. She could feel his coat was made of wool. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to let you go. Promise me you won’t scream, okay?”
The man had an accent. French—not Canadian French, continental French. Yet there was something familiar about the timbre of the voice, the way it curled through her, stirring something dark and forbidden in the depths of her soul. Her chest constricted like a vise over her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred.
“Did you hear me?” he whispered.
She nodded her head. He released her mouth cautiously, waiting to see if she would scream. She didn’t. He turned her slowly round to face him, and he flicked the light on.
And her heart stopped.
Chapter 2
23:01 Romeo. Olivia Killinger’s apartment.
Manhattan. Tuesday, October 7.
She looked up into his eyes—unmistakable eyes—ice gray and crystal clear. They sliced into her like a laser, flaying her open right down to her soul. No other eyes could do that to her. She’d never, ever seen eyes quite like his.
It was Jack.
Olivia tried to swallow, tried to get a grip on what she was seeing right here in her apartment—Jack Sauer. Alive.
But he was older, harder, colder—with a vicious scar that sliced down the left side of his face, along the sharp angle of his cheekbone, down to his mouth. Curving his lips into a subtle, permanent—if sexy—sneer. It made him look dangerous.
It reminded her he was a felon, wanted by the FBI for the murder of her cousin Elizabeth. It reminded her he was supposed to be dead—killed by a grizzly in the Alaskan wilderness north of Mount McKinley.
And he was blocking her door—the only way out.
Her heart began to race. Fear whispered in the periphery of her mind. Her cell phone was in the purse that she’d just dropped to the floor. She was trapped.
Questions scrambled wildly over each other, tangling in her mind until she could hold no one thread straight. If he was alive, why had he not contacted her once in sixteen years? Why was he back now? Where had he been all this time?
“Jack…?”
“Jacques,” he said. “It’s Jacques Sauvage now. Jack Sauer died a long time ago, Olivia.”
She stared at him. This was impossible. Moose hunters had discovered his wrecked camp in the trackless Alaskan wilderness. They’d alerted rangers who had found ID, his books, clothes, his shotgun, spent shells—evidence of a grizzly attack. DNA had proved the blood in the camp was his. Rangers had said it looked like he’d wounded the bear before being dragged off himself.
“God, it’s good to see you again,” he whispered darkly as he touched the small gold locket at her throat, his fingers brushing her skin.
A jolt of sexual recognition ripped through her body so sharp, so fierce, and so totally inappropriate, that she gasped, tried to jerk back. But he tightened his grip, held her close.
“You kept it,” he said, lifting the pendant. “All this time, and you still wear it.”
Her eyes began to water. It really was him. One touch and her body was alive, responding to his, whether her mind followed or not.
“Wh-where have you been?” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
His eyes burned into her, devouring her, sucking in every little detail he’d missed over the years. She felt as if he was stripping her, slowly, layer by layer, down to the naked core. Her heart pounded, her breath became light, her vision narrowed. Hot and cold swirled with fear through her stomach and laced with an aliveness so sharp it scared her.
“Time has been good to you, Olivia,” he said, his voice low, slow, his accent so seductively foreign. His eyes followed the curve of her breasts under her cashmere sweater. “Very good.”
Olivia swallowed. This was a man accused of murder. She didn’t know him anymore. She had no idea what he was capable of, what he’d become.
“Talk to me, Jack. Why are you back, what happened, where have you been all this time? What are you doing here in my apartment?”
He moved his hand from the pendant, stroked the curve of her neck, his skin rough against hers. Her knees went weak and her brain went completely blank.
He bent his head, his lips almost touching hers, his breath warm and soft as a feather. “I need your help,” he whispered. “It’s a matter of national security—” He sighed deeply. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you…how I’ve missed this…” He slowly pressed his lips over hers, covering her mouth completely. Heat melted her belly. Her breathing became ragged. She was incapable of pulling away.
He moved his lips gently over hers as he reached around her waist and slowly drew her body against his. He was giving her time to fight back, to jerk away. He was making this her decision as much as his. Yet she could feel his body shaking, his muscles straining to hold back the raging hunger that surged through him. He still wanted her, badly, and her body was burning in response to his.
The man she’d loved with all her heart was back in her arms. Holding her, kissing her, hard with need for her. Emotion imploded through Olivia. Tears burned her eyes, spilled freely down her cheeks, washing away the years. So many, many lonely nights, she’d dreamed that one day she’d feel his lips over hers, melt under his touch again. Suddenly nothing mattered but this moment.
Her thoughts spiraled into dizzying blackness as he increased the pressure on her mouth, filling her with his tongue, his movements growing rougher, harder, urgent, the salt of her tears mingling in their mouths as their tongues tangled and her heart twisted.
He tasted wild, foreign, dark—yet familiar. Her heart pounded. She leaned into him, opening to him, a raw hungry force driving her. She touched his face, guided him deeper, closer…and suddenly she felt the rigid line of his scar under her fingertips.
Reality exploded sharply through her brain. She stilled. She slowly traced the line along his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. He felt the question in her touch.
“The bear,” he said simply, covering her hand, drawing it away from his face and pulling her back to him.
The bear that was supposed to have killed him.
This time she resisted. “No…no, Jack. Please…. I…I don’t know what just happened. I…I don’t want this.”
She forced herself to take a step back. He let her, his eyes watching her intently, arousal etched into his rugged features.
Her breaths were coming light and shallow. Her lips still burned. Her body was still hot, her hair a mess. She felt awkward, confused. And more than a little afraid—of him, of herself—of what had just happened.
“What…what do you mean, you need my help? And what about national security?” She nervously twisted the new ring on her finger as she spoke. “Does this have something to do with Grayson?”
His eyes followed her hands. When he saw what she was fiddling with, his expression changed instantly. A small muscle began to pulse at his jawline.
Olivia suddenly felt absurdly embarrassed to even be wearing the ostentatious cluster of diamonds. She had no intention of keeping it. The only reason she had it on right now was because she hadn’t had the guts to hurt Grayson’s feelings in front of all those people.
She covered the ring, pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to quell the tempest of emotions roiling inside her. Why should he be making her feel guilty? He was the one who had betrayed her. He was the one who left her. He let her think he was dead all these years. Why should she feel even vaguely compelled to explain why she was wearing Grayson’s ring?
He lifted her eyes to hers. “We have a lot to talk about, Olivia. May I come in?”
“You are in.” In more ways than one.
“I need you to invite me, Livie.”
She stared at him—powerful, deeply tanned, his dark hair cut aggressively short and shot through with the silver of time—and hurt filled her. In all these years he hadn’t bothered to let her know he was alive. He had destroyed her when he’d fled, he’d left her to bleed. He’d stolen her youth. And now here he was, standing very much alive and healthy in her hallway. Anger whispered quietly around her pain. And she let it come. She needed answers.
“May I come in, Olivia?” he said again.
She held her hand out to her apartment. “Sure. Please, come in. Please come back from the dead, Jack. Please walk right back into my life, into my home.” Tears threatened again. She blinked them angrily away. “Why don’t you come right in and mess with my life all over again. It’s not like you didn’t get it right the first time.”
Something hot and dangerous flashed in his eyes.
But the bitterness growing inside wouldn’t allow her to stop.
“Would you like a drink, Jack? How about sitting on my sofa over there and telling me where you’ve been for sixteen long years, and why you’ve really come back to mess with me.”
“A drink would be nice, thank you,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. He walked right past her, into her apartment. He draped his massive black coat over her white chair and moved straight to the window. He lifted her curtain slightly with the back of his hand and peered down into the rain-drenched street.
She stared, dumbfounded. What on earth was he doing? She took in the expensive cut of his elegantly tailored black pants, his white silk shirt. He looked as if he’d walked straight off one of Europe’s fashion runways. But while his clothes gave him an air of global sophistication, they did little to tame the wild ruggedness that literally pulsed from him. Who was this man? Who had Jack become?
She glanced at the phone on the wall.
“You’re free to call whoever you like,” he said without looking at her. “But I wouldn’t advise it, not until you’ve heard me out.”
She stared at him blankly. She should run. Now. Get out while she had access to the door. She should alert the police. Yet a desperate curiosity rooted her to the spot. He was once her lover, the man she’d was going to marry. And he was here, back in Manhattan, in her apartment. She needed to know why, where he’d been. She pushed her hair back from her face.
She could do this.
She could handle Jack Sauer. She’d handled way worse in international courts. And once she had her answers, she’d call whoever she needed.
She cleared her throat. “You still drink scotch?”
“Yes.”
She retrieved the purse she’d dropped at the door, and moved over to the drinks cabinet, her heart thumping. She positioned her back to him as she slid her slim cell phone out of her purse and slipped it into her pocket. She wanted to be ready to call 911.
She removed the stopper from a decanter and began to pour whiskey into a crystal glass. That’s when she realized how badly her hands were trembling. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadied her nerves. Then she poured a drink for him and one for herself. She needed it.
She picked up a glass in each hand, sucked in her breath and turned to face him. And her resolve crumpled instantly.
He was watching her so intently she almost forgot how to walk. She tried to force her legs to move smoothly across the wooden floor, tried not to trip over the white rug. She held a glass out to him. He took it, his fingers brushing slowly over hers as he did, his eyes never leaving hers. He lifted the rim to his lips, slowly sipped, eyes still locked with hers.
Something hot and foreign and dangerous slipped down into her stomach again. She put her own glass to her lips, took a gulp.
“Who’s tailing you, Olivia?”
She choked on her sip. “What?” Her eyes watered as whiskey burned down the wrong way.
“Who’s following you?”
“No one’s following me.”
“Take a look,” he said, lifting the edge of the curtain for her. “See that silver sedan there, across the road?”
She edged forward, wary of touching him again, afraid of what would happen to her body again. She peered down into the street, conscious of his expensive scent, the quiet powerful energy vibrating from him. “Where?”
“Under that oak, right across from the park.”
She saw it. “Don’t be ridiculous. That car’s not tailing me. No one’s tailing me.”
He remained silent, watching her, trying to read something. It made her nervous.
“It…it’s probably someone looking for you. The FBI maybe.”
He ignored the gibe. “That sedan came in right behind the Secret Service vehicle that dropped you off tonight, Olivia. After your dinner with Forbes.” His eyes searched hers for reaction.
She looked sharply away. She didn’t want to show him how her evening with Grayson had affected her.
“There was another vehicle waiting under that tree there, watching your apartment, before your SUV approached. It left as you arrived, and that silver sedan pulled in behind it, replaced the watch.”
Something about his voice made her think he might be telling the truth. “It must be the Secret Service, then,” she said, unsure now. “Grayson wanted to get security detail for me, but I told him I didn’t want it. Maybe he got it anyway. He…he’s not an easy man to turn down.”
“I know.”
The sudden dark edge in his voice shot a shiver down her spine.
“But that’s no Secret Service detail out there, Olivia. That’s a private outfit—same bunch that was waiting for you outside the UN building.”
“You were at the UN?”
“Saw you being whisked off for your private dinner with Forbes.” His eyes drifted down to her ring.
How long had he been following her? Why?
“Jack, you’re making me nervous. Please…tell me what in hell is going on? Otherwise, I…I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Did you get that tonight?” he said darkly, his eyes still fixed on her ring.
It was not his business. She didn’t have to answer. “Yes,” she said.
He lifted his eyes, met hers. “So he proposed, and you accepted.”
No, I didn’t. She wanted to say the words, scream them. But she couldn’t.
“Do you love him, Olivia?” he whispered. “Do you really know this man? Do you love him like you used to love me?”
Emotion welled up so sharp and hot it hurt, filling her eyes, choking the words in her throat. She began to shake inside. “Damn you, Jack Sauer,” she said quietly. “You left me, sixteen years ago, and you come back and ask me this, tonight?” Her voice caught. “It’s not your business who I love. Not anymore.”
The corner of his mouth, where it met the scar, twitched. “It’s become my business, Olivia.”
“It can never be your business. You have no right to ask who I love or choose to marry or when. You threw that right away, Jack, forever, when you killed Elizabeth.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you really think?”
“What else was I supposed to think?”
His jaw steeled. The muscles along his neck went hard.
Olivia took a step back. “Look, Jack, if you don’t tell me what you want from me and why you’re here, I’m going to call 911.” She reached for the cell phone in her pocket as she spoke.
“I’ve come for your father, Olivia.”
She froze. “I beg your pardon?”
No emotion showed in his face now. It was hard as steel, and his eyes had turned sharp and cold. “Those men outside, I think they’re his. I’ll have my guys check into it.”
“Your guys? What guys? What are you talking about!”
He said nothing, just watched her eyes.
“Okay, you’re making me really nervous. Leave now, or I’ll call the cops.”
He took a step toward her, and she lifted her cell phone. “I mean it, Jack—” She flipped it open, began to press.
Jack grasped her wrist and removed the phone from her hand. “Your father is involved in a plot to overthrow the U.S. government. But then, you might know that already, Olivia. I’m here to stop him, and you if need be.”
“What did you say!”
He was still holding her hand, his fingers circling tightly around her wrist. Panic wedged into her throat. Her eyes shot to the door.
“Samuel Killinger and his Venturion Corporation board comprise a covert organization that refers to itself simply as the Cabal. This Cabal, under your father’s leadership, plans to hand Grayson Forbes the most powerful office in the world.” His eyes narrowed. “He plans to make your fiancé the leader of the ‘free world’ six days from now. That’s all the time I have to stop them. That’s what I’ve been hired to do. That’s what I intend to do. And you are going to help me do it.”
She tried to jerk free, but his grip tightened. He pulled her closer as he reached into his pocket with his other hand, took out a black box.
She yanked frantically against his hold. “Let me go, Jack! This is garbage! It’s not possible. You…you’re insane. And he’s not my fiancé. I did not agree to marry him.”
Something—hope?—flared hot and sharp in his eyes. Then it was gone. “That helps,” he said darkly. “We have until midnight, October 13. If we fail, a set of biological bombs will be released over New York, Chicago and Los Angeles at one minute past midnight. Repercussions will be felt around the globe.” He paused. “I hope you are not involved, Olivia.” He snapped a metal cuff around her wrist.
Her brain reeled wildly. “What’s this!”
“That’s insurance, just in case you choose not to help me.”
She stared in shock at the thick band of silver locked tight and cold around her wrist. It was the color of platinum. Smooth. Alien. And it had a strange little window cut into the top that held what looked like a glass ampoule of pale liquid. She looked up, terror filling her heart. “What…what’s in it?”