Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (35 page)

“In.”

“Alright, alright.” Grumbling, she opened the door and stepped up.

“Nap time.”

No need for the heads up, her vision went black of its own accord just before the solid whump on the back of her head and her consciousness blinked out.

Chapter 33

Soft lights illuminated the sitting room. Arms bound painfully behind her back, face planted on a soft wool rug, yep, definitely on a floor, Becca woke in...a ladies’ sitting room? What the...

“Becca, you’re awake. Are you okay?”

Forgetting the awkward position, she reared up in what a yoga instructor might call a traumatized cobra. “Dad?” Her father, similarly bound, lay on the rug facing her. Back spasm and she was down on her face again. Going for longevity versus shock, she lay on her side and curved back. Ed did the same and the two stared at each other like dry seahorses on a cream rug in King Louis’s court. Tied up. Okay, so like they were at a kinky party in King Louis’s court. Only she was with her dad. And some creep, most likely the creep they were looking for, was behind one of these small, undersized, Georgian whitewashed doors.

“Dad,” she staged whispered. “How did you get here?” Desperate to make sure he was okay and not in grave physical danger of hemorrhaging or something, her eyes rolled over her father’s rough face noting a few new swellings and discolorations. Those bastards were so going to bleed.

“Don’t panic, we don’t have much time before they come back.” Ever the soldier, Ed Sauter was one to keep it in check.

“Where are we?” Continuing to arc and wiggle, she was able to take in most of the small room, rose print wallpaper and all. It could have been any of a number of historic homes in DC or Virginia, for that matter. At any moment a tour could have come through and it wouldn’t have surprised her.

“And here is where Martha Washington sat and needlepointed waiting for George to come home.”

Camera snap camera snap

I think I have a concussion.

“Becca, honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Dad. Fine. You?” Other than the few bumps and scrapes she could see, he seemed pretty okay.

“Fine.” His eyes bounced to what had to be the only two entrances to the room, one in front blocked partially from view by a pale yellow settee, one behind. “He’s coming back, we don’t have much time. Can you run?”

She strained at her ropes. Soft, but strong, they held. “Uh, yeah. Why?
”
Why run? Why not fight
?
The Ed of her childhood was a warrior, never one to flee. “Dad, are you hurt or something and not telling me?” She appealed to his practical tactical side. “You put us both at risk if you don’t tell me something’s up with you physically, or mentally, that might slow us down or get in the way of us...”

Ed’s face, already grim, soured. “Jesus, Becca, no, I’m not bleeding nor am I brain damaged. I want you out of here, is that a problem?”

Pushing her to be stronger her whole life, demanding strength most men didn’t ask of their sons in order to please him all while she struggled with hiding her “ability” and Becca felt the top of her head threatening to explode
.
Is he fucking for real?

“Dad, seriously?”

“Exactly, ‘Dad’ says you need to get out of here and you’re not going to argue.”

Face to face, they stared at one another. Becca’s feeling on that was apparently clear.

“This is an order, not a request, Rebecca.” Ed’s whisper turned to a growl. “You don’t know what this man is capable of, I do. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

I know what his kind can do more than you hopefully ever will
.
“This is my mission, Dad.” She straightened as much as possible when hogtied and surrounded by feminine antiques. “What I’m here for is important and I can’t defy orders because my dad says so.” Seeing storm clouds gathering behind her father’s eyes, Becca cracked a smile. “Besides, my CO outranks you.”

A few long, pained heartbeats in which she wondered if her father would ever speak to her again, then the clouds parted and he laughed. Actually laughed!  “I can respect that.”

Becca’s chest felt tight, her eyes threatened to leak and undo her moment. A deep breath and she was back under control.

“So, Captain Sauter,” he addressed her formally for the first time. “What do you suggest we do from here?”

Probably not the time to tell him she had a splitting headache, was seeing spots which could be concussion or a message from her witchy danger sensor, and she’d not yet mastered escaping ropes.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” She blew her bangs off her sweaty forehead, frowning when they barely moved. This was officially the opposite of tonight’s earlier glamorous appearance. Not that it mattered, nothing mattered if she didn’t get them out of here. It wasn’t just her life now, her father’s was on the line too
.
Please don’t tell me Mom has a secret life as a spy or I think I’ll have an aneurysm.

“Would you take a suggestion from an old soldier?”

Trussed up in an evil mastermind’s sitting room, Becca’s heart was full. “I’m open.”

“Roll over, give me your back and I’ll untie you, you untie me.”

So simple, where was her head that she missed that one? Maybe it had something to do with waking up face to face with her father. Or being pistol whipped. Both viable options.

Becca wiggled over, felt her father’s thick fingers struggle with the ropes. Whoever tied these knew what they were doing. Just as they loosened a little, a door handle creaked, the latch popped.

No need to think about it, like every guilty kid since the beginning of time when mom walked in, they rolled apart and assumed the C curve position they’d been left in.

“How are my guests?” His voice, not deep, not high, but average elicited an odd non reaction.

This man has this whole town shaking in their boots? He sounds like a suburban accountant.

A pair of mahogany brown leather oxfords stepped around the settee, navy trousers came up with each step to show a flash of green socks. Surprisingly fashionable.

“Nothing?” He came to a stop between them, thankfully by their waists so she didn’t have to crank her neck to finally put a face to the man intent on her unit’s destruction.

Ho hum. That was her first thought when she looked at him. Sure, the tailored navy suit, pale blue shirt, and green tie did a fine job of dressing up his average frame, but as a man he was completely uneventful. Lightish brown hair flowed into skin a few shades too dark to be caucasian, his eyes hazel. The only thing remotely interesting about the man was a scar. Starting at his temple just inside the hairline it curved out and touched the corner of his eye making it crinkle just enough it looked like he had some amusing secret.

“Ed Sauter, what a surprise to see you again.” Mild words, delivered just as boring. Even at a lawn party it wouldn’t have sold anyone on the sentiment. “And am I hearing correctly? This young woman is your daughter?” He clucked, shaking his head slowly, not an accountant hair moved. “How do you feel about that, family consorting with the likes of her boss?”

Fear for her safety jumped in the back seat, replaced by terror for what Almohad, the devil himself, might say. A few specific words and her father was dead, if not by this sadist, then by her boss.

“What do you want with us?” Becca lifted her head off the floor. “Why did you bring us here?”

“You haven’t figured it out? I see I gave you too much credit, you aren’t much of a thinker, are you?”

Becca looked at her dad, his expression was neutral. The cool customer she’d known all her life, it put him into perspective
.
When we get out of this I have to ask him what he really did for the Army
.
Dad was way too calm to have been the tame skills instructor he claimed.

“It would stand to reason you aren’t a great mind or you would have caught on earlier.”

Another set of footsteps, careful, measured. Familiar? Becca’s spots swirled. Not a concussion. Men’s black shoes polished twice to a high shine, she would know, she polished them while he was in the shower, came around the settee. He barely afforded her a glance, giving his attention solely to Almohad.

Becca trusted Michael with all of her being, but seeing him so comfortable on enemy soil still settled like concrete in her stomach.

“Don’t feel too badly,” Almohad gloated, obviously pleased with himself. “Your great and powerful Admiral Black hasn’t caught on to his treasonous protege either and there are those who would call him genius.” A snort. “I think not.”

“It looks like you’re holding all the cards, Almohad.” She used his name to see what he would do.

At mention of his name his head whipped around, his blank stare eradicated all conceptions of him being anything but deadly. The corner of his eye ticked, no longer appearing amused, he could have given Kenneth lessons on psychopathy. Becca’s body went still, her blood ceased flowing. Poking the bear no longer seemed the smart thing to do.

“People are strange, aren’t they?”

Becca blinked at the unexpected turn, her father moved not a muscle. Either he was biding his time or he was treating their unbalanced host like an angry snake, giving him no cause to lash out.

Almohad smoothed a hand over his tie; no indication whatsoever how this was going to turn out. Becca’s vision had gone disco; this wasn’t going to end well at all.

His tone was placid when he continued. “The world is burning, we hear it often because it’s true. Power struggles define us; what role we play, which side we ally with, giving titles to the skirmishes; Racism, Sexism, Civil War, Apartheid, Segregation; all grand sweeping battles we force each other to choose a side or be shunned. Is it the correct side? One doesn’t know until it’s over. If your side wins, you can hold your head high, tell the next generation as they gird for battle how you fought in your day. We take our value from those roles while we go home and beat our children, our wives, steal crops from the neighbor’s back field, who would know? We are emperors, kings of our own domain.” He took a deep breath through his nose. It whistled. “What happens if someone sees you?” The little pinch on the eye, he was back to Uncle Milty sharing a secret, something to make one feel special. Becca wanted to puke.

“What happens when the king gets caught letting his woman tie him up? Suffragettes who let the man of the house raise a hand to them? Men preaching peace touch the young of their flock? These are secrets. Secrets that destroy men and movements if they get out. What would a man do to keep his secret?” Almohad crouched down, getting close enough she could smell the cedar and vanilla of his cologne. “I make it my business to find out exactly what they will do to keep those secrets, dear girl. And that,” he winked, “is why I have all the cards. This,” he indicated them with a swirl of his finger, “this is what one man will do to keep his secrets.”

The other door clicked, creaked open.

He eyes flicked to her dad. He gave her a tiny head shake
.
Do nothing.

“Would you like to see how it all ties together?” He stood, smiled. “This is a good one.”

“Ah, Senator, how nice of you to join us.” Almohad made no move to shake the hand of the newcomer.

A strangled sound came from her father and Becca’s eyes flew to him, following the direction of his stare and her jaw dropped.

“Back from the dead, may I introduce you to the newly risen Senator Bill Jordan?”