First Ride (17 page)

EPILOGUE

DAWSON

One month later

“She out?” I hit the power button on the remote and toss it over to the empty side of the bed while asking Angel as she enters the bedroom quietly.

She smiles broadly and holds her finger up to her pink lips, nodding. “Shhh. She’s out like a light.”

Sasha’s had a handful of nights without any nightmares and we’re hoping we can add tonight to that list.

“Good. Now come to poppa,” I wiggle my eyebrows animatedly while rubbing my hands together like a mad man.

She laughs. I
love
how I can make her laugh so easily. I’ve watched carefully over the past few weeks at how she seems more relaxed, more confident, and just … happier.

I’ve done my best to hide everything that’s still going on from her, wanting to keep her carefree. There’ll come a time when this temporary truce between the Slayers and the Conquistadors will come to an end. It’s inevitable. And then, I know Angel will lose that laugh, will lose that smile.

But for now, it’s there, on her gorgeous little face and I’m going to enjoy every single minute of it. Hopefully Chase can keep things under control over on his end with Jimenez’s daughter long enough for me to find some plan, some solution, to end this Cartel shit peacefully while keeping it far away from Angel and the little life we got goin’.

“Miss me?” She jumps on the bed and crashes on top of me playfully.

I don’t waste time with a smartass answer. She knows how much I’ve missed her. She
sees
how much I’ve missed her, too, with my raging hard on poking her in the hip.

She’s been busy. I’ve been busy. It’s just the way it is.

But, tonight …
tonight
there’s nothing else going on. Just me and my Ol’ lady makin’ up for lost time.

She’s been busy gettin’ her ma all set up in the apartment over the garage and ferrying her back and forth to doctor’s appointments. I’ve been occupied up at the lake where Chase’s got the girl stashed.

That girl’s a real fucking brat with the temper of a hot tomalè. She’s driving him bat shit crazy. I try to make it up there every other day or so but it’s a real risk. I know I could be followed, could lead her pops right to her, but I also know if I leave the two of them alone in that place for too long, it’s gonna become a crime scene. Just not sure who’s gonna off the other first.

I’m so thankful to have Angel in my arms again to give me something else,
someone
else, to concentrate on right now.

“I’ve got something for you,” I know if I don’t give it to her now I won’t have another chance. Once I’m deep in this woman, all bets are off. We’re lucky if we make it out of the bedroom at some point.

Angel nips my lower lip. “What is it? Something like the
last
thing you gave me?”

I shake my head, laughing softly. I finally had a chance to give her the leather cut with my patches on it a couple of weeks ago. Yes, it may have also included a sexy little bra top and thong. The patches are for other people to see. What’s underneath? That’s just for me.

“Here, baby.” I fumble behind me for the small little cardboard box in my nightstand drawer as she plants little kisses over my chest.

“Eee!” She squeals in delight while taking the rectangle box from me.

I prop up a pillow and lean back to watch. It was pure luck that one of the regulars down at the club, Harry, who owns one of the pawnshops, recognized Angel. She had been in his shop a while back, looking to hock some ring.

A plain gold ring with engraving. Simply beautiful.

She tosses the lid aside and moves the white gauzy padding to take the contents out, dangling it from the long golden chain I bought.

Her eyes sparkle and twinkle as the tiny golden links set her dazzling eyes on fire.

“I didn’t know if you wore it on your finger, or not, but I thought it would look really nice on a necklace. Here, let me.” I take the lightweight chain from her fingers and work the clasp.

She breathes in and whispers. “It—it was my grandmothers. I thought I’d never see it again.”

Her hair is held high as I place the long string of gleaming gold around her neck. Once it’s in place and hanging on its own, I kiss the tender spot gently. I can see her elegant fingers playing with the golden circle.

“Like it?” I murmur into her neck, tickling and teasing the very faint little hairs at the nape.

“Like it? I
love
it.” She brings the piece of jewelry up to her lips. “Actually. I have something for you, too.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her back to lie on me with her long waves falling over my shoulders. “Yeah? How’d this turn into an exchange?”

I hear her lick her lips. “I’ve had it for a few days. Just didn’t—didn’t know how and when to tell you.”

I nibble her ear. “Tell me? It’s a gift you
tell
me about?”

I kiss a little trail from the bottom of her ear to the corner of her jaw. What could she have to give me that she’d have to
tell
me about?

My mouth goes dry. My fingers turn to ice. My eyes widen.

Whoa
.

I remind myself to breathe and hold her close as I brace myself, holding her tight as I wait and listen for what she has to tell me.

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February 2016

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Book 1

CHAPTER ONE

JESS

“Deny, deny, deny.”

I listen to myself and can’t help but cringe a bit at my very cliché response. I mean… isn’t that the very core, the essence, of politics? Deny until you’re backed into a corner with no other option?

Kristen, the brand-new intern, is having a pretty interesting first day, if I say so myself.

“The Senator has not now, nor has he ever, engaged in mudslinging or underhanded attacks against an opponent. We will continue to run our campaign with the utmost respect for those who run against us, and make better use of our time discussing the core issues rather than attack another candidate.”

I dictate the perfect, politically correct response for Kristen to forward to the media on dad’s behalf. I feel like this is all I do lately, put out one fire after another. I know elections can get ugly. I remember the last one, even though it was six years ago and I was still in high school.

I remember the security, I remember the reports, and I remember the glamour of it all. That’s how it looked from the outside — glamorous. Now, dad’s reelection campaign is in full swing and I’m currently on the other side of things as one of his campaign advisors, I know the truth.

It’s far from glamorous. It’s far from pretty. It’s downright ugly.

And dangerous.

Only those of us closest to dad know how truly dangerous a political campaign can be. We’ve been handling the current dilemma as best we could— until now. The only viable option left is to get the FBI involved.

Cooper had been against the suggestion. He thinks we can just play along and give the blackmailers what they want without bringing in any unnecessary involvement. I know better. We pay them off today, and they’ll be back tomorrow with even bigger demands.

No. We needed help. We
need
help. This is my dad’s career, his
life
we’re talking about. There is only one person I trusted enough to ask for help.

God help me.

~*~

“He’s here, Miss Leary. Shall I send him in?”

My stomach plummets and my heart stops, literally
stops
.

He’s here. Of course he’s here, I’ve only been dreading this moment for the past two days and it had to come ...
eventually
. I swallow hard and do my best to appear busy, straightening some loose papers, anything to mask the nerves that cause my hands to tremble.

“Uh-huh, yes. Please. Send him in, Roger.”

Shit!

I have no more than two minutes before the two of them return. I jump up and run to the full-length mirror behind the closet door, then smooth out the creases in my tailored skirt and pull down firmly on the matching jacket.

Fuck! It’s just not right! I look like a damn librarian! He hasn’t seen me in over six months, and I will
not
have him thinking that I’ve turned into a spinster! I can hear their voices down the hall and know my time is growing short.

I move at warp speed, kicking off the sensible leather flats that serve me well darting around between press conferences and media events, hearing them thud against the wall. I keep a pair of four inch, black patent leather stacked heels here in case I need to make a quick change for the occasional dinner meeting, and they are just what I need. I wiggle my feet into them as my hands furiously attack the large clip that’s been keeping my unruly hair at bay all morning.

I use my fingers as a comb, sifting through the waves until they fall right where I want them, in a sexy Brigitte Bardot kind of way.

“Right this way,” Roger’s voice is just on the other side of the office door.

One last look in the mirror at the thin, white, collared shirt tucked snuggly into the navy blue skirt and I’ve got just what I was going for. Buh-bye drab, boring librarian.
Hello
sexy schoolteacher. One last thing… I undo another button, showing just a bit more skin to sweeten the pot, turning around just in time to kick the closet door shut behind me.

“Miss Leary? Agent Gibson.”

Roger, my dad’s head of security, ushers in the federal agent.

My eyes lift slowly, as if in slow motion and they land on him for the first time in months. Oh. My. God. He looks delicious in sleek, black dress shoes, perfectly hemmed black trousers, and a modern black blazer that doesn’t even attempt to hide the powerful muscles hidden beneath that white shirt. My mouth grows dry as I catch a hint of the familiar ripples under the material.

The tanned, smooth, skin of his neck is like chiseled perfection as it melds into the sharpness of his jaw.

I stifle the urge to moan, and quickly bite my lip to suppress whatever very unladylike sounds are begging to escape. All this, everything that I’ve seen so far, is enough to knock me over like a tidal wave … but I haven’t even gotten to the worst part, yet.

His eyes.

I slowly blink, hard, preparing for what I’m about to see.

Those dark pools of liquid brown are just as intense as I remember. They have a well-rehearsed shield of protection over them, one that hides all traces of emotion — one that keeps you guessing, never knowing what he’s actually thinking.

He’s a true professional in that respect, playing his cards close to the vest, no matter the situation. I don’t waste any time trying to decipher those cool, steel-hardened eyes. Been there, done that. All it ever did was drive me mad when I tried.

His long, thick, lashes move slowly as his eyes scan me from head to toe, taking me in.

“Chris. Thank you so much for coming.” I avert my eyes to Roger, who’s patiently waiting for some instruction. “Thank you Roger. I’ll take it from here.”

The thirty-something, ebony-skinned man nods before taking his leave, abandoning my guest and I to our awkwardness. I rethink that. Nothing about agent Christopher Gibson could
ever
be confused with awkward. That part’s all me.

“I told you, all you’d ever have to do is call, Princess.”

His deep, velvety, tone serves like a backhanded reminder of too much of our past — first and foremost, his nickname for me.

“
Jessica
,” I correct him. “Or, Miss Leary, if you prefer.”

He smirks, his dark eyes finally leaving mine to wander down as slowly as possible, causing my body temperature to rise.

“Whatever you say,
Princess
.”

His disregard is sobering. It reminds me just how inflexible this man is. It’s his way or the highway. Well, I’m not the same naïve little college girl that he can lead by the nose, or boss around in his sexy, domineering way.

A lot has changed in the past few months.

He’s about to understand just how much.

“Miss Leary will be
just
fine. Please,” I gesture to the chair opposite my shiny mahogany desk. “Have a seat. Let’s begin.”

I love the extra height the high-heeled shoes provide as they help me stand tall against his imposing form. The artificial height isn’t enough, though, as he still towers several inches over me.

I like the role reversal, of him doing as
I
say for once, and taking my instruction to sit. He unbuttons his jacket first, letting it fall open so can be seated comfortably.

The light shining through my office window causes the shiny golden tin of the badge on his belt to wink at me. The dark brown leather of his holster can also be seen, just barely, deep under his arm, and I know it doesn’t sit empty.

The first of his three guns can be found in that holster; and I know there’s another on his ankle and his opposite hip. He’s like a walking fortress; instead of brick and stone, he’s made of rock-hard muscle and determination. All that firepower is just the icing on the cake.

I decide against my usual seat behind the desk, instead taking advantage of the situation to gain some leverage over him. I lean my left hip onto the corner of my desk and slide up so that I’m perched in front of him, forcing him to raise his head and look up at me for a change.

I know it’s not much, but it’s a subtle little tactic to gain just a bit of control over him, even though I secretly feel anything but in control. I can’t let him see that, though. Can’t let him know what this little reunion is doing to me.

A sturdy knock at the door draws my attention, but not his. I feel his heavy gaze inspecting my pantyhose-clad legs, dangling in front of him.

“Jess?” Kristen is hesitant to enter, so she only pokes her head in. “Can I get you both some coffee? Tea?”

“Miss Leary doesn’t drink coffee,” the baritone answer comes from his lips, not mine.

He thinks he’s so smug, that he knows
everything
.

I laugh to myself. “Black,” I begin my drink order while the shy intern shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Two sugars in mine, please. Agent Gibson will have a little hazelnut creamer in his.”

His eyebrow shoots up at my hidden challenge. He thinks he knows me. He thinks he knows me
so
well.

Kristen shuts the door carefully.

“A lot’s changed, Chris.” I make the claim confidently, crossing my legs high at the thigh and my arms over my chest.

He unexpectedly rises, and his broad shoulders tower directly over me. He strategically places each of his large hands on either side of me, closing me in.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Princess. I don’t think all that much’s really changed. For instance, I know you’re holding your breath right now, holding it, afraid you might pant because I’m this close to you. I know you
still
don’t like coffee and that you
will
take a sip of it, just to prove me wrong. And most importantly, I know that you’re crossing your legs tighter than a vice right now, afraid of what will leak out if you don’t.”

His lower lip twitches, amused with himself.

I open my mouth to speak, to deny what he thinks he knows, but he leans closer. The stiff material of his jacket skims the top of my thighs when he moves in, placing his full lips just millimeters from my ear.

His hot breath tickles the baby-fine hairs near my neck, and he growls, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He’s challenging me, knowing I always rise to the occasion. I remind myself once more. That was then. This is now.

“Here... I-I’m sorry!” Kristen walks in with a Styrofoam cup in each hand, looking like a child who’s just walked in her parents screwing.

I push Chris away forcefully, my whole hand splayed against his rock-hard chest. He laughs, knowing I might as well be pushing against a steel door; but he cooperates and moves aside.

“Kristen, it’s fine. Agent Gibson was just reminding me what a gentleman he can be.” My words drip with sarcasm.

Chris takes the cup my intern extends to him and I take mine.

“Why don’t we make this a group meeting? Kristen, could you please show Agent Gibson to the conference room and let my father know he’s arrived? I’m sure Cooper and Roger will also want to be in on this one.”

“Sure. Agent Gibson? This way, please.” The perky little brunette with cat-eyed glasses steps aside to allow Chris to exit first.

Chris and I played chess once, kind of like people play strip poker. I beat him every round because, while he’s busy looking at the move right in front of him and making sure it goes off just as he plans, I know how to sacrifice a pawn to distract him while I swoop in from the side.

Did I just turn the tables upside down, kick him out of my office, and send him right to my dad? I sure did; and that’s checkmate, bitch. I’m not sure who dislikes the other, more… my dad, or Chris.

He sips from the disposable cup, winking at me, like a son-of-a-bitch. A
sexy
son of a bitch, but that doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.

Once I have my office to myself, with the door safely shut, I finally release the breath I’ve been holding, my shoulders drooping from the weight of my pretense.

I lift myself from my seat on the desk and take a second to ensure I’m steady, taking measured breaths until the lightheadedness passes. I did a lot better than I thought I would, facing him for the first time after all these months ... since he broke my heart.

The heavy aroma wafting from the cup o’ Joe in my hands turns my stomach and I drop it in the wastebasket closest to my desk. Taking a cleansing breath, I dive back into the small coat closet — I keep a mini wardrobe’s worth of clothes in there for last minute changes after all-night strategy meetings.

I unzip the black bag of underthings and remove a fresh,
dry,
pair of panties.

Damn him
, I curse under my breath.

Damn him for always being right.