The Avenger (36 page)

No regret at all.

Randolph sat calmly, a pleasant expression on his face, and clearly had no idea what Jack intended for him. "That bully posturing won't work on me," Randolph said as he rubbed his wrists theatrically. "But I'd love to tell you all about my exploits."

Seven minutes later the Judge's words reverberated in Jack's head as if he were actually in the room.
Finish the mission, Jack, one last detail to take care of. Do whatever you have to.

Revulsion swept over him. Disgust at himself, at the Judge, at the whole self-righteous organization that'd sucked the humanity out of him.

"Go to hell, Warren," he spat and walked out of the interview room.

#

When they were childhood friends, Olivia had always known when Jack was lying to her. Right now his right eye jerked in a telltale movement so miniscule that if she hadn't been looking for it and straight at him, she would've missed it. His face was composed, his hands were steady, and his voice was calm.

But Jack was lying to her.

She had agreed to try, no conditions attached. They loved each other, and she believed against rational thought that they belonged to each other, always had. She couldn't envision a deeply satisfying life without Jack.

But still, she was afraid of the future.
And Jack was lying to her.

They stood in her kitchen. She leaned against the counter by the sink and he sat on a bar stool, his hands dangling between his knees. He looked weary and defeated and she wanted more than her next breath to go to him. Hold onto him.

Instead, she rooted her feet to the floor.

She freely admitted that she didn't know quite how her life could go on without him in it. But she wasn't blind. Jack had to care more about her than his Invictus family, and right now she was afraid that he'd done something terribly wrong.

"A heart attack?" She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked again for the minute jerking of his right eye. Gone now. "I don't understand. Howard was so fit, so healthy."

A shiver ran through her, a premonition of doom.
Why are you lying to me?

She could take the job, she thought. She could adjust to it, but not to the lies.

Jack shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. The local police are handling the details with the medical examiner."

"Did Howard confess?"

"Oh yeah, he confessed all right." Jack slid off the stool and stood close to her, his arms braced on either side of the counter, pinning her in. "He confessed to everything." He nuzzled her neck, sending a different kind of shiver running through her.

"My student? Keisha, too?'

Jack nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing across her cheek.

What wasn't he telling her?

"Carl and Henry and Susan?" She spoke their names respectfully as if the victims had become personal friends even though she'd never known them.

"All of them," he confirmed. The heat of Jack's body brushed against hers, inviting her to bury herself in the security of it.

She fixed upon his chin, arms wrapped around her body, afraid to let go. "Howard confessed and then just keeled over from a heart attack?"

He lifted his hands, palms upward in a what-else gesture.

"You're lying to me," she said flatly, scooting under his arm. "You're lying to me and I don't know why." She hurried down the hall and started up the staircase to the master bedroom.

Jack caught up with her at the door to the bathroom, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and swung her around to face him. "What do you want me to say, Olivia? Tell me, and I'll say the words. Randolph's dead. The Dead Language Killer's violent rampage is finished. Isn't that all that matters?"

Uneasiness hovered at the edges of her mind. "When I saw you back there in the church, that look on your face I ... " She shook her head. "I'll never forget it, Jack. You were a stranger, someone I've never known."

"I told you what happens when I go through the transformation, how the drugs enhance the Change."

"But that ... that was something different. I know I said I could live with it, but I don't know if I can live with the secrets."

"You won't have to," he said and pulled her close.

His lips whispered against her temple and, oh God, a thrill of desire shot through her. He had such power over her. It frightened her at the same time it rippled hot waves of pleasure through her blood.

"What do you mean?" Her words came out unsure and breathless.

"I don't want to keep secrets from you." He slipped his clever hands beneath the waistband of her shorts.

"But – "

He slid his hands over her hips and lifted her up, pressing her into his groin. She couldn't think clearly. Her heart thundered in her chest, the pull of need for him stronger than anything she'd ever known. Flames of fire danced along her nerves. God, how had she lived without this all those years?

She pulled back, held his face in her hands. "You want me to trust you."

He covered her hands and rubbed one thumb over her lips. His voice was kind and gentle. "Yes, Squirt. You have to trust me."

"I do," she answered, breathing into his mouth. She trusted him, believed in him, she thought. What else mattered?

She opened her lips and probed his mouth with her tongue in urgent, desperate jabs. His big hand cupped her breast and teased the nipple through her thin cotton top while his fingers tangled in her hair.

"I want you so much," she whispered beneath his lips. "I've waited so long."

Jack moved his hands over her gently at first and then with increasing ardor. He groaned a deep growl of desperation. "God, Livvie, I promised myself I'd go slowly, be considerate, prove I could control my lust for you."

His fingers tugged at her slacks, slipping them over her hips. She ripped the buttons from his shirt and trailed her fingers over his chest, down his hips and thighs to take him in her hand.

"But I can't," he moaned. "When you ... hell, I lose all control around you."

And that was perfect, she thought, because this wasn't the time for tenderness.

Chapter Thirty-one

Jack was sure Olivia didn't trust him completely. Why should she? He had a history of abandoning her and never explaining why. Sorry was a sorry word, he thought. It didn't nearly describe the ripping of his heart when he realized how he'd hurt her.

She slept with her back to him, her small, perfect body curved into his. He thought how odd it was that his long, broad body accommodated her slender form so perfectly. Her head lay within the circle of his arm as he stroked the dark strands of hair that tangled like black silk across the pillow. The smooth length of her back and the gentle curve of her hip delighted him as his fingers traced the outline of her body.

Morning's light had just peeked through the bedroom window slats when she stretched drowsily and turned in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest.

"You've got to stop watching me while I sleep," she complained grumpily.

"Make me." He trailed his fingers down the sleek line of thigh and cupped his hands over her flawless ass.

"I'll make you all ri – " She laughed softly. "Oh ho, what's this?" she joked, encircling him with her slim, cool fingers.

He took her mouth and felt that primitive urge to mate. Mine, he thought, she's always been mine. No matter who she'd been with she never belonged to anyone else. Desire heated his blood, lust tightened his muscles, and love swamped his heart.

"What did I ever do to deserve you," he muttered at her ear, his tongue teasing the soft flesh of her jaw.

"Absolutely nothing." She smiled dreamily and, in an unexpected movement, flipped over until she was straddling him. "But I'm going to extact recompense right now."

Palms flat on his chest, she dipped her head and took his mouth in a possessive plundering. Her long hair enveloped him, a dark curtain surrounding them, while her busy hands caressed his flanks. "You have the most gorgeous body," she murmured. "So strong and elegant, so powerful."

"So scarred," he continued, "so battered, so worn."

"Hmmm, so ... mine." She continued her assault on him, batting his hands away whenever he tried to touch her, caress her. "My rules, this time."

She slid down his aroused body, kissing her way across his chest, circling his nipples with her tongue, trailing along his still bruised ribs. "Ah, gently, sweetheart," he groaned, half in pain, half in passion.

"Hmm, sorry." She glanced up at him, those brilliant eyes dark as rich green velvet.

She pushed over his midsection, farther down his body, her breasts brushing sweetly against his groin. And then she took him in her mouth, sweet mother of God.

He tried to pull back. "No, Livvie, don't ... " He ended on a moan and his control lasted half a minute as he pulled her roughly up, flipped her over, and lay panting between her legs. "Much of my strength has diminished, love, but not my ability to tame you."

He touched her between her thighs, seeking the wet, sweet core of her and found her slick and hot. He clamped down on his need and stroked her until he felt the first climax lift her over the edge and shatter her against his hand.

"Oh God." She dug her fingers into his hair and hung on tightly while he worked his fingers inside her.

"Look at me," he muttered. "Open your eyes and look at me, damn it. I want to watch you."

Those amazing emerald eyes fluttered open, glazed over blindly, but clung to his as she shuddered and slowly relaxed.

"Again," he whispered. "And again." He plunged into her hard and furious at first, but when he felt his imminent release, switched to slow, agonizing strokes that tested his will to its zenith. He watched as her mouth opened, her eyes fluttered, her breath panted in gentle puffs of air. He felt her inner muscles clamp furiously around him and climaxed a moment after her in a furious explosion of pleasure, pain, and love.

"God, I love you," he whispered as he collapsed on her, "love you to the ends of the earth."

Their bodies were slick with sweat, their hearts thundering like a herd of wild horses, their breathing an exercise in agony. Afraid of crushing her small body, he rolled off and gathered her close against him.

They slept the deeply satisfied sleep of lovers long familiar with one another's needs and desires.

Jack woke hours later to the odor of coffee and bacon wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. He smiled. Olivia, being unusually domestic, he supposed. Showering quickly, he dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

As he shaved using one of Livvie's pink disposable razors, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked lighter, he thought, less ragged, more relaxed. He frowned, knowing the hardest part was still ahead of him.

How to explain to Olivia what he'd done? How he'd planned for this day? What he had yet to do? Would she understand?

He sighed heavily and padded on bare feet down the stairs to the kitchen.

Baltimore, Maryland, Invictus Headquarters, Six Months Later

Chapter Thirty-two

Already alerted by Higgins, the Judge rose to meet Jackson Holt as he strode through the office door in his usual brash manner. The agent looked better than he had in a long time, but a kind of raw edginess showed in the way he jerked his head at the director and threw his long body into the leather guest chair.

Warren extended his hand. "Excellent work, Jack."

Jack ignored the proffered hand.

Warren coughed to cover the awkward moment. "You look well," he said. "Fully recovered?" He didn't need to ask. He'd gotten daily updates on Jack's health from Dr. Davis, who supervised the fragile and dangerous recovery in a specialized wing at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

Jack nodded briefly, steepled his fingers, and waited until Warren had seated. Shuffling papers across the desk, the Judge covertly sneaked looks at his young protégé. He'd never seen the agent look so calm, yet agitated at the same time.

Shit, something serious was in the wind.

"I haven't received your DLK report yet," he mentioned, keeping his voice casual. "Will I have that soon?"

Jack merely continued to stare at a spot directly over the Judge's right shoulder, out the window at the sprawling expanse of Baltimore and the Chesapeake Bay. Warren shifted uneasily in his chair, following the direction of Jack's eyes.

He reached into his bottom drawer to remove a cigar from the lacquered box. A gift from the president of Columbia on Warren's last visit there. He started to offer one to Jack, but remembered he'd given them up. What was it he'd said months ago when he began the assignment?

Something about being a warrior.

Jack didn't look much like a warrior now. The battle scars were there, sure, but there was quietude beneath the tanned flesh, composure below the furrowed brow, satisfaction around the mouth. Not at all the Jackson Holt the Judge was accustomed to interviewing upon return from a complicated mission.

His concern and curiosity were now thoroughly piqued. "Would you prefer to give an oral report?" he asked.

"No, I think not, Warren. You'll get the written summary. Tomorrow, maybe later." Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a legal-sized envelope. "But first ... "

Tossing it on the Judge's desk, Jack rose and meandered to the window, his hands stuffed in his pants pocket, his back towards the room.

"What the hell ... ?" Warren sliced open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. He read the paragraph three times before commenting.

"A letter of resignation? After all these years with the Organization, you think you can just walk in here and resign?"

Warren's blood pressure rose in tandem with his anger. "What the hell kind of a fool do you think I am?"

The Judge hadn't seen this coming. He'd expected a request for an undefined leave of absence, a recruiting assignment, hell, even temporary non-field assignments. But not this complete severance.