Unchained (8 page)

“Either let me grab my son’s washcloth from the washroom or go get it for me.”

She made this demand with barely concealed exasperation. Viewing the man with a less-than-friendly expression, she was hard pressed to keep a rude eye roll off her face.

Someone ought to tell these government trolls that the whole men-in-black thing was a yawn fest. When an entire circus of black-suited operatives invaded her quiet morning routine and started barking directives, she almost laughed at the absurdity of the cliché come to life. There wasn’t anything funny, though, about the tense conversation she knew was going down in her living room.

Standing her ground, Lacey all but tapped her bare foot as she stayed put and glared at her guard dog, arms crossed with a deep scowl on her face.

She could see him weighing the options. Deciding to keep his job rather than cave to her mean-Mom face, he took three swift steps into the hallway, glanced at her, and said, “Stay there, ma’am,” and then hurried into the bathroom.

“Oh, and grab the Vaseline off the counter too.”

He was back less than ten seconds later, handing her the soft baby washcloth and tub of goo. Having won this particular battle, she graciously accepted the items and returned to her son’s side.

By the time she cleared the highchair’s tray, washed Dylan’s face and hands, and handed him his sippy bottle, a good ten or fifteen minutes had flown by. That was when she heard raised voices. Her guard heard them too and glanced down the long hallway separating the kitchen and great room from the expansive living room.

Lacey froze. She didn’t like the sound of her husband’s voice raised in anger. Didn’t like the dark, menacing air of the response she couldn’t quite make out. Something wasn’t right. Goose bumps spread across her skin.

Her eyes darted to Dylan. Placing her body between Cameron’s son and what was happening was one hundred percent protective mom. Another series of noises invaded her senses from a different direction. Heart pounding, she shot her hand out as a reflex to shield her baby. Too much was happening too fast.

Long, tense seconds passed. She looked briefly at the suit of black and noticed two things immediately.

He had a finger on his ear—she’d already noted the earpiece—and his other hand was inside his suit jacket.
Shit.
She knew that pose. He was reaching for his gun.

Every salacious and rude swear word in her unspoken stockpile sprang to mind followed by one thought … Dylan.

Dammit
, she mentally griped. Instead of pole dancing workshops, she should have been up at the Villa’s gym working on some self-defense moves.

A loud, harsh clamor at the back door had her swinging around to see what was up.

Voices. Belligerent voices. Stern. Powerful.

Wait. Was that Calder? It was! She immediately breathed a deep sigh of relief. Running to the kitchen door, she peered onto the back patio. Yep. Calder and another black suit were having a heated exchange. Stephanie appeared at the foot of the steps where she paused to take in the scene before dashing to Calder’s side.

Lacey immediately flung open the door.

“Ma’am,” her guard dog barked. She saw him hurrying toward her and knew he intended to prevent her from letting anyone in.

Pfft.
She didn’t think so! These people were on her turf. This was Cameron property. Morphing into a blond ponytailed version of Wonder Woman, she held up her hand and yelled, “Stop!”

The guy stumbled to an awkward halt less than five feet from where Dylan sat taking everything in with watchful intensity.

“Back off, agent. Take another step toward my son and you won’t like how I react.”

He stood absolutely still, looking back and forth between her, Dylan, and the back door.

“That man out there has legal control of this property. He’s coming in whether you want him to or not.”

Swiftly yelling from the back door, she called out, “Calder. Stephanie. I need you.”

That was all she had to do. Returning to her baby, she resumed a protective posture and waited.

“W
ITH ALL DUE
respect, sir,” Cam bit out. “Ma’am,” he added with a terse nod at the woman currently worrying a path into the wood floor with her constant back and forth. “But I don’t think you’re hearing me. This isn’t a good time for me to be off-site. Now, if we’re talking a satellite connection from here …” He left off the rest, but they knew what he was getting at.

If his unexpected guests were anyone except who they were, he’d have been a lot less respectful. Or receptive. But being a rude ass dick to one of the top supervisory agents in the Secret Service and the chairman of a hush-hush secret intelligence committee just wasn’t done. He still had enough military inside him to recognize when to snap to attention and when to flip the bird.

“As you already know, Major Marquez is out of the country indefinitely.”

Alex’s name held a hefty amount of gravitas, so he made sure to toss it out as a reminder of where they were and who the hell they were dealing with.

“At the present time, my responsibilities remain here. In Arizona.”

Chairman Johnson eyed him dispassionately. The man was a notorious hard-ass.
He’d have to be in order to do what he does
, Cam thought. His serious expression reminded him that here was a guy who knew the dirty. The real deal. Not the sanitized, heavily edited pabulum the press served up.

Mix in the Secret Service with whatever Johnson had on his plate and some serious shit was underway.

Fuck my life.
Cam said nothing, but the sense of impending surrender to forces mightier and much more powerful than Justice made its way into his consciousness.

“We aren’t asking, Mr. Cameron. This isn’t a request. No shitting around. Your country needs you. A serious situation affecting the delicate balance of bullshit versus the U.S. exists, and you have certain skills,” he said with a hypocritically patronizing sneer that made Cam want to throw a punch.

Yep. Here we go
, he thought with brittle irritation. These guys would just never let him be.

Special Agent in big-time charge, Adrienne Giroux stopped pacing and shut down the entire conversation.

“Gentlemen. Time to buck up. This back and forth is useless and wasting time. Cameron,” she snapped, “pack a bag and let’s get going. We’re talking about the Vice President’s grandson, so let me be blunt. Either you locate and get him out of there, or we face the real possibility of an all-out war of retribution.”

Cam rolled his head and neck to release some of the excruciating tension gripping him. Search and rescue in what was essentially a terrorist’s stronghold. Objective—save a life and possibly democracy itself.

Fuck.

Knowing he was cornered and feeling peeved about it, Cam shoved his hand into a pocket and gave his high-level handlers a dour glare.

“What’s in it for me?” He used the dick-ish question as a way to buy time while he thought.

“Why, the gratitude of a grateful nation, of course,” Johnson snidely replied.

“David,” Special Agent Giroux snapped, “give it a rest.” With a rueful smirk, she asked Cam, “What can we do for you, Jason? Is it okay if I call you Jason?”

No. It wasn’t okay. Not okay at all.

“For the purpose of this discussion and any further meetings, you can refer to me as Cameron Justice. Use my birth name again and, frankly, you can all go fuck yourselves.” He turned a withering expression of utter contempt on both of them. “Don’t treat me like an imbecile.” He was hollering and didn’t care. “You both have my entire dossier on your phones. What? Did you think I’d piss my pants because of a deliberate taunt? You know what?” he suddenly growled. “On second thought, fuck you sideways. You messed with the wrong guy this time. Just toddle on back to your superiors and tell them you acted like assholes and I wasn’t having it. If you guys need to ass fuck a decorated veteran to make yourselves feel important, well …”

His crossed arms and aggressive tone finished the thought. Giroux’s pursed lips and drawn-on brows bumping together let Cam know he’d struck a nerve.

They weren’t going to let go that easily. He knew that. But by calling them on their shit and issuing a threat, he now had more than just a couple of chips in the game.

No surprise when Johnson issued a threat of his own. “Don’t mess with the big boys, son, or you could find yourself selling whistles on a street corner for a living.”

“Enough!” the venerable lady snapped irritably. “I don’t need a fucking pissing contest!”

Cam fought not to laugh.

“Mr. Cameron,” she said with pointed precision. “We have to leave this house now. Don’t force my hand. Either come willingly or I’ll be compelled to act on the authority of the President and take you out of here by force if necessary.”

Just as he suspected. The polite dog and pony show had run out of time.

Dismissing the politician with the bad attitude, he fixed on the clear power in the room.

“Ma’am,” he began respectfully. “I want a half hour to get my responsibilities in order.” He arched an eyebrow to let her know he meant business.

“Fifteen minutes,” she countered.

“Half an hour, Agent Giroux, or call in the big guns and drag me out by force.”

After a few moments of eyeball combat, she finally relented without actually saying so. “May I use the restroom? Could use a quick refresh.”

The clock was ticking. “Other side of the front door,” he answered with a jerk of his head. “Move your people away from the house immediately. I’ll meet you in the driveway in thirty.”

And then he was racing down the hallway to Lacey. He found her in the kitchen with Calder and Stephanie. The second their eyes met, he felt her fear. Aware of the minutes flashing by, he spoke quickly and succinctly to Calder.

“You and Stephanie take Dylan and go to Drae’s.”

Calder asked, “What do these fuckers want?”

He sighed deeply. “What people?”

Calder nodded. He didn’t have to say another word.

Going to his wife, Cam took her hand, squeezed, and held on tight. Stephanie was already pulling Dylan out of his high chair.

“I need to talk to my wife,” he told them solemnly. “She’ll meet you at Drae’s.”

Stephanie hurriedly brought his son to him and cheerfully urged Dylan to, “Give Daddy a kiss.”

Two baby kisses later, he ruffled his boy’s mop of hair and chuckled as he saw what his onesie said.

“The force is strong with my son,” he announced with beaming pride. Lacey started to tremble. They didn’t have much time. Without another word, he pulled her deeper into the house and headed for his study where he quickly closed them in and locked the door.

Looking at his sweet, sweet Ponytail, he memorized everything about her. The length of tanned legs sticking out beneath the hem of her robe. Her bare feet and how she’d painted her toenails a light shade of pink. The half-assed ponytail and how adorable she looked with a freshly scrubbed face. She looked exactly like the young girl he’d rescued from a mugging just a year and a half ago.

His wife might be young, but she’d survived cruel abandonment by a heartless parent and endured a life on the streets. Lacey Cameron had more grit and backbone than the whole team of badass motherfuckers prowling outside his house. She might be scared shitless, but she’d never show it. No way.

“Tell me.”

He glanced at the clock before answering. “They’re calling me in,” he answered somberly. She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “Search and rescue.” At that, she stiffened, but he continued. Time was moving too fast. “High-level target.”

“Shit,” she muttered.

He reacted to her uncharacteristic swearing with little more than a cursory nod. They both knew this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill situation.

Flying at him from where she stood, Lacey threw her arms around him and started pressing kisses all over his face. “I love you,” she ground out as desperation vibrated off her skin.

Responding in kind, he tried to speak between the frantic kissing. “You and Dylan will be all right. Tell Calder I’ll try to keep in touch. I think you should stay with Draegyn and Victoria. I don’t want you to be alone.”