Code name disavowed, p.6
Code Name: Disavowed, page 6
Within an hour, Bebe had Greer’s room number at the Embassy Suites and gave it to me with no questions. Of course, I wasn’t about to question her as to the means she employed to find this information. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d hacked the CIA telephone system, which records all calls, and found the one Greer obviously placed to someone to come get her. Or, more simply, she probably hacked Greer’s credit cards—assuming she had a go bag set up here in DC for just such occasions. It would have money, credit cards, and identity documents. Probably a cell phone too.
Regardless of how Bebe came by the information, I now know exactly where Greer is. Before I can talk myself out of it, I go inside the hotel. The elevator takes me to the sixth floor, and then I’m knocking on room 632.
Greer opens the door but doesn’t invite me in, instead asking in a fatigued tone, “What are you doing here, Ladd?”
She’s changed out of her sweatsuit ensemble and is wearing a pair of charcoal leggings and an oversized, cream-colored sweater. Her blond hair is bunched on top of her head in a messy bun.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Can I come in?”
Greer studies me shrewdly. She has reason to think I’m lying, because she would think I’d be the last person to care about her. But I must, since I’m here.
She sighs and backs away from the threshold, a silent invitation. I enter the suite, which has a living area, small kitchen, bath, and bedroom.
The TV is on, but turned so low I can barely hear it. I see an open suitcase on the bed as I walk by the bedroom.
She doesn’t invite me to sit, but that’s fine. I’m not staying long. Only want to make sure she’s truly okay.
“Mind telling me why Newman has it out for you?” I ask, more to satisfy my own curiosity. There’s no doubt her disavowal and the decision to keep her disavowed was personal for Newman.
Greer laughs mirthlessly. “Her misguided notion that she needs to avenge her son’s bruised feelings?”
There’s no stopping it from coming out of my mouth. “Did you leave him at the altar too?”
“I didn’t leave you at the altar,” she snaps and then rubs her hands over her face. I know she’s exhausted and heartsick.
A flush of guilt for attacking her that way settles in. “I’m sorry for saying that. You obviously didn’t leave me at the altar.”
“But I broke off the engagement,” she murmurs apologetically. “Same as leaving you at the altar, I suppose.”
“Old news,” I say, so we can move on. “What’s the deal with her son?”
“He was a partner,” Greer says, her tone laced with disdain. “And he was no good. Violating protocols, refusing orders, pushing boundaries too far. I didn’t report him, but I offended Gayla deeply when I refused to lie and cover up some things. He ended up resigning before anything happened, which is why Gayla kept her position, but she’s had it out for me ever since.”
“Jesus,” I mutter in disbelief.
Greer just put her life on the line for our country, got invaluable intelligence to put a major dent in international crime, and essentially got the boot because she refused to sacrifice her morals and lie to stay on Newman’s good side.
“I’ve got a connection to the president,” I offer. “One of our agents is married to the president’s niece. I can have him reach out on your behalf.”
Greer shakes her head, crosses her arms over her stomach. “I’m going to take some time off. Evaluate my options.”
“And where will you go?” I don’t know where she lives or if she even has a home. When I first met her, she had a small condo in Arlington. We later chose to live together in western Tuscany in the port city of Livorno because we could be based anywhere in the world in our particular line of work.
“I’ll stay at my parents’ house,” she says as she reaches for a bottle of water on the coffee table. And then almost as an afterthought, and more to herself than me, “I’m glad I never got around to selling it.”
I jolt with surprise. “Selling it?”
Greer blinks as if she doesn’t understand why I would question her, and then realization dawns. “I’m sorry… you don’t know. They died about four years ago.”
“Fuck,” I growl low from the shock of her statement. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Catalina and Martin Hathaway were good people. A true love story. She was Miss Argentina and competed in the Miss World beauty pageant in Los Angeles. He was working security for the event. He asked her out for coffee, never thinking she’d accept. She accepted, and they fell in love.
They were a lovely couple. I was looking forward to them being my in-laws. When Greer and I broke up, I was devastated to lose them too.
And now… they’re gone?
“A boating accident. Freak storm. Boat was found, they were not.” Greer’s words are dull and flat. She was incredibly close to her parents, her mother just a little more. Whenever she was off in between missions, she always went to visit them. Always kept in touch as much as she could. They were always her one big regret for the career she’d chosen, that she couldn’t be near them all the time. But they wanted her to pursue her dreams, and they encouraged her to follow that path.
“God,” I murmur, thinking of them drowning in the Pacific. They had settled in Ramona, California, about forty-five minutes from San Diego, and were avid mariners with a deep love of offshore fishing. They spent more time on their boat than they did at their house. “I’m really sorry, Greer. I know how much you loved them.”
Her eyes drop, and she nods in agreement. But her face is tortured with pain, and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know if I should do anything. She’s not mine to care for anymore.
I had thought Greer in pain wouldn’t faze me, but it does. Apparently, I still care for her, and it’s pushing past my anger at her.
But before I can even think of what solace or comfort I can offer, her face lifts and she offers a quavering smile. “Listen… it was nice of you to check up on me, but I’m fine. I’m flying to San Diego tomorrow. Again, I really appreciate you rescuing me and all. You’re a good man, Ladd.”
I stare at her, a little put out that she’s shut down our conversation and is, in essence, telling me to leave without being so rude as to be direct about it.
“I guess I should get out of here,” I say, turning for the door. She follows behind me silently. When I reach for the knob, I hesitate and glance over my shoulder at her. “Take care of yourself, Greer.”
She smiles again, arms wrapped around her stomach. “You do the same.”
One last look, and then I nod. I open the door and step into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me.
But then I freeze before the latch catches. Were those tears in her eyes? It was a brave face she was putting on, but maybe only until I left. Greer is a proud woman, and after destroying what we had, she’d never, ever seek any sort of help or comfort from me.
Without a doubt, she would have been the last person in the world who would’ve asked me to come rescue her in El Salvador. Greer would believe that’s her penance for breaking things off. She would adamantly refuse anything from me, because she doesn’t believe she’s worth my time or attention.
A few days ago, I would’ve probably agreed.
Now, I don’t know how I fucking feel, other than I’m not sure I can leave her if she’s not okay.
“Fuck it,” I mutter and push the door back open. I step in, and Greer is already in the living room. She whirls around and her face reddens with embarrassment.
I caught her crying.
Rivers of tears pour down her face, and when I close the door, she abandons her pride and walks straight at me. I open my arms to enfold her in a strong embrace.
She buries her face in my chest and cries softly.
I reel from her scent and the memories of how her body fits against mine. I pet her hair and whisper to her that things will be okay.
She’ll be okay.
And fuck me all to hell, I want her to be okay. I don’t want her to hurt.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER 8
Greer
I’m so embarrassed to need Ladd’s arms around me, but right now, I don’t think you could pry me away with the Jaws of Life. And truth be told, it’s all his fault that I need this.
I could have done just fine with the fact that I was captured, nearly gang-raped, faced my own death, and then once I escaped, was disavowed by my agency because of a petty need for retaliation after I chose to do the right thing. Frankly, that’s all in a day’s work.
Granted, the disavowal shook me, but it isn’t the end of my world. Plenty of places I can still do this type of work if I want to.
What has rattled me to the point of tears is Ladd being a part of all this. Swooping in like a white knight to pluck me from death’s grip, and then showing up at my hotel to see if I’m okay.
He has no reason to do these things. He owes me nothing, even though he feels he does since I once saved him. I never wanted payback for that—I always felt that mission had led me to the great love of my life. I got far more out of that than Ladd ever did.
But here he is, knowing in his gut when he walked out the hotel door that I was not okay, despite me saying I was.
He’s the only person I’ve ever let see me vulnerable. With Ladd, I could cry at a sappy movie and not be embarrassed. I could have a nightmare and wake up with his arms around me, gentling me with soft words until I fell back asleep.
I could have him walk back into my life after twelve years with every reason to hate me and allow myself to crumble before him.
“You’re going to be fine, Greer. I promise.”
His words are soft but lined with steel, so sure he is of my abilities. People look at me and think I’m made of that same steel, that I have no insecurities. Ladd knows that’s not true, and it’s one of the reasons we made such a great couple. We lent strength to the other when we needed it, and right now, I need it.
If only for just a minute more. Then I swear I’ll let him go.
Ladd’s arms encircle me with support. His chin is on top of my head, and I rest my cheek against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat calms me, and the tears dry as I knew they would with his offer of solace.
“You’re the strongest woman I know,” Ladd says gruffly, now giving me platitudes to make sure I buck up again.
I smile because it’s classic Ladd—knowing exactly what to say at exactly the right time.
Nodding, I relish the feel of him against me, around me, and then I know it’s time to let go.
I start to pull away from him but only make it a few inches before his arms lock tight and I can’t move any farther. I tip my head to look up at him, my temple grazing his jaw. He dips his head, and then my cheek is against his. I feel his breath on my neck, and I hate that it happens, but my pulse accelerates.
We’re both frozen in time, holding this intimate hug, cheek to cheek, but almost by empathic agreement, we start to pull away from each other. We stop again, though, our mouths almost touching.
My breath rushes out, and I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. I’m afraid to move, afraid to break what feels like some kind of spell between us.
Whatever this is, though, I can’t take it any further than this hug. I’m the one who hurt Ladd. I’m the one who threw away our relationship. I don’t have the right to anything from him again.
In fact, I shouldn’t even be standing here, putting him in this position to sacrifice his own principles. When I broke it off, and he walked away, I had no right to anything from him anymore. He’s already given me far too much after what he did for me in El Salvador.
I push against him, expecting him to loosen his hold and let me go. He doesn’t, and I’m confused.
And curious.
I tilt back a bit so I can see him—so I can see his eyes, which I’ve always been able to read—and I’m not ready for the intensity that greets me.
So many emotions warring within—desire, anger, sorrow, need.
He wants me, but he doesn’t want to want me.
I need to be strong for him.
Once again, I try to pull free, but his arms are like steel traps. Before I can ask him to let me go, his mouth presses to mine.
Not in a lustful, passionate kiss but one that is whisper-soft and warm. One that doesn’t move deep but doesn’t draw away. A kiss that exists for several heartbeats and is so very quiet. Hesitant… a mere exchange of breath.
For a moment, I sense hesitation, and Ladd goes still. I don’t move a muscle because again, I don’t want to initiate anything. It’s not my right. My eyes are closed, listening for any indication of what he wants, and then he huffs a sound of frustration, as if making a decision that he doesn’t like but has no choice.
His mouth crushes into mine, one hand moving to the back of my head to hold me in place. I sigh into the unexpected depth of the kiss, rife with savagery built upon twelve years of anger and maybe some long-hidden desire.
I don’t know where this is going, only that I’m grateful Ladd is giving me something. When I went to his house ten years ago, it was with the idea that I would beg and grovel for him to take me back. I knew what a colossal mistake I’d made, and I knew that my wishes for a happy life would only ever be fulfilled by Ladd and not my career, which I had placed above him.
But he had moved on, and I was heartbroken all over again. When we broke up, even though it was my call, I was just as destroyed as he was. I didn’t push him away because I didn’t want him. I pushed him away so he could have better than I could ever give him.
He deserved more.
This kiss he is controlling is everything I remember. Nothing has changed. Still the best damn set of lips I’ve ever had in my life, and my heart swells even larger as he continues to drink from me.
I become dizzy when Ladd abruptly tears himself away, his large hands moving to the sides of my head. He bends down almost nose to nose, eyes boring into mine. “Do you want this? Do you want more?”
“Yes.” I want everything he could ever to give me.
Anger flashes across his face, and I think he might push me away. “I shouldn’t give it to you. I should make you suffer, so you can have a taste of what I felt when you pushed me out of your life.”
It’s such a slap in the face that he doesn’t get how much pain I experienced, but I can’t be angry with him.
“I suffered too, Ladd,” I murmur.
If I expected a small measure of understanding from him that perhaps I was just as hurt as he was, I don’t get it. His expression remains bitter, and I know this will go nowhere.
Probably for the best.
But to my surprise, he kisses me again.
This time, it’s deeper, more frenzied, and his hands move from my face to my ass where he uses his brawny strength to pick me up. My legs wrap around his waist, and he walks me into the bedroom without ever removing his mouth from mine.
His intent is clear.
This is a recipe for something that could be disastrous. At a minimum, this might be a hate fuck. Not on my end, of course. I’m still madly in love with him, as much now as I was when we broke up. But he’s never forgiven me, so whatever he’s going to give me now is purely physical with no emotion attached.
I’ll accept that. I deserve no more.
Which is why I’m stunned beyond any understanding when Ladd sets me down and gentles his kiss. He takes his time undressing me, in between feathering his lips over the parts of my body that he reveals. Once I’m naked, he pushes me to the bed and treats me to a beautiful exhibition as he takes off his clothes. He’s angled slightly to the left when he removes his shirt, and my breath hitches at seeing his infinity symbol tattoo on his shoulder. I’d wondered if he’d kept it or would he have obliterated it from his body. Mine seems to tingle in recognition, which is ludicrous. We don’t have a connection anymore.
We only have this.
Neither of us says a word. I’m terrified it will send him running, and he probably has nothing good to say.
Ladd removes a condom from his wallet, and I try to school my features so as not to give away the pain that causes me. To know he’s casual about intimacy these days and carries one with him. Ladd and I were stupid the first time we had sex, madly fucking against the wall. Neither of us worried about STDs or birth control, and we lucked out that we’d each been careful in our prior sex lives.
But twelve years has passed. I don’t know much about this man anymore except one very important thing: if he was involved with someone else right now—perhaps the woman I saw pregnant with his child ten years ago—he would not be in this room with me tonight. I know in the depths of my soul Ladd would never cheat.
He crawls onto the bed, covering my body with his. I could never count the number of times we’ve been in this position before, my legs spreading naturally to accommodate him. He is a giving lover, no matter what his feelings deep down may be for me, and he treats me with care and reverence. His hands are gentle, fingers delicately probing. He is, as always, the adventurous man, and he knows all the spots to drive me crazy. It is only when he has me writhing and begging and pleading that he drives into me with commanding force. I call out, the sudden fullness in the beauty of the connection I have missed for over a decade.
The connection I’ve longed for, and dream to have again with him.
He gives me no time to accommodate his invasion but starts a slow, rhythmic pumping of his hips against mine. He’s a large man, but my body remembers him. It stretches and forms and accepts him deep inside.
Pressing his forearms to the mattress, he manages to keep most of his weight off me so I’m not smothered. His mouth moves against mine as he makes love to me.
But it’s not love.
Not really.
This certainly didn’t turn into the hate fuck I thought it would be, but this is nothing but mutual pleasure. At least for Ladd.
And every thrust that pushes me toward ecstasy makes my heart bleed with a longing for what we once had. At the same time, I tell myself to get ready for the fall into disappointment when this is over.
