Special Ops Exclusive

chapter 17



Stunned, Nick stared into her green eyes, but he didn’t see any hint that she was joking around. No, she looked more serious than a full-on stroke.

“Rebecca.” He went to touch her cheek again, and discovered that his hand was shaking.

Rather than respond, she ducked out of his touch and went to search for her discarded clothes. When she started getting dressed in a hurry, he found himself doing the same. Somehow it felt wrong to have a serious conversation buck-naked.

He wanted to approach her, to take her into his arms, but she seemed to be intentionally keeping her distance. She walked over to the window and peered out, but he knew she wasn’t looking at anything in particular.

“Rebecca,” he said again, “what do you mean it’s over?”

She turned to him with a sad look. “I mean it’s over. You and me. This thing between us.”

Nick was too afraid to try to interpret the burst of panic and fear that skated up his spine.

“Why?” he demanded, his tone harsher than he wanted it to be.

“Because I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

Her soft confession hung in the air for a moment.

He swallowed. “I see.”

“Do you? Because I don’t think you do.” A chord of desperation rang in her voice. “I love being with you, Nick, and the more time I spend with you, the closer I come to falling. So we have to stop it, now, before I get even more attached to you. Because we both know there’s no future for us.”

His throat got real tight all of a sudden. “What makes you say that?”

“You,” she said simply. “You have a vision of what your future should be like, and I don’t belong in it. I won’t quit my job, and I won’t be a housewife, and I won’t stop reporting on potentially risky events. Not just won’t, but can’t. It’s my life, my livelihood, and not only am I great at it, but I love it.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, because damn it, he couldn’t deny that.

Rebecca Parker was talented as hell, and not only that, but she truly cared about the stories she reported on. She wasn’t one of those jaded correspondents who’d given up on the concept of truth and justice. She belonged on that television screen, informing people about the corruption and greed and horrors of this world.

“I’m not the right woman for you.”

His chest went rigid as she repeated the same words he’d told his father last night. When he met her eyes, the weariness in them said it all.

“You heard me and my dad talking last night,” he said flatly.

She nodded.

“Christ.” He raked both hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I wish you hadn’t heard that, but...I don’t know what to tell you. I love being with you, too, but you’re right. I do have this mental image of my future. I want what my parents had, damn it.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said roughly. “The other guys at school, they’d be looking for that next lay, and I’d be the guy looking for the one. Call me a wuss, but I want that perfect life my folks had.”

Her answering smile was gentle. “There’s no such thing as perfect, Nick.”

“Perfect is what you make it,” he countered.

“And you and me...we’re not that vision of perfection, huh?”

The pain in her voice tore at his insides. He wanted nothing more than to assure her that they could make it work, but each time he pictured a future with her, he saw Rebecca taking off to parts unknown and possibly getting killed by, say, a frickin’ Molotov cocktail being hurled at her head.

He swiftly banished the gruesome image. “I’d end up trying to change you,” he confessed. “And I don’t want to be the man who puts out that spark in your eyes, darling. I can’t be that man.”

Now it was anger coloring her tone. “Wow. My personality is so undesirable to you that you’d actively try to change it?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said in frustration. “It’s more about your job than anything. I wouldn’t want you to take on dangerous assignments. I’d be a mess whenever you left town, consumed with fear and worry, and I never want to place you in the position where you had to choose between me and your career.”

“What about me?” she challenged. “What if you choose to return to active duty? I’d be in the same boat worrying about you.”

“I’m done being a soldier,” he said quietly. “When this is all over, I want a civilian job. Probably here in D.C., so I can be close to my dad and sister.”

Rebecca fell silent for a moment. “There’s really no point in talking about this anymore. We both know it won’t work.”

His throat burned, but he couldn’t figure out why this hurt so bad. He’d known from the start that this affair wouldn’t amount to anything long-lasting.

So why did he feel like the damn world was ending?

“I...” Nick stopped, not sure what he wanted to say. Not sure if there was anything left to say. “I guess you’re right. There’s nothing left to talk about.”

Rebecca’s expression grew veiled. “You should call your father and make sure he’s made all the arrangements for tonight.”

“Yeah, I should.”

Their gazes locked.

Another silence descended.

As his gut clenched in sorrow, Nick broke eye contact and reached for his phone.

* * *

The secretary’s limo picked Nick up at eight-thirty that evening. Because his dad was traveling with several DoD agents who made up his security detail, Nick didn’t want them knowing about McAvoy and Rebecca, so he’d arranged for the pickup seven blocks from the motel.

The dinner portion of the veterans’ event would be wrapping up around now, and because his father’s presence hadn’t been required, the two men had agreed it would be better to show up just as the gala was getting under way. They planned on catching Ferguson right before he delivered his speech to the veterans.

When Nick slid into the backseat of the limo, his father immediately leaned forward and handed him a garment bag. “I grabbed the tux you left in the guest room closet,” Kirk Barrett said.

“Man, I can’t remember the last time I wore this.”

With a rueful grin, Nick unzipped the bag and stared at the tailored tuxedo jacket, black trousers and crisp white dress shirt it contained. He was suddenly grateful that he’d decided to shave the scruff he’d been sporting since Mala. Rebecca had persuaded him to do it, pointing out that he was attending the gala as good-guy Nick Barrett and not the badass Nick Prescott she’d been traveling with all week.

Don’t think about her.

Crap. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let thoughts of Rebecca distract him tonight. Although he knew ending it had been for the best, the troubling emotions swirling in his gut made it impossible to feel good about the decision.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now, which meant forcibly shoving Rebecca from his mind.

His father, however, hadn’t gotten the memo. “So is our sassy Ms. Parker still unhappy about being left behind?”

“A little, but she’ll get over it.” Nick avoided his father’s eyes before the older man could do that mind-reading trick he excelled at.

He shucked his camo pants and stuck his legs into the tuxedo trousers, yanking them to his hips and zipping up. As he put on the shirt and started buttoning it, he felt his dad’s shrewd gaze boring into him.

“What?” he said defensively.

The secretary’s eyes flickered with what resembled disappointment. “What are you doing, Nicky?”

“What are you talking about?”

“With Rebecca Parker.”

“Nothing.” He hesitated, fought another burst of pain. “In fact, we ended the affair earlier this afternoon.”

Kirk looked surprised. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I already told you why last night.”

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable—he and his father didn’t normally discuss Nick’s love life—Nick reached for the small box inside the garment bag and flipped it open. The velvet bed contained a pair of monogrammed cuff links his dad must have grabbed from their home safe.

“We’re not right for each other,” Nick added when his father didn’t say a word.

More silence.

Sighing, he snapped on the cuff links and fixed his sleeves, then shrugged into his tuxedo jacket. His fingers were unusually ungainly as he tackled his bow tie. He was acutely aware that his father was still watching him, and that silent stare-down left him feeling frazzled.

“Oh, spit it out, Dad. What’s on your mind?”

“I think you’re a fool.”

The frank words made him raise his eyebrows. “Wow, don’t hold back any punches.”

“You asked what was on my mind—well, that was it.” The secretary shook his head. “For the love of God, son, that woman is so right for you I want to grab you by the shoulders and give you a firm shake for being so damn blind.”

A tornado of shock spiraled through him. “What?”

“You heard me. She’s the one. And you’re letting her go? I know it’s been a year since we’ve seen each other, but when did you become such a dumb-ass, Nicholas?”

Nick was having an impossible time making sense of this conversation. “She’s not the one,” he sputtered. “She can’t be. All she ever does is challenge me and argue and drive me absolutely nuts with her complete disregard for her own safety. Half the time I want to strangle her for being so damn stubborn, and the other half, I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to bed—”

He quit talking when he realized his father was laughing at him. Loudly. And for a very long time.

“Care to fill me in on the joke?” Nick said with an edge to his voice.

“You don’t see how lucky you are, do you, son?” Kirk continued to chuckle. “What you’re describing? It’s passion. Lord, what I would have given to have had just a fraction of that in my own marriage.”

Nick sucked in a stunned breath. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I loved your mother. I loved her with every fiber of my being, but let’s not kid each other here—Jeannie was a yes-woman. She agreed with every word that came out of my mouth, approved of every decision I made, took every suggestion I gave her.” A flicker of shame crept into Kirk’s eyes. “Honestly? Sometimes I’d make the most outrageous demand in hopes that your mom would argue with me about it—and more than half the time, she wouldn’t! She’d go along with whatever stupid thing that came out of my mouth, because that was the kind of woman she was.”

Nick shook his head a few times to clear out the cobwebs of shock. He’d never heard his father say a negative word about his mom, so this was a startling first.

“Are you saying you weren’t happy with her?” he heard himself ask.

“Of course not. All I’m saying is, our marriage was not as perfect as it seemed. And your mom, as much as I loved her, wasn’t perfect either. She was too damn passive. Usually I loved it, you know, because I tend to be dominating—”

Nick snickered. “No kidding.”

“But like I said, sometimes I wished she stood up to me more. Challenged me, excited me.” The secretary shrugged. “You lucked out, son. I know you don’t see it that way, but honestly, marriage can be boring. You want that passion, Nicky. I see the way you look at Rebecca, and I see the way she looks at you, so trust me when I say that letting her go will be the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

* * *

The Veterans Gala was being held in the White House’s East Ballroom, a stunning room with magnificent crystal chandeliers, a sleek terrazzo floor and gold-colored silk draperies gracing the walls. There was a mixed crowd in attendance—decorated soldiers, their wives and girlfriends, White House staff, politicians and movers and shakers. The guests chatted and mingled, sipped on champagne and munched on appetizers and stole glances across the room to where Troy Ferguson was holding court with two senators, an army general and a supreme court judge.

Nick stuck close to his father’s side, wishing the secretary hadn’t initiated that disturbing heart-to-heart right before they were due to confront the vice president of the United States. Nick’s head was all over the place now, and he had to make a serious effort to concentrate on the task at hand.

He accepted a champagne flute from a passing server and studied Ferguson, whose trim body and youthful features never failed to surprise him. Only the threads of silver in Ferguson’s thick dark hair hinted that the man was older than he looked. He’d served in the military, too, a decorated soldier in his own right, and several of the uniform-clad veterans were ushered by White House staff to chat with the VP.

“He seems to be in good spirits,” Nick murmured.

“Indeed,” his father murmured back.

The two of them started to walk, but they hadn’t made it two steps when they were intercepted by a congressman who wanted to talk to the secretary of defense. When they finally managed to pry themselves away, they ended up being intercepted again, this time by a female senator whose eyes widened at the sight of Nick.

“And is this your son?” she asked. “Where have you been hiding him, Kirk?”

“I just got in from a yearlong sailing trip last night,” Nick lied.

“Yes, I can tell you must have been out on the boat. You look very tanned.”

He did? Uh, okay, if she said so.

“And what are your plans now?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“Not sure yet,” he said, keeping his response vague.

His father touched his arm. “Nicholas, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet. Excuse us, Susan.”

They moved away from the curious woman, only to be stopped by someone else. Needless to say, it took twenty minutes for them to make their way across the ballroom.

At their approach, Vice President Ferguson sharply turned his head. He looked startled to see them, and his dark gray eyes lingered on Nick for so long that his shoulders tensed.

Was Ferguson surprised to see him here because he was the one trying to kill him and he’d been hoping Nick would already be dead? Or was the VP just genuinely surprised that the secretary had arrived with his traveling nomad of a son?

“Kirk,” Ferguson said warmly as he shook the secretary’s hand.

Two stone-faced agents stood a few feet away, keeping a vigilant eye on the ballroom and everyone in it. In fact, the whole room was swarming with agents, all boasting that same alert posture and hawklike gaze.

“Mr. Vice President, you remember my son, Nicholas,” Secretary Barrett said, gesturing to Nick.

“Of course. Pleasure to see you again, son.”

Nick reached out to shake the vice president’s hand.

Hmm. Firm shake, steady hand, dry palm. If Ferguson was nervous, he wasn’t showing any outward signs of it.

“I thought your father had mentioned you were out of the country,” the VP said with mild interest.

Yeah, because that was the lie you fed him.

Nick restrained the biting response, quickly reminding himself that Ferguson might not be guilty.

And yet something about the man was triggering his internal alarms. Ferguson was too poised, his expression too contemplative as he gazed at Nick.

“I was. I only got in last night,” Nick explained.

“I see. And did you enjoy your travels?”

Nick thought about this past year—the safe houses, the frustration, the rage...

He met Ferguson’s silver-gray eyes. “More or less.”

Next to him, his father took a small step forward and lowered his voice to a grave pitch. “Mr. Vice President, we were hoping to get a moment alone with you.”

The other man made a clucking noise with his tongue. “I’m afraid that might be difficult. I’m due to give a speech in less than an hour, and there are several people I have yet to speak to.”

“It won’t take long,” the secretary insisted.

Ferguson’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s this about, Kirk?”

“It’s a matter that would be best discussed in private, sir. My son has come to me with some very troubling news.”

Nick didn’t miss the spark of alarm that lit the VP’s eyes. Question was, was it genuine or false?

And if that was real alarm, what was Ferguson worried about? National security...or that he might be exposed?

“I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t of the utmost importance,” Nick’s father said in a coaxing tone.

Finally, the vice president nodded. “Yes, of course. I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

He glanced at his Secret Service agents, gave a curt nod, and a moment later, their little group was heading for the door.

Two agents took the lead, stepping out of the ballroom first. The three men trailed after them while three more agents took up the rear. The entourage walked the quiet halls until they reached the office the VP used when he was at the White House; his day-to-day office space was located on the Naval Observatory grounds, which Nick remembered getting a tour of when his father first became the secretary of defense.

The Secret Service agents entered the office to make sure it was secure before allowing the vice president to enter.

“You and your men can wait in the hall, Alfred,” Ferguson barked at the lead agent.

The tall, silent man nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ferguson didn’t make a move for the desk or the couch. He stood in the center of the room instead, fixing both Barretts with an impatient look.

“Well? What is it?”

“I’m afraid something very troubling, and slightly unbelievable, has come to my attention,” Secretary Barrett began. “Regarding the Meridian virus.”

Ferguson didn’t even blink. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific, Kirk.”

“How’s this for specific? Deputy Secretary McAvoy has admitted to being involved with the development of the virus—and he names you as the individual in charge of the project.”

Nick watched the vice president’s expression for any change, any indication of guilt, but the man had a phenomenal poker face. Nick couldn’t tell if Ferguson was surprised or angry or who knew what, at least until that carefully composed mask broke away and unexpected resignation filled those gray eyes.

With a heavy breath, Ferguson rounded the commanding mahogany desk and sank into the plush chair. He clasped his hands on the desktop and said, “I was afraid something like this might happen.”