Rules of Re-engagement Read online

  “It’s become part of the fabric of who I am now. I will die for my men and they for me.”

  “And where would a woman fit in, Jack? Would your men choose allegiance over love? Is there even room for love in a life like that?”

  He studied her from the darkness, the light from the lamp flickering over his features, shifting shadows so that she couldn’t read him. “I don’t know, Olivia,” he said finally. “It’s something each man may have to face in his own time. I can’t speak for them on that count.”

  “What about you?”

  He remained silent, sipped his wine. “This is a trick question, right?” he said finally.

  Disappointment touched her. So that’s how he was going to choose to deal with it.

  “Do you think the end ever justifies the means, Jack?”

  “You mean killing for money? It’s a matter of perspective.”

  “I mean like using me to get to my father?”

  He raised his brows slightly. “Am I using you, Olivia? I’m beginning to feel a little used myself, sexually speaking.”

  “I’m being serious here, Jack.”

  He sat silent for a while. “I’d have to say yes, that sometimes the end does justify the means. I think anyone who says otherwise is deluding themselves.”

  A strange sense of hurt and disappointment filled her. She didn’t know why she was even pushing this, or what she hoped to gain from it. “What else should I expect from a mercenary,” she said softly. “At least you’re honest.”

  His eyes flashed to hers, and his body tensed slightly. “You think your father isn’t a mercenary in the corporate sense? Look at what men like him do for power, for cash—they destroy lives. They just do it in a more removed fashion. They sit up there in their glass towers and pick up phones instead of guns. Don’t judge me because I get my hands dirty, Olivia.”

  “I think we’re talking about two different things here, Jack.”

  He sorted softly. “I’m not so sure.” He reached for the bottle and topped off their glasses before setting it back on the little wooden table. “What’s important is the end goal, Olivia, whether it’s a good one or a bad one. Is it justifiable to sacrifice one innocent life in order to save millions more? Is it justifiable to take any life for personal power, capital gain?”

  “Those moral lines aren’t always so black-and-white, Jack.”

  “Yeah, they can get real gray—but that’s my base point, that’s how I weigh my actions. That’s how I decide what battles my men will fight.”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “What’s your real goal in the big scheme of things like life.”

  “To get you back, Olivia.” He didn’t even blink. His eyes held hers steady over the rim of her glass.

  A dark thrill rippled through her. “Do you mean that?”

  “I always say what I mean.”

  She stared at him, trying to read his eyes in the flickering interplay between light and dark. And an ominous thought threaded through her. Could this be the mercenary talking? Was this just another way of getting her to trust him? A way to ensure her betrayal of her father so that he could save all those innocent lives? She just couldn’t be sure.

  Olivia got up, went to the edge of the deck and leaned against the railing, holding her blanket close against the chill night wind. And her eyes began to sting as the weight of the years, of what he’d just said, seemed to be coming down on her.

  Jack let her be for a few minutes. Hell, he didn’t know why he’d said that. But, damn, it was true. He wanted her. It was the truest emotion in him. He’d tried to bury it all these years. He’d tried to let the iron gates of Fort de Nogent shut it out, tried to fight back in every physical way he could. But now he was here, back. And now he knew. She was his reason for being.

  He watched her at the railing, her hair blowing softly in the wind. Then he tensed suddenly, every molecule in his body alert. He could sense something, a dark whisper in the breeze, something coming in with the bank of fog rolling on to shore. He’d developed the instincts of a predator—and a hunter could always sense another. It was the sixth sense he’d learned never to ignore.

  He stood up, scanned the beach carefully. It was fully dark now and he couldn’t see beyond the grasses, or into the mist moving in off the sea. It was coming in fast, swallowing the gleaming blackness of the waves, closing over the beach, moving up to the house.

  Perhaps it was just her father’s men out there, watching.

  His FDS agent, McDonough, had them covered from the front of the house, and Davis was doing patrols round the back on the hour. But it suddenly didn’t feel safe out here. He went to her at the railing. “Olivia—”

  She turned to him and he saw that her eyes were glistening, like broken glass in moonlight. She looked so beautiful. The wine had softened her, made her eyes dreamy…and sad. Deeply sad. His heart cracked, and tenderness surged through him. At this moment he loved her more deeply and more violently than he could have ever dreamed possible. He’d kill anyone who tried to harm this woman. He’d tear them apart with his bare hands.

  He glanced into the dank fog, that sense of unease, of being watched increasing. He cupped her face with his hand. “Come, Olivia, we need to go inside where it’s warm.”

  And safe.

  She hesitated. “What about the bracelet, Jack? Do you still feel you can’t trust me enough to take it off?”

  A sick feeling trickled through him. “Olivia,” he said softly, “I do trust you. But it’s for your protection. We need to know where you are if…anything goes wrong.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “Like what, Jack?”

  He looked into the mist again. “Nothing that we won’t be able to take care of. Come.”

  00:59 Romeo. Hamptons beach.

  Thursday, October 9.

  The Zodiac caught the wave, surfed silently to shore. Seven men in black gear and balaclavas pulled the boat quickly up the beach. They left it just beyond the reach of the tide, hunkered down and ran softly over the sand, assault rifles ready.

  Stopping near the dunes, the leader raised his hand, motioned with his fingers. The group split, three men taking the right flank of the big beach house, the other three scurrying left.

  McDonough heard a noise. He stiffened, listened. But he could hear nothing more. He flipped down his night vision scopes, scanned the area, saw reeds moving in the wind, nothing else.

  But his senses were now fully alert. He raised his hand, motioned for Davis to go do his sweep.

  Chapter 10

  01:00 Romeo, Hamptons beach house.

  Thursday, October 9.

  This time their lovemaking was slow, a tender coming together. Wind moaned up high in the rafters, the sound increasing as the storm closed in. Branches scratched against the windows, reeds rustled outside and surf crashed in the distance.

  Jack had made sure the doors were locked, but the place was a security nightmare, with huge floor-to-ceiling glass windows everywhere. Even while he made love to Olivia, a part of his brain remained acutely aware of their surroundings. His gun was within arm’s reach at all times. He knew exactly where his knife was, and he knew exactly what he was doing to Olivia. This acuity of senses only sharpened his receptiveness to sensual pleasure.

  A fire cracked and popped in the hearth of the sunken living room. The rugs under them were soft, and her lips tasted of salt.

  Slowly he undressed her until she lay naked in front of him—apart from the silver bracelet, the gold liquid inside the capsule winking in the gleam of the fire. A grim reminder of the danger they faced.

  He pushed open her thighs and slid his fingers into her, watching her eyes, feeling the way she opened wider for him, giving him access. She was warm, wet.

  He closed his eyes, a small shuddering thrill running through his body, his groin growing hot, heavy. She reached up, undid his pants, and he swelled free in her cool hands.

  Leaning over her, feeling the swell of her breasts
against his chest, he nuzzled his face into her hair and entered her with a sharp thrust. She was slick, ready. A sweet pain sliced through his chest, stealing his breath. He pushed deep, burying himself in her, thrusting more urgently, desperately, a low moan of pleasure escaping him as sensation peaked in his body to a quivering, almost unbearable pitch.

  But before he could release, she slid her thigh up along his torso, guiding him onto his back. She rolled on top of him, straddled him, and rode him, rhythmic strokes forcing her down onto him, making him go deeper, her muscles sucking on him, her breasts bouncing, her hair falling over her face like burnt amber in the firelight, until he could not hold back a second longer. He exploded in violent release, and as he did, she spilled in waves of contractions over him, her body going rigid, her back arching as she cried out in primal pleasure.

  She crumpled down onto him, with a small breathy laugh, aftershocks quivering through her body as he relaxed inside her.

  He held her like that, lying on top of him, her hair falling softly over his cheek and his shoulder. He stroked her skin, savoring the exquisite sensation under his calloused hands. Her scent wrapped around him, her perfume, her sex. It was all so deliriously familiar, so utterly consuming, so welcoming. He felt as if his most secret dream had come alive right here in his arms. He felt as if he was back; he was home. He felt wholly Jack—not Jacques, not Henri, not any other alias he had ever played in his life. It was as if something broken at his center had knitted together again.

  And it made him crave more, something that went beyond getting Killinger and his daughter and stopping the bombs. He wanted to finally be able to walk free in his own country, hold his head up high, be proud to bear his old name, the one he was rightfully born to—the one that had been stolen from him.

  His eyes burned with emotion. He was going to succeed in this mission because it would exonerate him in the eyes of the nation—and in the eyes of the woman he loved.

  She smiled suddenly and kissed him—a seductress with hair spilling over her face and creamy, naked shoulders. His heart swelled with a sweet hot ache and he grew hard all over again.

  03:29 Romeo. São Diogo Island off Angolan coast.

  Thursday, October 9.

  A malignant shape crept through the São Diogo dune flowers, moonlight catching snatches of ghostly skin, the Atlantic rolling along the shore in the distance. He drew the blanket from his cell higher over his head, hiding his luminous hair. He felt no pain now. Just purpose.

  He worked his way quietly toward the small whitewashed hospital and slipped behind a tangle of bougainvillea as two nurses exited the building. They talked softly in Portuguese.

  He waited for them to disappear down the dune path, then made his way in. There was only a skeleton staff at this hour. It was quiet, dark. He found ICU easily.

  The big man dwarfed the hospital bed, his dark skin like ebony against sterile sheets. His eyes were closed, and his body lay still, apart from the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each mechanical hiss of the ventilator. He knew now that this man’s name was December. He was one of the mercs responsible for his capture in Hamān and subsequent torture. He knew this because he’d heard his captors talking when they’d thought he was unconscious.

  This man would be the first to pay.

  03:29 Romeo. Hamptons beach house.

  Thursday, October 9.

  Olivia lay in Jack’s arms, listening to the wind and the rain that was now lashing at the windows, and felt a dark fear growing inside her.

  Perhaps it was just the way the temperature had plunged when the rain hit, or apprehension about what still lay ahead of them. Time was running out. It would be morning soon—another day closer to D-day.

  She fingered the bracelet on her arm, and unanswered questions whispered through her mind.

  She rolled on to her side, propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. “Jack, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Of course it does.” He smiled his wickedly crooked smile and her heart lurched. “We make perfect sense.”

  “No, I mean this ultimatum you say the Cabal has given the president. What if Elliot does step down? Then this—”

  He sat up, sighed, ruffled his hair brusquely with both hands. “I told you, he won’t step down.”

  “How do you know?”

  His face turned somber, and he watched her eyes carefully before answering. “The president is dying, Olivia.”

  Shock punched through her chest. “What?”

  “He’s being slowly assassinated by one of the prion variants from the Nexus Lab. It’s eating through his brain like a fast-moving Alzheimer’s and will ultimately cause severe dementia, then death. He’s supposed to be dead already, Olivia, and Forbes was supposed to have already been sworn in as President under the 25th Amendment. But this particular prion variant has not yet been tested on humans. It’s either not working to the timeline expected, or Elliot is a much stronger man—both physically and mentally—than the Cabal anticipated.”

  “I…I can’t believe this. He’s shown no evidence at all of being sick.”

  “He’s doing his damnedest to hide it as long as he can, with Dr. Ruger’s help. And if Elliot lives long enough to win this election, his running mate, Michael Taylor—the new vice president-elect—can take over when he dies. The Cabal and Forbes will have lost their window.”

  Olivia sat up and pulled the blanket tightly around her. “I…I can’t believe this,” she said again. “Can his illness be cured?”

  He shook his head. “There’s no antidote. The medical team on São Diogo is working 24/7 to develop one, but there’s just not enough time, Olivia. His brain is already affected. The damage is irreversible. He is going to die.”

  An overwhelming sadness filled her. “He…he’s such a good man, Jack.”

  “Yes, he is. He will not stop fighting, and that, Olivia, is why he will not step down.”

  “If they want him dead so urgently, why don’t they just assassinate him another way, with a bullet or something?” she said with bitterness.

  “Everything has to appear perfectly natural. It’s part of the Cabal’s long-term plan to win the confidence of the nation. If there is an overt assassination, there will be questions. Lots of them. There will be intense investigation. They can’t afford any suspicion. It would destabilize their hold on power.”

  “What if we can’t stop them before Monday, Jack? Surely Elliot would not allow those bombs to go off…to let so many people die. What would the Cabal have achieved then?”

  He blew his breath out slowly. “Olivia, they’re going to release the pathogen anyway.”

  She jerked to her feet, clutching the blanket over her breasts. “You cannot be serious! You mean this—” she waved her hand “—whatever it is we’re doing now to stop the attack is for nothing?”

  “No,” he said calmly. “It’s not for nothing. We will prevent huge loss of life by stopping the initial threat on the three major cities.” He stood up, reached for his jeans, pulled them on. “Like I told you, the Cabal plan, once they have Forbes in power, is to launch the country into war. They will do this by releasing smaller amounts of pathogen, primarily to instill terror in the nation. The Cabal, through their new president Forbes, will accuse so-called terrorists and rogue nations of the acts. This will put Forbes in a legal position to retaliate with U.S. military force, and to launch preemptive strikes on oil-rich nations. The Cabal will effectively be sending the country into an era of violent expansionism the likes of which has not been seen since WWII. Cabal corporations in turn will be positioned to profit from this form of capitalistic imperialism.”

  He fastened the top button of his jeans.

  “As a war-time president, Forbes will be granted sweeping powers under the constitution. This will put him in a position to initiate martial law, curtail civil liberties, and to postpone elections indefinitely. And then he will begin the slow process of appointing key Cabal puppets to top judicial, milit
ary, intelligence and business positions. For God’s sake, the Senate is already Cabal-dominated.” His eyes bored into hers. “This, Olivia, amounts to a coup d’etat…and the end of democracy.”

  A strange unspecified panic tightened Olivia’s chest. “Jack…I know my father. I mean…” She hesitated. “What is the actual proof you have that he is the one behind this?”

  His brows shot up. “What you’ve seen is not enough?”

  “It’s…it’s all circumstantial evidence, it’s—”

  “Circumstantial? Like it was against me all those years ago? Yet you chose to believe my guilt anyway.”

  “Jack, please, that’s not fair. I—”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re in denial, Olivia,” he said. “Just like you were sixteen years ago.”

  “This is not about what happened back then. I’m only trying to understand how my father could possibly—”

  “Yes, it is about what happened back then.” A hint of hurt and frustration glinted in his eyes, but his voice remained level. “We all have our weak points, Olivia. I think yours is to run away from things you can’t face. But you can’t run away from this one. You can’t pretend you need ‘proof.’ You know in your heart that your father is guilty. Just like I want to believe that you knew somewhere deep in your heart that I was innocent all those years ago.”

  He turned, took the two stairs up to the dining area and made his way to the kitchen. She watched him put the kettle on, his back strong, his muscles powerful. Yet inside he was wounded, scarred. By something she had done a long time ago. Or rather, hadn’t done.

  And this, she realized with a sinking heart, was why she was still wearing the bracelet. Jack might love her, but he still didn’t—couldn’t—trust her. He still wasn’t sure of where she stood between himself and her father.

  Olivia turned slowly to face the fire. She sat on the edge of the stone hearth and stared into the flames. And as she watched the mesmerizing play of orange over gold, her mind was taken back to another time, another fire—the fire on this very beach all those years ago.

  Images flickered in and out of her consciousness like flames—Grayson with Elizabeth. Then Elizabeth leaving the fire, unsteady on her feet, wearing Jack’s jacket.