Rules of Re-engagement Read online

  He tasted wild, foreign, dark—yet familiar. Her heart pounded. She leaned into him, opening to him, a raw hungry force driving her. She touched his face, guided him deeper, closer…and suddenly she felt the rigid line of his scar under her fingertips.

  Reality exploded sharply through her brain. She stilled. She slowly traced the line along his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. He felt the question in her touch.

  “The bear,” he said simply, covering her hand, drawing it away from his face and pulling her back to him.

  The bear that was supposed to have killed him.

  This time she resisted. “No…no, Jack. Please…. I…I don’t know what just happened. I…I don’t want this.”

  She forced herself to take a step back. He let her, his eyes watching her intently, arousal etched into his rugged features.

  Her breaths were coming light and shallow. Her lips still burned. Her body was still hot, her hair a mess. She felt awkward, confused. And more than a little afraid—of him, of herself—of what had just happened.

  “What…what do you mean, you need my help? And what about national security?” She nervously twisted the new ring on her finger as she spoke. “Does this have something to do with Grayson?”

  His eyes followed her hands. When he saw what she was fiddling with, his expression changed instantly. A small muscle began to pulse at his jawline.

  Olivia suddenly felt absurdly embarrassed to even be wearing the ostentatious cluster of diamonds. She had no intention of keeping it. The only reason she had it on right now was because she hadn’t had the guts to hurt Grayson’s feelings in front of all those people.

  She covered the ring, pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to quell the tempest of emotions roiling inside her. Why should he be making her feel guilty? He was the one who had betrayed her. He was the one who left her. He let her think he was dead all these years. Why should she feel even vaguely compelled to explain why she was wearing Grayson’s ring?

  He lifted her eyes to hers. “We have a lot to talk about, Olivia. May I come in?”

  “You are in.” In more ways than one.

  “I need you to invite me, Livie.”

  She stared at him—powerful, deeply tanned, his dark hair cut aggressively short and shot through with the silver of time—and hurt filled her. In all these years he hadn’t bothered to let her know he was alive. He had destroyed her when he’d fled, he’d left her to bleed. He’d stolen her youth. And now here he was, standing very much alive and healthy in her hallway. Anger whispered quietly around her pain. And she let it come. She needed answers.

  “May I come in, Olivia?” he said again.

  She held her hand out to her apartment. “Sure. Please, come in. Please come back from the dead, Jack. Please walk right back into my life, into my home.” Tears threatened again. She blinked them angrily away. “Why don’t you come right in and mess with my life all over again. It’s not like you didn’t get it right the first time.”

  Something hot and dangerous flashed in his eyes.

  But the bitterness growing inside wouldn’t allow her to stop.

  “Would you like a drink, Jack? How about sitting on my sofa over there and telling me where you’ve been for sixteen long years, and why you’ve really come back to mess with me.”

  “A drink would be nice, thank you,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. He walked right past her, into her apartment. He draped his massive black coat over her white chair and moved straight to the window. He lifted her curtain slightly with the back of his hand and peered down into the rain-drenched street.

  She stared, dumbfounded. What on earth was he doing? She took in the expensive cut of his elegantly tailored black pants, his white silk shirt. He looked as if he’d walked straight off one of Europe’s fashion runways. But while his clothes gave him an air of global sophistication, they did little to tame the wild ruggedness that literally pulsed from him. Who was this man? Who had Jack become?

  She glanced at the phone on the wall.

  “You’re free to call whoever you like,” he said without looking at her. “But I wouldn’t advise it, not until you’ve heard me out.”

  She stared at him blankly. She should run. Now. Get out while she had access to the door. She should alert the police. Yet a desperate curiosity rooted her to the spot. He was once her lover, the man she’d was going to marry. And he was here, back in Manhattan, in her apartment. She needed to know why, where he’d been. She pushed her hair back from her face.

  She could do this.

  She could handle Jack Sauer. She’d handled way worse in international courts. And once she had her answers, she’d call whoever she needed.

  She cleared her throat. “You still drink scotch?”

  “Yes.”

  She retrieved the purse she’d dropped at the door, and moved over to the drinks cabinet, her heart thumping. She positioned her back to him as she slid her slim cell phone out of her purse and slipped it into her pocket. She wanted to be ready to call 911.

  She removed the stopper from a decanter and began to pour whiskey into a crystal glass. That’s when she realized how badly her hands were trembling. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadied her nerves. Then she poured a drink for him and one for herself. She needed it.

  She picked up a glass in each hand, sucked in her breath and turned to face him. And her resolve crumpled instantly.

  He was watching her so intently she almost forgot how to walk. She tried to force her legs to move smoothly across the wooden floor, tried not to trip over the white rug. She held a glass out to him. He took it, his fingers brushing slowly over hers as he did, his eyes never leaving hers. He lifted the rim to his lips, slowly sipped, eyes still locked with hers.

  Something hot and foreign and dangerous slipped down into her stomach again. She put her own glass to her lips, took a gulp.

  “Who’s tailing you, Olivia?”

  She choked on her sip. “What?” Her eyes watered as whiskey burned down the wrong way.

  “Who’s following you?”

  “No one’s following me.”

  “Take a look,” he said, lifting the edge of the curtain for her. “See that silver sedan there, across the road?”

  She edged forward, wary of touching him again, afraid of what would happen to her body again. She peered down into the street, conscious of his expensive scent, the quiet powerful energy vibrating from him. “Where?”

  “Under that oak, right across from the park.”

  She saw it. “Don’t be ridiculous. That car’s not tailing me. No one’s tailing me.”

  He remained silent, watching her, trying to read something. It made her nervous.

  “It…it’s probably someone looking for you. The FBI maybe.”

  He ignored the gibe. “That sedan came in right behind the Secret Service vehicle that dropped you off tonight, Olivia. After your dinner with Forbes.” His eyes searched hers for reaction.

  She looked sharply away. She didn’t want to show him how her evening with Grayson had affected her.

  “There was another vehicle waiting under that tree there, watching your apartment, before your SUV approached. It left as you arrived, and that silver sedan pulled in behind it, replaced the watch.”

  Something about his voice made her think he might be telling the truth. “It must be the Secret Service, then,” she said, unsure now. “Grayson wanted to get security detail for me, but I told him I didn’t want it. Maybe he got it anyway. He…he’s not an easy man to turn down.”

  “I know.”

  The sudden dark edge in his voice shot a shiver down her spine.

  “But that’s no Secret Service detail out there, Olivia. That’s a private outfit—same bunch that was waiting for you outside the UN building.”

  “You were at the UN?”

  “Saw you being whisked off for your private dinner with Forbes.” His eyes drifted down to her ring.

  How long had he been following her? Why?<
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  “Jack, you’re making me nervous. Please…tell me what in hell is going on? Otherwise, I…I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Did you get that tonight?” he said darkly, his eyes still fixed on her ring.

  It was not his business. She didn’t have to answer. “Yes,” she said.

  He lifted his eyes, met hers. “So he proposed, and you accepted.”

  No, I didn’t. She wanted to say the words, scream them. But she couldn’t.

  “Do you love him, Olivia?” he whispered. “Do you really know this man? Do you love him like you used to love me?”

  Emotion welled up so sharp and hot it hurt, filling her eyes, choking the words in her throat. She began to shake inside. “Damn you, Jack Sauer,” she said quietly. “You left me, sixteen years ago, and you come back and ask me this, tonight?” Her voice caught. “It’s not your business who I love. Not anymore.”

  The corner of his mouth, where it met the scar, twitched. “It’s become my business, Olivia.”

  “It can never be your business. You have no right to ask who I love or choose to marry or when. You threw that right away, Jack, forever, when you killed Elizabeth.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you really think?”

  “What else was I supposed to think?”

  His jaw steeled. The muscles along his neck went hard.

  Olivia took a step back. “Look, Jack, if you don’t tell me what you want from me and why you’re here, I’m going to call 911.” She reached for the cell phone in her pocket as she spoke.

  “I’ve come for your father, Olivia.”

  She froze. “I beg your pardon?”

  No emotion showed in his face now. It was hard as steel, and his eyes had turned sharp and cold. “Those men outside, I think they’re his. I’ll have my guys check into it.”

  “Your guys? What guys? What are you talking about!”

  He said nothing, just watched her eyes.

  “Okay, you’re making me really nervous. Leave now, or I’ll call the cops.”

  He took a step toward her, and she lifted her cell phone. “I mean it, Jack—” She flipped it open, began to press.

  Jack grasped her wrist and removed the phone from her hand. “Your father is involved in a plot to overthrow the U.S. government. But then, you might know that already, Olivia. I’m here to stop him, and you if need be.”

  “What did you say!”

  He was still holding her hand, his fingers circling tightly around her wrist. Panic wedged into her throat. Her eyes shot to the door.

  “Samuel Killinger and his Venturion Corporation board comprise a covert organization that refers to itself simply as the Cabal. This Cabal, under your father’s leadership, plans to hand Grayson Forbes the most powerful office in the world.” His eyes narrowed. “He plans to make your fiancé the leader of the ‘free world’ six days from now. That’s all the time I have to stop them. That’s what I’ve been hired to do. That’s what I intend to do. And you are going to help me do it.”

  She tried to jerk free, but his grip tightened. He pulled her closer as he reached into his pocket with his other hand, took out a black box.

  She yanked frantically against his hold. “Let me go, Jack! This is garbage! It’s not possible. You…you’re insane. And he’s not my fiancé. I did not agree to marry him.”

  Something—hope?—flared hot and sharp in his eyes. Then it was gone. “That helps,” he said darkly. “We have until midnight, October 13. If we fail, a set of biological bombs will be released over New York, Chicago and Los Angeles at one minute past midnight. Repercussions will be felt around the globe.” He paused. “I hope you are not involved, Olivia.” He snapped a metal cuff around her wrist.

  Her brain reeled wildly. “What’s this!”

  “That’s insurance, just in case you choose not to help me.”

  She stared in shock at the thick band of silver locked tight and cold around her wrist. It was the color of platinum. Smooth. Alien. And it had a strange little window cut into the top that held what looked like a glass ampoule of pale liquid. She looked up, terror filling her heart. “What…what’s in it?”

  “A GPS device. If you run, we’ll know where to find you.”

  “Who’s we? What’s that liquid in the capsule?”

  He studied her in cool silence, his eyes still seeking something in hers.

  He was looking for guilt—that’s what he was doing! Her heart began to palpitate. She couldn’t breathe. “Tell me what the liquid is, Jack!”

  “The capsule will break if you try to take the cuff off,” he said flatly. “The liquid inside…it’ll kill you, Olivia.”

  “What!”

  He dropped her hand, stalked over to the drinks cabinet, poured another scotch, turned to face her. “It holds a lethal pathogen.” He sucked back his drink, winced as it hit his gut.

  “What kind of pathogen?”

  “A very rare one. One that has been genetically modified in a lab run by the Cabal. Your father will know exactly what that pathogen can do. It’s a variant of the one he plans to release in six days if President Elliot refuses to step down and hand power to Forbes by the October 13 deadline.” His eyes lasered into hers from across the room. “I advise you to keep the bracelet on, Olivia. If you want to live, that is. You’ll be safe as long as no one tries to cut it off.”

  She lurched toward him. “Take it off, Jack. Please. For God’s sake, don’t do this to me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I can’t take it off.”

  “What do you mean!”

  “You need specialized equipment to remove it. You need the antidote at hand…in case something goes wrong.”

  Blood drained from her head.

  “You’ll be fine, as long as you cooperate with me.” He hesitated. “As long as I can trust you.”

  “I…I don’t believe this is happening. What made you like this, Jack?” She held out her wrist. “You loved me once! How…how could you do this to me?”

  “How could I hold one life against a billion others?” He gazed at her, hard, his eyes narrowing.

  “One life versus world peace? What would you do, Olivia?”

  23:59 Romeo. Manhattan.

  Tuesday, October 7.

  A green dot flared onto Grant McDonough’s screen and began to pulse. Bingo. He flipped open his satellite phone, punched the number for the FDS base on São Diogo Island off the Coast of Angola. “He’s in. GPS cuff has been activated.”

  “You have a detonator?”

  “Affirmative. We both do. Antidote as well. Everything’s in place.”

  “Good. Now we sit tight and wait for Sauvage’s direction.”

  McDonough hesitated. “Any word on December?”

  “He’s been airlifted from Djibouti to the hospital here on São Diogo. His condition is critical, but stable. They still have him on life support.”

  McDonough flipped the phone shut, stared at the pulsing green dot. December had been shot in the gut by a mysterious pale-skinned man while helping evacuate Rafiq Zayed and Dr. Paige Sterling from the shores of Hamān. December sure as hell better pull through—for more reasons than one. They’d dubbed the shooter the Achromat because of his absence of pigment, and if he was found to be somehow affiliated with Killinger—McDonough shook his head. He didn’t want to begin to think of what Sauvage might do to Killinger’s daughter if December didn’t make it.

  He punched in a text message, letting Sauvage know that the vehicles outside Olivia Killinger’s apartment had been traced to an outfit owned by one of the Venturion Corporation subsidiaries. It was a group that Samuel Killinger used for his personal protection and security detail. The maniac was having his own daughter tailed.

  He pressed the button, sent the details.

  Chapter 3

  00:06 Romeo. Olivia Killinger’s apartment.

  Manhattan. Wednesday, October 8.

  She stared at the silver cuff, her face sheet white.


  Jacques hated this. His mouth felt like ash. His chest hurt.

  “You said someone hired you to do this? Who?” Her voice was strangely flat.

  “The president.”

  “President Elliot?”

  He nodded.

  She reached for the back of the sofa, steadied herself. “That’s…ludicrous,” she said quietly. “If…if the president really were threatened he’d go through regular channels—Homeland Security, the Secret Service, the military, CIA, FBI. Why on earth would he hire you?”

  He studied her, searching for a sign, something that would betray her knowledge of this. He couldn’t see it. Her reaction had been visceral, her shock too real. Unless she was damn good—unless she had learned from her father.

  But he didn’t think so. She was still wearing the small Saint Catherine’s pendant, and that told him something.

  He’d given it to her for her nineteenth birthday when they were both prelaw students. Saint Catherine was said to be the patron saint of lawyers, barristers, jurists, and according to legend, had been prepared to die for her belief in good. Jacques had never been as big on faith as Olivia’s family, but the locket had been a symbol of what they both shared—a joint vision for justice, a dream of the future, a goal for their careers—a goal that had defied her father’s insistence she become a corporate lawyer for one of his transnationals.

  Instead she chose to work for the UN. And she still wore his pendant. It made a fierce kind of pride burn inside him.

  And the fact she’d rejected Forbes fed him with a hot flare of hope that she was not so intimately involved with the vice president as to be a part of his scheme to take control of the White House. It also made a dark part of Jacques wonder if there might still be a place in her life for him.

  He sipped his drink, welcoming the way it dulled the edge of his guilt, the pain this caused him.

  “He can’t use any of those organizations, Olivia. The president’s own Secret Service has been infiltrated. Elliot is being held hostage by the very system designed to protect him, his every move watched, every conversation recorded. If he so much as even thinks of engaging any agency traditionally at his disposal, those bombs will go off.”