It's Always Been You (36 page)

So he got curious and read the letter. As much as he hated Jase Locke/John Cooper, he had to admit the son of a bitch was actually decent in the end. He stared at Caitlin who was sleeping peacefully, one arm bent at an angle by her head, the other on her belly. It was late at night. No more visitors. He stripped down to his boxer briefs and undershirt and got into bed with her. Cuddling was not possible, but he’d take any closeness right now. He shifted on his side and simply drank in the beautiful contours of her face. Somehow, this was another new beginning.

Jase’s letter to Caitlin

Dear Caitlin,

Damn. If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it, and I’ve finally decided to do the right thing. You’ve probably figured it out by now that I’ve lied to you for three years. For all my selfish reasons, the biggest one is because I love you. So damned much. Ever since we were kids, I’ve been in love with you. But you’ve always looked upon me as a friend and, annoyingly enough, like an older brother.

I hate his guts. I don’t know if you should know that, but I do. He has what I want. Your love. So I did the unthinkable. Maybe as revenge, or maybe to hurt him for having what I can never have.
 

You were helping me that night. You had no plans of leaving him. We got into an accident, you were badly hurt, and I decided to take care of you. The Russian mob knew where you lived because I’d led them straight to you. And then you lost your memory. I thought it was the perfect opportunity for us to start over. So I took you from him.

The CIA made it easy. I found out they were covering their asses because they were shutting us down and throwing us to the sharks. They faked our deaths. It was for the best that he believed you were dead.

I’m sorry, Caitlin. I tried to make you happy. But in losing your memory, that also meant we’d be hunted for the rest of our lives, especially if I was alive. Because I was the one who fucked up—in their eyes and mine. I thought we could disappear, but the Russian mob was just so fucking persistent. I guess they couldn’t turn their backs on 100 mil.

Three years. I’ve finally accepted that you’ll never look at me the way you looked at him. If I thought there was a chance that you would love me a fraction of how much you loved him, I was going to fucking try to make this work. I’d live with the guilt, as long as I’d have you loving me.

The most painful day in my life was when you told me you had found the ONE. I tried to talk you out of marrying him, but you were willing to risk everything. You were going to tell him the truth and screw the consequences, but all hell broke loose.
 

I treasured the times we shared. Even on the run, I was living a dream because you believed you belonged to me. In the end, I loved you too much and accepted that the ultimate sacrifice was in letting you go.

He has not moved on from you, Caitlin. He looks for you. I hope my sacrifice will help him find you. I owe you this much. You both love the hell out of each other, and I’ve finally accepted that he’s the man most deserving of your love. I wish you the best, buttercup. Know that I loved you until the end, and I hope that one day you’ll forgive me for what I did.
 

Yours,

Jase

*****

Three weeks later

The rundown warehouse located east of Budapest was crawling with over sixty CIA paramilitary and black ops personnel. In the center of the building were four tactical military trucks carrying seven tons of weaponized plutonium between them. The nuclear material was sealed in lead containers. The warehouse was in a compound surrounded by chain-linked fences. Inside the compound were dozens of vehicles and trucks belonging to buyers interested in the cache of plutonium.

About thirty minutes before, after funds were transferred when the bidding ended, the warehouse was raided by a joint CIA-military group. The takedown was swift, if not a tad bloody.

Dmitry Yerzov stood in the shadows, watching men in commando gear lead away over fifteen targets of the plutonium sting operation. The buyers were from different countries—top among them, North Korea and Iran. Some of the people now in custody owned private defense companies, others worked undercover for their government—whether they were sanctioned by their leadership was another question. A few other buyers were from well-funded terrorist groups.

He watched his former boss, Grigori Zorin, get cuffed and spirited away by a waiting Black Hawk. As he watched the chopper leave the ground, he finally exhaled a breath of relief even as an emptiness filled him. Three years of his fucking life—he paid with his blood and soul. As far as Zorin knew, his top security man died defending him. Dmitry Yerzov was dead.

“Commander?”

Dmitry turned. A soldier walked up to him and handed him a package.

“I have some BDUs you can change into.”

Dmitry stared at the blood spatters on his shredded white dress shirt. He winced as he remembered the four shots he took to the chest. He did have state-of-the-art body armor that his boss had sent him, which he wore underneath his urbane clothes. Add in the blood capsules that worked as planned, and he had the ultimate orchestrated deception.
 

“Thanks, Staff Sergeant.”

The soldier nodded and left.

He entered an office and switched on the lights. The fluorescent glare cast an impersonal glow on his person and kind of exposed his emotions inside. He felt dead and drained as though those four shots succeeded in killing him. They probably did. He spent three years trying to get into Grigori Zorin’s inner circle and had been successful. Zorin treated him, well, almost like a son. The man was an arms-dealing bastard, getting rich by supplying the conflicts in South America with weapons. Why the fuck did Dmitry feel that he had betrayed him? He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Three years was too long to work a mark. There was a danger of attachment. He slipped out of his suit jacket. Dmitry gave a snort of mirthless laughter—just as he was getting attached to his thousand-dollar Italian suits.

His phone buzzed with the call he was expecting from his boss.

“Admiral.”

“Sting operation went as expected. Congratulations, Commander.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“We netted twenty billion dollars from the sale of the plutonium.”

“Are we going to keep the plutonium cache?” Dmitry asked.

“POTUS wants it destroyed. We were never meant to keep it. Just flush out the main players in black-market nukes. The risk of leaving the material out there is high. It could easily fall into the hands of terrorists who can build dirty bombs or simply drop 10-ounces of that shit into a city’s water supply. So, yes, it’s going to be destroyed.”

“I agree, Admiral. And the money?”

“We’re using it to fund ongoing operations,” Porter sighed. “Allocation is getting tighter. We need to take care of our own.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“You’ve been gone for too long, Gabriel. It’s time to come home.”

The admiral disconnected.
 

He couldn’t agree more.

After three long years, Gabriel Sullivan was going home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Four months later

“Um, I can see the curve of my butt.”

“Well, if you bend a little, yes, but that’s the whole point.”

Caitlin was eyeing her tiny silver-champagne dress in the mirror. It was her second girls’ night out with Beatrice. The redhead told her not to bother dressing up at home for she had the perfect dress waiting for her.

“A little peek-a-boo?” Caitlin muttered. “Luckily, I wore a nice pair of panties and not my grandma undies.”

“From all the sun you’ve gotten from your honeymoon, you need to show off your long shapely legs,” Beatrice added.

“Says the woman who’s five-eight.”

“Seriously, Cat, wear these three-inch heels and you look like your legs could go on forever. I wish I had the shape of your gams.”

Caitlin turned around so she could see the right side of her body. The scar that ran the length of her leg from the top of her knee to the middle of her calf didn’t bother her any longer. She wore it proudly like the battle scar it was. The thin white line set against her tan did stand out, but she was so secure in Travis’s love that none of her blemishes mattered, including the new one on her back. They had gotten married again three weeks ago in a simple ceremony. She was officially Caitlin Blake. Two weeks in Fiji, wearing nothing but a tiny bikini almost the entire time with not a care in the world—it was liberating, exhilarating. And the best part was she had Travis. She sighed.

“Okay, quit daydreaming about your man,” Beatrice groused.

“I’m not,” Caitlin protested, heat creeping up her cheeks.

“Deny all you want. You’ve got that dreamy-eyed look on your face, and that sigh was a dead giveaway. Sheesh, it’s like you just didn’t see him this morning, not to mention having spent an entire two weeks with him on a deserted island.”

“It wasn’t deserted.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. Caitlin grinned. They had become great friends, especially after everything that went down with the plutonium cache. This was ironic, because Travis had not spoken to Admiral Porter in all that time, refusing to take his calls. Caitlin knew he was hurting, and this discord between him and the admiral was the only wrinkle in their happiness. Caitlin had tried to talk to her husband about it, but he’d always shut it down, saying he wasn’t ready to trust the man again.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“It’s an exclusive club, not that you need a membership, but you have to look good so you can get in.”

“A club for beautiful people?” Caitlin frowned. “Not sure I want to go to one of those dance clubs with skinny models and shallow people.”

Beatrice giggled, “No. People who exude power.”

This piqued Caitlin’s interest. She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Are we going there for work or pleasure?”

The redhead smiled sheepishly. “Both. Most of the foreign dignitaries go there to relax, so it’s a very strange mix of people. There’s a back room where interesting stuff goes on that requires a password.” Her expression turned smug. “And I, my dear, have the password for tonight.”

“What kind of interesting things?” Caitlin asked dubiously. “If it’s having sex in public, you can forget about it. I’ll stick to the dance floor.”

Beatrice pouted at her. “Oh, come on, don’t you want to get riled up before you go home to your man? I’m sure Travis would love that.”

“You clearly don’t know Travis.” Caitlin tugged the hem of her dress as if doing so would make it longer. “He’ll strangle me if he finds out I’m wearing this dress.”

“Ooooh, I didn’t know you guys were into that kind of kink.”

Before Caitlin could retort, the doorbell buzzed.

“That’s Emily. Seriously, Travis is a slave driver; it’s almost ten p.m. It’s Friday night for heaven’s sake,” Beatrice said.

Caitlin held her tongue because the project they were working on was Beatrice’s client. So if they didn’t get the security detail squared tight, it was the redhead’s reputation on the line.

Travis’s diminutive assistant walked in, dressed to the nines in a little black dress, and come-fuck-me spiked heels.

Emily eyed Caitlin’s dress and grinned. “Travis will love your dress.”

The sarcasm was not lost on her.

*****

Travis summoned all his willpower to concentrate on the building schematics laid out in front of him as Ed Shephard outlined his strategy for protecting the senatorial contingent planning a visit to the countries of Eastern Europe.
 

“We have the suites on the top floor reserved for the senators so we won’t have to worry about other hotel guests on that level,” Ed said. “We’ll have a team go in and do a sweep right before the senators check in.”

“Senators Kennedy and Spencer are bringing their families. I just got that bit of information tonight,” Travis informed them.

“Shit.” This from Nate. His friend checked his tablet for team rotations. “We’ve got a team coming off detail in the next week that should be fit for nanny duty.”

Travis chuckled, “I’ll have you inform Danielle yourself. You have a way with the ladies.”

Nate groaned, “I guess. Hell, I don’t know why she’d complain. She gets to go sightseeing with the senators’ wives.”

“We know she doesn’t give a damn about sightseeing, which makes her the best agent for this job. She blends well. I swear that woman has eyes on the back of her head,” Ed said.

Nate grinned. “You know I’m just kidding, right, guys? I recruited Dani.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight. Should we pick this up on Monday? We’ve pretty much gone through every hotel and venue on their itinerary.” He got up and made for the door.

Travis and Ed exchanged glances. Travis gave his team lead the chin lift. Nate had the door halfway open when Ed stepped in front of him, laid his palm on the door, and pushed it closed.

“Not so fast, Reece,” Shephard said smoothly. “You know where our women are tonight, right? Now is the time to ‘fess up.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “After the fiasco of the last girls’ night out, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

Nate was referring to the night Caitlin had first gone out with Beatrice and Emily. Nate went along with Travis and Ed after the two men promised to remain at a discreet table in the crowded dance club/bar. However, when a couple of men started harassing the women, they stepped in. Travis smacked a guy down right in the middle of the dance floor, and they were all thrown out and banned from returning for a year. Beatrice was royally pissed because the place was one of her favorite haunts and maintained that the girls had everything under control. Nate concurred, however Ed and Travis thought otherwise. He and Caitlin got into a big fight that night as well with no one clearly getting their point across because they ended up having angry sex and then by morning, the whole incident was ignored. And here they were again.

“Her phone is showing to be at Beatrice’s condo,” Travis said. “And we know at this time of the night, or rather . . .
 
morning, that’s not likely.” His wife was going to get a spanking. She knew better than to leave her phone behind even if it was to avoid him tracking her.