Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (9 page)

He leaned down and kissed me, in front of everyone, as he sat down. “Good morning, darling.”

Both Ian and I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Well, I guess my son’s officially got a girlfriend,” said Ian, struggling a little bit to stand up. “It’s about time. And by the way, nice work.” He smiled roguishly at John. “Remember what I said about the iced tea,” he called to me, as he slowly made his way out of the mess hall. “
And
we have central air-conditioning…”

I smiled at John while I took in his workout clothes. Some sort of red high tech tank top and matching black and red shorts, and bands around his biceps, forceps, whatever-ceps … my mouth filled with water.
Yum.
All those bulging muscles; he was
delectable. I, apparently, was turning into one of Pavlov’s dogs, salivating on cue every time I saw him or thought about him. “
Your
father’s extremely nice,” I said, trying to stop my wayward thoughts. “I can see where you get your fashion sense from.”

“He’s an impeccably dressed man — more importantly, a
good
man,” John said, drinking his coffee. “And,” he said, smiling and crinkling his eyes up at me, “he liked you. I can tell.”

I smiled as I felt warm approval flood through me.
I wonder if Ian knows I’m a stripper from a broken home, though.
“Does he know about me?” I asked.

“My father is not a judgmental person, Liberty. Besides, you have
nothing
to be ashamed of.” He stroked my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guys looking anywhere but at us.
I’m sure they saw that kiss, though. I wondered what they thought, or if John having a girl with him was the norm.
Stop
, commanded the voice inside my head.
You heard what his father said: it’s about time he has a girlfriend.

But the fact that it was me? It just seemed to be too good to be true.

“Hey,” said John, gently rousing me from my reverie. “Finish that bagel. We’re running in a minute.”

My heart plummeted and I felt my palms start to sweat.
See? Don’t worry about too good to be true: now you’re back to normal — anxious, sweaty and fearful.
I rolled my eyes at myself and got up to follow the guys into the field.
Please God, don’t let me trip over my own two feet in front of all these people. And please don’t make me run too far.

* * *

We were running too far. Way, way too far. I was having a hard time breathing.
Actually,
I was pretty sure I was going to die.
Up until this point, I really only had felt love and some mild distrust
for John. Now however, I was starting to dislike him intensely.

He was right next to me, running backwards no less, not even breaking a sweat. “Are you trying to kill me?” I barely managed to hiss out at him. “And how much further?”

“Liberty, honey, this is day one, mile one. We’ve only been running for five minutes,” John said. “By the end of the training session you’ll be able to run 10 miles, no problem. You just have to suck it up between now and then.” He turned around and sprinted off towards the guys that were running way ahead of me. They were chatting easily and laughing. I was pretty sure I hated all of them.

Matthew was keeping a slow, steady pace behind me. I craned my neck around to look at him. He smiled at me and I noticed that he did not have a single bead of sweat anywhere on him. “You don’t need to run slow just to stay by me,” I called to him.

“Oh yes I do,” Matthew called, merrily.

“Sorry to bore you,” I huffed out.

“Don’t tell John, but it’s not exactly boring back here,” he said and laughed.

“I heard that!” John yelled from the front. “One more comment like that, and I’m calling your wife!”
They all laughed.
Ha, ha,
I thought.
Had I had the energy, I would have given them all the finger. The stitch in my side in my side, however, was preventing me from doing anything besides just trying to put one foot in front of the other.
Pathetic
, I thought. I’m 21 years old and I can’t even run for five minutes straight without wanting to die. Some bounty hunter I was going to make.

We ran for a few more minutes until the stitch in my side was almost unbearable. Finally I caught up with the rest of the group, but only because they were sitting down stretching out, talking animatedly to each other. I collapsed and sat down towards the back, not wanting anyone to hear my insanely loud breathing. John was at the front of the group. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, now it’s time for sit ups, pushups and the rest of our core workout. Then, when we’re done warming up, we’re running some more.” I saw him smile at me and I couldn’t even smile back.
Damn him.
I just laid down and
tried to do the first sit up of my life.

* * *

My limbs were so heavy I could barely stand up in the shower. I looked down at my feet and I could see blisters cropping up on my heels and in between my toes. We had worked out all day.
These people were insane.

I didn’t even bother to blow dry my hair. Instead, I came out, put on my pajamas and flopped into bed. The clock said that it was five; I was officially ready for bedtime. Just then there was a knock at my door. “Who’s there?” I called, groggily.

“It’s me, John,” he said.

“I’m mad at you,” I called. “I’m not even sure that I like you anymore.”

“Open the door anyway,” he said. I could tell he was laughing.

I got up and looked through the peephole. There he was, handsome, clean, and gorgeous. I felt a wave of lust roll through my belly and I clapped my hand over it.
Not now,
I growled to myself.

I opened the door and he smiled at me. “You did a great job today,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” He smiled at me and I lit up inside, in spite of myself. He rolled in another tray of food; I could see macaroni and cheese, a large dark chocolate Hershey’s bar and a glass of milk. I eyed the food thoughtfully.
Hmmm
, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t
that
mad at him.

Plus, John looked yummy. He had showered and put on camouflaged cargo shorts and a ratty black tee shirt….he looked so, so….
normal.
I’d never seen him dressed like such a civilian before; I liked it. He looked clean and dirty all at the same time.
Mmmm
, I thought, forgetting all about the food as another wave of desire ripped through me. He left the cart and came over to me, smiling, and put his hands on my hips. Ripples of heat tore through my sides, undulating down in between my legs. I leaned up and kissed him and I felt heat course through my body.

He pushed me back onto the bed and laid on top of me, crushing me with his full weight. I wrapped my heavy, sore legs around him; I didn’t care if it hurt. The ache inside of me hurt worse. “Can we?” I whispered.
“Please?”

John kissed me hard again, crushing me, and then abruptly sat up and cursed. “I have to go interview Darius,” he said, balling his fists in frustration.

I looked at him grimly, trying to get my body to calm down, to stop shaking, stop throbbing. I blew out a deep breath as he got up.

“Still mad at you,” I said.

“I’ll be back,” he growled at me, and kissed me on the side of the face. Then he was gone.

I sighed and sat up wearily. I was sad that he had to go, and my insides were still shaking...but when I saw my food, my mouth pooled with water and I realized that I was starving. I hurriedly and happily stuffed my macaroni and cheese into my mouth, followed by the entire chocolate bar, taking large gulps of milk in between, glad to be alone so no one could see me eating like a cavewoman.

I then brushed my teeth, climbed into bed and promptly fell into a sound sleep.
No nightmare
s, I dreamily thought at one point.
Maybe this exercise thing isn’t
so
bad.

There was a loud knocking at my door. I didn’t know how much time had passed. “Leave me alone,” I called groggily. I rolled back over and sleep overwhelmed me.

“Liberty, it’s John,” I heard him call, but I was so tired I couldn’t get up.

I’m never going to lose my virginity
, my inner voice huffed. That woke me up a little. “Hold on!” I yelled. I managed to drag myself to the door and look through the peephole.

I opened the door and John was looking at me sheepishly. “I’m so sorry to wake you,” he said, softly. “But I just can’t help myself.”

I pulled him into the room and snuggled back into the bed while he locked the door. He took off his clothes and joined me, rubbing up against me seductively. I could feel his underwear still on; I felt some heat roll through me, but it was no match for how tired and assaulted my body felt.
Sleep, I need to sleep,
I thought. I couldn’t believe sleep was going to win out over lust for his hot body, but then again, I ran over four miles today, did sit ups, pull-ups, and some weird plank pose that made my arms shake like I was a cartoon character.
Damn. I didn’t want to think about that plank pose ever again.
I had a bad feeling I was going to be doing it again sooner than I hoped. I opened one eye and looked at the clock: midnight, again. Six and a half hours till the plank.

Grrrr
, I thought. I limply patted John’s behind and rolled over. My inner voice huffed some more but at this point, I didn't really care.

“Liberty,” he called seductively, and rubbed his hardness into my backside. If anything would have woken me up, this would have been it; desire rolled through me, powerfully, but I was absolutely too out of it to give in.

“G’night,” I mumbled, succumbing to the fuzzy blackness.

I heard him roll over onto his back with an immense sigh. “Goodnight, my dear.”

FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE

John was standing at the door, waiting for me. “Liberty,” he called, gently. “Honey, you have to get dressed and come to breakfast now.”

I rolled over and tried to yell out something obnoxious, but it only came out as a garbled moan.
Noooo, please,
I thought desperately,
let me stay in bed. With you.

I knew it was no use. It had been eight days of boot camp hell. My blisters had broken and new blisters had formed on top of them. I had scabs from my sports bra and something called chafing had caused me to get two wicked red burns on each of my inner thighs. Two of my toenails were bruised. Worse yet? John and I had slept together every night, and I
still
hadn’t lost my virginity.

The weird thing was, I was starting to have fun. Some of the guys had started talking to me, cheering me on during our ever-increasing runs, sitting with me and John at meals. I felt like they were accepting me into their odd little group, and even though it was only temporary, it was nice to feel like I belonged to something. The fact that it was a group of crazy ex-military bounty hunters didn’t bother me, but I did miss the girls at the Treasure Chest. Every time I thought of them, though, my heart constricted. My old life. My apartment. I was going to have to go back, but when?
How much longer did I have here? How much more time with John?

Every day when we ran a little further. Even though my newly formed muscles were screaming and I still got cramps, I found myself getting into it in a way I hadn’t dreamed possible. I pushed myself everyday. I thought about John, his pain about his daughter, my fear of
losing him, leaving here, and it made me run faster; I tried to outrun my own thoughts. That didn’t work, but it did make me push myself harder. At least it made it easy for me to sleep at night.

For better or for worse.

“Honey,” John said again, more forcefully. “We go through this everyday. Now get up and brush your teeth so Michael has time to tape you up.” He came over to the bed and softly stroked my hair. “We have some other stuff we have to do today, too,” he said in a serious, non-libido-driven tone. I popped one eye open and looked at him.

“We have to do your interview,” he said.

“Huh?” I asked, suddenly alert.

“We have to interview you to get started on your asset’s case,” he said gently. “We’re wrapping things up with Darius and we have to get ready.” He noticed the panicked look on my face and stroked my hair some more. “It’s gonna be okay. It'll just be me, Matthew and Ethan. Just some general background and then some more specific details so we have an idea where to start looking.”

I sat up and looked at him, a knot in my stomach. “Are you finally going to tell me who it is?” I asked, my voice flat. I hadn’t brought it up since we were on the bus. I was waiting for John to tell me; honestly, I knew that was the whole reason I was here, but I hadn’t wanted to think about it. It scared me, and I’d had enough of scared.

“I'll tell you this afternoon. Let’s go get you some breakfast,” he said.

* * *

I ran my hardest that morning, my longest. Six miles, which would have seemed impossible only a week ago. We’d been building up to it. I was still running much slower than the others, and Matthew was still trailing me. “I’m gonna have to go on a diet unless we start picking the pace up soon,” Matthew had called to me, at mile five when I started to slow down, ready to give up. Hearing him say that put some wind in my sails; I wasn’t going to disappoint anyone.

“Good girl,” he called when I picked up the pace. I smiled briefly, proud. Anytime they clapped for me, called my name and encouraged me, it made me feel better. I moved faster. Having people to cheer you on in life helped, I now knew.

When we stopped to stretch and get water Matthew sat next to me. He wasn’t even breathing hard, and I would have been incredibly annoyed with him had he not been so consistently kind. “Good job today,” he said. “Something on your mind?”

“Why do you ask?” I leaned and stretched over my foot, wincing at the pain that ran up my hamstring. I could smell myself — I smelled bad — but I was past being self conscious around the guys. Except for John. If he were sitting next to me, I would clamp my armpits against my sides and try to scoot away from him.

Not so with Matthew. He had become like a big brother figure. Partly because he was literally big — at least six foot five, with a chest like a Greek god — but also because he was clearly meant to watch over me, to protect me when John was gone. He was married, he had told me; he had a young son, two and a half, at home in Florida. It made it easier to talk to him because I knew he had a family. He never got tired of telling amusing stories about what his son had been up to. I looked forward to them; his family sounded normal, happy and loving. They were a perfect antidote to the weirdness of bounty hunter boot camp.

He was looking at me directly and calmly. For twenty-six years old, he was amazingly mature: I felt certain that he had seen a lot. Maybe too much. “You know what we’re doing this afternoon,” he said. “You don’t have to get worked up about it now. We’re going to go through some questions with you, and get some necessary information, and then we’re going to make a plan. Trust me, it will be for the best.”

I kept stretching as I mulled this over. I had a lot of questions, most of which remained unanswered, many of which I wanted to ignore. “Is it the best for Darius?” I asked. There was a childish ring to my question that made me cringe, but still … I hadn’t seen him since we’d arrived in Rhode Island. John was out every night “working on” Darius’s case, but because I was so physically exhausted, I hadn’t been able to interrogate him about it, and during the day, he kept me moving. There’d been no time to talk.

But I had wondered. Where was Darius? Were they feeding him? Was he cooperating? And if he wasn’t …
What on earth would they do to him?

Matthew shrugged but didn’t seem uncomfortable. “Don’t you have a concept of bad guys?” he asked, smiling at me. “Darius is a bad dude. He bought his ticket here. Actually, he’s
lucky
to be here, with someone like John, who bothers to ask questions first.” He looked at me and shook his head. “Don’t feel sorry for him. He would carve you — and me, and John, and whoever else he could get his hands on — up like a turkey if he had the chance. And he wouldn’t give it a backwards glance, trust me.”

“I have a concept of bad guys,” I said softly, still stretching.

Matthew coughed and looked down. “Yes,” he said, “of course you do.”

* * *

At five we had spaghetti in the mess hall for dinner; the best part of training was the carbo-loading we had to do to keep our energy up. But I couldn’t eat my normal extra large helping of pasta tonight. I was too nervous about what we were going to do. John was watching me play with my food and he reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, kindly. “I’ll be right there with you.”

“I know,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears. I looked down at the table so he couldn’t see them and I quickly wiped my face. “That’s just it.” Even though I didn’t know for sure who the asset was, I had a pretty good idea. I didn’t even want to think about
him
, let alone talk about him.
Not in front of anybody, ever.

And especially not in front of the man of my dreams.
What if he doesn’t want you anymore, once he knows?
I shuddered and dropped my fork onto the table. What had I been thinking? Of course I was going to have to tell him everything, every dirty little detail, and I bet he would never look at me the same way once I did.
I warned you not to believe in fairytales
, my inner voice said. Again, she was right.
This was all too good to be true. Of course it wasn’t going to last.

I’d blindsided myself. The fact was, I was here for a reason. Someone had hired John to kidnap and possibly really hurt someone who’d really hurt
me
. All I’d been focused on were the wrong things. The warmth and strength of his body in bed with me at night, the way his biceps bulged when he did a pull up, and how he threw back his head when he laughed. The blue color of his eyes. The glints of blond and grey in his shaggy, perfect hair. The lines in his face. How it felt when he put his arm around me, and I felt warm and protected, so happy that I could almost die. Like no one could ever hurt me again.

But here was the reality: someone had hurt me once, and now there was a likelihood that he was going to hurt me again, take away the one thing in my life that I was beginning to think I couldn’t live without. John looked at me in sympathy, almost as if he could read my thoughts. He grabbed my hand and walked me quickly to my room. Once we were inside I buried my face in his chest, not caring that I was sweaty because I had run six miles and done more of a core workout than I cared to remember.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said and sniffled into his chest. I meant it. I didn’t know if I could do
any
of it.

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” he breathed heavily into my hair. Heat was rolling off of him, enveloping me. “But no one ever said the path to justice was easy.” He rubbed my shoulders and kissed my neck. Then he stopped,
and just held me tightly.

“You know I believe in what I do. Liberty, you need to be brave. There’s a bad guy out there. He hurt you, he hurt your mother. He could be hurting someone else right now.”

I shuddered against him.
Ray.
John knew. And he knew about my mother. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Here’s the thing,” John said, holding me tightly against him, rocking me back and forth, trying to soothe me. “Right now I only know part of the story, the small part the client told me. You hold the other piece. Once we both know the whole truth, we can help each other. We can stop him, Liberty.
You
can stop him.”

I looked up at him, tears in my eyes.
My mother.
I thought of her face when I was younger, her raven hair, her beautiful smile. I remember her hugging me and holding me close, like John was right now. She’d had so much love in her, so much light.

Until Ray took it from her.

“I’ll do it,” I managed to get out, the tears now freely streaming down my face. “I’ll do it.”

An hour later we were showered, dressed in sweats and heading up to the big house. We were going to use the library. John had mentioned that Corey and some of the other guys were meeting with Darius tonight and “that it might get loud.” I shot him a look when he said this but he studiously avoided my stare; then I swear he pretended to get a phone call so I couldn’t question him about it.

Mr. Quinn was in the massive granite kitchen when we went in. He was wearing blue plaid button down pajamas, a silk robe and fuzzy moccasins. He was waiting with a tray of lemonade, cookies and fruit. “I prepared this for you, Liberty,” he said, beaming at me, and motioned to the tray. “Don’t let the guys touch it.”

“Thank you Mr. Quinn,” I said, beaming back at him.

He shuffled off towards the living room. “I’ll let you take care of business, John. But Liberty,” he called, “if you get bored, come and watch
SportsCenter
with me.”

I looked after him longingly.
I wish. I would love to wear plaid pajamas, eat cookies, and watch cable with you, Ian. Unfortunately I have to go give sordid details of my life with my junkie mother and the guy who used to regularly dope her up and abuse her.

I sucked in a deep breath; I needed to be brave. The others had already gone into the library. I grabbed the tray and followed them in. I’d only been in the room once briefly before, when John had taken me on a tour of the spectacular house; it had floor to ceiling built in bookshelves, all four walls filled with books. The interesting thing was, I’d noticed, there were all sorts of books: leather-bound series that looked antique mixed in with battered paperbacks of all shapes and sizes. Hundreds of them. “
Who’s the
reader?” I asked, setting down the tray and sitting in an enormous leather armchair.

“My dad,” John said. He, Ethan and Matthew were also seated. “He used to go to the bookstore once a week and bring home boxes of them. Clearly, he read them all, more than once,” he said, picking up a particularly battered one and tossing it to me.
The Color Purple.
I loved that one: triumph over tragedy. I clutched it on my lap and grabbed a cookie.

“Let’s get started,” John said. “Liberty, I asked Matthew and Ethan to be here tonight because that’s our company’s protocol. We don’t take notes or keep any records of interviews like these, so we’ve found it’s necessary to have three people. Every employee of my company is required to sign a confidentiality agreement, so you should feel comfortable to speak freely. The information you tell us tonight won’t leave this room.”

I nodded at them. “I just have one request — actually, two,” I said, quickly chewing the bite of cookie I had in my mouth. “First, I don’t want you to feel bad for me. So many people have it so much worse. And second? Does your dad have any white wine chilled up here? I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need a drink.”