All In (The Blackstone Affair, Part 2) (21 page)

I felt her inner core squeezing me tight and
hot as she worked herself up and down. I snaked a hand down between
her legs to meet where our bodies joined and found her clit through
all that wet and slippery. I wished it was my tongue, but made do
with my fingers and started stroking.

“I’m coming…” she panted.

She’d said it like that before, so soft and
delicate. Those two words. It made me crazed to hear it from her
again. It did because it was me making her fly apart, and she gave
up everything to me in the instant when it happened.

Her soft words also sent me tumbling over
the edge.

“Yes you are, baby. Come. Now. Come all over
me!”

I watched her go and follow my command like
an expert. She squeezed and cried and gripped and shuddered.

“Ohhhhhh, Ethaaaaan! Yes. Yes. Yes!”

Coming on command. That’s my girl, who does
it when I tell her to. I’m such a lucky, lucky bastard.

I loved every part of watching her. Of
feeling her pleasure. And when I felt myself start to go off, I
slammed her down one final time while I thrust up in her as far as
I could get and let it fly.

The hot flood of sperm jetted out and into
her depths. I felt every spurt in sharp bursts and rode the wave of
pleasure in a fucking daze, barely conscious of where my hands were
gripping anymore or of what my body was doing. I got to look into
her beautiful eyes though.

Sometime later—I have no idea how long, she
stirred on my chest and lifted her head. Her eyes glowed in the
dark and she smiled at me.

“What
was
that?”

“A really awesome middle of the night shag?”
she quipped.

I chuckled. “A really fucking amazing middle
of the night shag.”

I kissed her lips and held her head until I
was ready to let her go. I’m possessive like that after we have
sex. I don’t like to leave right away, and since she was on top of
me, I didn’t have to worry about crushing her and could stay a bit
longer.

I thrust up deep again and made her moan a
luxurious sound against my lips.

“You want more?” she asked in a voice mixed
with content and surprise.

“Only if you do,” I said. “I’ll never turn
you down and I like it when you jump me, but I thought you were
having your period—”

“No. Not like that for me because of the
pills I take. It’s barely anything, a day maybe, if that…sometimes
I don’t even have one…” She started kissing over my chest and
grazed a nipple with her teeth.

Christ, it felt so good. Her attentions
jolted me right back into the moment and a healthy desire for round
two.

“I think you’re going to kill me, woman…in a
really nice fucking way,” I managed to say, but it was the last
thing either of us spoke for a while. My Medusa had just turned
into Aphrodite worshipping at the altar of Eros. My luck apparently
knew no bounds.

♥

“The US papers,” Frances said, setting the
stack on my desk. “There’s an interesting article on members of
Congress with children in active military service in the
Los
Angeles Times
. Guess who they interviewed?”

“He must be one of the very few. Oakley will
milk it for everything he can. Thanks for these.” I tapped the
stack of papers. “What about the other thing?”

Frances looked very pleased with herself.
“Picking it up when I go out to get lunch. Mr. Morris said it
restored beautifully after so many years in the vault.”

“Thank you for seeing to that for me.”
Frances was a gem of an assistant. She ran my company office like a
tight ship. I might organize the security, but that woman kept my
business sorted and I didn’t underestimate her worth for an
instant.

“She’s going to love it.” Frances hesitated
at the door. “And did you still want me to clear your schedule for
Monday?”

“Yes, please. The Mallerton thing tonight
and then we leave in the morning for Somerset. We’ll drive back
Monday evening.”

“I’ll see to it. Should be no problem.”

I picked up the
Los Angeles Times
as
Frances left and looked up the article from the senator. I wanted
to be sick. The slippery serpent failed to mention how his precious
son was stop-lossed just recently, but that was no surprise. I
wondered what the son really thought of the father. I could only
imagine the dysfunction in that family, and it wasn’t a bit
nice.

I set the paper back on the stack and as I
did, the movement caused something to peek out below it. An
envelope. The thing had been set between the stack of papers. That
in itself was odd, but the words on the envelope…FOR YOUR
CONSIDERATION…and that it had my name underneath, got my heart
pounding.

“Frances, who handed you the US papers this
morning?” I bellowed on intercom.

“Muriel has them ready every morning. She
sets them aside just like she’s been doing for the last month. They
were just there waiting for me.” She hesitated. “Is everything all
right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

My heart was still pounding as I stared at
the envelope on my desk. Did I want to look? I reached for the flap
and unwound the red string tie. I stuck my hand in and pulled out
photos. Eight by ten black and white photographs of Ivan and Brynne
chatting at Gladstone’s. Him kissing her on the cheeks as I waited
for her to get in the car. Ivan leaning in to speak to me and
waving us off. Ivan on the street after we’d pulled away. Ivan
waiting on the street for his own car to come round.

That photographer I’d seen outside the
restaurant was there specifically for Ivan? He’d gotten death
threats before…and now we had pictures of him and Brynne and me
together? Not a good connection for her. Ivan had his own shit
storm of troubles, and I sure as hell didn’t need the added
complication of whoever was harassing Ivan to drag my Brynne into
his whole mess. Fuck!

I flipped over the pictures one by one.
Nothing. Until the last one.
Never attempt to murder a man who
is committing suicide.

I’d seen this kind of thing throughout my
career. It had to be taken seriously of course, but more often than
not, it was some lunatic fringe who had an axe to grind on the back
of someone notable they perceived to have caused offense to them
personally and with cruel intent. Sports figures especially
suffered this kind of crap. Ivan had offended a ton of people in
his time and had the gold medals to prove it. A former Olympic
archer now retired from the sport, he was still Britain’s lauded
golden boy hounded by the media. The fact he was my blood family
would have earned him the protection regardless, but he certainly
kept me busy.

These photos had been taken two weeks ago.
Was that photographer there for Ivan specifically, or did he just
sell the pictures he’d taken of Ivan Everley, Olympic archer,
because he’d been lucky to snap them and could get a few pounds for
selling? Paparazzi hung around places that got a lot of celebrity
traffic by habit, so it was hard to tell if the pictures had been
prearranged or mere chance.

And if you were a lunatic intent upon
killing somebody famous, why in the hell would you bother to inform
his private security detail that you were planning to do it? Made
no sense at all. Why send them to me? Whoever had got the pictures
obviously wanted me to see them. They’d gone to the trouble to
plant them in a stack of newspapers I regularly ordered from the
street cart.

Muriel.

I made a mental note to speak to Muriel on
my way out. I’d be leaving early anyway because of the Mallerton
thing tonight so I should be able to catch her before she closed up
shop for the night.

I opened my desk drawer and pulled out
cigarettes and my lighter. I saw Brynne’s old mobile in there and
pulled it out too. Not much traffic on it for the past two weeks as
all her contacts were onto her new number now. The bloke from The
Washington Review had never rang back, most likely he figured her a
bum lead, which worked perfectly in Brynne’s favour. I set it up to
charge so it would be ready to take with me tonight and into the
weekend.

I lit up my first Djarum of the day. The
inhale was perfect. I felt like I was doing fairly well with the
cutting back. Brynne helped motivate me, but when things were rocky
with us, it was chain-smoking central. Maybe I should try the
nicotine patch thing.

I resolved to enjoy my one smoke and thought
about the upcoming weekend. Our first trip together. I’d managed to
scrape out three days of time so I could take my girl up to the
Somerset coast to stay at my sister’s country home. The place also
operated as a high-end bed-and-breakfast and I was well aware of
the fact I’d never asked my sister if I could bring a guest along
with me on any other occasion that I’d ever gone there before.

Brynne was different for so many reasons and
if I wasn’t quite ready to own up to those feelings publically, I
did recognize them for what they were. I wanted to talk to her
about where we were heading, and ask her what she wanted. The only
reason I hadn’t already was because her potential answer made me
really fucking nervous. What if she didn’t want what I wanted? What
if I was just her first real relationship that she could test the
waters with? What if she met somebody else down the line?

My list could go on and on. I just had to
keep reminding myself that Brynne was a very honest person and when
she told me how she felt about me, then well, it was the truth. My
girl was no liar.
She told you she loves you
.

The plan was to leave early in the morning
after the gala tonight to avoid traffic, and I couldn’t wait to get
Brynne up there. I wanted some romantic time away with my girl, and
also just needed to get out of the city and into the fresh air of
the country. I loved London, but even so, the desire to have time
away from the urban crush in order to keep my sanity, played out
regularly.

A call came through just then, pulling me
out of my wool gathering moment and back into the very demanding
and very urgent present situation of my job responsibilities. The
day flew and before I knew, it was time to get moving.

I called Brynne as I was leaving the office
to tell her I was on my way and expected to get a breathless
rundown of everything that needed to be done before the thing
tonight and our impending trip. I got voice mail instead. So I sent
her a short text:
I’m on my way home. Need
anything?
And got no response.

I didn’t like it and realized right then and
there, I would always worry about her. The worry would never go
away. I’d heard people say such things about their children. That
they didn’t know what real worry was until they had someone
important enough in their lives that measured the true essence of
what it meant to love another person. With that love came the
burden of potential loss—a prospect too uncomfortable for me to
think much about.

Remembering about the envelope from the
stack of newspapers, I headed over to Muriel’s newsstand on my way
out to my car. She saw me approaching and tracked me with her
soulful eyes. She might have had a hard life and rough existence,
but those truths didn’t alter the fact she was very intelligent.
Her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Hello, Muriel.”

“’Ello, guv. What canna do for ye? I’ve
every American rag just like you want, eh?”

“Yes. Very good.” I smiled at her. “Question
though, Muriel.” I observed her body language as I spoke, searching
for clues to see if she knew what I was asking or not. I pulled out
the envelope with the photos of Ivan and held it up. “What do you
know about this being placed inside the stack of papers from
today?”

“Nothin.” She didn’t look to the left. She
didn’t lose eye contact either. Those two things were supportive of
her giving me the truth. I could only guess and use my intuition,
and remember who I was dealing with.

I set a tenner on the counter. “I need your
help, Muriel. If you see anyone or anything suspicious I want you
to tell me about it. It’s important. A person’s life could be at
stake.” I gave her a nod. “Will you keep an eye out?”

She looked down at the ten pound note and
then back up to me. She flashed those horrific teeth in a genuine
smile and said, “For ye, handsome, I will.” Muriel snatched up the
ten pounds and put it in her pocket.

“Ethan Blackstone, forty-fourth floor,” I
said, pointing to my building.

“I know ye name and I’ll not forget.”

I guessed we had as good a deal as was
possible considering who I was making it with. I headed to my car,
eager to get home and see my girl.

I dialed Brynne a second time and once again
got voicemail, so I left a message saying I was on my way. I
wondered what she was doing not to answer and tried to imagine
something like taking a bath, working out with headphones in, or
having her phone set to silent.

I struggled with my worries. Foremost, the
emotion was still unfamiliar, but at the same time not something I
could set aside either. I worried about Brynne constantly. And just
because this was all new to me sure as hell didn’t make it any
easier to understand. I was a total novice learning my way.

The flat was silent as the grave when I
stepped in. I felt my anxiety spike to very unpleasant levels and
started searching. “Brynne?”

Only more silence. She wasn’t working out
and she definitely wasn’t in my office. Not outside on the balcony.
The bathroom was my last hope. My heart pounded in my chest as I
opened the door. And crashed when she wasn’t in there either.

Fuck! Brynne, where are you?

Her beautiful dress was hanging on a hook
though. The periwinkle one she’d bought in the vintage shop with
Gabrielle on the day we met for lunch at Gladstone’s. There was
evidence of packing too—cosmetics out and a small bag halfway done.
So she had been here getting ready for tonight and our weekend
away.