Society Rules (12 page)

There was a noticeable change in Jackson’s demeanor now . . . his visible reaction to the unquestionable command that Indie was so capable of delivering when the situation warranted.

She sat down across from him and crossed her arms, waiting expectantly. Jackson frowned, and narrowed his beautiful eyes.

“I’m afraid . . . I am a slave to your wishes.” He smiled painfully, as he dropped his head in a strangely submissive posture. He drew a deep breath once more, and began.

“My name is Jackson Riley Allen,” he spoke slowly, raising only his eyes to her face, taking in her reaction. “My birthday is June 26th, 1968”—Indie drew in a sharp breath—“I am forty years old, and I am . . . your
Equal!”

These words made no sense to Indie, even though she’d heard them from Miss Maggie before. And yet . . . and yet, she felt instinctively that they could also mean everything.

“But I don’t understand what this means!” She bit out between her teeth. “That’s
my
birthday. Same day, same year!”

And
my
maiden
name
, she added silently, though somehow she felt that he knew this.

“Yes.” He spoke cautiously, eyes never leaving hers as he slid off the couch and moved forward, ending up on his knees directly in front of her. His knuckles were white as he kept his hands tightly pressed to his body, as if to avoid doing something he knew he shouldn’t do.

“What are you, my long lost twin brother or something?” Indie demanded, darkly.
That
thought was sickening to her.

“Hardly,” he laughed a little, still looking down. “I was born . . .
for
you.”

Indie was silent. She could feel his heat, wrapping around and pulling her toward him. He didn’t move.

“What can that possibly mean?” she finally pleaded with him, her voice thin and desperate.

“It means that I have come to claim what is mine. Because you . . . you were born for
me
,” he whispered shakily.

After a long silence, something snapped in Indie’s head. She stood up abruptly.

“This—This is insane!” Indie stuttered, backing away. “You have to get out of here!” He stared at her, motionless, his eyes haunted, and he dropped his head, a ruined look upon his perfect features.

“NOW” she shouted, and he winced, as if she had slapped him. Max whimpered in protest.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he reminded her in a wounded tone. “Don’t be upset, please. I’ll go.” He leaped to his feet lightly, but leaned toward her once more, his eyes impaling hers with their brilliance. “But I know you feel the draw. I can
feel
it in you,” he spoke heatedly.

“Do you not realize that it doesn’t matter what I feel?” she looked back at him, wild eyed. “I am
married
, plain and simple. This isn’t right!”

Jackson shook his head.

“There is nothing
simple
about this situation.” He moved to stand directly in front of her.

“Don’t you think I
knew
all of this?” he demanded. “Don’t you see that this fact, as well as the fact that you have children, was the very reason I wanted to leave? I would
not
have you upset like this!”

The very blatant possessive look had reappeared in his eyes. He looked as if he was going to reach out to take her hand, but he hesitated, and drew back.

“If I touch you, you’ll know,” he said in a weary voice, “but I won’t . . . not without your invitation.” he looked at Indie, the implication very clear.

“Somehow I don’t think my husband would be on board with my inviting strange men to put their hands on me,” she sighed lamely.

Jackson flinched at the word
husband.

“I am
not
just some ‘strange man,’ and William Taylor is
not
your
Equal!”
he growled through clenched teeth.

This sent a short laugh snorting out of Indie. “Like
that’s
supposed to be news to me!” she stopped, and clamped her hand over her mouth in horror.

She had never stated such an insulting thing about Will out loud before, and it felt so vicious and wrong. She was ashamed and sickened by her outburst.

Jackson noted the horror reflected in Indie’s face at her words, and recoiled. “Indie, I’m sorry. I . . . I’m just going to go,” he spoke, his voice defeated. At that moment, they both jerked their heads toward the door, a fraction of a second before the knock sounded. Indie looked at Jackson, confused.

“Your senses are not complete until you’ve joined with whom you belong.” he spoke, a little ruefully. “But you were getting so close!” he added in a hoarse whisper, his eyes now on her carpet.

She had no time to ponder the meaning of these words as the knock sounded again, insistent. The dog went ballistic, barking furiously. Indie looked out the window and groaned. “Oh perfect, it’s my Mother-in-law,” she whispered in disbelief.

Wherever the family moved, Marie always found a way to join them after a few short months. She always claimed that she liked moving often—that she got bored staying in one place too long, but they all knew that the reality was that she could never let go of her son. Most of the time, Indie thought it was a little humorous.

Today, not so much.

“Of course it’s
Marie
 . . . wouldn’t you know? What am I going to
do
?” she panicked, looking at Jackson.

He was calm.

“You will let her in, of course” his voice was comforting. “There will be nothing here to arouse her suspicion.” He turned to look at her one more time, smiled wistfully, and was out of sight.

Indie leaped up and stumbled to the door.

Jackson deftly leaped over the railing of the deck, and ducked out of sight. With a deep sigh, he lowered himself to the cool soft grass underneath.

And
so,
it
has
come
to
this
,
racing
out
of
the
back
door
and
hiding
like
the
clichéd
two
timing
lover! Oh,
would
the
setbacks
never
end
? He ranted silently.

And the look on Indie’s face. Was this sheer madness? What was he about to set in motion?

Yet he felt that this could very well be the decisive moment. As soon as the older woman left, he could sense that Indie’s quest to know was possibly going to override her fear, and she was going to let him make contact.

Jackson’s stomach muscles contracted with anticipation and excitement.

You
belong
with
me,
Indie
Allen
. He deliberately snubbed her married name, and sent his focused thoughts into the house, into her brain, although he knew that they didn’t connect that way yet. But she might feel the emotions.

You
are
mine,
as
I
am
yours
 . . . . He leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on his forehead, rocking back and forth, as he chanted the words in his head;

My
angel.
My
blessing.
My
love
.

Indie was burning with curiosity . . . and need. He could feel that, too. Jackson tried to slow his racing heart with deep, steady breaths, but he could hear her voice from inside, and her very essence was competing with his efforts.

How impossible it had seemed, to sit there before her and maintain his act of composure.

She was everything. There was simply nothing else that mattered. He did not feel forty years old at this moment. He felt like a hormonally driven sixteen year old.

Come
on,
Jackson,
pull
yourself
together!
He tried to put himself back into his usual state of cool, calm assurance.

Yeah.
Not
happening.

He flipped over onto his belly, plucking absently at the dandelion weeds while he listened closely to the conversation from inside the house. He was prepared to slip further out of sight if necessary, but he wasn’t going far.

Because this was it.

Jackson knew it in his soul, and he could barely contain himself. He closed his eyes and waited anxiously for Indie to be alone again. Then he was going to make his move.

There was nothing in the world that could change his mind.

Chapter 8

As far as work days went, Will had seen worse. Much, much worse. However, as he clamped his right hand tightly to the top of his head, covered just as firmly by the left hand as well, he had to concede that things just weren’t flowing for him this morning.

He started out the day feeling a little like crap. Nothing he could pinpoint exactly.

Just a vague gut discomfort. Like maybe he could hurl if he really wanted to. As always, whenever he woke up feeling sub-par, he tossed around the idea that he would call out sick.

And as always, he didn’t.

As much as Will had grown to hate his job, it was his personal belief that unless you are face-down in an oily pool of death, you should drag your ill carcass to work because people were counting on you. Will was reliable to a fault, and expected no less from others. So here he was, and already the morning had made him wish he
was
the loser no-show type.

He’d come in to find six new files on his desk; people whom he was expected to root out every detail of their lives by five o’clock this afternoon, right down to their favorite color, and even the answer to the familiar “boxers or briefs” category of private info. This was about three more than on any average given day, so the stress began immediately. In between data searches, Will had also been unsuccessfully trying to locate his partner, who was somewhere in the building, but making himself very scarce.

The reason behind his partner, Baker’s MIA status was totally understandable, but still . . . Will needed his ass back here to help work on some of this shit, even if it meant that Baker would have to man up and face the persistent female agent who worked upstairs in . . . well, hell, he wasn’t really sure
what
department she worked in; mostly because he didn’t care.

The woman, Agent Lockhart, was as repellent a creature as Will had ever met, and the conversations that she tried to engage he and Baker in were filled with sexual innuendo and other grossly inappropriate content. Besides, she was just nasty in general. And if that wasn’t enough, the rumors about her would scare off anybody in their right mind.

In spite of the fact that the office was just as bad as any junior high school lunch table when it came to gossip, Will knew that with most gossip came a kernel of truth, and if just
some
of what was said about this lady was true, well . . . it was probably safer to keep your distance.

But it was really Baker upon whom she was focused. Her blatantly fake and transparent excuses to show up around them were tiresome and embarrassing, but God damn it, it was time for Baker to either give in and have sex with her, (he shuddered) or tell her that her interest was not reciprocated . . . or file a formal complaint with HR, because Baker was now into taking extended breaks and leaving Will here to face both the Beast
and
all the research.

Now, topping off his irritation was this; since he and Baker were lucky enough to have a coveted spot up against a real wall among the acres of cubicles with moveable boundaries, maintenance had installed two huge cabinets above Will’s desk to provide extra storage.

This was fine and dandy, but the sons of bitches jutted out of the wall pretty far, and twice today, Will, having arisen from his desk in a hurry, had impaled the top of his skull on the corner of one of the things.

The first time it happened, Will sent the “F” word ricocheting around the office at high volume, causing titters of laughter to erupt throughout the space.

The second time made him see stars, and was the reason that he was now clamping down on the top of his skull, feeling a strong need to try to keep his brains from oozing out.

He was proud of himself though; the “
fuck”
that shot from between his teeth this time was barely audible, and he didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of being caught making the same mistake twice.

That would so blow his rep.

Will was known for his calm, authoritative efficiency, and he’d worked hard to earn that kind of confidence from his peers. He wasn’t exactly down with looking like the class clown, walking into sharp pointed objects and yelping like a kicked dog.

Gingerly, he lifted his hands from the top of his throbbing head, and checked for blood. Nope, didn’t break skin, thank God, but the lump was impressively high. He probably needed ice, but to hell with that. He would just suck back the pain before he walked around with an ice pack strapped to his head.

Because of those same head-stabbing m.f.’ers, Will also had to waste time tracking down a florescent light to secure to the underside of the things, because they cast a nice dark shadow onto his workspace.

Rather than wait for the maintenance team that was still busy installing deathtraps throughout the office, Will sought out a light source independently. He was only able to find a corded plug-in style light, so after he’d installed it, his sense of neatness and order demanded that he spend another thirty minutes trying to MacGyver the cord so that it wasn’t hanging down in his face.

Baker’s head appeared over the cubicle wall, and his eyes darted nervously around the office.

“Is she around?”

“No, and she shouldn’t be back. I told her you left early for a doctor’s appointment; told her you had a nasty little infection you couldn’t seem to shake, and that the burning and discharge was getting in the way of your ability to concentrate.”

“Nice, Taylor. She’d better not spread that shit around as fact.” Baker looked a little worried. “That could do real damage to my afterhours recreation.”

Will leaned back in his chair and gathered up three of the folders, handing them to his partner.

“Yeah, well that would be a shame, but I’m sure you could still sweet talk the girls into coming home with you, even if you had an active case of skank. You’re good like that.”

Baker grinned back at Will. “Okay, ‘A’, I never bring them back to
my
place, and ‘B’, what can I say, dude; I’m simply irresistible!”

“Great. Now sit your irresistible ass down and start gathering some Intel on these subjects of interest. And I’ll thank you not to quote lame, eighties Robert Palmer songs in my office.”

Baker took the files with a sigh, and sat down at his desk.

“Well, you knew the song, pal, so don’t . . .” he cut himself off as he looked through the thick stack of requirements. “What the hell? We’re supposed to get all of this done
today
?”

“That’s right, and you’d be pretty much done with at least one of them if you weren’t busy playing ‘hide-n-seek’ with the blond.”

Will locked a stare onto Baker.

“This shit’s gone on long enough. You need to grow a pair and tell her to back off, or I will file the complaint with HR myself, on your behalf. Unless, of course, you’re actually into her.”

Baker looked horrified.

“Jesus man, are you kidding? She turns me on like a fly-covered tuna melt!” He turned toward his computer while Will tried to control his gag reflex at the analogy, deciding that he, himself, would probably go for the insect-ridden sandwich before making contact with
that
woman. His partner made himself busy by logging on to the network and glanced quickly over at Will.

“You’re right, though. I’ll handle it.”

Baker entered the first name on the list and after a few seconds of frustrated clicks and curses, threw the file down on the desk.

“Okay, so this dude, like, doesn’t exist, right? I can’t find his name anywhere in the cyber world!”

The first step in even the most complicated and detailed invasion into a person’s life, always started with the simple square one of a Google search.

Baker excelled at square one. However, if the results weren’t thrust in front of his face instantaneously, Baker’s youthful impatience took over. Obviously, he had hit a wall.

Will, expelling a sigh, rolled his chair backwards until he was next to Baker’s computer, and after thinking for a moment, pulled up a list of cell phone providers. There were only three that were popular in the state of Vermont because of coverage difficulties, and with only a few strokes of the keyboard, will pulled up the customer data base for all three, minimizing them into separate windows.

“There you go,” Will slapped Baker’s back nice and hard. “Try sifting through those customer lists first. I’ll bet he has an account with one of them. If not, then his girlfriend . . .” Will rechecked the folder, “Sarah Rydell will be in there, I’m almost positive. When you find it, let me know. We’ll break into their cell phone records and get all his contacts.”

Forcing aside the look of awe that had accidentally found its way on his face, Baker turned back to the keyboard as Will skated his chair back across the linoleum floor to his desk.

“Show off,” he muttered under his breath. It was bullshit. Will should just handle all this info-digging crap on his own, shouldn’t he? Since he was such a God damned know it all.

Oh, and let’s not even get started with the profiling master he was reported to be. Christ, he was so good, some people thought he must be some kind of closet psychic medium.

Will Taylor could look at almost any action performed by a human being, and tell you all kinds of character traits of the person who did the deed, and several outstanding theories on the motives behind the action; one of which was always found to be correct.

Always.

Irritatingly enough, he never appeared to be watching or listening to anyone or anything with any particular interest, yet he missed nothing, even regarding his co-workers.

And field work . . . well, forget about it. He could catch anyone in the slightest lie, and by the end of the interview, trip a person up so badly that they usually ended up confessing and offering up even more info than was originally hoped for.

Baker wanted a little of that glory, and even though he thought well of Will, and even admired him, the somewhat immature side of Baker resented the hell out of the fact that people thought Will was
better
than him. The guy was middle-aged for God’s sake. Probably should be maxing out his IRA’s by now, thinking about which golf course he was going to haunt.

It didn’t occur to him that with age comes experience, most of the time. It also didn’t occur to him that maybe he could learn from his partner.

No. It was easier just to be pissed, and taunt the guy about his age. It never seemed to bother Will, but then again, what did?

Just once, Baker thought with annoyance, he would like to see Will get shaken up. See him freaking out about something.

Yeah. That would be kind of enjoyable, actually.

Will worked diligently on his task, ignoring the resentful vibes coming from the direction of his partner. They were so strong he almost felt them as physical blows.

What a crybaby. Baker should really work on sharpening his own skills, rather than being pissed about
my
abilities, he thought an impatient jab at the keyboard.

The guy was great when they had to go out and do a confrontation, but abilities using just your brain power are just as necessary, and very teachable, if the fool would just listen. But Baker was restless and young and thought his way was the only way.

What-the
hell-ever.
Someday he would figure it out.

Will’s secretary, Kaitlyn, stuck her head over the wall. “Um, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Levinson said for me to tell you we have a guy who made visual contact with an unknown, and is planning to go to the media. He said you’re available, and to go do a chat with this guy . . . like, um . . . now.” Kaitlyn winced as she spoke; trying to soften the message she was sent to deliver.

Will leveled his copper stare at the young girl. “What the
fu
 . . . I mean, what in the world is Mark thinking?
I’m
available? I am?
Really
? He needs to get . . .” He stopped suddenly.

Ah, hell. He shouldn’t go off on the secretary, he decided.

No need to shoot the messenger.

Everyone, including himself, was still on edge after the urgent meeting called yesterday. Every agent in his department at least, had been put on a priority assignment that was going to be stressful and difficult, on top of being distasteful as hell to Will, as a matter of morality.

In spite of this fact, he had added that assignment to his
“do
it
right
now”
list to juggle with the other stuff that piled up daily. And now this interruption. Expelling a lungful of frustrated breath, Will rose to his feet, strategically avoiding the “cabinet-slash-dagger” beautifully this time.

“Fine. Thank you, Kaitlyn. I’ll go see Mr. Levinson, ‘k?”

Kaitlyn smiled, relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Taylor. I’ll be at a staff meeting until eleven in case anyone’s looking.” Will forced a smile back, and the secretary left, after allowing a dreamy look back over her shoulder at Will.