“You’re here,” he says as Harriet moves away toward Ollie to give us privacy.
“Of course I am.”
My legs are wrapped around his hips and he’s holding me up by the waist. Now, he releases me, and I slide down his body, relishing the sensation of being with him. Of being able to touch him. Of the world having righted itself.
When my feet are on the floor, I hook my arms around his neck and he bends forward, his forehead pressed to mine.
“How was it?”
“I’m not in a cell. I’m counting it as a win.”
I frown. “Don’t joke about that.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not joking.”
I look at his face—at the tension there, at the exhaustion. And worry swirls in my gut. “Oh, god. What do they know?”
He runs his hand over his hair. “Not much. Not yet.” But then he meets my eyes. “My number on his cell phone. I called him on Halloween before I went to his house.”
“Oh, god.” I reach for the wall and then drop down onto the nearby bench. Jackson immediately sits beside me.
“No,” he says. “No. All they know is I called. And as Harriet says, why would I do that if I was going to kill him? Leave an electronic trail? That wouldn’t be smart.” He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger. “And we both know I’m smart.”
I hug myself to ward off a chill, but I nod. He is. Smart enough to double back, create false leads. To plan a murder if he wanted to. Or angry enough to fly off the handle and let all that intelligence fly right out the window. Either way the cops play it, that’s a piece of a much larger puzzle. A piece that I wish didn’t exist at all.
Jackson’s hands twine with my own. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m a free man right now. Let’s celebrate that, okay, and not the what-ifs?”
I nod, feeling raw and hollow and like I could use a good long cry. I’m overwhelmed, I know. Battered by emotions. But what I want to be is numb.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells me again. “I don’t think I could get through this without you.”
I manage a tremulous smile, because I know that he needs to see it. “You won’t ever have to,” I say, and even as I speak, the horrible, awful reality that has been poking at my subconscious breaks through, and it is all that I can do not to bury my face in his shirt, hold him close, and cry.
Because I have spoken the truth: I will always be there for him.
But if he’s arrested—if he’s convicted—the same won’t be true for me.
I’ll be alone.
And I honestly don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive without Jackson at my side.
“This one is completely impossible,” Rachel says as she hands me an envelope addressed to Damien.
I’ve spent the last hour helping her sort through various pending items that have built up as she’s manned Damien’s desk. I’m glad for the work. Jackson and I had a quick celebratory breakfast on the way to the office, but just because the ax hasn’t fallen doesn’t mean it’s not still poised to do just that. And I can’t spend the day wondering what’s going to happen next.
With Rachel—with the job—I’m forced to focus. And that’s a good thing.
I pull a card from the envelope and see that it’s an invitation to Senator Robertson’s daughter’s wedding, and Senator Robertson is the kind of man with whom conglomerates like Stark International want to stay friendly. Considering the stress in Rachel’s voice, I realize that she knows that. I also know why it’s impossible—Damien will be in China, along with the heads of other multibillion-dollar corporations, to discuss all manner of business with Chinese government officials.
“Should I just decline and send a gift?”
“Yes, but Damien needs to send a personal note, too, explaining that he’ll be out of the country. And,” I add as I remember something, “there’s one more thing.” I’m standing behind her desk so that we both have a view of my—well, today it’s her—computer monitor. I bend so that I can reach the mouse, then open up the file we keep on Senator Robertson. Then I lean back, smiling with victory as I point at the screen. “There.”
Rachel skims the article that I’ve copied into the file—a small piece from the Washington Post about the senator’s wife and her involvement in a retired greyhound adoption program. “Check with Damien, of course, but that’s a cause he’ll support.”
“Send a note to the senator along with a donation for his wife’s cause?”