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“And now we wait,” I say.
“No,” Lori says. “Let’s go to her apartment. She came back from Paris, where she was with this man, who was her fiancé. Maybe there’s something there that tells us what’s really going on.”
Another good idea that has me standing up. “I’ll have Royce’s team get us in.”
“We’ll sit this one out,” Reese says. “But I’m still waiting for that friend of mine that has a CIA contact. I’ll let you know if he calls.”
It turns out that Smith has a key to Ashley’s place because of his part as her security detail. He meets us at her apartment and Lori and I wait impatiently while he unlocks the door. Lori squeezes my hand as he opens it as if she expects some kind of shock. Smith enters first and curses. “Holy fucking hell.”
I enter behind him and curse right along with him as Lori whispers, “Oh my God.”
The apartment is empty. As in completely empty.
Smith pulls his phone from his pocket and I hear, “Royce. Her apartment is wiped.” He listens a few beats and then disconnects. “Either she’s been put in witness protection or they really think she knows something or has something they need. They weren’t taking any chances they’d miss it.”
There is a dark spot forming in my chest, a heaviness on my shoulders. Ashley has no one in this world. I was supposed to protect her. Lori wraps her arms around me and looks up at me. “This isn’t your fault.”
I stare down at her, this woman who is my life, afraid that one day I will fail her as I have Ashley and I know this is a dangerous place for my mind to go. These demons are halfway back in their box. They need to go back in and stay in.
“It’s the CIA, man,” Smith says softly, and when my eyes meet his he says, “You didn’t do this. You didn’t cause this. And she’s alive. I will make the promise to you now that I’ll keep her that way. I’ll find her.”
There is something raw and emotional in his words, a sense of personal with Ashley that I’ve seen hints of before, that I am now certain runs deeper than a mere flirtation. They’ve bonded. He cares. He’s in her corner right along with us. “I’ll hold you to that. Let us know if you hear anything. Right now, I need to take my wife home.” I wrap my arm around Lori’s shoulders and walk toward the door, wasting no time walking us into the hallway.
We are already walking toward the elevator when Lori asks, “Does he have your direct cellphone number?”
I stop walking. “Good question.” I kiss her. “Let me run back and make sure.” Eager to get my wife alone, and be home, I hurry back to the door, and open it to find Smith leaning on the window, his hands pressed to the glass, head low, torment rolling off of him. It hits me then that he must feel responsible. He was protecting her.
He shoves off the glass and turns to look at me. “They walked in and took her. You didn’t do this.” I tell him.
“I should have taken her underground. I felt it in my bones. I ignored it.”
“She wouldn’t have let you,” I say.
“If I decided to take her underground, I wouldn’t have given her an option any more than they did, only now it’s them, not me.”
I don’t say more. I can’t say more. I get it. I know what he feels. It’s a small piece of what I have felt with Lori’s attacks. “You have my number?”
“Yes. I have your number.”
We stand there several beats, staring at each other and I turn and exit. Lori is waiting for me at the door, and I grab her, pull her to me and say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers, and then I don’t care where we are. My mouth slants over hers, and I’m kissing her, hard and deep, possessiveness in every lick, stroke, and taste. I need to feel my wife. I need to know she’s alive and well. And I need out of my head, to lose myself in every part of her. I tear my mouth from hers and lace my fingers with hers. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter eighty-two
Cole
Lori and I slide into the hired car waiting on us just outside of Ashley’s building, and neither of us speak, not with the driver present. For me, the silence is both welcome and torture at the same time. There’s an explosion brewing in me and only when Lori covers my hand on my leg do I realize how hard I’m squeezing it. I look at her and her green eyes cut through the shadows, understanding in their depths. She knows that I’m torturing myself right now. She knows that I’m blaming myself. No one in this world has ever known me well enough to know what I’m feeling. There was a period in my life, not so long ago, that I didn’t want anyone to know me this well.
By the time we’re in the thankfully empty elevator, the edge I’d felt in the car is growing sharper, while my thoughts are not. I pull Lori to me, her back to my front, willing this feeling under control. I don’t go dark often. I don’t let myself ever have that little control, but the past two weeks have hit one of my hotspots, caring about people that can end up gone. Lori doesn’t let me escape. She twists in my arms. “Cole—”
I cup her head and pull her mouth to mine. “Don’t talk.” I kiss her with a deep stroke of my tongue, and I feel her shock, her temporary surprise before she moans and melts into me, but she knows. She sees what I’m doing. I don’t want to talk. I want to fix things. I want Ashley back. I want to keep her safe. I want to get this edge off and that means I need my wife, now.
The elevator dings and I take her hand, leading her from the car, toward our apartment. I don’t look at her. I don’t want those pretty, all-knowing eyes to compel me to talk. I open the door and lead us inside and the minute I pull Lori into our apartment, my mouth is on hers again, and it’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a deep, intense, passion that is all about taking, burying, fucking. I want and need one thing right now and it all comes back to her. The taste of her, the sound of her pleasure, the heat of her body next to mine.
I let her know. With my mouth, my hands. The rough, impatient way I tug at her clothes, and peel away my jacket, but outside of unzipping my pants, I’m focused on her. I want her naked and that’s where this goes. Her in her high heels, thigh highs and nothing else. Me turning her to the door, pressing her against it and smacking her backside. My fingers caressing her sex, tweaking her nipple, sinking inside her, and then finally, I turn her to face me again. I’m not even sure which one of us pulls my cock from my pants, but it’s not soon enough. I drag her leg to my hip and I press into the slick heat of her body that is absolute-fucking-heaven. I don’t even think about waiting. I don’t want to go slow or be gentle. I drive into her, thrusting hard and fast. She gasps and closes her fingers around my shirt sleeves, while I lean in and kiss her, a deep, possessive taking that has me lifting her.
Her knees are at my hips, my hand cupping her backside, while the other splays between her shoulder blades. She is gripping my shirt again and I shackle her hips, urging her to lean back, to take more, to know that I will hold her, that I won’t let her fall, to trust me. She does it without hesitation, arching her back even as she leans away from me while pressing into me. We are frenzied, wild, fierce, and when she stiffens, that look of ultimate anticipation on her face, I drag her to me and hold her close. She shatters around me, milking my cock with hard spasms, and I go along for the tumble into release right along with her. She trembles and I quake, and somehow we end up on the ground, me against the wall, and her in my lap, collapsed on top of me.
