Leah Braemel - Deliberate Deceptions

With a cry, she reached out to catch him when he lifted his pants and refastened his fly. He snatched up her shirt and threw it at her. “You even changed your goddamned name back to Patrick as soon as the divorce went through.”

She straightened her shoulders. He deserved the truth. “I couldn’t stay with you-”

“You were very clear about that. You couldn’t be associated with me. What woman wants a man who is more concerned with his sister’s life than his wife’s career?”

Is that what he thought? Had she really given him that impression? No, more likely Thalia had. “That’s not why I left.”

“Maybe that wasn’t the final straw that drove you out, but it was a big part of it, wasn’t it? You never understood why I went against orders, did you?”

“I understood. I still don’t agree with your decision to send people in undercover, though I understood why you did it.” She deliberately didn’t name Sam. “But that’s not why I went to England.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Our marriage is over. You got what you wanted. You don’t get what you want this time.” He released her and opened the door between their rooms. He stopped on the threshold and spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure you’re protected from this Harris asshole. But once he’s neutralized? I don’t want to see you again.”

Once the door closed behind him, Lauren walked up to it, pressed her forehead against the cool panel and whispered, “I’m not going let you walk away until you’ve listened to me. Until you believe I left you because I loved you. Not because I didn’t.”

Chad rested against the closed door, stifling an urge to bang his head against it. What the hell had he just done? How had he let it get that far?

I’ve only ever wanted you. Bull. Shit.

Not after the way she’d had the divorce papers delivered to him. In front of the press by a goddamned process server who looked like he should still be in junior high and hadn’t even started shaving yet. The kid was intimidated about serving a guy wearing a gun and had stuttered when he’d asked Chad his name. At least until he spotted the cameras. Then he’d adopted a swagger worthy of a rap star.

At least Sam had his back. Once they had Hauberk up and running, Sam had taken on that damned firm in a long bloody takeover. Hauberk had gained a lot of new customers when they’d finally emerged victorious and that had set them on the path to where they were now-the biggest, most reputable personal protection firm on the east coast.

He stomped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He undid his shirt buttons, barely stopping himself from ripping the damned shirt off. His still-rampant hard-on caused him some grief with the zipper, but soon his trousers sailed across the bathroom to land in a heap in the corner. Goddamn her.

I’m not playing a game.

Damned straight she was playing a game. With his nuts as the dice.

He stepped into the shower, not caring that the water was too hot. Served him right. He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered his hands. Why the hell had he stopped? Why hadn’t he taken his due?

Because he’d be damned if he’d let her drag him back into the hell of thinking she cared for him.

His soapy fist wrapped around his cock, jerking it rapidly. He should have taken his time with her. Tied her to the bed. Teased her to the point of orgasm then left her wanting the way she’d done with him. Or taken her hard, worrying only about pleasing himself.

Fuck. He’d forgotten to use a condom. Who knew who she’d been with? How could he have been so fucking stupid? Because he’d let himself forget they weren’t married, forgotten that their rules for sex had changed with the stroke of a judge’s pen.

He’d walked on eggshells for too damned long around her. Let her turn away from him when they were in bed for almost a year. Only to come home and find she’d moved out, run all the way to fucking England. He fisted his dick with hard, angry strokes. So he’d made a decision at work without consulting her. That was his fucking job. To make decisions. Didn’t she understand he’d had no choice but to send Sam and Jill in undercover? That no one else was stepping up to the plate to protect Thalia? That it was his duty to protect his sister? The same as it was to protect Lauren? The way he’d failed to protect Emily.

With a roar, he slammed his fist into the wall, not caring that the tile cracked. Oh, God, Emily. Even after the coroner’s report proved there was nothing they could have done, Lauren had blamed him for Em’s death. Hell, how could he blame her? He blamed himself. There had to have been something he could have done but Emily had been cold and rigid even before he’d tried CPR. He slumped against the wall, letting the water cascade over him. Maybe if they had gotten up earlier instead of sleeping in that morning, maybe if…like it had every other time he tried to think of something he could have done, he came up blank.

Enough of this shit, he finally told himself.

After roughly applying the soap to the rest of his body, he ducked his head under the shower then shut off the water. He grabbed a towel as he considered the question of what he needed to do now.

Phone Sam. Find out if he knew that Lauren would be his principal.

Probably not, he decided. If he had, Sam would have moved heaven and earth to make sure Chad had not been assigned as her lead op; Sam didn’t like Lauren any more than she liked him.

So Sam had been manipulated too. No easy feat.

He tossed the towel over the shower rail and ensured the edges were aligned before picking up his clothes where he’d dropped them. Once they were properly folded, he strode naked into his room.

Maybe Weir had access to one of Sam’s contacts? Sam’s little birdie, the one who put the bug in his ear about the upcoming article?

He stopped in the middle of the room. That’s where he had to look. Would Sam tell him who had given him the scoop? Once he found out that he’d been manipulated, damned straight he would. Sam would be as pissed as he was right now. Then Sam would ensure that birdie would sing soprano for the rest of his fucking life. He grabbed a shirt out of the closet and replaced the hanger. The routine of dressing, doing up each button one by one helped him focus. His shirt properly buttoned, he grabbed a pair of underwear from the dresser, smoothing the pile he’d disturbed. A clean pair of freshly pressed dress pants were shaken out, and jerked on. Socks. Black. Calf-length so no ankle showed.

By the time he was completely dressed, his movements were smooth, his thoughts focused. Only then did he pick up his BlackBerry and punch in Sam’s number.

No answer.

After leaving a voice message, he booted up his laptop and logged onto Hauberk’s VPN.

“Dear Sam, I respectfully request to be transferred…” No, that wasn’t right. “Sam, I need a favor…”

Not once had he asked to be taken off a case. Not with the FBI and not with Hauberk. So, damn it, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

A half hour-and numerous deletions-later he finally hit send.

An hour later, he was checking his email for…well, he’d given up counting how many times he’d hit “check mail”, when there was a knock at the hallway door. Before he could respond, it opened and Troy walked in.

“Thought you’d like to know the extra men just arrived.” Troy closed the door behind him and rested against it. “I’ve handed out the rotation you drew up. Everything should be good to go.”

“Thanks, but I could have handled it.”

“I know but I was there checking out the cameras and everything else, so I took care of it.” Instead of leaving the way Chad had expected, Troy stayed in place. He tilted his head to one side as he considered Chad. “You okay, mate?”