Radclyffe - Firestorm

Two young guys in off-the-rack black suits flanked the double doors into the noisy ballroom. Both had close-cropped blond hair, square jaws, broad shoulders, and the flat stare common to bouncers and cops and security guards the world over. Mallory wasn’t intimidated. She worked with tough guys every day. She smiled at one, said hello to the other as if they were best friends, and walked past them into a brightly lit room filled with white linen covered tables beneath crystal chandeliers. Buckets of Domaine Chandon sat in the center of every table, ringed with china plates, silver flatware, and crystal glasses, all glittering as brightly as the jewels adorning the donors.

At the far end of the room, two long tables flanked a speaker stand bristling with microphones upon a raised dais. Franklin Russo, a vigorous, youthful-appearing fifty and even more handsome in person than his photos suggested, sat to the left of the speaker stand with a dark-haired, middle-aged, patrician woman who was beautiful if a little detached, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Even from the far side of the room, Mallory could see the woman’s resemblance to Jac. Mallory swiftly searched the rest of the faces of Russo’s entourage, almost passing by her before registering the dark eyes that captured hers like none ever had. In the few days since she’d seen her, Jac had changed. Her cheekbones slashed above sharply hollowed cheeks, as if she’d dropped weight on a forced march. Her thousand-yard stare was remote, removed, impenetrable. She sat erect, her shoulders squared, her hands invisible, probably folded in her lap in keeping with the rest of her militarily rigid posture. The uniform was perfect, not a crease out of alignment, not a wrinkle. Jac was so still she might not even have been breathing, her gaze fixed at some distant point as if she were absent from the room in all ways but physical. Jac had effectively disappeared herself.

Mallory’s heart seized. The red sea of Jac’s pain wafted over her, nearly suffocating her. She fought for her next breath and steadied herself with her fingertips against the pristine white linen covering the table next to her. She couldn’t look away from Jac, even though she bled to see her this way.

“Jac,” she murmured. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Jac drifted in the zone between hyperacute awareness and total detachment. The murmur of the audience, the speaker standing a foot away from her extolling her father’s virtues, all receded into the background the way the sound of the ocean pounding outside a seaside cabin becomes white noise. The rapt faces of the men and women clustered at the tables and crowding the edges of the room blurred into pale, flat caricatures. Even as she separated herself from everything around her, she was exquisitely aware of the slightest change. Carly shifting impatiently in the chair beside her. The pop of a champagne cork. The rising tide of excitement as the time for her father’s speech drew closer. Her gaze was unfocused but missed nothing—the rotation of the security guards at the front doors, Fleming passing behind the stage giving orders into her Bluetooth headset, a waiter approaching the dais with a fresh pitcher of water.

A heat signature ignited at the back of the room, and her focus honed in on it. Her pulse skyrocketed at the flare of recognition, and her right hand clenched on her thigh. She drew in a sharp breath. Mallory.

From across the sea of faceless bodies, Mallory smiled at her, and the shield Jac had set between herself and a world in which she had no place shattered like crystal on stone. Sensation flooded her. Joy. Worry. Guilt. Need.

“I have to go,” Jac whispered as she pushed her chair back.

Carly stared at her. “Are you freaking kidding me? He’ll kill you.”

Jac shook her head and ran her knuckles along the edge of Carly’s jaw. “No, he won’t.”

Carly grabbed her hand. “Jac—don’t leave, okay?”

“I won’t.” The constricting band around Jac’s chest relaxed, and she breathed deeply, finally freed by the chance to stop running. “Behave for the rest of the night. I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

Jac slipped from her chair, jumped down from the back of the stage, and maneuvered through the electrical cords and sound equipment on the floor.

Fleming stepped into Jac’s path, her finger at her ear, probably clicking off her microphone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to take a walk.”

“Not now.”

“I’ve done my duty for the evening. Everyone’s had a look at me. The only thing anyone cares about now is his speech.”

“You don’t leave until his speech is over and everyone has pledged their donations. Then you work the room, making nice. You know the drill, Jac.” Fleming half turned away and muttered something into her headset.

“Good night, Nora.” Jac stepped around her, and when Fleming tried to get in front of her again, she grasped Fleming’s elbows, lifted, and moved her aside. Anyone watching would’ve thought she was just steadying Fleming as she passed by. Fleming sucked in her breath, but she was no physical match for Jac, and Jac strode away.

Everyone in the room was focused on the stage, and Jac quickly made it to the back of the ballroom. When she reached the spot where she’d seen Mallory, Mallory was gone. Panic surged until Jac smelled honeysuckle and turned, captured by the scent. Mallory had moved into the shadows away from the tables. Jac hurried to her, still a little bit afraid she might disappear.

“Hi, Jac.” Mallory smiled softly.

Jac ran her hand down Mallory’s arm. Mallory was real. Mallory was here. “I thought I might’ve dreamed you.”

“Nice dream?”

“It is now.”

“Feel free to dream about me anytime,” Mallory whispered.

“I will.” Jac’s brain was fuzzy, her heart racing so fast she was dizzy. “You look incredible. I miss the work boots, but the heels aren’t a bad substitute.”

Mallory laughed and ran her fingers over Jac’s chest. “This is all pretty impressive. You look amazing yourself.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you know?” Mallory asked, her voice low and husky.

“Mallory,” Jac groaned, her chest an agony of need. “God, I want to touch you.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to.” Mallory’s eyes never left Jac’s. “I was afraid I’d lost you. I don’t want to lose you, Jac.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel that way. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want this”—Jac jerked her head toward the crowded room—“this monster dressed up to look civilized to suck you under.”

“You ought to know by now I don’t go down easy.” Mallory drew a deep breath and traced Jac’s name tag with her finger. “I love the uniform, but it scares me a little. You’re not going back, are you?”

Mallory trembled, and knowing she was the cause about broke Jac’s heart. She clasped Mallory’s shoulders and pulled her close. “No. No, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Baby.” Mallory pressed her hands to Jac’s chest and pushed back from her. “I don’t think this is a good place for public displays of affection.”

“I don’t care.” Jac reached for her.

Mallory smiled crookedly. “I believe you, but we’re about to have compa—”

Fleming appeared next to Jac, her face an icy mask of fury. She glared at Mallory and gestured to one of the security guards, who immediately strode toward them. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Jac put herself between Mallory and the guard. “You’re gonna want to tell him to back off, Nora, or we’re going to have a scene.”

“You wouldn’t,” Fleming said dismissively.