Pretending to Get Locked in a Trunk Is Scary!

In Dirty Politics Book 1, “The Politician’s Pawn,” I duct taped my ankles together in order to more realistically portray what Kayla was experiencing.

In Dirty Politics Book 2, “Moves and Countermoves,” I wanted to be waterboarded to better describe what Evans went through. (The friend I asked to help me out in this endeavor declined in no uncertain terms.)

So in Dirty Politics Book 3, “Amateurs Play Elsewhere,” you know I tried to do something equally… ummm… let’s just call it interesting. This time, it was getting locked in the trunk of a car. Which, come on, isn’t as dumb as being waterboarded.

I had it set up perfectly, from start to finish, with every detail taken care of.

First, I asked the same friend who refused to waterboard me. She still wasn’t happy about assisting me, but she agreed on this one. Kind of. She would close the trunk lid most of the way, but not actually latch it. Not even come close to latch it, actually. It would be inches away from clicking shut.

To be perfectly honest, that suited me just fine. The idea of being waterboarded hadn’t terrified me. But locked in a trunk?

My stomach twisted and turned at just the thought.

So one beautiful, sunny, spring day, we took my car out to a deserted parking lot and popped the back of my white Subaru Impreza.

I unlocked all the doors, rolled down all my windows and tested the key in the trunk lock to be on the absolute safest side possible. And then I lifted one foot onto the bumper, my heartrate accelerating noticeably.

I’m pretty short. Five-foot two and a half inches, to be precise, whereas my main character in “Amateurs Play Elsewhere” is six-foot. So while it was awkward for me to arrange myself into a prone position on the trunk floor, I’m sure it would be a whole lot more so for someone taller.

The sunshiny sky above me was gorgeous. And the thought of not being able to see more of it made me panicky, a condition that didn’t get any better when my friend started closing the trunk.

Here’s the thing… I knew she wasn’t going to shut it. I also knew that, if she did, she’d be able to let me out right away. I trust her about as much as I trust anyone out there. Yet I was nothing short of terrified watching that thing close. Both of my hands shot up, and I’m pretty sure I shouted out, “That’s enough!”

So lesson learned in all of this?

Getting locked in a trunk is terrifying. Good to know.

I Totally Fell In Love With My Own Character

I fall in like with my characters all the time. I mean, come on, they’re so adorable, right?

But I don’t usually swoon over them.

Except for Thomas Evans. I’ll admit I fell hard for that one.

Maybe it’s because he’s so tall and can beat up jerks.  I have to say, as a short woman, I find that characteristic pretty attractive.

I also have a major thing for military guys. There’s just something about those uniforms. Especially the Navy’s, possibly because of my family history. Regardless, give me a tall sailor with wide shoulders any day.

I’m swooning a little just thinking about it.

Not exactly sure when I fell in love with my purely fictional character. It definitely wasn’t from the second he was introduced in “The Politician’s Pawn.” But I was solidly head over heels possessive of him by the time I finished it, and that didn’t change writing “Moves and Countermoves,” or the next one up, “Amateurs Play Elsewhere.”

The crazy thing about writing, however, is that I can claim full rights over him, and still fully support his marriage. Because I like Sarah quite a lot too.

I like how she’s a strong good-girl type.

I like how she still has a sense of humor after everything.

I love her dark brown hair and green eyes. I think that’s my favorite combination on a woman.  Nothing but the best for Evans.

And I love how she loves my writer’s crush. They’re good together.

So I’ll stick with admiring her husband from afar. Which is probably a good thing, considering that he’s pure fiction.

Why Am I Such a Jerk in My Series’ Second Books?

I shouldn’t be allowed to write series. Or, if I do write them, I should be forced to skip the second books and move right onto the third.

My characters would be much happier if I did.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but Sabrina definitely suffered the most in Faerietales 2, and I give Evans a pretty rotten backstory and equally harsh happenings going forward into Dirty Politics 2.

I think part of that might be because I’m clueless and don’t ever realize I’m writing a series until I’m practically done with the first novel. And by the time I’m practically done with the first novel, I’ve established so many off-putting details that the next one up has little choice but to go badly for its hapless hero.

3 – Time to Think

B

anned from his house, Evans knew his choices were limited, especially at such an early time of day.

Bars, the normal type of establishment one went to when banished from home, wouldn’t be open for a while; and even the kind of regular restaurants that stocked liquor had a few more hours to go before they’d start letting people in. Besides, he didn’t feel like getting a drink. Alcohol wasn’t going to help him get his wife back. He needed to stay sober, knowing that she might call him at any moment, saying she was ready to talk.

Then again, he was well aware of the possibility that she might not call at all.

How much time was enough time to give her, he had no idea. He wondered if he could ask Kayla.

The thought was tempting. Ridiculous, but tempting. What was worse was how he thought of her to solve his problem in the first place. And still more pathetic was the fact that he couldn’t think of anyone else who might be able to offer guidance.

Military life with its deployments made maintaining many friendships difficult to begin with. Hardly the anti-social type back in the day, however, Evans had always had friends to hang out with when quitting time came. Some of them were fellow sailors and soldiers; some were civilians. Some of them he would even talk to about more than the latest Ravens’ stats or the news stories on everyone’s minds.

Unfortunately, both the good acquaintances and close friends were long gone. He’d shed most of them within months of getting back from Afghanistan.

Part of that was their fault. Most of it was his.

In any branch of the military, teamwork was essential. Egos got in the way of getting the job done, a lesson that most enlisted men and women were forced to face sooner than later in their career.

With the SEALs in particular, there was no way to get through training as a lone wolf. And if students were too dense to comprehend that on their own, the instructors made sure to get it through their thick skulls in dozens of brutally creative ways. Yet, like so much of what Evans had picked up over the years, he ignored that life lesson during Sarah’s pregnancy. He hadn’t felt like keeping company with girl-crazy bachelors or married men who were so tantalizingly clueless about the fragility of their wedded bliss.

The second type bothered him the most. He’d been one of them once upon a time, and he didn’t want to be reminded about what he had lost any more than he cared to endure their awkward sympathy if he dared to talk about the truth.

They would just say the kind of things well-meaning people always ended up saying to the devastated, all while congratulating themselves on escaping such rotten luck. Not to his face of course, and it wouldn’t have been mean-spirited either; it was human nature to breathe that sigh of relief. And since he couldn’t, he didn’t want to be around anyone who could.

Life went on with or without friends anyway. He had figured that out while staying busy looking for new jobs; minding Sarah’s random and extreme mood swings; and taking her to her prenatal appointments.

It hadn’t all been bad, as it gave him time to get acquainted with his firstborn. He had very well known how much of Ava’s life he would miss the last time he shipped off, so Evans was more than happy to make up for lost time once he was home. He knew he went overboard in the process, using her as an excuse to avoid grownup conversations.

By the time Lizzy made her official debut, it had been a while since he got invitations to hang out with friends. They’d given up on him just the way he wanted them to. Besides, he told himself, he had a whole new slew of baby-related responsibilities to assist with.

Evans was no longer amazed at how well Lizzy fit into the family. She just did, and he couldn’t imagine them without her. Yet as much as he inexplicably loved her, she was still his responsibility, not a confidant. As comforting as it could be to hold her when she was fussy, soothing or entertaining her until they were both thoroughly distracted, he was beginning to recognize how hasty he had been to get rid of his friends the way he had.

There was something to be said about grownups every once in a while. Like when he needed someone to talk to and the only person who came to mind was a woman who doubtlessly wished she had never met him.

Ignoring both the chill in the air and the rain clouds starting to slide into place above him, Evans ran his hand along the front bumper of the pickup truck. His fingers slipped into one sizable indent and then slid right back out again.

The truck’s bumps and bruises were like his own: deep and defining in so many ways. Some were for good; a lot were the polar opposite.

Feeling out the past damage along the cold edges of his vehicle made him want to drive back down Route 95, past D.C. into Virginia. Down there, there were plenty of sprawling woodlands where he could accumulate a few more scratches. If he was lucky, he might even get a flat tire along the way, something to reroute his attention. If only for a short while.

There were also a few dense enough forests in a much closer radius, but he thought a two-hour drive might do him some good.

That was to say, it probably couldn’t hurt any worse.

Without a clear plan formulated in his head, Evans climbed into the cab and sat there. The keys rested in his lap, and his hands were wrapped around the steering wheel for no real reason when he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

A wave of weariness washed over him, and it struck him that he might be getting old.

That thought had never crossed his mind before. Not when he was thirty-six and in top physical condition. So it seemed like a ridiculous possibility to contemplate, much less accept.

He could bench press over three hundred pounds and hike for miles over rough terrain without breaking much of a sweat. All in all, he still had the same physique he’d first acquired while preparing for the Navy.

Or very nearly so. Perhaps he wasn’t in quite the same shape as before, but close enough. Sarah didn’t seem to object regardless, not to mention that Evans was still much more fit than most men ten years his junior.

Give another year or two and, if Sarah stuck it out with him, he could easily see them expanding their family further. Maybe add a boy to the mix to somewhat even out the lopsided score. Someone to throw a football around with and teach to dislike the Pittsburgh Steelers as much as he did.

Though some weird part of him thought Lizzy might do that someday anyway, regardless of whether she got a brother. Ava not so much. Evans already knew that for sure. She was all tiaras and tutus and sugar and spice. But his second daughter could very well be a different story.

His mouth tugged upward like he hadn’t seen either of them in months instead of a mere few minutes. It felt like he was deployed overseas again rather than sitting in his own parking lot with the ability to walk right into his home and scoop them up.

The ability, but not the right.

Evans let himself close his eyes, not quite slumping in his seat. Thirty-six wasn’t supposed to be old, yet he felt it. It was, however, supposed to be mature. But he had obviously gotten that part wrong as well.

His cell phone rang on the seat beside him, and his eyelids flew open. It hadn’t taken Sarah nearly as long as he thought it would, which could be a good sign or a bad one, like a jury let out too soon. He didn’t know whether to feel ecstatic or petrified when he heard his simplistic ringtone.

Both emotions evaporated when he looked down and saw that the caller wasn’t his wife.

For a second, Evans contemplated not picking up. He definitely didn’t want to, but there were few easy reasons why the person in question should want to get in touch with him. So he accepted it on the chance of there being something very wrong that he would regret not knowing about later.

It was Rod. Who he had spent far too much time with already in the past week. Especially considering the stunt the kid attempted a few days ago. Yes, he had an excellent presence with his firearm, which had come in handy off of N Street last night. But like Kayla, Evans didn’t believe that entirely cancelled out past crimes. Or attempted crimes.

The reason why Kayla hadn’t accepted Rod’s heartfelt apology back in D.C. was because of exactly what Rod was apologizing for. Which was assault with the intent to commit rape. When Evans caught the younger man all but dragging Kayla out of the room by her hair, he saw red. Lots and lots of red, and very little else.

Evans didn’t regret his reaction. Not in the slightest. The blockhead deserved to have his skull cracked open deep enough to require a row of stitches. Sometimes people needed forceful wake-up calls to snap them out of ruining people’s lives, their own included.

He was, however, glad he hadn’t taken the next violent and entirely permanent step he’d been inclined toward at the time. Though Rod would have deserved that too, a conclusion Evans didn’t try to shake when he held the ringing phone up to his ear.

“What do you want?” He didn’t bother putting any finesse into the question.

He was a superior speaking to a subordinate. And a seriously messed-up one at that, even if the kid had pulled through in the end.

Rod paused on the other end, his silence riddled with caution. “Is now a bad time?”

“Yes.” Evans wasn’t kidding. “Are you going to make it worse?”

“I can call back later.”

“Or you can tell me why you called now.” It was an order, and he spoke it with a tone that brooked no arguments.

Even so many years out of the U.S. Army, Rod took it as intended, hardwired to adhere to military command as much as he would have been fresh out of boot camp. “I just wanted to know if there was any update on Kayla.”

Evans didn’t particularly like his screw-up subordinate saying her name. It rankled him, a fact he didn’t bother to hide.

“She’s still a mess.”

He didn’t add the words “because of you.”

He didn’t need to.

“Yeah, I figured that.” As carefully as he stated that comment, Rod still hesitated again before continuing, perhaps taking a second or two to wallow further in his guilt. “I meant did she make a decision? On whether or not she was going to go after Greyble.”

His carefully respectful tone didn’t escape Evans. It also didn’t bother him. The kid damn well should be showing deference.

Somewhere behind his eyes, he could feel the start of a nasty headache coming on. Perhaps in part because, deep down inside, he knew he was projecting his personal shame onto Rod, who made such an amazingly easy scapegoat. Through full fault of his own.

“She’s not sure yet. Says she needs to think about it.” He switched the phone call over to his Bluetooth set, closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

“Did she say when she would know?” Rod asked.

“No. Why? You on a deadline of some sorts?”

“No.” For a split second, it almost sounded like he was about to say “no, sir,” the first hiss of the S carrying over the airwaves. “But Greyble says he has another job.”

That statement got Evans’ undivided attention. The senator always passed information down the chain of command; he didn’t bother with the underlings, mainly because he was too full of himself to have anything to do with the lower ranks of his hired help, no matter how much longer they’d been with him. So it didn’t bode well that he had switched up his normal routine.

“He told you this?”

“Yeah. Called me up and told me not to tell you about it.”

“This job would be?” Evans prompted.

“Bugging your phone.”

“Damn it.” The curse, not aimed at anyone or anything in particular, came out instinctively. “Did he say why?”

The pain in his head ratcheted up another notch. But he pushed the irritation down on the lengthening list of problems he needed to concentrate on. That included surveying his surroundings to make sure nobody was staking him out.

He turned his head to look out both windows while Rod went on.

“Not directly, but I got the distinct impression he’s still not happy about your smackdown before.”

That was fine by Evans, but he didn’t have the time to smirk about that any more than groan about his aching temples. “Did he change his mind about Kayla?”

First things had to come first.

“I think he’s more worried about you than her at the moment.” Rod sounded confident about that conclusion. “He kept calling her your ‘little girlfriend’ and asking me what really happened last night. He also wanted to know if you were having second thoughts.”

Evans couldn’t blame Greyble for his paranoia, since he really was out to get him. He knew he hadn’t been subtle about his distaste for much of the kidnapping ordeal.

In retrospect, that might have been a foolish tactical move. But it had felt so good at the time.

“What did you tell him?” He asked.

It wasn’t a matter of trying to assess whether Rod was playing some kind of double-game. He only needed to know whether the kid had managed to spin a decent lie or not. Hotheaded fools weren’t known for their ability to handle the kind of subtle details necessary to spin a convincing story.

“I told him I’d try to tap your phone but that it might be difficult, and I didn’t think it was necessary anyway: You know what’s at stake. As for last night, I told him exactly what you said.” Rod proceeded to rattle off the highlights. “We slipped out of sight as soon as we were out of the car, but a taxi pulled through before anything could happen. Kayla flagged it down and got away.”

Good. Nice and simple: It was more often than not the best kind of lie to tell. Evans’ shoulders relaxed a little, though the headache stayed just as strong.

“Anything else I need to know? Did he mention any other surveillance he was going to put on me?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. He seemed pretty spooked, I think because of the other thing he brought up.”

“Which was?” Evans tapped his right foot against the floorboard.

“Lawrence Baeshee.” Rod pronounced the first name with the faintest hint of a North Jersey accent, which showed through every now and again. “Apparently the guy found out about the whole Lucy thing, and he’s trying to use it to blackmail Greyble. Sent his demands last night.”

“Interesting.” Very interesting. “What did our beloved senator want you to do about it?”

“No clue. Believe it or not, he really did seem more focused on you, even with that. He never gave me orders on Baeshee.”

That could be a bad thing. However, it also could mean that Greyble was still planning on bringing the matter to Evans’ attention, which meant he was still an asset his boss trusted to some degree.

Across the airwaves, a car drove slowly by wherever Rod was. Evans knew it drove by slowly because its radio was blasted so high he could catch some of the words the female singer was shrieking. That meant the younger man was outside, probably in a parking lot or on a side street somewhere.

A strong suspicion made its way through his already mistrustful mind. “Where are you right now?”

The answer came a complete five seconds later than it should have.

“I’m at Kayla’s place.” Rod almost stuttered on the words.

Of course you are.

Despite the wearily sarcastic thought, Evans didn’t say anything until he had processed the new information, its implications and potential costs.

His immediate irritation with Rod had cooled down during their conversation. But even if it hadn’t, he would have understood the reason why the younger man was where he said he was. It was to make sure that Greyble didn’t send some assassin to finish Kayla off after all.

Evans had been planning on checking in on her from time to time, himself. That was going to be true regardless of what decision she came to concerning the offer he had made. After everything he’d done to screw up her life, he felt perhaps an unhealthy level of protectiveness toward her. So what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, though it could very well save her life.

If he was thinking like that, then the reformation-driven Rod doubtlessly had it even more heavy on his brain.

Then again, right reasons or not, Kayla was going to freak if she found out who was outside her place.

Technically, she had never seen Rod without a ski mask. A fact that didn’t matter one bit. There was a chance he might not look too suspicious to the general community while he lounged in his car next to her apartment, or strolled along the network of sidewalks that ran around it. But without a doubt, Kayla herself was going to be paranoid enough to read into everything she might encounter. So there was no way she wouldn’t hone in on someone matching her second-least favorite kidnapper’s basic description.

When it came down to it, Rod looked like he worked security of some kind, and not just because of his physique and buzzed haircut. He also had that matching air about him, military stance and all. And while his more obvious markings – like the barbed-wire and dog-tags tattoo Evans knew he had around his bicep – would be covered up thanks to the cold weather, there was also the matter of his stitched-up forehead. Not that many ex-military types with gauze taped below their hairlines made it a point to patrol nice little Baltimore County neighborhoods.

Kayla would be a fool if she came across him and didn’t recognize that he stood out like a sore thumb.

Yet Evans gave him permission to stay regardless, despite numerous reasons to do otherwise. In the end, Rod was a known element, while Greyble remained a loose cannon that could smash into anything at any time.

“Fine.” He rubbed his temple. “Call me when you leave. And Rod?”

“Yes?” Tensely.

“Whatever you do, don’t let her see you.”

“Will do.” The way he said it, he might as well have been saying “Yes, sir” to a five-star general.

Evans hung up, ending the conversation without any professional niceties. By that point, he didn’t even mean to be rude. He was just tired.

Incredibly, overwhelmingly tired. And he knew full well that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

It made him wonder all over again why he had agreed to let Rod help out in the first place. He must have suffered a serious lapse in judgment to do so, yet another indication he was getting old.

At the same time, it wasn’t like the kid – not actually much of a kid at twenty-seven – had given him a choice. Like a faithful pet, Rod had followed him out of the taxi when Evans directed the driver to stop at the senate office building.

Rod didn’t have any immediate orders to report back to Greyble that night. In fact, the senator probably hadn’t cared if he came back at all, considering his original plan to leave his employee out on the streets by himself to oversee Kayla’s demise. Yet Rod hadn’t hesitated in tagging along with Evans. If anything, he acted like it was his unswerving duty.

For his part, Evans had been too focused on talking himself out of physically decimating a congressman. So he hadn’t said a word to dissuade his subordinate.

It was all he could do to keep his temper in check and his Glock holstered.

The events off of N Street hadn’t been pleasant, to say the least. He didn’t enjoy killing people: not the process of it, the actual act of violence or the aftereffects. Yet that didn’t mean he balked when push came to shove. Despite the lower number he had quoted to Kayla last night, he had killed a few dozen times, all with consent of Uncle Sam.

After his last tour of duty, he had assumed that would be his final tally.

But then Greyble forced his hand again, putting him in a dog-eat-dog situation where nobody came out a real winner but someone had to lose. So without any other reasonable choice in front of him, Evans had sent three separate slugs into three separate men, racking up his kill count three bodies higher.

The gangsters involved were evil. No question about it. It wasn’t like they didn’t deserve what they got; and if Evans could go back and relive the whole unpleasant experience over, he wouldn’t have changed a thing about how he handled it. There wasn’t a detail he would alter, not unless he wanted an innocent person to suffer. It’s just that righteous justification only went so far in making him feel better.

Ultimately, Evans could live with his assessment and resulting actions. Because all those times he had pulled the trigger with the express purpose of ending someone’s life, he had done so to protect someone else. Himself included.

There had been the definite risk of both he and Rod dying in that D.C. ghetto right alongside Kayla. The major difference was that she would have survived a little while longer in that blue dress Greyble picked out for her.

Evans had dealt with the issue of his own mortality before, just like he’d processed his role as a killer multiple times already. He knew from repeated personal experience that he could eventually let the near-death experience fall into the background of his life. It would become a detail instead of a feature.

Even so, it did something to a man to come that close to eternity, even if he had been walking the straight and narrow. Which, of course, Evans hadn’t been. It had been a combination of skill and – in his and Rod’s case – unwarranted divine intervention that there were five corpses lying back there instead of three.

That kind of realization was jarring. And it did nothing for his mood.

Striding into the Dirksen Senate Office Building with his subordinate on his heels, Evans didn’t feel any awe about the stark white marble or forbiddingly elongated sets of windows. After the evening he’d experienced, it was impossible to feel intimidated by the block-long, six-story structure. Especially when it was designed to shelter some of the most worthless cowards America had to offer.

Thanks to Greyble, he already had clearance to carry his Glock past security, an allowance that didn’t bode well for the man. Walking down the pristine white halls with their pristine name plaques delineating one self-important person’s room from the next, Evans wondered more than once how much worse he would feel if he added one more kill to the night’s tally.

“That was fast,” was what Greyble said when Evans barged into the office, looking up startled for one brief second before returning to the task in his hands.

Whatever it was, Evans couldn’t have cared less.

Sitting behind his desk, the senator shuffled papers with the same nervous energy he’d displayed earlier that evening, his snide features contorted into a grimace that made him even less attractive than he was to begin with.

The truth was that, in a strict physical sense, Greyble wasn’t ugly despite his somewhat snubbed nose, small eyes and too-round face. Yet he radiated an arrogant kind of assurance that detracted from his appearance. At least it did for anyone with half a brain. Sadly, there were a lot of voters with something less than that, and the weak-minded were prone to respect Greyble’s unchecked ego instead of fearing or resenting it the way they should.

There was also the fact that his build was that of a man’s man. While he was shorter than Evans, he still had the stocky stature of someone most people wouldn’t want to mess with, even if they didn’t  care for him.

Between his military training and very frayed temper that night, however, Evans wasn’t most people.

The congressman had no idea how much he was flirting with pain right then. That much was clear by the half-regal, half-distracted gesture he made for someone to shut the door.

Evans didn’t.

Rod did.

The kid tended to only act out when there wasn’t a clear authority around, he had noticed. Once anyone pulled rank on him, directly or indirectly, he had a habit of turning into a model soldier.

“Those black boys finish with her already?” Greyble asked, flicking his gaze upward again and then back down to his papers.

The callous question was almost as appalling as the man who asked it, undoing a lot of the work Evans had done to get ahold of his anger.

“Those ‘black boys,’” he repeated caustically, “didn’t get the chance. Kayla got away.”

Of course, he failed to mention anything about how she had gotten away. Those were details that didn’t need to be shared right then, if ever.

“She what!”

There was no question about whether Evans had his boss’ attention now.

“I said she got away.” He took an immense amount of satisfaction in plunging the verbal dagger in a second time.

“I told you not to screw this up. I told you!” Greyble’s face, which had gone white first, was rapidly regaining its color and then some.

“And I told you this was a stupid idea,” Evans snapped back.

It was the least offensive response running through his head when “stupid” didn’t come close to describing the original plan. Not by a long shot.

Rod coughed once from where he stood over by the closed door. Then he went back to blending into the background. That took a serious amount of skill on his part considering how he was wearing black pants, a black full-sleeved shirt and solid black shoes, while the room was painted a friendly cream color with burgundy accents.

He needn’t have made the effort though when the room’s other two occupants couldn’t have cared less that he existed. Their attention was focused only on each other like a bull and a matador.

“Where is she now?” The senator demanded, his hands planted on his desk like he wasn’t sure whether to get up or not.

“On her way back to Baltimore, as far as I know,” Evans responded with malicious nonchalance. “She managed to wave down a taxi.”

He would have shrugged, a casual act made for the sole reason of rubbing it in further, but he felt far too tense to indulge in any such thing. It was difficult to shrug when he was still in a near-murderous rage.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” It was a question phrased a lot like a demand, complete with several exclamation points.

“You were the one who told me not to take care of her myself.” Evans continued glaring, his fists tight at his side. “Remember? Anything fired from my weapon can be linked back to me. And thanks to these little meetings and the high-tech surveillance security system this entire building features, not to mention my paychecks, I am very connected to you.”

The referenced firearm felt heavy and powerful at his side, a weight he normally could almost take for granted. Now it was begging to be used.

Greyble doubtlessly caught the implied threat, not of getting shot but of public exposure. But if it scared him, it didn’t show. He pounded one frustration-filled hand against the desk, the taxpayer-provided laptop rattling beside him.

He didn’t give the object so much as a glance. “You need to find her and you need to finish this. Now!”

“That’s. Not. Necessary.”

Evans anger was in no way dying out. That in and of itself wasn’t all that surprising. The exact intensity this time around, however, was very nearly overwhelming.  It was almost as bad as it had been right after seeing Kayla off.

After the drama of the last hour or so, he had expected to experience multiple onslaughts of emotion. Except that, off of N Street, he was working on sheer adrenaline and training, every part of him concentrating on the mission instead of then-insignificant details like feelings.

He wasn’t immune to them by any means. Crack commando or not, he was still human, despite how it might be easier sometimes to be something else. So he did have his weaknesses. The difference between him and other people – innocent, inexperienced or simply softer individuals – was that they weren’t trained to set all that aside in deadly situations.

In the military, or as a mercenary-turned-protagonist-wannabe, that skill could literally mean the difference between life and the afterlife. But at some point, if everything went right, there wasn’t any real need to stay locked and loaded and focused anymore. That lull allowed emotions into the picture, sometimes slowly and sometimes with lightning speed.

And sometimes, under certain conditions, they were a lot more volatile than expected.

Standing there in Greyble’s office, Evans was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he was in the middle of such a perfect storm. And that it wasn’t the time or the place to indulge in those feelings.

None of that, however, made the emotions any easier to deal with. It galled him something awful having to show the senator even a modicum of courtesy. It would be much more satisfying to pummel the man into the ground.

“She doesn’t have to be a threat to you,” he reasoned through almost gritted teeth. “She never had to be.”

It was the moron’s own fault that Kayla knew his face. Nobody had made him go down and talk to her without his mask on. Nobody had made him bring his three fellow politicians down to scope her out like she was an exhibit at the zoo. That had been all his idea, like he watched too many James Bond movies without the good sense to discern fact from fiction.

If Greyble had just left everything as-is, he wouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Kayla could have gone to the presses all she wanted to; nobody would have believed a word she said when she didn’t have a name or a face to add to her farfetched tale.

Refusing to see the logic staring him straight in the face, the congressman squinted at him. “Do you have a thing for her? Is that what this is about?” He paused long enough to let the intended mockery seep in. “Because I can’t think of any other reason why you would say something that outrageously incompetent.” He was all but hissing by the end of his sentence.

“I do not have a ‘thing’ for her.” The comment was one more display of how lacking in humanity Greyble was. “But I also don’t believe in taking life unless it’s necessary. And it’s not necessary with her.”

“She’s probably already on her way to the police!”

“She’s not that stupid,” Evans insisted. “You’re a U.S. senator; she’s a nobody. She’ll know there isn’t a reasonable authority out there that’s going to believe her. Going to the cops is a great way to make her life much more complicated.”

That last part, at least, wasn’t untrue even now that Kayla was armed with a name and face. In the absolute best-case scenario where the local authorities believed Kayla and were able to convince powerful people up the chain of command to look into her story, she would be in for an entire world of uncomfortable scrutiny if she went forward with the truth.

Greyble grimaced, showing how very unconvinced he remained. After everything else he had done over the course of his political career, he seemed to honestly believe that the ends justified the means, whatever they might be.

Since Evans had done an in-depth investigation of the senator before he signed onto the payroll all those many months ago, he had a well-rounded idea of what some of those choices had been. Needless to say, they weren’t good.

“What if you’re wrong? What then?” Greyble looked like he wanted to pound the table again. “Just man up and admit that Kayla Jeateski is a liability and needs to be taken care of!”

Evans knew his boss was rattled by the way he was throwing around specifics so freely. A wiser individual would have displayed a lot more caution. With recent wiretapping scandals and bugged offices, you never knew who was actually listening.

Yet Greyble kept running his mouth. “This shouldn’t be rocket science. She’s one random, expendable whore. And I’m really sorry if you fell for her big brown eyes and good-girl act, but nobody is that squeaky clean. Not her. Not anyone. She needs to go!”

The mix of accusations and opinions weren’t making much sense, so Evans chose to ignore them altogether, focusing instead on his employer’s previous question. “If I’m wrong, then we’ll handle it from there.”

“Or we can do it my way. The way of the guy paying your salary,” the senator added pointedly. “And get rid of the problem now.”

That was how the conversation went, back and forth and back and forth until, out of sheer stubborn refusal to shift his position, he wore the congressman down. Sick of arguing and consumed with whatever other trouble he’d gotten himself into, Greyble finally agreed to let Evans go intimidate Kayla into silence instead of offing her with his ridiculous tendency toward dramatic flairs.

Rod hadn’t helped a bit in convincing the senator of any of it, though that might not have been his fault. His two superiors hadn’t given him many openings to speak up, so he had remained quiet the entire, long and drawn-out argument.

Talking a sociopath off his game was hard work.

So was refraining from killing him.

By the time he and Rod left the room, Evans was ready to punch his fist into one of the walls around him. Any of them would do just fine. Or none of them. He’d accept something else to smash too. All he needed was an outlet of some kind.

“Hey, Evans?”

If he wasn’t careful, Rod could very easily make himself that target despite his exemplary conduct before.

Evans whirled on him. “What?”

The kid only flinched a little. “I’m in if you are.”

It took him a second to understand. He didn’t bother to ask how Rod knew what he was planning. Between his intense anger and the lies he’d thrown at Greyble, maybe it was just that obvious.

Evans started walking again. “That’s a dangerous offer you’re making,” he warned.

“Wouldn’t be the dumbest decision I made this week,” Rod pointed out with only the slightest of bitter edges showing in his voice.

That didn’t mean his motivation in helping out wasn’t over-the-top noticeable right from that first moment. He was on a mission of self-redemption, regardless of whether Kayla granted him an easy pardon or not. Which she wasn’t likely to anytime soon.

Evans didn’t see any point in playing that down. “True.”

People who didn’t do well with feeling guilty should avoid doing things to feel guilty about. At the same time, he had to admit that he could use help if Kayla did agree to go after Greyble. For all his short-comings, Rod would be a useful person to have around.

So he ultimately said yes to the kid's offer, even knowing full well he might come to regret it.

Taking Responsibility for Sensitive Subject Matter

For anyone who read “The Politician’s Pawn” and got all attached to Thomas Evans, I’m sorry for what I do to him in “Moves and Countermoves,” the second chapter of which is featured below.

As I’ve stated before, I had no original intention of writing a second book. So I had no intention of exploring his character further than from Kayla’s limited perspective. By the time I realized I was going to have to, I had already established certain details about Evans that needed to be explained.

Like the fact that he has a chip on his shoulder.

Like how he’s got such a strong moral code working for who he works for and doing what he does.

Like the way he took Rod’s behavior toward Kayla as personally as he did.

So I started writing. And Chapters 1 and 2 are what came out. The explanation involves a subject matter I never saw myself handling so directly. I kinda hate authors who throw this particular topic around like it’s cheap entertainment. (Sadly, a bunch come to mind right off the top of my head.)

So for whatever it’s worth, that’s not how I meant it. All the same, feel free to judge me. Because, let’s face it, the writing buck stops here.

2 – Telling the Wife

L

eaving the warmth of Kayla’s apartment for the chilly morning air outside, Evans knew he had done the right thing. And he didn’t have any regrets about doing it.

He only hoped he could say the same thing after he was done talking to the next person on his list.

His stomach tightened thinking about the conversation to come, going over the details, mapping out how he should start off. The problem was that no matter which ways he tried it out in his head, there remained a very high chance of things going badly.

Evans already knew he would be sleeping on the couch that evening, and that was if things went well. There would be no breathing in the apricot scent of Sarah’s hair while he drifted off to sleep. He wouldn’t wake up to the sensation of her stretching out next to him, murmuring a sleepy “Morning, Thomas.” And as for any kisses, he would be lucky if he could steal one in a week’s time.

She had a temper when she wanted to, his wife. And he was about to give her a whole lot of reasons to use it.

“Just don’t stay mad, babe,” he murmured out loud.

Just please don’t stay mad.

Striding past the long rectangles of well-trimmed lawn that extended between the parallel rows of apartment buildings, he nodded to a grandmother walking toward him. She held the hand of a little boy of maybe three, who toddled along next to her. The child’s eyes widened as he craned his neck to see exactly how tall Evans was.

Despite his tumultuous feelings, Evans spared a smile for the tyke. It seemed unnecessarily mean not to, even if his thoughts were elsewhere, directed toward his own children and whether he’d be allowed to remain in their lives.

He wasn’t being melodramatic in wondering that. Divorce was definitely on the table, and if Sarah chose to go that route, it wouldn’t be unfounded for her to demand sole custody. Worse yet, if she chose to pursue those options, he didn’t know how much he would fight her. He would want to. But she would be right to protect her offspring from everything he had done.

She was a good mother like that.

Panic crept in, an emotion he wished he could say he was unfamiliar with.

A little over a year ago, he could have. Back then, the last time he could remember feeling full-out panic was the first time he found himself in an active warzone. That was when he was twenty-two.

In which case, the twelve years after that had been downright blissful, he supposed. It was a long chunk of time to go without experiencing a rush of unadulterated terror.

That wasn’t to say his nerves hadn’t kicked in still. He’d felt them when Sarah went into labor with Ava. And they struck good and hard right before a combat mission officially began.

He understand that level of anxiety very well. It would take a bad husband or dangerously unstable fighter to honestly say otherwise. But actual panic? That was for rookies.

Then he got the call in Afghanistan. Three days before his final tour of duty was over. Four days before he was scheduled to step off a plane at Baltimore-Washington International airport, where Sarah would be waiting for him at the arrivals’ gate.

Evans had envisioned his homecoming so many times while serving that last stint. His wife would be wearing one of those dresses she knew he liked so much. Maybe the green one that flared out around her knees, showing off her long legs to perfection. She’d be holding Ava in her arms, their two-year-old daughter balanced on one hip, helping her wave an adorable, chubby hand in greeting.

That was the way it was supposed to be. But it wasn’t even close to how it turned out. Instead, he left three days early to come home to a traumatized spouse still reeling from the assault she’d just sustained.

Someone had raped his wife. Callously targeted her while she was loading shopping bags into the car, Ava already strapped into her child’s seat in the back.

It wasn’t even the usual grocery store Sarah went to, but she had been visiting a friend in the area and figured she’d stop and get what she needed while she could remember it all. Turned out it was a huge mistake, but how could she have known that beforehand?

The assailant, whoever he was, threatened her at knifepoint, using Ava as an added bargaining chip to force cooperation. And so, like the good mother she was, Sarah had let him lead her away from her baby with the promise that she’d be back soon.

While Evans was off defending his country from terrorists, one of his own countrymen – someone he was protecting by doing what he was doing – was terrorizing his wife.

They never caught the wretch, Baltimore being what it was, which was crime ridden. Sarah had supplied the cops with a decent sketch too – blond hair, blue eyes, angular facial structure, wide shoulders, average height – but there were too many other cases out there to focus on one random rape for very long. The police speculated the perpetrator was someone just passing through the neighborhood, since they never got even the slightest trace of him.

Evans gripped the handle of his dark grey Ford Ranger. The four-door pickup truck had seen better days, as evidenced by the dings in the driver’s door and the sizable dent in the front bumper on the same side. Both had come from some reckless driving he’d done in the months after returning home. It had been his coping mechanism, he supposed, since he couldn’t rearrange the rapist’s face and tear out his organs by hand.

Stepping up onto the running board, he swung one leg into the cab and then the other, shutting the door with a little too much force. What he really wanted to do was close his eyes and lean his head against the headrest to indulge in at least a few seconds of disenchantment.

Either that or go wreck something.

By that point, Evans had already been up for more than twenty-four hours straight. Not to say that he hadn’t gone longer periods of time playing the insomniac. During Navy SEAL training, he and his fellow enrollees had gone a full six days without sleep. There was a reason why that particular stretch was called Hell Week, yet he had survived and moved on to the next leg of the months-long program.

With that experience behind him, Evans understood what he was capable of. He could go another few days of deprivation if he really had to. But none of that meant he wasn’t seriously craving a good long nap.

What he chose to do instead was put his keys in the ignition, turn the car on and pull the gearshift into drive. When it came down to it, he understood the benefits of sucking it up and getting the talk with his wife over and done with. He knew he wasn’t going to stop feeling sick until he did.

The only question was whether he would feel worse afterward.

Evans certainly wasn’t feeling great when he pulled up to his apartment complex. It was a fifteen-minute drive, more than enough time for his married life to flash before his eyes more than once. There were so many memories there, and so many more he still wanted to make.

Selecting the closest open spot in the sizable parking lot, he stared at his building a whole lot longer than necessary. It wasn’t quite as picturesque on the outside as Kayla’s place, though only because the buildings were three-tiered instead of two. And they stretched out longer to accommodate larger residences on a smaller piece of property. But they were still attractive enough structures at first and second glance.

They better be for what he was paying.

Plus, the accommodations inside were more luxurious. Kayla’s quarters were nice enough inside, but something about them still smacked of a college student’s dorm, not in how she decorated everything but how the layout was set up.

His apartment, on the other hand, was the definitive grown-up version. That easily showed in the community swimming pool out back and down the sidewalk, the stylish business center in the opposite direction and the complimentary gym, which was situated a building down from the pool.

Evans didn’t particularly care for the workout area, not because the equipment wasn’t state of the art, but because some of his desperate housewife neighbors were less than subtle about trying to get whatever male attention they could. When he worked out, he did so with a purpose. And that purpose wasn’t flirting with dyed blonds with boob jobs and obnoxiously low self-esteem.

But overall, it was a good place to live and a safe area to raise a family, factors that had been essential to him and Sarah when they moved in. In the end, it was home, and he desperately wanted it to stay that way.

It took some effort, but he forced his feet to go in the necessary direction. Inside his particular building and up the one flight of stairs, his hands didn’t tremble on the doorknob when he unlocked it. Though he wasn’t sure how that could be when his insides were such a mess.

“Hey, Sarah,” he called out before the door was all the way open. “I’m back.”

He had already seen her not two hours ago, when he slipped into the apartment to take a quick shower. She had been asleep on their bed, cuddled up under the covers with her nose peeking out. It made him want to lean in and kiss her forehead.

Since he wasn’t scheduled to return from his supposed business trip until that afternoon, however, he didn’t risk it for fear of startling her. Telling himself he would get to see her anyway just as soon he finished speaking to Kayla, he just grabbed his clothing and left the bedroom behind.

Evans had left a note on the table explaining that he loved her and would be back soon enough. He hoped Sarah remembered the first part of that message after he told her everything that had been going on since he got his new job.

“Thomas!” She called from the kitchen, her Georgia-girl accent playing with his name like it always did when she was happy. “I just need to dry my hands and I’ll be right there.”

A bundle of bubblegum pink with sparkly purple wings dashed at him from that general direction, her impossibly dainty feet barely touching the carpet, as if she really was a fairy princess.

Bending down, Evans scooped his oldest daughter up into the air before she could crash into his legs. Her resulting squeals of feigned protestation nearly undid him. He shrugged her against his side, one arm wrapped around her like he hadn’t seen her in years.

Or wouldn’t see her again for even longer.

“Hey, sweetie.” He turned his head for a kiss on the cheek, reciprocating in turn when she angled her own face to the side in expectation. “Were you good for Mommy?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded with conviction, like there was no other possibility.

In reality, he knew better, even if he didn’t always want to admit it. Sarah liked warning him that he was going to have to toughen up with their daughter one of these days. Otherwise, Ava was going to grow up thinking all men were so easy to deal with. And did he really want that?

His wife would then lift her eyebrows: a dare for him to claim that it wasn’t true.

In those cases, he always retorted that it wasn’t necessary for him to change a thing. That’s what firearms were for: to scare off hormonal teenage boys.

It was only half a joke. Maybe not even that much of one.

Fortunately, at three years old, Ava had a long way to go before she started dating. If it were up to Evans, he’d keep it that way.

Carrying the precocious little brunette, wings and all, into the kitchen, he almost collided with Sarah, who was just turning the corner. Clad in soft grey pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts she liked to wear when he was gone, she couldn’t have looked any more beautiful than she did right then.

Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling around her ivory skin. He teased her about having been born in the wrong century, asking her when she was going to go get a tan like all the other housewives in the neighborhood. But when it came down to brass tacks, he loved how she looked just the way she was.

Cliché as that might be, it was still true.

How could he not think the world of her when she was all big green eyes and long legs and full pink lips? She hadn’t managed to shed off all the pregnancy weight yet. It was taking her a little longer this time around than it had after Ava. Yet he didn’t mind. She still looked amazing in his book.

She was still his.

“Where’s Lizzy?” He asked, leaning down to give her a lingering kiss on the mouth.

Despite the potentially devastating conversation ahead of him, he hadn’t seen his wife in four days other than the brief glimpse that morning. And it was the last kiss he was probably going to get in a while, so he might as well enjoy it.

“She’s in the playpen.” Sarah smiled when she drew back. “You should have heard her this morning. I don’t know what she found so funny, but she was little miss giggles about something.”

“Were you singing again?” Evans asked skeptically.

Sarah only rolled her eyes at that. “And yesterday, she was responding to her name. Every time I said it, she would turn toward me. Every time.”

“Already?” Ava hadn’t done any such thing until well past her half-year mark, which put Lizzy a decent three months ahead of her big sister.

“She did it again just before you walked in,” Sarah confirmed.

His oldest squirmed in his arms, and he set her down carefully. When she went racing off to her bedroom, it seemed a good enough opening as any. Much as Evans would prefer to talk about the children and how much his wife had missed him, he had to explain some things before he chickened out.

“Will Lizzy be okay if we go talk?”

Something in his tone must have clued her in that something wasn’t right, because she stilled. Sarah was perceptive like that. Or maybe he was just that nervous and it showed.

“Talk? About what?”

His mouth went dry. “About my job.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Are you losing it? Is the senator letting you go?”

If only it were that simple. “Not quite. But the baby. Will she be alright?”

Evans very well knew he might be stalling. Despite introducing an opening for the topic, he still wasn’t close to being prepared for actually discussing it.

“She’s fine for now.” Sarah leaned into the kitchen to grab at the entire box of tissues resting in easy reach on the counter. “Ava,” she called out, “you stay in your room for a bit. Mommy and Daddy need to have a grown-up talk, alright?”

Ava’s short, carefree response drifted back to them. As long as she had her stuffed animals and her dolls, she was usually more than content playing pretend all by herself. She was a unique creature, his oldest.

Sarah didn’t ask any questions, moving around him into the living room. Evans went to close Ava’s door completely. A little innocent like her didn’t need to hear any of what he was about to say.

When he went into the other room, Sarah was plopping the tissues down on the wood-rimmed coffee table in the center of the room. She took a seat on the blue-suede wraparound couch, positioning herself on one side of the curve. That left him room to face her while still sitting close by.

Evans accepted the offer, the panic running rampant now. Perhaps once he got going with his explanation, that would settle down, though he didn’t think he’d have it nearly so easy. It was too giant a mess he’d gotten himself into.

He glanced past her to the playpen, where Lizzy lay on her back, gazing at the colorful baby mobile that dangled above her head. She let out a giggle, his bright little girl who was ahead of the curve.

Evans liked to think he had something to do with that, even if that was biologically impossible. He was proud of her regardless.

“The job I have,” he started, his posture rigid, his hands placed uneasily on his knees.

Sarah nodded encouragingly when he didn’t go on right away.

“I never told you all the details.”

“You said you couldn’t,” she reminded him. Her hands were in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankle, trying to remain calm despite how he was already giving her plenty of reason to be nervous well before he started going into detail.

In that moment, one part of him missed his overseas operations. War-torn lands and vicious jihadists seemed like a picnic compared to the battlefield he was going into.

Evans nodded. “I couldn’t tell you everything because Greyble was involved in illegal activity. And so was I. He enlisted my help with a lot of it.”

Sarah uncrossed her legs, bringing them together and backwards until her heels were touching the couch. “What do you mean by ‘illegal.’” Her spine was now almost as straight as his.

“Corrupt dealings. And last week, it got worse. A lot worse.”

He was stalling. This time, there was no doubt about it. He knew he was stalling.

“Just say it, Thomas.” But she sounded like a large part of her didn’t want him to.

His eyes strayed down to her hands, which were gripping the edge of the cushion beneath her. Her arms were taught with the effort.

Evans ripped off the Band-Aid. “I was told to kidnap someone.”

Her beautiful green eyes got big with horror.

“A young woman. Another senator’s daughter. My employer” – the word tasted rancid coming out of his mouth – “wanted to swing a vote.”

“You didn’t say no, did you.” The way Sarah said it so bleakly, she wasn’t asking. She already knew.

Evans shook his head anyway. Three times and very slowly. “No. I didn’t.”

“Thomas.” She breathed his name in a way he had never heard from her lips before.

It was like she was disappointed in him. Horribly, heartbrokenly disappointed. As if he wasn’t the man she had married.

He hated it. In that moment, he rather hated himself too.

“It was a lot of money, and it was supposed to go off without a hitch. But it didn’t. I should have known it wouldn’t.”

He had known it wouldn’t. Call it a fighter’s sense: something akin to feminine intuition. It came from seeing too many bad things already and expecting more to follow. After being in enough dangerous situations, he had learned to go with his gut. And his gut had said the mission wasn’t going to end well. Which it hadn’t.

Evans kept explaining while those reminders filled his conscience. “We were instructed to grab the wrong girl first, and it was too late to let her go by the time we realized our mistake.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Sarah said to nobody in particular.

She didn’t move though, so he went on. It was as unmerciful an act against himself as it was to her.

“So Greyble decided to hold onto both of them until the vote was tallied. He had every intention of letting his colleague’s daughter go after everything was taken care of; but the other girl, Kayla, was a liability.”

“Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

Evans understood the plea perfectly. “His plan was to drop her out in a bad part of D.C. and let someone else finish her off for him.”

Sarah interrupted then, not with words but by raising her head back up. Her glare was as intense as he’d ever seen it. And it was directed at him.

When he raised his hands in surrender between them, there wasn’t a single part of him that was trying to be funny. “I didn’t let him, Sarah! Do you really think I could have let him?”

“I don’t know.”

She didn’t say it loudly, but her voice trembled with a variety of strong emotions that were almost screaming on their own accord. If not for the children in the other rooms, he thought she might very well have flown at him, nails outstretched to claw his face off.

“I never thought you would stoop this low to begin with, especially after –” She grabbed for a tissue, though she wasn’t crying yet. It seemed more something to do that didn’t involve murdering him. “After everything.”

“You’re right, Sarah. You’re right.”

He wanted so desperately to put his hand on her leg, to calm her down, to let her know he was still the man she married. That he hadn’t changed, at least not to the drastic degree she thought. But he knew if he touched her right then, it would end badly. Every detail about her radiated livid contempt.

“It was unconscionable what I did. To her. To you. And I’m sorry.” Evans was starting to sound frantic, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. His pride meant less than nothing if losing it meant he could convince her not to give up on him. “You have no idea how sorry I am. But I’m trying to make things right.”

“How in the world do you think you can make things right?” She snapped, her eyes blazing for another long minute.

Then she crumbled, her face scrunching up and the tears flowing fast and free.

If possible, he felt worse. His hands literally ached to hold her.

“What were you thinking, Thomas?” She cried, stifling the sounds behind both hands. “I don’t understand how you could have done this: going from protecting people to kidnapping them.”

He knew why she was trying to keep quiet. As always, she was being a good mother and putting the girls first. When she brought the tissue she was still clutching to her face, she even made sure to blow her nose softly.

The sight and sounds lacerated Evans’ insides. “I was thinking I couldn’t do it anymore. The whole good-guy-comes-last routine. I wanted out.”

It was the truth. He had never flat-out admitted that to Sarah before, though she had probably figured it out on her own after last year, when he suddenly announced that he wasn’t renewing his contract with the military.

Evans had started out in the Navy right after college, and then served as a SEAL for years after that. But when he met Sarah, she had flat-out refused to get serious with him after she found out what he did. He remembered her citing statistics about divorce rates and such, declaring that she didn’t need that kind of drama in her life.

So he had done something most SEALs would never dream about doing. He promised that, if she gave him a chance and things showed long-term promise between them, he’d switch out at his next opportunity. And he’d kept that word.

Sarah hadn’t given him a hard time about any of the rest of it, not the base hopping or the four overseas tours of duty he’d done once he was back to being a regular squid again. But they’d both agreed he would settle into a nice desk job after that last one, staying there until he’d reached his twenty-year mark, where he could retire with a full pension.

That had been the original plan, and it had been a good one until the horror of what happened to Sarah started wearing off and bitterness started creeping in. Looking back, Evans was sure he could have tried harder to handle the disgusting irony his life had become. Yet a large part of him had wanted to be angry about how he was protecting American society when American society was out to screw him over by literally screwing his wife.

As a general rule, he wasn’t the hotheaded type, more than capable of keeping his cool well enough to consider all the angles. So maybe he would have been able to find a way past the anger if not for Sarah’s tearful phone call saying she was pregnant.

She didn’t need to say anything else when, at that point, they hadn’t had sex since he got home. Since the attack.

That was it: the last nail in his patriotic coffin. Right then and there, Evans decided he was done. He could barely wait until the remaining months of his current contract was up, and he began considering other jobs right away.

Greyble’s opening for a security team leader had come to his attention during Sarah’s third trimester. He had known right from the beginning that the man was as crooked as they came. Sailor’s sense had nothing to do with it either. The senator practically radiated corruption.

How any American could be stupid enough to vote for that kind of a person was beyond Evans. Then again, he had done more than vote for the man; he had worked for him. So he supposed that made him just as stupid as Greyble’s willingly delusional constituents. Maybe even worse.

Definitely worse in the morality category.

“You couldn’t do the ‘good guy’ routine?” Sarah was asking, her tone incredulous behind the sobs. “Well, it sounds like you proved you can play the bad guy just fine. Are you happy now? Does it feel like you’re finishing first? Was it worth it?”

Happiness had never been his goal in making the switch. For that matter, he’d never expected it as a side-effect either. It was more that he’d wanted to show America what happened when a good sailor went bad. He wanted to teach the country he had risked so much for that it couldn’t treat him so poorly without expecting some undesirable repercussions.

Evans was now thinking the only person he taught a lesson to was himself, and it wasn’t a lesson he was liking. His wife’s particular word choices managed to make him feel that much more of a monster.

Over in the dining room by the table, Lizzy must have sensed that something was very, very wrong because she started to cry too.

Sarah stood up, wiping her nose with another tissue that she kept locked in her fingers. She stooped over the playpen to lift the baby out, cradling her against her shoulder and whispering sweet little nothings at her, the soothing sounds punctured by her own sobs every few seconds.

The way she held onto Lizzy, it wasn’t clear who was supposed to be comforting who.

Evans went for broke. “I went over to Kayla’s place this morning.”

“Kayla?” She asked brokenly. “The first girl you kidnapped? The one you were supposed to leave out on the street to die?”

“I didn’t leave her out on the street to die, Sarah! I didn’t!”

The words came out more harshly than he meant them to. Evans wasn’t angry at all, just desperate to make her understand. To make her stop crying.

He tried to moderate his tone. “I got her back to her place in Catonsville. You can go see her if you want. She’ll tell you everything.”

“Maybe I will,” Sarah shot at him.

“Maybe you should!” He willed himself to be calm, which wasn’t an easy task by any means. “I told her I would help her take Greyble down if she wanted. But one way or the other, I’m done with him. If Kayla says she just wants to go on with life, my next phone call will be to turn in my resignation.”

And then he would start looking for a new job. In a lackluster economy, no matter what the government unemployment rate said. Maybe he would have to start looking for a new apartment while he was at it.

Evans really hoped not.

Still clutching Lizzy, who was just whimpering now, Sarah had been pacing up and down a short swath of carpet. But something made her stop in her tracks. It wasn’t apparent whether it was something he had said or hadn’t said, or if it was something else far apart from anything he could control. He just knew she had come to a decision of some sort.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, still not looking at him when she spoke. “Thomas, you need to leave.”

Everything inside him that was already cracked and broken completely cratered, falling somewhere far past his feet. In its place, he felt empty, shell-shocked at the sudden viciousness of the command.

She hadn’t delivered it meanly. If anything, the main emotion she was emitting was desperation. But it still felt like she had taken a bat to his knees with malicious and savage intent.

Then again, Evans didn’t know how he could have possibly expected anything better.

“Sarah, please,” he begged, standing up, his hands half outstretched. He felt at an utter loss as to what to do with his body, or any other part of him. “You don’t have to do this. We can talk. Or I’ll drive you over to Kayla’s right now.”

He would. Forget his promise to leave her alone until she contacted him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he was nothing short of desperate in that moment.

“Thomas,” she repeated his name slowly. Carefully. Like he was a dangerous animal she couldn’t show fear in front of. “You just dropped a lot on me. And I need some room to think it all through. So you’re going to have to be somewhere else for the next few hours.”

It wouldn’t have sounded like such a bad plan if not for the very real risk that, after he walked out the door, she wouldn’t ever let him back in.

Sarah went on with another sniffle. “After you get back, we can talk everything through, and maybe you can make me understand what exactly happened and why it happened and what you didn’t let happen. Alright?”

There was little room to do anything but agree with her, so he nodded, his throat tight while he looked at her holding their little girl. Sometimes, Evans reminded himself, a tactical retreat could lead to a significant victory instead of a worse loss down the road. Yet he still felt like he was surrendering way too much by doing as she asked.

He stood there a moment longer, hoping beyond hope that she might reconsider.

She didn’t.

“Please go.” Judging by the tremor in her voice, she was on the verge of crying hard again. “Please. I promise we’ll talk afterward. Just you need to leave now.”

She wasn’t going to change her mind. He could see that. Worse yet, he wasn’t in any way convinced she’d meant her demand before for just a “few hours.” Judging by everything about her now and everything he knew about her beyond that, it seemed a safe bet that she was saying whatever she could to get him out of the house. Nothing more.

Even knowing that any additional efforts to apologize would be fruitless, he still wanted to stay. It was excruciatingly painful to do as she asked.

Taking in a trembling breath, Evans stared straight at his wife, studying everything about her right down to her damp eyes and the tear trails stained on her cheeks.

She was breathtaking. So why he had allowed things to get this bad was beyond him. Jeopardizing what he had with someone like her was hands-down the most inexcusable thing he had ever done.

He wanted to ask how long she really needed, but the day’s previous lesson in feminine ambiguity came back to him. If Kayla, who had been so much calmer, had reacted the way she had, then Evans could only imagine how Sarah might if he brought up timelines.

“Okay, babe. I’ll go.” The pet name slipped off his tongue with a surge of possessiveness: a reminder of what they still had together if she would only hold onto it.

Sarah didn’t say anything in response. Her attention was turned back to Lizzy, blocking him out altogether. In her mind, it seemed he was already gone.

“I’m just going to say goodbye to Ava,” he told her.

She nodded, as rigid a sign of permission as she could possibly give.

Evans walked the path to his daughter’s bedroom, his steps heavy in what should have been a comfortable setting. But the pristine white walls and the peach and black accents of the hallway might as well as have been from a different planet. He felt that ill at ease in his own home.

Through Ava’s door, he could catch the faint happy hum of her singing something or another. Probably an incorrect interpretation of the lyrics from one of her princess movies. Unlike her, Evans knew each one of those songs by heart thanks to how many times she’d watched the films.

He would have happily popped any five of them into the DVR, pulling Ava onto his lap and watching them one after another all over again if he could.

His little princess looked up when he opened the door. “Do you wanna play, Daddy?” She held out her favorite stuffed animal to him: a giraffe named Riffy.

Evans crouched beside her. “No sweetie, Daddy has to go out.”

“But. But.” Her nose scrunched up in puzzlement. “But you just got back.”

Her childish bewilderment didn’t make the goodbye any easier, and he ended up hugging her long enough for her to start squirming. So he forced himself to give her one last kiss on the forehead before shutting the door behind him again.

Despite his highest hopes, the additional time didn’t play out the way Evans wanted it to. When he walked back toward the living room area, Sarah hadn’t changed her mind. He hadn’t really expected her to, but he was still sorely disappointed when she proved him right.

“I love you,” he informed her anyway, pausing one last time with one foot in the hallway and the other lingering inside his home.

Sarah inclined her head in one sharp, jerky movement, keeping her face turned away from him and offering him nothing else in response.

As he stepped out completely and closed the door behind him, Evans felt sure he knew exactly how Rod had felt the night before with Kayla.