Thomas Evans Unmasked

Oh, Evans.

When I first started writing “The Politician’s Pawn,” I never thought I’d be sympathizing quite so strongly with the hulking brute who crept through Kayla’s Baltimore County kitchen window and spirited her down to D.C. at gunpoint.

Sure, I mean, I knew he wasn’t going to be a complete jerk within the first few pages. And yeah, by the second chapter, he had already established himself as hero-ish in some regards. But still, I write about good guys, or at least people on journeys to become good guys. I don’t do that whole anti-hero thing, where readers are supposed to fall for jerks who bend the rules to their liking.

Call me old-fashioned. Or hopelessly romantic. But bad boys (or girls) who stay as bad boys (or girls) don’t do it for me. I like my protagonists more honorable than that.

Of course, that’s exactly what Thomas Evans became well before the end of Dirty Politics Book 1. And he just gets better with page (Page! Get it? Ha!) in the sequel, “Moves and Countermoves.”

Which, incidentally, you can start reading below…

1 – Thomas Evans

T

homas Richard Evans sat on the loveseat of the woman he’d recently abducted, waiting for her to process the contents of the manila folder he had given her a minute ago.

There was no indication of understanding on Kayla Jeateski’s face while she stared down at the topmost letter, just deep-seated confusion and discomfort. She was slumped into herself, not quite angled toward him nor away, her dark blond hair disheveled and her brown eyes haggard from more than just lack of sleep. Plus she was dressed in something other than pajamas, despite how he had showed up unannounced on her doorstep early in the morning, waking her up in the process he was pretty sure. On the sofa too, judging by the two blankets and pillows discarded beside her.

Watching her look at the documents, something inside Evans shifted unpleasantly, though he kept the guilt locked inside. He deserved to feel rotten for what he had already done, not to mention the question he was still going to hand her as soon as she got around to looking at him again.

If she ever did. At the moment, she seemed especially intent on avoiding his gaze.

One part of him hoped she would tell him to get lost and never darken her door again. It would be a lot easier for both of them if she didn’t give him a chance to broach the topic at all considering how loaded it was. Loaded because of its many implications and potential repercussions, and the sheer amount of work saying “yes” would involve.

Loaded too because it could end with bullets to both their brains. Or worse.

Kayla Jeateski already knew how much worse her situation could be. She’d only escaped captivity the night before, and that just narrowly. For a few minutes, it had been touch and go on whether she’d end up another sad D.C. statistic, lying broken and lifeless in an especially dangerous part of town.

Thanks to Evans, she had gotten away with only psychological scars.

Then again, thanks to Evans, she’d been in that dangerous situation to begin with, so he didn’t expect any praise for turning around and rescuing her. He owed her that much and a whole lot more after everything he had put her through.

She shouldn’t have been in the capitol to begin with that night. Not in the little blue dress she’d been forced to wear, which intentionally turned her into a bright red target in front of the lowlife bar she was dumped outside of. For starters, she hadn’t been the intended objective. She was a victim of chance; someone else’s mistake. But even if that hadn’t been true, the whole scenario would have been a hundred percent wrong and then some.

Not even a week ago, Evans had been sent to kidnap Lucy Reckins, daughter of U.S. Senator Lee Reckins. His own employer, a senator as well, wanted to swing a vote a certain way and Reckins was refusing to play. So the match had been upped to a serious game of hardball, with an unwilling Lucy serving as incentive to propel her father into a more agreeable frame of mind.

In that respect, the plan had worked to perfection. The kidnapping and subsequent ransom note did the trick, with Reckins caving easily. He didn’t have much choice in the matter when it was either add his name to the bill’s list of supporters, or attend his only daughter’s funeral.

The one snag in that strong-armed scheme was that Evans had nabbed the wrong girl first.

Technically, that hadn’t been his fault. He had gone where he was told to go and done what he was told to do like a good sailor following orders. It had been his boss’ staff that screwed things up, giving him the wrong address. But no matter where the blame deserved to fall, it fell very far away from Kayla.

She was never supposed to be involved. She was an innocent, an entirely unconnected civilian. Yet by the time all that was worked out, Evans and his team of cracked-up commandos had already carted her all the way from Baltimore, Maryland, down to Washington D.C. Through no fault of her own, Kayla had become Public Enemy Number One according to a small group of prominent members of Congress. Them and their lackeys.

Evans knew that latter designation included himself.

It wasn’t a flattering thought. Not after all the time and effort he’d spent working his way up the military ranks to become someone of authority. Certainly not when he used to take pride in his roles as Navy SEAL and sailor, standing up against the forces of darkness, protecting freedom and saving the world one mission at a time.

He had bought into the bright stars and broad stripes package, complete with accessories, for fourteen years. One hundred and sixty-eight months of combined stateside and active duty, of putting his life and sanity and interests aside to pursue something he thoroughly believed in at the time.

The American Dream. Evans had loved it for a long, long while.

It would have been nice if it had loved him back. But it hadn’t. And sometimes, those were the breaks.

Sometimes life threw undeserved, unexpected and even horrific barrages without any warning whatsoever. Even so, that didn’t excuse how he had reacted, trading in his military stripes for those of a mercenary.

He was altogether ashamed of what he had allowed himself to become. Hence the reason why he was back in Kayla’s apartment for the third time in about a week.

The first time had been for reconnaissance purposes, and the second was to carry out the kidnapping. That was when he’d ordered her, at gunpoint, to follow him outside to a waiting SUV.

Understandably, she hadn’t been happy about that. Nor would she be thrilled to find out that he’d rooted through her belongings before that, making sure she didn’t have any traditional weapons she could defend herself with. But Evans wasn’t going to tell her about that part. She already felt violated enough after everything she’d gone through.

He didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know Kayla felt utterly lost and unsure of how to cope with everything she’d gone through. It showed in her ruffled appearance and the disheveled spirit she emitted.

That wasn’t the normal her. At least it wasn’t any side of her personality she had willingly shown him before during their brief but action-packed acquaintance. The Kayla he kidnapped was a fighter.

Only a fighter would resist armed men multiple times, which was what she’d done when they first abducted her. He had even had to render her unconscious at one point just so he could truss her up and keep her from getting herself hurt worse.

An attractive enough woman, even if she wasn’t his usual type, she was about five foot, five inches; and he’d weigh her in at a hundred and forty pounds, one fifty max. Since he’d physically carried her twice, he had a decent idea there.

She had notable curves, nice brown eyes and a full set of lips set in a sweetly rounded face, even if that face was bruised up in places. Still, any man who was into chests and legs wouldn’t mind noticing her, shiner and split lip or not. Evans, a leg man himself, was married and committed to his wife. But he wasn’t blind, so he’d noticed Kayla’s lines well enough from the beginning.

Only he hadn’t been interested. Not even a little. Especially not when he was the kidnapper and she was the kidnappee. That was just sick.

Sicker, that was. A level he had no desire to stoop to no matter how mad he was at his country.

Kayla looked up from the manila folder with its pile of papers. Evans knew it was a lot of information to process, even for someone who hadn’t just sustained a string of traumas and then gotten a less-than-ideal amount of sleep.

“This is a confession.” She stared blankly at him.

“Yes.” He didn’t want to push, so he waited for her to draw whatever conclusions she could.

“Your confession.”

He nodded once, the words on that particular piece of paper running through his head. He had composed it hours ago before the sun had come up, though after confronting his conniving boss, Senator Aaron Greyble.

That meeting hadn’t gone well, in large part thanks to Evans. He was furious when he stormed into the office to update the piece-of-trash politician in less-than-polite tones; and that anger didn’t cool much by the time he wrote his declaration of guilt. Its purpose was to give a concise account of what had happened over the last few days, including how Kayla had escaped alive despite Greyble’s best efforts to the contrary.

Thinking about the senator and what he’d said, Evans’ guilt gave way to rage. Even hours later, he couldn’t completely control the reaction. There was no excuse for what had happened and what had come close to happening. No excuse at all.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Kayla shook her head slowly. “Why are you giving this to me?”

She had good reason to be confused, and not only because of that topmost document. The folder held a short but substantial stack of damning information that could get a number of politicians into serious trouble, Greyble included. It would also incriminate Evans for some Class A felonies. As the snitch, he could hope for some clemency, but there were no guarantees. And he knew it.

Kayla wasn’t stupid, so she understood all of that too. Hence her larger lack of comprehension.

He didn’t quite shrug his shoulders. The topic at hand was too serious for something so lighthearted. “Because if you’re going to take Greyble on, then I want you to be as well-equipped as you can be.”

“Who says I’m going to?” Her mouth twisted in distaste.

Also understandable.

Evans held up both hands, hoping she didn’t feel pressured into any specific course of action. That wasn’t his intention in talking to her, though he knew he might be projecting something very different considering his general appearance.

He was a big guy. Six-foot two, wide-set shoulders, stocky build, well-maintained body with muscular arms and six-pack abs: normally all features he took some pride in. But considering their past interactions, he could understand if she didn’t see his physical stats as a plus right about then. He was an intimidating figure, no matter how much he was trying to indicate otherwise.

“Not me,” Evans assured anyway. “I’m just saying ‘if.’ Nobody would blame you if you wanted to leave this alone. But if” – he put special emphasis there – “you want to try to take him down, I’ve got pictures and emails and details in there that can help prove your case. And I’ll stand by all of it.”

She still seemed very skeptical. “You mean you’ll help me?”

Evans looked her right in the eyes. “Correct.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to be known as someone who compromised.”

He watched her take the statement in. Saw her eyes widen in recognition at that last word. Compromised: She had summed up his life choices with that term back when she was still locked up in Greyble’s basement bedroom.

He hadn’t liked hearing her say it back then, and he didn’t like admitting it himself now. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean it didn’t fit.

It took Kayla a minute, but she straightened up in her seat, leaning a little toward him at the same time in a mix of lingering doubt, suspicion and something else. “You could do it on your own. You could expose Greyble without me.”

He had thought about that already, beginning with the moment he realized what the senator had planned for his expendable captive: leaving her to be raped and killed off of N Street by random thugs in order to cover his already reprehensible tracks. Evans had wanted nothing more than to take the man head-on right then and there, wringing his neck like the worthless animal he was.

At first, he’d held those homicidal intentions in check because there were too many factors to consider. Then, after he sent Kayla safely on her way back to Baltimore, the main thing that stopped him was knowing how a snapped spinal cord would be way too easy an end for Greyble.

After already shooting three men dead that night, and in effect authorizing the executions of two more, perhaps he should have felt pretty sapped of such instincts. Problem was he’d done all that to protect Kayla, which he wouldn’t have had to do if not for Greyble and his senseless schemes. So instead of satiating his murderous inclinations, it fueled them.

For better or worse, however, he still came to the conclusion that the situation remained too complicated for the simplistic solutions he was craving.

That conclusion should have been obvious, yet it took Evans almost the entire taxi ride over to Capitol Hill to reach it. By the time he arrived at the austere white marble structure of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, he had gotten his rage in check enough that he could see the bigger picture.

Rodney Andiluigi – his partner in crime, subordinate several times over in military rank, and oftentimes a hotheaded fool – had wisely kept his mouth shut the whole way there, giving Evans the space he needed. The kid seemed lost in his own thoughts anyway, no doubt brooding over how Kayla hadn't accepted his apology.

Saying sorry for behaving like a cretin had been a step in the right direction. But considering how much ground Rod had to make up there, it wasn’t surprising his words didn’t get him anywhere close to her good graces.

In the same way, after careful consideration, Evans realized he couldn’t make things right so easily. He hadn’t been happy showing restraint, but he did anyway because it was the smart move to make.

All of that rushed through his head when Kayla asked him why he didn’t just take Greyble on alone. Yet he didn’t hesitate to answer since he had already considered and discarded the possibilities multiple times already.

It was therefore easy to sound unflappably pragmatic. “Yes, but then I’d be putting you in danger without your express permission. And I think I’ve done enough of that for one lifetime.”

Kayla shook her head again, this time like she had a headache she was too weary to fully accept. “How did you get into the kidnapping business again?”

It was a reasonable question, and she had every right to the answer. But there was just so much Evans was willing to share right then. He might tell her some other time if she asked again, but only after he got some sleep. The topic she’d broached remained too raw to speak about without taking proper precautions.

Whether Kayla got that or not, she didn’t push him to respond. Perhaps she just saw him as an unmovable force on the issue. Which, right then, he was. End of story.

“I don’t know,” she hedged, switching the focus of their conversation back to business. “That’s a lot of responsibility. It’s a lot I didn’t ask for. That I never wanted.”

“Understood.”

Evans did. Completely. Yet watching her, he also knew that she was thinking. He could all but see the wheels turning in her mind. Her pause was pregnant with consideration, and when she spoke, he was rather surprised she didn’t immediately say “yes.” Not that he showed that confusion. His philosophy in life was to project complete confidence whenever possible, even when he had no actual clue what was going on.

More often than not, it paid for people to think he could see into their heads.

“Can I get back to you about that?” She asked, setting her mouth in what was very nearly a straight line as soon as she’d finished speaking.

Evans might have suspected she was blowing him off except for one telltale sign. Her eyes were directed his way but not quite looking at him, or at least not quite seeing him. They showed a mess of weary resolve combined with a smidgen of spunk thrown in there somewhere. Small as it was, that expression told him loud and clear that she wasn’t going to walk away from the kind of opportunity he was offering.

And they both knew it.

He refrained from stating that fact, however, going with “Of course” in what he thought was an altogether unobjectionable tone.

For some reason he couldn’t grasp, that polite response annoyed her. Kayla made no attempt to hide it either, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering. At what, he wasn’t sure.

Evans had snapped at his kidnapping team before for their woefully inadequate understanding of the feminine brain. Since that failing had come to light more than once over the last few days, the criticism was justified. They could handle any number of delicate operations, but when it came down to intra-gender communication, they turned into incompetent morons.

But just because he wasn’t quite that clueless didn’t mean he considered himself an expert on the subject. Even after being married for six years, he still had no idea what his wife was trying to tell him half the time. Maybe more than that. Figuring her out was a battle he knew he would never completely win.

He had to assume that Kayla, being female too, was comprised at least somewhat similarly. Which meant that it probably wasn’t worth it to ask what he’d done wrong. He wasn’t even sure he had done anything wrong, besides kidnapping her in the first place, anyway.

“Is there a deadline?” One finger tapped against the opposite forearm, an unvoiced dare to give her a logical answer.

He knew enough to not take the bait. “Not if you don’t want there to be. If you do decide to pursue this, it might be easier to start sooner than later. But that doesn’t mean there’s an immediate expiration on the dirt you’re holding.”

She glanced down at the contents of the manila folder again, her shoulders rising heavily and then falling with the same weighty emotion, whatever it was. “I just –” She sighed. “I need to talk it over with a few people first. This doesn’t seem to be the kind of thing you rush into, and I don’t want to make any decisions I’m going to regret later.”

Now that, Evans could understand from start to finish. He could even respect it. “Fair enough. How about I give you my cell number, and you can call me whenever you decide.”

“Okay.”

Kayla started opening her mouth to say something else, then checked herself and went silent, reaching across the loveseat arm to the small brown table beside it. Pulling a yellow sticky note off the top of its stack, she handed the piece of paper to him along with a black pen.

He accepted both and jotted his contact information down, then passed it all back.

She regarded the slip of paper like it was a summons to jury duty at a particularly inconvenient time. Which, he supposed, it could be akin to: a call to perform a necessary but unpleasant patriotic obligation.

Unlike a court summons, however, Kayla did have a choice in the matter. Barely, but a very small choice nonetheless.

When she didn’t say anything at all for a long minute, Evans figured it was a good enough cue to leave. Never one to overstay his welcome, he stood up, his posture settling into a military stance that still felt as natural to him as his name. Once a sailor, always a sailor, he supposed. Even if he was a relapsed one.

“I won’t bother you any longer. Take whatever time you need to think it over. And talking to someone is a good idea. Not just about this, I mean.”

He knew it was an awkward way to suggest that she might want to seek psychological assistance. He felt awkward saying it too, though he made sure to project no such thing. Kayla needed to know she had options to fall back on should she need them. It had helped Sarah, and she had gone through far worse.

His hands clenched in automatic distaste at the rotten memories, the familiar indignation flowing through his nervous system. It hadn’t been long enough for him to shrug it off by any means.

“I’ll be fine,” Kayla insisted stubbornly. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

Evans could have taken that moment to add a well-intentioned lecture about everyone having a breaking point, but the look on her face told him loud and clear that she wasn’t in the mood to hear that hard truth.

“It’s your decision,” he acknowledged, then turned to go.

“You don’t want to take these with you?” Kayla asked, holding out the folder.

“They’re yours.” He had given her copies of what he had. The originals were all safely stowed in a locked briefcase he was keeping under the seat of his truck.

“Okay.”

He got five steps before she stopped him again.

“Evans?” She asked, her voice rife with hesitation.

He stopped, angling his face more than his body back toward her.

The fact that she had used his name surprised him slightly. He didn’t think she had before. Not to his face, at least. To Lucy, yes. He had seen and heard most of their interactions while he monitored the live video feed from the room they were kept in.

“If I…” Her voice trembled and she broke off to cross her arms over her chest. “If I say yes, do you think we can actually win this? I mean is there a viable chance we can beat Greyble when he is who he is and we are who we are?”

Evans gave her a small smile. He wasn’t going to promise her a particular outcome when he didn’t know any better than she did. All he could tell her was whether he thought the risk was worth it or not, and that’s exactly what he did.

“You never know until you try.”