Passionate Obsession by D.M. Mortier

Chapter Six

Katia

Present

It was after 6 p.m., and I waited impatiently for Mac to return with the boys. My day should have left me relaxed and mellow. Instead, I was still smarting from the conversation with Cathy, my co-worker.

I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with Cathy’s intrusive unexpected question when I called to cancel going to the movies with them later in the day. Her question really threw me for a loop.

“There’s a rumor that you and Mac are married,” Cathy said in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

“What?” Yeah, the age-old stalling tactic while I tried to decide how to respond to this heifer.

“Someone saw your personnel file. It was all over the office yesterday. Is it true?”

“My personnel file is confidential and none of anyone’s business.” I wanted to say more, but honestly, I was pissed at her nosy-ass question and her unapologetic invasion of my and Mac’s privacy. I mean, really, Mac and I had the same last name. We didn’t try to hide it. We simply didn’t talk about it. “Look, Cathy, I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.” I hung up on her.

What Mac and I did wasn’t a secret, but it was our business. Our family. Although we were legally married, I had never wanted to broadcast that fact, mostly to protect Mac. I didn’t want him to make that kind of sacrifice for us. After Mac rescued us, I depended on him for everything, as I had nothing asPadma Katia Gupta to contribute. No family other than the twins. No money. No job. No home. Nothing.

Mac gave us everything. There was no way I was going to let anyone, especially Cathy Evans, turn our marriage into salacious office gossip. No way would I allow anyone to tint what we have. Mac had saved me, not once but twice now. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with me as his wife.

I should have been relaxed after visiting the spa today. Hell, my bone-straight hair shone like black velvet after my hairstylist washed, treated, and trimmed it to fall a silky curtain to the middle of my back. My facial left my skin exfoliated to smooth silk, the mani-pedi had my nails buffed and polished, and my body had been waxed and massaged to the consistency of overcooked noodles. I looked good. I even felt good. By all rights, I should have been relaxed and content. Instead, Cathy’s revelation came and fucked up my buzz.

My doorbell rang, startling me. The doorbell didn’t just damn ring. Someone was leaning on it when I didn’t respond immediately! This just had to be the weekend that Martha and Calvin had free.

“I’m coming! Hold your horses. Geez!”

I peeked at the monitor panel at the door, which had a view of the front driveway and anyone at the front door. There were three dark SUVs in the driveway with men in dark suits, and a woman at the front door had an impatient smirk on her face. These people didn’t look like they’d come for a friendly visit.

Hell, I worked for the government and could easily recognize government-issue equipment and attire. I dismissed the idea that they could be FBI employees from the unfriendly scowls on their faces and their less-than-polite visit to my home. My or Mac’s colleagues wouldn’t treat us like criminals, right?

Given the number of guns on display, these people looked almost military. I hesitated on opening the door. This was a very suburban neighborhood, and our house was in a cul-de-sac at the end, facing the other houses. I couldn’t imagine what my neighbors must be thinking about this display of weaponry. My senses were working on overdrive. And that was another thing that cautioned me. I could hear more than a mile out. They had been very quiet and stealthy coming here. There was absolute radio silence. A chill slithered over my skin, causing the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to tingle madly. What the hell was going on?

“Can I help you?” I asked into the microphone instead of opening the door. I didn’t know who these people were, but they looked dangerous. Unfriendly. And the absolute lack of sound I was getting from them chilled my bones even more.

“Mrs. McAllister, my name is Dr. Gloria Forbes. We have a few questions for you and your husband.”

Holy shit! I recognized that voice. I recognized that name! She is one of the scientists who raped me! “My husband isn’t here at the moment. Can you call back and make an appointment please?” Because, really, who the hell came to see anyone on the weekend without prior notice for business? And why the hell did this woman feel brazen enough to come here and demand entry? Did she think I didn’t know who she was?

“I’m afraid that this matter is rather urgent. We are afraid for your family’s safety.”

Yeah, right. From the monitor, I saw the good doctor motion to the men to move closer. “You’re afraid?” How dumb did this woman think I am? “Why don’t you leave a card, and we will get back to you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

There was that afraid word again. I sighed.

“You have both been compromised, and I must insist on talking to you now. This is a matter of national security.”

“Yeah, okay.” I wanted to snort my disbelief but restrained the impulse. My finger hovered over the panic button on my watch. A friend of Mac’s, Imani Ragnarson, had designed the security features around the house. Not only would the button alert Mac but it would also lower a shield around the entire house and release our guard dogs.

“Mrs. McAllister, I am ordering you to open the door.”

“Em, okay. I didn’t get your credentials, Ms. Forbes.” I wanted to laugh at her arrogance, but her being here, at this place and at this time, was too serious. I was happy that the boys were with Mac.

Gloria ground her teeth.

“Just wanting to understand what rank or authority you’re claiming to have.” I couldn’t help the grin that split my face.

“It is Dr. Gloria Forbes, Deputy Director of CIA.”

I whistled with what I hoped was the appropriate level of awe. “Wow, yeah, that’s pretty senior. You go, girl.” I smirked. “Wait, can you guys or gals operate on the domestic front? You know, being CIA and all?”

Dr. Forbes grounded her teeth even harder.

I was struggling to not laugh out loud at her frustration. “While I’m honored by your visit and all, I’m just getting out of my bath, so…”

Dr. Forbes hissed.

“So…Monday?” A snicker of a laugh escaped my nose and throat. I mean, really, what could she do to me? I was behind levels of steel that gave a whole new meaning to maximum security. They could try bombing it, but that wasn’t likely to make a dent. And in the middle of suburbia, they were unlikely to make much of a fuss. At least, I hope they have more sense than that.

Gloria tried to whisper to one of the men beside her, but I heard her clearly, as though she was standing right next to me. “Secure all exits,” she had commanded angrily. She motioned with an agitated waving of her hand, and the men started moving along the grounds, trying to fan out around to other possible exits of the house.

I pressed the panic button. Steel shields instantly covered the doors and windows, the guard rails over the Dobermans’ cages lifted, a high-pitched alarm pierced the air, and blinding flashing lights flickered throughout the grounds.

The instant cursing and running feet that split the air had me grinning.

“Y’all okay out there?” I asked cheerfully.

“This is not over,” Dr. Forbes hissed before she, too, beat a hasty retreat.

My mobile started ringing, and I didn’t need to look at it to know that that would be Mac calling. As soon as I activated the call, his deep voice came over the speaker.

“Are you safe? What’s going on?”

I liked that he didn’t in any way sound panicked. He was his usual calm, steady presence.

“It seems the CIA is looking for us and thought to stop by the house. The good doctor didn’t realize that I would recognize her.”

“Use the underground passage. I will be waiting for you.”

I stilled. He was activating our run protocol. In the five years we had been living here, we’d never had to use our predetermined safety precautionin the event that we were found. I didn’t expect to use it now. “Are you sure? They can’t be sure that it’s us. She didn’t see me.” Lame excuses, I know. I love this house. I love the life we have here.

“They know. They probably already sent a similar welcoming party to the penthouse for me and the boys and missed us by seconds. You have fifteen minutes to meet me at the entrance.” His abrupt command discouraged any arguments. It was that undercurrent of steel again that I hadn’t seen often, but I’d never doubted that it was there.

I only had time to swiftly pull on jeans and a T-shirt, no underwear. The five minutes didn’t allow time for much beyond me grabbing a prepacked backpack, the boys’ favorite toys, and my precious laptop. With tears in my eyes, I activated the destroy button that would melt down the rest of my equipment. I would miss this house, but what I was seriously struggling with was leaving my third child behind. My Ninja 400 motorcycle. I wasted a good half-minute debating whether my bike could fit in the tunnel, totally ignoring the fact that my bike was in the driveway and there wasn’t a chance in hell I could reach it.

That bike had gotten me out of many traffic jams and was the main reason I made it from home to school in under ten minutes. It was also instrumental in my “always wear sexy lingerie” rule. Well, anyone would have found some kind of religion after falling off a motorcycle going over eighty miles per hour and colliding with a semi-truck, being flung several feet on the hot tarmac of the highway, and then being confronted with a pissed-off Mac when he came to assess the damage. Cognizant that I couldn’t take the chance of being taken to a hospital, I had the driver of the semi call Mac. On hearing that Mac was an FBI agent, the driver had been scared shitless and didn’t question my not wanting to involve the police. It helped that his truck sustained no damages, and he was more terrified of the damage to my body.

Wearing dark blue jeans, a hot-pink, button-up-the-middle, laced midriff blouse, black leather jacket and boots, I had been returning from the university to meet Mac at home with the boys. It was fortunate that I was less than five minutes from home. Still, Mac arrived in under two minutes in his truck. He must have driven almost one hundred miles per hour to get there so fast.

After checking to make sure that I hadn’t broken anything, despite my blouse and jeans being soaked in blood, he thanked the trucker and lifted me and the bike into his truck. His face was set as if molded to stone, his teeth clenched, and his eyes almost glacial. Mac was pissed, and the rigid lines of his body warned me not to say a word. He had never liked my being on the bike to begin with, and I knew I would have a hell of a time convincing him to not junk my bike. However, at the time I had been in so much pain that his anger had been the least of my worries.

As soon as we got back to house, he grabbed a blanket that he kept in the truck to drape over me as he carried me into the house. He hadn’t wanted the boys to see me, and neither did I.

“Look, if you’re going to lecture me on riding my bike, don’t.”

A grunt was the only response I got from him. He had yet to say one word to me since he came for me.

“And I’m not liking the silent treatment either,” I griped. “It’s not as if I willingly slid into the tire of the semi. It was an accident. Those things happen.”

Still no words. He placed me gently on my pristine quilted bed.

“Do you even care that I hurt all over?”

He unzipped my jacket, which was almost torn to shreds, and unbuttoned my blood-soaked blouse. There was so much blood that it soaked my jeans to my hips. I didn’t even want to think about how much damage was done to my right arm, ribcage, stomach, and hip. When the bike had hit the tire, I had been dragged along the hot highway for almost a quarter-mile. While I waited for Mac, I had taken a peek, and the sight of my raw flesh saturated with blood had my stomach rolling with nausea in seconds. I had quickly replaced my blouse and jacket over the wounds and was not looking forward to when Mac saw them.

However, it wasn’t anger that darkened his blue gaze when he looked down at my ample breasts encased in a Victoria Secret unlined lace cage bra. His hands visibly trembled as he unsnapped my jeans and immediately stilled at the sight of the matching lace thong. If anyone had told me that my six-foot-six, over two-hundred-and-fifty-pound husband and super-spy FBI agent could be rendered shell-shocked at the sight of a woman in hot pink lingerie, I would have laughed in their face. Nothing shocked cool as ice Mac. Least of all an ample-chested, big-ass, black woman in pink lace.

Okay, so his shock lasted for a few seconds before he took in the cherried skin of the left side of my body, and then his expression reverted to that glacial anger he’d been wearing since he picked me up. “You’re never riding that damn thing again.”

His guttural demand shouldn’t have made my pulse race as if I’d just run a mile. Struggling to regulate my breathing, I looked down at my bruised skin and it was my turn to be shocked. It was the first time that I had real evidence of my rapid healing ability. “It’s healing already.” I couldn’t hide the awe and elation in my voice.

“What are you talking about?”

I explained the extent of my injuries after the fall, and with the amount of blood soaking my clothes, it didn’t take much to convince him how bad it was initially. And I think the distraction of that revelation, together with my ultra-sexy lingerie, had Mac forgetting his embargo on my bike-riding days. In fact, he had the bike repaired and looking brand new within two days. Thus, my “always wear sexy lingerie” rule.

I was more than a minute late meeting Mac at the end of the mile-long underground tunnel without my beloved bike, unfortunately.

Despite the monumental change about to take place in my life, it was the sight of him that rattled my cage. Seeing his massive imposing figure standing at the mouth of the tunnel, strong, confident, lethal, was like a punch to my system. I came to a stop in front of him. His scent engulfed me. Not his light cologne; it was his unique masculine scent that was so damn attractive. I bet if I bottled that shit up, I’d make a fortune from women wanting their man to smell like him. I would name it Robust, Virile, Panty-dropping Male. If my hands weren’t full, I might have fanned myself.

“Where are the boys?” I said, trying to distract him from the mini riot happening to my senses.

“They’re in the truck.” He took the two backpacks that contained my laptop, important documents, jewelry, and cash and clothes for me and the boys, which we had never worn but were always kept in the backpack. Every six months or so I’d had to change out the clothes for the boys because they’d been growing so fast.

“Where is your cell phone?” Mac asked softly as we walked toward the truck.

“I left it in the house,” I told him.

“Good. You have the burner phones?”

“Yes, in one of the backpacks.”

The tunnel opened into a swampy area, and both our boots were covered with mud by the time we trekked to the truck. I allowed myself a brief shudder of relief that I hadn’t come across any of Florida’s famous wild reptiles. There wasn’t much I was afraid of, but those things gave me the heebie-jeebies.

I climbed into the truck after stomping off the mud and immediately smiled at seeing the boys knocked out. I shook my head. “I don’t know what you do with them on Saturdays that makes them comatose until Sunday, but clearly it never fails.” I chuckled softly.

“Trust me, I am usually just as tired as they are.” He smiled. “I’m better trained at hiding it.”

After ten minutes of guiding the truck through a swampy, uneven terrain, Mac pulled the truck into the flow of traffic on the highway before he started speaking again. “Everything we left back there is lost for good,” he told me softly. “We can never come back to the house again.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out deeply, trying to dispel the congealing bundle of sadness that was threatening to engulf me. It was hard to let go of a home I had poured my heart and soul into. The hours of selecting color schemes, furnishings, carpets, tiles, drapes… God, so much love poured into that house to make it a haven for us. Words failed me. “What about Martha and Calvin?” I asked after a while, the words coming out croaky through the frog in my throat. “They are supposed to return tomorrow afternoon.”

“They will be moved to another property or adequately compensated for their service if they want to remain here,” Mac said quietly. “Don’t worry about any of that. I have a company that will take care of all of it.”

“Do you think that Dr. Forbes has enough power to take us in against our will?”

“Yes,” he said succinctly.

“But you’re an SAC! Special Agent in Charge! Can she do this?”

“Yeah.”

I wasn’t liking how certain he was of her power. “Why do I get the impression that you’ve done this before?”

“Considering my work, I never get attached to places. I’ve had to uproot on sudden notice a few times.” His voice was calm and modulated. There was nothing in it that alerted you that he had just dropped a bomb.

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” He ran his fingers through the short strands of his hair. This was not something he wanted to talk about.

Well, that was too bad because I needed to understand. “But you served our country and you’re an agent, an FBI agent!” I whisper-yelled, cognizant of the boys sleeping behind us. “Why would you have to run from anyone?”

“Yeah, overzealous men don’t give a shit what you’ve done, who you are, or how they achieve their ends.” He gave me a brief look before returning his gaze to the road. He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve done this enough to never get attached to material things, places, or get sentimental.”

God, I have been living in such a bubble. Why have I never questioned his lack of family? Why have I never asked him about his experience with the scientists? I know why. I was afraid to know. I was afraid of anything or anyone who might have a greater claim to him than I did.

“I still don’t understand. How could you have been on the run so many times? You’re barely thirty-two years old.”

Mac chuckled softly. “Thanks for the compliment. I age well.”

“What? What does that mean?” I couldn’t help the shriek.

He tilted his head to give me a side amused glance. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or horrified to be married to an older man.” He smirked.

“Don’t play with me, Mac,” I all but growled at him. “What the hell do you mean older? And if you’re on the run, why do you have such a public persona? No one on the run could be featured in the local news so many times, be such a public figure, and not be caught.”

“I live under an alias and prefer to hide in plain sight,” he said calmly.

“What?” I felt as though he was speaking a different language and the words were getting jumbled in my brain. “Andrew McAllister isn’t your real name? Are you saying that your name is fake?” And an even more horrifying thought filled my mind. “Is our marriage a fake?!?!” I knew I was getting hysterical, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The thought that we possibly weren’t his, as he always claimed, shattered me.

“Oh, our marriage is real all right. I made sure of that. You and the boys are mine, no matter what name we call ourselves.”

“Why do I feel as though you’re not telling me everything?”

“We don’t have time to go into that now, nor does any of it matter to what happens next.” Mac placed a hand on my thigh and slowly patted me in a soothing manner. I could have told him that that was the last thing that would soothe me.

“Stop worrying. I got you,” he coaxed softly. “I used our real names for our marriage certificate. You didn’t notice because I didn’t want you to.”

“What is your real name?”

“Ronin McKenna.”

I puffed out a deep breath, too stunned to utter a word.

“Get some sleep. We have a long drive ahead.”

Wait? Was that the end of our conversation? That’s it? That’s all he was going to say to me?

Mac picked up his phone and was talking to his friend Colonel Colton Ragnarson before I could voice my objection. It was soon clear how important the conversation was, as I could hear Mac filling Colt in on the surprise confrontation with the CIA.

The sound of Mac’s voice must have calmed me significantly because, the next thing I knew, I had fallen asleep. I woke to his gentle touch a few hours later.