Author's Notes: I hope everyone is safe while reading this. Warning, this chapter is pretty cheesy, pretty smutty, and pretty angst-y. I had a different ending in mind before posting this, but I'll reserve that. I'm sorry for dragging this on but I think we only have a few chapters left in this story. Tell me what you guys think! And please do correct me for errors! :)
LIFEMATE
We are all wolves howling to the same moon.
- Atticus
It was the longest, most aggravating 45 minutes of his life.
"Come on!" He shouted as he blew his car horn.
He was still in Jackson Square, the traffic holding him up. The street was filled with ambulances, fire trucks and police cars. He could still see the smoke billowing from what he knew was the building. His phone was still off because he couldn't bear it upon himself to stop and buy a car charger.
The only (sort of) comfort he had was the radio covering the news.
"Police had already acquired the CCTV footage. And it appeared that the blast happened at 9:12pm at the Basement Parking lot. We are still confirming the number of employees who were in the building."
Owen was contemplating the odds of leaving his car on the nearby lot and make a run for it when the cars moved.
He was nearly there.
The buildings and establishment cleared. He could hear the media commotion, the siren alarms of the vehicles. And he finally saw it.
The building was still intact. But an ugly, black spot was covering the entrance leading to the basement entrance. There were still firemen coming out of the building, their faces charred with soot. The once vacated courtyard flocked with people. The yellow tapes barricading the perimeter, stood above the crowd. Firefighters, police officers and medical personnels hither and thither orders and movements. Media reporters stood in the front line. Their simultaneous voices ringing in his ears. It was chaos.
Owen experienced a great deal of nerve-wracking moments in his life. Back in the NAVY, his officers consistently told him that he was impulsive, reckless. He was always the one who went with his gut even if it meant disobeying orders or putting his life in jeopardy. He remembered how the NAVY was his life back then. How his mates were his family, how he was protective of them, as they were to him. Owen was always the first in line to volunteer. He's always the only one to go back for a fallen troop. The only thing that kept him from getting sacked was his top records- in trainings and on the field. He was, as his commanders always tell him, "a good pain in the ass". Owen's acclimated to the fear, the danger, the adrenaline. Hell, Owen lived for the peril. He thrived on it- as it was the only constant thing in his life.
But this, all this was new.
Fears he'd recently discovered, resurfaced. Its sinister claws crawled up his throat, threatening the life out of him. The empowering feeling that she was in danger was back. Like that time in the car, when his first and only instinct was to keep her safe. The surge of adrenaline, the angry pump of his blood, his senses on high alert. All that mattered was Claire, safe and sound and in his arms.
He slammed on the brakes, not caring where he parked his car. His eyes trained on the smoke coming out of the basement parking. The blue and red lights flashing all around him was making his head spin. The burnt stench became stronger as he threw the door close. Owen felt his heart running out of his chest, his sweat turned cold. He ran to the building, his mind fighting the negative thoughts. Please, please, please.
Two cops caught up to him and halted him, their hands raised.
"Who's hurt? Tell me, who's hurt?" he yawped, his body shaking with nerves.
"Sir, you're not allowed-" The woman police officer started.
Without looking at her, he declared, "Former Lieutenant Commander Owen Grady. And I own the building."
He's astounded by the authority in his voice. As far as he's concerned, he had never pulled rank before and as soon as he said it, he left like a jerk. The police officers straightened, realization rising behind their wide eyes.
"Sir." They raised their hands in salute.
Owen nodded. He ordered, "Let me in."
"Sir, we have to go the other way around. We have strict orders, to keep you safe." The woman officer turned to her partner, "Get Walters or Brennan…"
She faced him again with an apologetic countenance. "Sir, this way please."
Then he heard his name, shouted above the racket. And like a big wave of flood, the journalists, photographers surged towards him.
"MR. GRADY!"
"OWEN!"
"HE'S HERE!"
"MR. GRADY! BBC HERE!"
"TELL US ABOUT THE DEATH THREATS, !"
"WAS IT TERRORISM?"
Despite the worry clouding his face, he couldn't help but glower at them.
Fucking media. He cursed inwardly .
A line of police officers came to his aid. They formed a fence line, pushing the zealous camera crew away from his face. Their clamor was irritating than anything he had ever experienced.
Another officer pulled the tape as he ducked under. He was restless as he trotted away from the crowd. His mind blank, his mouth wired shut. The fearful thoughts looping around his mind.
A couple of medics flew past him as he frantically searched for a certain redhead. The woman officer was still escorting him when he spotted his friends.
Lowery, Zara and Zia stood around and opened ambulance door, away from the loud audience. He felt a slight relief after seeing that they were no longer dressed in their work clothes. They stood in a semi-circle, blocking his view of someone sitting on the car step.
He felt his stomach drop all the way to his feet.
"Claire?!" He shouted over the dry wind as he jogged towards them.
They turned their heads and Owen felt dread overcome him when he saw the woman sitting between them. Her Afro curls, which was usually free, was up in a bun. Her cheek was reddening, her lip busted. Her fingers curled around a hot mug. Claire's young assistant sat with a thermal blanket over her small shoulders. Her eyes wide with fear and trauma. Her companions weren't looking good either. Behind her eyeglasses, Zara's eyes were puffy and red. Lowery's normal friendly expression, aloof. While Zia, who wasn't easily bothered by anything, appeared shaken. Shadows of despair crowding their faces.
"Owen!" They greeted, the relief in their voices clear and evident.
He felt his throat closing up. No Claire.
He held a hand on Emma's shoulder, a terrified expression clouding the young woman's vibrant face . "Emma, are you okay?"
She gave a weak nod.
"You okay, man?" Lowery asked and he didn't know how to answer him.
"We thought you were here!" Zara sniffed, grabbed his shoulder and engulfed him in a hug. Her friendly comfort felt empty and disconnected, the sinking feeling was back again. "None of us could contact you."
"Where's Claire, Zara?" he repeated as he pulled away.
Nobody answered him. "Where is she? Where's Claire? She was here. She was working late." He couldn't help the desperation in his voice.
The people standing around him shared nervous glances with each other.
"What the hell is going on? Somebody, answer me!"
A timid, soft voice shook behind them. "I'm so sorry, Owen. I'm so sorry."
He squatted down to the young woman on the ambulance step. "What happened, Em?"
"I was having coffee with a friend. We were hanging out at Starbucks across the street when Claire called me..."
Everybody was listening to her. Owen had an inkling that Emma was talking about what happened for the first time. He felt a sense of compassion for the girl. Emma was the new girl but she was already a likeable employee. And she was trying her best to do her job- which he greatly appreciated, as do Claire.
"She apologized for calling in so late, but I said it's okay... She asked me where was the revenue reports. I forgot to send her the copy so I... I went back here... I sneaked in and accessed my email on the lobby. When I heard a loud noise... And next thing I know... Next thing I know, someone was waving a light in my face. And there's smoke everywhere I don't... I don't know what else happened." Her voice choked as tears brimmed her eyes. Emma put her head in her hands. Her body shook as Zara laid an arm around her shoulders.
Owen stood straight. Closed his eyes. Breathed in and then out. Opened.
The noises around him swaddled, as if he's submerged in water. He clutched the phone in his hand. His tone concealing the apprehension running through his veins. "Has anyone tried calling her?"
"Service is down right now, boss. They're speculating it was a terrorist attack so they had to take measures." Lowery supplied.
He turned to Zara. "How about her apartment?"
"Nobody's answering her home phone. I told Alec to stay put. In case Claire called our house."
"Stay with Emma. I'm gonna check her apartment again. She must be there."
She has to be.
They nodded at him, despondent. It was then that Owen was reminded with another gut wrenching feeling.
"They didn't mention it... I have to know. Who..." he started, his eyes fleeting over their sad appearances. The question drying his tongue. "Who was it? That they mentioned on the news?"
He heard Zara let out a sob, while Lowery turned his back on them as he cursed, kicking the cemented floor.
Zia cleared her throat and placed both hands on her hips. Owen saw her face twist. "Bernie was still sick so Joe took the shift tonight." She informed, lowering her head and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, Owen."
Owen swallowed the ugly feeling building in his tongue. He wanted to scream. He took an anguished breath. "What about his family? Were they informed yet?"
Zia nodded, sniffing. "A couple of officers went to their house."
"Okay... Anyone else hurt? Who else was here?"
"Artie and two security guys are in the other vans." she inclined her chin to two adjacent ambulances in the distance. "They're okay. Scratched, but okay."
Owen nodded, somewhat relieved. "Lowery," he called.
"Yeah?" Lowery went back to the group, rubbing his face with the back of his wrist.
"I'll cover every expense for their medical. Including Joe's funeral arrangements."
And just like that, his friend was back in his assistant mode. He took out his phone as Owen listed out:
"-Clear my schedule for tomorrow so I could talk to Joe's wife. Give me Joe's family records. Pay for his mortgage and his loans. If he's paying for a car loan, pay it in full. I know he's helping his grandson get into college. Get me a file on that boy and ask Mary to apply him for a Grady scholarship. Arrange a $10,000 checque to his wife every year for the rest her life. Tell our investors that we're gonna move our meetings to next week. I'm sure they will understand. Arrange a video conference tomorrow. I want every department head. Everyone is not allowed to work until authorities have searched the building. This building would be off limits till then. Those who can work from home, it's fine by me. But I will still grant a $ 1,500 emergency pay leave for every employee in the building. Nobody comes here until I say so. Effective immediately."
"Got it. Should someone from Legal go with you?"
"Yes. Call Uncle Cory." He faced Zia again. "Can I borrow your bike?"
"Of course, here." she threw him the keys. "It's parked by the east entrance. Be safe."
He was ready to run to the other side when he heard it. A distressed, but angry voice called out from the crowd. It made him stop on his tracks. His skin prickling with familiarity.
"What happened?!"
"Ma'am!"
"No! No! Stop touching me!"
"Ma'am. This area is off limits."
"My people are in there! Let me in! I work here!"
He whirled his head towards the noise and felt his lungs exhale a huge sigh of relief. "Claire!"
As soon as he said it, her head snapped in his direction. "Owen?" The food bags that she was balancing on her arms fell to the pavement.
"Let her in!" he heard a male voice ordered.
The officer keeping her pulled the yellow tape so she could duck under. "Owen!"
His eyes screened her from head to toe, to make sure she's unharmed.
Then, everything became fuzzy- the lights, the cars, and the people. His legs rushed towards her- not fast enough. He could hear the yammering of his heart. Her voice calling out his name. The emerald green eyes, tethering him and breaking him, all at once. The adrenaline, the relief in seeing her was enough for his heart to burst.
"Owen!" he heard her say as she closed in on him. "What happened?"
His chest barreled into her body. She gasped at the force, but eventually melted into him. Her scent and the warmth of her finally calming him down. The rapid beat on her chest lulling him.
"You're here. You're okay." He felt, as though, she had pulled him out of the water. Everything else faded away as he held her, and breathed her.
"What happened here? Are you hurt? Owen?"
He shook his head as he cupped the back of her head. He let her feet down, but didn't let go.
"Owen?" she sounded alarmed, her hands suddenly grasping his biceps, wanting to pull away. "Owen, you're shaking. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
He shook his head once again and murmured against her shoulder. "I'm so glad you're safe."
She felt her arms wound around him tighter. Owen more than leaned into her, burying his nose on her neck. She is comfort and safety all at once. She is home.
"Are you alright?" her tone still heightened, she rubbed her hands soothingly down his back.
"I'm fine now." He gulped, his voice hoarse from relief.
"Look at me, please."
Owen leaned back and pressed her forehead to hers, savoring the feel of her in his arms.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
His fingers found the small of her back, he sighed. "Where were you?"
"I went out to buy the guys some dinner. I walked to the restaurant. I left my car here. I saw sirens and ambulances on the way back." she explained, still in the circle of his arms. She turned her head to where Lowery and the group were. "Is anyone hurt?"
Owen released her, but clasped her hand in his. Claire made no protest.
"Is everybody okay?" she vexed, squeezing his hand. He stared at her, her question hanging in the air between them.
"Owen, please answer me. Did everybody make it out okay? Artie? Mike and Adler? Joe?"
He swore he paled at the mention of the old man's name. He hesitated before answering, her green eyes compelling him to. "They are at the back. Lowery said they're okay. I haven't checked in on them yet."
She nodded, a hand to her chest. "Thank God, thank God. I'll go with you. Joe probably wants his dinner.
"Claire, Joe didn't..."
"What?"
He swallowed the bile rising like acid in his throat. He felt numb. "He didn't... He didn't make... it, Claire."
"What?" Her face ashened, as she took a step back. "No, no, no. We were talking an hour ago. He was just messing with me... Lowery?"
Lowery cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, Claire."
"Zara?"
Instead of answering her, Zara pulled her into a hug.
The heavy weight of his conscience fazing him as their tortured gazes connected.
How could he had let this happen?
Behind him, a male voice interrupted. "Sir Owen Grady?"
He turned to see Brennan, Walters and the woman cop. Kevlar vests strapped to their chests.
"Yes?" he greeted Brennan without his usual sneer.
"We'd like a few words with you? If that's okay."
Owen gave a quick glance back at Claire who was sitting and talking to Emma.
"Alright. But be quick about it. It's been a very tiring day."
"Of course."
They walked a few distance away from the women, Lowery tailing behind him.
"Mr. Grady," Walters started, "Where were you when it happened?"
"I was having dinner with my friends, just outside the city."
"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary this morning?"
He went over his mind for the last couple of hours. "No."
"We need to review the CCTV footage in your building, but we need your permission for that." Brennan disclosed to which he agreed. "The security room took minor hits, but we can check out the logs as soon as they cleared out the debris.
"We're gonna interview the employees that were here as well. Mr. Grady, we are linking this to the death threats you received this week. We don't know who leaked it to the press. We are already informed the mayor that this wasn't a terrorist attack. Once we get that out, the media's gonna leave you alone soon enough."
Owen nodded, "Whatever it is you needed. I suspended work. Could someone check of all the building?."
The woman police officer butted in, "Yes. Of course, Sir. We already arranged the team tomorrow. We're gonna have the bomb squad on standby. It'll take three to four days at most.
"Thank you." He lauded, offering them a small smile. "Would that be all?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Mr. Grady." Walters shook his hand as well.
"Thanks for your service, Agent Walters."
"You have my number, Mr. Grady. If anything comes up, call me." Brennan grasped his hand in a vice-like grip that was almost respectful.
"Thanks, Brennan. I appreciate it." For the first time, Owen meant it.
But before the officers dispersed into their other duties, the woman reached out a hand to him. "I'm so sorry for your loss, sir. I'm sure he was a great man. We will do anything we can, to help. "
"Thank you."
Lowery watched them fly in different directions. Suddenly , he felt the drain of his energy. The long drive and adrenaline finally slowing him down. He's afraid that if he stopped moving, he will fall asleep.
"I still don't trust that Walters guy." Lowery mused from beside him.
He shrugged. "To be honest, I still don't trust any of them."
"Yeah. Wouldn't blame you though." Lowery said, looking pensive.
"What did they say?" Claire asked immediately when he was within reach. The sorrow that darkened her eyes a while ago had been replaced with outrage. "Did they know who did this?"
He didn't respond to her question, partly because he didn't know. "Zia?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask a favor? You too, Zara?"
"Of course."
"Can you go to Claire's apartment tonight? Grab her some clothes? Meet us in my building in 20 minutes."
"WAIT! WHAT? " Claire screeched beside him.
Zara blinked at him and sputtered, "I-uh. Yeah. Yes. Sure, Owen."
"WAI-Wai- wait! What's happening?" Beside him Claire continued voicing out her objections. He ignored her.
"Great. Thank you. Zia can drop you off your place."
"What are you talking about?" Claire argued, irked. "Don't I have a say in this?"
"You do." he quipped, completely worn out by the evening's events. " Just not tonight."
She scorned. "Why can't I go with them myself?"
Owen narrowed his eyes and answered her with the same impatient tone. "You're crazy if you think I am letting you out of my sight again."
He shifted his eyes away from her, it was then he realized his affectionate words and actions. It was almost funny how their assistants were trying to act calm and resolute around them. Zara who was crying her eyes out a while ago was staring at them, mouth agape. Lowery appeared rattled but was quick to reestablish himself. But right now, he really couldn't care less if they figured it out.
"I could pack my own stuff." she said, stubborn as hell.
"Claire, I don't want to argue tonight. Just... Come with me." He pleaded, removing his jacket and draping it over her exposed shoulders. "I want you safe. Please, Claire."
He saw the quick shift in her mood, her whole stance softening.
Now that the roles have been reversed , Owen realized that Claire was right in acting the way that she did with him. When he showed up -cocky and unannouced- in the island, she made no reservations in expressing how mad she was. Owen remembered how she practically dragged him out the car to the clinic. And he, being the child that he was, revelled on her concern. Now, he felt like a world-class idiot. A worried, world-class idiot.
She reached for her clutch and gave Zia a set of keys. Zia took it willingly , eyeing the two of them with concealed amusement.
"I have a spare laptop on my study desk. Could you also get that?" Claire requested.
"Of course."
"Lowery, please make sure Emma goes home safe." he said. "And can you ask the woman officer to go with them? To be safe."
"Sure thing." Lowery assured. "You need anything else?"
"No, we're good. Thank you, man. I'll text you where we are."
"Take care. Call us if you need anything." Zara hugged him again.
The group said their goodbyes to each other. But before he and Claire drove off, they checked on Artie and the security guys. After making sure they'll be taken care of and dropped off at their houses, he and Claire made their way to his car.
As they neared the barricade, the media came swooping in again. Owen wrapped a protective arm around her waist as police officers lined between them. Claire gave him a 'thank you' forearm squeeze, but didn't look at him. Two agents stayed with them until they reached his car. Owen went to the passenger side and opened the door for her, as a gesture of goodwill.
Before she entered, she turned to him, breaking the silence. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
She pursed her lips, "Why do I feel like, there's still something you're not telling me?"
"There's not." he replied, honest to every word. "Get in."
Owen saw a flicker of emotion crossed her face. She raised a hand, her thumb caressing his stubble-less jaw. He shut his eyes for a moment and grasped her hand, leaning in more into her welcoming touch.
"You know, you can talk to me, right?" Her soft voice eliciting the first genuine smile on his face. "I'm right here, okay?"
At the moment, he didn't care if anybody saw them. Owen leaned down and kissed her lips. "I know. Get in the car."
It was still dark outside; the sun was still hidden behind tumultuous clouds. The gusty wind carried the drizzle, making staccato noises against the tall window. It was as soothing as the sound and weight of her sleeping next to him.
He had been awake for quite a while now. Pessimistic thoughts occupied his brain until he's wide awake, a victim of their torture. Instead of distracting himself with his calls and emails, he focused on her sweet, gentle breathing.
His eyes studied the contour of her face, basking in her natural beauty. From the delicate arch of her eyebrows, to thick eyelashes. The shadows were fluttering over her cheeks. The diamond-shaped freckles under her eyes and dusting her translucent cheeks. They looked like constellations, effervescent and endearing. And they were squeezing his heart. Owen admired the rise and elegant lines of her nose, also speckled with golden spots. He finished his observation on her lips- carnation pink and rather inviting. As gentle as he could, he traced each divot with his thumb. His troubles melting away when she hummed and it parted at his touch.
That's when he felt his control relinquish. Owen touched his lips on her plump ones for the gentlest kiss he had ever given.
"Hmm..." she hummed sleepily her eyes still closed, her hand resting on the side of his face.
"Shush. Sleep, baby."
"You... Sleep... Too." she murmured before her breathing stabled again.
If anyone told him that Claire Dearing would be his entire world, he would have never believed them. But then again, thinking about the months of squabble and unrequited flirting, he'd always wondered .
Yes, he swore to be a bachelor for as long as he could help himself, but here he was- puny with even the slightest of glances. His heart wasn't ready for the thrumming beat whenever she's around, or when she's touching him. With Claire, his confidence was always rebutted, his control always countered. How could someone be everything he never thought he'd needed?
Owen pulled the quilt higher over them, the redolent of pine and vanilla. He gathered her in his arms, resting his body on the comfort of her embrace. His nose was taking in the scent of her hair, her skin, her clothes, her. Hard-wiring everything to memory. Claire purred, snuggling closer, her even breath warming his chest. He never knew it was possible to still crave closeness when she's right here, squished in his arms.
"I love you." he mouthed in a silent declaration, the words liberating him. He kissed her forehead before repeating it again, in the same hushed tone. "I love you, Claire."
A violent noise trembled the room, jolting her awake. Claire rubbed her eyes as she adjusted to the light –or lack of- coming from the windows. Her hand absently sliding on the strange sheets, as she listened to the rain and thunder cracking the sky.
Despite her logy state, memories of last night came. Owen went to his place to pack some clothes and other essentials. Outside the hallway were Walters and two other agents. Their presence reminded her of the hostile situation they were in. It all felt surreal, like she was dreaming within a dream of a dream. She couldn't even begin to fathom how she scared she had been though it wasn't for her.
The clock ticked to 5:58 am and as much as she was feeling lazy, Claire staggered out of bed. She walked towards the chair bearing a clean towel and her bag before going to the en-suite bathroom. As the hot water cascade down her body, her thoughts made the habit of reverting back to Owen.
She remembered how dreadfully quiet he had been all night. They drove through in silence even as they arrived at a townhouse near downtown. The silence bothered her, because if there's one thing she knew about Owen, it was he never misses an opportunity to talk . But who was she kidding? Even she was still unnerved about it.
"Hey Joe, wait! I'm going out." she shouted as soon as she saw him checking the lock at the lobby entrance.
"Bout damn time!" he exasperated, turning his head up the ceiling.
"You're always going home so late, Miss Claire. It's not healthy." Joe has always been quiet around her. So, Joe lecturing her was something that made her smile.
"I'm gonna grab a quick dinner. Have you and the guys eaten yet?" Joe pulled a half-eaten twinkie from one of his pockets, a grateful smile on his wrinkled face.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not dinner, Joe. Come on, tell me what you want."
Joe appeared to be thinking about it before, "I saw this commercial about pasta in this Garden restaurant..."
Claire felt the smile erupting from her lips. "Olive Garden?"
"Yes. That's it!" Joe exclaimed, swinging the mop he picked from the floor.
She laughed at his innocence. "I'll bring back your Olive Garden but don't you dare lock me out!"
He rolled his eyes as he swept the spot she walked on. "You know what, maybe I will. That way you can go home."
"Ha-ha!" she jeered, before adding, "Owen's coming, but I'll text him to use the basement entrance."
Joe stopped and leaned his forearm on his mop, his eyes twinkling. He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Are you sure you won't bring your car?"
"It's a quick walk." she winked as she paused at the revolving doors.
"Okay, I'll be waiting for you, Miss Claire. Walk safe."
The trace of his friendly smile etched into her memory forever. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned the shower knob off. She took a deep breath to recompose herself, centering on hazel green eyes, strong arms and a sweet smile.
Her body moved as if on auto-pilot. She dressed herself in jeans, ruffled blouse before examining herself in the mirror. She looked paler than usual. The freckles dotting her nose and cheeks appeared darker, like pepper on water. The red, thick strands of her hair, which she liked keeping on a neck-length, reached past her shoulders now. Claire rummaged her bag for a hair tie before putting it up in a messy ponytail.
Breathe, Claire. she reminded herself in the mirror. "Take it, easy." and closed her eyes, perceiving the smell of the scented candles diffused about the room. After cleaning up, she headed out.
Claire didn't have a chance to roam around last night. Nor was she confident enough to ask Owen. After he told her which room they were sleeping in, he kissed her good night and disappeared into the house. Despite the lack of light, she caught glimpses of French decor, and paintings.
The sky was still gloomy as she made her self-guided tour. Like the bedroom, the house was well lit and maintained. The dark floors had been swept , carpets rubbed clean, plants thriving and watered. But she could tell that no one's inhabited it for a few months. She also noted the lack of his possessions in his room, unlike the one he was using at the farmhouse.
His room was on the top floor, right where it opened up into a conservatory stairwell. Canopies of trees and top levels of apartments were on display behind the glass.
Series of Renaissance paintings, old memorabilia, tokens and family pictures nailed the walls. Years worth of the Grady family history presented to her. She slid her hands down the iron wrought fence, perusing each picture with spright interest .
One photograph made her stop. It was a nursery picture of Owen, he looked, no older than six. His left front teeth missing, his chubby cheeks, pink and healthy. The same hazel green eyes held so much life and happiness. She felt herself smile and wondered, what was he like as a kid?
She went down the stairs to the second floor and found two more bedrooms, a living room, and the study. It was massive for a typical Californian townhouse.
"Uh-huh... Yeah... Yeah... No, I'll email them later..." she heard him say from somewhere inside the house.
Claire followed his voice down the couple of stairs and in the foyer and found him in the dining hall and kitchen. And through the huge glass windows, she could make out an old greenhouse, a few feet away from where they were now.
Owen was sitting on the edge of the table, his back to her and arms folded.
"Did you call Joe's wife?" His voice reverted in the empty home. Claire remained hidden as she spied on him. He was wearing a light denim jeans. The small shirt tightened around his back muscles. His hair tousled, and he smelled faintly of the shampoo she just used. Beside his laptop and coffee cup was an opened newspaper.
"No, tell her, I insist... When can I see her?... Okay... Okay... Thank you, Lowery. Call me, anytime... Bye."
He hung up and expelled another deep breath.
"You have a beautiful home."
Owen twisted his hip to face her, the lines on his face immediately cleared when he saw her.
"Hey." he greeted with a smile that added a little color on his face. Still, it cued the butterflies in her stomach.
"Hi." she said, mirroring his soft tone. She stood over the threshold, gazing at him. "I didn't mean to snoop around."
"It's fine. You found anything interesting?"
"Yeah. You were a chubby kid." she tried to joke and felt her heart leapt as Owen chortled and sat on the chair.
"I'm still cute, though."
They considered each other for longer than a minute. He looked...tired, like he hadn't slept at all.
"You sleep, good?" he asked.
Yes. Always. When I'm with you.
Claire nodded her reply and tilted her head at him, leaning it on the slab of wall. His fingertips following the rim of his cup.
"Everything okay?" Stupid question, Claire.
He smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Everything's great."
"I don't believe you."
The heartfelt laugh that came off his lips was honey to her ears. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his face brightened. Claire ambled towards him, as if pulled by an invisible rope. Owen shifted his chair so he's angled towards her, waiting. Their eyes never leaving each other.
She stood over him, his tortured eyes softening under her scrutiny. It was almost too much to bear. Claire felt her chest constrict, praying that she could take away all his troubles. She leaned her knee on the space between his legs and grasped his face with both hands.
Let me take it all away, she tried telling through her eyes. But the longer she gazed at him, the more she's having trouble thinking what she wanted to say. And when the words became unreachable -as always was the case with Owen- Claire bent down to kiss him.
She felt rather than hear his groan of appreciation. His throat rumbled beneath her fingertips. Her palms enjoying the light scruff that grew overnight. Owen's hands skidded up her knees, to her thighs and waist. He roughly pulled her down so she was sitting sideways on his lap. She dug her fingers in his hair, loving another grumble from his chest. Owen held the back of her head as he angled deeper into her mouth. Each brush, each suck and flick of her tongue -she hoped- was easing his apprehensiveness. He tugged on her lip as she pulled away.
"What can I do to make you feel better?" she whispered, licking sweet remnants of his lips.
"You're already doing it."
And clashed their lips again. This time, at his own pace.
Owen opened her mouth with incessant determination. It made her moan and arch her back, the warm sensation tightening in her core. He ravaged her lips, as she did his. Their tongues entwined in a fervor display of dominance. She held him in her mouth, consuming, swallowing everything he was giving. He tasted like coffee, and heaven and Owen.
"I am all yours."
He admitted to her a few days ago. And Claire remembered the wonderful feeling that came after he said it. Like a flower bloomed in her chest, bursting with light and everything good in the world. Its intrepid vines were wrapping around her, tangling herself to him.
Her hands snuck inside the collar of his shirt, clawing on the sinew shapes of his back. He whimpered and granted her closer to him. Owen changed her position so that she was straddling his lap. She moaned as his hand snuck inside her blouse. His warm, rough fingers tracing the dip on her spine, until it lingered beneath the lock of her bra. His intentions, known. Claire kissed him harder, her tongue outlining the edges of his teeth. She could feel him. The effect he was having on her was the same for him. She groaned and started bunching his shirt off his back.
She wanted...
She wanted him.
Right now.
On this table...
Like she had never wanted anything before.
Then,
A vibration of his phone rung through the hall, breaking them apart.
"I have to get that." he murmured against her mouth, breathless, gasping.
"I hate your phone." She cursed, making him laugh again. The irony, not lost on her.
Owen didn't push her away even as he reached for it. His hand rested on her spine, feathering smooth circles underneath her shirt.
"Talk to me... Yes, this is he..."
Claire couldn't hear past the persistent rain outside. She moved but Owen held her right where she was. She stilled, enjoying the rise and fall of his body against hers. Claire arranged herself on his lap so she wasn't goading him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her senses giddy and filled with everything of him. Owen held a hand on her thigh, securing her to him.
When did it come to this? She asked herself, intrigued.
Claire couldn't remember the last time she felt like this. Everything was bursting with life, the songs were sweeter, the days brighter. She felt alive and at the same time vulnerable.
As far as everything goes, she was content with her career. Claire was fine being alone, she couldn't emphasize that enough. But there's always this constant feeling of longing in the deepest, inwards parts of her mind. A longing for something she didn't know yet. Everything had been working perfectly until he barged into her life.
Owen Grady was a stranger. A man she only knew from adoring stories and pictures. Then he became the boss. Then, he was a rival, an arch enemy. Someone who always knew exactly which buttons to push to make her go nuts. He became someone who kept bothering her more than she cared to admit. Whether he was a good or bad distraction, she couldn't remember now. It was sort of, almost magical how he turned from being a nuisance to the one person she couldn't not think about. Claire found herself sneaking glances at him, trying to catch that playful glint in his eyes. Claire never knew it was possible to still want and like a person even when that person's being an all-around ass hat.
Owen has made her aware of how empty and miserable she had been. He made her aware of the life of discontentment she was settling with. The silly smirk and expressive eyes she couldn't help but look forward to now. And it felt like everything finally came to light. Like she was waking up from a long, deep sleep. The large, obscured question mark in her life was finally being answered . He incited and unlocked part of her. The keys lost forever. There was no going back to that emptiness now.
"Okay... No, no... No one comes in... Tell Tom to take care of the press. I can't handle them... Yes..."
Claire nuzzled his neck, suspiring his manly scent. She felt him kiss the side of her head. She reciprocated by pressing another one on his neck, right by the pulse. She has never good with flourishing words and compliments... And intimacy. But she hoped Owen knew how much he's starting to mean to her.
"Yes... Alright... Have them send it to my email... Okay... Bye."
She leaned her forehead against his cheek, inhaling him. I could get used to this.
Owen threw his phone on the nearby chair, making her look and sit up. "Now, where were we, Miss Dearing?"
She giggled, resting her arms on his shoulder, her hands dangling behind the chair.
"Breakfast."
She saw the evil hint in his smirk. So she added,
"Real food. Do you have groceries here?"
"Yeah. The door beside the dishwasher."
She stood- much to his disapproval- and trod towards the pantry door. "Who's staying here?"
He heard Owen followed her, bringing his empty cup. "No one. But, Jasper Kennedy, my pilot, and his wife take care of this place for me."
"I see." she reached up, picking up the bottle of cooking oil, the salt and pepper from the shelf. "I'm cooking."
"What! No!" he shouted, appalled. "My house, my-"
She cut off, "What is it with you and not letting people cook for you?"
"First off, I allow people to cook for me. I don't want you cooking for me."
Over her shoulders, she raised her eyebrows in a question.
"No. Not that there's something wrong with your 's just, I like... doing things for you."
She grinned at him. "Well, we have a problem Mr. Grady because, I like doing things myself... Do you have eggs?"
"That you are… Yeah, egg trays." Owen sidestepped and pointed to the fridge. "
"Why is it that men don't like independent women?" she asked as she fetch four eggs from the tray, her words, teasing.
"For the record, I love that you're independent. It's one of the greatest things about you. I like the fact that you don't need anyone. I like that you're so effortlessly bossy. And since I'm being extra honest here, your independent-ness never fails to be a fucking turn on-"
She laughed, laying the ingredients on the white counter.
"And as much as I like you being with me, I do not want to change you or own you, Claire."
Her lips curled and she stood on her tiptoes, instigating a kiss- an action he looked more than happy to oblige. "Since you asked so sweetly and nicely…"
As they moved around the kitchen, she noticed their synchronized movements. They moved like two people who knew each other well. She cut the vegetables as Owen heat up the pan, instructions thrown over. A few occasional hip bumps and sly grazes occurred, even though the kitchen was spacious.
Yet, she could feel their avoidance of the topic they should discuss. Some ways, she was grateful they hadn't because she knew bringing it up will sour their good morning.
As they placed the plates back in the cabinet, Owen voiced, "I uh... I have to go somewhere. I can't leave you here alone. Will you go with me?"
There was a certain innocent helplessness to his straightened up from placing the spoon in the drawer.
"I'm surprised you have to ask." she nodded, even though she had no idea where they were going. She was getting used to all this wild spontaneity.
"Thank you. Do you have a coat?"
"Um..." her mind made a quick inventory of the contents of her bag. "I don't think so."
"It's fine. I can find you something. You won't mind the old, cabinet smell. Would you?" The shy smile that reflected in his eyes somehow appeased her.
"No. Go for it, Grady." and she couldn't help but give him another kiss.
It was still raining. The wind, still howling sending strays of leaves everywhere.
She removed the leaves that fell on the bouquet of flowers she purchased. Owen looked behind his back and offered her a bittersweet smile, but then he frowned.
"Hey, keep it on! You might get a cold." he scolded, reaching behind her head and throwing the hood over her head.
Claire patted her fringe and adjusted the trench coat he lend her. "Is it okay for me to wear this? I'm not…" overstepping or anything?
"Yeah." He shook his head in disapproval as they trudged on the wet cobblestones. "Besides, looks good on you."
When he said that Claire could borrow a coat for the rain, she was thinking of his old hoodie. Not his mother's old trench coat which was, odd to fathom, a perfect fit.
The raining subsided into a sprinkle but Owen still insisted she cover up and bring his umbrella.
Claire had a certain knowledge of Grady properties. She never visited any, but from the army of cleaners she hired for her Alan, she knew they were large properties. As a wealthy and distinguished family, the Gradys ought to have the best. She expected nonetheless. But Claire had never been so grateful to see a Grady family property the size of a small greenhouse.
The Grady Mausoleum was simple yet still had the signature Grady flair. It was well thought of. From the classic Doric columns and the double arched windows. It almost didn't resemble the identical mausoleums surrounding it.
Without warning, an old memory came back.
She knocked first before peeping her head inside.
"Hey! You asked for me?"
Alan Grady was sitting on his chair. He raised his head from his laptop. His eyeglasses hung low on his nose.
"Hey, kiddo." he beamed with his usual cheeriness.
"Do you know any good architects?"
She entered his office, quite surprised by his question. "Um. I could call Daniel Cross for you."
"No, no." he dismissed, gesturing his hand. "I want someone who's an expert in Roman architecture and, you know..."
She smiled. "Not after your money?"
He clapped his hand. "You know me so well."
"I'll call an old friend." she assured him, writing down her note. "Can I ask what is for?"
"Over my dead body, kiddo." Alan quipped, winking at her.
It was exactly a year and a half before Alan told her. She remembered that she was in her hotel room. Claire called him via Skype to inform him that the French took the deal and they're ready to sign with GC.
Owen unlocked the gates and they entered. The interior was reeking of scented oils and candles. It was all polished marble, from the walls and floor.
At the center of the room was a round skylight. The gloomy sunrays enhancing the light in the space. A circular wooden table stood there. On it was a large pottery vase, the flowers were starting to wilt. The plaques were on the opposite side of the door, straight across. The black marble that held scribbling of four names were imperial and magnificent.
How can something be so beautiful and yet so lonely?
Owen shook the droplets off his own coat before removing the dry flowers. Claire placed the white bouquet and collected the fallen petals littering the table. Owen went outside to throw them away.
Claire stood at the end of the room, reading the epitaphs. She produced a napkin from her coat and wiped the little cobwebs on them.
At the corner of her eyes, through the window, she saw an elderly woman approaching Owen. She pointed to a large chunk of tree that fell on one of the tombs on the grass. Owen gave her his umbrella and walked to where she's pointing.
Claire smiled to herself. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"You raised a good man there, boss." She whispered as she stood over Alan Grady's plaque.
"I'm sorry it took me a while to come here. So... I met your son. He's, uh..." she chuckled. "He's everything you mentioned. Everything's good. He's doing so well with taking care of your company. He's a pain in the ass, but he picks up so quick. I must say, I am impressed... I'm keeping him on track, Sir. Don't worry."
A harsh glint on her left caught her eye and she moved to the adjacent plaque. Claire found herself cleaning the name of Lt. Elizabeth Sattler Grady.
She looked at the door for Owen and waited for two minutes for him to come inside. When he didn't, Claire continued the monologue. "Hey Mrs. G. I mean, Miss Ellie. Lieutenant. I mean Mrs. Grady..."
"I, uh borrowed your coat. I hope you don't mind. Your son... He could be a little persuasive… Alan worried that Owen wasn't what you hope him to be. But I could assure you that everyone could agree with me that he is a great man."
"I'll keep him out of trouble, I promise."
She wiped the plaques of Owen's grandparents before lighting the candles.
"Hey!" Owen's voice echoed in the marbled hall. "You don't have to do that." He strode towards her, debris and twigs on his wet coat.
He scoffed before standing next to her. They fell into a self-conscious silence before Owen spoke, "Thank you for coming with me, Claire."
"I told you, I want to."
"Thank you." he said, grabbing her hand.
She chuckled as another memory played in her head.
"What?"
"I remember when I was still an intern in the company. There were only 5 of us who qualified for the last interview. And these four men knew each other so they made fun of me. They're spoiled little assholes who had connections with some of the board members. And your dad, he walked into the HR room. You remember his big, brooding voice, right?"
Owen smiled with her, all white teeth and dimples. "Yes."
"He called out their names, and asked them to stand up. I thought I was the only who wasn't hired. I was about to cry. Until your dad asked them to leave. Turns out, he heard what they said about me. And I got the job." she laughed as she ended her recollection.
"I'm glad you did..." he beamed at her, "But where are they now?"
"Who knows? Why?"
"So, I can wring their necks."
There must be certain rules not to laugh at a cemetery, but she still did because, for a moment, Owen was back to his old self.
"You ready to go, Miss Dearing?" Owen climbed his hand down her arm until he could intertwine their fingers together.
"Are you? We can stay for a bit longer, if you want."
"No, I'm good. Thank you. Let's go."
Owen Grady could be so easy to deal with sometimes.
Her fist was stinging but she fought the urge to check the scab as she bellowed, "Where is he?!"
Mad was an understatement.
She's surprised she hadn't caught fire yet. Her heels were making furious stomps against the floor. Her nails were biting the insides of her twitching palm. Her composed and sense of professionalism, gone, as she searched the floor for his brunet hair.
"Where is he?!"
The employees gaped at her. Their morning greeting, stuck in their throats. Nobody answered her, but someone pointed to his office.
As if she had a disease, the employees parted on either side of her,
She threw the door open, not hiding her anger.
"Ah, Miss Dearing." Owen sneered as he saw her. She scowled.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Grady?"
"Um.. Good morning? Claire?" Lowery greeted, sounding reluctant in his address. He was sitting in his chair, while Owen was standing by the window.
"Lowery," she started in her most controlled voice. "Would you give us a minute?"
"We're not finished here." Owen reprimanded, frowning.
"Oh, we are buddy." Lowery stood up. "I'll leave you two alone. I'll be outside." he left and closed the door.
"What can I do for you, Miss Dearing?" he placated with gritted teeth.
"Cut the crap."
He sat on his chair, unconcerned by her anger, which annoyed her even more. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She scoffed crossing her arms, "You don't know? Care to explain why are there three agents following me?"
"It's their job." he answered simply.
"Well, I could grab my mail without them breathing down my neck."
Owen frowned, hid brows knitting together. He and Lowery were studying damage reports when he received a text from Zia. Claire found out about the security he assigned for her... And that she wasn't too happy with it.
Work resumed three days after. After a thorough search for other explosives, the authorities gave them a go-signal to go back. But they weren't allowed in the basement parking since investigations were still ongoing.
He also received Joe's autopsy reports before he went home last night. It showed that he died of skull fracture and traumatic injury in his spine. He and Claire also met with Joe's widow yesterday to personally offer their condolences. Before Mrs. Carter could protest, he shouldered every expense for the funeral.
Claire had been staying with him, and he couldn't be even more grateful. But he wasn't going to take any more risks. After a thorough check, he hired two former colleagues to keep an eye on her. With the advice to be as discreet as they possibly could. Owen was sure she would be against it. He had never wanted to be wrong his entire life.
"I don't need protection." she spat as she stood over his desk, fuming at him.
"Don't fight with me on this, Claire." It came out sharper than what he intended.
"If there's anyone who needs protection, it's you, Owen."
"I can protect myself just fine." he convinced her, complacent.
Claire followed him as he retrieved a binder from the shelf. He had been looking for the variance report all morning.
"As do I! I don't want them following me around. It's a total violation of my privacy!"
"It's not a total violation of your privacy." He argued back, "They're only looking out for you. I'm only looking out for you."
He went back to his desk, Claire still on him. He was lucky that he had an excuse not to look at her. He's exhausted, he just wanted everything to be over with. The last couple of days was swallowing him in the worst possible ways. To top it all off, Claire wasn't going easy on him.
"Oh yeah? Does that include following me to the bathroom?"
He jabbed her with the same mockery. "Well, yeah."
"This is insane-"
He shrugged before opening his drawers on the other side his desk. "You could say that." He pulled a stack of papers and found the figures he's been looking. Claire was huffing in front of him.
"-And you're overreacting."
May be he was overreacting. But his pride wasn't going to admit that. He cocked his eyebrows at her in disbelief, "I'm overreacting? You punched a guy, Claire."
She pinched her lips and didn't say anything. He took that time to say his reason.
"Claire, I'm not taking anymore chances. Especially with you. I want you safe. The security stays. So let's drop it, okay?
Everything was hitting all over again. The guilt turned his guts into ice, haunting him, sucking him into a dark abyss. He fell down his chair and rubbed a hand on his face. He wanted to be out of here. With her. Somewhere far away.
"Owen-" there was a warning in her tone.
A knock came from the door, deferring the tension between them. Lowery's head popped in, his eyes wary. "Hi. I'm sorry again, guys. But Owen, the detectives are here."
Owen placed his fingers on his temple, massaging the overnight lines that formed. He nodded at Lowery. "Give me 5 minutes. Tell them to wait for me in the boardroom."
"Copy." And he's gone as quick as he came in.
Owen hated the ugly feeling settling in his stomach. As much as he loved arguing with her, he hated leaving their argument unresolved.
"Let's talk about this, later, okay?" He tried in a softer tone.
"I'm going to my place, tonight."
His stomach dropped. "Claire, no."
"I sort of hope you told me about it first. Then I wouldn't be all paranoid."
She wasn't looking at him. Fuck.
"Claire-"
"It's fine. I have work to do. You have work to do, I'll see you later."
And she left, without stopping or looking back, leaving him as hopeless as before.
The brief took most of his afternoon.
Twilight was fast approaching when they've finished. The floor was vacant as he and Lowery made their way to the elevator. Lowery swiped his access card on the screen and down they went. The migraine pounding in his head worsening by the hour.
As soon as they reached the lobby, Owen dialled her number again. And for the hundredth time, it went to voicemail.
He sent another text to Zia who assured him that Claire hadn't left her building since she left an hour ago.
"Damn it." He muttered under his breath.
Though it was quieter the past few days, the ground was still covered by the press and police. He and Lowery went out the east entrance and into the parking lot to avoid the crowd.
"So…" Lowery drawled as they walked into the silent night. "You and Claire huh?"
"Huh?" His head whipped around to face his friend, acting surprised.
"Well, I know, this is not the best time, but uh…" Owen saw the smile threatening to break his face. "You two? You're together? Like, finally?"
He diverted his attention on the lamp post ahead. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on, Grady! We've been friends for a very long time."
Owen answered a half relieved sigh as Lowery's smile broke.
"I'll take that as a yes. You son of a bitch!"
He groaned, "If you tell anybody about this Lowery, I'm gonna kill you."
Lowery feigned hurt. "Hey! Why does everybody think I'm such a tattle tale?"
"Uh… Because you are?"
Lowery seemed like he was thinking about it, before he shrugged in agreement. "I guess, you're right. But it's not like everybody didn't know from the start."
He asked, his eyes narrowing at his friend. "What do you mean "from the start"?"
Lowery made a "tsk" sound, pushing his glasses up his nose. "My friend, for someone as successful and intelligent as you, you could be pretty dumb."
A sarcastic laugh resounded from his chest.
"We never thought we'd find out this way. This is wrong timing. Definitely a wrong timing. But, man! I was so looking forward in winning that bet with Zara."
"Fuck you, Cruthers." he smiled with a dismissive shake of his head.
Lowery's cackles resonated on the empty lot. They went their separate ways to their cars, Lowery's Ford parked across him.
"You wanna know my opinion, though?" His friend shouted over his car door.
"I have a feeling that if I say no, you're still gonna say it. So, humor me, Lowery."
Lowery stood over the step of his truck, his arms resting on the door. "It's about damn time, Grady. You look fucking good together."
It didn't 20 minutes for him to get to her place.
The overnight bag he always kept in his car felt heavy in his hand. Owen let it touch the floor as he pressed the doorbell for her unit. He shifted from foot to foot, his frazzled brain attempting to form the words he wanted to say. He heard movement from behind the door before the locks turned.
"Hey." He greeted, as soon as the door opened to her, his tone soft,
"Hey." She copied, her gaze falling on the bag he picked from the floor.
For but a moment they lingered in the doorway, neither wanting to break eye contact. His words choking him, nevertheless , he found them.
"Can I come in?"
Claire sighed, moved inside, leaving the door open. He followed her and brushed a hand on his neck. No sooner as he entered, he felt the hot blow of wind on his neck. Good thing, he left his jacket in the car.
"AC's down. On-going maintenance." she answered his silent question.
He withheld a sassy remark.
"Why do you have your bag?"
"I figured since you're here…" he imposed carefully , as though he's walking on eggshells. He didn't finish his sentence, but Claire gave him curt nod.
Seeing that as a form of permission, Owen placed his bag on her dining chair before following her to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, and loosened his tie as Claire moved about the room.
She was wearing her work clothes but without the blazer. Her cut arms visible in her tank top. The black heels which he was sure she wanted to hurl at him earlier by the side table.
"Have you eaten yet?" She asked, as she walked to her closet.
"Yes."
"Hm."
Owen leaned on the doorway watching her fold her clothes, not looking at him. Her shoulders were stiff, her face expressionless. Owen was itching to touch her.
"So…" he began, "Uh… how was… your day?" The last part an octave higher than his normal.
"Crammed." Claire retorted as she folded a pair of pants, not looking at him. "You?"
"Pretty shitty too. "
She shrugged, still frigid in her actions. But Owen sensed the change in her tone. "At least you weren't almost charged with assault."
"Yeah. Bobby said great punch, by the way." A smirk found his way to his mouth. His ex colleague's busted lip and swollen cheek flashing in his mind.
She met his eyes, finally. Her beautiful face lacking the tension they had earlier. Her red lips twitched and Owen cracked.
"Remind me not to walk behind you again."
A long groan passed from her lips before she covered her face with her hands. "Oh God. Was he okay?"
"He'll live. Good to know you can throw a punch, Miss Dearing."
Claire chuckled and it felt like a weight lifted off his chest. She threw the coat hanger on the bed, and hung her head to the side. Claire gave him a heartfelt and come-here smile.
Owen pushed himself from the doorway and bellied up to her, smiling like a fool. "Hi."
"Hi."
Owen tucked a fallen strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin. "Are you still mad at me?
"I'm always mad at you."
He laughed and enveloped her in an affectionate hug, his arms crossed over her waist. "I'm sorry for not telling you."
"I'm sorry, too."
Her vivid sea green eyes, compelling him to fall fo her harder than he already was. Owen traced his nose along the line of hers, her eyes closing at the contact. "Can I kiss you now?"
His lips trailed south, nearer and nearer to the red lips that. But Claire held his chin as soon as he puckered his lips. "Dinner first."
He groaned as Claire walked away from him. "I'm not hungry."
"Owen, I haven't seen you eat all day."
"That's not true." He defended. He had coffee this morning.
She raised her eyebrows in disapproval. "Coffee is not a meal, Grady. Sit down."
He followed suit and sat on the counter.
"I only have…" she trailed off as she inspect the cupboards. "Pesto and pasta."
He smiled at her thoughtfulness. "It'll do. Thank you."
Claire prepared the ingredients on the counter, her concentration keen and steady. She heated the oven for the garlic bread and opened a sealed box of pasta.
"What happened with the meeting?"
He shrugged as he picked two glasses from the cupboard. "Nothing of importance."
"You can't keep avoiding it, you know." She said as she mince the garlic.
He sighed, his headache coming on again. The pain felt like someone was squeezing his eyes out of his head.
She paused and stood at the center of the kitchen. Her persistent gaze on him. "When I told you that you can talk to me, I wasn't kidding, Owen."
"I know." He conceded and told her about the meeting.
Brennan and Walters arrived with Ken Wheatly, Chief of San Francisco Police and two forensic officers.
The bomb residues they found were high-grade remote control bomb. They found one of them by the entrance to the basement and the other, by the south column, near the valet reception.
Owen was thankful that his dad hired the best structural engineers in the world or the building would've toppled off. Although they've interviewed the nearby establishment and witnesses, the testimonies were inadequate.
On the bright side of things, they made progress with the dead driver by the cliff. They found the identification of the driver.
"His name was Mickey Kavesh, 24 years old, from Santa Maria. Got sent into probation for beating his ex girlfriend and selling drugs."
"Where are we on that?" He sat upright as Walter slid the folder to him.
"Before the accident, he had only $84 in his account. Three days after, he's richer by $100,000. We acquired CCTV footages of everywhere he's been for the past two months before the accident."
"We found traces of the illegal transfer." Brennan added. He flipped through the pages. Kavesh's mugshot wasn't something he wanted to linger on.
"Who's the Provisioner?" Brennan cleared his throat, "It was from an account of a dead guy who owned a manufacturing company in the 90s. They closed down in '03."
Owen closed the bound report and felt a headache coming again. "Why can't we find sufficient evidence from all this? " He gestured to the clutter on the desk, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "Am I missing something here, gentlemen?"
"I apprehended Mills, I found two guys stealing from my company. My VP and I got into a car accident. I went into a coma and my building almost got blown up." He emphasized, his eyes travelling on their blank faces. "What does that tell you gentlemen?"
The group was silent.
Owen ran his hand down his face again in dismay. "Any update on Mills?"
The people in the room shared looks. He frowned.
"What is it?"
"The jury grant him bail, Sir." Wheatly revealed, his hawk-like features looking remorseful.
"What!?" He fumed, clenching his fists. "Why wasn't I told?"
"We received the memo this morning."
When he finished, Claire was silent. Best of all, she was calm as the sea. But he had a hunch she was doing that for his sake.
"-That fucker Mills will go to jail. I'm not gonna rest until he is." He snarled, pushing the empty plate away from him.
"I don't understand something."
"What?"
"I mean. Isn't it obvious? Somebody's covering for somebody." She stated, deep in thought.
"Exactly. All this is making my head spin."
Owen was aware of the silence that befell them. He pressed the glass in his right eye, the cold soothing the throbbing pain.
"You okay?"
He opened one eye and said with a clenched jaw. "Yeah."
"Let me see." Claire dropped the towel she was using to dry her hand and grabbed hold of his hand and the glass. She stood on her tiptoes, leaned over the counter and kissed his closed eye. "Better?"
The affectionate gesture emitting a sly grin from him.
"Loads." He flirted back.
"Can I ask a favour?"
"Okay."
"I'm not comfortable with "bodyguards". She admitted with a hard inflection.
"Claire, it's for your own good. Whoever's after me is after you too. We have to be careful. You have to be careful. " He added, his voice firmer and commanding.
"But-"
"Please, Claire. Don't fight me on this. Your safety is the only thing keeping me sane, right now."
She blinked at him and drew a deep breath. That's when he knew he won the argument.
"Okay, well… I guess, can you can leave me Zia? It would make me comfortable in this situation. I don't like strangers following me."
Owen thought about it for a minute, but he approved. "Okay."
Claire's features brightened, like a kid who was given a candy. "Okay!"
It was infectious. "Okay."
"Thank you."
He suppressed a laugh.
God, he's so whipped.
"I still think we still have to stay in the townhouse." He looked around her pristine, clean apartment. "It's safer there. They hadn't done a full sweep here yet. And your AC isn't working."
"I came here to get some clothes. I was coming back to the office." Claire stood up and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
"Wait, you were?" He gawped.
"Yes. You're not the only one worried here, you know."
Owen rose from his seat and stood in front her. He tilted her chin up at him, his thumb rubbing the skin below her lip.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so caught up with everything that I forgot-"
"You don't have to apologise, Owen." Claire squared his gaze, knocking all the breath left in his body. But not as much as her next words.
She continued in that sincere but wobbly, gentle voice that was making his head spin- this time, in a good way.
"I'm scared that you're gonna do something stupid and end up getting hurt. I have never…" Claire seemed to gather her words.
"I have never wanted to put myself in someone else's power before… I've never been good with hearts and flowers. I needed to be alone because I'm more comfortable that way. Alone is what protects me. It served me well all these years…"
He couldn't take his eyes off her.
"-But, here I am, with you. And I'm still trying my best to fend off my usual prejudice because, for as long as I can remember, I want this."
The weight of her stare (and words) was impaling him in the best ways possible.
"You want this too, right? I'm not hallucinating everything you've said or anything?"
After everything that's happened, after everything he'd said, she was still questioning his motives ? Did she really think he wasn't invested in this?
He could hear the heartbeat in his ears, her confession enlivening him. The three words, he's been holding back for what seemed like forever, was burning at the tip of his tongue.
Instead of answering, he craned his neck down her height and pressed his aching lips to hers.
Then the world melted around them. She was unmanning him with every sigh. Her hand alighted down his week stubble, the feel of them was driving him out of his mind.
Her breathless sigh thrummed in her throat, her lips grew more urgent. Owen pulled her closer, his arm on the low of her back. Their tongues, in a fierce, passionate battle -tasting, claiming. Owen grasped her hips and hoisted her up the counter. Then they were height to height, lip to lip. Claire coiled her calf around his thighs as she pressed herself closer. His fingers went to the end of her skirt and underneath. Her black thigh-highs turning him on even more. Claire bit his lip as he grazed his palms closer to her heat before bring them out again.
"Still think you're hallucinating, Dearing?" He whispered against her lips when they pulled apart for air.
Claire laughed, her hands on his nape. "Always."
He was readying his lips for another mind blowing kiss when his phone rang in his pocket.
He groaned and leaned his head on her chest, her hands massaging his scalp as she laughed.
"Answer it." She ordered between her giggles.
"Ugh!" He pulled away, but stayed where he was. Claire's legs resting on either side of him. "We'll continue this later." Owen laid a hand on her knee as he answered the phone.
It was Zia.
Owen, where are you?" She sounded edgy and rushed, as if she was running.
"I'm with Claire."
"At her place?"
"Yes."
"Bobby and I are coming to get you. You have your gun?"
"Yes." He backed away from the counter and in two shakes, he picked up his bag. He could feel Claire eyeing him with great concern. "What's going on, Zia?"
He took the mouthpiece away for a second. "Claire, grab your bag."
"What? Why?"
"We found an abandoned vehicle parked on Memphis Street. A block from there. We went to check it out. The owner of the diner thought it was a drunk man sleeping in the vehicle. But a few kids started noticing a foul smell coming from it-"
"Fuck."
Clare got back from the bedroom, her bag in her hand, her face, pallid. She put on her a pair of slippers and was grabbing for the keys.
"Looks like poison, but he didn't die in the car. I'm sure of that. The guy had no identification, no license. Nothing. We called Brennan. They're there now. As they were checking the car for prints, they found something."
"What?" He stood by the door, his other hand, getting his gun from the bag.
"A whole dossier about of you and…" she trailed off, unfinished.
Owen braced himself for the real blow. "And?"
"And Claire."
Joe's funeral was a large gathering.
Their colleagues filled the space in the chapel and afterwards, Mrs. Carter's cottage in the city. It was a beautiful ceremony, everything accounted for with the best service possible. Owen spared no effort.
They arrived together and Claire was by his side for most of the day. She wasn't oblivious to the curious glances towards them. And frankly enough, it wasn't bothering her.
After they rushed out of her apartment yesterday, he's been restless. Zara and the guy she punched met them in the lobby. They followed them until they were safe at the townhouse. Owen never cared to explain anything about it. He hadn't eaten all day. He hadn't spoke more than ten sentences. It was scaring her to death.
Many times through the service, she offered gentle squeezes on his arm. Claire's rewarded with a small smile. They paid their respects to Michelle Carter before they left. And when they arrived at his townhouse, he gave her a quick kiss before retreating to his study.
Claire sat by the window in his bedroom, watching the quiet street down below. The silence was disarming. The feeling of helplessness seeping deep into her bones. It was the first time she found her solace unbearable.
Her phone was vibrating once again. She didn't need to see that it was another message from Karen. For the past few days, her phone's been blowing up from missed calls from her family. She hadn't returned any of them yet cause she was certain that they're gonna ask about her and what happened. And she wasn't sure yet how to answer that. Owen had been secretive with her and it felt unfair that she was pouring her heart while he succumbed to silence. It reminded her of her own reticence, when she would rather bottle up her feelings than talk about them.
"Oh, fuck this!" She cursed, standing up. Claire stomped her way down the stairs to where he said he was.
"Owen!" She howled, opening the door. "Owen-"
He was sitting on the leather chair, behind a massive wooden desk. His elbows on his knees, his hands pinched like a temple under his chin. Owen looked up at the sound of her voice... And she felt her world fell apart.
His beautiful hazel green eyes were red -rimmed. The dark circles under them prominent in the low light. His handsome features burdened, and gloomy. He perked up when he saw her, "Hey, what's wrong?"
She decided that her frustration and anxiety weren't a good combination. "What the hell are you doing!?"
He stammered, visibly confused. "Um..."
"You're not sleeping, you're not eating and now, you're not talking?! What the hell, Grady!"
"I'm just..." he deflated, his eyes low.
"You're just what?!"
"I'm..." he exhaled and settled in his seat. "I don't wanna fight, Claire."
"Well, what do you wanna do?"
He didn't answer her.
"Tell me, cause I will honestly lose my mind." She modulated her voice until it's nothing but a whisper.
Claire marched to him until she was within his space. The right side of her hip touching the desk. He's still wearing the clothes he wore to the funeral. But the sleeves were folded and his jacket was nowhere to be seen.
"Owen, talk to me." Her voice shook, even though she's trying to keep it steady.
He expelled a long, deep sigh. "If I'd taken those threats seriously , like you asked me to… Joe wouldn't-"
"This isn't your fault, Owen." She interrupted before he could finish the thought.
"I'm not sure."
"It's not, Owen. How could you think that?"
"What if it is?"
"No. Don't do this to yourself. The world is full of bad people, you, of all people must know that. And we are never, ever responsible for any of their actions. This is not your fault. It never is and it never will be."
"Yesterday…" she saw and heard the guilt oppressing him for the past couple of days. "Fuck… if anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself."
"Tell me."
"They saw one of the guys that left a note in my car back at the Den. He's dead. And they found pictures of me, of us in his car. Files about you and me…" he took a moment. "He had a rape drug, ropes and gag... He had a card to your floor. He was gonna kidnap you, Claire."
She covered her mouth with both hands as the horrified gasp came out.
"And I kept dreaming about these scenarios. What if you were still there when… What if I didn't go after you? What if they took you and it's all my fault." The vulnerability manifested on his tone and face.
She was speechless.
"I'm supposed to know what to do. I trained for this. I'm used to this. The war, the uncertainty that I'm gonna live the next day, I yearned for it, Claire. But now, I don't…" he paused.
Claire reached out and raked her hands through his hair and down his haunted face. She wondered if it was possible for her to carry his burden herself. It pained her to see him this way.
"It's alright, Owen. I'm okay."
He leaned into her, rolling his chair to close the remaining distance. He hugged her waist, his mouth pressed against her stomach. Claire bent her neck and kissed the top of his head. "It's okay." She said, soft-spoken, hugging him back.
"I've never been this coward to fight…" His hot breath tickled her stomach. "I'm scared, Claire. Fuck, I'm so scared because now, I have you."
And at that moment of weakness and honesty, something shattered inside her. The final walls that was holding her up, protecting her, collapsed. Hotness formed behind her eyes. And before she could stop it, a traitorous tear fell. Her vision blurring as she still attempted to hide her pain. Pain for Joe, for him, and for everyone involved. She heard the choke that came out as her heart cried for him.
Get a grip, Claire.
Owen stiffened and eased back. His face dropped and in an instant he was back to his old self- her safety blanket. "No, no baby. Don't cry."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She whispered, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her chin trembling like a small child.
"It's okay. Come here." And he pulled her down to his lap.
And through her hazy thoughts, she realized she wasn't scared for herself. Rather, she's terrified for him. Owen has been beating himself up because of her. Overwhelmed by him and all the craziness that's been going on, she let her defenses fell. Muffled sobs wracked her body as her emotions came pouring. One after the other. Years of pent up emotions finally relinquished through salty tears.
Her noisy sobs echoing through the house. She clutched his collar as her body shook with great sobs. Claire burrowed her face in his neck. Owen hugged her to his chest, murmuring consoling words in her ear.
Her crying subsided into silent hiccups. Her body, now calm and comforted by the steady heartbeat under her palm. "I'm sorry." She apologized in a tearful chortle.
He wiped the tears on her cheek. "Why do you feel like you have to apologize or hide your feelings to me?"
She sat up, "Because I'm the one who's supposed to be comforting you. Not the other way around."
"And you did. Thank you." He reassured, kissing her blotched face. "Thank you for being you, Claire."
She melted into him as he kissed her temple, the fold between her eyebrows and her closed eyes. His lips trailed down her nose, her cheeks and to her jaw. Slow, sensual presses that were stirring something in her. Claire heard his breath alter into shallow, heavy pants. Or was it her?
She locked eyes with him for a split second, lost in his hypnotic stare. Her gaze drifted down to his lips and back to his again. Claire noted the reluctance fighting the desire behind his eyes. She moved first.
She sighed against his mouth upon contact. He didn't take too long to reciprocate. His hand went to the back of her head. His tongue found hers, exploring, kissing her back.
Claire felt him swivel his chair again, until her back hit the edge of the desk. She moved her legs to straddle him, gasping as she became aware of his body… And her effect on him. Owen moaned against her mouth. Her dress hitched up as he skimmed his hands higher and higher. And then put them off completely, as if to restrain himself.
"Claire-"
"I need you." She demanded, her lips assaulting his jaw and the spot on his neck.
Owen grumbled an incoherent curse and cocked his head to the side, giving her easier access. He ran a hand down her spine, her waist and ass. She was unbuttoning his dress shirt whilst raining his neck with open mouthed kisses. Owen squeezed her waist before forcing them on his. His erection deliciously probing her, making her go wild.
Gathering enough oxygen, she kissed him again.
Her lips were feverish against him. His scent invading her senses, leading her on. She responded with more reckless kisses, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her feelings. She missed this, missed them being like this; mindless and desperate. A heady, dangerous combination.
She bit his ear as he temptingly unzipped her dress, the rustic sound torturing her. Owen trailed his fingers, following the line of zipper, making the goosebumps rise on her skin. He slipped his hands under the sleeves, sliding them down her shoulders and off her heated body. They broke apart so Owen could lift her and remove the clothing. She was standing in front of him with only her matching set and 4-inch heels. Her chest heaved as a wave of lust illustrated his face.
"Come here." He ordered, pulling her by the back of her thighs.
The leather squeaked under their weight, as Claire settled herself on his lap again. Her lips fell on his again, her tongue coaxing his apart. Owen remained a hand underneath the lock of her bra, fidgeting with it, teasing her. She clutched the sides of his face, begging him- silently- to be closer.
With their lips still attached, she removed his shirt and threw it behind her. The pencil holder rattled, falling to the floor. A light laugh vibrated on their lips before Owen grasped her legs and wrapped them around him. He stood, with her hands on her ass.
"Bed?"
Claire shook her head and lead them back. With one hand on his nape the other, outstretched, was finding the desk. He sat her down in the middle before she pulled him down for another kiss.
The heat coming off their chest was making her lose all self-restraint. As if reading her mind, he cupped her. She leaned and threw her head back as he lick her neck down her breast where it nipped at the aerola through the fabric. His calloused hand was rough and hungry as he kneaded her breasts into shape. His fingertips zapping with electricity with every touch. She let her legs fall beside him, as her nails frisk the bump on his pants. He bit on her nipple and bucked his hips against her hand. Claire popped the button and slipped her hand inside, sighing at the warm, thick heat. He was magnificent.
Owen pulled away. His eyes dazed and blown into dark green orbs. His mouth bruised with her lipstick and her kisses.
"What's wrong?"
"I… I'm…" he stuttered and she could see the affliction in his eyes. "Claire, I…"
He shook his head before smashing their lips again, his words, unsaid.
This time, his kisses were gentler, sweeter. She felt her insides liquify, her heart bursting with warmth.
Owen unhooked her brassiere, freeing her breasts, at last. The nippy air raised goosebumps on her skin. He closed a wet mouth on a hardened nipple, as she fell backwards. Her arm supported her, the other pulling his mouth closer.
Claire made a work of his belt and pants, eager for the wanton touch. He helped her with her underwear - eagerly , she might add. Owen pulled her on the edge of the table and then he was inside her. Hot, rigid and heavy.
Claire stifled a scream as her whole body arched up. She hugged his shoulders. Her mouth was open against his ears, her hips bucking of their own accord. She was already slippery and he hasn't started yet. Her walls sucked him in as he moved, tentatively at first. Every thrust eliciting a moan from them.
What would it take for them to be like this forever?
Owen muttered a lewd curse as he held both her knees and spread them an inch apart. He added more pressure on his hips and she thought she's gonna lose her mind.
Claire bit on the round part of his shoulder as he moved her to the edge of the desk. He eased himself in and out with rash, ardent precision. Back and forth. His breath whistling in his teeth. Claire let go of his shoulders and fell on her elbows. Each touch fuelling the fire that was burning inside her. Owen gripped her thigh, the other on her hip as she met him. The wide desk accommodating her heaving body, her hair falling on the edge. His dark, carnal eyes locked with hers as he plunged deep, making her whimper openly .
"I've missed you." She revealed, her hand tracing the line of his abs down to the light patch of hair above his crotch. Her nails scratching his sweaty skin.
A deep roar boomed from his chest, searing straight into her. They moaned before Owen leaned down, capturing his lips with hers. Their mouth, more eager now. She squirmed as he quicken his movements, his hand crawling between them. And she gasped as it flicked her nerves.
Her body tightened under his delicious torment. He stood up as he drilled into her. Her body sat up as Owen plunged himself entirely . She couldn't think, her vision blurred by a blinding light. Claire clawed at his shoulders in a desperate hold, gasping at each stab of pleasure.
Owen removed his head from her neck so they were resting- forehead to forehead.
"You know, you're important to me, right?" He grunted between vigorous thrusts.
She nodded, inarticulate and delirious.
Owen cupped the back of her head, holding her to him. Claire was more than willing to succumb. He kissed her, chaste and possessive, their teeth clashed.
"And I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."
She nodded again, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her body convulsed, her walls contracting him further, deeper into her. She stretched her neck up the ceiling as her body bowed before him, their pleasure rocking her body. He gave a loud grunt as he crushed her into his arms.
Claire gasped out his name as he reverently screamed hers in return.
Owen rallied his power for one more world-rocking orgasm before they reposed. Their breaths and bodies mangled in a post-coitus bliss. For hours, they lie together in bed, wholly awake, talking.
Approaching midnight, he heard her stomach grumble. And he got up, offering to cook for her. The instant Mac and cheese was a hit. He continued relishing her company.
As much as he loved seeing her breathless, Owen enjoyed seeing her ramble. Their topics varied in length and breadth. Owen was always catching himself as he gaped at her with wonder. He had never met a woman on the same intellectual wavelength as he. He couldn't help but notice how easy this all was. How comfortable it was, her with him.
It couldn't get any better than this, he thought.
All his sense of cautiousness pushed back at the back of his mind. For the time being.
Their conversation led to their mortifying drunk stories. Seeing as Claire didn't have much, she shamelessly dragged her sister. Tears welled up in her eyes as she sketched out every detail with youthful enthusiasm. They were both pealing with laughter. With grim realization, it was the first real laugh, he had for a week.
He persuaded Claire to return her family's messages. He knew she left them on voicemails for the last couple of days. Claire texted and had a brief call with her dad first. Owen was happy that Claire was restarting her relationship with her dad. Afterwards, she texted Karen, who immediately called. He was washing the dishes as he listened to the conversation.
"I'm fine… yes… no… I don't know… I am… Yeah, yeah. I'm staying with him… Yeah… He's here." Claire said into the mouthpiece, a pink blush rising to her cheeks.
He leaned to his side as Claire put her phone on loudspeaker. "Hey, Karen."
"Hey, Owen! How's it going? Are you okay?"
"Great, great. You?"
Claire circled the counter and stood next to him.
"I'm pretty toast. My sister told me, you cooked her Mac and Cheese."
"I did. I did." He couldn't help but grin. "Why are you still up?"
"I'm sewing Gray's costume for a school play. He's Ulysses Grant."
"An awesome role! Tell him, break a leg." He whisked his hands and reached for a clean cloth to wipe the dishes.
"Thanks! Oh, and Zach's so excited to come see you in November!"
"I'm more excited to have him. Tell him, he doesn't have to look for a place to say."
"Oh no, Owen. You don't have to-"
"I want to. Besides, we have free accommodations for all our interns. He's gonna be all set. Ask your sister." He looked up to see Claire smiling at him.
"Yes, we do. No need to worry."
"Alright! I could kiss you two! Thank you!"
"You're welcome! Come with Zach on November. We can all check that new wine place. Bring Lewis and Gray." He offered as he placed the last dishes in the cabinet.
"Oh, I will! In the meantime, you two, be careful, okay?"
"I will. Don't worry about Claire. I'll chain her up, if I have to-"
Claire groaned, rolling her eyes. "I got her, Karen."
"You better! I may love you, but if you hurt her Grady, I will cut off your di-"
The rest of her sentence was muffled as Claire put it back to phone mode. "Okay!"
She pressed the phone to her ear. "Stop, Karen… No! I'm not telling you anything… Yeah, talk to you soon, Karen. Tell Mom, I'm okay. I'll talk to you guys tomorrow… Okay… Bye."
Owen hung the towel on the oven handle. "Always nice to talk to your sister."
"Sorry about that. That was embarrassing."
He chuckled as he drew her by the waist, back to him. "It's cute. The way you look after each other. Plus, she's got nothing to worry about. I'm pretty attached to my, uh … my tool. I'd like to keep them."
That uttered a mischievous smile from her. Claire wound her arms around his shoulders and blurted, "I'm pretty attached to it too."
"Oh, you are?" He leered, his hands sliding lower than her waist. The smoothness of her satin pyjamas sending new charges to his body.
"Mmm… Especially when you do that thing…"
He pressed his hips to hers. Claire laughed and secured her hands on his biceps. Owen could peek at her top from their height. He was becoming insatiable. But before he could collide their lips again, the phone rang.
He expressed his annoyance in a loud groan. Claire giggled and withdrew from him. She handed him his phone with a quick kiss on the cheek.
He made a mental note to hide every cellphone in sight whenever he's with Claire.
"Mr. Owen Grady, sir?" came a taut voice on the other end.
"Yes, this is he."
"I'm sorry for calling so late. This is James O'Donnell. I'm a pathologist from the California's Medical Examiner's office. You requested a second autopsy report for your employee, Mr. Joseph Carter."
"Yes, I did." He stood upright, earning a puzzled look from Claire.
O'Donnell hesitated, "I-uh. Is it possible that you can come and get the results for yourself? I'm located at 24th beside St. Anthony's."
"What's wrong?" He took a step back as he felt his body stiffen like a log.
"Mr. Grady, we found firearm-related injuries to his skull and hip. He died from hypovolemic shock before anything else. It wasn't included in the report they gave you."
