AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Hey! I'm sorry for the delay! I wish this chapter makes up for it. I feel really bad updating once a month. But I'm trying to write as fast as I can but with work and school, I sometimes can't find the time. But thank you so much for reading this! This means a lot!
Two days ago, I woke up to the news of Irrfan Khan (who played Simon Masrani) died. What a loss. This chapter is dedicated to his memory.
Stay with me for a couple of chapters more. I'm hoping you are all well and safe. Do correct me for grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy this one. *evil smile*
A WOLF'S HIDE
A wolf is no less a wolf because he's dressed in sheepskin and the devil is no less the devil because he's dressed as an angel.
-Lecrae
The house was silent and empty- as it had been for the past decade and a half.
He had his chin on his palm. His other hand, tapping the right arrow button on his keyboard. The screen was flashing picture after picture of his life. Summer in the farmhouse. Winter in England. Malibu beach. Her blonde hair tied in that low, messy bun. Her awful hat. The boy with the same eyes as him, dressed in a diminutive army uniform.
Alan Grady was passing time- figuratively and literally speaking. The thought made him chuckle.
"How very apt, under these circumstances." he said to himself.
He clicked Next and the screen brightened into an old home video.
A four-year old Owen was playing in the sand box Malcolm set up last week. His chubby fingers seized handfuls of sand. He looked at it with wonder, his face flushed and cherubic.
"Do you know what's that called, Owen?" He heard his own voice extolled.
His son looked up, waved his closed fists at the camera he's holding.
"Sand, Daddy!"
"That's right, buddy."
"Alright Owen, look what I found." Ellie showed up from behind the corner. In her hands were a plastic red pail and a yellow scooper.
The toddler squealed as he snatched the play toys from his mother. The video stopped on her smiling, angelic face.
"Not long now, Ellie." He mumbled. A sated smile shaped his lips, the laugh lines outlining his pallid face.
As heedful as he could, he moved to the decanter and pour himself a glass of water. He smiled to himself. Many times, his nurses almost faint when he'd pretend that the vessel held anything but water. Though according to his doctor, he's allowed to have a considerate glass every now and then.
The pain has subsided, for now. But when it doesn't, it felt like a giant ball of rock shoved up his skull through his mouth. Then, after a few gruelling seconds, when he thought he's okay to the pain, someone reaches up and pull it out of him.
The chemo helped his condition. But Alan Grady already accepted his fate. And to be frank, he was quite relieved.
A soft knock rapped the door.
"Come in."
"Alan?" One of his nurse, peeked her head from behind the door.
"Yeah?"
The young man behind the door stepped in. He was in his casual clothes, rather than the blue scrubs his other nurse was always wearing. Alan insisted that he only needed one caretaker, but another friend insisted. He was too weak to argue and refuse.
The young man could pass as a civilian if not for the clipboard and his antiseptic whiff. Alan didn't mind, in fact, he recommends it. He had traumatic experiences with lab coats and scrub suits. Alan would have to talk to Frida, his other nurse, to dress in casual clothes starting tomorrow.
"You have a visitor, Sir."
"Ah, yes." He croaked, straightening in his chair and pushing his keyboard away. "Send him in."
He nodded and sidestepped to reveal a long time friend.
Alan stood up, still with that cautiousness, anticipating the rush of pain. But it didn't happen. His doctors advised him to use a wheelchair-to which he had a strong opposition.
Alan trudged around the desk and hugged his friend . The same morose expression that everybody seemed to have smearing his friendly face.
"Stop with the long face Simon. It doesn't suit you."
"Alan." Simon Masrani greeted him but the sadness was clear in his round eyes.
"Where's the whiskey I told you to bring too?" He jibed, eyeing the briefcase clutched in his Simon's hand.
"We're doing this sober all the way, my old friend." His friend replied with a tone of amusement.
Alan laughed and traipsed to the small round table. Simon sat on the chair opposite him and opened his laptop.
"Now," He rubbed his palms together. "onto business."
"I hate myself for doing this." Simon said more to himself than to him
"You're a distinguished lawyer and businessman. And you're my friend. There's no other person more perfect for this."
Simon glowered at him. His eyes, black and playful. "Don't butter me up, Grady…" Simon turned serious, "How will you do this then?"
"Owen gets all my properties. The company, this townhouse, the farm, everything. He's gonna own 45% shares of all my companies. Whether he decided to work there or not. He's to be Chairman of the Grady foundation and my other charities. Everything under my name would become his. The usual."
As his only son, it's automatic to have everything he had but it's good to see it in paper too.
"For my second will, if in case, Owen didn't take the job… I want Claire to be CEO and President of Grady Corp. For as long as she wants."
Simon paused, quite taken by surprise. "Claire? Claire Dearing?"
"Yes. Claire Dearing." He stressed.
His friend broke into a smile. "Okay… But what makes you think Owen won't? Take the company?"
Alan knew Owen and he approved of his son's dream of living a normal, simpler life. But he sort of wish, it was the other way. Owen always had a habit of settling for less than he deserves. Alan knew his son had a knack for the business, and he could say that without a hint of prejudice. Owen had the brains and finesse to run the company, if he wanted it. He was positive that the board would also vouch for him.
"If he does, I want Claire to guide him. Have her teach him until he's caught up."
"I agree. I will see to it." Simon's pensiveness was back. "Anything else?"
"I also have something to sent to both of them."
With great effort, (and despite Simon's volunteering to do it for him) he pushed himself off the table. Alan staggered to his desk and grabbed a box from his drawer.
"You can open it." He assured, handing the black velvet necklace box to him.
Simon stood up and approached him. His friend studied the contents of the box. The cushion held two, identical hard drives the size of his pinky finger.
"They're to receive that a year after my death and I want both of them to look at it together."
Simon nodded and placed the box aside, just as Frida showed up for his hourly pills.
Simon wrote the rest of the will for the next hour, the legal terminologies blurred after the other. When the table was clear from the clutter, Alan opened a bottle of Chardonnay. He took his medicine and indulged himself a glass while Simon drank up.
"-Speaking of that kid, he's not tied up? With someone?" Simon drawled, the tie around his neck, loose. "There are women in the NAVY, for sure. Someone who can match his stubbornness."
"No." He shook his head, jabbing his finger. "That damned kid. Always wanting to go off on his own. Always wanting to do things his own way. He swore he's gonna be alone forever. Do you believe that-"
Simon scoffed pouring himself another glass.
"-But I have a feeling he's gonna change his mind. Who wants to live alone, anyway?" Alan argued, every bit optimistic.
Simon laughed, tipsy.
"I swear, he very much of reminds me of…" Alan trailed off, a stupid idea hitting his deteriorating brain.
"Reminds you of who?"
A wistful smile made its way on his dry lips as he recalled the daughter she never had. "Claire."
Simon coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Claire and Owen?"
He nodded, nursing his wine glass.
"Huh." Simon stared at the distance, as if he's picturing it. "Wouldn't that be interesting."
"Can you imagine the two of them?"
They both cackled, knowing the similar, infamous reputations of the two young adults.
"It's too bad we don't have arrange marriages, now…" Alan mused, chuckling to himself.
"Well..." Simon jested as an afterthought, "You can always ship them off to my country. My mom and you would have a blast planning it."
The old gentlemen heaped with laughter.
"But have they met each other yet? Before you sent Claire to France, two weeks ago? Have you set them up for a date?" He was curling his finger on his lips.
"My granddaughter, has this term for something like that.. Something about cute meet? meet cute?"
"That's ridiculous term." Alan laughed.
"I know, kids these days... So? Owen and Claire?"
Alan shook his head. "No, no. I didn't let them meet."
His friend frowned. "What? Why? Owen was home a month ago, right?"
"Yes. To tell you the truth, I sort of planned it that way."
"How so?"
Alan shrugged. "Owen understands the importance of things and people. He appreciates everything up to the very last detail. And he tends to value them, people and things, even greater, if they're unexpected. I want them to meet... cute meet each other in their own way. Besides, it's more romantic that way."
"Ah. The old, Alan-Grady-Matchmaking ploy. I like it." Simon sipped his glass, his features twinkling with the same delight as him.
It was all good timing.
Not a month ago, they needed to close a huge deal with the French. It was a huge asset, their most important investment yet. Alan was certain if there was one person to get the job done, it was Claire. Besides, he didn't tell her about the chemo yet- and he probably wasn't gonna.
Working and being friends with Claire enabled him to see the person beneath. She's not as strong as she always pretends to be. Alan knew what her father did, why she pursued in a male-dominant field. She had gone through so much and Alan was not ready to be another person to cause her pain. He loved the kid too much.
A longing smile plastered his face as he played out the possibilities.
"Those two… They're gonna kill each other but they're gonna be perfect… I just know it."
She was aware of the warm breath blowing her hair.
Her eyes adjusted to the ray of light sifting from the curtains of his bedroom. She stretched her sleepy legs, but it came in direct contact with his. Her mouth lifted into a genuine smile.
She twisted her head to kiss his arm, which she was using as her pillow. Her right hand lazily rested on his upturned palm. Claire moulded herself to him, sharing his body heat. She spun in his arm, slow and quiet to not rouse him. God knows how much Owen needed a full, peaceful and uninterrupted sleep.
Claire watched him, content by the serenity gliding over his handsome features. Her mind wandered back to nearly a year ago. Back when, they're still arguing over, well, everything. She remembered how she wanted to hurl something in his direction and slap the sneer off his face. Everyday had been a display of dominance, it was as paramount as breathing. Claire never knew a person could push all her buttons ALL at the same time. He was the most impossible, the most aggravating person she had ever met.
Claire allowed a soft smile to permit her lips.
How much has changed. And it felt like a large, obscured picture was finally cleared. A grey cloud hovering over her head was finally being brought to light. Hopes and happiness filled the vacant space. Owen had unlocked a part of her, the keys lost forever.
She lie on her stomach, her head resting on the pillow, scooting closer to him. The tip of her nose touched his, the evenness of his breath warming her face. Claire found herself mesmerised by the artistry of his lips.
Underneath the blanket, she pressed her cold toes against his. Her shins tangled with his strong calves.
How come he's always warm? She pondered to herself, feeling a small tinge of jealousy. Owen sighed, pulled the duvet around them and drape his arm on her hip.
As careful as she could, she laid a palm on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his sideburns. These things are magic, she thought. It wasn't a day ago when she felt its smoothness. Still, beard or no beard, everything suited him. Claire couldn't decide who she liked more; clean-cut Owen or roguish Owen.
She exhaled an amused, soft chuckle. It was like choosing between Owen being a gentleman and him being… well, not a gentleman.
But in truth was, Claire benefitted from both sides. She admired him for opening doors, not only for her but, for everyone. Owen wouldn't hesitate helping someone in need. He was selfless and kind, even to strangers. Owen is an exceptional human being, through and through.
But when situations needed him to be aggressive, he'd definitely be. Owen never yelled at their colleagues. He was a patient, effective leader. When he didn't like how something had turned out, everyone would know in an instant. Claire knew the exact moment he meant business. Owen would remain silent, and would clench his jaw in that unpleasant, domineering way. And his employees knew that it universally meant, "Stop fucking around and give me results".
She never knew she could get aroused by something as petty as that.
A heat rose to her cheeks remembering their venereal stunts on the study. And on the barn table. On the gallery hallway at the farmhouse. In his bathroom. Their respective beds.
Owen is a great, attentive lover, a seducer and an A plus flirt. He always made sure to bring her pleasure first. He would always cover her with a towel or blanket when the first line of goosebumps line her naked skin.
If sex has a deity, it would definitely be him. She stunned herself, as it was the highest compliment she could ever give or will ever give someone- sex wise. Claire made the mistake of mentioning it to her sister in passing. And Karen, being the nosy woman she was, wouldn't stop harassing her.
"You're not saying anything, which means he's that good."
"Stop, Karen."
"Oh come on, Claire! I'm dying with curiosity… So?"
"No! I'm not telling you anything."
Owen stirred from his sleep and Claire moved an inch to see if he'd woken.
Though with closed eyes, the pupils were fluttering underneath. His lips separated as his forehead creased into a frown, his breath hitched. She placed a finger between his brows and his breathing evened again. She kissed his cheek, a feather-light kiss, and inhaled his scent, unable to stop herself. Her hand lingered on his stubble, her thumb rubbing smooth circles on the coarse skin.
Two midnights ago, they drove to the Coroner's office, to retrieve Joe's autopsy files. She didn't need further explanation when she read the file herself.
Someone shot Joe. They killed him before the bomb detonated, before a portion of the basement fell on him.
Her fears resurged in bilious waves as she processed the words. But she managed to keep her tears at bay that night. Claire wouldn't give Owen another reason to be more scared for her than he already was.
From out of nowhere, she's reminded of that time in the hospital. When Owen was unconscious, pale with wires attached to his body. The constant beeping of his heart rate monitor was the only hope and comfort she ever had in the room. The anxiety, uneasiness and the fear for him was something she has yet to learn and accept.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Owen spoke, interrupting her reverie.
Her eyes snapped to his, and for a second, she's worried that he had read her thoughts. "Hey." Claire rested her hand on the light beard on his neck. "You should sleep."
Owen pulled her by the waist. Dazed, sleepy hazel green eyes was gaping at her. "You should too."
Her eyes flitted over his hips lips, only a hair away from hers. Owen really had the most angular, perfect lips. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip, it parted at her touch, his breath skipped -and it was an enough permission.
Claire pressed her lips on his - not swift that it felt insincere, yet, not hard to imply something.
But his arms went around her at once, and he cupped her jaw. Butterflies took flight once again as his lips opened hers. His hand roamed her body, to the side of her breasts, her waist, hips and around her butt. Owen lifted her thigh and draped it over his hips.
They broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other. Owen hugged her to him, his nose buried in her chest.
"You're the best distraction."
"I'd rather hope you don't need anything to distract you from." She admitted, cradling his head. "Everything's gonna be okay, Owen."
He burrowed himself underneath her chin and gave quick little pecks on the skin.
"Sleep." She ordered in a soft spoken voice, raking her hand on the soft waves of his hair. "I have to get up."
"No, you don't. Please stay with me a couple of minutes more."
And she did. The minutes passed into an hour, their bodies warm and snuggled as two souls should could be. Claire had never let anyone to be close to her like this. Never allowed herself to be this vulnerable. At times, she still wondered, Why? What has happened to her? And why was it that with Owen, everything was challenging in a more intimate and whole other level? He was like a loud wake up call, a cold bucket of water.
Claire listened to his breathing and found contentment in his arms. This was what must having an addiction felt like. A single touch, a quick glance and the intoxication was inevitable. His arms brought her a sense of peace she had never known before, calming the most turbulent parts of her.
She gazed at the wall clock right beside the door and noted the time. Claire kissed the top of his head before laying it on the pillow, careful not to wake him up. Claire got out of bed and went downstairs to cook them breakfast.
She set up the coffee maker before grabbing the jar of oatmeal and the milk from the fridge. Claire stood on her toes, reaching for the pan in the second cupboard from her left. She got the wooden spoon from the drawer beside the sink. Claire placed the pan on the electric cooktop, poured the milk and oatmeal and stirred. She took the cinnamon from the spice rack and sprinkled in on the pan. She set up the heat to the lowest setting.
Next, Claire opened the fridge again and rinsed the blue berries and sliced the bananas. She opened another drawer for the placemats and set it up on the island. The coffeemaker beeped. Claire went over to uninstall the pot and pour a cup for herself. She proceeded to serve the oatmeal in a blue ceramic bowl. As she was garnishing it with the sliced fruits, Claire stopped. Taken by surprise on how she moved with familiarity around his kitchen. She was yet reminded of another fact that it has been a week since the bombing. It has been a week that she's staying over.
Owen wanted to keep an eye on her, more so, now, when they don't know their enemies. Claire was fine with it because it also allowed her to do the same. She had to assure her excited sister that they didn't move in together. Yet, she still felt bad for enjoying their newfound living situation.
Zia, Emma and Zara have been helping her get her clothes from her unit. And even though, Owen wouldn't let her go alone anywhere, she filed for another replacement for her car.
That's two cars now in a year now, she thought with frustration.
As they agreed, Zia kept an eye on her. It still felt strange to her at times, but it got easier as the week progressed. In a way, she was like Zara, but add the tattoos on her arms and that air of discipline one can only find on NAVY personnels. Zia has been a great friend, to her and Owen and she'd proven that, many times already.
They have no further updates on the cases, making Owen more wary than he already was. Brennan and Walters were frequent in visiting the office. She joined a meeting once and she couldn't help but feel Owen's dispirited outlook from the lack of progress.
The table sat six edgy people. The food that was already set up for their lunch meeting, yet, they're left untouched.
Zia and Lowery stood by the wall while she and the other agents sat around the table. Owen paced the floor as Brennan discussed the possible explanations.
"-the guy we found right by Miss Dearing's street was from Jersey. He was a high school dropout and did probation for a couple of years."
Owen stopped at the head of the table, peering at Brennan. "And?"
"He doesn't have credit cards, passport and even a driver's license."
"Do you think he's been set up?" Zia chimed in, arms folded and a cynical frown on her face. They all turned towards their right. "Have you checked the facility he did probation at? The plates in the car?"
Walters stepped in. "The plates were fake, as expected. Yes, we checked the facility but-"
A palm landed on the table. The plates, glasses and utensils bounced off the wood with a loud clang. It made her shoulders jump. She turned to see Owen, his jaw set, lips pinched together, and a deathly glare for the agents.
"If I hear another 'but' or any sentence with uncertainty from the FBI or the San Francisco Police, I will sue someone."
Owen added in a harsher tone,
"How come the bodies keep piling up and we're nowhere near an answer? It's been a couple of months since the accident in Devil's road. Then, a couple of weeks after that, our top suspect's driven off the cliff. A thug was stalking Miss Dearing. A bomb went off in this building and my friend's been sh-"
Owen stopped. Nobody except her, Zia and Lowery knew the real cause of Joe's death. He decided telling the authorities wouldn't be the best option since, someone was trying to cover it up.
"-killed. Why do keep coming here with half assed reports?"
Brennan appeared embarrassed but remained professional. "Sir, with all due respect-"
"No. Stop wasting my time anymore. If neither of you or any of the department can give me the right answers, don't show up here. Meeting dismissed."
Owen left the room, the door swinging behind him.
A sense of edginess and dread hovered the room. Nobody moved. Lowery cleared his throat and went out the door, followed by Zia.
Brennan leaned forward in his seat. "I'm sorry, Claire. We're doing the best we can. But these guys, they're always one step ahead."
That was not reassuring, she thought. Still, Claire nodded, speechless and still surprised by Owen's outburst. It wasn't the first time she saw him frustrated, but, something about this was different.
"Thank you for all your efforts. We appreciate it."
Both gentlemen stood up and shook her hand. Claire walked them to the elevator.
"These suspects… They know we were coming. They know exactly where to be in the right time and in the right place. They came in prepared. And it's inspiring how they manage to cover their tracks. But one of these days, they'll slip. And that's our chance."
"Thank you again Agent Walters for doing this. And I apologise for Mr. Grady's behavior."
Walters shrugged with a bittersweet smile. "He's frustrated, as we all are."
"Rest assured Claire, we're gonna get to the bottom of this." Brennan said, pressing the elevator button.
"We will appreciate it. Thank you again."
Both agents entered the elevator but as it was about to close, Brennan held the open button. "If there's anything you need, I'm here-"
An uneasiness crept inside her stomach, making her frown. In the corner, she noticed Walters. He raised his eyebrows at his partner as if saying, 'You did not just said that'.
Brennan must have realised this because his cheeks reddened. He corrected himself, "Call us if there's a problem."
I hope not, she wanted to say. "Thank you."
And the agents were out of her sight.
"Is that another reason Owen doesn't like those men?" Emma interrupted from beside her.
"What?"
"That good-looking blonde likes you, Claire."
Claire ignored her observation and smiled, "Have you eaten yet, Em?"
"I had coffee with the guy from security."
"Oh, I didn't know you're dating someone." she winked at her.
"I... I'm not." Emma blushed before she handed her a folder. Emma's dedication to work was inspiring. Claire forced her assistant to take a leave of absence after the incident but she declined. Claire respected her for it. Emma has the makings of a successful business person. If only she could be remember what her schedule was. Claire chuckled as she watched Emma leave.
Instead of walking back to her office, Claire went straight to his. Only for Lowery to tell her, "He's in the rooftop."
"It's unlawful for someone to look this beautiful. Especially this hour in the morning." A small voice interrupted her flashback.
Claire looked up to see him leaning on the archway, arms crossed in front of him. He's fresh and already dressed up in denim pants and a faded shirt.
"What are you doing up?" She scowled. "You're not suppose to wake up until I wake you up."
"Then you should've stayed in bed with me."
"I want to cook breakfast." She grabbed another empty bowl and emptied the rest of the oatmeal.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Dearing." He accused, a smile on his lips.
"Oh?"
"Don't 'oh' me." Owen chuckled and sauntered to her. He smelt of soap, and fabric softener.
When Owen started his early mornings and late nights in the office, he seldom eats. It became a major issue for her. So, she and Lowery came up with ways on how to feed him. That involved his favorite dishes and them, cooking for him.
"You're making this for me so I have no choice but to eat it."
"Me? Doing things for you?" She raised the cup to her lips, hiding her victorious grin. "Never."
Owen laughed, rolling his eyes.
Claire dragged the placemat with the bowl on top of it. She patted the counter, for him to "sit".
"You are so enjoying this, Dearing."
"Of course, I am. Eat."
"Join me." He said, pulling the bar stool.
Claire grabbed the lighter bowl and rounded the island to her seat. Owen yanked her closer to him, the feet making screeching noises on the floor. His body, half facing her. He lifted the spoon to his mouth and exaggerated his chewing. Claire watched him, pleased with herself. They ate in comfortable silence, his hand, resting on her knee. After sometime,
"Done." He declared with a tone of pride, pushing his empty bowl away.
"Good." She stood up and reached for his bowl.
"Nu-uh!" He hid the bowl with his body. "I clean up, you get ready for work."
Claire smiled with an 'Okay, thank you' nod.
She cherished moments like this; the normalcy. The past few days felt like the calm before the storm. So Claire wallowed in these tiny, moments of peace. But as if on cue, the phone in his pocket buzzed, disrupting their almost perfect picture.
Owen sighed, reached behind him and answered. Claire propped her hip on the counter, listening.
"Talk to me... Yes... Yeah… yeah… Okay… That's good."
A fire blazed his eyes and Claire stilled.
"We'll be there in twenty."
"What is it?" She asked as soon as he hung up.
"The agents found out who they are."
She didn't need to know who was he referring to.
"They're part of a group called "Tenebris Bellator" which translates to "dark warrior" in Latin." Eric Walters explained, sliding the folder on the desk in front of Owen.
Clair tilted her head, reading from Owen's side. Before Brennan gave her his copy.
"They're mercenaries comprised of a bunch guys who faked their own deaths. It makes them undetectable. FBI, CIA, Russian and Iranian operatives have been looking for them the past five years." Walters informed with regained confidence.
"So, they're terrorists?" She asked, sitting erect on her chair.
"Not… exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"They only have a specific "targets", Miss Dearing. They're notorious for the disappearances of some big-named corporate heads. They're the ones you hire if you want a rogue employee or business partner to disappear. Take out-"
"Take out the alpha and the rest of the pack follows." Owen added, nonchalant. His realisations and disapproval residing over his forehead.
The astonishment was clear in Walter's posture, as it was with Claire's. "You know them?"
Owen nodded at her. "We had to rescue a fallen Ranger who was accompanying a New York executive. It was a few years ago. The executive was never found and the ranger was hanging on for dear life when we got there. They're highly-skilled criminals who's an expert in everything. Killing, Hacking, Kidnapping, Sabotage, Blackmail, everything."
"Yes." Walters confirmed.
The chuckle that passed from Owen's lips was anything but mirthful. "They tried to blow up my building as a warning shot for what they're capable of."
Brennan, who remained quiet for the last thirty minutes of the meeting finally spoke. "That's 90% likely. "
Claire felt a cold rush of blood enwrap her entire body.
"The driver who almost killed you in Devil's Road was a new member. We're guessing that it was his initiation right to the group. But the guy we found in Memphis street, wasn't."
Everything was starting to make sense now. But there was one question that was still haunting her,
"If they're part of the same group, why were they killed?" She asked again.
Brennan sat forward in his seat. "World-class syndicates are well-known for their manifesto, "They leave no loose ends-"
"That doesn't explain why the guy in Memphis was poisoned, though. He didn't get to finish the job." Claire interjected and noticed the slight wince in Owen's expression.
In that distraction, she missed the look exchanged by the two agents. But Owen was quick to point it out.
"What is it?"
"We're speculating that someone was trying to beat him up to the job." Walters said. "We reviewed the CCTV footages in the area. We interviewed the administration in your building. Three weeks ago, they called the contractor because of the problem with the exhaust units. The engineer's office was a good two hours away from Financial district. But then, two guys showed up thirty minutes later."
Something in her head clicked. "So, the AC, everything was-"
"It's all orchestrated, Claire. They're the ones who tampered it." Brennan supplied.
She felt livid. She felt like punching a wall and crying afterwards. Claire glanced at Owen who had the same, dangerous expression.
"We saw the footage and we're running ID on the other one, right now. But they were smart, they knew the corners where the cameras were." Walters finished, and it sounded like he's asking for someone to pat him and tell him how a good dog he was.
Owen nodded and piled the papers inside the binder. "Thank you, gentlemen."
With that, he stood up and the agents followed. Zia showed them out the door.
Claire walked to the window, admiring the high sun and the life below her. Somehow, it felt unfair that the world was still turning despite the turbulence in her life right now.
Owen flopped into the seat across her, pinching the side of his nose. Claire kept her eyes on him, broaching the subject she knew he was trying to not think about.
"Say what's in your head."
Owen lifted his troubled guise up at her. He exhaled a deep, anxious sigh. "Tenebris Bellator… they're ruthless, Claire. They're protected by bad cops, business tycoons and politicians. That's why nobody caught them. They're like an old gangster squad, untouchable and powerful. It's highly possible that they're after me. Why now? I don't know. But they're threatening you too to get to me."
Hearing him say it out loud made her blood pound with unvaried stages of terror. She kept her back to the wall. Her hands tucked behind her, so he wouldn't notice how they were trembling.
With a painstaking motion, Owen stood up and walked to her. He leaned against the glass as he reached for her hands.
Warm sparks danced from his hands to hers. Claire ran her thumb over his knuckles- calloused with scars of hard work and violence. She couldn't help but feel how small and fragile her hands were in his.
"Promise me, you'll be careful." He but whispered, the worry in his face transparent.
Claire wanted to scold him and roll her eyes at his self-neglect. "You say you're the one they're after and you want me to be careful. Can you be selfish for once?"
The small smile from him appeased her a bit.
"They can't hurt me-"
"Stop saying that." She interrupted, her voice firm. It didn't choke a syllable. Brava, Claire!
He sighed before his face hardened once more. "You know, when I read what Mills did to you, I almost lost it."
She was not surprised with the sudden change of their topic. If they had it their way, they would've drive Mills to prison themselves. But Claire knew they need sufficient and valid evidence.
Still, she soothed him, not liking the fierce light in his calm greens. "Owen, it was a long time ago."
"Doesn't matter to me. He hurt you, abused you. And thinking about it again makes me wanna… I wanna punch the daylights outta him. After knowing what he did to you, I wanted to hurt him like I have never wanted hurt anyone before. I had his address, I was ready to go."
"You're really not subtle man, aren't you?" She tried to joke.
"I don't have time for subtle. Especially with that dick."
She could feel the anger rising in him again. Claire reached up and brushed a hand on his hair. Owen took a step closer to her, as her fingers smoothed out the ruffles. Her hand lingered on his shoulder.
"If it's any consolation to you, I broke his glasses and kicked him so hard in the nuts, his eyes almost popped out of his head." She smiled at the memory of Mills rolling on the floor of his apartment lobby.
Owen chuckled. "I wish I saw that."
He intertwined their fingers together. And in doing so, he closed off their remaining distance.
"You're the only person that can hurt me right now, Claire. Please, for the sake of my sanity, let me protect you, okay? I'm not asking you to move in with me, but… Can you stay with me for a little longer? At least, until I've figured this out?"
She stared at him in disbelief.
"I thought that that was non-verbally settled, Grady. I don't know why you're still sweet-talking me about it." She teased. "Do I have to give you a memo?"
He laughed, his head thrown back. "I guess not. It's still nice to hear you say it though." The sparkle was back in his eyes and smile. She had a vague feeling, she was reflecting it with her own as well.
"God, you have no idea-" Owen then shook his head and didn't finish his sentence. He traced a finger on her cheek before parting her fringe to the side. His features perked up, brightening and blinding. "What do you say we go on a date?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "A date? Like, right now?"
"Yeah! It felt like ages since we had one."
"So, the breakfast and dinners at your place don't count?"
"Oh, they definitely did." He said with a laugh, grabbing her waist. "But I wanna take you out. Some place."
"We have work." She reminded him.
"Come on, Dearing. Let's be cheesy and foolish teenagers for a day."
He sounded so excited, it felt cruel to say no to him. Claire giggled, circling her arms around his neck. She had a feeling it was already a lost battle.
"Where are we going, Grady?"
He beamed, that famous dimpled grin that was making her feel lightheaded.
"I don't know yet. I thought I could just wing it." he shrugged.
"Sounds perfect."
The way he was looking at her, overflowed her with relief she hadn't felt in ages. She craned her neck at him, hands dangling behind his nape. Owen smiled. His whole face twinkled with mischief and something else that makes her wanna dance and jump.
His eyes darkened, his breathing shallowed as hers stopped. She swallowed and dropped her eyes on his lips. Even with her heels, she was still shorter than him.
The familiar cracking in the air was imminent again. And Owen must've caught it because he bent his head down -lips ready- to relieve them both off it.
But the door swung open.
"Cla-" Zara's voice halted.
And they did too.
Their lips stopped mid-air.
The conversation from the other side of the room became less muffled.
They stood there, paralyzed.
Frozen on the spot.
Caught red-handed.
Claire heard Lowery, who wasn't in her peripheral yet, hollered "Why are you standing there looking like a- OH HELL NO!"
The employees in the background stretched their necks towards the open door. Claire saw their jaws dropping to the floor. Somebody screeched an high pitch squeal. She thought somebody was clapping, applauding in the background. Then everything became silent. One could hear the thrumming noise of the AC or a pin drop. Or her heart beating out of her chest.
Claire removed her hands from Owen's neck and stumbled backward.
"Perfect timing. Where's Emma?" Owen quipped, sounding and looking confident. Whereas her, her pale cheeks and neck were blushing a much deeper hue than her hair.
"She's uh… she's in the uh…" Zara sputtered, before a glittering smile brightened up her face. "In the copy room."
Beside Zara, Claire saw Lowery took out his wallet, mouthing the bills as he counted.
"Okay." Owen said with a nod before continuing in that silvery tune. "Clear mine and Miss Dearing's schedule for today."
Her assistant looked like someone gave her a candy. "Of course! Anything you need." Zara chirped. "Claire?"
"Yes. As…" she cleared her throat, feigning confidence. "As Mr. Grady said."
"Alright!"
"Thank you… Miss Dearing, lead the way?" Owen crowed, opening his hand to let her walk and exit first.
Claire grabbed her phone from the table and avoided their assistants' eyes as she passed them. Pairs of eyes followed her to the elevators and Claire felt herself blush even more. She could practically see Owen's smile from behind her, the skip to his every step.
"What do I tell Zia?" Lowery asked, his phone in hand. "She's with your security in the other room.
"Tell her, it's okay. We'll see her and you guys tomorrow."
Owen swiped his card and stood beside her. The same, amused smile configuring his face.
"Enjoy." Lowery snickered, as he, demonstrably handed money to Zara. Claire narrowed her eyes at them.
"Bye-eee." Her assistant waved a hand, her fingers curling, a triumphant gleam in her face.
The elevator doors closed and a short silence befell them.
"Well…" Owen began, his amused reflection seen in the mirrors. Claire turned her head to him, their eyes locking. "That was-"
Seeing the colourful mirth in his face made her flush. And her stern expression immediately morphed into a coy smile.
"What?" He said, his the corners of his mouth jerking to a grin.
And they burst out laughing, the raucous sound reverberating in the enclosed space.
The weather and traffic were coordinating with their activities. Everything about today made her forget all her troubles.
Before leaving the company, Owen pilfered a basket of snacks from the cafeteria. He still didn't tell her where they were going. Not until they reached Golden Gate Park where portable carnival set up camp.
Around them were donkey rides, food kiosks and game stalls. The mob of locals and tourists filled the garden. Lollipops, popcorn and chocolate covered apples on their hands. Bicycles and roller skates roamed around the field. The colors of the bunting flags above them reflecting the merriment. Hers, included.
They checked out the Ferris wheel first. She luxuriated in the golden afternoon and the easy flow of happiness below her. Though, it can't be the same for Owen. Owen Grady, multi-billionaire and Pride of the NAVY was skittish around heights.
There's a reason why I didn't join to the Airforce, Claire.
She had her fun by rocking the booth they were in. Owen clutched the rails, his lips pale, eyes closed tight. He had his own revenge later on though. One of the hotdog vendors was sprinkling water on the pavement, cooling off the heat. Owen thought it was hilarious to push her under the hose. She was too late to reach and the water drenched the bottom of her dress and heels in the process. She threw the pair of Manolos at him and it hit him square in the chest. He doubled back, hurt, before he ran after her. People stared at them, thinking why two grown adults were chasing each other around the grass.
Owen then showed (more like bragged) his strength on the High Striker. She sat on the empty ring toss booth 's seat across him. Her legs crossed, elbows resting on the platform behind her. She watched him beat mark after mark, the veins on his arms swell with every hit.
The series of "dings" attracted more females than she would've liked. After a good five minutes in the game, a small crowd of females completely hid him from view. She let them ogle at him for a few minutes more. But at some point, the bell stopped ringing and she figured that he's done. The group of women parted as Owen found her.
"There you are." He stated, acting oblivious to the giggling and whispering crowd behind him.
She rolled her eyes at him and added in a sarcastic tone. "Here I am. Hurray!"
Owen snickered and kissed her on the cheek. He put his arm around her shoulders before they went off to check another game booth. Claire curled her lips, hiding the possessive grin from the disappointed women.
The botanical garden was next. They walked, hand in hand as Owen tried to entertain her with made up scientific names of the plants around them. Afterwards, he persuaded her to go paddling with him in Stow Lake. Owen held her heels as she assisted her in and out of the boat. He was so excited to teach her the basics of rowing. And she tried to understand, honest to God, she did. But she zoned out after the correct positioning of the elbow, leaving Owen to do all the work. The rowing movement allowed his arms and torso to bulge under the cotton. A thin layer of sweat ran down his arms and neck. It was distracting her for the rest of the ride. She issued a silent thank you to whoever designed the shirt he was wearing.
At the end of the afternoon, they settled on the meadow near the conservatory. Owen laid out the thermal blanket that he had in his car on the grassy field and the basket of goods.
Claire was basking in the touch of the sun's warmth on her exposed shoulders. For the thousandth time that day, she felt the smile outline her lips. She clutched the plush stuff toy on her lap, raking her hand on the faux fur. Its lifeless, animated eyes gazing up at her. She traced a finger on its snout, down to the pink tongue poking from its mouth.
Owen won it in one of the shooting games. It was the highest prize and Claire couldn't help but tease and criticise him. Since he used to work with guns for a living, he, in a way, cheated.
She chuckled, recalling the boyish expression when he gave it to her.
"A very cute but dirty puppy for the pretty lady." He cooed, hiding behind the animal's ears.
"Why, thank you." She laughed, grabbing the toy. He was smiling at her, that smug, lopsided smirk he always had. "But this is a wolf cub, Owen."
"Do you have to correct me for everything?" He groaned, acting offended.
Instead of answering, Claire took him behind a nearby ticket booth, pulled him down and kissed him.
"Thank you for my dog or wolf." She breathed against his lips, slightly out of breath. "I love it."
And the smile he gave her was so irresistible that she had to give him another kiss.
"They don't have snow cones, so I got you an ice cream instead." Owen announced as he approached her from behind. In his hands were two ice cream sugar cones. One was chocolate, the other a pinkish, white treat. "I got you their strawberry vanilla instead."
She straightened up. "Thank you."
Owen removed his shoes and sat cross legged on the sheet. They ate in a comfortable silence, as they observed their surroundings.
In a few distance from where they were, were families, couples in their picnic blankets. A farther distance away were tourists as they hither and thither. Their faces sweaty, burnt but exuberant.
"When I was a kid…" Owen started, still staring ahead. "Me and my mom used to go to places like this. She would make me play every game until I win."
She smiled, picturing the memory. "Where's your dad?"
"He would go with us sometimes, but work always holds him up."
Claire knotted her eyebrows, putting the hand holding her treat on her thighs. This was far from the Alan she knew.
"He was kind of a workaholic back then. But after my mom died, he started going home earlier. Sometimes he won't go to work and fetch me at school. He'll ask me to skip class and we'll go to the movies."
That sounded like Alan.
"But me and my mom understood what he was doing. And this must sound as bad as it does, but I kind of liked how he wasn't always with us."
"How so?"
"Because I get to spend every moment with my mom. I was thankful I got to spend everyday with her. Not a moment wasted, you know. It was just us. It was comforting that we had our own thing- very separate from Dad."
Claire noted the love and adoration in his voice. "You must miss her."
He sighed, staring at the grass with a blank expression. "Very much. But, after she died, my dad was with me every step of the way. We became closer. He was my best friend."
"I know. He wouldn't shut up about you." She chuckled, presuming eating. "Everyday there's always gonna be a new story. Owen this, Owen that. It's sweet but sometimes I did wonder if it's all true."
He squinted at her and pursed his lips- a smouldering look, she presumed, was to entice her. "And? Now? What do you think?"
"Still debatable." She teased back, biting into her scoop.
He leaned back, gazing at her with that curious look in his eyes. "You know, thinking about it. I'm sure I heard your voice before. One or two times when I called Dad. And funny thing was, whenever I ask him who's he talking to, he's gonna change the topic."
"I'm sure he has his reasons for not talking about me."
"Maybe he did. But one thing's for sure…" He exclaimed, swallowing the last of his sugar cone.
"Hmm?"
"If he ever talked about you, I would've gotten out of the NAVY way earlier."
"You are a terrible charmer, Grady." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "But I doubt that."
"It's true." He asserted in an as-a-matter-of-fact voice.
"Ha! I'm not falling for it."
"If you're not falling for it," he taunted, smirking at her. "Then why are you smiling, Miss Dearing?"
She chuckled, racking her brain for a pathetic excuse to explain the idiotic grin on her lips. "I love this ice cream flavor."
"Pfft!" He scorned before his features light up. "Can I taste?"
Claire sipped the melted vanilla on the edge of her cone before giving it to him. But Owen tugged her arm that she almost lost her balance. All her senses shut down as he met her sticky lips.
His tongue entered her mouth. Claire pulled back, unaccustomed to the display of affection. But Owen held the back of her neck, securing her mouth to his.
He pulled away, licking his lips. "Mmm, the best ice cream I've ever tasted."
"You're an idiot." She murmured, still reeling from the kiss.
"Yes… and I'm in love with you."
As soon as he said it, she saw his eyes widened into bowling balls. Claire drew back, astonished.
"Did I… Did I just said that? Out loud?" He fumbled, his cheeks and ears turning into a shade of pink.
"I… Uh… yeah."
"Ah, damn it!"
And she couldn't help the smile that etched her face. Or the heights her heart just took.
"Fuck me. I had a plan for... for when I'm telling you." He shook his head, blushing like she had never seen him before.
She almost wanted to laugh out loud but decided against it, lest he got the wrong idea. The last guy she's expecting to be punctual and organised actually made a plan? Owen Grady made a plan? And for this?
Claire couldn't keep the glee in her tone. "You? You made a plan? For when you tell me?"
He avoided her eyes and nodded. "Yes."
And she didn't think that he could blush even more. She tilted her head at him, urging him to go on.
"I was gonna dress up, coat and tie. And ask you to dinner in your favourite restaurant. And we're gonna drive to this hill where you can see the stars. And I'm gonna have some background music playing in the car when I say it."
Claire felt the smile splitting her face.
"Whatever. I may be overthinking it." He casted his eyes down, back to the grass. He stretched his legs in front of him, avoiding her gaze. Disappointment clouding over his posture.
Never had she seen him insecure of himself.
Claire wrapped her cone with tissue paper before she put it down.
She leaned forward, her heart beating so loud in her chest. She hooked her fingers on his chin, turning him to face her. "You're not overthinking anything, Grady." She whispered before latching her lips to his.
This might be the sweetest kiss she had ever received from him. His lips was creamy from his chocolate treat. His mouth ravaged her in a new, electrifying beat. Claire sucked on his bottom lip, issuing a groan from his throat. He pulled her body over him that she was almost half-lying on his torso. His hand glided to her hair down to her neck.
Claire couldn't put the best words to describe the emotions he was bringing in her. Was it possible to feel so lost, yet, somehow, at the same time, felt found?
She pushed the back of his head to hers and squeezed his shoulder. She slanted her head to the side, allowing him to kiss her with much more depth. Claire didn't care if they were being indecent, and by the hand buried in her hair, she knew, he didn't either.
He loves me! He loves me! He loves me!
The words kept flashing in her mind like a broken lightbulb. The wonderful colors of warmth drowning her in a sea of happiness she never knew she was capable of.
They broke apart, chests heaving for air, their foreheads resting against the other. Owen gave her a fleeting kiss on the lips again. His green orbs, ever so expressive, brimmed with the spark she had always noticed but couldn't name.
"I love you, Claire. I think I've always known… From that moment I saw you walk into that boardroom. I still remember what you wore and how you carried yourself. You were gonna rip me a new one, I just know it. I have never met someone as bright, as beautiful, as generous and as tough as you. You are the most amazing person I know… I'm so in love with you, it's crazy. And it felt good to finally say it."
She stared at him, her heart chasing out the words she wanted to say. Does she love him? Her lips couldn't find the answer because she was too focused on his.
"And it's okay if you won't say it back. I'm not pressuring you… I just wanted you to know."
A surge of overflowing happiness enveloped her, as if her blood's made of raindrops and sugar. Her stomach churned with thousands of butterflies. Her knees were feeling shaky, she's grateful that she was sitting down.
She smiled at him, her heart expanding under his scrutiny. Her eyes glistening with a newfound light. "Like I said, always the terrible charmer, Grady."
Claire circled her arms around his neck and stretched her neck up for another kiss. He granted her. His lips were twitching under hers, smiling and kissing her nonetheless.
His arms wound around her in a big, warm and protective embrace. She could feel how fast his heart was racing beneath his shirt. The world melted around them as he squeezed her back, his arms crossing over her waist.
What would it take for them to stay in this moment forever? Safe, happy and without an ounce of worry?
The people around them thinned as the evening went on. They stayed at the park for another hour before packing their belongings.
"I had so much fun today."
He gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad. You ready to go?"
"Yeah. But I have to use the bathroom first."
His eyes diverted to the compound behind him. "I'll go with you."
"Stay here. I'll be fine. It's only a few feet away." But she knew that stern tint in his eyes. Owen gave her a light peck on the lips.
"I'll be right outside."
As much as she detested the precautionary measures, it was necessary. And if it was the other way around, Claire knew she'll be doing the same to him. Claire nodded and offered him a reassuring smile. "Okay."
The queue inside was five minutes long. She looked overdressed compared to the summer clothes of the women around her. As she was washing her hands, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror and stopped. The blush was heating up her cheeks. Her eyes, large and unusually green. A wide smile was permanent and goofy.
He loves me!
She didn't know she could be this happy over three simple words. The feeling was like a broad belt of sunshine in an endless winter- dazzling and fierce in its entirety. It made her feel complete. The warmth she tried so hard to repress in the past, was now flowing freely through her.
The sky had already turned darker when she got out. For a moment, she couldn't see him and a pang of paranoia hit her. But Owen reappeared from behind a cart on her right. He was holding two bottles of water, his countenance dimmer than a while ago.
"Something wrong?"
"What? No. Nothing." He smiled at her, "You ready to go?"
People started crowding the parking as well. Everyone, eager to go home after the day. The drive back to the townhouse- though filled with small talks on occasion- was dreary quiet. An old love song was playing on the radio. Owen hummed into it before grabbing the hand on her lap and played with it. The traffic got bad later on, though she didn't mind.
They arrived past eight in the evening. And as it had been for the past week, Owen went to search every room first. She was behind him, and she felt like a worthless back up. If anything were to happen for real, she didn't know how she could help him. Though Owen had taught her how to load and fire a gun two days ago, she hadn't actually fired a real one. Yet.
Claire set her stuff toy and bag on the kitchen counter as Owen grab another glass of water. She removed her heels, letting it fall on the floor with a loud thud. Claire walked behind him and enfolded him in an embrace. She pressed her cheek on his spine, the broad muscles relaxed under her touch. She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and trekked through little hair on his chest. She felt a shiver ran through him.
"Thank you for today, Mr. Grady." She mumbled against his back, before kissing it. Her hands following the line of hair down his abdomen.
He swivelled in her arms and kissed the top of her head. "You're very welcome, Miss Dearing. I had a lot of fun too."
Claire tugged him down by the neck until her nose was inches from his lips. Her tone seductive, "I'm ready to go to bed now."
He let out a deep, roaring chuckle. His hands held her waist. "Bed, huh?"
Claire bit her lip, her hands skimming over the stubble on his neck. "Unless you got better ideas?"
She saw the evil smirk on his face before he bent his knees and grabbed her thighs. Owen had hauled her over his shoulder, like a weightless sack of flour. Claire yelped, pounding her hands on his back.
"Put me down!" She screeched with a laugh that was echoing throughout the house.
"You asked for it, you're gonna get it, baby."
"Owen..."
They had abandoned the art of cleaning some ten minutes ago. The water in the bathtub was lukewarm, the suds covering half of their body. He had his shoulders propped against the slope of the tub with her back leaning on to his chest. She was sitting between his legs. Her own legs, astride as he goaded her with his expert fingers.
"Owen..." she called out again, involuntarily.
He groaned in reply, the sound vibrating against her back. Claire turned her head to the side, her lips immediately contacting with his skin. She trailed her tongue on his jaw, to his ear as his finger continued its unholy ministrations.
"You're so beautiful..." He mumbled against her hair, the dark tendrils plastering on her neck and shoulders. Owen parted it to the side as his other fingers went in and out of her folds in the slowest of rocks. His free hand was massaging her breast, pinching the erect nipple. Claire gripped his thighs as he added another finger. "...I'm so fucking lucky."
She sucked on his earlobe as she panted. His delicious erection digging on her lower back. Claire wanted nothing more for him to buried himself in her. His muscled chest was heaving against her shoulder blades. The fingers inside her curled, and pumped in and out. He was grunting with lewd remarks as he did so. She clasped the hand holding her breast, as her body arched. Claire ground her hips, spurring him to be more aggressive. She felt, more than heard his moan. He sucked the skin on her left shoulder as he slid another finger.
Fuck.
Her moan was a little louder this time. Owen hummed as he moved towards her jaw, his three fingers spreading her. "You feel so good."
She whimpered, her hands gripping the wonderful hands on her body. Claire felt him smirk against her neck before his hot, minty breath tickled her ear. She purred, her nails scratching his legs.
"What do you want, baby?"
"You."
Only you. Please.
Owen gave a soft kiss on her cheek before he grasped her hips and lifted her a few inches off his body. Claire used the side of the tub to raise herself. Her knees were still shaking from the heights he brought her not five minutes ago.
And he brought her down, the tip of his engorged member sliced through her. She kept still, gnawing on her lips to prevent herself from screaming. Owen dragged her down… and then, it was all him.
She gasped, her knuckles whitened as she held on the tub. Water sloshed on the floor, the bubbles gone.
Owen cursed, pulling her hips to his. She steadied herself, her legs bent beside his knees, her feet under his thighs to support her. Owen reclined his body on the slope of the tub. And she moved up and down, his hands guiding her to him. Their breaths husky and short, filled with unbridled pleasure.
Claire let go of the sides and gripped his ankles, forcing herself on him. Owen roared, waves of water, splashed out the tub as he sat up and forward. The top parts of his knees and thighs surfaced on the water. He held her by her breasts as he pushed himself deeper into her, every thrust hitting the her deep. Claire welcomed him, her heat caving him in. Her body careened forward as he poked her with a rough push. But Claire caught herself, her hands gripped the front brim of the tub.
Owen was grunting behind her, his strokes slow, glorious and hungry. The water was making them clumsy that they had no other choice but to cling to each other. Owen braced his feet on the tub, his hands clasping the sides. He cursed out loud at the new position. Claire rose in and out of the water to meet him, her head looking over her shoulder, watching him. Owen's lips parted whenever she went down, his eyes heavy with passion and lust. She rested her elbows on the porcelain as she forced her body backwards.
Owen dug his fingers on her waist as she felt her walls closing him in. He groaned as he measured his pace, his body rising from the water. And he stopped altogether.
"Turn around, baby. I want to see you." He growled, slipping his girth out of her.
She straddled him in frenzy, water falling on either side of them. He had his arms on either side of the basin, behind her, caging her in. His pupils were wide, sexy and brooding. It was the same shade that always sent her toes curling and her body shaking for many hours.
Owen plunged into her once more, without warning. Claire felt her torso rise out of the water in pleasure. His mouth ducked down reaching for a nipple and he sucked, nibbled with an animalistic appeal. Claire wrapped an arm around his shoulder blades, the other, still gripping the edge of the tub. Their moans echoing off the bedroom suite. Owen let go of her breast and kissed her mouth. His tongue possessing her in rabid need. She rode him, rotating her hips, her body absorbing everything he was giving. Their harmonized moans, drowning out sound of the water spilling around them.
"I love you." she heard him whisper as he pulled away and Claire felt her heart expand with emotion.
She opened her eyes and met his glazed ones- full of promises, hunger and passion. Claire felt the air knocked off of her, the liquid golden sensation flooding her once again.
"And I would never, ever let-"
Before he could finish his sentence, Claire smashed their lips again. Her face angled to kiss him deeper, hands buried in his wet hair. She pulled at it as her body became desperate.
Owen hastened his movements as her body spasmed around him. Her body so attuned with his. Their connection was natural and primitive, unlike she had ever felt before. It was everything she never knew she needed.
The entire galaxy exploded in her vision. Claire screamed, her neck stretched into the ceiling. Her body was quivering with release but Owen continued for a few more thrusts. His hand slid down her butt and snuggled her into him. His grunts bolder, louder.
"Jesus, Claire."
Until he finally trembled, with a garbled cry of her name.
Claire remained coiled in his strong embrace as they restored oxygen back to their lungs. Their breaths, now in perfect unison.
"You are phenomenal." He muttered, resting their foreheads together.
Her palm rested on the side of his face. Claire had always reserved her judgment in every aspect of her life. But now, the compliments and gratitude became easier for her to give. "As are you."
Owen brought both her hands on his lips and kissed each pruny finger. He pulled away and reached behind him for a towel. They both stood up from the bathtub, laughing on the mess on the wet floor.
He swaddled his towel around her first before grabbing one for himself. They dried themselves, their flushed and satiated appearances reflected on the vanity mirror.
But in a split second, a shadow fell on his face. His eyes became distant, and his smile fell. Before she could make a comment, he shook it off.
As they both got dressed, Claire felt today's activities finally taking its toll. An unexpected yawn contorted her face and she rubbed her hands on her eyes.
"You tired?" he asked, carding a damp strand of hair off her forehead.
"Kind of. You?"
"This might sound a little hypocrite of me but…" he rubbed at his nape, looking guilty. "I have to answer of few emails."
She chuckled, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him, "When did you start becoming me?"
"You're a bad influence." He beamed at her. "You need anything downstairs?"
She shook her head.
Owen leaned down and gave her a quick peck. "I'll be only an hour. Sleep baby."
And he left.
Claire settled on his sheets, his scent engulfing her with the welcoming warmth. She hugged his pillow, nuzzling her nose deeper into the case.
She was back in the park. But it was empty.
Claire was standing in the middle the bridge in Stow Lake, alone. Although the sun was high up in the sky, the glare wasn't as heated and blinding as it's supposed to be. The trees and bushes swayed yet, it was windless. Then she heard it. His laugh, accompanied by another tenor sound she didn't know she could hear again.
Claire turned to the sound, and she was in the picnic grove. Owen and Alan was nudging each other, barbecue tongs in hand. Smoke was coming from the grill. It smelt like pork chops. A Coleman cooler sat beside them and three lounge chairs. Both gentlemen turned to her, joy in their faces.
But Owen's smile was blinding. He reached out his hand, offering it to her. He drew her to him and her heart catapulted in an instant. His arms, always felt strong, safe... home.
"I love you, Claire." He muttered on her temple.
She tipped her head back to say it back. But she saw how he paled. His hazel green, expressive eyes dilated, his mouth opened in shock. His complexion became grayer as if someone was draining the color from him. The hands she always deemed to be warm and comforting turned cold. Something wet was pressing against her stomach.
When she looked down, his shirt was bleeding with fresh blood. Her hands immediately covered his wound, she whipped her head around for help. But everything disappeared, including Alan. They were back in the woods. Back in Devil's road. The wreckage that was her car lie abandoned behind her. Owen was still standing in front of her. His face had gone paler by the second until his eyes glazed and they both fell down. She shook him, tears blocking her vision.
A beeping sound woke her.
Claire opened her eyes and saw the wolf cub stuff toy staring at her. Behind it, was the wide window of his bedroom, darkness still encompassing it.
Her heart was beating fast, her brain buzzing with the events of her dream. On instinct, her hand reached for him on the bed next to her.
But it was cold and empty. Like the Owen in her dream. She sprang up, her ears perking up for any sound in the house. She glanced at the clock on his bedside table and noticed his phone. And a glass of water.
Something was wrong.
"Owen?"
Claire threw the covers aside and wandered to the bathroom. He wasn't there. Panic was starting to rise to her chest. With bare feet, she went to the study, where he said he was before she went to sleep.
The door was open, which gave her a slight relief. She pushed the door open and the ropes twisted in her stomach.
Although nothing seemed to be out of place, Claire couldn't help the foreboding sense in her gut. She ran down the stairs, calling his name.
Then she heard it.
The rapid fumbling with the front door lock.
It doesn't make sense. Why would Owen want to break in to his home?
Claire walked to the foyer, her heart in her throat, knees wobbling.
Something doesn't feel right.
Claire managed to grab the vase on the console.
"Owen?" It was barely a whisper. She couldn't move, her legs felt like lead.
The mechanism of the door wouldn't budge.
And the person behind it was getting desperate. He kicked it.
Shoulder banged it.
Multiple times.
Where is Owen?
A familiar voice shouted their names.
And the door burst from its hinges.
The French guy she met at farmhouse and Zia's faces came into view.
Their guns hoisted in the air.
Their faces damp with sweat and palpitating worry.
"Claire!" Zia yelled before she crossed the room to hug her... or hold her up. "Are you okay? Where is he?"
What is happening? she wanted to ask but her mouth cannot form the words.
"Barry, check the rooms! Find him!"
Barry nodded and jogged to the stairs, his head turned up, gun in the air.
And Claire didn't know what happened next.
The infernal pain in his head dulled out the rest of his senses. His eyes was still groggy, his throat, parched, his lip felt swollen. He ran his tongue on it and he flinched at the tang of rust. He was sitting cross-legged on the shaky floor, his head hung low. It felt like someone pulled his brains out and put them back in. He could still smell the drug they suffocated him with, he gagged. His hands, restrained by handcuffs on a pole behind, the metal biting his wrists as he pulled. His eyes adjusted to the dark, but not quick enough. His gaze wandered to the small opening in the room, a wash cloth covering the light emitting from it.
A cranking sound echoed below him and Owen's hit with a sudden doze of nostalgia. And although, he couldn't see more than the shadows of a dark room, he knew where he was. The stale, sulphur smell of the air. The lulling sway of the floor below him. The faint scent of seaweed, and squawking gulls in the far distance. Owen Grady spent a great deal of his life in ships and he knew when he was in one.
And then, a voice he recognised, cracked in the dark.
"Owen?"
Chains rattled in the small room. Owen whirled his head, trying to locate the sound. His body froze as he processed what was happening.
It can't be. He couldn't be here. He was in retirement with his wife, for almost a year now. Owen felt the his stomach drop all the way to the ocean floor.
"Si- Simon? Simon!" Owen shouted, "Are you okay?"
"Hey, Kiddo." he coughed, "I'm fine."
A radio squeaked from his left. Owen stayed still, as another familiar, voice rang,
"He's awake."
And Owen felt his blood enraged in murderous ripples. The thick cloth covering the window fell, allowing little light into the room. But he didn't need it to identify the traitor.
"Brennan, you fucking son of a bitch!
To be continued...