CHAPTER 7—CHEEKY COMPLICATIONS

The man who had taken Anthony Wengrod's life went by the auspicious nickname of Cheeky.  He couldn't remember how it had been branded on him, but he was fond of it all the same.  He often thought of himself as a 'cheeky little monkey.'  He had had trouble with people taking him seriously due to that nickname, but the instant they saw his semi-automatic handgun, the snickering ended.  He was a brutal killer and had taken out people of all ages, from all walks of life.  If he was given an order, he normally carried it out despite the circumstances.  However, Frank Donovan was a complication he or his boss hadn't exactly expected.  Donovan was an old enemy of the boss, and he hoped that he would not have him shot once he admitted that he had not taken out the whore.

"Did you do her," he boss asked as he thoughtfully stroked his closely shaven beard.

"Not exactly, Boss," Cheeky said.  The boss' face had begun to turn red, and if he didn't speak up soon, his life would be no more.  "Hold up a sec, Boss.  There's something I want to show you."

He watched as Cheeky carefully laid out a large manila envelope on his desk.  "What the fuck is this, you weak ass prick," he demanded.

"Just look, Boss, you won't be disappointed."

The boss was already making plans to have Cheeky eliminated for his failure.  However, he might as well humor the idiot during his last few days on earth.  He tore open the envelope and one lone photo slid out to greet him.  Immediately, a smile broke out on his face, and thoughts of having his exterminator taken out drifted out of his mind.  It's almost like my birthday, he thought.  The photo showed Donovan in a very compromised position with the senator's whore.  How very…interesting.  He slid the photo back into its envelope and hid it beneath his desk's blotter. 

He glanced at his new best friend.  "You know what to do, Cheeky."

Cheeky cackled insanely.  "Oh yeah, I know what to do all right, and this is going to be fun."

*  *  *

The last two days Donovan and Remy were together were the two most torturously agonizing days of their lives.  Neither of them could eat or sleep, neither of them spoke to the other unless it was absolutely necessary.  Donovan had even taken to sleeping in the hallway, making a thin pallet of two blankets on the floor.  It did nothing to improve his backaches, made them worse, in fact, but he couldn't stay in the same room with Remy any longer.  He couldn't stand the wounded glint in her eyes each time she looked his way.  It had taken him less than two weeks to ruin their lives.  He couldn't deny he still wanted her.  Their encounter had implanted inside him, and it was all he could think about.  He longed to see her, to see all of her. 

Remy, on the other hand, was hurt.  Donovan had taken her and then dropped her like a cheap slut.  Not only that, but he had stolen her legal pad, had read her thoughts, knew of her torment, and her desire for him.  Yet, he did nothing with the information, only allowed it to stagnate inside him.  She couldn't lie and say she would be happy to see him go, but she also couldn't continue to be near him on a daily basis without losing her mind.  When his replacement came, she knew she would likely never see Donovan again.  That thought comforted her a bit, but disturbed her even more.

Just hours before Ed Lomax was slated to arrive at the cabin, Donovan was busily packing.  Remy was still asleep.  While talking with Lomax earlier, Donovan learned that little progress had been made on Wengrod's case.  The FBI was chalking it up to a random act committed by some lunatic.  This information had been the only thing that released Donovan from the assignment.  Otherwise, he would have been stuck.  Remy's protection would continue how ever long it took, but from experience, Donovan knew that she could be released at any time.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that.  Donovan was concerned about her safety.  Regardless of what happened, of how Remy felt about him now, he didn't want anything to happen to her.  He was halfway tempted to back out of leaving.  He had a bad feeling way deep down inside his gut, and he knew he shouldn't ignore it, but he shoved it aside anyway.  He needed to get his mind off Remy Ellis and back onto his task at hand.  The sooner he was out of her life, the better it would be for everyone involved.

Movement from the daybed broke his concentration.  Remy was waking up.  He had hoped to be finished packing before she saw him.  For the first time in a couple of days, she gazed steadily at him, curiously watching his frenzied packing session.  For a moment, she hated him, truly hated him.  He was breaking his neck trying to get away from her.  He wasn't looking at her, he couldn't.  He could feel her eyes on him, watching him, and he was quite tempted to look her way.  He didn't.  All it would take for him to lose his composure would be one gentle look from her beautiful eyes.

"You're leaving today?"

Give me the strength not to look at her.  It was the first calm words she had spoken to him since she ripped her journal to pieces.  "Yes.  I have a job to do elsewhere."

She said nothing more to him.  Instead, she brought herself to her feet and made her way past him, toward the bathroom.  A few moments later, he heard the shower running.  With the last item packed, Donovan carried his bags out to the Suburban.  A few more hours, Donovan, and you're out of here.  He didn't feel comfortable leaving her in her current state.  She didn't trust him any longer.  It was obvious.  He didn't trust himself.

Donovan stayed outside for a long time.  The fresh air was doing wonders with his torment.  However, reality awaited, and he couldn't avoid it.  Slowly, he climbed the porch steps and went inside.  As he saw Remy, his jaw dropped.  She stood in the middle of the room dressed only in a towel.  She was digging in her bag for a fresh change of clothing.  Her wet hair, and the water glistening on her skin, sent a heated thrill through his soul.  She stopped what she was doing and planted her hands stubbornly on her hips.  With her eyes, she dared him to come toward her.  Losing his composure again [God help me], he took her dare.  He approached her at a slow and steady pace.  She stood her ground and held her chin up defiantly.  Her arrogant, Nordic cheekbones challenged him, mocked him.  Donovan took her by the forearms and roughly pulled her body against his.  He mashed his mouth down onto hers and forced her lips apart with his tongue.  He kissed her deeply, hungrily, consuming her with his insistent mouth.  His hands groped for her towel.  He had to touch her, taste her, to make mad love to her.  He was met with resistance.  Remy clutched desperately at the towel as Donovan tried to pry her fingers loose.  She planted her free hand into the middle of his chest and pushed with all her might.  He wasn't an idiot.  She was plainly trying to fight him off.  He immediately broke the kiss and let her go.

"Who do you think you are?  Do you think that I'm that easy?  Do you?  Do you want another good ol' fuck before you leave, Frank," she asked icily.  "It's not happening.  Go to hell." 

She took an armload of clothes and made her way to the bathroom.  He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.  He thought about what he wanted to do next.  He knew he should have let it go, but he wasn't thinking clearly.  He began to stalk toward the bathroom until a noise from the front of the cabin caught his attention.  Ed had arrived, and he was early.  Five more minutes, and he would have had her.

"Dude," Lomax called cheerily. 

Donovan turned to face his friend.  Lomax immediately noticed the look on his face.  He wondered what had been happening before he arrived.  Of course, he didn't think it was anything sexual, but he thought they might have been fighting. 

"Frank, you okay, man?"

He shook his head absently.  "I'm fine, Ed, just ready to get out of here.  Who is staying with Miss Ellis?"

He held up a small overnight bag.  "That would be me, my friend.  Another agent will be sent out to replace me in a few days.  How is she?"

How is she, Donovan interjected inside his head.  What the hell was he talking about?  Lomax hadn't meant the question to have a sexual connotation, but right at that moment, Donovan couldn't perceive it as anything else.  He thoroughly had to be going utterly loony.  Lomax noticed the look on Donovan's face.  He had seen the look before, almost ten years ago with his sister. 

"She's…she's fine, Ed."  It was a lie, of course.  She was not fine.  He had seen to that.

"Have you been getting along any better?"

Do you mean before I took her or after, he wanted to ask.  He bit the words back.  "Not really," he said instead.

Donovan was about to say goodbye until Remy appeared.  She had donned a dark blue cowl neck sweater dress.  She didn't quite enter the room.  She stood in the hallway with her arms crossed.  Her gaze was fixed on Donovan's face, and he could literally feel the ire radiating off her body.  She hated him, it was clear, but she also wanted him, and that was even clearer.  Thank God it was almost over, and he wouldn't have to see her again.  He wouldn't have to hurt her further; he wouldn't have to feel like such a shit.  He could do nothing, nor could he say anything.  His leaving was the best thing that could happen to her.  In a way, he was glad Lomax had arrived early.  He didn't want to complicate the situation any more than it already was.  He felt like a shit, he felt lower than scum, but he couldn't change what happened.  He didn't want to change it.

"I'll be on my way," Donovan finally said.

For a moment, he didn't move.  He waited for Remy to say something, anything, even if it was to tell off on him, on the way he had taken advantage of her.  She said nothing; she didn't even attempt to speak.  She kept her eyes locked on him and threw dagger after dagger at him.  The old cliché of 'if a look could kill' was never more apt than it was right at that moment.

He tried to maintain a calm 'I did nothing' exterior, but it was no good.  "Goodbye," he said, his dark eyes fixed on Remy's.

"Good riddance," she spat.

Donovan didn't react at all.  He deserved it, thoroughly deserved it.  He turned, walked to the door, and let himself out.  The instant he was out the door, Remy went into the bathroom and locked herself inside, spinning a lie to the new goon that she was sick.  In a way, she was.  Fuck that fucking fucker, she thought.  I don't care, I don't care, I don't fucking care.  She did though, and no amount of lying to herself would convince her otherwise.

*  *  *

Five thin packages arrived in the mail addressed to Donovan, Alex, Jake, Monica, and yes, even Cody.  They arrived before anyone had even come into the office to look at them.  Soon enough, someone would come in and see them.

*  *  *

Donovan didn't return to work for two days.  He hadn't been sleeping well since he came home.  He couldn't believe how much he had craved a night's sleep in his own bed, but the instant his body hit it, his eyes refused to stay closed.  He wasn't sure if anyone knew he was coming back so soon, and he didn't care.  As he entered the darkened office, he noticed that several manila envelopes had been slid under the door.  He retrieved them and took the one addressed to him.  He left the rest scattered about for his colleagues.  He wasn't immediately interested in the contents of the envelope, and unfortunately for him, it was his mistake.  He climbed the stairs to the sanctuary of his office and closed the door behind him.  He needed some time alone to get his shit together.  The events of the past couple of weeks weighed heavily on his mind.  Since he left Remy Ellis, not a minute went by that she wasn't on his mind.  Carelessly, he tossed the envelope aside and did something he rarely did.  He propped his feet upon his desk and leaned back in his chair.  He was away from her, away from her haunting eyes, and he should have been satisfied with that, but he wasn't.  He didn't know what would satisfy him other than having her again.

Downstairs, Alex and Monica were the next to arrive.  They had no clear idea that Donovan was already there, but they noticed the envelopes immediately.

"What in the world is this," Alex said as she handed Monica's to her.

Monica grinned a little.  "Porno mags?"

"Ha, Monica, you wish."  Without hesitation, she tore open the envelope.  When her eyes settled on the photo, she had to look twice to be sure she had seen what she thought she saw.  "Holy shit."

"What?  What," Monica yelled excitedly as she ran over to see what had caused the commotion.

Monica stood looking over Alex's shoulder.  She held a black and white photo showing a man entangled with a blonde woman.  The images had obviously been shot with a wide-angle lens, but the identity of the man was clear.  Their fearless leader had literally been caught with his pants down.  The photo had a date on it.  It corresponded with Donovan's absence on his 'special assignment.'

"There are three more like these addressed to me, Jake, and Cody," Monica said.  "Do you think-"

She didn't have time to complete her thought.  Alex scooped up the envelopes and ruthlessly tore them open.  Three more copies of the same photo slid out.  "When is he due back?"

"I'm not sure, but he needs to be alerted."

Alex couldn't tear her eyes away from the photo.  "What the hell was he doing?"

"I think the picture makes that kind of obvious, Alex," Monica said dryly.  "We need to find out where he is.  Something is not right."

Meanwhile, Donovan was in his own world.  He thought he had heard noise from downstairs, but he wasn't sure.  At the moment, he didn't care.  His mind had been drifting for the last hour.  Without warning, his door burst open.  Startled by the intrusion, his feet dropped to the floor and he turned toward the door.  Surprised, Alex and Monica simply gaped at him.  They hadn't expected to see him.

"What are you doing," he asked, his tone of voice demanding.

"Oh shit," Alex gasped.  "We came in to try to find contact information, and you're here."  Her sharp eyes spied an envelope thrown haphazardly on his desk.  "I think you need to open your mail, Boss.  Now."

Had they flipped?  What was the big deal?  The mail?  Why was the mail so damn important to them?  His mind was too clouded by confusion for him to put two and two together.  Without questioning their insistence, he reached across his desk and retrieved the envelope.  He tore it open and the photo slid soundlessly out.  He fixed his dark eyes on it, and immediately, he felt ill.  As he feared, the killer had been there the whole time.  He couldn't see what might happen to his career, he couldn't imagine the trouble he would likely be in if this photo made its way to his superiors.  All he could think about was Remy.  The killer knew, had probably been watching Remy walk in the woods.  Panicked now, he knew he had to get back to her.  This individual was no crazed constituent. 

Seemingly forgetting that Alex and Monica were in the room, he grabbed the phone and dialed the number to the satellite phone.  It rang and rang.  Donovan slammed the phone down with such force that the two women jumped a couple of inches off the floor.  He was wild eyed and appeared insane.  They had never seen him lose his cool like this.

"I have to go back," he said absently, seemingly realizing that Alex and Monica were still in the room.

He gave no explanation.  He said nothing further about the photo or the woman.  He secured his shoulder holster and ran out in a panicked huff.  Monica and Alex looked at each other, a question was telepathically transmitted between them:  What the hell was that all about?

*  *  *

Donovan pressed his foot to the accelerator.  Every moment he waited was another moment wasted.  He had been afraid that his actions would put Remy in harm's way, and he had been right.  She was in more danger than anyone even realized.  He hoped he could make it back in time to warn her, to finally protect her, as he should have days previously.  He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the satellite number again.  This time, it was busy.  What the fuck are they doing?  Ordering pizza?  He disconnected the call and dialed the number again.  He was met with constant burring rings.

"Why won't you answer," he spat softly, stress evident in his voice.

If anything happened to her, it would be his fault, and he couldn't live with the guilt of allowing another young woman to die.  The burden was too great, the potential loss too tremendous.