WEIZ GETS WISE
After their crazy ass interlude on the table, they separated, seemingly overwhelmed by what happened to them. Both of them were fucking cracked for having sex in Weizmulder's room. Pax couldn't believe it. As soon as she got off the table, her broken thong panties fell to the floor. She sighed, snatched them up, and took them into the bathroom. She hid the thong at the very bottom of the wastebasket. She hoped Weiz wouldn't find them. What does it matter? He knows we're fucking, he recorded the shit. She groaned. The damn room was drafty and she wished she had worn slacks. Impatiently, she paced about the room with her arms wrapped around her body. She couldn't yet look at Frankie, but he had moved back over to the foot of the bed. From the periphery of her vision, she could see him buttoning his shirt and nonchalantly tucking it into his slacks. She wondered if he had intended to go this far with her here? Of course, their conversation had steered them right toward this, hadn't it? Goddamn. This love thing was making her soft. She didn't understand it and wished someone could explain it to her. No one could, not even Frankie, because she just about bet a golden frog ass that he didn't give a fuck about her. You know that isn't true. Did she? Did she really? When she made a pass in front of Frankie, he was gazing up at her, wondering if she would stop. It was driving him nuts. She acted as if she were a trapped animal of some sort. She probably was, or at least felt that way. For the thousandth time, he asked himself where he was taking her, where he was leading them both. Did he even know? Did he even care? Did she?
He had finally had enough. "Pax, would you stop pacing?"
"Would you stop breathing," she snarled.
"This is getting old and tired," he said with a sigh.
"God. Don't tell me you want to shrink my head again, Frank? Please stay out of there, I'm sick of it. You got what you wanted, so shut the fuck up."
Donovan was so very tempted to grab her and kiss her again, but he hesitated. Since the time Weiz had left, all he could think about was kissing her, touching her, and making love to her. She currently wanted none of the above. He longed to experience the sensation and the emotion that had consumed them both after he made his confession to her. Nothing like that had happened since. Even their interlude today seemed more like the old way. Yet, she had gone back to pushing his buttons. That wonderful, wonderful defense mechanism had sprung up. Of course, he played right into her hands, just as he always did. Pax moved back toward the table again. Instead of hoisting herself up, she dragged a chair over to a spot where Frankie couldn't see her, and she dropped her body into it heavily. She was completely out of her mind. She knew this. If she wanted to shoot for avoidance, who was he to say anything? As he had known before the insane scene on the table, they were stuck together until Weiz came back [if he ever did]. He couldn't take the silent treatment. He never could. It was heartbreakingly similar to his fights with Remy. He turned his head to look at her. She had her eyes focused on her fingernails. She was purposely not looking at him. She sensed his eyes on her, but she didn't meet his gaze. The only way she could deal with it, with him, was if she had her back facing him. She would still feel his eyes, but at least not see him from the periphery of her vision. She stood and approached the window. She moved the heavy curtains aside and gazed at nothing in particular. She heard a small, rustling noise, and she thought Donovan was probably going to walk across to the bathroom. Instead, she felt the solid wall of his body pressing against her. She didn't want him to do this to her, didn't want his hands on her. She wanted to fight him away, but she couldn't move. She uttered a couple of curse words [fucking shit] under her breath as she felt his arms going around her waist. He wanted to hold her, but she didn't want it, didn't need it [how many times have I thought that today], but again, she couldn't move. She pounded her flat open palm against the window frame and cursed again, this time a bit louder. His embrace didn't break. Instead, it tightened and he rested his lips against the side of her head. God, what did he think he was doing? She pounded the frame again and realized that she was crying. She couldn't fight him away because she was too damn busy fighting herself, fighting her feelings. He pressed his lips against the side of her head and continued to hold her. Little by little, her resistance began to wane, and the tension flooded out of her body. Her hands settled on top of his and gripped them tightly. He held her until they heard a key rattling in the lock. They broke away from each other and turned toward the door. Donovan's hand instinctively went for his weapon. Neither of them knew what to expect. As the door opened and Weiz stuck his head instead, they both realized that he was still unarmed. Pax nodded firmly when she saw the small diskette in his hand. He had found the files. FINALLY.
"You're not off the hook, yet, Pax," Weiz said. "I have to inspect this disk first. Will the two of you mind if I lock you in together again? I'm sure you can find something to keep yourselves occupied, now can't you?" Weiz turned and slammed the door. They heard the key rattling in the lock again.
"Fuck," she grumbled. "I hate these damn games. Why can't he just fucking let it go?"
The two of them didn't bother sitting down. By that time, both of them were pacing, nearly bumping into each other a couple of times. The longer they stayed together, the weirder she felt. This had to end. This absolutely had to end. After another fifteen or twenty minutes, Weiz came back to the door and unlocked it. Donovan immediately inserted his body between the door and Pax's body. She griped behind him, but he ignored her. Weiz was smiling and holding the diskette in his hand as if it were a huge wad of cash.
"Well, Pax, it looks like you've turned over a new leaf," Weiz began. "The VP is a naughty, naughty guy. This lets you off the hook, both of you. However, I'm faced with another dilemma. Have I said yet how I hate dilemmas? Anyway, I have a contract, and I need a unit. What do the two of you suggest? Can you give me the VP?"
"We can give you nothing," Donovan said stiffly. "Thomas is mine. I have my own score to settle. Go to him and tell him that you earned your unit. I can find a place to stay and lay low."
Weiz gave Donovan a confused, startled look. "Are you requesting the assistance of a Death Angel, Donovan? Is that what I'm hearing? The VP ain't so fucking stupid. He'll want proof of your death. He'll want your head or some shit. I can't just say I did it, and he believe it."
"Wait a minute," Pax said. "Can you not get your tech guy in on this? What's his name? Cody? What if we dummied up a newscast? Use some of your cock and bull, Frank. Pull some strings. I know you can."
Donovan glanced at her briefly and nodded. "Oh yeah. Cody can do just about anything. What about you? He has orders to take you out, too? Doesn't he?"
"Oh yeah," Weiz said, "I sure do. She'll have to go wherever you go."
Pax groaned out loud and took a sideways glance at Donovan. "Kill me now," she said under her breath. "We only have to stay isolated until you make a meeting with the VP. If you 'kill' us tonight, we can have the newscast ready by tomorrow. You can have your meeting with the VP to verify everything. That's where the human bulldozer and his bulldozerettes can ride in and save the day." She glanced at Donovan. "Well? Is this something you can jive with?"
"If we can make it happen, let's do it," Donovan said. "What about you, Weiz?"
He shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
* * *
Donovan and Pax went to the nest where there were four agents confused and addled. For once, Jonella Paxton was quiet. She hadn't uttered a single word, even toward Jake, whom she always had an insult for. She sat back with her arms crossed over her chest and actually allowed Donovan to dominate the meeting. The plan was simple. Tonight, Weiz would 'take out' both Donovan and Pax. Tomorrow morning, the news would broadcast the horrible story. It seemed easy, too easy, but it was the only thing they had, the only way they could confront the VP.
After they dispersed, Donovan took hold of Pax's arm and led her to the crib. "You're probably going to kill me when I do this, but I have no choice." Without another word, he pushed her into the room and locked the door behind him. He waited for a moment and listened for her hissing, clawing, and cursing, but she didn't say a word. Bizarre. He had been preparing for several world wars and an atom bomb. He turned toward the door. "Jonella? I'll be back in an hour." Nothing. Not a word. "Pax?" He could hear her moving around, making herself comfortable on the couch inside the room, but she refused to speak. When he saw her again, they would have to have a very long talk.
* * *
Remy stood back from the door with a sigh. When Donovan called earlier, she had wanted to deny his visit. However, she couldn't deny him time with his daughter. She allowed him to enter her apartment and she watched as he went directly to Anastasia, who was playing happily in the middle of the floor with her building blocks. As her father joined her, she squealed loudly and knocked over a tower she had been meticulously building all afternoon. He helped her rebuild it as she babbled in her excited garbled language. Remy started toward her bedroom, but Donovan called out to her, and she stopped.
"What is it," she asked impatiently. Since his denial of her, she had been less and less enthused with him. She didn't want to become one of those ugly, bitter ex-wives, didn't want to start using their daughter against him. If she continued to linger around him, she was almost certain that she would become the woman she loathed.
He sighed as he stacked a block on top of the tower before Stasia knocked it off. Apparently, she didn't care for the color green. "Remy, the case we've been working on is about to be resolved. You may be hearing or seeing the news tomorrow, I want you to ignore it. Whatever it is that you hear about me won't be true; it's a part of the operation."
She stared down at him curiously. Whack. Stasia knocked off another block her father set up. She didn't like yellow, either. "What are you talking about? What's going to happen?"
He set up another block, this one blue. Stasia left it. "I can't go into details, you will hear something horrible, but I want you to remember that it didn't really happen. When you hear it, you can't tell people it isn't true, but you'll know it isn't. I know the baby is too young to understand. However, I don't want her hearing it. I think you should call in sick at work and stay home with her. Don't take any calls or visitors. Can you do this? Will you do this?"
She nodded. "Of course."
* * *
Donovan sat on his bed and listened to the shower run on and on. Earlier when he retrieved Pax, she was still in her weird quiet mood. She had said very little to him and no matter how much he goaded her, she refused. He ran his hand through his damp hair. He had taken a shower before her and spent about an hour cleaning up the bed from the 'hit.' She had been in the damn bathroom for an hour already. Something was eating at her and he knew what it was. He wished she would shake it. It was driving him a little nutty. He stood suddenly and moved toward the bathroom. When he opened the door, Pax's back was turned to him. She stood under the spray of water and hadn't made much progress in getting the shit off her body. He reached out and opened the shower door. Pax turned and glanced at Donovan. She wanted to protest, but she didn't have the energy. He stepped into the shower with her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Uh God. He wants to fucking hold me again, she thought. He took the sponge she was gripping in her hand and squeezed it to work up the suds. He began to wash away the red that streaked her arms and shoulders. She was so afraid, he had never seen her like this. Little by little, he washed away the red that she had been unable to remove due to her bizarre paralysis. When he finished, he threw the sponge down and brought his lips to her shoulder. He turned her to face him and he kissed her gently. She accepted his kiss and parted her lips against his. In relative short order, the kiss deepened and became consuming.
"Come on," he whispered against her lips as he tried to urge her out of the shower.
"No. I don't want to do this anymore," she said.
"Too late," he said. "You've kissed me, so I have your consent. You can't back out now."
"Goddamn it," she moaned.
He drew away from her and grasped her hand. "Come on," he urged again. "I want you."
"No you don't," she said.
"Yes I do."
Without waiting for her to speak, he pulled her forward until she was completely out of the shower. He took a towel and wiped away the excess water on her body. Carelessly, he tossed it aside and took her hand again. He led her into the bedroom and kissed her again. His hands traveled down her naked back and moved back up to plunge into her hair.
She broke the kiss. "I don't think…"
He cut her off with another kiss, this one brief and soft. "Do you think I'll listen? Let go, Jonella. Let go."
He kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her lips and allowing it to touch hers. He backed her up to the bed during the kiss and she drew her legs up around his waist. Supporting her for a moment, he lowered her to the bed and came down after her. His touch was incredible, heated. She understood why they had always gone at it fast and furious. She hadn't wanted to experience the real Frank Donovan, the one who had been revealed to her the first time he had made love to her [not the fucking, the lovemaking…there is a difference, believe it or not]. When he sank into her, she actually heard herself moan. What the fuck? She had never moaned or groaned or any of that shit. She had always thought it was disgustingly sickening. Away we go again.
Later, Pax sat up in bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Donovan lay beside her propped up on his elbow. He had been watching her for a long time and she hadn't moved a muscle. "Have you thought about what you're going to do after tomorrow night?"
She shook her head, but she wouldn't look at him. "Uh uh. I guess I want and need to finish the rest of that safe house prison sentence. Then I'd like to truck on out to Miami."
"Have you thought about staying here?"
She finally looked at him. His question had shocked the shit out of her. What the hell was he saying? "Why would I want to stay here," she asked incredulously, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. "What? You need a fuck buddy around in case your princess says no?"
He shook his head. Of course, she was only spitting out her words in such a fashion because she needed that defense mechanism. Incredible. After everything, she still sought out his buttons. "Jonella, you know that's not what I meant. I told you so that you'll know you have that option available. That is, if you want it."
"Thanks for the sentiment, but no thanks. I don't want to stay here," she said stubbornly before she turned away again.
"Care to tell me why?"
She shook her head. "What is this? Twenty fucking questions? No, Frank, I don't care to tell you why. It's none of your fucking business. It's rainy here, yucky in the winter, steamy in the summer, and stinky twenty-four seven. Miami is nice year round. Sandy beaches, the ocean, and well-hung men."
"Drug traffickers, the Mexican mob, it's fairly close to Castro, and it's damn far away."
She snorted. "I can handle all three quite well. You're right, it's far way, but I think there's an airport there. It's a fairly modern city."
"I suppose it is," he said.
"Can we not talk about this," she asked suddenly. "It's weirding me out."
"A lot of things have been weirding you out lately. Could that be your reasoning for wanting Miami," he asked pointedly.
"You think you know me so well, don't you?" She looked at him again. He was still gazing at her steadily. "Well, you don't. Stay out of my head and I'll stay out of yours."
"Sorry, I'm already there, as are you, and you're wrong. I do know you, that's the thing, isn't it? I know you better than anyone has ever known you." He settled back on the bed and put his arms behind his head. "The offer still stands any time you want to take it."
"Are you pulling my leg?"
This time, he refused to look at her. "Didn't we do that earlier? The other thing, the staying thing, was legitimate. You do whatever you want to do."
"I will," she stated flatly. "Don't worry about that."
* * *
Early the next morning, Gordon Thomas rose from bed and flicked on the television. He had a great desire to check out the opinion polls. Thus far, he was hands down the victor. He could almost taste the presidency. Two people were found dead early this morning inside a downtown apartment building. Thomas turned around, suddenly interested in more than the opinion polls. It appears that the couple was gunned down as they slept. Only one victim has been identified at this time, Frank Donovan. He snapped off the television before the newscaster could continue to yammer. Finally. Weiz had moved in and did what he was supposed to do. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize that the 'other' victim was Jonella Paxton. He snagged his phone and dialed a number. After listening to a dozen rings, he almost slammed the phone down. However, he hesitated.
"Bobby," a gruff voice said.
"I see by the news report this morning that you finally did your job. Congratulations. When are you going to bring over the proof?"
"Let's meet this evening around six at the usual place."
"Perfect. Bring multiple copies, would you? I'd like to keep a couple for Rodney. Would you mind?"
"Not at all. See you there, Thomas."