Darkest Hour Read online

  “I could show you a better one,” Jackson said.

  “I doubt it.”

  “I could take you up there and show you.” He pointed up the cell tower. “We could join the ninety-foot club.”

  “Uh, the what?”

  Jackson just smiled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure?” She waved her voice recorder. “Nothing you want to get on tape?”

  “No,” he said. “That was off the record.”

  “Well, let’s stay on it for now.”

  “We’ve been on it. What else do you want to know?”

  He’d already given her the more detailed story, including how he’d come to learn that their Libyan hit squad had taken out several dissenting CIA officers, and how he’d felt about it, the pain and anguish of assisting with the death of fellow Americans. That on top of his assassination attempt. On top of how he’d come to suspect that it had been done from the inside. From Hunwick, a rogue CIA Agent. Only no one else knew he was rogue.

  “Can you tell me more about the car bomb?”

  He sighed, flicking off the rest of Annica’s flung pebbles from his lap. He didn’t like talking about the car bomb so much. “What else do you want to know?” He struggled to keep his voice flat and natural.

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “Americans.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yes, but they didn’t do it knowingly. And it might have even been done by proxy, just like how we helped the Libyans take out our own men. Hunwick probably came up with some story to someone about why a car bomb was necessary. I’m sure that story didn’t include how it would kill four American servicemen.”

  “Do you have any evidence to back this up?”

  “Wanna have a look at my ear?” he said. “My medical records?”

  “I mean, how do you know about it being from Hunwick, about it being another covert operation?”

  “Rumors.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all I need,” Jackson said. “That, plus a gut feeling. An instinct.”

  “Yeah.” She took a deep breath.

  “An instinct is often all you get over there.”

  “Well, we’ll have to talk about those rumors.”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said, looking up at the sky. The moon had been covered again by a quick-moving line of clouds. The breeze had gotten significantly colder. “Looks like another storm is rolling in.”

  “Yeah,” Annica said quietly.

  “Are you cold?”

  “I’m fine,” she said with a shrug. “Thanks.” She held a clump of hair off her forehead, the wind kicking up now. The wind was making a low whistling sound through the rocks under them, the palm leaves whipping against each other.

  “I was going to offer my jacket,” Jackson said. “Isn’t that what gentlemen are supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, that kind of stuff. Not force a rookie reporter to go steal files from her own newspaper.”

  “And doing it in the rain, too. What a jerk.” He looked at her, wanting to see how she’d been feeling about the whole thing, about him. Did she just want a story? “But you got what you wanted.”

  “Did I?”

  “You did. I’m coming forward. I’m getting behind your story.”

  She smiled and clicked off her recorder. “And you trust me.”

  “I do.” He watched her pocket the recorder. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yeah. I mean, what’s not to trust?”

  “My story,” he said. “The fact that some rogue faction of the US government tried to assassinate me and my men.”

  The wind kicked up again. More hair in her face.

  “Do you think that’s possible?” he asked.

  She held the hair to the side of her head, away from her dark, smoky eyes. “Anything’s possible.”

  The rain started up, and it started heavy. There was no warning, no smattering of introductory droplets. It just came in steady, heavy globs, forcing Annica and Jackson off their rock and over the guardrail, across the gravel and then into the dry refuge of Annica’s car. Inside the safety and warmth of the car, they laughed at first, and then went quiet, so that the only sound was of their jackets sliding off. And their breathing. He looked over at her, her chest rising and falling with it, the skin on the shiny top of her cleavage looking cold. He looked at her with a hunger. He wanted his mouth there. He wanted it in other places, too. Her lips first. They were parted slightly as Annica caught her breath from the quick jog through the rain. Through the darkness, he could almost see the white gleam of teeth, her sexy smile widening, her eyes on his now. Had she been reading his mind?

  “It’s actually been kinda fun,” she said. “Sneaking around like this.”

  “Does it remind you of high school?”

  “No.” She was still smiling. “Not even close.”

  “You were right, by the way. About me not being a gentleman. I should apologize for that.”

  “No, don’t,” she said. “And you don’t have to be a gentleman.”

  “I don’t?” He studied her face. She wasn’t trying to be funny. That surprised him. “Well, good. Because I was thinking we might have to stick around here awhile longer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe until the rain passes.”

  “Maybe, yeah.”

  His cock hardened in his pants.

  “We probably shouldn’t go anywhere,” she continued. “For a little while.”

  Her tongue licked around her bottom lip, making him shudder. He felt weakened by it. Weakened, yet fully erect now. An awkward contrast.

  He coughed quietly, and then said, “So, uh, do you have any more questions?”

  “No.”

  “Tired?”

  She shrugged, her breasts moving with her shoulders. It was pitiful, the power she suddenly had over him . . .

  “I feel a little talked out, myself,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  His hand had moved to hers, an automatic reaction, a soft grip around her wrist. He was not in control of these movements, or of how his body stretched over the armrest and how his face glided close to hers. He was not in control of how good her hair smelled, her neck, her skin. He had nothing to do with this, her bending forward to meet him, her lips so warmly planted on his, her breath sucking in a long passionate inhale. And after, the air exhaling hot out of her nose, against his face, as her mouth sucked his hungrily and hotly.

  Despite his whimsical fantasies, the naughty little thoughts that had occasionally crept in to disrupt his night, this latest indiscretion was not part of the plan. He wanted it, maybe, yes. Fuck, hell yes. He’d be crazy not to. But so far he’d managed to push it to the back of his mind. It was safer back there. More importantly, Annica would be safe with it out of the way. Safe with him being a good guy. A gentleman. But this was the ungentlemanly move that she seemed to have requested. This was what her devilish smiles had prompted, what her innocuous little suggestions had formed. A ticking time-bomb, really. Not a destructive bomb like the one that had almost ended Jackson in Libya, not in danger of maiming and wounding, but of clearing some cosmic block. A rebirth.

  He kissed her mouth, her chin, sucking her earlobe between his lips while one hand snuck between her legs. Annica tightened her hot thighs around his hand, squeezing rhythmically. He rubbed with her timing, until she began to squirm and breathe heavily with him. Jackson’s other hand had slipped down the car seat and found a plastic reclining lever. He bent it down and her seat fell back, reclining almost flat as he crawled on top of her.

  “No,” she said, her mouth escaping his momentarily.

  “What? Oh . . .” He was a little surprised. No? Was she telling him to stop? “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, still unsure of where it had gone wrong. Was he moving too fast? He hadn’t meant to come on so strong, but—

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, struggling to sit up straight, struggling o
ut from under him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just want to get in the back.”

  Oh. Fuck yes.

  He said nothing, just watched her slender body slide out from under him and then crawl over the middle console, her finely sculpted ass straight in his face now. If he didn’t comprehend her words, he sure as hell understood that. And he obeyed, following her behind, sliding into the backseat with her in a messy jumble of limbs. And mouths, again, meeting. And then breaking apart as she started with his belt buckle, quickly slapping it loose and open, his button popped, fly down fast, and her hand, even faster, frantic, slipping in and grazing over his boxers. He was already hard and ready.

  “Oh,” she whispered approvingly. “Wow . . .”

  He couldn’t wait to show her just how much wow, how it would feel inside of her, and how much more he’d make her groan her little oh’s and wow’s. But first, he had to pull himself away from his own trance, his own moans and groans since she’d reached in and pulled his dick out, since she began firmly stroking him. Despite how amazing it felt, it was almost a little unnecessary. He didn’t need any more help. He was already at full salute just from the sight of her. Now all that was left to do was to repay the favor.

  He started by gently leaning her back, away from him, stretching her out comfortably in a backseat that was bigger and more conducive to Make-Out Point than he’d expected. The first priority was her pants, getting them off as quickly as possible. He started on them first, unbuttoning, loosening, sliding, while she had already begun work on the second priority: her sweater. The one Jackson had been staring at all night. It slid over her head and was then tossed aside somewhere in the blackness of her car. Next, her shirt. She’d unbuttoned for him and dealt with it almost as fast as Jackson’s work with her jeans. And then he rushed in, his tongue finding her nipple. He sucked and pulled at her flesh, loving the taste of her skin, her sweat. And then he released her and backed away.

  With the moon obscured by the rain and clouds, their only light was from the cell tower. Aside from the pulsing flashing at the top, it had a row of security lights that spilled their pale cool hue into the backseat, a subtle glow just faint enough to see goose-bumped skin, and her face, how her cheeks flushed, how her mouth went a little crooked when he slid his hand inside her panties, and then inside her, a warm, wet acceptance of his fingers as her own fingers clawed into the car seat.

  Entering her, playing, teasing, Jackson made her body twist and contort underneath him. Her head fell back, then turned from one side to the other, until Jackson caught it flush and center with a kiss. Her mouth stayed with his now, nibbling, and then biting his lip. Tongue inside, tasting. His other hand again at her soft breasts. He pinched her nipple softly, twisting between his knuckles. She had turned her head aside and Jackson’s mouth dove to her neck while she tried saying something, an unintelligible groan, something vibrating through into his mouth as he suckled at her neck.

  He pulled his head away for a moment. “What?”

  Annica wrapped her hand around the back of his head, drawing him in again. She reached up and began kissing him, silencing whatever words she’d tried saying, and stopping however he’d tried to hear them. Why was he trying to discuss anything with her anyway? They’d already done too much of that, and definitely not enough of this. Her hands slipped back into his boxers, and then tugged them down so that he was bare to the knees, squeezing his cock before her hands traveled up under his shirt and over the contours of his abs, raking them hard with her fingertips, and then up high at his chest, her little palms pushed up against the firmness of his pecs. Down below, a leg had wrapped around his waist, the back of her foot now pressing him in.

  And she was talking again, first with her body, her hands now at his ass, pressing his hips into hers, and then with her mouth, her breathy words coming out desperate and drugged. “Come on, I want it.”

  He wanted it, too. Badly. It had started from their first meeting, his usual appetite morphing from simple lust to a deeper, more profound connection. This wasn’t just any old weekend hookup. It wasn’t sex for its own sake. This was Jackson and his potential savior, working and connecting, and trusting, on as many levels as possible. A natural progression that she, as it was clear now, was also enjoying.

  But it was a little risky, the timing and location of their cave-in. He’d just helped her infiltrate and steal from her newspaper’s headquarters, then transmitted their findings, all after being potentially followed. A small voice in the back of his mind hoped that their pit stop in the backseat, a typical activity for Make-Out Point, wouldn’t come at a price.

  But it was hard to imagine any type of drawback now, especially settled between her legs, still firmly erect and ready and inches away. And with her hand gripping him, guiding him inside. He slid in and she groaned loudly. He backed off, but her hands landed on his ass again, driving him forward. Jackson pushed deeper into her and another wave of pleasure rushed through him. God, she was a perfect fit. And then deeper, working with her in the car, the backseat, working slowly and as deeply as her body, and the room in her car, allowed.

  Again, more of the unspoken language from Annica, more of her hands grabbing his and forcing them to her breasts, her nipples. She knew what she wanted, what was best for her body, and she took what she needed. That was his sole goal. His patience was for her, his stamina for her beautiful pussy and all the secrets that were waiting to be unlocked.

  More unspoken language, her breathing hard, her moans turning to grunts.

  Until the words somehow, and inexplicably, reappeared.

  At first it startled him, how she broke away from the ecstasy of the moment, how her body almost broke away from his when she said, “Wait, stop, wait.”

  “What?” he asked, still working, still panting.

  “Wait.”

  He was sweating along his scalp and neck. “What’s wrong? What?”

  “I thought I saw someone.”

  “What?”

  “Lights.” She was looking up through the window. “Headlights.”

  Against all instinctual reason, Jackson pulled himself from her. He turned to look out the window, but saw nothing but darkness. The window had also steamed up considerably. Whatever she saw must have been bright enough to cut through the darkness and the moisture of their lust, but there was nothing there now.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Maybe I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  Jackson was still looking out the window, his head turned.

  “No, maybe . . . I dunno.” Her hands clasped onto his back. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  Her hands grasped him, pulling him back inside her, and then they were back behind him again, pushing, guiding, pleading for more.

  Jackson didn’t need much guidance, nor did he need much reason to continue. It was as if their act had already been completed, in some parallel universe, in some destiny, a given, an absolute, him inside her again, his mind going absolutely and wonderfully blank.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, just like that.”

  Her hand slipped between their bodies, slipping down to and then furiously rubbing just above where his cock slid deep inside her. Her legs squeezed around him harder. Her breathing, with his, harder.

  “Yes,” she grunted. “Oh yes oh yes.”

  And then she stopped talking, her mouth at his forearm, her teeth biting hard as she groaned and quivered under him for as long as it took Jackson to realize that his job was complete. She’d come, and thank God, because he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  Annica shifted underneath him, apparently no break needed. “Fuck me, Jackson.”

  He did.

  “Fuck me. Use me.” Her head arched back. Her body went limp while Jackson took over, controlling, using, fucking.

  He felt so close now.

  So fucking close . . .

  She’d gone somehow tighter onto him, so
wet and tight and squeezing that he’d begun losing his sense of self and place and time, losing himself in her, in that feeling that had been roiling now warmer and warmer in his abdomen, and lower, in his balls, a glowing and radiating energy that he’d felt expanding upward through his body so that he was whole with it, wholly ablaze with the almost anguished beginnings of his orgasm.

  He could barely see anything now, the world dimming to just him and Annica, their groans, the thud of their pelvic bones meeting, the deep and hard breathing of a damn good fuck.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “Yes . . .”

  His thrusts had become savage, his hips, the full size and firmness of his cock blasting through her for those final last waves before he finally came hard and long, an endless line of jerking hips until Jackson felt so empty, so tired, and so completely satisfied. He collapsed on top of her, still inside her, still throbbing. He fought there to catch his breath, with hers, their faces almost touching. He kissed her face, anywhere his lips landed, tasting her. He held his forehead to hers for a moment, his voice still hoarse. “Did that just happen?”

  She giggled, then whispered, “I don’t know.”

  He rose onto his elbows, slipping out of her body. God, they’d steamed the windows completely. He wiped through it, still enjoying the afterglow of a most amazingly deep orgasm. Until he saw a shape moving in the darkness.

  He froze for a half second, and then wiped a wider swath of view.

  “What is it?”

  The fear had already gripped him.

  “Jackson, what’s wrong?”

  “Shh . . .”

  At that moment, leaving her was the second to last thing he’d ever want to do. The first would be never having the chance to return. So he felt around in the waist of his pants for his holstered gun.

  “Someone’s here.”

  12

  TANSY

  The car started rocking, harder than before. Tansy took a few steps back, bracing himself for someone, or maybe even fifteen clowns, to burst out of the car in an explosion of energy. But when the door finally opened, it happened meekly, the rear side door cracking open only a few inches, wavering there for a minute before someone’s head reluctantly popped out. The expression was a mix of confusion and fear. The face, flushed. Eyes full of dilated pupils. Face, distinctly and sadly recognizable.