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For now, I’m focused on her hand, because as usual, her hand on my body does all kinds of wicked things. I’m hot and hard and ready to go fuck her into the submission I can never truly have from her when Gabe’s voice sounds. Talk about a downer, a blow to the balls. That bastard is her fiancé. That’s still real.
My fingers curl on her leg and I can feel her looking at me, but I stare at the MacBook like it’s going to grow horns and pop off some firecrackers or some shit like that.
The conversation between Pocher and Honest Gabe begins with Gabriel kissing up to Pocher and seems to go on and on. “I’m pretty sure his lips are stuck to the man’s ass,” Adam says when a waiter occupies the audio.
“I’ve got something I can shove up his ass,” I murmur.
Candace elbows me and I catch her hand, holding onto a reminder of what I have to keep and kill for if necessary. We all fall into silence, listening again as Pocher and Gabriel resume their conversation.
The two men move from ass-kissing to talking about certain key people Pocher wants to align Gabriel with, all people we can assume to be as dirty as Gabriel. Candace writes them all down. Good. I haven’t had a proper kill list in a long while now.
That’s when we get to the part where Candace becomes part of the conversation. “When are you marrying that woman of yours?” Pocher asks.
“I wanted to talk about that,” Gabriel says. “What works best?”
“You marrying a general’s daughter on damn near the eve of announcing your run works for me,” Pocher replies. “But I need to get a feel for her first. I need to know you not only have her under control but that she’s well-spoken.”
“I assure you that she’s all grace and distinction. She’s also well controlled. By me and her father.”
“Her father isn’t running for president. You are. And the general and I have a history. Once he knows I’m involved, he’ll be your lap dog. Where is Candace now?”
“Home, sick.”
“Sick or sick of you?”
“Always a comedian,” Gabriel says. “She was just with me two nights ago. You know that.”
“Call her on speaker,” he orders. “Let me feel the love.”
“I’m not sure how much love you’ll feel when she’s sick, but sure.” There’s the sound of movement before the line rings and then goes to her voicemail.
Pocher laughs. “You own that woman, I see.”
“She’s sick,” he snaps. “Come to the governor’s ball. You can meet her then.”
“I do believe I will. I knew her mother.”
Candace turns to face me, her eyes wide. I cup her neck, aware of the sensitive subject and press my forehead to hers.
“Honestly, marrying her can’t go south on you. You see, the good thing about a military woman, even if she isn’t in the service, is the kind of outpouring of remorse you get when she’s gone. Ask your fiancée’s father. A simple Soup Sandwich by way of a Bravo Foxtrot and she’s gone while you’re on top of the world.”
Candace sucks in air and pulls back to look at me. Ice fills my already icy veins. “Soup Sandwich” is slang for a mission, a person, or anything gone wrong. “Bravo Foxtrot” is a military term Asher didn’t give her credit for knowing: one who does not help a fellow soldier, or who intentionally gets a soldier in trouble. It’s code that isn’t hard to figure out. It’s Pocher’s way of saying someone close to Candace would take her out if she became a problem.
“I’ll call her again,” Gabriel says. “She must not have heard the phone ring. She’ll answer.”
“I certainly hope so, ” Pocher says. “You need to pull her close and make sure she’s beloved by the public. Just don’t fall in love, because one day you might be better with her gone and I’m not talking about a divorce.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Savage
Smith turns off the audio.
The table is silent, the implications of what we’ve just heard hanging in the air, a wicked threat that hovers and cannot be ignored. Abruptly, Candace stands up and pushes away from the table, walking to the patio door, opening it and exiting outside, the door shutting behind her.
My gaze lands heavily on Adam’s while my anger seethes. “Tell Asher I’m going to kill him for this. She’s the daughter of two high-ranking officers. She understands military slang.”
“I’ll kill him for you,” Adam assures me. “There’s no excuse for not warning us so we could warn her.”
My attention shoots to Smith. “Find out—”
“About her mother,” he supplies. “I’m on it.”
I scrub my face. “She was killed in action. I need to know how she and the general knew Pocher. I need to know if anything about her death looks shady.” I stand up. “If they killed her mother—” My lips press together, but I force myself to go to the inevitable place this is leading me. “I need to dig into her father’s background. I thought I knew him, and it, but I’m not sure anymore.” I don’t wait for a reply or questions I’m not sure I want to answer out loud just yet.
