Dying to Meet You

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Unpopular opinion

Hutton

H ome for one day, and my cell phone never stops. I turn it off, tossing it onto the desk. With my laptop open to the program I wrote for the FBI, I scroll through layers of the dark web, typing in the buzz words “Realists”, “Lassiter”, and “Time is Now”. Nothing new comes up…one message is a “call to arms” by a remaining cult member located in Pennsylvania who works as a grocery store stocker, another message asking for information on the Lassiters, and the cryptic “I’m dying to meet you. Signed “the last of the true Realists”. That is the only message I’m concerned with.

Why? Because the same encryption methods I’ve perfected, the same code I use that is not duplicated anywhere in the world, is used with that message.

It can only mean one thing: The FBI is involved on some level. My code was leaked by the people I’ve worked with. We thought those involved had been prosecuted. Others were met with mysterious ends as they cleaned their own house.

And they want me to know.

I put nothing past an organization built on secrets and lies; that undergoes covert operations and uses people like a commodity. Matt and Keir may try to be “good guys”, but they are at the disposal of crooked politicians and evil masterminds. The day they both realize that the better off we’ll all be.

Duplicating the code, I scramble it, working on an unbreakable encryption. Now that I know the enemy thinks they have one up on us, I’m going to blow that code up. Think again.

When I turn my phone back on to seven messages waiting, the phone starts to ring again. It’s coming from one of the untraceable phones a client has. “Mr. Cross?” a tentative man’s voice asks.

“It’s the only number programmed on the phone, Imad.”

“Oh yes, yes. How are you? Our weat-”

“No. I despise small talk. It’s either posturing or pretense. I can’t stand either one. It’s a waste of time. Do you have the intel I need? If not, I'm disconnecting.”

Sounding properly cowed, the brigadier general of the Syrian Army gives me what I need. “Toss the phone in a fire.” With that I hang up.

Turning to another laptop, I locate the file marked “the fund”, selecting the next person on the list and pulling up their bank account to transfer four hundred thousand dollars into it. A message left for the bank…deposit by Anonymous. There is a four-year-old boy lying in the hospital after surgery, his parents working two jobs with a baby on the way. I pay the medical expenses, then drop the cash in. Joan Lassiter’s money will be used to right some wrongs. The old bird won’t ever know, unless she’s seeing the action from Hell. The sense of balance has me deciding to keep this up after her inheritance is gone. With millions banked up, approaching seven figures, it’s more than we can spend in our lifetimes. There is no shortage of people who need help but won’t ask.

That’s where “Anonymous” comes in.

I half smile, thinking about Weston’s and Zach’s fascination with Robin Hood lately. The only difference is I don't need to steal to do the right thing.

Agent David Bristow appears in my office doorway. “Hutton, Steve and I want to show you something out on the property.”

The middle-aged, moon-faced agent purses his lips before adding, “Do you have some night vision goggles? If not, I can grab a pair from my gear.” I routinely survey our camera feed from my phone when I’m away or on my screen in the office. Whatever they want me to see shouldn’t be a surprise to me.

The revulsion I feel at the mention of night vision goggles is maddening. My earliest memories are stained with the terror of being hunted in dark woods by men wearing them. “I’ll pass. I have a flashlight, thanks.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Follow me. It’s a few yards from the treehouse.”

I’m a good foot and half taller than Agent Bristow at six feet seven inches tall. Neither that, the muscle I’ve packed on, nor the nasty scar across my neck have ever made the man look or shrink away. I still don’t trust him, but I can respect the ice water that must run through his veins. “Lead the way.”

It’s pitch black in the tree line once we veer away from the house. I switch the flashlight on, the ping of a memory echoing in my mind. Could’ve been the mention of night vision, or maybe it’s all the talk of the Realists, but a cold sweat breaks out all over my body.

We approach one of the cameras I had placed, the light on it indicating it’s operational. Bristow taps my arm. “Right over here.” Several feet up on the trunk of an elm tree is another camera, one I’ve never seen. It’s the size of a deck of cards, black and sleek, the green light solid on the bottom of it. I yank it off the tree before shoving it in my pocket. I want to disable it, but not before I take a closer look in my office.

“Not yours then?”

“No. Any others found on the property yet?”

We talk about getting a couple local officers to help them sweep the woods and check over the buildings. He calls Steve to update him. “I’ll be in my office taking this apart,” I tell him patting my pocket.

My head starts to pound on the walk back. The resurfacing memories are disorienting. The timing couldn’t be worse. The phrases, the orders…

“You will do our bidding.”

“You won’t be stopped.”

Eden sees me stumble as I open the back door and she runs to my side. “What’s wrong?” Alarm is written all over her face.

My nightmare is hers. There is no way to tell her the past has woken up from where I buried it, that the brainwashing tactics and the words they tortured me with are coming alive again, because she’s already scared. I see it in her eyes when she thinks no one is paying attention. I want to take her hand, but my normal tendency born of the way I grew up to fear germs is intensified right now.

She follows me back to my office. “What were you and David doing outside?”

I don’t answer her as I put the camera on my desk using a switchblade to pry it open. It’s hardly high tech, a middle of the road surveillance trail cam. I clip a wire to ensure the perpetrator can’t get access to my cellphone, then I pair it to my phone. A clear picture shows me staring down at it, Eden next to me with a worried expression.

There’s no tracing it. Nothing more to gain by keeping it in use, I cut the rest of the wires, take the chip out and toss the whole works in the garbage can by my desk.

She starts to say, “Hutton? Wha-” Her hand rests on my arm causing me to back away. “Hey…” We’ve come a long way. Six years ago, she knocked down a barrier I had set up. Now my skin crawls thinking about touch…about being near another person.

But this is Eden…my Eve. Her safety and well-being are the only reasons I’m alive. Hers and our kids’.

“Oh no, oh my god…Hutton, you have to talk to me. Why did you pull away? What’s going on? What did you throw away?” Her rapid-fire questions don’t help. Her eyes fill with tears. “Hutton.” Carefully, she places her hand on my bare arm.

I stare at it in disgust.

Get control. This is Eden.

“Hutton?” Her voice cracks as the tears spill over.

“Eden…” Closing my eyes I continue, “Don’t touch me. I’m…I need a minute.” There’s no telling her I was triggered. I’d rather she thinks I’m being moody.

Backing away, she sits in a chair by the door. “I want to stay with you tonight.”

Perfect. A whole night avoiding contact with her while I sort out what this all means.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes. Did you forget I know you? I know you’re not okay. You can’t hide anything from me.”

While she deals with Blaine complaining about the sleeping arrangements for the night, I grapple with what happened in the woods.

“You don’t need to stay in here,” I reiterate while stepping back into my bedroom from taking a shower. The whole time, I scrubbed until my skin was red, trying to talk myself out of the way I’m feeling.

Eden isn’t being coy in the least tonight. She left her hair down, stripped naked. I can’t tear my eyes away. The urge to pummel Blaine and Keir at the sight of the blemishes on her skin is strong. She claims they feel good, but how do bites, bruising hands or scratches feel pleasurable?

Without a word, I climb under the covers with my back turned. Denying her was not in the cards a couple of hours ago, but now I’m hoping she stays on her side of the bed. “Hutton? Do you feel it, too? It’s like they implemented a fail-safe to eliminate us.” Her voice is choked up. “None of them could use us the way they wanted. Maybe this is their plan?”

She only understands a piece of this.

“Eden, if I arrange it would you and the kids go into hiding? I have a place that’s completely secluded and off the grid.” An ache spreads through my chest at sending them away until it’s safe…weeks, months…even years. We couldn’t go with them. They’re watching us all, so there would need to be diversions. But I could keep them safe if they went.

Her voice is warbly when she says, “It’s the Realists…it has to be, right? I’m not leaving you. You will physically need to knock me the hell out and tie me up. I’m staying wherever you are. If it’s them…if-” She swallows a cry. “They’ll want you as much as us.”

I don’t say it out loud, not to trust anyone. I tried that years ago, but Eden isn’t built that way. She wants to see good in everyone, even after the violations to her trust. I know because she still looks at me with love.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

Turning over, I use the edge of the sheet she has pulled up to wipe away tears from her cheek. “I want you,” she whispers. “Please, please, love…”

Her glistening blue eyes pierce my heart. I can’t make myself move closer to her, my hands now fisted under my pillow, paralyzed at the thought. Skin to skin, the sweat, bodily fluids…I’m at war with myself. The phobias are winning, my dick only semi-hard.

“Can I touch you? You don’t have to touch me.” She’s been in the same place with me before. I thought we’d mastered this obstacle.

I haven’t resisted a touch, hug, or kiss from anyone in our family for years. I still wear gloves doing my work, but that’s more for covering my tracks. “No. Go to sleep.”

Perplexed, her face scrunches up. “Are you punishing me for the marks? I know you don’t like them, but we’ve talked about this before. We have children together…biological children. You and I. No one says a word about that. The marks are no big deal.”

“It isn’t about Thing One’s and Thing Two’s savagery. It’s not. Go to sleep.” I flip back over before I let her do what she wants, causing me enough discomfort it’ll hurt her further.

She wouldn’t be Eden if she listened. I feel her breath on my neck. Bristling, I hold myself still. “We’re not scared kids anymore. We’re wiser now…we’re married now. I want you to tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting like this.”

“You aren’t going to sleep, are you?”

She firmly replies, “Not a chance. Now talk.”

Groaning, I lay on my back, focused on the ceiling. “It’s not sexy to talk about how I’m imagining what a breeding ground for bacteria a mouth is. Or thinking about our…juices mingling.” The impulse to gag is stuffed back down.

“Ahhh.” She moves back a few inches. “Did something happen to bring those feelings back? Because last week you were lapping my ‘juices’ up like it was the nectar of the gods,” she jokes lightly.

“Did you have to remind me of that right now?”

Teasingly, she pulls the covers down until my groin area can be seen under my sweatpants. “Did you know that you’re so hung, this is what most men look like hard, but you’re not even a little bit, are you?”

“Go. To. Sleep.” I pull the covers back up. It’s bad enough that she’s next to me completely bare, but I’m so messed up in the head I can’t do anything about it. Now she needs to point out I’m not getting turned on.

I lay next to my wife, listening to her breathing until it evens out and slows, ensuring she is asleep before I relax. But sleep eludes me because my brain wants to revisit Camp Carroll and hyperfocus on loose ends. I’m so distracted by my thoughts I don’t realize I’ve moved in bed until I hip check Eden.

She sighs before throwing her arm across my waist in her sleep. I suck in a breath freezing. Her head moves to rest against my arm. It’s Eden…it’s Eden, we’ve fallen asleep countless times with me inside of her after coming. It’s Eden.

Squirming she throws a leg over my thigh. I battle the impulse to shove her away in favor of another shower. I am in control. It’s Eden.

An image of Eden lying lifeless in front of me comes to mind. It’s realistic enough that I sit up suddenly. Her eyes fly open. “Shit…I’m sorry, Hutton.”

It takes seconds before I realize my hand is on her waist. Dropping it, I take a deep breath. “I’m going to take another shower.”

Leaning my head against the cool marble tiles in the shower, I close my eyes to another unbidden image of her lying in that summer rental years ago. No…it’s not her. It’s the one person I never wanted to think about again for as long as I lived. The door opens, but I keep my back to the shower door. “Hutton, can I come in?”

I reason that covered in soap is better if we’re going to be close right now. “If you have to,” I respond gruffly.

She lathers her body up with my cedarwood bodywash, her hair held up with one hand. I take a washcloth off a bar, offering to hold her blonde locks up while using it as a buffer.

“May I?” She squirts more soap into her hand before pointing at me. I relent, giving her the washcloth to use. The first caress across my chest makes my dick twitch to life, growing heavier as I harden. My balls draw up, needing release, while she pays attention to my ass with loving hands rubbing and squeezing.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” My voice is ragged as I lean against the wall to keep my footing.

By the time she’s dropped the washcloth to fist my erection, I’m not obsessing over germs. She strokes until streams of cum are on her chest. She wipes her hand through it, mixing it with the soap suds.

“Feeling better?” Her cheeky little smile is enchanting. Strangely enough, I do feel more like myself. More in control.

Pulling her in, I say, “I don’t know how you did that, but I’m ready for round two…”