Chapter Thirteen

“You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” Abraham Lincoln

“You want to come with us, sir?” A group of them had passed through security together. Now, out on the street, one of the men turned to Gideon. “We’re headed out for a few beers.”

He should go. He needed to make the effort to bond with these men, but somehow he’d just had enough for the day. He’d been back for three months now, and while he had a nominal position as second-in-command, in actuality he’d been given no responsibility, no specific duties, just a lot of pointless paperwork to shuffle. He was beginning to believe that there was no real job for him, that the president had brought him back merely to raise his own popularity with the people. Gideon was nothing but a figurehead, a goddamn hero to parade in front of the masses.

Sometimes he regretted that last action. But it wasn’t as though he’d had a lot of choice—it had been fight or die, and he wasn’t ready to die just yet. But it had obviously brought him to Harry’s attention, which had resulted in his return to D.C.

He’d thought… Hell, he clearly hadn’t been thinking straight. Or at all.

Now he needed something to do, to get stuck into. Someone to fight.

He also had decisions to make. Decisions he’d been putting off, but which couldn’t wait forever.

He needed to be away from here, from the doubts that were eating at his composure. Get his head straight and work out where the hell he was going with his life. Not back to where he’d been, that was becoming clearer every day. He wasn’t the same person. He was starting to think that he’d been kidding himself. That perhaps he had an entirely different agenda churning in the back of his mind.

He gave a shake of his head. “I’m expected at home.”

It was a lie. Home was one more place he didn’t want to be right now.

He waited until his colleagues had wandered off, then turned in the opposite direction, heading down 15th Street and into what had become his local. He had to go through two checkpoints before he got there. Though they’d waved him through immediately once they’d seen his ID. He was their boss, after all.

A glass of whisky was already on the bar as he sank onto the stool. “Thanks, Dave.” Gideon tossed back the whisky and held the glass out, and the tall man behind the bar refilled it.

Dave owned the place. He’d been under Gideon’s command until five years ago when the same blast that had left Gideon with a limp had blown Dave’s leg off at the knee. He’d come back home and bought the bar with his compensation. At least these days, veterans were looked after.

“You okay? You look a little down, mate.”

“Just life.” He hadn’t been able to shift the sense of foreboding his last meeting with Harry had instilled. Not to mention the shitstorm of his own life.

Get a fucking grip.

“Well, I’m sure there will be someone along soon who’ll help you forget. Blonde, right? I’ll keep an eye out.”

Maybe he should have gone home.

But he hadn’t been able to face his mother. She was so goddamn pleased to have him home. As though he was going to somehow pull the family back from the disgrace that had destroyed them so many years ago.

Maybe he’d just stay here and get drunk; then the worries would leave him for a while. He wanted a woman, wanted to lose himself if only for a little while, but he wasn’t sure right now he was capable of making polite conversation. Not that he really needed to. He was a goddamn hero, after all. They fell over themselves to drag him into their beds. Trouble was, most of them wanted to show him off to their friends afterward, and he wasn’t anyone’s trophy.

Shit, he was a miserable bastard.

While this particular bar was close to the White House, it wasn’t popular with the Party crowd. It was dark and most of them liked to be seen in the “in” places. He just wanted to drink and fuck. That was the soldier in him. Maybe he was more soldier than politician now.

Dave pushed a plate with a sandwich in front of him. “Roast beef,” he said. “Soak up some of the alcohol.” He looked over Gideon’s shoulder and waved at someone. “Angie—come meet an old friend of mine.”

A tall blonde with deep brown eyes perched on the stool beside him, crossing her legs. She was beautiful, and Gideon managed to dredge up a smile.

“You’re Captain Frome,” she said, her eyes filling with what he supposed was meant to be admiration. Hell, she didn’t even know him.

“I am.”

“You’re a real live hero.” Her voice was breathy. “You single-handedly defended a breach in the Wall for a whole week against the entire enemy army. You saved us all.”

He opened his mouth to point out that it hadn’t been quite like that, but then he caught Dave’s eyes, saw the gleam of amusement there. Bastard.

Angie touched his arm. “Captain—”

“Call me Gideon,” he interrupted. “Dave, why don’t you get Angie a drink and leave the bottle with me.” He waited until Dave had set a glass of white wine in front of her. “So, Angie, tell me about yourself.”

He switched off and ate his sandwich, making the occasional grunt of encouragement when she slowed down. She was gorgeous and clearly interested, and he just couldn’t seem to get up the enthusiasm to move this to the next level. He stared at her breasts, which were large, pushed up, and bared almost to the nipple. And waited for a response.

Nope, not a flicker.

A crash sounded behind him, and the bar went quiet.

“Fuck, shit, and smoking tonton crap.”

He hadn’t heard language like that since he’d left the army. Actually, he’d never heard language like that. What the hell was a tonton?

Beside him, Angie giggled. He turned on his seat and followed her gaze.

A woman lay sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the steps leading from the outside door. She had everyone’s attention, but no one had moved to help. Gideon pushed himself to his feet and closed the space between them. Tall and slender, she wore a tight purple dress so short he caught a flash of bright pink panties. Heat shot to his groin.

She had long blonde hair in a tangle about her face. Finally, she managed to sort herself out enough to brush it from her eyes and she blinked up at him out of blue eyes so light they were almost silver, with a black line around the iris. They were unusual, and he was sure he’d seen them before, but couldn’t place where.

He held out his hand. For a moment she stared, as though she wasn’t sure what to do with it. A frown formed between her dark brows, then she held out her own hand and slipped it into his. He pulled her to her feet, though her ankle went at the last minute and he had to grab her by the waist to stop her tumbling.

Had she been drinking?

“Sorry,” she said. “I think I might have twisted my ankle.”

He glanced down the length of her legs to her feet. Her heels were about five inches, strappy sandals with some sort of sparkly bits. He was amazed anyone could stay upright in them.

“New shoes?” he asked.

She shrugged. “These old things. Gosh, no.”

He still had his arm around her waist. He left it there as he ushered her toward one of the booths that edged the room, only releasing her as she lowered herself to the padded bench seat. He turned and found Angie staring at him; she didn’t look pleased. Behind her, Dave stood with a grin on his face. He put down the cloth he’d been polishing the bar with and picked up the bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses before heading their way.

Gideon took the seat opposite the woman but remained silent as Dave placed the bottle and glasses on the table. “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” Dave asked.

She smiled and shook her head. Once he’d left, she turned her attention to Gideon. “Thank you for the rescue,” she said. “I’m Leia.”

“Gideon.” He poured them both a scotch and pushed the glass toward her. “Nice to meet you, Leia.” He studied her for a few seconds. Though there was that hint of familiarity, he couldn’t place her. Leia was an unusual name—he would have remembered. She appeared to have no clue who he was, which was refreshing.

She waved a hand toward the bar. “I’m not taking you from your girlfriend, am I?”

“No. We’d only just met.”

“Oh. Good. I think.” She took a sip of scotch and screwed up her face. “Ugh.”

He smiled. “Do you want something else?”

“Maybe. I’d forgotten how much I hate this stuff. A white wine?”

He turned and waved to Dave, then mouthed the words. Dave nodded. A minute later, he placed a large glass in front of her. She gave him a sweet smile.

She took a sip. “It’s good.”

“Anything else, Captain?”

He shook his head, then sat in silence for a minute while Dave walked away. Leia traced a pattern on the table with her fingertip. Finally, she raised her gaze to his. “So,” she said, “do you come here often?” Then she groaned. “That is such a pickup line.”

He took a gulp of scotch. “And are you trying to pick me up?”

She studied him for a moment. “I’m not sure yet, but as you already literally came to my rescue and picked me up off the floor, then I suppose it’s only fair I have my turn.”

His gaze skimmed down what he could see of her. The purple dress was stark against her pale skin and low-cut, revealing the curve of her breasts, the jut of her collarbone. She wasn’t beautiful in the way the woman he had left at the bar was; her face was too thin, her cheekbones too sharp, her mouth too wide.

Since he’d returned to the city, he’d picked up countless women, tried to lose himself in their pretty bodies, forget the doubts that wouldn’t leave him alone. And he’d failed. They only emphasized the emptiness of his life.

He wondered if this one might be different.

“The barman called you Captain. Are you in the army?” she asked.

Which proved she didn’t know who he was. That was a relief. At least she hadn’t decided to pick up the Hero of the Wall so she could tell her friends about it the next morning.

“I was in the army until a few months ago. Dave”—he nodded in the direction of the bar—“and I served together for a while.”

“Did you get to see outside the Wall?”

“A few times.”

“But I guess you don’t want to talk about it.”

Most of them wanted to know the gory details. Violence was something people only read about these days or saw on the news feeds, heavily edited. It was amazing how many people were fascinated by the idea. “I’d rather talk about you. What do you do, Leia?”

“Nothing very interesting. I’m a computer programmer for a big private company.”

“So, clever as well as beautiful.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

He noticed she didn’t deny being clever. Interesting. “You have the most amazing eyes. They remind me of someone, I just can’t remember who.”

She shrugged. “Actually, they’re contact lenses. My eyes are green.”

“Really?” He studied her some more. Imagined her with green eyes. They didn’t fit. “Is anything else about you fake?”

She gave a rueful shrug. “My bra is padded. A lot.” Another shrug. “Just in case I do manage the pickup thing. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

His gaze dropped to the curve of her breasts above the tight dress. As he stared, she trailed a fingertip over her skin and heat washed through him. “I don’t think you’ll disappoint me.”

Shit, he wanted to suggest they go right now, but she wasn’t even halfway through her wine. She took a sip, then licked her lips. Was she doing it on purpose? Was she a practiced tease? Was this a regular thing for her—picking up strange men in bars? Part of him wanted her to be just that, so that he could take her home, fuck both their brains out, and then walk away.

“Do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked.

“What? Trip over my feet and get rescued by handsome strangers?”

“Pick up men in bars?”

He half expected her to be offended, but she appeared to actually consider the question. Finally, she shrugged. “I like sex.”

“That’s good.”

“However, I really don’t want a relationship right now. I’m concentrating on my career, and boyfriends expect too much attention.”

“We’re so needy.”

She studied him, head cocked on one side. “I somehow don’t think you’re needy at all, Gideon.”

“Actually, I’m feeling pretty needy right now.”

Her eyes widened. She blinked at him a couple of times. “You are?”

“Hell, yeah.” He shifted his legs beneath the table until he came into contact with hers. “Do you have your own place?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Can’t we go to yours?”

“I live with my mother.”

“Not a good idea, then. I don’t think I’m ready to meet your mother just yet.”

“And it might cramp my style.”

She giggled, then the smile faded from her face and she stared across at him with those huge eyes. She caught her lower lip between sharp white teeth and bit down, her lashes lowering, nostrils flaring.

Jeez, she was doing a job on him. She had the pickup thing down to perfection. Or maybe she was just a natural flirt. But he thought not. Whatever she was doing, it was working.

She slid out of the booth and held out her hand to him. “Let’s go.”