Catch Me, Keep Me

Excerpt

Chapter One

"Finn is prepared to offer a settlement of one million dollars."

Nadia Baxter gripped the iPhone tighter, and with her free hand piloted the gleaming BMW into the neighborhood where she and Finn had lived for five years, and where she'd lived alone for the last eighteen months.

"When did he offer this?" she asked, not bothering to apologize for her abruptness. She'd just seen Finn this weekend, at his sister's wedding. She'd remained close to Lauren through the separation with Finn, but had been a little apprehensive about attending the wedding, knowing he would be there.

To her immense surprise, they had managed to remain civil to each other throughout the reception. He'd even made her laugh several times. The energy between them was playful and calm, instead of the griping bitterness that usually defined their interactions.

She'd wondered if somehow, without really trying, they'd turned a corner in their relationship. It was an exciting prospect. She'd spent the last two days reliving it, and enjoying the possibility that things were changing for them, changing for the better. Her dim hopes for reconciliation, which she'd thought she put aside once and for all, had beckoned once again.

Now this. Had something happened in the last two days to prompt him to speed up the divorce?

"His attorney called with the offer about ten minutes ago," her divorce attorney replied.

Nadia turned left onto Beecham Drive. As she topped a small hill, her red-brick Georgian came into view ahead. The shock of Finn's timing for his divorce settlement offer receded as she realized something was wrong with her house. Buttery yellow light blazed from every window, though she knew for sure she'd left none on. The garage doors gaped wide, and light poured into the neighborhood like an open invitation.

"I'll call you back." Nadia clicked off, dropping the phone in the seat beside her. She steered slowly into the driveway with a sinking feeling in her stomach, and stared past the garage in disbelief. The door to the kitchen stood wide open.

Rage suddenly filled her veins with random, wild energy. She grabbed the phone and punched Finn's number.

He answered on the second ring. "Baxter."

"Nice job with the house. What did you take?"

"Pardon?"

"You left the garage doors open. You know, if there was something you needed so urgently that you came over while I wasn't here, the least you could do is show some respect for the property and shut the damned doors."

"Ah, Mrs. Baxter. I see you are off your medications again."

She gripped the phone so hard she felt the casing flex. "I am not on medications. And you're such an asshole. Do you ever get tired of being a—"

"Nadia? Wait. You said the doors were open?"

"Yes. Exactly like you left them."

"Nadia." Ice suddenly filled his voice."Listen to me. I'll be right there. Go outside, get in your car and I'll—"

"I'm in my car. I haven't been inside yet."

"Good," he said. "Don't move. Just stay there."

"Is this a joke?"

"I'll be there in three minutes."

The line disconnected. Nadia dropped the phone in her purse, trying to decide whether to defy Finn or not. If he really hadn't been here, the house had been burgled. She didn't want to run into some dangerous thief in her own home.

She grabbed the phone again and prepared to video. If the guy came out of the house, she wanted to be able to identify him and help the police capture him.

She sighed. Just what she needed after a day of depositions with idiot clients—to have her stupid hopes for a reconciliation dashed, then to come home and discover that either her soon-to-be-ex-husband or some lunatic criminal had been stomping around inside the one oasis she had in the world: her beautiful home.

A marvel of Georgian symmetry, the house was set back from the street behind tall trees, a vision that never failed to fill her with peace and a sense of security. As a newlywed, she had hired an interior designer to decorate exactly the way she wanted it: furnished comfortably, with beautiful antiques to complement the history of the home. The possibility of her antiques being stolen filled her with panic.

She wondered if Finn's settlement offer meant that he would hand over a million from his trust fund but keep the real estate. No way, not on your life. This was her home, her sanctuary. Finn now lived in a townhouse in Arlington; he didn't seem to care about the house. But if this was one of his ploys—

A tap on the window startled her from the angry ruminations. Finn loomed outside the car, his face grave. His big body would be ominous if she didn't know him: he was tall and built solidly, like a cop. He could be intimidating sometimes, but tonight was not one of those times. She wasn't going to let him worm out of taking responsibility for this. The moment she disengaged the locks, he opened the door.

Dreading the fight that she knew was coming, she stepped out and tilted her head up to look at him. Finn was a good-looking man, always had been and always would be. Right now, however, he looked less than perfect: a scraping of fuzz shadowed his strong jaw—unusual for him—and his eyes were red and glassy, like he'd been up for days. Or at least ever since the reception. Even so, he had a ruggedly handsome face, all crag and ice—the coldness of which focused on her.

"Did you do this?" she demanded.

"No. Stay here, I'm going to check it out."

"Not a chance." She took a step toward the garage.

His rough grip on her upper arm sent a tremor of unexpected pleasure through her. Was he actually concerned? More likely he worried about his stupid golf clubs, which were still stored in the garage.

"Stay here. Please." His voice was calm and serious.

The pleading in his blue eyes took her aback. Momentarily stunned, she mumbled, "Okay."

She watched his tall, athletic figure walk through the garage to the kitchen door. As he vanished inside, she took a few steps forward, and peered into the kitchen.

She needed a few seconds to really comprehend what she saw. The silver doors of the Sub-Zero hung open, and food spilled from it. Cups and plates and salad bowls lay smashed, the fragments and chunks all over the place. Cupboards had been emptied, their contents thrown to the floor and counters with enough force to shatter the food containers. The cabinets and drawers had been ripped open. Copper pots and pans no longer hung over the island, and the pile on the island looked like the contents of the trashcan. The odor of old coffee grounds pinched her nose.

Nadia took a step inside the violated space, sidestepping her handheld mixer that was supposed to be in one of the lower drawers of the island. She looked to Finn, knowing he hadn't done this. They fought, but Finn never resorted to any kind of violence.

A wry, sad smile came to his lips. "You didn't listen to me," he said. He spoke with gentleness, not rebuke, and that was all it took to make her lose her composure.

Tears filled Nadia's eyes. "Who could have done this?"

"Since you're here, let's check the rest of the house," Finn replied. In the living room, the screen of the new TV was smashed. The sofa cushions' stuffing spilled out like the guts of dead animals. At the sight of her office, she no longer tried to contain the tears. She picked up an old-fashioned picture frame from the floor and stared with disbelief into the broken glass.

Finn's hand gently touched her back. "We can get you a new frame, okay? A nice one. It looks like the picture is intact."

She nodded, but the tears wouldn't stop. The frame was an antique, her great grandmother's, carried with her from Communist Russia—one of the rare items she'd brought with her when she immigrated to the USA. It had held a picture of her entire family—her parents and uncles and aunts. For Nadia, it was a direct conduit to her heritage, one of her most precious possessions.

"I can't believe someone came in here, did this to my stuff . . . ."

She looked into his sympathetic face, and he gathered her into the cage of his body. He might be a cold, controlling jerk but she needed the comforting contact.

She huddled gratefully in the shelter of his warm body, her head resting against his muscled chest. Wow. That was nice. How strange. For the second time in a week, she'd found herself in his embrace. And both times had felt much better than she'd expected.

When she ventured a glimpse at his face, his gaze was gentle.

"I'm going to check upstairs. If you're going to follow me, please at least give me a few minutes, so I can make sure nobody is hiding up there."

She didn't want to leave her office, or the picture of her Nana, so she said okay.

* * * * *

Finn glanced back down the stairway, relieved that for once Nadia was listening to him and staying put. She was the most bullheaded woman he'd ever known. Beautiful, but stubborn. During the time they'd been separated, she'd become so bitchy he couldn't even have a normal conversation with her. Then at Lauren's wedding, he saw the side of her he'd fallen in love with: carefree, charming, sweet Nadia. Some of the romance of the wedding—as well as the open bar, perhaps—had managed to infect them. When he asked her to dance, she'd agreed.

As they unambitiously shuffled on the dance floor, he'd been acutely aware of her body against his, the swaying of her hips, and her light gracefulness in his arms. They were the very picture of a happily married couple.

Pictures can be deceiving, he thought.

Slowly he pulled the small pistol from his waistband and parted the master bedroom door from the frame. Chaos tumbled forth. The bed was toppled onto its side, the mattresses askew and cut open. Clothes and purses and belts, an upturned bureau, broken lamps. It looked like a trail of tornado debris. He gazed impassively at the destruction, listening carefully for any sounds of someone hiding among the ruins of his former bedroom.

He had an idea of who had done this. Blahzavik's men were sophisticated enough to override even his cutting-edge security system. Slashing open the furniture was a distinct sign that the men he hunted had decided to switch the game, and were looking for the diamonds he'd taken. Coming to the house on Beecham had been a mistake for them. A miscalculation they'd regret.

He cleared the guest room too, and then walked into the baby's room.

It was empty. No furniture. Curtains drawn. They'd kept it bare, waiting for the year they'd finally decide to conceive. But that time never came. Either Nadia had a big case at work, or he had to travel. Some reason always kept it from being the right time.

Now, in the chaos strewn all over the rest of the house, this one peaceful room maintained its dignity. Finn felt a twinge of something that might be regret. Even as he felt it, he knew that their failure to conceive was ultimately a positive thing. A child shouldn't be brought into a broken home. They'd done one thing right, at least. He silently shut the door.

He walked back up the hall to the bedroom and looked around again. Very few of his items remained, mingled in with hers. He'd left eighteen months ago, taking most of his stuff. His weight set and several other big things still remained in the garage, but no personal items. Yet he still felt as if this was his house, his room. He'd spent the most formative adult years of his life within these walls.

With a smirk of amusement, Finn reached over and picked up a neon-pink lace thong. Nadia's taste in underwear had improved, he noted, and then dropped it back on the chaos. His gaze snagged on something. Loopy cursive writing, distinctly Nadia's. He picked up the journal, a plain composition notebook with a blue cover. The date on the top of the page was two weeks after their wedding.

"Finn?"

He heard Nadia's footsteps on the stairs. Without thinking too much about it, he curled the notebook around his ankle, yanked his sock over it, and pulled down his pants leg—just as she arrived on the landing.

"Oh my God! What is that?"

His gun still lay on the floor, where he'd left it to take the notebook. He calmly picked it up. "It's my gun."

"Since when do you carry a gun? Do you have a license for that thing?"

He stuck it in his waistband without answering. "It looks all clear up here. Whoever did this was probably looking for cash or jewelry," he added, knowing that was a lie.

Her eyebrows pleated together. "Why do you think that? How would you know that? What are you, the FBI?"

She'd returned to her default setting of acerbic attacks, he noted dully. He did not want to fight. Too many bigger problems needed to be addressed. Ignoring her tone sometimes worked.

"Well, do you see your jewelry box?"

She gaped at the destruction. "My jewelry . .. oh my God."

She looked so devastated and in need of comfort that he reluctantly placed his hand on her back. The warmth through her prim black jacket and silky plum shirt stirred long-dormant memories of her sweetness and softness, things he did not associate with her at all anymore.

"We should call the police," she said dismally.

Finn considered that, knowing that it would be a waste of the cops' time. Still, he wanted to make Nadia feel better. She loved the house, and he wanted to give her hope that one day she'd be able to sleep peacefully here again. "I'll do that. Meanwhile, why don't you go to your sister's? I don't want you sleeping here tonight."

"You don't want? You don't get to tell me where to go or what to do."

"Fine, then. When the burglars come back, tell them I said good riddance."

Nadia's eyes grew round. "When they come back? Do you think they might?"

Finn knew they would, but he didn't want to reveal what the intruders were looking for, or why they had "randomly" chosen to steal from an upper middle-class home, in a neighborhood thick with stay-at-home soccer moms who might notice a disruption in the peace of the neighborhood. He counted on Nadia's ignorance of such things.

He answered in the affirmative. "Just go to Julie's tonight. Get some rest. You look tired."

Nadia blinked. "I am tired," she admitted. "I was at the office at five o'clock this morning."

"All the more reason to go to Julie's, have a nice hot bath, and relax."

She eyed him suspiciously but didn't argue. They walked downstairs, and she took another long, wistful look through the disaster.

The front yard was dark, made darker by the tall trees. Finn tried to detect any movement that might signal impending ambush. All was still, the neighbors invisible in their own wooded lots, the neighborhood softly sighing with the day's end.

Finn walked with Nadia across flagstone path to her car. He opened the door for her and she slid inside. She looked frightened and scattered.

"It will be okay," Finn said. He was no longer in the business of reassuring his soon-to-be-ex, but she needed it tonight.

Nadia nodded. "Thank you."

Finn shut the door, and watched her drive away.

* * * * *

Finn's condo in Arlington could not have been more different than the elegant suburban home where he and Nadia had lived for their married life. The stark rooms had been decorated in a style his sister Lauren called New Bachelor: all coordinated, ordered from one store, in one fell swoop on the internet. The result was a serviceable place to live, particularly since he very rarely saw it.

His bedroom, however, reflected a life dominated by emergencies. The enormous black kit bag was still open with the fleece jackets and black cargo pants spilling out, as he'd left it when he got Nadia's call. Spontaneously, he pulled out the heavy clothing he'd worn in Tunis and found the smooth mahogany box hidden in a secret side compartment. Inside was a plastic bag, and inside the plastic bag was one billion dollars worth of rough-cut diamonds. Give or take.

Blood diamonds, they were called. The man he was hunting had been financing his operation through blood diamonds. When the opportunity came to snatch the stash, Finn took it. No regrets. He would, of course, turn them over to his bosses at the CIA, and let them worry about how to get them to the FBI, who would no doubt screw up the case from there. But that was not his problem.

He carefully opened the bag, reached inside, and picked up one of the flawless jewels. The stone caught the clean white light of his bedside lamp and burned with a cold fire. It felt solid and heavy in his hand.

Finn had no background in diamonds; he'd only bought one diamond in his life, for his wife. He wondered if the henchmen had taken her jewelry box or left it buried in the mess. Nadia no longer wore her stack of wedding rings; if they were stolen, would she care? Or were those talismans utterly meaningless to her now?

He replaced the diamond in the mahogany box, then plodded into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

When he emerged, he grabbed Nadia's journal and climbed into bed. It was only nine o'clock, but he was still exhausted from the trip. Nadia's panicked phone call had interrupted his unpacking.

He stared at the plain blue cover. What had compelled him to take her journal? He supposed he was hoping for some insider information about Nadia, some real answers about why their relationship had disintegrated. Something to blame besides himself, his job, or some undetected basic error in judgment.

For the last year of their marriage, he'd been completely absorbed in the search for the terrorist. Over time, Nadia grew increasingly annoyed when he traveled, and indifferent when he returned. How many times had he crawled into bed, nerves shaved from Kurdistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, or worse, and desperately seeking the solace of Nadia's warmth? He'd slide his arm around her still body, but she'd grab his wrist and throw it off.

After two or three times, he got the message.

When he attempted to lavish her with attention, or take her out of town for a sexy weekend, she'd coldly refuse, saying she had to work, or worse, not give any excuse at all. Simply: "I don't want to."

While Nadia slowly turned to quartz, Finn respected her space. He simply quit pressing her. He worked, golfed, and because his wife was freezing him out, he found himself responding when the ladies flirted with him. When an attractive woman smiled at him, he found his natural predatory drive for the company of women as awake and raw as ever. He never cheated, though; he took marriage far too seriously for that.

Finally, Nadia had asked him for a separation.

Her request confirmed an un acknowledged instinct: he was not cut out for marriage. He'd done the gallant thing and given her the separation without argument, sparing her the pain of a long, drawn-out argument. Not that he'd been entirely successful on that score. They still argued every time they spoke. Except for last weekend, when she was the beautiful, happy Nadia he'd married.

Presently he grabbed the phone and dialed.

She answered on the first ring with a terse, "Yes?"

He ignored her snappish tone. "Hi. I was . .. . I wanted to make sure you're okay."

After a heavy pause, she snapped, "I'm fine."

"Really?"

"What does it matter, Finn? Why do you care?"

"It was my house too," he said abruptly.

On the other end of the line, Nadia exhaled. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm just freaked out by the whole thing."

"That's understandable."

Nadia remained silent.

"Well, are you really okay?"

"Why did you make a settlement offer today, of all days?" she asked. Her voice held just a touch of hurt.

Finn thought for a moment before answering. Stifling his misgivings, he decided to forge ahead with the truth. "At Lauren's wedding, you looked happier than I'd seen you in a long time. I wanted to let you be happy. To, you know, start a new chapter."

"Is that what you are doing? Starting a new chapter?"

Finn frowned, unsure where this was going. "I. . . honestly, Nadia, I was just trying to do something nice. Don't read anything into it."

"Fine."

"Are you at your sister's?"

"Yes. I think I'll just move to a hotel tomorrow. I can't stay here."

In the pause, he heard Nadia's young niece Sydney yelling for something.

"I need to go," Nadia said.

"Okay. Sleep well." Finn hung up and looked at the journal beside him. Guilt pricked his conscience. The internal struggle to decide to open the journal was intensified by the fact he had lied to her for their entire marriage. At the beginning, he'd told himself that he was protecting her. In light of the fact that her house had been burgled tonight, his failure on that count seemed all the more bitter.

He opened to the first page.

It is only after eight-thirty in the morning, and already we are becoming accustomed to our growing routine in the new house. Finn and I woke about seven, the unfamiliar room made familiar by his body.

I wanted him before I'd even become conscious. It is so good, that slow, hungry awakening. Finn was hard but it didn't seem to matter, he gently urged my hands away when I tried to stroke him. Moving between my legs, he began to lick me tenderly. With other guys, I've always had that problem of direction, not being able to simply ask for what I need, more pressure, less pressure, whatever. Finn just seems to know, and when he doesn't, he makes me feel safe enough to just ask. I love that generosity about him. When he finally entered me, it was heaven. My husband fucks me like nobody else. He has the most beautiful cock—thick, huge, and heavy. If every penis in the world were lined up, and no faces were visible, I'd be able to pick out his. I know it so well. It belongs to me.

Finn blinked, surprised by what he was reading. He had known that Nadia liked to scribble in her journal as an exercise to clear her mind, but he had no idea she had written such explicit things. Amusing. And kind of hot.

He picked a page in the middle of the book and read a paragraph:

. . . . because make-up sex is some of the best. That violence, followed by such tenderness, just takes my breath away. When he's angry I see him teetering, ready to erupt in action, and it excites me. He'd be shocked to know that when we're fighting like that, the cotton panel of my panties is soaked through, and all he would have to do is grab me and demand something and I would be his forever.

On that count, Nadia was undeniably correct. He would have been shocked to know that. He couldn't fathom that during the intensity of their arguments, she was actually excited. He stared at the words "demand something."

What? What did she want to give that he wasn't asking for?

If only Nadia knew how instinctive that was for a man, to project himself into his wife's mind as the all-powerful authority. Yet from a very young age, boys were taught in our culture to curb that instinct.

He wanted to laugh at the fantasy of how simple it would have been to simply grab his wife, push her to her knees, and shut her up by forcing her to suck him. On more than one occasion, he'd considered that, fleetingly, but good sense interceded. He'd wisely attempted to "share his feelings" and talk things out, which got them nowhere. Or rather, it got them to divorce court.

Suddenly glum, he flipped to the last entry in thejournal.

He is trying to fuck our marriage back into existence and it won't work. He's not listening to me. While he fucks me, I fantasize about X and since we're so angry, it works quite well.

I don't know what happened. I don't know why I can't just say, “I love you, Finn. Love me like you used to.”

Finn stared at the X. What was X? Was it a man? The thought sent a bolt of fury and sickness through him. He rifled through the journal. X appeared in other places, but the text gave no clue what X meant.

Why did it even bother him? He had pushed his marriage out of his thoughts for a year and a half; his interactions with Nadia consisted of his attorney informing him that her attorney had demanded something of him: an increase in support, usually. The relationship had operated in this dysfunctional way for so long that he'd almost forgotten these animus-filled exchanged were actually taking place with the woman he'd once vowed to love, honor, and cherish.

He had waited thirty-seven years to marry, far longer than most of his friends. He would have been a happy lifelong bachelor if Nadia had never crossed his path. She had been twelve years younger than him, a sweet, brilliant, funny woman who'd just graduated from Georgetown Law. He had waited for her to get bored, or come to see that her passion for him was an immature infatuation. But to his dismay they only grew closer together, solid, like a strong tree.

She had challenged him, and met him as an intellectual equal. In bed, she left him completely disarmed. It was not that Nadia was some kind of wildcat. Finn, who had many women, in fact had become a bit of a womanizer, could have found any number of sexual exploits, if that's what he'd wanted.

No, it was deeper than that—he responded to her sweetness, her eagerness to please him. He felt happy with her, no matter what they were doing. Those tender feelings were amplified and magnified in bed. She delighted him with her soft, limber warmth, her willingness to try anything he asked. Her touch left him completely bewitched.

One afternoon, as they lay on his bed in a drowsy daze, sweat cooling in their spent bodies, he said, "I love you." He hadn't planned on it; the words suddenly tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them but he knew, once they were uttered, that he had never said anything more honest in his life.

Nadia had been quiet for a very long time, as if really considering that idea. Then she whispered, "I love you too."

Soon after, he had taken her to Lake Louise in Banff to ski and while there, decided he wanted to marry her. She said yes, and they went to a local bait shop to apply for a marriage license. They were married later that afternoon, in the chambers of a judge.

The wedding was without fanfare because they both wanted the focus on themselves, not on the dress and cake, and all those peripheral things. The decision had seemed so right at the time.

The unraveling of the marriage happened so subtly that pinpointing any one thing as the official cause was impossible. He was traveling, lying to her about his purpose, and she was busy with her law career. Instead of finding solace in each other, they each perversely began to resent the presence of the other. When Nadia asked for a divorce eighteen months ago, he'd stoically accepted her wish and moved out.

A flashing memory of her brilliant amber eyes skirted through his mind. Her smile, her softness.

Stop, he ordered himself.

Inwardly he considered the possibility that the collapse of the marriage was due to pure laziness. Had he simply quit making an effort? He, who loved a challenge, could not believe that something as important as a marriage would simply collapse due to common negligence. Was destruction really as common and dull as that?

He picked up the journal again. An idea began to form. What if he could start over?

* * * * *

In the upstairs bathroom of her sister's house, Nadia turned on the jets of the bathtub, then poured a stream of strawberry-scented bubble bath. After the drama of today, she needed to relax, but even her favorite escape—a hot soak—seemed unlikely to calm her down. She heard her niece, Sydney, yelling downstairs and heard Julie's muffled reply. A lump formed in Nadia's throat. She would never know the ordinary domestic chaos of bedtime with children.

She should be long past wanting any kind of domestic life, she scolded herself sternly. What she had instead of a loving husband and children was a bargain: devoted friends, her career as a successful attorney.

It was, she knew, another lie she told herself to soothe her battered heart. Her friends didn't offer intimacy, love and sex. And her career certainly didn't either, though she spent most of her time on it. She filled the hours with busy-work, cramming every second of the day with meetings and noise so the emptiness wasn't quite as obvious.

The sweet, plaintive calls of the pre-schooler downstairs, along with Finn's words ping-ponging around in her head, should have filled any vacuum. Instead they defined the void, made it deeper and harder.

Never again would she allow herself to feel so vulnerable with a man, she vowed. Once was quite enough to teach her. That love, so fierce and all-encompassing, had burnt her.

The house grew quiet. Tears sprang to her eyes, stinging her cheeks. Chiding herself for her foolishness, Nadia ordered herself to get under control. Tomorrow she would attempt to clean up the house. While she was at it, she'd throw away all the remaining stuff of Finn's that remained in the garage and in some of the upstairs closets. Finally extracting the last remains of that man's stuff from her life would be therapeutic. She supposed she'd been hoping that they might reconcile, but that seemed outside the realm of possibility.

The air conditioner kicked on, reminding her that the water was turning cool. Instead of adding more hot water, Nadia stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and paused, suddenly drawn to her own reflection. She was still in good shape, her figure as taut and trim now as in high school. She had high, full breasts, a flat belly, a small thatch of trimmed pubic hair between her legs. Of course, there was no-one to appreciate the gym-toned glories of her curves.

That would have to change. Though she had resigned to a loveless life, she remained open to the possibility of taking a lover. Perhaps many lovers. Thirty-two was too young to simply resign one's sexual life, after all. Maybe she would have sex like a man, in a series of pleasure-filled and easily-forgotten encounters that left her body drained and her soul untouched.

Nadia pulled on her pajama bottoms and t-shirt, then combed her wet hair and applied evening moisturizer. Keeping up her beauty routines was more important than ever, she thought. She might not be on the market for a new boyfriend or husband, but it was high time she enjoyed the company of men again.