There is some implied nudity in this part, but nothing explicit or graphic.
Read on to find out what happens next!
Hunted Part Four
Rated: R
Over the course of the next few weeks that followed, MacGyver began to feel less like a prisoner and more like a liberated man whenever he spent time with Julia. They hiked and biked through the vast wilderness that surrounded them and even went into the small nearby town on occasion to participate in more touristy attractions, strolling after a nice meal in the local café and either window shopping or reading the plaques above the historical buildings to learn about their past and significance in the life of the town and its citizens. They began to blend into the quiet life of the town, its rhythms and routines. Gradually, MacGyver began to feel that he lived there, that he belonged there, that he belonged with her. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about Mondragon or the threat to his life, but his concerns were pushed into the back of his mind. Living there began to seem less like penance and grew more leisurely, enjoying every moment he spent with her. Never before had he met someone so easy to talk to, so easy to relate to. She understood him. He began to wonder how he had ever been alone without her presence in his life, how they seemed to naturally fit together, two souls blended into one. Their relationship quickly developed, advancing to its most intimate stages. Where before MacGyver might have been apprehensive, he now willingly surrendered himself to her passion, enveloping himself in her flesh, losing himself inside her blissfully, wrapping himself in a pleasant dream that he hoped would never end. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so uninhibited, so enraptured. It was as if Julia had carried him away from harm to some distant world beyond where they could lay in each other’s arms forever, eternally at peace.
Julia felt the same, but lingering doubts plagued her. As she lay with him one night, naked between flannel sheets on the floor of the safe house, the wood burning fireplace roaring in the background, casting them in a golden, flickering light, she thought about what she had offered to do and how she could possibly escape it, how she could protect him. MacGyver slept soundly beside her, exhausted after their lovemaking, facing her, his now limp arms still wrapped around her. Smiling, trying to forget her assignment, she traced her slender index finger gently around his strong, well-formed, angular features, tracing his sturdy, sharp jawline and then meeting at his slightly fuller lower lip, remembering with delight how often those lips had enfolded around hers in warm, sweet, passionate kisses. Her finger continued its journey down his well-toned, long body, stopping at the scar that remained from the bullet wound on his abdomen. Even in the dim firelight, she could see it vividly. It still looked raw, fresh, and pink. She remembered it clearly. She remembered that night, seeing him…
MacGyver was awake now, watching her, although she didn’t notice at first. He saw that she was staring at his bullet wound. He had made up stories about his life that would explain his scars, stories that were convenient for both of them, for her safety. Maybe once Mondragon was caught, he would no longer have to deceive her. He longed to tell her the truth, especially if they were to remain romantically involved. How could he hope to sustain a relationship with her if its very foundation was built on lies? How would she ever trust him again once he was free and able to tell her? He began to wonder if it was a mistake, if he would end up hurting her as he had so many women when the truth about his life was revealed to him.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” They would always ask, and he would always end up struggling to explain it and defend himself—
I did it for you, it’s complicated, it wasn’t safe for you to know…they never forgave him, many of the former women in his life telling him that love was about trust, and if he couldn’t trust them enough to tell them the truth about what he did for a living, then…
He watched her quietly for a long time as she continued to stare at it, transfixed. She continued to be unaware that he was watching her. As he watched her, a voice echoed in his ears, a voice he remembered vaguely hearing when he was barely alive, wrestling with pain, somewhere in the fog and distance of his memory. It had sounded so much like her voice…why? Where had it come from? Had he dreamt it?
“Shh, it’s all right… You’re going to be all right. Help is coming soon…” “Why do people kill?” He asked, his voice husky and sleepy. His own question startled him as much as it did her as he felt her body stiffen in his arms. He didn’t know why he asked it. It had tumbled out of his mouth involuntarily, a random thought taking shape and vocalized.
Julia tightened her body in surprise and tension of the moment from his strange, unexpected question and then relaxed, trying to remain calm. She sighed, still staring at the bullet wound, having as intimate knowledge of it as she now had of the rest of his body. She refused to look into his eyes, those warm, dark pools that would be watery and cloudy from sleep, giving him the confused, lost look of a vulnerable little boy. Yet, he wasn’t a little boy. As clarity and consciousness continued to return to him, those sleepy, adorable puppy eyes framed by long brown lashes would once again grow stern, hard, and piercing, demanding honesty. She couldn’t face them.
“For many reasons, I suppose,” she said, squeezing words out of her constricted throat, trying to remain composed, playing along with his conversation. “There are many motives. Jealousy, hate, disgust, anger, mental derangement, lack of conscience, killing for pleasure…love.”
“Love,” MacGyver repeated. “Like that famous French actress that murdered her boyfriend near here on the ski slopes. He was an Olympic skier, a champion. It seemed they had everything—fame, wealth, acclaim, celebrity. Yet she shot him, killed him on the slopes, not too far from here. Why?”
Julia shuddered. Her finger traced his bullet wound scar again, tears threatening.
I can’t do this…I can’t do this… “I can’t,” she said aloud.
Turning away from him, pulling herself free from his arms, she grabbed the robe she had tossed aside earlier, when they had released themselves to unbridled passion, wishing more than anything that she could return to the ecstasy of that moment instead of grappling with the seriousness of the issues she now faced. She put it on and went outside to his back deck, facing the seemingly endless mountains, the trees shrouded in silhouette against the dark, starry night sky. MacGyver followed her, putting on his boxer shorts and T-shirt. He found her staring out into the emptiness, a contemplative look on her face.
“What was that about?” He asked. “You can’t what?”
“Just forget it,” she said, staring blankly.
“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. I don’t know why I brought up the subject of
murder, for God’s sake. I realize what a disturbing topic of discussion that is. I…I don’t know what came over me to say those things.” He sighed. “It’s just…well, you were looking at my bullet scar, and I…”
come on, Mac. Out with it. Tell her the truth. You can’t keep this up if you want to keep her. She needs to know. “Julia, I think there’s something you need to know about me—
“I’m not who you think I am, MacGyver,” Julia said, still staring straight ahead, avoiding his eyes.
Stunned, MacGyver stared at her. She had basically stolen what he was about to tell her from his mouth. “What do you mean?” He asked.
Julia shook her head and closed her eyes, fighting back more tears. She pounded her fists on the deck railing. “Damn it, this is so hard,” she said.
“No, no…come on Julia,” MacGyver said. “You can tell me.”
“My name’s not Julia,” she said, looking at him for the first time, her eyes fierce. “I’m Nadine Easton. I’m the...I’m the one who saved you the night you were shot.”
“The socialite on the yacht? But…but how did you…why?”
“Please listen to me,” she said, holding up her hand to silence him, staring down at the boards on the deck, once again avoiding his steely glare. Her lower lip trembled as she fought back more tears. “I became someone else, disguised myself so I could ensnare you…I’m very talented at that, becoming someone else…I don’t even know who I really am anymore.” She released a bitter laugh.
“You…what?” MacGyver asked, staring at her in disbelief.
“All my wealth comes from cocaine,” she said, looking back up at him. “Trading in it, trafficking it…everything I have I owe to James Mondragon and his syndicate.”
“I don’t understand…how could you get involved in something like that?” MacGyver asked, still shocked by what she was telling him but wanting to hear the details.
“I’ve been dependent on others my entire life, MacGyver,” she said, absently fiddling with the string that tied her robe around her trim waist. “As a ward of the state, I never had much growing up, moving from one foster home to the next. When I became an adult, I was still left with nothing, with few opportunities. Foolishly, I sought refuge from men, most of whom couldn’t provide, most of whom were selfish and better at deprivation, better at abuse and neglect instead of the love and independence I thought I would find with them. All I wanted was to be treated with respect, to feel that I was
worth something, that I was loved. Then I met James, and I thought…” she sighed. “I never wanted to get in it this deep. I never wanted to be around drugs, but James introduced me to a world I never thought possible from my humble beginnings. He treated me like I was royalty, gave me everything I thought I always wanted—prestige, a fortune, high profile admirers fawning over me, celebrating my wealth or hating me for it—basically, the attention, adoration, and love I had been craving my whole life but had never received before. I thought I was finally happy, that James loved me, that I was, for the first time in my life, financially stable, never having to worry about my income or how to pay for anything ever again. He took care of me, or so I thought. I thought he loved me, and I’m sure he thinks he still does. But I began to realize how empty all of it was, how I was just as dependent as I used to be but now even more so, trapped in a gilded cage. I always wanted to be strong, wanted to handle things myself, but I ended up relying on someone else again, someone vile, someone who was ruthless and would do anything it took to amass his fortune, no matter how illegal, dangerous, violent, or unethical, someone who ruined and poisoned lives just so he could benefit his own. He provided for me, all right, but that money was tainted by addicts and blood, risk and violence. I was scared. I was now buried so deep in drug money. It weighed me down, suffocating me. I couldn’t escape it. I didn’t know how. Then I saw you that night, floating in the water, shot, bleeding to death, almost drowned…I finally saw his brutality, the lengths to which he would go to preserve his corrupt empire. I knew he was the one who shot you. I just knew. I also knew that if I was to ever have a chance of escaping the nightmare that I would have to save you. He told me later about it, of course, thinking that he was telling me in confidence. At first he was furious that I had rescued you and spoken to the police, but then he came to his senses and realized that there was no way I could have known, even though secretly I did. He told me all about you, how you were undercover, how he exposed you and tried to kill you for the traitorous dog you were. When he learned that I saved you, that his plan had failed…the only way I could help you was by offering to finish the job myself.”
“You mean…kill me?” MacGyver asked.
“I don’t
want to, MacGyver,” she said, taking a step towards him, trying to prove she wasn’t a real threat. She took his hands in hers and kissed them. “Don’t you see? It was merely a ruse. I had to say
something, something that would keep him and his men from going after you…” she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat wildly with the confusion he must’ve been feeling. “I love you, MacGyver. I loved you the moment I saw you, so close to death…James is a heartless monster. I always knew that, but I was too afraid to leave him. Now, I’ve seen it even clearer when he tried to kill you. I don’t want to see you get hurt…I love you…I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you, never more confident and at ease, the person I’m suppose to be…” she whispered. She began sobbing, clutching at him tightly. “I thought I could save you again,” she said. “Now, I’m not so sure. James is a man who expects results, and if I don’t somehow deliver…how do I keep you safe? I thought I knew. I thought I was smart, that I was tough, that I could handle it. Now here I am, blubbering away, leaning on you like the weak woman I really am. I’m not so tough after all, now am I?” She balled up his shirt in her tightly clenched fists, pulling it towards her. She buried her face in it and sobbed again.
Once again, her words the night he was shot returned to him. Now he knew they belonged to her.
“Shh, it’s all right… You’re going to be all right. Help is coming soon…” “What do I do now, Mac? What do I do? I want to help you. I want to protect you…”
MacGyver stroked her hair, felt her trembling body against his. For awhile, that was all he could do to comfort her, unsure what to say, everything she had revealed overwhelming him. Their meeting was a setup, after all. She had arranged the crazy driver and the bike accident to get close to him. Now, she was warning him. Now, she told him that she actually did love him, that she couldn’t go through the plot to kill him. She genuinely cared for him. Beneath her strong exterior was a terrified girl, a girl who had never known love until now. She felt it with him, it was clear. She wasn’t manipulating him the way Mondragon wanted her to. She wasn’t capable of guile and heartlessness, even though it had surrounded her most of her life.
“There’s just something purer about living here, something clean, simple, and honest…” she had said that, and she meant it. He could see it now. She wanted a simpler life, she wanted to cleanse and purge herself of her sins. She wanted to begin again—with him. He didn’t know how to respond.
“You want to help me,” he said at last. “I can help you.”
Nadine wiped her tears on his shirt and looked up at him. She sniffed and laughed slightly. “Crying like a baby,” she said. “How stupid—
“Now come on, you’ve been through a lot,” MacGyver said. “My guess is that you’ve been burying your emotions for quite some time, putting up a brave front. You deserve to unleash those emotions. I won’t judge you.”
She smiled. “I know you won’t,” she said, leaning her head against his chest again, listening to his heart hammer in his chest, glad to hear it beating, knowing that she had helped it to beat again. “How can you help me?” She asked.
“You said you want out of that life of drug money, right? That you want to become someone else?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “More than anything.”
“Would you be willing to testify against Mondragon and his syndicate once they’re caught in exchange for witness protection? You would be given a new life, a new identity. You would be free from it, at last. It would be everything you always wanted. Independence.”
“But I couldn’t be with you.”
“I know,” MacGyver said sadly. He stroked her back. “But at least you’d be safe from any possible retaliation on his part. We can protect you, Nadine. There are other ways besides witness protection, I’m sure. We’ll just have to think of something. I’ll make sure you’re exonerated. After all, you were just the victim of cruel circumstances beyond your control. You didn’t know he was dealing drugs and on the drug market when you first met him. How could you? He plays it smooth, pretends to be an upstanding citizen. It took us years to discover the truth behind his shady business dealings with the drug cartels.”
“You’re the first man who has ever cared for me, MacGyver,” Nadine whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, living in fear. Maybe we could just stay here forever, hide in the mountains, you and me together, away from everything…”
The held each other for a long time, knowing it wasn’t possible.
“We’ll think of something, I promise,” MacGyver said.
“I’ll help you bring him down, Mac. I know everything about him.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“Try right inside your so-called ‘safe house’,” James Mondragon said, entering with several of his men, burly and brooding, all carrying guns.
MacGyver and Nadine looked at each other and then turned to face them.
“Nice try seducing him, Nadine, but if it was me, I’d have already plunged that knife into his back long ago.”
“Don’t touch him!” Nadine shouted, lunging at him, pummeling him with her fists.
James struggled to control her, grabbing her by the wrists. Still, she was physically powerful, and it took all his strength to restrain her. At last, he was able to control her, and he slapped her hard across the cheek, sending her crashing to the floor, gasping and crying out more in surprise than in pain, the sting on her cheek something she had grown used to from previous abusive men in a previous life, before she began working out more to strengthen her body and defend herself better.
“Hey, you son of a—
MacGyver was grabbed by several of James’s men before he could finish, one of them slamming his fist into MacGyver’s stomach, causing him to double over in pain, crumpling in their muscular arms.
“Stop it!” Nadine shouted, springing up from the floor and attacking James again. He signaled for some of his men to hold her as well, pinning her arms behind her. She struggled ferociously.
James laughed at her, touching some of the cuts and bruises she had managed to inflict on his face, noticing blood on his fingers. He shook his head and wiped the blood away on his pants. “You were always a feisty one,” he said. “You could always hold your own in a fight. That’s why I never beat you. I respected your strength too much. But brute force and physical exertion are a waste of time, here.”
“Yeah? Try telling that to your hired thugs,” Nadine said, wriggling violently against the men holding her back. She looked at MacGyver in sympathy, watching as he groaned and coughed, struggling to regain his breath.
“It’s a shame that you went behind my back this way, falling in love with a target you told me you’d kill. I knew I shouldn’t trust you. It was you who pulled his worthless carcass out of the water, after all. But I thought, well, she didn’t know who he was at the time. Let her redeem herself. Now, you want to spill your guts to the Feds about my cozy little operation. It turns out you’re just as much of a traitor as MacGyver is. How shameful. How disgraceful. How ungrateful, Nadine, after all I’ve done for you.” He reached out to touch her red cheek, marked with his handprint where he’d slapped her. She cringed and pulled away from him in disgust, spitting at him. Infuriated, wiping away the saliva from his face, he almost struck her again. She stared at him defiantly, almost begging him to try it. Lowering his hand in defeat, he turned to one of his men. “We’re wasting our time here,” he said. “Bring the car around. These two are coming with us.”
“What are you going to do to us? Shoot us like a coward?” Nadine asked.
A perverse grin spread on James’s thin lips. “No, I have a better idea this time,” he said. He looked at MacGyver, who was still slumped in the arms of his men but was now also glaring at him, struggling. “MacGyver is going to be treated to a sample of my product, the one he shows so much disdain for.” He turned to Nadine. “And you get to watch.”
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
