by Livia Grant
Lukus reached for the iPad he had brought in with him. Within a minute, he was pushing the tablet across the table for Hannah to view. The picture of the woman being tortured on screen gutted her. Hannah threw her hands up to cover her ears, trying to shut out the woman's screams as the man on screen used a thick cane on her ass and legs, leaving instant welts. The cameraman zoomed in on several weeping droplets of blood. The woman begged for her tormentor to stop as the deviant methodically struck her again and again until she whimpered in defeat.
Both men stared at Hannah, waiting for her decision. She looked between them and back to the screen. She weighed her options, wishing she could go back in time and never talk to Jake Davenport—knowing that was impossible. She wanted to pack up and run away, but to where? She was broke, and starting over cost money. And could she spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for Jake to catch up to her and Connor?
She closed her eyes, thinking until her head was throbbing. By the time she opened them again, she knew she only had one option that would get her life back. She looked at Dylan as she asked for more information. "If I do this, how will you keep me safe?"
Lukus answered her as Dylan became more agitated. "You'll be wired for sound and we'll rig up a small camera so you can capture evidence. We'll be listening in the entire time, and as soon as we get some evidence we can take to the police, we'll call them in."
Dylan was shaking his head, trying to convince her to say 'no' even as she gave her answer. "I'll go in, but only if you promise to come in and get me if he starts to hurt me."
Lukus nodded, quickly adding, “Of course. That’s why you’ll be wired.”
Hannah hesitated before adding, “Fine, but if…” Could she even say the words? She had to, or she couldn’t agree to go undercover. “If anything happens to me, you have to promise me you’ll take care of Connor. I won’t go in without knowing he’ll be taken care of if something happens to me.”
"I’ll protect Connor with my life, but honestly… don't do this, Hannah. We'll find another way." Dylan kneeled in front of her, taking her wringing hands in his own.
"Why do you care so much?" She wasn't used to anyone caring about her safety.
He seemed confused by her question. "I just do. I wish you'd reconsider. I have a bad feeling about this."
Hannah shuddered, worried that his words were a premonition of things to come.
Chapter Eight
Dylan
Dylan paced the small apartment like a caged animal. The investigation was moving from bad to worse. The only positive thing that had happened that day was that he'd finally got to talk with Hannah. Unfortunately, he felt worse instead of better, knowing he had completely failed to keep her safe and that, if his boss got his way, he would have to stand by and watch her go into danger yet again.
Hannah had been so upset after watching the video of Lucy and the live feed from the warehouse, they'd sent her to take a hot shower. Lukus had gone out to make calls from the car. Derek was still next door, leaving Dylan to wrestle with his guilt alone.
He spent the time doing the only action he could think of to help. He paced around Hannah's apartment, collecting up photo albums and frames, knick-knacks that looked important—anything he thought she might want to take with her if she had to leave in a hurry.
I'm going to help her be ready to leave at a moment's notice if things go wrong inside that warehouse.
He was just wrapping some frames in newspaper when Derek came through the connector door looking serious.
"I got the little guy to take a nap."
Dylan was in no mood to talk, so he kept at his task, stomping through the apartment.
"What the hell bug is up your ass?" Derek asked.
His brother's words were the final straw. Swinging around, Dylan let him have it. "Are you fucking kidding me? I can't believe you're going along with this idiotic plan of Mitchell's. You wouldn't let Rachel go into that warehouse and you know it. So why the hell are you going to send Hannah in there?"
"I wish there were some other way, Dylan, but what is it? You tell me. I'll go to Lukus with it." They stared daggers at each other until Derek spat, "I didn't think so."
Frustration boiled inside Dylan at the situation they were in. Every fiber of his being told him to throw Hannah over his shoulder and carry her out to his rental car and drive away, never to look back. Even as he dreamed it, he saw the flaws in his plan. Where would they go? Why would Hannah trust him? How would they take care of a toddler on the lam? Finding out she was a mother had been a surprise.
Dylan slumped into a kitchen chair, defeated. Derek grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge, placing one in front of him and taking the seat next to his brother.
"You have feelings for her. Has anything happened between you two?" Derek asked.
Wishful thinking.
"No, but I'd hoped... you know. There's something about her I can't put my finger on. I want to protect her. Like I'm responsible for her in some way. It's hard to explain." He felt Derek's stare as he answered.
"I get that. It's how I feel around Rachel every minute of every day. I'm confused why you feel that way about a woman you barely know, but I can see you want to baby her, too."
Anger flared up in Dylan. "Don't compare what I feel for Hannah with what you and Rachel do. I don't understand the whole diaper and spanking thing. It's too damn close to what's happening in that warehouse. Why does she put up with it? Explain it to me." He hadn't meant to have his words sound as accusing as they had come out.
His brother leaned forward, biting his response out. "Rachel doesn't put up with anything, asshole. She craves my dominance... my guidance. She was floundering when I met her, a hot mess, unable to make the simplest of decisions on her own. She lacked confidence and carried a lot of guilt for her unconventional sexual urges. She even suffered panic attacks whenever life's stresses overwhelmed her. It took me a long time to break down that wall of hers and convince her she was the center of my universe."
As mad as he was, Dylan didn't want to fight with his brother. He didn't doubt Derek's feelings for his wife, only his methods.
Derek glanced down at his phone. "Listen, Lukus texted me. We have to run back to the townhouse for some supplies. We'll be gone an hour. Maybe two. You stay here with Hannah. Keep her calm." His brother didn't wait for a reply before taking his soda and leaving through the front door.
Unable to relax, Dylan returned to packing. He was looking at an 8x10 photo of a teenage Hannah and a young woman who had to be her sister when Hannah came out of the bathroom, her long, sandy brown hair dripping halfway down her back from her recent shower.
Even with no make-up on, she was beautiful. She looked younger than she ever had before, with faint freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She couldn't hide her fear as his gaze met her grey eyes.
"You're still here." She sounded surprised.
"Of course I'm still here. I told you I would be."
"So." She paused. "I'm not used to men's words meaning much."
Dylan pushed his anger down, knowing she needed him to be calm for her sake. "Well, I hope to change that."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Why me? Why do you even give a shit?"
How sad that she couldn't believe she was worth caring about. "I can't explain it any more than you can. I just know that I'm going to do everything in my power to protect you—insulate you—from anything else bad happening."
"You guys are private detectives, right?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You know I can't pay you, right?"
"Jesus, I don't want your money, Hannah." Frustration took hold at her skepticism of his motives.
"Okay, then what do you want? I repeat... why me? What's in it for you?" She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking nervously.
Dylan struggled to answer, not even understanding his feelings fully himself. "Nothing is in it for me except protecting you from
anything else bad happening to you. Why are you pushing my help away?"
"Experience."
"Well, I think you should let me surprise you." He saw the brief longing in her eyes, betraying how tired she was of taking care of herself. The vulnerability was gone a second later. She was a tough cookie, and he knew it would take a lot more work to convince her to trust him.
Not waiting for a response, he pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and began to put together the fixings for an omelet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm hungry. I know you have to be hungry, too. Have a seat. Better yet, go lie down for a few minutes and try to take a short nap. I'll wake you when I have the food ready."
He moved into motion while she looked at him in surprise. "You're going to cook? For me?" She sounded incredulous.
He flashed her his best smile. "I'm going to cook—for us."
He saw her lips curl slightly, a tiny smile. She didn't leave, choosing to sit silently at her small table. Enjoying a small sense of victory, he could feel her eyes on his back as he worked in the small kitchen.
It only took a few minutes to finish the food prep and he plated their omelets, carrying them to the table. He then poured two glasses of cold orange juice and sat down to eat.
Hannah hadn't moved. She sat staring at the food, a faraway look in her eyes. He knew she had a lot to worry about and wanted to distract her. He picked up her fork and held it out to her, but she sat transfixed. He worried she was going into shock as the gravity of her situation closed in on her. When her bottom lip began to quiver, he used the fork to stab a bite from her plate, holding the food to her mouth.
"Open for me, Hannah. You need to eat."
She obeyed mechanically and he shoveled in mouthfuls as fast as she would allow him. When he held the glass of OJ to her lips, she drank, several drops clinging to her lips briefly before dripping down to her chin.
Without thinking, Dylan used his thumb to catch the drops of orange liquid, bringing it to his own lips to suck it off his digit. Hannah's eyes expanded as she watched, finally coming out of her trance-like state.
They ate in silence, Dylan diverting some bites to himself, sharing a fork, until they had both had their fill.
He saw when she noticed the pile of items in boxes and bags on the counter. She finally broke the silence to ask, "What is all that stuff?" nodding toward the heap.
"I started gathering things I think you'll want to take with you when we leave."
He hated the confusion in her eyes. "Can I really leave? They made it sound like I had to go into the warehouse tonight."
He paused briefly, knowing his next words could get him into deep shit with his brother and Lukus, deciding he didn't care. "You don't have to do anything. They're gone now. All you need to do is say the word and I'll help you pack up, and we'll leave here before they get back."
Her eyes widened. She thought over his offer before answering. "And then what? I'll have to look over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life."
"Maybe, maybe not. At least you aren't signing yourself up for more abuse tonight."
He couldn't understand why she wouldn't see that leaving was her best option. "If you're worried about having to make your way on your own, don't be. I just got home from my second tour in Afghanistan. The only reason I took the job with Mitchell was to shut my brother Derek up. I have no loyalty to him," Dylan went on.
"But you do to me? Why?" Her suspicious eyes stared him down.
"Dammit, stop asking me that. I don't know why. I just do."
"I can take care of myself." The quaver in her voice wasn't convincing.
"Sure you can, but maybe you shouldn't have to."
She acted so strong, but she was trembling under the weight of her precarious position. It made him want to enclose her in bubble wrap and keep her safe. She was right about one thing. His feelings for her were irrational considering how little they knew about each other, but that didn't stop him from caring just the same.
The sight of the tears on her cheeks was the final straw. Dylan pushed to his feet, leaned in, and scooped Hannah out of her chair and into his arms. She went without a struggle, a limp noodle in his arms as he carried her to the couch, cradling her close while her tears turned into sobs.
He held her through her breakdown, whispering soft assurances in her ear, stroking her hair lightly, and patting her back while rocking her gently. The long minutes stretched on, each second solidifying his hold on her both physically and emotionally. As fucked up as this situation was, Hannah being in his arms felt right.
After she'd cried herself out of tears, she calmed. The silence, which had started amicably, was turning sexual. Her hand, which had been grabbing his shirt for support, now stroked his chest gently while she wiggled in his lap, apparently not to escape but to get closer. He knew she had to feel his growing erection under her ass and wondered if all her wriggling was intentional.
The knowledge that she had been sexually assaulted little more than forty-eight hours previously had Dylan reining in his desire. They had enough heavy shit going on without adding a sexual relationship to the mix. Still, when she pulled back enough to peer up into his eyes, their lips only inches apart, he was helpless to stop the inevitable.
His lips brushed hers softly in a chaste kiss. Her sigh urged him to deepen the embrace, lightly flicking his tongue across her lips until her own tongue tangled with his. The kiss was intimate; the kind that got his heart thumping. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and it had never felt like this before.
They made out like teenagers until the sound of her cell phone ringing from the kitchen forced them apart. Hannah was out of breath as she stumbled to her feet to find her phone. Dylan watched her closely, and knew from her frantic eyes it had to be Jake Davenport calling.
She threw her phone down to the counter as if Jake had the ability to burn her fingers from afar. Dylan pushed to his feet, crossing to her with wide strides, circling her in his arms tightly. She went willingly. They held each other until the phone started ringing again. Neither looked at the display, choosing to cling to their precarious bond for as long as possible.
The ding of a text message came next.
Dylan pulled back enough to grab her phone, looking down first to shield her from the message. It was worse than he'd feared. The photo of a faceless, naked woman filled the screen. The sharp knife being held at her throat overshadowed the vicious clamps on her nipples. The accompanying message read: Answer your fucking phone or the next photo will be red.
Dylan had no trouble believing Davenport would slit an innocent person's throat. He did, however, hate his own relief at realizing that at least it wasn't Hannah's. He'd make one more attempt.
Looking into her frightened eyes, he pleaded. "Come with me. Let's pack up your stuff and grab Connor, and we can be out of here in fifteen minutes. I'll take you away from here."
He saw raw longing in her eyes. She was tempted.
The next text arrived: I thought you could use some additional incentive.
The picture filling the screen was actually less gruesome than its predecessor, which confused Dylan. A crying and pissed off looking Asian woman stared back at him. She was clothed, indicating it was not the same woman. Hannah grabbed the phone and angled it so she could see. Her strangled cry distracted him from realizing her legs had given out from under her. She fell to her knees with a muffled cry.
"What is it, Hannah? Who is it?" he asked urgently.
Through her anguished tears she cried, "He took Mia. Lucy was bad enough." She was going into shock, repeating again and again, "He took Mia." She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking as she knelt, broken-hearted.
The jingle of her cell phone ring jarred the space, moving him into motion. "Come on, let's get out of here." He pulled Hannah to her feet, but that was as far as she would go. She held her ground, reaching for the phone.
"No. Nothing goo
d will come from talking to him. We need to get you safe."
Her teary eyes looked up at his, so vulnerable, yet strangely resolved. "She's my best friend. My only friend. I can't leave her there."
He reluctantly let her take the cell from him, her hands visibly shaking as she accepted the call. She didn't speak. He didn't know she'd put it on speakerphone until Davenport's calculating voice bellowed into the room.
"You fucking bitch, you are going to regret messing with me. I'll be at your place in thirty minutes, and I expect you to walk out the door carrying only what you stole from me. You'll get in the front seat of my car and then we'll go somewhere private, where I can explain to you the depth of my anger at your betrayal."
"No."
Dylan was impressed at how strong she sounded, despite the situation.
Jake's chilly response had the temperature in the room plummeting. "Excuse me? You have zero bargaining power here, Hannah. You can only make your situation worse each time you open your damn mouth."
"I don't think so. I have something you want. You have something I want. I'll drive to you with my item and we'll trade in the parking lot. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
"I'll leave it. You want to drive yourself, that's fine, but you will be coming in if you want to see your friend. We've already started the party without you. I'd hurry if I were you. She doesn't seem to be having much fun without you here," Jake said.
Dylan could hear the muffled sounds of a struggle and crying in the background. Hannah obviously did as well, and a helpless resolve filled her eyes. He willed her to hang up the call, yet knew she wouldn't.
"I hate you. You'd better not hurt a hair on her head, you bastard," she snarled.
Jake's only reply was a devious chuckle. The sadistic ass was having fun.
She spat, "I'll bring you what you want, but then Mia, Lucy and I are leaving. Promise me, or I'll take a detour to the police station on the way there."