Barbara's Redemption

by Diane Saxon

  “Martian problems, huh?” With a twitch of his eyebrows, Zak had Marie smiling. “I always thought your Uncle Graham was an alien.”

  Marie grinned, her happy smile showing her perfect white teeth. “She said we had to duck and run while Uncle Graham was under the affluence of incohol.”

  Zak’s smile froze and Dominic’s gut wrenched. Had Lucy mentioned anything about Graham when she’d abandoned his daughter in the dead of night? Christ, he hadn’t had the chance to ask Delia yet. He’d been too consumed with annoyance at his dead wife’s sister letting his daughter down to have thought about why she’d delivered her back.

  He glanced at Delia, took in her surprised expression, and knew she’d not been informed. She barely spoke with Lucy at the best of times, but Delia had been just as annoyed as he had at the untimely and inconsiderate event.

  Irritation with himself had him frowning at his daughter as he turned back to her. She froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Aunt Lucy said it was a secret.”

  He relaxed his features and managed a reassuring smile while he ground his teeth at the damnable woman. At one time, he thought she was far more responsible than his wife, but evidently, he was wrong.

  “Aunt Lucy is wrong, baby. We don’t have secrets in this house. You can tell me anything, sweetness.” He cupped his hand over her soft, round cheek, his thumb brushed the base of her ear, and he quelled the fear and the anger threatening to rage through him. “Is there anything else Aunt Lucy said?”

  “No.” Marie dipped her head and studied her porridge bowl. Her voice was a quiet whisper when it eventually came. “Uncle Graham was shouting too loud for me to hear anything Aunt Lucy said.”

  The rapid palpitations of his heart shot straight through to his throat, and the need to kill Graham almost got the better of him. Well aware of the effects adult shouting had on innocent children, he wanted to savage the man right there and then, preferably in a padded cell. He had the wherewithal to do it out of the sight and earshot of his daughter.

  He raised his head and met the deadly ice in Zak’s eyes.

  “I’ll check on it.” Zak’s gaze stayed steady on his. They were going to need a body bag. The clean-up team wouldn’t be required. Zak was far too cautious. He flashed a razor sharp smile and came to his feet. A big guy, almost six feet four, he towered above them and emanated quiet violence.

  “I don’t think Aunty Lucy will be there. She said she couldn’t go back. Uncle Graham really scared her when he pointed his gun at her.”

  Dominic lowered his spoon back into the porridge. His muscles turned to water so he could barely lift his hand. He’d allowed his baby into the care of an unreliable woman and a monster of a man. No matter how short a time, he was responsible.

  “Just say the word, Boss.”

  He stared at Zak and knew death when he saw it.

  His daughter’s voice drew his attention back to her. “I was supposed to be in bed, but I sneaked to the top of the stairs to see why Uncle Graham was shouting so loud. She hit him with a baseball bat, and when he didn’t get up, she said we should leave while he was sleeping.”

  He tried to swallow, but the heart lodged in the back of his throat wouldn’t allow him to. What in hell’s name had he exposed his daughter to?

  With a slow move, Zak eased back into his chair and picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers, took a bite, and chewed, his gaze never leaving Dominic’s face. He squinted as he swallowed. “Looks like she handled it herself.”

  “Well now, are you ready for the cookie I promised you, Marie?” Delia’s broad body filled Dominic’s vision, and he tracked his gaze up to meet her eyes. As she narrowed them, they crinkled at the edges, and pain glimmered while she plastered on a tight smile, her old-fashioned lipstick bleeding through the wrinkles in her lips. Her slight nod of understanding relaxed his muscles enough for him to reach out a hand and swipe it down his daughter’s dark hair. She was fine. She was safe. If he didn’t have an obligation to fulfill, he could have spent more time with her to assess the trauma she’d been put through.

  At least she’d told them about it. It was out in the open, but he didn’t need to poke at it too much. Delia would get more out of her. She didn’t need to be a psychiatrist. She was a mother and grandmother.

  Just for good measure and to calm his own frantic heart, he pulled his daughter into his arms and gave her a hard squeeze, tempted just to keep her there and never let her go.

  It was the worst thing he could possibly do to her, so he stroked his hand over her hair and planted a swift kiss on her forehead.

  “Ah, looks like you managed to wrap Delia around your little finger again, my lovely. Go and have your cookie. I need to get back off to work with my man here. If you can entertain yourself for a while,” he nodded his head at the dog, curled up asleep in the corner, “I’m sure Delia will take the lad down to the pond with you later.”

  The old black Labrador raised his head. His chocolate eyes meltingly soft did a slow, calm study of the room before he dropped his chin back down onto the tiled floor. Brynn’s wise old eyes closed in contentment. He knew the walk was to come, but was more than happy to while away the intervening time on a cool surface.

  With the energy of youth and willingness to be distracted, Marie squirmed out of his arms, leaped to her feet, and hightailed it after Delia and the cookie tin.

  Chapter Three

  It wasn’t paranoia that had her springing her eyes open and scanning her gaze around the room. She knew what it was like to be watched, and her inner sense had never failed her.

  She focused on the door. She may have been exhausted, but she distinctly remembered closing it before she slipped beneath the pale blue covers of the bed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

  Barbara flipped back the duvet and swung her legs around to sit on the side of the bed while she kept a close watch on the door. Someone had cracked it open. If she was supposed to feel safe, this hadn’t exactly reinforced her confidence.

  On silent feet, she tiptoed to the door and wished she had her gun with her, just to make her feel secure.

  Not entirely comfortable with the place, she’d gone to bed fully dressed. It would take more than a stranger claiming to be Flynn’s friend to convince her she was safe.

  She peered around the door, pulled it wide, and scanned left and right. No one was in sight, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t being watched.

  Dominic had told her it was a facility, not yet commissioned, but her gaze zoomed in on the tiny cameras on either side of the corridor, and she wondered if they were live.

  Utter silence closed in on her.

  She stepped back inside her room and snicked the door closed before she checked the bedroom out for cameras. There was no way she was about to get undressed until she knew she couldn’t be seen.

  Nothing caught her attention in the minimalist room, but she grabbed the one small, blue upholstered chair, and in the absence of a lock on her door, she wedged it beneath the handle. It was a shame she hadn’t thought to do that the night before. Then she wouldn’t have to wonder.

  With a hasty scan, she checked out the small en-suite and could find nothing of consequence there except a small bolt on the inside of the door. Relieved, she slid it into place before she turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes.

  She stepped under the torrent of water and let it rush over her skin. The citric zing of the new tube of shower gel designed to invigorate did just that. With a quick scrub of her short hair, Barbara rinsed it off and stepped out of the shower.

  New blue towels had been draped over a heated rail and were big enough to swamp her body, but she didn’t spend time appreciating the luxury of them as she rubbed herself dry and flung on the fresh set of clothes she’d brought into the bathroom with her from her small rucksack. Black underwear, black pants, black long-sleeved T-shirt. She strapped on her watch, surprised to see she’d slept the entire morning away and
it was already well into the afternoon. She rubbed her face with her hands, hardly refreshed at all.

  She flattened the dampened spikes of her hair against her scalp. She was a guest, not a prisoner. She had to remember that. She was free to walk anytime she wanted.

  She needed to track down Dominic and see what the hell was expected of her.

  The loud roll of her stomach protested its emptiness and made her move, but caution still had her checking the hall before she slipped out of her room and went in search of food and answers. An eerie silence dogged her footsteps through the empty facility, sending a shudder of fear to chill her skin.

  Fingers on the door handle, she hesitated, aware of the slight tremor in her hand. The distinct aroma of coffee hit her as soon as she cracked open the door to what, if she remembered rightly from when she arrived the night before, was the kitchen.

  The loud plea from her stomach didn’t stop her from checking to see if she was going to be the victim of a surprise attack. After all, you were only paranoid if shit didn’t really happen, and she had enough memories to know it did. She may be unarmed, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous.

  With a deep breath, she pushed open the door, no longer sure what to expect.

  Slate gray eyes met hers. Dominic’s small smile encouraged her to step into the room. “Come in. Meet Zak.”

  She skimmed her gaze over the tall man leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee cradled in his wide hands. She recognized his type. Dangerous. Unlike the professor, this guy exuded testosterone, his stance so like her brother’s she almost choked.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” He bowed his head in a slow acknowledgement. “Get yourself some lunch. I expect you’re hungry.”

  Hungry was an understatement. She was ravenous, and relief at finding the dark-haired Irishman there relaxed her enough for the empty pocket in her belly to give a painful cramp. It let out an embarrassing high-pitched howl. Dominic’s lips quirked up at the edges, but he waited with what seemed like endless patience. With a casual shrug, she slipped into the vacant chair opposite him, away from the big guy whose presence seemed to fill the small kitchen.

  “I could eat.”

  She needed coffee, she needed food, and she needed the strength so she could assimilate her thoughts and decide on a plan of action. Trust was the issue. If she knew she could trust Dominic, she’d be able to offload everything, but she had nothing to reassure her that she could. Even Flynn wasn’t there to clarify whether or not she was safe. She might still be alive, but it could just be a matter of time.

  Dominic made his way over to the cast iron stove, poured her a coffee, and placed it on the table in front of her.

  “Barbara,” His mellow tones pulled her attention back. “If you want my help, we’ll have to make a start as soon as possible. You have limited time before your vacation is over, and then you’ll most likely be under the care of an army psychiatrist.”

  She met his calm stare over the top of his half-moon glasses. His slow blink gave her heart a jolt. Thick black lashes surrounded those eyes and gave her a strange pull in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t accredit to hunger.

  She’d been too concerned with the events the night before to have taken much notice of her rescuer, but as she skimmed her gaze over him, a little heat simmered. He was a good-looking man.

  He tugged his cable knit cardigan into place, making her heart stumble around in her chest while she tried to decide if trust was better than the little kick of desire. He raised his hand to push his wayward hair back from his forehead, a futile gesture as it flopped forward again.

  Out of nowhere, the vicious memory of thick black hair, matted and dirty, sprang to mind. Tempted to slam her eyes shut, she concentrated purely on breathing as blood spatter filled her vision. The image of a child’s broken body in a heap at her feet as firelight tossed its illumination over the crimson-soaked ground.

  Quick to look down at the plate he placed before her, she swallowed, trying to rid herself of the memory. “Thank you.”

  Could she possibly eat while the bile rose in her throat, threatening to choke her?

  It took her a long moment to gain control over her desire to rush screaming from the room, from the memories. She ground her teeth as she stared at the laden plate and fought back the panic. There was nowhere else for her to go.

  When she was ready, she filled her mouth with food in an attempt to shove aside the heavy clouds still insistent on invading her mind. With another brief scan of the room, she took in the clinical starkness of it. It didn’t suit him, not with his homely cardigan and floppy hair. It suited the quiet guy, though. Zak. Military. Had to be.

  She swallowed her food, relieved to feel the queasiness dissipate while she filled her belly. She conducted a slow study and squinted at the man sitting opposite her while he gave his attention to his own food, allowing the silence to stretch between them.

  Barbara’s muscles relaxed while her mind fired up. His quiet concentration rattled her far more than she expected, but there was little she wanted to talk about, so she applied herself to her food, the thick cloud of doubt still hovering over her.

  When they were finished, he scraped his chair back and came to his feet as Barbara placed her silverware down and took a long slug of her coffee.

  “Are you ready to go to my office?” His soft brogue washed over her, and despite expecting his touch, it still came as a shock when his warm fingers encircled her arm just above her elbow.

  Without taking her gaze from him, she gave a small shrug, keeping her body loose and relaxed. She placed her empty cup on the table and came to her feet. “Sure, lead the way…” She’d see what he had to say and then decide whether or not it was worth staying or if she’d be better off on her own. She loved being a pilot, but if getting out of the situation she was in meant she had to turn her back on her career, then she may have no alternative.

  She relaxed her muscles. She was in control of her destiny. She was still in control.

  His grip tightened for a moment, and then he dropped his hold and placed his hand in the small of her back. “Dominic. The name’s Dominic.” With a small nod, she acknowledged his reminder and moved at the slight pressure applied by his hand. “Through here.”

  He guided her back into the hallway and steered her to the right. She glanced along the empty passage as they passed through. A quick assessment told her it was always an escape route should she need one. It had become second nature to check.

  “Door at the end,” his low voice murmured in her ear. His warm breath danced over her skin, inducing a gentle shudder.

  Dominic stepped past her. The subtle scent of lemon and man wafted over her as he flicked his hand toward the high-backed chair in the middle of the room. “Take a seat.”

  She stood at ease, hands linked behind her back, determined not to allow his masculine attractiveness to divert her attention. “I’m good to stand.” His overwhelming appeal may entice her, but she had no intention of giving in to it. She brushed aside any lure she felt toward the handsome man and concentrated on her surroundings.

  He made his way around the far side of a sanitized white desk and took his seat in the chair behind it. He gave her a long, cool assessment. “You’ll be more comfortable if you sit, Barbara. There’s nothing here that will harm you. You’re quite safe.”

  Unwilling to let him think she may be scared, she stepped in front of the chair, slumped down in it, and crossed her arms over her chest to make sure he understood she did it with reluctance. The effect was for nothing as he ignored her while he flicked through a file of notes.

  “You know, I don’t mean to be rude.” She smiled as his attention flicked back to her. “But I actually don’t know who you are. I should perhaps have asked you for ID last night, but we were a little, umm…” she circled her finger in the air, “pre-occupied with the slob.”

  “Buddy.”

  “Yeah, him. He was a distraction.”
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  “He was, and I understand your need to verify who I am.”

  Dominic reached inside the top drawer of his desk while she held her breath and then relaxed. She didn’t know him, she may not trust him, but something about him reassured her.

  When he skimmed his identification card across the glossy surface of his desk, she leaned forward and shot her hand out to stop it from flying off the edge.

  She studied the card. If it was to be believed, and she had no reason to doubt it.

  “Retired Army Major?” She cast him a quick glance and then looked back down. Now working for some government department of psychology. Interesting load of initials after his name, but she hadn’t a clue what most of them meant. She understood the one for medical doctorate, and it appeared he was a professor.

  Another fleeting look at the cardigan and glasses coaxed a smile from her. Of course he was. It would explain a lot. She studied the initials again. It seemed he’d qualified as a psychiatrist too. Not surprising he had a few silver hairs. Why was it silver hair gave men such attractive sophistication?

  He must have spent most of his life studying to gain all the qualifications listed after his name. A nice name, a good strong name. Dominic Salter.

  She flipped his ID back across the desk to him. “Great picture.”

  His hair had been shorn close to his head, typical army, unlike the man in front of her whose hair flopped in attractive abundance around his angular face. He was a good-looking man, his smoky eyes surrounded with thick sooty lashes the main feature of his face, but the swath of hair gave him a bad-boy look in direct opposition to the impression he presented with his half-moon glasses, smart shirt and tie, and professor cardigan. A veritable contradiction and the yummiest professor she’d ever seen.