by Casey Hagen
She let the emotions take her, needing the release, desperate to let the emotions pour out to where they couldn’t tie her up in knots anymore. She cried until her lungs ached and her eyelids swelled… and the whole time Dylan soothed her with murmured encouragement and slow strokes of his powerful hand over her hair.
The shudders died down, her tears ran dry and her lungs relaxed, allowing her to take a deep breath again. She uncurled her hands from the arm wrapped around her stomach and pulled away while scrubbing her ravaged eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He ducked his head and slid his hands into his pockets. “Don’t be. I imagine you’ve been holding that in for a while.”
She laid her keys on the small entryway table she had picked up at a yard sale with Ashton a few years back. At the time, Harlow had cringed at the sight of the art-deco- styled eyesore with pink flamingos painted on the top, but Ashton, being only ten, loved it. Now they both laughed whenever they saw it. She couldn’t imagine Ashton never stepping foot in this house again and rolling her eyes at it. “I’m supposed to be the strong one.”
“Who says strength means never shedding a tear?” he asked, leaning against the door casing leading into the living room.
“Point taken.” She sniffled. “I guess I should give you the tour,” she said, glancing away. She tried to see the house through his eyes. His sheer size, being well over six feet, dwarfed her patch of paradise even further. Suddenly she couldn’t see anything beyond the ridiculousness of this man, his wide shoulders, long body solid with muscle, his square jaw rigid and sensual, standing in her ultra-feminine, almost to the point of frilly, house. Despite everything going on and the tragedy bringing them together, a bubble of laughter slipped from her lips.
“Doesn’t look like it will take long,” he teased, his gaze roaming the living room and hall, leading to the kitchen and breakfast nook.
The laughter died on her lips. “It may not be a high-rise right on the beach, but we’ve been happy here.”
He pushed away from the wall and reached for her.
She took a step back.
His hand fell to his side. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I like it, really.”
She started for the kitchen, turning to look over her shoulder. “I considered upgrading one time. I mentioned it to Ashton and she cried herself to sleep.” She turned on the light and led him into the kitchen, which looked to have been a wooden porch at one time but was converted. She’d fallen in love with the 1950s Wedgewood gas stove. “It wasn’t until the next morning that I found out when I made her tell me what was wrong. She has friends who live right on the beach, have the best of everything, but she’s never wanted to be just like them. If anything, she comes home from their houses relieved that she doesn’t have the pressure of making sure she doesn’t track on the white tile or leave fingerprints on the stainless steel.”
He walked the length of the kitchen, his gaze moving over the red pots and pans that hung from pegs running along the boards of the wall. “This is the best part of the house.” He traced his fingertips over the stained bottom of the pans. “You cook every night?”
“Almost every night. Ashton had a lot of food allergies when she was little, so it was safer. She’s grown out of them now.”
His jaw went slack as he met her eyes. “I had food allergies, too.”
“Strawberries, dairy, and soy,” they said in unison.
“Come on, I’ll show you our daughter’s room,” she murmured. She led him to the first door in the hall and pushed it open.
She stepped to the side to let him through. His eyes devoured everything as he made his way around the room, picking up a knick-knack here and there, gliding his palm over the small corner desk used more for applying her makeup than homework.
“She’s neat,” he said as he took in the pictures lining the walls and the frames along her window sill.
“She always has been. She made me clean up my ways,” Harlow said with a laugh. “I used to go through life like a twister. I swear, I would spend three days cleaning my room. I’d rearrange the furniture and everything, and an hour later it was like I hadn’t done a thing.”
He sat on Ashton’s teal seashell comforter and picked up the gray-knit seahorse she had laid against her pillows when she made her bed yesterday morning. He turned it over in his hand, then brought it to his nose, closed his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath. Resting it against the faded blue jeans stretched across his thighs, his chin dropped to his chest and his shoulders slumped.
She took a seat next to him, the bed dipping between them, making them slide even closer together. She leaned a little closer, craving his heat.
He turned his head and looked at her. “I’m in a really weird place right now. I’m used to having the answers. I always have them, but I’ve got to level with you—you’ve brought me to my knees with this one.”
She leaned her shoulder against his. “I know, and I’m sorry. Now that it’s all sinking in, I feel horrible for keeping her from you. I really didn’t see any other way. I wanted you to have your dream.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “God, the passion in the way you talked about the Navy and the SEALs. I didn’t want to be the one to kill that fire inside you. I didn’t want us to try to make a go of it and fail. Losing you to something you love was one thing, but losing you because of the reality of trying to make a life with someone you barely knew, topped with supporting a baby… I know we only had a night, but in those few short hours you became so much more to me than a one-night stand.”
He cupped her chin and turned it to him. His dark, stormy eyes locked on hers. “What had I become, Harlow?”
“The one,” she said quietly. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand to see his reaction to her admission. She hated being vulnerable, and for the past twenty-four or so hours she hadn’t been anything but.
She told herself to open her eyes, not to be a coward, and the moment she did his soft lips nestled against hers.
It wasn’t a powerful kiss or the eager kiss of a young, enthusiastic lover.
It was rediscovery.
His lips moved gently over hers, slanting until they fit just right. His long fingers slid into the hair along her collar and cupped her, holding her to him.
She hummed low in her throat, focusing on the plump bottom lip she’d spent the past fifteen years dreaming about.
“Just how I remembered,” he said before pulling back and running his thumb over her wet bottom lip.
“Only you’re so much more now. Imposing,” she said, running a hand over his bicep.
“And you’re more beautiful,” he said, brushing away the strands of hair falling along her cheek. “We have some work to do. Let’s get our daughter back,” he said.
“Yes.” She nodded and smiled. “Oh, I never showed you the other bedroom.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I think after what just happened, we have no business going anywhere near your bed. You mind if I take over your kitchen table?”
“Not at all. What are you going to do?”
He headed back to the entryway and grabbed his laptop bag. “I’m going to check my email for confirmation that your phone is traced. I’m wiring the money to a friend who will make sure it turns liquid for me, and he’ll deliver it in cold, hard cash. Then, while I wait for Evan and Cole to send the info on the warehouse, your brother, and his new gambling buddy, I’m going to look in to horse races,” he said as he passed her in the hall and headed for the kitchen table, as if already accustomed to her place.
She stood in the doorway, next to the stove, and watched him loom over her round table with chairs for three. She’d never really thought about it, but it had drop leaves and, in order to conserve space, she had folded the one side down and pushed it against the window. It had only come with three chairs, since she bought it used. Now, with him booting up his computer, it seemed like a sign that might have been there all along. A sign that he belonged in their lives all along. God, she had bee
n a shit.
She cleared her throat and pushed the thought out of her head. “What kind of information will they get on the warehouse?”
He plugged his charger into the outlet under the table and connected it to his computer. “Who owns it, what it’s used for now, the layout, the surrounding area, and the movement around it at the time of night that they want to meet. I’m hoping they can find out if it’s just a meeting place, or if Ashton and your brother are there.”
“How will they find that out?”
He pulled out the chair and took a seat. “They’ll have a team there tonight with night- vision goggles and heat-seeking equipment, checking the perimeter and the activity at the properties around it.”
She went to the fridge, pulled out a couple bottles of water, and passed him one. “God, Dylan, how many connections do you have?”
He smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was the first smile she had seen from him in fifteen years. “More than I can count, and I thank God for it.”
Standing next to him she rested her palm on his shoulder, her fingers itching to run through his dark waves, always a bit too long and covering his ears. He’d had to have short hair for years, but she could never picture him with anything other than this relaxed surfer look. “Thank you, Dylan. You didn’t even have to show up at Modica’s. I’m so glad you did.”
He took her hand and kissed it, making her heart skip a beat with the way his lips slid over the sensitive skin. “Me, too. Now, let’s go see if we can figure out a safe way to get our daughter out of there before Saturday night.”
“We’re not giving them the money?”
He let go of her and settled over his keyboard. “We’re preparing to, but if we get a chance to get to them early we’re going for it. I don’t want her in their clutches one minute longer.”
“If we do that, what stops these guys from coming back for her? I don’t want to live in fear.”
“We have to catch them and turn them in,” he said, using his mouse to open multiple tabs.
“Do you need Wi-Fi access?”
“Nope, I use my hotspot. It’s safer.”
“Dylan?”
“Hmm?” he said, never taking his eyes from his screen.
“What about my brother?” she asked.
His hands froze on the keyboard, but he didn’t look up at her. “What about him?”
“Everyone will find out that he—”
“Don’t,” Dylan said, his scathing tone silencing her concern. “He’s put you both in danger time and time again. Because of him, even when we get Ashton back, if we don’t catch the guys he’s tangled with at the same time, you’ll still be in danger. Especially if we manage to find her without paying the money. Don’t you dare try to protect him.”
She fidgeted back and forth on her feet. “He’s my brother.”
“He’s an adult. It’s time he starts acting like one. What message does it send to Ashton if you keep making excuses for him?”
She shook her head and uncapped her water. “You’re right. I know you’re right. And I’m mad at him, too. I just wish there was something I could do to help him. To make sure this never happens again.”
“Oh, don’t worry. One way or another, I’m going to make sure none of this ever happens again. You’ll be safe. Ashton will be safe. If it’s the last thing I do,” Dylan said, a note of finality in his voice that had her stomach pitching with uncertainty.
Chapter 5
Dylan directed his focus to his computer as best he could with Harlow pacing the kitchen. She’d asked him if he wanted something to eat or drink about ten times in the past hour. If she didn’t take a breath, he might be forced into stunning her with another kiss if for no other purpose than to freeze her frantic feet in place for a few minute’s peace.
He had a layout of the warehouse in an industrial section just on the outskirts of the east side of Long Beach. Three stories of concrete and steel had been sitting empty for fifteen years. Before that, it had been used for manufacturing tile.
The space would be dirty, likely infested with rodents or worse, and plant life growing inside since, from the photos, more than half of the windows had been busted out.
If they held Ashton there, she’d likely be cold, dirty… or worse.
The idea of his daughter, with her dark wavy hair halfway down her back, those familiar brown eyes and that sweet smile, being held in filth, maybe tied up, some creep touching her… He slammed his fist on the table, making his laptop jump.
And Harlow.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, forcing his hand to unclench.
“It’s okay. Look, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll take the phone in with me in case they call. I just… I haven’t dared shower since—”
He took her hand and swung it. “You don’t need to explain. You can leave the phone here, though. I welcome the opportunity to talk to these assholes.”
“They said I couldn’t call the police,” she said.
“I’m not the police. Just a concerned father.”
Her lips parted on a huff of breath. Her slim throat worked as she swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.”
He watched her walk away, pulling her hoodie over her head, leaving her in a thin, black tank top. As she turned in to the bathroom, he caught her profile
The gentle sway of her breasts and the way her nipples strained against the fabric told him she had skipped the bra.
And in a couple minutes, she’d be in the shower with hot water and soapsuds sliding down her curves.
If it were any other time he’d make a move on that, but one thing overrode his libido. Ashton.
He brought up the pictures Harlow sent and scrolled to the one rapidly becoming his favorite: the field hockey photo. She had her arms flung over the shoulders of her teammates on either side. She had thrown her head back, her smile wide open, her expression so vivid he practically heard the laugh she let out in that moment.
God, he wanted to sit and talk to her. To know her. Her favorite color, food, drink, movie, her interests, and dreams. He wanted to touch her hair, feel its texture between his fingers. He wanted to see himself and Harlow in her.
And he wanted to hug her.
He’d spent his career in and out of dangerous situations, where his life could be snuffed out at any moment. He’d learned to squelch the fear that came with the job. There were guys who claimed they didn’t fear anything, but he knew they were full of shit. Even after three bullet holes, six gashes, a stab wound, and a dislocated shoulder, he knew that it didn’t matter how confident you were, how brave, how strong, because human instinct took over. And for the briefest moment, despite those experiences, you wondered how painful the end would be, how long it would drag out before death saved you from the torture.
But in this, knowing that if the intel came through with enough information in their favor, he’d march through a torrent of gunfire in a heartbeat if it meant getting his daughter out alive.
No fear, but for her.
He dialed the best infiltrator he knew in the business. After two rings, Cookie Knox picked up.
“Dylan. It’s been a long time,” Cookie said.
“Yeah, how have you been? How’s Fiona?” Dylan leaned back in his chair and stretched out his cramped legs.
“Good. Everyone is good. How about you…you finally have your sights on settling down, or are you still breaking hearts in Long Beach?”
His gaze flickered to the computer screen. “My days of breaking hearts are over. More like getting my heart broken.”
“Damn, Romeo… and here we all thought you were a legend with the ladies. She must be a whopper if she’s got you tied up in knots. Who is she?”
“My daughter,” Dylan said quietly.
Cookie whistled low over the line. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Dylan skimmed over the long-ago night with Harlow and how they parted ways, so he could get to the details of Ashton’s
kidnapping and Harlow’s shithead of a brother. “I’m waiting to hear from Evan and Cole as to whether they can determine if Ashton and Kevin are in the warehouse they told Harlow to go to with the money.”
“So, what aren’t you telling me?” Cookie asked.
“Not sure what you mean,” Dylan said, trying to hear if the shower was still running.
“About the brother. Come on. I know you. You’ve got suspicions about the guy.”
“Yeah, but I can’t confirm them. It all seems too neat. He’s constantly in debt, always borrowing money from Harlow, but no indicators from her that he ever seemed scared or banged up. For a guy always in deep with a thug sticking close to make sure he pays up, you’d think he would have showed some signs of fear or nervousness. Maybe sported a black eye or two.”
“I don’t know, could be he crawls to his sister before it gets to that point. He might be a pussycat dealing with the big boys. He gives in before they even have to lay a hand on him.”
“Maybe,” Dylan agreed.
“So, what is it you need from me?”
“I need you to get in touch with the others—Wolf, Mozart, Benny, Tex, Dude, Abe, and anyone else you know who can help me. I need the best. I want Ashton out and I don’t want a scratch on her. I want a safe out and I want my $200k.”
“Man, you don’t want much, do you?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask. I don’t even know if everyone is available, but if you could reach out to them, call in every favor I’m owed, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’m on it.”
Dylan gave him Harlow’s address. Cookie promised to do everything he could to get everyone gathered.
He heard Harlow moving around in her room, the sound of dresser drawers scraping open and shut. Before his mind could start down that road, his phone beeped with a text from Evan.
Can’t talk now, but Cole is willing to bet his left nut that we’ve found your daughter and Harlow’s bro on thermal. Once we’re out, we’ll call.
Dylan slapped his hands together and smiled. “Yes!”
Harlow ran out and skidded to a stop in the kitchen, the phone clutched in her hand, her hair dripping down her back. “What happened?”