by Elle Kennedy
CHAPTER 9
Lana Kelley had transformed into a lust-crazed temptress right before Deacon’s eyes. Deep down he knew this had nothing to do with lust, or even desire. She was desperate to erase the memory of what had happened outside the cabin. She was still in shock. Completely beside herself with grief. So beyond the concept of thinking clearly.
But like an ass, he didn’t stop her.
Truth was, he needed this. Just one more time. The halo of integrity and optimism that surrounded her like a ray of pure light had been so addictive the night at the hotel. For a short, incredible time, that light had warmed him, enveloped him. It managed to seep into the darkness inside him, just for a little while, and even now, he could remember how astonishing that felt. To be someone else for a brief period of time. Someone that Lana Kelley wanted to be with. A man worthy of her.
His heart thudded like crazy as he dared to look at her. She wore a black lace bra that hugged her breasts…which looked fuller than he remembered. Deacon didn’t pause to question what must have been an original error of perspective, because suddenly Lana was back in his lap, and her mouth sought his out like a heat-seeking missile.
She burrowed against him, parted his thighs with her knees, and then she pressed herself directly on his groin. Her lower body ground against his in a wild, reckless rhythm that threatened every ounce of his quickly crumbling control.
He fell onto his back, mad with arousal and unable to stop his hands from cupping those mouth-watering breasts over her bra. He squeezed, drawing a soft desperate moan from her lush pink lips.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Please, what? Stop? Keep going? Her intentions became clear when her hand slid between them and rubbed the hard ridge of his arousal. His erection jerked from the sudden attention, making Deacon groan quietly.
He thrust a hand to the back of her neck, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, while his other hand continued stroking her breasts. He slipped a finger under one cup of her lacy bra and caressed her nipple. It hardened under his touch, and he rolled the tiny bud between two fingers, eliciting another moan from Lana.
His control continued to wither away. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of Lana’s warm body straddling him, the sweet and eager swirls of her tongue as she nearly devoured his mouth with hot, breathless kisses.
He was on fire. Just like the night in the hotel, he was powerless to stop the heat shooting through him, the rigid set of his muscles, tight with anticipation. He craved this woman, his need for her so fierce and shattering he didn’t know what to make of it.
But it made him uneasy enough to pull away.
“We can’t do this,” he said hoarsely.
Lana blinked. Her lips were moist, parted sexily, and her breasts still filled his palms. “What…” She blinked again, and then, as if snapping out of a trance, she scrambled off his lap.
“Oh, my God,” she blurted as she fumbled around on the bedspread for the sweater she’d discarded. “What am I doing?”
He was asking himself the same question. He was thirty-eight years old, for Pete’s sake, not a horny teenager anymore, yet whenever Lana was around, he couldn’t seem to control his raging hormones.
What was it about this woman that got to him this way? She was too young for him. Too sweet and fragile. Too good.
“Delta!” Le Clair’s sharp voice outside the closed door had him shooting to his feet.
It was the perfect excuse he needed to get out of this room, to get away from Lana Kelley before he did something incredibly insane. Like succumb to temptation.
Waiting for his erection to subside, he cast a repentant glance in Lana’s direction. She was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped together. Her head lifted to meet his gaze, and the turmoil in her eyes nearly did him in.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered.
He let out a breath. “I know.” Then he headed out the door, where Le Clair waited for him in the hall.
“How’s the princess?” the boss asked casually.
Deacon bit back his irritation. “She’s fine. Still a little shaken up, but she’ll be all right.”
“Good, because we’re moving out in the morning.”
“What?” he said in surprise.
“It’s too risky to keep her here any longer. We don’t know who that merc may have contacted, though I suspect he was working alone.” Le Clair’s gray eyes narrowed. “Either way, I want you out on the perimeter with the others tonight, just in case the soldier told a few friends.”
“What makes you think he didn’t?”
“Senator Kelley wouldn’t have allowed it,” was the vague response, and then Le Clair was marching off. “Help Tango load up the truck,” he called over his shoulder, already pulling his cell phone from his pocket.
Deacon watched Le Clair go, wariness crawling through him. What the hell was going on here? He wasn’t so concerned with the fact that they were leaving; what worried him was that Le Clair seemed determined to hold on to Lana. This was the time to cut and run. The mercenary’s appearance served as an omen of things to come. Soon the authorities would be beating down the door, and once that happened, they were all screwed. It was evident Lana’s father wasn’t interested in paying the ransom.
So where did that leave Lana?
“Tango,” Deacon called as he stepped onto the porch. He headed for the black pickup truck parked in the clearing, where Tango was hauling a few duffel bags into the cab.
The other man turned at the sound of his name, the scar on his cheek puckering as he frowned. “Yeah?”
Deacon picked up a duffel and approached the truck. “Apparently we’re moving out,” he said.
Tango nodded. “That’s the order.”
Tossing the bag into the truck, Deacon lowered his voice and added, “What the hell is going on here, man?”
“I don’t know.” Tango ran a hand through his dark hair. “But it isn’t good.”
“No kidding.”
There was a long pause, followed by an awkward cough from Tango. “Apparently there’s another team in Montana.”
Deacon raised his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Le Clair let it slip that he’s got men watching the senator. Dude’s hiding out on some ranch.”
“Hiding out? Because he screwed around on his wife?”
Frustration seeped into Tango’s harsh features. “I don’t know what’s going on, bro. But I definitely don’t like it.”
A dour voice sounded from behind. “They want the father to come forward.”
Deacon turned to see Echo approaching. There was a deep crease between the other man’s brows. “I overheard Le Clair talking to someone about it.”
As if his ears had been burning, Le Clair suddenly appeared on the porch, his cell phone glued to his ear. He cast a suspicious look in the direction of the trio, causing Deacon and Tango to bend down and pick up a metal crate filled to the gills with dynamite. Dynamite, for Chrissake. Why did they need all this crap? This had been supposed to be an easy grab-and-wait.
“What did you hear?” Deacon murmured.
Echo unlatched the cab so that the other two could slide the crate into it. “Apparently old man Kelley is being asked to turn himself in.”
“Do you know why? What did he do?” Tango asked.
“No freaking clue. But he’s not cooperating, whatever it is.” Echo made a frustrated sound under his breath. “Le Clair doesn’t know what to do with the girl anymore. Whoever hired us is getting mighty impatient. Le Clair’s not too happy, either.”
Deacon sneaked a peek at the boss, whose dark eyebrows were bunched together in sheer aggravation. This latest call in a string of phone calls was obviously not going well. Deacon’s gut went rigid with trepidation. “I don’t like this,” he said, echoing Tango’s earlier words. “Something’s not right with this entire job.”
“I hear ya,�
� Tango muttered.
“Ditto,” Echo added. “So…what do we do?”
Get Lana the hell out of here.
He swallowed back the words and pasted on an indifferent expression. “We wait,” he finally murmured. “Let’s get on that plane, see how things play out and figure it out then.”
They stored the last of the gear into the truck and latched it up. Deacon was slightly comforted by the fact that his fellow mercenaries shared his concerns, but at the moment, none of them could do a damn thing about it. Whatever was going on in the real world, it wasn’t good. Sooner or later, Le Clair would need to fill his men in on whatever it was.
And then Deacon would have to decide if he’d need to save his own skin.
Or protect Lana’s.
* * *
Washington, D.C. The irony of their destination didn’t escape Lana as the jet began its descent into the city that had caused her family so much turmoil. Le Clair hadn’t blindfolded her this time, so she had a clear view of the Washington Monument and the glow of lights from Capitol Hill as the jet headed for the runway below.
She used to visit her dad here when she was a kid. She and her mom lived in California for most of the year, but D.C. was like a second home. Her father’s entire life revolved around this darn city, so much so that he’d neglected all of his children, thanks to his high-profile political career.
Why had her captors brought her here? The choice of location troubled her, but also brought a flicker of hope. Maybe this was it. Her dad would give them the money they desired, and an exchange would be made. Maybe she could finally go home.
Lana jumped as the wheels connected with the runway, causing the plane to bounce and shudder until it finally came to a complete stop. On the other side of the lavish cabin, Deacon sat next to Tango, and she noticed that both men wore the same serious expression. They didn’t look happy about this latest development.
Neither was she.
And she certainly wasn’t happy with what had happened last night in the cabin. When she’d nearly seduced Deacon.
What had she been thinking?
Nothing at all.
No, she hadn’t been thinking last night. Rick Garrison’s senseless death had sent her reeling, placed her in a severe state of shock that left her numb and unable to conjure up a single rational thought. Even now, the memory of Garrison’s lifeless body caused her pulse to race. Le Clair had murdered that poor man in cold blood, and no matter what Deacon said, she knew she’d be saddled with Garrison’s death on her conscience for the rest of her life.
Her hands went cold as the ominous knowledge settled over her like a thick patch of fog. A man had died because of her.
No, because of her father. The one person she’d always stood by, given her unconditional love to, no matter how badly he screwed things up with her mother and siblings. Why hadn’t her father found a way to rescue her already?
The anger coursing through her came as a total shock. As a child, she’d idolized her dad. As an adult, she’d rationalized his mistakes, tried to see the best in him despite his many flaws.
Maybe she’d been wrong to do that. It was definitely getting harder to ignore everything Hank Kelley had done, especially now. Her father had cheated on her mother. He’d selfishly hurt his wife and Lana’s older brothers. And he’d hurt her, too, over the years, no matter how much she tried to deny it. He hadn’t even shown up for her college graduation, for Pete’s sake. But she’d forgiven him, of course.
She always forgave him, she realized bitterly. Always gave him the benefit of the doubt, even when her older brothers laughed at her for doing it, teasing her for being an idealistic fool.
But this…could she forgive her father for this? She’d been a prisoner for more than a month, and what was her dad doing? Sitting at home drinking his favorite bourbon while he continually refused to pay her ransom?
Why wasn’t he doing something, damn it?
Lana resisted the urge to cradle her belly. She’d been doing that too often lately, and was fearful that Deacon would start to pick up on the shielding gesture.
So what if he does?
The thought made her hesitate. Maybe it was time to tell Deacon the truth about the baby. She’d been dragging her feet for weeks, but now that the situation seemed to be escalating into something that sent a chill to her bones, she might need to be completely honest with Deacon.
Another SUV greeted them at the airstrip, and Lana was shoved into the backseat. Still not blindfolded, though, which was a relief. She stared glumly out the tinted window as the familiar scenery whizzed by. The car cruised right by Capitol Hill then veered north, finally coming to a stop on a narrow street near Stanton Park. Low-rise apartment buildings lined each side of the sidewalk. Echo, who was in the driver’s seat, drove into an underground parking lot beneath one of the buildings.
The sheer nerve of it amazed her. They were hiding her in plain sight. No isolated cabin this time, but in the heart of the U.S. capital. These men were either very foolish or very smart.
Le Clair hadn’t come with them this time. He’d slid into another SUV with Oscar at the airstrip, saying he had a few things to take care of. Lana hoped that meant he was contacting her father again, setting up some kind of exchange, but the nagging twisting of her insides told her she might be hoping for too much.
The four remaining men—Deacon, Echo, Kilo and Tango—clustered around her as they walked into the elevator in the underground. The car dinged and stopped on the third floor, and then she was being led into a spacious apartment with cream-colored walls, modern furnishings and thick white carpeting.
“Who lives here?” she couldn’t help but ask.
None of the men replied. Deacon had her suitcase tucked under one strong arm. He gestured for her to follow him, taking her down the brightly lit hallway toward a bedroom in the back. The master bedroom, judging by the size, and a refreshing change from her previous accommodations. This room was large and airy, with a huge four-poster bed and bright turquoise comforter, a cozy living area with a couch and love seat, and an enormous bathroom off to the left.
“You’ll be more comfortable now,” he said.
She fixed him with a cool stare. “I’m still a prisoner. A fancy room isn’t going to change that.”
What looked like remorse flickered in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She got the feeling he was apologizing for a lot more than simply her current state of captivity.
“How much longer is this going to last, Deacon?” She spoke in a dull voice, not even able to muster up anger anymore.
“I don’t know.”
“Another week? Another month?”
“I don’t know.”
The pain on his face was unmistakable. The tug of hope she’d experienced in the car returned, this time wrapping around her entire body like a comforting pair of arms. “You’re going to help me,” she whispered.
His eyes remained shuttered. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”
Lana moved toward him. Before she could stop herself, she had both her hands on his chin. She forced him to meet her gaze. “No, you’ve already decided. You don’t like what’s happening here any more than I do.”
“No,” he agreed quietly.
Her hands dropped to her sides in determined fists. “Then let’s get out of here. I promise you, I won’t let them arrest you. I’ll do everything I can to make sure the authorities know you’re not to blame for any of this.”
His eyebrows shot up to his forehead. Her words surprised her as much as they did him. She hadn’t planned on saying that, but once it was out, she realized she didn’t want to take it back. She didn’t want to see Deacon punished for this. Maybe it made her the idiot of the century, but she was still clinging to the notion that he was a good man.
“You’d do that for me?” He sounded gruff. And slightly ashamed. As if he couldn’t possibly fathom how she could make him an offer like that.
“This wasn’
t your idea.” She studied his face. “You got caught up in something that spun out of control. And you’ve been doing everything in your power to keep me safe. I’ll make sure the cops know that.”
“Why?”
Because you’re the father of my baby.
The confession almost popped out, but jammed in her throat at the last second. Not yet. She couldn’t tell him yet. He was beginning to give in, to recognize that they truly needed to get themselves out of this mess. If she told him about the baby now, he might shut down again and dismiss her plan.
She couldn’t risk that.
“Because I have to believe you’re a good person,” was what she said instead.
He shifted in discomfort, his broad shoulders sagging. “Why are you so determined to believe that? I’m not the man you think I am. I’m not—”
“Delta.” Tango’s sharp voice came from the doorway.
Both Lana and Deacon turned to look at him. She noticed that Tango’s scar was stretched tight over his cheek, his expression taut with suspicion. Oh, crap. Had he overheard what they’d been talking about?
She studied his face, but he gave no sign that he’d heard anything of importance. “We need you to help secure the apartment,” he muttered to Deacon.
With a nod, Deacon headed for the door. “I’ll bring you some lunch shortly,” he said to her without turning around.
She watched the two men go, listened to the sound of yet another lock sliding into place.
Lana released a troubled breath. Okay. She was locked up again. But this time, the hope swimming through her remained strong. Steady. Deacon was slowly coming over to her side. He’d heard everything she’d said right now. He’d even seemed to be considering it.
All she could do now was pray that she’d gotten through to him.
* * *
A week passed before Hank called with another update. The last Sarah had heard, her husband had hired a mercenary to retrieve their daughter. Since then, she’d been going out of her mind with panic, conjuring up so many worst-case scenarios she couldn’t even remember what living without fear had been like.
When the phone finally rang, she was in Vivienne’s kitchen, staring at a glass emptied of red wine. Viv had flown back to California to be with her children—she had two young teenagers who needed constant attention—but she’d made it clear that Sarah could stay in the Vineyard beach house for as long as she needed.