by Lea Griffith
He turned and walked to the door.
“I can’t give you what you want. Not anymore,” she said softly.
Bullshit. He didn’t turn around when he spoke. “You’ll give me everything you’ve got, intel, spec ops. You’ll give it all to me, and then I’ll decide what to do with you.”
Then he left, hearing her breath break and a strangled sob escape her. He almost, almost, turned around and went back to her.
Instead, he put one foot in front of the other, descending the stairs quickly lest he do what his heart demanded.
* * *
Ella lay back down gingerly on the bed. She was in so much shit. Once the maid-in-disguise had switched her from the laundry cart to the laundry chute, she’d known Jude was in control of this round. She’d have no choice but to ride it out and see what was going on.
She couldn’t have fought anyway. Her head had been muddled from Dresden’s blow, and once the woman Jude had sent dumped her in the laundry chute, Ella had passed out for good, not waking until a few minutes ago. She’d dreamed she’d woken on a plane, meeting the gaze of her lover and seeing him smile at her the way he used to. But that’s all it had been…a dream.
Because the resolution that had masked his face moments ago told her just how deep in the shit she was. Jude Dagan wasn’t a man to play with, and she knew that’s what he thought she’d been doing.
Ella stared at the gorgeous cedar wood that comprised the ceiling and closed her eyes against the pain of her circumstance. He wanted the truth, and that she couldn’t give him. Not yet. It had nothing to do with trust and everything to do with her mission. The Piper had made it very clear she was to tell no one her mission objective because, he’d said, all of Endgame Ops would try to stop her. King and his men wanted to kill Dresden. The Piper wanted Dresden so he could interrogate and dismantle him.
And the Piper had another huge reason for wanting Ella’s mission kept quiet…his daughter, Anna Beth. The thought of the other woman sent fear tripping through Ella. No one knew better what it was like to be at the horrible tender mercy of Horace Dresden. Ella needed to contact Brody as soon as possible. The woman needed extraction the moment they could discern that Dresden was away from his mansion.
She sat back up and glanced around for a clock. The one on the bedside table said it was five in the afternoon. Darkness was falling outside, and the clouds above them were beginning to drop their load of snow. She had no idea where they were, but if she had to venture a guess, she’d say New Mexico. The Cimarron subrange of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, to be specific.
Jude had told her stories about him and his great-uncle hunting these mountains and their passes. He’d always spoken of New Mexico as home, even though his mother had left the state when he was a baby. Jude hadn’t returned until he was a young teenager. His mother, sadly, had not returned with him. Too eager to become Mexico’s next soap opera star, she’d let Jude return to his father’s people in New Mexico and never looked back.
He hadn’t told Ella much else, but his mother’s desertion had hurt him. Hell, she’d hurt him so much that he denied her existence to most people. Ella had heard their teammates ribbing him about his beautiful mother. Jude tried to ignore it, shrug it off, but sometimes it got to him.
The sound of his footfalls coming back up the stairs tightened her muscles. She didn’t know how to breathe with him so close to her. All she wanted was to sink inside him and never come back out. Would he let her?
The answer rang through her mind unequivocally… No, he wouldn’t. Not until he had the truth. And that she couldn’t give him. Hell, she didn’t even know it now.
“I brought you some soup,” he said as he walked in and placed a heavy-looking ceramic bowl on the bedside table.
“I’m not hungry,” she responded, a part of her just wanting to be contrary. She was frustrated at getting caught. But how could she have anticipated that Jude would come for her inside Dresden’s house?
“Yeah, you are.” He laughed, and the sound rolled through her tummy. “I can hear your stomach growling.”
“That’s anger you’re hearing,” she sniped back.
He laughed again and sat down in the chair he’d taken earlier. “Eat, Ella. It looks like you haven’t been doing much of that lately.”
The smell of potato soup wafted through the air, and her stomach growled loudly, again. She sighed and reached for the bowl, coming close to grabbing it before Jude grunted and beat her to it.
“It’s hot,” he warned her, placing the oven mitt that lay beside the bowl in her hand.
She put the mitt on and grabbed the bowl. He towered over her, and her gaze rose, roving over his strong features until she met his look head-on. Something flared in the depths of his ebony orbs, warming Ella in a way the soup in her hands never could. Then he veiled his eyes, long, dark lashes falling as he made sure to brush her fingers before releasing the bowl into her hands.
Electricity arced between them. She wanted to touch him, to feel that lightning zing between them and settle between her legs before spreading throughout her body. It had been this way between them from the first moment she’d seen him. He’d had his back to her when King had introduced her to the team. Gray Broemig had warned her that King didn’t play well with the CIA but that he’d be fair. Broemig had just wanted someone inside Endgame who could report to him. Vivi had defected and wasn’t forthcoming with intel on Endgame anymore. He’d needed a new patsy. What he hadn’t anticipated was that Ella would become Endgame in her bones. Broemig had lost Ella the moment Jude Dagan had turned around and looked her up and down, his gaze finally centering on her own. Ella had never experienced that type of connection before—had never even known she wanted it.
He had owned her in that moment, and the men he called brothers had become hers as well. She took a delicate bite of the soup and nearly moaned. She’d forgotten how well Jude cooked. His great-aunt had taught him everything she knew, and he’d kept practicing long after he’d grown up.
He said cooking kept him close to his roots. Right now, Ella and her stomach were glad for it.
It took her less than five minutes to empty the bowl. The heat initially stung her bruised tongue, but nothing could stop her from shoveling in the food. The whole time she ate, Jude’s perusal was a tactile caress. When she finished, she turned and found him holding a glass of water and three small white pills in his hand. Aspirin. He wouldn’t drug her again. He’d get no information out of her that way.
She took the glass and the pills, drinking them down before she handed the glass back.
He took it and placed it on the nightstand. Then he sat back down and waited.
She realized then that she was nearly naked under the covers. She tucked them tighter around her body, using her arms to hold them close.
Ella heard him chuckle, and then he said, “I’ve seen everything you’ve got, Ella.”
But he hadn’t. Her body was nothing like he’d known it. She’d been marked irrevocably by Vasily Savidge—had the scars on her back and thighs to prove it. Jude had obviously stripped her, leaving her some coverage with her bra and panties. Had he seen her scars?
She guessed not. His first question upon her waking would have been about them, if he’d seen them.
Instead of responding, she lay back on the pillows she’d stacked behind her. Fatigue was threatening to pull her under, much like the drugs had. How long had it been since she’d slept deeply? Safely?
Since the last night she’d spent with Jude at the beach—and even that had been short because she’d preferred to spend the time loving him.
“You’re going to have to talk to me, El,” she heard him murmur. Her heart stuttered.
His voice when he called her El made her want to weep. He could destroy her…weaken her resolve to finish this thing with Dresden, make her want to just stay holed up here with h
im and forget the world.
But she didn’t have that luxury. She had Anna Beth Caine to save and a name to glean from Dresden. Didn’t look like rest was coming anytime soon.
“Sleep now, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world,” Jude said as he tucked the plaid duvet around her. His smell—cedar and nothing but man—sank into her pores. She licked her lips, wishing she was licking his.
She heard his declaration and allowed herself the pain of hope for a few precious seconds. Warmth stole over her, combining with her exhaustion to pull her under. She wanted to believe his words but knew the truth.
Ella’s clock had been ticking down for two years. She had hardly any time left. But Jude? Jude was a different story.
She’d make sure he had plenty left. Or she’d die trying.
Chapter 13
“I’ve got her,” Jude told King via a secured sat phone connection.
“When you know anything, I need the specifics. She’s got information on Dresden’s locations and hideouts—hell, his whole operation—that we need to take him down,” King reminded him.
Jude didn’t need the reminder. He’d given King Dresden’s location. Rook, Knight, and Black were all over that location now. Only Brody Madoc and Vivi remained at Endgame’s base in Port Royal, Virginia. Chase had been sent to Burundi, Africa, two weeks ago and was gathering intel on Abrafo Nadege.
“Chase reported in?” Jude asked.
“He’s got eyes on Nadege. Says the bastard is a sadist who enjoys two things: killing and diamonds. We don’t know the nature of the connection to Dresden yet, only that it’s there,” King responded.
Jude heard the weariness in his team leader’s voice. “How’s Allie?”
“Lobbying in DC. She’s determined to get to the root of what’s going on. Woman swears it comes from higher up than we realize and is working every angle like it’s going to straighten at any moment. She’ll be the death of me,” King said, a laugh in his voice. And love.
Had Jude sounded that way before Beirut a year ago?
Probably.
“When I know, you’ll know, King,” he said.
King sighed. “Be safe. We’ll be back stateside tomorrow morning. We know he’s probably there, in that big mansion in Ukraine, but he’s not moving, and he’s added more men to his security force. The prime minister of Russia has gone to ground, and Segorski is nowhere to be found. Oh, we did find out something that might be of interest to you.”
Jude went on alert. “Yeah?”
“Lo-Lo Bernstein was sighted in DC yesterday. Apparently, she enjoys visits to Gray Broemig’s residence where she sits outside on the hood of her car and stares at the CIA director’s house.”
“What the hell?” Jude asked, confusion spearing him.
“Yeah, weird right? When one of Broemig’s men made contact, she left. Didn’t say a word, just got in her car and drove away each time.”
“Allie safe?”
“I’ve got Madoc on her.”
“Wise choice,” Jude affirmed.
King grunted. “It bothers me that Lo-Lo was with Baron Meadows in Russia. There’s an angle there that Brody is working on. Oh, and Brody has requested to speak with Ella. Give that some thought, yeah?”
“Sure,” Jude replied. When hell froze over. Brody had known how much Ella meant to Jude. Hell they’d all known—the entire team. And he hadn’t even given Jude a hint that she was alive. He would have to answer to Jude for that eventually. Maybe there was logic in there somewhere that Jude simply couldn’t see because of all the emotion clouding things.
But right now, he’d be damned if he’d let Brody talk to her without him having access to the entire conversation. She wasn’t hiding anything else from him. Not until this was over and he could walk away.
If he could walk away. Which he doubted, but he was giving himself some consolation that the choice was his.
“I’m out,” King said. “Check in with me, Dagan. Don’t keep me in the dark on this.”
“I’ll check in,” Jude promised. He’d kept King in the dark for too long.
But he was unwilling to do anything right now except relearn Ella Banning.
He leaned back in his chair and glanced out the window. Snow was falling in earnest, coating the ground in an even heavier blanket than last night. These mountains were beautiful. The only other place he’d felt the peace he felt here was inside Ella.
And he hadn’t had that in over a year.
Already, he could smell her in his house. Maybe he was just being fanciful. She had a scent he’d imprinted on the first time he’d gotten close enough to smell her. Her skin held a combination of berries, sugar, and sun-kissed rain. He could taste her now—tactile memory.
His heart skipped a beat. He’d never be able to scrub her from his mind.
She’d never been to the cabin. It’d just been completed the year he’d met her, and they’d been balls to the wall the two years since. He’d only been here once himself. His great-aunt kept it up for him.
He smiled when he thought of his tia Rosa. She and his uncle Herman had been Jude’s rock through his teen years. His mother hadn’t had time for a husband, much less a fourteen-year-old son. She hadn’t had time to cook, clean, work. What she had had time for was fame.
Sophia—formerly Dagan, now Ortiz—had only had time for the Mexican soap opera on which she’d been cast by pure chance. She’d been a beautiful woman with a heart colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra, his dad had always said. Of course, that had been when he was falling-down drunk or close to passing out in the shed. Eventually, his father, Carron Dagan, had killed himself, driving straight off the side of one of the mountains outside Jude’s window.
Jude had been left solely with his father’s uncle and aunt. They’d been old when Jude was a teen, but Uncle Herman and Tia Rosa had taken care of him. Uncle Herm had taught Jude how to hunt, fish, and live off the land. Tia Rosa had taught Jude what little he knew about love and loyalty. Oh, and how to cook. She’d taught him that too.
At the thought of food, Jude grimaced. He needed to go back up and check on Ella. He rubbed his chest. She gave him those gray eyes, and it slayed him every time. She was a land mine for Jude, and in the midst of gaining her secrets, he’d have to step carefully.
He walked up the stairs cautiously. She’d escaped rope ties in Russia. He’d taken her clothes and weapons when he’d undressed her, but the woman had proven she was more than capable of handling herself. She hadn’t quite had time to fashion a knife’s edge out of the spoon she’d used to eat her soup, but she was an unknown to him now and he had to be careful.
He came to his room—yeah, he’d given her his room. There were only two bedrooms in the whole house, and it felt right for Jude to have her in his. Her eyes were closed, but he felt her awareness.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice neutral, nonthreatening.
“I’ve got to pee,” she said softly.
Of course, Jude thought. Of course that’s the first thing she’d say to him. He made his way over to the bed, gauging her reaction. She kept her gaze trained on him the entire time, her body tense and ready.
What had happened to her that conditioned her wariness around him? He’d never hurt her. Never would. When he’d told her in Serbia that he’d destroy them both if she made him chase her, he’d only been partially lying. But he’d never hurt her physically. No, Jude was worried about the lengths he’d force their hearts to before one of them broke.
“Bathroom is through that door,” he said, pointing to the other side of the room.
She sat up, rubbing her neck, wincing. He waited for her to move, his gaze focused on her motions. When she didn’t try to get up, he raised his eyes and found her staring at him, some indefinable emotion playing over her bruised features.
The mark on her cheek was
growing into a deeper, darker purple and blue. Dresden would pay.
“What is it?” he asked roughly.
“Will you leave and let me handle my business?” she questioned, her tone sharp.
He shook his head.
Her brows lowered, and her gaze went flat. “Seriously, Dagan?”
He was sick of her calling him by his last name. It was time to initiate Project Bring Ella Home. Jude almost laughed. Hell, he’d not even known he was making her a project. She was here physically, sure, but emotionally she was too far from him. It was anathema to his soul that she was so far away from him. “Don’t ever call me Dagan again, Ella. We clear?”
He didn’t move into her space, barely moved anything more than his lips, but his voice conveyed how precarious her situation was at the moment. He was tired of the distance between them. A year. Hell, over a year. Four hundred seventy-three days he could have been loving her, touching her, and she’d left him. Lied to him. Forced him to believe she was dead.
Get a grip, Jude, he told himself.
She didn’t respond. She didn’t do anything more than look away from him, but a flush rose up her chest. She was angry.
And Jude didn’t care. Not at the moment. He had to gain her confidence somehow so she’d spill her secrets, and somewhere in there, he had to earn enough of her heart so that she didn’t leave him when all this came to a head.
Is that what you want? his mind asked.
Hell yes, his heart answered unequivocally.
Jude needed to be truthful with himself. As she sat there, breathing, very much alive, he had no choice but to recognize his heart’s truth. He wasn’t leaving her. And she damn sure wasn’t ever leaving him again.
Period.
End of discussion.
I hear you, his mind screamed at his heart.
Damn right, his heart responded.
He sighed. First steps were indeed a bitch. He turned away from her, giving her the illusion of privacy while in reality he could see every move she made in the mirror on the opposite wall. She eased to the edge of his massive bed and glanced over her shoulder. He barely restrained his smile. Trying to make sure he wasn’t looking, no doubt.