by Lea Griffith
When she felt assured he wasn’t looking at her, she pushed the covers down and stood.
Jude’s breath hissed in when he saw her back.
Scars. Everywhere. From the line of her panties to the base of her neck. His woman was scarred. Most were thin and looked to have been made with a very sharp, small blade. The thinness of the marks indicated the cuts weren’t that deep, but the presence of keloid scarring on some of them told Jude something had been done to make them scar in such a way.
Salt? Acid?
He was around the bed in a heartbeat. “Who?”
Her head fell, her chin touching her chest. There was so much sorrow in that gesture that Jude’s breath locked in his throat. The top of her head came to his breastbone and rested there. He reached for her, but she said, “Don’t.”
A shuddering breath, and then she whispered, “Don’t touch me. I might break if you touch me right now.”
He froze, hands partway up, and then he felt the scalding heat of a single tear fall on his skin, and he lost it. He scooped her up, turned, and sat down on the bed, holding her close. Her head tucked beneath his chin and she shook, deep, racking sobs that rocked her body in the cradle of his. Her tears scored him. Her sobs shattered him.
He held her tight, arms crossed over her. “Shhhh, El. I’ve got you.”
Still she cried, as if his touch had indeed broken the dam on her sorrow and she had nothing to hold it back any longer.
He waited for her to calm, and when her sobs eased, his hold loosened and his hands began roaming over her cold skin.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Get it out, Ella.”
She shook her head, denying him.
“Woman, you’re killing me,” he whispered against her hair. Something told him he couldn’t push her on this right now. She was too fragile. And while Jude had a hard time reconciling the woman in his arms with the one who’d taken out an assassin on a rooftop in Russia to protect him, she was the same woman, and he couldn’t hurt her any more than she’d already been hurt.
He felt her withdraw and let her get up from his lap. She stood in front of him, quivering, hands twisting, quiet.
“Go use the bathroom. Take a shower, clean up. I left a bag in there with some underwear and clothes for you,” he said softly, making an effort to keep the rage out of his voice.
Someone had hurt her. Badly. Jude knew one man, in league with Dresden, who enjoyed his knives.
He drew in a deep breath. “I wish King had let him live.”
Her head rose sharply, the question in her eyes clear.
“So I could kill Savidge again and again for what he’s done,” he promised her. “I’d do it for you, Ella. Over and over.”
Something akin to relief lit on her face for a few seconds, and then she straightened her shoulders and turned, walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
What had happened to her in Dresden’s clutches? Her story was vague, but her scars, her wariness, didn’t lie. She’d been devastated over the last year.
Jude rubbed a hand over his face, finding his cheeks wet.
Where did this leave him? How was he going to earn her trust when she was so splintered?
He’d have to love her harder.
So that’s what Jude set out to do.
* * *
Ella pressed her forehead to the heavy wood of the bathroom door. Pain ripped through her, rending and biting, taking chunks out of her soul—chunks she couldn’t afford to lose. His face when he’d looked at her?
Devastated.
He was hurt by her scars.
This man. The one she’d given everything to before Beirut. The one she’d given up everything for so he’d be safe. He was going to finish taking her apart, and Ella didn’t know if there would be anything left when he was finished.
She knew Jude. He was planning and plotting a way to earn her trust so she’d give up her secrets. But there were too many, and she didn’t know where to start—hell, if she could start. She was so locked inside herself, and she’d buried the key inside him.
He’d have to find it because she didn’t dare.
He’d held her, and she’d cried. There was more where those tears had come from. A tidal wave of pain that could eventually bury them both. He’d been her reason for carrying on with her mission, and now he was the reason she wanted to curl up with him and leave the mission far behind.
She made her way through the large bathroom, bypassing the sink and mirror and handling her business on the toilet before running nothing but hot water in the enormous sunken tub.
She turned off the hot water and put on the cold for a minute before she turned it off too. Then she removed her bra and panties, still avoiding any look into the mirror. Her face felt numb. She probably looked like hamburger meat.
Everything was a blur. How long had she been out? How long was he planning on keeping her? How long could Anna Beth Caine survive in Dresden’s hold?
She needed to contact the Piper. She needed answers.
Who was she kidding? She needed Jude.
And he was the one person she refused to pull any deeper into this than he already was.
Ella was off her game. Emotions she’d buried for a year were pressing against the back of her eyelids, threatening to pour forth from her throat and eyes.
She sank beneath the water gingerly, allowing the heat to soothe her knotted muscles. She bathed slowly, inhaling the scent of Jude in the soap he’d placed on the side of the tub. Mint and cedar, both scents she’d always associated with her man.
Ella sank beneath the water, washing her hair before she rose and dried off. The water gurgled out of the tub as she dressed slowly. The underwear was serviceable, nothing girlie, just plain cotton. He’d left her with sweats, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt that had New Mexico State emblazoned across the front. There were thick socks, but no shoes.
In spite of her situation, she smiled at that. Jude wasn’t going to make her escape easy.
She searched for a hair dryer and found one under the sink. Turning her back to the mirror, she dried her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. She hadn’t cut it in over a year. It reached her mid-back and was a serious detriment in a fight, but she didn’t have the energy right now to put it up any other way.
Bathed, dried, and dressed, Ella reached for the toothbrush on top of the vanity, tearing off the wrapping and putting a liberal amount of toothpaste on it. Jude used to make fun of her for how much toothpaste she used. “Damn, how big is your mouth anyway?” he’d once teased her.
A smile creased her lips, causing her cheek to hurt, and her gaze instinctively rose to the mirror.
As she wiped the condensation off the mirror, her gaze roved over the planes of her face. Her cheek was a mess. Green, blue, and purple covered the left side of her face. The scar at her temple taunted her. She stuck out her tongue and eyeballed the damage. It wasn’t split but looked like it’d been chewed on. It was healing though, so she wouldn’t complain. Dresden’s physical strength was formidable. Or maybe his rage lent him such power. She looked like she’d barely survived a prizefight.
That didn’t bother her. Not the bruising. Not the pain. The only thing that bothered her was that Jude had seen her this way. That he hurt because of her.
She finished brushing her teeth and gingerly wiped her mouth. She couldn’t waste any more time in this bathroom.
Ella reached deep for her strength, felt it flicker to life, and opened the bathroom door. Jude was nowhere to be seen.
She quickly searched the room for anything that would tell her where she was or that she could use as a weapon. If her time with Dresden had taught her anything, it was that weapons could be as small as a thumbtack or as soft as a pillow. Pick your poison, and you could temper it to the perfect degree of deadliness.
She sear
ched for a few minutes until her mind reminded her just who had her right now. And it wasn’t Dresden.
Jude Dagan must have been born a soldier. His every move was calculated to win whatever campaign he was currently engaging in. Ella was the current war he was fighting. He’d made sure there was nothing in the room that could be used against him.
Points to Jude, she thought.
Ella glanced out the window and noticed the wind blowing snow all over the place, so hard and thick she could barely make out the mountains in the distance. Damn. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
She walked to the door of the room and listened. The sounds of pans banging together below assured her that’s where she’d find him. Her stomach rumbled.
Her heart ached.
She took the steps and came to the lower level. The cabin was huge, and the more she saw, the more she had the uncanny feeling it belonged to Jude.
He’d never told her about another property. She’d only known about the beach property they’d bought so they could steal away between missions.
She swallowed thickly and pushed those memories down. They had no place here. Ella needed to get her bearings, remember why she was here, how she’d come to be here, and where she was headed.
His smell haunted her though, pleading with her soul to come out and let Jude ease her. There was a time, before Savidge had hurt her, that she would have sheltered in Jude and allowed him to fix everything for her.
She’d been confident in her strength then. Confident enough to let her man carry the load. Now? She was nothing more than cracked glass, waiting for the hammer that was Horace Dresden to complete the break Savidge had begun. There was no way she’d allow Jude to carry her load now. It was way too heavy.
“Dinner’s ready,” he called out from the kitchen.
Ella walked to the huge living room opposite the kitchen. She was delaying the inevitable, but somehow she needed to pull the tattered pieces of herself together before she saw him again.
Then he was there in front of her. His broad shoulders blocking her vision, his eyes taunting her to give him everything.
She loved him. She loved Jude Dagan.
And she wouldn’t allow him to be harmed by her decisions.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, but her gaze snagged on his full lips. Strong lips that had suckled at her skin and given her more pleasure in a single kiss than she’d ever known before him.
His head cocked, and a small grin curved those lips. Her knees weakened.
His mother was Hispanic, from the Jalisco state of Mexico. He’d inherited her coloring—from his sienna-toned skin to his black hair and eyes. His father had been American, a “big, blond motherfucker” Jude had called him. Jude had gotten his size from his dad. The only other thing she knew about his father was that he’d been a mean drunk who’d given up on Jude the moment his mother had left them both.
Jude rarely spoke about his mother, but Ella knew the woman had hurt him deeply. So much, in fact, that when he said her name, it was usually with a sneer. He never talked about his father. Anything Ella knew, she’d learned from his tia Rosa. His great-aunt was the only family member Jude had left.
He’d been alone most of his life, and then Ella had left him too.
“Ella? Are you hungry?” he asked, pulling her from her musings.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice rusty from her earlier tears and the restraint she was pulling on to keep from jumping into his arms and begging him to save her.
He smiled at that. “Then come eat.”
He turned and led her into the kitchen—another big space dominated by large, stainless-steel appliances and heavy wooden furniture. He’d set the table that resided in front of a bay window. Two place settings, no candles.
It’s not a romantic dinner, Ella, she admonished herself.
She took a seat with her back to the wall. He took the opposite seat, spearing her with a look. Before Beirut, she would never have made sure to keep her back away from the door. He’d noticed.
He loaded her plate with stewed beef, potatoes, and carrots, liberally pouring gravy over everything before setting a basket of bread between them. “Eat,” he said and then dug in himself.
The food smelled amazing, and her stomach reminded her she needed to build up her strength. The drugs she’d been pumped full of over the last few days were still making her sluggish, and she’d barely eaten.
She picked up her—she laughed out loud—her spoon, and she dug in. She saw the smile that lit his features a second before the taste of the meal hit her taste buds.
Ella groaned. “That’s delicious.”
“I know,” he said with not a hint of humility. “Tia Rosa left me stocked the last time she was here.”
Ella took another bite, watching her food instead of Jude. “You didn’t cook it?”
“No time,” he said around a bite.
She didn’t ask him why he had no time. She knew. He’d been hunting her hard the last six months. Brody had warned her and done everything he could to keep proof Ella was alive from Endgame, but in the end, the world of spec ops was only so big. Word got around. Once she’d save King in Spain, she’d known her gig was up.
She hadn’t anticipated the scenario playing out quite like this though.
“This place yours?” she asked. She needed information on him. Had to have it. Like the Jude junkie she was.
“Well now, Ella, I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he answered in a hard voice.
She winced.
“Unless you’re willing to trade information?” Jude asked with a milder tone.
She couldn’t not look at him anymore. She raised her gaze and found him staring at her, his face blank, his eyes hot. “Don’t ask that of me, Jude.”
She couldn’t call him Dagan anymore. He was Jude. She could give herself that much at least.
He barked out a laugh that was anything but humorous. “I’m going to ask that and more, Ella.”
She kept her gaze on him, and he returned it, refusing to look away. “If you’d just give me some time—”
He cut her off. “There’s no more time. We’re out of it. Dresden is making moves that will decimate world order. We need to know everything you’ve got, and we need it yesterday.”
“That’s not my mission, Jude,” she protested.
He took a bite of his beef and then a drink of tea Ella knew she’d find unbearably sweet. He wiped his mouth, never looking away from her. “Fuck your mission, Ella.”
She snorted. “You have fucked me. Royally.” She wondered where her anger was. He’d taken her off grid somewhere, was making it plain as day he was going to do everything in his power to get information from her, and she was as far from angry as she’d ever been.
“Not yet, lady,” he said with a wink before picking his fork back up. “But that’s coming too.”
Her breath caught, and an errant piece of meat lodged in her throat. She coughed, choking even as she laughed at his overwhelming gall. He started to get up, but she held up a hand, managing to dislodge the meat before she took a drink of his tea.
“Damn that’s sweet,” she complained.
“Only way to drink tea,” he responded.
He was lulling her, and damn him, it was working. She was falling back into her pattern with him, and the comfort of it was a draw she could barely resist.
She couldn’t allow this. She was going to hurt him when she left again. Because she would leave again. She had to take Dresden down, and the only way to do that was from inside his organization.
He was probably wondering where the hell she was and mobilizing to either find her or destroy Jude. And beyond all that, Ella’s skin continued to crawl with worry for Anna Beth Caine.
Fear prickled her skin. “Where are we?” she asked suddenly, her fear
communicating in the waver of her voice.
He held up six fingers.
Her eyes watered. Damn tears!
“You’re sure?”
He peered at her, intense and a bit put out, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Yes, she thought, how dare I question the ultimate warrior, Jude Dagan.
“I need to hear the words, Jude,” she admitted.
“We’re safe, Ella. I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”
“Not a promise you can make,” she countered.
“You don’t think I can keep you safe?” Oh, the affront in his voice!
“I don’t think you have to. I’ve done enough to stay alive the last year, Jude. All you’re doing by keeping me here is making things exponentially more impossible for me.”
He grunted. “They were impossible before you left with Dresden in Beirut. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And mine my secrets in the process? Come on, Jude, let’s be honest. The only reason you’ve got me here is because I’ve become your mission. King wants answers. Endgame wants Dresden’s head. What none of you seem to realize is that there is more in play here!” Ella slammed her hand down on the table and stood up, leaning over the table to get in his face. “I can keep myself alive. It’s you I’m worried about!”
He stared up at her, his gaze moving over her face, his expression giving her nothing. She had never yelled at Jude. Ever.
But she wasn’t the same Ella anymore.
“Sit down and finish eating,” he said softly. He picked up his fork and did the same, ignoring her outburst as if it’d never happened.
She plopped back into her chair, picked up her spoon, and ate. Silence reigned through the rest of the meal. When Ella finished, she picked up her bowl and carried it to the sink, washing it and her spoon before putting them in the drying rack. She attacked the rest of the dishes and finished them off. As she was drying her hands, Jude came up behind her.
His hands settled on the granite countertop at her sides, his front pressing against her back. His heat wrapped around her as his scent toyed with her emotions. “Let’s establish the rules right now,” he said at her ear, his voice gruff and hitting her right between the legs. “I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t need your protection. I need your cooperation. I need your secrets. Because, Ella? You’re mine. You have been since the moment I saw you, and you always will be. It is my right, my goddamn privilege, to take care of you. And if I have to fight you to do that, then by God, I will. I’ve been waging wars for a long time, lady, and when I fight, I win. You’re too important for me to walk away from.”