HUNTED

by C. Luca

  When I’m finished with the banana, I throw away the peel and begin my usual leisurely laps around the loft to loosen my knee.

  I’m on my third lap when Kane’s voice draws my attention. “You walk every morning,” he comments from where he’s still sitting on the sofa. “Is it exercise or restlessness from being cooped up?”

  I pause across the room from him, surprised by his inquiry. All his attention is focused on me—his computers momentarily forgotten. The frown on his face earlier is long gone, and now he’s looking at me with honest curiosity in his gaze.

  “Neither,” I admit. “My knee becomes stiff overnight, so I loosen it the best I can before the day begins,” I say lightly.

  He studies me. “Is there ever a time that it doesn’t bother you?”

  I shrug. “I have good and bad days.”

  He’s silent, simply watching with those hazel eyes of his.

  Today, he seems different somehow, and I decide to tread the waters, so to speak. “You’ve commented about ‘your men.’ I take it you’re in charge of a team?”

  After a long moment, he says, “Yes.”

  There are more questions on the tip of my tongue, but I find myself hesitating. I don’t want to push too much and find myself at odds with him once more.

  Kane must see the dilemma in my expression, because he nods to the opposite end of the sofa.

  I hide my elation over the invitation and calmly walk over and sit down.

  A sternness becomes clear in the angle of his jaw. “Ask away, but I can’t guarantee I can answer everything you want to know,” he warns.

  “Do you…miss your family?” In the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering if he’s married or has kids. He looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, but he’s not wearing a wedding band. That doesn’t really mean anything though—especially considering his line of work.

  “I don’t have one,” he replies, his expression unreadable.

  I don’t know what to say.

  “With the work I do, not being connected to anyone is important,” he adds. He shifts more comfortably, elbows resting on his knees as he watches me expectantly, waiting for me to ask more questions.

  “You must get lonely,” I comment before I can think better of it.

  He gives me a long look, one that tells me he isn’t thrilled with the personal questions. “I’m alone because I choose to be.”

  Internally, I wince. Got it. No more personal questions. “Do you think my father saw the letter?” I ask, quickly switching the topic.

  I’ve been wondering this for the past few days, but I haven’t wanted to ask in case it triggered his earlier irritation with me. However, he made it clear that if I have questions, now is the time to voice them.

  He gives a slight shake of his head. “Had he received your letter, they might have thought that he had the means to warn you or have you moved. They wouldn’t risk that.”

  My hope of connecting with my father has been dashed, but I’ll dwell over it later when I’m alone. “Does he have that ability?” I ask with interest.

  “No,” he says steadily.

  “Does he receive updates?”

  The patience he had with my questions is noticeably beginning to wane. “Tessa, the entire point of hiring us was to keep you far away from him with no contact. Once the contract has been paid, we keep our clients safe, and their original identity ceases to exist. He has no knowledge of who you are now or how you’re doing,” he explains.

  My heart plummets while my chest twists over the news.

  “It’s the way it has to be,” Kane says, a measure of kindness in his tone as his expression softens a smidge.

  “So…I’ll never see him again?” I ask softly.

  His eyes hold mine. “Not unless you want to die,” he says bluntly.

  “I just thought…” I truly am all alone in this world.

  “He loves you, or he would have never hired us,” he reminds, trying to lessen what was obviously a blow to me.

  I nod and push aside my emotions. “What happens when someone no longer wants to be a part of your…program?” I don’t know what else to call it.

  He stares me down as his expression hardens. “That is one topic I refuse to discuss with you,” he says dryly.

  I frown over his reluctance to answer the question but decide to let the subject rest.

  There has to be an ‘out’ of some sort. Not that I’m searching for one anymore, but I’m realizing that if my father has no idea who I am now, or where I’ve been the past several years—the letter was for nothing. I set all this into motion for something that was never going to happen.

  It's a bitter realization, but I need to find a way to look beyond my mistakes and make peace with the situation I’ve put myself in.

  Easier said than done.

  * * *

  A couple of days later, I’m just finishing my breakfast and about to throw away an empty yogurt container when Kane says my name.

  I toss the plastic container in the garbage and look over to where he’s sitting on the sofa, my eyes questioning. He’s been a lot nicer the past few days, and that has made this situation much more bearable.

  I note that all three laptops on the coffee table are closed, which means something is definitely up. I walk over, my expression tensing. “Did something happen?”

  His eyes assure me that everything is fine. “No. Your stitches are probably ready to be removed.”

  Oh.

  Shoot.

  I had noticed the cut was healing nicely and had known the stitches would have to be removed soon, but I hadn’t wanted to bring it up to Kane. The idea of allowing him that close to me…he’s just too darn attractive. Plus, since the cut is so high up on my thigh, I can’t wear my usual leggings.

  “Tessa?”

  His voice brings me back to the present, and I blink as I refocus on him.

  He holds up folded, black fabric with a price tag still attached. “These are shorts in your size.”

  I make no move to accept them.

  Shorts…

  I don’t wear shorts.

  Ever.

  I know I’ve been determined to not allow my disability to define me, but it’s an entirely different thing when it comes to allowing anyone to see my damaged leg.

  “Tessa,” Kane says steadily as his eyes turn watchful. “I stitched you up in the first place, remember?” he reminds. “You don’t have anything that I haven’t already seen, and there certainly isn’t anything about you that you need to be self-conscious of.”

  My lips thin with irritation over how accurately he’d read my hesitation. It bothers me that he knows so much about me when I know absolutely nothing about him.

  “I don’t recall saying I was self-conscious,” I reply coolly, accepting the shorts and calmly walking to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

  I’m absolutely frustrated by this situation, and I hate appearing so weak in front of him.

  Reluctantly, I slip out of my leggings and pull on the shorts. They’re black and form fitting, and incredibly short. A thickness begins to form in my throat as I study my misshapen calf. I’m very much aware that it isn’t appealing to look at.

  Out in the loft, I can hear the sink running as Kane waits for me.

  I’m taking far too long, and all that’s doing is proving that he’s correct that I’m insecure about my leg.

  I draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale.

  I can do this.

  After I’ve pulled together my courage, I open the door and reenter the loft. It takes everything within me to keep my expression relaxed. On the inside, my stomach is twisted in knots, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  Kane is sitting on the sofa, a towel on the coffee table along with tweezers, a small scissors, and antiseptic wipes.

  He glances at me, his expression giving nothing away as to what he’s thinking. “There are a few more shorts over there. I’m sure they’ll be more
comfortable in this heat,” he says mildly, nodding to the shopping bag sitting on the island counter.

  Damn him.

  It’s quite the internal battle keeping my emotions off my face. He’d completely manipulated me, and I’d fallen for it.

  “Thank you,” I manage to say politely.

  He pats the sofa and rises to his feet. “I disinfected everything. I just need to clean the skin around the wound before I begin.”

  I walk over, determined to pretend that this isn’t as awkward as it actually is. “How do you want me?”

  His expression twitches slightly. “Lie on your side and make sure you’re comfortable.”

  I gingerly move onto the sofa, and since it’s my right side, I need to lie on my left. Once I’m situated, I find myself facing him. I fold and tuck my arm beneath my head as a makeshift pillow.

  “Good?” he asks as he looks down at me from where he’s still standing.

  “Yes.” No. This is awkward as hell.

  He sits down on the edge of the sofa, near my knees. “Mind if I move the hem up just a bit?” he asks, his eyes focused on my hip.

  “Go for it.”

  I stare straight ahead as I feel the fabric move, and in the corner of my eye, I can see him studying the healing wound. This isn’t moving along fast enough, and I wish he’d just get on with it.

  “Looks good, Tessa,” he murmurs. “I’m going to clean the skin around it, so it’ll feel cold.”

  The low murmur of his voice causes my belly to tighten, and I casually nod. I can only hope that he has absolutely no idea how attracted I am to him. As I struggle to control my hormones, I watch Kane.

  His expression is very focused as he unwraps an antiseptic wipe and carefully cleans the skin near the stitches.

  Damn it.

  My southern region is actually beginning to tingle. I’m enjoying his attention, and that’s a bad thing.

  Desperate for a distraction, I ask, “Do you do this often?”

  He glances at me briefly before reaching for the scissors and tweezers. “Stitch people?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a time or two. Mostly on myself, though.” He moves closer to my thigh. “This shouldn’t hurt.”

  Oh hell.

  I can feel his left hand resting on my thigh near the wound as he uses his right to bring the tweezers to the stitches. It’s as if the outline of his hand is burning an imprint onto my skin.

  I quickly jerk my gaze straight ahead, not wanting to actually watch the process. Or look at the warm hand resting on me. “Do you get hurt a lot?” I ask.

  “Once in a while,” he replies, voice low as he concentrates. The hand on my hip shifts as I sense him cutting the stitches.

  I feel a slight tugging sensation. It feels weird. “Because of the job?”

  “Yes.”

  I fall quiet as I feel more tugging. I can’t help but wonder why he risks his life for people like me. I’d like to ask, but I’m thinking that’s something he isn’t going to be willing to share. Kane doesn’t seem like the type that would easily open up to someone else.

  “All done,” he announces.

  I look at him with surprise and then glance at my thigh. Sure enough, the stitches are gone.

  Kane sets down the tweezers and scissors.

  “That’s it?” I ask. That was quick and completely painless.

  His eyes meet mine. “Yes.”

  I sit up, adjusting the fabric on my thigh. “Thank you.”

  That’s when I realize that I have to wear these shorts all day or prove him right about my insecurity. I rise to my feet and walk away, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I feel.

  I know my limp is a turnoff for men. I’ve been noticing it for years. Men are interested until they see me walk. I have struggled with this knowledge for so long and have finally managed to brush it off—mostly.

  If a man can’t see beyond the physical, what’s the point? I certainly wouldn’t want to be with someone who only cares about appearances. What would happen if I gained weight? Or when I grow old?

  The type of man I want in my life is someone who is willing to look beyond all that and still want to stick around. So when men dismiss me within a few minutes of meeting me, I make it a point to dismiss them as well. I tell myself that they’re not worth it.

  But Kane…

  Ugh.

  Why do I care so much about what he thinks?

  Nine

  Kane

  It’s late, but I’m wide awake.

  I’d turned off the computers a short time ago, and now I’m sitting on the sofa in the dim light, watching the darkened second level. Tessa had gone to bed hours ago.

  As the days pass by, I know an inevitable attempt to capture Tessa is approaching. Bryce had made certain that his trail here to Phoenix was easy to follow. He could have taken out the men he managed to find back in Salt Lake City, but that wouldn’t have guaranteed he’d eliminated them all. This way, by having them come to us, we have a very good chance of taking out the rest of the entire team.

  It's just such a fucking risk.

  But then again, any decision I make where Tessa is concerned is a gamble. The bastards after her aren’t going to stop until we physically stop them ourselves.

  My thoughts shift to earlier today, and I reach up and use both my hands to rub my face, feeling the bristles of my unshaven jaw scratching against my palms.

  Christ.

  I still feel like a perverted bastard for having instantaneous dirty thoughts when Tessa had innocently asked me how I wanted her. Dozens of explicit visions had raced through my mind before I’d been able to push them aside to focus on the stitches.

  She’s so fucking attractive, and yet she seems clueless about it. Does she really think her leg takes away from her beauty?

  A twinge of guilt rises within me over my manipulation with the shorts. It’s clear that she likes to hide her damaged leg, and I’m beginning to wonder if that’s somehow my fault. I never allowed any men to actually pursue her. Granted, I’d witnessed many of them lose interest over her limp, but there had been a few that had looked beyond it, and I’d made certain they never had a chance to get to know her.

  At the time, I felt it best to protect her from the inevitable lies she’d have to tell but sometimes I wonder…

  Fuck.

  I have to somehow get this attraction under control before I screw up and she sees it. This needs to remain professional, because when this is over, she’ll need to start a new life, and I’ll have to disappear back into the shadows.

  My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket, and tension immediately fills me from head to toe. At this hour, a text is bad news. Not that I’m surprised since this was the plan all along. But it’s also never a good thing, because unexpected shit happens.

  I quickly pull out my phone and scan the text from Bryce. Incoming. Too many. Get out now.

  Son of a bitch!

  I shove the phone back into my pocket and grab my gun from off the table, racing for the stairs. I’d known they’d likely come at night, but I’d counted on my men taking them out before they actually invaded the loft. Unfortunately, they’d evidently brought reinforcements that are too many for even Bryce and Leo to handle.

  This is exactly why Bryce didn’t try to take them out in Salt Lake City. He likely wouldn’t have been able to eliminate all of them, certainly not by himself.

  Gunfire begins to echo throughout the building from downstairs, and I can hear the elevator making its way up to the loft.

  This is cutting it too fucking close as alarm fills my gut.

  I can assume and expect all I want, but that doesn’t mean that’s how the situation’s going to go down.

  As soon as my feet hit the second level, I rush the bed and literally haul Tessa from it. As my arm wraps around her slim waist, I yank the sheets away from her body with my free hand before tossing her over my shoulder, firmly holding her in place.

  She releases a s
leepy squeak of shock as I rush back to the stairs. While I race down the steps, I can hear her grunting. With every step, my shoulder is probably digging into her stomach, and I can feel her warm hands clutching the back of my tee shirt for balance.

  When I reach the base of the stairs, I release my hold on her hip as she dangles precariously over my shoulder.

  “Kane?” Tessa asks, all traces of sleep gone from her tone.

  There’s no time to explain.

  While I grip my gun with one hand, I use the other to unlock the exit door near the stairs. The same time I’m gripping the handle to open the door, the elevator doors are being pulled open on the opposite side of the loft.

  God damn it!

  Tessa’s just beginning to wiggle with confusion when I yank open the door to the stairwell and come face to face with two men that are definitely not my own. My gun is already aiming and firing as gunshots ring out around us as they fire back at me.

  As one of the men goes down, I feel a burn of pain along my ribcage but ignore it. I’ve instinctively rotated my body, trying to shield Tessa the best that I can as I exchange gunfire with the other assailant. All I can do is pray a stray bullet doesn’t hit her. There should have never been anyone in this damned stairwell. She’s also way too vulnerable in this position, but it can’t be helped at this point.

  The other guy goes down as one of my bullets makes contact with his forehead. As he falls, I see Bryce racing up the stairwell towards us, waving his arm. “Go!” he’s shouting.

  While I rush down the narrow stairway, Bryce hurries past us and into the loft to intercept the men that had come up the elevator.

  As I take the stairs as fast as I dare, I can hear Tessa gasping with each step, her small hands clasping my lower back for balance. More shots echo from upstairs, and I can feel Tessa flinching with each one.

  Thank God she hadn’t tried to scramble off me to find shelter from the bullets. I’m certain she’d desperately wanted to, but she’d stayed put and allowed me to focus.

  There is no hesitation as I burst through the exit door at the base of the stairs, trusting that Bryce had cleared the way. My gun is ready as my eyes quickly take in the darkened lot behind the building.