Until five days ago.
She’d broken the first rule she’d given herself when breaking into Sullivan Bishop’s office: don’t fall in love. And look where breaking the rules had landed her. Sitting outside her own town house in the middle of the night in freezing temperatures because she couldn’t bear the thought of what she might find inside.
Or who.
Her lower lash line burned. She swiped at the runaway tear streaking down her face. This was stupid. Sullivan hadn’t followed her. He wasn’t waiting inside for her to come home. Jane dropped her chin to her chest, opening her eyes. “Screw the rules.”
This was the only way to start over, to save the man she’d blackmailed into protecting her.
She tossed the new passport into the passenger-side seat and jammed her shoulder into the door of the Blackhawk Security SUV she’d borrowed from the hospital garage. She’d take the SUV to the airport, then let Elliot or Anthony know where they could pick it up. There was a good chance she’d change her mind if she talked to Sullivan again. Although, with how she’d left things between them in the hospital, him in handcuffs, her running out the door, he might make it easier than she imagined.
Jane jogged across the street, keeping an eye out for any movement, any glare of headlights coming to life. The key was already in her hand, in case she had to get inside in a hurry. She twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door inward. A wall of hot air rushed against her, relieving some of the tightness in her lower back. She tossed her keys onto the table by the door, as she did every day, and closed the door behind her, locking it. Her throat went dry. It still smelled like him. Her attention shot to the makeshift bed on the couch where Sullivan had slept, and she shuffled toward it. Slumping down onto the couch, she stared at what remained of the space she used to consider a safe haven.
The town house had been tossed. Clothing, books, photos, all destroyed. She couldn’t imagine how many people had trudged through her personal belongings, picked apart her life since she’d run off into the middle of the night after a murderer. Police, Sullivan’s team, Christopher Menas. But, here, surrounded by the scent of the man she’d unwillingly surrendered to, her muscles slowly released. It was over. For now. The man who’d turned her life upside down for the past couple of months—who’d tried to kill her—was dead. Of course, someone had hired Christopher’s band of mercenaries in the first place, but she couldn’t think about that right now. A few more minutes of relief was all she needed. Then she’d get the cash and lock up for good. No looking back. A fresh start.
There should’ve been some relief in that thought, but all Jane could think about was the look on Sullivan’s face when she’d called for the police. Christopher Menas would’ve killed her had it not been for Sullivan. And she’d thrown it in his face. She’d hurt him—badly—and she wasn’t sure if there was any way he’d trust another woman again. Or forgive her.
She rubbed her fingers into her sternum to counteract the pain spreading through her chest. Sullivan had forgiven her for her part in Marrok’s suicide, but he had every reason to hate her now. Tears welled in her eyes again, but Jane wiped them away.
She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.
She was going to find Sullivan. Witness protection could wait. She had to fix this. No matter how long it took or how many times he slammed the door in her face, she’d make this right.
Because she couldn’t imagine another day of her life without Sullivan Bishop—or Sebastian Warren—in it. She loved him. Threading the sheets between her fingers, Jane relaxed back against the couch. She loved him. Why had it taken her so long to realize it? She was an idiot. Of course she’d fallen for him. Sullivan protected people for a living, protected her. He stood against the evil in this world and smiled while doing it. He’d committed himself one hundred percent to the job and refused to stop when the chances of dying skyrocketed. But the best part? The way he’d looked at her while he did it, like he could’ve loved her back. The way he held her, ready to take a bullet to keep her safe... Jane thunked her head against the back of the couch. And wasn’t that a kick to the stomach? She ground her back molars.
She’d made a mistake.
Hefting herself from the couch coated in Sullivan’s clean, masculine scent, she stepped over the debris toward her bedroom. The damage extended up the stairs and through to the main bathroom, but Jane didn’t have the energy to start cleaning. Wasn’t any point now. After she saw Sullivan, she wasn’t coming back. Every muscle in her body ached. Take a shower. Call the hospital, the police department, Blackhawk Security, whoever she had to call to track Sullivan down. In that order. She discarded her jacket onto the ottoman at the foot of her bed and turned. She hit a wall of solid muscle.
“Tell me, Captain Reise, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?” a voice from the past asked. A hand clamped a white rag over her mouth as another grabbed the back of her head to keep her in place against his chest. “Shh. It’ll all be over soon.”
Jane threaded her hands between his arms and looped them wide. The cloth over her mouth disappeared, but an acrid taste spread across her tongue as she lunged for the bedroom door. Her fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear. This wasn’t possible. Searing pain spread over her skull as he fisted a handful of her hair and pulled her back into him. Her fingers automatically shot to her head to relieve the pain, and he clamped the soaked rag over her mouth again.
Jane kicked and kneed at him, grabbing onto his wrists to dislodge his hold. But he was strong. Too strong. And she’d lost too much energy over the last few days. She couldn’t control her breathing, the poison working down into her system too fast for her to keep up the fight. The edges of her vision darkened. No. Stay awake. Leave evidence. Sullivan had to know...
Her grip lightened, her muscles protesting the orders her brain gave. Jane wrapped her left hand around the closest thing she could grab from her attacker’s button-down shirt pocket. A single pen. Her legs gave out.
“That’s it.” He led her to the floor but refused to remove the rag from her mouth. “Just relax. You’re in good hands.”
Her arm arched up above her head, and she let the pen slip from her hold. It rolled under the bed. Staring up into the face of her attacker, Jane couldn’t move, couldn’t keep her eyes open as the darkness closed in. The shadows across his sharp, angled jawline shifted as he pressed her into the floor. She’d recognize that face anywhere. Her eyebrows drew inward as she squinted away the blurriness closing in. “Not...you.”
“That’s right, Jane. Me.” He bent low over her, the scars across his eyebrows and chin deeper than she remembered. His breath snaked across the underside of her neck. She tried to pull away, tried to run, but couldn’t stay awake. Her eyelids sagged closed. “And now it’s my turn to torture you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sullivan clutched the only piece of evidence he and his team had recovered from Jane’s town house as he sped down the highway: the pen. It’d rolled under her bed, but his instincts screamed that Jane had been trying to leave him a clue as to who’d taken her.
And there was only one place her stalker would hide to get his attention. The cabin.
“I’m coming, Jane. I’m coming.” He’d promised to keep her safe, and he intended to keep every promise he’d made to her. Murky water kicked up along the SUV’s windows as he pressed his foot harder against the pedal. The wipers crossed the windshield in the same rhythm his heart tried to beat out of his chest. This whole thing hadn’t been about Jane, at least not entirely. His past had come back to haunt him, too. He just didn’t have all the pieces yet. Sullivan rotated the wheel to the left, taking the SUV down the snow-coated trail. Pain zinged through his arm and side, but he only gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Clouds and short bursts of wind dumped flakes onto the windshield. The closer he got to his destination, the less he could see, nearly eve
rything in sight a complete whiteout. Rubbing the inside of the windshield clear of fog, Sullivan squinted through the snow. He should be coming up on the cabin any second now—
A black blur appeared directly in the SUV’s path.
“Damn it!” He spun the SUV to the left, straight into the tree line, and slammed on the brakes. Adrenaline flooded into his veins, heart rate rocketing. The back end of the GMC fishtailed, and time seemed to slow. Sullivan turned into the spin, breath frozen in his throat. He fought to keep control of the vehicle. The back end of the SUV missed an unconscious Jane by mere inches, but he couldn’t correct in time.
The GMC slammed into a thick tree, and he hit the steering wheel hard. A cascade of snow fell over the crumpled hood as the engine died. Shoving himself back in his seat, he brushed his fingertips across his forehead. Blood dripped down the side of his face. It was a miracle he hadn’t lost consciousness. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs, but he clamped on to the door handle. “Jane.”
Shoving his recently stitched shoulder into the door, Sullivan suppressed a scream as agony washed over him. He tumbled out of the SUV. His boots slid along the compacted snow, and he collapsed against the GMC. The pain dissipated, slowly, but he had to push it to the back of his mind. Get to Jane. Neutralize the threat. He kept his breathing shallow, even, and opened his eyes.
Hands tied behind the back of a chair, Jane sat slumped over her legs, unconscious, about twenty feet away. She hadn’t realized he’d almost killed her coming to save her life. Relief, however fleeting, flooded through him, and he took the magazine out of his Glock and shoved it back into place. But he didn’t make a move toward her. Nobody put a victim in the middle of the road like that unless they intended to take the high ground to watch the chaos unfold. Dread coiled a tight fist in the pit of his stomach. There was only one way this could end. Her kidnapper wanted a show? Sullivan would give him one.
“I know you’re out there,” he shouted over his shoulder. Sullivan pressed his back into the SUV for cover, finger on the trigger. His head throbbed, heart beating loudly, but the soft crunching of snow reached his ears. His target froze in his tracks, approximately ten yards to the southeast, just on the other side of the road. “Let’s finish this.”
Sullivan bounded away from the SUV and swung his gun up and around.
And froze.
“Hey, big brother.” Acrid smoke filled the air around Marrok Warren. He tossed the lit cigar into the snow and stomped it out with his boot, the butt of a gun peeking out from under his jacket. Thick brown hair covered the scars Sullivan had witnessed cut into his younger brother’s chin by their father when they’d been younger. Deep lines wrinkled the top of Marrok’s forehead as he unholstered the weapon at his side. “Guess you never expected to see me again.”
“Not after I buried you next to Mom. No, I did not.” His recovery of the pen their mother had given Marrok when he’d turned twelve had told Sullivan exactly what—who—to expect on the wrong end of his gun, but Sullivan swallowed hard. He shifted his stance wide and readjusted his grip on the Glock. “You faked your death in order to torture Jane for prosecuting you.”
“What’s a little revenge among friends? I certainly had a good time terrorizing her the past three months. Then she hired you, and I had to up the stakes. Playtime was over.” Marrok circled to his right, putting him in the center of the road. “Sebastian Warren. My big brother. Always the savior. Always the hero.”
“So now you’re blaming me for keeping you alive for all those years Dad came after you?” A burst of laughter exploded from between Sullivan’s teeth. He shook his head, gun still aimed as he counteracted his brother’s movements. “You’re sick, Marrok. I can get you help.”
“Thanks for the offer, big brother, but I wouldn’t be the man I am now had it not been for Dad’s influence. If I hadn’t followed in his footsteps, I wouldn’t have the connections or the money I do now. And, let me tell you, it was all worth it. Only difference between Dad and me? My tastes are a little more...” Marrok’s dark eyes flickered past Sullivan. To Jane. One scarred edge of his mouth turned upward. “Refined.”
The muscles surrounding his spine hardened one by one. Sullivan had buried his brother as a hero, put him to rest next to their mother in their hometown cemetery. He’d believed in his innocence for over a year. “Jane was right about you all along. You assaulted those women while you were on tour.”
Marrok drove his hand into his jacket pocket, extracting a small black device. “You can’t win this fight, Sebastian. Don’t forget, I know you better than anyone else. You’re just using a different name now.” His younger brother wiggled the device for Sullivan to see, then raised his gun and took aim. At Sullivan’s heart. “I know you won’t kill me because you can’t stand the thought of killing your own brother, but I also know you’d do anything to save an innocent life. Especially one you’ve been taking to bed.”
“I know you, too, little brother. You’re not going to shoot me.” Sullivan fought to relieve the searing pain spreading down his side. Marrok had been watching them this whole time? A sick feeling rolled through him. His brother was right. He wouldn’t kill Marrok, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make him pay for what he’d done. He tightened his grip around the gun as he backed up a few feet to where Jane sat. Sullivan tipped her head back and his stomach sank. Pressing his fingers to her throat, he counted off the slow, uneven rhythm in his head. Her lips had turned blue, the blistering cold slowing down her heart rate, but the bomb vest strapped to her chest kicked his up a notch.
“No, Sebastian. You knew me. Then you abandoned me for the navy, leaving me behind to deal with the aftermath you caused after killing Dear-Old-Dad, and never looked back. Even changed your name so I couldn’t track you down. Now I find you’re protecting the one person I hate most in the world. Jane Reise.” Her sweet name growled from between Marrok’s lips as he nodded toward Jane. “So you’re right. I might not put a bullet in you, but I sure as hell won’t feel guilty if you’re caught in the crossfire.”
“Marrok.” Sullivan took a single step forward, his ears going numb from the pounding wind. “Everything I did, I did for you, to protect—”
“You can save the speech, big brother. I know the truth. You’ve always wanted to escape the life we had, and killing our father gave you a way to do it.” Marrok held up the device in his hand, pointing it toward Jane. “You’re a SEAL. You know what this is and what will happen if you’re anywhere close to her when that bomb blows.”
“Jane, baby.” No answer. He brushed her hair back from her face, then straightened. “Can you hear me?”
“You don’t get a choice in this, Sebastian, and you’re running out of time.” Keeping the gun aimed at Sullivan’s chest, Marrok walked backward down the road slowly. “It’s over. She gets what she deserves and we all move on with our lives.”
“No.” The growl reverberated through him. Move on without Jane? A small burst of wind dislodged the piles of snow lining the tree branches, whiting out visibility between them, and Sullivan had his shot.
“Jane is my life.” He sprinted with every bit of energy his battered body could produce, the icy air filling his lungs. But the wind died too fast, and he found himself out in the open. Still, Sullivan didn’t slow.
Eyes wide, Marrok squeezed off one round, which went wide. Then another, hitting Sullivan in the right arm. A third round lodged in his upper thigh. He didn’t care. Blood dripped down his fingers, but he wouldn’t stop. Because he loved Jane. Didn’t matter when it’d happened. Didn’t matter how. All that mattered was that it’d happened. He’d fallen in love with the one woman he’d vowed to condemn for the rest of his life.
Sullivan’s jaw strained against his body’s screams for relief. But without that detonation device, he’d lose everything. He rammed his shoulder under Marrok’s ribs, tackling his brother to the ground. He pulled back his elbow,
only the slightest hesitation gripping him. Enough time for Marrok to take advantage.
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved, big brother.” Marrok slammed the butt of his gun into Sullivan’s head.
Scalding pain spread over his skull as Marrok kicked him backward. Sullivan hit the ground, cushioned by two feet of snow. Memories of countless nights, of holding a baseball bat or a knife or a gun in the back of their shared closet to protect his younger brother, flashed across his mind. He’d done what he’d had to, to protect his family. But the one person he’d never counted on turning on him had lost his damn mind. His gaze shot to Jane as her head fell to one side. She was coming around. And she needed him to protect her now.
“You were right, though. I don’t like the idea of killing you either. There’s a reason Menas drugged and Tasered you first.” Marrok shifted his finger over the trigger of his gun. “But I will end you now if you choose Jane Reise over your own flesh and blood.”
Sullivan pushed to his feet and maneuvered into the middle of the road, right between Marrok and Jane. The gun was pointed straight at him. A blast of wind kicked up snow as it swept across the clearing beside his cabin. His right arm and thigh burned from the two rounds Marrok had squeezed off. No major damage, but enough to pull at his attention. He was a SEAL, hardened and trained in every kind of environment. He didn’t need to see the threat to neutralize it. A glint of sunlight off glass caught his attention from the tree line, and a smile pulled at one side of his mouth. “If you know me so well, then you know I don’t stop until the job is done. And we’re not done.”
“I thought you might say something like that.” Marrok shrugged, gun in one hand, the detonator in the other. With one click of a button, his younger brother would take everything from him. “Just like I know you brought your team to take me out in case things went south.”
Rules in Blackmail Page 16