Taken

by Cynthia Eden

  But Asher wasn’t going to hurt her. Every time he touched her, he was infinitely careful.

  Maybe too careful.

  Only he didn’t touch her this time. He stopped just a foot away from her. “There weren’t any hits in NamUs.”

  She blinked.

  “NamUs is—”

  “I know what NamUs is.” She’d pretty much become obsessed with the missing since her attack. Bailey was now well acquainted with the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System. Obsessively acquainted.

  “One of my colleagues at LOST, Wade Monroe, he checked their missing persons’ database and there weren’t any missing women—not within two hundred miles of the area here—who matched the description you gave.”

  “Maybe she dyed her hair,” Bailey blurted. “Or maybe she was from more than two hundred miles away.” There were a dozen other maybes that she could throw at him. But before she could, he said—

  “Maybe. Maybe that did happen.” His head inclined toward her. “I just like to keep you updated.”

  Oh. Okay.

  “Let’s go back to the parking lot,” Asher said. “We’re burning daylight.”

  She’d come back.

  Funny. He hadn’t expected that. Bailey Jones seemed to jump at her own shadow these days, yet she’d headed back out to the scene of the crime.

  Interesting.

  Definitely a story there. And if anyone was going to break the story, it would sure as hell be him. Richard Spawn. Fucking ace reporter. At least, that was how he saw himself. Soon enough, the rest of the world would, too. And Bailey—she was his ticket to notoriety.

  He inched closer to her car. Locked, of course, because she didn’t believe in making things easy on him.

  But the motorcycle nearby . . . now that was interesting. And it wasn’t as if you could lock up a motorcycle. Smiling, he closed in. His hand reached for the saddlebags on the right side of the bike.

  When Asher cleared the trees and edged toward the parking lot that waited at the end of the trail, his body immediately went on high alert. There was some blond SOB with his hands all over Asher’s ride. He didn’t stop to shout some lame-ass warning at the guy.

  He just attacked. Asher rushed forward, moving silently just as he’d been trained. Before the would-be thief even sensed him, Asher was right behind the man. He grabbed him, caught the guy’s hands, and in seconds, Asher had the fellow on his knees, with his arms stretched tautly behind him.

  “Ow!” the fellow yelled. “Son of a bitch—stop! Stop! You’re breaking my arms!”

  “Not yet,” Asher assured him. “Make another move toward my bike, though, and we’ll just see what happens.”

  “Assault!” The word was a desperate scream. “You can’t do this to me!”

  “And you can’t shove your hands into my saddlebags and try to find something to steal, asshole.”

  Footsteps rushed behind him. “Asher!” Bailey sounded breathless. “Asher, I . . . know him.”

  She knew the dick who’d been robbing him? He cast her a quick, suspicious glance and saw that her eyes were locked on the man he held prisoner. Her green gaze shot fury at the fellow.

  “He’s a reporter, one of the guys that Wyatt had to haul off my property two weeks ago.”

  His would-be thief was a snooping reporter who’d tailed them and then decided to poke around for a story? Yeah, sounded right.

  Asher didn’t have the best history with reporters. Like Bailey, he knew some could—and would—sensationalize the hell out of stories, no matter who got hurt.

  Even kids.

  “Let me go!” The reporter was yelling and struggling and if he kept moving like that . . .

  “Do you want a broken arm?” Asher asked him.

  The guy stilled. His body stopped moving, anyway. His mouth didn’t. “You are in so much trouble,” he blustered. “I’ll call the authorities. I’ll splash your face on the news. I am Richard Spawn. Richard Spawn. I will own you before I am done. I am—”

  “A dick, right,” Asher drawled. “I heard you the first time.”

  The guy sputtered.

  Bailey gave a quick, sharp laugh. Damn but he loved that sound.

  Taking his time, Asher let go of Dick—Richard. Richard Who-the-Hell-Ever he’d said he was.

  The guy sprang to his feet and made a show of flexing his wrists and stretching his arms. Asher rolled his eyes. “No permanent damage. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

  The reporter immediately leapt for a black bag that waited on the ground, less than two feet away. He yanked out a camera and started snapping pictures. “The Death Angel’s victim has a dark new lover . . . one with a temper.”

  “This dumbass isn’t serious?” Asher glanced at Bailey, a grim smile on his lips.

  But his smile faded when he saw her face. There was no humor there. She’d gone pale, and her eyes were stark.

  Fuck this. Asher stepped in front of her. “Stop taking the photos.”

  “Ha! I’m a reporter—”

  “Then report, don’t take photos.” The fact that the guy was doing both jobs himself told Asher he wasn’t looking at a man who worked for one of the more reputable news sources. Tabloid much?

  But Dick wasn’t lowering the camera.

  “I warned you.” Asher grabbed the camera in a flash.

  Dick yelled.

  Asher held tight to his new prize.

  “No way.” Dick glared at him. “That is my property. Give it back.”

  Asher swept his gaze over the reporter. About five foot ten, lean, wiry. Blond hair that swept back from his high forehand. Pale hands. Twitchy hands.

  “Did you follow us up here?” Asher’s gaze slid toward the right, to the only other vehicle in that small lot at the trailhead. There were many lots like that one in the area, always located close to a trail entrance. Convenient spots for hikers to park while they explored. Such graveled parking lots dotted the North Carolina terrain.

  “What?” Dick’s gaze was on his precious camera. “How the hell dare you say that? I’ve been staying away from her, just like the good deputy ordered.” His eyes rose as he smirked at Bailey. “Thought he was the love interest, so now things are picking up—”

  A growl slipped from Asher. “So . . . to be clear . . .” he began as he tilted his head and still held on to the digital camera. “You’re a piece of shit?”

  Dick’s jaw dropped.

  “That your ride?” Asher asked him, glancing over at the Jeep. “Notice it’s a rental. You don’t happen to own a Mustang, do you?”

  The guy glared. “What I own is none of your business! And I didn’t follow her! I just came up here for some shots. They were for a piece I’m working on. It’s pure coincidence that we’re all here at the same time.”

  “Liar,” Bailey muttered.

  Dick shrugged. “Can’t prove that.”

  Asher really didn’t like that guy. “Why were you messing with my bike?”

  “I wasn’t messing with anything! I was just looking! I admire motorcycles, that’s all. I was just looking at the damn bike.”

  Right. Like Asher believed that.

  “I want my camera back. Give it to me, or I’ll press charges. I swear I will.”

  Asher glanced down at his hand.

  “Give it to him,” Bailey said. “What does another picture matter?”

  Asher stepped toward Dick. Leaning in close to him, he said, “I don’t want to see you around Bailey again.”

  Dick snatched the camera from him. “Oh, like I’m supposed to be scared of the big, bad new lover who’s chasing after Bailey.”

  You should be scared. Some people just didn’t understand the basic facts of life.

  Dick snapped a few more pictures, but then he hauled ass out of that place real quick. When he drove his Jeep away from the small lot, gravel flew in his wake.

  With his hand on his hip, Asher watched him go.

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “Getting my pict
ure tossed on the web and on the news is one thing. But you didn’t sign on to have your face splashed everywhere with mine.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” What worried Asher was the fact that jerks like Dick had been plaguing Bailey. Could that reporter have been outside her place last night? Looking to scare her so that he could get a new story?

  Or was it another dumbass who’d formed some kind of obsession after seeing her on TV? Unfortunately, since he’d been working at LOST, Asher had become all too aware of the dark obsessions that some people had.

  Obsessions that left them fixated on their victims. Desperate to see them, to touch them. To have them. At any cost.

  “I do worry about it,” she said, her words hard. “And I’m sorry. It’s not fair to have your life broadcast for everyone, just because you’re helping me.”

  He stepped toward her. Lifted his hand. Made himself stop. The urge to touch her was always too strong. What was up with that? “You don’t have to be sorry. Trust me, I want to be doing this job.” He wanted to help her. “Now let’s get back to town. We’ll get our gear, check in with the deputy, and then do more recon work out here tonight.”

  She nodded, but still seemed to hesitate.

  “Bailey?”

  Her gaze was on the graveled road that led to the small parking lot. The reporter was long gone. But Asher was sure the guy would be back. Parasites like him never gave up easily.

  “Bailey?” He kept his voice low, easy. “Are you all right?”

  She glanced back at him, and her brilliant green stare was like a punch straight to his gut. Seriously, her eyes should come with some kind of warning label because when he looked into them . . .

  “You’re doing more for me than you have to do.”

  He shook his head, not understanding.

  But Bailey gave that little laugh he rather loved and said, “You are. I think we both know that getting your life exposed to some reporter is going above and beyond the call of duty.”

  He eased closer to her. The woman was freaking pulling him in like some kind of magnet. Every word, every whisper—she had no clue what she was doing.

  Professional. Keep it—

  “Do you go so far for every client that you have?”

  He cleared his throat and made sure to keep his hands at his sides. Not touching her. “LOST gives all for our clients. If we take a case, we’re in until the end.” That was Gabe’s philosophy. During his training period at LOST, Asher had come to understand just how dedicated the group was to finding the missing. Cops, the FBI—everyone else had given up on the missing who found their way onto LOST’s radar.

  Someone had to believe there was hope those missing would be found.

  “Oh,” Bailey whispered. And the lady almost sounded . . . what? Disappointed?

  He cocked his head to the side.

  “It’s good that you give every client so much attention,” she murmured, but she wasn’t looking him directly in the eyes, not any longer.

  She turned toward her car.

  “Bullshit.”

  Bailey threw a questioning glance over his shoulder.

  “I’m bullshitting you.” So he’d bare this truth for her. “You’re different.”

  Her lips parted. Those gorgeous lips that he should not be staring at so hard. “I’m sorry,” Asher muttered. And he was sorry. “You didn’t ask for this but . . . there is something about you. It makes me want to do more for you. Makes me want to do anything to chase those shadows from your eyes.”

  He heard her sharply indrawn breath. Hell, they were alone now so he might as well lay all the cards on the table. Maybe he should call someone else in to work with her. Maybe Ana . . . “I want you.”

  Shock washed over her face. “What?”

  “Yeah, fuck, I’m sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair and paced away from her. His movements were quick and jerky and he was making a serious clusterfuck of this situation. He just wasn’t used to dealing with a woman like her. And he sure wasn’t used to looking at a woman and just—wanting. Wanting so badly that he was losing his cool and his control was cracking more minute by minute. “But I . . . hell, I thought you should know.”

  “Know that . . . you want me.” She was definitely sounding dazed. Shocked. But not furious, so that was something. But maybe the fury was about to come.

  “Yes,” he gritted out and he waited for her to erupt. To call him an asshole. To tell him that she was not paying LOST so that some jerk like him would lust after her.

  But she didn’t. She just kept staring at him in surprise, her eyes wide.

  “I’m sure every man you meet wants you.” How could they not?

  She closed her mouth. Looked away. “I wouldn’t know. I—I haven’t exactly been looking for a lover.”

  I said the wrong thing. Did the wrong thing. Shit. After all she’d been through, of course, she didn’t want this—me. “I won’t do anything,” he told her, voice grating. “I’m not going to pressure you for anything. Look, I know I overstepped. I just—I needed to tell you—”

  “Why won’t you do anything?”

  Now his mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Is it because of what happened to me?” Now anger flashed across her face. “Because I’m some victim? Too delicate to handle a lover?”

  “What? Shit, no. That’s not it at all.” She’d just said she hadn’t been looking—

  “Then what is it?”

  Okay, now he didn’t know what was happening. “You aren’t telling me to go to hell.”

  She blew out a hard breath. “Good of you to notice.”

  His lips almost twitched at that.

  “Why won’t you do anything?” Bailey asked him again.

  Holy fuck . . . “You want me to do something?” Now he was moving even closer to her. He couldn’t help it—his hand lifted and curled around her cheek. Her skin was so incredibly soft.

  “I—” She broke off. “Maybe.”

  Okay, that wasn’t the resounding I want you that he’d suddenly—probably foolishly—wished to hear.

  “I haven’t been with a lover since before the abduction.”

  Every muscle in his body stiffened.

  “I haven’t wanted to be,” she continued and her cheeks flushed.

  She was baring her soul to him. And he couldn’t move.

  “But then I met you,” Bailey continued in that sexy voice that made his control quake. “And I started to . . . feel again. To want. To wonder . . . what it would be like, to be with you.” She shook her head. “Is it wrong?”

  Nothing would be wrong between them. He’d decided it. Right then. Right there.

  “I’m not damaged,” Bailey said.

  “Hell, no, you’re not.”

  “No matter what he said,” she murmured.

  “What dumbass said that?” He would happily beat the hell out of the fool.

  But her gaze cut away from his.

  His fingers lightly caressed her cheek. “You are not damaged. To be clear, you’re the sexiest woman that I’ve ever met.”

  Her lips trembled. He wanted those lips, under his.

  Wrong place. Wrong time.

  “I wanted you to know how I felt,” he continued, “because if you didn’t want to work with me, I can get another LOST agent out here.”

  Now her gaze flew back to his. “I don’t want anyone else.”

  Oh, baby, but those words are music to my fucking ears. Now, if only she’d meant that in the way his overactive body took it.

  “I want you . . . on the case.”

  Right. Case. Check.

  “And . . .” Her hands suddenly rose and pressed against the front of his shirt. “I don’t know if I can do anything else. If I can even want . . .”

  He waited, but she didn’t say more.

  If I can even want . . . He needed to back the hell off, right now. It had only been six months since her attack. She probably needed far more time. Far more care. He was a blundering ba
stard and—

  “May I kiss you, Asher?”

  You can do anything you want to me. “Yes.”

  Her cheeks had flushed. She inched closer to him. Her hands lifted, and he saw that her fingers were shaking. He wanted to take those fingers in his and hold them tightly, but he didn’t want to scare her. This was her moment. No, her test. He realized exactly what it was.

  She’d kiss him, and maybe nothing would happen for her. Maybe she’d back away. Tell him to stick to business.

  And if that happened . . . I will.

  This was for her. Her body brushed against his as Bailey leaned up on her tiptoes. Her shaking fingers curled around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

  She hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” he told her gruffly. “You don’t have to—”

  She kissed him. Softly. Lightly. Quickly. A fast kiss, then she pulled back. She stared up at him, eyes wide, and her expression stark.

  “Sweetheart . . .” he began, feeling his chest ache.

  And she kissed him again. Not so fast. Her lips lingered on his. Caressed. Explored. He let her lead the kiss, every step of the way. He’d hated the fear he’d seen flash in her eyes.

  If Bailey needed to find out if she could want a man again . . .

  Use me, baby. Use me as long as you want.

  As she kissed him, a shiver seemed to skate over Bailey and her lips parted. Her tongue snaked out, touched his mouth, sent the desire he felt for her raging even hotter within him.

  His cock was hard, desire beat in his blood, but he kept his hands at his sides. His hands fisted as she explored his mouth. As the need built for him. And for her. I hope it’s building for her.

  Want me. Come on, baby. Want me as much as I want you.

  Then he felt the light bite of her nails on him. Her body pressed more to his. And Bailey gave a low moan in her throat.

  In that moment, he fought the urge to take the kiss further. To plunder with his mouth.

  Her lips moved lightly against his. The soft stroke of her tongue had his cock jerking against his fly. But this moment wasn’t about him. There was no doubt that he wanted her.

  No fucking doubt at all.

  Slowly, Bailey pulled back. Her lips were red and swollen.