Beyond Control

by Kat Martin

  Wickham moistened his dry lips. “Not much else to say. Bridger wanted more photos.” He glanced down at the camera. “Looks like that isn’t going to happen now.”

  “You tell him where we were staying?”

  “I just found out when you pulled in.”

  “So not yet.”

  “No.”

  Josh let him go. He glanced at Tory. Wickham might not have told Bridger the name of their hotel, but he’d told the guy enough to find her in Texas. When she looked up at him, he read the resignation in her face.

  “You aren’t going to run,” he said. “This is ending. Now.”

  “Josh . . .”

  He turned back to the PI. “Get out of here, Wickham. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you. Got it?”

  The detective blanched. “Yeah, I got it. What about my camera?”

  Josh leaned down and picked it up. He pulled out the memory card and handed the camera to Wickham. “I don’t want to see you back here again.”

  The investigator rubbed his wrist. “Don’t worry, I won’t be back.”

  * * *

  Josh walked Tory up to the room. As soon as the door closed, he pulled out his cell phone and brought up his contacts list.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “A friend. Guy named Hamilton Brown. I’ve got something I need to do, and I don’t want to leave you here alone. Not with Bridger trying to track you.”

  “Josh, we need to talk about this. Now that Damon knows about us, he knows where to find me. I need to get back to Texas, get Ivy, and leave.”

  On the other end of the line, the phone was ringing. “You aren’t running this time, Tory. You’re staying in Texas. We’re going to end this.”

  Ham picked up the phone. “Hey, Superman, that you?”

  “It’s me, Ham.” He was glad she hadn’t heard the name he’d been tagged with in the military. No way was he letting her know. “Listen, I’m in Phoenix and I need a favor.”

  “Name it, man. I owe you my life. Ain’t nothin’ you can ask I won’t do.”

  “I was just doing my job, same as you.”

  “My wife thanks you anyway. Tell me what you need.”

  Josh glanced over at Tory, turned his attention to the man on the other end of the phone. “I need you to look out for a friend of mine while I run an errand. She’s got a stalker, guy named Damon Bridger. Bridger’s bad news, Ham.”

  “Guys like that are my meat and potatoes. What can I do?”

  “I don’t think Bridger knows where Tory is at the moment, but he hired a PI, guy named Floyd Wickham, to follow us. He tracked us to our hotel. If Wickham’s stupid enough to call him, Bridger might come after Tory. I don’t want to leave her alone.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Marriott Courtyard in Scottsdale near the hospital. Room 221.”

  “If the traffic gods are with me, I’m twenty minutes away.”

  “I’ll see you soon.” Josh ended the call and went into the other room.

  He pulled his duffel out of the closet and collected the gear he would need. Opening the room safe, he took out the Beretta nine mil he had brought with him from Texas, not a problem since they were flying private and his concealed carry permit was reciprocal in Arizona.

  As he clipped the holster onto his belt and pulled his T-shirt over it, Tory walked into the room.

  “What’s going on, Josh? I’ve got a right to know.”

  “I told you. I’ve got an errand to run. The friend I called is Hamilton Jackson Brown. We served together in Afghanistan a couple of years back. He was wounded in action, left the marines. We stayed in touch through that wounded vets group I support. Ham works for a company called Maximum Security. They’ve got a branch in Dallas. I trust Ham to keep you safe.”

  “He’s a bodyguard?”

  “That’s right. I’ll just be gone for a couple of hours. With Ham here, I know you’ll be okay.”

  “Where are you going, Josh?”

  “Probably better if you don’t know in case something goes wrong.”

  “Tell me you aren’t going after Damon. Please tell me that.”

  “All right, I’m not going after Damon.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  He leaned down and kissed her. “Because you’re a very smart lady.”

  “Josh, you can’t—”

  A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Josh walked over and pulled open the door and a big, beefy African-American walked into the hotel room, making it suddenly seem too small.

  Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with an old-fashioned iron manacle on the front, the Maximum Security logo, Ham was about the same height as Josh, around six-three, but heavier, with a barrel chest and bulging biceps. He was handsome until he turned sideways, revealing the terrible burn scars that covered half his face.

  Josh clasped his hand, leaned in, and gripped his shoulder, bumping the holster Ham was wearing. “Ham, meet Victoria Bradford. Tory, my good friend, Hamilton Brown.”

  Tory stuck out her hand and Ham’s big palm engulfed it. If she noticed the scars on his face, she didn’t react. “Nice to meet you, Ham.”

  “You, too, Tory.”

  Josh walked over and pulled open the door to the adjoining room. “This’ll give you a little more space. There’s snacks and water in the fridge in there. You can watch TV or something. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

  “Not a problem. Take all the time you need.”

  Josh walked back to Tory. “Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  He bent his head and kissed her, turned around, and strode out of the hotel room.

  Resigned to the situation, Tory went over to her suitcase and unzipped the outside pocket, reached in, and pulled out a deck of cards. She turned to the big man standing in the doorway between the two rooms and held up the deck.

  “Sports on TV in there or a game of poker in here?”

  One of Ham’s thick black eyebrows went up. “Poker? You play poker?”

  She wiggled the deck. “Three Card Stud or Texas Hold ’Em?”

  Ham shoved away from the door and flashed a wide white grin. “Texas Hold ’Em.” Rubbing his big hands together, he sat down at the round table in front of the window.

  Tory grabbed the baggie of toothpicks she had taken off the plane and joined him. They cut the cards, Ham drawing the king of hearts, winning the deal. Tory did her best to keep her mind on the game and not think of Josh and what might be happening.

  But it wasn’t that easy to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Plugging Bridger’s address into the GPS that came with the rented Jeep, Josh headed for North Scottsdale. Driving out Thompson Peak Parkway toward McDowell Mountain, he turned into an area of expensive Spanish-style townhomes.

  Bringing up Google Maps on his cell, he’d looked at the satellite map location of Bridger’s condo, could tell the residence wasn’t in a gated community.

  The luxury development sat at the base of a ridge of mountains covered with cactus and mesquite; the spectacular desert views drove up the prices of the homes, Josh figured, toward the million-dollar mark.

  He wondered if Tory missed the luxury lifestyle she had left behind with Bridger, had the odd thought that maybe he should go ahead and remodel his kitchen and bathrooms the way he had planned, then viciously shoved the notion away.

  He wasn’t looking for a future with Tory. He was far from ready for anything that resembled settling down.

  He drove past the address, a ranch-style rose-beige structure with a red tile roof on a sandy lot landscaped with barrel cactus and wispy mesquite trees. A waning moon lent a shadowy purple glow to the distant rugged mountains.

  A light burned inside the house, he saw as he drove past, continuing along the winding streets, then circling back around and stopping down the block.

  He turned off the engine and sat there watching, assessing his su
rroundings, looking for any sign of trouble, best ingress and egress, multiple avenues of escape. After his years in the military, these things came as naturally as breathing.

  A lady walked her tiny white poodle along the path beside the road, up the walkway to her front door. She unlocked the door and disappeared inside. A teenager on a bicycle zoomed past, the neon soles of his sneakers lit by some internal light as he pumped furiously, propelling himself around the corner out of sight.

  Since he didn’t need a gun to deal with a worm like Damon, Josh left his pistol in the glove box, popped the bulb out of the overhead light, and cracked open the door. Stepping out of the Jeep, he quietly closed and locked the vehicle.

  The street was quiet, just the sound of the wind through the drooping mesquite branches. Josh skirted the residence, looking for cameras and alarms. Through the window of the garage, he spotted a high-end ADT system, but it wasn’t that late so it hadn’t yet been turned on. No security cameras in sight.

  He crossed the sand to the patio and reached the back door. Pulling a set of lock picks out of his pocket, he inserted, twisted, and opened the lock, used the hem of his T-shirt to turn the knob so he wouldn’t leave prints.

  Checking to be sure no one was around, he stepped inside the house. Voices came from the family room. The big flat-screen TV was on, no other light in the room.

  Moving in that direction, Josh recognized Damon Bridger from his Facebook profile—black hair neatly cut and styled, wide, muscular shoulders. Lounging in a brown leather chair that matched the sofa, he was watching Game of Thrones while he talked on his cell phone.

  From the overworked lines he was tossing out, Josh figured it was a woman and felt a sweep of pity for any female who ended up in Bridger’s path.

  “Thanks, Melanie. You’re a doll. We’ll make it next Saturday for sure.” The call ended and Josh moved closer, coming quietly up behind the chair. He looped an arm around Damon’s neck and started to squeeze, holding him immobile.

  Bridger thrashed and tried to escape but it wasn’t going to happen. “Calm down before I hurt you. We’re just going to have a little chat.”

  Damon made a sound of outrage, tried to move again, and finally nodded. Josh eased his hold.

  “You want . . . want money? My wallet’s in the bedroom. There’s five hundred bucks in there. You want more, I can get it for you.”

  “Shut up, Damon. I don’t want your money.” Josh turned him loose, rounded the chair, and stood in front of him. Damon shot to his feet, but Josh shoved him back down.

  “You know who I am?” Josh asked, certain the PI had sent him a picture.

  Bridger looked him over, clearly recognized him. “You’re Cain. Hot shit ex-marine sniper.”

  “There’s no such thing as an ex-marine, Damon. Be smart if you remembered that.”

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  “I think you know what I want. I want you to leave Victoria Bradford alone.”

  Bridger’s mouth thinned. He was a good-looking guy, dark-eyed, well-built from what Josh could tell by the fit of his T-shirt and jeans, and in good physical condition.

  “Tory’s under my protection,” Josh continued. “You know what that means?”

  “That means you’re the guy who’s banging her. She tell you we’re engaged? Tory’s mine. No one is going to change that.”

  “Bullshit. Tory stopped being yours the day you started abusing her. You put her in the hospital, Damon. She’s done with you. It’s way past time you figured that out.”

  Damon made no reply.

  “I’m giving you a warning. I won’t do it again. You come near Tory and you’ll be dealing with me. You know I was a sniper. I killed more men than I want to recall. But killing a dickhead like you wouldn’t bother my conscience a lick.”

  As he turned and started for the door, Damon shot out of the chair, grabbed Josh’s shoulder, and spun him around. He swung a left Josh ducked, swung a solid right that clipped his jaw and sent a jolt right through him. The guy could throw a punch, no question about that.

  Josh dodged another left jab and swung back, his fist connecting, slamming into Damon’s face, sending him flying backward till he crashed against the wall.

  “Get up,” Josh said. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to beat the fuck out of you.”

  Damon stayed where he was. He might be strong and in shape, but he wanted no part of taking a punch.

  “Get out of my house. Get out before I call the police.”

  “Just remember what I said. Stay away from Tory. This is the last warning you’re going to get.” Turning, he strode out of the family room. Behind him, he heard something shatter against the wall.

  Josh turned and walked back. “Did you do it? The girl? Lisa Shane? Was it you?”

  “Get the fuck out now!”

  Summoning his self-control, Josh strode out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. His blood was running hot. He wanted to go back inside and give Bridger the beating he deserved. He wanted to tear the dirtbag apart limb by limb.

  Trouble was he could actually do it. He had the training, the skills. Since he was done with killing, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Not unless Bridger came after Tory again.

  If he did, Josh intended to keep his word.

  * * *

  Tory finally managed to fall asleep. She and Ham had been playing cards for what seemed hours but actually wasn’t that long when Josh finally called Ham and told him everything was okay. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to come back to the room because he asked if Ham could stay a little longer.

  Tory kept worrying.

  It was late, the end of another exhausting day at the hospital. When Ham suggested she get some sleep while he went into the adjoining room and watched sports on ESPN, she agreed.

  It took a while, but eventually she fell into a bottomless slumber. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she felt the mattress dip, recognized Josh’s familiar weight as he settled in the bed beside her.

  “Everything’s okay,” he said, curving his naked frame around hers spoon-fashion. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

  She started to protest, to press him for more, but the feel of his warm mouth against the nape of her neck and the hard ridge cradled against her convinced her to wait.

  “I need you,” Josh said, nibbling an earlobe as he cupped and massaged a breast. “I need to be inside you.”

  There was something in the way he said it, something that pulled at her, told her this was important. She gave herself up to him, let him work his magic. Her nightgown slid up to her waist. His hand smoothed over her bottom as he reached around to touch her, tease and torture and drive her insane.

  Her body began to move of its own volition, silently begging for more. Still nestled against her, her back to his front, Josh slid deep inside, then came up off the bed, taking her with him so she was on her hands and knees and he was behind her. God, he felt so good, fit her so perfectly.

  His hard body cocooned her, his hands smoothed over her hot damp skin. Gripping her hips to hold her in place, he began to move, slowly at first, then faster, deeper, harder. Pleasure rolled through her, hot and intense. Need coiled low in her belly. Her mouth went dry while her body flushed with heat.

  Deep thrusts carried her higher. She moaned and started coming, gave in to the hot, thick ripples of sensation that blotted everything but the hunger burning through her.

  Josh didn’t let up, just kept driving into her until she came again, so fiercely she cried out his name. Seconds later, he followed, his muscles taut as he reached his own release.

  Little by little, the pleasure slowly spun out. Josh eased her back down on the bed and snuggled her against him. No condom tonight. They had talked about it. She was on birth control. She hadn’t been with a man since she’d left the hospital after the beating, and Josh had been checked. Being so natural with him felt incredible.

  She had always wanted an
other baby, imagined a little boy who looked just like Josh. Ivy would love a little brother. Tory pushed the image away. They were nowhere near that kind of thinking. There was no reason to believe they ever would be.

  Josh moved her curls aside and pressed a last soft kiss on the side of her neck. He snuggled her a few minutes, then gave in with a sigh, eased out of bed, and left her alone in the bed.

  She was in deep trouble with this man. She should have learned her lesson with Damon, should be holding back, keeping her emotions in check until she could be certain he was the man he seemed.

  But there was something about Josh Cain, a combination of incredible strength tempered with a hint of vulnerability that drew her as no man ever had.

  She wished he had told her what had happened with Damon, but he was already asleep in the other room. She could hear his deep breathing through the open door; clearly, he was as tired as she. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out what had happened, she told herself.

  But tomorrow came sooner than she expected when her sleep was disturbed by a determined pounding on the hotel room door. Tory had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good news.

  * * *

  While Tory slept in the other room, Josh rose and showered. He’d just dried off when he heard knocking outside the door to the other room. He had a bad feeling he knew who it was.

  Cursing, he pulled on just his jeans and hurried into Tory’s room, saw her grab her robe off the chair and pull it on.

  “Scottsdale Police! Open the door!”

  Sonofabitch. He’d known this could happen. He wasn’t a fool. He’d hoped Damon would have the balls to keep his mouth shut, keep the conversation between the two of them. He should have known it was too much to expect from a slimeball woman-beater like Bridger.

  He checked the peephole, saw uniformed officers, took a deep breath, stepped back, and pulled open the door.

  “We’re looking for Joshua Cain. That you?”

  “That’s me.”

  “We’ve got a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Cain. You’ll need to come with us.”

  Josh held up his hands, showing them he wasn’t a danger, which wasn’t actually true, but still . . . “I won’t give you any trouble, but I need to make a call first. The guy who’s pressing charges? The lady had a restraining order against him. There’s a chance he’ll come after her. I need to phone a friend of mine, a bodyguard. He’ll make sure she’s safe while I’m gone.”