by Nicole Helm
He was fascinating and kind. She missed kindness. In a way she hadn’t been able to articulate in the past eight years. The other kidnapped girls were mostly nice. Alyssa was a little hard, but Gabby had spent many a night holding Jasmine or Tabitha as they cried. She had reassured them they wouldn’t be hurt and hoped she wasn’t lying. She had given them all kindness and compassion, but there was something about being the first—the older member, so to speak—that meant none of the girls offered the same to her.
Gabby was the mother figure. The martyr to them. Everyone thought she was strong and fine and somehow surviving this. But she wasn’t. She was broken.
Jaime saw the victim in her, though. It should be awful, demoralizing, and yet it was the most comforted she’d felt in eight years.
But it would weaken her. It was weakening her. There was this war in her brain and her heart whether that weakening mattered.
Maybe she should be weak. Maybe she should lean completely on this strange angel of a man and let him take care of everything. If it all worked out in the end and The Stallion was brought down, and she was free—
She wasn’t going to go that far. She’d save thinking about freedom for after.
So she sat at the kitchen table with Jasmine, Tabitha and Alyssa eating breakfast and wondering what Jaime would be up to this morning. Would he be as exhausted as she was? Would he be thinking of her?
Foolish girl. But it nearly made her smile—to feel foolish and stupid. It was somehow a comfort to know she could be something normal. Stupid felt deliciously normal.
At Jasmine’s sharply inhaled gasp, Gabby glanced up from her microwaved oatmeal. All the girls were looking wide-eyed at the entrance to the hallway.
Jaime stood there in his dedicated black, weapons strapped against his chest. Those sunglasses on his face. Gabby wondered if there was a purpose to always wearing them. So no one could see the kindness in his eyes. Because even in the dark she had to think that kindness would radiate off a man like him.
Since the girls seemed scared into silence, she nodded toward him. “Rodriguez.”
“You know him?” Jasmine squeaked under her breath.
“He’s The Stallion’s new right-hand man.” She looked back at Jaime and tried to work on the sarcastic sneer she sent most of the guards. “Right?”
Jaime’s lips quirked and she could almost believe it was in pride, but she saw the disgust lingering underneath it.
Was she the only one who saw that? Based on the way Jasmine scooted closer to her, as though Gabby could protect her from the man, Gabby wondered.
“Senorita.”
It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at him and smile at that exaggerated accent.
“You’re wanted privately, Gabriella,” he said with enough menace she should have been scared. She didn’t think the little fissure of nerves that went through her was fear.
“But, please, finish your desayuno. I am nothing if not gracious with my time.”
Gabby began to push her chair back, the crappy packet oatmeal completely forgotten. But Jasmine’s fingers curled around her arm and held on tight.
“Don’t go, Gabby. Fight.”
Gabby looked down at Jasmine, surprised that none of the women seemed to see the lack of threat underneath Jaime’s act. But then, they didn’t know what she knew. Maybe that made all the difference.
“It’s all right. When have I ever not been able to handle myself?” She smiled reassuringly at... Sometimes she thought of the girls as her friends. Sometimes as her charges. And sometimes simply people she didn’t really know. She didn’t know what she felt today. But she patted Jasmine’s arm before peeling the woman’s fingers off her wrist. “I’ll be back for lunch.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, senorita.”
She shot Jaime a glare she didn’t have to fake. He didn’t have to make these women more scared. They already did that themselves.
She walked over to where Jaime stood in the entrance to the hallway. He made a grand gesture with his arm. “After you, Gabriella.”
Again she had to fight to mask her face from amusement. He should go into acting once this was all over. The stage where his over-the-top antics might be appreciated.
As she began to walk down the corridor to her room, Jaime’s hand clamped on her shoulder. Hot and hard and tight. She didn’t have to feign the shiver or the wild worry that shot through her.
It wasn’t comfortable that he could turn himself on and off so easily. It wasn’t comfortable that, though she was intrigued by the man and convinced of his kindness, she didn’t know him at all. Anything he’d told her so far could be lies.
When he acted like this other man, she could remember she shouldn’t trust him. She couldn’t believe everything he said. He could be as big a liar as The Stallion, and just as dangerous.
But they walked to her room with his hand clamped on her shoulder and somehow in the short walk it became something of a comfort. A calming presence of strength. She missed someone else having strength. True courage. Not the strength The Stallion or his guards exerted. Not that physical, brute force.
No, Jaime was full of certainty. Confidence. He was full of righteous goodness and she wanted to follow that anywhere it would lead.
She wanted to believe in righteous goodness again. That it was possible. That it could save her.
And what will happen after you’re saved?
Jaime closed the door behind them, taking off his sunglasses and sliding them into his pocket. Immediately his entire demeanor changed. How did he do it? She opened her mouth to ask him but he seemed suddenly rushed.
“We don’t have much time. There’s a meeting in ten minutes and Layne will be sent to fetch me. I need...when he comes...”
She cocked her head because he didn’t finish his sentence. He studied her and then he swallowed, almost nervously. “I’ll have to, uh, do what I did the other day.”
“The other day?”
“I’ll try not to rip your shirt, but I’m going to need to...er, well, grab you.”
“Oh.” She let out a shaky breath, the white-hot fear of that moment revisiting her briefly. “Right. Well, okay. But, uh, you know, not ripping my clothes would be preferred, if only because I don’t have many.”
His lips almost curved, but mostly something heavily weighted his mouth and him. She supposed he could play the part of Rodriguez easily enough in front of whoever walked through, but demonstrating the physical force expected of him? No. She couldn’t imagine Jaime ever getting comfortable with that.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was making everything up. Maybe he enjoyed scaring women and she was stupidly coping by turning him into a hero.
If a hero hadn’t saved her in the past eight years, why would she think one would now?
“What do you know about his schedule? You said something about him staying certain times in certain places. Is he usually here, at this location, at this time?”
Gabby filtered through her memories. The ways she used to count days. Her many theories about The Stallion’s yearly travel.
“Yes. He’d usually be here, but getting ready to leave.” She tried to work out the days that would be left, but she’d stopped paying such close attention to the days and—
The thought hit her abruptly—a sharp blow to the chest as she met his intense brown gaze. “You know what day it is.” She’d meant that to be a question, not the shaky accusation it had turned into.
He blinked down at her. Something in his face softened and then shuttered blank. “August 23, 2017.”
She did the math in her head, trying to get through the shaky feeling of knowing what day it was. What actual day. For so long she’d known, but in the past two years she’d let it slide to seasons at most.
It was 2
017. She’d been here for the entirety of the 2010s.
“Gabby.” He touched her shoulder again, not the hard clamp of a guiding hand but a gentle laying of his palm to the slope of her arm. It was weird not to flinch. Weird not to want to. She wanted to lean into the strong presence. To the way he seemed to have everything under control...even when he didn’t.
“August twenty-third. I would say usually he leaves for the southern compound on the twenty-sixth. I think. Around there. Never quite at the end of the month, but close.”
Jaime smiled down at her, clearly pleased with the information.
When was the last time she’d seen a smile that wasn’t sarcastic? When had anyone tried to smile at her reassuringly in eight long years? It hadn’t happened.
She quashed the emotional upheaval inside her. Or, at least, she tried. It must’ve showed on her face, though, because he moved his hand up to her cheek, a rough, calloused warmth against her skin.
She knew he wanted to fix this for her. To promise her safety. But she didn’t want to hear it. Promises... No, she wanted nothing to do with those.
* * *
JAIME WAS LOSING track of time and it wouldn’t do. But she looked so sad. So completely overwhelmed by the weight of her existence here. He wanted to do something, anything, to comfort her. To take the tears in her eyes away, to take the despair on her face and stamp it out. He wanted to promise her safety and hope and a new life.
But he could promise none of those things. This was dangerous business, and they could easily end up dead. Both of them.
No matter that he would do everything in his power to not let that happen, it didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. It would be worse to promise something he couldn’t deliver than to fail his mission.
“That means we’ll have to wait about three more days. If he has me stay here while he goes to the southern compound, it gives me the opportunity to get this new information to my superiors. If he wants me to go with him, then I’ll know where it is. Either way, we win.”
“We may win the battle but not the war,” she stated simply, resolutely. He wondered if she was just a little too afraid of getting hopes up herself.
He brushed his thumb down her cheek, even though it was the last thing he should’ve done. But though she was probably more gaunt than she would have been had she been living her actual life, though she was pale when the rich olive of her complexion should be sun-kissed, she was soft. And something special.
Her eyebrows drew together, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the door and she mouthed something to him, but he couldn’t catch what it was. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close, her big brown eyes wide but determined. She mouthed the words again and this time he thought he caught them.
The door. Someone was at the door. Behind the door. That meant there was only one thing he could do. He choked back his complicated emotions and dropped his mouth to her ear.
“I’m going to kiss you. It won’t be nice. The minute the door opens, shove me away with everything you’ve got. Understand?”
Her eyes were still wide, her hands on his shoulders. As if she trusted him.
She gave a nod and all he could do was say a little prayer that this would not be...complicated. But if someone was listening at the door, he had to prove he was Rodriguez and nothing more. That meant not being nice. That meant taking what he wanted whether it was what she wanted. And then, somehow, not getting lost in that. Humanity. His calling card. To keep his humanity.
But first... First he had to be Rodriguez. That meant he could not gently lower his mouth to hers. He had to take. He had to plunder.
And he had to stop talking to himself about it and do it.
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him roughly. It was both regret and something far darker he didn’t want to analyze that twined through him. He crushed his mouth to hers if only to stop his brain from moving in this hideous circle.
He focused on the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be nice or easy. It was supposed to scare and intimidate. If she trembled, he was only doing his job. He was proving to everyone that he was Rodriguez—awful and mean, a broken excuse for a human being.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth and tried not to commit her taste to memory. But when was the last time he’d tasted a woman? Sweet and hot. Uncertain, and yet, brave with it. She let his tongue explore her mouth and she did not fight him.
He scraped his teeth along her plump bottom lip and fought to remember who he really was. Not this man, but a man with a badge. A protector. A believer in law and order.
Gabby’s fingers tensed on his shoulders and then relaxed. She did something that felt like a sigh against his mouth, and then he was being pushed violently back and away from sweet perfection.
He allowed himself two steps from the shove before stopping. He did everything to ignore the way his body trembled. Ignored the desperate erection pressing against his jeans. Ignored the inappropriate desire running through his blood. It was wrong and it was cruel but surely his body’s natural reaction to that sort of thing after such a long absence.
Or so he told himself.
He didn’t look at Gabby because it would surely unman him completely. Instead he turned to face the interruption with a sneer on his mouth.
Layne didn’t need to know the hatred in his expression was for himself, not the interruption.
“You have the worst timing, amigo,” he said, trying to eradicate the affectedness from his voice. “I grow weary of it.”
Layne snorted. “You knew I was coming to fetch you at one. And here you are, yet again, clothed and being pushed around by a woman. Starting to question your strength, Rodriguez.”
“Question all you want. Then test me. I’d love you to.”
Layne merely crossed his hands over his chest. “Boss wants us now.”
“Sí.” Jaime strode to the door, making sure never to look back at Gabby. The only reason Jaime paused in the hallway instead of going straight to The Stallion was to ensure Layne left Gabby’s room without saying a damn thing. Because if that man said something to her...
Jaime balled his hands into fists. He had to get his temper under control. He wasn’t pissed off at Layne. The man had done exactly what he was supposed to.
Jaime was pissed at himself.
Much like the afternoon before, Jaime let Layne lead him down the hall and outside. When they entered the shed this time, The Stallion’s demeanor was calm rather than the unhinged anger of yesterday. He was sitting at his desk all but smiling.
“You’re late. I suggest you get that kind of impulse under control. I demand timeliness in all things, gentlemen.”
“Sí, senor.”
“Now that that’s been taken care of, we have our next target.”
“The hypnotist?” Wallace asked from the corner.
“Yes, but not just her. A Texas Ranger has taken it upon himself to protect this young woman. I sent two men to follow them and to bring her to me.” The Stallion reclined in his chair, his smile widening.
“What about the Ranger?” Jaime asked.
“He’s of no use to us. I want her,” The Stallion said with a sneer. “I hate when law enforcement try to get in my way. Bunch of useless pigs. We’ll get rid of him and take the girl. The girl is very important.” The Stallion’s empty blue eyes zeroed in on Jaime. “There is a message I want you to deliver to our Gabriella, Rodriguez.”
Jaime tried to maintain a blank expression, but it was hard with the addition of Gabby into the conversation. That should be a warning in it of itself that he was letting himself get too wrapped up in this whole thing.
“The hypnotist has quite the interesting connection to our oldest guest.”
“Connection?” Jaime repeated, hoping he
covered the demand with enough confusion in his tone to make The Stallion think it was a language barrier issue.
“Natalie Torres is our hypnotist. Whatever Herman told her and this Ranger, I want to know it. But more, I want the girl.” The Stallion turned his computer screen to face Layne and Jaime. “The resemblance. Do you see it?”
Jaime schooled himself into complete indifference. “Sí.” The woman in the picture was more slight of build than Gabby and she had a softer chin and a sharper nose. But she had the same mass of curly black hair. The same big brown eyes.
“Tell our Gabriella her sister will be joining us soon. Make sure you mention how close she was to being the perfect woman. Perhaps her sister will fit the role she could not.” The Stallion leaned back in his chair, smiling a self-satisfied smirk.
Jaime tried to match it, afraid it only looked like a scowl. But if he failed, The Stallion was too happy with himself to notice.
Chapter Seven
Gabby knew it was beyond foolish to wait in the dark and hope Jaime would come to her again. She’d answered the questions he’d needed answered and he probably had henchman things to do.
Besides, she didn’t really want to see him. Not after that kiss, which was hardly fair to call a kiss since it wasn’t real. Like her life. It was a shallow approximation of something else. No matter how his mouth on hers had rioted through her like some sort of miracle.
She was clearly delirious or crazy. Maybe it was some sort of rescue-fantasy type thing that all kidnap victims succumbed to. She didn’t know, and it wouldn’t matter. Because it had all been fake. It had been a show.
Layne was... Gabby didn’t know if “suspicious” was the right word, but he clearly didn’t like Jaime and that was going to be dangerous. Because he would be watching him and making sure that whatever moves he made matched up with the man he was supposed to be. Making enemies as an undercover agent had to be incredibly dangerous and Layne was clearly Jaime’s enemy.
Maybe she should think up something that could help Jaime in that regard. Surely there had to be something she’d witnessed or put together that would make all of this moot. Something he could tell his superiors that would make sure they felt like they had enough to prosecute.