If she wanted to believe he could just leave her to her fate, so be it. He’d find some way to keep her safe without surrendering her to WITSEC and even without her knowing, if need be.
“The only place I’m going right now,” he whispered, “is to heaven and back—with you.”
Slipping a hand between their joined bodies, he teased the pulsing center of her pleasure to spur her toward release.
“Drake.” She raked her nails into his back, arching toward his touch. “Oh, yes!”
“I know, Sky.” Hanging on to his self-control, he urged her to orgasm. “I’m right here with you. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
With a cry, she climaxed, sobbing into the crook of his neck. In the next moment, as her muscles milked him, he joined her, giving in to the overwhelming fervor of their passion. He drove into her warmth, feeling for the first time in four years as though he were finally complete, at peace.
With his breath still gusting, Drake cracked his eyes to find fresh tears on her face. His heart gave a throb of despair that their time was running out.
“That’s just the first time,” he promised, feeling himself stir again. “It isn’t over yet.”
Her eyes swept open. “It was perfect.” Tears of repletion rimmed her eyelids. “Just like I remembered.”
Warmth spread through Drake’s body. God, I love her. If she thought he’d let WITSEC anywhere close to her again after they’d failed so miserably to protect her, she could think again. He had friends who could do a better job than the program.
Not only was his sister married to a Navy SEAL, but Skyler herself had nephews whose mother, Ellie, had fretted over Skyler’s circumstances for years now, and she was also married to a Navy SEAL. Between Lucy’s husband, Gus, and Ellie’s Sean, one of them surely knew a warrior willing and able to keep Skyler hidden in some remote location until the rest of the Centurions frittered away or forgot about her.
Drake would look them up at the first opportunity. A surge of optimism lifted his spirits. He now felt like he and Sky had all the time in the world to make love.
Kissing her thoroughly, he gave himself another minute to recover. Like warm wax, she melted around him, pliant and willing and wanting him with such bottomless yearning that he swelled with renewed desire as he pumped inside her. They strained ever closer, mouths open and hungry, bodies taut and damp with sweat.
With every desperate plunge, Drake’s muscles clenched tighter. Urgency battled his desire to make the encounter last forever, to hold onto the magic and never let it end.
Glimpsing her flushed, wanton expression from beneath his heavy lashes, he took pride in his self-control. But then Skyler caught him staring. Their heavy-lidded gazes locked, and the mutual lust reflected in each other’s eyes was their undoing.
“Drake,” she cried as they spiraled toward orgasm together.
Like a falling meteor, they crashed into the atmosphere and exploded into flame. Lungs stripped of oxygen, his nerves singed but sated, Drake collapsed onto Skyler, with no strength left in his limbs whatsoever.
“My God,” she breathed her heart still pounding beneath his heaving chest.
Kissing her tenderly under her ear, he rolled them both onto their sides to protect her from his dead weight. The towel they had brought from the bathroom lay within arm’s reach. He dragged it over to wipe away the sticky moisture on her thighs. Tossing the towel onto the floor, he pulled the covers up over them.
Skyler cozied into the curve of his body, drew the pillow closer, and shut her eyes. “So tired,” she whispered. He watched the lines of exhaustion on her face slowly fade as she relaxed toward sleep. “I love you, Drake.”
“I love you, Sky.” His own eyes felt like they had sand in them. How long would Connor interrogate Jameson? Probably for hours. Maybe he had time to catch a few winks himself. That way, he’d wake up refreshed and clear-headed, ready to take action on Skyler’s behalf.
That was his last thought before his eyelids slammed shut.
A frightening dream jerked Skyler awake. For an awful second, she thought she was still on Jameson’s yacht, trapped in his smothering grip, a hair’s breadth from having her ear cut off.
But it was Drake’s handsome visage that filled her eyes as she turned her head toward the man holding her. His rumbling snore muted the frantic thud of her heart as she gazed at him, memorizing every angle of his face, the way his dark lashes fanned his strong cheekbones.
God, it hurt to love him the way she did! But it would hurt so much more to watch him give up everything for her sake.
Involving him at all had been a mistake.
She had to leave. To take responsibility for her own actions so that Drake would not be reprimanded because, God help her, she refused to ruin his life the way her own life had been ruined.
Lifting his arm off her hip, she eased away from him and rolled stealthily out of bed.
“Wher’re you goin’?” he protested.
“To the bathroom,” she lied. She stood over him, watching as he lapsed back into slumber, branding the image of his dark head upon the pillow into her memory.
Then she turned away, picked up her bag and purse, and went into the bathroom to dress. Her body and her mind felt equally numb. This was something she had to do, not something she wanted.
Stuffing her pajamas into her bag, she took one last look at her pale, tight-lipped reflection and turned off the light.
With stealth she had learned as a child to avoid her father’s notice, she let herself out of the motel room, closing the heavy door without a sound behind her. As she coursed the motel corridor, she marveled that just yesterday, she’d been cleaning guest rooms like the maids up ahead, working their way toward Drake’s Do Not Disturb sign. The past twenty-four hours felt like a week.
She left the motel via the side exit.
The instant she stepped outside into bright sunshine, vulnerability assailed her. What do I do now? Exactly what she ought to have done last night—head straight for the bus station and leave town.
Traffic whizzed by, disorienting her. All the restaurants, all the souvenir shops along this thoroughfare looked the same. Which way was the bus station? She took a wild guess and started up the sidewalk.
The sight of a police officer rolling up out of his cruiser half a block away broke her stride. At one time, Centurions had infiltrated every level in law enforcement, especially the local level. The officer appeared to be handing out parking tickets, but she couldn’t take the chance that he might recognize her.
Sure enough, he stopped scribbling on his clipboard to eye her intently.
Panicked, Skyler stepped off the curb between two parked cars and darted across the four-lane street. She had nearly made it to the other side when a car sped up, nearly plowing into her. She stepped back to avoid being hit, and it braked directly in her path. Startled by the close call, it took her a second to recognize the face of the furious driver behind his dark sunglasses as he lowered the window and demanded, “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Special Agent Higgins. What were the odds of running into him so suddenly?
“Get in the car,” he said, jerking his head toward the door behind him.
She glanced at the passenger in the seat beside him, stunned to recognize Connor Donovan. Drake’s father had obviously alerted the U.S. Marshals to her whereabouts. An awful sense of doom dropped over her as her gaze slid back to Higgins’ inscrutable expression.
“No.” She backed away, and a car horn blared in her ear, making her realize she was standing on the double yellow line in the center of a busy street.
“It’s okay,” Higgins was shouting. Connor Donovan climbed out of the passenger seat.
The light had turned green and cars were whizzing past her, forcing her to run past Connor in order to reach the safety of the sidewalk.
He proved to be faster than she was.
Caught up from behind, Skyler kicked and squirmed as he carried her back to the car. Pas
sersby regarded them like she’d lost her mind.
“It’s okay,” he kept saying. “It’s okay, Skyler. We’re on your side. None of this was supposed to happen. You’ll be safe now.”
Chapter Six
A brisk knock at the door startled Drake awake.
He sat straight up. The silence in the motel room turned the surface of his skin cold. “Sky?” He leapt out of bed heedless of his nakedness and peered into the dark bathroom on route to the door, his panic blooming.
She was gone. The brisk knocking came again. Snatching up a towel, he girded his hips and picked up his pistol.
“Who is it?” he demanded, edging toward the door.
“Your father. Open up.”
Impossible. How had his father found him when he had no cell phone that could be traced, unless… He hauled the door open and saw that his guess was right.
Skyler stood in the hallway, dressed in clothes he’d never seen and sandwiched between Connor and a man whose attire screamed U.S. Marshal—black suit, white shirt, black sunglasses.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed, taking in Skyler’s chagrined expression.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I had to leave before I got you in over your head. I ran into your father and . . . and I had to tell him where you were.”
Drake leveled a glare at the freckle-faced, square jawed man in the suit. “Let me guess,” he sneered. “You must be Skyler’s case handler.”
The deputy marshal didn’t even attempt to smile. “Special Agent Hank Higgins,” he said.
Drake rounded on his father. “Why’d you bring this loser here?”
“Higgins and I have some explaining to do,” Connor answered. “Put that gun away and step aside, son. That’s an order.”
Drake met Skyler’s pleading gaze and, with a shudder of resentment, went into the bathroom to pull on his pants.
His mind raced as the threesome let themselves inside. He shook his head. He cursed himself for not sharing his thoughts with Skyler before she fell asleep about his plan to protect her from a distance. But now it was too late. She’d run into his father who’d brought Higgins with him, even after that man’s negligence had nearly gotten Skyler killed. What was Connor thinking?
Stalking out of the bathroom still buttoning his shirt, he found all three of them waiting by the window.
“Let’s all take a seat,” Higgins suggested.
“Fine,” Drake said. Reaching for Skyler, he tugged her down onto the edge of the bed beside him. “You okay?” he asked as she hugged his arm to her chest, her expression wreathed in apology.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just listen.”
He divided a curious look between the two men. “Listen to what?”
Connor sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “The first thing you should know is that Higgins didn’t intentionally hang Skyler out to dry. What happened last night was a sting operation gone bad. We set it up together to get the evidence I needed on my end.”
Drake shook his head, baffled. “Evidence for what?”
Connor drew a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Culprit,” he asked.
“Of course.” Who hadn’t? More than one broken Centurion had dropped the Culprit’s name during interrogation, identifying him as a key figure in the mob and imbuing him with the godlike power to protect or destroy his own kind. But no one had ever identified him, and every attempt to flush him out had been unsuccessful.
“We’ve determined who he is,” Connor announced.
“We?”
“Higgins and I,” Connor clarified. “Plus some of our colleagues in the Undercover Division.”
Drake blinked in confusion. “Don’t I work for you? Why wasn’t I kept informed of this?”
It was Higgins who answered this time. “Because we figured the Culprit might use you.”
“What? How could he use me?” He paused as possibilities flooded his brain. “Who the fuck is the Culprit?”
“He’s our boss,” his father answered. “Deputy Director Bill Milton.”
Drake was shocked into silence as goosebumps ridged his forearms.
Connor nodded. “Milton’s uncle was a mobster, remember? That’s what gave us the edge at the outset of our investigation. He knew how the mob operated and who was who, even though he claimed to have no more allegiance.”
“Wait a minute. If he was still a Centurion, why the hell did he rat on them?”
“It wasn’t a question of loyalty,” Connor answered. “It was all about extortion. For those who could pay him, like Jameson, for instance, he offered his protection. Those who couldn’t— he let them burn, safe in the knowledge that they couldn’t identify him since he’d hidden his identity for decades.”
“Jesus.” Drake ran a hand through his hair. “But there still had to be a leak in WITSEC for him to find Skyler.”
“There was no leak,” Higgins assured him, “though we considered that a possibility until Skyler admitted she’d called you, once from Omaha and another time from Portland. Both times, Centurions showed up a short time later looking for her. The phone calls had clearly given her away.”
“But I use a secure phone,” Drake protested. “How is that possible?”
“Believe me, I had the same question. I went to your father with my suspicions, and he acknowledged that the only way it was possible was for someone inside the Bureau to be monitoring your calls.”
Drake shivered. “Bill Milton,” he guessed. “But how?”
“Remember that mandatory software upgrade on your phone a few years back?” Connor answered. “Every field agent in the Bureau had to have it, allegedly for security purposes. That was Deputy Milton’s doing. He uploaded software on your phone that allowed him to bug your calls—in fact any conversation you have within range of your phone, whether it’s turned on or not could be monitored.”
So when Skyler had called him from Oregon and Portland and more recently from the motel last night, Milton had seen exactly where the call was coming from. His goons, already in the area, had come straight over to grab her.
“I can’t believe it.” Drake shook his head. “What made you suspect Milton in the first place?”
“Think about it. Every time a key Centurion went to trial, there was insufficient evidence to convict. But we had the evidence.” Connor slapped his palm. “And only Milton could have made it disappear before each trial. When Higgins came to me with the suspicion that someone was monitoring your calls, I knew it had to be someone on the inside, someone high up, like Milton. Together, we devised a plan to leverage evidence against him.”
“A plan,” Drake repeated as pieces of the puzzle fell together. “Wait a minute, you set up Skyler intentionally?”
“Yes.” Higgins clasped his hands together. “We called you several times from Myrtle Beach, using Skyler’s calling card and hanging up the same way she had. If our theory was right, Centurions would show up looking for her. Sure enough, they did.”
Drake glared at his father. “You knew all this when I called you for help,” he accused “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Connor grimaced. “You had your phone with you the whole time, didn’t you? I couldn’t take the chance that Milton was listening in. He’d know I was on to him.”
“Don’t blame your father.” Higgins jumped to Connor’s defense. “It’s my fault our plan took a wrong turn.” Pulling off his sunglasses, he sent Skyler a remorseful look. “I should have told Skyler what we were up to. That way she would have stayed in the safe room like she was supposed to.”
“Why didn’t you?” Skyler demanded, her voice quavering.
Higgins grimaced. “I didn’t want you to panic. I figured as long as you went straight into your safe room, you’d be fine and I’d explain everything when I came to collect you. My men and I were right outside the entire time.” His hazel eyes swiveled toward Drake. “When the intruders went into her house, we bugged their van. The minute they le
ft, I went inside to get Skyler from the safe room. But by the time I got there, she was gone. She must have slipped right past me.”
Drake shook his head at the man’s incompetence. “What if they’d grabbed her before she went into the closet? What if they shot and killed her on sight?”
Higgins broke eye contact. “That’s why we built the safe room,” he muttered. “So that wouldn’t happen.”
“How did bugging their van help?” Skyler wanted to know.
“It allowed our analysts to record the call they made reporting their failure to grab you. The voice on the other end of the call belonged to Bill Milton.”
With much to think about, Drake rubbed Skyler’s stiff back. At least the so-called leak in WITSEC proved non-existent. It was his cell phone that had been compromised, pointing Centurions to the cities from which Skyler had called him. Knowing that, he felt better about sending her back with Higgins
“Don’t you ever use Sky as bait again,” he warned the agent.
“Not going to happen,” Higgins promised. “I promise you’ll be safe from now on,” he said to Skyler.
Connor pushed to his feet and started pacing. “Skyler said you tossed your cell phone into the back of a pickup truck?”
“That’s right. One with out-of-state tags.”
“Good. Then Milton never heard this conversation. All he knows is that you called me this morning and I flew you down here and together we freed Skyler and arrested Jameson. Jameson’s arrest is bound to make him nervous, though. When Milton sees the writing on the wall, he’ll try to flee the country.”
“Do you have enough evidence to get him indicted?”
Skyler’s frightened question pulled a reassuring smile out of Connor. “Possibly,” he conceded. “Jameson is squealing like a stuck pig, but he hasn’t fingered Milton outright—if he even knows who he is. At least what he’s told the interrogators lines up with the evidence we already have.”
“Why did the Culprit give Skyler to Jameson, anyway?” Drake wondered out loud.
Connor shrugged. “It was an agreement they came up with, one that kept Milton’s hands clean.”
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