Then he’d get a little bit of sleep. Cuff her to the bed. Get his ass back out in the field and track down Whitmore, beat him bloody.
It sounded, all in all, like a fantastic plan.
He needed sleep, after all.
Figured if he cuffed her to the bed, she’d still be there when he got back. And Whitmore, well, that fucker needed to be beaten. He actually needed to die, but it would be hard to do that and not screw up the case. If the case wasn’t already screwed.
* * *
“ALL of them,” Patrick said.
Minton’s eyes jerked off to the side and his throat worked. After two unsuccessful starts, he finally managed to say something. “Nobody can get close to the compound, sir. The place is surrounded by feds.”
“And the cameras?”
“None of them are operational.”
Patrick nodded, stroking a hand down Demeter’s head. The cat purred and butted her head against Patrick’s hand. Happy. Satisfied. All the little cat wanted was food and attention. And she was pleased. If only everybody else were that simple to satisfy.
Ella . . .
“And has anybody seen Ella?”
He cut a look to Rawlings, curled up in a ball on the floor, blood flowing from so many cuts and lacerations, his face bruised beyond recognition. His brother, a weasely, smarmy little bastard that Patrick had no use for, lay dead on the other side of the room. He’d thought Larry was perhaps the one who’d gone to the police. He was always looking for money, but he had an eye for girls and had managed to find Whitmore a few choice pieces by doing a tourist bit—ghost walks, fortune telling. Petty things, but it worked.
It hadn’t been him. He’d killed Larry to make a point with the brother . . . and he still wasn’t done. Rawlings had let Ella escape.
“No.” Minton cleared his throat and darted a look to the door, like he really didn’t want to be there. Patrick didn’t imagine he did.
Too fucking bad. Already he had others scrambling to clean things up, cover things. He had time, he knew. Nobody could connect the compound to him. It was several miles away, not purchased in his name, but he needed to be cautious nonetheless.
Getting out of the country had to come first. Although he really, really wanted to take care of those loose ends.
Like Ella.
She’d gotten away.
That was one problem that needed to be addressed.
Reaching for his phone, he punched in a number. She was a loose end he couldn’t afford, and he was going to make sure she didn’t come back to bite him.
* * *
NO words were coming.
That was a problem, Joss knew, because they needed to fucking talk.
But no words, no brilliant explanation or clever twists, were coming.
And there, right up ahead, he saw the turn for International Drive. Meaning he was running out of time.
Clearing his throat, he glanced over at Dru as he slowed at the light. He’d just brazen his way through. He’d done that through just about every area of life; he could do it now, right?
A soft, sighing little sound escaped her.
He blinked, squinted, certain he was seeing things.
No. Ah, shit.
Somebody behind him laid on the horn. Joss responded the only way that was appropriate. He flipped him off as he checked the light, after one last glance at Dru.
Asleep.
How in the hell could she have fallen asleep?
But there she was. Making those soft, kittenish little sounds under her breath as she shifted on the seat, snuggling against the leather like she just couldn’t find a comfortable enough position but damned if she’d let that stop her.
Sleeping. While he was sitting there, brooding and thinking so hard his head felt like it was about to come apart as he tried to figure out how to fix this.
Isn’t this just fucking perfect . . .
He pulled up in front of the hotel and climbed out. As the valet came around, Joss tossed the keys at him. Taylor may or may not like having somebody else park his snazzy little car, but Joss sort of had his hands full. Or would in a second. It occurred to him then, as he opened the door and knelt by Dru, studying her wan face, if she didn’t wake up, he didn’t have to worry about getting her another room, right?
Gingerly, he slid one arm under her. She immediately rolled toward him, curling into him like she’d just been waiting for the chance. It hit him, square in the chest, like somebody had swung a lead weight at him. The warmth of her, the feel, the scent of her. All of it. Finally . . .
Turning his face into her hair, he squeezed his eyes closed. Finally . . .
Then, because he needed to have a chance to say it, even if she wasn’t awake, he murmured, “I’m sorry, duchess. I’m so damn sorry.”
She mumbled under her breath, the words thick and heavy, indistinct. Then, she shoved her face against his neck, as though she wanted to block out everything. Including him.
“Okay, sweet girl. You sleep.” She apparently needed it. Hell, how long had it been since she’d rested? It was pretty clear she realized what a dangerous game she’d been involved in. She had to have known.
Hooking her bag on his elbow, he rose, cradling her against his chest. He took another second to kick the door shut and then he headed into the hotel, taking just enough time to look around. Although he suspected he’d feel it if there was a problem, he wasn’t about to turn his back on years of training. Especially not now, with the precious burden he carried.
The walk to the elevator, then to the room, somehow seemed to both take hours, and end in just seconds. He was all too aware of his own exhaustion catching up with him, all too aware of the fact that he still didn’t know what he’d say. All too aware of the fact that he needed to figure it out.
By the time he hit his hotel room, though, it was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be waking up.
The room was quiet, clean as a whistle. The clothes he’d left behind several days earlier were exactly where he’d left them, although it was obvious the housekeeping staff had been in there in the meantime. He scowled at the neatly made bed, looked at Dru’s face. Scowled at the bed again, and then sat near the foot, leaning upward to snag the comforter and sheets, dragging them down with one hand so he wouldn’t have to let her go.
Not ever . . . you hear me, he thought, rubbing his cheek against her hair. Not ever letting you go. Not if I have anything to do about it.
A fine line formed between her eyes, and she made another one of those grumbling little sounds under her breath, turning her face into his chest.
Okay. They’d save all of that for later.
Rising, he laid her down on the bed, taking a few minutes to strip her shoes off, and then, because he wasn’t about to risk it, he also searched her for weapons. She had a slim-fitting holster under the top she wore, with a gun. He took that, along with a knife that had been tucked into a sheath on the holster. Those, combined with a couple of weapons in her bag, he locked inside the in-room safe. She probably wouldn’t leave without her weapons. But he wasn’t going to take that chance.
He kept his cuffs with him, although he did lock his own weapon up in the safe. Barely any room left in there, he thought. A quick trip to the bathroom, then he brushed his teeth, washed his face. After that, the only other thing he bothered with was kicking off his shoes and shucking his shirt.
Joss didn’t trust himself to do anything else; he kept his jeans on. Slipping into the bed beside her, he pushed up onto his elbow, staring down into her still face. There was little expression on it now. None of those odd little mutters, no sign that she dreamed. Nothing.
Just deep, deep sleep.
Again, he wondered how long it had been since she’d rested.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d sleep long enough for him to think his way out of this mess.
Although he wasn’t going to bet on it.
With that in mind, he pulled the cuffs out of his back pocket. Cuffing her right h
and to his left, he lay back. Closed his eyes. Sleep. He was going to sleep.
Nothing else . . .
He wasn’t going to think about her sleek, warm body lying just inches away. They needed to talk. Needed to work through this mess.
And he wasn’t going to touch her until they’d done that.
The bed shifted.
Joss caught his breath as the cuffs rattled. Then she moved, wiggling closer, her face pressed against his arm, her free hand on his belly. Another one of those soft, disgruntled little sighs.
Hell. It was going to be a very, very restless long—
He dropped straight into sleep, like a rock thrown into the bottom of a well.
* * *
HER clothes still hung in the closet.
Her makeup case rested by the sink.
Her scent still hung in the air.
And her engagement ring was on the floor. Like she’d just dropped it.
Discarded it.
Patrick stared at it, fury pulsing inside him. Women didn’t discard him.
The little whore would pay for this.
The phone in his pocket vibrated and he reached for it. He no longer had the luxury to avoid calls. He was calling in favors, resorting to blackmail and bribes, just so he could be ready. So far, it didn’t look like they had traced the compound back to him, but it was just a matter of time and he needed to finish clearing out before it happened.
He was almost completely packed.
He had his passport.
In just a few more hours, he’d be on a plane to Morocco. That was just his first stop. After that, he wasn’t sure where he’d go. But he’d like to have some company. Ella. He’d like to have Ella.
The phone buzzed again and he answered with a terse, “Yes?”
“There’s no sign of her at any of the airports. She hasn’t rented a car. The bus terminals are harder to watch, but it doesn’t appear she’s taken that route, either.”
“Look harder,” Patrick said quietly.
“I’m doing what I can.” There was a pause and then the man on the other end asked, “Does she have any friends here? Anybody who could help her?”
Patrick frowned. There had been a man glimpsed on his property, but nobody had a physical description and none of the cameras were operational. There was no telling who it was. “She’s been isolated since she came here. All phone calls were monitored. If she had friends, it’s your job to find them.”
“I’ll keep searching. I think I’ll do a deeper dig on personal details.”
“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Patrick bit off. “Just find her.” He checked the time on his watch. “I’ll be leaving in eight hours. If you find her before that, I’ll double your fee. But you’re to keep looking, regardless. I’ll be in touch.”
TWENTY-SIX
SHE dreamed.
She knew she dreamed.
Sleep held her in its tight, captive fist, and she couldn’t have broken free if she tried.
In the dream, she stood at a place so familiar, it almost hurt to see it. It was the first time it had ever been this clear, though.
The lake.
Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she stared out over the lake and remembered. Almost everything, it seemed. Bits and pieces drifting into her mind, settling into place as she stood on the shore.
It was like she stood on the edges of two places in time.
Two realities maybe.
In one reality, she saw the place as it was. She’d been here once. Following a dead-end lead. Two girls had been seen in this area . . . one had been the girl she’d been searching for . . . Sarah Hale, the runaway she’d been hired to find. Or at least somebody resembling her. And then Daylin Crosby.
Dru had never found any sign of them, but this place had freaked her out. Oddly enough, this was where she’d met up with Tucker again. He’d been prowling around the lake and they’d all but bumped into each other.
“I don’t want to be here.” She turned away from the lake to stare at the warehouse. It was old and vacant, covered with so much graffiti, the walls were barely visible under it. Perched on the edge of the lake. It was a travesty to see, really.
Because in the other reality, this place had been lovely. She stood there, remembering. Because all of those dreams, all those echoes of memory . . . they’d been real.
It was hot. Oppressively so, and she hated it. But she couldn’t make herself pull away from the dream. She could make herself stop it . . . if she had the will. She recognized that it was just a dream . . . a powerful one. And yes, there were bits and pieces of something that was more.
Yet it was simply a dream and she couldn’t be held captive in this, not if she didn’t allow it.
When he appeared behind her, she sighed and shoved her sticky, sweaty hair back from her face. “You know . . . since this is my dream, it seems that I should have a little bit of control. I don’t want to see you. So you should just go poof . . . and disappear.”
Big, muscled arms wrapped around her waist.
“Yeah? How is that theory working for you?”
Scowling, she twisted away from him, breaking his hold. Putting a few feet between them didn’t help. Turning around to glare at him didn’t help, either. It was just another strike to her already battered heart. She was relieved, though, to see that he looked like he should. Like Joss. That harsh, craggy face; short, dark hair; and those near-black eyes that stared at her like he could see right through her. So if he looked like he should . . . she dared a look down and saw her meager breasts, the long, familiar lines of her body.
Good. Very good, indeed. She had enough on her mind without having to deal with the body of the woman she’d been.
Shooting him a dark look, she said tiredly, “Well, you haven’t gone poof, so clearly the theory isn’t working at all.”
Plucking her shirt away from her sweaty chest, she turned back to the lake.
“Do you know this place?” she asked quietly.
“Vaguely.” He moved once more to stand behind her. But this time, he didn’t touch her. “You’re sad, Dru. Why are you sad?”
Why . . . oh, why, indeed . . .
Lifting a hand, she pointed to the loading dock, just a few yards away. In the strange, shifting realities, she could see it as it had been. Then, it had been green. Impossibly green. Until the ground ran wet with blood. “He killed you there.”
A harsh breath gusted out of him.
“Amelie . . .”
Dru shook her head. “Don’t call me that name,” she said. “That’s not who I am. Whoever she was, whoever I might have been, that’s not who I am now.”
She turned her head and stared at him. “I thought you remembered all of this.”
His eyes glittered as he stared at her.
“I remember you,” he rasped. “More than anything, I remember you. Everything else was just dust in the wind. Then it was all gone.”
“Dust in the wind,” she murmured. “Apt, I suppose.” She eased around him, careful not to touch. The words he’d spoken to her were still a broken, jagged wound on her heart and she just couldn’t handle it.
“You remember more.”
“Just now.” She continued toward that spot, the ache inside growing. Spreading. “He killed you. I don’t remember what it was about. I guess it doesn’t matter after all of this time . . . although . . .”
She stopped and spun to look at him, head cocked. “Do you know who he is?”
A muscle jerked in his jaw, throbbing.
“I guess you do,” she murmured. Absently, she reached up, touched the back of her hand to her cheek. Remembered the few times he’d hit her. All the times he’d hurt her. Whether it was one of the rapes, or the way he had of grabbing her wrist and squeezing, just hard enough to make the bones grind together.
And how often she’d yearned to make him stop. She could have. So many times. In so many ways. She’d had reasons, she knew that. But now . . .
I
t was so much harder to take now.
“I always had trouble sleeping,” she said, giving him her back and continuing on her walk to the place where he’d died. Where Thom had died. All those years ago. “Nightmares I couldn’t remember. Awful dreams. Waking up with fits of choking. Or just crying. But none of it made sense. Then I came back here and I met him. The first time he touched me, I had this awful, horrid sensation . . . death.”
“He can’t hurt you now,” Joss growled. “He can’t hurt you ever again.”
Dru smiled sadly. “Oh, I’m not worried about him now. If it hadn’t been for the job, for what I had to do, he never would have hurt me to begin with. I was counting, you know. Every time he touched me. Every time he hurt me, scared me. Threatened me. All of it . . . and I promised myself I’d bloody him. He doesn’t worry me now,” she said, her voice savage. “But then . . .”
It hit her in a rush, breath stealing. The cold water. The heaviness of her dress. She’d never learned how to swim. The weight of her skirts, dragging her down. Choking on the water. And Thom . . . in her mind, she’d felt so guilty because even though she’d longed to be with him . . . had been ready to end her own life, even . . . yes. She remembered even that. The knife she’d tucked into her purse . . . no. Reticule. It had been called a reticule. She’d had it in her bag and was thinking about killing herself. Debating over it even as she tried to convince herself there were other options. Cousins . . . she’d had cousins up north . . . yes. More memories breaking free.
Then Richard—
Big hands, hard, strong . . . but so gentle closed over her shoulders, forcing her to turn. She found herself staring at the black T-shirt stretching over his wide chest. A nice chest, all in all. She wanted to lean against him and just rest. Close her eyes for a while and rest.
“What’s going on, Dru? There’s something in your eyes . . .”
“Memories,” she whispered.
“Dru,” he growled. He cupped her chin and some of his gentleness was lost under his frustration. As he pushed his hand into her hair, he moved in closer, crowding his body against hers. “Talk to me, damn it.”
Talk to me . . .
How did she tell him this?
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