The Reunited

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The Reunited Page 30

by Shiloh Walker


  “You don’t get it,” she sneered at him. Easier, she thought. Get some distance. Protect herself. “I fucked him, do you hear me? As often as I had to.”

  His eyes glittered as he stared back at her. Slowly, he closed the distance between them. She backed up, but the bed was behind her and she had nowhere to go. When his hand darted out and fisted in her shirt, she tried to twist away again, but he jerked her up against him. “I get that. I get it just fine. Maybe I don’t like it and you can’t much expect me to, but you did what you had to and I can damn well accept it. What I can’t accept is the fact that he hurt you . . . now tell me,” Joss growled, pressing his brow to hers. “Tell me how many times he hurt you, so I can go and kill him.”

  Trying to breathe around the aching swell in her chest, Dru shook her head. “No. You . . .” She licked her lips.

  He cupped her cheek, his big hand gentle. “I waited a lifetime to find you again . . . and nothing is going to keep us apart this time. Not him.” Then he tipped her head back, pressed a kiss to her lips. “Not him. Not you . . . not me.”

  * * *

  SHE was staring at him like she didn’t know what to think. What to say.

  “A lifetime,” he whispered, trying to think past the rage and heartbreak.

  He’d known Whitmore had tried to hurt her. He’d sensed it a few times. But he hadn’t realized . . . My fault, he had to admit that. He should have realized just how fucked up things were. He hadn’t protected her.

  But he could now.

  He was going to find Whitmore—

  Whitmore. His focus sharpened, and as if his thoughts were on a zip line, they zeroed in on that scumbag, and he found himself locked in on the man he wanted to kill, almost as much as he wanted to breathe.

  Must leave. No time—Whitmore’s thoughts, erratic and very unlike him. None of that cool condescension, none of that arrogant disdain. Just disjointed, edgy rage.

  He stopped fighting it and let his thoughts flow.

  Time, space, everything spiraled away as he found his thoughts lodged in a very nasty place . . . Patrick Whitmore’s mind. And Patrick was in the middle of his slick mansion, pacing, swearing, furious, and completely pissed.

  Surrounded by the flow of people, organized chaos as suitcases were carried out. Boxes neatly stacked.

  Must get to the airport—

  Sucking in a breath, Joss broke the contact.

  “Aw, no. This isn’t good. He’s cleaning up and heading out,” Joss muttered, his voice hoarse.

  Dru blinked, looking confused.

  “Whitmore. He’s covering his ass and getting out of town.”

  “But . . .” She shook her head. “How? The compound?”

  Joss swore. “Until we can connect it to him, we can’t move on him. It’s dicey territory, what we do. We can’t exactly present a psychic as evidence for a warrant.”

  Dru looked down.

  “I . . .” She licked her lips.

  “I’ve got evidence,” she said quietly. “It’s not a lot. But it’s evidence. Pictures of him with men that were out at the compound. A few pictures of him with some girls who are likely listed as missing now. It’s going to be mostly circumstantial at best, but it will let you stop him from leaving for now.”

  “Evidence.”

  She nodded.

  “Okay.” He stared at her. “Just one last thing.”

  She looked away. “Yes?”

  Hauling her against him, he slanted his mouth over hers, stole one kiss, hard and quick. “This isn’t over . . . not what we have. Understand that.”

  She finally looked at him.

  But this time, a faint, hesitant smile curved her lips. And that bleak look in her eyes was almost gone.

  * * *

  IMPATIENT, Joss barely managed to resist the urge to shift from one foot to the other. “Well?” he demanded as Taylor finished going through the photos and reports.

  “It’s enough.” Then he grimaced. “For now, at least. Enough to detain him. Make him sweat.” Then he added, “And keep him from leaving the country.”

  He flicked a look at Dru and inclined his head. “Well done, Ms. Chapman.”

  She didn’t answer, just continued to stare out the window.

  “We need to roll,” Joss said. “I don’t know how much time we have. Can we get the warrant rushed through?”

  Taylor lifted a brow. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  Joss bared his teeth at him.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Taylor slanted a look at Dru. “That’s not—”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t have that evidence if it wasn’t for me. And you know it. It’s not like I’m a sodding civilian who’s going to blunder into this and make things worse. But I’ve got a stake in this . . . more than you can even imagine.”

  Joss’s phone rang.

  When Whitmore’s number flashed across the screen, he scowled. Then a tension knotted in his gut. Scenes played out in his head. Unlikely, awful scenes that he hated . . . hated . . . hated.

  As he lifted a hand, silence fell through the room.

  “Yes?” he said, his voice remote.

  “Job is off,” Whitmore said, his voice harsh and ugly. “But I’ve got a new one for you. You’re so . . . resourceful, maybe you’d be good at this one, too.”

  Joss closed his eyes. Even he knew what Patrick was going to say.

  In his mind’s eye, spurred by that awful, amazing gift, he saw how everything would play out.

  “What kind of job is this one?”

  “You think you can find my fiancée?”

  Joss slanted a look at Dru. Stared at her. “Misplaced her, huh?”

  “One of these days, that mouth of yours, Sellers. It will catch up with you. Now do you want the job or not? One million, cash.”

  “Oh, yes. I want it. And it will be the easiest million I ever earned.”

  * * *

  “THIS is a bad idea,” Taylor muttered as both Joss and Dru finished suiting up with the thin, body-conforming armor. It was far less bulky than the typical armor, and when Dru pulled on a loose blouse she’d borrowed from Taige, one couldn’t even tell.

  “It’s how it has to play out,” Joss said, his voice remote.

  “Does that mean I have to like it?”

  Joss just grunted. Already his mind was focused on what lay ahead.

  He needed a few minutes alone with Taylor. Just a few. Although the last thing he wanted to do was miss out on a single second with Dru. Quit your bitching, he thought sourly. He did what he had to. For the job. For her. Always for her.

  As she started to smooth her hair into a braid, he caught Taylor’s eyes, jerked his chin.

  A few minutes later, they were out in the hallway.

  “You’re hiding something,” Taylor said quietly.

  Ignoring him, Joss said, “I want you to make sure she’s protected if this doesn’t go well.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Taylor glared at him. “What do you think is going to go badly?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Joss said. “Just make sure he can’t get to her. He’s trying to—I’ve already seen that. She’s been working this thing alone, she has no resources, and I don’t—”

  “She’s got resources,” Taylor said, cutting in. Closing the distance between them, he studied Joss’s face closely. “You need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t do my job if I’m in the dark, Crawford.”

  Joss just shook his head. “You’ll make sure she’s safe. Just tell me that. I need to know.”

  Blowing out a breath, Taylor said, “I’ll make sure of it. But she’s not on her own, Crawford. She had an escape plan. From day one.”

  “And you know this . . . how?”

  Taylor stared at him.

  Joss turned on his heel. There was no time to think through the many ways Jones could have gotten that information. The harder question would be . . . why hadn’t Jones figured thi
s out sooner?

  “Damn it, Crawford, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  Shooting him a look over his shoulder, Joss lifted a brow. “Well, you always manage to figure things out on your own. I figure you’ll do this one, too.”

  Then he headed back into the room.

  He needed a few more minutes with Dru.

  A few more minutes . . . a lifetime.

  * * *

  “CAN you read him?”

  Taige glared at Jones as he closed a hand around her arm and jerked her away from Cullen.

  “Do you mind?” she snapped.

  But then she saw the look on the boss’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

  “Can you read Crawford or not?”

  She didn’t bother turning to look at him. “No. Not unless he decides to let me in, and I can tell you, he’s not doing that.”

  Shit.

  No time left to try and grill the bastard, either, Taylor knew.

  Joss and Chapman were already heading out, and the rest of the team was going to be behind them. Taylor wasn’t going to be far behind them, not far at all. If he could find a way, he’d be riding in the damn SUV with them, but Whitmore was already about to run.

  The evidence Chapman had given them, all circumstantial, was enough to hold the man. Taylor didn’t want this man held. He wanted him dead. Very dead. Of course, he couldn’t do that, so locked away for life would work.

  Shoving his way closer to Crawford, he caught the man’s dark gaze. You’re going to be careful, damn it.

  He didn’t need to worry whether or not Joss heard him.

  After all, he was just like Jillian right now . . . and all it took with this kind of psychic gift was thinking loudly.

  Taylor was thinking damn loud.

  Crawford gave him a sharp-edged smile.

  But there wasn’t time for anything else.

  Damn it.

  Damn it.

  Damn it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  CLIMBING into the car Taylor had gotten him, Joss let the images roll through his mind one more time.

  A lot of ways this could play out. But he needed to focus on the outcome he needed. Everything else was a distraction.

  Dru was quiet.

  She looked so fragile . . . like she’d snap or break.

  The closer they got to Whitmore’s mansion, the more strained the silence got.

  The more haunted she looked.

  He couldn’t believe he had to take her back there.

  Thirty minutes later, he pulled his phone out, dialed the number. He put it on the console, keeping it on speaker.

  “I’m on my way.”

  There was a pause.

  “Unless you’ve got my fiancée, I don’t want to see you,” Whitmore said coldly.

  “Yeah, well, unless you’ve got my million, I have no reason to see you.” He waited a beat and then asked, “Do you have it?”

  A harsh breath was the only sound to betray Whitmore’s surprise. But it was enough. “How?” he demanded. “How can you have her?”

  “Hmmm. Well, let’s just say, she found me. And you don’t know her as well as you think. The dumb broad was playing both sides, you know that?” He glanced over at Dru, swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “I wasn’t able to get much out of her, but I get the feeling some of your . . . competition was trying to get the inside scoop. She’s been watching you a long, long time.”

  At that, Dru lowered her head, a faint smile curling her lips.

  Not bad, she mouthed.

  Of course it wasn’t bad. He had insider knowledge. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he reached over, curved his hand over her neck.

  “And you know this how?”

  “It was about all I managed to get out of her before she passed out.” He stroked his thumb down her neck, staring at the highway, thinking of all the ways he’d liked to hurt Whitmore. Breaking his hands, to start. Those hands had hurt Dru. They had to be first.

  “Would you stop it with the lazy-boy routine?” Whitmore bit off. “How did you find her so fast?”

  “I already explained this . . . I didn’t find her.” Joss smiled. “She found me. Showed up while I was eating breakfast . . . and by the way, I’ve got to tell you, I’m pissed you decided to go and bug my car. I had to go and find a different set of wheels, but just so you know? No more bugs in my vehicles.”

  The SUV he’d been using would have been hauled away by now.

  Had Whitmore seen footage from the compound, or had it all been shot to hell when the electrical blowout happened?

  “Fuck the bugs and fuck your vehicle. I want to know about my fiancée,” Whitmore snarled.

  “Hey, fuck you, okay? Keep in mind, I didn’t exactly ask to be made part of your merry little band of screwups, Those jackasses can’t seem to do their job without screwing it up even worse, got it? Last night was a fuckup of epic proportions. What do they do, walk around with their hands on their dicks all night or what?”

  Harsh, heavy panting breaths came over the phone now. “Last night.” Whitmore’s voice was ugly with its hate now. So very ugly. “What do you know about last night?”

  “I know I came with another delivery, and your stupid men were too busy running around with dicks in hand to take the damn delivery.”

  “You . . .” More harsh breathing.

  Joss smiled and stroked Dru’s neck. Temper is getting the best of you, boy, he thought.

  “You were at the compound last night.”

  “Well, not exactly. But your lazy-ass boys were too busy jacking off to let me in. I ended up leaving. Now my partner is dealing with the merchandise, you tell me the job is off, but hey, you want your fiancée . . . what the hell, are you trying to fuck up my life?”

  And even though he wasn’t there with Whitmore, he could feel the flickers of the man’s rage. It streaked through Joss’s vision, tainting everything with ugly streaks of red and black. Seconds ticked by. The erratic cadence of Whitmore’s breathing calmed, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. Calm and smooth as glass.

  “Whether or not I fuck up your life remains to be seen, Mr. Sellers. Why don’t you tell me how you came to find my fiancée?”

  “Again, she found me. Can you not hear?” He checked the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see Taylor’s people. They wouldn’t be around just yet. They’d be close. But not that close.

  “She found you.”

  “What in the hell is your problem, Whitmore? Yeah, she found me. I was having breakfast and there she was, cool as a cucumber, she sits down and asks me, How would you like to make more money than my fiancé could ever hope to pay? I just stared at her for a minute, and then she goes on to tell me that she can pay me more than you can ever hope to.”

  “And here you are, on the phone with me. I wonder what you told her.”

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there. The thing is, she wouldn’t tell me who she’s working with. You know how I like answers. She wouldn’t give them to me. Then . . .” Joss blew out a breath. “Then she decides she’s going to get all heavy with the threats. I don’t much care for those. So I figured maybe I’d just . . .”

  “You’d just maybe what?”

  “She pissed me off. I brushed her off. Waited until she left, then I followed her. I was just going to teach her a thing or two, but I figured I’d make sure you were done with her. Was going to call you tonight, but then you called me . . . anyway, I had her with me when you called, but I wasn’t at a place where I could explain that.”

  “You.” Whitmore started to curse, long and low. “You’ve had her for how long?”

  “Since a little after seven. Took a while to make sure I wouldn’t have an audience.”

  “And you have her now?”

  “What, you think I called just to talk about the weather? This isn’t exactly how I’d like to be spending the day,” Joss snapped. “You called about the job, remember?”

 
I’m going to kill you—

  The thought came loud and clear.

  It might have been Whitmore’s, but Joss shared the sentiment. He wanted this bastard so very, very dead.

  “Excellent. And who knows about this?”

  Smiling, Joss said, “My partner.”

  “And who is this mysterious partner?”

  Laughing, Joss said, “You think I’m telling you that? You’re the one who kept telling me how some of your associates kept meeting this bad end. Don’t worry. My partner will stay out of your way, as long as you stay out of his . . . and mine. Think of him as my insurance policy.”

  Insurance policy.

  Boss.

  General pain in the ass.

  And occasional lifesaver.

  * * *

  “I don’t have time for this.” Whitmore spit out the words like they tasted bad.

  Joss leaned back against the car and smiled as Whitmore came storming out of the house.

  Images flooded his head the second he drove through the gates. Whitmore had his men stationed around the place. He wasn’t going to try to kill Joss, not yet. But incapacitate, yeah. He’d do that.

  Then take Dru.

  Not happening.

  Harder to do if Joss was out here.

  Dru was still inside the car, slumped over, pretending to be unconscious.

  He could hear the slow, steady sound of her breathing almost like it was his own. Feel the buzz of her thoughts, just behind the solid, sturdy weight of her shields.

  And the cold, unearthly whispers of the dead.

  They were everywhere.

  As Whitmore came striding down the elegant walkway, Joss stared at him. The dead clung to him.

  It was amazing the son of a bitch couldn’t feel them.

  But then again, if Whitmore could feel them, they would have already driven him insane.

  Lifting a can of Coke to his mouth, Joss took a deep drink and then smiled at Whitmore over the rim. “You don’t have time? You’re ragging my ass about time but you’re the one who called me about doing this damn job,” he drawled. He emptied out the can, and because he knew it would piss Whitmore off, he crushed it with his hands and then tossed it on the carefully manicured lawn.

  Whitmore’s eyes cut to it, lips peeling back from his teeth in a sneer.

 

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