Betrayed

by Rebecca York

  “Good.”

  As he spoke, he took her hardened nipple between his thumb and finger, squeezing and tugging gently on it, making her breath catch.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Because it feels good. And I haven’t had much chance to feel good in the past few months.”

  The way he said it tore at her, and though she knew she should stop him, she didn’t do it.

  He moved so that he could slip one hand inside the waistband of her sweatpants, then lower, circling her navel and stroking her stomach, then her thighs, before slipping into the folds of her most intimate flesh.

  “You’re so nice and wet for me,” he murmured.

  She made a small sound, half embarrassment and half arousal. No one had ever focused on her pleasure like this. No one had ever teased her and tormented her this way. He didn’t rush what he was doing, only glided his finger up and down, dipping into her vagina, then up to her clit, making it throb with need. And all the while, he kept his other hand on her breast, playing with her nipple.

  He was watching her, and she felt more exposed than when she’d been naked making love with him. Unable to deal with that intimacy, she squeezed her eyes shut.

  She heard her breath coming in gasps, felt her hips rising and falling to increase the friction as he sent her higher and higher toward orgasm.

  Then she felt her body contract and gasped as climax grabbed her.

  She came back to earth slowly and kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to look at him, but what was she going to do—get up and walk out of the room?

  Reluctantly she turned her head toward him.

  “Shane. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I wanted to. Watching you was very satisfying to me.”

  That made her face heat, and she was glad that the room was dark. After a moment, she managed to say, “But you can’t…I mean we can’t.”

  “Yeah, unfortunate that if I start moving around too much, I could pull the wound open.”

  She rolled toward him, careful of his bad side as she slung her arm across his chest and laid her head on his shoulder. She could still feel the tension coursing through him.

  He’d said what he’d just done was satisfying. She knew he probably meant “arousing.”

  Without looking at Shane, she moved her hand, sliding it down his body and pressing it over the hard shaft that stood up against the knit fabric of his sweatpants.

  He made a low sound as she pressed against him, and she knew he liked her touch.

  “Can I do the same thing for you that you did for me?” she whispered.

  “Only if you want to.”

  “I do.”

  Of course, he’d known exactly how to give a woman pleasure, and she was a lot less experienced, but she had the feeling she could figure out what to do from his reactions.

  She stayed pressed to him. And as he had done, she slipped her hand inside his sweatpants, reaching downward, finding his distended flesh. He felt so warm and alive, and so sexy. She had made love with him, but she hadn’t touched his penis. Now she learned the shape of it, the size, the length, and the girth as she circled it with her hand.

  She remembered the things he did to her. Playing with her nipples, stroking through her sex. She slid one hand to his chest, finding that his nipples were hard. When she stroked them the way he’d stroked her, his breath caught.

  She was bolder with her other hand, squeezing his penis.

  “Move your hand up and down,” he said in a strangled voice.

  She did, feeling the skin move as she worked her hand along his length.

  His reactions told her what felt good, his rigid body, his heavy breathing, and then he whispered, “Harder. Faster.”

  She shifted over him, squeezed him more tightly, moving her hand more quickly, feeling the tension coiling through him. Then she felt his climax, felt it so intimately that she had to catch her breath.

  It took a moment for his breathing to return to normal. “Thank you,” he said in a gritty voice.

  “Thank you for letting me get that close to you,” she answered. She felt him reach to the bedside table and grab a wad of tissues from the box there. Under the covers he cleaned himself up, then dropped the tissues on the floor.

  Cuddling against him, she felt overwhelmed by the intimacy of what they had done. Maybe it shouldn’t be that way. Was this more intimate than really making love? Right now it seemed so.

  She wanted to ask where they went from here, but she thought she might not like the answer. So she kept the question locked behind her lips.

  ***

  Shane Gallagher and Elena Reyes had disappeared off the face of the earth, and two people were beating the bushes looking for them.

  One was Lincoln Kinkead, who had no idea if his chief of security had defected to the enemy or was even alive.

  The other was Jerome Weller. He wanted to kill Reyes’ damn brother. But the little piece of shit was the only leverage he held over the woman. Of course she could have fled the country, for all he knew. But he didn’t think so. He was fairly sure she was where he could get to her, if he could only figure out where that bastard Gallagher had taken her.

  He started with where his men had first found them on the Eastern Shore and worked outward from there. He thought he’d had a major breakthrough when he found the airport from which Gallagher had flown away. Until the flight plan he’d filed turned out to be bogus. He’d disappeared into thin air, as it were. But the damn little plane only held so much fuel. There was a limit to where he could have gone. Would he try to get as far away as possible, or would he stay closer to home? And what were his plans after that?

  Weller indulged in a string of curses. He had to find the guy, because if he didn’t, he was in deep shit.

  ***

  Alesandro Reyes could have said the same thing. He was still in the basement of the house where they’d taken him. The fat guy’s house. But he’d heard his guards talking when they thought he was unconscious.

  He’d learned the fat guy’s name, and if he ever got out of here, he was going to tell the cops, and to hell with the consequences.

  The matones had taken him off the torture table, which was a blessing. Then they’d thrown him into a dark, stinking room, with only a sliver of light coming in from under the door.

  He thought his nose was probably broken and swollen to twice its size. And one of his fingers was broken, too.

  He could have internal injuries, except that he thought the guys who had worked him over knew how to avoid killing someone. Their mission was to inflict pain, not kill.

  The killing could always come later.

  When he felt like he could move without throwing up, Alesandro pushed himself to his feet and began to explore his surroundings. The floor was cement. One wall of the room was brick, which told him that maybe the house had been constructed before the cinder-block era. Which was what the other three walls were made of.

  The room seemed to be about eight feet by eight feet, and he thought it had been built in the corner of the basement. The door was metal and wouldn’t budge when he tried to shake it or twist the knob. There was no bed, only a thin mattress on the floor and a dirty blanket that smelled like a dog had used it last. And for a toilet, there was a metal bucket in the corner.

  Men came twice a day to empty the bucket—another blessing—and to give him a little food. Mostly junk like potato chips and cheese twists. After the nausea from the beatings subsided, he gobbled up the crappy food.

  He could die in this room. He had come to know that. And he wasn’t sure what would get him out.

  He thought it had been days since he’d sent Elena into S&D to get that information, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure of that—or anything else.

  In the dark, cold, stinking cell where
roaches skittered across the floor, he had plenty of time to think.

  At first he’d been angry with Elena for leaving him in this situation. But the longer he stayed here, the more he came to realize it was his own damn fault.

  He’d taken his status in his family for granted. And he hadn’t worked very hard to improve his lot in life. Then he had gotten sucked into doing some little jobs for the mob. He’d thought stealing cars and carrying drugs would be a nice way to increase his income, since he hardly made enough for a decent lifestyle with his job as a rental-car clerk.

  At first he’d liked the excitement and the dinero. Then they’d asked him to do bigger jobs—like carrying more dope and taking more chances. And last week they’d told him they’d get him arrested if he didn’t make his sister get whatever it was from S&D. And then he’d found out that getting arrested wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. And here he was in this miserable cell, wondering if he was going to make it home alive.

  He hadn’t prayed in years, but he prayed now.

  “Dios, I know I did wrong. I got myself into bad trouble. It was little stuff at first. I didn’t realize I was going to get into bad trouble. But if you help me now, I’ll never do it again.”

  Was that the truth? He hoped so. He couldn’t say the next part. But he knew what it was. If he couldn’t get out of this alive, he hoped that he would die with no more pain. A simple shot to the head would do it, preferably from behind so he wouldn’t have to see it coming.

  Chapter 23

  Elena watched Shane closely, trying not to make it obvious that she was evaluating his physical condition. To her relief, he continued to get better. By the next day, he was up and around, at least for short periods. He was eating more, and there was no infection in his wound.

  And he had a new mission.

  “Have you ever shot a gun?” he asked.

  “My father taught me and my brother. He was always afraid of bad men coming after us.”

  “That’s good. Because you might come up against a situation where throwing rocks isn’t enough. So let’s see what you know.”

  “But I thought you said I shouldn’t go out. My father always took us out to the woods.”

  “On private property?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a shooting range in the basement, among other special features.”

  He took her downstairs and showed her the safe room where she could lock herself in if there was trouble.

  “But you’re not expecting any,” she clarified.

  “No. But I wasn’t expecting any in Maryland.”

  He showed her how to call for help from outside, then took her into a long, thin room set up as a pistol range.

  “We’ve got twenty-five yards from firing position to target,” he said.

  “How did you do all that—under this house?”

  “It took some special excavation and modifications to our specs. We’ve got an excellent ventilation system, so you won’t be breathing in smoke or lead particles. But you will have to wear double ear protection.”

  “Which means?”

  “Earplugs and over-the-head earmuffs, because the space is confined.”

  He showed her the paper targets, which were outlines of cartoon characters, then went to the gun rack along the wall and took down an automatic.

  “I don’t know what your father taught you. What kind of gun did you use?”

  “An old revolver.”

  “Well, I think we can do better than that. There are a lot of considerations in choosing a gun for you. Some people think women should start with a twenty-two because it’s lighter, with less recoil. But it’s also the least accurate gun you could get for self-defense. I’m thinking it would be better for you to start with a nine-millimeter automatic.”

  She nodded, knowing what he taught her might save her life.

  He picked up a Sig Sauer from the rack, holding it downward while he checked to see if it was loaded.

  “What did he teach you about safety?”

  “Not to point a loaded gun at anyone.”

  “Yeah. Actually, there are four basic rules to remember. You treat any gun as though it’s loaded. Never point the gun at anything you don’t intend to blow away. Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to fire, and be sure of your target and what’s behind it.”

  “Behind it?”

  “Yeah, like innocent bystanders—out in the woods.”

  He went on to talk about safety gear and where she might carry a concealed weapon, and then explained how the gun worked and how to load ammunition. His careful lesson was a lot more thorough than anything her father had imparted. It was like the difference between the Wild West and a police academy.

  “It’s a lot to remember,” she murmured.

  “Yeah.” He dragged in a breath and let it out.

  “What?”

  “I’m getting tired,” he answered. She was instantly worried about his health, until she realized he was probably using that as an excuse to slow down the lesson so she could absorb everything he was teaching.

  They ate lunch—this time a couple of frozen meals. Then they went back to the range. Before he let her do any actual shooting, he made sure she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a collar and also a hat to minimize the chance of getting struck with a spent casing. He also instructed her on using a two-handed grip.

  “After you fire the first clip, I’ll show you how to reload. Obviously, it’s not the same as with a revolver.”

  She was pleased when her first try impressed him.

  “I suppose you were better than your brother,” he said.

  “How did you know?”

  He laughed. “A lucky guess.”

  By the time they’d had several lessons, she was fairly confident about her ability to defend herself.

  But as they ate dinner after her fourth lesson, she could sense his restlessness.

  “What?”

  “Those men found us twice before.”

  “But we came down here because it’s far enough away to be safe,” she argued.

  “Yeah, I needed a place where I could heal. But I’ve been thinking about the time that’s passed since we got here.”

  She waited for him to continue.

  “They probably figured we flew out. And they know there’s only so far we could get in that plane. And there are only so many small airports where I could have landed. If they’re desperate to find us, they could start checking locations within the range of the plane.”

  “You think they’d do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I think to be safe, we’d better move on.”

  The way he made the statement sent a shiver over her skin. She felt like she’d been getting a reprieve from facing the problems that waited for her back in Maryland. Now he was telling her it was time to get back to reality. At least she felt better equipped now.

  “We’re flying back there?” she asked.

  “Maybe. We’re going to talk to Max and Jack to find out the situation first.”

  Again she nodded, and then she was surprised when Shane put the call on the speakerphone so she wouldn’t be excluded from the conversation.

  One of his partners picked up immediately.

  “Shane?” The man sounded relieved to hear from them. “How are you?”

  “I’m a lot better, Max. I have Elena on the speakerphone.”

  “Jack’s on at this end, too. So we’re all here,” Max said.

  “We’re coming back up there to see if we can resolve the situation.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll have to be cautious,” Max said.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Someone’s been nosing around here. I mean, around this office. Whoever the bad guys are, they know y
ou’re part of Rockfort Security. At least that’s what we surmise. There’s been a lot of unusual surveillance around the building. Also at the safe house in St. Stephens. And they broke into the airport offices.”

  Shane winced. “I figured they might. I filed a fake flight plan.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you suggest now?”

  “Meeting at a location they won’t suspect and making some plans.”

  Shane glanced at Elena, then back at the speaker.

  “How about the Four Seasons Hotel in Washington, D.C.?”

  Max laughed. “Yeah, if they’re thinking you want to cut costs, that would be an excellent choice.”

  “Then let’s do it. Get a two-bedroom suite. Use a set of alternate identities.”

  Elena kept her gaze on him. He was casually telling his partners that the two of them were sleeping together. But why should she care about that? she asked herself. Maybe it was a good thing. He had found an offhand way to tell his friends about the relationship.

  He raised an eyebrow as he caught her reaction.

  When she shrugged and looked away, he reached out and clasped her hand.

  Max was speaking again, asking a question. “How are you traveling?”

  “It’s probably better not to tell you.”

  “Yeah, in case the guys hanging around here catch us and torture us.”

  Elena winced, even though she knew that Max was kidding. She hoped.

  Max said he’d take care of the reservations—under their assumed names.

  “Get us a late check-in, for tonight,” Shane said, “in case we don’t go straight there.”

  When they hung up, Elena looked at him.

  “How are we traveling?”

  “Surface transportation. It’s about a six-hour drive. I’d use a delivery truck if I thought I was fit to drive that far. But I think our best bet is a limo—following the luxury theme.”

  “Okay.”

  He consulted his computer, got the number of a limo service, and made the arrangements.

  “They’ll be here in half an hour,” he told Elena.

  Her jaw dropped. “How could you arrange it that fast?”