The Warrior: DERRICK (Cover Six Security Book 4)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "Are you going to put your seatbelt on or did you want to jump out and run away?"

  She narrowed her eyes and pointed at her feet. "I can't run away. I don't have any shoes."

  "Hunh. Imagine that." He backed the truck up then executed a quick three-point-turn. "They were fucking ugly shoes anyway."

  She snapped her seatbelt in place and resisted the urge to agree with him. "Where are we going now?"

  "Someplace where we can talk."

  "You're going to help me?"

  "I said we would talk. I won't make my decision until you answer a few questions."

  "Like what?"

  He turned toward her, his searing gaze burning her. "How about we start with why the fuck someone is trying to kill you?"

  Chapter Five

  Derrick leaned back in the chair and studied the woman sitting across the table from him. Her posture was erect, her arms resting on the laminate surface of the polished table. She didn't look around the room or study her surroundings, didn't sneak looks at him, just kept her downturned gaze focused on the hands clasped in front of her. Pale skin pulled tight across her knuckles and he could see the indentation marks her fingers were leaving on the backs of her hands. If she clasped them any tighter, she'd leave bruises on herself.

  But that didn't stop her hands from shaking. It wasn't just her hands—her entire body trembled, small tremors that she tried so hard to hide by sitting so straight and still. It wasn't from the temperature—the conference room was still too warm, too stuffy, the air only now beginning to circulate with the help of the building's cooling unit.

  The tremors were from shock. From adrenaline. Or rather, from the adrenaline crash. Getting shot at tended to do that to you, especially when you weren't used to it.

  And he had no doubt Lee wasn't used to it. He gave her credit for not completely falling apart, though. She had some steel in her, and a touch of sass as well, even though she tried to hide both. No, not hide, not exactly. It was more than that—

  But damn if he could figure out what.

  Derrick watched her for a few more minutes, his mind replaying the scene in the parking lot. There was something about that random shot that messed with his head, and not just because it had been too damn close. Where the hell had it come from? Why hadn't there been a follow-up shot? They would have been easy targets as they ran to his truck. As he hauled ass out of the parking lot. So why hadn't the shooter taken advantage of it? Had the shot only been meant as a warning?

  And if so, a warning for who? For him?

  Or for the woman sitting across from him, doing her best to act like nothing was wrong?

  He couldn't discount the possibility the shot had been meant for him but his gut was screaming the certainty that the warning had been meant for Lee. There was no proof of that at all, nothing more than his instinct—but his instinct was rarely wrong.

  Which was why he'd made Lee change. Any sane person would say that was an overreaction but he preferred to think of it as an overabundance of caution. And hell, some people might even point out that he didn't exactly fit the clinical definition of sane. Whatever.

  Did he really think she was being tracked? Probably not, but Derrick wasn't big on trust. And the woman was a damn good hacker who was obviously in trouble—

  Or playing a game of some sort. Until he figured out which one—and why—he wasn't taking chances.

  Which brought him to his other problem for the night. Granted, this one was minor compared to being shot at but in a way that didn't make sense, it bothered him more.

  Lee was a woman.

  Yeah, definitely a woman, with long thick hair an unusual shade of brown, almost kind of ashy but not quite. Smooth pale skin that told him she either didn't get out much, or else she used a gallon of sunscreen every time she walked out her door. She wasn't tall or thin. Average height, with nicely rounded curves. The curves had come as a surprise because the baggy clothes she'd been wearing hid them so well but he'd definitely felt them earlier, when he'd pushed her to the ground and covered her body with his. And he wasn't blind—he could definitely see those curves now, outlined by the snug shirt and leggings he'd forced her to change into.

  But it was her eyes that threatened to cut him off at the knees. Jesus, her eyes were astounding. Sooty gray, big and round and fringed with dark, thick lashes. Those eyes made her look helpless, like some starving street urchin struggling to survive. Those eyes awakened every primitive male instinct in his body, demanding that he protect her and keep her safe.

  Jesus. He was getting as bad as Mac, wanting to protect his woman and threaten everyone and everything that came near despite the fact that his woman—and God help them all if TR ever heard them call her that—was completely independent and able to take care of herself.

  No, TR wasn't helpless—and he had a feeling that neither was Lee. She may look like a waif in need of protection but he wouldn't make the mistake of thinking she was helpless—or harmless.

  Lee was a woman.

  Shit. He still couldn't believe it. How the fuck had he not picked up on that? No, they'd never met. They'd only talked a few times, each time with their voices disguised. But still—he should have known. He thought back on all their interactions, tried to recall every word, every phrase, every fucking nuance of their online conversations. There should have been something to clue him in—but he couldn't think of a damn thing.

  Which meant that she was either very, very good...or he was losing his edge.

  Neither option gave him the happy feels.

  "You want some coffee?"

  She jumped at his question, her elbow banging the edge of the table with the startled movement. She absently rubbed it, quickly glanced at him with a small frown, then looked away before mumbling something.

  Derrick leaned forward, tried to catch her gaze but she was once again staring at her hands. "What was that?"

  "I said, no. Thank you."

  Her voice was pitched so damn low, he still had trouble hearing her. He thought about asking her to speak up, just to see what kind of reaction he'd get, then decided against it. Maybe her quietness was nothing more than a result of the shock and adrenaline crash...or maybe it was something else entirely. She'd had no problem snapping at him earlier but he had the feeling that wasn't normal for her. At least, not a recent normal. Yeah, like that even made any fucking sense.

  But he'd noticed her quiet voice, her almost timid demeanor, earlier in the bar. Had even thought she was a bit naive. Shy, maybe. Reserved. Hesitant. But even those weren't right. It was like she'd hidden her real personality for some reason. Or like she'd somehow forgotten what her real personality was. Like she wasn't used to being around people and didn't know how to interact with them. No longer knew how to be herself.

  Or maybe she was just a really good actress and this was nothing more than a set-up. If that was the case, he was fucking screwed for bringing her here. He didn't think so, though. If he'd really thought that, he would have taken her somewhere else.

  He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head. "Who was shooting at you tonight?"

  Those big gray eyes darted to his then just as quickly dropped away. "I don't know."

  She was lying. Derrick remained still as she shifted in the chair and reached down to rub her leg. He let the silence stretch around them until it became heavy, almost unbearable—for her, not him. Most people couldn't handle the silence of a still room, not with someone sitting across from them, studying every tiny movement. Except Lee didn't act like it was unbearable and except for rubbing her leg, she hadn't moved at all.

  He waited another minute, then another, expecting her to fidget. Play with her hands. Pick at her nails. Twiddle her thumbs. Hell, anything. But she was as still and quiet as he was.

  Hunh.

  "Who wouldn't mind seeing your guts spewed across the asphalt?"

  Lee winced at the blunt words. Her gaze slowly drifted to his and their eyes locked for the
space of several heartbeats before she looked away. "I don't know."

  Another lie. He'd seen the knowledge in those shadowed gray eyes. More than that, he'd seen her realization that he knew she was lying.

  Derrick dropped his hands and pushed to his feet. "Come on, let's go."

  "Go? But I thought you were going to help me."

  "You thought wrong. Two strikes and you're out. Come on, let's go."

  "Go where?"

  "I'll take you back to your car. Where you go from there is up to you." He moved around the table and reached for her arm but she slid away, those big eyes staring up at him with a desperation she quickly blinked away.

  "But—"

  "No buts. You're the one who reached out to me for help, remember? I can't help if I don't know what's going on. You lied to me. Not once, but twice. That tells me you don't really want my help." He reached for her arm again, closed his hand around her wrist. "Now let's go—"

  "How can I tell you anything when I don't know if I can trust you?"

  The desperation in her plaintive voice stopped him. Or maybe it was the helplessness in those big gray eyes and the faint shadows bruising the skin beneath them. Or hell, maybe he was just fucking tired. Why didn't matter. What mattered was the memory of another set of eyes staring up at him in desperation, begging for his help. Begging for his trust—a trust that would never come. A trust that had ended in betrayal.

  Derrick dropped her hand and stepped back. Pushed the past away then folded his arms in front of him and stared down at her. "You have two minutes to start talking and then we're leaving."

  "I—" She stopped. Ran her trembling fingers through her hair and released her breath on a shaky sigh. Took a deep breath and held it as her body stilled. She carefully folded her hands together and rested them on the table in front of her. A second went by, then another and another before she exhaled and spoke in a quiet voice he had to strain to hear.

  "I don't know who shot at me. Not really."

  "But you have an idea?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't make any sense."

  "Somebody wants you out of the way."

  "I know. I've known that for the last couple of years."

  Derrick held himself still, refused to allow any surprise to show on his face. Fast on the heels of the surprise came anger, unexpected and definitely unwelcome. She knew someone was after her? Yes, obviously—she'd just admitted as much, hadn't she?

  She knew...and yet she'd been foolish enough to meet him tonight. A complete stranger, in a location she obviously wasn't familiar with. What would have happened if he hadn't shown up? If he'd left tonight instead of waiting for her in the parking lot? Because he'd almost done exactly that. The only thing that had stopped him was curiosity and the realization that Lee wasn't who he'd expected.

  Derrick forced a cool detachment he didn't feel to his voice. "If you know someone is after you then you must know who it is."

  She shook her head, ignored the strands of hair caught on her cheek. "That's what doesn't make sense. If it's who I'm thinking, it means he knows where I am. It means he knows how to find me." She finally brushed the hair from her face then turned to him, those wide gray eyes filled not with panic as he'd expected, but with an acceptance that chilled him.

  "And if it's really him, why did he wait until tonight? Because if it is really him, I should be dead already."

  Chapter Six

  I should be dead already.

  Her declaration seemed to have no effect on the man who called himself Chaos. At least, none that she could detect. He simply watched her for a few minutes then tugged her to her feet and led her out of the building they'd entered earlier.

  Lidiya cursed her lack of attention when they first got there and again when they left because she had no idea where the building was. She didn't even know what it was. An office building of some kind...maybe. She had a vague recollection of dim hallways and the ring of hollow footsteps against cold tile floor—his steps, not hers, because she wasn't wearing shoes. Of a large conference room and a polished table. Of the soft whisper of cooled air as it flowed from overhead vents she didn't see.

  Yes, she'd been distracted, but that was no excuse. She should have paid attention, should have noted landmarks and signs. She should have at least noticed which direction they were traveling in but she hadn't even done that much.

  Part of her knew she should be concerned about that, should be worried about that level of total distraction because that wasn't like her. And she was concerned—but it paled in comparison to the startling realization that had obliterated every other thought and worry whirling through her aching head ever since Chaos had asked who wanted her dead.

  For reasons she didn't understand, his blunt question had shaken something inside her, had sent her mind racing in directions she couldn't control—because there was only one person who wanted her dead. If he had tried tonight, that meant he knew where she was. How long had he known? A month? A week? A few days, ever since she received that message?

  Your time is up.

  Had he always known where she was? Had the last two years of self-imprisonment and isolation been for nothing? Had she stopped living for two years for no reason at all? She didn't want to think so but the possibility was there. From what she knew of him, he enjoyed playing games, excelled at them. Was that all this had been to him? A game?

  When had he found her? How? And now that he had, why wasn't she dead already?

  Your time is up.

  Lurking even deeper in her mind, in a dark corner she didn't want to examine, was another question, this one even more worrisome. Had she betrayed herself by contacting Chaos? Was he somehow connected to this, or was it nothing more than a combination of coincidence and bad timing? She didn't want to think the man next to her could be involved, didn't want to think she had been so easily manipulated into orchestrating her own doom.

  It surprised her to realize that she wanted to trust him, surprised her even more to acknowledge the truth that she had trusted him. When he'd pushed her to the ground to protect her. When he'd told her to run then used his own body as a shield. She wouldn't have done that, wouldn't have so readily listened and followed his directions, if some part of her hadn't trusted him.

  But trusting him was foolish. She knew nothing about him, not even his name. The only thing she knew was that he'd had ample opportunity to harm her yet she was still alive.

  That had to mean something.

  She was staking her life on it.

  But she couldn't afford to be distracted anymore, it was too risky. She'd already allowed things to preoccupy her to the point where she was oblivious to everything else...and that was dangerous.

  And yet here she was, doing the exact same thing now, focusing so much on her thoughts that she wasn't paying any attention to her surroundings.

  Lidiya forced her mind to clear and looked out the passenger window, frowning as she searched for something she recognized. A minute went by before she realized where they were. A chill danced across her skin and she quickly folded her arms around herself to ward it off.

  "You're taking me back to the bar." It was a statement, not a question, and certainly not one she expected the man behind the wheel to answer. He glanced at her, his face masked by shadows. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he looked away.

  "No."

  "But this is the way to the—"

  "I'm just driving by. I want to check something out before heading to your place."

  Everything in her went cold. She gave him a sharp look. "You don't know where I live."

  "Not yet, no."

  He was either lying, or he expected her to tell him. Lidiya didn't like either possibility and was ready to tell him so when he reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. Long fingers squeezed, the touch oddly reassuring.

  "Do me a favor: get down on the floor."

  "What?"

  "Just a precaution. I don't want anyone to get a glimpse of a
passenger as we go by the bar."

  "But—"

  "Humor me."

  She opened her mouth to argue then promptly shut it. Arguing would do no good, she knew that on the most basic instinctual level. She unbuckled the seatbelt then slid to the floor, contorting herself into the most comfortable position possible—which wasn't very comfortable at all. A hiss of pain escaped her lips when she brushed the scrape on her right leg as she pulled it against her chest. The sound wasn't loud but Chaos still heard it.

  "You okay down there?"

  "No. I cut my leg."

  "On what? There's nothing down there."

  "Not now. Earlier. When we were running."

  "And you're just now telling me?"

  "It wasn't important."

  "I—never mind, we'll talk about it later."

  The big truck slowed, the engine humming in one ear as the tires gripping pavement droned in the other. Lidiya shifted, tried to get more comfortable, then swallowed a small groan when her left foot slipped under the passenger seat and became wedged against something metal. She tried to wiggle it free, gave up and held herself still as the truck slowed even more. They must be nearing the bar now, ready to pass it. Lidiya held her breath, praying she hadn't made a mistake in trusting him yet again, hoping they weren't going to pull into the parking lot where people were waiting for her.

  But the truck didn't slow, didn't turn. Chaos lowered the passenger window a few inches and glanced out, then quietly raised the window with a punch of one finger against a button. The dim lights of the dashboard washed across his face, accenting the creases on his forehead and the slash of dark brows over his eyes.

  "What is it? What did you see?"

  He glanced down at her then looked straight ahead. "Nothing."

  There was something about his tone of voice that sent a small shiver dancing along her spine but she didn't understand why. "Nothing? That's a good thing, right?"