The Warrior: DERRICK (Cover Six Security Book 4)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Her gaze darted to his, quickly slid away as she shook her head. "I can't say."

  "You can't—or you won't?" She shook her head again and silently pursed her lips in refusal to answer. Fine, he'd push for that answer later. "How did your father come by this information? Did he stumble on it? Steal it?"

  A flash of outrage flared in the depths of her eyes. She met his gaze, held it for a few seconds then uttered a short laugh, the soft sound filled with irony. "No, he didn't steal it. He came by it quite honestly and purely by accident."

  "How?"

  She shook her head again, refusing to answer, refusing to even look at him. Derrick inhaled through his nose, held the breath in his lungs long enough to curb the urge to lean across the table and shake her. "What information did he have?"

  "I—" She hesitated again, took a deep breath and finally looked at him. Really looked at him, instead of one of those sliding, cautious glances she'd been giving him since he started questioning her. "I can't tell you. Not yet. Not until I find out what changed."

  "What do you mean, what changed?"

  She hesitated again, as if weighing her options and her words. And when she finally started speaking, the words came fast and non-stop, like she was trying to get them all out before she changed her mind.

  "I know you don't believe me but my name really is Lidiya Stephenson. And yes, I erased all signs of my existence. You know I did because you know how good I am. And that should have been enough but it wasn't because he found me. He knows who I am, and apparently where I am. And now that he knows, he won't stop. It's just a matter of time."

  The last word wobbled and cracked. She took a deep breath and reached up to wipe her cheeks, smearing the track of tears drifting from her eyes. She frowned, the expression almost angry, and brushed her cheeks again.

  Derrick stayed where he was, ignoring that damn impulse to reach across the table and pull her into his arms. He told himself not to believe her, told himself this was nothing more than an act designed to garner sympathy and force him to relax his guard.

  Yeah, he could keep telling himself that until the sun set in the east and it wouldn't matter. For reasons he didn't understand, didn't even want to examine, he did believe her.

  Jesus, he was a fool.

  He leaned forward, reached out and caught one of her hands in his. Her skin was chilled, her fingers trembling as they tightened around his. "Who, Lee? Who won't stop?"

  "The man who killed my parents—he won't stop until he kills me, too."

  "Why won't he stop?"

  She blinked and looked at him. Really looked at him, with those big gray eyes filled with tears. With sorrow. With hopelessness and innocence and, dammit to hell and back, with trust.

  "Because I know his secrets."

  Chapter Eleven

  Silence settled over the room, weaving itself with the darkness and creating a cloak of isolation that drifted over him. Derrick should be used to it by now. Hell, this is what he lived for: the silence at the end of the day that allowed him to separate from everything, past and present. He didn't concern himself about the future. There was no future, not for men like him, just what had been, and what was now. That was enough for him.

  More than the silence, he treasured the solitude. The solitude allowed him to confront his ghosts head-on. To face them on his terms even as he succumbed to their torture. He'd come to an understanding of sorts with his ghosts: in exchange for not mind-fucking him while he was working, they got to shred what was left of him to their hearts' content each night.

  For the most part, the arrangement worked. Not that anyone else knew about it. He'd be on his way to a padded cell in outer Mongolia if they did—especially the guys at Cover Six. They relied on him to cover their backs, just like he relied on them. If they had even an inkling of the ghosts who accompanied him on a daily basis, they'd drop-kick his ass as hard and as far as they could.

  Not that he could blame them. Hell, he'd do the same damn thing if their positions were reversed. But they didn't know, had no fucking clue, and he meant to keep it that way. TR was the unknown, of course. She saw through him, into him, in a way he hadn't expected. Yeah, she'd gotten to him. Had weaseled and squirmed and crawled her way past his iron-clad defenses. He still wasn't sure how it had happened, how he'd come to care about her the way he did. Not that way—hell no, she wasn't his fucking type. She was a damn pain-in-the-ass, is what she was. But he was closer to her than he'd been to anyone in a long time, and she was the only person in his limited circle who might come close to guessing at the ghosts who followed him.

  Close, maybe—but she'd never guess the truth. None of them would.

  Yes, Derrick had ghosts, plenty of them. But there was one in particular that tortured him the most. One that would always stay with him. Haunting. Accusing. Several years had gone by but it didn't matter. A fucking lifetime could go by and it wouldn't matter—Kathleen's ghost would be with him forever.

  It had never bothered him before. He'd come to expect it, to welcome it even, as part of the penance he was destined to pay for the rest of his sorry life. Kathleen was dead.

  Because of him.

  Because he hadn't done enough.

  Because he hadn't cared enough.

  And most of all, because she had trusted him. In spite of everything, she had trusted him to help her—up until the very end.

  And in the end, it hadn't mattered. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself, in those cold lonely hours at the darkest time of night. Events had already been placed in motion and there was nothing either one of them could have done to stop it. They had each chosen their paths and rolled the dice in a game of fate—and both of them had lost.

  Kathleen had lost her life.

  Derrick had lost his soul.

  There were times he swore she'd gotten the better deal—until he closed his eyes and saw her haunted face. The accusation in her warm brown eyes the last time they'd looked at him, the betrayal and hurt that mirrored his own as she lay in his arms, fighting with her last breath for an absolution that would never come.

  Had he loved her? Maybe. He'd thought so at one time. But anything he'd felt for her had soured and twisted and died when she had lied to him. It didn't matter that she had been manipulated by a master. It didn't matter that she hadn't realized she was being used, or that she didn't completely understand what she was doing. To her, it had been nothing more than a way to get back at him. But she had lied and in doing so, had shredded the last thread of trust between them.

  She had lied and nearly cost three good men their lives.

  Why she did it didn't matter. And maybe he had loved her, in spite of everything that happened, because he had sworn vengeance on the man who had manipulated her. Who had twisted her need for attention and approval until her only way out was the path he'd set her on.

  Because she hadn't trusted him enough to come to him and ask for help. Hadn't trusted him enough to tell the truth.

  Which was why he was having so much trouble understanding this odd protectiveness he felt toward Lee. She didn't trust him—not that he could blame her. Hell, she didn't know him. Not trusting him was smart on her part. But she had come to him for help and she still wouldn't tell him why. He'd questioned her some more, tried to get something useful from her, but she was stubborn and tight-lipped, insisting he didn't need to know the details of whatever fucking secret she supposedly knew. Insisting that it was safer for him if he didn't know.

  Jesus.

  Safer? When the fuck did he need safer?

  He'd even steered the conversation back to her parents, trying to maneuver her and play on her raw emotions until she let something slip. The only thing that had accomplished was upsetting her to the point of more tears. The sight of those tears ripped something apart inside him, something he hadn't realized he still possessed. He'd finally caved in and pulled her into his arms, wanting to reassure her. Damn near apologizing for upsetting her.

  Him, ap
ologizing.

  Jesus.

  But he didn't step away from her. Fool that he was, he carried her back to the bedroom and held her as she cried for far longer than she should have from grief. Maybe it was the stress of whatever she was going through. The stress of the last twenty-four hours. Of being shot at and watched and having her entire life spin out of control. Derrick knew all about that last part. Hell, hadn't his own life spun out of control a few years ago?

  Yeah, it had—but he'd been better equipped to handle it.

  He should have pulled away as soon as Lee's tears subsided. Should have patted her on the back and moved from the bed. But he hadn't and now here he was, stuck in bed, with a sleeping Lee clinging to him like he was some kind of fucking lifeline.

  Like she fucking trusted him.

  Trusted him, but not enough to tell him her secrets.

  He reached down, started to ease her hand from his chest so he could slide off the bed and go crash in the guest room. Maybe he shouldn't have touched her, or maybe she had already been dreaming and it was just shitty timing on his part.

  Her entire body jerked as if she'd been hit then stiffened in shock, or maybe fear, and froze. Her fingers dug into his chest, her short nails biting into his skin through the thin material of his shirt. An anguished breath escaped her, ending in a scream that was made more heart wrenching because of its near-silence.

  Derrick's arms automatically tightened around her, pulling her closer. He dipped his head, his low voice murmuring words of reassurance he wasn't sure she heard. A minute went by, then another, before she abruptly moved the fingers digging into his chest. She jerked back, struggling against his hold for a brief second until he released her. She sat up, her wide eyes haunted and afraid as she looked around. Another minute went by before the tension and fear left her and she nearly collapsed against him before catching herself.

  "Another nightmare?"

  Derrick didn't think she'd answer at first, held his breath as he waited, wondering why it mattered so much when he knew it shouldn't. He knew she was keeping secrets, why should one more bother him? But it did, for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely.

  Lee dropped her gaze and slowly nodded. Tension drew her shoulders tight around her ears and he watched as she fought against it, as she struggled to regain some kind of internal control. She inhaled, exhaled on a long sigh that told him she was doing her best to exorcise her ghostly demons.

  "It's the same one. The nightmare, I mean." She aimed a frown at her clasped hands then pulled on her lower lip for a brief second. Her chest rose and fell with another deep breath before she looked up at him. The pain in those deep gray eyes acted like a punch to his gut and made his own breath hitch in his chest. He wanted to reach for her, to reassure her.

  But he couldn't. That was the last thing he could—should—do. So he held himself still, waiting, not knowing if she'd tell him the rest.

  Still not knowing why it mattered.

  "It's—it's from the night my parents died. I was there. Behind the house, already leaving. I—I told you that, already, I think."

  She'd told him she'd been leaving, but that was all she had said. Derrick nodded, keeping quiet, worried that she'd stop if he said anything.

  "I didn't want to go, had tried arguing with them, but it was no use. They told me we'd meet later, that everything would be fine. But...it wasn't."

  "Your father had known something might happen?"

  Lee nodded, causing a curtain of hair to wash over her face. She brushed at it with her hand, tucked it behind her ear and nodded again. "We all did. We'd been waiting for it, ever since Dad found my—" She stopped, glanced at him, bit her lower lip and quickly looked away then continued, as if the telling pause had never happened.

  "I—I think I knew that something was going to happen. I turned around, ready to go back to the house, when I heard shouts and a loud, inhuman scream I'd never heard before. It—it was my mother. And then...gunshots. Over and over and over until I was sure they'd never stop. Only they did and then all I heard was silence and...and somehow, that was a hundred times worse because I knew what it meant."

  Derrick reached out, ran a hand along her arm, from her shoulder to her wrist. Her skin was chilled, the softness marred by a thousand small bumps caused by memories only she could see. He started to move his hand away but she grabbed it at the last second, holding onto it with both of hers. The strength of her grasp surprised him and he wondered if it was from desperation, or from something much more basic: the need for a comforting touch. For human contact. For the reassurance that she wasn't alone.

  "What did you do then?" The roughness of Derrick's voice in the room's silence surprised him. It was too hoarse, too gravelly, too damn loud. But Lee didn't notice. How could she, when her mind was still in the past?

  "I almost went back, even though it was too late. But I didn't. I couldn't, not when I knew they'd be coming after me next. As soon as they realized..." Her voice drifted off and she was quiet for the space of several long heartbeats. "So I ran. I don't remember for how long. A few weeks, maybe a month, until I couldn't stand looking over my shoulder anymore. Until the numbness wore off. And then I made my way back here. Found a small apartment and worked on making myself disappear. Moved a few more times. Waiting. Always waiting. Knowing it was only a matter of time before he did to me what he did to my parents."

  Derrick squeezed her hand. "But they haven't. You're still alive and—"

  "Alive?" The word fell from her mouth with a short, derisive laugh. She looked at him, her eyes filled with pain of a different kind—and with a self-loathing he didn't understand. "No. I'm not alive. I'm merely existing. Hiding. Always waiting and wondering. My apartment is my refuge—and my prison. I rarely leave it, and then only when I absolutely have to. I've done such a good job of erasing all traces of my existence that I think I've erased a huge piece of myself as well."

  Her hands tightened around his and she shifted, leaning closer. There was a desperation in her eyes that was suddenly different from what he'd seen earlier, an unexpected urgency about her that he didn't understand—

  Until he did.

  He leaned back, bumped his shoulder against the headboard. "Lee—"

  "What good is being alive if you're not living? I'm tired of looking over my shoulder and waiting. I'm tired of just existing, Chaos." She lifted one of her hands and cupped his cheek, the touch both hesitant and sure at the same time. Wide gray eyes found his, the quiet need simmering in their depths holding him immobile. "I want to live, even if it's just for one night."

  "Lee, this isn't—"

  But the rest of the words never came, silenced by the gentle touch of soft lips pressed against his.

  Chapter Twelve

  Derrick held himself still, afraid to so much as twitch a single muscle. He wanted to tell himself it was because he was being honorable. Because he knew Lee wasn't thinking straight, that she was vulnerable. Because he knew she'd pull back any second, a blush staining her face in embarrassment as soon as she realized what she was doing.

  Jesus, he was a fucking liar.

  He wasn't moving because she had caught him so completely off-guard that he couldn't fucking think, let alone act. In his line of work, that was dangerous. His life depended on fast reaction. On instinct and the ability to think and act fast.

  But now? Jesus. All those instincts had completely vanished.

  He kept thinking that if he didn't move—didn't touch her, didn't kiss her back, didn't fucking breathe—Lee would pull away. She'd stop what she was doing and leap back, mutter an embarrassed apology. He'd chuckle, do his best to put her at ease. Come up with some stupid-ass lame excuse and tell her it was just from stress or some shit like that. Then he'd bolt from the bed and the room and that would be that.

  Except Lee wasn't pulling away. She shifted, pressing herself even closer. Close enough that he could feel the soft weight of her full breasts against his chest. The hard points of her
nipples pressed against him, growing even harder with each gentle rub of her body against his.

  She pushed to her knees and moved even closer, their chests and hips and legs pressed together. She slanted her head and tried to deepen the kiss and like a fool, he was just sitting there, his back braced against the headboard, letting her.

  He needed to tell her again that this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Sex clouded the issue. It blurred the lines and destroyed clarity. It made things personal. Hell, hadn't he told Zeus that same exact damn thing last year, when he'd gotten involved with Kelsey? Yeah, he had—only Zeus hadn't fucking listened and now he was happily married and—

  Shit. Not a good example.

  Didn't matter. This was still a bad idea and he needed to stop it before it went too far. He opened his mouth to tell Lee that, only it was a tactical error on his part because she took advantage of it and slid her tongue between his lips. Soft. Warm. Hesitant.

  He gave in to the kiss, only for a few minutes. Just long enough to enjoy the sweet taste of her. Long enough to make him realize that what he was about to do ranked right up near the top of his list of stupid damn things to do.

  Before he lost sight of why they needed to stop, he reached up and curled his hands around her wrists. Eased her hands from his face and gently turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss. Her sigh of disappointment sliced straight through him and he forced himself to think, dammit. To remember why this was such a bad idea—

  Oh, right. Sex clouded the issue. That was why.

  "Lee, this isn't—" He cleared his throat and forced his gaze from those big gray eyes staring up at him. "This is a bad idea."

  "Why?"

  And shit, even her voice was all sultry and pouty and soft and sexy. He cleared his throat again and tried to focus on her question instead of the big eyes and sexy voice. Question, what was the damn question—

  "This—it's not—sex clouds the issue." There. He'd said it. Now she would move away from him and he could get the hell out of this room and away from the temptation damn near sprawled across his lap.