Did Derrick believe her? She wanted to look over at him, wanted to see if those blue eyes she had been so drawn to still watched her with cold disgust. But she couldn't make herself do that, knew that seeing cold judgment in his eyes would make this even more unbearable than it already was.
Derrick shifted, the first movement he'd made since she woke up and noticed him sitting there, watching her. The movement startled her so much that she jerked to the side and actually looked at him.
Then just as quickly looked away as the last lingering hope shriveled and died in her chest.
"Marko Stefanović is your uncle."
Lidiya nodded. Shook her head. Sat up straighter and focused on the wall of shelves in front of her. "He's my father's half-brother."
"He's a fucking terrorist."
Lidiya flinched at the anger in his cold voice. Held her breath when he stood and paced in front of her with strong, measured steps that belied the caged energy inside him. "Do you have any idea what he's done? What he's been responsible for? What he's still doing?"
"I—" Lidiya swallowed, shook her head. No, she didn't know, had never been able to make herself read the rest of the files. She looked up, started to tell Derrick that, but there was something about the expression on his face, in his eyes.... Sickening realization twisted her gut. "Y-you know him."
Derrick kept pacing, each step growing angrier and more agitated. "Know him? Damn straight I know him. I tried for three years to get to him. I gave up my sanity, my fucking soul, to get to him and all this time, you knew where he was!"
He stopped, ran a hand down his face then pointed to the computer. "The information you have could have helped to take him down! All you had to do was turn it over."
"I—I couldn't."
"Why, Lee? Why couldn't you?"
"I—because..." She couldn't finish, couldn't admit that it was because she was scared. Because she swore to keep her family safe from their own secrets. How could she admit any of that, when she had no family left? How could she admit it when she realized this was more than just personal for the man standing a few feet away, towering over her?
He moved closer, leaned down and pinned her in place with the searing intensity of his eyes. "Why, Lee? Tell me why."
She shrank away from him, shook her head. "I—I can't."
He watched her for the space of several heartbeats, his gaze scalding her. Then he pushed away with a growl of disgust, those searing eyes never leaving hers. "Then you have just as much blood on your hands as your grandfather and uncle. You're just as guilty as they are."
Shame blossomed in her chest, eclipsing the pain and agony choking the life from her. She jumped to her feet, pushed him away and ran for the door. Yanked it open as he called her name, ignored him as she took off running.
And kept running, cold air slapping her face, branches tugging at her shirt and legs. Running, stumbling, catching herself and running some more. Running until she couldn't breathe, until she couldn't see, until she couldn't take another step.
Then she dropped to the ground, lungs heaving as she struggled to draw breath. Twigs and rocks dug into her knees as she crawled toward a tree, bark scraping her back as she leaned against it. She drew her knees to her chest, hugging them close as she dropped her head and cried, huge gulping sobs that threatened to rip the heart from her chest and made it hard to breathe.
You have just as much blood on your hands.
You're just as guilty as they are.
The angry words raced through her mind, over and over and over, battering her heart, her soul, no matter how many times she tried to deny them. Deny them? How could she, when they were the truth? How could she, when blood would tell? It always told.
Could she have done anything different? Had her silence, her fear, her family's shame, cost innocent lives? She didn't know, would never know. And there was nothing she could do to atone for it.
How long did she sit there? Long enough for the tears to dry. Long enough for the wet earth to seep through her jeans. Long enough for the cold to penetrate her body, down to her bone. Deeper, down to the very marrow.
Long enough to realize she knew what she had to do, had known it days ago. No, she could never atone for her failure to act, but she could act now. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe it was too late. But she couldn't put it off, not anymore.
She pushed to her feet with a weariness that dragged at her then started walking, tracing her steps back to the cabin. Each step was heavy, sluggish, weighing her down. How could she face Derrick? How could she bear seeing the cold judgment in his eyes when he looked at her? The disgust and contempt that twisted the face she had come to treasure in such a short amount of time?
She didn't want to see him look at her the way he had before she ran out—but what she wanted was no longer important. It had never been important. She would bear his disgust and contempt because she had to. She would do what needed to be done, put an end to things once and for all. If she survived, she'd find a way to move on. And if she didn't...well, she hadn't been living for the past two years. Would death really make that much difference?
She was so focused on each step, on each regret, that she didn't notice the man who stepped out in front of her. She stumbled to a stop, her mind not registering his presence right away. As soon as it did, she turned to run—
But it was too late. Someone else grabbed her from behind, pressed something cold and hard against her temple as the man stepped closer. A cold smile stretched across his face and gray eyes, so much like her own, stared back at her.
"Hello, Lidiya. I've been looking for you."
Chapter Twenty
File sent.
Derrick stared at the small message until the words blurred in front of his eyes, until they disappeared from his vision altogether, morphing into nothing but a gray smear against the white background. He blinked, pulled them into sharp focus.
File sent.
It was done, the last of the files speeding their way through cyberspace, their contents encrypted. Computers in Langley and London and Lyon would be pinging with the alert of an incoming message. Analysts and techs and dozens of other anonymous faces would be opening the messages. They would decode the layers of encryption, scan the contents. Hearts would race and excitement would build as they realized what they were reading.
It was done.
They'd be hesitant at first, wary. Unwilling to believe what they were seeing was real. Then they'd see the sender's name and a hint of memory would surface, grow clearer as they dug deeper and tried to locate his whereabouts. As they whispered and remembered and wondered if the rumors had been true.
It was done.
The brief curiosity surrounding him would be nothing more than a small blip, quickly pushed to the backs of minds suddenly focused on the new information. The excitement would dim when they realized, as he had, that the information was more than four years old. Ancient history.
Worthless.
But he had still passed it on, heedless of the secrets he was exposing. Better minds than his might be able to glean something from the old information. Might be able to dig through the letters and numbers and find just a small crumb of information that might point to other possibilities. Analytical minds would sort through the scraps of ancient history to create new pieces of a puzzle to be sorted and arranged and rearranged in the hopes of gleaning something new, no matter how small. Just a scrap that might lead to another scrap that might lead to something more.
It was done.
But Derrick felt no better for it.
He stared at the screen, realized he was still online, that he'd been online since the dark hours just past midnight. With a small oath of anger at his carelessness, he disconnected the computer and shut it down with a furious jab of his finger.
Dammit! And damn her. Lee. Lidiya. Damn her secrets and shame and misplaced loyalty to her family. Damn her for not trusting him sooner. For not telling him the truth that very first night. If
she had, if he'd known who she was and what he was getting into—
It wouldn't have mattered.
So damn him. For not pushing. For getting involved. For the angry words and cold accusations.
For blaming her for an accident of birth.
For deliberately comparing her to her grandfather. To her uncle. For making her think she was just as culpable as they were.
For not telling her the truth.
He'd known, as soon as he started reading the last files, that the information she was so carefully protecting was old. Outdated. Worthless. It had been worthless three years ago, when he'd come face-to-face with the bastard. When he'd held Kathleen in his arms as she struggled for her last breath. Even if he'd had the information then, it would have done no good.
Lidiya didn't know that, had no way of knowing. He doubted if she really even understood what she had. Maybe, in the vaguest sense, she might. But to her, they were nothing more than family secrets. Awful secrets. Secrets her parents had been killed for.
None of that mattered when he started reading. When cold fury and disgust and resentment bloomed in his chest. As it grew with each passing second, with each file he opened. As it exploded deep inside, unleashing emotions and regrets he'd long since buried. Yes, he'd been furious. He still was, although the fury now was tempered with a small degree of understanding. He'd seen the horror on Lee's face. The shame and embarrassment and regret. The pain of loss and the certainty of her own end. The shattered hope—
And the death of whatever she thought she might feel for him.
Damn him. Damn him to hell for putting that look on her face.
Damn him for letting his own emotions—feelings he didn't even know he was capable of—get in the way of cold logic.
Derrick ran both hands over his face, scrubbing away his exhaustion. His regret. He needed to move, to get his ass in gear. There were things he needed to do, things he needed to follow-up on. No, it wasn't his job, not anymore, but he still had a vested interest in taking down the son-of-a-bitch and he wouldn't stop, not now.
There were other things he needed to do before that. Talk to Lee. Explain things to her. Convince her he hadn't meant what he'd said. Convince her she wasn't to blame and that he didn't hold her birth against her.
But first, he needed to convince her to listen to him.
He glanced at his watch, frowned when he saw that an hour had gone by. Lee should be back by now. Yes, she had been upset when she left, so upset she hadn't heard him calling her. Or maybe she had and simply chose to ignore him. He couldn't blame her, not when he would have done the same thing.
But she'd been gone long enough, with nothing but a sweatshirt to ward off the chill of the lower temperatures. Was she staying outside because she didn't want to face him? Because she was afraid to face him?
Regret and guilt washed over him and he ruthlessly pushed them away. Ignored the creeping sensation skittering along his spine. He'd have time for the regrets later. Time enough to wallow in the guilt—later. For now, he needed to find Lee. To bring her back. To make what amends he could before they left.
He stalked to the wardrobe and pulled out the quilted flannel shirt he always kept hanging there and shrugged into it. The cold didn't bother him, the long-sleeve shirt he had on was more than enough for him, but Lee might need the extra layer of protection.
A sense of urgency prodded him, driving him toward the door. The urgency made no sense but he didn't fight it, actually forced himself to slow down instead of running. Lee was safe, nothing would happen to her. Not here.
Not with him around.
He moved toward the door, his steps heavy and determined, the heels of his boots loud against the plank floor. He was already rehearsing what he would say to Lee when he found her. Thinking of ways to ease the sting of his words, to soothe the betrayal she must feel at the sharp accusations he'd hurled at her. The urgency raked at his spine, no longer content to be ignored, and propelled him outside into the cold air—
Derrick stumbled to a halt, the bottom dropping from his stomach. Lee stood in front of him, ten yards away, her gray eyes nothing more than hollow smudges in a face completely washed of all color—except for the bruise forming along her cheekbone. Her hair was tangled around her face, bits of leaves and dirt clinging to the silken strands.
She wasn't alone.
Three men flanked her. One on her left, his beefy hand clamped down on her arm in a crushing hold. One on her right, his hand twisted in her hair, pulling her head back at an awkward angle while he held the barrel of a pistol against her temple.
And the third man, standing a few feet off to the side, a cold smile splitting his face. Derrick ignored the two men holding Lee and focused on the third one—the most dangerous one.
"Your surprise at seeing me is more gratifying than you will ever know, my friend." The smile on Marko Stefanović's face grew wider. A shark's smile, all grimace and teeth. He moved forward, crushing the dirt and grass beneath his shoes with each step, stopping only when he was several feet away. Close, so fucking close. It would be so easy for Derrick to lunge at him, to strike a killing blow and end it all right here and now. He wouldn't survive—Marko's men would see to that—but it wouldn't matter. He'd have his vengeance.
But he couldn't, not with Marko's men flanking Lee. Not with that pistol pressed against her head.
His gaze slid to hers, quickly looked away before he could see the pain and betrayal in the depths of her eyes. Just like before. Just like—
He pushed the memory away, turned his gaze back to her uncle. Noticed the weapon held so casually in the other man's hand. "What do you want, Stefanović?"
"Nothing of any significance to you." His voice was calm, well-modulated, devoid of any trace of accent. "I was simply trying to have a small family reunion with my niece but she's made it so difficult."
He paused, his brow furrowed in a slight frown as he looked first at Lee then back at Derrick. He raised the gun and carelessly waved it in her direction. "You did know Lidiya was my niece when you were fucking her, didn't you? No?"
Stefanović shifted the gun's aim, carelessly pointed it at Derrick now. "No, I can see you didn't. Fair enough, since I didn't realize Kathleen was your wife when I was fucking her."
He heard Lee's soft gasp, knew it was from learning he'd been married, from hearing that his wife had betrayed him with her uncle. The gasp abruptly ended, turned into a strangled cry that ended just as quickly. But Derrick didn't look at her, he couldn't look at her. Not now, not when he needed to focus everything he had on Marko Stefanović. Not when he needed to anticipate the man's next move.
But there was nothing to anticipate. Not when he knew the man's next move. And there was no way to stop it. There was nothing he could do except stand there and watch, detached, as Marko raised the weapon and fired.
Fiery pain exploded in his shoulder and he fell back. Stumbled. Dropped to one knee. Struggled to stand and fell again, already sinking into the beckoning darkness with Lee's screams following him straight into hell.
Chapter Twenty-One
Derrick had always thought he knew what to expect when he finally reached Hell. There would be darkness. Fire. Never-ending pain and torture. A parade of regrets flashing through his mind, each one shredding his skin with sharp clarity, tearing the flesh from his body strip-by-strip until there was nothing left.
He had known it would be like that. Had resigned himself to the bleak eternity stretching out before him like a desert road leading to nowhere.
He just never imagined it would hurt so fucking much. But it did. Jesus, it fucking hurt.
He was aware of his burning flesh, the fire throbbing in his chest, just below his collarbone. He was aware of the burning ache in his arms, of the pull in each muscle and tendon and ligament as they were stretched over his head. There was other pain, but he couldn't pinpoint it, was only aware of it on some visceral level that confused him. Shouldn't he know where it was? What was the
point of eternal damnation and torture if you couldn't tell where it was coming from?
Maybe that's what surprised him the most: the sharp pain of the awareness. Which made no fucking sense. Nothing made sense. Not the pain. Not the hollowness in his chest. Not the way his head rolled to the side. Not even the voices around him, talking with words that made no sense even though he could hear them and knew he should understand them.
"Douse him. I want him awake."
That he understood. At least, he understood the words, but not their meaning, had no idea what—
Icy coldness washed over him. His head. His face. His chest. So fucking cold. Derrick finally regained control of his neck muscles, forced his head upright. Peeled one eye open, just a slit, just enough to see around him.
Hell was his cabin. What used to be his refuge was destined to be his prison for all eternity. Something about that struck him as wrong, but he couldn't understand why—
Another wave of icy coldness brought him fully awake. He sputtered, spit the water from his mouth and coughed. He tried to move his arm, tried to wipe the water from his face—
Searing pain tore through him, from his left shoulder up to his wrist. Derrick shook his head, dislodged the last shadows clinging to his brain, and looked around.
He'd been wrong: he wasn't in Hell. This was worse. So much worse.
He was in his cabin, his wrists bound, his arms stretched overhead and secured to the railings of the loft by a length of rough rope. Something warm dripped along his forearm, the sensation mildly annoying. He blinked, shook his head, looked up. Blood, from the cuts and abrasions on his wrists where the fibers of the rope dug into his skin.
How long had he been hanging here, with just his toes dragging the wooden planks of the floor? With the weight of his body pulling on his arms and straining the tendons of his shoulders?
Too long. Long enough that he could no longer feel his hands. Long enough for the puddle of blood pooling at his feet to congeal.
The Warrior: DERRICK (Cover Six Security Book 4) Page 16
