Space she could use to flee. To try to escape.
Kelsey didn't move. The time for running was over, had been over for a long time.
"He also mentioned a name. Grady Byrne. Does that mean anything to you?"
She nodded, wondered if the fear and disgust showed on her face. Maybe. Maybe not. It didn't matter because Daryl leaned forward, the strength of his gaze holding her prisoner.
"Are you going to explain? Tell me what the hell's going on?"
Kelsey sucked in a deep breath, struggled to find the words. Any words. She'd kept this secret for so long, she didn't know where to start. How to start. It wasn't easy, fighting against the survival instinct she'd developed out of desperation over the past three years. Of being on the run. Of hiding. Of never telling anyone. Never trusting anyone.
Did she trust Daryl? Maybe. Did she trust him enough? No—but she trusted her father. And her father was right: she didn't have a choice. Not anymore.
"Grady Byrne is after my daughter. And he'll stop at nothing to get her."
Chapter Ten
Kelsey had a daughter.
Daryl studied her face. The tear-stained cheeks. The dark smudges of exhaustion under green-ringed hazel eyes. The pale complexion and thinned lips. She looked so different from the woman he had met a few months ago. The woman he'd spent the night with. Her hair was shorter, a deep brown-red with mussed waves instead of long, straight blonde. She'd lost weight. Not much, but enough to make her look fragile. Helpless.
She was anything but helpless. The memory of the gun held against the back of his head chilled him. If her finger had slipped, if she hadn't hesitated or given him a warning, he'd be dead right now.
Even after he'd disarmed her, she hadn't been helpless. She'd fought him, each swing and kick fueled by a panicked desperation he now understood. No, she hadn't been a match for him and he'd had to force himself to hold back. To be gentle with her even as she kicked and scratched. He'd have marks from her attempts to get away, no doubt about it.
But she hadn't screamed. Not once. Her struggles had been quiet. Even when she had begged for him not to hurt her, her pleas had been quiet. Hoarse, ragged. Desperate.
But still quiet.
Kelsey had a daughter.
His mind reeled with the information. With the implication. Davis's insistence that Daryl help made more sense now. Kelsey's own desperation made sense. A few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place—but not enough to give him even a small glimpse of the whole picture. Not nearly enough. The new information was just one more twist in the crazy game of cat-and-mouse he'd been sucked into over the last twenty-four hours.
He pushed off the bed, glanced around the cabin. Small. Self-contained. Nothing more than basic necessities: the bed; a small table and two chairs; a cast iron wood stove. A free-standing utility sink with an improvised counter sat next to the woodstove. The counter was no more than two feet long, constructed of raw wood. A two-burner camp stove sat on top of it and, taking up an entire burner all by itself, was a coffeepot.
Daryl's steps echoed against the rough plank floor as he made his way over to the camp stove. A shelf hung over the sink and counter, maybe three feet long. Canisters were neatly lined along the shelf, their contents clearly labeled. Coffee. Sugar. Flour. Tea.
What the fuck? Tea?
He ignored the canisters and reached for the two enamel-coated mugs that were stacked on top the matching plates. He sat the mugs side-by-side on the counter then hefted the coffee pot and filled each halfway with the steaming brew.
Daryl hesitated then grabbed the sugar canister. Located a spoon and dumped a generous amount into each mug. He didn't usually use sugar but what the hell—he'd need the boost it would give him. So would Kelsey.
He took one mug and moved back to the bed, held it out for Kelsey. She stared at it like she didn't know what the hell it was then looked up at him. "I don't use sugar—"
"Tough shit. Take it."
Damn if it didn't look like she wanted to argue with him. He narrowed his eyes, silently daring her to push. To his surprise, she accepted the mug, held it between both hands and took a careful sip.
He turned his back on her—not the brightest move since part of him fully expected her to knock him over the head with something or throw the coffee at him. Maybe both. It wouldn't matter if she tried, not when he was faster. He grabbed the second mug and one of the heavy chairs, dragged it over to the bed and turned it around so he could straddle it backward.
Then he just sat there, sipping strong, too-sweet coffee and watching the woman curled against the headboard. Minutes dragged by, each one filled with tense silence. Kelsey stared into the coffee mug, taking an occasional sip but otherwise not moving. She appeared as unfazed by the silence as he was. Should that surprise him? Even when he'd first met her, she had been quiet. Maybe a little reserved, like she wasn't accustomed to talking to people. He had chalked it up to a natural shyness but now...no, she wasn't shy. She just wasn't used to being around people. Wasn't used to trusting anyone.
Too damn bad. She'd have to learn to trust him. She didn't have any choice, not if she wanted his help.
"Tell me about your daughter."
Her head shot up and she watched him through narrowed eyes filled with suspicion and wariness. "Why?"
Daryl swallowed back a growl of frustration, schooled his face into a blank mask and met her gaze. "The more information I have, the more I can help. Now tell me about your daughter."
She watched him for a long minute, finally looked away with a shaky sigh. "Her name is Paige. She just turned five."
He waited but she said nothing else. And yeah, that was real fucking helpful. If he wanted information, he'd have to pry every single word from her—something they didn't have time for. "Kelsey, I'm not the enemy here. I can help you but only if I know what's going on."
"Why?"
"Why do I need to know what's going on?"
She shook her head, looked over at him again. "No. Why do you want to help me?"
Daryl clenched his jaw. Inhaled deep through his nose then forced himself to relax. "Because your father asked me to."
"And that's it? He asked, so just like that, you're going to help?"
"Yeah. Just like that."
"Why? What's in it for you?"
He clenched his jaw again. Christ, this was going to be harder than he first thought. "Nothing is in it for me."
"Then why are you going to help?"
"Because I owe your father." She kept watching him, the unasked question in her eyes. Why? He heard it as clearly as if she had said it out loud. He hesitated, wondering how much to tell her. And fuck, it wasn't like she didn't already know—she did. At least, part of it. Because he had run his fucking mouth to her, spilled his own secrets during their time together down in the islands.
He raised the mug to his mouth, took a long swallow of the too-sweet coffee. Took another one, more to kill time as he gathered his thoughts. "Your father helped me get through some things a long time ago." He darted a glance at Kelsey, quickly averted his gaze. "Back when my daughter died. He was my CO at the time, knew I was close to losing my shit. He, uh, he helped me get my head on straight. Helped me channel all the shit I was going through."
Davis had been the one responsible for helping Daryl keep his sanity. And he'd been the one responsible for fast-tracking him into the Ranger program, for making sure his package went through.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"There'd be no reason for you to know, would there?" Did his voice hold an edge of accusation? Yeah, it did. Tough shit. She'd met him under false pretenses, had never bothered to tell him who she was. Their meeting hadn't been an accident, he was certain of that.
But now wasn't the time to go into that. Later—if it even mattered. Right now, Daryl wasn't sure it did.
He took another sip of coffee, lowered the mug. "Where's your daughter now?"
Kelsey hesitated. Turned her teary gaze
toward him and shook her head. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I don't know. I—I haven't seen her in six months. I'm hoping Dad told you where she is because if he didn't, I might never see her again."
The bottom dropped out of his stomach, allowing a blast of icy air to freeze him. What the fuck was going on? Instead of getting answers, he was being handed riddles—
And not a single thing made sense.
He hated fucking games. Hated being strung along. Hated being played. And Daryl couldn't shake the feeling that all three were happening right now.
He leaned forward, not bothering to hide his impatience. His anger. His frustration.
"I think maybe you better start at the beginning and explain. All of it. Now."
Chapter Eleven
Start at the beginning.
Kelsey stared into the coffee mug, focused on the swirl of dark liquid that was too strong and too sweet to drink. Focusing on that was a hundred times better than watching that amber gaze stare at her.
Angry. Judging.
She didn't understand either one, couldn't figure out why he seemed so angry. Did it matter? No, it didn't. At least, it shouldn't. Daryl Anderson meant nothing to her other than a means to an end—and then only if he could help her. If he could do that—and her father seemed to think he could—then she didn't care what he thought of her. If he could find her daughter and somehow end this nightmare that had been going on for far too long, he could glare at her with all the contempt in the world and she'd dance for joy about it.
She shoved the lie from her mind and took a deep breath, ran a shaking hand over her face. Start at the beginning, he'd said. Kelsey wasn't even sure where the beginning was. Back when Blaine's mother had disappeared from the monster who was his father? When she'd hidden his existence because she knew what would happen?
No, not back that far.
She took a long swallow of the coffee, grimaced at the taste but didn't put the mug down. Holding that mug between her hands, focusing on it, helped to ground her somehow. Gave her the illusion she was in control.
She hadn't been in control for three years.
"I met Blaine my junior year of college—"
"Who's that?"
She glanced up, frowned at the man leaning toward her like he still expected her to bolt at any second. "Blaine Walsh. Paige's father."
He nodded, motioned for her to go on. His face might as well have been carved from stone for all the expression he showed but Kelsey could still feel his judgment. Too bad. She didn't care. She couldn't care.
"We met in my junior year of college. He was helping me in my Energy and Thermodynamics class—that was one of the requirements for mechanical engineering." She smiled at the memory. Her first impression of Blaine had been one of the quintessential nerd. Shaggy, dark-ginger hair. Clothes that never seemed to fit him right. A distracted air that clung to him except when he was focusing on his work. The only thing missing from the stereotypical image was a pocket protector and glasses. Kelsey hadn't cared about the pocket protector but she'd been happy about the glasses. Blaine had the most gorgeous green eyes she had ever seen, deep emerald green with flecks of gold. Those eyes had been her downfall.
She pushed the memory from her mind, tightened her hands around the enamel mug. "We started dating after a few months." Because Kelsey had asked him out—Blaine was too shy, too sweet, to ever make the first move. The man watching her didn't need to know that, though. "A few months later, we learned I was pregnant."
"You're married." It was a statement, not a question—and Kelsey didn't miss the accusation in his voice.
"No, I'm not married. By the time I realized I was pregnant, the relationship had already run its course. We were better suited as friends, not lovers. And Blaine was my best friend. He was also a great father."
And he had been. Paige had been his pride and joy. Blaine had joyfully admitted to anyone who would listen that his little girl had him wrapped around her finger. The bond the two had shared had been unbreakable; the connection between them had been almost magical. Special. Paige had been a bigger daddy's girl than Kelsey had ever been.
"You said was. Where is he now?"
"Blaine was killed by a drunk driver a little more than three years ago. He, uh, he was walking down the street to pick up dinner when the driver swerved and ran up on the sidewalk." She closed her eyes against the tears, tried to push the memories away. The frantic knocking on her door by several of the neighbors. The shrill ring of the telephone as she raced out of her apartment. The silent prayers she kept repeating to herself, telling herself over and over that it was a mistake. That her neighbors were wrong, that it wasn't Blaine that had been hit but someone else.
Except some prayers went unanswered, a lesson Kelsey had learned the hard way that night—and in the days following. Blaine was gone. Her sweet, gentle Blaine, who had never hurt a soul, was gone. She'd never see him again. Never watch as he swung Paige around and around in dizzying circles. She would never again hear his rich laughter or see his eyes light up in wonder at something Paige had done.
She opened her eyes, pulled in a shaky breath as she wiped her cheek on her shoulder. Had she expected sympathy from the man sitting so close, his hands loosely folded around his own coffee mug as he braced his arms over the back of the chair? If she had, she would have been disappointed. No emotion showed on his face, in his eyes. He just sat there, watching her with a detachment that sent a chill racing over her.
"You loved him." It was a statement, not a question. A statement laced with accusation. Kelsey met his blank gaze and nodded.
"Yes, I did. I still do." Let him think what he wanted, she didn't care. She'd be damned if she explained herself to him, if she defended the way she felt. Blaine had been her daughter's father, a part of both their worlds that could never be replaced. A piece of her heart had been ripped out the day Blaine died and that hole still existed. It might be smaller now but it would always be there because nothing could fix it. Nothing—and no one—could replace Blaine.
"What does any of this have to do with Grady Byrne? Why is he after you?"
"He's not after me. At least, he wasn't. Not at first. He wants Paige."
"Why?"
"Paige is his granddaughter."
"Blaine was his son?"
Kelsey nodded. "Yes. His only child, from what I understand. But he didn't know about Blaine, not until after the accident."
"How did he find out?"
"I'm not sure."
"Did Blaine know about him?"
"Yes. His mother finally told him when he was in high school. Blaine did some research and find out what kind of man Grady was. He told me about him—right before Paige was born. He wanted me to know, to make sure I stayed away if I ever happened to see him. Neither one of us ever thought it would come to that. Blaine's mom had been positive that Grady didn't know about him. She'd only been two months pregnant with him when she ran away—"
"Ran away?"
"Yeah. That's how Blaine described it—that she ran away. I'm not sure exactly what happened, I never asked."
"But Byrne found out about him anyway."
Kelsey nodded, raised the mug to her mouth and sipped. The coffee was cold now, even more bitter. She didn't care—she needed the caffeine. The sugar. The distraction of doing something ordinary and mundane.
"Grady showed up at the funeral. I—I didn't even know he was there at first. Not until it was over. He, uh, he came up to me after the graveside service. Introduced himself. And then..." Her voice trailed off and she squeezed her eyes against the memory, pressed one hand against her stomach to control the nausea.
"And then?"
"He said he wanted Paige. That she was his granddaughter. His legacy. That was the word he used. He said he would make sure she was raised in luxury and given every opportunity in life." Kelsey shuddered, opened her eyes and nearly spit the next words. "He offered me two-hundred-and-f
ifty thousand dollars for Paige. Like I would sell my own daughter."
There was a long pause filled with nothing more than the sound of the chair creaking as Daryl shifted position. "What did you do?"
She raised her head, met his blank gaze with her own fiery one. "I told him I'd think about it and walked away. Then I took Paige and disappeared that night. We've been running ever since."
"Why did you disappear?"
His calm question—his entire demeanor, so relaxed and casual—angered her. Kelsey swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up and started pacing. She was only slightly surprised he let her but she didn't care. She needed to move, to rid herself of the pent-up energy and frustration and fear bottled up inside her.
"I didn't have a choice. I knew he wouldn't stop. That he wouldn't take no for an answer."
"But you gave up your daughter anyway."
Kelsey spun on her heel, curled her hands into fists and stared at the man who had just accused her of the most heinous thing she could imagine. "She's my daughter. I would never give her up. Never. I would die first."
"But you haven't seen her in six months. You don't know where she is."
"I didn't have a choice!"
"Why?"
"Grady's men found us again. Six months ago. I don't know how. I—I guess I let my guard down. Thought that we were safe, that they weren't looking for us anymore. But I was wrong."
"What happened?"
"We were shopping. There was this new toy Paige wanted and she wouldn't stop asking for it—and she never asks for anything. So I took her to the mall and bought it for her. We were walking around, getting ready to go for ice cream, when a man tried to grab her. She screamed and I hit him. Grabbed Paige and ran to the car and took off. And I kept going, didn't stop until I knew it was safe."
Kelsey wrapped her arms around her waist, warding off the chill of the memory. Paige's sharp scream. The determination flashing in the man's eyes as he held her daughter's arm hard enough to bruise her tender flesh. The flare of recognition that exploded in her when she met the man's eyes. He'd been with Grady that day, at the funeral.
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