by Lora Leigh
Prologue
The letter came at a time in his life when the battle inside his soul could have tipped either way.
The war against terrorism was still waging, years after it had begun, and in select areas of the Middle East it was hell. The Special Forces unit Dash Sinclair was assigned to had been there for a year now; working together, becoming a part of each other’s lives, depending on each other. Until the day their transport was taken out by a well-aimed missile. It had killed the other seven men. Dash was left barely clinging to life when rescue had arrived.
At the time, he wasn’t even certain what kept him alive. He was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hiding, just plain tired of being alone. He had been closer to those seven soldiers than he had ever been to anyone, and now they were gone, leaving an awareness within him of the desolate wasteland his life had become.
Weeks later, his eyes bandaged, his wounds covered, he lay in a medicated stupor, barely clinging to life. A part of his soul howled out in fury; that restless, yearning part that never seemed to still grieved at the continued fight to survive. Why was he alive when the others had been lost?
It was then his commanding officer came to him.
“You have a fan, son.” Something inside, a primal, instinctive part of his conscience stilled then. It pushed back the pain, the memories of blood and death, and became watchful. Waiting.
He had no fans, no friends or family. And he had lost his unit. He was damned tired of hiding and fighting, and they wouldn’t let him just sleep. And now, the part of himself he had always fought to deny was awake once again. Instinctively he knew his greatest battle was yet to come.
“A nice little girl named Cassie Colder. Let me read this to you real fast. I’ll answer her until you’re well enough to do it yourself. But I have a feeling this little girl would get right pissed if you didn’t eventually answer…”
I liked your name best when the teacher gave us the list. Dash Sinclair. It has a very nice sound to it I think. Momma said it’s a very brave, very handsome name, and she bets you like it lots. I thought it sounded like a daddy’s name. I bet you have lots of little girls. And I bet they are very proud of your name. I don’t have a daddy, but if I had one, then I would like a name like that for my Daddy.
He had created his own name. Long ago. Far away. Created a name he had prayed would hide his past. Then he had fought to change himself as well. But he didn’t have lots of little girls and he wasn’t a daddy. The words his commander read seeped into his brain and a sense of urgency began to fill him.
My Momma, her name is Lizbeth. And she has brown hair kind of like me. And pretty blue eyes. But my eyes are kind of blue too. I have a really pretty Momma, Dash. She makes me cookies, and even tells me it’s okay to talk to the fairy that lives in my room with me. My Momma is really nice.
My Momma says you are a very brave man. That you are fighting to keep us safe. I wish you were here with us Dash, cause sometimes my Momma gets very tired.
Even in pain, barely conscious, a sense of alarm surged through him. He could feel fear in that simple sentence. A plea for protection. And he fought to live. He had to live. He had to save Cassie and her momma.
He saw Cassie, small and delicate, whimpering in fear. But in bright, vivid colors, he saw her mother, desperate, frightened, poised in front of her daughter like a protective she-wolf, snarling in fury. Why did he see that? Why did the image taunt him?
At other times, he was tormented by the sight of the mother watching him, her eyes half closed in drowsy passion, her body naked, slender and graceful beneath his larger frame.
It was little Cassie Colder that wrote to him, but with each line about her mother, each description, each phrase concerning the Momma who looked after her, Dash’s need grew. His sense of possessiveness, his hunger, his inborn knowledge that somehow, some way, Elizabeth and Cassie belonged to him, began to strengthen inside him.
Yes. The name Dash was a good name for a daddy. For Cassie’s daddy. But it was also a good name for a mate. Elizabeth’s mate. And once again the inborn instinct of the animal raised its head. His senses became sharper as he fought against the fog of pain and medication then. Twisting shadows of violence and the dark bloody stains of death began to emerge and coalesce around Cassie and her momma. They were his, and they were in danger. He had to live.
My Momma says you must be a very kind man. Kind men don’t hit little girls. Do they?
So innocently phrased, yet with a wealth of meaning. He strained within the dark agony that filled him, fought through the layers of pain to find consciousness, to heal. To live. Cassie and her Momma needed him.
My Momma says there might not really be fairies but it’s okay if I think there are. Cause nothing don’t exist if you don’t believe in it. And if you believe in it, then it’s real as sunshine. I believe in you, Dash… Why did he keep hearing a cry? It was inside his head, a woman’s tears and muffled sobs. But it was the child’s words his Major read to him as he fought his way back. A battle he often feared he would lose.
My Momma says Leprechauns should be real. That gold at the end of the rainbow sounds really nice.
I promise, Dash. I know a real fairy. I told Momma and she smiled and said I could ask her in for cookies and milk if I liked. I had to tell her that fairies don’t eat cookies and milk. They really like candy bars… The fairy eventually got to share the candy bar with Cassie. But still, Dash heard a woman’s muffled sobs.
* * * * *
The kid’s letters became a lifeline through long, bitter months of recuperation. It gave him something to hold onto. He had no one. He was a man alone in the world and he had thought this was the way he wanted it, until one little girl’s letters touched his soul.
They were often peppered with amusing, cute little displays of affection toward a mother who apparently loved her daughter very much. And the daughter showered him with a sprinkling of the love her mother gave.
Sometimes my momma is sad. She sits alone in our room and stares out the window and I peek through my eyes and I think I see tears. I think she needs a daddy too, don’t you?
The soldiers who had accompanied the Major that day had ribbed him over that one. But Major Thomas had shushed them quickly and continued to read. Dash was conscious now, but still weak and had a long road ahead of him. But he fought. Fought like the animal he was, because of the woman’s tears and a little girl’s fears.
I wanted to send you a sparkling present for Christmas. But Momma said we just didn’t have the money this year. Maybe for your birthday, she said, if you will tell me when it is. So I emailed Santa instead. I told him exactly what he was to get you, but I bet your other little girls already thought of it too. I wanted a bicycle, but Momma said Santa might not make it this year. I told her he would. This year, Santa would know I’m big enough for a bike. I’m seven years old. Seven years old is a good bike age, I think.
She wrapped around his heart, with her youthful wit and humor and her belief in everything good in the world. He wanted her to have that damned bike. He wanted her to know Santa looked after good little girls who saved worthless hides like his. He wanted her to know he was coming for her. He sent her the bike. So she would be comfortable when he arrived. So she wouldn’t be scared…
She was a matchmaker, though. Major Thomas finally started reading her letters without the presence of the other men who visited. And Dash finally got around to speaking, finally managed to give her a letter in return. It was short. He tired easily but he wanted the little girl to know what her letters meant to him.
I got my bike, Dash. Momma was really surprised. On Christmas day I was sure Santa didn’t trust me yet. My bike wasn’t under the tree. Then the doorbell rang, and when Momma answered the door, ther
e was my shining red bike. It had my name on it. It was just for me alone and it was brand new. And it had a helmet. And I have little gloves. And I have elbow pads. And I have knee pads. And there was even a present for my Momma from Santa. Can you believe it, Dash? It was the best Christmas ever. Santa even remembered my Momma.
Of course Santa remembered. Dash had smiled and roughly thanked the Major for taking care of his request. The long robe would keep the mother warm until his arms could do the job. Cassie had said her momma was often cold…
* * * * *
Then the letters stopped. A month before he was released from the hospital, his eyesight back, his legs working once again, his strength back at top peak, they had stopped. Concerned, he had asked Commander Thomas to check into it. To find out what happened to the bright, cheerful little girl whose momma had raised her to give her love so freely.
Commander Thomas, I regret to inform you that little Cassidy Colder and her mother, Elizabeth, died in a fire that overtook their apartment building several weeks ago. The bodies were unrecoverable, but there is no doubt that they, along with several others, were caught in the blaze. There was some trouble associated with the child and mother, rumors I’ve heard of a contract on their lives. Please let me know if you would like me to obtain more information…
The fax had arrived from the private investigator he had hired.
Commander Thomas had checked it out immediately. Neighbors had heard the screams, had seen the apartment building explode, flames overtaking it in a matter of minutes. Dash felt his world crumble. The little girl who had saved him, who had given him his will to live, was gone.
For days he sat silent, staring broodingly at the ceiling. For so long he had been alone. He had awakened each day knowing he had no one. Had gone to sleep each night feeling the loss. Yet, while he lay near death, God had brought him angels. Only to take them away once again. It was a terrible blow to the soul he thought had withered away years ago. He knew only blood and death. Had never known innocence until Cassie and her Momma, Lizbeth. The immature, childish scrawl of the name had lingered in his mind. Elizabeth. His Elizabeth.
In thirty years of living, Dash had never claimed any one person as essential in his life. He had grown up knowing his survival depended on having no one, knowing he was different, knowing how imperative it was that he hide those differences. He had made his own way in life, had literally raised himself as best he could until he was old enough to join the Army.
He had made the service his home. The men he fought with, though not close to him, had given him a base to interact, to sharpen his intellect, to learn how to lead. For twelve years he had done just that. Led. He moved up the ranks, joining the Special Forces and proving his capabilities there. He had thought he hadn’t needed anything more.
Dash realized now how wrong he had been.
Elizabeth and Cassie’s deaths tore a wound in his soul he couldn’t explain. He had never touched the woman, had never held the daughter. She wasn’t his mate, wasn’t his child, and yet his heart screamed something different. His soul howled at the loss and some instinct, some inborn knowledge, refused to allow him to deny the bond that existed between him, mother and child.
“Dash, you have to snap out of this.” Commander Thomas sat beside his hospital bed, his green eyes somber, intent. “These things happen, son. You can’t explain them or make sense of them. At least you have a part of her to remember.”
Dash stilled the howl that wanted to rise to his lips. He had nothing. A pile of fragile letters wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
His fingers curled into the sheet as he stared up at the dull white ceiling silently. They thought he had sunk into depression. Lost his will to fight. Nothing could be further from the truth. He had one last battle to fight before he could give into the soul-deep need to rest. Vengeance. It kept the blood pumping in his veins, kept his heart beating in his chest.
He gave his commander a long, brooding look.
“I want to know what happened.”
Commander Thomas sighed wearily, shaking. “What does it matter, Dash? They’re gone.”
Dash felt fury engulf him. It mattered. It mattered because he intended to exact his own form of justice. “I want to know. Contact the investigator. I want the information before my release.”
He had his plans in place. The investigator could provide the background he needed, then Dash would finish the job.
“So you can do what?” Commander Thomas leaned back against his chair, watching him with a frown. “You’ll be assigned a new unit…”
“I was given the option to return stateside on deactivation.” It was all he could do to keep from snarling. “I won’t be returning to duty, Commander. I’ve had enough.”
Surprise glittered in the commander’s eyes, and Dash knew why. He had been in the service since he was eighteen. He hadn’t once taken a deactivation. Twelve years he had given to first the Army and then to the Special Forces Units. He was one of the best, a natural leader and a savage fighter. But he’d had enough. The unit he had fought with for over a year was gone. The little girl and the mother who had seen him through the need for death were gone. He needed justice. He needed a way to balance the scales and then he needed to find the part of himself he had hidden for most of his life.
The commander sighed wearily before nodding. “I’ll call him tonight. You’ll have what you need.”
He rose to his feet, staring down at Dash for long, silent moments.
“Vigilantism is a crime. You know that, don’t you Dash?” he asked him cautiously.
Dash smiled. A slow baring of his teeth that he knew the commander would recognize. Dash was one of the best for a reason. He knew what he was doing. And he knew how to do it right.
“They have to catch you first,” he said softly.
While he waited on the information, he worked on completing his recovery. He was rarely still. He worked his body and his mind constantly, making certain each were in peak condition. When word came through that the information was being sent to the stateside location Dash had chosen, he packed his duffle bag and prepared to leave.
* * * * *
Several days before his release, his strength renewed, his mind on returning to the States and armed with enough information to begin a slow, steady hunt, an unfamiliar letter arrived. He knew the handwriting, not the name. His heart stopped when he read the letter within the plain envelope.
I know you must have lots of other little girls to love. Momma says you must be married with children and don’t need us. But I need you Dash. Please help me and my Momma before the bad guys get us again. I used to be Cassidy Colder, but Momma says now my name is Cassie Walker. Walkers okay I guess. And here. This is Bo Bo’s Kercheif. So you know it’s me. Momma says you will think the splosion got us. It hurt Momma, but we’re okay. Please help us Dash.
It had been hastily scrawled and it sent terror chasing down his spine. Inside was the locket he had sent her for her eighth birthday, a picture of herself and her mother inside. The mother looked haunted. Big blue eyes stared in startled awareness at the camera while the girl smiled charmingly.
The small red kerchief had been wrapped around a little teddy bear’s neck that he had asked Commander Thomas to order for her. Bo Bo, she had named it. He could smell her on it. Baby powder and innocence. But there was another scent, Elizabeth’s, and it sent his hormones howling. Pure female seductiveness. Dark, sweet, like a summer rainfall.
His eyes narrowed on the picture then, rage shaking his body at the thought of anyone daring to hurt either of them. They were his. And no one dared touch anything or anyone belonging to Dash Sinclair. Before he could stop it, a rumble of pure menace echoed in his chest, a growl of foreboding, a promise of retribution. And the hunt was on. He would go after the enemy later. First…first he had to find the family he had claimed in the darkness of pain. The mate that needed warmth, the child that needed protection. He would find them first. If along the way,
a few of the enemy died, too bad. It would be a few less to kill later.
Chapter One
Six Months Later
He was a Wolf Breed. Dash Sinclair had known what he was even before the news exploded around the world six months before. Thankfully, in Dash, the genetics had recessed and were only identifiable on the genetic level, rather than the physical. It was the reason he had been marked for death at a young age. But it was also the reason he had survived after his escape from the labs.
He had joined the army at eighteen, had fought and killed and done his best to hide right under the noses of several of the men who had funded his creation. He knew who they were. He had seen them at the labs when he was just a child, remembered their faces clearly. Dash never forgot the face of an enemy.
Over the years he had become confident, strong, and aware of his strengths in a way that kept him from making mistakes. He never told anyone what he was. Never took the chance of confiding in friends. Hell, he had never made friends. He was surly on the best of days, and downright dangerous any other time. Most people knew to steer well clear of him.
Right now, he was in the mood for blood. He stood still, drawing in the scents of the small ransacked room, and felt rage wash over him. Over the past six months he had investigated Elizabeth and Cassidy Colder until he knew even the most minute detail concerning them.
He had made contacts while in the Forces. Contacts that owed him, and he pulled in each favor he could draw on. Cassidy was a little girl living on borrowed time. A child with a price on her head and a mother fighting to save her. The lengths Elizabeth Colder had gone to save her little girl made his gut tighten in fear. Such a small woman should be protected, cuddled, just as the child should be, not running in fear for that child’s life.
He could smell the little girl’s terror now, her childish tears, just as he sensed her mother’s rage and terror. He snarled silently at the scents, drawing them in, allowing them to fuel his rage. The men chasing them would pay. Eventually.
He picked up a childish jacket, brought it to his nose and drew in deep. Innocence and the smell of baby powder clung to it. But the fact that it was here and not wrapped around her small body sent chills snaking down his spine. It was damned cold out there. A little one would freeze quickly in weather like this. Not that the jacket would do her much good, ripped in half as it was.
He picked up a sweater next and did the same. Ahh, there was a smell a man would die happy to know. Female, fresh and clean, a hint of baby powder, but filled with the delicate scent of womanhood. His.
He stared around the room. He wasn’t far behind them and it was obvious they were still several steps ahead of the men chasing them. He snarled softly. He would find the woman and child first. It was too cold, too brutal out there to go hunting for the enemy with no assurance that what was most important was safe first.
The little girl’s doll was ripped apart, stuffing littering the room. Clothes were shredded, books ripped in half. He knew the smell of the enemy now and he smiled coldly as he drew it in, memorizing it, making certain he never forgot it. Cassidy and her mother must have come in after the destruction of their temporary home. A small basket of clothes sat by the door, left forgotten but undamaged. Laundry. Doing the laundry had saved their lives.
He dropped the garments. They wouldn’t be needed after he found them anyway. He had everything they would require packed in the SUV. He had made certain that once he found Elizabeth and Cassie they would want for nothing. He took care of what he considered his and everything inside him screamed out in possession of Elizabeth and her child.
He turned on his heel and moved silently through the room, aware of the hidden bugs placed within it. He had smelled them immediately upon entering the room. His lips twisted into a cold smile. He was dealing with amateurs. There would be little challenge in taking them out when the need arose.
The scent of Elizabeth’s fury and fear went no farther than the door, so he knew she hadn’t taken time to investigate the destruction. She was smart. He had been chasing her for months and only in the past week had he gotten close enough that he knew the end was in sight. She wouldn’t be easy for the others to catch. After he found her, they would never have a hope of capturing her. But first, he had to find her.
He left the apartment, moving carefully along the dirty passageways, following her scent down the stairs, then to the basement. There, a small window had been pried open. He reached up and removed a tattered piece of flannel. The woman’s. She had cut herself escaping. Blood marred the soft, worn fabric. But she had been smart. Smart enough to know they would be watching the front entrance. Over the past two years she had grown in strength and instinct, learning to hone the abilities she needed to stay on the run. He sensed that, sensed her ability to use her wits where she lacked physical strength.
As he stood there staring at the fabric, his fingers running over the dark stains that marred it, he felt another presence begin to disturb the air that flowed in through the opened door.
Dash stilled, his head swinging to the partially opened door as a new scent began to mix with that of fabric softener, detergent and stale water. It was insidious. The smell of corruption and furious intent. It wafted through the cool basement air, digging into his senses, filling him with the need for blood. The enemy was on the prowl, stalking him now, foolishly moving from cover to investigate Dash’s interest. Dash was looking forward to the confrontation.
He stilled the warning growl that rose instinctively in his chest. The smell of cold steel moved closer, the tread of cautious steps. There was only one. He was confident, but filled with fury, and weaker. Dash smiled. The man moving toward him was no more than a flunky. No threat. A hired gun and little more. Disposable. It was a good thing because he wouldn’t leave the building alive.
Silently, Dash waited. He didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open slowly, revealing the lean, tense body of the enemy. He was a man full grown. A Gamma trying to play Alpha with an animal he had no idea existed. Dash allowed his lips to curl into an anticipatory smile, knowing the other man wouldn’t see it for the lethal threat it was.
“Getting nosy, stranger?” the other man grunted as he carefully closed the door and aimed his weapon at Dash’s chest. “Put your hands up where I can see them, and don’t move funny or you’re dead.”
Dash lifted his arms, hands behind his neck, the fingers of one hand curling around the hilt of the large knife concealed in its sheath between his shoulder blades. Oh yeah. Now he could play.
“Just checking some things out.” Dash narrowed his eyes, aware of the gun barrel’s angle, straight to the heart.
A silencer had been attached to the barrel. He was a cautious bastard; Dash gave him credit for that. But only for that. Otherwise, he was less than smart. He should have realized the threat Dash was and killed him instantly. If he could. Instead, he wanted to play. Dash liked to play. And he knew for a certainty that his opponent would fall. It was the way of the beast. He could sense the weakness facing him. Overconfidence glittered in the enemy’s eyes as the need for pain scented the air around him.
“Who are you?” Beady eyes narrowed. Thick, oily brown hair fell forward, framing a less than intelligent forehead.
“No one important.” Dash shrugged as he allowed his lips to curl with insulting mockery. He refused to give respect to a creature so lacking in morality that he would kill a child. “Who are you?”
Dash watched the other man closely, the shift of the lanky body beneath the ill-fitting, though expensive, coat he wore, the confident manner in which he held his weapon. The other man was used to killing and he was used to doing it the lazy way. He wouldn’t expect to face a man of Dash’s capabilities. It was almost too easy, Dash sighed. It was a shame; he would have enjoyed a fight.
“You’re being too nosy, dude.” The surf boy accent grated on Dash’s nerves. The casual disrespect of the attitude was reason enough to kill him.
“Not nosy eno
ugh maybe.” Dash watched the other man’s gaze carefully as he allowed his smug smile to deepen. “She got away from you again, didn’t she? Elizabeth’s smarter than you are, dude. Back off now, before I have to take you down.”
The challenge was made. Dash made certain the insulting derision in his voice was clearly understood. There was no fight here, no conflict. The enemy’s blood would be spilled, period.
Angry color filled the other man’s cheeks, his brown eyes glittering with the need for violence as he stepped closer. He would want to be closer, Dash thought, to be certain the bullet killed rather than maimed. To watch the pain and fear he hoped to see spilling into Dash’s eyes as the blood spilled from his chest.
“She’ll be a tasty treat to the rest of us when we give that little girl to the boss,” he sneered. “You like her too, big boy? Too bad. You’re dead.”
The other man thought he was close enough. His finger was tightening on the trigger.
The knife slid from the leather sheath with a whisper as Dash swung his arm, wrist twisting at the last second, dragging the blade across the tender fles
