It doesn’t take long for him to navigate through a quiet neighborhood with squat apartment buildings and old cars parked on the street. He guides the Jeep up to a garage door, hops out, and lifts it like it weighs nothing at all. The interior lights wink on as he parks, and then we’re hidden away, the garage closed, the Jeep off, and Ford holding my door open.
“We’re here, buttercup.”
I don’t have any belongings, so I slide from the seat and let him help me to the interior door. It’s secured with an electronic lock, and he enters a ten-digit code, then waits for the light to turn from red to green.
“Wait right here,” he says as he pulls out his pistol. “I need to clear the place. Make sure no one’s been here.”
A moment of pure panic consumes me, and I grab his arm. “Please don’t leave me alone,” I whisper.
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I think he understands. How much I want to be in his arms, but how hard it is for me to ask.
“Okay. Stay behind me the entire time. Close behind me.”
I’m practically glued to his back as he moves from room to room, checking doors and sweeping a handheld blacklight over the knobs and other hard surfaces.
In the larger of the two bedrooms, a duffel bag rests in the center of a queen-sized bed, and the lights cast a warm glow over the multi-colored, woven blanket, the pillows, and…the box of Red Vines sitting on the nightstand.
Running my hand over the wrapper, I sigh. “When Trevor found me, I didn’t want to go with him. Until he showed me that little bag.”
Ford’s lips tug into a small grin. “You still like them?”
“Yes.” The plastic rips easily, and I pull out two of the red tubes, then hand one to him. As he takes it, he looks down at my palm, then sits next to me and takes my hand, turning it over in his and unfurling my fingers.
“What happened? Did the reins cut you?”
Dammit. The half-moon cuts are bright red and one of them is still oozing a little. Sucking air through my teeth, struggling to calm my racing heart, I try to pull my hand away. “It wasn’t…the reins. It doesn’t…make any sense. I know it’s stupid. I… I can’t…explain.”
“Joey, look at me.”
He knows. I expect judgement, but when I meet his gaze, there’s only understanding and pain. “You were trying to survive.”
Only able to manage a single nod, I tense as the first tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t let him see my thighs. Or my forearms. The hundreds of thin scars I’ve given myself over the years are so ugly, I refuse to wear shorts or tank tops, even on the hottest days of the year.
“You are beautiful, buttercup. Beautiful and strong and…we’re going to talk about this. When you’re ready. But for now…these need to be cleaned—along with your foot—and then…you should rest. Will you let me help you?”
He stands, keeping my hand held tightly in his. I look up at him, the rugged, handsome man who risked his life to save me, and I wish I could tell him everything.
“Trust me, Joey. Please.”
Rising on unsteady legs, I let him wrap his arm around my waist, and I lean against him. “As you wish.”
12
Ford
She’s like a frightened little bird, shaking with every touch. Yet, there’s a strength about her I can’t ignore. Seated on the counter, she lets me clean the rocks and dirt from her foot, clenching her teeth at the pain.
“Ready?” I ask as I hold up the bottle of cheap vodka. The safe house’s first aid kit is sorely lacking disinfectant.
“Do it.” Her whimper shoots straight to my heart, but she doesn’t cry, just grips the edge of the counter until her knuckles turn white.
At least there’s ointment and plenty of gauze. When her foot’s wrapped and I’ve cleaned and bandaged her palm, I carry her back to the bed. “What do you need? Food? More water?”
“To sleep somewhere no one will hurt me,” she whispers, almost too softly to hear.
“You’re safe here, Joey. I’ll be right outside—”
“No.” Grabbing my hand, she twines our fingers. “I haven’t slept more than half an hour at a time since he took me.” Tears tumble from her bloodshot eyes, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid, Ford. If I go to sleep, will I wake up still trapped in that basement…or worse…in that train car twenty years ago? There’s no way you should be here. Not after…how I left you. What I did. What happened. How do I know this is…real?”
My knees hit the ground, the truth in her voice stripping me down to my core. Framing her face, I brush my thumbs over her cheeks, skimming the tears away. The headscarf is half-askew, and I find the folds and pins holding it in place and gently loosen them, letting the dark brown material fall away from her golden locks.
“In all my dreams, I see you, Joey. What you looked like when I proposed. Your smile when I showed up on Halloween with a whole carton of Red Vines. Your eyes the day you found me in that bar.” Staring down at my hands holding hers, I wish I could go back and fix what I destroyed. But I can’t, so instead, I bring her uninjured palm to my lips for a gentle kiss. “Never have you felt so…real to me. I promise. This isn’t a dream.” I guide her hand to my face, to one of the bruises Faruk gave me, and offer her a weak smile. “Plus, I hope if you were dreaming of me, you wouldn’t dream of an old man who just got the shit beat out of him.”
Her fingers tremble as she traces the line of my jaw. And then her arms are around me, her face buried in my neck, sobs wracking her body. Her warm breath tickles my ear. Easing up onto the bed, I shift her against me, lying back so she’s half draped over my chest.
We stay like that for long minutes, until her whimpers fade into rhythmic breaths against my skin. “I’m going to set a couple of extra security measures, buttercup,” I whisper. But I’ll be right back.”
Her lashes flutter against her pale cheeks as I shift her off of me, then draw the blanket up to her shoulders. Leaving the bedroom door open so I can hear her if she wakes, I rummage through my rucksack for a roll of super thin, almost invisible wire, a small, plastic box with a blaring alarm, and a motion sensor.
In under ten minutes, I have the door and the only window that opens secured so we’ll know if anyone tries to breach the safe house. Trevor and Nomar will raise me on the radio if they’re close, and I set the receiver and my pistol on the nightstand within easy reach.
Their silence worries me, but this is protocol. If Nomar was blown, he’d stay quiet until he knew without a doubt it was safe. And Trevor…the guy’s a ghost.
Joey whimpers in her sleep, and I stretch out next to her on top of the blankets, still wearing my boots, with the ceramic knife it its sheath under my pillow.
My entire body aches, the bruises from Faruk’s beating making themselves known with every breath. But I don’t care. With her next to me, nothing else matters.
Her cry shatters my dreams, and she’s up on an elbow, staring around the room wildly until her exhausted gaze lands on my face.
“Ford.”
“I’m here, buttercup. Right here.” The seconds tick by, each one seemingly lasting an hour, as I wait for her to make the next move. There’s so much I don’t know about this woman now, and I won’t risk hurting her—no matter how much I want to comfort her.
“Will you…hold me?” she whispers. “Please.”
Tugging at the woven blanket so it covers both of us, I shift onto my back and let her fit herself to my side, her head resting against my chest. “All night.”
When she sighs and her eyes flutter closed, I let myself sink into the darkness with her.
Joey
I don’t want to wake up. In my dreams, Ford found me. He’s holding me, the solid beat of his heart under my cheek. And I’m warm. Lying on something soft. The scents of horses, blood, and sweat permeate the air, but under that, he smells like he used to. Like cedar and pine and a hint of spice.
What time is it? Zaman will come for me soon.
&nb
sp; Panic shoots all the way down to my toes, and I jerk up—or try to—but solid arms band around me, and the bruises along my back protest. “Shhh, buttercup. You’re safe.”
I don’t want to believe the sleepy voice rumbling in my ear, but then his stubble scrapes against my forehead, and firm lips press to my brow. “Breathe for me, baby. In and out. And open your eyes.”
I do, his commanding tone impossible to ignore. It doesn’t smell like my basement prison. Or anything but him. As the room comes into focus, I gasp. Bright, colorful curtains cover a window, light seeping around them. A thick patterned blanket is draped over us, and Ford stares down at me, a concerned look deepening the lines in his forehead.
“Oh God. This is real. You’re real.”
“One hundred percent authentic United States Marine, ma’am. Retired. At your service.” He tries for a smile, but worry darkens his hazel eyes as he brushes a knuckle along my cheek. “You slept?”
“Yes. What…time is it?”
He checks his watch. “Almost nine. That was a solid six hours.”
Rubbing my eyes to hide the tears that burn at the corners, I wriggle out of his embrace. I haven’t slept that long at a stretch in…years. He put himself between me and the door, gun on the nightstand, his big body shielding me the entire time.
“Where are Trevor and…?”
“Nomar? I don’t know. They haven’t checked in yet. Until they do, we’re on our own.” Ford sits up and winces, wrapping an arm around his stomach.
“You’re hurt. Oh, shit. I didn’t even think…last night…” I’m a doctor. I should have remembered finding him hanging by his wrists in Faruk’s torture chamber. How he leaned on me. The bruise under his right eye, his split lip.
Kneeling next to him on the bed, I reach for the buttons on his shirt. “Joey,” he says, covering my hand with his. “I’m okay.”
“Who’s the doctor here?” Arching a brow, I wait, but he doesn’t move. “I need to do this, Ford. I’d never forgive myself if you were seriously hurt and I didn’t…do something.”
“I’ve taken worse beatings from my boss in the boxing ring,” he says with a wry smile. “Dax is kind of a badass—especially for a blind man.”
“What?” Despite his protests, I loosen the first two buttons, and my fingers skim the light dusting of sandy hair on his chest. Memories—good ones—float at the edges of my mind, and I take a deep breath as I continue to part the dark material.
“I work for a security firm called Second Sight. So does Trevor.” Ford sits up a little straighter as I reach the last button.
“A security firm? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re…” I choke back a laugh, “a mall cop?”
His tunic is open now, revealing a solid six-pack and a round, raised lump of scar tissue below his collarbone.
“No!” He fakes offense with a soft snort. “We provide security and private investigative services. Dax is protecting a woman right now from a stalker who’s escalating. Ella is tracking down a deadbeat dad who hasn’t paid child support in six months, and my last case before this was a rich businessman embezzling a small fortune from his wife’s charity.”
My last case before this…
“I’m…just a case?” My fingers still, wrapped around the edges of the shirt. “Of course I am. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known to look for me.”
Ford cups my cheek, his hand warm and solid as he urges my head up so he can hold my gaze. “You are not just a case. You are the most important person in the world to me. Dax and I…we started Second Sight together, but technically, he’s still my boss. Owns a majority stake in the company. I was supposed to be the one protecting Evianna from her stalker. But when your sister called…Dax didn’t hesitate. Told me to take Trevor and go find you.”
“Oh God. Gerry. She and my mom—”
“We’ll call them as soon as we get to Kabul. I don’t have a secure phone connection out of the country from here. Just our private comms channel. But I can get a message to Matt—he’s in charge of the team guarding Ivy and Mia—and have him call them for you.” Ford drops his hand, and the absence of his touch sends a chill down my spine.
“There’s so much…I don’t know…I didn’t ask last night.” My voice sounds strange as I struggle not to cry. “They’re safe? Ivy and Mia? Were they…?”
“We got to them before they were sold. Ivy hadn’t been touched. Just knocked around a little. Mia…wasn’t so lucky, but physically, she’s okay, and she’s a fighter. When Trevor killed the bastard selling them, they both insisted on watching.” Concern swims in his hazel gaze, and I know he wants to ask. But I’m not ready to tell him yet.
Instead, I nod and swallow hard. “It’s my fault. They were only taken because they were with me.”
Ford cups the back of my neck and urges me to look at him. “This is not your fault, Joey. Not at all. They don’t blame you.”
“They should. He…planned this. Planned to take me. Ivy and Mia…and…God. Ray. Our guards and translator.” I’m actively sobbing now as the weight of the lives I’ve ruined—the lives I’ve ended—crashes down on me.
“I’m going to hold you, baby. Okay?” Ford asks.
I don’t deserve his comfort. Or his…love. But though I can’t answer him, he slowly wraps his arms around me and draws me against him. My hand rests over his heart, and the heat of his bare skin warms my palm. I’ve longed for this for twenty years. The man I was going to marry, the man I loved more than anything, with his arms around me, telling me everything was going to be okay.
Except, nothing will ever be okay again, and soon, he’ll realize that.
When I don’t have any more tears to cry, I sniffle loudly and swipe at my cheeks. Enough. Pull yourself together. Ford’s hurt. You’re a doctor. Examine your patient.
“Let go,” I whisper, my voice horse. “I need to…do something. Be…useful.”
Ford starts to protest, but I silence him with a pleading gaze, and he nods.
Peeling the shirt from his broad shoulders, I let my palms skim down his arms. He winces as he moves—though he tries to hide it. “Where does it hurt?”
“Left side and back.” His voice is so quiet, it’s almost reverent, and I lift his arm carefully. “Took some hard punches, but nothing’s broken.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” The deep bruises are several shades of purple and blue, spreading out over his obliques before disappearing under the waistband of his pants. Tugging gently on the thin material, I expose a bit of his hip, then palpate the edges of the discoloration.
“No internal bleeding I can see,” I murmur, continuing my exploration of his body. All the way to his abs, then up to that circular scar. “What’s this from?”
“Got shot year before last. Another stalking case. The guy thought I was the client’s boyfriend.” He shrugs, which elicits another wince, and he rolls his shoulders.
His skin is so warm, and the scent of him…familiar and not. All of this…it’s the same. But so very different.
“Is this tender?” I ask as I press my fingers against his shoulder socket.
His eyes crinkle, and he clears his throat. “Yeah. Body this size isn’t meant to hang from the wrists.”
“Minor subluxation. No more of that, okay? No more sacrificing yourself for me or getting captured or beaten up or…” If I keep listing all the ways he could get hurt, I’ll lose it completely, so I shake my head as I swallow hard. “You always were stubborn.”
“I knew what I wanted. Still do.”
When Ford wraps his arms around me again, I melt against his bare chest, wondering how in the world I’ll survive when I lose him for the second time. Because once he knows everything? He’ll realize the woman he’s been pining for disappeared the minute Jefe and his gang of traffickers took me twenty years ago.
Ford
Having Joey in my arms…it’s heaven. But a tiny moan escapes her lips as she draws back, and she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“What’s wrong?”
“A little dizzy,” she says softly.
Shit. “You haven’t eaten. The kitchen should be fully stocked. Let me see what I can throw together. Lie down. Rest.” I grab my gun from the nightstand and slide the holster over my waistband.
“Ford.” Her fingers are cool as they wrap around my wrist, and the strength of her grip surprises me. “Don’t leave—”
The kitchen’s all of thirty feet away, but if she doesn’t want to be alone, she won’t be alone. “Come on, then. Let’s see if we have the ingredients for eggs-in-a-basket.”
Helping her up, I keep my arm around her waist as we shuffle into the main room. Her limp isn’t as pronounced as it was last night, but she still leans heavily on me, and with every step, she tenses.
In the center of the space, she stops, her gaze taking in everything. The single window with the curtains drawn tight, the wire stretched across the door, the black box hanging from the knob.
“You’re sure we’re…safe here?”
When she tips her head up to look at me, I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “This place is owned by the CIA. One of Matt’s guys is monitoring the exterior cameras. The alarm will go off if anyone tries to open the door, and there’s a motion sensor on the window there. If there’s a threat coming, we’ll know.”
Her body goes rigid. “Are there…cameras inside?”
“No. Why?”
With a shudder, she turns her face into my chest. “Faruk had cameras…everywhere. The men who took us…they watched us. After they took Ivy and Mia away, they kept me locked in that dirty basement for at least another two days. The toilet was just out in the open, and I could see the light from the camera the whole time.”
“Do you remember the day we met?” I have to distract her. It’s either that or I’ll demand to know everything that happened, and she’s not ready for that yet.
With a choked sound that might be a sob or might be a laugh, she nods. “Bet you never thought you’d be in a wet t-shirt contest that day, did you? Or that it’d be soda. And you’d be the only contestant.”
By Lethal Force Page 11
