A shiver of fear chilled her spine as she watched the men, trying to assess the situation and decide if she was going from a bad situation to one even worse.
And if she had any choice in the matter.
“Lisa Boudreau contacted us. Your friend. She found us and we’ve found you.” Brown Eyes gestured at the limp body. “That enough, or do you want me to recite the Boy Scout’s Oath?”
She couldn’t help smiling, her fear disappearing. “I severely doubt either of you were ever Boy Scouts.”
The second man, dubbed Blue Eyes in her mind, grinned. “I like you even more now.”
She tamped down the adrenaline rush by studying the pair, trying to figure out who they were.
Blue Eyes let out a low laugh. He also wore a black shirt and jeans, and had a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. A crescent-shaped scar stood out on his left jawline, visible through the camouflage paint.
“Are you okay?” Brown Eyes asked. There was an underlying growl in his voice, demanding an immediate reply.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’m good.”
He took her arm, his body heat almost scalding her skin. “We’ve got to go. My truck’s around the corner.”
Jessie went to pull away, ready to argue she could do just fine on her own, and found her legs had turned to jelly, her body automatically leaning toward his for support.
“Who are you guys?” she repeated.
Blue Eyes laughed. “Time enough for questions later.” He looked at Brown Eyes. “Got to go. We’re burning time here.”
The other man nodded. “Help me get her to the truck and then you go home. I’ll call in once we’re secure.”
“I want to go to my apartment,” Jessie protested as they headed for the front door, Brown Eyes half-carrying her as she struggled to get her energy back.
He gave a low laugh. “There’s no way I’m taking you back to your apartment. First place they’re going to look once they find you’ve escaped.”
Her face burned at the obvious mistake.
“Here.” His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her close as they pushed through the door.
“I’ll see you later.” Blue Eyes nodded as a black van pulled up in front of the warehouse. He climbed in and gave Jessie a salute. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The driver smiled at her before the van pulled away, speeding down to the intersection and turning out of sight.
Brown Eyes walked her around the corner in silence, sweeping the area with a continual, searching gaze.
Jessie couldn’t help looking for trouble as well. She didn’t want to believe it was this easy to walk away from Edward Molodavi.
They made their way to a waiting pickup truck. Her rescuer helped her into the passenger seat and moved quickly around to get in on the driver’s side.
“Here.” He reached into the back seat and brought a dark olive green blanket into the front, wrapping it around her shoulders. “You’re probably a little shaky.”
He turned the engine on and eased out into the street, rolling down to the intersection and turning in the opposite direction from the van.
Jessie wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
She hiccupped and laid her head back, wondering if she had the energy to pass out. The sunlight came in through the window, warming her chilled skin. She sighed, wallowing in the heat as the rhythmic rocking lulled her into a light sleep.
A shift in the terrain under their tires jolted her awake. Jessie glanced around, taking in the new surroundings.
The truck was slowing to a stop in front of a mobile home, somewhere in a trailer park.
She looked to the side and saw her rescuer’s bare face, the camo paint rubbed off by the wet wipes lying at his feet.
“Can you walk?” He cut the engine.
“Sure.” She unlocked the door and got out.
Jessie immediately went to her knees in the thin gravel, collapsing against the car. She drew a shallow breath. “Maybe not so much.”
“Damn.” He came around and scooped her up, lifting her easily into his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She swiped at her face, trying hard not to cry at the indignity of being carried. “I’m just hungry. Haven’t had much to eat lately.”
“We’ll take care of that.” He smiled as he kicked the passenger door shut with his foot and turned toward the trailer. It wasn’t one of the luxury models she’d seen on expensive lots, anchored in place with landscaped yards.
This one looked as if it held a meth lab, the paint peeling off the front and the windows shuttered. The neighboring trailers weren’t in much better condition. Low, half-dead shrubberies lined the lot in an attempt to claim some private space.
She reached for the handle and pulled the door open, allowing him to carry her in.
“Good.” He placed her on the small couch as if she were a piece of fragile china before turning to shut and lock the door.
She pulled the wool blanket tight around her, still trying to gather her thoughts.
“I’m Dylan.” He stuck out his hand while peeking through the thin blinds.
“Jessie.” She shook his hand, letting out a chuckle at the insane scenario. “So is this where you bring all your girls on the first date?”
He turned and grinned at her. “Maybe the second or third. I love playing hard to get.”
The breath caught in her throat, calling back any response she could make.
“Are you hurt?” He reached out and took her hands in his, inspecting them. “We’ve got a first-aid kit here. Worst case we can go to the hospital.” He looked up and for a second she wasn’t in any discomfort, the soft gaze soothing away all her aches and pains.
Then reality returned with a crunch, reminding her she was still in trouble.
“No,” Jessie whispered. She cleared her throat, finding her voice. “I’m fine. Just cold, tired, and famished. They’ve been tossing me energy bars for the past week, and I’d love something a bit more substantial.” She smiled. “Should have grabbed the fried chicken on the way out.”
“But we left it behind and now it’s there on the table, growing cold and teasing those punks we left tied up on the floor. Let’s see what I can get for you.” Dylan gave her hands one last gentle squeeze before he turned away and went to the tiny kitchen.
“How about some soup?” he said as he looked in the cupboards. “Don’t want to shock your system with something heavy.”
Her stomach growled in response.
“Soup it is, then.” He pulled out a can and placed it on the counter. “This’ll take a few minutes. Why don’t you take a shower, clean up a bit?” He gestured to the rear of the trailer. “Fresh clothing’s laid out on the bed.”
Her heart leaped at the idea of a long, hot shower, finally banishing the chill from her bones.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Plenty of hot water, and I’m sure you’ll feel better afterward.”
Jessie hesitated for a second, long enough to earn a warning look from Dylan.
“Go. I promise I’ll be here when you get out. And the door’s locked.” He reached over and tugged on the small metal handle. “You’re safe.”
Feeling more secure, she retreated to the back of the trailer and what passed for a bathroom.
Chapter Four
The shower stall wasn’t much to speak of, almost triggering a claustrophobic response as she turned and banged her elbows into the walls.
But the water was hot and plentiful and the shower gel a generic fresh scent. The shampoo was the same, both in nondescript hotel-size bottles. The small washcloth started out white but was a dingy gray by the end as she scrubbed her skin raw, trying to erase the last remnants of Molodavi’s cell.
She leaned against the plastic panels as she let the hot water stream down over her. Steam swirled around her, drawing out the last of the aches and pains from her imprisonment.
The cage.
The interrogation.
&nb
sp; The men laughing as they mocked her.
Jessie shuddered, the stress of the last few days finally coming home to rest. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as the emotional storm she’d been keeping at bay finally broke.
Unable and unwilling to let go in front of her captors, she let it all come out in the safety of a trailer home set out in the middle of nowhere.
…
He’d come to the back to tell her the soup was ready, maybe make a joke about not using up all the hot water at once.
Instead he heard the crying over the sound of running water, the change in pitch sending his heart racing.
Dylan opened the bathroom door slowly. “Jessie?”
He could see her silhouette through the glazed door, see her kneeling on the floor.
Damn.
He pulled the door open, berating himself for leaving her alone.
She stared at him, naked and wet. Her wide-eyed glare wasn’t at him, it was past him.
She was in shock.
He snatched up the white towel sitting on the shelf and flung it open, a giant white flag. Dylan knelt down and wrapped it around her, feeling her shake and tremble in his arms. This was something a warrior knew all too well. The mind and body giving up and giving in, needing to purge itself now that it was safe.
“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe. The front door is locked and I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
He bit back the words “ever again.”
Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
She clung to him for a few moments, shaking uncontrollably as she stared over his shoulder.
He reached up and turned off the water.
“Your soup’s getting cold.”
Jessie pulled back and looked at him. She blinked and the cloud in her eyes was gone, replaced with a sudden shock as she realized where she was and what she was doing.
Naked and clinging to a stranger.
He stood up, bringing her with him. His hands were on her shoulders, holding the towel tight against her skin.
“Your soup is getting cold,” he repeated. “I’ll heat it up again. Why don’t you get dressed and come up to the front?”
He took a step back out of the shower, holding her as she took wobbly steps. Turning around brought them to what passed for the bedroom.
Dylan sat her on the bed.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He turned and left, tugging the light yellow curtain across the hallway.
He was back at the counter before he let his breath out, unable to forget what he’d seen. Jessie Lyon was one beautiful woman.
He turned the small burner back on, preparing to reheat the soup. It gave him something to do, something to focus on instead of the sexy woman a few steps away behind a flimsy curtain.
…
Jessie scrubbed at her eyes with her palms, forcing herself to draw deep, steady breaths. She had to get her head back in the game, figure out what was going on.
The towel fell off her shoulders and onto the bed.
A brush of her fingers over her ribcage had her frowning, shocked at how much she’d slimmed down.
Not a plan I’d recommend to anyone else.
She pulled on the gray T-shirt and sweatpants left on the bed for her, both sealed in their original packaging. The fabric was soft, and she couldn’t help rubbing her arms together, enjoying the sensation. It was a welcome change from her Fluxxx uniform.
She wrinkled her nose at the pile of clothing in the bathroom. That was going in the garbage as soon as she could manage it. Or the incinerator.
Jessie peeked at Dylan through the curtain, studying the man as he stood over the tiny oven, reheating the soup.
He’d taken off his black T-shirt. His bare chest was dotted with scars, some small and some not so much. One angry crescent swam from the bottom of his left ribcage around to his back, almost reaching his shoulder blade.
This was a man who’d seen action. He was also one who kept in shape, as his impressive abs showed. He reminded her of one of those first responders she’d seen on charity calendars, holding some sort of equipment like a fire hose or a long, large flashlight to stir the imagination.
It was easy to imagine him posing for one of those images.
Jessie swallowed hard, pushing the flicker of desire back behind a mental wall.
Not now. Has to be the adrenaline.
He was talking to a cell phone tucked between his neck and shoulder, continuing to stir the soup with a wooden spoon in a perfect domestic moment.
“Good. Tell Ace to pass the good news on. No, she’s fine. Strong soul, she’ll bounce back.”
Jessie stepped through the curtain, unwilling to listen in on the conversation any longer.
Dylan looked up. “Call me if there’s any updates. Bye.” He took the phone and turned it off, placing it on the counter. “Chicken noodle soup. Always good for what ails you.” He eyed her. “And excellent for women who’ve been kept in cages.”
She slid in behind the small table. “Speaking from experience?”
“Nope.” He poured the majority of the pot’s contents into a bowl and carried it to the table. “But I figure it won’t hurt you.”
The simple smell of the soup had her drooling, and it was all she could do not to dip her face down and slurp it up. She took a deep breath, letting the delicious aroma fill her lungs.
Jessie picked up the spoon and forced herself to take small, delicate sips. The last thing she needed right now was to make herself sick, even with something as mild as chicken soup.
“Who are you?” The broth was salty and tasty and her taste buds were going into overdrive. “You’re not LVPD. You’re not SWAT.” She gestured at the faux wood paneling of the mobile home. “I’m guessing you’re not the feds.”
Dylan leaned back on the narrow counter and crossed his arms. “We told you. Lisa called on us. She asked for help.”
“Lisa.” The guilt washed over her in waves, almost making her drop her spoon. “God, she’s going to be frantic about me.”
“Ace is telling her right now you’re fine. Won’t give out this location, but she’ll stop worrying about you.” He gestured at the soup. “Good?”
“Excellent.”
It took an effort but Jessie forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. There was a question she had to ask before spending much more time with her mysterious rescuer. “So. I guess you’re a mercenary.”
…
Dylan flinched inside.
She’d said it like a curse, her lip curling up on the single word.
He picked up a dish towel and wiped his hands. “Why were you going after Molodavi? You had to know it was dangerous. Especially without any backup.”
She eyed him. “What gave you that idea?”
He snorted. “We tossed your office. Wasn’t much left after Molodavi’s men went through it, but we found enough to figure out what you were trying to do.” He shook his head. “I get it, you were a good cop and the old boys’ club screwed you. But what in hell were you thinking, going in undercover like that?”
Her icy stare lasted a few seconds before Jessie turned away. The spoon clinked against the sides of the white ceramic bowl as she continued to eat. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
“True. But I’d appreciate knowing all the details so we can figure out your next move.”
She hesitated, staring down into the near-empty bowl.
He saw the internal struggle, the urge to keep her secrets inside fighting the need to explain how she’d ended up caged like a wild animal.
“Jessica. You were one hell of a cop. You are a good PI. Why would you risk your life like this?”
“My father.” She drew a staggered breath. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” He reached over and snagged the loaf of bread off the counter. “And you’re still hungry.” He opened the cupboard and pulled down a jar of peanut butter along with two plates. He reac
hed into a drawer and selected a butter knife, adding it to the collection.
Jessie lifted the bowl and drank the last of the soup from the bottom, placing it down with a satisfied sigh.
It was hard for him not to imagine that expression in another time and place.
Forcing his mind back to the here and now, Dylan took the bowl and put it in the sink. He put the plates, bread, and peanut butter on the table before taking two bottles of water out of the mini fridge and sliding in across from her.
She took the knife from him and deftly set up two sandwiches, spreading the peanut butter thick as she spoke.
“How much do you know about my father?”
“Our research said he was a cop. You joined the force because of him. Passed away a year ago.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
The knife froze in midair. A second later it resumed its tidy dissection, slicing through the white bread.
“Thank you.” Jessie handed him a sandwich, cut into triangles. “There’s a bit more to the story than the official line. Street cop. Loved the community, turned down a promotion to stay with his people.” She paused to open the water bottle, taking sips between bites of her own sandwich. “He went into one of the stores on his beat and interrupted a guy trying to bully the owner into paying protection money. Man panicked, shot, and ran. Left my dad paralyzed from the neck down.”
Dylan stayed silent.
This wasn’t the time to say anything.
“Retired with full pension, sent to a nursing home.” She finished off the sandwich in large bites. “No arrest made. Store owner identified the shooter as a Molodavi man, but no one could find him. Edward Molodavi snapped his fingers, said he knew nothing, and the case went cold. I was in my first year of university and had planned to follow my father onto the force anyway, but now it became a priority.”
She stared at the empty plate and frowned as if it had appeared out of nowhere. “I tried to follow the clues, find something to revive the investigation. But those bastards wouldn’t let me. All they wanted was a sweet young thing to prance around. Every time I suggested going after the Molodavi family, they laughed and sent me back out on the streets as a hooker.” She ran her fingers through her now-dry hair. “So I dug up what I could and stayed silent. I didn’t want to do anything that might get Dad hurt. Then he died, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Hard Play (Delta Force Brotherhood) Page 5
