Midnight Revenge

by Elle Kennedy

  Nodding, she followed him to the spare room, where he closed the door and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms, drawing her gaze to his perfectly formed biceps. Her lips tingled with the urge to kiss them. To part so she could drag her tongue over those roped muscles and taste his skin.

  What was the matter with her?

  “How are you feeling?”

  His gruff question startled her. “Uh. I’m fine. A bit hungry.”

  “I sent Ash to grab some breakfast. You can eat before you go.”

  Gee, he was giving her permission to eat? What a prince.

  His arms dropped from his chest and rested against his sides. “You’ll be contacted by a lawyer in the next few weeks.”

  She frowned. “What lawyer?”

  “My lawyer. He’ll bring some papers for you to sign.” His gaze remained shuttered. “I’m transferring some money to you.”

  Suspicion tugged at her belly. “Why?”

  “So you’ll be taken care of.”

  Sofia couldn’t stop the bite to her voice. “In case you die during the exchange for Sullivan?”

  D shrugged. “You’ll get the money either way. It’s more than enough to support yourself and the kid for the rest of your lives.”

  Insult prickled her skin. He was offering her money? No, not even offering. He was straight-up giving it to her.

  For some reason, that bothered her. A lot.

  “I don’t want your money,” she said stiffly.

  “Tough shit. You’re still getting it.”

  Sofia stuck out her chin. “Then I won’t sign the papers.”

  “I thought you might say that, which is why I instructed my lawyer to bring the same amount in cash and leave it on your porch if you refuse to sign. And if you want to be stubborn and give it to charity, go ahead. Because I also set up a trust fund that my lawyer will manage until the kid turns eighteen, at which point he’ll have access to it.”

  The kid.

  Not the baby. Not our child. It was just the kid to him. And the fact that he was offering money and nothing else spoke volumes.

  “You don’t want to be in the baby’s life,” Sofia said flatly.

  “Trust me, you don’t want me in your life. In either of your lives. I’m fucking poison.”

  Sorrow twisted in her chest. It wasn’t like she’d been gung-ho about co-parenting with this man, but she hadn’t thought he’d dismiss the pregnancy—dismiss her—so callously.

  “You could really turn your back on your own child?” Her heart lurched as she voiced the bleak question.

  “He’ll be well taken care of,” D muttered.

  “Babies don’t need money, Derek. They need parents.” A lump obstructed her throat. “They need love and support and guidance.”

  “And he’ll get all that from you.” D’s expression remained thoroughly indifferent.

  “So that’s it?” Sofia bit her lip. “Your final decision is you want nothing to do with this baby?”

  “Yes.”

  That one blunt syllable was like a blow to the jugular. Her throat squeezed tight enough to restrict airflow, and her hands shook in response, trembling so hard she had to lace her fingers together and press them against her belly.

  “Okay, then,” she mumbled. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s better this way.”

  “Sure, Derek. If you say so.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What’s going on with Mendez?”

  “Sofia—”

  She interrupted him. “The parenting portion of this conversation is over, D. I want to know what’s going on with Mendez.”

  After a second of silence, he cleared his throat and said, “We’ve set up a meeting.”

  “When?”

  “An hour. There’s an airfield three miles west of here, completely off the books. He’s sending a chopper to pick me up and take me to his island.”

  Worry slammed into her. “What do you mean, you? You’re going alone?”

  “That was his one stipulation. He wants a face-to-face with me.”

  Sofia wasn’t a seasoned operative, but she’d seen enough crime shows to know that attending a high-risk meeting without backup was not the way to go.

  “You said you killed his son,” she accused.

  D nodded.

  “And he wants a face-to-face with his son’s murderer? Jesus, Derek. He’ll kill you the moment he has his daughter back.”

  “Which is why I’m not bringing Angelina with me.”

  She blinked in confusion. “You’re not?”

  D offered a low chuckle. “I’m not an amateur, Sofia. If I show up with Angelina, of course he’ll kill me on the spot. He’ll kill Sully, too.”

  At the mention of Sullivan, Sofia searched D’s face. “Is Sullivan alive? For sure?”

  “Mendez claims he is. But that’s another reason I’m going solo—I need to verify that before I give up Angelina. She’s our insurance policy.” He paused. “Macgregor will watch her while I meet with Mendez, and once we have confirmation that Sully is alive, I’ll get him off the island and Macgregor will hand over Angelina at a prearranged location.”

  Doubt scurried through her. “You really think Mendez is just going to let you and Sullivan leave the island?”

  “He won’t have a choice. If Macgregor doesn’t hear from me in twelve hours, he has orders to put a bullet in Angelina’s head.”

  Sofia gulped down a rush of sickness. “And Liam will actually do it? Kill an unarmed woman, just like that?”

  “For Sullivan? Macgregor will do anything.” D noticed her expression and sighed. “You need to stop feeling sorry for this woman, Sofia. If anyone deserves to die, it’s her.”

  “Nobody deserves to die,” she argued, but in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn’t true. She’d disproved that statement herself once, when she’d held a man’s life in her hands, a very bad man, and she’d chosen to let him die rather than save him.

  But the doctor in her, the woman who’d taken an oath to save lives, wanted so badly to believe that D’s callous assessment of humanity wasn’t true.

  “I never took you for naive, baby.” He cocked a brow in challenge. “What about Hitler? Are you telling me that if that maniac was standing in front of you and you had a gun in your hand, you wouldn’t kill him? If he was unarmed, tied up, begging for you to save him, you really wouldn’t pull the trigger?”

  She clenched her teeth instead of answering.

  D laughed again. “See? Some people do deserve it.” He moved toward the door. “All right. It’s time to go.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” she blurted out.

  “You don’t have to like it. You’re not a part of it. You’re going to the airport, remember?”

  He paused in the doorway, his mocking gaze sweeping over her, and even while wearing that scornful expression, he was still the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. His features looked like they’d been chiseled out of stone, and the dark scruff on his jaw was sexy as hell.

  She didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand herself for being so attracted to him. Derek Pratt represented everything she hated in a man. He was aloof, dispassionate, insensitive at times. He wasn’t boyfriend material. Hell, he wasn’t even first-date material.

  Her gaze slid up his corded throat to his mouth. That mouth had no right being so damn sensual. He hadn’t kissed her the night they’d had sex. If anything, he’d made an effort to not even look at her. Taking her from behind while he was fully clothed . . . it was as impersonal as it could get.

  The father of my baby, ladies and gentleman. A man who can’t even look a woman in the eye when he fucks her.

  Along with a deep burn of resentment, her heart also ached with regret. There had to be more to this man. Nobody could be this cold and indifferent. Her gut told her that something had made him this way, and if she just took the time to find out what it was, then she could . . . what? Fix him?

  God. Yes. Maybe
she did want to fix him. Because that was what she did—she fixed people, damn it. And it drove her crazy that she couldn’t seem to reach D, no matter how hard she tried. For years their paths had kept crossing, over and over again, yet she knew as much about him now as she had back then. Which was nothing. She knew nothing.

  “Ash will drive you to the plane in ten minutes,” he told her, then paused, visibly uncomfortable. “Make sure you go to all your doctor’s appointments. Take care of yourself and the kid.”

  When he started to turn away, she hurried toward him. “Derek. Wait.”

  The wariness in his eyes barely took root before she was reaching up to cup his cheeks. He flinched the second she touched him. She ignored the response. She suspected he didn’t like to be touched, but she didn’t care. She swept her thumbs over the stubble on his jaw and locked her gaze with his.

  “Be careful,” she said softly.

  Then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

  His lips didn’t move. Not at first. His discomfort showed in the stiffness of his body, and if she hadn’t clasped her hands around his neck, she knew he would have pulled away.

  She brushed her lips over his, slowly, gently. When she tried to deepen the kiss, he stiffened again, just for a moment, before his mouth opened ever so slightly and his tongue touched hers. Her pulse exploded as anticipation surged through her blood, but one fleeting taste was all she got. The softest, sweetest brush of his tongue, and then he wrenched their mouths apart.

  “Good-bye, Sofia,” he said gruffly.

  She stared at the empty doorway after he’d left it, her heart beating fast. Why did he always leave her wanting more? She didn’t know him. She wasn’t sure she liked him. Yet she always wanted more. Another lay. Another kiss. Just . . . more.

  Sofia stood frozen in place as she listened to the male voices wafting from the main room. D had said something to his men, and now they were engaged in muffled conversation. Then she heard footsteps. The front door shut. A moment later, the faint sound of a car engine, and then voices again. Liam and Ash, talking among themselves.

  D had left.

  Good-bye, Sofia.

  Her insides twisted into a tight knot. His good-bye had sounded way too final. Like they were never going to see each other again.

  She was probably worried about nothing. D had said so himself—Angelina Mendez was his insurance policy. As long as the woman was in Liam’s custody, her father wouldn’t dare kill D.

  But . . . what if he did? What if D was wrong and Mendez didn’t give a shit about his daughter? The man was a human trafficker—how much loyalty could he really have?

  Sofia was still running worst-case scenarios in her head when Ash appeared. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  With an absent nod, she followed him to the living room. Her gaze immediately homed in on the sofa, but the cushions were empty. “Where’s Angelina?”

  “Bedroom,” Liam answered from the kitchen counter. “She got a little handsy this morning, so we had to tie her up. The bed frame seemed sturdy enough.”

  Sofia blanched. “Did you really have to do that? And does she really need to stay sedated?”

  “You heard her earlier, right? The screams?” Liam made a derisive sound. “Well, those screams came with a pretty solid head butt. That chick is strong.”

  He drifted away from the counter, and Sofia experienced a spark of alarm when she noticed the swelling beneath his left eye.

  “Let me take a look at that,” she ordered, but when she stepped closer, he tried ducking out of her path.

  “It’s fine. Just a bruise.”

  “Humor me.” She ran her fingertips along his cheekbone, gauging to see if it was fractured. He was right—he’d taken a good hit and he would have a bruise, but other than that, he was fine.

  “Here.” Ash handed her a croissant and a bottle of water. “D said you need to eat before we go.”

  “And we always do what D says, right?” she said bitterly.

  “Yes. He’s leading this op, he calls the shots. Now eat.”

  As much as it pained her to take a bite and give D the satisfaction of being her lord and master, she had a baby to think about, and she couldn’t deny she was starving. She practically inhaled the croissant, then grumbled a request for another one, which Ash handed over with a grin.

  Once she’d finished eating and chugged the entire bottle of water, he gently took her arm. “Time to go.”

  Again, Sofia didn’t bother putting up a fight. She’d achieved her purpose in coming here—she’d told D about the pregnancy. There was nothing left to do but go home.

  She felt oddly numb as they left the apartment. It was still so early that the temperature was slightly cool, but the sun was rising higher in the sky, hinting at another hot, humid day. She’d already arranged for one of her on-call doctors to cover the clinic for a few days, which meant she could go home, soak in the tub for a couple hours, then spend the rest of her week making plans for the future.

  Good-bye, Sofia.

  She wondered when D’s lawyer would show up, which only brought another wave of resentment. Did he really think throwing money at her would make everything better? Make things right? She didn’t need his oodles of cash. She made a decent living, more than enough to support herself and a child. So no, she didn’t need his goddamn money. She needed . . .

  Fuck, it didn’t even matter what she needed. He’d made his position clear. He wasn’t interested in being a father to their baby, and it shouldn’t bother her that he didn’t. She should be relieved.

  But . . . it really, really bothered her.

  She settled in the passenger’s seat of the white Range Rover and waited for Ash to get behind the wheel. He’d just started the car when a curse left his mouth. “Shit. I forgot my phone.”

  Sofia pointed to the phone he’d dropped in the cup holder literally two seconds ago. “It’s right there.”

  “My other phone,” he explained, as if carrying more than one cell phone was the most natural thing in the world. But she supposed it was when you worked for Jim Morgan. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left the car idling as he hopped out, and she absently watched his broad body stalk toward the building.

  Good-bye, Sofia.

  Damn it. Did he not expect to come back? D had said the face-to-face wasn’t a big deal, but she couldn’t fight the gnawing fear that he’d gone to that meeting expecting to die.

  Her gaze strayed back to the apartment building in time to see Ash disappear through the entryway. Then she glanced at the keys in the ignition.

  Don’t even think about it.

  Right. She was panicking for no reason. There was no need to rush after D. He was a soldier, for fuck’s sake. No, he was more than that. He’d worked black ops. He’d killed people. Even if she did catch up to him, she doubted she’d be able to talk him out of going after Sully.

  He’d said the airfield was three miles west . . .

  You’re being crazy right now, Amaro. Certifiably crazy. You can’t talk him out of it.

  But maybe she could. Maybe she could help him come up with another way to handle the exchange. Because showing up alone to meet with the father of the man he’d killed . . . it was fucking suicide.

  She glanced at the building again. Ash still hadn’t reappeared.

  D had only a ten-minute head start. And he’d said the chopper wasn’t arriving for another hour. She had plenty of time to drive there and convince him to abandon this foolish plan. They could leave the airfield before the helicopter showed up and find another way.

  As the panic in her gut intensified, Sofia unbuckled her seat belt and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Chapter 13

  D arrived ahead of schedule, but made no move to approach the airfield. Instead, he called in a favor from a friend in the CIA to request satellite images of the area. Then he waited.

  The airport was privately owned. It had one runway and one hangar, and
catered mostly to locals, particularly those operating on the wrong side of the law. When D’s contact came through for him ten minutes later, the images D received were less than an hour old. They also clearly revealed the heat signatures of the men Mendez had dispatched.

  One sniper on the roof of the hangar, another one in the wooded area on the outskirts of the airport.

  He decided to take care of the man in the woods first. He stashed the car a mile out, then trekked through the brush with his rifle in hand, which turned out to be unnecessary, because Mendez’s crew had evidently gotten sloppy. The camo-clad man didn’t even hear D approach him from behind, and one outraged growl was all the sound he made before D snapped his neck like a twig.

  As the lifeless body sank to the earth, D helped himself to the dead man’s military-grade sniper rifle. Then he chuckled. Pathetic. Not only had Mendez’s goon lacked any instincts whatsoever, but he sucked at choosing vantage points, too. Any soldier worth his salt would’ve picked a spot that allowed the second sniper to maintain a visual on him in case trouble arose. But the idiot had hidden himself from both the airport and his cohort’s sights.

  Which meant D had a perfect view of the second sniper’s head—and the guy was completely oblivious to him.

  He peered through the scope, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Jesus. Mendez really needed to hire some new thugs. The man on the roof was a sitting duck up there. Flat on his belly, his rifle aimed at the open gate of the airfield as he waited for D to arrive.

  D settled in the blind that the dead goon had so graciously left for him and positioned the rifle to his needs. The target was about eight hundred yards away. D could easily shoot twice that distance. He adjusted the stock so his eye was in the scope’s center. Tested the grip, then frowned. It wasn’t the rifle he would’ve chosen for this particular shot, but it would have to do.

  He made some more corrections, adjusting for the direction of the wind and the elevation. The side of the sniper’s head offered a perfect target, but he needed to hit it just right or he would risk revealing his location.

  His finger hovered over the trigger as he took a breath. No. Not quite right. He frowned again, making one last correction.