Where the hell had she gone? She must be terrified. He’d only gotten into a fight, but she had been drugged, kidnapped, and left bound and gagged in a shipping container, to face an uncertain future as a sex slave. It was incomprehensible.
He grew angry again, just thinking about it. He knew sex-trafficking rings existed. He’d read the stories in the newspapers and listened to the television newscasts, but it had never been personal. He’d acknowledged the evil, but it didn’t hit home. It was one thing to be aware of bad things happening somewhere unknown in the world and quite another to have those bad things happen to someone you cared about.
He cared about Amy. A lot. In fact, he was pretty sure he was falling in love with her. He knew he’d jump in front of anything to protect her. So far, he hadn’t done a good job of that. A burst of anger ran through him and he slammed the palm of his hand against his steering wheel. It accomplished nothing except to send another wave of pain through him. Dean groaned with frustration. He’d been driving around for the past hour. Where the hell could she have gone? Was she on foot? Or, heaven forbid, had she flagged down a ride? He didn’t think she would do that, but he hadn’t thought she’d run from the hospital, either. She was desperate. Desperate people took chances he didn’t want to think about.
Finally, exhaustion tugged at him and he pulled into the parking lot of a small neighborhood park. A few antique lamps dimly lit the nearby playground, casting the merry-go-round into half shadow. He glanced at his watch. After midnight. He’d tried Amy’s cell phone multiple times earlier that night, but she hadn’t answered. Did she even still have her phone, or had she left it back at the motel room? Maybe she’d turned it off. He just didn’t know.
Dean pulled his cell from his pocket and called Mason. The phone rang several times, but no one answered there, either. Mason was on duty tonight, probably out with the others at a fire scene. He thought about it for a second and then dialed Sloane’s number. After all, she had a right to know what was happening.
He pressed the dial button, surprised that the phone was answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Sloane, it’s Dean.”
“Hey, Dean. Mason’s on duty tonight.”
“I know, I just tried to call him.” He paused. “Listen, Sloane, there’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
“It’s about Amy.” He briefly told her what had happened.
For several moments, Sloane didn’t respond. When she did, her voice was soft with dismay. “Do you think she’ll try to go back to Promise House? Or maybe she’ll come here?”
“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “After what happened tonight, I have a feeling she’s going to try to distance herself from everyone.”
A long pause. “What can I do to help?”
“Can you call around, discreetly, to local cab companies and see if you can find out if anyone picked her up?” He thought a moment. “I’m going to drive by the bus station, see if I can find her there. I don’t know how much money she’s got, but—”
“If she does have any cash on her, Dean, it’s not going to be much.” Sloane heaved a sigh. “You can’t leave her out there all alone, Dean. We have to find her.”
“I’m working on it, Sloane. If you find anything out, call me.”
She disconnected and Dean looked down at his phone screen. The battery was already half drained. “Shit.” He didn’t have a charger. Maybe he could track one down at an all-night store, but that would just take time he didn’t have.
He headed over to the bus station. A couple of lights were on inside, but the place was quiet. Only one bus was parked nearby, dark and silent. He pulled into the parking lot and peered through the large front windows. The waiting room was small and only a few people were inside: an older, grandmotherly woman, a young man slouching against one of the front windows, a beanie pulled low over his head; and a sullen-looking teenager talking on her iPhone.
He pulled into a parking space and called the regional hospital he’d been taken to earlier, just in case she’d gone back there. Negative. He tried two of the local urgent-care clinics, with no success. He then called Agent Hemmings to update him and received much the same news. It was hard not to think the worst. Had Nick caught up with Amy? Was she already bound and gagged in the back of yet another shipping container? Dean swallowed a surge of bile at the thought.
If she was, how would he find her? How could he rescue her? He went around and around. How many women disappeared every year, every day, never to be heard from again? How many parents assumed their children had run away? How many husbands were left to think that their spouse had run off with another man when actually they had been kidnapped and shipped overseas, never to be heard from again?
Hopeless of ever being rescued. Their lives a living hell—
“Stop it!”
He spoke out loud, his voice raw with emotion. He wasn’t going to give up. He was going to find Amy if it was the last thing he did.
His phone rang. He glanced down at the screen, his phone tucked half under his thigh on the seat. Sloane. His heart thumping with a combination of hope and dread, he answered.
“Did you find anything?”
“I did, Dean—”
“—Oh my God,” he broke in, relief surging through him. “Tell me.”
“A Starlight cab picked up a woman up from the hospital. At first the dispatcher didn’t want to tell me where the cab dropped her off, but I told her I was with the GBI.”
“And he believed you?”
“I rattled off some ID number. He may look it up, but if he bothers, I’d be surprised. Anyway, he dropped her off at Ikey’s Motel. It’s located southeast of downtown, maybe a mile out. Take Route Three, follow that, and it’s located just past the storage place as you head down toward Savannah.”
“Got it. Thank you, Sloane. You be careful. Is there anywhere you can go so that you’re not at your apartment alone?”
“Yes. I left a message for Mason. I’m going to drive over to Promise House. I’ve already talked to Meg. She’s expecting me.” She paused. “Dean, you keep me posted on what’s going on.”
“I promise,” he said, then disconnected. He pulled out of the bus depot parking lot and headed through town until he got to Route Three, picking up speed. At first, all he could think of was pulling Amy into his arms and holding on tightly. As he sped down the darkened highway, the woods encroached on either side, moonlight occasionally breaking through the cloud cover. He focused on the cone of light cast by his headlights on the winding asphalt and the dotted yellow line.
Dean’s relief morphed into anger at Amy for disappearing like that. What the hell had she been thinking? He shook his head, the anger leaving as quickly as it had arrived. He knew what she’d been thinking. She had been trying to protect him. But damn it, it was his job to protect her, wasn’t it?
By the time he arrived at the decrepit motel practically out in the middle of nowhere, he’d gotten himself under control. The last thing Dean wanted to do was scare her or freak her out with possessiveness. She’d just run again. That much he knew. He’d offer her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, but in the end, it was up to her. He only hoped Amy knew she could trust him. He didn’t have a clue how to make her feel more secure. Just somehow, he needed her to know that she wasn’t alone in all this.
He pulled into the parking lot, not bothering to pick an actual parking spot. That would just take more time, and there was only one other car parked in front of the U-shaped cluster of motel rooms. A dim light glowed from inside the motel office. He got out of his truck and softly closed the door, then walked to the front door. Locked. He moved on. Not terribly surprising at nearly 1 a.m.
He’d have to start knocking on doors, avoiding the one with the car parked in front. At this point, he was willing to annoy any resident in the place if he located Amy. Was she even still here? The cabbie might have dropped her off here, but that didn’t
mean she’d stayed.
He started with the first door, knocking softly several times as he pressed his ear against the door, listening for movement behind it. Nothing. He tried several more doors with the same result, skipping the room with the car parked out front—for now. By the time he reached the second junction of the U-shaped layout, he had begun to lose hope. Amy had more than an hour’s head start on him. She could be anywhere by now.
Dean forced himself to stand tall and keep moving. He wasn’t giving up on her. Once again, he knocked on the door and pressed his ear against it to listen. That time, he thought he heard something. His heart thudding with hope, he told himself not to jump to conclusions. He placed his mouth close to the door jamb.
“Amy, you in there?” He knocked again, a little louder this time. “Amy?” Dean pressed his ear against the door and he was certain he heard movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the curtain twitch. The door shifted slightly, as if someone was pressed against it.
“Amy, if you’re in there, open the door,” he urged, keeping his voice low. “It’s Dean!”
“Dean?”
The relief he felt at hearing her voice nearly buckled his knees. “Amy, open the door. Please.”
His heart pounded as he heard the chain sliding along its track, and then the doorknob jiggling as she unlocked that, too. The door opened a crack, showing only a tiny portion of her face, eyes wide as she cautiously opened the door. A soft glow of light behind her silhouetted her figure in the doorway.
The door swung open and he was pulled inside. Amy slammed door behind him, slid the chain back into its track, and then suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?” Her question and the arms wrapped tightly around him contradicted each other. For the moment, however, he relished the closeness and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, ignoring the stiffness of his muscles as she squeezed tightly.
“How did you find me?”
He heard the surprise, the fear, in her voice. “Sloane found you. She called cab companies until she found the one that picked you up from the hospital and brought you here.”
She pushed away from him, looking up at him with a frown. Her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy. She’d been crying.
“Oh, my God! If you can find me, so can he. We have to get out of here!”
Dean wrapped his hand around her arm and gently led her toward the bed. The bedspread was wrinkled and the indentation of her head was still evident on the pillow. “No one followed me here. I’m certain. We’re safe for now.” He sat down, tucking her close beside him. Amy stared at his face in horror. He winced. “It probably looks worse than it feels.”
She lifted a hand to her mouth.
“Dean, I’m so sorry. I—”
“Amy, it’s okay.” He picked up her hands in his. “Why did you leave the hospital? Why didn’t—”
She squeezed his hand, a little too firmly. Crap, she was still afraid. “I don’t want . . . I didn’t want you or anyone else to get hurt on my account again. You were lucky, Dean. He could’ve killed you!” She bit her lip, swallowing hard, her eyes filled with tears. “I thought it would be best if I got away from everyone. That I . . .”
“And then what, Amy? You’re going to go on the run? Do you have any money?”
She shook her head. “No. I called my mom in Arizona to see if she would wire me some money for a bus ticket, but she—”
She choked back a sob. Dean frowned and pulled her closer. “It’s alright, Amy. We’ll think of something.”
“She refused!” she continued. “She told me to stay away, that this was my own fault . . .” She broke off, placing her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. “She told me that this was my own fault, to stay away, that they don’t want this kind of trouble.”
Dean’s grip tightened. How could a parent turn their back on their child, especially after what had happened to Amy? “They do know what happened to you, don’t they?”
She nodded, struggling to gain control over her emotions, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “She said it was my own fault for going out with Nick in the first place. They told me he was nothing but trouble, but I . . .”
“Forget about them,” he said. “We’ll figure a way.”
“I’ve already decided, Dean.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice tremulous. “I was going to call Agent Hemmings in the morning and tell him that I’ll go into protection with the Marshal’s Service until they can create a new identity for me in WITSEC.”
He should be glad, damn it, happy that she’d be safe. Instead, Dean’s heart ached at the thought of losing her. But he couldn’t be selfish. Her safety meant everything. Even more than what he felt for her. He shifted and leaned back so he could look at her, wishing more than anything that he could—
Her face lifted and the next thing he knew, her lips were on his. He focused on the feeling of her warm, soft lips and surrendered to it. For the moment, at least, she was safe.
For the moment.
24
Amy
Amy wasn’t quite sure exactly why she had a sudden need to be close to Dean, but it was almost overwhelming. Was it because her life was in danger—again? It wasn’t just because he happened to be there. It was more than that. She felt safe with him. He offered her the sense of sanctuary she craved. More than anything, at least in the moment, she needed to feel him against her, skin to skin.
If she was going into witness protection, this was the last time she’d ever see him. She wasn’t going to waste a single second. It was more than sexual desire that prompted her attraction to him. It was his presence, and his kindness. His compassion and understanding. It was his heart and his soul that attracted her on a deeper level than she’d ever imagined was possible.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her fingers still clutched his shoulders, digging into his solid strength with almost a sense of desperation.
Just one kiss. One simple embrace and she was melting inside. His kiss drove away her fear and she held on to that like a raft tossed in a stormy ocean. Another cliché, but who the hell cared? The next thing she knew, both his hands grasped the side of her head and he was kissing her firmly, passionately, silently demanding a response, as if he too felt a growing sense of desperation at their impending separation.
When he broke off the kiss and gazed down at her, his pupils dilated, he didn’t have to say a word. His eyes skimmed every feature on her face while she did the same. Why . . . why couldn’t she have found him before all this happened?
He lowered his head again and she closed her eyes, relishing and committing every touch and every sensation to memory. His lips touched hers and then skimmed down along her cheekbone. Finally, he nibbled tiny kisses along her jawline and then found her lips again. She felt devoured, her body burning with hot desire, every touch of his lips igniting nerves that sent jolts of electricity through her.
Amy wrapped her arms around his waist. He shifted and she felt her shirt being lifted, his warm palms encompassing her waist, his fingers spread, trying to gain as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. They strayed upward and found her breasts. He cupped them briefly then squeezed gently, kneading, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.
Her body thrummed with pleasure and she moaned low in her throat. His hands skimmed downward again, leaving her breasts aching for his touch. Dean’s fingers traced the contours of her ribs, down along the small of her back, and then dipped under the waistband of her pants.
She not only wanted him, she literally ached for him. No, throbbed for him. She wanted to be closer still. Like his hands had done only seconds ago, hers made their way under his shirt, ever so gentle, not wanting to hurt him. Her touch was feather-light and his ab muscles clenched, goose bumps spreading along his skin. She smiled, eliciting a chuckle from him. He pressed his hips closer into hers, grinding
his erection against her. His groan was unmistakable and made her wet.
Dean’s hand drifted around to the front of her pants, the other still pressed against the small of her back. He unbuttoned her jeans, then unzipped them as another surge of hot flame erupted. His fingers stroked her wet pussy and she gasped.
Amy moved to undo his jeans, but she lost her grasp on his waistband as he shifted, his lips now tracing along her neck and nibbling at the base of her jaw as he shifted again, then slid off the bed down to his knees, pushing her jeans down past her hips. He hooked his fingers into her panties and soon both bunched around her knees. Only then did he straighten, pulling her upright along with him. She tried to return to her task, but his hands distracted her again, stroking through her lower lips. One palm caressed and squeezed her ass while the other moved constantly, tracing her hips, down along the outside of her thigh and then to her sex. Her pussy contracted in anticipation. She rocked her hips against him, slicking his hand with wetness.
“Fuck, you’re wet. I love it.” Dean’s words sent a shiver through her. His cock grew even harder against her thigh, trapped inside his jeans. With determined effort, she undid his pants and shoved them down enough to clear his groin, the waistband of his pants and his boxers tucked just beneath his ass. She gripped that ass with both hands and squeezed.
His cock, fully erect and hard, pressed against her lower abdomen. It pulsed with desire and a thrill ran through her. Despite her fear of Nick and the unknown she would soon face, she felt a sense of exhilaration she had never felt before. She wanted to live, not only physically, but emotionally. She was ready to take her life back. All of it. That was the greatest gift that Dean could ever have given her: a gift that she would never, ever be able to repay.
Their bodies pressed together as Dean took her mouth again. The kiss evoked not only a physical connection, but an emotional one. It was a kiss filled with a meeting of the minds, a silent communication, no words needed. She opened her mouth and his tongue dove deep inside. Her tongue swirled slowly around his. His cock thrust between her legs, the shaft stroking her lips where his hand had been only seconds earlier.
Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3) Page 15
