by Lora Leigh
“Grandmother.” Risa’s voice was warning. “You promised to behave yourself.”
Risa appeared calm. She sat, her arms crossed on the table, her expression composed, but Micah saw the fear in her eyes.
Abigail Clay grimaced, her lined face tightening as a flash of agony pierced her gaze as she looked at her granddaughter. The old woman’s hands trembled and her lips tightened as she sat back with a furious look at the attorney.
“Thank you, Miss Clay.” The federal attorney glanced at Risa. “We informed your doctor of the penalties of withholding information from the government, Miss Clay, and from his patient.” He nodded at her before turning back to Abigail. “I should inform you before we begin that I need to take a moment to explain to Miss Clay the truth of the tests her doctor has done each month.”
Abigail paled as Risa stared back at the attorney, her expression becoming still, frozen.
Micah tensed, forcing himself to remain in his chair as the attorney explained the tests she had taken each month and what they were for. When the attorney explained that the Whore’s Dust was still present in her system, and the ramifications of it, heat blazed in her face and fear filled her eyes.
The explanation was shaming her. Micah could see it. The knowledge that any arousal she had would be increased at least tenfold. That orgasms would be explosive. That the sexual needs would be more painful at times than others and sometimes torturous, according to how the drug worked on her system. If she had been pale before the explanation, then she was paper white when the attorney finished.
“What was the reason for this?” Abigail rasped furiously as she shoved her chair back and rose to her feet. “Look at her, and you wonder why I wouldn’t allow that morbid doctor to tell her about it? She’s been fine without knowing.”
Dressed in silk tan slacks and a creamy blouse, the older woman paced a few steps, came to a stop, then ran her fingers through her short, stylish hair.
“Enough, Grandmother,” Risa said softly. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”
“It was for—”
“If you say it was for my own good one more time, then I will leave Atlanta.” Risa looked up at her, and Micah saw the determination on her face, as well as the pain. “I’m not a child that you need to shelter. If you have to lie to me, then you aren’t helping me.”
Abigail covered her lips with her hand as she propped her other hand on her hip and turned away from her granddaughter.
“This is all very interesting, Mr. Stephens,” Risa said then, her voice hoarse, rough, Micah knew, from her tears. “But I’m sure you have more to do than to oversee doctors’ reports. Why are we here?”
Carl Stephens leaned forward, his gaze somber. “Your psychologist’s reports are quite factual and they’ve been sent to us monthly. In the past months you’ve reported that the memories are becoming clearer, you actually remember phrases, and you remember that the other man with Jansen Clay the night of your kidnapping mentioned stability tests and an amount of money to be paid if he managed to reproduce a drug.”
Micah watched as she followed tightly. “I was unaware you were overseeing that as well,” she said faintly.
“Miss Clay, anything you remember of that night, or your time in the hospital, is important to us. As you know, that drug is damned dangerous. Keeping it off the streets is imperative.”
She nodded jerkily. “You have the records; they’re accurate. I haven’t remembered anything more. What does this have to do with why we’re here now?”
She was lying. Micah saw it flash in her eyes. She had remembered something more, perhaps last night; was that why she had run?
Carl looked down for a long second before lifting his gaze and meeting hers.
“Someone else has managed to get hold of those records as well,” he said gently. “There’s a contract out on your life, Miss Clay. Two million dollars.” Abigail Clay cried out in protest as Risa sat frozen. “The assassin rumored to have picked it up is called Orion. His methods aren’t pleasant. Actually they’re particularly painful. He’s an international concern to the United States. This is the first time we’ve had advance notice of his intent to strike and we mean to capture him. We need your help.”
Risa swayed.
Micah was out of his chair and bursting out of the room the second he saw her eyes glaze, saw the imminent shock racing through her system. Damn Stephens. Damn them all to hell.
He didn’t knock on the door where the meeting was being held; he threw it open and stepped inside, moving quickly to Risa’s side, his arms going around her as she stumbled from her chair.
He caught her against his chest, glaring at Stephens as her nails clawed at his jacket and an animalistic sound of pain left her throat.
“Bastard,” he snarled furiously. “You could have done this easier.”
“Who the hell are you?” Abigail stood behind Risa like a protective tigress. “Release her this minute. I’ll care for her. I cared for her when you bastards left her on my doorstep like she didn’t matter.” Tears ran down her face as she yelled up at him, her hands reaching for her granddaughter, trying to pull her from Micah’s arms. “Damn you!”
Risa was dying inside.
She couldn’t cry. It felt locked inside her. She wanted to hide. She wanted to find a hole and sink inside it; she wanted to scream in agony; she wanted to plead for answers.
Why? Why her?
Her father had sat and watched as another man raped her. Helped hold her down while they injected that vicious drug inside her that made her respond, made her beg. He saw her as unworthy to even sell to the highest bidder. How sick was that? And now, just when she thought she could live, it was to find out this.
She laughed. She couldn’t believe she was laughing. Evidently others couldn’t, either, because all sound ceased in the room.
She lifted her head from Micah’s shoulder and pushed away from him. God, she didn’t want to be touched; she didn’t want his pity.
She turned to the federal attorney and laughed in his face.
“Two million dollars?” She wanted to scream in agony. “My father didn’t think I was worth fucking, my own government didn’t even get a clue when I was institutionalized for nearly two years, but someone out there thinks my life is now worth two million dollars?”
Pain lashed at her chest, stealing her breath at the compassion in both attorneys’ eyes now. Pity. They felt sorry for her.
“Risa. That’s enough.” Micah’s hands settled on her shoulders, his grip firm, warm.
She wanted to turn into him and soak in that warmth. She wanted to beg him to make it all better, to make the demons go away, to take the pain away, to find her one moment of peace. She wanted to plead for it, and she couldn’t.
“Miss Clay, I understand your anger,” the federal attorney began.
“Do you, Mr. Stephens?” she questioned him roughly. “Do you understand any damned thing at this moment?” She stared around the room. Her grandmother and her attorney. Her grandmother had kept the doctor’s reports from her, had denied allowing her the knowledge of what was going on with her own body.
“Why did you lie to me?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Risa, you were finally finding some peace,” Abigail cried softly. “I couldn’t tell you. The doctor has to be wrong; it’s been years.”
“I had a right to know.” Her fists clenched at her side. “God, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I hadn’t realized something was wrong with me? Do you have any idea how I felt, Grandmother?”
Of course she didn’t. No one asked, no wanted to hear, so Risa hadn’t spoken of it. And she couldn’t very well tell her grandmother she was dying to be fucked.
“And what the hell are you doing here?” She turned to Micah, avoiding his gaze, avoiding the demand in it, the pity she was terrified of seeing.
“Miss Clay, Mr. Sloane is private agent on loan to the Department of Justice. He and his team will b
e your protection.”
She was going to throw up. She turned to the mirror, the two-way glass, wondering who watched now. Then she turned to Micah.
“They knew,” she whispered, her lips numb now. “Last night, all of them, they knew who you were.”
“They knew,” he said, his tone firm, quiet.
They had lied to her. Morganna and Clint, Ian and Kira, Kell and Emily, Reno and Raven. They had all lied to her.
“Did they even know you?” she asked then, wondering at the extent of the lies.
“I’ve worked with Reno and the others several times,” he stated. “I’ve known them for years. When the Department of Justice contacted my team for your protection, we contacted Reno’s because they’re here in Atlanta.”
“They’re no longer with the Navy.” She remembered that. Morganna and Raven had thrown a party when their husbands had finally left the Navy.
“No, they aren’t with the Navy. They’re private now, Risa, the same as I and my team.”
They were private. That was why they were gone so often, because they were private. Like Micah. Because they were liars. Because Clint had stood in her face and chided her for hiding in her apartment, convincing her to come to the club with them and to meet his very good friend Micah.
“Perfect.” She laughed again, a hollow, mocking sound that tore at her chest as it escaped. “How fucking perfect. Is Clint back there?” She waved her hand toward the mirror. “Is Morganna with him? Do you think they both know just how pleased I am to be used this way?” She screamed the question at him.
She was coming apart inside. She could feel it. She was unraveling like a ball of twine and she couldn’t seem to stop the destruction.
Turning away from Micah, she faced the attorney instead. She didn’t know him. He didn’t matter. The fool she had made of herself the night before didn’t affect his little world one way or the other.
“So tell me, Mr. Stephens.” Breathing was almost impossible. She felt as though she were going to go to her knees at any moment. “Exactly what does the all-powerful United States of America need from me? Should I paint a target on my chest? How about taking out an ad in the newspaper? You can watch me then? See who bites?”
She hated the pity in that bastard’s eyes. How dare he stare at her with such somber compassion?
“No, Miss Clay,” he said gently, his hands braced on the table as her own attorney wiped his hands helplessly over his face. “We want you to work with us, and with Mr. Sloane. We want you to allow our agent into your home, pretend he’s your lover. While you do this, his team will watch you; they’ll cover you completely. When Orion tries to strike, we’ll be there. If you remember anything at any time, then we’ll know and we can assist you.”
She licked her dry lips and fought the dry heaves that twisted in her stomach. Maybe she should have eaten that morning after all; at least then she would have had something to throw up.
“How do they protect me against a bullet?” She shook her head mockingly. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Stephens. He’d be impossible to track.”
His expression flickered with regret before he looked over her shoulder.
“Risa, sit down for this.” Micah’s hands touched her shoulders again.
This time when she tried to jerk away, they tightened. A second later he turned her around, stared down at her, his black eyes flickering with fury as she slapped at his chest.
“Stop fighting me,” he demanded roughly. “You don’t want to stand up for this. If you want the truth, then sit your ass down and listen.”
His harsh tone broke through the ice forming in her belly. She had to swallow tightly, had to grip her control with the last of her strength as she pushed back from him and slowly took her seat again.
She glared at him when he sat down beside her. She wasn’t happy with the glare she received in return.
Turning back to the attorney, she forced a tight smile to her face. “So he doesn’t use bullets?”
Attorney Stephens took his seat and shook his head. “He doesn’t use bullets.”
“Go ahead and spit it out,” she demanded. “Let’s not pretend to care about my feelings at this late date if you don’t mind.”
His nostrils flared, but the compassion in his eyes never dimmed.
“He finds a way to sedate his victims and kidnap them. As I said, this is the first advance notice we’ve had of one of his marks. This is our chance, Miss Clay, to make certain he never kills again. And, with any luck, our chance to find out who hired him, and what they’re afraid you know.”
“How does he kill them?”
Stephens looked down at the table for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to hers. “He has two manners of killing. If it’s a male, he’s rather merciful. He simply cuts their throats. His female victims, he’s not so gentle with. He ties them down, legs raised, wrists down. He slices their wrists and watches them bleed out.”
She blinked back at him. She could sense the edges of her vision growing dim and forced her head to the table, forced herself to close her eyes and fight back the need to faint. Hell, she was going to swoon for damned sure. Wasn’t that so Southern?
“Risa.” She felt Micah’s hand at her back, a warm, comforting weight that sent talons of aching need slicing through her. “We can protect you. As Carl said, this is the first time we’ve had warning. We can protect you.”
She shook her head, lifted it, and stared across the table at her grandmother. Abigail was deathly pale, her face streaked with tears, her expression tormented.
Her hand reached out to Risa. Shaking, fighting the terror rising inside her, she took her grandmother’s fragile hand in her own.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Abigail sobbed, her tears running freely now, her voice hoarse with anger and pain. “I’m so sorry I gave birth to that monster. God forgive me, Risa, I’m so sorry.”
Risa’s grandmother laid her head on the table and sobbed as their attorney rose from the table and moved to her. Risa could only watch her helplessly. Poor Grandmother. How much pain was she supposed to endure? She had faced her son’s atrocities, and now she was facing her granddaughter’s imminent death.
Risa turned to the attorney, feeling a strange, dark calm settle over her.
“I will require another agent,” she stated. “I can’t work with the one you’ve chosen.”
She couldn’t face him, couldn’t pretend with him. Not after the night before. Humiliation crawled inside her, blistering, threatening the ice she needed to remain calm, to remain sane.
“Unacceptable.”
Her head jerked around to Micah as he bit out the word with harsh emphasis. His black eyes were furious now. He stared down at her, a muscle ticcing at his jaw as she fought to hold on to her own control.
“Why?” she whispered. “Don’t do this to me, Micah. You’ll kill me. How much more do I have to endure? Do I have to face you every day, pretend to be your lover when we both know the truth?”
“You don’t want to get into this here.” His head lowered, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “You don’t even want to get this started, Risa. There will be no other agent taking my place. No other man will take my place. If you want to live, then damn you, you’ll accept the man that can keep your ass alive.”
“Why?” Agony was a burden she didn’t know if she could bear much longer. Humiliation ran as hot and as deep as the arousal she couldn’t get rid of. She had failed with him, and now he wanted to do what? Rub her nose in it? Make her accept it?
“Accept the deal,” he commanded furiously. “You will accept it, and you will accept me. If I have to force your hand, I will. Am I understood?”
A frown snapped between her brows as fury flooded in her eyes.
“Don’t order me,” she snapped back. “I’m not your lapdog, Mr. Sloane. And you will not make me do anything.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Fury snapped between them, nose to nose, glaring, as she felt her clit swell further, her nip
ples tighten harder.
“I hate you!” She wanted to hit him. She wanted to wipe the command and dominance off his face with her fist.
“Hate me all you like.” His smile was tight, confident. “But you will live, Risa. You will live, or I’ll paddle your ass until you can’t sit for a week.”
Her eyes widened as outrage flooded her. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, my little sweet, trust me. I’d dare that and much more.”
CHAPTER 6
THE DOOR DIDN’T slam behind them when Risa closed it later that afternoon. It closed quietly, the dead bolt clicked into position, and when she turned, she froze. Two men stood in her living room, dressed in light overalls with the name of a cleaning company emblazoned on them.
Micah didn’t seem overly concerned by the fact that two strange men were in her apartment.
One was tall, six and a half feet at least, white blond hair hanging to his shoulders, ice blue eyes regarding her with a hint of somber interest rather than pity. The other was shorter, with dark blond hair and gray eyes. The second man watched her with more than somber interest. There was hint of mischief to his expression, a decided curl of amusement about his lips. She decided to dislike him on the spot, simply because he was the only one who appeared as if he might protest it.
“Hey, Micah, are you introducing us?” The darker blond, amused male lifted his brows in query as he lifted a vacuum. “Here we’ve been sweeping up your bugs and being good little boys. There were some bad boys in here, too.”
“I have bugs in my apartment?” She frowned. “You’re not pest control. Call them.”
“They’re both pests and pest control,” Micah grunted as he glanced at the vacuum. “Did you deactivate them?”
Risa paused and stared at the vacuum as the meaning began to sink in. Not real bugs, listening devices. Someone had placed listening devices in her home?
“All of them. We, umm, found something interesting, too.” The darker-haired one glanced at her again. “We cleaned the overhead light fixtures, changed the bulbs and all that good stuff. She had an interesting little camera above her bed. Wireless. Snazzy as hell.”
