by Lora Leigh
“I thought Chaya was the interrogator,” she pointed out mildly, a bit irritated with the questions.
Amusement gleamed in his eyes then, a teasing gleam she had a feeling he was helpless against. “I taught her everything she knows.”
For a second, his wife stared at the back of his head in disbelief.
“Oh, good grief,” Chaya muttered then with a roll of her eyes. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Probably, but that doesn’t change the question.” He cleared his throat, obviously holding back a grin.
Angel shrugged. “Getting the lay of the land. I was hiking and sightseeing.”
Silence met her answer.
“Angel.” Chaya said her name softly, the expression on her face knowing and demanding at the same time.
Angel looked over at where Bliss was moving into the living room at the urging of Annie and Laken.
“I feel sorry for Bliss.” She sighed. “She’ll never be able to hide anything from the two of you.”
It was so sad; sometimes a girl needed to have her secrets until she could figure things out on her own. Having a mother that could just look at you and know you were lying would simply suck.
“I was following Bran because I’d noticed Bliss was interested in him. He hadn’t said or done anything.” She shot Natches a silencing look. “I don’t even think he was aware she was flirting with him. She’s very subtle.”
“But something about him bothered you?” Chaya asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She frowned. “He was with two other young men about his age and passed by the cabin. They continued on to a part of the lake I hadn’t known went back that far and settled down to fish, so I turned around and headed back to the marina. That’s when I saw the blue van parked behind it. Then after Bliss was nearly abducted, I recognized it as possibly the same van in the video footage from the marina’s security cameras. When I returned the day Bliss was nearly abducted, the van was gone, though, and the cabin was empty.”
The explanation didn’t sit well with Natches.
“So rather than alerting anyone else, you just went and checked it all out yourself?” he demanded, glaring at her, his expression filled with disapproval.
Her brow lifted. “Considering the fact that several hours before that you threatened to kill me?” Her lips pursed in consideration. “Yep, that was exactly what I did: went and checked it out all on my little lonesome.”
He stared back at her, those emerald eyes darkening to almost a jungle green as his expression tightened with arrogant reproach.
“You knew better than that,” he finally snorted. “If I was going to shoot your ass, I wouldn’t warn you first.”
She wondered how the hell she was supposed to have known that.
“Now see, that’s just rude,” she stated, as though offended over his inconsideration. “I wouldn’t mind a bit warning you first. It makes the playing field even, so to speak.”
She really hoped he remembered her warning where messing with food she was preparing was concerned.
He rubbed at his neck again before turning and throwing Chaya a look that had her smiling serenely.
“Let me see the pictures already,” Angel demanded, holding out her hand. “Before I get too tired to recognize anyone.”
Turning the pictures over, he handed them to her, his gaze hardening as she took them.
Laying the photographs in front of her, she recognized the first one instantly.
“That’s the one whose DNA Bliss managed to get when he grabbed her,” Natches told her quietly.
“He was at the lake several times when I was there with the girls. I’d remember those ice-blue eyes and that scar on his face anywhere.” She drew a slanted line down the man’s cheek.
Laying that picture aside she went to the next one.
“The one I killed at the safe house,” Natches said as she stared down at the handsome face.
“Oh!” she said, startled. “He was at the lake with Bliss’s friend Bran!” She tapped a finger against the pretty boy who had kept ensuring his thick dark hair was lying just right.
“The next one is the one you shot,” Natches said softly as she laid that one aside.
“I haven’t seen him around her.” But she’d seen him somewhere. It was odd for her to see a picture and not immediately place the face. Her memory was too damned good for that. “I’ve seen him before, though,” she said, frowning. “He must have looked different somehow, different hair color or something.”
Brown hair, brown eyes. He didn’t look quite thirty, but he looked hard and mean. His eyes were cold and unemotional.
Where had she seen him?
She laid the picture aside.
“That’s the one I took out in the woods,” Natches pointed out needlessly.
An older man, black hair with a touch of gray at the temples.
“The two I can place,” she told him. “But this one.” She tapped the picture of the man that seemed so familiar. “He must have been trying to disguise his looks. I’ll remember where I saw him. Who he is. It will just take a minute.”
She rubbed at her temple, weariness dragging at her again as she fought to remember where she’d seen the younger man.
“Come on, you need to rest a little more.” Rising to his feet Duke just lifted her in his arms rather than helping her to her feet. “She’s still tired, Natches.” His voice hardened, that “don’t fuck with me” tone she always hated whenever he turned it on her. “Anything else she remembers, I’ll let you know. She’s going back to bed.”
“You’re so bossy,” she accused him, but spoiled it when she yawned.
“I knew it was too early to let you up,” he growled, laying her back on the bed.
“Don’t fuss, Duke.” She sighed. “God, I hate being so weak.”
Fists clenching as she rolled to her side, she fought the feeling of exhaustion. “I want to kill that bastard that shoved that knife in my leg all over again.”
Once wasn’t enough. He deserved to die over and over again for whatever he’d dipped that blade in before using it on her.
“Don’t fuss, she says,” he grunted, pulling the wingback chair closer and sitting down heavily. “You scared the life out of me, Angel, do you know that? And you’ve spent two days practically unconscious, waking up to go to the bathroom only. I have gray hair.”
She glanced at his thick black hair and couldn’t help but grin. “It will look very good on you, I promise. Very distinguished.”
He frowned back at her and she couldn’t help but giggle.
“You’re a freak.” He shook his head at her. “You’re always laughing at me.”
No, she always loved him.
She had. She’d fought it, she’d denied it, she’d tried to tell herself it wasn’t love, but she’d always known better. And realizing that wasn’t easy for her.
“I’m really tired, Duke,” she whispered.
How many more emotions was she going to dredge up to deal with? What was next, anyway? Realizing she loved spinach when she really hated the stuff?
“Like hell. You stubborn little minx.” Before she realized his intent he moved her over in the bed and slid in beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Getting scared, are you, baby?”
Fists pressed against his chest, the thin material of her T-shirt and cotton pants doing very little to protect her from the warmth of his body, she tried to tell herself he didn’t know near as much as he thought he did.
“I don’t get scared, remember?” She scowled up at him. “I’m tougher than that.”
She was a wuss. A bona fide, card-carrying, bring-out-the-bitch wuss. And she didn’t care a bit to admit it.
To herself.
“Tougher than that, are you?” he asked, rolling her to her back and coming over her.
>
And he was so incredibly gentle, taking care to make certain he didn’t hurt her.
He always had been, she remembered. Whether she was wounded or not, Duke had always been instinctively gentle with her. And he’d always found a reason to touch her.
Why hadn’t she realized this before?
She couldn’t blame it on the wound; she’d had a hell of a lot worse. This one had been easy compared to many of the others.
“I’m definitely tougher than that,” she assured him, though she didn’t sound in the least bit tough and she knew it.
She wasn’t acting tough either as her hands slid beneath the shirt he wore to touch the warmth of his skin, to feel the rasp of chest hair against her palms and feel his heart beat beneath her fingers.
Could she go back to fighting and take the chance on never feeling this again, never touching him, never being held by him?
Tracker was prone to say that “dead” meant no regrets, but she didn’t think even death would keep her from regretting the loss.
“I love you, Angel.”
She froze.
She couldn’t have heard that. It wasn’t possible. Just because she loved didn’t mean she was lucky enough to be loved; she’d always known that.
“Angel?” Gripping the side of her face he tipped her head back, staring into her eyes, the dark green of his gaze a little amused, his expression . . .
“Do you think this guy is going to be easy to catch?” She sounded breathless.
Her heart was racing so fast, so hard she could barely talk. And what was that damned shakiness in her voice? She was making a fool of herself. She knew she was.
“Angel, I love you,” he repeated.
She watched his lips form the words, heard them, knew she wasn’t imagining it.
“Why?” She couldn’t help the confusion that pulled a frown to her brow, that left her feeling a little lost, a whole lot scared.
“Because you make me laugh when no one else can. Because as tough as you are, your heart is soft. Because everything inside me screams that you’re mine.” He grinned down at her with such male confidence it should have had her ready to argue just for the hell of it.
She wasn’t arguing. She felt as though she were melting on the inside.
“I know you love me, Angel,” he told her then, brushing her hair back from her face, never once seeming to doubt his own certainty. “Just as you’ve known I love you.”
“I do love you.” The words whispered past her lips. “I do. But Duke”—her voice was shaking, all the fear she felt filling it—“what if something, or someone, takes you from me? What will I do? Don’t you understand? Losing that love, losing you . . .” Her hands gripped his wrists and she fought just to breathe. “What would I do?”
“Baby, all I can promise you is that I won’t walk away.” He laid his forehead against hers, still holding her gaze. “I won’t stop loving you. I won’t willingly leave you. That’s all either of us can give the other. But if I knew I had only a day, I’d want to spend that day loving you and being loved by you.”
“A man shouldn’t be able to say something so damned corny and still be so fucking sexy. It’s unnatural, Duke.” But she could feel emotion swamping her, stealing any sting from the words.
“Sweet Angel.” His lips lowered to hers. “Trust me. I got this.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. And she couldn’t help but hold him to her, to return his kiss, to share what she couldn’t hide any longer from him or from herself. And trust that fate loved this Mackay as much as she seemed to love the others, and would allow Angel to hold him, to love him, for a long, long time.
NINETEEN
The next morning, Angel knew she was stronger, refreshed. She actually felt better than she’d ever felt before she’d taken that knife to her thigh.
She definitely felt good enough to want to fix breakfast.
She was starved.
Duke was already up and moving around. She could smell coffee coming from the suite’s kitchenette, the sound of his voice a low, deep murmur as he spoke, then Ethan’s reply. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the sound was familiar and comforting. It should be, she thought, amused; she’d been hearing it for years whenever she managed to take another wound.
Duke was right, she was lucky to be alive at this point.
And it didn’t make sense either, because she knew she was damned good in the field. Hell, it was all she’d been doing for twenty years; she should be good at it. But for as long as she could remember, her luck had sucked in the field. From being found by a stray guard in a hut in Guatemala at six and nearly getting her throat cut before Tracker had arrived, to any number of other debacles. Life threatening, but debacles all the same.
Duke seemed to believe the problems began with that hospital falling in on her. How very wrong he was, unfortunately.
Knowing Ethan would insist on checking the wound, she didn’t bother checking it herself. She quickly showered, then put on just the long shirt she’d worn the night before over her tank top and boy shorts.
She’d never been able to tolerate thongs or the lacy pretty stuff under the standard mission gear clothes. Plain old black cotton with no chance of riding between the cheeks of her ass. Maybe, though, if she stopped fighting, she could buy some pretty lacy stuff.
She could watch all that hungry lust fill Duke’s eyes and fly apart in pleasure as he showed her how much he appreciated it.
A little smile tipped her lips at that thought when she stepped into the kitchenette to find Duke and Ethan at the table, a tablet between them as they scrolled through pictures.
“Updates?” She nodded to the tablet as she stepped past them to the coffeepot.
“Doogan and the boys have been busy,” Duke stated. “Alex actually found some information on the guys who attacked the safe house.”
Carrying her cup of coffee, she sat down in the chair next to Duke as he flipped the tablet to face her.
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Grecia Davinov?” She almost blinked in shock. “The Russian billionaire. We worked for him one time years ago when his family was being threatened. Why would he target us? Besides, kidnapping’s not Grecia’s thing, and there’s no way he could have known who I am to Bliss.”
“This”—Duke flipped to the next picture—“is one of the men Saul took out at the safe house. Grecia’s brother, Rastor Davinov. Former Russian Special Forces and expert marksman. The other was a known associate of Rastor’s, a small-time Russian mobster that works out of Moscow.”
Duke showed her the next picture. “Our snipers were Rastor’s sons, Ilya and Gregor Davinov, also Russian Special Forces. They’re all rumored to speak excellent English and were actually high-level emissaries for Grecia’s Russian business at one time.” Ilya matched the DNA under Bliss’s nails from her near abduction; Gregor was the one Natches killed outside the house. Duke flipped to the younger man Angel had been trying to remember for the past two nights. “We suspect this is Grecia’s estranged son, Viktor. Which explains why you might have remembered him. His looks have changed a bit since you were with Davinov’s security detail.”
Maybe. She remembered the old photos she’d seen of Davinov’s son, but as Duke said, his looks had changed quite a bit. No matter what, the man in the photo was definitely one of the dead men out in the garage.
“My original question,” she reminded him. “Why come after Bliss if the reason they’re here is to kill me? And why try to kill me to begin with? We weren’t the only security personnel Grecia Davinov has used over the years.”
As she spoke Ethan pulled his chair over with a quiet, “Leg, please.”
“Well, I didn’t say we had all the answers, baby. I said we identified them. I called Tracker earlier. He’s calling some of his contacts close to Davinov’s organization. We should know something soon.
”
He had called Tracker? Oh Lord.
“Did you spill your spineless guts about my leg?” she snapped, then her eyes widened in horror at the knowing look on his face and Ethan’s snicker as he cleaned the salve from the fresh stitches to apply more. “You told him?” Outrage filled her voice. “You knew I didn’t want him to know. God—” She tightened her lips against the rest of the curse. “We are going to discuss this habit you have of telling everyone my damned secrets, Duke. We really are.”
Ethan’s chuckle just pissed her off more.
Jerking her head around she gave him a killing look. “Slap a Band-Aid on it already, Chuckles. I have things to do. And I don’t want to hear your comic relief crap either.” She pointed a finger back at him imperiously.
He wisely kept anything he was about to say to himself. Damned good thing, too, she thought, directing another furious look in Duke’s direction.
“Come on, Angel,” he chided her gently. “Tracker and Chance would have tried to hurt me for keeping it from them.”
As she stared at him, she knew instantly that he hadn’t just told Tracker in the last few hours or since learning the identities of the Davinovs.
“Oh my God, you called while I was out of it, didn’t you?” Pure amazed disbelief filled her. “Why, Duke? Why would you do that?”
If Tracker knew, then J.T. and Mara knew. And Mara would have called Duke herself. . . .
“Because he had a right to know.” His expression got that too-arrogant, too-damned-sure-of-himself look on his face that she absolutely hated. That look that assured her she was screwed.
The whole damned family would know at this point.
It had been four days since her collapse, and knowing Duke as she did, she knew he would have called them that first night. Sweet baby Jesus, it was a wonder the entire damned family hadn’t arrived yesterday. She could actually expect them at any time now.
“J.T. and Mara will show up with him and Chance.” She came to her feet, suddenly uncertain, wary.
Brushing at the front of her hair nervously, she had an overwhelming urge to bite her nails. Mara and Chaya in the same area? Chaya had already stated her opinion of Mara, and it hadn’t been kind.
