Holding his Hostage (Shattered SEALs Book 3)

by Amy Gamet

  “Where are Lucas and Fiona?”

  “A hotel about fifteen minutes from there with my mom. I think we should wait until morning to get them. No reason to wake everyone.”

  She agreed. “What about April? I don’t want her seeing her father. It will just upset her. At least not right now.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  It was raining again, and her eyes caught on streetlights and signs, absently staring into the night. Bannon was dead, her clothes and April’s both splattered with blood, the image of Bannon’s open skull not likely to leave her memory anytime soon.

  That should have been the end of it, but David told Sloan it was just the beginning, and that made Joanne want to cry. What had she done to deserve this? What had the kids? All of their current strife was David’s fault, David and his inability to keep his dick in his pants.

  They made it back to Sloan’s house and she ushered April up the stairs, helping her into the shower, then tucking her into bed. The girl was exhausted, asleep before her head hit the pillow. Jo showered, then picked up their bloody clothes and threw them in the trash.

  She was overly aware of David’s presence in the house, waiting, a migraine taking root in her temples as she made herself hot tea. Sloan appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Are you ready?”

  “I guess so.” She followed him to the study, and he knocked. The lock clicked and the door opened. She was holding her breath as she looked at the man she’d thought she buried standing in the entrance to Sloan’s favorite room.

  David tucked his hands into his pockets. “Hi, Jo.”

  She wanted to slap him, but she clenched her jaw and walked past, sitting in the leather club chair as the men took their seats. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I know.” He sat on one end of a long matching couch, Sloan at the other. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about you start with why you faked your own death.”

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He hung his head. “You know I was seeing McKenzie,” he said sheepishly.

  “Yes.”

  “We were going to run away together. Start a new life. I thought I loved her.” He rested the heel of his hand on his forehead. “She’d signed a prenuptial agreement with Bannon and wouldn’t get any money if they divorced, even though he was worth millions.” He sighed heavily. “She talked me into it. I ran his accounts. I could skim off the top and make it happen pretty easily. Over the course of a year and half, I took two-point-three million dollars.”

  He stood and walked to the fireplace mantel, staring at pictures in frames as he spoke. “It was all set up. We were transferring the money into an account in the Cayman Islands, preparing to leave.”

  “And the children?” she asked.

  “There was five hundred thousand set aside for child support. We both know they’d be better off without me.”

  How many times had she thought the same thing herself? But him coming to that conclusion on his own was just another mark against him. What kind of man would leave his children behind without another thought?

  “I was selfish, Jo, okay? I wanted a new start. Since you left, when it was my day with the kids, it was always terrible. Always. April yelling at me, Lucas and me fighting, even Fiona would break down in tears. I sounded just like my old man, treating my own children like shit, and I hated myself for it. I don’t know how to be a good father. I didn’t realize how much you helped me until I was on my own.”

  The pain in his voice was her undoing. Her eyes burned, emotion welling up as he admitted to his failures as a parent. More than his treatment of her, it had been the way he handled the kids that made her desperate to get away from him. But seeing the devastation in his eyes, knowing how hard it must have been roused her sympathy. She spoke the simple truth. “They love you, David. You’re their father.”

  He frowned harshly.

  “Who died in the fire?” asked Sloan.

  “We were almost ready to go. McKenzie told me to meet her at the hunting cabin—we met there sometimes—but her cousin Finbar showed up instead. He was a lowlife I’d met a couple of times at her place. He was forever going in and out of jail.

  “The son of a bitch mocked me. He knew everything, details he could only have gotten from McKenzie. Said he was getting a cut of the money, and all he had to do was kill me.”

  Joanne remembered the dark brown casket, her desire to see what was inside. “So it was Finbar we buried in that cemetery.”

  “I had no choice. It was him or me. McKenzie double-crossed me. She used me to steal Bannon’s money and put her name on it, then she wanted me gone.”

  “So why not go to the police?” asked Sloan. “If you killed him in self-defense, that’s justifiable homicide.”

  “Do you think she would have stopped?” he asked incredulously. “Do you think she would have let me live once I knew what she’d done? I could turn her in to Bannon in a heartbeat. I was a liability.”

  He sat back down. “I shot Finbar, and I set the fire to hide the evidence. I never knew I could act that way, do those things.” He shook his head. “I watched the hunting cabin burn. That’s when I realized everyone would think it was me in that building. That I could still have a fresh start, even without McKenzie.” His eyes searched hers. “It never occurred to me they’d come after you, that I was putting our kids in danger.”

  The frown was back, his chin puckering. “I never would have done anything to hurt you guys on purpose.” His voice cracked and he seemed to collapse in on himself, the weight of his decisions crushing the man he’d once been.

  Joanne stood and crossed to the couch, sitting and putting her arms around him, aware of Sloan just a few feet behind her. She needed to do this, needed to find some forgiveness in this space. David had been damaged by his father just as Joanne had been damaged by hers. He was no more capable of being a good parent than she was of leaving her own scars behind.

  David’s shoulders shook. Her mind flipped through the pages of her relationship with each of these men, the dynamic between her and Sloan crystalizing in her understanding. She’d been looking for someone to save her from her father’s wrath, a hero to make the darkness go away. When she’d asked him to marry her, she wasn’t doing it out of love, even though she loved him with her whole heart and soul. She’d been asking him to take on that role forever, to keep her safe and protected so she wouldn’t have to be brave.

  Her relationship with David hadn’t stood a chance.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said into her ear. “For all of it. The cheating and the lies. The unhappy years.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” She gently rubbed his back. “I was expecting you to fix my life instead of sharing it with me. No one can do that for anyone else.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  She hadn’t been looking for forgiveness, but the words resonated with her in a way that few ever had. Her throat constricted. “It wasn’t your fault, either.” She could see it now, the elusive truth suddenly staring her in the face. “I blamed you for everything, right from the start, and I’m sorry.” She squeezed him tightly, then let him go, standing and returning to her seat.

  Sloan stood and crossed to the sideboard, the sound of liquid pouring the only noise in the room. He brought them each a scotch, then took his seat. “You said Bannon was only the beginning, that it was McKenzie we had to worry about.”

  David nodded. “After she tried to kill me, I wanted to make sure she couldn’t keep a dime of that money. I’d paid a king’s ransom for new identities for the two of us. Passports. Her ticket out of the country, the bank account in the Caymans—everything’s in her new name. I broke into her house and I stole back the passport.”

  Joanne’s mouth dropped open. “The day of the funeral, someone broke into our house. It was a mess, drawers emptied everywhere, paintings taken down. It looked like they were looking for something. But
McKenzie was at the service with Bannon. She couldn’t have done it..”

  “She could have had someone else do it, just like she had Finbar try to kill me.”

  “Where are the passports now?” asked Sloan.

  “In the glove box of the Porsche in your driveway. As far as I know, McKenzie still thinks I’m dead. If she already had the house checked, I’ve got ten bucks she’s looking for that car—and for you.”

  27

  Within an hour, Sloan had Razorback, Chop, Gavin, and Asher doing guard duty outside of his house and the Porsche hidden safely in the garage. David was sure he’d mentioned Sloan to McKenzie over the years, though he wasn’t sure the other woman had remembered the story of Joanne’s first love, much less put the pieces together and figured out they were staying here.

  Sloan set David up on the couch to sleep. “It’s not so bad if you put your head at the high end.”

  Joanne stood at the foot of the stairs. “You can sleep with me.”

  He nodded, unsure of whether she was offering him a comfortable spot to rest his head or the comfort of her body. Unable to reject either offer, he climbed the stairs behind her to his room.

  David’s revelations about his marriage with Jo had given Sloan some insight into what had gone wrong between them, and he could see a reconciliation was possible. No matter their hardships, they shared three children together as well as mutual respect and love, even if it wasn’t the glossy kind of perfection people so often expected love to be.

  Was that what she wanted, to be reunited with her husband? Could she see the possibility looming? More important, was he a son of a bitch for getting in the way? He frowned as she slipped off her shoes and turned down the bed, and it struck him he hadn’t been in this space with her since he was eighteen years old.

  He unbuttoned his shirt, crossing to his side of the bed. In so many ways, they’d been playing house back then, pretending to be grown up when so much of who they would become was still very much in flux. But there had been a reality to it, too, a poignancy he hadn’t since reclaimed. And whether it was wrong or not, he needed to do that tonight.

  He unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the floor before lifting his undershirt over his head. He hesitated. Despite what he’d told her earlier, he had not taken off his prosthesis with a woman before. It was a lie he’d told on the spur of the moment, determined to get her off the scent. But now as he stood there preparing to make love to her for the very last time, he wanted only the two of them tucked in that bed. He undid the leather strap and set the device on the floor.

  She undressed facing him, first her jeans as he had done, then her sweater and bra. She sat on the edge of the bed and took off her socks before slipping between the sheets and turning toward him. He reached for her, noting the moment she realized his prosthesis was gone and bracing for her reaction.

  Scooting closer to him on the bed, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “Thank you for everything you did today, for taking care of me and April, for welcoming David into your home.” She snuggled into his side, and he stroked her back with his short fingernails.

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “You shouldn’t have to. You were always taking care of me, when I should have been taking care of myself.” She kissed his chest. “You made it too easy to rely on you.”

  He nuzzled the top of her head, the sweet smell of shampoo lingering there. “It was my pleasure.”

  “I should have waited for you. I shouldn’t have constantly looked for someone else to solve my problems.”

  “You were doing the best you could. Your childhood was hard. I of all people know that.”

  “Maybe we all need a little more grace, a little more forgiveness.”

  He froze. He was nearly naked, holding on to her in his bed, yet he could feel her slipping away with the question he knew he had to ask. “Can you forgive him for what he did to you?”

  “Yes. I think I can.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his arm tightening around her back, holding her to him. She lifted her knee over his leg, grazing his growing erection. It was bittersweet, the last opportunity to be with the woman who had meant so much to him, who still meant so much. He turned toward her and kissed the corner of her mouth, then her bottom lip, then her top.

  She kissed him back, opening her mouth to his as she fitted herself to his body. How many times had they lain in this bed, coming together with passion and desire? A desperate need that could only be satisfied by the other, a need that could never be satisfied again.

  He rolled her over, bracing himself on his arm as he kissed the hollow between her collarbones and moved lower, kissing her heart. There could never be another woman like this one, never be another woman who owned him so completely. But this was the right thing to do, the preservation of a family that could nurture her kids, protect the life she and David had forged and allow it to grow.

  He just had to have her this one last time.

  His hand slid up her rib cage to cup her breast, massaging it with his fingers before taking the peak in his mouth and loving it with his tongue. She gasped, her hand moving to the back of his head to hold him against her as her body arched like a bow.

  Moving lower, he followed an invisible line to her navel, then out to her hip, caressing the flesh of her leg as he made his way to the sensitive spot on the inside of her knee, kissing it and tickling it with his touch.

  Her legs had fallen open to him, and he moved between them, lavishing the same attention on her other knee before making his way up the inside of her thigh. She smelled so good, and his groin flooded with heat as he opened her folds and settled on her most sensitive spot. He was determined to remember the taste of her, the sound of the little noises she made in the back of her throat as he licked and lavished her tender bud.

  No woman could ever take the place of this one, no body in his bed could ever have the same grip on his heart that this woman had. And she didn’t even know it. He would make love to her tonight, hold her all the while she slept, then watch as she went back to the man downstairs.

  It was all he could do not to scream out loud.

  He climbed up her body, his cock filling her entrance with one sure thrust. His movements were harder, his determination more intense, as if by making love to her with all his might, he could brand her as his forever.

  She rolled him over and he sat up, lifting her body onto his thighs and raising her higher, both of them still intimately connected. His arm wrapped around her lower back, holding her onto him, and her breast bounced against his chin. He bent his head to catch it, latching on to her nipple and taking her deep as she did the same to his cock.

  Her noises intensified, her hips thrusting faster. He needed to push her over the edge, to be the reason she came alive, and he again rolled her onto her back, driving into her center, the friction building to a fevered pitch.

  He opened his eyes to see her flushed cheeks, her lashes resting against her skin, and her lips parted as she moaned. He took her mouth in a searing kiss, connecting their experience. Her muscles gripped him rhythmically, tormenting him. They milked his shaft and he was lost, his orgasm rising up like a tsunami from the calm of the sea. She cried out as his body exploded into hers, his climax ripping through him with intense pulsing waves of sensation.

  He collapsed on top of her, unable to move as aftershocks ripped through his entire body, and her nails dug into his ass. The haze was slow to clear, their grip on each other lingering for long minutes as she held him inside her.

  He’d never have this again.

  The unfairness was an emotional blow, draining him just as her body was draining his. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, the sound of their breath mingling on the clammy air surrounding their bodies.

  He promised himself he would never forget a single detail of this night. Not her body, not her touch, not the way she made him feel, no matter who she was married to or what the future held.
r />   28

  Mac O’Brady stood in Sloan Dvorak’s kitchen and helped himself to coffee, the light of a cloudy winter’s day coming through the window. Sloan sat at the big barn-wood table with David Regan, Joanne, and Razorback. Mac had arrived at the house nearly an hour before and had yet to get a good read on the situation.

  Not the passport shit with McKenzie. That was simple enough. But there was some relationship crap going down at that table, and he couldn’t make hide nor hair of it. Near as he could figure, somebody was fucking somebody else, but something was seriously fucked up.

  “I suggest we set a trap,” he said. “If she wants the passport badly enough, she’ll take the bait. We can grab her and put an end to this game of cat and mouse.”

  Regan straightened in his seat. “I’ll do it. Confront her, tell her I’m alive, but I just want her gone. I can offer to bring the passport to her.”

  Sloan shook his head. “She tried to have you killed. She’s going to smell a rat a mile away. You could just as easily turn her in to the police, and she’s going to suspect it.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” David asked. His voice held a petulant tone Mac didn’t like, and he hoped Sloan would beat out that dickhead to get himself the girl.

  Dvorak deserved something good in his life. A woman to share it with was the best you could hope for.

  He thought of his own missing wife and the DNA results he’d received the other day. He’d become convinced a serial killer at Riker’s Island might have murdered his Ellie, because she’d last been heard from when she was living in the same area at the same time as the killings, and she fit the killer’s type.

  He had gone to great personal and emotional expense to find the location of the graves, but while his wife wasn’t among the victims, her first cousin was.

  He didn’t have a name, but DNA didn’t lie.

  Ellie had lost someone close to her at the hand of that man, and he needed to head back down south to find more information, just as soon as he helped Dvorak take care of this mess.