Le Clair paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his angular face. “No,” he finally decided. “Despite the deviation, I think this will have the precise impact I’m looking for.”
With that, Le Clair stalked out of the room, Echo on his tail. Deacon remained, and he turned to look at her with both concern and dismay.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked hoarsely. “You need to stop goading that bastard.”
He walked over to the sofa, hesitated for a beat, then knelt down in front of her. One large warm hand touched her jaw, a tender caress to gauge the injury. “Are you okay?” His hazel eyes searched her face.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, testing the pain. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“Good.”
She expected him to get up, but he stayed on his knees. Even in that position, he was so big. So masculine. Despite herself, Lana found her pulse speeding up. His now-familiar scent of spice and soap surrounded her, teasing her senses, and his strong, corded neck bobbed as he visibly swallowed. She felt the urge to wrap her arms around him. To bury her face against that muscular chest, just so she could feel safe for a few fleeting seconds.
Which was a total joke. She wasn’t safe. As long as she was being held prisoner, she’d never be safe.
“This…” Deacon cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice still came out rusty. “This is killing me, Lana.”
Surprise flitted through her. Her throat tightened, making it difficult to speak, so she just stared into his serious brown-green eyes like a mute.
“I can’t stand seeing him do that to you.” The confession seemed painful for him, as if he wasn’t comfortable revealing weakness. Wasn’t happy letting go of his iron control. “When he hit you just now… Jesus, Lana, I wanted to strangle him.”
“You would’ve gotten us both killed,” she said softly.
“I know.” He covered her knees with his hands, holding on tight, but she got the feeling he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Despair blazed in his eyes, along with an emotion she couldn’t put her finger on. “You’re right. We need to do something.”
Hope surrounded her heart. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Whatever’s happening here, it isn’t good. I don’t know what Le Clair’s bosses want from your dad, but I don’t think it’s money. And I don’t think Le Clair ever planned on letting you get out of this alive.”
Her breath hitched in fear. “He’s going to kill me.”
Deacon’s shoulders fell. “I think so.”
Without thinking about what she was doing, she covered his hands with her own. “Then we have to get out of here before that happens.” She squeezed his knuckles and met his tortured gaze. “Will you help me?”
After a long moment of silence, he nodded again.
Another burst of hope exploded in her chest. “Tonight?”
A swift shake of the head. “No. I need to think about the best way to do this.”
“Okay,” she conceded.
“And until I come up with a plan, you have to promise me you won’t antagonize Le Clair anymore. Keep following his orders, don’t cause trouble. I don’t want him suspecting that something might be up.”
She gave another, “Okay.”
They sat there for a few seconds, Deacon on his knees, Lana on the couch. Their hands were still touching, and warmth sizzled between them.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered.
Hank called just as Sarah was stepping out of the shower, her hair dripping water onto her bare shoulders. She dashed for the cell phone she’d left on the dresser.
“Did you get proof of life?” She nearly shouted the question, not bothering with hello. “Yes.”
She almost keeled over with relief. “Then she’s alive.”
“Yes. We got a video.” Hank hesitated. “He hit her.”
“What?”
“From what we gathered, they were making her read from a script, and she didn’t cooperate.”
Sarah felt lightheaded. Oh, Lana. Her baby girl had always been incredibly calm under pressure, but every now and then that headstrong streak of hers reared its ugly head.
“The man in charge didn’t like what she said, so he punched her in the jaw.” Hank sounded absolutely destroyed. “God, Sarah, it was so difficult to watch.”
She could imagine. The mere thought of some goon striking her baby girl was enough to send a primal wave of fury through her. Like a mama lioness, she wanted to protect her cub, suddenly wishing the bastard were right here so she could claw his eyes out.
“But she’s alive,” she said, forcing herself to look on the bright side.
“Yes.”
“So what now?”
There was a beat of silence. “Now I give myself up.”
Shock jolted into her. “What the hell are you talking about? Now we call the FBI!”
“I already did.”
“Thank God,” she said in relief.
“But their presence won’t change a damn thing. I’m the only one who can save our girl, Sarah.”