The Reunited

TWENTY-FIVE





"THAT sure as hell is a lot of federal-type-looking people,” Tucker muttered.

“Yes.” Dru stood off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing the busy hive of people in front of them with a worried gaze. Slanting a look at Tucker, she murmured, “You should leave, shouldn’t you?”

He jerked a shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’d always done his damnedest to avoid any sort of government type, and she’d pulled him into this. Unwittingly, yes, but she’d done it just the same. “Go on, Tuck. I can handle this.”

“If you’re going to go down for any of this, I’m going, too,” he said, sighing.

Dru sighed. “I won’t go down for anything, darling, I promise.” She skimmed the crowd with a studied eye. There were more than a few dead bodies, and she knew by the blank look in Tucker’s eyes just how those bodies had come to be dead. “I think we’re clear here, although they may try to jerk us around. If you’re not here to jerk, you’ll be fine. Just go lose yourself again.” She leaned over, hugged him. The heat she’d felt from him earlier had dissipated, leaving his skin oddly cool. Chilled. “I know how to find you if I need you, mate.”

“You do at that.” He bent down, brushed his mouth against hers. “If you’re certain . . .”

“Yes.” Flash, flash, flash . . . fear, guilt. All wrapped up in leaving. Running, the way he saw it.

But Tucker had spent a good, long time in hiding. He wasn’t going to come out easily. She knew that.

“You best go. They won’t stay busy for long,” she murmured as he drew back.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her, and then back behind him.

A few people glanced their way. He gave her a wild, reckless grin. “I’ll bust my way clear if I need to.”

She smiled a little sadly.

“Have at it. And if you feel the need for another one of those distractions . . . be my guest.”

No sooner had he slipped away than those FBI-looking types decided to amble in her direction. Slowly at first. Then faster. She wasn’t too terribly surprised when the maroon SUV still sitting at the entrance to the gate started to smoke. The fire started a few seconds later.

She continued to stand there, arms crossed, staring at the ground, while the engine exploded into flames.

See you around, Tucker.

Part of her wanted to go with him.

But she was no longer on this job just to see the slave ring shut down.

She had to see Whitmore go down, too. Go down in a fiery, burning blaze of glory.

That was the only reason . . .

A rush of adrenaline burst through her. Her breath caught in her throat. Jerking her head up, she searched the grounds. The agents had set up field lights all over the place and she could see clearly. Too clearly, considering who was bearing down on her.

The badge hanging around his neck didn’t do much to set her mind at ease.

So. He was FBI.

She remembered the power she’d glimpsed in his mind. Maybe she should have had a little more faith in him, but she’d operated on the information her mind had given her. She didn’t know him.

She could still remember that lapse she’d had. The dream, how she’d unconsciously reached out to him.

And his response. So flat, and cold. I don’t want you anymore.

A*shole. She couldn’t see inside his head, but she knew he could have looked inside hers if he’d tried. He just hadn’t bothered. So much for her being worth it. Tears threatened, but she shoved them back.

Not the time. Or the place. She’d break once she was out of this mess, in some place nice and private.

“Where is he?” he demanded, once he was close enough.

Of course, he didn’t stop. Four feet wasn’t close enough apparently. He kept coming until he was right in her space, just a few inches away, so that the warmth of his body reached out to tease hers.

“Who?” she asked. With a mean little smile, she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his ear. “If you’re asking about my dearest fiancé, I’m trying to break up with him. But it isn’t going well. However, I can’t tell you where he is.”

“Not him,” he growled. “And you know it. Where is your sidekick? Tucker whoever?”

“Tucker . . . my sidekick.” She smiled a little. “Oh, he’d like that. Do I get to wear some sexy little vinyl suit? Can he wear vinyl, too? Black, I think. Or maybe dark gray. He’d look smashing in gray, especially with those eyes. Sleeveless, if we can, because I’m rather fond of his tats.”

A snarl quivered on his lips. “Dru . . . don’t push me. We need to talk to him. He’s part of the investigation.”

“No.” She leaned back against the fence, studying her nails. “He’s not. Anything he knows, I know. He was just here to help me if I got into a jam. Now he’s gone and I’ve no idea where you can find him.”

“Damn it, Dru!”

With a patience she really didn’t feel, she sighed again. “Yelling at me just isn’t going to help any, you know. Not at all.” She turned away from the fury burning in his eyes, but before she could move, the exhaustion she felt slammed into her and she swayed.

His hands, big and hard, caught her shoulders.

Shrugging him away, she tried to pull free. “Let me go.”

“Not likely.”

You don’t have a choice, she thought bitterly. She jerked away with a fury that surprised her, but her legs were clumsy, heavy, and she would have gone to the ground if he hadn’t caught her a second time.

“Stop it,” he growled. “You’re exhausted, about ready to pass out. When was the last time you ate a damn thing? When was the last time you slept?”

She curled her lip, fighting the urge to say something really, really ugly. Fighting the urge to hit him, but if she did, that hard skull of his might break her hand. Bastard. F*cking bastard. “It hardly concerns you, does it? My personal business? Don’t you have a job to see to, Agent Crawford?” she asked, keeping her voice as flat as she could.

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. It concerns me in all kinds of ways.” He raked her with a critical eye and then turned his head. “Kingsley!”

Somebody separated himself from the mess of people. “Yeah?”

“Get her a chair. And sit on her. If she tries to leave, cuff her.”

Dru narrowed her eyes. “And exactly what right do you have?”

Although she knew they had all sorts of reasons to detain her. Jerking his chain wasn’t going to do much good. Except . . . well, it made her feel better.

“I could start listing them, but we’d be here all morning, noon, and night,” Joss drawled. “And I don’t know about you, but I want to wrap it up here so we can focus on your fiancé.”

A look of disgust crossed his face as he said it. One that cut her to the bone.

She turned away, wrapping her arms around her middle. She’d done what she had to do. There was information she could present them with, and would. Once she was able to get to it . . . of her own free will.

If that made her seem less in their eyes, that was their problem.

* * *

IT was hours later when Taylor caught up with Joss.

“Go back to the hotel.”

“Still got too much to do here,” he said, shaking his head. In all honesty, part of him didn’t want to leave because he wasn’t sure what to do about Dru. Part of him was also hoping for two things . . . her cowardly little friend Tucker would come back. Or maybe Whitmore would appear.

Neither was going to happen, though. And he had to have some kind of reason to keep up with Dru. He was terrified she’d disappear, like dust in the wind.

“Ms. Chapman isn’t going to disappear,” Taylor said. “She’s spent too much time on this.”

Slanting a look at a man he trusted more than just about anybody else, he studied Taylor’s face. “Won’t she?”

“Not until she sees this through. She stuck with it too long. She’s . . . you’ve figured out the fact that she’s been working this on her own, right?”

Rage, frustration, guilt twisted inside him as he looked away. “Yeah. I got that far on my own. Would have been nice if you could have gotten me that information a bit sooner.”

“We had a lot going on,” Taylor pointed out. “And if you’d . . . shit. Look, I don’t know what the deal is here, but this isn’t done for her. I know people. She’s not done.” Then he grimaced. “Although she’s pretty much done in for now. She needs some rest, and I doubt she wants to go back to the place Whitmore had her at, even if it was safe to do—which it’s not. Take her to the hotel. Have them put her in a room. I’ll cover it.”

Joss passed a hand over his mouth. Oh, he’d put her in a room all right.

His room.

They’d have this out.

“Ah, I don’t have a car.”

Taylor tossed his keys. “Take mine. Taige and I’ll be here for a while, and we’ll catch a ride back with somebody from the team when we’re done.”

Tossing the keys from one hand to the other, he hesitated a moment longer. “Vaughnne?”

“In the hospital, resting. Exhaustion, mostly. She overdid it this time, but she’ll be fine. Nalini is with her.” Somebody called his name, and he glanced back for a moment before looking at Joss. “Go. Now. Before I make it an order.”

“I think you just did.”

Weariness dragged at him as he and Taylor separated, the SAC heading back to the crime scene, Joss moving back to his woman. His woman.

This was killing him.

What in the hell was going on?

He’d just adjusted and reshaped his mind to what he thought was the reality, and now reality had just done a number on him and jump-kicked him right in the face.

Working it privately. On her own. Damn it, for how long? How could she have gotten so deep in a job like this? Did she have any idea how dangerous Whitmore was?

Those images flared to life, dancing through his mind.

So vivid and dark, twisted. Fear. Pain. Shame. They grabbed him by the throat, and for a moment, he was almost sick from them.

Up ahead, some thirty feet, she was sitting there, all but ready to fall asleep, and if he knew anything, it was nothing but will keeping her eyes open. Will, determination.

Rubbing the heel of his hand over his heart, he blew out a breath.

She knew, all right. All this time, she’d been doing this alone, and she knew how risky it was. But it hadn’t stopped her.

He wouldn’t let anything stop him, either.

They’d waited too long. Focusing on her, only her, he made himself move, closing the distance between them as he mentally rehearsed something, anything, to say to her.

Kingsley, the agent he’d put at her back, gave him a look. “You can go. I’m taking her to a hotel to get some rest.”

Dru tipped her head back, studying him through her lashes. “And if I’m not interested?” she asked, biting off each word.

“I don’t much care if you’re interested,” he replied. Okay, that wasn’t smooth, he thought. But she needed to get some rest. Standing there, arms crossed, he waited.

She didn’t move.

Bending over her, he whispered, “You’re either going to get your sweet little ass out of that chair, or I’ll just throw you over my shoulder. Trust me, duchess, nobody here will be surprised.”

He almost wished she’d push him. He felt like if he could just get his hands on her, maybe he could figure out a way to undo what he’d done. Fix what he’d broken. There had to be a way. He’d f*cked up, damn it, and he was just starting to realize how badly.

But after a long, cool look, she heaved out a sigh. A very aggravated, disgusted sigh that made it clear she’d rather go anywhere, be anywhere but with him. “If I must,” she said, rising. The sleek black running tights she wore clung to her legs like a glove, and as she turned around, he wanted to jerk off his shirt, cover her with it to make sure nobody else was looking at her.

She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You are coming, correct? I’m not going to walk to this hotel?”

Sucking back the instinctive response, he moved to join her. It was a forty-minute drive to the Peabody. He could figure out what to say. He could find the right thing to say.

Level things out between them.

Then he’d get a little bit of sleep. Cuff her to the bed. Get his ass back out in the field and track down Whitmore, beat him bloody.

It sounded, all in all, like a fantastic plan.

He needed sleep, after all.

Figured if he cuffed her to the bed, she’d still be there when he got back. And Whitmore, well, that f*cker needed to be beaten. He actually needed to die, but it would be hard to do that and not screw up the case. If the case wasn’t already screwed.

* * *

“ALL of them,” Patrick said.

Minton’s eyes jerked off to the side and his throat worked. After two unsuccessful starts, he finally managed to say something. “Nobody can get close to the compound, sir. The place is surrounded by feds.”

“And the cameras?”

“None of them are operational.”

Patrick nodded, stroking a hand down Demeter’s head. The cat purred and butted her head against Patrick’s hand. Happy. Satisfied. All the little cat wanted was food and attention. And she was pleased. If only everybody else were that simple to satisfy.

Ella . . .

“And has anybody seen Ella?”

He cut a look to Rawlings, curled up in a ball on the floor, blood flowing from so many cuts and lacerations, his face bruised beyond recognition. His brother, a weasely, smarmy little bastard that Patrick had no use for, lay dead on the other side of the room. He’d thought Larry was perhaps the one who’d gone to the police. He was always looking for money, but he had an eye for girls and had managed to find Whitmore a few choice pieces by doing a tourist bit—ghost walks, fortune telling. Petty things, but it worked.

It hadn’t been him. He’d killed Larry to make a point with the brother . . . and he still wasn’t done. Rawlings had let Ella escape.

“No.” Minton cleared his throat and darted a look to the door, like he really didn’t want to be there. Patrick didn’t imagine he did.

Too f*cking bad. Already he had others scrambling to clean things up, cover things. He had time, he knew. Nobody could connect the compound to him. It was several miles away, not purchased in his name, but he needed to be cautious nonetheless.

Getting out of the country had to come first. Although he really, really wanted to take care of those loose ends.

Like Ella.

She’d gotten away.

That was one problem that needed to be addressed.

Reaching for his phone, he punched in a number. She was a loose end he couldn’t afford, and he was going to make sure she didn’t come back to bite him.

* * *

NO words were coming.

That was a problem, Joss knew, because they needed to f*cking talk.

But no words, no brilliant explanation or clever twists, were coming.

And there, right up ahead, he saw the turn for International Drive. Meaning he was running out of time.

Clearing his throat, he glanced over at Dru as he slowed at the light. He’d just brazen his way through. He’d done that through just about every area of life; he could do it now, right?

A soft, sighing little sound escaped her.

He blinked, squinted, certain he was seeing things.

No. Ah, shit.

Somebody behind him laid on the horn. Joss responded the only way that was appropriate. He flipped him off as he checked the light, after one last glance at Dru.

Asleep.

How in the hell could she have fallen asleep?

But there she was. Making those soft, kittenish little sounds under her breath as she shifted on the seat, snuggling against the leather like she just couldn’t find a comfortable enough position but damned if she’d let that stop her.

Sleeping. While he was sitting there, brooding and thinking so hard his head felt like it was about to come apart as he tried to figure out how to fix this.

Isn’t this just f*cking perfect . . .

He pulled up in front of the hotel and climbed out. As the valet came around, Joss tossed the keys at him. Taylor may or may not like having somebody else park his snazzy little car, but Joss sort of had his hands full. Or would in a second. It occurred to him then, as he opened the door and knelt by Dru, studying her wan face, if she didn’t wake up, he didn’t have to worry about getting her another room, right?

Gingerly, he slid one arm under her. She immediately rolled toward him, curling into him like she’d just been waiting for the chance. It hit him, square in the chest, like somebody had swung a lead weight at him. The warmth of her, the feel, the scent of her. All of it. Finally . . .

Turning his face into her hair, he squeezed his eyes closed. Finally . . .

Then, because he needed to have a chance to say it, even if she wasn’t awake, he murmured, “I’m sorry, duchess. I’m so damn sorry.”

She mumbled under her breath, the words thick and heavy, indistinct. Then, she shoved her face against his neck, as though she wanted to block out everything. Including him.

“Okay, sweet girl. You sleep.” She apparently needed it. Hell, how long had it been since she’d rested? It was pretty clear she realized what a dangerous game she’d been involved in. She had to have known.

Hooking her bag on his elbow, he rose, cradling her against his chest. He took another second to kick the door shut and then he headed into the hotel, taking just enough time to look around. Although he suspected he’d feel it if there was a problem, he wasn’t about to turn his back on years of training. Especially not now, with the precious burden he carried.

The walk to the elevator, then to the room, somehow seemed to both take hours, and end in just seconds. He was all too aware of his own exhaustion catching up with him, all too aware of the fact that he still didn’t know what he’d say. All too aware of the fact that he needed to figure it out.

By the time he hit his hotel room, though, it was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be waking up.

The room was quiet, clean as a whistle. The clothes he’d left behind several days earlier were exactly where he’d left them, although it was obvious the housekeeping staff had been in there in the meantime. He scowled at the neatly made bed, looked at Dru’s face. Scowled at the bed again, and then sat near the foot, leaning upward to snag the comforter and sheets, dragging them down with one hand so he wouldn’t have to let her go.

Not ever . . . you hear me, he thought, rubbing his cheek against her hair. Not ever letting you go. Not if I have anything to do about it.

A fine line formed between her eyes, and she made another one of those grumbling little sounds under her breath, turning her face into his chest.

Okay. They’d save all of that for later.

Rising, he laid her down on the bed, taking a few minutes to strip her shoes off, and then, because he wasn’t about to risk it, he also searched her for weapons. She had a slim-fitting holster under the top she wore, with a gun. He took that, along with a knife that had been tucked into a sheath on the holster. Those, combined with a couple of weapons in her bag, he locked inside the in-room safe. She probably wouldn’t leave without her weapons. But he wasn’t going to take that chance.

He kept his cuffs with him, although he did lock his own weapon up in the safe. Barely any room left in there, he thought. A quick trip to the bathroom, then he brushed his teeth, washed his face. After that, the only other thing he bothered with was kicking off his shoes and shucking his shirt.

Joss didn’t trust himself to do anything else; he kept his jeans on. Slipping into the bed beside her, he pushed up onto his elbow, staring down into her still face. There was little expression on it now. None of those odd little mutters, no sign that she dreamed. Nothing.

Just deep, deep sleep.

Again, he wondered how long it had been since she’d rested.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d sleep long enough for him to think his way out of this mess.

Although he wasn’t going to bet on it.

With that in mind, he pulled the cuffs out of his back pocket. Cuffing her right hand to his left, he lay back. Closed his eyes. Sleep. He was going to sleep.

Nothing else . . .

He wasn’t going to think about her sleek, warm body lying just inches away. They needed to talk. Needed to work through this mess.

And he wasn’t going to touch her until they’d done that.

The bed shifted.

Joss caught his breath as the cuffs rattled. Then she moved, wiggling closer, her face pressed against his arm, her free hand on his belly. Another one of those soft, disgruntled little sighs.

Hell. It was going to be a very, very restless long—

He dropped straight into sleep, like a rock thrown into the bottom of a well.

* * *

HER clothes still hung in the closet.

Her makeup case rested by the sink.

Her scent still hung in the air.

And her engagement ring was on the floor. Like she’d just dropped it.

Discarded it.

Patrick stared at it, fury pulsing inside him. Women didn’t discard him.

The little whore would pay for this.

The phone in his pocket vibrated and he reached for it. He no longer had the luxury to avoid calls. He was calling in favors, resorting to blackmail and bribes, just so he could be ready. So far, it didn’t look like they had traced the compound back to him, but it was just a matter of time and he needed to finish clearing out before it happened.

He was almost completely packed.

He had his passport.

In just a few more hours, he’d be on a plane to Morocco. That was just his first stop. After that, he wasn’t sure where he’d go. But he’d like to have some company. Ella. He’d like to have Ella.

The phone buzzed again and he answered with a terse, “Yes?”

“There’s no sign of her at any of the airports. She hasn’t rented a car. The bus terminals are harder to watch, but it doesn’t appear she’s taken that route, either.”

“Look harder,” Patrick said quietly.

“I’m doing what I can.” There was a pause and then the man on the other end asked, “Does she have any friends here? Anybody who could help her?”

Patrick frowned. There had been a man glimpsed on his property, but nobody had a physical description and none of the cameras were operational. There was no telling who it was. “She’s been isolated since she came here. All phone calls were monitored. If she had friends, it’s your job to find them.”

“I’ll keep searching. I think I’ll do a deeper dig on personal details.”

“Do whatever the f*ck you want,” Patrick bit off. “Just find her.” He checked the time on his watch. “I’ll be leaving in eight hours. If you find her before that, I’ll double your fee. But you’re to keep looking, regardless. I’ll be in touch.”