The Reunited

TWENTY-SEVEN





"WHAT do you mean . . . she doesn’t exist?”

Patrick eyed the organized chaos taking place in his house as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Whitmore, I’ve gone as deep on her as I can and it’s a good front. A very good one. But you’re dealing with a woman who faked her identity. I don’t know how she managed to craft a false identity quite so thorough, but that’s exactly what she’s done.”

Faked her identity . . .

Rage seethed through him.

Storming through the mansion, he made his way to Ella . . . no, not Ella. The whore. The whore. Who was she?

As he came into her room, he stood there, looking for something . . . anything.

There. By the sink was her makeup case. Lowering the phone, he bellowed for Lydia.

She emerged from the depths of the mansion only seconds later, her face remote, expressionless. “Get a plastic bag, gloves. I want Ella’s makeup case bagged. I want it sent out.”

She nodded and disappeared.

Something rubbed against his ankle. Looking down, he saw Demeter rubbing her head against him. Rage tripped through him. For a second, he thought about grabbing the little feline, snapping her neck. Instead, he sucked in a breath. Picked up his cat and stroked her back. It didn’t soothe the enormity of his rage, but after a moment, he could think. Lifting the phone back to his ear, he said quietly, “Have you found out who she is?”

“No. The identity trail just stops. I’m not searching—”

“No,” Patrick cut in. “You’re not. Come out to the mansion. I have some of her personal belongings. Run her prints. Find out who she is. Where she is. And once you know . . . you let me know.”

* * *

LYING there on the bed, curled around her, Joss was almost convinced that this was everything he’d ever need.

But when he leaned in to press his lips to her shoulder, those shields were still there. Still solid and cool and impenetrable. Sighing, he buried his face against her hair.” Why are you still shutting me out?”

She stroked a hand down his arm. “It’s easier that way, lover,” she murmured.

“Easier. Easier how?”

One silent moment stretched out into another, and then finally, she rose.

Joss sat up, staring at her.

He’d wanted to make love to her again, but somehow, he didn’t think that would be happening just yet. And soon, he had to figure out where Jones was, get his ass back on the job. But this first.

“You don’t really want me to stop shutting you out, Joss,” Dru said as she rose from the bed.

As she started to get dressed, he studied her. “And why is that?”

A bitter smirk twisted her lips. “Because once you’ve heard the entirety of what I’ve had to do since I started working this job, you . . .” Her voice hitched. She paused in the middle of putting her bra on, pressing her lips together. She lowered her head, her shining dark hair falling to shield her expression.

When she looked back at him, her expression was as remote, distant as the sun. “You won’t want me anymore. I can tell you that.”

“Nothing could make that happen,” he rasped.

“Hmm.” She tugged on her shirt. As she snagged her running tights from the ground, he stood up and went to her.

“Why don’t we put that to the test?” he said quietly, taking the tights away and tossing them on the back of the nearby couch. He cupped her face in his hands. “Stop blocking me out. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and I’ve spent my entire life waiting for you . . . looking for you. Nothing is going to change that.”

“Are you so certain?” she asked, her voice raw.

“Try me.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “You’ll regret this, Joss. You really will. But I can’t hide what I’ve done . . . what I am.”

As her shields dropped, he fell into the very soul of her.

And his heart broke.

* * *

FLASH, flash, flash.

She felt it as her terror flooded him.

Her shame.

The pain. The times she let herself get hit. The first time Patrick had forced her. And the night she’d made the decision not to let him do it again, when she’d taken the choice into her hands . . . and away from him.

The shame of it tried to choke her, but she shoved it back. What I did, I did for a reason. She could all but hear herself screaming it inside her head. She might hate it, and she might wish it hadn’t come to pass, but she’d done what was necessary.

Her heart pounded with each memory that flashed between them. It had never been this intense before. She wasn’t just taking in his memories . . . that was what was supposed to happen. He was taking in hers, and she’d never had a dual exchange like this. She’d never felt anybody’s reaction when she’d done this before.

And she didn’t want to feel it—instinctively, she tried to jerk away. She couldn’t feel his disgust, couldn’t feel him pull away like she knew he was going to do. No . . .

But he wouldn’t let her.

A raw, anguished cry left him.

They crashed to the ground. She felt the floor bite into her knees. Felt his hands grip her face, and she stared at him through a veil of tears, desperate to break the contact before . . . no no no no . . .

And then it was over and he was staring at her, his black eyes burning. She could almost see the flames in his eyes as he stared at her.

“How many times?” he snarled.

Trembling, she braced herself. So this was how it would end, she thought dully. This man she barely even knew . . . yet she did know him. The man she barely knew would shatter her, break her soul—even Patrick hadn’t been able to do that.

In a flat voice, she said, “I did it as often as I had to.”

For a second, he looked blank, but then he shook his head. “F*ck that . . . you did what you needed to keep him from hurting you. How many times did he hurt you?”

Her ragged, broken train of thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Her ragged, broken heart stuttered inside her chest.

Dru clutched at his wrists. “Wuh . . . what?”

“I’m going to kill him.” Joss stared off over her shoulder. “I plan on doing it slow. I need to gut him. Slowly. That takes a long time to die and I need to hurt him. For every time he hurt you, I’m going to hurt him.”

With an abrupt jerk, she twisted away from him and stumbled off, getting a few feet between them before she turned to face him. Her knees shook and wobbled.

“You don’t get it,” she sneered at him. Easier, she thought. Get some distance. Protect herself. “I f*cked him, do you hear me? As often as I had to.”

His eyes glittered as he stared back at her. Slowly, he closed the distance between them. She backed up, but the bed was behind her and she had nowhere to go. When his hand darted out and fisted in her shirt, she tried to twist away again, but he jerked her up against him. “I get that. I get it just fine. Maybe I don’t like it and you can’t much expect me to, but you did what you had to and I can damn well accept it. What I can’t accept is the fact that he hurt you . . . now tell me,” Joss growled, pressing his brow to hers. “Tell me how many times he hurt you, so I can go and kill him.”

Trying to breathe around the aching swell in her chest, Dru shook her head. “No. You . . .” She licked her lips.

He cupped her cheek, his big hand gentle. “I waited a lifetime to find you again . . . and nothing is going to keep us apart this time. Not him.” Then he tipped her head back, pressed a kiss to her lips. “Not him. Not you . . . not me.”

* * *

SHE was staring at him like she didn’t know what to think. What to say.

“A lifetime,” he whispered, trying to think past the rage and heartbreak.

He’d known Whitmore had tried to hurt her. He’d sensed it a few times. But he hadn’t realized . . . My fault, he had to admit that. He should have realized just how f*cked up things were. He hadn’t protected her.

But he could now.

He was going to find Whitmore—

Whitmore. His focus sharpened, and as if his thoughts were on a zip line, they zeroed in on that scumbag, and he found himself locked in on the man he wanted to kill, almost as much as he wanted to breathe.

Must leave. No time—Whitmore’s thoughts, erratic and very unlike him. None of that cool condescension, none of that arrogant disdain. Just disjointed, edgy rage.

He stopped fighting it and let his thoughts flow.

Time, space, everything spiraled away as he found his thoughts lodged in a very nasty place . . . Patrick Whitmore’s mind. And Patrick was in the middle of his slick mansion, pacing, swearing, furious, and completely pissed.

Surrounded by the flow of people, organized chaos as suitcases were carried out. Boxes neatly stacked.

Must get to the airport—

Sucking in a breath, Joss broke the contact.

“Aw, no. This isn’t good. He’s cleaning up and heading out,” Joss muttered, his voice hoarse.

Dru blinked, looking confused.

“Whitmore. He’s covering his ass and getting out of town.”

“But . . .” She shook her head. “How? The compound?”

Joss swore. “Until we can connect it to him, we can’t move on him. It’s dicey territory, what we do. We can’t exactly present a psychic as evidence for a warrant.”

Dru looked down.

“I . . .” She licked her lips.

“I’ve got evidence,” she said quietly. “It’s not a lot. But it’s evidence. Pictures of him with men that were out at the compound. A few pictures of him with some girls who are likely listed as missing now. It’s going to be mostly circumstantial at best, but it will let you stop him from leaving for now.”

“Evidence.”

She nodded.

“Okay.” He stared at her. “Just one last thing.”

She looked away. “Yes?”

Hauling her against him, he slanted his mouth over hers, stole one kiss, hard and quick. “This isn’t over . . . not what we have. Understand that.”

She finally looked at him.

But this time, a faint, hesitant smile curved her lips. And that bleak look in her eyes was almost gone.

* * *

IMPATIENT, Joss barely managed to resist the urge to shift from one foot to the other. “Well?” he demanded as Taylor finished going through the photos and reports.

“It’s enough.” Then he grimaced. “For now, at least. Enough to detain him. Make him sweat.” Then he added, “And keep him from leaving the country.”

He flicked a look at Dru and inclined his head. “Well done, Ms. Chapman.”

She didn’t answer, just continued to stare out the window.

“We need to roll,” Joss said. “I don’t know how much time we have. Can we get the warrant rushed through?”

Taylor lifted a brow. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Joss bared his teeth at him.

“I’m going with you.”

Taylor slanted a look at Dru. “That’s not—”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t have that evidence if it wasn’t for me. And you know it. It’s not like I’m a sodding civilian who’s going to blunder into this and make things worse. But I’ve got a stake in this . . . more than you can even imagine.”

Joss’s phone rang.

When Whitmore’s number flashed across the screen, he scowled. Then a tension knotted in his gut. Scenes played out in his head. Unlikely, awful scenes that he hated . . . hated . . . hated.

As he lifted a hand, silence fell through the room.

“Yes?” he said, his voice remote.

“Job is off,” Whitmore said, his voice harsh and ugly. “But I’ve got a new one for you. You’re so . . . resourceful, maybe you’d be good at this one, too.”

Joss closed his eyes. Even he knew what Patrick was going to say.

In his mind’s eye, spurred by that awful, amazing gift, he saw how everything would play out.

“What kind of job is this one?”

“You think you can find my fiancée?”

Joss slanted a look at Dru. Stared at her. “Misplaced her, huh?”

“One of these days, that mouth of yours, Sellers. It will catch up with you. Now do you want the job or not? One million, cash.”

“Oh, yes. I want it. And it will be the easiest million I ever earned.”

* * *

“THIS is a bad idea,” Taylor muttered as both Joss and Dru finished suiting up with the thin, body-conforming armor. It was far less bulky than the typical armor, and when Dru pulled on a loose blouse she’d borrowed from Taige, one couldn’t even tell.

“It’s how it has to play out,” Joss said, his voice remote.

“Does that mean I have to like it?”

Joss just grunted. Already his mind was focused on what lay ahead.

He needed a few minutes alone with Taylor. Just a few. Although the last thing he wanted to do was miss out on a single second with Dru. Quit your bitching, he thought sourly. He did what he had to. For the job. For her. Always for her.

As she started to smooth her hair into a braid, he caught Taylor’s eyes, jerked his chin.

A few minutes later, they were out in the hallway.

“You’re hiding something,” Taylor said quietly.

Ignoring him, Joss said, “I want you to make sure she’s protected if this doesn’t go well.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Taylor glared at him. “What do you think is going to go badly?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joss said. “Just make sure he can’t get to her. He’s trying to—I’ve already seen that. She’s been working this thing alone, she has no resources, and I don’t—”

“She’s got resources,” Taylor said, cutting in. Closing the distance between them, he studied Joss’s face closely. “You need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t do my job if I’m in the dark, Crawford.”

Joss just shook his head. “You’ll make sure she’s safe. Just tell me that. I need to know.”

Blowing out a breath, Taylor said, “I’ll make sure of it. But she’s not on her own, Crawford. She had an escape plan. From day one.”

“And you know this . . . how?”

Taylor stared at him.

Joss turned on his heel. There was no time to think through the many ways Jones could have gotten that information. The harder question would be . . . why hadn’t Jones figured this out sooner?

“Damn it, Crawford, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Shooting him a look over his shoulder, Joss lifted a brow. “Well, you always manage to figure things out on your own. I figure you’ll do this one, too.”

Then he headed back into the room.

He needed a few more minutes with Dru.

A few more minutes . . . a lifetime.

* * *

“CAN you read him?”

Taige glared at Jones as he closed a hand around her arm and jerked her away from Cullen.

“Do you mind?” she snapped.

But then she saw the look on the boss’s face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Can you read Crawford or not?”

She didn’t bother turning to look at him. “No. Not unless he decides to let me in, and I can tell you, he’s not doing that.”

Shit.

No time left to try and grill the bastard, either, Taylor knew.

Joss and Chapman were already heading out, and the rest of the team was going to be behind them. Taylor wasn’t going to be far behind them, not far at all. If he could find a way, he’d be riding in the damn SUV with them, but Whitmore was already about to run.

The evidence Chapman had given them, all circumstantial, was enough to hold the man. Taylor didn’t want this man held. He wanted him dead. Very dead. Of course, he couldn’t do that, so locked away for life would work.

Shoving his way closer to Crawford, he caught the man’s dark gaze. You’re going to be careful, damn it.

He didn’t need to worry whether or not Joss heard him.

After all, he was just like Jillian right now . . . and all it took with this kind of psychic gift was thinking loudly.

Taylor was thinking damn loud.

Crawford gave him a sharp-edged smile.

But there wasn’t time for anything else.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Damn it.