The Reunited

THIRTY





TUCKER watched from the sidelines as they loaded Crawford into an ambulance.

His head ached. Pounded like a son of a bitch.

All that power licking through the air wasn’t helping, either.

Something soft butted against his ankle. Frowning, he looked down and saw a little fuzzball twining around his ankles. “Shoo.” He nudged the cat gently with one booted foot.

As the skies ripped open and rain started to pound down, the cat gave a pitiful little meow.

Crouching down, Tucker sighed and stroked a gloved hand down her back. It was safe now. The rain dampened all the electrical currents in the air, and blissfully, some of the pain in his head receded. It had damn near split his brain in two, or at least it felt like it, what he’d done.

He’d seen Whitmore fire—felt the trajectory of the bullet cleaving through the air. If it had been a sunny day, or if it had already been raining, it wouldn’t have been possible. But with the storm so close, the air had been charged and he’d felt the bullet . . . felt it in a way he hadn’t thought would even be possible. And he’d known what would happen.

“I tried to stop it altogether,” he said to the cat.

She stared at him, looking rather regal despite her sopping wet fur.

“I wasn’t able to. Bullets are a bitch.”

She meowed in agreement.

Blowing out a breath, he reached for her and wasn’t surprised when she let him pick her up. “You belonged to that f*cker, huh?”

As she tucked her head against him, he felt the power train of a purr thrumming in her little body. “You need a decent home after that, I bet. I can’t do much, but I’ll feed you, at least. Let’s blow this joint.”

And before anybody could think to look for him, Tucker lost himself in the rain and the shadows, carrying a wet cat, who oddly wasn’t too disturbed about being wet.

* * *

COLD—SO damned cold . . .

Terror, for the longest time, gripped her. Death, something she’d longed for, was there. Just within her reach.

Horrid, really.

She’d come down here just to die.

In a shining burst of clarity, she realized she had only a few seconds . . . she could die.

Or she could try to live.

She knew what Thom would have wanted.

Clawing at the water, she struggled to the surface. But her clothes . . . they were so heavy, so, so heavy.

No, she thought, as the darkness grew heavier and heavier . . . I’m not going to die like this.

It was her clothing that would do her in. The dress. Had to do something—the water wasn’t terribly deep and she couldn’t swim, but he’d told her time and again nature would do much of the work for her—

That’s my girl . . . his voice came to her on a whisper. Be strong. Be brave . . .

Her lungs screamed for air and she wanted so badly to breathe as she fumbled with them.

And then, she wasn’t fumbling alone.

Panicked, she jerked away, but the hands that held her were strong. Unrelenting. And gentle as she was pulled to the surface.

“Be quiet,” a man’s voice whispered. Low and soft, smooth. And kind, she thought. Very kind. “Be quiet, or he might hear us and then we’ll both die.”

She looked up, found herself staring at a face that wasn’t at all familiar to her. But it didn’t matter. The hands hauling her out of the water were gentle. And his face was kind.

She would live.

Her heart might be broken.

But she would live.

* * *

DRU came awake, the burn of water in her lungs, choking . . .

And those memories in her head. Crystalline and bright, like it had just happened.

A face loomed in her mind.

The face . . . different.

Gray eyes, though. Gray eyes . . . she remembered those eyes.

Tucker. Damn it. Just how much more complicated would all of this get? How much more insane?

Yet . . . how insane was it really? Tucker, like Joss, in his own way, was a man she’d trusted from the very beginning. Although she couldn’t remember anything more about him, just that brief, surreal flash, she didn’t doubt it.

Sucking in a desperate breath, she clambered out of the chair, stumbled over to the window. Damn thing was sealed shut, though. F*cking hospitals. Had to breathe, had to.

Outside.

She’d go outside—

On unsteady legs, she made her way to the door and eased it open. She made it a few feet before she collapsed against the wall, covering her face with her hands as she slid down to the floor.

Enough, she thought. She’d seen enough. Dealt with enough. Now it was time to let her brain catch up to reality, she thought. Let everything settle into place.

“Hi.”

Dru groaned at the woman’s voice. “I’ll get up in a minute,” she mumbled, certain it was a nurse.

“Nah, you’re fine. Matter of fact, I think I’ll join you.”

Startled, Dru jerked her head and looked over.

The woman’s face . . . familiar.

“Shit,” Dru whispered.

She smiled. “I look like my sister, don’t I?”

Sister—

“My name is Vaughnne.” She held out a hand.

Dru glanced down, not certain she was ready to touch.

“Ahhh . . .” A smiled curled Vaughnne’s lips. “Sorry. Psychometric. You’re touchy about being touched and all, right?”

“Pardon?”

“You pick up things through touch. Psychometric.”

“Ah.” Dru rubbed her head. “Sorry. Yes, I know what it means. I’m just . . . well, I’m not used to discussing it so openly.”

Vaughnne stretched out her legs in front of her and sighed. “I’m telepathic. I was the one planted on the inside last night. And you . . .” She slid Dru a look. “One of the girls you tracked down here . . . it was my sister, Daylin.”

“Daylin.” Dru licked her lips, closing her eyes as the sound of that name brought an image to mind. Young. Arrogant . . . strong. She was one of the ones who’d fought Patrick, and tried to escape. He’d killed her for it, and killed her horribly. But that awful, horrible death had been one of those threads that had led Dru here. “I . . . I don’t understand. If that girl had connections to the FBI, why . . .”

“Why . . . ?” Vaughnne shook her head. “Why, indeed?”

She blew out a breath and turned her ahead, staring at something neither of them could see. “My parents kicked me out of the house when I was fifteen . . . they wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.” Vaughnne said it without emotion, but her eyes were bitter and haunted. “If they’d called me . . . maybe I could have saved her.”

Not knowing what else to say, Dru simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Vaughnne nodded. “I never even knew she was in trouble,” she whispered, her voice rough. “The job I do, all the shit I’m supposed to be capable of, and I couldn’t save my own blood.”

Dru said nothing. What could she say?

After a moment, Vaughnne blew out a breath and said, “I wanted to thank you. You went through hell, sticking with this the way you did. If you ever need a damn thing from me, I’m yours. I don’t care what it is.”

“I didn’t do enough.” Dru stared at the floor. She’d wanted to find them. Save them all. She’d failed.

“You did more than a million, ten million others would have done.” Vaughnne paused and then said softly, “Maybe even more than I would have done for a total stranger. When you need me, call.” She turned to leave.

A hundred, no, a thousand unasked questions buzzed into Dru’s brain. “Wait!”

Vaughnne turned and looked back, one brow lifted.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“What do you mean?” Vaughnne asked, looking puzzled.

“Just that . . . what happens? I killed Whitmore. I probably shouldn’t have—he had to have information on how to track down the women he sold over the years. How . . .” The question faded away as the guilt rose inside her.

Sympathy glinted in Vaughnne’s eyes. “Jones is probably already working that. He’s got people around who can do things that make what you and I do look like parlor tricks.” She shrugged and then winced, touching a hand to her head. “I’ve got a headache from hell. Look, I can’t tell you not to worry about this . . . I know I’d be doing the same. But you did your part. More than. Jones can handle it from here. And he’s good at it. He won’t let this go, okay?”

Without another word, she disappeared.

Her chest tight, Dru stood up and slipped back into the room. Some of the misery, some of the guilt, shame, and horror inside her chest, melted away. It would linger, she knew. But it was a little easier to bear now.

Just inside the door, she stood there, watching Joss. He was so still, so quiet. His dark skin a few shades too pale against the white of the sheets. Face turned away, the stubble on his face thick, heavy.

Shit.

Her knees went all weak and wobbly and her heart skipped a couple of beats before settling into a rhythm that almost resembled normal.

He was alive.

And he was here—

Joss . . .

Screw that damned dream.

Screw the misery that continued to linger in her chest.

Screw the regret and the shame.

Screw it all.

He was here.

She was here.

That was all that mattered.

Making her way over to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and laid her hand on his chest. Under her touch, he was warm, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You’re here . . .”

Startled, she jerked her eyes up and saw him watching her from under slitted lashes.

With a weak smile, she murmured, “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

He lifted a hand, covered hers.

“Tell me you’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice broken, rough. “I think I’m stuck here for a day or two . . . my . . .” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “I think my head sort of went haywire and I . . . shit. If you leave, I’ll have to crawl after you.”

Dru was pretty sure her heart just about broke. “No.” Bending down, she pressed her lips to his. “I think we’ve done enough chasing after each other.”

“Enough chasing,” he agreed. Catching the back of her neck, Joss held her close. A shudder wracked him. It hurt like hell, and he hoped he didn’t break down and cry—never mind the fact that crying was for pussies. He just might have cried and been okay with it, but crying would hurt. His chest was on fire and every breath was agony. Crying wouldn’t help, even if it was just a way to shed some of the emotion that swelled inside him . . . simply having her here.

She was here.

Finally.

Here.

Safe.

He swallowed the knot in his throat. “We start over. From here on out. Everything starts over.”

She lifted her head, staring down at him.

“Is that what you want?”

“I have what I want.” He closed his eyes. “You. Just you. Always you. Nothing else matters.”

“Then there’s no need for a do over . . . we accept everything that has happened . . . and go on from here.” Her lips brushed his. “This is all terribly insane, you know. Terribly insane. You don’t really know me.”

“I do. I know what matters. I know I waited . . . all this time for you.”

She eased backward and the look on her face made his bruised and battered heart ache even more. “I’ve remembered more. There are . . . pieces that keep trying to come together.”

“And they don’t matter. That life is done.” He closed his eyes as the pain spread. “This life matters. Just this one. And now I have you . . . it’s all I need.”

This life . . .

Yeah. Dru studied his face, saw the pain he was trying to hide. Reaching for the call button, she pushed it despite the fact that he glared at her the entire time.

Ten minutes later, the drugs were cruising through Joss’s system, thanks to the IV, and she sat down by him again, brushed his hair back from his face. “Is it . . . hard?” she asked. “Being in here? Is it too much with all the . . . um . . . however you want to call it, packed into your head?”

Joss smiled, and the grin was oddly . . . off. She decided that was the only way to describe it. Must have something to do with the painkillers. “No.” He leaned his head back against the pillows, that smile still on his face. “The pain did a major reboot—shock and injury can do that. I’m a clean slate right now. Nothing and nobody in my head but me. And I kinda like it.”

“Nothing, huh?”

“Nothing . . .” His lids drooped. “Except you. You’re always there. Always have been. And now you’re here, too.”

“Yeah.” She went to his side. Took his hand. “I’m here, too.” Nothing was certain for her, except that. She was here . . . this was exactly where she wanted to be. Where she’d stay.

* * *