The Reunited

SIX





"ELLA . . . I’d like you to meet Patrick Whitmore.”

Finally. Dru had damn near had to bend over backward just to get a damned invite to the party, and then she’d spent most of the night working the crowd just to get this close to Whitmore.

Just as she’d done three other times, all unsuccessfully.

Whitmore wasn’t exactly the easiest man to get up close and personal with, something she’d discovered the hard way. She’d used the time to learn everything she could about him. The type of woman who seemed to catch his eye, their style, their looks . . . she’d made them her own and it was finally paying off.

As Whitmore gave her a casual glance, then a longer second look, Dru smiled, pretending to be just a little nervous as she held out a hand.

Mentally, she braced herself. It wasn’t always pleasant, that first touch of bared skin on bared skin, leaving an impression for her to study, for her to learn and understand . . . her ability might be labeled as psychometry. She didn’t know. It worked best on people rather than things and it didn’t work on everybody. But sometimes when she touched a person, she took in chunks of memory—good things, bad things, she never knew which it would be.

The second Whitmore’s fingers closed over her hand, she wanted to jerk away.

Flash, flash, flash.

Screams, terror, pain . . . and it made him smile. She pushed it all down inside and locked it down tight.

As his hand tightened, ever so intimately, on hers, she gave him a demure smile.

As he leaned in closer to her, she resisted the urge to pull away.

“Ella . . . a lovely name.” He lifted her hand to his lips.

She wanted to back away and put as much distance between her and the monster as she could—that wasn’t an option, so she would have been happy to grab something big and heavy—like a sledgehammer—and pound him across the head with it.

In reality, she did none of that.

She pretended to be pleased with his attention, letting her hand linger in his . . . even as the screams continued to rage.

Nobody else heard it, of course. It was just in his mind, buried in his memories. But that was where she excelled . . . peering into those dark places. Unraveling sticky threads . . .

Dru sat at the table across from Patrick and fought the urge to scream. Her head pounded. Her gut was a quesy, roiling mess. Nothing like a hangover and her murderous, slaving fiancé to make for a lovely breakfast.

He’d shown up while she was still in the shower, and when she’d come out to find him in her bedroom, she hadn’t had time to brace herself, shield herself, before he touched her.

And the memory flash was just . . . a blow.

Heavy, solid, almost completely formed. He’d looked at her as she came out of the bathroom, and something had made him think of the first time he’d seen her.

Now she had that in her head, and it had triggered her own memories.

“Are you all right?”

Looking up, she met Patrick’s gaze and smiled. “Yes, I’m quite lovely . . . I was just thinking of the time we first met, actually.”

“Hmmm.” He continued to study her, that critical, dark look on his face, like he was measuring everything about her. Measuring and something about her was lacking today. “Did you sleep well?”

Dru reached for her tea and took a sip. “Yes. It took a while to fall asleep . . . the fireworks.” She gave a deprecating smile. “I’d forgotten about the fireworks.”

“If you need other accommodations, let me know. You need to have your rest.”

“Not necessary, Patrick.” She set her cup down and said, “I’ll just see about buying some earplugs or perhaps one of those little machines that make white noise. I used to have one, but it broke and I never got around to purchasing a new one.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He rose from the table and came around to stand beside her.

She lifted her head to gaze up at him, pasting that fake as hell, demure smile on her face. I hate you, you sodding bastard. He cupped her chin and stroked his thumb across her lower lip. “Will you be running today?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I might just take a lazy day or call your assistant about setting up the spa day. I haven’t decided.”

He nodded. “The fitting is coming up. Don’t forget about it,” he reminded her as he dipped his head.

And as his mouth brushed hers, her breath locked up in her throat and her heart slammed hard against her ribs.

Flash, flash, flash.

“The disposal is complete?”

“Yes, Mr. Whitmore.”

She felt his satisfaction. Not pleasure. He wasn’t pleased, Dru knew. He was irritated over the loss of money. There . . . an image floated through his mind, a woman, as she’d been before she died.

Dru locked on it, froze it in her mind.

He was satisfied that his point had been made, even as he was disgusted by the loss of merchandise. But he was willing to admit sometimes a loss was needed to make a point.

A point—as she tried to puzzle that through, the memories she’d taken from him were revealed to her.

“Make sure the others see the recording. This should make sure everybody understands what happens when they cause trouble.” Patrick, again. Recording . . .

And just like that, the connection severed.

Dru couldn’t hold it any longer, because she was fighting the urge to puke her guts out, fighting not to let him see as he pulled away and then said something else. Through the rush of blood, she heard his voice, but the words didn’t connect.

All that mattered was that he was leaving.

Once the door clicked, she wiped her lips on a napkin and rose.

Even though her knees were shaking, even though she wanted to scream, she walked carefully, slowly, sedately into the bathroom. Once there, she went to her knees in front of the toilet. If the cameras or audio devices outside the bathroom caught the sound of her puking, so what? She’d lie and say she had a stomach virus.

Maybe it would get her out of Patrick’s tender charms for a few days.

* * *

“CAN you describe her any better than that?”

Dru glanced around, keeping it subtle.

She’d swiped the phone. It was one of her best tactics for making untraceable phone calls. But she still had to get off the phone before one of her babysitters showed up—they’d follow her into the loo if she took too long, public or not.

“Not much. They’d worked her over rather bad,” she said. “Young, early twenties, I would think. Brown and brown, hair was straight and short, looked like that style where it was longer in the front, shorter in the back. Highlights. Biracial. Early twenties, max. Light-skinned. Can’t speak to height, so her weight would be hard to guess, but I can say she was slender, verging on skinny. Had an almost muscular look, like she was really into fitness. Maybe an instructor or something.” The muscles she’d seen on that woman didn’t come from hitting the gym three or four times a week, she knew that much. “If I could sit down with a sketch artist, I could do better, but I don’t see me getting access to one just yet.”

On the other end of the phone, her contact sighed. “I’ll do what I can, honey, but that’s not much to work with.”

“I know . . . I’ll try to get more info.” Go back into the memory. Look for more.

“Be careful.”

She grimaced as she finished the phone call. She went into the phone’s memory and deleted it. It would show on the phone bill, but that would be some time from now and the call had been short. Hopefully, nobody would think to look twice. Carefully, she wiped it down and left it sitting in one of the stalls before she slid out of the bathroom.

She had a spa day ahead of her. What a bloody joke.

* * *

BIG blue eyes stared up at hers.

Taige Morgan stared right back at her stepdaughter, not the least bit swayed by that projected air of innocence.

She might have been, once. But she was no longer a newbie at the mom game, and Jillian was going to have to try just a little bit harder and do more than bat her eyes to get out of this mess. The girl was fourteen years old and bordering on genius, too. She should know better than to think batting her lashes was going to do the trick.

Jillian would drive her crazy, Taige thought. Fear, frustration, and love tangled in her gut. She was a mess. And it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon, she knew.

“You can’t let him go up there first,” Jillian said again.

“Yes.” Taige smiled. “I can. I just did.”

She’d already given Cullen, her husband, and Jillian’s very protective father, Taylor’s room number. He’d disappeared into the elevator. She was giving him a five-minute head start. Much longer than that and she might have to bail his fine ass out of jail.

Of course, it might be worth it.

And if Cullen didn’t pop Taylor one, Taige was going to. That son of a bitch had pulled her baby into his world . . . she’d warned him about doing that. She’d warned him. He hadn’t listened.

Over the past few hours, Jillian had explained just why she hadn’t been sleeping. Just why she hadn’t been eating. Just why she’d been having nightmares. And just why they’d caught her slipping out of the house. Taige sometimes wished she hadn’t trained the girl so well.

But that wouldn’t have been a blessing. As strong as Jillian was, she needed to be trained. Unfortunately, Taige now stood in Jillian’s shadow—the girl’s abilities far eclipsed her own, and it had been sheer dumb luck that she’d sensed something . . . off earlier in the day.

If Taige hadn’t picked up on that strange little vibe, they wouldn’t have realized Jillian was planning anything until the kid had already disappeared.

“Look, Mom . . .” Jillian shuffled her feet, acting like the teenager she was, for once. Sheepish, nervous, embarrassed at being caught in the act. “It’s not Taylor’s fault I was trying to sneak out. I was doing it. It was my idea. I just knew . . . well, I knew he needed me. It’s not like he told me to do it or anything.”

Taige just stared at her. “Not impressed, darling. You see . . . Taylor knows how you are. And he should have called me the second he knew something was going on with you.”

“If he’d done that, you and Dad wouldn’t have let me help.” She crossed her arms across her chest, glaring at Taige. Sullen temper sparked in those pretty eyes now.

It made Taige smile inwardly. Too often, this kid didn’t act anything like the kid she still was. Even when she was completely in the wrong, it was nice to see Jillian act like a teenager. Hell, it was even kind of nice to see her screw up, see her rebel.

Although Taige wished it had been over almost anything but this.

Not this world, she thought, her heart aching. Not my world.

“There’s no other world I belong in, Mom.”

Sighing, Taige closed her eyes. “Shut the door, Jilly.”

“I can’t always do it.” They’d trained Jillian to keep out unwanted thoughts by envisioning other people’s minds as rooms . . . and she kept those thoughts out of her head by shutting the door. It usually worked. Not always.

There was a muffled noise and Taige opened her eyes to see the girl coming across the heavily carpeted floor. They were waiting in a little alcove of the hotel, waiting while Cullen and Taylor had a “chat.”

Jillian stopped in front of Taige, her eyes solemn and sad.

The look on the child’s face was far too adult, far too wise. It just about broke Taige’s heart.

“Mom . . . this is what I’m meant for.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She brushed back the dark, spiraling curls from Jillian’s face. Man, she was growing up so fast. It seemed like just yesterday . . .

Unable to think about that . . . about all the yesterdays, while the very pressing reality of today was right here, Taige pushed it aside. “You’re a bright girl, Jilly. You’ve got so much more you can do, but you’ve always been so focused on this, sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever let yourself look at the other options you have.”

“Other options.” Jillian shook her head and held out a hand. “Can I show you?”

Taige’s gut clenched. She didn’t ask what. It wasn’t like Jillian often asked to do this. How could she say no . . . even when everything inside her rebelled. Jillian saw things so much clearer than Taige ever had, felt things so much more acutely. If Jillian could live with that in her head, then Taige would accept what Jillian had to show her. Even if some part of her would rather hide from it.

Screw being a coward . . . this was her child.

Laying her hand in her daughter’s, she glanced around and then back at Jillian. They were alone, or as alone as they were going to be.

“You do things that matter,” Jillian whispered. “You always have.”

And with that, Taige fell into that bright, shining void that was her daughter’s mind.

It wasn’t bright for long.

In seconds, they were in darkness. Surrounded by screams. And pain. And death.

* * *

PATRICK eyed the skinny mess of bones Dontrez had pulled out of the holding cell.

She’d been a lot prettier than this when they’d grabbed her.

But she’d stopped eating.

A lot of them did that.

She’d start eating again.

All it would take was the right incentive.

He knew all about finding the right incentive.

He gestured to Lydia and said, “Clean her up.”

Lydia beckoned for Dontrez to bring the girl. There were screams and tears and struggles. Moments later, there was a slap. Patrick smiled. Lydia dealt with things efficiently. It was why he kept her around.

“Are you certain he’ll be satisfied with her?”

Glancing over at the man next to him, he shrugged. “She’ll do. He just wants a warm body for the most part. I’ve got my hands full with other matters. If he wants to be picky, the price will go up.”

A soft, warm little head butted his ankle and he smiled, knelt down, and scooped up Demeter. The cat snuggled into his arms as he scratched it under the chin. It was odd, how attached he’d gotten to the little thing. He’d originally gotten her for his last fiancée. He’d thought perhaps having a kitten to mother would make her stop her constant blathering about a family. It hadn’t. It had just made her that much more moon-eyed and tiresome.

He wondered what she thought of her new life now. He’d warned her more than once to stop it with the ceaseless prattling, but she hadn’t. He’d let his dick do the thinking with her. Grace had been lovely, there was no doubt about that, but she hadn’t been smart.

Ella was much more suitable.

He’d been considering discarding Grace anyway, but when he saw Ella, he’d simply known. It was like she’d been waiting for him.

So Grace was done away with. She was the property of one of his associates over in Dubai. She’d mentioned wanting to visit . . . well, she had that wish. And she’d never leave.

He kept the cat, of course.

Maybe he’d give Demeter to Ella.

As a wedding present.

Something to consider.

* * *

IT took all of Taige’s control not to react when Jillian broke contact. All of her control not to cry.

“I saw him, Mom,” Jillian whispered. There were tears in her blue eyes. Tears of horror . . . but behind the horror, there was rage. “I looked at him and I saw inside his mind and it’s . . . it’s awful. He buys and sells girls like they were books or shoes. He was going to marry one of them, but he got bored with her and he sold her. I could see inside his head and now all of that is trapped inside me and I can’t just . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

Her voice broke and Taige reached out, pulled Jillian against her. “Hush.” She rubbed her cheek against Jillian’s soft curls. “Hush now, baby. I understand. It will be okay, got me?”

“He won’t stop.” Jillian clutched at Taige desperately. “Even now, I can see him. He’s petting a cat and thinking about that girl he was gonna marry and he thinks it’s funny that she couldn’t take her cat when he sold her.”

Taige closed her eyes.

“It’s like they are just toys to him. He’s in my head all the time, and I can’t make him stop, because I can’t see him all the way . . . And even if I could, I’m . . .”

Jillian’s voice broke and she started to sob.

But Taige understood.

Just a kid.

She’d been there before.

She knew what it was like to have something awful trapped inside her mind, a knowledge that something bad was happening. Something terrible. Sometimes she’d tried to help. But even then she’d been a little older than Jillian was now. And none of it had ever been anything like this.

“It will be okay, baby,” Taige said quietly, easing back and gently forcing the girl’s face up. “Look at me . . . we got this. We can handle this, I promise.”

Jillian dashed away the tears and stared at her. “I’m just a kid. I know that. I’m just a kid. I don’t know what to do. But Taylor can fix this. You could fix it. Dez . . . all of you. You all can make things like this right.”

Tipping her head back, Taige stared at the ceiling, wanting to rage. This wasn’t fair . . . this was too much of a burden to place on a child. Too much of a burden to place on her child, who’d already suffered so much.

“Taylor can make it stop,” Jillian said, her voice soft and steady. “That’s why I wanted to come here. He knows the way to make it work. All of you know what to do. And I can do one thing that will help. One thing . . . I can do something that matters, too.”

The girl eased back, staring at Taige with eyes that burned.

And the courage in her young eyes was enough to lay Taige low.

* * *

IT was a good thing Cullen Morgan knew how to look before he swung, because the door opened to reveal Desiree . . . not Taylor. He smiled.

She didn’t smile back.

Maybe she saw something of what he felt on his face. Wouldn’t have surprised him. Keeping his smile firmly in place, he asked casually, “Can I come in?”

“Well, I’d say no, but then Taylor would just change my mind for me,” she drawled, stepping aside. “I don’t see any point in delaying the inevitable anyway.”

He arched a brow as he came through the doorway. Taylor was coming out of a sitting area to the right. Cullen stopped, still smiling his pleasant little Hey, I mean no harm smile.

Taylor didn’t look fooled. “I take it you and Jillian finally talked.”

“Oh. For hours.” Cullen watched from the corner of his eye as Dez disappeared through a door. “Speaking of talks . . . you had one with my wife . . . at our wedding. Recall that talk?”

Taylor grimaced, touched his throat. Cullen had found out after the talk quite some time later . . . the talk had mostly been on Taige’s part—she’d used her gift to all but choke Taylor after the man had been poking at Jillian too much. With a telepathic child, all it took was loud thinking. And Jillian was very, very receptive. “I recall something along those lines, yes.”

“You were told you weren’t recruiting her, as well. Recall that?”

“Yes.” Taylor inclined his head.

“Good.”

Five seconds later, Cullen was standing over the cocky, arrogant son of a bitch, his hand hurting like hell, and there was blood trickling from a cut on Taylor’s mouth.

To Cullen’s mind, it wasn’t enough blood. And Taylor didn’t look anywhere near scared as he got to his feet. His gaze was still blank, his face was still blank—the way he looked, he could have been out playing golf. He sure as hell didn’t look like somebody had just popped him one.

“You son of a bitch, you didn’t even try to move,” Cullen snarled.

“No.” Taylor stared at him, those cool blue eyes level and flat. “If I had a daughter, I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same as you.”

“You f*cking bastard. You have no idea how I feel, how I would feel.”

“Cullen.”

“You know how I feel? You f*cking robot, you don’t feel, that’s the problem,” he roared, ignoring the quiet voice coming from his left.

Taylor just stood there, hands at his sides, face blank. Cullen closed the distance between them, furious. Grabbing the man’s suit, he hauled him closer. “You too much of a p-ssy to fight me? You’ll drag kids into your world but you won’t face a man? Cowardly piece of shit.”

“Oh, now that’s it.” Two strong, slim hands pushed between them. Cullen wasn’t about to let go that easily.

“Back off,” he snarled.

And those cool, unfeeling blue eyes blazed with heat. Gently, Taylor nudged Dez off to the side. Not that she was in any mood to be nudged, but the man somehow managed it.

In a quiet, controlled voice, Taylor said, “You’re going to watch how you speak to my wife, or I’ll break you into so many pieces, they won’t have anything left to bury, you hear me?”

“Oh, now that’s all nice and sexy, Jones, but the wife can speak for herself.” Dez shoved between them once more. Her eyes hot with fury, she looked from Cullen to her husband. “And you better think again before you try to nudge me aside, buddy, because if you do it? You and me are going to box, you hear me?”

Taylor apparently didn’t. “You aren’t going to speak to her that way, Morgan.”

“Jones . . . you worry about him punching you. I’ll worry about how he speaks to me.” She wedged herself between and elbowed her husband in the gut until he moved back. Then she shoved against Cullen until he, too, fell back a step.

“Back off, Dez.”

“Don’t you go telling me to back off, Morgan. Not unless you want me to rearrange that pretty-boy face of yours, and trust me, right now I really want to do it,” she said, taking a step in his direction, her chin jerking up. “Oh, you’re an idiot, you know that? A first-class moron. He didn’t drag Jillian into shit, and if you know a damn thing about that daughter of yours, you could probably figure that out. She called him. He didn’t call her.”

“He’s using a child.”

“She’s not a child,” Dez said, shaking her head. “I know that hurts you and I’m sorry, but she hasn’t really been a child since the day she was kidnapped, and if you could let yourself admit it, you’d see the truth of it. You blind fool, what is she supposed to do—ignore the fact that she knows there are women out there . . . some of them as young as she is, being held prisoner? Girls that are going to be sold off to the highest bidder? Girls she can help? She’s got a nightmare trapped in her head. You want her to go crazy or something?”

“That’s enough, Dez.” Behind her, Taylor sighed heavily.

She swung her head around, glaring at her husband. “The hell it is. He wants to call you a coward, call you out for using his daughter, when that’s not what this is. She was brave enough to come to you, Jones. She’s got more courage than he does, for f*ck’s sake.”

“It’s got nothing to do with courage,” Cullen growled. “And everything to do with protecting my child.”

“And how can you protect her from what’s haunting her?” Dez asked quietly. “Because I’ve got a good idea what she has trapped inside her head. You can’t chase those ghosts away. It’s not like it’s a monster hiding under her bed, for crying out loud. And it sucks, but you can’t fix this. You can’t. Neither can Taige. Hell, if you’d taken five seconds to ask Taige, she probably would have told you that.”

“Leave Taige out of this,” Cullen rasped.

Spinning away, he covered his face with his hands. Some of them as young as she is . . . being held prisoner . . .

Daddy . . . I can’t ignore this . . .

She’d whispered that to him. On the plane, as they flew in from Alabama. He’d come, mostly because he’d wanted to hit Taylor and convince the son of a bitch to stay away from his daughter. From his little girl. Because he’d thought he could protect her . . .

They need me, Daddy . . .

“What exactly are you expecting her to do?” he demanded. “Jilly’s just a kid.”