Keep (Command #2) (23 page)

His hands cupped her neck. He whispered it against her lips. “Liar.”

She shook uncontrollably. “Stop, please.”

He did, showing her that his eyes were heated and he was… aroused. He was breathing as deeply as she was. Why wasn’t she fighting back? His hand was on her thigh now and she wanted to scoot away. She wanted to get up and run. But her whole goddamn body was immobile.

“What’s this from?” He flicked his thumb over her scar, where she’d been burned on a camping trip when a flaming leaf from the campfire blew into her lap, and it was like she’d been burned there all over again. Her teeth chattered with fear. Giving him any information was a mistake and being burned was her greatest fear.

“I… fell off my bike when I was little.”

His lips were on her collarbone. “Now I want to know why you just lied.”

“Because you’ll use it against me. Tell me what you gave me.”

“When we got back here, I gave you a local anesthetic and redid your stitches.”

“Why do I feel like this?”

“Like what?” he asked. “Like every cell of your body is alive? Unbelievably turned on?” He lightly raked his nails over her thighs, making her jump. “It was ecstasy. Do you like it?”

Feeling like she had no control? “No. Why? Why’d you —”

“I wanted to kiss you, and I got tired of waiting.”

Her stupor was like a blanket wrapped around her brain. She couldn’t focus. All she could interpret was that she didn’t like this idea. She raised her hand and tried to slap him. She was successful in the attempt to move, but he caught her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist and used it to slowly raise her to stand, pulling her into his embrace.

The water was so warm.

His body was hot and hard against her, his skin wet on hers. Every nerve-endings tingled.

“What are you hiding from me?” He feathered kisses over her bruised cheek as his hands settled in the small of her back.

It came out even when she didn’t want it to. “She’s pregnant.”

His body tensed. “Yeah, I saw the picture at your place. That no longer matters to me.” He softened and a guilty smile crossed his face. “So now you know, that like you, I also have a bit of a temper.”

It came into focus. The picture from the Swan Lake opening night, where Laurel clearly looked pregnant, had sent him into a fit of rage. That’s why the apartment was trashed.

His kiss was forceful and intense, and she shut her eyes against it, pretending to be somewhere else, with someone else. The man she was falling for, that she wanted more than anything else.

“Shawn,” she cried, barely audible.

Juric had a physical reaction to the name like she’d cut him, and for a moment neither of them could breathe.

“I am not the marshal’s brother.” It came out just loud enough to hear over the water, but it was dark and horrifying. Color rose from his neck, rapidly ascending into his face. Then his hands were around her throat, firm. “My name is Ryan. Say it.”

The water that poured from the showerhead felt like it was straight off a glacier.
Survive.
That’s what she had to do. Maybe rescue was on its way now, she could only hope it wasn’t too late.

“Ryan.” It was barely a word.

He sneered and released her, flung the shower door open in a huff. When hands hooked under the waistband of his drenched boxers, she shut her eyes. There was a sopping noise as he tossed the fabric into the sink. When she finally did open her eyes, there was a towel wrapped around his waist. He disappeared from the room, slamming the door behind him.

An anguished sigh fell out of her mouth. She grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed until her body was raw, but she couldn’t get the feel of his hands off of her skin. Her stomach rolled when she recalled his lips on her.

There was a robe on a hook, and once the shower had run cold, she cloaked herself in it, leaving her soaked undergarments on. How much longer would the drugs be in her system? How much longer was she going to feel like this? Until he was done toying with her and killed her?

As soon as the shower was off, he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.”

He was dressed but still dangerous. All that stood between his hands and her body was a robe that she quickly knotted again. But seeing him now had a focusing effect. The drugs weren’t gone, but they were wearing down. She no longer had the sick urge to smile, and her cut was beginning to hurt again.

“You need to drink some more water.”

“No, thanks,” she said.

He had an empty glass in one hand and went to the sink filling it with water from the tap, passing it to her. “No drugs. Once you drink all of this, you can have some dinner.”

Her mouth fell open. She had no idea what time it was, but at least twenty-four hours had passed since her last meal. She chugged the water, thirsty anyway, and when she finished he made good on his promise. The bathroom door led out into a luxurious bedroom with a queen-sized platform bed and a plush leather couch to one side. On the coffee table before it, a bowl of soup and half of a French baguette waited.

“I’m sorry it’s barely warm, but I didn’t want you to get any ideas about throwing it at me.”

She ate, not caring if it was drugged or poisoned, not caring that he sat on the couch beside her, his fierce gaze never leaving her. Did he realize that the water and food would eventually give her back some strength?

“If you have any more ideas about escape, there are other men here at the house.”

“I know, the Italians,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s safer if you stay in this room, or I can take you back to the basement.”

This made her evaluate the room critically. It had windows and a door that didn’t appear to have a bar over it. But if he was offering to let her stay here, where there were at least a dozen things she could use as weapons, there had to be a reason.

“What’s the catch?”

“This is my room.”

Of course it is.
She stifled the knee-jerk reaction to tell him she’d go to the basement. This was another attempt to position her just where he wanted. The opportunity was too good to pass up and he knew it, so she’d have to table her hatred for him. This would give him more chances to mess with her, physically and psychologically. Or worse.

“You expect me to stay here, with you?”

“Yeah, I do. I figure you’re probably tired, and I’ll let you sleep here.” That implied he wouldn’t allow her to sleep in the basement. If she was here, where exactly was he going to be? He looked as tired as she was.

“You’ll sleep on the couch,” she told him. If he was even planning on sleeping.

“There are clothes in the closet for you.”

She went into the walk-in closet and shut the door, banding an arm around her stomach, trying to hold herself together.
You can do this.
She repeated it as a mantra as she put on a pair of pajama pants and the thickest long-sleeved shirt she could find. If there had been a snowsuit, she would have put it on.

“What are you doing in there?” His voice from the other side of the door was curious-sounding.

When she came out, he was shirtless and sitting in the large bed, already under the covers. His gaze fell on her like he was excited to see how she’d react. She stormed to the other side of the bed and yanked the pillow off, but only made it a few steps towards the couch. His arms banded around her, forcing her against his body and his mouth was by her ear.

“The bed. I’m not discussing it.”

She wanted to fight but his arms were a vise and the drugs wore thin now. She was so very tired. “No. I won’t. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Because you plan to kill me if I fall asleep. Sorry, not going to happen.”

It’s because I don’t know what you’ll do to me.
He pulled her back to the bed and forced her to sit on the soft mattress.

“It’s been a long day,” he said. “You can feel free to try to kill me in the morning. But right now, you’ll sleep.”

He waited for her to comply with a hard expression. How was she supposed to do this? Lie beside him and share a bed with her captor? His cold, authoritative eyes gave her the fire she needed. She wouldn’t let him win. So she laid her head against the pillow and pulled the covers tight up to her neck. She would try to kill him when he was out. Heavy footsteps carried him to the other side of the bed where he flipped the light off. The mattress shifted under the weight of his body.

“No, no!” she said, when his hand slid across her stomach, his body up against hers.

“I’ll have to get the handcuffs, the ones you threw in the toilet.” Another challenge, more pressure. “I’d like to believe that you’ll just sleep, but I can’t.”

“You want to put your hands on me.”

“Plenty of truth there. What will it be?” He moved his hand so it was more comfortable for him, not so subtly making her aware of its presence. As if she didn’t already know it was there.

In the darkness of the room, he probably couldn’t see her face crumble. It wasn’t a choice. Just the thought of the metal on her skin made her shiver. Another part of her died inside, more power going to him. “I don’t want the handcuffs.”

It was an eternity before she could tolerate the heavy arm around her. Her jaw hurt from how tight she had it clenched and her hands balled into fists. Her muscles were tense and stiff. He didn’t move. Only quiet, measured breathing came from him, but she knew he was awake. She could sense his eyes on her, unrelenting. He seemed as uneasy as she was about the arrangement. Wasn’t this his brilliant idea? Another eternity passed while she tried to wait him out, but sleep overtook her.

The argument was stupid. Shawn didn’t need their permission. “I’m not waiting.”

He hated everything about this safe house, from its hideous furniture to the fact that he was here now. Jason and Ethan were seated on the ugly couch, both staring at laptops they’d set up on the table in front of it.

Brahm
Müller
had been deemed the brightest star by Osterhägen’s CIO, and he located not only the originating IP address of the computer that had sent the email through a tangled series of fake accounts, but also the timestamp and device used for the picture. Not that it mattered that Juric had used an iPhone, but knowing that Kara was alive only ten minutes before the picture had been emailed was a good sign. Or so the former US Marshal and CIA agent told him.

But the argument ensued when
Müller
mentioned that the IP address could be a slave computer, and Ethan’s people agreed. The point of origin was somewhere in Italy, and probably a setup. “Too easy to trace,” Ethan had said. “He wants us to find this computer. He wants us to go there.”

It was their only fucking lead. Trap or not, it could take them to Kara, and that idea had made the decision to activate his flight crew easy for Shawn.

“You can do your research while we’re in the air,” he said. “Let’s go.”

His phone rang. The dialing code he didn’t recognize, and for a half-second he thought about letting it roll to voicemail.

“Is this Mr. Dunn?” The man sounded older, his accent from the north.

The guy had this number, which few people did. Why did he have to ask that? “Yes. What is it?”

“Well, I own a butcher shop outside of Trier. I’ve had problems with my cellphone battery not charging, so I couldn’t call sooner, but a strange visitor came into my shop today. This blond woman who didn’t speak German.”

Shawn stopped pacing and his heart stopped beating.

“She was kind of wild looking without any shoes on, and muddy. She said she was an Osterhägen. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

His mouth was disabled with shock. Then, he recovered, hope igniting in him. “Yes.”

“She gave me your card and insisted I call.” The man paused to take a breath. “My friend and I, we tried to help her, sir, but she refused. She was bleeding at her waist.”

Shawn tried to block that out. “When did this happen and where is your shop located?”

After the man spoke with Jason at length, there were no arguments this time.

“Kara would not knowingly lead you into a trap,” L said. “And if she was forced, she’d do everything she could to warn us.”