Sweetest Taboo (8 page)

Suddenly, I don't want to step into that room. For hours, I've been thinking that I can handle this. That I'm strong. That I've been through so damn much that this is nothing—nothing at all by comparison.

But that's not true. My skin feels prickly. My stomach still burns. I'm alternately hot and cold, and at the moment there's nothing I want to do more than curl up into a ball and cry.

Except that's not true, either, because what I really want to do is run. Far and fast and away from this place and this man who so cavalierly hurt me. Hurt Dallas.

But I can't. I have to stay. I have to hear the truth from him.

Most important, I have to do this alone.

And so when the door slides open, I draw in a breath and walk on shaking legs into the cell to face the man who was once my father.

Now, I think, he is a monster.

“Jane. Oh, thank god, Jane.”

I hesitate just over the threshold, hoping that Colin can't see the way I'm shaking. I can still taste bile in my throat, and for a moment I'm afraid that I'm going to vomit all over again.

I don't turn around, but I know Dallas is behind me. I can practically feel the intensity of his eyes on my back, and I'm certain that if I show even the slightest sign of weakness he will come to my side, take my arm, and yank me out of this room.

Part of me wants him to do just that—to give me an excuse to turn around and not confront this man I once trusted.

But that's the cowardly part of me, and I don't want to be a coward. Not about this. Not anymore.

Right now, I need the truth as desperately as I need air and food and water. And so I straighten my posture, lift my chin, and walk across the room toward Colin.

Behind me, I hear the door click shut, and for just the briefest moment, I hesitate. Then I continue across the room, pull out a chair, and sit across from my birth father.

I fold my hands in front of me so that I'm sitting much like he is. Except that my wrists aren't attached to the table with iron. My fingers are twined together, and I'm clenching them more tightly than is comfortable. I hope I look casual. As if this whole experience isn't killing me. As if I don't feel like I am trapped in a nightmare.

“Jane,” he says.

“Why?” I say at exactly the same time.

Colin shakes his head. His eyes gleam as harsh lights reflect off his tears. “No,” he says. “No, baby, you have to believe me. What they say I did—I swear to you. I didn't.”

His words squeeze my heart, and I wish I could believe. But I've heard too much.

I push away from the table and stand up. Then I turn my back on him and head toward the door, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.

As my hand closes over the knob, his cry of “Jane!” stops me. I hesitate, and then I turn. I say nothing, though. Just look at him expectantly.

“Don't go. Please, please don't go.”

I shift back toward the door. “I'm not interested in lies, Colin. I came for answers. If you're not going to give them to me, then I'm just wasting my time.” I grasp the knob again, and this time I turn it. I give it a tug, and it swings open a fraction of an inch.

“I didn't want to! Oh, god, Jane, I made a mistake. The most horrible mistake!”

His words slice through my heart, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
I will not cry. I will not cry
.

What I want to do is race from this room and into Dallas's arms. What I do instead is close the door, slowly turn around, and walk back to the table. I keep my eyes on the ground, though. I'm not prepared to look at him. Not yet, anyway.

Once I'm seated, I blink and swallow as I take a mental inventory. I don't want him to see on my face how much his sideways confession has hurt me. I don't want this man to see me cry. “All right.” I lift my head. “Tell me.”

“Ortega approached me,” he begins.

“How did you know him?”

“I didn't. I'd never met the man. But I'd heard of him. Through, well, some of my other business connections.”

I raise my brows at the word “business,” but say nothing.

“He—well, he was connected. Intimidating. He—he had his fingers in a lot of things. We overlapped on the smuggling, and he got my name somehow. Said I was on his radar. I don't know why. He didn't say.” He raises his hand as if he is going to reach for his face, but the motion is aborted by the cuff and chain that keep him attached to the table. Irritation flashes in his eyes, and I get the impression that he's lost his stride.

I wait.

Colin fidgets, then continues. “He said that he'd been watching me, and that led him to watching Eli. And Eli's bank account. He said that he learned about what your mother did, and Eli. About how they took you away from me.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I was wrecked then—I tried not to show it to you, but losing you just about destroyed me. I was hurt. Angry. Everything. I lost my way, sweetheart.” A fat tear spills from his eye. “Totally lost my way. And then Ortega said he'd had his eye on Eli as a mark—that he wanted to snatch Dallas and hold him for ransom. I was horrified—I was!—but then Ortega said that he wanted my help. That taking Dallas would be a way to punish Eli. To punish Lisa. To twist the knife in them the way they'd twisted it in me.”

I'm fighting not to cry—I can't believe that he would even think about doing that, much less go through with it.

“I was angry. Hurt. I wanted to get back at her. At Eli. I wanted to punish them, and I shouldn't have. Oh, god, I shouldn't have.” He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

“How did you help?” My words are hard. Cold.

Slowly, he raises his head. “I—I told him where Dallas went to school. I answered questions when he planned and hired the men. But that was all. I swear, that was all. And I needed the money—you remember how bad off I was—I needed the money and he said that just for that information I'd get half.”

“They—they took me, too.” I hate the way my voice cracks. I don't want to show emotion. I don't want him to see just how much he hurt me.

“I know.” His tears come in earnest now, and he has to bend his head down almost to the table to wipe them. There is a box of tissues on the far side of the room, but I don't get up to bring them to him. “He told me afterward, and I flew into a rage. You weren't supposed to have been there, and I begged him to let you go. But he said it was a perk. More money. And when I told him he could have my share of Dallas's ransom if he just set you free, he laughed and told me I was a fool. Jane, Jane, sweetheart, you have to know I would never do that to you.”

But I don't know that. I don't know anything anymore.

“Were you there? In the cell with us?”

“No! No, I went to London because Ortega told me I had to. He told me how to do it so that nobody would know. But I just stayed in a flat he'd rented for me.”

“And the Woman?”

“Who?”

I hug myself, suddenly cold. “There was a woman. She—she was vile.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No, the whole team was made up of men. There wasn't—”

“Bullshit,”
I say as I push my chair back and stand. I yank out my phone and pull up the picture of me on the ground. I shove the picture in front of him, then point to my face, where the bruises still linger. “
She
did that to me. And she did worse—so much worse—when we were teens.”

He's shaking his head. “No, no. There was no woman. There wasn't.”

I turn around and head for the door.

“Jane, wait! Don't leave. Please don't leave me.”

I round on him in sudden fury. “Then tell me the truth, goddammit. For once in your life just tell me the fucking truth!”

“I am! I swear! How can you believe I would do this? I don't understand what's happening. I don't know why you won't believe me. I've told you I was involved. I was an idiot—it was stupid and horrible and you're right to hate me. But, sweetheart, there's nothing left to tell.”

“There was a woman,” I insist. “Tell me about her or I walk out that door.”

“Yes, yes, okay, yes, there was a woman. She was Ortega's girlfriend, and I know she brought your food, but I barely knew her. She's dead now. She's been dead for over a decade.”

“Bullshit.”

“It's true. It's true.” Tears track a path down his face. “Jane, sweetheart, please. I love you. I love Dallas.”

A wild fury rises inside me, culminating in the explosion of a single word—
“Don't.”
I draw in a breath, forcing myself back to some level of calm. “Don't say that. And don't you dare say his name again. You gave up that privilege seventeen years ago.”

“What are they going to do to me? What are you going to let them do to me?”

“I don't know,” I say, then deliberately turn my back on him and step toward the door. “Honestly, I really don't care.”

“Don't do it, man.”

Dallas took his eyes off Jane long enough to glance sideways at Liam. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't put your fist through the glass. It's a bitch to replace.”

Dallas's mouth quirked in an ironic smile. “I'll keep that in mind,” he said as Jane paused in front of the door, listening as Colin said he loved her. That he loved Dallas.

Fucker
.

“She did well.” Quince leaned against the wall at the edge of the window.

“You believe him?” Liam asked, the incredulity clear in his voice.

“Not a word,” Quince said, then immediately corrected himself. “Well, one or two words. He did go to London, and he definitely knew Ortega. He may even genuinely love you and Jane,” he added, with an eye toward Dallas. “At least in his own twisted way. But the rest of it? Utter fabrication.”

“Can you get him to admit it?”

Quince lifted a shoulder. “Yesterday, I would have said absolutely. Today, I say probably.”

“Why? I thought he was susceptible to the drugs.”

“He is. Possibly a little too susceptible. The standard dose completely narced him up. Cross a line, and all you get is nonsense. Truth, fantasy, remembered bits of bad television shows. He talks, sure, but it's like he's dictating a wild dream after a long night of drinking tequila. Can't put much stock in that, mate.”

Dallas nodded. “All right. So you play with the dose. More time, but eventually you get there.”

“That's the plan,” Quince said. “And as for the bit about the Woman being dead, I'm going to hook him up to a polygraph, but I need to wait at least forty-eight hours for the drugs to fully clear his system. If he's the lying asshole we think he is, that supports the theory that Jane's attacker was the Woman. If he's telling the truth, well, that's something we'll have to factor in.”

“Do it as soon as you can,” Dallas said, as they watched Jane turn back to the door, pull it open, and step outside to join the men.

Dallas was at her side even before the door clicked closed behind her.

She looked up at him, her expression hard. Visibly, she was keeping it together. But he could see the cracks. Her red-rimmed eyes. The tension in her jaw and shoulders. With the notable exception of his ruined shoes, she'd handled everything that had been thrown at her with remarkable aplomb.

But even a woman as incredible as Jane couldn't keep absorbing the blows. And he was afraid that if she kept taking hits, she was going to shatter.

“He says it wasn't his idea,” she said. “He says the Woman is dead.”

The words seemed to stab him through the heart. “I know. I heard. Do you believe him?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed and tears spilled from her eyes, cutting tracks through her makeup. “Not a goddamn word.” She gasped a little, and then, as if the words broke through a dam, her tears came in earnest. He pulled her close, holding her against him as sobs racked her body. His arms were tight around her, and all he wanted in that moment was to take the pain from her. To make her forget. To help her cope. To erase the horrible truth that was cutting through her. Destroying her.

But no, that wasn't really all he wanted to do. What he wanted more was to burst through that door, put his hands around Colin's neck, and squeeze until he'd snuffed out every bit of life remaining in the man. A man who claimed to love him, to love Jane. A man who hurt them. Who lied to them. Who'd run roughshod over their lives, destroyed their childhoods, and left both him and Jane broken.

Broken
.

No matter how much he wished it wasn't, he knew damn well it was true. They coped—and god knew they coped better together than apart—but that didn't change the simple fact that Colin's fucked-up kidnapping scheme and what happened inside that cell had broken both of them.

There was no going back; they could only move forward. And Dallas knew that killing Colin now couldn't change the past.

But it would feel so damn good.

He closed his eyes and pulled the woman he loved closer. If it weren't for Jane, he doubted he'd even try to rein himself in. But because he knew it would wound her even more, he battled back the urge. Nothing was more important than Jane. Protecting her. Loving her.

Even if that meant letting a worm like Colin live.

After a moment, she pushed gently away from him, her head down. He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “I'm so sorry.”

Her thin smile just about broke his heart. “I've known the truth for days now. But it's different hearing it—or
not
hearing it.” She hugged herself, her shoulders rising and falling as she sighed so heavily he felt her breath on his face. “I guess I thought he'd be honest with me.”

“Would that matter?”

“Maybe. No. I don't know.” She sighed. “I didn't even cross-examine him.” Her shoulder lifted in a shrug, as if she wasn't sure where she was or what she was doing. “I know everything you told me. Where he's been. When he traveled. I could have demanded explanations. But I just couldn't stand to hear his bullshit.”

“Oh, baby. It's okay. What do you need now? Mom?” If she said yes, he'd find a way, no matter how much it pissed off their father. “Brody?” he asked, thinking that as much as it might sting, maybe she needed her best friend. Someone not in their fucked-up family. He twisted slightly, searching for Liam who had quietly slipped away the moment Dallas had taken her in his arms. Maybe she'd want him, their friend who'd stood like a rock with the two of them throughout childhood, but wasn't a man she was in love with.

But then she said, “Just you,” and he thought his heart was going to melt.

He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her palm. “Home,” he said. “I'm taking you home.”

“I'm sorry,” he said once they were in a taxi and on their way.

She tilted her head. “For what?”

“What he did to us. That he didn't own up to it today.”

The corner of her mouth rose ironically. “That's hardly something you need to apologize for. And honestly, I don't think it matters what he said today. It doesn't really change anything, does it? Whether he tells us the truth or not, there's still some psycho bitch after us.”

Pressing her fingertips to her brow, she shook her head. “Oh, hell. Now I'm the one who's sorry. It's just that…” She stopped herself, then sighed. “I was just thinking about, well, everything. And sometimes I wonder if I should have kept quiet that day the press saw us kiss. Maybe we should have let them believe that bullshit story you made up about it being a dare. Because that was the beginning, Dallas. That's when the psycho bitch came out of the woodwork. Whether she's the Woman or some crazed female you got naked with, that very public kiss and my very public statement are what set her off.”

He didn't argue. How could he when she was right?

“And it's not just her,” Jane added. She glanced toward the Plexiglas barrier between them and the driver, then turned back to Dallas, apparently satisfied that the driver either couldn't hear or wasn't interested.

“That kiss brought the press swarming in,” she continued. “I mean, let's face it. I wasn't that interesting before. And while you've been a regular on Page Six for ages, the news that you're fucking your sister pretty much kicked your social media stock into overdrive. How much do you want to bet they'll be waiting for us when we get home?”

“I'm going to pass on that bet. I'm not flush enough lately to risk losing.”

As he hoped, she smiled. “Yeah, my bank account's a little thin these days, too.” She sighed, then shook her head as if exasperated with herself. “I'm just frustrated. I want a life together—a real life. And I'm starting to wonder how the hell we're ever going to make that happen.”

“But we will,” he promised, though he had no idea how. He slid close to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She curled against him, and he sighed, relishing the way they fit perfectly together. “Somehow, we're going to make it happen.”

She tilted her head up to his. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” he said, then bent to kiss her. Immediately, she opened to him, and in that moment he truly felt as if he really was the one thing she needed in all the universe, and if they could just figure out a way to make the rest of the world go away, then everything would be all right.

“I want you now,” she murmured, trailing her fingertip back and forth over his thigh and making him just a little crazy. “I need you inside me. Please, Dallas. I want to feel you next to me, and then I want to fall asleep in your arms and sleep away the whole rest of the day.”

“The whole day?” he teased. “It's barely nine in the morning.”

“Then you'll just have to tire me out, because I'm done. When I wake up, I want it to be tomorrow.”

He slid his hand along her inner thigh, then felt his cock twitch at the sharp sound of her breath as she gasped with anticipation.

He pulled his hand away, and watched her eyes narrow. “Any more, and I won't be able to stop.”

“I don't want you to stop. Not ever.”

“You do want me to stop,” he said as he gently brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Because we're almost home. And we both know the vultures are going to surround us the minute this car pulls up in front of the building.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to protest that she didn't care.

For a moment, he almost wished that she would.

Then the spell broke and she nodded once, then slid out of his embrace and over to the far side of the bench seat. For a second, he fantasized about pulling her back and kissing her so hard they'd trend all the way to the number one spot on Twitter.

But that was only a fantasy.

He'd find a way, though. Somehow, he was going to find a way to be with Jane. Truly and completely and openly.

And on that day, he'd tell the damn reporters to all go to hell.

Today, he just kept his head down as they emerged from the taxi. As he'd predicted, the second the vehicle had pulled up, the reporters and paparazzi who'd been casually leaning up against trees and parked cars rushed forward, so many of them that Dallas swore some must have emerged from the sewers like rats.

“Jane! Dallas!” Their names echoed in the crisp morning air, underscored by the honk of taxi horns, the squeal of brakes, and the general din that was Manhattan during rush hour.

“Dallas! What are you going to do now that you're no longer the CEO of Sykes Retail?”

“Jane! Are you still speaking with your parents? What about Colin West? Was your birth father aware of your relationship with your brother?”

“Are you going to stay in New York?”

“Is it true that Lyle Tarpin turned down the lead in
The Price of Ransom
? Is it true that the studio has pulled the plug on the movie altogether?”

Beside him, Jane winced. Dallas frowned; that was a new rumor, and one he could tell from her expression that Jane hadn't heard. He hooked an arm around her, lowered his head, and dove into the throng, resolved to get them both through the gauntlet without any more bombs landing squarely on top of them. By the time they reached Howard, the doorman who'd come out to meet them, his arms held wide in an effort to shield them, Dallas was in a foul mood.

“They've been loitering all morning,” Howard said. “I'm sorry, Mr. Sykes, so long as they stayed in the street and away from the entrance there was nothing I could do.”

“You were great,” Dallas assured him. “And I'm sorry about it. I imagine we're the most unpopular people in the building right now.”

Howard immediately assured him otherwise, but the expression on the older man's face suggested that Dallas was one-hundred-percent right.
Damn celebrity chasers.