Bullet to the Heart (11 page)

“She was beautiful. Tall and willowy, she looked like her brother, but more feminine and with lighter hair—look, why are you asking me this?”

“What about Anna?” she interrupted when he opened his mouth.

He stopped what he’d been about to say. “She was tiny with blonde hair. Her eyes were blue, like mine, and she was everything perfect. . ." he trailed off, the pain of his loss overwhelming him. “Why the fuck are you asking me this?”

She took a deep breath, the action lifting her breasts against the cotton of her T-shirt. He noticed and damned himself for it.

“Tell me why you loved Lily,” she urged, and there was a pleading quality to her voice.

“She was my wife—what are you asking me?” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the base of his skull hoping the sharp pain would keep him in check.

“Why did you love Lily?”

“Because she loved me,” he said on a harsh sigh. “She loved me and never stopped. She gave me Anna. Lily gave me hope.”

“Why did you love Anna?” Relentless. The woman was relentless.

“She was perfect.”

“Nothing is perfect, Mr. Beckett. But I saw pictures of your daughter, and she was probably as close to perfect as anything I’ve ever seen,” she whispered. “The reason I ask is because I’ve always wondered what motivated you to pursue Joseph Bombardier. Why would a man who’d lost his family to a sniper’s bullet risk his own life to chase after the man who’d ordered them killed? Most people would simply move on, left with the memories and pain, they’d try to rebuild a new life. But you’ve actively sought this man and risked your welfare to do it.”

She took another breath and walked within feet of him. He met her gaze, and what he saw there rocked his foundations.

“You mentioned hope. You said ‘Lily gave me hope.’ But I have no idea what that emotion is. It’s hard to understand your motivation without having a more accurate vision of what your wife and daughter meant to you. What did they mean to you, Mr. Beckett?”

He reached for her, grasped her upper arms near the shoulder, and shook her. She didn’t wince, didn’t bat an eyelash at his aggression. He got in her face and snarled. “
Everything
, goddamn it. They were my everything.”

He released her and she stumbled back, gaze never lowering, eyes never blinking. She licked her bottom lip and stroked over the place that had been raw just days ago. Her fists tightened, and she held them to her stomach.

She lifted her chin after a few moments, as if daring him to challenge what she was about to say or do.

“Are you a good man, Rand Beckett?”

Her question floored him. He backed away from her as confusion rifled like a shot through his body.

She advanced a single step, determination silhouetted in every line of her body. “Are you a good man?”

Was he? Had he ever been?

“When I was with them, I was good,” he said in a low tone, and the rightness of those words echoed in the room around them. “Now, I am not.”

She stood silent for long moments and then nodded.

“Then I will give you what you need so you can find your peace,” she whispered. “For Lily and Anna, I will give you The Collective.”

She’d been here two weeks. It had been three days since the water pit and two days since her decision to lead Rand Beckett to The Collective. Her decision hadn’t been made easily. But it had begun when she’d seen him strip naked and lower himself into the same water pit he’d put her in.

The action had made her heart hurt. She’d understood his reason for placing her there. Most men sought to break before they pushed in for the kill. She’d shown him she would not break. But then he’d pulled her out and warmed her against his own body.

A shiver peaked her nipples, and the feel of the hard tips against the soft cotton of her shirt was so foreign she lifted her hands and rubbed them. Lightning zipped to her core and she gasped, lowering her hands. The feel of his hands on her skin had brought much more satisfaction.

Sorrow arrowed through her. She would never know his touch in the ways she’d begun to yearn for it.

“You asked to be allowed access to the gym. Are you ready?” Dmitry asked from the door.

She nodded. Had he seen her touching herself? She shook off the possibility. The man who’d cared for her during her stay here was a conundrum. There was no doubt in Remi’s mind the man was a killer, similar in small ways to even her, but something about him was so tragic. He reminded her of someone . . .

Then it hit her. He reminded her of Bone. She pushed those thoughts away. Remi needed a workout.

She stood and followed him out into the house proper. A long, wide hallway led down a beautiful staircase to an enormous foyer. Off the foyer branched huge rooms, unfurnished but sparkling clean, the hardwood floors immaculate, the windows clear. They turned left at the bottom of the staircase and walked down another hallway, passing a large kitchen and finally coming to a room with a keypad.

Dmitry punched in the numbers, then ushered her into a fitness lover’s wet dream. Every imaginable tool was available for workouts: stair climbers, treadmills, free weights, and the list went on and on.

“Is there a pool?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He snickered and pointed. She followed his direction and discovered a two-lane lap pool. Her stomach knotted, but she began to strip out of her clothes.

“Whoa, there!” Dmitry said and turned away.

She’d known he followed her, but nudity was nothing to her. Her body was a tool only, nothing to be ashamed or overly concerned about anyone else seeing. Any embarrassment had been punished out of her long years ago.

He faced in the opposite direction from her, but held out what looked like a swimsuit. She took it, shrugged, and stripped off the rest of her clothes.

“Please put that on,” Dmitry choked out.

She had no idea what his problem was, but stepped into the suit and took a deep breath. She hovered at the edge of the pool for long moments until she heard a rustling behind her.

“You can swim, right?” There was amusement in Dmitry’s tone, and she glared back at him, wondering where the urge to do so came from.

He held up his hands and backed away from her, a small smile playing about his lips. “You’re just standing there . . .  I wondered. . ."

She looked away from him, felt a chill break over her skin at the thought of being submerged, and dove in.

The water was warm, caressing her like a lover, but she had to fight the compulsion to rise to the surface and jump out. She sank to the bottom, fighting with herself, her instincts demanding that she rise, gulp in precious life-saving air. The struggle was mighty; it always was. Water was the one thing that she’d never been able to face with aplomb.

Joseph had used it against her for her entire life. She blew out, centered her mind, and closed her eyes, sitting on the bottom of the pool feeling the water touch her skin and hating it with every fiber of her being.

Images of being in the cold, cold Pacific with Rand flashed through her mind. She’d given him her breath, the breath of life. And she’d given it willingly to a man she’d known would kill her if he ever had the chance.

But he hadn’t. She blew out, felt her oxygen depleting to a level that was dangerous and still she sat there, feeling the rough concrete of the pool under her flesh, reveling in the fact that she was alive for but a single moment. There was still so much to do. Her objective had only just begun and she must get stronger.

Quickly.

Mind over matter, Bullet. This is how you do it.
Arrow had always been the one preaching calm in the storm. Those were the lessons Remi had clung to in the water pit. Her body was an instrument to be honed and perfected, but her mind was the most important part. Sometimes bodies were weak things, easily overcome. But minds . . . they lead the body. Where the mind went the body followed.

She opened her eyes, saw movement above the water, and kicked up, breaking the surface with barely a ripple of water.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rand demanded.

She lifted her gaze up over muscular thighs hugged by very broken-in denim. She allowed herself the luxury of traveling up his slim hips, over his chest, along his corded neck, until finally she reached his chiseled face. There was a hardness there that drew her and made her body clench in delicious ways.

“I’m swimming.”

Disbelief broke over his face. He inhaled swiftly, anger following the disbelief to track back again. “Did you not have enough the other night?”

She felt her face crack, the sensation so novel her façade weakened. A wide ripple in the water sent a wave to hit the side of the pool. It startled her. She watched the water slosh and purposefully did it again. It splashed onto his shoes and the look on his face tipped to something even more disbelieving.

“That wasn’t swimming,” she said, and even to her ears it sounded like laughter in her voice.

His mouth kicked up at one corner, and it took her breath. She ducked beneath the water, let it slide over her face though her gut tightened, and she had to forcibly stop herself from gasping in great gulps of water. She pushed her hair off her face and glanced up at him again.

He nodded at her. “You’re right. That was dying.”

She did laugh then because truer words had never been spoken. She’d been dying, alone in that pit, the cold water taking her will to continue on.

He turned and walked away, stopped and looked back at her. “Lunch is in one hour. I expect you there.”

She saluted him and made her way to the opposite end of the pool. She had one hour and many, many laps to get through. Her shoulder was so painful she knew she needed to work it out. Her body was sluggish, but she set her mind to the task and began swimming.

Her timetable had been shot to warp-speed because of the last two weeks. Damn Phina and her need to prove herself. Being shot had thrown a kink into Remi’s chain. It was time to get her shit together.

There were things to be done and a war to prepare for. Her sisters were counting on her.

His heart kicked into beat when she walked into the kitchen exactly an hour later. Hair wet but pulled into a ponytail, her face was youthful, almost too much so.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She shot him a glance then veiled her eyes. “Can I eat something while you grill me?”

He snorted, but pushed a plate her way and waved a hand at it.

She sat down across the table from him and the scent of plumeria wafted to him. His skin tightened as did his fists. His blood thickened, slowed, and his cock swelled.

It pissed him off, but he wasn’t going to let it deter him. She was a beautiful woman. His cock hadn’t died with Lily.

As soon as the thought was born, his head mocked him. He ignored it.

She bit lightly into the sandwich, pale pink lips pulling at a bit of stubborn lettuce, and then she took a drink of tea. Her brow and nose wrinkled, and then she coughed. “God, did you use a pound of sugar in that?”

He shrugged. “That’s how we roll in the South.”

“Virginia is the South then?” she asked, and not for the first time he wondered where she was from. Her voice always had a lyrical quality he likened to some European country rather than the US.

“How old are you?”

She set the glass down with a hard thunk. The punch of her blue gaze almost made him groan.

“I told you I’d lead you to them, Mr. Beckett. This propensity you have for interrogating me isn’t conducive to a proper working relationship. I don’t respond well to it.”

Who the fuck had interrogated her?
He breathed in through his nose and sought patience. It had never been one of his greatest virtues. He had to stay the course with her. She moved him in ways he wasn’t comfortable with.

He never took his gaze from hers, though for the first time in his adult life he was tempted to. “How old are you?”

“I didn’t think anyone was more stubborn than me. I may have to amend that assertion for future reference.” She conceded with a nod. “I am twenty-seven.”

Amazement flowed through him. She looked to be no older than eighteen or nineteen. Her face was smooth, unlined and so damn soft . . . 
Let it go, Rand
.

“How did you end up with Joseph?” Even as he asked the question, he pushed away the reason behind it, told himself it wasn’t so much that he wanted to know about her as he wanted to figure out how Joseph worked.

His heart called him a liar.

She took another bite of her sandwich and took her time about swallowing. The tea she stayed away from.

“I think we should set some rules. I truly believe you are more stubborn than me. However, you cannot break me nor bend me from my objective. There will be no questions about me. The Collective
only
is on the table.”

Anger left a bitter taste in his mouth. He swallowed it. “If I know nothing of you, how am I left to know whether you tell the truth?”

She threw the sandwich down, stood up from the table and walked away.

“Come back,” he called.

She stopped at the doorway and turned to him, cheeks flushed, eyes snapping blue fire.