Dare You to Run (30 page)

“Think I'll take a shower.”

It was a shame to throw him off the scent. She would have sworn she felt him watching her, weighing her compliance against the arguments she'd made. There was a knock on the door.

“Time to roll, Vitus.” Saxon's voice came through the panel.

Vitus let out a grunt before he turned and walked toward the door. “Stay inside, Princess. Don't take any chances.”

“That's my warning for you too, even if I know you won't heed it.”

He flashed her a devil-may-care grin that she knew well and damned if it didn't make her belly flutter. He winked at her as he pulled open the door and slipped through it.

She loved him.

It was more than an idea, more than words, more than a feeling. It was something that actually defined her, so completely merged with the fabric of her being. She would never be complete without him, but she would rather live alone, knowing he was safe, than have him risk his life for her.

She knew what she had to do, and it seemed that fate had finally decided to deliver a moment when she could put her plan into action.

Damascus indulged herself in one final moment before she went into the bathroom and washed the scent of him off her skin. She dressed with function in mind before turning her back on the bedroom and her stolen moments with Vitus.

It was time to take charge of the situation.

Time to face her sire.

*   *   *

In shadow games, camouflage was key. That meant Vitus didn't go blindly into whatever situation he'd been instructed to. He crouched down, considering the dock. It was stacked high with steel shipping containers. The type that could be loaded straight onto a rail car or a Big Rig truck. They were muted shades of brown, rust, blue, and black, most of them dented and scraped.

He and Saxon listened for a moment, making sure they were alone before they moved toward one of the containers. There was a chirp as Vitus pressed his hand against an identification pad and his prints were scanned. Amid the rusty and dented containers, the high-tech equipment was misplaced, until a section of the container opened and they both slipped inside. It was like moving through a portal into another universe. The interior of the container was a communications center, equipped with the latest in computers and satellite links. Inside, an agent was watching them as they entered, his gun drawn.

“Identify yourselves please.”

There was a second set of hand scanners inside the container. Saxon flattened his hand on one while Vitus used the other. The agent waited for the chirp from both units before replacing his gun in his shoulder harness. The communications bunker was top secret. The agent wouldn't have hesitated to shoot them. There were deep cover teams that relied on the container when they needed to come in.

“Your section leader is online,” the agent said before he slipped on a pair of noise-cancelling earphones. He looked at the screen in front of him, completely ignoring what was happening behind him. It was a hell of a post to end up on but a vital one nonetheless. Vitus looked down to see Kagan on a screen.

“Your dead man is a guy who went by the name of Pratt,” Kagan supplied. “A Russian who had a reputation in the French Quarter.”

“He was a long way from home,” Vitus said.

“So are you,” Kagan answered. “And it's time to come in.”

Vitus frowned. Kagan didn't miss it. “As much as I'd like to think no one is going to leak this conversation, I know that's hoping for a lot. There are too many connected players on the board at the moment. Better to bring you in while I still have some sort of control.”

“That's a stretch.” Saxon added his opinion. “I don't think any of us has control at this point.”

Kagan nodded. “Maybe you're right, but I have an opportunity. One I plan to make use of.”

It was a risk. Vitus felt the sting of that knowledge and bit back the denial he wanted to voice. It was an emotional response, and he couldn't afford such a lapse. Not with Damascus on the line. He needed to be clearheaded.

“What is the plan?” Vitus asked.

Kagan shook his head. “Not on this line. Bring the girl in. Instructions will be waiting for you when you land.”

Kagan cut the line. Vitus wanted to smash his hand through the screen in some vain attempt to grab hold of something, anything. The entire operation was like oil floating on the surface of water. All you could manage to do was get your hand covered in it.

But that was a real problem, because that meant he and Saxon could be incriminated just as easily as they might be judged heroes. Saxon was watching him, his eyes full of indecision.

Vitus grunted and straightened up. “We don't have any other options.”

He had to force the words out, and his brother didn't like hearing them any more than he enjoyed saying them.

“I'm really going to enjoy shooting Tyler Martin,” Saxon said as they left the bunker.

Vitus was used to his brother sticking to the line, the one they'd both lifted their right hands and sworn to uphold when they had accepted their badges. But he knew another side of Saxon too, the part that took a whole lot of shoving to push over the line.

They were both at that point. The problem was, Vitus had no idea if fate was planning on being on their side. The harsh facts were that the deck was stacked against them.

He slowly grinned as they made their way through the dark docks. It was also a fact that he liked kicking “challenged” in the nuts.

And that was exactly what he was planning on doing.

*   *   *

The opportunity to talk to Dunn should have pleased her. Instead Damascus felt a wave of reluctance that swept her in the opposite direction.

Well, that would be the coward's way out, and one that was likely to land Vitus and Saxon in early graves.

Her blood chilled with the harsh edge of reality that thought unleashed in her. She wasn't being overly dramatic, wasn't playing some sort of game. No, unlike so many of the girls she'd grown up around, she knew the difference between a real problem and a first-world inconvenience.

Jeb wanted blood.

Well, she was going to make sure Jeb was disappointed this time.

Damascus squared her shoulders and moved down the hallway to the office. Dunn's complex had an interesting silence to it, like it was soundproofed. Mostly likely it was, but she admitted to not caring for the feeling it gave her, like she was trapped or imprisoned. She was lifting her hand to knock on the door when it slid open.

“Come in Ms. Ryland.” Dunn called from inside an impressive office. “I've been expecting you.”

She frowned as she forced herself to cross the threshold then heard the door slip shut behind her. There was a husky chuckle from Dunn. He was sitting behind a massive desk that captured her interest because it looked like it was several centuries old. She couldn't help it, the thing was carved with an elaborate hunting scene complete with three-dimensional horses, hounds, men, even hawks.

“It's Victorian,” Dunn supplied. “A family heirloom.”

“And you use it?”

He pushed his chair back and stood. Unlike the desk, the chair was modern. with wheels on the feet so that it slid out of his way with a whisper. “I believe in luck, Ms. Ryland. I worked my first business deal on this desk, in the attic where it was collecting dust because my stepmother didn't think my ideas held any merit and she thought the desk was better suited to a museum. She just hadn't found one willing to pay what she knew it was worth.” He tapped the top of it with a fingertip. “I went up to the attic, to hide from her judgment. I think you understand what I mean when it comes to overly critical and controlling kin.”

Oh boy did she …

There was a flicker of satisfaction in Dunn's eyes that she understood. In fact, at that moment she felt it warming her blood, chasing away the hesitation that had been slowing her down.

She locked gazes with him. “Guess I'd use the desk too under those circumstances.”

He came around and perched himself on the corner of it. The pose seemed too relaxed for his persona and she contemplated him suspiciously. His lips twitched, finally curving into a smug grin. “Not fooling you, am I?”

She shook her head. “You're trying to put me at ease.” It set off a warning bell inside her brain.

“Some people would call that polite,” he offered, sounding less than sincere.

Damascus sighed, recalling her purpose. “Most people wouldn't be in this situation.”

He offered her a shrug. “How we respond to the challenges life flings at us defines our character.”

She laughed. Just a single bark of amusement, but it gained a smile from him. “I can see how that would be the way you would look at this situation.”

Dunn was enjoying the moment hugely, his lips parted in a wide smile.

But she was off-topic again. “I need to discuss business with you.”

His demeanor changed instantly, just as Damascus had intended. He stiffened, and eyed her sternly. It was exactly the mood she needed him in.

“I need to leave before anyone else gets caught in the line of fire. You can help me make sure no one else ends up hurt.” There, she'd said it. Vitus would be furious, but she had to keep her focus on what he needed as opposed to what he wanted.

Neither of them was going to get what they wished for.

“Except you.”

She stiffened her spine. “I am more resourceful than you give me credit for.”

His lips curved again, only this time, it was more of a male-appreciation sort of grin. The sight sent a little ripple down her back because she got the impression that he had anticipated her.

Proving her correct, Dunn reached for something on the desktop.

“What is that?” Damascus didn't care for the confidence on Dunn's face. It wasn't a gleeful sort, more of a dead-serious kind and it chilled her blood. He pressed his thumb against the screen, and it flickered to life.

“Whatever you think of me Ms. Ryland, know this. I tell people what they need to know even when I know they aren't going to like it.”

The tablet displayed a newscast.

“Earlier today, wife of vice-presidential hopeful Jeb Ryland was taken to Mercy General. The only official report is that Ms. Ryland is suffering from extreme anxiety stemming from the kidnapping and disappearance of her only daughter, Damascus Ryland, who has been missing since last Saturday. Sources inside the hospital claim the congressman's wife's condition is critical and life threatening. The congressman was joined by Carl Davis, both men clearly overcome by concern. Carl Davis's appearance fueled the growing speculation of a joint run for the White House between the two and the possibility of them being united by a soon-to-be-announced engagement. When questioned, Carl Davis had this to say: ‘Now is not the time for announcements, unless it's the news we all long for—news of Damascus's whereabouts.'”

Damascus felt her heart stop. She must have held her breath, because one moment she was fixated on the tablet and the fuzzy footage of her mother on a gurney and the next Dunn had her by her upper arms, his grip biting into her because her knees had started to sag. He was muttering as he lifted her up and deposited her into a chair.

Damascus did a little cussing of her own. The profanity earned her a scoff from Dunn, who turned to consider her. He grunted and settled himself against the edge of his desk.

“You love your mother. That much isn't fake about you.”

“And you doubted that?” she demanded.

Dunn merely shrugged. “It was a reasonable question to ask. You could be enough like your father to play the innocent.”

She bit back the response she wanted to make because she needed to focus and not get her panties in a twist over what was in fact a logical argument.

“You wanted to shock me,” she concluded.

He tilted his head to one side and eyed her. “Are you accusing me of being blunt? I'd take that as a compliment.”

“Of course you would.” The guy had charm oozing out of him. She wasn't blind to it, just wasn't as into it as she was Vitus's head-on approach.

He laughed at her and offered her another shrug as he contemplated her from his perch on the edge of his desk.

“Fine. To the point suits me. I need help getting back to Washington,” Damascus stated clearly. “Running isn't my style. Neither is hiding out while other people get shot because they are protecting me.”

He enjoyed her answer. She watched his features reflect that before they hardened, hiding his thoughts from her.

“With Carl Davis pairing up with your father, you don't have much of a choice. Unless you've decided to fall into line with their plans and go pick out your wedding dress.”

She didn't care for how much truth was in his statement. He knew it too—she saw it flickering in his eyes.

“Well, I am not going to be reduced to hiding in a hole and keeping Vitus and Saxon there with me,” Damascus insisted. “I want to go back there and get my mother out of that hospital.”

“Something tells me you're asking me for help because you know the Hale brothers are going to have a problem with that little plan.” Dunn was up, walking toward the wide expanse of windows that made up the far wall of his office. It gave her a prime view of his back. Honestly, the man was worthy of more than a second glance. Except her fickle emotions just kept comparing him to Vitus and finding him lacking.

“My plan helps them too,” she countered. “I need your help because they won't let me cover their tails, but it's the only logical solution.”

She heard Dunn chuckle before he turned to look at her. “I believe you're right on that account. I might even consider tossing in with your little idea, just to enjoy seeing them out-maneuvered.”

“So what's stopping you?” She was out of the chair and moving toward him. “You've lost an amazing cabin, had to deal with a dead body, and Greer is in the hospital. Come on Dunn, let me define my character. Fate decided that my sire is a scumbag.”