Forged in Steele (17 page)

Then he turned to Dolphin.

“Have my team meet me at the chopper. Tell them to get moving now.”

Dolphin nodded and turned away. Steele surveyed the group gathered in the living room and eyed Sam unflinchingly.

“My mission. My way. This is personal. He fucked with one of our own. I’m going to take this bastard down with or without your say-so. I’d rather do it with KGI, but if you give me any grief over this, I’m walking and taking my team with me.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he exchanged glances with Rio and Donovan, who seemed equally taken aback by Steele’s heated proclamation.

“It’s yours,” Sam said slowly. “But you keep me in the loop every step of the way. I want to know when, where and how at all times. Maren is important to all of us. I’m not going to hang her out to dry on this.”

“Fuck no,” Rio muttered. Then he looked up at Steele. “If you need backup, call me. My team will be available the minute you give us the word.”

Steele nodded. “I appreciate that and I will call if I need the help. This is too important to fuck up.”

“I’m going with you,” Donovan said quietly. “That’s not negotiable.”

“Fine, as long as you remember—”

Donovan cut him off before he could finish. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mission. Your way. Don’t worry. I’m not going to step on your toes.”

“As long as we understand each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with my team so we can pull the hell out of here and hop a plane.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said dryly. “We’ll handle the cleanup here.”

Steele didn’t respond. He was already on his way out the door.

His team was waiting by the chopper, and they looked expectantly at him when he walked up.

“What’s the deal?” Cole demanded. “Where the fuck is Maren?”

“I’ll get to that,” Steele said shortly.

He looked intently at P.J., who was standing with a worried frown on her face.

“Maren isn’t here. Best we know is Mendoza has her and is on his way to Paris for plastic surgery. Apparently he wants Maren’s skills to aid him in his recovery.”

“Fuck,” P.J. muttered.

“We’re going after her, but P.J., I need to know if you can handle this.”

Her brows furrowed and she shot him a what-the-fuck look.

“We don’t know what we’re going to find,” he said softly. “Mendoza has had her in his possession for a while now. He’s keeping her with him, and by her own admission, she’s scared out of her mind. Maren doesn’t scare easily, so in my mind she has a reason to be afraid of this asshole. I need to be sure you can handle this. You aren’t going to piss me off if you stand down from this mission.”

There was a fierce glitter in P.J.’s eyes. Cole’s arm automatically went around her in support, and he squeezed her shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” P.J. said in a quiet voice. “Maren has seen most of us through our worst. No way I’m going to wimp out on her when she needs us the most. And if that asshole has hurt her in any way, I’ll remove his balls myself.”

Cole grinned and Dolphin muttered a
hooyah
.

Steele nodded. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way, we’re pulling out and hauling ass to Paris. Resnick’s going to dig up any intel he has on plastic surgeons who have the skill level required for extensive restructuring and get it to us as soon as possible. In the meantime, we’re going wheels up.”

CHAPTER 19

MAREN
quietly entered the bedroom where Mendoza—or rather Tristan Caldwell, as he’d renamed himself—was resting. He stirred when she approached. She’d long since gotten over her surprise at how lightly he slept, even when he was fresh out of surgery and drugged on painkillers. He was alert and aware, but then he seemed to have good reason to fear being killed in his sleep. He’d doubtless made many enemies in his lifetime. Or maybe he didn’t fully trust her not to try to murder him. She wished she had the courage, because if she did she’d be sorely tempted.

“Ah, you’re here,” Tristan said.

He reached for her hand but she moved it away, lifting it instead to the dressings over his face. It had been twelve weeks since his surgery and the bulkier bandages had been removed, and now only the smaller gauze rested over the healing incision sites.

His surgery hadn’t been minor. His entire face had been reconstructed, his nose and cheekbones restructured. Even his chin. It had to have been horribly painful. She couldn’t imagine doing this on a regular basis. But even with the longevity of his recovery, he’d made faster progress than she could have imagined.

“They’re looking good,” she said briskly.

She was careful to never let their conversation stray from his health. She had no desire to build any sort of rapport between them. She treated him as she would any patient. Distant and professional. Never mind she was being held captive and subject to the whims of a crazy man.

“You’ve taken very good care of me, Maren. I’m not surprised that I’m healing so rapidly. When do you think the rest of the bandages can come off?”

“I’d give it another week,” she said.

They could probably come off now, but she was in no hurry. She feared what would happen when he considered himself fully recovered. Though he’d kept his promise not to touch her, he’d grown increasingly bolder. She could tell he was growing impatient with his recovery and was ready to make his move.

She flinched when he put his hand over her belly. She forced herself to remain still and not pull away. She didn’t want to anger him, but neither did she want him touching her.

He’d been nothing but gentle with her, and it puzzled her. His touches had become more intimate, and even his speech had been nonthreatening and almost . . . tender. Like he wanted her to like him. No matter how gently he treated her, she wasn’t going to succumb to Stockholm syndrome. She wanted out. That wasn’t going to change no matter how nice he was to her.

“Shouldn’t you start showing soon?” he asked.

They were fast venturing into territory she didn’t want to go into. She moved to the side so his hand would fall away. “Soon,” she agreed, unwilling to say more.

“Does the father know of the child?”

She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at him, making eye contact for the first time. He wore colored contacts now, turning his eyes a smoky blue. She’d never seen him without them since the day after his surgery, when he’d put them in. His hair was now dyed blond and with the plastic surgery, his face had dramatically changed.

“No,” she replied, thinking that answer would please Tristan.

And it did seem to please him. Satisfaction brimmed in his eyes, but they also burned with a possessive light that sent a chill up her spine. She had to give him some credit, as much as it pained her to do so. He’d seen to her needs, made sure she was provided for and accorded her respect and demanded the same of his staff. It was as she’d been treated at his compound in Costa Rica. Pampered guest instead of the prisoner she was.

“Just as well since he’ll have no contact,” Tristan murmured. “You’re mine, Maren. And so is your child.”

She froze, her hands suddenly trembling. She snatched them away from the gauze after securing the tape once more and put them down at her sides so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had on her. She bit her lip to keep from responding to his declaration. Nothing would be gained by her outburst.

“I’d like to have dinner on the terrace tonight. Tell Armand so he can arrange it. You’ll attend, of course,” he said.

As if she had such a choice in the matter.

“I’d like to rest now,” he said dismissively. “I’ll expect you back in the morning. I’d like the bandages off then.”

She started to protest but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He did what he wanted and he’d probably already figured out that she was taking her sweet time about removing the dressings.

She walked to the door and when she opened it, Armand was standing outside to escort her back to her room—or rather her prison.

It wasn’t bad as prisons go. It was the height of luxury and comfort. She had everything she could possibly want or need. Except the one thing she wanted most. Her freedom. She was tired of living in fear. Of tiptoeing around Mendoza/Tristan and worrying each day that he’d break his promise and force himself on her. Or worse, decide to rid her of her child.

She made herself sick with worry. She was paranoid about every meal she ate, every drink she was offered. Always afraid that he’d give her something to make her miscarry. It was no way to live, and it was wearing on her. She didn’t trust his smooth demeanor. She worried that he would catch her off guard and strike when she was at her most vulnerable. So she steeled herself and remained aware at all times. And it was fast wearing her down.

She was underweight, and fatigue was kicking her ass.

Armand pushed off the wall and fell in beside her as she walked back to her room. At her door he paused and then reached down to pick up a bag she hadn’t noticed before.

“I thought you could use these,” he said.

Her forehead crinkled in confusion as she peeked inside. She pulled out a book and saw that it was a pregnancy step-by-step manual complete with pictures and a month-by-month analysis of pregnancy.

The bag also contained several bottles of vitamins and a large selection of packaged treats, as well as gourmet chocolates and an entire box of a variety of tea bags. There was also a pair of reading glasses to replace the ones she’d left behind.

She was dumbfounded by his kindness. Or was it Tristan who’d arranged it? Somehow the thought of him giving her anything made her stomach knot.

“Did he send this to me?” she asked in a low voice.

Armand shook his head. “I picked them up for you. You haven’t been eating well. I thought the teas and the packaged snacks would make you feel more at ease.”

She gaped at him, shocked that he’d read her mind and realized her fear of being drugged.

“Thank you,” she murmured, at a loss as to what else to say.

Armand didn’t say a word. He merely turned around and walked away. A few feet from her door he turned back.

“You’ll have dinner with him on the terrace tonight. But tomorrow you’ll have breakfast in your room after you remove his bandages. After that, he won’t have further need of you until tomorrow night. Dinner will be served in the formal dining room. Dress for it. There’s something in your closet. And a box of shoes at the bottom. He wants you to wear the jewelry on your dresser. Make sure you follow his instructions. Don’t anger him, Maren. No matter how gentle he has been with you to this point, you need to remember that he is a man accustomed to getting what he wants, and he’s not a very nice person when he’s thwarted.”

She licked her lips nervously. Armand had gone shopping for her? He’d been in her closet? In her bedroom? And now he issued orders that made her spine stiffen moments after he did a kindness for her by bringing her the book, the vitamins, and the goodies.

“And take your vitamins,” Armand said sharply. “You do your baby no good by not eating properly and not taking your vitamins.”

She wanted to tell the asshole that she was a doctor and she could take care of herself just fine, but she knew she hadn’t been, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She
did
need to take better care of herself and her child.

“I won’t let him put anything in your food,” Armand said in a quiet voice she very nearly didn’t hear. “I oversee the preparation of all the food. Your baby is safe. I promise.”

With that he walked away, disappearing down the dark hallway. She looked at the bag in bemusement. She was surrounded by crazy. One minute Armand could actually seem . . . nice. And the next? He reminded her that he was Tristan’s hired heavy. His enforcer. Even Carlos, his errand hulk, had been left behind, expendable as Tristan had said. Only Armand had accompanied them away from Costa Rica to Paris and then to God only knew where.

Maren let herself into her room, baffled that she still had no clue where she was. She could be anywhere at all. Armand had blindfolded her when they’d left the apartment Tristan had rented in Paris. She’d remained blindfolded the entire trip. She’d lost count of the hours on the plane. It could have been one hour or ten. Without the ability to look at her watch, she had no idea of the passing time.

Once they’d arrived at their destination, Maren had been ushered inside the monstrous house and her blindfold had been removed. She’d never been off the grounds and was allowed outside only for very short intervals and only with Armand Velcroed to her arm.

The weather was moderate. Not too hot. Not too cool, although the nights were crisper, and for some reason, she got the idea they were in the mountains. Maybe it was the rich smell of pine and the crispness of the air.

She sagged onto her bed, too tired to contemplate taking a hot bath. A quick shower sounded far more enticing, so she could go to sleep that much faster. She dragged herself up and shuffled into the bathroom after making sure her door was securely locked. Though she doubted Tristan would get out of bed this quickly, she’d be a fool to ever assume anything when it came to him. The day she let her guard down would be the day he’d make her regret it.

She locked the bathroom as an extra measure of security and then turned the shower on, waiting for the steam to start rising. Once underneath the spray, she turned her face up into it and let it beat down over her body, absorbing the soothing warmth.

Her hands glided down her body to her still-slim waist. She had lost weight, and it was weight she couldn’t afford to lose. If she wasn’t more careful, she’d end up doing the very thing she feared Tristan would do. She’d harm her baby herself by not taking better care of herself and her child.

“Somehow we’ll get out of this,” she murmured as she smoothed her hands over the spot where her baby rested. “Your daddy will come for us. We have to believe that. He may not know about you yet, but when he finds out, I know he’ll protect us. He won’t turn his back on us, baby. We just have to find a way to get to him.”

She shook herself from the weight of her thoughts and quickly washed her hair. Once she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself, she combed out her wet hair and then began to dress in the clothing Tristan had provided for her.

Judging by the quality and design of the clothing he’d arranged for her, he had plans that didn’t include a platonic relationship between them. Otherwise why would he have bothered with the sexy, revealing lingerie?

She lived each day in fear that he would take that step and cross the line he’d promised her he wouldn’t cross. She wasn’t a naïve fool. She knew he had no intention of keeping that promise. But he seemed determined to woo her instead of forcing his hand. The question was how long it would be before his patience ran out and he figured out that his seduction wasn’t working.

She just hoped like hell that she was long gone before it came to that.