Found Wanting (13 page)

The tension that held Alaina rigid drained away, and she sagged back in the seat, covering her face with her free hand. Several minutes ticked by, and Mitch wondered whether she was crying. He should have felt triumph. The kid wasn't missing after all, and the good guys had won. Layton Keller was going to be reunited with his son within the hour.

But the knot in his stomach didn't loosen. The tension that tightened his shoulders stayed stubbornly put.

"He's never flown before."

The sound of her voice jolted him. Dead. As if someone had just punched a fist through her chest and ripped out her still-beating heart. She sat with her head bowed, her eyes closed. Her face was so still she might have been a corpse.

It took all of his will to turn his gaze back to the road. It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter what she was feeling. She had made her bed ...

"You'll see him tomorrow," he said, his voice gruff. "Focus on that."

She raised her head. "Tomorrow?"

"Keller is arranging to fly you to D.C. tomorrow afternoon."

"Why not tonight?"

"Because tomorrow is the soonest --"

"No. I need to go tonight." Some of the strength returned to her voice. "Now."

It surprised him that she was so eager to get to Washington, where she faced the likelihood of being arrested and charged with kidnapping and maybe even murder. In fact, the feds must be onto her. Otherwise, why would they have showed up at her workplace? Instead of heading right into trouble, she should have been trying to figure out a way to get away from him, so she could go into hiding and save her own butt. "Why the hurry?" he asked.

"Jonah is going to be scared. Confused."

"What's to be confused about? He's finally meeting the father he never knew ..." He trailed off as the real reason for her anxiety hit him. "You never told him Keller is his dad."

She didn't respond, and he took her lack of an answer as affirmation. The knot in his gut drew taut as he imagined what it would be like to meet your son for the first time and know that to him, you would be nothing more than a stranger. Because someone else -- his mother -- had denied you ever existed. "Son of a bitch," he said under his breath.

"I had good reasons," she replied, no more emotion in her voice than if she'd said that it looked like rain.

He snorted in irritation. "Of course you did."

"You have no idea what happened then. You don't know what that --"

"You're right," he cut in. "I don't know, and I don't need to. All I know is that you never told his kid who his father is. When Jonah finds out ... he's not going to be too happy with you. All the lies you've told him --"

"I never --" She broke off, fisting her hand on her knee. "I protected my son."

"You lied to him. Every damn day of his life."

"I don't have to justify anything to you."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, you don't. But your son will want an explanation, and I hope it's a good one, because what you've done is going to leave some deep wounds."

"Can we focus on getting to D.C. tonight?"

"We're not going to D.C. tonight. We're staying put like my boss told me."

"So that's it? You're just Layton's lackey? You do whatever he tells you and don't ask questions?"

"I ask questions when the situation warrants it."

"Then why aren't you asking yourself how it is that Jonah is on a jet to D.C. when you supposedly never told Layton where to find us?"

Ignoring her, he took the exit that would lead them to the hotel room he'd kept for the past three weeks. "I'm done with the Q&A session."

"Because you can't answer that."

"It doesn't matter. The drama is over. Your son is safe, and tomorrow, you'll face the music."

* * *

At the hotel, Mitch was relieved that no one was in sight, because he didn't doubt that, given the chance, Alaina would have screamed her head off. Luckily, no opportunity presented itself. In the room, he told her to sit on the bed as he worked the key to the cuffs out of his pocket.

She obeyed, completely docile, her head down, dark hair falling forward.

He figured the fight had finally gone out of her. He couldn't blame her. She'd had a tough day. On the other hand, it left him a little disappointed. He hadn't expected she would ever give in. Not when it came to her son. He realized his mistake when he unlocked the cuff from his wrist and moved to secure it to the headboard.

Her body leapt to life, and jerking away from him, she made a break for freedom.

Even caught off guard, he was able to get to her before she had her hand on the doorknob. Grabbing her shoulder, he whirled her around and levered her against the wall next to the door.

She fired a fist at his head, and he caught and pinned it to the wall. Ditto the other hand. Next, she tried to fight with her knees, and he trapped them, too, until he was pressed against her from head to toe. His every hard angle dug into her every soft curve. He had to be hurting her, but he couldn't back off. She would nail him the instant he did.

Panting, she leaned her head against the wall, her eyes flashing with frustration. He dragged his gaze from her mouth, conscious that, as she moistened her lips, the drumming beat of his heart tripled. An alarm went off in his head. What the hell?

Oblivious, she strained against him, still determined to break his hold. Lifting his hips back, he immobilized her at the shoulders and firmly planted one of his thighs between hers to keep her knees from attempting any damage. The change in position did nothing to calm his sudden, raging awareness of her as a woman. Her scent -- lavender and vanilla -- filled his head.

She must have felt the shift in him, because she suddenly went deathly still. Breathing hard, he wondered what had chased the flush out of her face.

Wary now, and clearly frightened, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to keep you from knocking my balls up into my throat," he growled.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed, every inch of her rigid, as if she expected him to rip into her throat with his teeth. "You can let go," she said.

"Are you going to behave?"

"Yes."

But he hesitated to release her. She'd fooled him with compliance only a few moments before, and then she'd struck. He didn't trust her.

"Let go," she said, giving her wrist an impatient jerk.

Instead, he lifted her off her feet and hauled her toward the bed. She writhed so violently in his arms that he almost dropped her. "Dammit, knock it off," he snapped. Then, annoyed at her and himself, he tossed her onto the bed.

She barely bounced before she twisted and tried to scramble away. Seizing her by the ankle, he dragged her back and straddled her, trying to subdue her long enough to get the handcuff attached to the headboard. Under him, her eyes went blind with terror. "No! No! Get off!"

He reared back to dodge a flailing fist, caught her wrist and flattened it to the bed next to her head. She bucked frantically, the cords in her neck standing out. "Don't! Don't!"

The frenzied desperation of her struggles, as if she were suddenly certain he was going to kill her, shocked him. He couldn't hold her still long enough to snap the handcuff around her wrist. Afraid she would hurt herself, though she gave no indication of pain, he leaned over her and said her name. "Alaina."

She didn't seem to hear as she thrashed. Then she started to beg. "Please, no. Please, no."

His stomach wrenching, Mitch made one last effort to secure the cuff and nailed it. Relieved, he rolled away from her and to his feet.

Alaina curled into a protective ball on her side, shuddering as she covered her face with her free hand. Her breathing was harsh and uneven.

He watched her, a sick feeling in his gut. Getting the hell out of that hotel room suddenly became imperative. "There's something I have to do," he said, then cleared the shakiness from his throat. "I'll bring back food."

She made no sound, her eyes tightly closed.

Before he left, he crossed to the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. Though he doubted she was in any shape to try to make a call, he couldn't take the chance.

When the cool air outside struck his face, he stopped and drew it into his lungs, seeking its calming effect.

She'd thought he was going to assault her.

The knowledge made his head whirl, and he tried to process it. Had she glimpsed the flare of lust in his eyes? Because he acknowledged that, for a moment, his thoughts had veered in that direction. How could they not? She was an attractive, spirited woman with enormous appeal. Had their gazes met across a crowded room, on neutral ground, he would have been drawn to her in an instant. In the past few weeks, while watching her with her son, he had noted her attractiveness, but it had been of no consequence. She'd been an assignment, a job. How striking she was didn't change his objective.

Perhaps that was why the physicality of the moment against the door had caught him so off guard. He hadn't expected to have those feelings for her. He wasn't even sure now why he had.

One thing he did know for sure: The wild fear in those gray-green eyes of hers would haunt him for the rest of his life. And his heart ached with the knowledge that he had terrorized her.

Standing near the door for several moments, he listened for weeping, but if she made any noise, he didn't hear it.

Finally, he pocketed his hands and walked away.

* * *

Alaina lay with her eyes closed, one hand fisted against her chest, the other cuffed to the headboard. Her muscles were so taut, they ached, but she couldn't get her body to relax. She focused on breathing, telling herself that she was okay, that he had not hurt her, that he'd had no intention of hurting her. Still, memories pummeled her. Layton tearing at her clothes, shoving himself into her. The terror was fresh, as if it had happened yesterday rather than fifteen years ago. She had worked hard over the years to keep the memories at bay. Counseling had been a tremendous help. But perhaps more effective: There had been more important things to do, a child to take care of, someone whose very survival depended on her maintaining her grip.

But now Jonah might be lost to her. And there was nothing ... nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. Soon, he would know. Soon, he would meet his charming father, a man who could sell a side of beef to a vegetarian. That man would tell the vulnerable fourteen-year-old boy that his heartless mother had stolen him away, denying him a life beyond his wildest imaginings.

Despair was a live thing, writhing inside her, and she fought to control it.

As her raging heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed, she turned her attention to the cuffs securing her wrist to the headboard. Jerking against them, she found them to be steadfast. The movement also sent a surge of pain into her injured shoulder. She rubbed the soreness absently, considering her options.

They were beyond limited. In fact, there was only one: Go to D.C. and face the past.