Lie with Me (23 page)

She shook after that admission, actually felt her body tremble. She even held out a shaking arm, palm raised as if to ward him off.

Dylan didn’t move a muscle, didn’t blink—just absorbed her rant and her pain, took it all … didn’t leave. Which meant that, after all this, he probably never would.

The tears were unstoppable and she didn’t even try.

In three seconds, despite her protests, her feeble attempts to push him away as he tried to pick her up, she curled in his arms, her body heaving against his from her sobs. Heavy. Choked.

All those years of surviving in a man’s world—first the Navy, and then in the heady and dangerous world of black ops. Proving time and time again that she didn’t need anything but herself to survive.

After a few minutes of comforting her in the poorly lit garage, Dylan pushed off the side of the car and opened the door to the house with her still in his arms. He managed to disarm the alarm and lock them in before bringing her to the couch in the small living room.

She collapsed on it, every part of her body aching, as if the lack of oxygen tore her strength away. Her head pounded and her throat was swollen—but all in all, she’d definitely live.

He left her for a few minutes. She heard him making a phone call and then rifling around in the kitchen. When he came back, he had tea for her and an ice bag. “So the bullshit’s over—you’re going to let me help you now?”

“Why would you want to, after everything? After what I did, I was honestly waiting for you to … humiliate me. To get me back.”

He gently pushed some stray hair off her forehead. It always amazed her that such a strong, deadly man could keep his caresses light enough to make her shiver. “I don’t want to humiliate you. And yeah, I’m angry as hell at you, confused. But you were in big trouble. You still are, and you’re kidding yourself if you think you can handle it alone.”

“I had a choice to make, Dylan. And now I have another and I need to handle it alone.” Her life from age fifteen on had been less about choice and more about reaction. Crawling and scratching and fighting her way from the fear that she’d lived with for so long, that everything would be taken from her again one day, without notice. That people she loved would disappear and there was nothing she could do about it.

He pressed the ice bag on her head, and she winced.

“I knew Gabriel would never have cleared my father’s name. Never. The best I could do was get revenge,” she whispered.

Dylan was staring down at her, the conflict in his eyes unmistakable. “I called in a favor, found out that Gabriel Creighton was following an order to kill a double agent who’d compromised U.S. security and was behind two terrorist bombings on our overseas embassies. That agent was your father.”

“So it’s true, then.” Her voice was hollow, shoulders sagged. “All this time, I’ve been trying to clear my father’s name. I’ve put everything on the line—including my life—and he really was a traitor.”

“Money and power have a strange effect on people, Ri.” His voice softened on the next words. “I didn’t want to be the one who told you about your father.”

“You told me the truth—that’s all I’ve ever wanted, to know the truth, even if it’s not pretty.” She sat up, a brief look of pain crossing her pretty face. “Is DMH after Gabriel’s daughter now?”

“Yes.”

She wiped away the stray tears from under each eye. “What can I do to make this right?”

“You can help to get Gabriel away from whoever’s got him. We have to bring him to the CIA—from there, it’s up to him to deal with the consequences.”

“Or not.”

“Or not,” he agreed.

“After what I did to you, why would you want to help me clear my conscience?”

“Because I love you, Riley. I goddamned, no holds barred, can’t not admit it any longer, love you!” he yelled. Probably wasn’t the most romantic declaration ever uttered. But it had been honest.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment—wanted to, but the words stuck in her throat, bogged down as if by thick molasses. No, she couldn’t say the words back to him, even though she felt the same way.

The light in Dylan’s eyes didn’t diminish—it was as if he hadn’t expected her to declare her love. “It’s okay, Ri. I was invested the second I took you to bed, Riley, and I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.”

“I don’t know who to believe. I’ve been living on broken promises for so long, I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she admitted, and Dylan swore.

“I’m real, dammit. And you know it.”

CHAPTER

12

A
fter quick, separate showers—because Cam didn’t trust himself anywhere near Sky naked again—they were ready to leave the motel for the next location.

The crappy motel had been a good sanctuary, and leaving had been the last thing he’d wanted to do.

Somehow, they had … meshed, when he hadn’t been paying attention. Folded into each other. And he was content. Comfortable. Both were odd sensations for him, and it was no wonder he hadn’t been able to recognize them.

He’d wanted her to help him forget everything—everything but her.

Even so, he’d forgotten who she was.

And when she learned the truth of why he’d come to her, what the hell would she do?

No matter, the danger lurking out there was real, and both he and Sky were targets. Until they got to the bottom of it, discovered why she was being targeted, he had to keep both their asses out of the line of fire.

He watched her check her phone. It hadn’t fully charged on the ride there, but she’d plugged it in when they’d arrived.

“Full battery,” she told him as she scrolled through her messages. “Nothing important,” she said with a shake of her head, and she sounded disappointed.

He wanted to tell her that no news was good news, but really, that expression was bullshit. “Let’s move.”

She nodded in agreement, even though her face was set in a serious expression. “Did you ever find out who the men were back at the resort house?”

He shook his head and slid ahead of her, said over his shoulder, “Like I figured, the car was stolen.”

She tightened her coat and walked out of the room behind him, into the cold, dark night. And then she asked, “Why don’t you let me drive for a while? You didn’t rest and I did. I mean, you don’t have to keep constant watch on me in a moving vehicle.”

She was right—and sleep would help—even a light one. But his resolve and his pride resisted, because if he had to remain awake, he could. “I’ll be fine.”

When she touched his chest and said, “You need sleep to heal,” he almost lost it. He’d revealed more about himself than he ever had before, all while keeping himself a secret.

He was confused. In pain. Alone.

And he was with a woman who’d touched him in a way he’d never thought possible. “If you’re sure.”

“It would make me feel better, like I was doing something. I don’t do helpless well, Cam.”

It was those words that won him over, and he couldn’t help it, he grabbed her and he pulled her in for a kiss—a long, hot one that threatened to overtake them both and make him carry her back into the room.

She held the front of his shirt in her fists to keep him close, and his hands wound in her hair. She’d loosened it before going to sleep, and now his hands ran through the silky strands as his tongue dueled with hers.

“Jesus, Sky,” he said when he pulled away.

She smiled. “Right. I’ll just drive, then.”

Unlike last time, he didn’t argue, simply opened the driver’s door for her and helped her in. She turned the engine over while he walked around to the passenger’s side and hoisted himself in, tried not to wince as his shoulder hit the seat.

Then he set the GPS for the next location. “We’re ready.”

She nodded and pulled out of the space, obviously comfortable with the big truck. She looked cute driving it.

Cute.

Fuck
.

Idiot.

Her hands gripped the wheel. She was stronger physically than she looked. At one time, she was probably in pretty prime condition, could no doubt get back there again when her recovery was complete.

He could help her. Make her feel stronger. But she looked damned fine to him …

“Why do you keep looking at me?” she asked, her voice teasing as she repeated his earlier words back to him.

“Because you’re hot.”

He noted with satisfaction that her cheeks pinked up appreciatively and a small smile played on her lips. He wanted to keep bringing the smile to her face.

He pushed his seat back a bit and closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, the way he’d been taught during Ranger School and then Delta training, getting the most bang for the buck in the shortest possible time. A twenty-minute nap could hold him two days, if necessary.

But the damned dream—the one he could never wake himself up from—hit him out of the blue. It was like swimming through the murk while the bars clanked and he felt the men ganging up on him, the way they’d promised.

He smelled hot asphalt and tar and sweat … the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Somehow, it was him against at least three men
.

If he went down completely, more than three would be on him. But for now, the others were content to watch and clap. Called him
baby boy.
Told him what they’d planned on doing with him once they’d pinned him
.

The rage and frustration fueled him. It had been nine months of grief and fighting, and Cam was prepared to do anything it took to keep these men off him. The jeers and the yelling flooded his ears, until he couldn’t hear his own thoughts
.

His head pressed against the hot ground—the jarring, mind-numbing pain as the knife sliced along the back of his
ear. The realization that they were actually attempting to saw his fucking ear off
.

He roared, threw the man off him, watched him slam to the ground and felt satisfaction when the guy howled in pain. One of the others grabbed his arms from behind, leaving Cam open to hard punches in the gut from another inmate
.

He managed to leverage himself against the man holding him, got his legs in the air and wrapped them around his attacker’s neck, squeezed until his face went blue
.

And then there were shots fired in the air—more yelling, guards dragging him off after hitting him with nightsticks
.

Infirmary. The nurse’s face swam in front of him. Getting stitched without Lidocaine and not feeling any pain. His adrenaline was pumping too hard to give a shit about much of anything
.

And hours later, he woke in solitary, where he remained for weeks. Was told that the man he’d stabbed, the one who’d started the fight, had died of an infection stemming from the wound
.

A danger … lethal. A lifer. What did you expect?

And then Mariana’s face, and the face of her son—both swam in front of him and he desperately wanted out of this dream, but he’d been pulled in too deeply. The pain sizzled through him as if all of it was real, like this
wasn’t
a nightmare he was desperately trying to crawl out of.

And then she was pushing him, hard.

He locked her wrist in his hand, gun pulled, pointed at her. And in that moment, he truly woke and saw the fear and concern on Sky’s face—Sky, not Mariana—and realized he could’ve easily hurt her.

Just because she’d woken him.

Fuck. “Sorry.” The word was so inadequate. Always had been. Simultaneously, he put the gun down and dropped her wrist.

“Yeah, me too.” She took a deep breath. “You were talking in your sleep. You said a woman’s name.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“You didn’t sound happy.”

“Maybe it is what you think, then.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced the memories out. “Is that why you woke me?”

“No. We’re being followed.” Her voice was terse, her posture stiff.

“You’re sure?”

“At first I thought they were traveling smart, just using our tracks, but …” She shook her head and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“For how long?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

They’d only been driving for half an hour, according to the clock on the dash.

When they’d gotten on the highway, there had been a few other trucks around them—they’d passed them quickly, as his truck seemed to have no problem handling speed, despite the conditions.

He watched this particular one in the side mirror for about ten more minutes, the heavy feeling settling in his gut that it was trouble.

Trouble now coming closer.

“Do you think they’re following us?” Sky asked. “I could just be paranoid … although I have pretty good reason to be.”

“We’re going to find out. Don’t check your mirror. Eyes straight. Keep driving—keep the same speed,” he instructed. “There’s a truck stop ahead. Pull in and act like you’re going to park. And then floor it the hell out of there.”

“Won’t they know we’re on to them?”

He glanced at her. “I have a feeling they already do.”

S
ky prepared to follow Cam’s instructions, trying not to panic as he locked and loaded a rifle and a shotgun. If they pulled into the rest stop and the truck behind them kept going, they were all right. If the car followed them into the parking lot, and then out again, they were in trouble.

“You’ll do fine,” he told her, his voice kind and commanding at the same time. “All you need to do is drive. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He’d taken care of her before—she had every reason to believe he was fully capable of doing so again. And so she pulled off toward the rest stop.

“He’s following,” he said.

She drove through the near-empty parking lot and faked a right turn into a space, before gunning it. The pavement was slippery, even with the dual aid of thick tires and four-wheel drive, and she concentrated on what she needed to do.

And breathing.

“Nice, Sky,” he murmured. She didn’t dare turn to look at him; instead, she pulled back onto the four-lane highway as fast as she could … and sure enough, there were the brights of the truck shining in her mirrors.