No Mercy (24 page)

“I’m never letting you go again.”

Dylan’s words stayed in Belle’s head, refusing to leave. It gave her a feeling of exhilaration, like

she was running up a mountain, a fresh breeze on her face, and not one bit tired as she headed to

the peak.

And then her stomach felt heavy, as if thick sludge slithered through her intestines. She had to

tell him. But when she shared the truth with him, told him everything, he wasn’t going to want her

any more.

Maybe worse, he might try to kil her stepfather. Not that the bastard didn’t deserve it, but she

didn’t want anything to happen to Dylan. She didn’t want to see this brave, amazing man behind

bars for the rest of his life.

“Is something wrong?” Dylan eyed her as she braced her palms against his chest and

straightened on his lap, water splashing as she shifted.

“Everything is fine.” She smiled and to her surprise she felt an instant warm bubble in her chest

as he returned her smile—the way he looked at her was like magic. Maybe for a few minutes she

could pretend that they could have a relationship…pretend that she real y could be his and he could

be hers.

The bubble burst and the heaviness returned to her belly. She needed to tell him.

She would wait, though. She had to find the right time, and now was not it.

God, this rollercoaster of emotions was going to drive her out of her mind. How could she feel

such elation when she didn’t deserve it?

As she let his cock slide from inside her, she reached for the small bottle of hotel shampoo.

He disposed of the condom and insisted on washing her hair himself. The feel of his big, strong

hands massaging her scalp as he lathered her hair was heaven. Soap rolled over her shoulders and

down her breasts in thick rivers of bubbles. When he finished shampooing her hair, he helped her

rinse it under the faucet with clean water. He repeated the process with conditioner, working it into

her hair and rubbing her scalp. Yes, it was heaven. She gave a sigh as he rinsed her hair beneath

the faucet until the conditioner was out.

His touch was erotic, sending prickles of awareness through her at every touch.

When he was finished, she pushed wet hair away from her face. “My turn.” After getting his hair

wet beneath the faucet, she grabbed the small bottle and poured a dollop of shampoo onto her palm.

She sat on her haunches to reach his head more easily. She slid her fingers into his hair and began

working the shampoo into the wet strands and bringing it to a full lather.

When she finished washing his hair, she soaped his body with a washcloth and soap, loving the

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taking advantage of the time she had to explore the bigger version of his body that she had once

known so well.

It was her turn next, and he took the cloth and soap from her. He soaped her in slow, easy

motions, gently running the cloth over her breasts and down to her belly before rinsing her off.

Belle had never had such an intensely wonderful sensual experience. The way Dylan touched

her was almost like he was making love to her all over again.

The water was cool once they had finished bathing each other. He climbed out and clasped her

hand to help her out of the tub before taking one of the B & B’s thick and fluffy towels and drying

every bit of her body. They put one of the towels on the floor to soak up the water they’d sloshed

everywhere.

Joe remained on silent vigil near the front door, as if intent on protecting them at all costs. His

presence comforted Belle. Between Dylan and the German shepherd, she couldn’t feel safer.

Dylan’s phone rang and he retrieved it. When he disconnected the call, he told Belle that the

agent had arrived with the change of clothing. Dylan had given Bel e’s clothing sizes to Sofia

yesterday afternoon; he had clean clothes in his duffel bag.

Dylan finished dressing, put on his shoulder holster, and sheathed his weapon. He also

holstered his phone and slid his credentials into his back pocket before heading downstairs to meet

the agent.

While Dylan was downstairs, Belle stood in front of the bathroom mirror and dried her hair with

the B & B’s blow dryer. She wore only the towel secured around her and had to use her fingers to

comb out the strands of hair as she blow-dried it.

Her hair was pretty much dry by the time Dylan returned. He laid a stack of clothes on the bed

and then handed her a medium-sized duffel bag. She peered into the duffel and was grateful when

she found a smaller bag with a toothbrush and other essential toiletries, and even a tube of neutral-

toned lipstick that could go with almost any complexion. The agent who had gathered the supplies

had to have been a woman who understood the power of lipstick.

It didn’t take Belle long to pul her hair back into a ponytail, wash her face, brush her teeth and

put on a touch of lipstick. When she was finished, she dropped the towel and went to the bed to

check out the clothing the agent had brought.

Dylan watched her with hunger in his gaze, as if he was ready to take her back to bed. But it

was time to get going, and she knew it as well as he did.

“I want to see Christie.” Belle tore off the price tags and then stepped into the new jeans that the

agent had dropped off. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Dylan frowned. “A couple of agents wil be on your protective detail here.”

“I’m going with you.” Belle shook her head, her words hard and firm. “I refuse to be left behind.”

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sweater. “We’re not staying long. I need to talk with Christie about her postcard and Nate, and then

we’l head on out. It’s too dangerous having too many of us at the same location.”

“Thank you.” She felt lighter from relief as she moved toward him, her bare feet sinking into the

carpet. She’d expected him to argue more against her accompanying him. “I need to see her for

myself and make sure she’s okay.”

“I do, too.” He reached out and cupped the side of her face. “It’s bad enough that Nate and Tom

are gone, and Marta’s in serious condition in the hospital. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She raised herself up on her toes and brushed her mouth over his. “I trust you to keep us all

safe.”

He slipped his hands into her hair and kissed her.

While Belle finished dressing, Dylan checked out and paid the bill. He felt edgy, uneasy. It was

an intense, unusual feeling, and had everything to do with losing friends and needing to protect the

living. The CoS had been family to him, and he knew the others felt the same way. Yes, they’d

drifted apart over the years, but the true bond had never broken. Even when Belle was gone, he’d

still felt somehow tethered to her wherever she went.

Belle was fully dressed by the time he returned, her dirty clothes in the duffel along with the

toiletries.

“You’re so beautiful.” He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her yet again. “I want you to stay by

my side. I’m not taking any chances.”

She offered a smile. “I’l be fine.”

He studied her, feeling both exasperated and proud. She’d always been independent, but she

was tougher now. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and refused to be coddled. She’d

gone out into the world at a young age and had more than survived. It had taken a lot of guts to do

the things she’d done and accomplish all she had.

While she checked to make sure they hadn’t left anything, Dylan carried her duffel to the living

room. He set it next to his own duffel and started to gather the copies of the postcards and the

notations he’d made on the chart he’d created on the notepad.

Dylan turned to see Belle walking out of the bedroom, bringing a cell phone to her ear. Shit, he’d

been so damned tired he’d forgotten to tell her to turn it off and keep it off. He started to tell her to

give him the phone when clear concern caused Belle’s brow to furrow.

“Christie?” Belle said. “You’re cutting out.” A pause and then Belle looked at Dylan and then at

the phone. “The call disconnected.”

Dylan took the phone from Belle and looked at the caller list. “Whatever number she called you

on was blocked.” He powered down the phone. “Are you sure that was Christie? She shouldn’t have

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Belle nodded. “It was her voice, but I couldn’t understand anything she said.”

“Hold on.” Dylan’s chest tightened as he dialed the number on his own phone for one of the

agents protecting Christie and Salvatore.

“Davidson here.” Trace’s firm voice came over the line. “What’s up, Dylan?”

Relief that nothing sounded amiss in the agent’s voice relaxed Dylan. “Is Christie all right?”

Trace said. “She seems tired and on edge, but I chalk that up to the situation.”

The tenseness in Dylan’s muscles relaxed a bit. “Why didn’t you take their phones away?”

“We did,” Trace said. “Standard procedure.”

Dylan tensed again. “She just called Belle from a blocked number.”

Trace sounded puzzled. “That’s not possible.”

“Anything’s possible.” Dylan’s jaw tensed. “Is she right there with you?”

“No,” Trace said. “She went with Salvatore to their bedroom for a nap.”

“Is anything out of the ordinary?” Dylan asked.

“Not until now.” Trace had a frown in his voice. “We’l search for another phone in case Salvatore

has a second phone.”

Something didn’t feel right in Dylan’s gut. “I’d like you to check on Christie.”

“Hang tight. I’l see if she’s awake.” Trace added, “I’l see if they have a phone we didn’t know

about.”

Dylan’s gut tightened as he waited for Trace to come back on the line. He heard muffled

conversation.

Trace spoke into the phone again. “Everything seems normal other than Christie looking a little

paler.”

“Have them come into the living room.” Dylan finished scooping up everything he’d brought with

him, including the copies of the postcards, and shoved them into his duffel bag. “I need to talk with

Christie. I’m on my way and we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You’ve got it. We’l do a search for another phone.” Trace disconnected the call.

Dylan holstered his phone and saw that Belle looked worried. “Is Christie all right?” she asked.

“Things are fine according to Trace.” Dylan zipped the duffel. “The call you got was odd. You’re

certain it was Christie?”

Belle cocked her head to the side. “It sure sounded like her.”

Dylan nodded. “We’l talk to her ourselves.”

“We know her well enough to tell if something’s wrong.” Belle picked up her bag.

“I’l get that.” He took the bag from her and grabbed his own before they left the room and shut

the door behind them.

Joe accompanied them to the SUV and hopped into the back seat with little urging from Dylan.

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jogged to the driver’s side and got in.

The place Christie and her husband were staying at was a modest house in Tombstone Canyon,

not far from the Divide and the Mule Pass Tunnel, and a short drive from the B & B. The place was

a little way from Tom’s former home.

Normally, Dylan would have taken a while to make sure he wasn’t followed. In order to get to

the safe house in a hurry, he had to go directly there and do his best to ensure he didn’t have a tail.

Belle thought she was going to go crazy with worry. She knew her friends were all supposed to

have been safely guarded, but something was wrong. For Christie to call like she had and how

she’d talked with Dylan… Was one of the agents there dirty? That was how it usually went on TV

and in the movies—dirty cops, dirty agents.

She mentally shook her head. That was TV and movies. This was real life.

Dylan and Belle arrived at the safe house. Her stomach ached while her skin felt tight over her

bones.

Clearly wary of his surroundings, Dylan strode to the front door with Belle at his side and Joe on

the leash. Dylan had his pistol in his shoulder holster and had added another weapon in a holster on

his hip. He went up to the front door but didn’t knock. He un-holstered his phone and dialed a number.

“I’m at the front door, Trace,” Dylan said when the man answered. “Everything okay?”

A moment and then Dylan said, “Good. Let us in.”

The heavy-duty bolt locks made loud
thunks
as they were opened. Dylan re-holstered his phone

as he glanced at Belle.

Trace Davidson was one of the agents and he bolted the heavy door behind them once they

were all inside. The other was Agent Jennie Ortega, who Belle had met briefly at the DHS office.

Joe growled, drawing her attention. Joe’s lips curled, his teeth bared. Belle followed his gaze

and saw he was growling at Salvatore, who sat next to Christie on a loveseat.

With a snarl Joe lunged, throwing his body against the leash. Dylan was almost yanked forward

from the unexpected charge, and barely kept hold of the German shepherd.

The dog fought against the leash, snarling and barking, his attention solely on Salvatore.

Looking terrified, Salvatore shouted at Dylan. “Control that beast.”