The Reunited (16 page)

As he withdrew, she cried out, clenching down around him, desperate to keep him inside her, her nails biting into his shoulders. He snarled, shoved deeper, harder.

She felt his hand tangling in her hair, the other hooking under her shoulders to hold her steady as his hips slammed against her. And it was so damned good, so damned amazing . . .

And although it was nothing but a dream, she climaxed hard, so hard, it stole the very breath from her lungs and left her crying.

Before she could even process what was happening next, though . . . she started to fade.

She could even feel the edges of the dream unraveling. Felt it withering away . . .

“Stay with me,” he rasped.

Dru struggled as the dream started to fade.

“Look at me.”

Lost, fighting whatever it was that seemed to pull her away, she stared into those dark eyes. They anchored her, pulled her in. “Just look at me. Stay with me,” he said, his voice firm . . . and yet under it, she heard a desperate plea.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re both waking up.” He looked around. “I can’t hold this outside of dreams.”

“What’s your name?”

Just before he faded completely, he flashed her one quick smile. “It’s Joss.”

*   *   *

J
OSS
 . . .

She came awake with his name echoing through her mind, his taste lingering on her lips . . . her entire body was still shuddering with the aftereffects of the climax, and although she
knew
she hadn’t had sex, it damn well felt like she had.

There were tears on her face. Her heart still raced.

And fear had her skin like ice. The fear only got worse when she licked her lips and thought she could taste the echo of his kiss.

“Don’t let him take you . . .”

As his words circled through her mind, Dru swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, her entire body trembling, shaking, her gut a tight, cold knot.

Deep inside, in her soul, she ached.

It felt like somebody had taken her heart and just shattered it, smashed it, and then sewn up the biggest pieces without bothering to make sure everything fit. She felt incomplete. She felt broken.

All from a dream.

“I’m losing my mind. Went nuts under the stress, that’s all.”

Except she didn’t
feel
like she was going crazy.

That thought made her laugh.
Oh, right, like the typical crazy person
feels
off their rocker.
Sighing, she shoved her hair back and buried her face in her hands. She had to get a grip. Ever mindful of the cameras, she pretended to sit there, like she did every morning, tried to pretend she hadn’t just had the very foundation of her entire world rocked.
Just stop thinking about it. Just don’t think . . .

It shouldn’t be that hard.

But the dream, it was like it was stuck on instant replay, right there in her mind.

Another life . . . I always remembered. But you’ve forgotten . . . haven’t you?
Those dark eyes, locked on her face, so intent. So full of want, need, desire.

Love.

If I ever knew you, I’d remember,
she’d told him. And yes. She knew that to be true. That man . . .
Joss
 . . . he wasn’t a man she’d forget. Wasn’t a man she’d let go.

Unless he was taken from her.

He killed me . . .
Remembering
that
was like a brutal, two-fisted punch to her heart, and she wanted to scream from it. Wanted to rage, to cry.

He hit you before . . . and he killed me. After that, I don’t know what became of you. But I think you do. If you’ll let yourself remember.

Let yourself remember . . .

Maybe I really am losing my mind
.

There was a massive headache pounding behind her eyes, courtesy of the massive amounts of rum she’d taken in last night after Patrick had left. She’d feigned sleep until he locked the door and then she’d promptly made free with the liquor cabinet and tried to drown herself in a vat of rum, but it hadn’t done any good.

Neither had the blistering shower she’d taken.

Now she was stuck with a brutal headache, a brutal hangover, and crystal-clear memories of what she’d done.

She’d had sex with that monster. Again.

Granted, if she hadn’t had sex with him, he would have just raped her. Again. She’d much rather be in control than let him force her again, but in the end, she still felt dirty. Used.

Bruised.

It hadn’t bothered her quite this much before. Oh, it had bothered her, but now . . .

What had changed?

Except she already knew.

Don’t let him take you away again . . .

She met a man. She shared a stolen kiss.

And suddenly, the shadowy, insubstantial dreams that had haunted her weren’t so shadowy or insubstantial.

Let yourself remember . . .

She was either losing her mind . . . or she would wish she was, if she
did
let herself remember, she suspected.

SIXTEEN

H
E
heard her say his name.

Even as he lay there, more awake than asleep, Joss heard her say his name.

And he wanted to hit something.

They’d connected in that dream—finally, a real connection, not just those remnants of a dream.

But did he have time to track her down today?

No.

He was meeting Jones in an hour.

There was already somebody out there, lurking and waiting for him to vacate the premises—Joss could feel her presence, a tired, cranky bitch who just wanted to plant the
“effin cameras and get her ass back to bed,”
as she thought it.
But no . . . she had to clean the fucking cabin, too, what in the hell did he think she was, a maid?

Her thoughts, high-strung and erratic, had Joss groaning. Rolling out of bed, he shuffled to the kitchen and got a cup of coffee. He’d hit the grocery store last night and gotten himself a fresh bag of coffee. He wasn’t touching anything his good buddy Hennegan had used.

He’d set the coffeemaker to brew before he went to bed, so there was already coffee waiting and the scent of it did something to wake up his lethargic brain.

Coffee in hand, he headed to the bathroom. Shower. Coffee. He just might wake up in time to meet with Jones and explain just what in the hell he needed to do. Convince the boss he had to do it this way. And wait for the shit to hit the fan. Listen to Taylor inform him in that very polite way of his that it wouldn’t happen.

And then Joss would tell him to fuck off, he had to do it this way, and then they could get down to business.

There were things he was meant to do . . . so those certain things could unfold as they needed to.

This sucked.

But first he had to wake up enough to face the damn day. Still clutching his coffee as if it were a lifesaver, he shuffled to the shower and turned it on. Hot. Enough hot water pounding down on him should clear the cobwebs from his brain. Between that and the coffee, he should be able to handle facing Jones.

One more swig from the cup, hot enough to burn his tongue, and then he all but fell in, standing under the brutally hot spray and groaning as it beat down on tense, tight muscles.

Just needed to get past the dream. Needed to wake up . . .

Needed . . .

Dru
 . . .

Groaning, he slammed his head back against the tile wall. He needed
not
to think of her just now. Because that was all it took. He’d woken up edgy and needy and now . . .

The heat from the shower wrapped around him, kissing his skin almost like a woman’s mouth. Almost, but not quite. That was fine. He’d close his eyes and pretend.

Pretend Dru was here. Wrapping his fist around his cock, he let himself slip back into the dream he was trying to forget and started to stroke. Thought of her lips. Her smooth, honey gold skin and that sleek, shiny hair.

His breath hitched in his lungs as he neared the head, imagined it was her hands on him. Or her mouth. Or her sweet, sweet pussy . . .

“Fuck,”
he snarled, jerking harder. Harder.

Hunger, almost painful, twisted in his gut, and he surged away from the wall, slamming a hand against the tile in front of him, head bowed, water pouring down. Her face . . . her eyes.
Her . . .

He needed her here. With him.

Instead he was alone . . .

With a ragged, tortured groan, he came.

And even though he was there alone, with nothing but his thoughts, they were thoughts of
her . . .
and it was more satisfying than anything he could remember in a long, long time.

She was real.
Real
. Here. And he could find her.

As soon as this damn job was done and he could leave.

*   *   *

L
EAVING
was the last thing Dru needed to do. She dressed like she was going to work out in the fitness facilities provided. She did that often enough. Sometimes she even ran on the grounds.

So that wasn’t so unusual.

She kept her pace steady, knowing she had a shadow.

But she kept going longer than her shadow could.

Running was her escape. Even when she knew she had to come back.

She’d done this more than a few times, and Patrick hadn’t been particularly pleased, but neither had he said anything.

The dumbfuck following her was going to get his ass ripped for letting her evade him, but that was his own fault, and this time, she had a hard time feeling guilty that another was going to suffer over Patrick’s anger with her. She’d seen this one through the flashes with Patrick, seen him enough to know that Patrick used him for his dirty work.

If he chose to work for a monster, then he needed to be prepared for what the monster would do.

And maybe build up his endurance.

He fell back after the second mile.

By the third mile, he was no longer in sight when she rounded the corner and she let loose, pounding the pavement and letting herself take off.

Her muscles were loose and easy by the fourth mile, and she breathed easier once she’d fallen onto the lesser known paths to leave the resort property. She hadn’t spent so much time crawling over satellite feeds of all of this property for nothing. She knew it like the back of her hand.

Part of her wanted to just keep running. She could do it . . . throughout college, she’d done long-distance running and she still kept up with it. Her muscles would ache and burn if she did more than eight or ten miles, but she could do it, if she had to.

She could run, leave this place behind.

She had contacts. She hadn’t come into this job blind—that would have been suicide.

She had her phone, cash, stowed on her. She never left her room without taking a few necessary items with her after all.

And in a secure location not too far from here, she had everything she needed to get back to
her
life. To who she was . . . She could go back to England, pick up the pieces of her business, and forget all about this.

The echos of the screams stopped her. The pain they’d suffered. The loss.

Slowing to a halt, she bent over and gave herself a minute to catch her breath.

Yes. She could run.

Yes. She could leave Patrick behind, disappear and return to life, pick up the pieces, and get back to her job. The only thing she really had to do was make a couple of phone calls. The few people who knew where she was, well, she’d rather they not worry that he’d done her in.

She could let them know. Maybe even send an anonymous tip to people who were better equipped to handle the monster that was Patrick Whitmore.

It would be so easy . . .

“But that’s not who I am.”

I’m doing exactly what I’m meant to do.

Besides . . . if she left, it might make it harder for a certain someone to find her when this was all done.

I’ll find you again, Dru.

She might have told him it was best if he didn’t, and she meant it. For now.

But sooner or later, she’d stop fighting to keep him out of her head.

With a faint smile curling her lips, she straightened back and started to move. This time, it was at a slower, steadier pace.

Her legs might be nothing more than noodles when she got back.

And she’d want to eat like a wolf, sleep like the dead.

Sounded like the ideal way to handle her beloved fiancé.

*   *   *

T
AIGE
and Cullen were circling around each other like a couple of angry wolves. Still. Frankly, Taylor was tired of it, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

Cullen was in a sullen state, eyeing everybody else in the room like he wished they’d just get the hell out and leave him alone with his wife.

Taige was in a dark, angry mood that he couldn’t do a damn thing about.

Taylor needed to get his ass to that grease pit that served as a restaurant—he was supposed to meet Crawford shortly.

The question was whether there would be bloodshed while he was gone.

Eyeing Taige and Cullen, he figured probably not. Taige might look like she wanted to pound her husband bloody, but Morgan just looked miserable.

His own fault, Taylor figured. After all this time, he should be able to read his wife better.

He couldn’t blame the guy for being pissed at him, and Taylor wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. It was only going to get worse for the Morgans, too. Jillian had it in her—Taylor wouldn’t seek her out, but she’d come looking for him again. It was just fact.

It would cause some bumps and bruises for them. Taylor didn’t see any way around it, but damn if he wanted to hang around and deal with it. He didn’t much want to leave Dez here, either, but he couldn’t take her with him and she didn’t seem to want to bail.

Unable to delay any longer, he gathered up the neat stacks of his files, tucked them inside his briefcase. “I have to go,” he said, directing his words to Taige and Dez.

Taige jerked a shoulder. “Hope Crawford is holding up okay,” she said, hunched over the table, determinedly ignoring her husband.

Cullen was giving Taylor that same, determined attention—or lack of it.

Shifting his attention to Dez, he found her watching him with that familiar amused glint in her eyes.

It figured she’d find something to be amused about in this, he thought.

Crossing over to her, he skimmed his fingers across her cheek, down her neck, paused briefly to touch the scar on her neck. A smile canted her lips and she swayed closer, pressed her lips to his. “I love you,” she murmured. “You know that?”

“Yeah . . . I know that.” It was his miracle.
She
was his miracle. He rubbed his mouth against hers, reminded himself they weren’t alone, that he had a job to do, an agent out there with a gift inside his head that he wasn’t fully acclimated to. “I love you, too.”

Pulling back, he glanced toward the tense couple sitting at the table. “You should go downstairs. Have breakfast. Go shopping.”

“No.” Dez smiled. “If I have a yen to shop, I will. And I already had breakfast. Now, go . . . I’m sure I can handle it.”

He grimaced. Her handling it wasn’t the problem.

After another quick kiss, he headed for the door. He’d already lingered longer than he should have, but he had enough time to get there, he figured.

But then the elevator doors slid open and he saw who was waiting for him.

*   *   *

I
T
was cool out. Cool, damp, and the air smelled of rain.

Joss leaned back against the prick’s car as he waited for Jones to show up. It was early, the sun drifting up from the horizon, slow and steady, painting the world in soft colors of gold. The pretty display was lost on Joss. He was eyeing each of the cars narrowly as though they’d magically turn into the car he needed to see.

Jones wasn’t here yet.

Brooding, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared out into the still, cool gray of the morning.

He was tired. His head ached like a bitch. He didn’t want to be out here doing this job, even though, logically, he knew this was one of the most important jobs he’d ever done.

Somebody had died here. He could hear her whispering, although there was nothing he could do for her. She was too old, just a fragment, and she was so weak and faint.

He doubted she’d even hear him if he tried to reach out. She kept whispering,
Stop the car, please, just stop and let me out
—

Then there was a scream, over and over, and he felt the echo of her death. Over and over. The only glimpse he could get of her was of a woman dressed in a skinny skirt, her hair done in a sleek style that made him think of the forties. She’d been dead a long, long time, and even when he lowered his shields, her presence didn’t get any stronger. Dez might be able to help her, but Joss didn’t have the . . . compassion she had. That was what made her so damned good at her job. She connected because of her heart. Maybe when this was done, she could come back here and help—he didn’t know.

So he was stuck there, listening to the woman whisper and scream as she relived her death.

It had happened three times, and he’d let it happen each time as he tried to figure out if he could help her, but halfway through the fourth, he’d figured out he was useless. Although she’d never hear him, he’d muttered an apology and slammed his shields back into place.

Now she’d scream, beg, and relive her death over and over . . . but he wouldn’t hear it. Made him feel like a damn coward.

He’d tell Dez about the place, though. If the girl could be helped, Dez would know how.

As the echo of her scream tore through his memory, he groaned and shoved away from the SUV, starting to pace. Jones wasn’t here yet. What the hell? The guy was usually early. Like thirty minutes early, or more. Taylor liked to get the lay of the land. It was a wise way to do things in their line of work, Joss knew. Of course, his natural inclination was to stumble in at the last minute, but he went against his natural inclinations and was early more often than not. Never hurt to take a look around. Scope out the area.

And in this case, listen to a ghost cry for thirty minutes.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, saw the message.

Running late. Unexpected complication. Be there ASAP.

Joss scowled and went to text him back.

But the tingle down his spine stopped him.

Slowly, he lifted his head. He couldn’t see her. Not yet.

But with his heart thrumming in his chest and his heart racing, he knew what was going on.

Her . . .

It was her.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he moved away from the car, lowering his shields just enough so that he could feel her.

There—

Just down the road.

Running.

Form-fitting black spandex clung to her hips and thighs, stopping just a few inches below that delectable ass. A short sleeveless T-shirt, wet with perspiration. A grim look on her face.

Hurt so good, my ass. How many bloody miles have I done now . . . I’m going to have to crawl . . .