The Reunited (26 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

"T
HAT
sure as hell is a lot of federal-type-looking people,” Tucker muttered.

“Yes.” Dru stood off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing the busy hive of people in front of them with a worried gaze. Slanting a look at Tucker, she murmured, “You should leave, shouldn’t you?”

He jerked a shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’d always done his damnedest to avoid any sort of government type, and she’d pulled him into this. Unwittingly, yes, but she’d done it just the same. “Go on, Tuck. I can handle this.”

“If you’re going to go down for any of this, I’m going, too,” he said, sighing.

Dru sighed. “I won’t go down for anything, darling, I promise.” She skimmed the crowd with a studied eye. There were more than a few dead bodies, and she knew by the blank look in Tucker’s eyes just how those bodies had come to be
dead
. “I think we’re clear here, although they may try to jerk us around. If you’re not here to jerk, you’ll be fine. Just go lose yourself again.” She leaned over, hugged him. The heat she’d felt from him earlier had dissipated, leaving his skin oddly cool. Chilled. “I know how to find you if I need you, mate.”

“You do at that.” He bent down, brushed his mouth against hers. “If you’re certain . . .”

“Yes.”
Flash, flash, flash . . .
fear, guilt. All wrapped up in leaving. Running, the way he saw it.

But Tucker had spent a good, long time in hiding. He wasn’t going to come out easily. She knew that.

“You best go. They won’t stay busy for long,” she murmured as he drew back.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her, and then back behind him.

A few people glanced their way. He gave her a wild, reckless grin. “I’ll bust my way clear if I need to.”

She smiled a little sadly.

“Have at it. And if you feel the need for another one of those distractions . . . be my guest.”

No sooner had he slipped away than those FBI-looking types decided to amble in her direction. Slowly at first. Then faster. She wasn’t too terribly surprised when the maroon SUV still sitting at the entrance to the gate started to smoke. The fire started a few seconds later.

She continued to stand there, arms crossed, staring at the ground, while the engine exploded into flames.

See you around, Tucker
.

Part of her wanted to go with him.

But she was no longer on this job just to see the slave ring shut down.

She had to see Whitmore go down, too. Go down in a fiery, burning blaze of glory.

That was the only reason . . .

A rush of adrenaline burst through her. Her breath caught in her throat. Jerking her head up, she searched the grounds. The agents had set up field lights all over the place and she could see clearly. Too clearly, considering who was bearing down on her.

The badge hanging around his neck didn’t do much to set her mind at ease.

So. He was FBI.

She remembered the power she’d glimpsed in his mind. Maybe she should have had a little more faith in him, but she’d operated on the information her mind had given her. She didn’t
know
him.

She could still remember that lapse she’d had. The dream, how she’d unconsciously reached out to him.

And his response. So flat, and cold.
I don’t want you anymore
.

Asshole. She couldn’t see inside his head, but she knew he could have looked inside hers if he’d tried. He just hadn’t bothered. So much for her being worth it. Tears threatened, but she shoved them back.

Not the time. Or the place. She’d break once she was out of this mess, in some place nice and private.

“Where is he?” he demanded, once he was close enough.

Of course, he didn’t stop. Four feet wasn’t close enough apparently. He kept coming until he was right in her space, just a few inches away, so that the warmth of his body reached out to tease hers.

“Who?” she asked. With a mean little smile, she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his ear. “If you’re asking about my dearest fiancé, I’m trying to break up with him. But it isn’t going well. However, I can’t tell you where he is.”

“Not him,” he growled. “And you know it. Where is your sidekick? Tucker whoever?”

“Tucker . . . my sidekick.” She smiled a little. “Oh, he’d like that. Do I get to wear some sexy little vinyl suit? Can
he
wear vinyl, too? Black, I think. Or maybe dark gray. He’d look smashing in gray, especially with those eyes. Sleeveless, if we can, because I’m rather fond of his tats.”

A snarl quivered on his lips. “Dru . . . don’t push me. We need to talk to him. He’s part of the investigation.”

“No.” She leaned back against the fence, studying her nails. “He’s not. Anything
he
knows, I know. He was just here to help me if I got into a jam. Now he’s gone and I’ve no idea where you can find him.”

“Damn it, Dru!”

With a patience she really didn’t feel, she sighed again. “Yelling at me just isn’t going to help any, you know. Not at all.” She turned away from the fury burning in his eyes, but before she could move, the exhaustion she felt slammed into her and she swayed.

His hands, big and hard, caught her shoulders.

Shrugging him away, she tried to pull free. “Let me go.”

“Not likely.”

You don’t have a choice
, she thought bitterly. She jerked away with a fury that surprised her, but her legs were clumsy, heavy, and she would have gone to the ground if he hadn’t caught her a second time.

“Stop it,” he growled. “You’re exhausted, about ready to pass out. When was the last time you ate a damn thing? When was the last time you slept?”

She curled her lip, fighting the urge to say something really, really ugly. Fighting the urge to hit him, but if she did, that hard skull of his might break her hand. Bastard. Fucking bastard. “It hardly concerns you, does it? My personal business? Don’t you have a job to see to, Agent Crawford?” she asked, keeping her voice as flat as she could.

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. It concerns me in all kinds of ways.” He raked her with a critical eye and then turned his head. “Kingsley!”

Somebody separated himself from the mess of people. “Yeah?”

“Get her a chair. And sit on her. If she tries to leave, cuff her.”

Dru narrowed her eyes. “And exactly what right do you have?”

Although she knew they had all sorts of reasons to detain her. Jerking his chain wasn’t going to do much good. Except . . . well, it made her feel better.

“I could start listing them, but we’d be here all morning, noon, and night,” Joss drawled. “And I don’t know about you, but I want to wrap it up here so we can focus on your
fiancé
.”

A look of disgust crossed his face as he said it. One that cut her to the bone.

She turned away, wrapping her arms around her middle. She’d done what she had to do. There was information she could present them with, and would. Once she was able to get to it . . . of her own free will.

If that made her seem less in their eyes, that was their problem.

*   *   *

I
T
was hours later when Taylor caught up with Joss.

“Go back to the hotel.”

“Still got too much to do here,” he said, shaking his head. In all honesty, part of him didn’t want to leave because he wasn’t sure what to do about Dru. Part of him was also hoping for two things . . . her cowardly little friend Tucker would come back. Or maybe Whitmore would appear.

Neither was going to happen, though. And he had to have some kind of reason to keep up with Dru. He was terrified she’d disappear, like dust in the wind.

“Ms. Chapman isn’t going to disappear,” Taylor said. “She’s spent too much time on this.”

Slanting a look at a man he trusted more than just about anybody else, he studied Taylor’s face. “Won’t she?”

“Not until she sees this through. She stuck with it too long. She’s . . . you’ve figured out the fact that she’s been working this on her own, right?”

Rage, frustration, guilt twisted inside him as he looked away. “Yeah. I got that far on my own. Would have been nice if you could have gotten me that information a bit sooner.”

“We had a lot going on,” Taylor pointed out. “And if you’d . . . shit. Look, I don’t know what the deal is here, but this isn’t done for her. I know people. She’s not done.” Then he grimaced. “Although she’s pretty much done in for now. She needs some rest, and I doubt she wants to go back to the place Whitmore had her at, even if it
was
safe to do—which it’s not. Take her to the hotel. Have them put her in a room. I’ll cover it.”

Joss passed a hand over his mouth. Oh, he’d put her in a room all right.

His room.

They’d have this out.

“Ah, I don’t have a car.”

Taylor tossed his keys. “Take mine. Taige and I’ll be here for a while, and we’ll catch a ride back with somebody from the team when we’re done.”

Tossing the keys from one hand to the other, he hesitated a moment longer. “Vaughnne?”

“In the hospital, resting. Exhaustion, mostly. She overdid it this time, but she’ll be fine. Nalini is with her.” Somebody called his name, and he glanced back for a moment before looking at Joss. “Go. Now. Before I make it an order.”

“I think you just did.”

Weariness dragged at him as he and Taylor separated, the SAC heading back to the crime scene, Joss moving back to his woman. His woman.

This was killing him.

What in the hell was going on?

He’d just adjusted and reshaped his mind to what he
thought
was the reality, and now reality had just done a number on him and jump-kicked him right in the face.

Working it privately. On her own. Damn it, for how long? How could she have gotten so deep in a job like this? Did she have any idea how
dangerous
Whitmore was?

Those images flared to life, dancing through his mind.

So vivid and dark, twisted. Fear. Pain. Shame. They grabbed him by the throat, and for a moment, he was almost sick from them.

Up ahead, some thirty feet, she was sitting there, all but ready to fall asleep, and if he knew anything, it was nothing but will keeping her eyes open. Will, determination.

Rubbing the heel of his hand over his heart, he blew out a breath.

She knew, all right. All this time, she’d been doing this alone, and she knew how risky it was. But it hadn’t stopped her.

He wouldn’t let anything stop him, either.

They’d waited too long. Focusing on her, only her, he made himself move, closing the distance between them as he mentally rehearsed something, anything, to say to her.

Kingsley, the agent he’d put at her back, gave him a look. “You can go. I’m taking her to a hotel to get some rest.”

Dru tipped her head back, studying him through her lashes. “And if I’m not interested?” she asked, biting off each word.

“I don’t much care if you’re interested,” he replied.
Okay, that wasn’t smooth
, he thought. But she needed to get some rest. Standing there, arms crossed, he waited.

She didn’t move.

Bending over her, he whispered, “You’re either going to get your sweet little ass out of that chair, or I’ll just throw you over my shoulder. Trust me, duchess, nobody here will be surprised.”

He almost wished she’d push him. He felt like if he could just get his hands on her, maybe he could figure out a way to undo what he’d done. Fix what he’d broken. There had to be a way. He’d fucked up, damn it, and he was just starting to realize how badly.

But after a long, cool look, she heaved out a sigh. A very aggravated, disgusted sigh that made it clear she’d rather go anywhere, be anywhere but with him. “If I must,” she said, rising. The sleek black running tights she wore clung to her legs like a glove, and as she turned around, he wanted to jerk off his shirt, cover her with it to make sure nobody else was looking at her.

She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You are coming, correct? I’m not going to walk to this hotel?”

Sucking back the instinctive response, he moved to join her. It was a forty-minute drive to the Peabody. He could figure out what to say. He could find the
right
thing to say.

Level things out between them.

Then he’d get a little bit of sleep. Cuff her to the bed. Get his ass back out in the field and track down Whitmore, beat him bloody.

It sounded, all in all, like a fantastic plan.

He needed sleep, after all.

Figured if he cuffed her to the bed, she’d still be there when he got back. And Whitmore, well, that fucker needed to be beaten. He actually needed to die, but it would be hard to do that and not screw up the case. If the case wasn’t already screwed.

*   *   *

“A
LL
of them,” Patrick said.

Minton’s eyes jerked off to the side and his throat worked. After two unsuccessful starts, he finally managed to say something. “Nobody can get close to the compound, sir. The place is surrounded by feds.”

“And the cameras?”

“None of them are operational.”

Patrick nodded, stroking a hand down Demeter’s head. The cat purred and butted her head against Patrick’s hand. Happy. Satisfied. All the little cat wanted was food and attention. And she was pleased. If only everybody else were that simple to satisfy.

Ella . . .

“And has anybody seen Ella?”

He cut a look to Rawlings, curled up in a ball on the floor, blood flowing from so many cuts and lacerations, his face bruised beyond recognition. His brother, a weasely, smarmy little bastard that Patrick had no use for, lay dead on the other side of the room. He’d thought Larry was perhaps the one who’d gone to the police. He was always looking for money, but he had an eye for girls and had managed to find Whitmore a few choice pieces by doing a tourist bit—ghost walks, fortune telling. Petty things, but it worked.

It hadn’t been him. He’d killed Larry to make a point with the brother . . . and he still wasn’t done. Rawlings had let Ella escape.

“No.” Minton cleared his throat and darted a look to the door, like he really didn’t want to be there. Patrick didn’t imagine he did.