“I always knew you weren’t good enough for her.”
His eyes widened. You’re right. I’m not. Not even close.
Judith pointed to Mercer’s door. “He’s waiting.”
He fumbled and opened the door. Mercer wasn’t at his desk. He was staring out the window. His hands were behind his back. His shoulders bowed.
“Shut the door,” Mercer ordered without looking back.
Dylan shut the door.
Mercer exhaled. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, son, and I need you to reply honestly, you understand?”
“Yes.” No.
“What’s the most important thing in your life?”
Rachel. He cleared his throat, pushed back his shoulders and said, “The EOD.”
Mercer looked back at him. “I don’t know if you heard me, but I said you needed to reply honestly. The door’s shut, and this conversation will never leave this room.” Mercer arched a brow. “So let’s cut the bull and try that one again. Agent Foxx, what is the most important thing in your life?”
“Rachel.” Her name was torn from him.
Mercer nodded. “Better. Much better.” He studied Dylan in silence for a time, then said, “But if she matters so much, then why did you push her away?”
“I’m protecting her.”
“She’s a marine. The woman can protect herself.”
Dylan took a step toward his boss. “The rogue stabbed her just a few months ago. She got a concussion in Jack’s blast. She’s not ready to be in the field. Your own doctors said—”
“No one but you said she needed to be shipped down to Atlanta. That was totally your call as the team leader.” Mercer’s shoulders sagged a bit. “Don’t think I don’t get where you’re coming from. You care about someone, and you want to keep her safe. But Rachel Mancini isn’t the type of woman who will tolerate being locked up.”
He wasn’t locking her up. He was just trying to get her out of Jack’s path. Because Jack would come gunning for Dylan again. He knew it. Rachel couldn’t get caught between them.
“You think I haven’t been there?” Mercer asked, surprising Dylan. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to care and to want to do anything and everything in your power to protect those closest to you?” Mercer’s hands dropped to his sides. “We want to control everything, but sometimes we just can’t.”
He didn’t want to control Rachel. He wanted to keep her alive.
“She’s been on dozens of missions with you. You never hesitated with her before,” Mercer charged.
This was different.
“Why?” his boss pressed. “Why the change now?”
Because he’d crossed a line with her. There was no way he could just look at Rachel as an operative any longer. “I put a target on my back. We both know it. I don’t want Rachel getting hurt because of me.”
“You mean...because of your desire to take down Jack.”
Mercer always saw too much.
“I haven’t forgotten about Shannon,” Mercer said. “I remember all too well. You walked through that door—” he nodded toward said door “—and demanded to be lead on the investigation. Your eyes burned with fury, but your voice shook with pain.” His lips twisted. “You’ve changed a lot in the years since then, but that fury—it’s still in your eyes any time you talk about Jack. Fury like that can make a man reckless. Are you reckless, Foxx?”
“No.”
“Maybe you’re lying to yourself now.”
He didn’t understand the point of this meeting. “Look, Mercer, the heart-to-heart is not really working so much, and I need to get Rachel home—”
“No, you don’t.”
Something about Mercer’s tone put Dylan on edge.
“Actually, she’s not your concern at all any longer.”
“Just because I won’t be the team leader for her doesn’t mean that she’s not—” Mine. He stopped, keeping that bit back.
“Rachel Mancini is no longer a part of the EOD.”
“What?”
“She resigned about ten minutes ago. I imagine she’s already left the building.”
“You just let her walk away? With Jack loose out there?” Dylan spun for the door.
“We both know Jack doesn’t want her dead.”
“No, he just wants her.” But he can’t have her. Dylan grabbed for the doorknob.
“You want her, too, and that’s your problem, Agent. You’re not thinking the way you should. Instead of using a strong, talented agent, you’re letting your fury guide you.” Intensity thickened in Mercer’s voice. “Rachel isn’t Shannon, and you need to remember that.”
Dylan yanked open the door and rushed outside.
Judith’s hot glare singed him.
He didn’t stop to talk. He searched the whole floor, looking for Rachel.
She wasn’t there.
He rounded the corner, heart racing, and nearly collided with Thomas. The man moved so silently that Dylan hadn’t heard his approach.
“Where is she?” Dylan growled.
Thomas frowned at him. “Rachel? I thought she was in your office.”
No, she wasn’t. More searching showed that Rachel wasn’t in the building at all. A security check told them that Rachel had left about five minutes before. She’d just walked away.
And left Dylan behind.
Chapter Seven
Even at night, Rachel could see the scars left by the explosion. The pavement and the nearby building were dark, seemingly lined by a thick shadow.
But she knew the darkness wasn’t a shadow. Scorch marks. The blackness left behind after the explosion.
She stared down at the sidewalk. A new streetlamp was close by. The city workers were fast, she’d give them that. The streetlamp illuminated the sidewalk in the exact spot Rachel had hit when she’d been thrown by the blast.
Violence could change so much.
Voices rose in the air. Laughter. She glanced over, following those sounds to the pub. It was a busy night there. She found herself walking toward the pub, toward the light and warmth that it promised.
The pub’s main door swung open beneath her hand. The place didn’t remind her of death and destruction. There was laughter there. Men and women flirting.
Living.
She made her way to the bar and recognized Aidan right away as he pushed drinks across to thirsty customers. He was laughing. Despite the fear he’d shown the previous night, the man now looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
If only she could feel that way.
Rachel eased through the crowd. Someone bumped her shoulder and she turned instinctively—and found herself staring at the blond male she’d met just a few nights before.
“Hi, there.” He flashed her a wide smile. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Seriously? Rachel actually found herself laughing in response to that. “We have,” she told him, shaking her head. “You tried to buy me a drink at this very pub, and I thanked you, but didn’t accept.”
His eyes widened and his fingers snapped. “The lady with the boyfriend who wanted to slam his fist into my face!”
Wait, what? Rachel realized that the guy had been drinking. He was weaving a bit on his feet. So maybe his drunken state would explain his confusion about Dylan. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.” She thought it was best to be clear about that. “And I don’t think he wanted his fist anyplace near your face.”
“He did.” The blond nodded as bodies slipped past them. “I can tell. It was in his eyes. The old she’s-mine look. I know it when I see it.”
Rachel shook her head again. “Maybe you were wearing beer goggles that night.” Just like tonight. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said again, raising her voice to be heard over the
crowd.
“Then maybe I do have a shot.” The blond smiled at her. He was a handsome guy, with bright blue eyes and even dimples that flashed. He offered her his hand. “Brent Chastang.” He winked. “I’m a lawyer.”
An inebriated one. She took his hand, cautiously. She knew what Brent wanted—flirting and a fast hookup. She understood guys like him. But men like Dylan...
I don’t want to understand him.
“Does saying that you’re a lawyer usually help with the ladies?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.” His shoulders sagged. “Not with you?”
Uh, no. “I was a lawyer, too.” She pushed back her hair. “In another life.” Then she turned away from him and made her way to the bar. She wanted to sit down and just...soak in the noise and life around her.
She’d thought before that the pub wasn’t her scene. But she didn’t want to be alone then. Not with pain seeming to squeeze her heart.
Rachel eased up onto the bar stool. Aidan glanced over at her. “Back again, are you?”
Rachel nodded.
He put his hands on his hips. “You scared me the other night.”
She winced. “It was just a bump on the head.”
“That came when your car was bombed.” He edged closer to the bar and to her. “Are you in any kind of trouble? Do you need help?”
“No.”
“Tell me the truth,” he demanded. “Because if Patrick thought you were in danger and I wasn’t helping, he’d roll over in his grave.”
His words made her smile. “The only kind of help I need right now... Well, I just need something to make me forget for a little while. I want to relax and be happy.” A tall order.
“Tell me the drink, and it’s yours.”
Hmmm. “I’ll have—”
“Look, Ms. I Don’t Have a Boyfriend...” Brent’s voice was a little too loud as he eased onto the seat beside her. “How about we start all over again?”
Aidan’s eyes slid to Brent. “How about I call you a cab?”
Brent blinked. “But I wanted to buy her a drink!” He leaned over the bar toward Aidan. “She’s an ex-lawyer, you know. Totally my kind of girl.”
Rachel thought all women would fall into the category of being his kind.
“Thanks, Brent,” she told him, giving him a smile. “But I’m not looking for any sort of hookup tonight. I’m getting a drink, then I’m going home—alone.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flashed over his face, but he rallied quickly. He pulled out a business card. Put it on the bar in front of her. “If you change your mind, you can always find me here.” He winked at her.
Right.
Then he wobbled off his chair, his attention obviously caught by a new, fresh target.
Yes, men like Brent were very easy to understand and to dismiss.
It was men like Dylan who could rip a woman’s heart right out of her chest.
Sighing, she glanced back toward Aidan.
He raised a brow. “Want me to trash that card for you?” The Irish rolled lightly in his voice.
“Yes.” Definitely.
He grabbed it, ripped it up and tossed it. “Done.” His eyes gleamed. “Next order of business...a free drink for my grandpa’s favorite girl.”
“Thank you.”
“How about we just try Paddy’s Whiskey again,” he said as he began to prepare her drink.
Rachel rested her hands on the bar. Her shoulders rolled as she tried to dispel the tension from her body.
“Why do you look so sad tonight?” Aidan pushed the drink toward her.
Someone shouted his name, but he didn’t look away from her.
Her fingers curled around the glass. “I don’t like being wrong about people.”
He tilted his head as he watched her. “But people lie.”
She nodded. “They trick you, and you don’t see it coming.” She took a sip of the drink. It seemed to warm the cold spots inside of her. “I quit my job today.” Her eyes widened when she blurted out the words.
He smiled. “Surprising, isn’t it? What folks will say to the bartender.” He shook his head. “Oh, the stories that I’ve heard...”
She took a longer sip.
“Your guy isn’t going to come storming in here again?”
Maybe. As soon as Dylan discovered that she’d quit the EOD, he might come looking for her.
“I was worried about you,” Aidan said, the faint amusement fading from his gaze. “I’m glad you weren’t killed.”
“Me, too.”
“I know a bomb blast when I see one,” Aidan added as his voice lowered. “Not some engine malfunction or gas leak like the news is trying to say.”
No, it hadn’t been. That was just Mercer trying to do damage control and make sure folks in the city didn’t panic.
“If you’re in trouble, I can help,” Aidan told her. Again, someone called his name. He waved them away. “So I say again... What can I do?”
He’d already done it—given her an ear...and a good drink. “I’m all right,” Rachel told him. “But thank you.”
Aidan gave her another long, slow look then he answered the calls from the other end of the bar.
Rachel finished her drink. Left a hefty tip, then slid back out through the crowd.
She stayed close to the shadows as she made her way to her apartment. Her steps were slow, and tiredness pulled at her. She knew that Mercer had sent a guard to keep an eye on her place. That would just be standard EOD protocol after the blast. Whether she was an agent or not, Mercer would watch after her.
And Dylan?
Her steps slowed. She turned and rested her back against the brick wall of the pub. A small alley snaked down the left-hand side of the building.
She glanced at the alley then looked back across the street. From that alley, a person would have a perfect vantage point to watch her apartment.
And to stay hidden.
Rachel straightened and peered into the darkness of the alley.
Rachel thought she heard a faint sound. The light scuffle of a shoe? “Is someone there?” she called.
No answer but...the scuffle sounded again. A rasp? She tiptoed closer to the mouth of the alley. “Hello?”
Maybe it was an animal. The faint noise could just be a cat getting into some garbage. That explanation made sense.
“H-help...”
The cry was faint, so very faint, but Rachel heard it. She tensed. “Who’s there?” And where was the EOD guard? She swung around, glancing back at the street behind her.
She didn’t see anyone.
“H-help...” A gasp, but she’d definitely heard the words.
Rachel wished that she had her gun with her. Any kind of weapon. But she didn’t.
And she also didn’t have the luxury of hesitating.
Rachel rushed toward that faint cry.
* * *
DYLAN JUMPED OUT of the SUV. He’d grabbed the first vehicle that he found at the EOD, and he’d shot straight to Rachel’s place. He’d thought about calling her, but he’d been afraid the woman would just hang up on him.
She was furious, he got that. But he couldn’t let her shut him out like this.
He rushed up the steps to her apartment and nearly slammed into Hunter Paxton. Hunter was a new EOD agent, but he was fast catching attention because when it came to the missions, he was single-minded.
“Something I can do for you?” Hunter asked him.
The guy was actually blocking Dylan’s path to the door.
“Yeah, get out of the way,” Dylan snapped.
Hunter didn’t move. “Mercer just called me. Said that you weren’t Rachel’s commander any longer. It seems she’s left the agency.”
&
nbsp; No. That wasn’t happening. “Mercer is misinformed.”
Hunter smiled. “I’d hoped so. I like Rachel.”
Every-damn-body did. The woman pulled them all in.
She sure pulled me in.
Hunter slid to the side. “I got on shift about twenty minutes ago. I was told to watch the building. To make sure access to the place is limited.” But then Hunter shook his head. “Save yourself the trouble of racing up there. Rachel hasn’t come home yet.”
What? If she wasn’t home, then where the hell was she?
* * *
SHE SAW THE legs first, sprawled out near the garbage container. Legs and—
Rachel gasped as her penlight fell on the figure there. “Brent?”
His shirt was wet with blood. He was gasping and struggling to speak.
She’d just left him minutes before! How could this happen? How?
She yanked out her phone. “I’ll get help.” She’d have an ambulance there in no—
He grabbed at her hand. “Help...”
“I am! I’m getting you help.” The line rang. Once. Twi—
Brent gasped again. “G-go...” He jerked on her. Harder.
And something sharp stabbed into Rachel’s neck. The phone fell from her fingers as she spun around, but the man there was cloaked in shadows.
She tried to lunge to her feet, but Rachel felt her body collapsing.
He drugged me.
That sharp prick had been a needle. And...and she’d been drugged before. Three years ago. By Jack.
A needle to her neck. They’d been dancing. She’d trusted him so completely. He’d lifted his hand and injected her. She hadn’t seen the needle until it was too late.
Just like it’s too late now.
His arms wrapped around her when she collapsed. The drug seemed to instantly weigh down her limbs.
“Don’t worry about him, sweetheart. He’s already dead.” He lifted her easily into his arms. Rachel’s eyes were sagging closed but she saw that he had on a dark ski mask. His features were covered. There were holes for his eyes. His gloved hands tightened around her. “And you...you’re mine.”
* * *
DYLAN BURST INTO the pub. Rachel had gone there a few nights before, so maybe she’d tried the place again. He scanned the booths, rushed into the back rooms, and even checked the ladies’ bathroom. A few shouts and curses greeted him, but there was no sign of Rachel.