Eliza wasn’t telling him everything and the helplessness that had gripped him, remembering the sensation of her slipping through his fingers, knowing she was pulling away—had been pulling away for days leading up to her official sit-down with him in his office.
His gut never steered him wrong and he’d known something was wrong but had also known his hands were tied because he couldn’t overtly act on that knowledge or he’d lose her. They’d all lose her. Calling Wade Sterling so at least someone would be looking out for her. All of that subterfuge because he’d feared losing her and if Gracie’s reaction, her bald statement, was true then he’d lost her anyway.
Goddamn it! He’d made an emotional decision and he never made emotional decisions. But with Lizzie, he had and he’d fucked up. He stared frozen at the envelope, terrified to open it but time was of the essence and he had to know what they were up against. Had to know if it was too late to rectify the biggest mistake of his life.
He fumbled with the paper, his hands shaking so badly it took several tries before he managed to get the letter out of the envelope and unfold it so he could read it. Everyone was tense, alert and expectant. Impatient. All staring at him and waiting, all fearing the worst.
He quickly scanned over Eliza’s handwriting, usually neat, elegant and feminine. What he saw now was barely legible, hastily scrawled words that he had to read multiple times to make sense of and, worse, in several places, the ink was smeared and what looked to be a tiny stain to the paper indicating that she’d been crying when she wrote it.
But when he forced himself to look beyond the evidence of her upset and sorted through the first several rambling paragraphs, what she wrote set in and his blood fucking froze. And then it unfroze because he felt it leave his body, draining as if he’d suffered a massive injury that sucked away his life’s blood.
His knees locked then unlocked and his legs shook. So badly that he sank into the chair he’d vacated when Gracie had burst into the conference room with a panicked, scared out of her mind expression that never looked good on any woman.
He vaguely noted his men’s reactions, a mixture of shock because Dane never lost his cool and was always steady under pressure. A rock. Unbreakable. And the other part of that mixture on the others’ faces was the gut-wrenching fear and worry that was rocking him to the very core, paralyzing all rational thought.
And then the room erupted into a chorus of what the fuck’s and yells and demands to know what the hell was going on. Worse, the one question he couldn’t answer. Is Eliza okay?
“Jesus,” Dane whispered. The only word he could manage.
Then he held up his hand for quiet and the room went silent, all eyes to him, expectant, angry, worried and pissed. Eliza was his, yes. But she was also theirs. She was his partner. Closer to him than anyone else at DSS. The only person he’d allowed that close. He’d hired her. Trained her personally, though her skills were already impressive. He’d just honed them and made them better.
But she also belonged to every other man assembled. Even Dex, Zeke, Shadow and Knight, though they’d only had the opportunity to meet her once before she’d taken leave. Judging by their expressions, she’d made an impression and they weren’t any happier about being in the dark than the rest.
Caleb and Beau bristled with fury, edging toward Dane, jaws clenched, eyes stormy.
“What the fuck is going on with Eliza?” Beau demanded, cutting off whatever his brother had been about to say because Caleb’s mouth opened and then promptly shut when Beau made his outburst.
“Eliza’s supposed to be on vacation,” Caleb said, opening his mouth again. “Or did you fill us in wrong?”
The insinuation that Dane had lied to them about Eliza’s leave of absence pissed him off and any other time he’d be letting Caleb know exactly what he thought of that insinuation, but each second wasted on bullshit was a second they weren’t getting to Eliza.
“I told you what she told me,” Dane said shortly, refusing to rehash the entire story. Especially now that it appeared none of it was true.
“It’s a goodbye letter,” Gracie said tearfully from where she stood wrapped solidly in Zack’s arms. “Oh God, Dane. She’s not coming back is she?”
Her words were a knife to his heart. He couldn’t imagine work—life—without Lizzie.
Gracie plunged forward, not waiting for the answer she already knew. Emotion thick in her voice, an obvious knot forming in her throat, she said to no one specifically, “She sent a check with the letter. Everything. Her savings. Told me to use it for my school, that she wouldn’t need it where she was going.”
Though he’d read the words, multiple times, they still punched a hole in his soul and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. Even if he wanted to. Had no idea what to say.
The others sucked in their breaths and unease lay heavy over the room at the ominous meaning of those words.
“And where is she going?” Zack asked gently, concern heavy in his features and in his tone. He too was maintaining a tenuous grasp on his composure but for his wife’s sake, he was handling her with care.
“I don’t know,” Gracie said desperately. “The postmark is Kansas. She talked of sins, and of blood. So much blood on her hands that they’d never be clean. That she had no hope of redemption but she vowed vengeance and she also swore that she’d never lead him to us, meaning she was leaving Houston and would never return. Said he could never know of us, that if he did, we’d all die and that she would die before ever allowing that to happen. She said she was as guilty as he was, had committed unpardonable sins and that the justice system had failed the victims, had failed her and she said she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow him to go free. She . . .”
Gracie’s voice wavered and a fresh torrent of tears streaked down her wan face. She closed her eyes, her next words uttered so painfully that they were felt by every single person in the room.
“She asked me to tell all of you that she loved you. That we were the only family she’d ever had. That we were the only people who’d ever loved her and that she was going to make sure he never hurt any of us or any other living soul.”
She briefly covered her face as a sob escaped and then she looked up at Dane, her eyes red and swollen and so filled with grief that it was as if Eliza was already dead. Like Gracie suspected she was—or soon would be.
“Who is he, Dane?” she whispered.
“We have to find her. Now,” Beau said flatly.
Isaac and Capshaw firmly nodded their agreement. The others were quick to add their vehement vow to do whatever it took to bring Eliza home. Alive.
“I have a man on her,” Dane said, and prayed he wasn’t lying. Prayed his instincts about Wade Sterling hadn’t steered him wrong and that the very thin line between black and white that Sterling skated allowed him liberties those who stuck to the book didn’t take. And that even now he was shadowing her every moment. God, let Sterling be on her.
“What?”
He couldn’t tell who said it because it came from all directions. There were looks of confusion, accusation and relief.
“I knew it was all wrong,” Dane muttered to himself. “Goddamn it, I knew it wasn’t good. I just never thought it was this bad. Had to protect her but couldn’t let her know that because I’d lose her trust. We’d lose her and, fuck, that’s exactly what may happen anyway!”
“But we’re all here,” Zack asked with obvious bewilderment. “What man did you put on her if we’re all standing here?”
Next to Dane, Zack was closest to Eliza and it was clear he was not only confused but angry that he wouldn’t have been apprised of anything going down with Eliza, any cause for worry and certainly Dane putting a man on her. If not Zack himself.
“Why the fuck didn’t you assign me to shadow her?” Isaac demanded in a pissed-off tone. “I don’t have a wife or other obligation. Eliza is important to us all and you put someone outside of DSS on her? What were you thinking?”
Isaac tende
d to be quiet, but he was downright surly when it came to the protection of the women who belonged to DSS, Eliza included. He had a protective streak a mile wide and at the moment, his face was mottled with fury—and worry. The big man was private and didn’t divulge much of himself but he was absolute in his loyalty to the people he’d pledged his allegiance to.
“Wade Sterling,” Dane said grimly.
“What the fuck?” Isaac and Beau both bellowed.
The room exploded again, anger vibrating the walls. Except Gracie looked relieved and for the first time a glimmer of hope flickered in her eyes.
“I gotta make a call. Now,” Dane bit out, reaching for his cell as he spoke.
And he silently prayed the entire time as he brought up Sterling’s contact and then put the phone to his ear.
He should have done what his gut had told him to do and sit on her and never let her out of his or DSS’s sight. He never should have been so goddamn afraid of losing Eliza’s trust, loyalty and friendship—her love—by backing off and calling in Sterling. Because even if she was pissed, quit and never spoke to him again, at least she’d be alive to hate him.
ELEVEN
WADE was never so relieved to see Eliza’s mutinous, belligerent glare as she stared at him from across the small breakfast table in a safe house two hours from Calvary. Her wrist was cuffed to one leg of the table, which meant she was scooted toward the edge instead of being seated in the middle and since he was, they were at a slight angle to one another.
“Eat,” he ordered in a tone he knew would piss her off.
If he kept her pissed off, then maybe the chances of her losing it again and crying were less and it would keep her focused on him instead of whatever private hell she was dealing with. Furthermore, if she fell apart and started crying again, he couldn’t be assured he wouldn’t completely lose it himself. And now, more than ever, he had to keep it together because he was not losing the fierce yet infinitely fragile woman currently giving him the death stare.
“You’re delaying the inevitable, Eliza,” he said with exasperation he didn’t even attempt to hide. “If you want to sit here and have a stare down all goddamn night, I have all the time in the world but you’re going to eat and we are going to talk and then you’re going to get some fucking sleep.”
She glanced down at the mound of food on the plate he’d put in front of her and he could see the hunger beating at her. Damn stubborn woman. Still, it was better than the alternative. Her in his arms sobbing with heart-wrenching despair he’d never before witnessed in anyone, much less her.
“You have thirty seconds to dig in before I take over and feed you myself. Your choice.”
Fury blazed in her eyes but not the good kind of fury that told him she was on her game. It was helpless, hopeless fury and he hated doing this to her. She despised losing her formerly impenetrable control. He hated being forced to take it from her. Hated having to take her choices from her because the result was a subdued, beaten down Eliza and not the fiery, kickass, fearless woman who could hold her own in any situation.
She likely thought he got off on it. Enjoyed it. Was probably humiliated beyond measure that he had the upper hand and she was vulnerable. She couldn’t be more wrong. He felt like the worst sort of bastard by mowing over her as he’d done. He liked her spirit, her fire, her confidence and her strength. He liked it a hell of a lot.
She sent him a final, blistering scowl and then picked up her fork with her free hand and began to eat. A dull flush worked its way up her neck as she stared down at the meat he’d cut into bite-size portions so she could eat one-handed. Then she lifted her chin and he didn’t like what he saw in her eyes at all.
“Are you enjoying this?” she asked quietly. “The opportunity to take me down a notch. Show me who’s boss.”
His response was automatic and explosive. “Fuck no!”
He swore again and gripped his nape with his hand and rubbed wearily. She wasn’t the only one who needed rest. He hadn’t slept since the night she dumped him on his ass in her driveway before roaring off like a bat out of hell.
“You think I enjoy seeing you cry, Eliza? You think I enjoy imagining you hurt, tortured or dead? You think I’ve enjoyed being worried out of my fucking mind because I couldn’t find you and was worried I’d get here too late? You think I like seeing you fall apart when you’re the strongest fucking woman I’ve ever known?”
Faint shock registered in her eyes. Her hand froze, midway from the plate to her mouth, the bite slipping off and hitting the table.
“Eat,” he growled. “We have a lot to talk about but we aren’t doing it until you clean that entire plate.”
Surprisingly she complied, suddenly concentrating on the food and once she started eating, his suspicions were confirmed that it had been way too fucking long since she’d had a decent meal. She ate quickly and hungrily but what bothered him was that not once did she meet his gaze again.
She was nearly finished with the plate that was prepared with enough food for three meals when she slowly put her fork down and then just as slowly lifted her eyes to his for the first time since his outburst.
“I want to know something,” she said in a voice that lacked anger, scorn or fear. Her gaze was inquisitive as she studied him. Like she was trying to get a read on him or figure out some big mystery.
Despite his decree that they wouldn’t be talking yet he returned her look. “What?”
“If you’re so concerned about my well-being then why the hell would you haul me here, without my stuff, leaving me defenseless and without the means to protect you or myself?”
His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. He reined his temper in, the anger and frustration that had sparked the moment she started talking about protecting him again.
“First, your stuff is here,” he said, taking in the sudden arch of her eyebrows and the wrinkling of her forehead as her expression became perplexed. “Second and listen up, Eliza, because you need to get this and you need to get it now. You aren’t protecting me. You aren’t putting yourself in front of me. You aren’t taking any hits for me. I’m the one protecting you. I’m the one who’s going to keep you safe.”
For a moment he could swear he saw the tiniest flicker of relief and an almost imperceptible sag of her shoulders as if for that one second she pondered the veracity of his words and considered the thought of having his protection—and liking it. But it was gone too quickly for him to be sure and he was also aware that it could have been a major case of wishful thinking on his part. He hadn’t indulged in wishful thinking since he was four fucking years old and had wished for what every other normal kid had. Things like food on a regular basis and not week-old stale potato chips found in a trash can. Clothing with no stipulations. Not clothing that fit or seasonal clothing. Any clothing would have been welcome instead of having to resort to stealing clothing that even Goodwill stores or charity centers deemed unfit to hand out and ended up in their trash. And mostly parents who gave a fuck or no parents at all, and since he’d had no hope of his ever giving a fuck, he’d wished for the latter.
A brief flicker of amusement, unbidden and not pertinent to any of the shit he was dealing with right now, popped into his head. It was likely the remembrance of wishing for two things most others took for granted, food and clothing, that sparked his current thought.
Eliza thought he was an arrogant asshole and well, she wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t the heartless bastard she likely thought. With her overactive imagination, she likely pictured him eating children or drinking their blood. He wondered what she’d think if she knew he had a number of pet charities, the majority of which provided for children with shit parents and shit lives the things he himself had been deprived of.
He brought himself back to the matter at hand and the fact that Eliza was still looking at him with fatigue-clouded confused eyes.
“Let me get this straight,” she said in a softer voice than she’d ever used with him in an actual conve
rsation that didn’t include her vulnerable, falling apart or crying. “You hauled me out of the place I was staying in handcuffs. But you brought my weapons—”
“Your arsenal you mean,” he cut in dryly.
She held up her free hand, still staring at him with the same questing look.
“You brought my weapons. But you have no intention of letting me use them, thus leaving me—and you—defenseless. You state I’m the strongest woman you’ve ever known, yet in the next breath tell me I am never protecting you, I’ll never be in front of you, will never take anything for you and that you’ll be the one protecting me and all this while I’m once again handcuffed, unarmed, we’re the only two people in whatever place this is and you aren’t armed. Now given those facts, why on earth would I believe a single word you’re saying when nothing I’ve seen lends any credibility to your statements?”
She visibly braced. He saw her stiffen in preparation because she thought she’d pissed him off. But then she’d had enough practice at it so he supposed he couldn’t fault her errant assumption this time.
He’d done more talking in the last hour than he sometimes spoke for days and it was obvious nothing he was saying was getting through. He picked up his phone, punched a button and then said, “Leave two on point. The rest come to me and make sure you have everything you’re packing.”
Her look of confusion deepened and she wrinkled her nose as she stared even harder at him. She’d looked at him before but never like this. Like she was actually trying to figure him out. She thought she knew him or rather everything there was to know about him and in her mind he’d abruptly changed the rules.
Wade stood, opening the jacket he wore that had Kevlar inserts between the outer layer and the lining. It wasn’t the full protection a vest offered—it was thinner—but it would stop most bullets from mid- to long-range distance and it wasn’t obvious he was protected.
As he opened it wider, the two pistols holstered on either side of his ribs where the jacket provided the most disguise came into view. He turned, lifting the jacket to expose a third gun in the band of his pants that had a built-in sleeve to fit the pistol. On each hip, two blades rested in tandem, one larger with a wicked serrated edge designed to inflict maximum damage and the other a smaller, lightweight knife that could be thrown with pinpoint accuracy and slice straight through a man’s chest—or any other vital area—or could be used in close combat because its size and sleek design made it easy to be invisible in the right situation.
He hiked his leg up on his abandoned chair and pulled up his pant leg to reveal two more handguns lining the inside of his leg between his ankle and his knee and then he repeated the process to show her matching guns on his other leg.
His pants were loose fitting and designed to look as if they had no pockets. Instead they had flaps that opened from knee to hip and he did so to reveal a variety of explosives that would have to impress even Eliza since his was shit no one outside of the military and no one inside without top secret clearance even knew about much less could get their hands on.
When he was finished with his demonstration, the front door opened and he turned, motioning to the men filing in and he noticed Eliza’s eyes widen as she took them in. Yeah, she was impressed. She was also realizing she was in no way dealing with the man she thought she was dealing with.
His arsenal bested hers because he’d ensured it had before tracking her ass down halfway across the country. He knew he’d have to be convincing and, even then, it wasn’t as if Eliza was going to say okay you win. Yours is bigger and better than mine so I give up and you can protect me.
He almost snorted at the thought. It was amusing even if unrealistic. But proving he did know somewhat of how her mind worked her reaction didn’t surprise him.
Her eyes narrowed as her gaze filtered back to Wade and she scowled. “What next? Are you all going to whip out your dicks to see whose is bigger?”
He sent her a lazy grin, refusing to rise to her lame attempt at baiting him. “You’ll know my dick size soon enough.”
“God you’re an asshole,” she hissed out between clenched teeth.
And she almost looked like his Eliza. So much so that he felt an unexpected jolt of relief and something else altogether.
Something warm. Something that felt good when he had felt nothing but fucked-up shit for the last week. It made what he had to do next suck. Because they’d already fucked away enough time since he’d tagged her at the shithole house she’d been staying in that was so dilapidated and indefensible that even her arsenal wasn’t going to help if any heavy shit went down, and he already knew whatever the fuck Eliza was tangled up in, it was heavy.
And it was obvious that she sensed the change in his mood and intention, because she paled and all her anger fled, leaving only a stark hollowness that made his already shitty mood even worse.
He dismissed his men with a single motion and when they left to resume their posts, he turned back to the table to release Eliza. Her cuffed hand was curled so tightly around the leg of the table that the tips of her fingers were white. And when he gently unlocked the clasp and her hand fell away, he caught it, felt it tremble in his grasp and he tightened his hand around hers.
Before he even said anything, she closed her eyes and it made the shadows underneath them more pronounced, which in turn made her look even more vulnerable and he hated it all.
“Eliza—”
He was interrupted by his cell phone ringing and he glanced down, pulling it upward from his pocket just enough to see who the incoming call was from.
Fuck. And hell no. Dane was calling. After Wade had told him to step back and that this was his show. Dane had made it his show by making the call to Wade and the rules weren’t changing now. He hit the button to decline the call, sending it to voicemail and then shoved it back in his pocket. Then his hold on Eliza’s hand that had loosened slightly when he’d been distracted by the call tightened again and he fixed her with the full force of his gaze.
“Eliza, it’s time we talked,” he said in a tone that said he meant business.
This time he didn’t flinch at the fear or the shadows that immediately leapt in her eyes. He was prepared for them. It didn’t make it any easier to witness, though.
His phone went off again, this time indicating a text.
“You have got to be shitting me,” he growled.
Keeping firm hold on her hand, noticing how small it felt in his much larger one, he reached for his phone again, knowing he couldn’t afford to ignore any call or text. Or at least ascertain whether he needed to respond.
He yanked the phone up and when he read the text, his blood chilled.
“You have got to be shitting me,” he repeated, his pulse accelerating.
Situation critical. Check in ASAP.
That was it. Nothing more, which meant it was detailed and it wasn’t good.