Bringing Benjy Home (Security Ops) (26 page)

The gun flew out of his hand, clattering on the kitchen floor. It went off with a sound that tore through the night. The man crumpled to the floor in a heap in the doorway. Jaida stood over him, hands trembling on the heavy stick. Adrenaline and fear pounded through her, each vying with the other for supremacy. She wanted to run, but she was rooted to the spot. The man didn’t move.

Had she killed him?

The thought filled her with dread and nausea. She knew she needed to use the opportunity to flee, but first strained to hear any sound of his breathing. She lingered for a moment, before satisfying herself that she could hear the thready sound of oxygen being drawn in.

Abruptly, self-preservation reasserted itself and she began to inch away from the body. She needed to get to the front door. Once she had it opened she could be on her way to freedom.

She hadn’t taken more than a step before fingers clamped around her ankle. Jaida screamed and raised the stick again. The man was attempting to use his grasp on her to help him up, and bile rose in her throat.

Evil
. It rushed at her, transmitted by his touch, attempting to encompass her in its grasp. His thoughts were fuzzy, but his deadly intent wasn’t. He’d killed people before and they hadn’t mattered—they’d only been a means to an end. One more wouldn’t matter; she wouldn’t matter.

The vision was upon her suddenly, curling from his subconscious like smoke under a door.
The shot had been placed in the center of the forehead, and ugly laughter had sounded as he was praised for his accuracy. The boss had smiled at the way Weber had landed across his feet, begging for mercy like the dog he was . . .

Jaida screamed again, almost gagging from nausea as the scene in the man’s mind engulfed her. She was still reeling from her unwilling foray into the bloodbath, when another brief flick from the man’s thoughts reached her.

Now he was lying at this bitch’s feet, just like a dog, just like Weber had, and she’d pay for that; he’d make her pay. He’d have killed her anyway, but now he was going to do it slow and take his time with her. Before he was done this bitch would be praying to be delivered to the fires of hell . . . .

The hand grasped her more tightly and the man raised his head, using his other elbow to lever himself from the floor. Jaida struggled against the pervasive shroud of the man’s emotions and intentions threatening to suck her in. Her breath came in sharp little pants. Without conscious thought her hands brought the stick down again, this time striking the man across the shoulder and back. The hand on her ankle weakened; he slumped to the floor, but didn’t completely let go of her. His thoughts were growing weaker, like a transmitter whose battery was wearing down, but Jaida was still unable to free herself completely from them. She had to get away from him—she had to—before she was sucked in for good into that vapid morass of a mind. The pain was starting behind her eyes, clawing over her shoulders and down her spine. She brought the stick down once more on his wrist, stumbling away when his fingers finally released her, not only from a physical grip but from the more deadly mental one.

The freedom from the vision was dizzyingly relieving, but her limbs, earlier frozen, had returned to life. She ran drunkenly across the dark cabin, bumping into furniture that had remained in familiar locations all her life. At any moment she expected to feel that hand on her again, to be vacuumed back into that sick mind. She had to avoid that, had to, had to . . . .

She struggled with the dead bolt and chain for endless seconds before she finally had the door open. Then she was racing down the front steps, avoiding the lane, heading for the wooded area surrounding it. Bushes tore at her clothes; tree branches reached for her throat and face. Bringing her hands up to protect herself, she barreled on. She didn’t try to remain quiet. The sounds of her pell-mell flight into the woods reverberated with the snapping of twigs, the pounding of her steps, her ragged breathing.

She didn’t care about the noise; she didn’t care about the darkness surrounding her. All she knew was that she had to get help. She had to get help before the man reached her again.

Sobbing, she put on a burst of speed.

Spotlights beamed across the area in front of Jaida’s cabin. The lane was filled with four sheriff’s cars, and Trey could see several men caught in the lights. He left his rental and sprinted up to the man nearest him.

His uniform identified the man as a deputy, and his scowl said Trey’s presence wasn’t going to be accepted readily. “Who’re you?”

“Where’s Jaida?” Trey demanded.

The younger man tucked one hand into his belt and let the other hover menacingly over his firearm at his side. “I’ll ask the questions ‘round here. Who are ya, and whadda ya want?”

“I’m the one who called your office. Now, where the hell is Jaida? Is she here? Is she all right?” When it didn’t seem as though answers would be forthcoming from the suspicious deputy, Trey brushed past him, intent on searching for Jaida himself. She had to be here; she had to be safe. The fear that had threatened to swallow him the entire flight across country was rising again, panic rearing its head.

“Here, now, hold up, I’m talking to you. Sheriff?” the deputy called. “Sheriff, you better come over here.”

Trey ignored the man’s call, just as he ignored the portly-looking sheriff making his way over to him. His gaze scouted the area frantically, before landing on the porch. Relief filled him. In a few strides he was across the lane and taking the porch steps two at a time.

“Jaida.”

She stiffened, pausing in midsentence. Turning from the deputy she’d been talking to, she watched in disbelief as Trey moved toward her, like a specter from her dreams. She was afraid to answer, afraid to move, as if to do so would dissolve this mirage before her eyes. And then she was caught up in his very real arms, her head bent back to receive his very real kiss. The connection was there, crackling and urgent. His mouth was hard, bruising her lips, and she responded suddenly and totally without reservation. She let go of the blanket someone had placed over her shoulders and it slid to the ground as she wound her arms around Trey’s neck. He hugged her tightly, but it wasn’t tightly enough. She could never get close enough to him.

“Trey.” She sighed against his lips.

There was a nervous throat clearing from the deputy on the porch, and another voice angrily demanded, “Miss West, are you all right? See here, mister, this is a crime scene, and the perpetrator is still on the loose. Y’all can’t just go barging in here and—”

Trey raised his head. Now that he had convinced himself that she was in one piece, his gaze moved down her body, cataloguing the scrapes and bruises that marred her skin. That gorgeous hair was a mass of tangles, and her clothing was torn and dirty. His jaw tightened at the evidence of her trauma, and his eyes chilled.

“He came here,” she whispered, the words shuddering out of her. “And I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t call for help. I had to fight him off, and then he touched me and I saw . . .” Her breath hissed in an almost painful gasp. “Oh, God, Trey, I had to hit him again and again, and I couldn’t get away . . . .” She took a deep breath and he rubbed her back soothingly, pressing her face against his chest.

“I thought I’d killed him,” she murmured, her voice muffled against him.

His hands were all the comfort she could ever wish for. “I wish to hell you had,” she heard him respond. And at his words, the horror of the past few hours finally began to recede.

Chapter 17

They’d taken turns answering the sheriff’s questions until Trey, seeing the exhaustion on Jaida’s pale face, finally put an end to them. “Let’s wrap it up, Sheriff,” he said flatly. “Jaida needs some rest, and you have enough to keep you busy for the next several hours.”

The stout officer studied him with shrewd brown eyes. There was a long silence as the man contemplated Trey’s words, before nodding slowly. “Mebbe you’re right. Beggin’ your pardon, Miss West, but you do look all done in. We’ll clear out of here for a while—give you time to rest—and be back at first daylight. Won’t do us any good to search for your intruder till then, anyway. Whoever he was, he ‘pears to be long gone from here.” Leveling a look at Trey, he continued politely, “Of course, we’ll check out the information you were able to give us.”

Trey nodded, not at all offended that the man wasn’t going to take him at his word. He had to respect the man for doing his job thoroughly. His office had dispatched several cars out here at Mac’s call, and one of the officers had met Jaida, panting and stumbling on the road. It was a faint relief that since he hadn’t been here to protect her, these men had come to her aid with admirable speed.

The fact that he hadn’t been the one do so would haunt him for the rest of his years.

After directing them not to disturb the crime scene in the cabin, the sheriff gathered up his officers and the cars headed back to town.

Trey tightened the arm he had around Jaida’s waist and turned her gently toward the cabin. They mounted the steps without a word, but he noted her visible hesitation before they crossed the threshold.

Lights were blazing in the living room and kitchen, and Trey stood still, his gaze sweeping the area. Furniture was slightly akilter, giving the room an askew look. Even from this distance he could see that there was some blood on the floor in the kitchen area. He had assured himself earlier of the extent of her injuries, so the sight didn’t fill him with anything other than grim satisfaction. That feeling faded, however, when he noticed the chunk of plaster missing from the wall. There was a small, unmistakable hole in the center of it.

She noted the direction of his gaze. “He had a gun,” she explained unnecessarily. “It flew out of his hand when I hit him the first time, and it went off.” She surveyed the damage in the wall silently for an instant, and her voice held a note of detachment. “He must not have been able to spot the gun in the dark. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to look for it. The sheriff found it under the table.”

Her lack of expression about the matter was his undoing. Shock was starting to set in, as she was beginning to realize just what had happened here. What could have happened. She was safe, but he felt an overwhelmingly primal instinct to assure himself of that fact, in the most primitive, satisfying way possible. His arms tightened around her as he fought for control.

She welcomed his embrace, desperately craved it. Only his touch could stamp out the horror of the past few hours. She needed this and more. She wanted to lose herself in the passion again, and convince them both that the nightmare was over.

She raised her face for his kiss, and his lips crushed hers with a desire she fully reciprocated. The overpowering emotion in him transmitted to her, and she stiffened in discovery at the voyeuristic peek into his thoughts.

Her hands became urgent. She started to unbutton his shirt and then, frustrated by her lack of progress, pulled the tails from his jeans and smoothed her hands up his waist. Their gasps mingled as the current flickered to life beneath her touch. With fingers unusually clumsy, Trey unbuttoned her blouse and dispensed with her bra. Her brief feeling of satisfaction was interrupted by his mouth on her breast, and she cried out brokenly. His mouth was hot, wet, compelling. He caught up a handful of her gauzy skirt and raised it above her thighs.

The night air was cool, even in the cabin, and Jaida gasped as it rushed across her thigh, her breasts. Somehow she managed to get his shirt open, and her hands clutched his chest. A rumble sounded beneath her fingertips as he responded to her touch, and then time seemed to catch them and speed up to an almost dizzying level. He was moving her backward, his chest hair brushing across her breasts, his mouth fastened over hers. Jaida felt the table at the back of her hips.

Then Trey’s hands were under her skirt, knowing and seeking. Her panties were pulled down, his hand moving between her legs. She was lifted a little, so that she sat on the table’s edge, and he moved between her opened thighs.

Their hands battled each other’s as they sought to release the button and zipper on his jeans. He allowed her to finish the task as he guided her legs around his hips. She’d barely freed his manhood from the heavy jeans, her fingers exploring his rigid length urgently, when he uttered a hoarse plea. “Now, Jaida. I want to be inside you now.” The words were rasped across her lips, urging them open even as she moved to respond. Her hand guided his pulsing length to the part of her that was warm, damp and aching. Then he entered her with a heavy thrust that drove the breath from her chest.

Her eyes opened dazedly, and the eroticism of the scene encompassing her was more than she could bear. The expressionless mask was gone from his face. His eyes were tightly closed, a sheen of perspiration dampening his brow. Passion sharpened the planes and angles of his countenance.

His hands went to her hips. Then he thrust again, this time reaching deeply inside her, and reality flickered away. There was only sensation. Her arms crept around his shoulders. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, his mouth hard and demanding on hers. He began to thrust with heavy power, his hips hammering into hers. His breathing was harsh, the sound mingling with her soft moans.

The savagery of their desire was too acute to last for long. He could feel her body tighten and he increased his rhythm, pounding into her with heavy force. He felt her legs crawl higher, until they were clenched around his back. When he heard the keening cry escape her lips, he gave one last long, heavy roll of his hips and then shuddered against her as he convulsed.

They clung to each other, unable to let go. Each soothed the other as the quaking rippled through them, as muscles slowly relaxed. Long minutes stretched before Trey could gather the strength to move. He slipped out of her carefully and scooped her into his arms. Then, deliberately, he made his way to her bedroom and followed her down onto the bed.

He finished undressing her with silent, efficient movements, the intense concentration on his face almost making her weep. Then he rose and swiftly divested himself of the rest of his clothes.

She watched in the darkness, a little amazed at the desire that had overtaken them, so savage and sudden that neither of them had fully disrobed. In the next second he was under the quilt with her, his weight causing them both to sink down into the feather tick mattress.

She turned to him immediately, unwilling to relinquish his touch for even an instant. He gathered her close, and rubbed his face against her tangled mass of gold hair. One hand caressed her spine soothingly.

“How did you know to come here?” she murmured drowsily. Even as she spoke the words, she knew his answer didn’t matter. She’d needed him, and then he’d been there. His hard arms were holding her close, and his still thudding heartbeat was sounding in her ear. She’d never felt safer. “I need to tell you. That man . . .”

“Sh-h-h,” he whispered. “It can wait until morning. Sleep now, honey. Just sleep.”

He held her long after she slipped into slumber, listening to the deep, even cadence of her breathing. He needed the continued physical contact. The realization of how easily he could have lost her tonight kept his adrenaline flowing, and sleep at bay. He didn’t mind. It was enough to hold her like this, to feel those now-familiar sparks everywhere their skin touched.

It was enough knowing that he wasn’t going to let her go again.

Jaida offered the last pancake to Trey, then slipped it onto her own plate when he shook his head. It didn’t bother her that he watched her eat with indulgent satisfaction, nor did it bother her that she’d devoured more breakfast than he had, although he was close to twice her weight. When she got to the point that he could no longer scoop her easily up into his arms or carry her to bed, then she would be bothered.

Earlier he’d relayed everything that Kasem had told the federal agents about the scheme to snatch Benjy and present him to his paternal grandparents, hoping the elder Pennings would reward them well for their efforts. She considered the information as she cut into the pancake.

Her eyes met his, stunned to see the now-familiar look of lambent desire shimmering in them. Slowly, provocatively, she licked a drop of syrup from the corner of her lips. Warm satisfaction curled inside her as his eyes slitted, following her movements with fixed interest. His voice was husky when he spoke the words that shattered her self-congratulation.

“If you’re trying to get me back in bed, honey, I’m more than willing. But I have a feeling your local sheriff is going to be making an appearance soon, and I don’t really think you want him walking in on us, do you?”

She frowned thoughtfully, not at his words, but at the memory they’d elicited.

“About the sheriff,” she began uncertainly. “I’m afraid I’ve done something that isn’t quite . . . well, legal.”

He cocked one elegant eyebrow questioningly, and she was distracted for the moment by the achingly familiar sight. She’d never thought to see him make that arrogantly lovable gesture again, hadn’t thought she’d be held by him, make love to him again. Emotion welled up inside her, scattering her thoughts like wisps of clouds.

When she didn’t elaborate, Trey responded, “Somehow I can’t see you as the next candidate for the chain gang. What did you do? Ignore a parking ticket?”

“Not exactly,” she mumbled, her gaze skirting his. “That man who broke in here, he was the other—”

“Kidnapper,” Trey finished for her. “I know, honey. It took me a while to put it all together in Colorado. Maria Kasem identified him. His name is Tony Franken.”

“He worked for Penning,” she whispered.

“He used to, yes. He was one of William’s bodyguards, until, I suspect, he fell out of favor because he was on duty when Lauren escaped. Then he must have fled for his life.”

“He won’t rest until he has Benjy again.”

“That’s why he was here,” Trey said tersely. “He hoped to get Benjy’s new location from you. He must have grabbed your purse from the park.” And then he must have hightailed it to Arkansas, Trey thought grimly, fighting renewed fury at the idea. All the time they’d spent hoping Franken was still in the vicinity of the park, or even later, thinking he might have followed them back to Boston, had been time wasted. Because the bastard had probably been near here the entire while, biding his time until he could make his move on Jaida.

His fist clenched involuntarily, his anger directed as much at himself as it was at Jaida’s attacker. Jaida, seeing the action, reached over and covered his fist with her hands.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I should have figured it out sooner. In the excitement of finding Benjy, capturing Maria, I didn’t think of the significance of you losing your purse with all your ID.”

“Neither did I,” she remarked.

His mouth twisted. “The difference is, sweetheart, that I’m trained to think of things like that. I failed to protect you, failed to consider you’d
need
protection. And you were almost killed as a result. That’s pretty damn unforgivable.”

And his was an unforgiving nature, she knew, hardest on himself. He’d spent his life blaming himself for failing Lauren and then her son. He was a man adept at an emotionless facade, but behind the front he maintained emotions that burned hotter, more intensely than did other people’s.

“Stop it,” she said sharply, startling him. “You may be perfecting the art of walking on water, but you’re not God and you’re not infallible. No one else expects you to be, so quit beating up on yourself. Let go of that damn load of guilt you carry around and stop feeling responsible for the world. You’re not, you know. We’re all responsible for ourselves, and when we can help each other, well, then that’s great. But we can’t always be there and we can’t always help. Accept that and go on.”

He eyed her with bemusement. “Have you been talking to Lauren?”

“No, not since Boston. Why?”

He shook his head, wondering at the similarity between this conversation and the one he’d had with his sister, before he and Jaida had even started their search. “The two of you have a lot in common,” he muttered.

“As terrifying as last night was,” Jaida said, “I think we can turn it to our advantage. That man, Franken, wasn’t just Penning’s bodyguard. He was a . . . I don’t know what you’d call him, a hired gun, maybe. Trey. . .” She hesitated, shuddering at the memory of the deadly scene that had transmitted to her at Franken’s touch. “I think Franken is the one who pulled the trigger that time, killing the man who died at Penning’s feet.”

She had Trey’s full attention now, and she took a deep breath before delivering her next words.

“And I think I know how to find him.”