Dare You to Run (8 page)

His teenage neighbor was still gaming, the window flashing with the light from the kid's big-screen television. Vitus pulled his bike into the garage and walked up to the house. He disarmed the security system, then reentered it the moment he was sure he was alone in the house. He slipped the gun he'd pulled from behind the refrigerator back into its concealed hiding place before he stripped.

His jacket made a clunking sound when he laid it over a chair. The Medal of Honor was still in his pocket. He fished it out, taking a moment to consider it. When he'd first received his trident and became an active duty SEAL, he'd accepted the fact that he might earn such an award and that it very well might be awarded posthumously.

Part of him felt like that was the case tonight. There was something dead inside him, something he wanted to bury, but something that refused to go quietly to the grave.

And he'd been stupid enough to kiss her tonight, which meant there wasn't going to be any peace for him anytime soon.

Way to go Squid, thinking with your dick.

And his heart, but there was no reason to admit just how big of a fool he was. Damascus didn't need any help getting him to dance to her tune.

None at all.

*   *   *

“I have plans for my daughter,” Congressman Jeb Ryland stated.

“So get busy telling her what they are,” Tyler Martin answered him.

“I intend to,” Jeb Ryland shot back. “You just make sure you keep those Hale brothers away from her. I saw both of them tonight.”

The last of the guests were departing, allowing Jeb time to deal with details.

“I noticed,” Tyler said. “Not that it was unexpected. The man was getting a Congressional Medal of Honor. His brother was sure to be on the guest list.”

“I haven't changed my mind about what I want done.” Jeb leaned closer to Tyler. “I want that family taken down. In name and blood.”

“Sure you want to risk another attempt at that?” Tyler inquired softly. “It's a mighty risky thing, going after a decorated military hero. The voters won't take kindly to any hint of involvement.”

“Which is your job to make sure it never happens,” Jeb responded. “I told you the price for bringing you along and taking you under my wing. If it wasn't for me, you'd be rotting in a ditch somewhere with a bullet in your skull after that botched operation with the Magnus family.”

“If it wasn't for you, I never would have been involved in that operation,” Tyler answered. “I've got nothing against them.”

The congressman's eyes narrowed. “I told you the price for becoming my head of security. Pay it or leave.”

“I can't go back,” Tyler answered. “You know that. Cut me and I'll draw blood on my way out.”

Jeb smiled at him. “Wouldn't have you any other way. See? You understand this world. If I fail to deal with Vitus Hale, rumors will get around that I'm soft.” He took a look around to ensure no one was close enough to hear. “I'd be a washed up shit-bag at that point, nothing to offer you except the chore of watching me fade away. That's not exactly what you signed on for, is it?”

“I'll work out some ideas,” Tyler said. He didn't bother to make it clear that he'd also be considering some fallback plans. With a man like Jeb Ryland, it was a safe bet to assume he might need a safety net, but he didn't let that sour him to the relationship. The higher the risk, the greater the payoff. That was just the way life was, and he was looking forward to hitting the jackpot.

The congressman had nodded once before moving away from the White House to where his car was idling. Tyler pulled open the door for him before taking the passenger seat. He settled in, enjoying the prestige of being the congressman's number-one man. It was a position he'd worked hard for and one that he wasn't done paying for. Men like Ryland didn't play by normal rules. They expected a lot, but they offered more payback too.

Tyler Martin had no intention of risking his neck for thirty years as a special agent only to get rewarded with a meager pension and the joy of knowing he had to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life for anyone with a grudge against him. No. He was going to get more for the dirty work he'd done for men like Ryland and the president. When Ryland went to the White House, Tyler was going with him as his head of security.

It was going to cost him. That had never been in doubt, but the thing with Ryland's daughter was beginning to wear on his patience. So she'd fucked Vitus Hale. Big deal. She was back on the leash with enough promised repercussions to keep her there. From what he could see, Damascus didn't have enough spine to buck off the chains her daddy had on her. Maybe she was going to give Carl Davis a little run around the garden before getting caught, but that might just be her way of making sure she enjoyed getting put on her back.

Tyler didn't fucking care.

The only thing he had to care about was dealing with Ryland's insistence that he gain vengeance. That was a damn pain in his ass, but one he was going to have to deal with. He'd almost gotten it wrapped up when Kagan interfered.

He contemplated the Hale brothers. They were the best. It made it shitty that he was going to have to take them out, but a man had to do what he had to do to ensure his place. It was the new order, one where the superrich and powerful called the shots. Jeb Ryland was a prick with a serious control issue when it came to his daughter's snatch. Half the politicians' daughters in Washington fucked to their heart's contentment. No one gave a fig, so long as they kept it out of the tabloids and off YouTube.

But Carl Davis seemed to like the idea of having a pony no one else had ridden. Tyler shrugged, not really caring one way or the other. But recognizing that idea of exclusivity got him thinking about a way to deal with Vitus and Saxon Hale.

Jeb Ryland wasn't the only one who could see uses for his daughter.

 

CHAPTER TWO

A blender was running in the kitchen, and a moment later there was a squeak from her mother as the machine made a grinding noise and something hit the title floor. The shattering sound of glass was followed by a round of laughter. Damascus came around the corner but ended up being pushed back as one of the private security men went charging in to investigate what was happening.

“It's fine … fine…” Her mother was laughing so hard, she couldn't quite get her words out. “I'm just fumble-fingered.”

Her mother laughed again as Damascus got through the doorway.

“Baby!” Her mother exclaimed, holding open her arms. Damascus ducked around the security man and into her mother's embrace.

“I wanted to make breakfast,” her mother explained. A maid had emerged to clean up the remains of the blender and whatever concoction her mother had been trying to make. There was a splattered cookbook sitting on the counter along with about a dozen containers from the pantry.

“Yeah?” Damascus emerged from her mother's embrace and sent her a smile. There was a scent of something burning, and Damascus turned to see the security man yanking the oven door open. Smoke rolled out in a thick cloud as he reached in and pulled a baking dish out that had burnt butter bubbling ominously in it.

“That's great Mom.” Damascus started steering her mother out of the kitchen as the staff dealt with the mess. The cook was rolling her eyes and biting her lip. “Let's get some coffee on the porch.”

“Don't think I'm not onto you, Damascus,” her mother muttered as Damascus ushered her out onto the back porch.

Damascus shrugged and sat down at a table already set with a coffee pot.

Her mother sat down with a little moue on her lips. “I am from the South. Cooking should be in my genes.”

The maid had emerged from the house with a tray and a smothered snort. Her mother turned to look at her.

“Well, it
should
be,” her mother exclaimed with just a hint of a whine.

“You just don't have the time to learn,” Damascus said as she hid her smile behind a mug. Her mother was delicate and whimsical and completely perfect, so long as you didn't need anything cooked.

“That is for certain,” her mother sighed “I can't believe how tight my schedule is. I am never home anymore.”

“That's because you are in demand.” Jeb Ryland joined them, playing the part of a loving family member. Damascus felt her skin prickle. Jeb was a different person when her mother was around. He smiled at his wife, dropping a kiss on her cheek. Damascus watched the way her mother smiled back at him; there was a sparkle in her eyes that needed no explanation.

She loved him, believed in him, and that kept Damascus's lips firmly sealed. She knew what it was like to be denied the man she loved. There was no way she was going to shatter her mother's illusions.

“Well, I am happy to be doing my share for your career,” Miranda Delacroix Ryland declared. Born and breed into a Southern political family, her mother had been groomed since birth to be the wife of a high elected official.

Damascus had never questioned that path until she'd met Vitus and been introduced to the other side of her father's nature. Jeb was shifting around on the porch, his hands in his pockets. The look he shot her over her mother's head was pure warning.

“Aren't you due in California tonight?”

Her mother sighed. “Yes. But honestly Jeb, I am never home anymore. I really need to ease up a bit.”

“Can't do that.” Her father deflected his wife's words easily. “Besides, Damascus is rarely home, her classes keep her at the university most of the time. That lab she studies in is a sealed one, the kind where the doctors have to wear those pressurized suits. Better for you to be out where you are doing good instead of waiting on her to finish.”

Her father had stopped and placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. Miranda patted it. “You're right. Of course. Come hug your mother Damascus, I have to catch a plane.”

She went back into her mother's embrace but caught her father shooting her a hard look. She was so tempted to let him see what she thought of him. The desire was chewing a hole inside her, but she clamped down on it, focusing instead on the moments she had with her mother.

There would be plenty of time to hate her sire later.

Of that she was certain.

*   *   *

“At last, we're alone,” Carl Davis said.

Damascus lifted her glass and took a long sip, grateful for a distraction. But when she lowered it, she found herself looking across the restaurant at a man she recognized.

Saxon Hale.

She'd know him anywhere. He had Vitus's jaw, but his hair was dark as opposed to Vitus's. She looked into the same blue eyes, saw the same cutting condemnation she'd witnessed in Vitus before Saxon broke it off and returned to sweeping the area.

What the hell was he doing on security detail?

Her temper flared. The strain of maintaining her ruse with her sire was nearly more than she could shoulder, and now Saxon was there? She'd worked too hard to protect them both. Damn all men and their pride. And damn her for the way she squirmed in her seat. She didn't owe Saxon or his brother any apologies for going on a date, especially a date she didn't want to be on. But she still felt heat teasing her cheeks, like she was betraying Vitus somehow.

Shit, fate had a twisted sense of humor.

“I must say, I have been looking forward to this since last night,” Carl continued.

Her temper was hot, which meant it was a bad time to open her mouth, but that didn't seem to register. Her patience was just worn too thin. “So have I.”

Carl's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“It's not often I get the privacy I need to tell someone like you exactly how much of a jerk I think you are.”

There, it was said. The security men assigned to them likely heard her, but they were maintaining their stony, unreadable expressions as the waiting staff hung back and made sure they arrived only when Carl summoned them. The restaurant itself was a press-free establishment, members only.

“Your father has no idea what a little bundle of fire you are,” Carl replied, his tone edged with anticipation.

It turned her stomach, destroying her appetite, which was a real shame because in his quest to use her as a pawn, her father kept her on a very strict diet. She was starving, and even sitting through dinner with Carl was worth it if she got to eat what she wanted. Instead of having the dietitian counting her calories.

“What's up Carl?” she asked as she laid her menu aside. “Can't you get enough women?”

He offered her a slant of his head. “Marriage and getting women are two separate things. For families like ours anyway,” he sniffed. “You should know that—your mother is a Delacroix. No older family in Washington.”

Of course, the Delacroix blood was what he was really courting. Her mother's family was so rooted in elected office, the only other name that even came close to matching them was the Kennedy's. She was business. It disgusted her and reaffirmed her confidence in her plans for her future.

A future that wasn't going to include Carl Davis. She pushed her chair back. “Excuse me.”

Carl shot her an amused look. “Go hide in the ladies room for however long you like.”

He sent her a wink. One that made her temper sizzle, but she turned her back on him, refusing to let him get a rise out of her. She passed the ladies room and walked to the door. She pushed right through it and ended up in the entryway of the club. The host looked at her with a frown on his face, then looked back down at his reservations list when someone moved up behind her.

She realized it was Saxon.

“What are you doing?” She shouldn't have asked. Should have kept the question to herself because she didn't need Vitus or Saxon knowing what sort of restrictions her sire had on her.

With her luck, they'd decide to do something about it.