Fallen Rogue (4 page)

Us? He took a quick look around. No, they were alone. What was she talking about? She was a wanted woman.

“You did this,” he countered. Was she playing him?

The woman finally stopped floundering and gave him an aching stare that shot straight to his soul.

“You killed my brother,” she whispered brokenly, cold pain behind each word. She closed her eyes tight and cringed. Then she passed out.

Rome cautiously released his hold, and her body sank to the floor, totally limp, her breathing shallow.

Leaning on his haunches, he gazed at her. She’d thrown him for a loop. His duty commanded that he take her in. That was his directive. But something in her shattered voice touched him. And her eyes, wounded and searching. They tugged at the frayed edges of his heart.

For the first time in his life, he doubted his orders. His instincts told him to help her. And usually his instincts were right on target. She was a firecracker for sure, but a dangerous threat? Of that he wasn’t so sure.

His targets almost always fought back, but not in selfdefense. The guilty never asked why. But she had.

Rome made a decision. He needed to find out more.

He stuffed his gun into its holster and slid his arms under her amazingly broad shoulders and solid thighs. He stood, hefting her sinewy weight, and tossed her over his shoulder.

He’d get his answers—one way or another.

Sunlight blasted through the window, blinding Harper as she stirred. She tried to raise her hand to block out the bright beams. Only her hand didn’t budge. She tried to move her other hand, but met the same result.

Alarm flared through her body. She lay on her back with several layers of rope around each wrist. Making tight fists, she flexed her arm muscles and struggled against the secure bindings, but the more she fought, the tighter they became.

Relaxing for a moment, she sat up a little farther only to find that she couldn’t move her feet. She strained her neck to see similar rope trussed around each ankle. Harper also noted that she was lying on a brown and orange plaid couch. The rope tied to her right arm disappeared over the seat back and the left arm’s bindings trailed underneath the sofa.

Experimenting, she pulled her left hand toward her right. As she moved, her right hand shifted farther up the back of the couch. She then pulled her feet upward and found that motion caused her arms to be dragged downward. Her arms must have been tied to her feet.

Panic flooded her. She closed her eyes and wrestled it down. She had to keep her cool or suffer another vicious bout of whatever was happening to her.

Besides, it couldn’t be too bad. Though she was tied up, she was bound to a really comfortable couch. So she couldn’t be in too much trouble. The rushing anxiety drained away as she fought for control and flopped back down into the plump cushions, feeling the tickling strain on her abdomen fade.

Harper looked carefully at her prison. Unfamiliar. Nothing sparked recognition. A solid, hearty wood coffee table sat between the couch and a huge flat-screen television, nested above matching wooden shelves stocked with sophisticated black entertainment components. Sparing an appreciative glance for the sleek technology, she then peered at the rest of the area.

The decor was simple, yet the pieces there were of good quality. The space was wide-open and airy, especially with sunlight gracing every corner. The walls were adorned with snowy mountain landscapes encased in heavy wood frames. Dark blues and rich greens, which mingled with the plentiful natural light from the wall of windows that commandeered half the room, were the only colors present.

She hated to pigeonhole the place, especially given her own spartan dwelling back in San Francisco, but the place hinted at a man’s touch.

Man’s touch. Harper shot forward, wincing at the tight bindings. She flopped back into the plush confines of the couch.

Flashes of memories showered over her, crackling inside her head like sparks. The last thing she remembered was wrestling with a shadowy figure just before he’d pinned her to the cold concrete floor of Bobby’s ruined lab. She’d had a second episode of the mind thing and events had been pretty hazy until all of a sudden he was there, facing her.

Her recollections were spotty, but she recalled the man had quicksilver moves. Thankfully, her body’s fighting instincts had kicked in. Hadn’t she gotten in a solid jab? She flexed the fingers on her right hand. A slight prickling of pain radiated from her knuckles. A smile broke out despite the circumstances.

He’d held her down under his hard-as-granite body, clasping his feet around her legs like an unbreakable vise and pinning her arms hard to her chest. She remembered her futile attempt to squirm out of his unyielding confinement. Then she’d finally asked him why. Why was he doing this? He’d seemed strangely confused at her question. Almost as confused as she was. And then she’d passed out.

Was this his place? Was he keeping her hostage? Had he done something to her? The man seemed to have known her. Been looking for her. Why? As if things could get more convoluted.

Shaking her head to clear it, Harper decided she’d better try to escape before finding the answers to any of those questions. Regardless of the cozy setting—not including the rope—she had no idea where she was or whether she was safe. Maybe there was no safe place for her anymore.

Raising her head, she searched her immediate area for anything she could use to cut through the thick rope. The four electronic remotes scattered on the table wouldn’t do the trick. Neither would the rolled-up, halfempty bag of potato chips.

But that glass might. Though a little crusty from recent use, it looked like the edges of the hefty pint glass would be thick enough to slice the twine as long as she could break the glass itself. It was resting on a coaster. Coaster?

If she could only get to it. About a foot from the edge of the table, it would be a challenge. If she could just jar the table enough, the glass would roll off and shatter against the hardwood floor. Or better yet, break against the solid table itself.

Harper squirmed on the couch in an attempt to twist close enough to bump the table. Wriggling like a worm, she knocked her knee against the wood table. Sucking in a wince from the clumsy bonk on her kneecap, she watched as the glass wobbled across the tabletop, moving closer to the middle instead of the edge.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her bindings taut and shimmied again. She banged her knee harder against the table, ignoring the same painful jolt. The glass fell over and rolled away from her, off the far side of the table. It dropped to the hardwood floor with a clatter. But it didn’t break. Sighing in dismay, she closed her eyes and sank into the couch.

Her eyes snapped open at the deep snickering coming from the room’s large open entryway. Straining her neck to see the source, her breath caught when she gazed into the laughing, clear blue eyes of her nemesis from the lab. The shadows there had masked him well, but here in the bright daylight, she was absolutely sure this was the man who had gotten the best of her last night.

He lounged against the wall, holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She guessed he was easily half a foot over her five feet ten. She could see the evidence of rock-solid muscles under his tight black T-shirt. Snug blue jeans barely concealed the similarly evident muscles in his legs. Memories of that firm strength against her own body washed over her.

He was staring at her, the slight quirk of his alluring mouth indicating his patience with her appreciative perusal.

Cropped dark hair framed a rugged face. Stubble shadowed his jaw, maybe a day or two of it. Harper couldn’t stop the grin from creeping onto her face as she saw the beginnings of a hearty bruise covering the upper part of his nose just below his left eye. She’d done that. Good. She hoped he had a rhino-sized headache.

“Yes, it hurts,” his deep rumble confirmed. Long fingers from a large hand gripped the spoon tighter and dipped it into the bowl. He scooped some cereal into his mouth without breaking his piercing blue gaze.

Harper didn’t know what to do. Should she demand that he free her? Should she ask nicely? Should she act crazy and make threats? Having never been tied up before—well, she’d been tied up for naked fun and games, but never by a stranger with a gun—she really had no frame of reference for this kind of thing.

The man took another spoonful and moved to the oversized green chair to the left of the couch. He eased down and propped his booted feet up on the table, then stared while he chewed.

Her stomach shuddered with an involuntary growl. Watching him chomp away, Harper suddenly couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Was it yesterday? Two days ago?

“Hungry?” the man asked, the muscles in his square jaw flexing with another crunchy bite of cereal.

The truth? “Yes.” Harper sighed, plopping her head back down onto the couch, keeping her gaze steady under his. She was actually starving.

“Honesty,” he stated with a hint of surprise and a twitch of his lips. “Good. That’ll make things easier.”

“What things?” She couldn’t stop herself before the apprehensive question escaped. She mentally slapped herself. In movies, hostages were cool and calm, right?

“I’ll make you a deal.” He leaned forward and set
down the bowl. His muscled forearms rippled as he rested his elbows on his denim-covered thighs. “You tell me why you’re wanted, and I might give you something to eat.”

Meeting his ice blue gaze with her own, Harper suddenly felt tired. His eyes were like clear glacial pools, compelling her to jump in and spill everything. She relished the thought. Her life had been a complete nightmare since she stepped off the bus. She was truly alone now. So it would be nice to tell someone about it. She craved someone to talk to. Maybe doing so would help her begin to deal with it.

But she wasn’t sure she was even ready to deal with it. Especially while tied to a couch. Albeit the supercushy couch of a supersexy man.

Wait. He’d said she was wanted. Fear fizzled in her stomach. He must be a cop or something. They must have found the bodies up in the Barracks and somehow tracked them to her. Oh, goodness. What was he going to do to her? She was probably going to prison. Forever. A sickening flush crawled across her skin.

“Look, lady.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his dark hair. “Either you talk to me or I take you in. Right now. Your choice.”

“Take me in where?” Harper asked, a little shakier than she had intended. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t meant to do anything to those guys. Holy cow. “Jail?”

“I’m not a cop,” the man said. She closed her eyes in relief. “I’m a government agent.” Her eyes snapped open in sharp panic. Holy herd of cows. The government was after her.

He raised a hand, his palm facing her in a calming gesture, as he obviously saw the alarm written all over her face. “Honey, just tell me the truth. Why was I sent to find you?”

She tried to calm down. It was hard to do under his intense scrutiny, but she had to; otherwise she might have another episode. They seemed to come when she got upset. She’d hate to rip him apart like she’d done to those other men. One, it would be an incredible waste of very nice man flesh. Two, he’d actually been okay with her, other than keeping her tied up and hungry. And three, he seemed to really want to hear her story.

Curious. Why bring her here, and not just turn her in to whomever in the government wanted her? Very curious. Maybe she should just come clean. It wasn’t as though she had many options. It could get a lot worse from here; that was for sure.

Meeting his gaze, she decided to give in and talk. “I don’t know.” Harper shook her head, the weight of her recent past lying heavily upon her. “I don’t know why any of this is happening.”

“Any of what?” he asked, leaning forward. Serious interest sparked in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she countered hastily. He slumped back; a look of skepticism and disappointment washed over his rugged features. “Honestly, sir, I don’t understand what’s happening. That’s the truth.”

He raised a dark eyebrow and frowned, pulling out a stiff piece of paper from his back pocket. He turned it toward her.

Harper’s breath caught. In his hand was a photograph of her brother with his arm around her at the National Collegiate Swimming Championships three years ago. She’d won gold in every one of her events.

“Who is this man?” His deep voice broke her out of the proud memory. “And which one of you is Harpie?”

She almost choked at the nickname her brother had used for her since she was three. “That’s my brother,
Bobby,” she managed in a shaky tone. “I’m Harper. Harpie is—was—his name for me.”

“Your brother,” he repeated immediately, demandingly. “The one you said was killed.” Did she say that? When had she blurted that out? Oh, right. When this man was forcefully restraining her. Before she passed out. “What did he do?”

“Nothing” was all she could say. She closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. “He was just a scientist.”

“Why was he killed?” the man asked levelly. But she couldn’t speak. She was too busy trying to control her misery and rage from the relentless questions. “Harper?” Her name rumbled off his lips, with a slight growly tone that tickled her tummy, strangely calming the simmering emotions within her.

She opened her eyes to look at him again, trying to emanate resolve. “I don’t know why my brother was killed,” Harper answered quietly, “but I’m going to find out.” A startled flicker passed through his blue eyes, then was gone. “And when I do, I’m going to make the people who killed him pay for it.”

His gaze remained locked with hers and she could see the wavering belief there. It was apparent that something was warring inside of him, as though he sincerely wanted to trust her. Why, she had no idea.

“You’re not lying to me, are you, Harper?” There it was again. Some kind of Midwest accent. The rolling way he said her name was too compelling, too dangerous.

“I’m telling you the truth,” she replied.

He stared for a long moment, then hoisted his long body from the chair and moved behind the sofa, out of her line of vision. Shadows flickered through the rays of sun shining into the room as she listened to him pace behind her.

Frustration threatened to surface, but she soon real
ized that the man was thinking. She remembered her father would pace—no, stalk, actually—back and forth at the top of the stairs while she and Bobby sat on the steps, waiting for him to come up with a punishment for whatever outrageous stunt they had pulled.

“Okay, Harper.” He suddenly appeared in front of her.

“Okay, what?” she answered, aware that she hadn’t heard him move. She’d have to be more cognizant of that. If she got the chance.

“I’ll help you,” he said, flopping down in his chair once again, his gaze burning into hers, making her blink. “I’ll help you find out why your brother was killed.”

“No way.” Even flatly refusing his offer, Harper’s smoky voice sent a thrill of excitement straight to his groin. The fact the woman was tied up on his couch didn’t help. “No thank you. No.”

“So, tell me how you really feel.” Rome shot her a sardonic half grin. He watched her expressive face closely, looking for clues to unlock the mystery and conflict she’d unwittingly brought into his life.

Harper was obviously keeping something from him, something big. But he was convinced that what she had revealed was the truth. He’d spent a lot of time deciphering people and cracking their personal codes, figuring out what they were hiding. His job, his very survival, demanded it.