Found Wanting (27 page)

She backed away, shaking her head. "Stay away from me."

"I've stayed away for months, and it's killing me."

He lunged, hitting her like a linebacker and knocking her back onto the bed. Before she could get her breath to scream, he smashed his palm over her mouth, his other hand fumbling with the button and zipper on her jeans. She struggled furiously, trying to buck him off, but he outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more and had managed to trap her right arm under his elbow. She flailed at his head with her free fist, but he didn't seem to notice.

She felt his erection as he ground it against her hip, and panic choked her. And then his hand was inside her jeans, rough and groping, shredding her underwear.

His breathing went ragged as he fought to free himself from his pants. "This is going to be good, Ali, so just enjoy it. You're about to find out that your boyfriend's a loser in bed because I'm going to show you what it's like with a real man."

She screamed against the hand smashed so tight over her mouth that she couldn't even bite it. Tears ran back into her hair as he --

Alaina jerked awake, her heart thundering. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

A hand was clamped over her mouth.

She struggled, caught between the nightmare and reality, panic so ripe she could taste it. She felt hot breath near her ear, tried to twist her head to see.

"Relax, it's Mitch."

Fear morphed into confusion, and she strained against the strength of his hand.

"There are two men in the house," he whispered. "They've both got to be Keller's."

She sank her teeth into his palm.

"Dammit!" Mitch hissed, yanking away from her.

Sitting up, she shoved him back and swung her legs off the bed, glad that she'd been too exhausted earlier to shed her clothes. But before she could stand on her own, Mitch grabbed her by the front of the shirt, levered her against the nearest wall and pinned her there with his superior weight. His nose nearly touched hers. "Listen to me, you idiot, I'm here to help you," he whispered urgently. "Keller wants you dead, and I'm trying to keep that from happening."

"Why would you do that?"

He grimaced, shaking the hand that bore her teeth marks. "At the moment, I have no freaking idea."

He went still as something thumped somewhere else in the house. "Ah, shit."

"What was that?" she asked.

"If I had to guess, I'd say the bad guys just took out your FBI guard."

* * *

Before Mitch could do much more than meet Alaina's frightened gaze, the lights blazed on. A man twice Mitch's size ambled through the door, a gun looking like a toy in his meaty hand. If he had been green, he might have passed for the Incredible Hulk.

Mitch, positioning himself between Alaina and the goon, raised his gun, cocked it. "Stop."

The Hulk kept coming, calmly batted the gun out of his hand and rammed him hard against the wall as Alaina scrambled to get out of the way. Mitch had only an instant to register that the impact had knocked the weapon from his hand before he saw the fist coming at his face. Stars exploded in his head, and he felt himself sliding down the wall.

But the Hulk didn't let him fall. Grasping Mitch by the front of his jacket, he jerked him up, lifting him nearly a foot off the floor and slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle teeth. "You're not giving up already, are you, hero?"

"Let him go."

Over the hit man's shoulder, Mitch saw Alaina, his dropped gun braced in both hands. Thrusting Mitch away from him, the Hulk focused his attention on her while Mitch stumbled against the door, grappling for balance, frantically searching for another weapon. A floor lamp stood ten feet away. He lunged for it, but the cord tethering the lamp to the wall thwarted him.

Frantic and fumbling with the cord, which was trapped under the wide heavy foot of an armoire, he glanced up to see the Hulk cornering Alaina against a dresser. She aimed the gun at the guy's chest, and Mitch flashed on the scene in the kitchen, when she'd clearly had the advantage but hadn't pulled the trigger.

"Shoot him!" Mitch shouted. "Shoot him!"

The Hulk tugged the gun from Alaina's hands and backhanded her. As she crashed into the dresser and slipped to the floor, Mitch heaved the armoire off the cord and yanked it out of the wall. Enraged, he swung the floor lamp like a bat at the bastard's head. The Hulk twisted, blocking the blow with an arm as big as Mitch's thigh. Seizing the long neck of the lamp, the Hulk jerked it out of Mitch's hands. He raised it, and Mitch thought, Oh shit, I'm dead.

But then the Hulk staggered and collapsed at his feet. Mitch gaped down at him.

"You okay, Kane?"

He glanced up to see his former partner in the doorway, feet braced, his Glock 9mm pointed at the man on the floor. "Excellent timing, Chuck," Mitch said, releasing a faint, humorless laugh that echoed through the ache in his jaw. His gaze skipped from the goon to Alaina, who lay unmoving. His heart jackhammering, he knelt beside her.

"She okay?" Chuck asked, holstering his gun. He bent to check for a pulse on the hit man. "This one's breathing."

Pressing his palm to Alaina's cheek, Mitch watched her lashes flutter. Recognition skittered through her eyes, and she stiffened. "You're safe," he said gently, wondering if he should be concerned by the ominous flutter in his belly when he looked into her eyes.

From behind him, Chuck said, "Actually, she's not."

Chapter 21

Layton finished off his salmon with gusto and dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin. Picking up his wine glass, he directed a questioning gaze at Jonah. "Don't like salmon, Joe?"

Addison winced at the nickname, but the teen didn't react as he set down his fork. "I'm not hungry."

"He's probably not used to having dinner this late in the day," Addison said.

Layton made a big show of checking his watch. "It's seven-thirty. Still the dinner hour." He gestured at Jonah's full plate. "Salmon's good for you," Layton said. "Lots of vitamin C. Or something." He glanced at Addison. "What's your excuse?"

She had to force herself not to glare at him. "I'm not hungry either."

He drained his chardonnay. "Tell me, what did you do today, Addy?"

The question startled her. He rarely, if ever, asked about her day. Did he know something? "I ran errands."

"Such as?"

She returned his gaze without blinking. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to know? You've never been interested before."

He sat back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I was attempting to make polite conversation in front of our guest."

Jonah scooted his chair back. "May I be excused?"

"Not yet." Layton let his smile bloom wide to soften the sharpness of the words. "I'd like to have a conversation with my son, if you don't mind."

Jonah returned his chair to the table.

"Why the long face, boy?" Layton asked, an edge to his voice that let Addison know he was annoyed. "Are you not pleased with your room?"

"It's fine," Jonah said.

"Have you tried the PlayStation 2?"

The teen nodded, but Addison could see his heart wasn't in it. "Jonah seems tired to me," she said.

Layton snorted. "A teen like you should be brimming with energy at this time of night."

Jonah shrugged.

"Okay," Layton said. "I'm going to spell it out for you. Maybe your mother tolerated moody behavior, but that's not how we do things around here."

"Layton," Addison said, as gently as possible. "Give Jonah a break. It's been a day, for God's sake."

"And I'm saying he needs to get over it," Layton snapped.

Raising his head, Jonah looked Layton in the face. Fire burned in his blue eyes. "Fuck you."

Addison gasped, expecting Layton to surge up out of his chair and strike the boy, but her husband just gave her a smug smile. "Hear that mouth, Addy? Where do you think he got that?" He shifted his gaze to Jonah. "You sound just like your mother, kid. She has a foul mouth on her, too."

Twin circles of color rose on Jonah's cheeks. "Don't talk about my mother."

Tossing his napkin on the table, Layton sat back. "I think we should. We're going to have to eventually. Why not get it all out early on?" Leaning forward, he aimed a finger at Jonah's nose. "She lied to you, Joe. For fourteen years."

"My name's not Joe."

"You could have had all of this." Layton made a sweeping gesture. "All of it. She didn't give a damn what you would want or need. That's selfish, Joe. It's damn selfish."

"Layton --"

"Do you mind, Addy? I'm talking to my son." He looked at Jonah. "You didn't even know I existed. What do you think about that, Joe?"

"I think you should stop calling me Joe," Jonah said, and his voice was soft.

"What are you going to do about it?" Layton asked, amused. "Hit me? Did she teach you to hit when you're angry?"

"Stop baiting him," Addison snapped.

Shaking his head in disgust, Layton waved a dismissing hand. "You're excused. Go to your room."

Jonah was up and out of the room in a flash.

"What are you doing, Layton?" Addison asked. "Bullying him isn't going to win him over."

He rubbed his hands over his face. "I know, I know. But it irritates me seeing him moping around like he's lost his best friend."

"He's lost his mother."

"But shouldn't he be happy to be here? Shouldn't he be excited to finally get to know his dad?" Then his shoulders sagged, and his anger drained away, replaced by remorse. The change was so swift, and looked so genuine, that it caught her by surprise.

"Jesus, Addy, I'm so desperate to win him over that I've acted like an asshole," Layton said. "I'd better go apologize."

"I think you should just leave him alone for the night."

"You're probably right." He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "She did a number on him, didn't she?"

"How do you mean?"

"He doesn't trust. She made him like that."

No, he just doesn't trust you. The kid has good instincts. She said, "You'll have plenty of time to turn him around."

Chapter 22

"Pull over."

Mitch glanced at Alaina, surprised that she had spoken. It had been more than an hour since he had awakened her, since his former partner had returned a long-ago favor by saving his life. They had left Chuck at the safe house to deal with the aftermath, which included intensive questioning of the hit man, whose wounds appeared non-life-threatening, and the FBI agent in charge of securing the safe house throughout the night. The man had staggered into the bedroom after the shooting was over. The simple bump on the head from a man hired by Keller to kill at all costs had raised suspicions -- especially considering the fear that Keller had somehow infiltrated the FBI.