Hidden Away (20 page)

Marcus’s jaw twitched as Douglas remained silent.

“I might have let you go except for that,” Marcus continued. “Are they hunting her?”

Douglas’s lips tightened and his nostrils flared.

Marcus shot to his feet, his palms slapping the top of his desk as he leaned toward Douglas. “You’ll talk, you son of a bitch. I guarantee you before this day’s over, you’ll talk. You’re going to tell me everything you reported back to your superiors.”

“Fuck you.”

“No,” Marcus said. “Fuck you, Douglas.”

He made a motion with his hand and Douglas was dragged from the room by three of Marcus’s men. Marcus sank into his seat and leaned back as he turned to stare out the window. Douglas would talk. Not that it really mattered. Marcus had to operate under the assumption that Sarah was no longer a secret. Which meant she was in danger. The CIA and countless other operations would have no qualms about using her to get to him. A fact Sarah herself knew, since she’d naively fled to protect Marcus.

He smiled at the idea that his little sister would protect him. He was one of the most feared men in the world and yet a woman with a soft heart and little to no knowledge of just how bad the world was had it set in her mind that he needed her protection.

No, it didn’t matter if Douglas talked but he sure as hell was going to regret betraying Marcus’s trust. Marcus didn’t want a quick end to Douglas’s suffering. His men had been instructed to keep him alive for as long as possible. Eventually he’d die in the worst sort of agony. Until then he’d pray for death with every breath.

Marcus opened his laptop and checked the email account where Sarah sent him messages. There was a new one from her. Grim satisfaction gripped him as he scanned the contents. She was finally asking him for help. He rapidly typed in a detailed response, giving her curt instructions on where to go and what to do when she got there.

Once he was done, he closed his computer and hoped she had the sense to listen to him.

He leaned back again in his chair and studied the patterns in the painting that adorned his wall. Then slowly pulled open the drawer where he kept a photo of Sarah locked away in a small lockbox.

He couldn’t allow anything to happen to her. She’d already suffered far too much. If their father had done his duty, Sarah would have been raised with the protection and privilege she deserved.

He hoped the bastard was rotting in hell. Right alongside Allen Cross.

“Soon, Sarah,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure you never want for another thing. I just need a little more time.”

THERE
was no ocean view. No sound of incoming waves and no cool breeze from the water. It was hot. The humid, cloying type of heat that made Sarah’s edgier than she already was.

She’d arrived the day before after hiding in a ridiculously small, run-down hotel room in a town she couldn’t even remember the name of. When she’d received Marcus’s email with explicit instructions, she’d been both fearful and relieved. As much as she didn’t want to involve her brother in her mess, she needed help and he’d provided wonderfully.

Fiona, the caretaker of the house Marcus owned, had stocked groceries and all the necessities, and as soon as Sarah arrived, she’d discreetly disappeared leaving only a telephone number where she could be reached if Sarah needed anything.

The area was remote but not without its escape routes. She’d spent every moment of her first hours here meticulously planning for any eventuality. She’d been a little—okay a lot—naïve when she’d arrived on the island weeks earlier. Not that she hadn’t been exceedingly cautious, but even so, she’d been caught unawares and without a way to protect herself. Escape route, yes. She’d made sure of that from the moment she’d arrived on Isle de Bijoux. But she hadn’t considered her own protection. Ridiculous, considering her circumstances.

It was no longer an issue. Thanks to Marcus, she now owned a gun and while she wasn’t exactly able to test-fire it, she’d been over every inch of the weapon, loading and unloading, testing the stiffness of the safety, the weight of the gun and how the stock rested in the cradle of her palm. It was big and a little awkward for her, but in a pinch, it would work.

She’d raised it, pointing at an imaginary enemy and tested her resolve to kill another human being. When all else failed, she pictured Allen Cross and imagined facing him down and putting a bullet through his heart.

She could look out for herself. It was
time
to look out for herself and stop being the scared, defenseless twit she’d turned into over the past year.

In a former life, she would have been able to stay on the island and perhaps enjoy a vacation romance with Garrett. He’d certainly seemed interested enough. He’d kissed her. She’d seen the way he looked at her. She wasn’t immune to the man despite the faint sense of alarm he raised whenever he was near.

No, it wasn’t fear of him as someone who posed a potential risk to her safety. It was the fear a woman had when she sensed a man who could overpower her senses and reduce her instincts to those of a primal being.

It was a heady sensation. It filled her mind and soul with a vibrancy that awakened a deep longing. To possess and be possessed.

Mocking laughter bubbled up in her throat as she stared at the lush terrain surrounding the house. She stood in the window and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She was running for her life and was standing here contemplating the what-ifs involving a fling with a hot guy.

But she was encouraged by the flare of attraction, the ability to think of a handsome man without fear and mistrust overwhelming her. It was ... a step in the right direction. Progress. Healing. Sweet, sweet healing.

Amidst such turmoil and the knowledge that her life was irrevocably changed, hope burned. That maybe, just maybe, her future wasn’t the bleak horizon it had been months ago. It was ... liberating.

Hunger drove her toward the kitchen. Reluctantly, she left her perch high above the surrounding acreage. Here she felt more secure. She could see an approaching threat.

The kitchen, while small, was well stocked and surprisingly had updated appliances. It was more modern than her apartment back in Boston. After checking the fridge and pantry, she decided to go for simple and made herself a sandwich. She’d cook later when she wasn’t feeling so antsy, as if someone would pop out of the woods at any moment and storm the house.

She poured herself a glass of wine and started to put the bottle up but then decided an entire bottle wasn’t a bad idea. It would definitely help take the edge off the previous days of all-consuming stress.

She tucked the bottle under her arm, picked up the saucer with her sandwich and then collected her wineglass with the other. She went back to the living room with all the windows and positioned herself so she had the best view. By the time she was halfway through her sandwich, she’d already refilled her glass twice.

Mellowed by the wine, exhaustion crept like a slow-moving fog, seeping through her veins until her limbs went slack and her eyelids were so heavy that she struggled to keep them open.

She kicked off her shoes and leaned forward to put her plate on the coffee table next to the almost-empty wine bottle. After staring a moment at her glass, she drained the contents and then slumped back on the couch, her head bouncing gently against the plump cushion.

Probably not the best idea to get soused when she was supposed to be on her guard, but she hadn’t slept in three straight days, and she was fried. She had to sleep or she was going to go crazy.

There was one other thing she had to do before she succumbed to exhaustion. She dragged her laptop over to her from the end of the couch and opened it. It took a moment for her computer to find the wireless network, and she held her breath, hoping the Internet connection was reliable enough for her to check her email.

The screen blurred and she reached up to rub her eyes and massage her forehead as she tapped at the keys with her other hand and completed the series of steps to access her account. Her connection was slow and it seemed to take forever for the page to load. When finally, the screen bearing the message that she had new emails popped up, she tapped impatiently at the keypad to access the content.

The first was merely one line.

The second contained all the impatience and worry she knew Marcus was capable of.

She opened a blank email and typed a short response.

She shut the laptop and pushed it toward the end of the couch. Her eyelids drooped more precariously than before. Sleep. Finally, fatigue was fast overtaking her. She glanced over to the end table to her right and reached out her hand to grasp the gun. After checking to make sure the safety was engaged, she placed it in front of her on the table by her discarded sandwich, making sure the weapon was within easy reach of her position on the couch.

She yawned broadly and welcomed the approaching oblivion of sleep. Aided by the wine and three days of adrenaline-induced wakefulness, she slipped under. But even so, her sleep was fractured and she dreamed of dark shadows and of something else entirely. She dreamed of Garrett.

 

 

GARRETT
didn’t immediately intrude on Sarah’s newfound sanctuary. He spent the first day scouting the area, keeping his ear to the ground and making damn certain that he wasn’t walking into a trap—and furthermore that when he did make his presence known, they’d have a clear escape path.

Donovan was positive that the house Sarah was holed up in belonged to Lattimer, which meant Sarah had been in contact with him since leaving the island. He was going to have to talk fast and make damn sure Sarah didn’t contact him again after Garrett made his presence known or his cover would be blown to high heaven.

Whatever had prevented her from accepting help from her brother before evidently had gone out the window as soon as she’d run scared. Or maybe this had been the plan all along. Who knew how Lattimer thought. It pissed Garrett off that Sarah’s brother had left her vulnerable for so long while she was on the island. If she was so damn important to him, then Lattimer should have hauled her away to one of his many holdings whether she liked it or not.

As a result of Sarah’s flit, Garrett had no idea what he was getting into. For all he knew, Lattimer could be here with her, although it would make him the dumbest son of a bitch on the planet, and Lattimer hadn’t stayed alive as long as he had by being stupid. Still, stranger things had happened, and one thing Garrett had learned in his years in the military and the missions that KGI had taken over the years, was that crazy shit happened all the time and rule number one was to be prepared for anything.

He shifted his backpack, and switched his rifle to his other hand as he climbed another hill in the wooded area surrounding Sarah’s house. He was nearing an end to his recon after having made a complete 360 of the terrain. What he’d seen so far pleased him. There was no sign of recent activity, no indication that anyone had found her before he had. But still he paid careful attention to the smallest indicator that anyone but him had been watching the house.

He rested on his stomach and moved his field glasses to his eyes. He trained them on the many glass windows of the house. The openness made him twitchy, although it being one of Lattimer’s holdings, it was likely all state-of-the-art bulletproofed.

Garrett scowled even harder when he found her, standing at one of the windows looking out with a worried frown. It didn’t matter if the glass was bulletproof or not. Her parading around in the opening was an invitation to anyone hunting her.

He was going to have a long talk with her about safety measures just as soon as he explained to her the magnitude of the danger she was in. Hell, everyone in the world wanted a piece of her. Resnick was probably having a kitten right this moment and would be breathing hard down Sarah’s neck. If Donovan had found Sarah, so could Resnick.

He didn’t even want to think of who else was looking for her. The break-in on the island still weighed heavily on his mind.

When he was through with his surveillance, and satisfied that an immediate threat didn’t exist, he stashed his gear between two rocks and began the slow journey toward the house. He’d get his equipment after his come-to-Jesus moment with Sarah. If he barged in fully armed, he’d only scare the shit out of her, and she was already going to have a big enough what-the-fuck moment over his arrival. And he didn’t have chocolate to wave under her nose this time.

Since he didn’t want her to have any advance warning of his coming—she’d probably take off again—he was careful to keep his approach disguised and circled to the back edge of the property so he could access the back entrance.

Subtlety had never been his strong point, but now he warred between whether to knock like he was some casual guest—yeah, right—or just break in the back and corner her before she got any crazy notions. He was confident in his ability to talk fast once he was in.

He’d rather go in, explain later. Much more his style.

When he reached the solid wood door from the back terrace, he gave the knob an experimental tug. At least she’d locked it. He moved to the window a few feet from the door and peered in. He felt like a damn creepy stalker, and if she saw him, she wouldn’t have reason to believe otherwise.

“Get in first. Explain later,” he muttered.

She was a mission, and he shouldn’t feel like he had to apologize for making sure she was safe.

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Maybe you’ll believe it.”

Christ. Now he was having pussy conversations with himself. Maybe he should have let Donovan take the job after all. It was apparent he was losing his damn mind.