His to Take (24 page)

“Please, Sean . . .” Callie reached out for her fiancé’s hand.

He gripped it. “I don’t like it.”

“I want to be married to you now. And I’d like to wear my wedding dress before my
baby bump makes that impossible.”

“I’d rather have you alive than dead,” he retorted.

“I doubt McKeevy would really try to off her in the middle of a high-profile event.
I don’t think LOSS wants that kind of attention,” Hunter said.

Sean nodded. “That’s probably true.”

But he obviously wasn’t sold on that thought.

“Besides, everything Callie once held secret is out in the open, along with the fact
that her father destroyed his copy of the research. So maybe this is a recon mission
or some other fishing expedition,” Joaquin suggested and turned to Bailey. “Or maybe
they’ve figured out that you’re in Dallas with Callie. Maybe McKeevy is hoping you’ll
turn up at the wedding.”

“And make yourself easy pickings,” Axel added. “Because if he has to choose between
offing Callie for revenge and torturing you to find Viktor Aslanov’s research, guess
what he’ll take?”

The thought of seeing that man in person—even in a crowded church—made her stomach
twist with anxiety until she thought she’d be sick. Being cornered alone with him . . .
Utter panic filled her.

“I don’t think we should stay here anymore,” Joaquin said. “We know McKeevy broke
into your house and trashed it, then left Houston, headed north toward Dallas. If
he suspects at all that you’re here, he’ll stop at nothing to get to you.”

Bailey didn’t want to put anyone else at risk, especially people who felt a lot like
friends.

Logan nodded. “In your place, I’d be shoving Bailey in a car and fucking flooring
it to Timbuktu, if I could.”

“Ditto.” Hunter lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t see what offing Callie
gets him at this point except a cheap revenge thrill. But Bailey . . . That’s high
stakes.”

“You’re truly the last living link to that research,” Axel reminded her.

Thorpe and Sean exchanged a glance, then looked at Joaquin, who nodded. “We’ll be
leaving.”

Bailey wanted to cry. How ironic that she’d come to Dominion terrified out of her
mind and wishing to be anywhere else. In a couple of short days, she felt as if she’d
grown closer to these people than she had to anyone else in years.

“Any ideas where you’ll go?” Sean asked.

“No. But we’ll figure it out.”

“We know of a good houseboat just outside of Vegas.” Thorpe winked at Callie.

“Mitchell! That was low-down.” She huffed, trying not to smile. “And kind of wonderful.”

“Only kind of?”

Sean looped an arm around her and kissed her temple.

“A lot,” she confessed with a dreamy sigh.

Joaquin just shook his head. “I have some ideas on location. No matter what, we’ll
be out of your hair in the next two hours.”

He stood and helped Bailey to her feet. She was loath to leave but didn’t see any
other way.

“Thanks for everything.” He stuck out his hand to Thorpe, then to Sean. “Best of luck
with your wedding and your future.”

Sean gripped his hand. “When the danger is off, come back to see us.”

“You two are welcome.” Thorpe smiled and turned to Bailey, who fought the urge to
cry. “Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you—all three of you,” she said from the bottom of her heart.

Callie rose, her blue eyes sad as she held out her arms. “Be careful. Stay safe.”

Bailey nodded and hugged the woman, knowing she had no way to keep such a promise.
She couldn’t even be sure she’d have a chance to reconnect with these people. “I will.
You’ll make a beautiful bride and a great mother. Congratulations.”

She wanted to say more, but Hunter shot Joaquin a pointed glance. “What should I tell
your sister?”

“Nothing to say right now.” He wrapped his hot fingers around Bailey’s arm. “Let’s
go.”

I
T didn’t take long to gather up their stuff. She and Joaquin had arrived at Dominion
with next to nothing. Other than the few items Callie had given her, she was leaving
empty-handed. Though she would have loved some of the comforts of home, Bailey knew
McKeevy had destroyed much of it. Another reason to despise him. Besides Blane and
dance, she wondered if she had anything worth going back to.

“Do you have everything packed?” Joaquin asked as he glanced around the room they’d
shared last night, his stare lingering on the bed.

“There wasn’t much.”

“True.” One look at her face, and he sighed. “Baby girl, don’t worry. I’ll protect
you. Sean will continue working on this end to keep Callie safe with the help of Jack
Cole and his guys.”

She was scared, but probably not as much as she should be. Joaquin had already proven
that he was smart and one step ahead of McKeevy. Her bigger regret was losing people
she cared for.

Story of my life . . .

“I know.”

He lifted a borrowed backpack filled with their stuff with one hand. With the other,
he reached for hers. She appreciated his comfort. As hard as it was to leave all her
new friends, being without this man would be far more devastating.

What would she do when he no longer had to bodyguard her and he left her to save someone
else or seek his next mission? Bailey didn’t want to think about that. She couldn’t
let a man she’d known a handful of days have her heart or the ability to crush her.
She cared, yes. Maybe she was even falling in love. But she would carry on once he’d
gone. Sadly, she already knew he would, just as she knew his departure would hurt
like hell.

As the two of them left the bedroom behind and made their way down the empty hall,
they passed through the dungeon. Someone had already cleaned up after the party. Even
the garish blow-up doll had been deflated and lay in a plastic puddle on the bar,
tacky lingerie piled on top. In the middle of the room, Logan scanned all around and
finally picked up a woman’s purse near the table where the gifts had rested.

He glanced up as they entered. “Good luck, you two. Kata really does miss you, man.”

Beside her, Joaquin tensed. “Thanks. That purse a new look for you?”

Bailey blinked. He’d resorted to guy humor, rather than acknowledging the truth Logan
had given him. His father’s death must have been incredibly traumatic. Why hadn’t
he healed? Why couldn’t he seem to engage with his own family?

God, her life was full of so many secrets, wrapped inside mysteries, all shoved into
conundrums right now. Between that and lack of sleep, exhaustion weighed on her. The
soreness between her legs was a potent reminder of the man beside her, too. Still,
all she wanted to do was touch Joaquin again.

“Ha!” Logan shot back sourly. “Tara and I got a little carried away last night. She
left her purse here and texted me to find it. But personally, I think gray and black
are my colors.” He held up the bag with a cheesy smile. “It’s even got these nifty
pockets so I can insert whatever weapons . . .” He tilted the purse sideways. Out
spilled a small collection of baby toys, all tumbling to the ground in a clatter.
A pair of pacifiers, a multicolored rattle, some cloth books with Velcro characters
stuck on haphazardly, and a little ball that played music.

Bailey froze when she heard it. Her blood ran cold.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing.

Logan held up the toy, just now finishing its little ditty. “A ball.”

“No, that song.”

“‘Hickory Dickory Dock.’” He reared back. “You’ve never heard it?”

“Her parents were Russian,” Joaquin tossed back in a voice that warned Logan to back
off.

“No, I’ve heard it. How does it go? Can you sing it?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joaquin set the backpack down and wrapped an arm around
her in a silent show of support.

“It’s something . . . A memory. I can’t put my finger on it.” She grappled for the
memory and came up empty. She sighed in frustration. “I don’t know. Please sing it.”

Logan nodded. “Hickory Dickory Dock. The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck
one. The mouse ran down. Hickory Dickory Dock.” He rubbed the back of his neck with
a grimace. “It sounds less stupid when I’m singing it to infants.”

Bailey shook her head. “Those aren’t the words I learned.”

“Maybe your parents sang it in Russian?” Joaquin suggested.

“No. It was . . . something about a fence, a big tree, a barn, and turning three times.”
Bits of the memory rolled through her mind.

Confusion crossed Logan’s face. “I’ve never heard that version.”

“Viktor Aslanov taught it to me.”

“Who knows?” Joaquin hefted the backpack over his shoulder and guided her toward the
door. “It’s probably nothing. We’ll be going now. Bye.”

She stared at him. Why had he been so abrupt?

“Can I take that?” she asked Logan before Joaquin could pull her away. “I’ll send
it back as soon as I can.”

“Sure.” Logan handed her the little ball.

Bailey took the toy in hand. It felt spongy and soft, and she could see why babies
would gravitate toward it. She shook it, but it remained silent.

“Bounce it.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the table that had held the gifts
last night.

She did, and it immediately played the tune again. The words Viktor had taught her
jumbled in her head once more. But really, did some little kids’ song her biological
father had taught her years ago matter? Everything inside her wanted to say yes, but
it sounded mental.

“I don’t need this after all.” Bailey extended the ball back to Logan. “I’m not going
to take your daughters’ toys.”

“If it’s jogging your memory, maybe you need this. Believe me, I’ve heard that sucker
so much over the last few months, if it’s gone for a long while, that won’t be a loss.”

She hesitated. “Your babies won’t miss it?”

“Probably, but Tara and I also won’t miss them each crying when the other has it.
Really.” Logan pushed the ball back in her direction. “Take it. If it will help at
all, it’s really a small sacrifice.”

Every one of these people had been nothing but kind, protective, welcoming . . . Bailey
wondered if she’d ever see them again. Damn it, she was going to cry.

Joaquin hustled her out the door and to a gray SUV before she did. The sun showed
hints of cresting over the horizon soon, but everything around her felt still. She
couldn’t help but wonder if McKeevy was somewhere lurking in the dark, just waiting
for his chance at her. Dominion had felt safe, as had its people. Now they were gone.

Inside the vehicle smelled of leather and Joaquin. He threw the backpack in the backseat,
then climbed beside her and eased out of the lot, sans headlights. At this time of
morning, almost no cars congested the streets. He waited until he’d cruised a few
lonely blocks before flipping on the lights, punching the gas, and heading away from
the club.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” He looked tense, worried. “I have to think of some place safe, but
with McKeevy and LOSS onto you, I think we have to start playing offense and try to
access anything you can remember about the day your family died. Maybe that will help
us. If he kept a copy of that research—”

“I don’t know. If he did, I don’t remember. I was barely five.”

“But your memories are coming back. There’s a chance we can extract more from your
dreams. Anything you can remember might save you. Talk to me about that ball.”

“The music is sparking something. I don’t know what exactly. It’s . . . fuzzy. Why
didn’t you want to tell Logan?”

“It’s better for him if he doesn’t know anything LOSS might want.”

Bailey supposed that was true. She didn’t want the people who had tried to help her
at any additional risk. In fact, she prayed that, with her gone, Callie would have
a perfect wedding.

With a sigh, Bailey squeezed the ball Logan had given her. She was almost loath to
hear the song again, like it might open a Pandora’s box of crap she didn’t want to
deal with. But the chime played in her head, taunting and compelling her. Besides,
if information was power, she couldn’t procrastinate in learning.

She tossed the ball against the dashboard, catching it as the rubbery orb bounced
right back. It sang to her as she took it in her palm.

Hickory near the . . . something. The can’t-remember hides on the something-or-other?
The rest of the song just faded from her consciousness as she tried to recover the
first two lines. Maybe if she could sing that much, the other lines would follow?

“Anything?”

“Not enough. It starts with hickory, just like in Logan’s version. Then it veers off.
Let me try again.”

She bounced the ball against the dash one more time and let the melody play. “Hickory
near the dock. The mouse hides on the . . . something. From the painted fence, jump
three times.”

“Then what?”

“That’s all I remember.”

Her inability to recall the song frustrated her. Not that she’d expected to bounce
the ball a couple of times and the song would magically fill her brainpan. But the
black spots in her dream, the fate of her family, really upset her—being unable to
remember upset her. Why couldn’t she just close her eyes and get it?

“Take a deep breath and relax.”

Bailey did as Joaquin asked, but the more than vague edge of annoyance prevented her
from actually unwinding. “Nothing.”

“Hang on,” he insisted. “Hand me the ball.”

Sending him a sideways glance, she plopped the little sphere in his palm. He stopped
at a light, then bounced the toy on the console between them. She shut her eyes again.

“Hickory near the dock. The mouse hides on the farm. From the painted fence, jump
three steps left. Walk a straight line to the . . . something. Hickory near the dock.”
She sighed, her vexation climbing. “Is this even important?”

“Viktor Aslanov rewrote this rhyme for some reason.”

“He was Russian. Maybe he didn’t know the words.”

“It’s possible. But we’ve got nothing else. This sounds a little like he gave you
directions to something.”

“Or that’s wishful thinking on your part. It’s just . . . part of it doesn’t want
to come out of my memory bank.”

“You haven’t thought about this in forever. Try one more time.” As he veered onto
the highway heading north, he bounced the ball again, and Bailey did her best to listen.

Nothing new. She still couldn’t remember where the rhyme said to walk the straight
line to.

“Sorry.” She shook her head.

“It’s all right. We’ll give it a break and work on it later. Maybe you should close
your eyes and see if you can sleep.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I’m pretty keyed up.”

Joaquin shrugged, conceding the point. “And I could use some coffee.”

“I don’t drink it much, but that sounds good.”

“Okay. Let’s see how much of the rush hour traffic we can beat. When we get to the
outskirts of Dallas, we’ll stop.”

“I’ve encountered plenty of stop-and-go crap in Houston. I’m for anything that bypasses
the possibility of more. Why are we going north?”

“South isn’t going to work,” he tossed back. “No sense in going back to Houston.”

“True.” Especially since McKeevy knew where she lived. Her lease was up in less than
two months. She’d been planning to sign again. Now she’d probably look for another
place once she was safe.

If she was ever safe again.

“I’m trying to come up with a game plan. If we need to go east or west, I’ll veer.”

That made sense enough for now. “What do you mean by coming up with a good offense?”

“In a nutshell? Stop running. What LOSS wants isn’t you, but what they think you might
remember: where your father might have buried that research.”

“Why do they want it so bad?”

“Could be a million reasons, but my best bet is exactly what Sean suggested: They’re
convinced they can genetically alter soldiers to kick the U.S. military’s ass. Remember
they want to secede from the Union.”

“That sounds awfully . . . sci-fi.”

“From what we can glean, your father’s research was incredibly advanced. He was years—maybe
even decades—ahead of his peers. It’s also possible he was a hell of a snake-oil salesman
and fed LOSS a bunch of mumbo jumbo about his capabilities, and they believed it.”

“Seems like they’d want some proof.” Why else would they give a scientist so much
money? Bailey frowned.

“Yeah, I’ve thought that. Something has convinced them this information will solve
all their ills, because they’re awfully willing to kill for it. Maybe the bit of research
they received early on convinced them they needed the rest. Who knows? Our problem
is just keeping you alive. I think the key is finding whatever your father may have
hidden.”

“Do you know for certain he hid anything?”

“No,” Joaquin admitted. “But a man flushing his life’s work down the toilet willingly . . .
I don’t buy that.”

Bailey shrugged. “But you’re not upset about your job.”

“I’m passionate about justice. I haven’t given up on that. I’m just going down a different
path for it.”

And then what?
she wondered, but didn’t ask. Maybe she didn’t want to know which of the four winds
he’d follow out of her life once this danger had passed.

“So you’re thinking we try to find whatever Viktor Aslanov might have salvaged. Where
do we start?”

Joaquin hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about this. I think we have to go back to the
scene of the crime.”

“I don’t know where he did his research.”

“But we know where LOSS came looking for him and murdered his family. Maybe they had
some hunch to hunt for the information there.”

“Go back to that farm I see in my dreams?” The idea horrified . . . even as it made
sickening sense.