Lie with Me (6 page)

By the time Riley was done with high school, they’d graduated from a shitty motel to an equally shitty but slightly larger and more private apartment.

Riley remembered being scared all the time.

She remembered learning how to fight. And then her mom’s illness couldn’t be overlooked any longer. It happened so fast, when Riley was deployed overseas. By the time she got back on family leave, Mom had died alone in a state-funded nursing home, and all Riley could do was identify the body, clean out the apartment and head back to the Navy.

After that she’d tried to gain entrance into either the CIA or the FBI, but was turned away from both, despite a sterling military record and recommendations from her sups.

She remained in the Navy for five years, worked her way through the ranks, did things by the book and tried to find out any and all intel on her father and the CIA.

Finally, she left the Navy and began to work black and gray ops while investigating her father’s case.

After years and years, she’d found a way to get the intel she’d been looking for. Finally, she had a real chance of finding out what happened to her father.… She was so close to Gabriel Creighton, the man rumored to have killed her father, and couldn’t afford anyone getting in her way.

But then Dylan Scott emerged from the shadows of the storage space she’d rented under an assumed name and he was definitely in her way. Tears blurred her eyes as he held up his hands and she forced her thoughts back to her mother, dying in that horrible nursing home because Riley couldn’t afford anything better.

She didn’t say anything, couldn’t, and couldn’t let him talk, because then she’d cave. She leveled the gun at his side and shot twice, careful to wound but not kill. Because she wanted Dylan Scott out of her life for good, didn’t want him coming around her any longer, but didn’t want him dead … and didn’t want to need him.

She noted the surprise in his eyes before he put a hand to his side. The blood seeped between his fingers and he fell to his knees on the floor.

She waited until he’d pulled out a cell phone to call for help. Only then did she grab the files and run from him, afraid she’d kneel and cradle him in her arms. And when she reached the car, she sobbed, the first time she’d cried since her mother’s funeral.

Present day

D
ylan would’ve found the look on Riley Sacadano’s face priceless if he could get over the fact that she’d actually shot him five months ago to get out of their relationship.

Granted, he knew he was partially to blame for what happened—he’d pushed her and she’d pushed back. Hard. His side ached just thinking about it. Scar tissue that yanked at him at the most inopportune times.

He’d known when he’d broken into the safe that he was on to something big, but he hadn’t known just how big until she’d shot him and walked away. He still didn’t know the entire deal, but it was time to find out more, especially since Cam was involved.

Now Riley just stared and shook her head and finally managed, “You.”

He gave a small wave from where he sat on her couch, feet up on her expensive coffee table, the way he’d been waiting for her for the better part of two hours. “Me. Back like a bad penny, Riley.”

“I thought my message was loud and clear, Dylan. Seriously, what else do I need to do to convince you to stay the hell away from me?”

Why did it bother him that, once her initial shock wore off, she seemed more annoyed than contrite?

Ah, well, that’s what he got for falling for an operative with a penchant for double-agenting and God knew what else on the side.

It was why he liked her so damned much—the first woman in forever to actually remind him he had a heart as well as a dick.

He dropped his booted feet to the ground hard and she winced as sand sprayed her deep-pile white shag carpeting.

God, she looked really good—long bare legs, tanned against the short sundress that went to a deep V between her breasts. Breasts he’d buried his face in when he came so he didn’t shout out anything stupid, like
I love you
.

She moved and he tensed, but she didn’t pull her gun, or even a knife. Instead, she reached up and loosened her long, dark hair, letting it fall over her shoulders before attempting to walk past him and head for her bedroom.

He was up, his palm encircling a slim, muscular biceps, pinning her to the wall. She raised her chin as she allowed that. She could throw him off but she wouldn’t win this one, not unless he allowed her to.

He’d given her a chance once. That proved to be one chance too many.

As soon as Cam had left his place early that morning, Dylan knew what he’d have to do. Within the hour, he’d been at the airport, flying to sunny South Beach and breaking into the house of the woman who’d shot him and hadn’t looked back.

He’d planned on confronting Riley long before this, and yet found himself avoiding her. Keeping tabs on her through the loose network of spies and operatives and such, just enough to know where she was and that she was okay.

Not that he should give a fuck. But he did. And in his business, caring like that was a huge liability.

It was one of the main reasons he worked alone. The reason he’d pulled away from Delta and the concept of team. This way, he only had himself to count on—and himself to blame.

Of course, somewhere along the way, he’d started counting on Cam. It happened on one of Dylan’s last missions with Delta, when he’d been hit. For twenty-four hours, he’d waited in the darkness until the backup came. Listened to the heavy fire that crossed the rapidly evacuating downtown area of the Chadian capital of N’djamena.

He’d gotten a radio signal that help had arrived. Would be waiting in the building across the street from where Dylan was, would make contact and then come get him.

He’d never met Cam before. But he saw him now, across the road, motioning to him in the dark with a penlight.

I’m coming to you
.

Dylan remembered his pride rearing up.
Fuck that. I’m coming to you
. Forced himself to his feet.

In the heat of that kill zone, he’d instinctively put into action everything he’d learned. He filtered out chaos, put up a mental curtain between himself and the confusion, and went into survival mode. Made the dash to the waiting Delta.

Dylan had to be half dragged from that point. Would’ve been easier for Cam to carry him, but Dylan had to continue to prove he wasn’t out of the game completely.

Until he’d passed out, and then Cam had slung him over his shoulder and trotted them both to the LZ.

Later, when Dylan had been released from the hospital, he’d sought out Cam. Shook his hand. Thanked him.

“
Don’t worry about it.
”

“
Someone saves your life, you’re indebted to them,
”
Dylan had told him
.

Cam punched him then, blood spattering from Dylan’s nose. “Fuck you. I don’t want you in my debt.
”

It took months before Cam told Dylan everything, until Dylan finally understood why his words had freaked his friend out so much.

He guessed Riley flipped out because she felt the same kind of debt to him.

He’d been so close to death, so many times, she’d been sure the bullet she fired had done nothing more than kill their relationship. And that was the shot she hadn’t wanted to misfire.

She’d severed a line straight through anything they’d ever had together—or so she’d thought.

With the crap raining down on Cam’s head, Dylan’s focus was pulled tighter. And if helping Cam was in direct opposition to keeping Riley alive, he’d have to find a way to reconcile that.

Jesus, just thinking about it made him ache.

“What do you want?” she asked him, but beyond wanting
her
, he had no clue.

He’d left Delta Force five years earlier, having lacked the discipline not to tell any and all authority figures to go fuck themselves, and these days spent his time working for anyone who paid him enough money. Half mercenary, part spook, and altogether wild man, he came across as calm, cool, and collected—yet felt anything but inside, since the death of his parents when he’d been twenty and in Ranger School.

They’d been adventure-seekers with a hell of a lot of money, had been killed in Egypt on some kind of archeological expedition in a freak cave collapse. Dylan had finished raising his two younger brothers—Cael was nearly seventeen and Zane fifteen. Dylan went to court, was granted custody with the stipulation that Cael and Zane would live with an aunt at first, while Dylan was required to live on post, and then only when he was out on manuevers.

Caleb had followed in his footsteps, going first to Ranger School and now was in Delta Force as part of Cam’s team. Zane went Navy—had been with the SEALs for a few years now, and caused more trouble than Dylan ever had, which was saying something.

These days, Dylan didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with his brothers, who were usually in far-flung, dangerous places, enjoying the hell out of their lives. And he was thirty-three years old with a past that would make anyone fucking blush.

Except Riley Sacadano.

D
ylan’s touch had always made her weak, but this time, it was for an entirely different reason.

As Riley looked into his cool green eyes, she prayed her knees would hold out. She was barely keeping it together—only years of training and a will of steel had kept her from losing her shit completely at the sight of him sitting on her couch.

He leaned in close to her. “You never stopped to check for a pulse,” he reminded her. “By the way, I lived.”

When she’d shot him, she’d known she wasn’t killing him, had hit him so she’d have time to get away. So he’d stop trying to be her moral compass. So he’d be so angry and hurt he’d never want anything to do with her again.

She figured shooting him on purpose would take care of that, but obviously she’d been wrong.

He pressed his body to hers; she felt his arousal brush her belly. She tilted her face up, their mouths mere inches from each other. “I’m usually a much better shot.”

Obviously, the man really was always one step ahead of her, and she wasn’t sure why that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside; she was not a warm and fuzzy kind of girl.

He hadn’t answered her question yet, seemed almost suspended in time, and for a fleeting moment she was sure he’d kiss her.

She couldn’t let that happen, pushed against him with her free hand and forced him to give her some space. “Why are you here?”

His eyes turned hard. “I need to know more about Gabriel Creighton.”

She’d always known Dylan to have a one-track mind when he wanted something, although it typically didn’t have anything to do with another man. “No. Now please leave.”

“You ask so nicely, and without the bullets this time, but I like it here. I might go for a swim.” He smiled and her heart sank because, even though he’d released her, he began to strip. Shirt first, revealing an impossibly hard chest and ripped abs—she attempted to tear her gaze away, but couldn’t. Not when his shorts dropped and he stood completely, unabashedly, naked. “Want to join me?”

“No thanks.”

He walked past her, out the double doors to the pool, his ass firmly muscled as he strode along the deck and then dove into the pool.

She followed and stood at the edge, watching as he swam laps back and forth. She had few options. One involved shooting him, again—which hadn’t worked so well the last time.

The other was to bring in backup, but she didn’t want to deal with the questions.

She didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who wanted to know more about Gabriel Creighton than she did, and so she’d wait Dylan out.

C
am had left Skylar at her opened laptop. There was no Internet access tonight, but she’d said she planned on writing until her battery wore out, and he figured she was safe enough locked in the house in the middle of a blizzard, with no comms, to give him a few minutes of peace.

Peace. What a fucking joke; he hadn’t had that in years. Sitting with Skylar, watching her breasts through the thin tank top, wasn’t doing anything to help that either, and so he excused himself.

She seemed happy enough to be rid of him, had actually waved one hand distractedly as if dismissing him.

He needed a shower anyway. A cold one maybe, and a nice shave. It had been too long since he’d seen his own face. As he cut away the growth he thought about the months he’d spent reconning in Afghanistan, about how he’d almost managed to forget everything about his early life. About how, with the Delta team, he was simply one of the guys.

When he looked in the mirror, he realized he looked much younger than he felt.

He stripped down in the soft light the portable lamp provided and noted the small scar on his arm—white against his tanned skin.

He’d almost forgotten about it.

After his last mission, the first thing he’d done was cut out the chip Gabriel had implanted into his arm so long ago. Now he stared at the line that Dylan had stitched up for him after digging the chip out, and thought about it sitting in Dylan’s steel-encased safe. Thanks to the steel, not only couldn’t Gabriel track him any longer, but Dylan’s house couldn’t be tracked either.

Yet Gabriel had found him. The man always could.

Stick with the plan, Cameron. Get close to Sky
.

Yeah, no problem staying close. But there were other problems that could prove to be more complicated than he and Dylan had planned. Dylan, who he’d called three times over the past hour, to no avail. But finally, Dylan buzzed him back.

Cam turned on the water before he spoke. “Gabriel’s missing.”

“Spooks are never missing, Cam, you know that.” Dylan’s voice remained easy, but Cam knew his friend was anything but. Dylan was always coiled to strike when and if necessary, and this job would prove no exception.

“He hasn’t contacted Skylar—she’s left messages. Someone’s threatening her.” He told Dylan about the letters and his friend let out a small whistle.