Edge of Obsession (SKALS #3) (32 page)

She gave
a rueful shake of her head. “I have a bad feeling, Seb. I don’t know what it’s about or why I have it, but it scares the hell out of me.”

Frowning, he resisted the urge to agree.
Peeling her hands free, he led her outside. An apprehensive feeling gripped him the moment they stepped through the doors. Another round of lightning flickered in the distance, and despite the empty streets, an uneasy prickle still crawled along his skin. His eyes narrowed as he pulled Taylor closer to his side. For a moment, he considered the wisdom in doing so. Any sudden shots meant for him would go through her as well. The thought struck him like a physical blow and he found himself hurrying to get her into the car.

Taylor
sat in silence for most of the way home. Her attention remained riveted on the passenger side window. She blinked against the onset of tears several times, her hands forming a protective cradle over her stomach. His forehead creased as a crushing wave of guilt slammed into him. She didn’t feel safe, and after the bullshit with Laychee, who could blame her? That fucker had destroyed them both in more ways than one.

A dark scowl etched Sebastian’s face. Gripping the steering wheel with
enough force to make the stiff leather creak, he resisted the urge to scream and pummel it until his hands bled. Laychee was just the beginning where his problems were concerned. Marx was riding his ass and chomping at the bit, just waiting for a chance to get Taylor out of the way—and God only knew what these other men were after. He’d promised her things would get better, not worse, but that was exactly where he feared things were heading.

He steered the car up to the gate. After scanning his finger, he punched in the code and kept a close eye on the mirrors to make sure nothing slipped in behind them. Within seconds, Rupert had made his way out front and offered a polite nod as Sebastian steered the Benz past.
He’d barely pulled the car to a stop within the darkened confines of the garage before Taylor popped the door open and bolted for the house. He stared after her for a moment, then everything hit. Unable to take anymore, he cursed, slamming his fist into the steering wheel and triggering the horn.

S
haking the throb from his battered knuckles, he prowled through the shadows and came to a stop outside of the half bath. The ache in his chest surpassed the one in his hand as he spied Taylor hunched over the toilet, her slender body straining with her efforts not to heave. Shouldering his way inside, he crouched down behind her. She muttered something unintelligible into the bowl as he tucked her loose braid behind her and rubbed the small of her back.

“
I’m sorry I ran,” she said, sagging against him and turning to search his face. “I really thought I was going to get sick and I didn’t want to get sick in your car.”

“I know,” he murmured, brushing her bangs out of the way. “It’s okay. I’m
just glad you kept something down this time.”

Standing, he pulled her with him and
smoothed his palms over the outside of her arms. Her gaze flickered to his hand and widened.

“
Jesus, Seb, you’re bleeding…”

“Shh. It’s nothing, baby.
Let’s get you into bed.”

He helped her wash up and tucked her between the sheets with a promise to join her soon before making his way back downstairs. The darkness in his study seemed pressing despite the glow from his monitor as he uploaded the photos he’d taken the night before. Leaning back in his chair, he tented his fingers beneath his chin and waited for
the facial recognition hardware to finish its scan. A rapid gamut of faces and names flashed across the screen before settling on the one he was coming to know and hate.

Sitting up, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing into hooded slits.

Frank Burrel had quite an impressive set of credentials to his name, including brief stints with the FBI and CIA. That much made sense, given the man’s demeanor. What didn’t was the dates. Burrel was inactive. His last term of service dated well over twenty years ago.

Ru
nning a forefinger over his lips, Sebastian frowned. SKALS was founded after he left. How would a man with no apparent ties to the government know about them, much less have the balls to confront them? Furthermore, what was his interest in protecting Patrick James? By all accounts, his target didn’t start working for the FBI until well after Burrel’s departure and had only recently fallen off the grid. It just didn’t make sense. Biting the inside of his cheek, he studied the numbers and jotted down Burrel’s stats. Dread coiled in his gut as he typed in Marx’s information. It was a dangerous line to cross, but his instincts didn’t lie. Curiosity outweighed his reluctance and, holding his breath, Sebastian hit send.

He sat up straighter, his
brow furrowing in interest as his suspicions proved true. The quiet rustle of paper filled his study as he flipped through his notes. Marx and Burrel hadn’t just attended the academy together; they had also worked at the same field office and branched off at the same time. His lips pursed in frustration. So they knew each other. Was this an old rivalry coming back to life, or was there something more?

Pinching the
bridge of his nose, Sebastian squeezed. It did nothing to diffuse the dull ache budding behind his sinuses. Not when every answer he uncovered only led to more questions. Not when he still couldn’t find any connection linking the men to his current target. Scrubbing his scalp, he cast his attention to the ceiling. Only one person could help him now, and unfortunately for them both, that person happened to be Colleen James.

CHAPTER
12 ~

Squinting against the early May sun, Taylor fumbled with her keys and fought to keep her purse strap from slipping any lower down her shoulder. Rupert glanced over, his amusement obvious despite the wide shield of his colorful shades. She had to give it to the man, he handled shopping trips like a champ, even when she forgot the items she needed and ended up backtracking through half the aisles. He never complained, and there was something comforting in his affable, but often silent, presence.
Hitting the button for the trunk release, she watched him roll the cart to a stop behind her car.

“Go ahead and get in the car, M
iss Taylor. I’ll load these.”

Folding her arms, she regarded the big Cajun with a lopsided grin. “Are you married, Rupert?”

Laughing, he shook his head. “No Ma’am. I don’t have time for relationships. Maybe someday.”

She lifted a questioning brow at him as he hefted a case of water out of the cart. “Well, somebody’s got you trained.”

He laughed again. “That would be my mama. God rest her soul. She tried her best to raise a proper Southern gentleman. I don’t reckon she’d be too happy with me if I didn’t do my best to abide by that upbringing.”

“I think she’d be proud. You
seem like a good man, Rupert.”

He tipped his shades with a thick finger. “Thank you, Ma’am.” He glanced over as she lowered a bag of boxed goods into the trunk. “You don’t listen very well do you?” he asked with a chiding smirk.

“Only to Mr. Baas,” she countered. “And even that is subject to debate.”

His broad body shook with a ch
ortle. Rupert slung the rest of the bags in the car and shut the Chrysler’s trunk. “What about you?” he asked, resting his forearms on the cart. “Are you close to your parents?”

Her smile faltered as the all too familiar ache swelled inside her once again. Frowning, she offered an apologetic wince. “No. My dad bailed when I was six. It’s funny. I don’t remember much about him other than his eyes.
They were incredible, so bright and blue, like the summer sky. Oh and his smell—he always smelled like licorice and Old Spice.”

Rupert hung his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Taylor.
I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No worries.
”

“Your mom then she’s…?”

“Missing,” she admitted with a sad laugh. “The last time I saw her was two years after my dad split. She dropped me off at my Uncle Roy’s and hasn’t been around since. An occasional phone call or letter around the holidays was all I got.”

“Must’ve been tough.”

“You get used to things, I suppose,” she said with a shrug. “We either adapt to our circumstances or we shatter. Life is messy. Messy and short. Why waste precious time picking up the pieces? It’s easier to bend than it is to break.”

“
That’s a good point, Miss Taylor.”

“I have my moments,” she teased. “Put the cart away and let’s get going. I’m hungry.”

“Can’t have that.”

He rolled the cart toward the corral while she turned to unlock the
doors. Catching a dark flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, she froze and watched a man with wavy silver hair rush across the parking lot in hurried strides. The boxy briefcase dangling from his hand caught her attention, as did his lack of groceries. He moved quickly. The sun glinted off his head, giving it an almost metallic sheen, before he slid into the driver’s seat of a sleek SUV. Something about him made her feel tense and uneasy. Turning, she looked at the store uncertainly, half expecting the building to blow. It wasn’t until the vehicle rolled out of the parking lot and the early afternoon calm remained that Taylor finally started to relax.

Chiding herself for being so on edge,
she got into her car with an embarrassed shake of her head. Rupert dropped into the seat beside her and aimed a curious glance her way.

“Is everything okay
Miss Taylor?”

“Yeah, fine.
I’ve just been watching one too many movies lately, I guess.”

The air-conditioning kicked in by the time she steered the 300 onto the road and the cool
breeze from the vents washed over her in a refreshing wave. Relaxing, she turned up the radio. The bluesy chords of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s
Tuesday’s Gone
drifted through the speakers, drawing an appreciative bob of the guard’s head as he grooved to the music. Grinning, she cranked it up and veered past the gas station.

“They don’t make them like this anymore,” he said.

“Nope. I love it. I kind of stole the CD from Seb. We were listening to it one night and he said it brought back good memories of his parents drinking, laughing, and dancing when he was growing up.”

Rupert’s
crooked smile reflected in the passenger side window. “Same here. Lots of whacky tobaccy floating around back then. I think most of our generation grew up in a fumigated haze.”

She burst into unexpected laughter. “That certainly explains a lot.”

The head of security grunted in good-humored dismissal. They caught the green light and she accelerated after turning onto the main stretch of road leading back home. A sense of happiness and relief settled over her and she let her mind drift. She had so many hopes and dreams for the future. Long, relaxing nights in front of the fire with Sebastian, and passion filled nights in bed. Their days would be busy, but full as they raised their family. A wistful smile threatened. She’d only just found out and already, she couldn’t wait to hold their baby in her arms. If Sebastian’s increased hovering was any indication, he felt much the same way.

Despite his flaws, the way he’d interacted with his niece and nephew in the past proved he would be an amazing father. He was always so doting and patient when it came to kids. Still firm in his guidance, but a much more gentle and laidback man. A smile played on her face as she remembered the sound of Mia’s delighted squeals or the way Christian always regarded his uncle with adoration and wonder.
That was the Sebastian she loved the most. The one untouched and untainted by the pressures Marx exuded. The one who could be happy and just let himself go.

The car
shimmied and shuddered, snapping her out of her fantasies with a worried frown. Rupert’s forehead lined as he sat up straighter, his attention roaming over the gauges. Nothing looked amiss. Biting the corner of her lip, Taylor decided to err on the side of caution and calculated the best place to pull into to pop the hood. It was a busy street and traffic was too heavy in both directions to risk stopping on the side of the road. Just past the light, a small shopping plaza beckoned. Keeping her focus trained, she cursed and eased off the gas as the light started to change.

Her foot jumped to the brake, but nothing happened. Panic closed around her heart in a savage fist as she pumped the pedal and stomped it clear down to the floor. Her breath caught as the world around them shifted into a horrifying version of slow motion. She was only vaguely aware of Rupert shouting, one of his large hands locking around the side bar in an attempt to brace himself for the inevitable. Her own gripped the steering wheel, a ferverant prayer dying on her lips as her eyes flared and she stared at the oncoming glint of metal and chrome.

The crunch was deafening. She cried out, all too aware of the violent impact. Her body jerked against the seatbelt. Pain exploded along the side of her face with a flash of blinding light, rocking her head to the side. Everything dimmed as the car spun and the windows shattered. The shrill sound of screeching tires rang in her ears, overriding her cries. Another thunderous bang sent the car veering into a rapid tailspin and tossed her against the airbags.