Lie with Me (11 page)

Liv always prodded her to get out there, have some fun. Sky would remind her that she worked too hard to have any fun of her own either, but Liv would shrug and say there would be plenty of time for that later.

Sky wanted to tell her friend not to waste any time, that it was all so damned precious, but Liv knew that as well as Sky did. And so Sky just told her, “I’m trying. I’ll check in soon, and if not, I’ll see you next week for sure.”

“You bet you will—you can’t miss that appointment. Speaking of which, your dad missed his last checkup. I’m assuming he’s feeling all right?”

“He’s feeling great,” Sky lied. “Talk soon, okay?”

With that, Liv hung up the phone and Sky did the same. She began to pack without really noticing what she was doing, her mind once again focused on her father.

They’d had private nurses watching out for both of them for the first few weeks post-surgery, although her dad insisted on doing a lot of the work for Skylar himself. He cooked for her, kept track of her meds. Talked with her about her books and played Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble with her.

He grumbled that she won every game, even when he tried to cheat. Somehow, he could never get one past her.

She’d missed all of that time together doing regular things—hadn’t realized how much until her father had sprawled across the bottom of her bed, playing Wii … and laughing.

But then there were times during the recovery she’d find him alone, looking pensive. Planning mode, for sure, especially during that second month. She’d seen it too many times not to recognize it.

It was because of the time spent together that her hatred of competing with his job was brought into sharp relief. She knew what she’d missed.

It was also why she didn’t trust that she could have happiness for the long term. No, happiness was only for short bursts, moments in time she clung to during the long stretches when the loneliness was palpable, when she literally threw herself into her work and didn’t look up for days on end.

“No matter what, Skylar, this is the best thing I’ve ever done, second only to having you in the first place,” he’d told her.

The next morning, he’d been gone. Left a letter for her, a simple note that reminded her to eat well, take her pills, stay in touch.

I’ll be there whenever you need me
.

But this time, he wasn’t.

Cam, however, was. And with that thought to comfort her, she began to pack.

T
he next morning, Dylan was still outside, by the pool.

Did the man not have a hotel room of his own? Had he seriously spent the night here? It didn’t bode well for Riley, meant that he would no doubt remain until he got what he was looking for.

Riley should’ve kicked him out last night when she’d had the chance, but she hadn’t been able to, and the whole bodily harm thing—well, been there, done that, and his hard body was very … hard.

She’d always melted when she was around this man. Even before she’d actually met him and had only seen him from afar, she’d managed to screw up the car bomb she’d planted, which was supposed to take him out. That was three years earlier, in Bogotá, and all because she kept picturing him while she was wiring his car.

Id-i-ot
.

So yes, she’d known Dylan Scott aka Deacon Sanders could be a potential weakness from the beginning, having ended up in his bed that same night, and had confirmed it a few months later.

Two and a half years earlier—Rio de Janeiro.

She’d finished up a job, guarding a government official and preventing a planned assassination attempt. A fairly easy job—she’d been well paid … and as a bonus, Dylan Scott was in town.

She’d told herself that wasn’t the reason she took the job, even though she’d known he was on an extended mission in the area, because he’d finally called her and they’d made plans to meet earlier.

“
Hey, it’s me,” she told him now when he answered. “I finished early—thought I’d meet you at the hotel.
”

“
Then you should hurry,” he told her, his voice tinged with an impatience that made her smile
.

“
I’m a block away,” she told him, and then the explosion sounded in her ear and shook the street at the same time. She took off at a dead run, her heart plummeting
.

When she arrived on the scene, she saw that the hotel she’d been headed toward—the one Dylan was staying in—was no more than a shell. Fire ripped through what was left of the structure, the steel beams exposed and folding under the intense heat
.

Now the
polícia
were holding her
.

“
Did you see … Where are the people?” She was aware she was yelling, half English, half Portuguese—the only way to be heard among the screams and sirens and other noises filling the disaster scene
.

The
polícia
who held her shook his head, said roughly
, “Não sobreviventes!”

No survivors
.

She yanked away from the officer and he let her go, believing she wouldn’t launch herself in the direction of the building
.

“Desculpa,
lady,” he told her
.

She was sorry too, stumbled away from the scene, her lungs burning from being so close to the burning building
.

The only thing she could do was walk back to her own hotel in a numb fog of grief. Took the elevator, let herself into her room …

Found Dylan Scott sitting on her bed
.

“
Jesus … Dylan,” she whispered, shut and locked the door behind her and made her way quickly toward him. “Was the bomb meant for you?
”

He laughed, an oddly hollow sound, accentuated by the hoarseness of his voice. It was then she noticed that he’d definitely been near the building when it blew, that it most likely had been a very close call for him. There was soot on his face and clothes—a larage scrape on his neck and another on his arm
.

She pushed the hair out of his eyes as he spoke. “My mission’s complete. They needed to think I was dead.
”

“
And you couldn’t have warned me?” she demanded
.

He took the phone from her hand and opened the back, pointed to the bug that had been placed there
.

Dammit. Dammit to hell
.

She’d learn quickly that this wasn’t the first instance of him dying—and that it wouldn’t be the last. But her reaction had been so completely visceral that it frightened her
.

She’d been with him only once before. And even though she didn’t want to get attached, she couldn’t deny that she already was
.

“
I wasn’t sure you’d care,” he admitted
.

“
I don’t.” Of course, her retort was basically negated by the fact that she was already grabbing the back of his neck, her words nearly lost as she kissed him, a long breathless kiss intended to make him forget about anyone but her and ensuring that she’d lost her heart to him again
.

But as her clothes piled up on the tumbled marble floor at her feet, she wondered why she hadn’t tried to find Dylan Scott again sooner
.

Liar
.

Because she had tried. He was simply too good. But she would find a way to breach his walls, break down his all-too secure defenses
.

Because it was all about the game
.

Because it was only about being in his arms
.

Now she forced herself to push out the doors and to the pool, to confront her past and her present. That was the only way to ensure he was not a part of her future.

R
iley finally joined him by the pool. Good thing the cabana had all the amenities of a regular bathroom—and extra towels. Around five that morning, Dylan had showered and changed back into his clothes, prepared to … well, wait.

Sometime after seven, his stomach was badly protesting the lack of food and he was cursing himself for attempting to wait out a woman. And then the sliding glass doors finally opened and she stepped out into the sun, her skin darker than honey, wearing a small red bikini that most definitely caught his attention.

Dylan knew she was closer to acquiescing than even she did.

She dove into the water and swam several precision-perfect laps before stopping and pulling herself out of the pool without the benefit of a ladder.

He met her halfway to the bar, handing her an opened water with lime, which she took from him, drinking a long pull. And then she asked, “Don’t you have any friends you can stay with?”

“No.”

“We’re in the land of beach bunny blondes. I’m sure you can find one that suits your needs.”

She was in his arms before she could blink, her damp skin pressing against him. “I’ve never liked blondes.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I haven’t liked blondes since I met you,” he corrected, his hand sliding over her ass and the teeny tiny bikini bottoms.

“You’re checking me for weapons,” she murmured.

“Always, Riley.”

“I’m clean.”

He snorted and kept her close. “Whatever you’re into …”

“Is none of your concern.”

“Whatever it is was important enough to shoot me over.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I would’ve shot anyone that day, not just you.”

That made Dylan’s stomach clench, even though he didn’t really believe her. She’d never been a good liar when it came to him, although the night of the shooting she’d come really damned close. “You had a file of intel on Gabriel Creighton the day you shot me. Now Creighton’s disappeared. I want to know why.”

Riley’s expression remained unchanged and he had to force himself to remember that he was dealing with a skilled, trained, and deadly operative with no loyalty to him.

He was battling someone like himself. With major personal demons she refused to share.

He’d use those demons, parade them in front of her. Break her down. Make her vulnerable and use that to get the intel he needed. It wasn’t easy to hit Riley where she was weak, but it was necessary to get her to spill what she knew.

“Why would you come to me?” Her voice was soft, forcing him to lean in close, unable to ignore the unrelenting heat that shot through him.

“I’m still trying to figure that one out myself, Riley. Why don’t you tell me?”

T
he emails had gotten more detailed, desperate. Skylar’s publicist had been trying to force her client to respond.

Your apartment’s been broken into
. I know who you really are
was spray-painted on the wall. The police have been notified and they’re investigating. Please get in touch …

The message burned on his brain. This was getting worse by the second. And as much as Cam wanted it to be the work of some crazy fan of Sky’s, his gut told him it wasn’t.

What the hell had he walked into?

The police would be useless in this case if, in fact, Gabriel’s enemies were after Sky. Cam had been dealing with that type for the better part of his adult life, and for some of his teen years. There wasn’t all that much difference between spies and criminals. You couldn’t trust either group, but you could gain their respect by just being labeled either-or.

None of the men on Cam’s team knew about his past. He kept a tight lid on that info, and on his emotions, and he encouraged the men under his lead to do the same. He knew that if he needed them, those guys would come and help, no questions asked, no favors needed in return.

But to involve them in this didn’t sit well with him. Bad enough to have Dylan helping, even though he was already part of that world.

Bad enough that Cam had come here at all.

Focus
.

He scanned the front windows. Nothing. And still, unease settled over him like a fine mist.

He’d already been outside that morning—no footprints and no tire tracks near the house, or on the roadways. The main road had been plowed at one point during the night, but several more inches covered it, and everything had been pristine and quiet for a while. And then, finally, Cam heard the familiar rattle of a plow.

He glanced out the window—it was an SUV with a plow attached, black truck, clearing the road in front of this townhouse. Which was good.

They had to get the hell out of there, and fast. Cam had never liked or trusted
too quiet
. That’s when the real trouble always started.

He was preparing for trouble, in mission mode. And when he went into mission mode, he tended to bark orders. His men might not have appreciated that, but they listened.

Sky listened, had taken the gun with her, but she wasn’t happy. Mainly because this wasn’t anyone’s idea of the perfect morning after.

That didn’t matter. Getting Sky to safety was top priority right now.

I guess that means she’s safe with you
.

She was safe from whomever was after her. But she was still his leverage—that hadn’t changed. It couldn’t. His life depended on it.

He tried not to think about her, the way she’d whispered his name, again and again. The way she’d fit against him. Hugged him in her sleep.

He was getting soft. And hard. All at the same time.

He opened the fridge and drank the orange juice straight out of the bottle, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and froze. The perimeter alarm was a silent one, set to vibrate, which it was now doing against his chest.

In his periphery, he noted that the snowplow truck had stopped and was parked across the narrow road, its driver nowhere in sight.

At least not yet. But his skin crawled, because, fuck, they were close. Way too close.

Forcing himself not to turn around right away, he moved as if to put the container back. His chest tightened as he fought the burst of adrenaline, forcing himself to wait until the precise moment he’d need to unleash it. Which would be in three, two, one …

He whirled around fast, his arm winding to smash the nearly emptied bottle against the skull of a man as tall as he, with enough force to break both the bottle and the man’s skull.