Lie with Me (28 page)

He’d lifted his head during the last words and she stared into his eyes and saw the truth there. She saw everything in those eyes, and her heart ached for him.

“I think about that kid and I see me alone and scared. Willing to do anything to survive,” he whispered. “He was holding an AK-47. How the hell a twelve-year-old knew how to handle an AK …”

He didn’t finish, held his head in his hands, and she fought the urge to touch him. It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“If I hadn’t taken the way out your father gave me, I’d be rotting in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. So I went with him and I’ve stayed out of jail, even though I commit acts of murder more often than the average criminal. And for what, the greater good? Maybe sometimes—I try to believe that, but I honestly don’t know.” His laugh quickly turned into a half sob, but he bit it back, his eyes fierce, his neck tightly corded from the effort he put into holding his emotions at bay.

“I can’t imagine.”

“You never want to.” Sometimes, at night, he could swear he heard the clank of the barred cell door shutting, locking him in.

Small spaces were something he had to force himself into even now, which was why the house had a wide-open floor plan. There were also lots of windows, so he could see the outside from every angle. “I sat in a cell and I rotted away for two years.” His voice broke, but she was pretty sure that he hadn’t in all that time. He had too much control, too much pride.

But the horror she saw reflected in his eyes, that was real, stripped away.

“I was going to use you, I made you the brunt of my anger. I’m no better than he is.”

She shook him by the shoulders. “You came to me with an intention of malice, but you jumped right in to save me. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”

“You could be with your father.”

“Or I could be dead.”

“I don’t know if they’re following me—I might’ve brought all of this down on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man from the highway who tried to kill us—the one I went out to talk to—he gave me a name. It was the man I was supposed to kill. The kid’s dad. And it’s all come full circle.”

“You couldn’t have known the repercussions.”

“I didn’t know anything on those missions, I flew blind.” He clutched his fists in frustration, and yes, it was easy to see why a capable, trained operative would hate being given an order without knowing the rationale behind it. “I was trained to follow orders, but not like that. I don’t want you to see me like this—like someone who needs your goddamned pity.”

“You think I pity you?” She shoved him. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.” She could blame him for using her, for wanting to kidnap her, for even thinking about taking her life, though. “I want to hate you. I should hate you, Cam. But you brought me back to life, and I have to believe that I wouldn’t fall for someone who had a black heart. I have to believe that.”

Instincts, baby girl. They’ll never steer you wrong
.

She knew whatever Cam would tell her about her father would hurt her, although probably not nearly as much as it had hurt him.

When he spoke again, he told her, “My friend, he’ll be here soon. He’s bringing someone else to help you.”

“Does he know where my father is?”

“He didn’t tell me, just left me a message. He’s flying now. And I’ve got some work to do as well. Okay?”

She nodded, because he looked like he just wanted some space from her. After he left the room, she shifted, stared at the big bed.

She’d known he wouldn’t stay with her—things between them were just too raw, despite how much he’d shared, and maybe even because of it. And still, she wanted nothing more than the comfort of his arms.

W
hy am I here?
”

“
You’re useful. That’s all you need to know for now.
”

The heavy doors had closed. Locked in the room, Olivia heard nothing but silence, the dead, stark space that left her reeling, with nothing to hold on to except the thin mattress she lay on. It was the only thing between her and the cold linoleum floor.

She had no idea how long she’d traveled to get here, or how long she’d been sleeping since they’d thrown her in this room.

Her dad’s face flashed in front of her. Then her mom’s.

They’d have no idea she was gone. How long would it take for the hospital to report her missing?

Her patients would miss her. The staff would take slightly longer—till it occurred to them when she screwed up OR schedules.

The light streamed in when the heavy door opened and she squinted to see who walked in.

She made out the silhouette of a large man before he said, “Welcome, Dr. Strohm.”

A different voice than the men who’d taken her. She did not feel
welcome
. No, her body ached. She’d been jostled. Stressed. Her cheek throbbed, and she touched the tender, bruised flesh—it might be broken … but that was the least of her worries.

She was in much better shape than the man who was currently being tossed in with her. As she watched, they flung his limp body on the floor at her feet, and he groaned slightly. He looked like death warmed over—bruised, bloodied. Tortured.

“He’s all yours, Dr. Strohm.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Fix him.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll break him again.” The door closed before she could ask for any medical supplies. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noted a bag in the corner and scooted over to open it.

Peroxide. Gauze and bandages. Water. Advil.

How the hell was she supposed to help this man with just that?

Still, she grabbed the light stock and brought it back to the mattress. With a heave, she turned the man onto his side, even though she ended up nearly lying on the dirty floor next to him.

Her scrubs were dusty and dirty already, anyway, and her mouth felt like she’d been eating sawdust, although she hadn’t thought about it until she saw the water. She grabbed a bottle and took a long drink before she poured some on a piece of gauze and gently wiped some of the blood and grime off the man’s face.

After a few moments, she recognized him, especially when the dark, intense eyes opened to stare at her. Gabriel—Skylar Slavin’s father. “My God, Mr. Creighton, what did they do to you?”

“Is she here?”

“Who, Sky?” she asked, and he nodded, his finger to his lips, indicating she should keep her voice to a whisper.

“No. They came to me looking for her. Mr. Creighton, I don’t understand …”

He looked like he was wrestling over an important decision. Finally, he spoke to her, his voice low, his words, quick, “Dr. Strohm—Olivia—I’m not a businessman. I’ve worked for the CIA. I was infiltrating this group—they’re called DMH.”

“You’re the reason Skylar’s in danger,” she breathed, and he nodded stoically.

“I’m sorry you’ve been involved.”

“Will they ever let me go?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she went cold. “Give me a straight answer. I can handle anything but a lie right now.”

“In all likelihood, no. But I’ll work to get us out of here. I promise.” He pointed to her meager supplies. “Do the best you can. I’m going to sleep now, while I can.”

He closed his eyes as she watched. This man was strong, trained—and he’d confirmed what she already knew: This might not end well.

She’d have to do everything she could to keep him in fighting shape. Herself as well.

You can do this, Olivia
. And she did, cleaned Gabriel’s wounds as best she could, woke him once to drink water and take the pain medication, even though he initially tried to refuse it.

She was used to that, from patients, from schoolmates and co-workers too. To an outsider, it didn’t seem that she’d met with a lot of resistance throughout her life. Her family was wealthy. She had a trust fund. Everything handed to her. She admitted it had been great not worrying about med school tuition. Better still, she’d tell people who questioned, was having her parents approve of everything she did. Or at least have them talking to her. She knew some people thought she wasn’t as good of a doctor, because it didn’t seem like she had to fight for anything, because even the rigors of medical school seemed to come easily to her.

She’d fought, all right. She’d fought every day of her life, from the time she was nine years old and taken from her family. Fought until she escaped, three weeks after her abduction.

Then fought the nightmares. The fear. The internal scars that kept her from forming bonds with most people.

And she would fight now.

She couldn’t wait to be saved; she would have to save herself, the best way she knew how.

C
offee—burning a hole in his gut—and pure adrenaline fueled Cam now as he refused sleep in order to weigh his options.

Dylan would be here soon.

Dylan, who’d left him a message earlier, one Cam replayed inside his mind, hearing the couched urgency in his friend’s voice.
We’ll be there. Can’t tell you much, only that DMH is involved. It’s bad, Cam … really bad
.

DMH. Dead Man’s Hand. He’d come across their special brand of terrorism during some Delta missions—they were no longer a small, nothing-to-worry-about cell. No, they’d fast become a force to be reckoned with, selling secrets and anything else to hurt the United States and make themselves money.

DMH is involved. It’s bad, Cam … really bad
.

He played with the slip of paper with the CIA contact’s number on it he’d gotten from Dylan. One call, and they’d take Sky away to safety. No doubt witness protection, and from there, Cam might never see her again.

Then again, that might happen anyway, no matter the outcome of finding her father.

Prepping her about DMH before Dylan and Riley arrived would be a necessity. She’d have some hard decisions to make, and he honestly didn’t know which direction he’d steer her in, where she’d be safest.

Witness protection didn’t always work in circumstances like this. Sky was traceable, thanks to her medical condition. It would necessitate nearly constant moving around. Living a disposable life.

He flashed back to the house he’d lived in before his mom died, a house with worn-out furniture he’d come home to every day for three years, a far cry from the neat, comfortable living room that now attempted to replace the old memories.

This was his dream space—a safe house without bars on the windows. Well, not the metal ones anyway.

The last years of his dad’s undercover work had been hard for his mom and Cam had watched her slip into a depression, fueled by alcohol and prescription drugs.

Most days, when he came home from school, she was still in bed or walking around in her robe, in a stupor.

At school, he was considered an enigma. He looked—and sometimes acted—like a Grade A thug, but his grades were good and his attendance spotless. Some of that was because school, as opposed to the streets, was the safest place for him.

Translation: If he’d cut school to hang out, his father would’ve known. And no matter how deeply undercover Howie Moore was, he was always available to kick his son’s ass.

When Cam had moved to Howie’s house, it hadn’t been much better. Sparse furniture and lots of time alone was what he remembered most.

The “lots of time alone” hadn’t changed much for Cam. Except now.

The door to his bedroom remained open—Sky insisted she felt better that way, although he’d been more than willing to give her privacy. She hadn’t bothered him since he’d left her earlier, let him decompress, or at least attempt to.

He wasn’t sure what she was doing. He’d heard the TV go on at one point. But he’d shifted to look inside the room when he heard the scratch of pen to paper. She was leaning on one elbow, lip tugged between her teeth. Her body was there but her mind … she was totally somewhere else.

Transported.

How fucking cool of a skill was that?

He remained still so he could watch without disturbing her. Her hand never stopped moving, not for at least half an hour. The hair fell around her face and, at times, she’d push it away impatiently as her hand moved faster across the page.

Finally, she dropped the pen and lay back against the pillows, flexing her hand as if to bring back blood flow. It was then she noticed him and she put her hands in the air, as if to say,
This is what happens
.

“I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Trust me, you haven’t.” She flipped onto her stomach, feet in the air as she looked up at him. “I got out what I needed to.”

“It just wakes you up like that?”

“Yeah. Drives me crazy. When I’m on, the words, the pictures, they come through whether I want them to or not. Writing them down is my only relief.” She smiled. “What’s yours?”

He wanted to laugh, although there was nothing funny about the question. Because, relief? Shit, the thing he thought would finally bring him peace—getting back at Gabriel Creighton—had wound him up further. “So far, I haven’t found a lot of relief.”

“Maybe that needs to change.”

“Yeah, it definitely does.” He ran a thumb along her lower lip. “I’d like you involved in helping me. I like seeing you here, in my house. Working. Smiling a little, despite everything we’ve talked about.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Cam.”

He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t the time to start anything, not with Dylan and Riley due soon, but he couldn’t resist.

When he pulled back, she looked pleased, and shy, and he loved that she could still blush when she looked at him.

He’d fallen hard for this woman. And letting her leave his house would be to admit defeat. He’d had too many failures in his life to allow another.

Sky’s cheeks were still a little flushed. “I need something to drink.”

“I’ll get it.”

“No, you stay. I’m capable of going to the kitchen and back safely.” She smiled and sprang gracefully off the bed, wearing his shorts and T-shirt. She looked damned fine in his clothes, with her hair loose and tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes bright despite everything else going on around them.