Edge of Betrayal Read online

  The small revolver cleared the ankle holster. No suppressing that noise. One shot from that loud weapon, and the whole neighborhood was going to be awake, dialing 911.

  Adam charged. He kicked the man’s weapon hand, but the gun stayed in his grip. His aim was way off, pointing far too close to the pantry where Mira hid for Adam’s comfort.

  He dropped to his knees, pinning the unbroken arm to the floor. As soon as Adam shoved the suppressor on his weapon into the man’s cheek, he went still.

  “Who sent you?” asked Adam.

  “Where is Dr. S.?” demanded the man.

  The question surprised Adam, but he tried to hide it. “Dead. Who sent you?”

  The man said nothing, so Adam punched him hard enough to break his nose. A fine mist of blood hit his chest, and the man choked as he tried to keep the blood out of his throat.

  “Who sent you?” asked Adam again, his voice calm.

  “We know you have Dr. S. Where is he? With his daughter?”

  For some reason, even that nameless reference to her pissed off Adam until all he could hear was a buzzing in his ears. This man had no business talking about her. Even thinking about her was too much.

  Mira was in Adam’s protection now. Bella had given him a precious chance to prove himself, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

  He slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious.

  Only then could Adam pull in a full breath once more. Whoever this man was, for whatever reason he was here, he could no longer hurt Mira.

  If Adam didn’t walk away from him now, his chance to prove himself was going to start with a dead body.

  Chapter Eleven

  After what felt like an hour but was probably more like three minutes, Mira heard a deep voice from the other side of the pantry door. Adam.

  “You can come out now.”

  She kept her weapon in her hand, just in case it was some kind of trick, but kept it aimed at the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was shoot Adam if he didn’t deserve it.

  The dead bolt slid silently open, and the door swung out.

  Adam stood there, shirtless. A few drops of blood were splattered across his chest. Her stomach did a low, queasy dive, and she grabbed the wall with her free hand to steady herself.

  He wrapped his long arm around her waist and practically lifted her into a kitchen chair.

  “Please tell me that’s not your blood,” she said.

  “It’s not.” He went to the sink and wet a cloth. A few seconds later, the blood was gone.

  “What happened?”

  “I took care of the problem. You should probably stay in here until I have time to clean it up.”

  “Problem? An armed man shoots at you, and you call it a problem?”

  “What would you call it?” he asked.

  “A catastrophe. A freakin’ nightmare. Reason to call the cops.”

  Her hands were shaking harder now as adrenaline leaked from her system. Adam gently took her gun and slid it back into her holster.

  “Nothing so dramatic as all that,” he reassured her. “It was more along the lines of a message.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Norma Stynger isn’t happy that I left her employ. This was her way of showing her displeasure.” Something about the look on his face made her question if he was hiding something.

  “Are you sure she sent the shooter?”

  “No, but I’ll go through his cell phone records in a minute. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No. Would you have preferred that I did?” His tone was only slightly curious, almost conversational.

  “No,” she snapped, disgusted at the idea.

  “That was what I assumed your preference would be, especially if he happened to be one of your father’s subjects.”

  The idea chilled her to the bone. Was there ever going to be an end to the damage that man had done? Or would she be constantly running into the ruined remains of the lives he’d destroyed?

  Adam left the kitchen, returning a moment later with a blanket and a cell phone. He set the phone on the table in front of her and draped the blanket over her and the chair she sat in.

  Grateful for the warmth and comfort, she wrapped the thick fabric more closely around her body while she powered up the phone.

  “It’s password protected,” she said.

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  “No, but I’ll need to take it back to my office. I came with dinner, but not the right connection cables for his phone.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Even the idea of putting something in her stomach made it lurch in rebellion. “Uh, no. I may never eat again.”

  A minute later, a cup of hot tea appeared in front of her. She had no idea how he’d made it wink into existence. She hadn’t seen him heat the water or even so much as pull a mug from the cupboard.

  She must have been a lot worse off than she thought.

  Mira glanced up at him. Her gaze made the long journey from his ripped abdomen, up over his sleekly muscled chest, all the way along his angled jaw, until she was looking into his eyes.

  “How did you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “The tea. I didn’t see you make it.”

  “We all deal with fear in our own way. You were busy processing.”

  “What about you? How do you deal with it?” she asked.

  He lifted one broad shoulder, which caused a symphony of muscles to dance along his torso. By the time the distraction ended she was once again able to look him in the eye.

  He was blushing. “Not well.”

  “What do you mean? You seem to be dealing well with it to me.”

  “That’s because that little incident didn’t frighten me. It was merely a nuisance.”

  “If that was a nuisance, then what does it take to scare you?”

  He stared at her for a long minute. “The last time I was truly afraid, your best friend was pointing a gun at your head.”

  “Oh.”

  “Indeed. We both know how that ended.”

  “You shot him.”

  Adam shifted, and despite the grace of the movement, it was still awkward. “I’m going to call Victor to have our unconscious friend in the other room picked up. If you don’t want to see blood, I suggest you stay here.”

  Mira stayed as Adam left.

  She still hadn’t digested the information that he’d felt afraid for her, nor was she really sure how to. It wasn’t the kind of thing she could easily swallow. What if he was lying?

  There was no way to know, and if things went well, she’d never have the chance to test the truth of his statement. No way was she letting someone put a gun to her head just to see if the man was lying, because truth or not, a gun to her head meant she was screwed.

  * * *

  Sophie floated around Riley’s apartment like a ghost. She didn’t make a sound or touch anything, but her fingers coasted just above his possessions, as if she could somehow pull from them a sense of the man who owned them.

  There wasn’t much here. A few photos of family and friends, a single shelf of books, a few roughly painted pictures made by children she assumed were the little ones in the family photos, and a small collection of music and movies. His towels were new but mismatched. His closet was filled with more tactical gear than office attire. There were weapons stashed in every room—several easy to spot and access. Probably more hidden. Her appearance here hadn’t encouraged him to hide any of them away.

  He trusted her not to shoot him in his sleep, which made him either really brave or really stupid. Even she wasn’t sure which.

  Sophie went to where he lay sleeping on the couch. His arm was curl
ed under his pillow, which made his biceps flex, even in his sleep. His head was shaved, with only a hint of growth showing beneath his skin. The sheet he’d tossed over his bare chest had worked its way down to his waist—just low enough for her to see that he’d undone the top button of his jeans for comfort.

  Shadowed, intriguing masculine flesh covered him in a tempting display. She traced his muscular contours with her eyes, enjoying the view as she went.

  There had been a time in her life when she would have simply climbed on board and took what she wanted. But that time was over now. She was a responsible adult, forcing herself to stay on a road that would lead her nowhere near the same neighborhood as where her useless father had subsisted.

  Sophie was going to make something of herself. She wasn’t entirely sure what yet, but—despite what she’d told Riley about never wanting to love again—the secret truth was that she wanted the whole package. A respectable job, a kind husband, and a couple of kids she would love as much as she had the baby she’d lost.

  The whole white-picket-fence-in-the-suburbs thing might have been a nauseating cliché to some, but it was one she desperately wanted to live.

  She placed one hand over Riley’s heart, hovering but not touching, just as she’d done with the rest of his possessions. With less than an inch between them, she could feel his body’s heat as she followed the even rise and fall of his chest.

  The urge to close the distance between them was strong, but she reminded herself that touching strange men was not part of her journey now. Her straight-and-narrow path was laid out in front of her, gleaming and bright. Nothing would get in her way—not her father’s past mistakes, and certainly not one perfectly built man.

  She was just about to move her hand away when he grabbed her wrist. His eyes opened. They were a dark, rich brown the color of damp, fertile earth. There was no grogginess lurking there, only acute alertness.

  She didn’t try to tug her hand away or hide that she’d been almost touching him. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and fighting him would only make him think she had.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Thinking about touching you. I didn’t, though.”

  “I know. I would have woken if you had. It’s a good way to get hurt, sneaking up on me like that.”

  “You and your catlike reflexes?”

  He lifted his arm out from under his pillow, and in his hand was a gun. “No, me and my Glock.”

  He set the weapon on the end table as he sat up. He still didn’t let her wrist go.

  She still didn’t try to pull away.

  “Why would you touch me?”

  She shrugged. “You’re pretty.”

  “Pretty?” he nearly sputtered.

  “Do you prefer handsome? Manly?”

  “Yeah, I kinda do.”

  He uncurled her fingers like he was checking to see if she’d been holding something.

  “What? You think I’m going to stab you?”

  “I’m actually more worried about hypodermic needles. After all the crazy sh—stuff I’ve read lately about human experimentation, I’d rather not become some insane doctor’s lab rat.”

  “You think I’d come here, give you a sob story about being abducted, then drug you in your sleep?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Do you want to pat me down?” she asked. “Make sure I’m not hiding something?”

  His gaze slid over her body. “I definitely want to pat you down, but not to search for weapons.”

  The idea that he was into her thrilled her all the way to her toes. That straight, narrow path suddenly sprouted a scenic route.

  She lifted her arms. “Go ahead.”

  His jaw tightened. Muscles flexed all the way across his scalp. “Not going to happen.”

  “You don’t like me?”

  “I like you a hell of a lot more than I should.”

  “Then why not?”

  “Because if I put my hands on you, I’m going to want to have sex with you.”

  “That’s kind of where I was headed with this. I’m not naïve.”

  He stood, took a step back, and scrubbed his hands over his head. “Maybe not, but sex is out of the question.”

  “Because I’m a client?”

  “Has nothing to do with it, though it should.”

  “Then why?”

  He stared at her for a long second. “I’m abstinent.”

  Sophie stood there, waiting for the punch line. It didn’t come. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “You’re a virgin?” she nearly shouted.

  His face turned red. “Hell no.”

  “Are you going into the priesthood?”

  “No.”

  “How, exactly, do you think you’re going to manage abstinence looking like you do. I barely know you and already want to jump your bones.”

  He hastily buttoned the fly of his jeans, but not before she got a glimpse of his swiftly growing erection tightening the fabric. “Just let it drop, Sophie. It’s really none of your business.”

  “I get that. I really do. I simply don’t care. This is way too confusing for you not to explain.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  He was right. He didn’t owe her anything. She was the one racking up all the debt here. “Okay. Fine. I give. Keep your impossible secrets.”

  “Can we just focus on you?”

  “Me? I’m not the one with the big ol’ . . . secret.”

  He turned and stalked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. “I’m going to go into the office first thing in the morning and try to access video footage of the men who abducted you. See if we get any leads.”

  “Nice change of topic.”

  “Thanks. Let’s keep it changed.”

  She took pity on him. “I’ll come with you and see if I recognize anyone.”

  “Good. You’ll be safer at the Edge than you will be here.”

  “With all the weapons you have in this place, I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

  “Weapons only get you so far. Hell, I didn’t even wake up until you were close enough to kill me.”

  “I wasn’t even touching. And if you keep bringing it up, I’m going to keep thinking about it. And if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to keep wanting you.”

  “Don’t. I’m a dead end. Your best option is to get on with your new life in your new hometown and find some nice accountant or something to date.”

  An accountant? A nice husband was part of the white-picket plan, but that just seemed so . . . boring. Bet they didn’t sleep with a gun.

  It didn’t matter. Boring was good. Safe. She needed to learn to love boring.

  “Okay. Office it is,” she said.

  He set out two mugs on the counter and gave her a positively paternal frown. “No touching.”

  She lifted her hands. “Fine.”

  “Good. Now, sit down and start writing out everything you remember from the time you spotted the men tailing you. When you get to the part where they grabbed you, include towns, shops, street names—anything you can think of that might help us locate the right cameras.”

  Sophie sat and started writing. With her luck, it was going to take the rest of the night.

  * * *

  Sophie was going to kill Riley.

  Since that whole pregnancy fiasco with his ex, Riley had been the model of responsibility and good behavior. He’d barely even glanced at a woman, and every time he had, he’d scolded himself for it.

  His days of trying to be a bad boy were over. He hadn’t been very good at it, anyway. He was going back to being the Boy Scout he’d been taught to be. Life was way less complicated that way.

  At least it had been until Sophie sh
owed up.

  The first time he’d met her, she’d been weak, defenseless, and in pain. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about her as more than someone who needed his help. But she was different now. Stronger. More aggressive. So damn beautiful it nearly stopped his heart every time he looked at her.

  He couldn’t do this to himself. He couldn’t allow himself to get involved with a woman who was—very likely—going into hiding for the rest of her life. It was the only way to keep her safe, at least until Dr. Stynger was six feet under.

  Riley carried his coffee into the living room where he could no longer see Sophie. Maybe if he kept his eyes off her, his brain would start to function again.

  She needed his help, not his dick. And as disappointing as that might have been for him, he was raised well enough to know that sometimes disappointment now saved a whole hell of a lot of heartache later.

  He was going to keep repeating that to himself until he believed it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam regretted admitting his weakness. He knew it was imperative that Mira learn to trust him, and revealing intimate information was a fast way to make that happen, but he never should have handed her such a powerful weapon by telling her how terrified he’d been when her life had been threatened.

  She now knew how to make him afraid, and if that wasn’t a strategic advantage, he didn’t know what was. Had she handed him that kind of power, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if he thought it could bring them closer together the way partners were supposed to be.

  Before his mind could lock itself into a constant loop that would serve only to distract him, Adam compartmentalized his worries, tucking them away for later, and focused on the task at hand.

  The unconscious man lay motionless in the center of Adam’s living room. His head was shaved. Beneath the layers of duct tape that restrained him, he had the kind of build that said he was used to some kind of intense physical exercise. There had been several weapons strapped to his body, but no kind of communications equipment.

  Which indicated he was working alone.

  Adam dialed Victor Temple.

  The man answered his phone on the first ring. “Yes?”

  “I have another pickup for you. My house.”