Amy Bensen 04 Unbroken (8 page)

Tellar gives me a deadpan look. “I don’t even know where to start asking questions, but Coco’s ex-CIA and well connected at the agency. Once I get us all out of here, I’ll call her.”

“Suddenly her skills make sense,” I say, remembering how she’d helped us escape a bad situation in the past.

“She has exceptional skills,” Tellar assures me. “I paid a security guard to bring our car around front. I want you both out of here until we have more facts.”

“Agreed,” Liam says, trying to move me forward, but I hang back and quickly grab my purse from the chair, securing it crosswise. Tellar backs up, giving us space, and Liam urges me forward, placing me between the two men. We head down the hallway into the bridal boutique to find Betty standing in wait.

“We’ll take everything in the dressing room and anything else you think she might like or need, including shoes and a bag,” Liam tells her. “Charge my card and have it all delivered today.”

“Yes, Mr. Stone.” She adds, “Be safe!” as we walk out of the bridal boutique.

After we’re out in the open, crossing the retail area, I’m nervous, but I don’t give in to it. Once we stopped denying that the risk of the cylinder was here to stay, I felt a shift inside me, a sense of control I desperately needed. Standing tall and fighting is what I’ve been denied for six long years, but that is no longer true. Reverting to fear, running from an unknown enemy, would make what Chad just did for us be for nothing.

Reaching the exit, Tellar pauses and glances at us. “I’ll get the door and makes sure it’s clear outside.”

Liam steps to my side, giving an affirmative nod, and I take a step backward to avoid the cold wind as Tellar leaves, quickly finding myself tucked tightly under Liam’s arm, snug against his body. Silently, we watch Tellar stride toward the Bentley. The driver’s door opens and the security guard steps out. Tellar pops open the rear door, scanning the sidewalk and street before he motions us forward. Liam opens the door and we quickly cross to the sidewalk, snowflakes fluttering around us, then we’re sliding into the warm car. Liam shuts us inside, his hand settling possessively on my leg.

Tellar quickly claims the wheel and puts the car in drive. “I need more information than I have so far, to tell Coco. Start with everything Meg said about Jared.”

I explain the entire encounter to both men in detail, fielding their questions, having no time for my own. When Tellar finally calls Coco, he keeps it short. “She says she’ll get back to us fast or slow, depending on when her contact responds.”

“That’s about as noncommittal as you can get,” Liam comments dryly.

“Yeah, well, the head honcho in this division is her ex-husband, who she occasionally sleeps with. And apparently he’s pissed off at her right now.”

I outright gape. “Ex-husband? And she still sleeps with him?”

“Yeah,” Tellar confirms. “It’s awkward, but it works for us right now.”

“Depending on how pissed off he is,” Liam comments. “We need an update from Josh.”

“He told me not to call him while he’s tracking Meg. He says we’ll just waste precious seconds that determine whether he finds her or not,” Tellar says as we pull up to the security panel at the house. “He left a meeting to handle this for us, by the way.”

We pull through the gate to Liam’s house, and that weird tingling sensation down my neck returns. I twist around to watch the gates close.

Liam squeezes my leg. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say, facing forward as we enter the garage. “I just feel a little antsy, I guess.”

“That makes two of us,” Tellar murmurs, the doors behind us grinding closed.

“That’s why we need to find Meg,” Liam says, popping open his door. “I’m calling Josh.” He’s out of the car in an instant, charging toward the door, though he normally hovers.

I start to follow, but hesitate. “How bad do you think the situation is?” I ask Tellar.

“I’ll let you know after Coco calls, but if we find Meg and we know where Jared is, it erases the unknowns we wanted erased. That has me feeling pretty damn good about things.”

“Liam doesn’t seem to feel that way.”

“He likes to feel in control. Right now he doesn’t, and he wants it back.”

“I like control, too.” I think of my nightmare. “I
need
control.”

“Exactly why he wants it. To give it to you.”

He’s right. That’s exactly what Liam is trying to do right now. “Thanks, Tellar.” I slip out of the car and hear his cell phone ring. I pop my head back inside. “Coco?”

“Derek. He wants to come welcome you home. I’ll get rid of him.”

“Nicely,” I warn, exiting the car.

He calls out, “I’m always nice to Derek,” which is completely not true. The two of them are like brothers, always at each other. Like Chad and I used to be—and never will be again. The idea twists me in knots.

I rush up the stairs and follow Liam’s voice, finding him in the living area, his back to me, spine stiff, one hand on the windowpane. “Tonight needs to change,” I hear him saying as I stop beside the couch. “Get him here to me.” He pauses. “I won’t be here after tonight. I’m taking Amy back to the safe house.”

My heart races and I feel like the ground is unstable. He wants to run and hide again, after he just convinced me that we can start a normal life. He ends the call and puts his phone in his pocket, leaning both hands on the glass now and staring out at the sun-touched Hudson River, though I have a feeling he’s not really seeing it. As if he doesn’t know I’m here when he always knows I’m here.

Knowing what I have to do, I inhale and let it out. “I’m not going to the safe house,” I state.

He turns to face me, his gaze flashing with stubborn determination, and I’m certain this is about to get tricky. Liam needs control, but so do I. And this time, I’m going to have to own the moment, not him.

PART EIGHT

The Visitor

“WE’RE GOING TO THE SAFE HOUSE,”
Liam states, his tone absolute. “Pack a bag.”

“What?” I gasp. “No. We aren’t hiding, remember?”

“We’re fucking doing whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Meg didn’t try to hurt me,” I argue, crossing to stand in front of him. “We’ll find her. You had my dresses delivered, Liam. We just talked about our wedding.”

“And we will get married, and you will have your dresses to choose from. But I was also sure we’d get Meg on camera. We didn’t. We’re flying in the dark.”

“I’ll call her and set up a meeting.”

“That could be a trap,” he reminds me stubbornly.

“Who says I have to be the one to show up to meet her?” I retort.

He shackles my arm and turns me, pressing me against the round white pillar beside the window, his big body crowding mine. “You can ‘not show up’ from the safe house.”

“You’re being stubborn, arrogant—”

“And remarkably right,” he finishes.

“Remarkably wrong, though you really do have arrogant down to a science.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Amy.”

“Exactly,” I concur. “It’s not.”

The sound of Tellar clearing his throat warns us we are not alone, but neither of us looks at him. We stare at each other, continuing our battle without words, with the same outcome. Total, complete disagreement. Until finally it’s Liam who blinks, his jaw clenching as he softly promises, “We’ll talk when we’re alone,” and pushes off the wall to face Tellar.

Taking that as his cue to speak, Tellar announces, “Coco talked to her ex.”

I step next to Liam, my adrenaline still pumping from our confrontation. “And?”

“The CIA plans to find Meg and put her behind bars, along with anyone else connected to Sheridan, Rollin, or the consortium.”

“What about Jared?” Liam asks.

“That’s where things get interesting,” Tellar comments, sitting on the edge of the couch. “The minute Coco brought up his name, her ex went cold on her and ended the call.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, folding my arms in front of me.

“My guess,” Liam replies, “is that they have Jared but they don’t want us to know.”

“But Meg told me they have him,” I remind him. “As if it’s public knowledge.”

“Unless Meg shouldn’t know,” Tellar points out.

“Translation,” Liam says. “The CIA has a leak.”

“Exactly,” Tellar agrees. “In which case they’ll want her even more, to find out who it is. If we can confirm they have Jared and hand Meg over to them, this is all good news for us. All of our obvious loose ends are tied up.”

Liam settles his hands on his hips under his jacket, shaking his head in frustration. “We wouldn’t be dealing with this if Chad had conferred with us on this plan to ‘kill himself’ before he did it. We needed the layers Josh and Dante represent between us and problems before we were thrust back into the spotlight.”

“Isn’t that the damn truth,” Tellar says. “We need to lock Dante down as our man at the party tonight.”

“No party,” Liam announces. “We don’t have time to facilitate an informal meet-and-greet. We need to get down to business. I told Josh to get him here this afternoon.”

My brow furrows. “Why didn’t we do that in the first place?”

“Dante likes to assess people in a public setting before he talks business,” Liam explains. “Apparently he gets gut feelings about people, and that’s how he decides whether to allow an official business meeting.”

“Who the heck is this guy?” I ask, thinking this Dante person is taking arrogant to a whole new level.

“A former personal assistant to several presidents,” Liam replies. “The kind who was never on the record books. He’s not only good at what he does, he’s discreet, and he doesn’t get emotional about his decisions.”

“I’m sold with those credentials,” I say immediately.

“But can Josh really convince Dante to bypass his screening process?” Tellar asks.

“Dante trusts Josh, and I’ve worked with him once before through Josh.” His cell phone buzzes with a message and he digs it from his pocket and glances at it, his expression tightening. “Dante’s in the air and won’t land until right before the party.” He looks at Tellar. “Looks like I’m going to the party. I’ll make it worth his while to meet us at the safe house to formalize things.”

“Liam—” I begin, ready to fight, but he cuts me off.

“We’re going to the safe house, Amy, and you’re staying here tonight with Tellar.”

“Tellar just said Meg and Jared are all but nonissues at this point.”

“Meg is not a nonissue,” he warns me. “She’s desperately avoiding jail time, and desperate people are dangerous. Which is why I’m hiring Dante to deal with her. Until then, we’re going back to the safe house.”

The doorbell rings and Tellar stands, pulling out some device from his pocket and glancing at it. “I left the gates open for the delivery people and thanks to the mobile security feed I had installed on my phone, I can tell you that’s Saks with Amy’s dresses.” He heads for the doors and Liam’s cell phone rings.

Frustrated and needing space from the man I love and want to throttle right now, I follow Tellar to the door, overwhelmed by how many bags the—not one, but three—delivery people have in tow. I help him accept the bags, and together we make several trips to the bedroom.

He places the last bag on a rack in the walk-in closet and I try to decide which one to open first. “If I’d known which one had the wedding dress,” I comment, “I’d have sent the other bags back since apparently I’m not going to the party.”

Tellar levels a stare at me, a preface to a lecture, I am certain. “Amy—”

I hold up a hand. “I know everything you’re about to say.”

He gives me a long look, seeming to weigh his words. “Derek’s eager to see you. Why don’t I invite him over while Liam’s gone? It’ll keep your mind off the party.”

“I’m not feeling social, and I don’t want to drag him into this.”

He inhales and lets it out. “You and me it is, then. How about pizza?”

I try to smile. “Yes. Pizza.”

“It’s a date,” he says, giving my chin a tiny knock before leaving me alone in the closet.

I glance around the enormous space, eying Liam’s line of suit jackets and pressed shirts, the full-sized mirror along the back wall, and the long leather bench in front of it. It’s a beautiful space that until now, I’ve really not taken the time to enjoy. My space. Liam’s space.
Our
space. I don’t want to leave.

Fighting an onslaught of emotion I’d thought I was done with at the funeral, I walk over to a zipped heavy plastic bag and open it. Staring back at me is the most gorgeous pale pink lace dress I’ve ever seen. The top is strapless, the cut body hugging, and I pull it fully from the bag, delighted at the way it flares delicately at the bottom. It’s a Cinderella dress, fit for a fairy-tale wedding, when nothing about my life is a fairy tale.

Suddenly I have the urge to try it on and I quickly undress. I’m down to my bra and panties, my back to the door, when my skin prickles with that warm awareness that always washes over me when Liam enters the room. I whirl around to find him standing in the doorway, his jacket gone. His hair is rumpled as if he lost his ironclad control and ran his hand through it. He’s power. He’s masculinity. He’s leaning on the frame, his broad shoulders consuming the entryway, his presence consuming
me.

And despite my anger at him, when his lashes lower, his gaze sweeping hotly up and down my body, a wave of tingly sensation washes over me.

“Don’t look at me like that, Liam Stone,” I scold. “I’m angry with you and we are
not
having sex.”

He arches one of those dark, arrogant brows. “Is that a challenge?”

“I’m
angry
at you.”

“I know.”

“Is that all you can say?” I demand.

“No, I—”

“Do you see this dress?” I all but growl at him, yanking the pink skirt in front of me. “This dress is what someone living a fairy tale wears, to marry the man she loves. And you know what? Earlier today, I could have convinced myself that was what I was about to do. But now we’re running again, after you told me not to run.”

I’ve barely finished my words before I’m pressed against the wall, his big body trapping me all over again. “Don’t bully me, Liam,” I order, shoving at the wall of his chest. “Don’t use your size to make me listen to you. It won’t work. I need control right now—you can’t have it.”

“Amy, listen to me.”

“Let go, and I will.”

He stares at me for several heavy seconds, seeming to weigh my seriousness. I tilt my chin up, letting him test my will with his own intense stare, but I do not waver. He notices, his body lifting from mine, his hands pressing against the wall on either side of me. I’m so out of my mind right now I want to pull him back. I know I’m lucky to have someone who loves me enough to want to protect me, but I’m angry with him. I’m hurt. I grab his shirt.

“We have no reason to believe we’re in danger. Not yet. So we’re staying until we do. We’re starting our life. End of story. Meg was a part of taking my brother from me. She’s not ruining my holiday or my wedding. I won’t let her.”

His expression softens. “Amy, baby.”

“Don’t ‘Amy baby’ me right now,” I warn.

“You wanted to leave after your nightmare.”

“And you convinced me to stay,” I remind him. “It worked.”

“We’ll do the holiday and our wedding, no matter where we are.”

“I need it to be here. I need a home I share with you. You can’t tell me I finally have the freedom I’ve craved for six years, and then take it away.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t. We have no solid evidence of danger. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

He pushes off the wall and covers my hands with his, settling them between us, the shadows of his past etched in his eyes and fighting this battle for him. “Amy—”

“I need to stay,” I repeat. “And so do you. You aren’t even working, Liam. When was the last time you picked up a pencil to design?”

“I’ll design again when you’re safe.”

“I managed fine for six years. I’m not with you for protection. I’m with you because I love you.”

The shadows in his eyes deepen. They’re the kind of shadows created by heartache, loss, and something else I know all too well. “I can’t lose you, Amy.”

His voice is pure anguish, and any hint of anger left inside me vanishes instantly. “You can’t defeat fear without facing it,” I whisper, repeating what he’d once told me.

I watch his face harden, darkness swimming in his eyes, and this time, it’s him that snaps. His fingers tunnel into my hair, his mouth closing down on mine, his tongue caressing mine with hot demand. The taste of him is pure darkness and torment, and his need to drive it away is downright primal. His body presses into me. I melt into him and one of his hands splays on my back, molding me closer. In an instant, my bra is unhooked, his hands cupping my breasts and teasing my nipples. I feel the energy between us, the shift in Liam, and even in myself. We’ve solved nothing about going or staying in the city, but there is a wall falling from between us, a part of Liam he fights, which he’s unleashed for me to see, feel, and experience.

He tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me with a vow. “I won’t lose you.”

In the next second he’s turned me to face the wall and my hands flatten on the hard surface to right myself. He steps to me, leaning close, his hips anchoring mine. “Losing you is my fear,” he confesses, his voice roughened by emotion.

“You won’t lose me,” I pant, my sex clenching as one of his hands slides into my panties and strokes my clit.

“You’re right,” he assures me. “I won’t. I won’t let someone else take you from me.” He moves my hands up the wall. “Don’t move them.”

He’s gone then, and I’m cold where he’s no longer touching me, hot where I want him to touch me. I can feel him, though. Everywhere, in every part of me, and my skin tingles from the heat of his stare, my nerves prickle with the sound of him undressing. And I realize, too, that I know this man. I understand his need to take me, to control me now, because he feels he has none. He’s afraid he can’t protect me. He’s tormented by the idea that the nightmare I brought to him will never truly be over, no matter how much he’s willed it to be gone. And I get it. Oh how I get it. This is my world he’s living in now. The one where control is hard to come by and we take what we can, where we can. Like he’s doing now.

The air shifts and I know he’s closing in on me even before he kneels on the floor at my right hip, one of his hands flattening on the small of my back. The connection scorches me, sending heat waves up over my skin. He doesn’t move; seconds tick by and he lets me wallow in the anticipation building inside me. Already my sex is tight, wet, and I am desperate to feel him inside me. No matter how much I need or want control, I also need the way he owns me in moments like these. The way he demands I give him everything and leaves room for nothing but pleasure. Desire.
Him.

His fingers curl around the silk string of my panties, his hot breath fanning my hip, his teeth scraping the delicate skin beneath the fabric. “My
woman
,” he murmurs, and as much as that one word defies my need to rule my life once and for all, it’s erotic and right in a way I can’t begin to examine right here and now. “My wife soon. Not soon enough.”