Lie with Me (10 page)

He realized now that he’d broken out in a cold sweat, cursed himself for letting himself drift into that space, suspended between wake and sleep, where he could see the entire incident playing out clearly in his mind.

Killing that woman saved people
, he told himself, even if the main objective, killing Bullet, had not been accomplished. He had to, or else he’d go crazy. And there were plenty of other things in his mind that could drive him over the edge anyway, like wondering if his father was really still alive.

For years, he’d told himself that Howie had been killed the night Cam was arrested—that was the only way he lived with it all. He’d done what Gabriel had wanted, to stay free of jail … and because Gabriel had promised he’d find out what happened to Howie Moore.

But that intel never surfaced. No leads, no body.

He owed it to himself to find out exactly what happened the night of his arrest.

Gabriel never gave him any information about his father. And after the Morocco mission, hadn’t contacted him at all. Cam waited for the retaliation for not staying on and completing his job—the phone call, the circling harbinger of doom in the form of a helo.

For five months, nothing happened. The chip remained in Dylan’s safe, even though his friend urged him to destroy it for good. But it was a symbol of his survival. Cam didn’t destroy symbols like that.

Sky was a symbol too, of just how far he might need to go to truly break his connection with Gabriel, to save his own life, all wrapped up in one sleek, scarred package.

Collateral damage
. Dead or alive, she was nothing but collateral damage, he tried to tell himself, but he was long past believing it. He’d always known that, if he wasn’t careful, he’d be an empty shell when all was said and done. No better than Gabriel himself. And Cam refused to end up that way.

Sky shifted. Murmured his name in her sleep, her naked thigh rubbing his. Her skin was warm, and her leg felt like silk against his.

His hand rested on her hip as his gaze lowered to her scar. He thought about the medicines she had to take—the pain she’d endured.

He’d bonded with her, all right—more effectively than he’d wanted to. He pictured Skylar, tied for his pleasure, not for the mission, and his blood quickened.

She might not be an innocent, but Cam doubted she had anything to do with his own particular brand of hell, delivered by Gabriel. She’d been hurt by her father’s career too. In another world, she’d be Cam’s kindred spirit.

His hand fisted in his own hair and he almost pulled away from her completely, ready to leave the bed and this place, snowstorm be damned.

He’d traveled in worse.

But he wouldn’t run anymore, not from Gabriel and not from anyone.

He was still on the mission, sticking with the plan to leverage Sky—Gabriel wouldn’t get off easily.

He thought about Dylan’s mantra—one he’d gleaned from Delta Force—lie, cheat, steal, seduce. Or kill. Whatever it took to get the job done.

He was three for five right now, in less than twelve hours, and he still didn’t know his own boundaries, how far he would go.

Just then, Sky reached out sleepily and stroked him, and he relented, stayed, because she needed him.

He
needed redemption, whatever path that took. But he needed freedom more.

Sky could possibly be the key to both.

T
he door opened and Gabriel squinted when the light from the hallway hit his face.

The man at the door was big, and after Gabriel’s eyes adjusted, he noted it was the same man who’d waited outside the door when he’d been shoved down in the basement. A man he’d never seen before—the others called him Ben.

Ben was holding something in his hand—a cell phone. He pushed a few buttons and played a message on speaker, one from Gabriel’s own phone.

Gabriel didn’t flinch when he heard Skylar’s voice, low, as if she didn’t want to be overheard.

“
I’m here with Cameron Moore—he said he knows you, that you sent him here to me. I’m just checking to make sure.
”

She didn’t call him Dad—she never did when she left him messages, and it left an ache in his chest every single time.

Ben asked, “Want us to give your daughter a message?”

Gabriel’s voice was rough from underuse, and he forced himself not to jump at the fact that they’d made the connection.
Your daughter
. “Here’s a message for you: Go to hell.”

The man chuckled. “You’re more than halfway there already—save me a spot.”

CHAPTER

5

S
ky woke in an empty bed, the cold gray light of the morning a most unwelcome intrusion.

Cam’s missing presence made the chill worse, despite the fact that she was still burrowed under the covers. Her face burned when she thought about last night, about the way Cam had touched her. The way she’d cried out—over and over.

It had been the kind of sex that stayed with you for days. She still felt him, as though he’d just been inside her. And he had. She recalled him waking her a couple of hours earlier by burying himself in her—she’d encouraged him like she’d been on some kind of wild ride, her orgasm as intense as the ones she’d had earlier.

She hadn’t been able to get enough. Then again, neither had he. He’d been relentless, constantly seeking more. Of her. He’d been insatiable last night. More so that morning.

She’d woken because she’d been shivering—even under the covers, with Cam’s body nearby. The lack of power and her own core body temperature had proved too much, and her body felt battered by the cold—it had almost been painful.

Cam had been awake, reached out to touch her shoulder.

“Cold,” she’d told him.

“Warm,” he’d murmured back, pulled her close with ease. In the warm nook of his body, the chill had faded and heat flooded her quickly.

Even now she flushed remembering how his hands had roamed her naked body under the heavy quilt. With her eyes still shut, she’d had little defense. Not that she’d really wanted any. No, her body opened to his touch as his fingers found her core and his mouth brushed a nipple, and it could easily have been a dream.

Except Cam was very real, his cock throbbing against the juncture of her thighs before he’d eased inside of her.

His thighs parted hers, his hand dipping down to guide his thick shaft toward her swollen sex, the way he’d whispered to her that she was still so wet for him and she almost cried at how good all of it was.

She had, a little, now that she thought about it, had buried her face in her pillow after a particularly startling orgasm, as the tears started to slide.

She remembered whispering to him that she didn’t want the night to end. She’d wanted to remain uncensored. Careless. On the edge without rules or ties. But sleep had won out and now she was alone.

She got out of bed, grabbed fresh clothes and showered quickly, before the water heater suffered from the power loss. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it, like if she scrubbed his scent off her skin the desertion would hurt less.

She was really out of the dating game if she couldn’t handle a one-night stand. With her bodyguard. Sent by her father.

Sheesh.
Way to go, Skylar
.

She viciously towel-dried her hair. She knew that a wet head didn’t get you sick, but with what she was recovering from, why chance it.

She dressed in jeans and a heavy sweatshirt, dragging the sleeves down over her hands for added warmth, and headed to the kitchen.

Cam wasn’t there either. Nor was he in the living room. When she glanced out the window, she didn’t see any sign of him, or a car he might’ve arrived in last night. Her own rental was barely visible under the piles of snowy white drifts that had blown around all night.

She tried the lights again, to no avail, cursed this place, which had sworn they had generator backups, and realized she’d forgotten to call yesterday when she’d noticed there was no wood for the fireplace.

Dammit. You’d think she hadn’t been taking care of herself all these years. The details were slipping out of her grasp, no matter how tightly she attempted to rein a semblance of control over them.

She grabbed the bottle of OJ from the fridge, grabbed a glass and hopped up on a stool, since she felt the cold tile through her socks. She sorted out the pills she needed and then dutifully replaced the bottles into the bag Cam had insisted she keep packed.

The snow was so high outside the kitchen windowsill, she could only see the sky—or what she assumed was the sky, since it was nearly as white; it appeared that the storm would last longer than expected.

“We’re not going anywhere,” she mumbled, and then took the pills with juice. The OJ was still cold, since the power had only been out about eight hours. If it lasted much longer, they’d need to buy some ice to keep the food she bought from spoiling.

“Yeah, we are.”

She turned at the sound of Cam’s voice, wondered how long he’d been standing there. He’d obviously been outside, although she hadn’t heard any of the doors—front or back—open. But the cold radiated off him—and his jacket, which he quickly shrugged off, was wet.

His boots squished along the carpet as he walked toward her. “Pack up. It looks a lot worse than it is.”

So much for the morning after. “Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

“Don’t need it.” He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and drained it, without benefit of a glass, and even though that annoyed her more than anything, he managed to look sexy doing it. Like a devil-may-care bad boy wrapped up in one large package.

“Look, I don’t want this to be weird,” she said, even though it was apparent he wasn’t feeling weird at all.

“Okay.”

“It’s not for you, is it?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the fridge. “No.”

“I guess you do this a lot.”

“Sex? Or sleeping with someone I’m protecting?”

“Both,” she countered as her cheeks began to burn.

“The first, yes, but not as often as I’d like. The second, once.”

How she wanted to believe him. “Really?” she asked, but he’d disappeared. She slid off the stool and headed over to her BlackBerry.

She’d turned it off last night to conserve the power. Now her emails flooded into the device, from her agent, editor, publicist. All checking in.

She also had voice mail messages. Again, publicist, agent. Too many to ignore. But nothing from her father.

She opened one of the older messages from her publicist, Pam, frantically trying to get ahold of her. Because Sky’s apartment had been broken into late last night—and her publicist was her emergency contact for the alarm list. “Shit.”
Shit, shit shit!

“What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t speak, handed the BlackBerry to Cam, who was now right behind her, so he could read the message.

He still had his damned big boots on, yet she hadn’t heard him. How he moved so silently was beyond her.

He handed her back the phone, not saying a word.

“Pam’s on my alarm-code list for when I’m traveling,” she told him. “I need to call or email her, let her know I’m okay.”

He didn’t respond to that. “Where’s your place?”

“Manhattan. Upper East Side.” She rattled off her address.

“Who has access to your apartment?”

“Besides the super, Pam and my father? No one. I have no reason to give my keys to anyone—no pets, boyfriends or plants, because I end up killing them. The plants, not the boyfriends,” she clarified. “I don’t like it that someone was inside my place, touching my things.”

“I’m less concerned about the touching than I am about what they might’ve found.”

That snapped her to immediate attention. “The address of this place. Shit. I saved the confirmation to add to my receipt for my accountant—a working vacation for a tax write-off.”

She cursed herself some more for being so stupid, for not having better locks, for not living in a more secure building.

She’d never wanted to live in a fortresslike environment resembling the one she’d grown up in, both before and after her mom died. Although right now, impenetrable sounded like a good idea.

“Pack up. Now.” He put her .38 Special next to her on the table. “It’s loaded. Safety’s on. Keep it with you all the time.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She stared at him for a brief second, trying to find the man who’d held her last night. But he was gone, replaced by warrior in mission mode. Impenetrable.

She grabbed the gun and headed for the bedroom. Her phone was in her other hand, and when it began to vibrate, she looked down and saw the familiar name:
Olivia
.

As an intern, Dr. Olivia Strohm had assisted in the removal of Sky’s first kidney, and then had performed the recent transplant. And she was constantly checking up on her, making sure she made all her appointments. The woman was a force of nature and she refused to be ignored by patients who didn’t reply to messages.

She tried to keep her tone light as she answered. “Hey, Liv, how are you?”

“You haven’t answered any of my texts.” Olivia herself sounded slightly out of breath, which meant that she was no doubt moving through the halls of the hospital at top speed. She had no other speed.

“Sorry—I’ve been working.”

“You know, you might be a great liar to others. But never to me.”

“I’m okay. Trust me,” Sky lied. “And before you ask, yes, I’ve been taking all my meds and eating right.”

The doctor was thirty-three, seven years older than she had been when Sky had her first kidney failure. The women had gotten close—as close as one could get to the doctor, Sky supposed, because the woman worked twenty-four seven, and Sky could appreciate why. It was Liv’s tenacity that kept Sky alive, and her generous nature and wide smile that kept Sky from spiraling into depression when she was most lonely. Olivia came at her patients full-force, nursing them back to health with an urgency that made them feel well cared for.

“I hope you’re at least trying to have a life,” her friend teased, and Sky thought about last night and was glad she didn’t have to face Olivia right now.