Midnight Rescue: A Killer Instincts Novel (14 page)

“He seems qualified.”

“He is. But like I said, he’s not himself.”

“What happened to him?” she asked curiously.

Kane sighed. “Long story.”

They reached the door of the guest room, and Abby hesitated before going in. It was only ten o’clock, but she was exhausted. She and Kane had spent the entire day drawing blueprints of Blanco’s estate, trying to form an extraction plan that wouldn’t get everyone killed. In the evening, she’d shared a quiet dinner with Isabel out on the terrace. Kane and the others had stayed out of sight,
though Luke did join the women for dessert—and spent the entire time flirting shamelessly with Isabel, who just laughed it off. After dinner, Isabel and Trevor drove into town to make some arrangements for their respective cover roles, while Abby sat in the living room and read.

And now… now she was turning in, but for some reason, she wasn’t so tired anymore, with Kane in her company again.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation she’d overheard, the determination in Kane’s voice when he’d vowed to rescue those girls. And as they’d gone over the details of Blanco’s compound tonight, she’d been unbelievably impressed by his intelligence, the sharp questions he asked, and the way he looked at every obstacle as a challenge rather than an impediment.

Was it possible to feel comfortable
and
uncomfortable in a person’s presence? Kane somehow managed to inspire both in her. When she looked into his deep green eyes, something inside her… thawed. Just a little. For as long as she could remember, her emotions had been guarded by a thick layer of ice. Being around Kane made that ice melt.

Just a little.

She shifted, and the fabric of her shirt rubbed against her back, making the welts on her skin itch. Frowning, she rubbed her side, wishing the healing process would speed up already.

“The welts itching?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Let me get that ointment the doc gave us. Maybe it’ll help.”

She tried to protest. “No, that’s not—”

But he was already gone, heading downstairs with
long, easy strides. With a sigh, she walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Kane returned a few minutes later, holding the tube of ointment. He stood in front of her, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Strip,” he said casually.

Her heart did a little flip-flop. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure the ointment needs to be applied to the injuries, not the clothes.”

Abby swallowed. “Just leave it here. I’ll do it.”

He raised both eyebrows. “You’ll do your own back?”

Damn. He had a point. But she wasn’t going to take her clothes off in front of this man, not when his mere proximity brought those disconcerting flashes of heat to her already tender skin.

“I’ve already seen you naked,” he pointed out.

Another good point. She’d been nude when he carried her out of Blanco’s prison.

But still…

“Fine,” she finally grumbled, reaching for the hem of her shirt. Her fingers were oddly unsteady as she pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a black sports bra. At least she wasn’t wearing naughty lingerie.

The mattress sagged as Kane put his weight on it, sitting cross-legged behind her. He unscrewed the tube’s cap and a moment later, his warm hands were on her skin.

Abby’s breath hitched.

“Cold?” he said, sounding concerned.

“No… it’s all right.”

She held her breath as he rubbed the soothing cream over the deep welts. When was the last time she’d let a man touch her? Without being on assignment, without
wanting something from him? Jeremy was the only one she’d ever let get close, but even his fatherly embraces had been a strain sometimes.

“Can I ask you something?” Kane asked, his voice gruff.

She released the breath she’d been holding. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever come before?”

Abby twisted around in shock. “What?”

“You know, had an orgasm,” he clarified, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Needles of indignation pricked at her skin. “I know what you meant. And I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Gently, he turned her around and went back to work, his fingers skimming over the cuts. “It’s just… you said you don’t like sex, and I was just wondering if maybe that’s because, you know, you’ve never gotten any pleasure from it.”

Her cheeks were so hot she almost fanned herself. God, this was mortifying. Was this actually what men and women talked about? She hadn’t had a lot of interaction with males, save for those she was ordered to kill. Maybe this was totally normal subject matter.

“It doesn’t give me pleasure,” she found herself revealing, grateful that he couldn’t see the red flush staining her cheeks.

“Because you don’t give yourself the chance to feel it?”

She frowned. “No, that’s not it.”

“Have you ever slept with a man you actually wanted to sleep with?”

“No,” she admitted. She hesitated, then added, “I’m not attracted to men.”

“Oh.
Ohhhh.
”

His startled reply made her laugh. “I’m not a lesbian, if that’s what you think. I just have no interest in sex or relationships.”

Kane made a
tsk
ing sound with his tongue. “Control issues.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Turn around. Let me do your stomach.”

Despite the irritation coursing inside her, she obeyed him, shifting so they were sitting cross-legged and face-to-face on the bed. He squeezed some more ointment on his hand, then dragged the pads of his fingers over the sensitive skin of her belly.

“What do you mean, control issues?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “You need to be in control twenty-four-seven. It makes sense you’re not into sex. Sex is all about losing control.”

His voice contained a hint of sensual heat. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Instead, her gaze rested on his mouth, noticing again how full his bottom lip was.

“Sex is about trust,” he went on. “You have to give yourself to someone else completely. You have to open yourself up. But you can’t do that, can you, Abby?”

His words brought little pinpricks of pain. She wanted to object, to tell him he was wrong, but she knew the truth when she heard it. Trust wasn’t something she handed out freely. Scratch that—trust wasn’t something she handed out at all.

“Have you ever trusted
anyone
?” he asked softly.

Her throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. “I trusted Jeremy. And I, uh… I trusted someone else too, a long time ago.”

“Who, Abby?”

“My mother.” The words squeezed out of her chest.

“And what happened to change that?”

The unbidden memories closed in on her so fast she nearly stopped breathing. She blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the sudden sting in her eyes. God, not tears. She couldn’t cry in front of this man. She hadn’t cried since she was eight years old. Hadn’t thought crying was even possible anymore.

“We lived in this really seedy neighborhood, near Compton,” she finally said. “My mom was a prostitute.”

He visibly swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You asked,” she said awkwardly.

“Yeah. But why now? Every other time I’ve asked, you shut down.”

“I…” She drew air into her lungs. “I guess I figured we need to trust each other.”

A knowing look crossed his face. “I knew it.”

Abby bristled. “What are you talking about?”

“You were listening to my argument with D, weren’t you?” He went on without letting her answer. “Yeah, I knew you were there.” He paused. “So how did it feel, hearing that I don’t trust you?”

“Shitty,” she muttered.

A laugh rumbled out of his chest. “Yes, it
is
shitty. And now you know how I feel when you continue to hold back on me. I already said I’d help you extract those girls—there’s no reason for you to continue to be secretive.”

“So I’m supposed to tell you all of my secrets just because you’ve agreed to do this rescue?”

The humor in his eyes dissolved into a cloud of wariness. “Always on the offense, aren’t you, Abby?” Sighing, he resumed the task of applying ointment on her stomach.

For some reason, his quick acceptance, the total indifference to the fact that she was prepared to shut down again, brought a jolt of irritation.

“She used to bring her johns home,” Abby burst out. “There, is that a big enough secret for you? My prostitute mother brought her johns home.”

His hand froze. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” she agreed dully. “And when I was seven, she got tangled up with this one man. He was Mexican, used to be some big-shot gang member but then he got into dealing. He liked little girls.”

“Fuck,” Kane murmured.

“One night, he was over and my mom left to pick something up at the store. It was just me and him, in the shitty one-bedroom apartment my mom and I lived in. She was gone for an hour.” Abby abruptly quit talking. She couldn’t do this. Twenty years had passed, and the pain was still so damn raw.

But Kane wouldn’t let her stop. “Did he touch you, Abby?”

She met his eyes. “Yes.”

“Did he hurt you? Rape you?”

“Yes.”

Anger flashed across his handsome face. His hand dropped from her stomach, the other one clutching the tube of ointment so tightly he squeezed nearly half of it on the bedspread. “What happened when your mother got home that night?”

“I told her what happened. She didn’t believe me,” Abby said simply. “A year later, she OD’d on some bad heroin the Mexican sold her and social services took me away.”

Kane slowly released the tube and tossed it on the nightstand. “Please tell me you killed the son of a bitch.”

“Jeremy did. I was fifteen when he adopted me. He made me see this shrink—a really nice woman—and she encouraged me to tell Jeremy everything that had happened to me. So I did.” She laughed softly. “And about a week later, I read in the newspaper that the Mexican had been found in an alley in Compton with a bullet in his forehead.”

The satisfaction gleaming in Kane’s eyes brought a smile to her face. Men and their protective instincts, always ready to save the damsel in distress.

“So the Mexican, that was Ted?” Kane asked cautiously.

Of course. He just
had
to remember the name she’d cried out during that nightmare. She supposed she could lie and say yes, but the thought of lying to this man brought a spark of guilt. “No,” she said quietly. “Ted wasn’t the Mexican.”

A strangled breath flew out of his mouth. “It happened again?”

“Yes.” Without elaborating, she reached for her shirt and slipped it on, officially putting an end to this heart-to-heart. Jeez, what was wrong with her? This sharing session with Kane was completely out of character. She’d extended her olive branch, though. What she’d given him tonight would have to be enough.

“I’m tired,” she announced. “I think I’ll turn in now.”

Looking reluctant, he got up. “All right. Let me get something to clean up the mess.” He walked into the bathroom and came out with a wad of toiler paper in his hand. She watched as he wiped the ointment off the bedspread,
his broad shoulders hunched as he bent down to handle the task.

He really was a big man. More than six feet, easily.

She wondered why she wasn’t afraid of him.

“Okay, I think that’s the best I can do at the moment,” Kane said briskly. “I’ll ask Lloyd to change the bedding in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Sleep well, Abby.” He looked at her briefly, indecision flashing across his face, and then he shrugged and headed for the door.

She watched him go, a tad confused about what had just happened.

Sex is about trust,
he’d said.
You have to open yourself up.

Alarm skittered up her spine. Was that what had happened right now? By opening up to him, had she taken some weird, scary step toward sex?

No. That was ridiculous. This strange encounter had been about showing him that he
could
trust her. But she wasn’t going to sleep with Kane. She didn’t know a thing about him. She didn’t
want
to know him either. All she wanted to do was rescue Lucia and the others, and once those girls were out of Blanco’s evil clutches, Abby would say good-bye to Kane Woodland and go back to what she did best—ridding the world of vermin.

And she would do it alone. The way she always did.

“Marriage certificate,” Morgan announced the morning after Isabel’s arrival, dropping a yellow manila folder on the kitchen counter in front of her.

She set aside the coffee Lloyd had prepared and looked up at Morgan’s pleased face. “That was fast.”

“Holden’s good at his job,” he replied.

He rounded the counter and sat on the stool next to hers, his blue eyes serious. “Look… Isabel… I need to speak to you about Trevor.”

The topic didn’t come as a surprise. She’d been waiting for Morgan to bring it up. From the moment she’d laid eyes on Trevor Callaghan, unease had spread through her.

Sure, Callaghan was unbelievably attractive, with that dark, scruffy hair and those intense brown eyes. The stubble dotting his defined jaw gave him a lethal air, and the sensual curve of his mouth was pretty damn hot. And sure, when Morgan announced that she and Trevor would be posing as husband and wife—as
lovers
—she may have been a little intrigued, maybe even turned on.

But Trevor Callaghan had self-destruction written all over his hard face. The man was a walking liability.

“He’s had a tough year,” Morgan began, sounding uncomfortable. “He, well, he lost his fiancée about eleven months ago. She was killed in an attempted burglary. Trevor was out of the country at the time, and I think he blames himself for not being home to protect Gina.”

“That’s rough,” Isabel said sympathetically.

“Yeah, it is. He didn’t handle Gina’s death very well, I’m afraid. Started drinking, refused to leave his condo. Eventually I had to take him off rotation. I couldn’t let him work in his condition.”

“Should he really be back in action now?”