Finding Grace Page 19

  “Darmfelder. What do you plan on doing with him?”

  They were the first words Dagger had spoken. He got up from the edge of the bed slowly and Randall noted the nice sweater didn’t completely hide the outline of a pistol tucked into the waistband at the back of his jeans. It didn’t take much imagination to make out the shape of a KA-BAR at his right calf, either.

  The general found himself taking a step backward, something he’d never done before in his life. Any of these men, including Paul, were formidable, but Dagger was in a class by himself and his cold rage was almost tangible.

  He spoke quickly and with all the calm he could muster. “The major has been given the choice of resigning his commission or taking an assignment watching over some silos. But perhaps they could find room for him in Leavenworth. He’s certainly broken some laws.”

  He winced. It wasn’t nearly enough. It would never be enough to satisfy Dagger.

  But Thorne said thoughtfully, “Leavenworth? He’d get out too soon. Silos, huh? North Dakota. He won’t like it there.” She had a beautiful smile, even if there was a hint a malevolence to it.

  “He won’t make it there.” Dagger had said it very softly, but once again, the room was quiet.

  “Yes, Peaches, he will.” Smirks and snorts broke out, relieving some of the tension. “Now I’m all for self-defense and if I’d killed him trying to get away, I wouldn’t blink an eye. But revenge is something else. It’s wrong. If I believed in revenge, three inmates in a federal prison would have died very slow and painful deaths instead of the quick ones they got.” The room fell silent again. “I’m not confessing to anything, mind you. I’m just saying, is all. And Jack, are you hearing me?”

  “But, Grace—”

  “Don’t you ‘but Grace’ me. Let it go, Jack. For me. Maybe I’ll knit you another sweater.”

  “Aw, Grace—” The huge man had turned to the petite woman on the bed and his voice had an incongruous pleading quality to it.

  She went on in that voice that didn’t match her appearance, either. “Listen Jack, I have enough to put behind me and enough trouble doing it. I won’t have anything else on my head. Now, say you promise and come hold me.” She gave him a crooked grin that would have stopped a LAWs rocket.

  The general didn’t think any man could have resisted either her wisdom or her charm at that moment. He sure hoped Dagger couldn’t.

  Dagger only hesitated for a blink before stepping back to the bed and scooping the remarkable Dr. Thorne into his arms. “Okay, Grace, I promise.”

  The general’s smile was one of true respect. If anyone could handle Jack Daggery, the little pixie could.

  He kept smiling when she said, “Now, when can I get out of here? I hate hospitals.”

  Florence appeared suddenly. “Slow down, angel, you can’t just fly out of here. You gave us quite a scare, you know. We’ll need to run tests and—”

  Dr. Thorne cocked her head. “Hey, I know you, I know your voice. You sang to me. You washed me. You were gentle.”

  “I know you, too, angel. You came to me in a dream.” Looking up, Florence went on, “Now all you men have welcomed her back, you can get on out of here. The doctor’s what she needs.”

  She shooed them all out of the room like a bunch of young children. And they all let her.

  * * * *

  “Well, what’ll it be, Major? Are you going to accept your new assignment?”

  Darmfelder sputtered. “General, sir, isn’t there any way we could—”

  “No, we couldn’t. I can’t even bear the sight of you. Your answer. Now, Major.”

  “I, uh, I accept.”

  The major dropped his head in defeat and Dagger tasted disappointment. If only he’d refused and been stripped of his commission, it would have been so easy to…Oh well, he had promised Grace.

  He was standing just outside the door into the lounge. He’d recognized the major as the passenger he’d locked eyes with in the SUV that had taken Grace away from him that day. The worst day of his life.

  Dagger caught both the general’s and Paul’s looks of apprehension when he trailed the major to the elevators. He signed Paul not to worry. Too much.

  The major was apparently so busy feeling sorry for himself that it wasn’t until it jerked to a stop mid-floor that he woke up and realized he wasn’t alone in the elevator. The flicker in his eyes told Dagger that he was remembering him now, from that awful day and from just a few minutes ago when the blinds had opened. The way all the blood drained from his face told Dagger that the man finally had a clue that his life was hanging by a thread. He took some satisfaction in the terror he saw in those beady little eyes, more in the dark streak spreading down the leg of his uniform.

  The major opened his mouth, but Dagger took a step toward him and only a little whimper came out.

  “I can’t tell you, you sick piece of shit, how greatly it pains me that Grace made me promise not to wipe your worthless life off the face of the earth. On the other hand…” Dagger almost smiled as the look of relief on the major’s face dissolved. “Nothing was said about grievous harm.”

  He paused to let it sink in and consider the options himself when an unpleasant odor began to permeate the elevator. The stink was bad, but if he had to let the major walk out of the elevator, not crawl on his belly like the little worm he was, at least everyone would be able to recognize it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Ignoring the smell for a moment, he gave voice to the natural progression of his thoughts. “The only problem is, see, once I start to hurt you, I don’t trust myself to be able to stop. It would just be too…satisfying. So,” he sighed, “I guess I’ll just have to content myself with continual knowledge of your whereabouts. You know, just in case something should happen to Grace. Or in case you get within a thousand miles of her. Or I just forget the promise. And, in case you might forget, I’ll leave little reminders now and then.”

  He continued to mumble to himself as he restarted the elevator and got off on the next floor. “Damn, I don’t know how she does it, wrangling these promises out of me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thorne woke to the feel and smells of her own bed, her own apartment, her own Jack. It had all just been a bad dream. She dozed for a few more minutes before reality circled back and bit her hard, right in the middle of her chest. It was strange that, of everything that had happened in the last three weeks, all she could seem to think about was Jack’s rejection last night.

  He was holding her awfully tight for someone who didn’t want her, though, and she had to move very carefully not to wake him. She was thankful the shower was only a few steps away. God, but she was weak. It took everything she had to get cleaned up and dressed.

  Sitting against the wall watching Jack sleep, she ran a hand through her hair. It was too long; it dragged against the collar of her shirt and irritated her. She knew she wouldn’t make it to the barber and back, not today. She couldn’t make it to the bus stop to get to work, either. Her stomach reminded her that food was a problem, too. She was afraid to open the fridge. Everything except Jack’s beer would have gone bad by now.

  It vexed her to realize that, for the first time since she could remember, she really needed someone.

  The doctor hadn’t wanted to let her go, but Jack had taken her side and that had been the end of that argument. He’d carried her all the way out of the hospital, into the rented SUV, through the airport, onto Blackridge’s cool jet, and then into her apartment last night.

  It had made her feel so…so safe and loved. And that terrified her.

  Especially after what happened last night. It had started with the conversation, and that had started when he’d laid her down in her own bed, which had felt simply wonderful. She’d thanked him for rescuing her and asked how he’d been able to wake her. It shouldn’t have been a big deal.

  But after some hemming and hawing, he’d admitted it had been with a kiss. He’d seemed…embarrassed, or some
thing. So she’d tried to make light of it, pointing out that the ugly scars she knew he’d seen made her the beast in the fairy tale. He hadn’t smiled; he’d closed his eyes. Well, the others hadn’t even been able to look at her, though they’d seemed glad enough to see her.

  Then she’d asked him if he’d found out how she’d gotten those scars and Jack had told her what Paul told them. So they all knew. If she hadn’t already faced some of them, she didn’t think she’d have been able to face any. It would be hard enough as it was.

  There was only one nightmare left: the one she knew she could never face. The one where Jack saw her naked—saw the scars that made the manacle marks look cute, the ones that covered so much of her body. The look on his face in the dream was what haunted her. She always woke up screaming from that one.

  She hadn’t dreamt last night, though, because he’d stayed, because she’d asked him—knowing he would because he felt sorry for her, because she was one of the team, because he felt obligated. How sick was that?

  He hadn’t answered, just turned out the light and slowly undressed her. After weeks without it, his touch had made her burn and ache so fiercely she’d had to fight like hell to hide it when he’d just kissed her like a sister and crawled in next to her, falling into a light snore almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  After a few quiet tears, she’d been out like a light, too exhausted herself to dwell on the fact that Jack no longer desired her.

  But today…

  His eyes had just opened, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, he looked pissed.

  * * * *

  Dagger stretched and felt Grace’s absence. His eyes flew open in panic only to meet hers across the room. The infernal woman was already showered and dressed. And, from the pale, drawn look of her, it had damn near wiped her out, too.

  “What the hell, Grace? Why aren’t you still in bed?” Where he’d so carefully put her last night after she’d actually asked him if he wanted to stay. Like wild horses could have dragged him away.

  He’d undressed her in the dark, because he knew it made her feel safe. He let out a sigh, remembering how the release of each button, the removal of each piece of her clothing, had made it harder for him to breathe. How, by the time he’d slid her jeans and panties down her legs, he’d been hard and aching. How his lips had brushed hers, just before he’d caught himself and realized what a selfish asshole he was. She’d been out of a coma less than a day and he’d been about to savage her into next Tuesday.

  The guilt over that, and everything else, had successfully tamped down his desire. She’d thanked him—thanked him, for chrissake!—for rescuing her. She’d made him tell her about the kiss. But he couldn’t tell her the rest, how she’d scared him shitless, how much he needed her. Not after he’d failed her when she needed him the most. Nothing he could ever do would make up for that. And then she’d brought up those awful scars, made him remember how she’d gotten them and he’d had to close his eyes so she wouldn’t see the extent of his helpless rage.

  His last thought had been that at least he could protect her now and see to it she got the rest she needed, that they’d sort the rest out later. He’d folded her gently in his arms where she belonged, and fallen into a deep, Grace-given, peaceful sleep.

  Too deep, apparently.

  He repeated, “What the hell, Grace? You should be in bed.”

  “I was, um, going to go into work, but—”

  “Work! Grace, are you fucking nuts? You need at least another day in bed.” With me.

  “There’s no point in laying around, I’ll just get bored and restless. I’ll get stronger faster if I push myself. You’d do the same thing and you know it.”

  She wasn’t just pale. Something else was wrong. She was scared. And she didn’t want to be in bed with him. Fuck. He wondered for the millionth time what that bastard Darmfelder had done to her. He clenched his fists and swallowed his rage again. It was of no help to either of them.

  He fought for the right words. Words that had worked before.

  “I tell you what, Grace. I’ll take you to breakfast and we’ll see how you do. Just give me a few minutes.”

  * * * *

  Breakfast at the diner that morning was a noisy affair and no place for the kind of conversation Dagger wanted to have with Grace. Not that she seemed to be in any mood to talk. She was eating well, though, and that pleased him. By the time she’d finished, she could hardly keep her eyes open. He overrode her protests and insisted on taking her back to her apartment and tucking her into bed.

  * * * *

  Thorne tried not to be too happy that Jack came back that evening. He brought hot Tron’s and groceries, for which she was grateful but not surprised—Jack could be pretty thoughtful. He also brought more beer, which did surprise her. It meant that he intended to stay a while. Just as she felt a warm glow growing, she reminded herself that he was only taking care of her. After all, he was too nice a guy to dump her when she obviously needed him.

  The noises of the other tenants in the building filtered through the silence while they ate. Thorne tried not to think about how many more meals they might share here before she’d be alone again.

  “God, you really can hear the guy next door take a leak.” Jack’s laugh didn’t sound very convincing to her. He was probably just trying to make conversation and hadn’t meant to let it slip that he wasn’t going to miss this place.

  That’s what she was thinking when he took her hand and said, “What’s wrong, Grace? What did that fucker do to you? If he hurt you, I don’t care what I promised, he’s going to die a slow and painful death.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He didn’t touch me; he doesn’t have the stomach for it. No, Darmfelder gets off on the mind-fuck. The man does have a singular talent, though.” She swallowed.

  “Wait, you don’t have to tell me—not if it’s…I don’t want to push.”

  God, he looked so concerned, so sincere.

  “No, after coming to my rescue like you did, you deserve to know. And it’s probably good for me to talk about it, just this once.” She took the time to create some distance in her mind between the events and herself, so that it was like it had happened to someone else.

  She focused her eyes on an empty patch of wall. “He smoked his cigarettes and made crude remarks. And yeah, it made me sick. No big deal. Being confined was worse—the handcuffs, the small room. I thought I was going to lose it. But what pushed me into that dark abyss, Jack, was that I believed him when he told me I’d never get away, that no one was coming for me.”

  “God, Grace, how could you think that? Of course we were coming for you!”

  It hurt so much to remember, she could hardly get the words out. “You weren’t there that morning. You didn’t hear how that fucker twisted everything. And they believed him. You didn’t see how they looked at me. Before…with those hell’s spawn, it was different. I never had hope; there’d never been anyone who would miss me enough to look for me. But with you and the team…To believe in that and then have it ripped it away. It was too much, Jack, just too much. I didn’t want to live any more.” She bowed her head because she no longer had the strength to hold it up.

  Jack pulled her into his arms and rocked her. “That fucking sonofabitch. Thank God you didn’t go to the light like you talked about before. I’m sorry, Grace. Sorry that it took us so long to find you, sorry that I wasn’t there that morning to stop him. You’ll never know how sorry.”

  Thorne let him hold her, let the tears come. It felt so good to just let go. And when she felt his gentle kisses drying her cheeks and his mouth met hers, she gave his tongue entrance, invited him. And if it was pity? Right now, she’d take whatever he had to give her. She didn’t object when he picked her up and moved her to the bed, turning out the light on the way, kissing her all the while, making her want him so much she was sure she’d die if he didn’t take her soon. But he seemed to be in no hurry, the rat bastard. He was probably trying to f
orget her ugly scars.

  She was more than willing to help him. Her need for the taste and feel of the skin beneath the sweater her hands had so lovingly knit had her jerking it off carelessly, her fingers and lips frantically remembering every hard plane, every feather of hair. She licked and tasted, and still he lay there, uncharacteristically unmoving.

  Frustration overwhelmed pride and she slid his zipper down, startled to find a very nice surprise. Evidently, her scars hadn’t distracted him as much as she’d thought. Or he was thinking of another woman, one without issues and scars.

  Long experience diverting her mind allowed her to shove the thought away, along with the feelings that accompanied it, choosing to focus instead on the heat and smooth hardness of him. Large, strong hands that had been fisted at his sides grasped her upper arms when she slid down to wrap her lips around all that wonderful Jack-ness.

  She would have protested when he pulled her up if his deep groan hadn’t sounded more like a pained growl, making her wonder if she’d hurt him. The list of what she didn’t know about pleasing and hurting a man in this situation was longer than some of her better application code.

  Besides, he was pulling her sweater off now—slowly, though, too slowly; the same with her jeans and embarrassingly damp panties. His touch was gentle, his tongue on her nipples light and teasing instead of hard and insistent as it had always been. He was sweating and breathing awfully hard for someone who wasn’t moving much, too. Her body responded in kind. It was very confusing.

  One thing was clear: she wanted to kill him for torturing her like this. Once she was done with him, anyway. And that was going to take more than this first release her body was screaming for. Her fingers slid over the slick glaze on the steely muscles of his shoulders and back, then lower to cup and squeeze the firm peachy ass she was so fond of, pulling him inside before he could stop her. She’d wanted every hard inch of his desire and she had it now, whatever his problem was, goddamnit.