like a woman—bold, challenging, sexy as hell.
“Let me go, Loki. Stealing a few jewels is not endangering national security. Besides, what do you care about that? You’ve always gone to the highest bidder and damn the torpedoes.”
“I think those claims about me have been greatly exaggerated—maybe even by me. Prospero hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it. This is Jack Coburn we’re talking about. Nobody betrays Jack Coburn, and you’re about to find out why.”
“He doesn’t have to know.” She lifted her shoulder to rub the edge of her jaw against it. “Tell him I got away, that you couldn’t find me at all. I’m a Prospero agent. That won’t be too hard for him to believe.”
“And I’m Loki. It’ll be hard to believe I didn’t run you to ground.”
“Nice analogy.” She closed her eyes and heaved out a sigh. “Please. I’m begging you. Th-this is not what it seems. Somebody’s life depends on this—on my betrayal or at least the appearance of my betrayal.”
Narrowing his eyes, he rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his chin. She’d shifted tactics. “Your life? Zendaris has threatened to kill the members of Prospero Team Three several times over. He’s never gotten the chance.”
“Not my life. Much worse than that.”
He and Deb had not only had an intense physical connection that night three years ago. When they weren’t exploring each other’s bodies, they were exploring each other’s minds. She’d told him the only family she’d had was the old man who had taken her in as a rebellious teen. Was Zendaris threatening him?
“Your foster father?”
“Robert died last year.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, and his heart lurched.
Was she playing him?
He set his jaw and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry to hear it, but if not Robert, who? You told me you had no family other than Robert.”
She jerked her head up. “You remembered that?”
He remembered every detail of that night—the musky scent of her perfume, the smooth curves of her body, the low throatiness of her laugh and the taste of her. Sometimes at night that taste still lingered on his tongue.
He squared his shoulders. “I do, so don’t try to play some sob story off on me.”
“It’s not a story, Loki. Zendaris is holding someone I love more than life itself.”
A knife twisted in his gut—a husband. Deb had gotten married. And why not? Their connection had been almost three years ago—a one-night stand. Why would that mean anything to her?
He nodded. “You’re married.”
“No.” She shook her head from side to side so vehemently that her hair slipped over one shoulder and then the other. “I’m not talking about a husband. I’m talking about my son. Zendaris kidnapped my son, Bobby. And if I don’t do exactly what he tells me to do, he’ll kill him.”
Chapter Three
Much worse than a husband. Husbands could disappear. Kids stayed with you forever.
That one-night stand had meant less to her than he thought. She must’ve left him and run to the arms of some other lover.
Unless she was lying. What better way to get off the hook than to play the kid card?
His sharp laugh cut through the confusion. “You’re good, Deb. I have to give you that. You’re a pro.”
“Can you unbind my wrists?” She raised her arms behind her. “I didn’t expect you to believe me...at first.”
He strolled to the minibar and snatched a bottle of water from the fridge. He downed half of it in one gulp. He didn’t want her to see that she’d gotten to him for a minute.
“Unbind you so you can go for your gun? Claw my face off? Make a run for it?”
Her mouth curved up on one side. “You’re Loki. I’m not going anywhere. We both know that.”
“I’m impervious to flattery.”
“Since when?” She tipped her chin at the floor where he’d scattered the contents of her bag. “Then get my wallet. I have a picture of my son.”
He wished she’d stop saying that—it sounded so permanent. He slammed the plastic bottle on the credenza. Swooping down, he scooped up the wallet and flipped to the plastic inserts.
A teenaged Deb smiled at him, leaning over a chair, her arms around a grizzled African-American man—Robert, the man who’d taken her in after she’d run away from foster care. He flipped to the next picture and froze.
A towheaded toddler grinned while clutching the handlebars of a red tricycle. He flicked the edge of the picture. The kid didn’t even look like her. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
“Why would I carry a picture of a boy in my wallet? You know I don’t have any family, no nephews.”
“Doesn’t prove anything. Some wallets come with pictures already inserted. Is he even yours?”
“Look at the next picture.”
He swallowed as he stared at Deb wearing a hospital gown and cradling a baby. She looked...happy. “Congratulations. I’m sorry for doubting you. It looks like you really do have a child, but there’s nothing here to convince me Zendaris has him.”
“Well, at least you admitted I’m his mother. Zendaris has him. I’m telling the truth, Loki.”
“Stop—” he dropped the wallet on the bed next to her “—calling me that.”
“But I don’t know your real name. You never told me your real name.” She sniffled and her nose reddened.
She was sucking him in again. How was she playing the victim when she hadn’t wasted any time replacing him in her bed? Hell, she could’ve had a boyfriend when they’d hooked up.
If she’d lied about that, how did he know any of this story was true? The picture proved Deb had given birth, but for all he knew the boy could be safe with his father.
“Where is his father?”
She waved her hands. “Out of the picture.”
His pulse leapt. At least that was a plus. “I’m sorry if any of this is true, Deb. But if Zendaris has your son, you need to contact Prospero.”
Her shoulders sagged. “If I contact Prospero, Zendaris will kill him. You know he tried to do the same thing to one of my team members. He tried to kidnap Cade’s son, but Cade was able to protect his son.”
The tears ran unabated down her cheeks, and they were just about enough to convince Beau that her story was true. Nobody could fake the anguish he read in her face. And Deb Sinclair didn’t cry.
He secured his weapon and hers and sank onto the bed next to her. Reaching behind her back, he released her wrists.
She put her hands in her lap and rubbed the red creases on her skin, but the crying continued.
Slipping an arm around her shoulder, he pulled her flush against his side. Her head dropped to the hollow of his shoulder.
It felt good. He felt good.
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her nose. “I don’t think I’ve cried since the day they snatched him. What’s the use of tears?”
She’d discovered early in life that tears didn’t solve anything. At least her crying seemed to soften Loki’s position.
And she hadn’t even had to tell him Bobby was his son.
When she’d heard his voice growl in her ear, hope