Lethal Lies. Lara Lacombe

“How is that possible?”

      “Because it’s the truth?”

      She glanced up at him, her brown eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t name. “But you kidnapped me.”

      “I had to. I couldn’t let Tony die.”

      She took a step forward, evidently growing braver in the face of his confession. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were before?”

      He shook his head. “There wasn’t time. I couldn’t stand there in the middle of the parking lot and explain the situation to you. We had to move. I made a command decision, and while I’m sorry you were scared, I’d do it again.”

      She stood in front of him now, a breath away. “You idiot,” she seethed. She slapped his badge against his chest and he raised his hand to keep it from falling. “I would have helped you. I could have admitted Tony as a John Doe, bought you some time. But you didn’t think of that, did you?”

      Actually, no, he hadn’t considered that possibility. He’d figured the FBI and the gang would comb the area hospitals looking for him, and he’d wanted to get away as soon as possible. Besides, while the FBI would be careful not to harm any innocent bystanders in their quest to arrest him, he knew the gang wouldn’t be so circumspect.

      “I couldn’t risk other people getting hurt. You know the 3 Star Killers wouldn’t hesitate to mow down everyone in the ER if they knew I was inside.”

      Some of the anger in her eyes dimmed at that. “You still could have told me the truth.”

      “When?” he asked, his temper flaring to life. “In the car on the way here, as you were looking through the supplies? When you were treating Tony? When you were sneaking off to drug me? When, exactly, do you think I should have had this conversation with you?”

      “I don’t know!” She took a step back, throwing up her arms as she moved. “But don’t get mad at me for being upset at the fact that you kidnapped me and brought me here under false pretenses.”

      Alex opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as he caught the hitch in her breathing. She was terrified, and trying hard not to show it. The knowledge doused his anger like a cold shower. “I’m not the bad guy,” he said softly.

      Jillian stared up at him a long moment, considering. He watched the emotions play across her face—anger, frustration, fear, denial. And acceptance. Finally she spoke again. “I know.”

      “But the bad guys are out there. And they are coming for us. So we have to decide—are we going to work together or are we going to argue over all the crap that’s happened tonight?” He reached out to rest his hand on her arm, squeezing gently. For the first time, she didn’t flinch at his touch. He felt like whooping in celebration, but kept his voice quiet. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the way things went down. I’d give anything to keep you out of this.”

      The corner of her mouth hitched up in what might have been a smile. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” she said wryly. “You’re right about one thing—if we waste time arguing, we’re as good as dead. But don’t think I’m going to forget about the fact that you kidnapped me and shoved me into a car.”

      He nodded. “Fair enough. You can punish me later. For now, let’s get some rest.”

      “I need to check on Tony first.”

      He leaned back so she could walk out of the bathroom. As she brushed past him, he put a hand on her arm, stopping her. She glanced up, a question in her eyes. “I was never going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please believe me—I would never deliberately hurt you.”

      Her expression softened and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “I know that now,” she said, giving him a reassuring pat.

      He released her, the tension in his chest loosening with her words. “Good.”

      He watched her walk into the bedroom, a curious sense of relief making him feel almost giddy. She knew. She knew all about him, about what had happened tonight. And now she could help, as his partner, not his hostage. He wasn’t alone any longer—he was part of a team.

      Alex moved to the second bed and folded down the scratchy spread. Jillian glanced up from her examination of Tony, and he gestured to the empty bed. “You should get some sleep.”

      She looped the stethoscope around her neck as she stood. “What about you?”

      He nodded to the chair on the other side of the room. “I’ll take first watch.”

      “Promise you’ll wake me in a few hours?” She was already stripping off her white coat and shoes. He heard a thunk as she set her pagers on the bedside table before climbing in.

      “Promise,” he said, but he doubted she heard him. Her breathing was already the deep, even cadence of a person sleeping. She was probably a pro at taking advantage of the odd stolen moment; a skill he imagined came in handy in her line of work. He watched her for a moment, envying the peace she’d found and wanting nothing more than to lie next to her and rest for a few minutes. Or a few years.

      Shaking off the errant thought, he flipped off the lights and settled into the chair, positioning himself in the dark corner. He had a good angle of the window and door, but was out of the direct line of fire, should anyone burst into the room with guns blazing. He checked his Glock, then his backup weapon—a snub-nosed .38 Special. Both were in good working order, loaded and ready for use. Just in case.

      He’d been careful to make a clean exit tonight and knew they hadn’t been followed. The gang didn’t know about this room at the no-tell motel. Neither did the FBI. It was his personal bolt hole, a place to retreat and regroup when things went bad. In the three years he’d been with the gang, he’d never once had to use it.

      Until tonight.

      Sighing quietly, he reached up a hand to rub his eyes, trying to scrub away the images from tonight’s attack. The screaming. The smell of cordite and gun smoke on the wind. The blood.

      Watching the attack unfold tonight had made him feel helpless. It was a sensation he hadn’t had in years, not since the day of that horrible training accident when he’d reached out a hand to help Dan make it to the top of the obstacle wall. Dan’s grasp had been solid and sure, until suddenly it wasn’t, and Dan was scrabbling for purchase as he slipped. The screams of the injured tonight were a haunting echo of Dan’s cry as he’d fallen. Even now, Alex had only to close his eyes to see the man lying at a terrible angle at the base of the wall, the image as clear and perfect as a photograph. It had been almost ten years, but he hadn’t forgotten any of the details.

      Probably never would.

      Jillian sighed and shifted on the bed. He focused on her, using the distraction of her presence as a lifeline to pull himself out of the sea of memories. It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in things that couldn’t be changed. He had to stay focused on the job at hand—he owed her that, after dragging her into this mess.

      It was the only way to make sure they survived.