Danger That Is Damion (23 page)

“Damn it, Sabrina,” Logan hissed. “Untie me.”

“Not for a very long time yet,” she promised, raking her gaze over his body. “Not until I know how you plan to bring Lara back to us.”

“You know I can’t tell you,” he said. “Powell will kill me.”

“An unacceptable answer. I wouldn’t have been left in the dark if you hadn’t insisted I be left in the dark.” If Lara was allowed to live, Sabrina would risk having her lies to Powell exposed. That couldn’t happen.

“Jenna is very beautiful,” Sabrina continued, having contemplated an arsenal of ways to make Logan talk. “So sweet and delicate.” She walked to the closet and pulled out a flogger, smacking it against her hand. “I’m really going to enjoy this.” She whirled on her heels and headed for the door, while Logan roared in response. So she’d been right. Logan and the little lab assistant were into each other.

“I’ll tell you, damn it!”

She smiled and walked back to the bed, before climbing on top of him, the flogger still in her hand. “Tell me.”

On some level Lara knew she was dreaming, and she knew inside the darkness she’d find answers, answers she desperately wanted. She pushed through the black hole of slumber and reached for truth, for answers, until a vision appeared.

“Hello, hello!” Lara called out, pushing open the door to Skywalker’s beach house, the warm, summer night air following her inside. Skywalker. She knew him, she knew his name, and she knew this place. Yes, she knew it well. She’d leased a place up the beach several years before, taking on a full-time job at the shelter. This was still “home.” This was where she’d found safety and love.

Lara
set
the
plate
of
cookies
in
her
hand
on
the
hall
table
and
kicked
the
door
shut, setting down her purse and key, and then pausing to glance at the pictures on the wall. One of her with Skywalker, and one of his beautiful brunette wife and teen daughter, Susan, who’d both been killed by a “spook,” a rogue CIA agent who Skywalker had been hunting for the agency. That was only a year before Lara had met Skywalker. She knew now that she’d reminded him of Susan that night by the Dumpster, that he’d felt then, and still did, that they were destined to cross paths—her to fill the void left by his lost daughter, him to be the father she’d lost. And he had. A darn good one too.

She
could
hear
the
evening
news
coming
from
the
living
room, and Lara started walking. Feeling particularly nostalgic for no real reason, her gaze snagged on another photo
—
this
one
of
her
walking
across
the
college
graduation
stage
several
years
before, thanks to Skywalker’s support.

A
smile
touched
her
lips
as
she
called
out, “Ms. Smith wanted to thank you for teaching last night’s self-defense class.” She cut around the corner. “She baked you cookies, though I have a sneaking suspicion this is her way of flirting.”

A
big, fluffy, brown sofa framed by overstuffed, comfy chairs came into view, and Lara sighed as she found Skywalker had deserted his regular news program. She was talking to herself. “Upstairs,” Lara murmured. No doubt surrounded by surveillance equipment for the new “top secret” contract job Skywalker was working on. The one he wasn’t talking about, despite her incessant prodding, and her frequent aid with research on past jobs.

Urgency
as
unexplained
as
the
nostalgia
overtook
Lara, and she reached for the handrail. So much so that she would have double-timed the steps, if not for the shiver of warning that chased down her spine. Lara stilled, her senses reaching out, exploring potential threats.

After
Skywalker
had
insisted
she
train, and train hard to protect herself, both physically and mentally, the shiver wasn’t a feeling she was quick to ignore. He’d pushed her, tested her often. And she’d let him, well aware of the fear she saw in him that she would end up in a grave beside his daughter. To date, she hadn’t needed that training, but it spoke to her now.

Cautiously, she inched back down the hallway toward the cookies, or rather, the shelf beneath those cookies. One of many places Skywalker stashed weapons in the house. Not to mention she’d left her phone in her purse by the door. Suddenly, Skywalker’s shout blasted through the air. “Run, Lara!”

Adrenaline
shot
through
her
veins, and she reacted instantly, doing exactly as he said. She ran. To the cabinet, to grab a gun. She was trained to fight. She wasn’t leaving Skywalker. She wasn’t losing Skywalker.

She
fumbled
with
the
cabinet
and
yanked
it
open, securing the Beretta PX4. The sounds of a struggle pounded out against walls and floors somewhere on the upper level, and she took comfort in the cold steel beneath her palm. She whirled around ready to fly up those stairs, when the weapon was ripped from her hand. A woman stood there, dressed all in black, long red hair braided down her back.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” she said. “Name’s Sabrina, and we’re going to be real good friends, you and I.” A smile lifted her lips. “Once Skywalker is out of the way.”

Anger
exploded
inside
Lara, and she attacked, calling on the training Skywalker had drilled into her the last ten years. Kick, block, kick—all sidestepped and dodged as if Lara were an amateur, batting at a fly. The next thing Lara knew, the woman seemed to move at the speed of light, shackling Lara’s arm, jerking a big glob of her hair and holding on. Then Lara was being painfully forced in front of the other woman and up the stairs—pushed with the force of a steamroller.

Fiercely, Lara fought, to no avail. The woman was taller than Lara’s five-foot-five by several inches and outweighed her 118 by a good ten pounds. But she was also stronger than she was big. Abnormally strong. Insanely strong. Inhumanly strong. A crazy thought, but one hard to shake as Lara struggled against the attacker shoving her up those stairs.

No
matter
how
she
moved
or
twisted, nothing worked. She’d gladly lose her hair if it meant freedom, but she wasn’t getting away from this woman without losing her arm—not an option.

Approaching
the
landing, Lara kicked her foot backward and tripped the woman. Unfortunately, they both tumbled forward, with Lara on the bottom. And since she didn’t have control of one of her arms, she smashed hard onto the wood floor.

Her
attacker
leaned
close, near her ear. “We don’t want to mess up your pretty face just yet, so behave.” Lara’s head was jerked back, as her attacker yanked her up by the hair at her scalp, lifting Lara to her feet and shoving her toward the surveillance room.

It
was
then
that
her
heart
stopped
beating, then that she saw Skywalker facedown on the floor, unmoving. And then that she saw another woman, a blonde dressed in black like the redhead, standing above him. The Beretta flew through the air, and everything went into slow motion.

“Kill him,” the redhead ordered.

Lara
screamed
as
the
blonde
caught
the
weapon, aimed at Skywalker, and fired. A second later, a sharp pain pierced her skull, and Lara went black.

Lara was jerked out of slumber with a gasp and the image of a gun held to Skywalker’s head. Her gaze ripped around the room without truly seeing it, her fingers curling into a soft blanket. She was in bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of Skywalker’s death was still vividly clear, and she tried to picture his killer—tried and failed. What had been clear moments before slithered back into her mind like a lethal snake waiting for its next attack.

Abruptly, the door to the room burst open, startling Lara’s wide eyes, and Damion rushed toward her. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you in pain?”

Memories flooded her at the sight of him, the welcome thoughts of the two of them touching, kissing, pleasing each other, overriding those of Skywalker’s last few seconds on earth—Skywalker, who had been someone special to her, a father figure. Yes. He’d been a father figure. She knew this deep in her soul, knew it in a way that defied the lack of memory, the lack of knowledge of the past.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, not sure if that was true, not sure if she was ready to even talk about what she’d just seen. “I had a nightmare. That’s all.” Her gaze swept Damion, noting his faded jeans and a Super Bowl T-shirt. Clearly he’d been awake for a while, while she was still wearing just his shirt from the night before.

“That must have been one heck of a nightmare,” he said, sitting down next to her, “because I don’t think I’ve ever heard a scream like that.”

“I screamed?”

“Like a banshee.”

The screaming she now remembered from her nightmare must have been her own. “Sorry about that.”

“Is she okay?” a male voice asked from the door. “I called Kelly.”

Lara’s gaze jerked to the doorway, where a man with blond spiky hair lurked.

“She had a nightmare,” Damion called out over his shoulder. “Tell Kelly she’s fine.”

“Will do,” he said, and gave Lara a quick, two-finger salute. “Scream again if you need anything.” He shut the door.

“Is everyone around here a smart-ass?” Lara asked.

Damion chuckled, low and sexy, sending a tingle down her spine. She was way too attracted to this man for her own good. “Sterling and Chale excel, so the rest of us don’t have to,” he said. “Sterling’s been helping me dig up information on Skywalker for you for the last couple of days.”

“Couple of days?” she asked incredulously. “Please tell me I haven’t been asleep for a couple of days?” No wonder he was clean-shaven and fully dressed.

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” he agreed.

“I was asleep two days?”

“Three.”

“Three days! GTECHs don’t sleep three days in three months!”

“Clearly you needed the rest to heal. How do you feel?”

Her stomach growled as if in reply.

He arched a brow. “Hungry, I assume?”

“Absolutely starving.”

“Food I can handle,” he said. “But what about your headache?”

“You know,” she said, surprised. “I think it’s gone. Yes.” She reached for her memories, for the faces of her parents, and there was nothing.

“You still don’t have your memories back.”