Driven by Fire (14 page)

She broke, as he knew she would. “My brother,” she gasped beneath the pain. “My brother Billy.”

He released her throat immediately, knowing he wouldn’t have to hurt her any more, knowing he shouldn’t feel sick inside. “Tell me.”

Tears were pouring down her face, tears of pain and shame. “He’s my baby brother—he didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. He had a gun, and I knew you’d shoot him as you . . . you killed those other people on the boat.”

He didn’t disagree. “What did you do?”

“He was hiding under the desk when you came in. I just wanted to give him a second chance,” she said brokenly. “Everyone makes mistakes in their lives,” she said, a plea for understanding in her voice, one that left him entirely unmoved.

“You treacherous bitch,” he said coldly. “What about the phone?”

“He wants it back. He said it contained names, information, and if it got into the wrong hands he’d go to jail.”

“He’d be lucky if he made it as far as jail,” Ryder snapped. “And you still think he’s innocent? Next thing you’ll be telling me he’s a victim just like the people on that ship. I strongly suggest you don’t. Where was the phone?”

“Under the mattress.” Her voice crumbled, finally admitting the truth, and he wanted to curse, to shake her, yell at her.

He’d done enough to her. He levered himself off the bed, and she immediately curled into a fetal ball, hugging herself and her damaged arm, refusing to look at him.

Ryder was furious, with her for lying and making him hurt her, with himself for hurting her. And now there was a missing woman and the incriminating phone, and he had no choice but to go after both, when all he really wanted to do was get Ms. Goddamn Parker out of his life. When all he wanted to do was pull her shivering body into his arms and hold her.

No one hurt people like Jenny Parker on purpose like that, not the way he had. The sheer psychic shock of it was probably more debilitating than any pain he’d inflicted on her body. The pain was transitory, the disillusionment permanent. She now realized that people did such things to each other without a second thought, and it could happen again. She’d never feel safe.

“I’ll have Emery bring you some clothes. You can’t keep wearing my cast offs,” he said in an expressionless voice.

She didn’t lift her head. He could see only part of her tear-streaked face, and he kept his face impassive, feeling sick inside. “I’ll be leaving tonight,” he added in the same dead tone. “You’ll stay put and behave yourself.”

“No,” she said, shocking him. He would have thought he’d stripped all the fight from her. “You’re not going anywhere without me. You need me to find the cell phone.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard to find a phone with the New Orleans Saints on it,” he drawled.

“They get rid of the case, and then it will look like any other smartphone. I’m the only one who can be sure.”

He looked at her in frustration. They’d been able to download most of the intel from the phone the night before, but the information still remained intact on the device itself. They couldn’t allow it to get into the wrong hands.

“I don’t trust you not to hurt Soledad.” Her voice was barely audible, blurred as it was with tears and hatred.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d only hold me back.”

“If you want Soledad and the phone you’ll need me with you. I’m the only one who can recognize his phone—it’ll look like a hundred others to you. Besides, you’re not going to do a thing to save Soledad unless I make you.”

“Who says she needs saving?”

“I do. And I’m not going to let my brother be sentenced to execution without anyone speaking for him.”

“And you’re such a great judge of character,” he said, sarcastic. “Believe it or not I don’t shoot everyone who gets in my way. Your brother can rot in jail, just as he deserves. They don’t treat child molesters very well in prison, and your brother’s one step lower. He’s a child pimp, and he deserves everything he gets.” He headed for the door. “You can lie there and feel sorry for yourself for half an hour and no more. I could have done a lot worse. In a couple of days you’ll be fine.” Physically, it would be sooner than that—he knew exactly how much pressure to exert. Emotionally, it could take her a lot longer.

She slowly began to uncurl, and she was pulling herself back together, he realized with amazement. There was nothing she could do about her tear-streaked face, but the expression on it was cold and furious. “I won’t help you destroy my brother.”

“Your brother destroyed himself and you know it. And this isn’t a democracy. If you want to come with me to find Soledad, then I won’t stop you, but you’re in for a rude awakening. Soledad’s as dirty as your brother, and you’re just too naïve to see it.”

“She isn’t!”

“I’ll let you come because you’re right—only you can identify the cell phone. You’re the one who believes so strongly in Soledad’s innocence—if it were up to me she could rot in Calliveria.”

“You think that’s where she is?”

“I have no doubt, but I’ll have proof within the hour. If you’re coming with me, then you have half an hour to get ready or I’ll knock you out and carry you on board the plane. Don’t make me do that—I don’t happen to like hurting you.”

Her derisive laugh wasn’t quite tear-free, but it was impressive anyway. “Don’t you think the flight attendants might notice?”

“Who says we’re going on a commercial flight?” He shut the door quietly behind him. He could give her privacy to pull herself together—that was about all he could offer her. He could tell himself she’d survived the abuse a lot better than he would have guessed—she was already fighting back. It didn’t help.

He headed down the stairs, refusing to glance at his reflection in a huge mirror on the landing. There were times when you couldn’t look yourself in the eye, Ryder thought, and this was definitely one of them.

Jenny was freezing. She sat up on the bed, cradling her left arm with her right, trying to fight back the tears as her body shook. He’d kept telling her she was in shock yesterday. This was a lot closer to it.

How could he . . . No, she wasn’t going to think about it. If she took slow, deep breaths, the lingering pain was bearable, and while her throat hurt from his grip, she wasn’t going to give in. She needed to get out of here, away from him, away from a man who could do such a thing, could hurt her, could hurt someone he’d just kissed the night before. The sick bastard probably enjoyed it.

But then memory flooded her. He hadn’t enjoyed it sexually—there’d been no hint of arousal in his flat, dark eyes or his body. He’d hurt her because he’d told himself he had to do it. And if he ever came near her again she would kill him with her bare hands.

She drew her knees up and pressed her forehead against them, letting the shudders wrack through her body. No one had hit her in over twenty years, when her mother put a stop to her father’s lessons in corporal punishment. Her father’s belt was probably worse than what Ryder had just done to her, she thought, trying to lift her arm. Pain seared through it, and she dropped it back down. Maybe not. Maybe he was even more of a monster than her father was. He was certainly more dangerous.

Would she have told him the truth any other way? Probably
not. It didn’t matter—he’d forced her to betray the one member
of her family she still cared for. Her two older brothers were so
deeply involved in their criminal lifestyle that they were practically
strangers—they had no interest or time for the honest changeling
in the Gauthier family, just as she had no interest in them. The less she knew about them, the better.

But her father had sent her to save Billy, and everything had gone to hell since then.

She took a deep, shaky breath, letting out the stress and tension, and realized in some small, dark way she was almost relieved that it was out in the open. She wasn’t made for lying, and now she wouldn’t have to worry about a slip of the tongue.

No, all she had to worry about was Matthew Ryder putting a bullet between Billy’s eyes if he should find him.

But if they were going to Calliveria, he’d be safe. Billy didn’t do third-world countries, and right now he’d be in Paris or Barcelona, conveniently forgetting everything he’d done or that his foolish sister had done for him.

Slowly she dragged herself off the bed, then glanced down at her arm. She was still wearing one of his flannel shirts, and she yanked it off her like it was made with poisoned nettles, dumping it on the floor.

She wasn’t a redhead, despite what Ryder had said a lifetime ago, but she had pale skin, golden freckles around her brown eyes, and the tendency to bruise if someone even looked at her hard. The marks were starting to show on her arm, and she was tempted to walk around flashing those bruises, just to make him feel guilty. But Matthew Ryder wouldn’t feel guilt—he did what he had to do, and the last thing she wanted was for other people to know what he’d done to her, alone in his bedroom.

He was a monster, and she hated him with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Somehow, some way, she would pay him back for hurting her. He would have done the same with poor Soledad if he’d had the excuse, and Soledad had already been through too much brutality. At least Jenny was able to survive such punishment without turning into a basket case.

There was a mirror in the bathroom, and she walked in, checking out her reflection. The stain of tears was still on her face, so she splashed it with cold water, then looked back. A grim, satisfied smile curved her mouth. A few minutes ago she’d felt defeated, lost, shocked. Now she looked pissed as well. Her eyes were defiant, swimming with tears, her mouth stubborn, and if Matthew Ryder had any sense at all he’d be extremely wary around her. One thing was certain—he was never laying a finger on her again.

A long, thoughtful shower finished the job of cementing her cold fury, and when she came out there was a pile of clothes on the bare mattress, all with price tags still on. She wondered who had brought them, but she doubted it was Ryder. He was kept for strong-arm work, not deliveries.

She was good with numbers, and she mentally added up the cost of the new clothes as she went through them. Of course they were her size—she wouldn’t have expected anything less from Ryder and his “Committee.” Cargo pants, shorts, T-shirts and tank tops, sturdy walking shoes and sandals, and even a couple of sundresses, along with utilitarian underwear, plain white and boring. Her choice was to accept the new clothes or dress in Ryder’s cast offs, and she’d walk around the house naked before she touched his clothes again.

The bruising on her arm was turning dark, and there were marks from his long fingers at the base of her neck. There was nothing she could do about that, but there were a couple of lightweight long-sleeve shirts among the clothing, and she pulled one on over the tank top and long pants. The less anyone saw of her skin, the better. She intended to make Ryder believe he hadn’t hurt her, couldn’t hurt her. She’d been so vulnerable when he’d touched her, and she was determined she would never be vulnerable again.

She ran into Remy on the second floor, and she braced herself for pity and even a joke. Instead he acted as if he knew nothing about what Ryder had done to her, greeting her in a casual voice. “Ryder’s in the office, making final arrangements for the plane. I see you found the clothes Emery brought you. She’s got good taste.”

It was a relief to think a woman had chosen the plain white underwear. “I don’t have a passport anymore,” she said suddenly. “It was in my house.”

“Oh, Ryder’s seen to it. He’s on top of everything.”

Including me, when he hurt me
, she thought, keeping her expression passive. “Good to know,” she said. “Are you coming with us?” At least Remy would provide a buffer between them, something to keep her fierce hatred at bay.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s just the two of you—you’ll have more luck in finding the little witch without bringing in an army.”

“
‘Little witch
’
?” she echoed, surprised.

Remy’s grin was wry. “Well, she either escaped or was kidnapped right out from under me—it’s no wonder I’m a little pissed off at her.”

“It was hardly her fault she was kidnapped,” Jenny said sharply.

Remy shrugged, giving her his most charming smile. “If you say so.” He started past her, then paused, and she knew he was going to address the elephant in the room. She didn’t want him to, but she could think of no way to stop him.

“Did Ryder . . .” he began, all trace of a smile gone from his handsome face.

“I’m fine,” she interrupted him. “I told him what he wanted to know.”

Remy didn’t look convinced. “He can be . . . determined when he needs to know something. I do know that he wouldn’t have enjoyed what he did to you.”

Her smile was brittle. “That’s such a reassurance. Heaven knows Mr. Ryder’s feelings are what’s important.”

“That bad, eh?” Remy murmured. “I’m sorry,
cher
.”

“No worries,” she said, almost convincing. “I’ve been shot and had a house blow up on me and been clubbed on the head. A little bullying on Ryder’s part is child’s play compared to that.”