No Rules (4 page)

“Like I told you.”

She worked at ordering her thoughts, trying to make sense of a world turned suddenly upside down. “You killed him?” she croaked.

His jaw hardened as he looked straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her mind spun wildly.
Oh, you didn’t mean to. That’s okay, then.
When she had no response, he reached into his boot and pulled out a folded knife. With the flick of a button, the knife sprang open. He held it up between them, the curved blade gleaming in the dashboard lights, razor sharp and deadly.

She uttered a startled scream and shrank away, huddling against the door and wondering how badly she’d be hurt if she opened it and threw herself out at highway speeds.

“He was carrying this. He would have killed you, Jessie.” In one efficient motion he closed the knife and dropped it back into his boot.

She relaxed marginally but continued to stare, struggling for coherent thought. If he sensed it, he ignored her, taking a turnoff and keeping his eyes on the road ahead, shadowed gaze intent on the dark strip of highway. Wherever he was taking her, he was not running in aimless panic. Everything about Donovan, right down to the way he gave orders and the decisive way he acted, was efficient and purposeful. Professional, she thought, chilled by the idea. Right down to killing a man, which she suspected was not a first for him, or he would have been more shaken up. She was with a professional killer. Was effectively his prisoner.

And incredibly, he’d saved her life. Twice, if she believed him.

She curled against the door as she took in his tight, determined expression and the muscular lines of his body, and shivered with fear. Also with an awareness she refused to name because it led back to that same fear.

Who in the hell was this guy?

Chapter Three

She was deathly afraid of him.

Donovan grappled with the mixed feelings that raised—relief that she was cooperating and, in an uncomfortable realization, disappointment. He wanted her to feel safe with him.

It shouldn’t matter. Not the terror that widened her soft brown eyes, and not the way her soft skin flinched at his touch. None of it mattered as long as he got the information Wally had left with her. But Jessie had meant a lot to Wally, and he would be upset at the rough manner with which Donovan had treated his daughter. That was enough reason to feel bad about the way she was cowering against the passenger door.

The fact that she also embodied a strange mix of innocence and sexuality disturbed him, turning his brain fuzzy while electrifying his hormones. It was wrong. Tyler Donovan didn’t take direction from his libido, especially not over a woman like Jess, who didn’t even mourn the loss of the father who had adored her. Also, she was far too innocent and naive to be exposed to someone like him. Yet some base part of him wanted to pull Wally’s daughter into the nearest bedroom, strip off her demure business suit, and teach her to unleash her inner vixen.

The sooner he stashed her at Omega headquarters, the better. Once there, the team could debrief her, figure out Wally’s message, and get on with the operation before more lives were lost. The professional setting might even make him immune to the strange sexual energy he felt whenever he looked at her.

Between her fear and his efforts to clamp a hold on his imagination, they didn’t exchange another word, not until he drove past the dark complex of hangars at Traverse City’s Cherry Capital airport and sped toward the small jet idling at the end of a runway.

She sat up straight in her seat, watching nervously. “Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe.” He pulled up beside the plane and got out.

She stepped out, too, and watched him pull out her suitcases, holding onto her blowing hair as the plane revved its engines and a warm wash of air hit them. “You’re taking me home to Houston?” she asked hopefully, raising her voice over the noise of the plane.

“Your apartment is no safer than Wally’s house. We’re going to Chicago.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

He shouldered the carry-on and paused, noting her stubborn look and seeing the panic behind it. They didn’t have time for this argument. “I suppose you could make a run for it. Of course, I’d still have your luggage. Plus, I’d catch you before you hit those trees, and I’d have to tackle you and get us both scraped up and pissed off. But maybe you’d like to cause me some pain, so let me put it in simpler terms.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “There, bad guys with knives.” He pointed at the jet. “Here, good guy with a plane. Your choice.”

She couldn’t argue the point. Still, she studied him with distaste, then marched toward the copilot who had descended the stairs and was waiting to help her board. He didn’t think she totally bought the good-guy part, but at least she’d believed his threat to use force if necessary. He hadn’t lied about it, either, just the part about being pissed off if he had to tackle her. She might have been, but personally he wouldn’t have minded falling on top of Jess Maulier and pinning her to the ground for a moment. Or two, or three.

Almost disappointed that he couldn’t, he shook off the fantasy, hefted her bags, and followed her to the plane.

…

Jess had no objection to being safe. Heck, she was a freaking safety nut. She always fastened her seat belt, always looked both ways before crossing, and carried a key chain flashlight just in case. She kept antibacterial wipes under her car seat. Her book
Emily the Safety Bear
had won two major literary awards. No one was more concerned with safety than Jess.

She did have issues with kidnapping, however, and no matter how he spun it, that’s what this was. Fingernails digging into her palms, she reviewed every one of Dr. Epstein’s suggestions for suppressing her fears, then replaced them with a healthy outrage.

She let Donovan see her anger, stomping up the metal roll-away stairs to the cabin. Anger gave her strength, made her less of a victim. She would have continued her act, but the luxurious cabin before her spoiled the bitchy effect when she had to stop and stare.

Four big leather seats faced each other, two on each side. Behind them was a table with seating for four, and behind that a couch big enough to stretch out on.

She was still staring when Donovan spoke right behind her. “Sit anywhere; it’s just us.” His breath touched the back of her neck and sent shivers racing across her scalp. She quickly slipped into one of the forward-facing seats and busied herself with the seat belt.

He took the seat facing her, which did nothing to ease the annoying sense of awareness he stirred in her. Her luggage was nowhere in sight, and she assumed it had been stowed as cargo.

He was watching her. Trying her best to look at ease, she said, “Your employer sees that you travel in style.”

“The Omega Group. Yes, they do. You’ll meet most of them soon.” He studied her for another few seconds, before adding, “They were your father’s employer, too.”

She’d never heard of the Omega Group, but since she knew little about her father, she could hardly argue the point. Questions crowded her mind, questions about how long Tyler Donovan and her father had known each other, what they did, and why it would drive someone to kill. While she considered where to start, a young woman stepped out of the pilot’s cabin. “Welcome aboard, Tyler. We’re ready for takeoff.”

He turned and flashed a grin, the first she’d seen. The transformation was instantaneous, from deadly dangerous to sexy-dangerous. For a split second she wished she could bring that out in him instead of the annoyed looks she’d been getting all evening. She mentally stomped that thought into the dirt.

“Hey, Vanessa, good to see you.”

Jess didn’t miss Vanessa’s hand brushing his shoulder, even though he didn’t react. “Any messages?”

“Yeah, tell Evan
clear skies
.”

“Will do. Buckle up, we’re going to hit a few bumps over the lake.” She ducked back into the front cabin and shut the door.

Jess glanced at the snowflakes hitting the window beside her, falling thicker than before. With a sardonic lift of one eyebrow, she repeated, “Clear skies. Is that one of your codes?”

“Not cryptic enough?”

“Not very detailed. Not as much as saying, ‘I have her but she’s uncooperative and unpleasant.’”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, just enough to stir her imagination. “I’m hoping to talk you into a better mood before we get there.”

Oh, he so could. She flushed and swallowed hard at the realization that he could get that response with such little effort on his part, and wondered if he realized it, too. And if Dr. Epstein would be surprised. She certainly was. “Don’t bother trying,” she said as drily as she could and hoped he wouldn’t test her resolve.

Instead of hitting her with the devastating wattage of his smile that she’d half hoped to see, his gaze turned suddenly thoughtful. Seconds passed, and she’d decided he wasn’t going to answer when he finally spoke, soft and low, as if admitting to a fault. “It’s no bother.”

Good Lord. Jess gritted her teeth, annoyed at the heat that swept through her. Her agile mind began whirling with several scenarios that could follow that line, all of them involving a woman who was hotter and bolder and far more confident than she’d ever been. Scenarios that some instinct told her would probably give her a bit of power over him.

She chickened out. Fumbling with the controls beside her seat, she said, “I’m tired. Wake me up when we get there.” The back of her chair dropped, and she closed her eyes, wondering if his hot gaze still watched her. She refused to open her eyes to see.

Blocking him out allowed her mind to concentrate on other things, like the fact that she was about to be airborne. Her imagination immediately indulged her fear of flying by envisioning multiple scenarios involving crashing into the frigid waters of Lake Michigan, combining her drowning with a gory death on impact and flaming jet fuel. Unfortunately, she had a vivid imagination. She clenched her eyes tightly and gripped the leather side of her seat as they endured a half hour of frightening turbulence. When it stopped, she was exhausted from the sheer duration of the tension. Calm air and the smooth hum of the engines were such a relief she actually unclenched her hands and relaxed.

To her surprise, he had to wake her. She moaned contentedly at the gentle touch on her shoulder and his softly spoken, “Jess.” Opening her eyes, she started to smile at the darkly handsome man leaning over her, then remembered who he was and sat bolt upright, struggling for composure.

An answering smile had touched his mouth before he stepped back just in time to avoid bumping heads with her as she popped up. She would have liked a longer look at the delicious curve of his lips when he smiled, so it was probably a good thing she’d startled him out of it. “We’re here,” he said.

She followed him out of the plane without a word, but glanced around in confusion as she descended another set of metal stairs. They were in a large building with steel walls and a cement floor. A few feet below, someone slammed the trunk shut on a black sedan, creating a hollow echo in the cavernous building.

“Where are we?” she asked as she reached the floor.

“Chicago. Omega’s airplane hangar.” He opened the passenger door of the car. “Get in.”

She wasn’t arguing anymore, but didn’t like feeling out of control, not knowing where she was going or what he had in mind for her when they got there. Digging deep for some attitude, she asked, “What, no chauffeured limo?”

“He smiled. I’ll tell Evan you were not impressed.”

Evan again. She waited until they drove out of the hangar into the well-lit landscape of the airport and headed for the expressway. He drove fast, slipping past slower-moving vehicles with confidence. “Who’s Evan?”

“Evan Lang is Director of Operations for the Omega Group.

She repeated the name silently, puzzling over the oddly familiar name until it sparked a memory. “
Doctor
Lang?”

“That’s right. He wasn’t sure you’d remember him.”

She didn’t, really. “I just know he was my father’s friend. He worked at a different university, but they collaborated on a few articles and traveled together a couple times.”

“He and your dad started Omega more than a dozen years ago.”

“To do what? Translate ancient writings?” It was the only kind of project she remembered her father working on, pouring over the cuneiform tablets and copies of hieroglyphics he brought back from the Middle East until late into the night, as excited over the ancient languages as only a professor of linguistics could be.

Donovan chuckled, as if surprised by such a ridiculous idea. “Not even close. If you look at Omega’s website, it says we provide transport for civilians in foreign countries who find themselves in special-needs situations. That’s a delicate way of saying we specialize in extracting hostages.”

“You’re with the CIA?”

“No, we’re private. Our government knows who we are, but we don’t operate under the authority of any agency, or with their permission. It’s unsanctioned and dangerous. It’s also necessary.”

Her mouth had fallen open and stayed there. “My
father
worked for this company?”

“He
founded
it, along with Evan. The idea for it formed about fifteen years ago, shortly after an incident in Iran. They were working at an archeological dig when they were taken hostage by a radical political group. They were held for four months while our government tried to negotiate their release.”

A chill stabbed through her. “I remember.” How could she forget? One hundred and twelve long, tense days and nights for her and her mother of praying and crying and waiting. The frustration of trying to get information from their representative, the American consulate, the State Department, anyone they could think of. Her terror for her father’s safety. Her mother’s distress, then near hysteria when one hostage was executed.

At eleven years old, Jess had tried to provide emotional support while barely functioning herself. The helpless feeling of being caught in a situation completely out of her control still evoked nightmares. Still required therapy.

Then the miraculous had happened: the government’s efforts succeeded and the two surviving hostages were released. Her father came home, thinner and bruised, but otherwise healthy. She and her mother had clung to him, and he’d held them close, reassuring them that everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

“He came home after a few days at a hospital in Germany,” she told him. “It was the beginning of the end of my parents’ marriage. Everything seemed okay at first, but then my parents started arguing. It all had to do with his time as a hostage.”

Arguing was a mild word for her mother’s screaming tirades and her father’s sharp, stubborn replies. It was when her mother’s break with reality had truly taken hold. They’d tried to keep her out of it, but their clash of wills seemed to permeate every room of their house, even when they weren’t together, tingeing the air with an invisible but palpable anger. Jess had slunk through most of a school year staying out of the house and with friends as much as possible, hoping they’d work it out. But her father began spending more time away from home while her mother began seeing an unending string of therapists. Less than ten months after her father’s return, the marriage was over.