away and headed toward the bag she had stashed on the couch.
Cullen was over there, arms crossed over his chest, waiting quietly.
As she passed by him, she avoided looking at him. “I’m in this now,” she said flatly. “Doesn’t matter if you like it or not. I’ve heard their screaming. Women are suffering. Girls are dying. People need me. It’s what I am.”
His hand touched her arm.
Despite her decision not to look at him, she was unable to stop herself, swinging her head around and meeting the impossible blue of his eyes. Blue that stared at her with so much love. So much heat. So much need. He touched her cheek gently, slowly, tracing his finger down to stroke it over her lip. “I know, Taige. I know who you are . . . and although I hate how much you suffer for it, I wouldn’t change who you are.”
A knot rose in her throat. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No.” He eased in, pressed his lips to her forehead. “You do what you have to . . . and then come back to me. Come to me, so we can go back home to our baby.”
* * *
AWARE of the quiet scene taking place behind him, but distancing himself from it, Taylor continued to check the information they’d managed to amass over the past few days. They hadn’t been sitting around idly. No, thanks to Taige, they’d been rather busy, and she’d made connections that just didn’t seem possible.
Including tracking down a man in Dubai. One who had a woman in his house who really shouldn’t be there.
Whitmore’s last girlfriend.
Other bits and pieces were coming through. Enough, Taylor knew, just barely to wrangle a warrant. Just barely. And he was going to put a rush on it.
His phone rang.
He almost ignored it. He didn’t care about the fingerprints Crawford had wanted the other day. But something wouldn’t let him ignore it totally.
Five minutes later, he hung up.
Without saying a word, he crossed over to his desk and flipped through his files. “Taige . . . did you by chance get a look in Crawford’s mind?”
She looked up from the bag, her shoulder holster in hand. “Not much. He’s gotten too good at shielding. Shielding. Denying. I caught random glimpses but . . .”
Picking up a picture, he flipped it around and showed it to her.
Taige stared at the picture.
And if her husband hadn’t been standing right there, she would have hit the floor.
As it was, Cullen was caught off guard and he damn near ended up on his ass as he caught her limp form.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, shooting Taylor a dark look.
Taylor looked at the image of the woman.
According to his files, her name was Ella Castille.
English-American citizen. Engaged to marry Patrick Whitmore.
According to the fingerprints . . . somebody else entirely.
And there was no way she could have managed a cover this complete on her own.
* * *
STRUGGLING against the leather, Dru braced herself. This was going to happen. She’d live through it. Then she was falling back on plan B. Escape. She’d contact Tucker. Regroup. Because she couldn’t stop this hell if she got pulled into it herself.
But first, she had to live through it—
Retreat . . . blank out . . . is that what I do?
No. She’d damn well fight. She’d retreated, acquiesced, changed, sold herself enough. She’d fight . . . and she’d survive.
Snarling and fighting against the leather, she kicked backward as best as she could, connecting with his leg. It wasn’t much, but every mark she left on him was a victory. He swore and punched her, right in the kidney. Pain lashed her but she ignored it, shoved it down, shoved it back. Kicked him again as she struggled against the leather and glared at Minton.
“You bloody monster,” she snarled at him. “Sodding cocksucking coward.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll show you sucking cock, cunt. When I get my turn in a few months.”
“I’ll bite it off,” she promised, curling her lip at Minton. “I promise you, whatever you stick in my mouth, I’m going to bite it off. I don’t care what happens to me because of it.”
A flicker of something that might have been caution showed in his eyes.
It wasn’t enough. She wanted to see him terrified.
A harsh jerk stripped her running shorts down to her ankles and Patrick came up behind her, kicked her legs farther apart. “Be nice to him, or when he gets his turn, he’ll tear