“What the hell’s going on?” Donovan demanded as he walked up. He looked at Garrett with an expression of disbelief. Then he cocked his head in Sophie’s direction and arched an eyebrow in question.
“She decked me,” Garrett said.
Donovan’s shoulders shook and his lips twitched. His eyes gleamed in merriment.
Garrett made a sound that came out as a grunt. “She packs a mean right.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to,” she said in disgust. “I thought you were the asshole trying to kill my baby.”
She clutched her arms tighter around herself and refused to look back up at them. The two men remained silent, and finally she heard Garrett walk away. A moment later she heard the kitchen faucet turn on.
“Where’s Sam?” she asked, still not looking at Donovan.
“Making another pass. Making sure we don’t have more company.”
She did look then. “More? Are they here already?” She shook her head, clearing the remnants of her drugged, fogged-up feeling.
“You drugged me,” she said through her teeth as she sat forward on the couch.
He stepped warily away. The memory came flooding back of her begging and pleading for them to let her go.
“Who’s out there?” she demanded.
She rose unsteadily to her feet and cursed when Donovan reached out to prevent her from falling.
“Hey, you okay? Maybe you should sit back down.”
“You stay away from me,” she muttered as she side-stepped him.
He sighed. “You were in pain.”
She bared her teeth. “When is Sam going to be back? And you never answered my question. Who’s out there?”
Garrett returned from the kitchen and frowned in her direction.
“I don’t know who was out there. He wasn’t up for conversation,” Donovan said.
“Why aren’t you two out there with Sam?” she demanded. “What if something happens to him?”
Garrett shot her an incredulous look. “Nothing’s going to happen to him. Sam can handle himself.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re in here.”
“You want something to eat?” Donovan asked.
Startled, she glanced at him, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten. Powered by the suggestion, her stomach caved, and she broke out in a sweat. Her hands shook.
“Have a seat,” Donovan said gently. “I’ll bring you some soup, okay?”
With a resigned sigh, she sank back onto the cushion. Donovan disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her with Garrett.
“Do you always have that look on your face?” she asked.
For a moment his frown slipped and he looked startled by the question. Then he scowled but didn’t reply. She shrugged and settled back on the couch, closing her eyes wearily.
Her drug-induced coma hadn’t been a substitute for a good hard sleep, and now her body was nearing shutdown. The smell of chicken wafted across her nose, and she stirred but was so tired, she wasn’t sure she could summon the strength to open her eyes and eat.
“Sophie.”
Her eyes flew open to see Sam standing there, his gaze boring into her. Had he always been so tall and muscled? She’d spent a lot of time naked with him, but now, dressed in a black T-shirt and camo pants, he looked . . . fierce. Like a man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure of.
“You need to eat,” he said.
It was then she saw the bowl in his hand. She swallowed nervously. They hadn’t talked—hadn’t said anything since she’d dropped her bomb on him. Should she tell him her father was dead? That she’d killed him? Would he even believe her?
Her stomach bottomed out again, and she covered her nervousness by shifting position on the couch. Her arm was starting to ache fiercely again, and despite her anger over the forced painkiller, it would have been nice to have the pain subside again.
She cleared her throat, hating to show weakness. She’d been forced to show strength in front of her father for so long that it was ingrained.
“Do you have something for pain?” she asked. “Like a pill. Something that won’t knock me out.”
The lines in Sam’s forehead deepened. “Of course. Here.” He handed her the bowl and slid the spoon around the inside until it rested against her finger. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”
She cupped the bowl in her palms and let the warmth bleed into her hands. She sighed as she inhaled and closed her eyes to let the steam rise over her cheeks. It smelled like heaven.
Sam returned with a small plastic bottle and a glass of milk. He shook out a couple of the tablets and sat next to her on the couch. Then he held up the milk.
His gaze dropped to her belly. “For the baby,” he said gruffly.
Carefully she put the bowl on her lap, balancing it carefully so the soup didn’t spill. Touched by the gesture, she took the milk and the pills and then peered at him over the rim of the glass as she chased the medicine down.
It was hard to gauge his mood. He was frowning, but then it seemed all the Kellys loved to frown.
His eyes flickered, and again he looked down at her belly.
She drained the glass and set it aside before reaching for the bowl again. He made her uneasy, watching her as she sipped at the broth. They were all watching her like she was some bug under a microscope, some undiscovered species.
Spoonful by spoonful she concentrated on the warm liquid that coated her throat down to her empty stomach. When she was finished, Sam took the bowl, their hands touching for just an instant.
He paused and she stared down at those fingers, remembering how they felt on her body, how tender he’d been. How rough he’d been. And demanding.
She shook away those memories, determined that they not have sway in the here and now. Who was she kidding? She’d wish away the present in a heartbeat if she could just go back to those precious days she’d spent in his arms.
No, she wouldn’t go back. She’d give up a lot but not her freedom. Maybe she’d made a mistake to run to Sam. She’d thought she was out of options, but maybe she should have just kept on running.
She looked into his eyes, meeting that steady gaze with steel determination.
“What do we do now?”
CHAPTER 9
SAM pulled a small digital camera from his pocket and turned the LCD toward Sophie.
“Recognize him?”
She recoiled, and her stomach heaved. She jerked her head away as her breaths hiccupped from her mouth. The man was obviously dead, a gaping cut to the throat.
“Do you?”
She glanced back and folded both arms over her belly. Then she nodded.
“He’s the one who threatened to kill our baby,” she said in a low voice.
“You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
She lifted her gaze to meet Sam’s. There was anger reflected in the blue. But there was also coldness and she shivered against the violence of it.
“Did you kill him?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Neither did she hesitate. “Good.”
“He was one of your father’s personal assassins,” Sam said. He pushed a button on the camera and then turned it again so she could see.
Yes, she knew her father required his men to have the symbol of their loyalty branded into their arm. It was barbaric and senseless, but then he’d never had a shortage of men willing to die for him.
“You need to start talking, Sophie. There’s a hell of a lot I need to know.”
If he was angry, she could deal with that. Anger would be justified. But his voice was cold. He could have been interrogating a prisoner.
I’m pregnant with your child. She wanted to scream it. Don’t you remember how we made her?
“I didn’t betray you, Sam,” she said fiercely.
His lips tightened. He glanced toward his brothers, who stood silently across the room, and dismissed them with a nod.
As soon as they were gone, Sam stood, as if he couldn’t bear to sit that close to her. For a while he kept his back turned, and heavy silence settled over the room. Then he turned, his eyes flat.
“Then tell me, Sophie. What exactly did you do?”
She flinched and it pissed her off. She felt pinned to the couch, helpless. She couldn’t stand the weight of his stare another moment.
Her hands curled over the edge of the couch, and she pushed herself up, ignoring the pain in her arm.
“Sit down, Sophie.”
He didn’t bark the order, but it was an order nonetheless. Her chin went up in her best go-to-hell impression.
It took courage to go to him. Courage to face him down when he could so easily turn away and crush her without thought.
It made her angry that she cared. Made her angry that it mattered. She’d done what she had to do to survive. She shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone.
“I knew you had secrets, that you weren’t honest with me,” she said.
“Yes, I suppose you did.”
The words tripped out with a hint of sarcasm. She ignored it and went on, refusing to give him the fight he seemed to want.
“I knew and I understood. I didn’t care. I wanted that time with you even though I knew when it was over that you’d walk away and that I was never supposed to know who you were or ever expect more than what you gave me.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he looked away as if he was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had turned. Would it kill him so much to admit that she’d hurt him? Did anything hurt this man? She wasn’t trying to make him feel guilt. She accepted her role in deception as easily as she’d accepted his. Maybe she would have felt differently if she’d ever believed even for a moment that things were honest between them.
“I didn’t betray you,” she said again.
His gaze lifted, and those piercing blue eyes caught her again. This time there was a genuine question there instead of accusation and disbelief.
“Tell me.”
Sweet relief sang through her mind. The weight that hovered so unbearably on her shoulders lightened, and she forgot the pain in her arm—and in her heart.
With those two words he told her he’d listen.
“I’ve already explained that my father sent me to you. He wanted me to glean whatever information I could—in any manner it took.”
“And you went.”
She closed her eyes. She knew how bad it looked. She wouldn’t apologize though, and she wouldn’t allow Sam to make her feel shame for her choice.
“You were my best chance at escape. I never intended to do anything more than make my father think I was doing what he wanted. But I saw you and I wanted you more than I wanted my freedom.”
The color deepened in his eyes. They went dark and his body went still.
“Why did you want your freedom?” he asked softly.
She kept her gaze even, not betraying the surge of rage that flashed through her blood.
“I hated him.”
Sam’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “Why?”
“You know what kind of man he was—is.”
“But what did he do to you, Sophie?”
“Besides demanding that I whore myself for him? Is it important? I would think that’s bad enough. You said it yourself. Who the hell does that? What kind of father asks his daughter to do that?”
It wasn’t everything, but it was all Sam needed to know, and it was certainly a credible enough reason for a daughter to hate her father.
“Remember the note, Sam? The one you received that last morning?”
He nodded.
“I’m the one who sent it. I’m the one who told you about the arms shipment and when and where it was going down.”
His eyes widened in shock and then narrowed just as quickly. His lips drew into a tight line, and he looked suspiciously at her.
She rubbed her chest, trying in vain to wipe away the ache. No, he didn’t trust her. She didn’t blame him, but it hurt nonetheless.
“Want me to tell you what was in it?”
She quoted back the contents in a low, steady voice and never broke his gaze. She wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t give him any reason to believe she was lying. Word for word. She knew them by heart. She should. She’d typed up the note, printed it out in the hotel lobby and paid the front desk clerk to deliver it.
Sam dragged a hand over his hair, looked away and then back at her, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Why? I don’t understand. Why not just tell me?”
She tried to laugh, but her throat closed in on her. “What would you have done, Sam? If I had unloaded that kind of story on you, would you have believed me? You would have been angry, just like you are now. You would have been suspicions of any information I gave you about my father.”
He nodded grudgingly and sighed his acknowledgment.
“I waited long enough for you to leave and then I took my opportunity. I was helped by two employees in my father’s house who were loyal to my mother and, as a result, me. I’ve been running ever since.”
