Chapter Fifteen
That haunted house scream from Henrik’s youth tore across the landscape of his mind, eroding mountains, whipping through his self-control like a destructive tornado. A harsh sound escaped him and he just managed to disguise it with a cough into his shaking fist. No. This is part of the movie. It’s not real. She’s not here, being manhandled by her drugged-up father, yanked out of the truck like a piece of luggage. She’s not here in the middle of several loaded weapons, when I don’t even have one. No, baby, please don’t really be here.
“How did you find her?” Caine asked, but the older man’s voice sounded tinny, as if it flowed out through a spinning vortex of white noise. Henrik’s mouth was too full of wet sand to answer, so he pulled together a lethargic shrug. Something that hopefully said I have my ways. And then came very close to vomiting on his shoes.
Ailish was wearing a yellow sundress, and it seemed so out of place among the black suits and brick walls. The strain around her mouth told Henrik the grip Caine had on her elbow was way, way too fucking tight, and there was nothing Henrik could do about it. The man beside him snickered, breathing the word “bitch” close to Henrik’s ear, as if they were buddies commiserating about last night’s baseball game. Fuckfuckfuck. He couldn’t do this. Not with Ailish on the line.
“Welcome back, daughter,” Caine said. “Have a nice vacation?”
Her hazel eyes fired bullets at O’Kelly. “Yes, I did. When I wasn’t being kidnapped, anyway.”
“Oh, come on now.” He tilted his head. “What’s a little kidnapping among family?”
Ailish went white as a sheet. Whatever was going on—whatever Derek had gotten them into to further his cause in bringing down O’Kelly—Ailish wasn’t acting. That much was clear. She was genuinely distraught over being addressed with such open hostility by her father. Did that mean his behavior was unusual? The few times Henrik had allowed himself to imagine their father-daughter relationship, he’d pictured quiet resentment from both sides, but maybe he’d been wrong. And he’d been so worried about his own reaction, he hadn’t asked Ailish about it when he’d had the chance.
“Why couldn’t you just let me go?” Ailish asked her father, her soft words carrying on the wind to pummel Henrik in the chest. “Why?”
Ailish jolted under her father’s hold. Too tight. Too tight. He’s hurting her. Henrik felt the other men scrutinizing him and schooled his features with a considerable effort. “I might have let you go, daughter, if I hadn’t gone through the books and found out you’ve been screwing me seven ways to Sunday.”
When Ailish cried out in pain, Henrik took a step forward—and the guns lifted again. That was the fist time Ailish met his gaze. The disgust he encountered there made him feel like a wounded animal brought down by a hunter. But there was something else. Something that glinted from its position against her throat.
She was wearing the necklace he’d given her.
...
Something was wrong. Ailish had known it the moment her father opened the trunk. His eyes were glassy in a way she hadn’t seen since her mother still lived in the house. Drugs. He was using again. And for the first time—through the eyes of an adult—she wondered what had prompted him to stop the first time. More importantly, why was he back at it?
In addition to Caine’s twitchy behavior, he was…livid. Disgusted. With her. She’d expected serious animosity from her father, being that she’d taken a heap of money and run away. She’d expected even more intense lockdown than usual. But there was a glint in his eye that had nothing to do with the drugs, and he’d never manhandled Ailish in her entire life. Never. Something was most definitely wrong.
It had taken Henrik a good few minutes to get his bearings after she’d made her appearance, but he was on his game now. Arms folded across his broad chest, he looked just as irritated as everyone else that she’d crashed the party. It only made her want to kiss his face, his mouth, his neck all the more. Then she wanted to smack him good. Pretty much how she’d always felt looking at him before, except now she knew he’d thrown his career away, all for her. A total stranger. So the simultaneous kissing and smacking felt like necessity now, instead of a mere urge. No telling which would happen the first time she got him alone.
One thing was for certain, though. She would have an explanation. A satisfying one that didn’t skirt a single truth, the way their dealings had been up until now. The cards were on the table, they were undercover together with the same goal, and she wanted to know Henrik’s mind. Every complicated corner.
First, though, they had Caine to deal with. Evidence to collect and an exit to plot. She might not even have a chance to be alone with Henrik until they were free of the house, which would require Ailish to be on her toes. To look for cues from Henrik and be ready to go at any time.
“Let’s head to my office, shall we?” her father said, already turning Ailish with a firm hand on her shoulder. “I’d rather have this reunion without an audience.”
Having a hard time maintaining her balance with both hands bound, Ailish stumbled on the brick steps. “Can someone untie my hands first?”
Over her shoulder, Ailish watched Caine produce a pocketknife from his pants, flip it over in his hand, and slide it beneath the cable tie keeping her wrists locked together. Father and daughter met eyes as he twisted the knife, snapping the plastic tie—but cutting into her skin at the same time. Ailish sucked in a breath and kept walking, her heart chugging like a freight train inside her chest. Without even looking at Henrik, she could feel his rage gathering, a storm waiting to break. Oh God, what was happening? She’d assured Derek that her father would be irritated, would place her under constant watch, but would never physically harm her.
Obviously, she’d been wrong. There was only one reason she could fathom that would put her father in this extreme a rage. And if that were the case, they were in far bigger trouble than she’d anticipated.
Ailish’s hands were free, but still asleep, so they dangled uselessly at her sides, making her feel helpless as she led the way toward her father’s office. His men, including Henrik, had followed them into the familiar, dimly lit foyer. Ailish vibrated with the need to turn around, lock eyes with Henrik, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t glean comfort from him or warn him that something was off. She would have to face Caine alone for now. Although the man matching her stride down the hallway was noticeably different from the Caine in her memory.
Just before they reached the office door, her father stopped short. “Mr. Vance, come on in and join us?”
Ailish was thankful no one could see her face, because there was no way to hide the relief. She almost sank down into the carpet with it. Just having him close would be enough to keep her calm, keep her focused. Caine reached over her shoulder and pushed open the office door, giving Ailish a nudge between the shoulder blades to make her move. Her father was determined to express how little regard he had for her comfort, and she knew without a doubt what was coming.
Thank God she hadn’t fought Derek on the listening device around her neck, hidden in the necklace Henrik had given her. If everything went south in the next five minutes, at least they had a backup plan. Chicago PD was on high alert should their lives be in danger, but she couldn’t proceed with that crutch in mind. They needed good, solid evidence to convict her father, and obtaining it was Ailish’s only option. To stop Caine from hurting anyone else, from plaguing the streets of Chicago. But it wouldn’t hurt to let everyone listening know that Caine wasn’t acting his typical self, to keep Derek and the team vigilant.
Ailish sat in a leather armchair facing Caine’s desk. “Can I have a tissue…or a Band-Aid? My wrist is bleeding.”
Caine fell into his high-backed chair. “Let it bleed.”
She could feel Henrik walk into the room at her back and shifted, as if uncomfortable to have him there. “What do you need him here for?”
Her father still held the pocketknife he’d used to free her wrists. Now, he tapped it against the desk’s edge, creating little indentations in the wood. There were hundreds of the same markings, as though it wasn’t the first time he’d abused the piece of furniture. Instead of answering her question, Caine addressed Henrik, the amusement clear in his expression. “When I told you to get my daughter home by fair means or foul, you took it to heart. You’ve got balls bringing her home inside a trunk.”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Henrik sounded like a different, darker version of himself, and the goose bumps that rose along Ailish’s skin in response were authentic. “I got sick of hearing her beg me to let her go somewhere around Grand Rapids.”
A snort left her father. “Runs away just like her mother…begs just like her mother…” Caine’s focus landed on her, harsh and condemning. “Has no regard for hard-earned money just like her fucking mother.”
Ailish was paralyzed in her seat. Blood from her injured wrist had trickled down into the palm of her right hand and—without thinking—she wiped it on the skirt of her dress, creating an ugly red streak. “What does my mother have to do with anything?”
Again, Caine ignored her, giving his attention to Henrik. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since my daughter took off. A lot of time to look back. Review.” He poked himself in the temple with his index finger. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire. Running odds and collecting bets isn’t my only operation. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it.”
“See what?” Henrik said, sounding almost bored.
Caine leaned forward, slowly—then he lifted the pocketknife and stabbed it full-force into the desk’s surface. “Didn’t see my own flesh and blood had been ripping me off.”
Ailish had seen it coming before they’d walked into the office, but still. She’d been so careful. Covered every single base. “What do you mean?” she mumbled, uselessly, still half praying she was wrong.
“Drop the bullshit, daughter. I found the second set of books.” Having rendered Ailish speechless, he left the knife sticking out of his desk and leaned back. “Took me about a week.” He tapped his nose. “But I could smell something rotten. You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Keeping them taped inside the vent in your closet. In my own goddamn house.”
She couldn’t move, was afraid to breathe. With the fire roaring in his eyes, Caine was angry enough to kill her. Money. She’d messed with his money. The one thing he could never forgive. “It was only a few…shuffles,” Ailish whispered, wishing Henrik were free to settle his hands on her shoulders. Anything. Just some form of contact so she wouldn’t feel so cold. “You didn’t even miss it.”
“Oh yes. You certainly are your mother’s daughter.” Her father tugged open the center drawer of his desk, removing a yellow legal pad and slapping it down beside the embedded knife. “Four hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-nine dollars. That’s how much money you cost me. Bookie Cookie,” he sneered. “At least, that’s what I have so far. I’ve only gone through one fucking book.”
Ailish started to shake. She’d never actually added up every cent she’d managed to hide from Caine by moving around funds, creating fake names with false entries. Breaking apart giant debts that could spell a man’s death sentence and whittling them down, spreading them out until they were nothing. Debts too small for Caine to take notice. Ailish could remember the morning she’d begun fudging the books like it had taken place only last week. Having woken to the sound of shouting, she’d gone downstairs and found a man kneeling, begging for his life in the backyard. She’d remained hidden at the base of the stairwell, but she’d watched her father take a man’s life that day. Watching the light go out of someone’s eyes. All because he’d bet too much money on football games.
Days had passed before she’d been able to open her ledgers. They were no longer just numbers written down on the pages, but life-and-death wagers. Ailish had been the one to pass on notice of the dead man’s debt to her father, having naively assumed—what? That he would put the man on some kind of payment plan? She’d been so stupid. So blind. And she’d immediately started to atone, creating a different set of books with more names, ways to spread out the amounts owed. She’d asked her father for a more active role and began working directly with the bookies via a separate phone line. Caine had trusted her, and she’d lied, day after day, in the interest of saving lives.
Now her own life had come into the equation.
“What you were doing…I couldn’t let it be on my head,” Ailish said, thankful for the note of steel in her voice. Thankful for the shadow Henrik’s big body cast over her father’s desk as a reminder of his presence. “It wasn’t fair for you to put me in that position without my knowing the consequences.”
Caine appeared surprised she’d spoken up. Which was fair, considering the only stand she’d ever taken had been behind the scenes, in secret. Never to his face. After a pause, her father’s surprise turned into disgust once again. “That there? That’s another thing your mother never understood. You earn your keep in this house. No one gets a free ride. You had a gift with numbers, so I put it to good use. In return, you got all the shit I never had. Private school, food, a house.” He ran his tongue along the inside of his gums. “Good news is, you’re going to make it up starting now.”
Dread balled up in her stomach. “How?”
“I don’t have time to go through every line of chicken scratch you made over the last five years. I want to know whose debts I have to call in—and you’ve got two days to give them to me. Every last one.” Caine shot forward, pointing a finger at Henrik. “You. You obviously don’t take her shit. Maybe I should have taken a page out of your book while raising her, huh?” Her father didn’t wait for an answer. “You make sure she’s working. Getting me those names and figures. If you get a sense she’s slacking off, you have my permission to shake her until the information I need falls out of her pretty little head.”
...
Henrik saw everything through a filter of deep red. Ailish stormed down the hallway in front of him, putting on a show for her father, who watched from his office door, laughing at the display of spirit. Henrik could just about achieve an even gait, just about keep his fists from turning to stone at his sides. As they rounded the corner at the hallway’s end, Henrik turned and gave Caine a serious nod, letting him know Ailish wouldn’t get away with any nonsense on his watch. When he really wanted to charge the motherfucker and put him down.
She looked so fragile, her blood-streaked sundress fluttering around her thighs in a breeze entering through the window up ahead. A window overlooking the pool. Tearing his gaze from the injured Ailish—which took a concentrated effort and a vow to fix her wound as soon as humanly possibly—Henrik took the opportunity to scan each room they passed. All available exits. Possible weak spots of Caine’s superior security system.
Ailish stopped at the final door lining the hallway, still not looking up at him. Good. She wasn’t taking any chances. Derek had no doubt impressed the importance of maintaining cover at all times, but that didn’t stop Henrik from wanting to throttle his captain. No matter what it took, Henrik would get her out of this situation alive. If he had the same luck—throttling notwithstanding—it would be his last mission with the squad. No one put Ailish in danger’s path and maintained his loyalty. He would complete the mission, but he would do it for her.
Henrik followed Ailish into her bedroom, holding up a finger when she opened her mouth to speak. His willpower was already maxed out, but throw her husky voice into the mix and he’d have her out of that dress before she knew what hit her. When Ailish nodded, Henrik began moving around the perimeter of the bedroom, relieved by its size. She might have been held captive inside her own home, but at least she’d had space to breathe. While discreetly checking for cameras on the ceiling, bookshelves, fire alarms, Henrik couldn’t help but register everything else. The pastel pink bedspread. Pictures on the nightstand of a young Ailish swimming in the backyard with a pretty woman, no doubt her mother. Everything in her closet had been thrown into a pile at the room’s center, probably left there after Caine had found Ailish’s hidden books.
Wordlessly, she picked up an armful of discarded clothes and disappeared into the closet. It took Henrik a few more minutes to ascertain the lack of cameras before he joined Ailish in the unlit closet where she stood on her toes, stowing a stack of clothes on the upper shelf. When his body blocked the muted light shining in from the bedroom, she turned. Waiting. Fingers picking at the hem of her bloody dress. Until that moment, he’d managed to keep the reality of their situation at bay, but now the fear streaked across his sky like jagged lightning—and he went for his girl. Went for her like a man who’d been robbed of sanity.
Just before he reached Ailish, he somehow remembered to hold a finger to his lips—quiet, baby—and attempted to sweep her up into a hug.
She dodged him. Feinted to the left to avoid his embrace. And his senses were immediately confused. His lungs were full of summer scent, but he couldn’t feel her. Couldn’t see his smiling Ailish in her closed-off expression. There was no mistaking the betrayal swimming in her hazel eyes. Or the fact that she’d withdrawn from him. “I had to cut you out.” His whisper felt harsh leaving his throat. “You don’t know how far I would go to keep you from being hurt.”
“Yes, I do.” She stepped back even farther, dislodging his heart. But there was awareness in her demeanor that hadn’t been there before. “I do know. I know…everything.”
The evidence. She knows about the evidence I destroyed. A multitude of reactions speared into Henrik at once. Relief that Ailish finally knew about his sacrifice. He no longer had to downplay his instantaneous devotion to her, to keeping her out of prison. A place she could never belong in a million damn years. But there was also royal fucking rage. She’d been coerced into aiding him in the mission. “Derek shouldn’t have told you that.”
“No, Derek shouldn’t have. You should have.” Energy snapped in the air between them. “You made a major decision for my life, dictating it with your actions—and I’m not going to pretend I’m not grateful, because being free is better. Better than I ever thought it could be—”
“Ailish.” The way her voice cracked almost dropped him to a kneeling position. “I don’t need you to be grateful, I just need you alive and safe.”
She squared her shoulders. “What about what I need?” For a moment, she stared off into the bedroom, memories almost visible as they played inside her head. “When you gave me this necklace, you said you’d never let me be locked away again. But that’s exactly how I felt when you abandoned me last night.”
His equilibrium dipped under the assault of her softly spoken words. “No. No, that’s the opposite of what I wanted.”
When she looked up at him again, her eyes were wet and luminous. “We were supposed to be on the same side and you shut me out. It wasn’t the first time, either. Or the second time. You moved me around like a chess pawn, and I didn’t even get a say.” She traced a finger down the bloodstain on her dress. “So you don’t get a say in me being here. Do you understand?”
Henrik wanted to turn away from her disapproval, but forced himself to dwell in the face of it, even though acid speared up from his stomach. “I hate you being here, Ailish. I hate it. But I’m glad as hell you’re not here because you feel indebted to me. For what I did.”
She spoke in a whisper. “I can’t let myself feel that way. Not yet. If I think about it, I’ll want to ask why you did it. And if you tell me…I might get a little less pissed. I don’t want that, because I’ve spent my life being treated like a pawn, and I won’t accept it anymore. I won’t. Especially not from you.”
God, she was murdering his soul. He could feel it being battered around like a hockey puck. “Why especially not from me?”
Ailish shook her head, letting him know she wouldn’t be answering. “I’m here because it’s the right thing to do. I have to fix what I’ve done.” She shifted forward as if she might come closer, but stopped, burying him in disappointment. “For now, we’re still on the same team, so let’s talk about what we need to do.”
A huge part of him admired the hell out of her just then. She was fierce and beautiful in her staunch fury. But how could she expect him to strategize with their relationship on such thin ice? Goddammit. What choice did he have? Keeping her safe inside the house was his number one concern. When they got out of this alive, he would beg, borrow, and steal to get her back. Whatever it took. “The room could be bugged,” he managed, the words sounding strangled. “When you talk to me, I’m the man who kidnapped you. Brought you here against your will. You understand? At all times.” He bracketed his hands behind his head, paced away and came back, his stomach lining on fire. “What if they’d sent someone else in here with you? What would you have done?”
Apprehension rippled across her features. “I don’t know. This is unusual, to say the least.” Her eyes lifted to his and flitted away. “You’re the first man who has ever set foot in this bedroom. That includes my father.”
It took a serious effort not to be turned on by that news, and he still failed. Focus. Pacing the short length of the closet, he replayed the meeting with Caine. “So you’ve been feeling guilty all this time about reporting gambling debts to your father, when in reality you’ve probably saved hundreds of their miserable lives by making two sets of books. That right, Ailish?”
“Doesn’t change anything,” she insisted with a headshake. “I’m still complicit. I could have done more. Could have gone to the police.”
“Ailish, you couldn’t move an inch without eyes on you. Going to the police would have endangered your life.” Henrik thought of the way Caine had stabbed the knife into his desk, dilated pupils like lasers on Ailish. “Same way your life is in danger now, dammit.” He closed his eyes. “I take it from your reaction that Caine isn’t normally so volatile?”
“No,” she whispered. “That’s new. He’s always been ruthless, but it was controlled. Now…”
Henrik swallowed the agony of knowing they were surrounded by enemies. How outnumbered he was if it became necessary to protect her in earnest. “So we have two days until Caine expects those names and figures. Can you get through the books by then?”
“Yes.” Ailish stared into the bedroom. “But I don’t want to give those names and debts to my father. He’ll use them. And it’ll be on me. Again.”
He’d reached his limit on seeing Ailish battle guilt. “Let’s get something straight. A man makes a deal with the devil, he knows the consequences up front. You’re just the messenger. None of this has ever been on your head, baby.” He couldn’t tell if his words were sinking in and hated it. Hated the connection she’d blocked between them. “Either way, we won’t let Caine use those names. We have to get you out before handing them over, though. Because once you do…”
“I might be disposable.”
He breathed through the dizziness inflicted by saying the words out loud. “That gives us two days to retrieve the evidence. I’ll have to work fast to make sure we get an opening. And find a way to make contact with Derek.”
Ailish’s cheeks streaked with color. “Did I forget to mention there’s a microphone in my necklace?”
Henrik arched an eyebrow. “That would have been nice to know.” He lifted the key necklace—their skin shocking upon contact—and brought it to his mouth. “Start looking for my replacement, Derek. You can consider this my notice.”
Wishing like hell they could remain in the closet indefinitely, where his body could block Ailish from danger, Henrik forced himself to wrap up their conversation. If someone entered the room and found them together in the closet, unfortunate questions would be asked. “We don’t have a lot of time to pull this off. I’m not convinced Caine put me in here just to play babysitter. I don’t think he’s ready to have me roam the house just yet.” On reflex, he reached out to cup Ailish’s cheek, but it turned into a fist and dropped before making contact. “Tell me what we’re looking for. Tell me what evidence we’re here risking your life for.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. “I’ll tell you when the time comes. I can’t risk you cutting me out again.” When Henrik started to launch a protest, she cut him off. “My father has two offices. The one where he brought us, and another in the basement. You need to get me to the basement office.”
Henrik’s head tipped forward. “You’re asking too much of me, Ailish. Do you know what will happen if we’re caught together stealing from your father?” He eased closer. “I’ll protect you with my life, my body, but I won’t be able to get you out safely if I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” she breathed, alarm transforming her features. “Please.”
Hope caused the broken pieces of his heart to stir. “You’re still my girl, aren’t you, Ailish?”
Her lips parted on an almost inaudible sob, but she blinked and stepped away. “You need me in that office because I’m the only one, besides Caine, with the combination to the safe. And everything we need is inside.”