PROLOGUE
Janey Mackay should have known something was wrong when Dayle Mackay, the man who’d donated the seed for her conception, left the message on her cell phone that her brother, Natches, was hurt and she needed to come home.
She should have called someone else, but who was there to call? After all, Dayle had made certain Janey was as isolated from the rest of her family as possible. Private girls’ schools until college, and even then, she knew she was being watched. She was always watched.
She should have been suspicious because Dayle hated Natches, his only son. Hated him so much, and feared him to such an extent that Janey knew it was the only reason she was in college rather than married to one of his fanatical friends. Or dead, because she would have killed herself first.
But she hadn’t been. Her only thought had been of Natches, the brother she had never been able to really get to know, but the one she knew protected her. She knew, because he’d always managed to get little notes to her through the years. He’d always found ways to contact her, to let her know he was there if she needed him.
She had needed him. But it wasn’t a life-or-death need, and she knew if she defied Dayle Mackay and publicly chose Natches over him, then it would end in blood. Possibly her brother’s blood.
Her father had her booked on a red-eye flight into Lexington from the college in California that he’d had no choice but to allow her to attend. She arrived after midnight, and Dayle and her aunt Nadine were waiting on her.
After that, things got a little hazy. But that could have had something to do with the nasty-smelling cloth Nadine had capped over her mouth and nose after they were on their way to Somerset. Or the pills Dayle had shoved down her throat before she could fight him, as her lashes fluttered open later.
Yeah, she had a pretty good idea that was the reason. And she couldn’t seem to clear her mind enough to think. She needed to think. Dayle was a monster, twisted and evil, and Nadine was his perfect match. His “soul mate,” Dayle called his sister.
Janey stared up at the ceiling above the bed her body felt weighted to. She wasn’t tied down, but they hadn’t had to tie her; whatever they had given her made her so sluggish, made her feel so heavy she couldn’t move. She could feel the tears that fell from her eyes, though she didn’t want to cry.
Shame twisted inside her, congealed into a sick ball in the pit of her stomach as her skin crawled with the horror of the past hours.
She hadn’t begged.
She’d always imagined what it would be like if her father did something this vile to her—and yes, there were times she had expected it—and she’d imagined she would beg. Call him “Daddy” and plead with him to make it stop.
But the words had choked in her throat. She had stared at the ceiling, hating him, hating her aunt. Hating that bitch’s hands as they touched her.
Her breath hitched on a silent sob. He’d let that old slut touch her. He’d laughed with amused indulgence as Nadine had pleaded like a little girl to have just a “little fun.”
As though Janey were a toy. A toy to be used.
Nadine hadn’t had time to do much, but even a little sickened Janey. She’d nearly thrown up on the bitch.
She turned her head into the pillow and tried to dry her tears. She didn’t want Nadine or Dayle to see her crying. To know they had hurt her. It would only make them worse. They thrived on pain. It amused them. Empowered them.
And she had to stop crying. She had to fight past the blanketing haze that fogged her brain. She needed to just get up. If she could just make herself get up, then she could get out of here. She could find help. If she could get out of here, Alex’s house wasn’t far away. Alex would help her. He would take her to Natches and Natches would make it all go away.
She sobbed at the thought. Alex would take care of her. Maybe he’d even put his arms around her. She would like that. Just for a minute. Just long enough to make her feel safe. There was something about him, something that warmed her in the dead of night when she was alone and cold.
Another sob broke from her. She swore she could hear Natches’s voice now. She was hallucinating. She had to be. Oh God, she had to get out of here before they gave her more of those damned drugs.
Making her limbs work, making her brain clear enough to force her legs, her arms, to move, had her breaking out in a cold sweat.
If she stayed here, something would happen to Natches. She’d heard them talking about it. She couldn’t remember what would happen to him, but she couldn’t let them hurt him. He had protected her. He was her older brother. And he loved her.
Breathing harshly, sweat pouring along her face, she managed to roll to the side of the bed. The floor looked as though it were miles below her.
Hell.
She swallowed tightly and blinked the sweat from her eyes. She could do this. She could. If she could roll to the side of the bed, then she could get up on her damned feet. She could do this.
She forced herself to believe she could do it. It felt as though it took years, but she managed to sit up, swaying, swallowing back the bile in her stomach as the room spun on her.
Hell yeah.
She could do this. She could feel her feet on the floor. She struggled to pull her T-shirt down, over her breasts, shuddering at the memory of why it was up there.
Oh man, she was so gonna puke if she had to think about that now.
Janey shook her head, slowly. The fog eased a little. Bracing herself, she forced herself to her feet and went to her knees.
Shit, that hurt.
She bit back a moan, panted, and dragged herself up the side of the bed. She stumbled; her ankle nearly collapsed. The door looked so far away. But she knew it wasn’t. She just had to get there.
Natches. She had to think about Natches. The night Dayle had beaten him, nearly senseless, until he was bloodied and almost unconscious, trying to protect her. He had protected her. She had to protect Natches.
She reached the dresser, hung on tight, and made herself move. She was gripping the corner when the door opened and Nadine stood there. Surprised. Surprised and amused.
“Well, hello there, baby girl.” The sound was a hiss of evil as she smoothed her hand over her dress.
Janey watched her, that bile rising again. Wouldn’t Nadine just hate it when Janey puked all over her perfect white carpet?
Nadine moved to the chest by the door and pulled out a drawer. Janey’s breath caught on a sob. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. If they were going to kill her, it wouldn’t do any good to cry.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Nadine approached her, and she couldn’t run.
She stumbled, trying to get away from the old hag. Nadine was surprisingly strong. Her arm hooked around Janey’s neck, choking her as she hauled her up against her.
“You feel good, Janey,” Nadine breathed at her ear. “Come on, let’s go see if Natches is going to be a good boy. If he is, then you’re nice and safe. Otherwise . . .” She laid the barrel of the gun against Janey’s neck as she forced her from the room. “Otherwise, I get to pop your little head just like that bastard popped Johnny’s. I have a feeling I’ll get to pop your little head, baby.”
Janey stumbled and received a vicious pinch in her side. By the time Nadine pulled her to a stop, the fog was so thick, mixed with sickness and vertigo.
She heard Natches, but she couldn’t find him. She blinked at the window across from her. Blinked and fought to focus. There was the tiniest crack in Nadine’s curtains. Just a little one in the sheer panels.
She focused there. She could hear Natches talking now. His voice sounded so heavy, so resigned. It was her fault. She blinked. All her fault. If she had just thought.
She blinked again when something moved. Focused on the curtains, she almost smiled at her flight of fancy. Those drugs her father had forced down her throat after they arrived last night were some damned good shit. Because now she was having hallucinations.
Alex.
Alex was on the roof of the house that she could see. And Alex didn’t climb roofs. He didn’t lie down on them. She watched, knew him. He was too far away for her to see his features, but this was her hallucination; she knew who he was.
He lowered his head and she imagined their eyes met as he rested it against his arm. Like she dreamed of sometimes. That he was lying beside her, staring at her with those dark gray eyes of his.
Pop!
She heard the sound, felt something splatter against her, and she was falling. Falling. Crumpling to the floor as an enraged scream seemed to echo around her.
Her nails dug into the carpet and she smelled blood. Was it her blood? God, she wouldn’t know if they cut her head off right now. Don’t do drugs. Now she knew why. This was some serious fucked-up shit. And she had to figure out what the hell was going on.
She tried to shake her head, but she couldn’t move it. She lay there, the feel of Nadine behind her like a sick weight. Bitch. Someone needed to pop her little head. She was like a rabid dog, always determined to bite something. Or someone.
A sob lodged in Janey’s throat, the memory of Nadine’s bites searing her mind again.
If she puked, she was going to kick that bitch when she had a chance. Janey hated throwing up. Hated it. She dug her nails into the carpet and tried to pull herself away.
Glass crashing, enraged yells, grunts, groans—they cascaded around her. She could hear sirens, see shadows. Maybe if she closed her eyes, just for a minute. Just for a minute . . .
Major Alexander Jansen stepped through the hallway to the two fallen women. Nadine Grace was dead. The back of her skull was splattered around the area. Her arm was still locked around Janey Mackay’s neck, the gun lying to her side.
He kicked the gun aside, sparing a moment to check Natches’s progress in the fight against Dayle Mackay. The younger man was winning; the house was surrounded and law enforcement officials filled the entrance to the room. This was contained.
Dayle Mackay had betrayed his family and his nation. A homegrown terrorist who had aided in the hijacking of four missiles and the death of the soldier transporting them. He had conspired to sell those missiles to terrorists and, along with the group he worked with, conspired against his own government in a plot to strike against the nation’s capital.
There was no remorse in Dayle. There never had been. Bringing him down and tearing apart the organization he was a part of would be the highlight of Alex’s career, simply because he hated the bastard. But what Alex felt for the daughter was nothing resembling hatred.
Janey.
Fuck, his hands were shaking.
He knelt beside her and checked her quickly for any broken bones or wounds, before lifting her into his arms.
Ragged pain twisted his guts, surged through him. She was so tiny. Barely five-five, all that long black hair flowing around her, splattered with blood. Her face was white, eyes dazed, but they were open.
“Alex.” She whispered his name. Did she try to burrow closer?
He’d seen more death than any one man should have to see in his lifetime, but nothing, at no time, had ever pierced his soul as the sight of Janey pierced it now.
He checked the room quickly, his gaze meeting one of the federal agents. Chaya Dane, Natches’s lover. She was calling for a car for immediate transport to the hospital.
Alex turned and rushed through the back of the house. Clasping Janey to him, feeling emotions he didn’t want to feel. Anger, grief, loss, fuck this, loneliness. Because he’d let this happen. He should have made certain she was at school. He should have checked on Janey.
A car screamed to a stop in front of the house as Alex loped across the yard, the sniper rifle slung across his back, Janey in his arms.
“Major. Here.” One of his men jumped from the front of the car and raced to the back passenger door.
Throwing it open, the other man took the rifle and rushed back to the driver’s seat as Alex slid into the back, holding Janey.
One hand pressed her head to his chest. She was weak, unable to hold herself in place.
“I have you, Janey.” He pushed the hair back from her blood-splattered face, checked her eyes. They were dilated. Dazed.
“My hallucination,” she slurred.
“Okay. It’s all yours,” he murmured, checking her pulse, the weakness in her limbs.
“You kiss me.”
Alex froze. His eyes lifted to the foggy depths of hers.
“What?”
“My hallucination.” She stumbled over and slurred the word. “You kiss me. This is mine. You just said.”
The sergeant was racing through town, a siren blaring from the car, rushing her to the hospital.
“Janey.”
“Mine.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It doesn’t all have to be ugly, does it?”
Ah Christ. His heart was breaking apart. He was fearless. Tough. Yet this one tiny, almost-broken young woman was stealing his soul with the simplest request.
“All yours, Janey.”
He ignored the sergeant. He cupped her face, stared at those perfect, pretty lips. Pale pink, her lower lip lush and tempting. He touched it with his thumb, then lowered his head to give her something that wasn’t ugly. Something that wouldn’t hurt her.
His lips whispered across hers, and he realized this would never be enough. The memory of this would never be enough. He wanted to sink into those beautiful, warm lips and feel her moving with him, against him, as hungry for him as he was for her.
She sighed against the light caress, her lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze. Sleepy, drugged. The light green of her eyes was nearly overtaken by the dilation of her pupils. Whatever they had pumped inside her was too powerful, too much. She was too fucking tiny.
“Sergeant, you’re moving too slow,” he snapped, pulling Janey to his chest again, realizing his voice was a rough rasp, unlike the cold, hard tone he normally used. “Put some lead in your fucking foot.”
“We have traffic, Major,” the sergeant warned him, but he pressed his foot to the gas and began shooting around the cars ahead of them.
“Hurry, Sergeant.” He stared down at Janey. Her eyes were closed, her breathing more shallow. Her pulse was weaker. “Ah God,” he whispered, more to himself than to the sergeant, who he knew was already pushing the limit. “Hurry.”
He’d waited too long. He’d watched her from afar. He’d helped Natches protect her, not because Natches was his friend, not because his sister, Crista, was married to Natches’s cousin Dawg. He’d watched over her, because watching her was something he couldn’t stop doing anyway. Because he was depraved. A bastard. He was obviously more warped than he had ever believed he was.
Because he’d been watching her since she was seventeen, aching for her, and he knew, God help him, he knew, if she survived this, he might not be able to stay away from her the next chance he had to touch her.
She was twenty-three years old. He was thirty-seven. Older than her brother, nearly old enough to qualify as her father. And he was sick. Because there was nothing paternal, nothing brotherly, friendly, or otherwise platonic in anything he felt for her.
And it terrified him.
Janey could touch him. And that was something he hadn’t allowed anyone, outside his sister, to do in too many years. No one was allowed to touch the heart of Alex Jansen.
Until Janey Mackay turned those pretty green eyes up at him six years ago, and pouted a kiss across the distance. Her normally somber expression had turned teasing, dancing with laughter and life and fun. And Alex had known then, just as he knew now. He was a dead man.
Because Natches would kill him.