No Control

He feared that nothing would ever be enough when it came to Lana. The longer he was with her, the longer he wanted to be with her, like some sort of sick joke. How the hel was he going to walk away from her, leaving her to whatever interrogation measures Monroe would subject her to next? Monroe wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten what he wanted out of her.



Maybe that was the safest thing for her. As long as Lana was silent, she’d be in danger.



Caleb released her and watched her get out of the car. Her easy glide over the pavement stil amazed him. She’d gone through so much, and al he wanted for her was to be happy. With him.



He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from, but there it was, glowing brightly in his brain, blocking out al other thoughts. He wanted to stay with her—to be with her—and not just because he had a job to do or because she was in trouble. He wanted her al for himself, al that courage and strength, al that stubborn sweetness.



He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and that’s exactly what this was. No way would Lana even consider being with him on anything more than a temporary basis.



Sure, they had chemistry and the sex was great, but that was al just a trick of hormones. Relationships were based on trust, and Lana didn’t have enough for him.



Caleb unfolded himself from the car, shoving the unwanted thoughts away. A few hours of hard labor would help him refocus on what was important—keeping Lana safe.



As long as she was safe, there was hope that one day she’d come to trust him.



Yeah, right, because trusting the man who watched as you were beaten was such an easy thing to do. Happened every day.



He’d never known what false hope felt like until this very moment, and he decided it sucked.



“You’re cheerful this morning,” greeted Grant. Sweat darkened his shirt and made his blond hair look almost brown.



“Nothing a good swift kick in the ass wouldn’t cure,” muttered Caleb.



“Then I’m your man,” he said, handing Caleb a set of tent spikes. “Get to work.”



Caleb did. He lifted and hammered and hauled until his muscles were burning and sweat roled off his body. The bright sun sank into his black hair, making him hotter.



Across the field where they were erecting tents and booths, Caleb spotted Lana talking with a few people, and something about her posture set off warning bels in his head.



He broke into a jog, crossing the hard ground quickly, trying to figure out what was wrong. There wasn’t any one thing that alarmed him, just this impression that she was terrified. Her spine was rigid, her chin up, and though everyone else in the group shifted from one foot to another, or gestured with their hands as they spoke, Lana was eerily stil.



Caleb didn’t even stop to think what he was doing—he just came up behind her, said, “Excuse us,” to the group and puled her away by her hand.



When they were far enough away not to be overheard, he bent his head over her, wishing he could see her eyes behind her sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”



She swalowed visibly. “Don’t look, but there’s a man with a gun on the roof.”



CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



Caleb resisted the urge to glance up. Instead, he stepped to the left to shield Lana’s body with his own. “Where’s the roof access?”



“Back of the building. By the employee door.”



“I want you to get the women and Phil inside. I’l take care of it.”



“What about your men?”



“I’l cal them on my way.”



“You can’t go alone.”



“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of backup. I won’t do anything stupid.”



“I’l cal the police.”



“No. We’l deal with this our way. Sirens might scare him away.”



Lana nodded. She puled in a breath, and just like that, al the terror melted from her features. She turned to the group standing a few feet away, and in a calm, steady voice she announced, “It’s too hot out here. Let’s move this inside.”



Caleb dialed Grant, even though he was only fifty feet away. Grant, being the smart guy he was, didn’t even bat an eye or let on how odd it was that Caleb was phoning him.



“Yeah?” answered Grant.



“Sniper. Rooftop,” whispered Caleb. “I’m going up.”



“You armed?”



“Not as wel as I’d like to be, but wel enough.”



“I can take him out from down here.”



“Once he knows we’ve seen him, do you think he’s going to wait while you set up your rifle?” asked Caleb. “We’re going to do this quietly. I want him alive for questioning. I need you to scan for more men. He may not be alone, and you know al the best sniper tricks.”



“I’m on it. I’l get the others to back you up.”



Lana and the civilians disappeared behind the doors, and Caleb ignored the wave of relief he felt. His adrenaline was pumping hard, putting his senses on high alert. The phone was suddenly too loud, the scent of the grass and asphalt too strong as he made his way to the building.



“Make sure no one tips him off. And get the men behind some concealment,” ordered Caleb. “I don’t want him to start picking us off because he can’t get to his real target.”



“I got it covered. Stay on the line. I’l be right behind you with my eyes open.”



Caleb left the phone on and clipped it to his belt. The knife he carried wasn’t designed for combat, but it would do in a pinch.



He climbed the scalding metal ladder and peered over the edge. At first he saw nothing, but then he heard a faint scraping sound and smeled hot male sweat.



Someone was definitely up here.



Caleb eased over the ledge. It was hot up here, the sun searing his skin from above and waves of heat bouncing off the roof below. There were only a couple of places a man could hide, and Caleb headed for the first—the one that had the best view of the carnival area.



The sniper was there, tucked against a humming HVAC unit. His body was tight with anger and frustration, likely because his target was now hidden inside, out of reach.



He peered through his scope at the field below.



Something feral inside Caleb reared its head. He didn’t normaly enjoy kiling—it was just something necessary that had to be done. But this time was different. Fuck questioning. This man had intended to hurt Lana, and now Caleb was going to kil him.



He crept forward on silent feet, mindful of his shadow and the scent of his body on the slow breeze. When he was three feet away, the sniper sensed him somehow and turned. He swung the rifle around, knocking the tripod over. Caleb rushed him, closing the distance so that the rifle was no longer effective. He batted the weapon up and out of the way and swiped at the man’s bely with his little knife. Fabric gave way under his blade, and the man gave a satisfying grunt of pain.



The sniper slammed the butt of his rifle into Caleb’s shoulder so hard it made his arm tingle. The knife fel to the roof with a muffled thump. Caleb baled his fist and hammered the man in the stomach with the ful power of his body.



The sniper let out a whoosh of air but didn’t go down. Instead, his foot lashed out and caught Caleb just below the knee. Caleb sagged but caught his weight and forced his knee to hold him up.



Whoever this man was, he was professionaly trained. Lana would have no chance against him if Caleb failed.



Rage fired through his veins in hard pulses. He was not going to give this asshole another chance to strike.



The sniper tried to pound Caleb with his rifle again, but Caleb ripped it from his hands and flung it away.



Knuckle to knuckle, Caleb was better than nearly any man out there, and something in his gaze must have warned the other man it was true. The sniper reached for a pistol at the smal of his back, and Caleb charged. He knocked the man to the hot roof, pinning his weapon and one arm under him. A sickening crunch and a high-pitched scream from his enemy told Caleb he’d damaged something under the force of their fal.



A vicious smile stretched Caleb’s mouth. He could feel his skin tighten, see the man’s eyes grow wide with fear.



His legs flailed, trying to kick Caleb away, but he was too massive a target to budge. Caleb pinned his free arm and shoved his chin high and to the side, yearning to hear the sound of breaking bone.



“Stop, Caleb,” came Grant’s voice. He was on the rooftop, only a few feet away. “We need him for questioning.”



“Let them question him in hel.” Caleb kept pushing. The man made gurgling sounds.



“Lana won’t talk. We need him to.”



Grant’s strong hand landed on Caleb’s shoulder, and he nearly shrugged it off. He didn’t want to stop. “He was going to kil Lana.”



“I know, but what if he’s not alone? What if he knows something that can help Lana?” The voice of reason, calm and sure.



And right.



“Shit,” growled Caleb, and he eased off the pressure.



“It’s best for Lana this way.”



“I know,” said Caleb. Then he punched the man in the side of the head so hard his knuckles split open.



The sniper’s lights went out, and he sagged awkwardly around his damaged shoulder. Caleb found the man’s pistol and handed it to Grant so he wouldn’t be tempted to finish the job.



“Have Mad take him in,” ordered Caleb. “Monroe wil want to question him.”



“I’l deal with it. You go clean up.”



To hel with that. He was going to find Lana—make sure she was okay and hold her for about a year just to convince himself it was true.



“Did you see anyone else?” asked Caleb.



“No. The men are checking the area again, just to be sure.”



“I want to know if he’s alone,” said Caleb. “And why he was trying to kil her.”



“Our guys wil find out what he knows.”



Caleb waited until Mad appeared on the rooftop before he left Grant. His knee was throbbing, but he ignored it. Nothing a little ice wouldn’t fix.



Then again, if he was injured, he could take some time off with Lana and heal. A month or two of R & R with her sounded good. Too good. He’d take her home, where he knew he could keep her safe. Not her home. His—that big sprawling ranch house in Texas where he’d grown up, where his brothers could help him guard her and where he knew the land so wel he could hide her for days if he needed to.



He found her and the others near the finger-painting station. She was tense, but a sniper would tend to do that to any sane woman.



Her eyes caught his as he came through the doors. She sagged a little and clenched her hands at her sides as if trying not to reach out for him.



When he crossed the space and was standing in front of her, he couldn’t help but touch her. He laced his fingers through hers.



“Everything okay?” asked Kara.



“Fine.”



“You’re limping.”



He thought of a quick lie, not wanting to scare the other women. “One of the folding tables fel on my foot. It’s no big deal.”



“Your hand is bleeding, too,” said Lana. “Come on and I’l get the first-aid kit.”



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