Men of Honour: Ready, Set, Jett / When You Dare / Trace of Fever / Savor the Danger / A Perfect Storm / What Chris Wants / Bare It All
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Dare wasn’t foul. She had the feeling he used his incredible strength to protect, not to inflict pain. Though he hadn’t been sent for her, had no promises of payment for his efforts, he’d rescued her rather than leave her behind.
And now, whether he realized it yet or not, he was stuck with her.
She would pay him—once she got his agreement to keep her safe. “Excuse me, please, but if I could impose further …”
“Look.” The big man turned away from the twin bed where he’d set a battered leather overnight bag. “Enough with the proper bullshit. You’ve been through hell, yes?”
Blue eyes, fringed by the thickest lashes, took her measure. The pulling of his black brows drove home just how disgusting her physical state was right now.
Molly nodded. “Absolutely.” Hell times ten. Never in her wildest imagination—and as many could attest, her imagination could be pretty wild at times—had she envisioned the awful scenario she’d survived.
But she had survived it. And now she had to figure out how to proceed while still protecting herself.
“I don’t need you to be formal.” He set the bottle of water on the nightstand by her. “I don’t need you to put on a good front, either. You’re a small woman, probably not weighing more than a buck ten.”
Molly glanced down at herself. She’d always weighed one twenty-five, but now … she just didn’t know. She had lost weight. But that much?
“You’re hurt,” Dare continued, “and hungry, tired, dehydrated and pretty damn dirty.”
Absurdly close to tears again, Molly scowled. “Your point?”
“If you want to fall apart, feel free. I sure as hell won’t judge you, and it’ll stay between us.”
How kind that Dare would offer to keep her confidences for her. “No, thank you.” She hadn’t survived that hell just to crumple up now. “I’ll be fine.”
He folded muscled arms over an equally muscled chest. Beard shadow roughened his jaw. His knuckles looked as if they’d recently struck something—or someone.
She sincerely hoped it was one of the pigs who’d treated her so badly.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I need you to drink that bottle of water, and then another after that. Slowly.”
Right. Water would be good—if only her stomach weren’t so jumpy.
“And the phony, unaffected act has got to go.”
Fresh anger wrung through her already aching muscles. “Look, buster, I’m not going to lose it now, got that?” She chugged a few sips of water and returned the bottle to the small table between the beds. Then she clutched it for support. Her knees wobbled; her voice went husky. “I’ve held it together this long, and not for you, not for anyone, am I going to let those miserable bastards break me down.”
One brow lifted in surprise as Dare studied her for long, silent moments, and then he shook his head with annoyance. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She didn’t take orders well, but this time she gladly sat. It required all her willpower not to sprawl back on the bed and just fade into oblivion. But if she did that, she’d wake just as dirty, and it turned her stomach to even think it.
Dare stopped in front of her. He examined the bottle of water and must have been satisfied—so far. “What do you want to do first?”
“Shower.” She needed to be clean again. “Oh, God, I want a shower.”
“I’ll get it started for you.” He hesitated. “Can you manage on your own?”
Her heart almost stopped. “Yes, of course.”
Still he didn’t move away. He crouched down in front of her, and his powerful thighs strained the material of faded denim. Those blue eyes were eerily intense as he studied her face. “You’re safe with me, Molly.”
“I … I know.” She sensed that much. She just didn’t have the wherewithal to start asking questions yet. Priorities, priorities.
“If you need help—”
“I’d stay dirty first.” She was quite certain about that. No way would she invite a man to bathe her. She shuddered at the thought.
His mouth flattened. “Suit yourself.” He straightened and started toward the tiny bathroom. “While you’re in there, I’m going to run across the street to grab you something to wear. I’m guessing a size six?”
Something to wear. Like her own personal angel, he would buy her clean clothes to put on after her shower.
God bless the man.
Those blasted tears threatened again, clogging Molly’s throat, making her nose feel stuffy. “Yes,” she croaked out around a giant lump of emotion. “Anything simple would be … wonderful. Something for my feet, too, please. Size seven. I’m not picky.”
She heard the water start, and through the open door she saw Dare set out towels, open the packaged soap, the shampoo and conditioner.
So remarkably considerate.
Her empty stomach cramped and recoiled, but she couldn’t think of food just yet. She tried a little more water, knowing he was right, that she had to get some fluids back into her system.
Moving with a silent grace uncommon to a man so large, he came back into the room. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, too. Anything else?”
There were so many things she needed that she couldn’t fathom a list just yet. Her dry and cracked lips hurt when she licked them. “Something bland to eat?”
“Already thought of that.” He paused by the door. “You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?”
After what she’d survived, no way would she risk herself in any way. “I’ll be very careful. If I get dizzy, I’ll shut off the water and just sit in the tub.”
Reluctant still, he stood there, and finally agreed with a nod. “Don’t put the chain on the door.”
As he spoke, he walked over to the desk to retrieve his belongings, including a big black gun and a very lethal-looking knife that folded together. The gun went into a holster at his back, fastened to the waistband of his jeans. He slipped the knife into a pocket, then covered the gun with the hem of his shirt. He treated the weapons as casually as he did his wallet and cell phone, fascinating Molly.
It would make her nervous just to touch either one.
He stopped in front of her again. “If you pass out, I want to be able to get in without breaking anything and causing a scene.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t be gone long,” he cautioned. “So don’t linger in there.”
If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be asleep before she could hit the shower. “No, I won’t.”
Using the edge of a fist, he brought her chin up so that she had to look at him. “You’re weaker than you realize.”
On the contrary, she was stronger than she’d ever imagined. But his concern was nice, so she only reiterated, “I’ll be fine.”
Frustration palpable, he ran a hand through short brown hair, nodded once and walked out.
He’d wanted to say more to her, Molly knew. He didn’t understand her lack of questions, her acceptance of him as her rescuer. But he didn’t push her, and she appreciated his restraint. Right now, all she could manage was the direst of necessities. And thinking that …
It took a lot of effort to drag herself up to her feet again, but she did it. The ragged, torn and stained shirts came over her head and with sublime satisfaction she stuffed them into the garbage can by the desk. Never again would those disgusting scraps of material touch her body.
She’d been denied underwear of any kind, so removing the shirts left her naked. One glance down at herself and Molly saw evidence of her ordeal in places she hadn’t considered. She remembered the rough treatment, being jerked, shoved, hit … Her breath caught.
No, she was away from there now, and she wouldn’t dwell on it.
Anxious for the long-denied comfort of warm water, she stepped into the shower’s spray.
Oh, heaven.
Though her every muscle trembled and the most pervasive weakness dragged at her, never had she appreciated a shower more. Lathering the soap into a washcloth, Molly scrubbed all over, determined to wash away the disgust she still felt.
She had to hurry to finish before the last of her strength waned. Already she felt faint, sick to her stomach, her knees quaking.
Lack of sleep provided a perpetual headache that burned behind her eyes and left her hollow.
With her skin now clean, she opened her mouth, filled it with fresh water, swished and spit, then used the cloth to clean her teeth as best she could.
She had to lean against the tiled wall to rest for a minute. Her head pounded with so many impossible problems for the future. But for now, for this moment, she was safe.
Safe. There had been times when she’d thought … when she’d been sure that they would kill her. They’d taken great pleasure in taunting her, slapping her, keeping her uncertain and on edge. Sleep had come in only fitful spurts, because sleep left her vulnerable to their intent—whatever their intent had been.
Her hands knotted into fists. Fear curdled with a rage so bright it sustained her. She struggled to fill her lungs with air, to beat down the raw panic that had accompanied her since being abducted.
So much to think about … but for now, she had only to worry about finishing her shower. Then eating.
And then sleeping without the fear of never waking again.
She drew one more breath before picking up the shampoo with a shaking hand. So many tangles knotted her hair that she decided she’d cut it—after it was clean—rather than brush them out. She lathered, rinsed, then lathered again. She refused to look down at the tub to see what had washed out of her hair.
Emptying the entire tiny bottle of conditioner onto her head, she worked it through, rinsed, and then … she had nothing left. No strength. No reserve. She couldn’t even dry herself. She barely got a towel around her hair and another around her body.
Stumbling back into the main room, Molly hit the bed hard, snuggled in and literally passed out.
CHAPTER TWO
DARE CAME IN QUIETLY, saw her curled on the bed and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep show if he moved to the foot of the bed.
Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.
Besides, the less involvement he had with her, unscrupulous or otherwise, the better. He needed to figure out what had happened to her, and the quickest way to safely remove her from his care.
He’d known she was spent, on the edge, but the fact that she hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself proved her level of exhaustion.
More than anything, she probably needed to eat. But should he wake her for that when she also needed sleep?
He wasn’t a fucking babysitter, but since he’d personally gotten her out of Mexico, he couldn’t very well just dump her somewhere. By rescuing her, he had accepted an implied responsibility.
Trying not to rattle the bags and juggling the food with his other purchases, Dare closed the door and locked it. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time at 1:30 a.m. He’d only been gone a half hour, tops.
Luckily the Walmart across the street stayed open twenty-four hours. He’d found not only clothes for her, but food, too. Dressing and feeding her would go a long way toward resolving her most pressing issues.
With barely a sound, he stowed the drinks in the tiny fridge and put her share of the food into the microwave to keep.
Removing his wallet, change and cell phone from his jeans, he placed them neatly on the desk. Next he took out his knife and the Glock 9mm he carried, and set them beside his other belongings. He stretched out his knotted muscles. Too many hours crawling over rough ground, ducking for cover and demolishing men without enough sleep or food had left him tense and weary.
After pulling a chair out from the round table, he opened the covering on his pancakes and coffee.
He’d taken only one bite when she stirred, sniffed the air and drowsily opened her eyes. Dare turned toward her.
She gave him a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.
He studied her, a small bundle huddled tight on the bed, face still ravaged and eyes wounded. Never had he seen a woman look so vulnerable.
He swallowed his bite and, sounding as casual as he could under the circumstances, asked, “Hungry?”
She stared back, then struggled up to one elbow. Her expression changed, the wariness hidden beneath that intrepid bravado. “Starved. Literally.”
With all the dirt removed, her big eyes dominated her small features. More marks showed on her fair skin, one on her cheekbone and under her left eye, one on her throat, and a darker, angrier bruise on her right shoulder.
Dare thought of men hitting her, manhandling her, and bone-deep disgust ignited. He despised bullies of any kind, but a man who would hurt a woman was at the top of his list of assholes that needed a lesson.
She breathed deeply, her eyes closing and her nostrils flaring. “That smells so good.”
Out of his seat already, Dare fetched her food. “Do you want to sit here, or eat in the bed?”
She hesitated, looking down for a moment as if uncertain of her welcome, not wanting to inconvenience him. “Table please, but … I should dress first.”
“All right.” He set the food on the table and opened the bag of clothes, pulling out a few T-shirts, panties and a pair of pull-on cotton shorts. “You can get more stuff tomorrow if you feel up to it. Something warmer, maybe, and nicer for the plane ride. But for now, I figured this would fit.”
She didn’t look at the clothes. The arm she leaned on barely supported her, and her breath went choppy with effort.
Voice weak, strained, she said, “I’m sorry, but … I haven’t eaten in too long and I’m feeling kind of … faint.”
Dare straightened, going on alert. Would she pass out on him?
“If … if you could help me into the bathroom, I’ll dress in there.”
Shit. He did not want her passing out alone, maybe hitting her head. “Yeah, no problem.”
Dare moved to the bed and slipped an arm behind her, then drew her to her feet. She swayed into him, one hand clutching at his shirt and holding on for dear life.
She made no attempt to step away. He didn’t ask her to. “What would you like to do?”
“I can’t …” She choked, cleared her throat, and her voice was so low he barely heard her when she said, “This is embarrassing, but the shower …” She swallowed. “I think I’m depleted.”
Easing her back onto the bed, Dare knew he’d have to be firm to get her agreement. “Okay, Molly, listen up.” He kept his tone as impersonal as possible. “This isn’t a big deal. I can dress you. I can even feed you.”
She rolled in her lips with embarrassment, a habit he’d already noticed.
“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he lied.
That brought her dark eyes up to his.
Damn, but her eyes could melt a man’s soul. “I’m in the personal protection business. You’re not the first woman I’ve rescued. You’re not even in the worst shape.” Another lie. Most women he retrieved were found in the first forty-eight hours before too much damage had been done—or they weren’t found at all. “Okay?”
Still with her gaze locked on his, she nodded.
“Good girl.” He grabbed the clothes from the bag. He wasn’t really discomfited by the task, but he’d just as soon get past it.
Taking clothes off a woman, yeah, he had plenty of practice with that.
Dressing the near-dead … not so much.
“Panties first, okay?” He still had no idea what had been done to her, how she might have been tormented or used. If it was sexual in nature, then this would be doubly hard on her. “We’ll take this nice and slow, and if at any point you feel panicky, just tell me.”
“I won’t panic.”
He looked up at her. “Yeah, well, I’d just as soon not get kicked in the face again.”
For a split second, he thought he saw a slight smile on her bruised mouth. Then she looked away. “No, I won’t do that again.”
As Dare knelt down to work her small feet into the legs of the very plain cotton underwear, he noticed more scrapes and bruises. After she ate, he’d dig out the first-aid kit and patch her up.
When he had the panties up to her knees, he took her elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Hold on to my shoulders.”
She was so much shorter than him, maybe five-seven to his six-three, that, while he stood upright, holding his shoulders pretty much stretched her out.
He bent to the task and she leaned against him. She was surprisingly … soft for someone so thin. And she smelled good now, clean like shampoo and soap and warm, gentle woman.
In a shrill, nervous voice, she asked, “So, who did you rescue? Other than me?”
“A friend. Almost like a sister.” Her thighs were trim, firm. He did his best to look away as he dragged the underwear up under the damp towel. His knuckles dragged against her soft bottom, a bottom that wasn’t as skinny as he’d thought.
Not that her curves mattered. With her shivering against him, he felt more like a damned doctor than a man who’d been without sex for months. “Now the shirt.”
He took the damp towel off her head and tossed it aside. Her hair fell in tangled wet hanks to her bare shoulders. Her neck was long and graceful, her chin stubborn.
And she looked ready to drop with both weakness and degradation. She was not a woman used to needing help, he could tell, especially not with something so personal.
“Feel better being clean?” If he kept her talking, maybe this would be easier for her—and for him.
“You have no idea.” Dare pulled the shirt down over her head, and as soon as she popped free, she added, “Do you have any scissors?”
He had to practically lift her arms to get them through the armholes. Because a bra had been well beyond him, he’d bought the shirt big and loose. It fit over the bundled towel she had wrapped around herself. “Why?”
“I was going to cut it.”
“It?” He reached beneath the shirt and pulled away the bulky towel. Surprise stilled him for only a moment. Dirt, distress and injury had hidden it, but Molly Alexander had one hell of a rack.
And he felt like a grade-A prick for noticing.
“My hair.” Not quite defeated, but close, she sat back on the bed again. Face pale and mouth tight with strain, she kept her shoulders back, her bare knees and ankles squeezed together. “There’s no way I’ll get the tangles out. And truthfully … I just don’t care enough to try.”
She was not his problem, Dare reminded himself, and her hair sure as hell didn’t matter to him. But damn it, for whatever reason, he didn’t want her to give up now, not on anything.
“Let’s worry about it tomorrow, okay?” Taking her arm again, he got her upright and helped her step into the shorts. Decently dressed, clean, and marginally rested, she made quite a picture.
Sort of cute, but still very bedraggled and wearied, not to mention abused.
Dare led her to the table. “You sure you don’t want to do this in bed?”
A hoarse laugh huffed out. “I’ve been tied to a disgusting, filthy mattress for nine days, unable to sit up or walk or … anything. Trust me, I’d rather be at the table.”
The image sickened him. “Gotcha.”
He set juice in front of her. “Try to drink it all, okay? It’ll help.” Then he opened the microwave and pulled out her still-warm cup of soup.
“I know the pancakes probably smell good, and there’s enough for you if you want to give them a go, but I figured it might be too much—”
“It would be.” She drank a little of the juice, waited, then drank some more. “It’s been so long since I’ve eaten, I have to take it slow or I know I’ll be sick. And I’d rather be beaten than barf again.”
“Again?”
Her expression flattened with memories. As if the shock and humiliation still burned her, she didn’t look at him as she explained.
“At first they brought me corn tortillas and some kind of strong alcohol. I was afraid of what they’d do if I got drunk, so I wouldn’t drink it. But then they gave me the nastiest-looking water, like something out of a mud puddle. I didn’t trust that, either, and they tried to insist, but I just … couldn’t.” Her shoulders hunched a little as she drew into herself. Her voice lowered. “That’s when they started … drugging me.”
Dare set aside his fork. Hearing even a smidge of what she’d gone through made it near impossible to stay distanced; he wanted to go back and kill people all over again.
“After that, I couldn’t seem to resist when they told me to drink it, but I got … sick.” Her hands fisted, and her entire small body tightened. “It’s not like there was any place for that. I mean, not a bathroom or even a bucket. I … I soiled part of the small area they’d given me, and tossed up the pills they’d forced down my throat.”
Jesus. To imagine being a woman alone, afraid and sick, stuck in such an untenable position—he hid it from her, but it enraged him.
“They stood over me, furious, barking at me in a language I didn’t understand, but I got their meaning loud and clear, and I cleaned it up the best I could with the rags they threw at me. After that, they barely fed me. Usually only once a day, but at least the water they brought was cleaner, I guess to avoid a repeat of things.”
Motherfuckers.
“But then yesterday and today they brought me nothing at all. I don’t know why.”
She left out a lot of details, but Dare didn’t push her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how wretched it’d be to get ill while closed in that hot, airless little trailer. The feeling of helplessness was something he’d never experienced, but he knew it’d be different for a man.
Any woman held captive would be constantly under the fear of more than just physical abuse or neglect. She’d be terrified of rape.
Setting the soup and a spoon in front of her, Dare broached that topic. “They manhandled you a lot.”
She said nothing, just tasted her soup, groaned, and tasted it again.
“Molly … if you were hurt …” Idiot. She was so hurt that it pained him to think of it. Dare started over. “That is, if you were hurt in ways that aren’t easy for me to see, then a trip to the hospital would be a good idea.”
With each bite of soup, she looked more lethargic, as if the nourishment eased a terrible ache and allowed tiredness to take over again.
“Molly?”
“I can’t.” She took another swallow, but her eyes were getting heavy as color seeped back into her cheeks.
“Can’t what?”
Another swallow. The seconds ticked by. “I can’t … can’t talk about this now, can’t give you details, and I can’t go to the hospital.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Please, if we could talk about it in the morning, I’d be grateful.”
Damn it, he didn’t want to be responsible for her health. He stood to pace, trying to decide.
“Dare?”
He turned back to her, left eye twitching, jaw tight.
“I wasn’t raped. I swear.”
Something in him eased. He tried to read the truth in her eyes, but saw only bleak resistance there. He rubbed his bristly jaw. “You would tell me if you were sexually abused?”
“If I had been … I don’t know. I don’t know how I’d feel.” Despite her ordeal, her chin lifted. “But I wasn’t.”
Dare continued to study her. He could read most people, but this woman had so much emotion in her face, and so many secrets in her eyes, he just wasn’t sure.
“That … that isn’t what they wanted with me.”
Remembering how she’d been separated from the other women, kept unclean, neglected instead of primed … he believed her.
That’s what she wanted to talk about tomorrow, he realized. He nodded. “All right.”
She started to stand, albeit shakily, and Dare said, “Wait. Let me turn down the bed.”
He prepared it for her, much like he would for a child, then came back to her. “Do you need the bathroom first?”