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  Liam started toward the bar that had been set up on the far side of the room, and Dallas fell in step beside him. "So you look all rested and refreshed," Liam said. "Not too tired out." His mouth quirked. "Must be doing something wrong."

  "Fuck you."

  Liam laughed, then ordered a tequila for himself and a whiskey for Dallas. "Seriously, you two okay?"

  "If you're talking about her wanting to rip my balls off after she found out about Deliverance, then I have to say we've come through that just fine."

  It had been hell for a while after she'd unexpectedly learned that truth, and Dallas had just about died thinking that he'd lost her. But they'd gotten past it, thank god, and Dallas knew that Liam had helped. "Thanks, by the way. I know you talked with her."

  Liam shrugged. "You two are my best friends. That entitles me to butt in."

  Dallas grinned. "Yes it does."

  The bartender passed them their drinks, and they stepped away. When they were out of earshot, Liam spoke softly, "And Colin? You still haven't said anything to her?"

  It was a fair question. Liam had been the one to call with the news about Colin's possible involvement in the kidnapping, and both he and Dallas had agreed that Jane shouldn't know. But that was four days ago. Four days of sex and intimacy, and Dallas could understand why his friend might think he'd changed his mind.

  "I haven't said a word," Dallas admitted. "Honestly, though, I'm afraid that decision is going to come back and bite me in the ass." He looked hard at Liam. "This can't drag out forever. We need answers. Tell me you've decrypted the netbook."

  Liam's expression darkened. "Not yet."

  "Fuck."

  Liam shook his head. "We will. But in the meantime ..." He took a breath, then rubbed his temple with two fingers, a sure sign that he was troubled.

  "Tell me."

  Liam steered them toward a secluded corner and lowered his voice even more. "We found a lock box with old hard drives hidden under some floorboards in Ortega's house."

  Dallas cocked his head. That really was interesting. "Noah's been working on them, I assume? You've found more intel on Colin?"

  "Some of the data's corrupt, and some we haven't broken encryption on. It's a lot to work through, but, yeah. From what we've seen, we know that there was email correspondence between Ortega and Colin about pulling a new job."

  "When?"

  "That's the kicker. About a month before you were taken."

  "You think they were planning the kidnapping."

  "It's possible," Liam agreed. "Or they could have been talking about smuggling drugs, arms, counterfeit bills. We don't know."

  "But you don't think it's any of those things."

  Liam met his eyes. "Neither do you."

  Dallas dragged his fingers through his hair, trying not to let his anger and frustration show on his face, just in case anyone was paying attention. "I know this man," he said roughly. "I grew up around him. He fucked up, sure--he's done jail time, he's made some stupid decisions, and he put Jane in danger, especially that time when she was eleven. But I never believed he meant to hurt her back then."

  "And when she was fifteen? When you were taken? Do you believe he could have done it then? To Jane? To you?"

  "No," Dallas said, then dragged his fingers through his hair. "Yes. Fuck, I don't know."

  Liam hesitated, then said, "You haven't really talked to me about what went down inside those walls, but I know you well enough to know--"

  "That it fucked me up. Yeah," Dallas said, his body as tense and tight as his voice. "What's your point?"

  "That it was personal, man." Liam met his eyes without flinching. "Seriously personal. And so you want to rule Colin out because you know him. You like him. Hell, he's even family. Maybe not legally--not anymore--but by blood he's tied to Jane more firmly than you are. But from where I'm standing, that's not a reason to rule him out. That's a reason to drag him straight up to the top of the list."

  Dallas sighed, but nodded. "I know. I've thought of that myself."

  "I know you have, because you're smart and you know how this works. But I also know that you don't want to think about it because you're human and you care about him and you know it would kill Jane. So I'm playing the role of asshole here and telling you that you have to think it. You have to look at it. And if it turns out that he's our bad guy, you have to be ready to do whatever's necessary."

  Liam's tone was firm, no nonsense. And when Dallas looked at his friend's face, he saw concern. He saw friendship. Most of all he saw respect.

  "Thanks," he said, referring to Liam's support as much as his words. "I will."

  "I've got your back no matter what. I've got Jane's, too."

  "I know you do."

  "And," Liam said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "after giving you my keep focused speech, I'm gonna tell you to wash the man from your mind. Right now, you need to shift that focus from Colin--"

  "--to Darcy. Believe me, I'm well aware. This isn't my first rodeo."

  "He's out on the pool deck. I saw him right before I came in." Liam took a quick look around the room. "Found your distraction yet?

  "Not yet." Dallas, too, glanced around, looking for either of the two women who'd been at his side at various times throughout the evening. "I'm sure I'll find--"

  He paused as a woman he knew caught his eye then started walking toward him. Fiona.

  "Actually, looks like someone's volunteering."

  Liam took a quick look at the girl, tipped his head to Dallas, then walked off toward the buffet.

  As expected, Fiona took that as her cue to approach. "Hey, stranger."

  He flashed what the tabloids always called his devilish smile. "Fiona, you look stunning." It wasn't a lie. She was an attractive woman. A little too thin for his taste, without Jane's alluring curves, but pretty in a waif-like way.

  "I was going to get a fresh drink and head out to the pool deck," he said. "Come with me."

  He didn't wait for her to agree, and wasn't surprised when she fell in obediently beside him as he approached the bar, then signaled the bartender. To be honest, he would have preferred someone else. His general rule was one woman, one time. There were a few he'd bedded more than once, though, either because he'd enjoyed their company or because circumstances just worked out that way.

  Fiona was a combination of both. She was smart and funny and they'd gotten along. He liked her well enough, and she'd been more than willing to do some pretty kinky shit one night after a party. He hadn't intended to see her again, but when Archie had reminded him that he was obligated to attend a charity event the next night and that his intended date had come down with the flu, he'd invited Fiona simply for the sake of convenience.

  Now, she was convenient again.

  "You know," she said as she took the martini he offered and hooked her free arm through his, "I was just telling your sister that this is exactly where I wanted to be."

  "At my party?"

  There was no mistaking the heat in her eyes when she looked at him. "With you."

  "What a coincidence," he said, intentionally matching her heat. "That's where I want you, too."

  "And in your bed?" Her voice was little more than breath and invitation, and it was all he could do to stay in character. To remind himself that this was a role. A job. That all he had to do was get through this and then he could get back to Jane.

  "Do we even need a bed?" He didn't notice her reaction. His attention had been diverted as he was speaking by the woman standing a few yards behind Fiona, now facing him with a harsh, hurt look on her beautiful face.

  Jane.

  He felt his body lean forward as he instinctively started to move toward her, and he had to force himself to stop. When he did, he noticed the pressure of Fiona's hand on his crotch, and he dragged his attention from Jane to Fiona as a string of curses ran through his head. "You know," she whispered huskily, "I've seen your pool deck. Why don't we just head upstairs?"

  Her h
and moved, stroking and massaging, and like the well-trained asshole he was, he felt his cock grow hard.

  Fuck him. And fuck this facade. And fuck the fact that he couldn't have the woman he wanted at his side.

  Slowly, he stepped backward, lessening the pressure of her touch. For an instant, her brow furrowed in confusion. Then he caught her hand and traced his fingertip slowly along her palm. "Soon enough," he said. "Right now, there's someone out there I need to talk to."

  "Does the someone have tits?" She lifted one finely plucked brow. "Because tonight I don't want to share you."

  "Don't worry," he said, looking back toward Jane. "You won't."

  She was looking back at him as well, her beautiful face completely unreadable. He wanted to run to her. To hold her.

  But all he could do was look at her.

  He couldn't even touch this woman and pretend that it was Jane. He couldn't tease them both by using another woman as a proxy the way they had before. They'd just talked about it, and he knew damn well that she didn't want it. Hell, he didn't want it, either.

  Right then, all he wanted was Jane.

  As if she could read his thoughts, she met his eyes defiantly.

  And then, with equal moxie, she turned on her heel, and walked away, disappearing through the French doors and onto the pool deck.

  A moment later, his phone buzzed, signaling a text. "Sorry," he said to Fiona. "I need to check this."

  He pulled it from his pocket, careful to hide the screen from view.

  I know you have to, but I can't be here.

  His gut twisted just from reading it, and all he wanted to do in that moment was go after her. He couldn't let her go. A bone deep fear was rising in him, telling him that if she left--

  Well, dammit, she just couldn't leave.

  He pressed his hand to Fiona's waist, urging her toward the pool deck. He wasn't sure what he intended to do, but at the very least he needed to see where Jane had gone.

  Once on the flagstones, though, he didn't see any sign of her. He did, however, see Henry Darcy.

  "Dallas. Good to see you," the older man said, extending his hand. "Appreciate the invitation."

  "Glad you could make it, Henry." He gripped the man's hand, knowing that he had a job to do. He needed to suggest they take a seat. Keep Fiona close for camouflage. Chat Darcy up, steering the conversation in practiced circles as he tried to find out what, if anything, Darcy knew about the details of Deliverance.

  That's what he was supposed to do. That's why he'd organized this entire party.

  Instead, he apologized for needing to duck inside and make a call. "I just got a text about a matter I can't ignore. But, Fiona, maybe you and Henry could grab a table, and I'll come back in a few minutes and join you?"

  "Sure, baby," she said, though she looked less than thrilled by the prospect. Henry, on the contrary, looked delighted by the plan. "Hurry back," she added, then pulled him close and kissed him hard.

  It took all his willpower to keep from wiping away her kiss until he was safely back inside the house.

  He'd almost made it to the front door when Liam caught up to him.

  "I don't even want to hear it."

  "Hear what?" Liam countered, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. "I haven't said a word. Not a single thing."

  "Whatever Darcy was going to tell WORR or the UN or the FBI, he has." The World Organization for Rescue and Rehabilitation wasn't a government agency, but it consulted closely with agencies all over the world, including the FBI, and its power and influence was significant. More than that, Bill Martin--Jane's ex-husband--was one of the organization's movers and shakers. "And since we haven't been handed our asses recently, it's a safe bet that they know nothing. That Darcy knows nothing."

  "A safe bet isn't a certainty."

  For a moment, Dallas almost told Liam to back off. Deliverance was Dallas's brainchild, his operation, and he'd run it however the hell he chose.

  But that was idiotic. For one, Dallas may have started the group, but it was only as good as the team he put together. A team he respected, made up of men who were his closest friends.

  "I can't do it," he said. "Not right now. And I know it's a risk, but I think it's a small one. I'll still talk to Darcy--I'll find out whatever is left to find out--but right now, I need to find Jane. So dammit, Liam, get the fuck out of my way."

  A Hasty Retreat

  I'm shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying not to be pissed off at the hired valet guys for stupidly parking the guests' cars in front of the garage. I'd thrust my keys into his hands and told him to please just hurry.

  But you can only move so fast when you have a dozen or so cars to rearrange, and that means that I'm stuck here until he manages to work out that little puzzle and bring me my car.

  And, dammit, I really want to get the hell out of here.

  I know Dallas has a role to play, I get it. For that matter, I even understand that it was only partially a role before. I mean, he wanted those women in his bed. Hell, he got off on it. Doing things with them. To them.

  It was a release. A way to satisfy himself.

  He didn't literally fuck them--I know that--but he sure as hell enjoyed them. And I don't begrudge him that. I really don't.

  I mean, hell, I got married. So it's not like I was living the life of a nun. And even after my divorce, I wasn't celibate. There've been guys. Not a lot, but enough. After all, I'm rather fond of orgasms. And although I'd wanted Dallas, I'd believed I could never have him. So why not drown my sorrows in other men?

  But the last guy I fucked was a long time ago, and I sure as hell haven't been with anyone since Dallas.

  I know he's putting on a show--I know it. But I had assumed he would pick some anonymous girl from the crowd. Not Fiona, a girl he's gone out with more than once, which means that she's more than just a throw-away.

  And I'd assumed that he'd simply pat her ass and put on the touchy-feely show. I hadn't expected to see her grab his cock. And I sure as hell hadn't anticipated watching him get hard from another woman's touch.

  I realize that I've clenched my fists, and right then I think I'd punch Fiona in her pert little nose if I saw her. For that matter, I just might punch Dallas.

  He, however, isn't nearby. Most likely because he's taken her upstairs to his bedroom.

  Oh dear god. His bedroom.

  I remember the day not too long ago when I'd come to this house to see him--and found him in his room with two very naked women in his bed. I'd missed the actual show, thank god, but I'd gotten an eyeful of both the girls and a collection of toys lying around.

  I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, thinking about those black satin sheets where he'll soon be taking her. Sheets that have touched my bare skin. That I've clawed, trying to hang on to reason while his beard stubble scratched my inner thighs and his tongue worked magic on my clit.

  Cool sheets that soothed my red, stinging skin after he'd spanked me, then finger fucked me, taking me to the edge over and over again, tormenting me incessantly before letting me find release.

  That room is ours now, and I hate the thought that Fiona--that any woman--will share that bed with him while I'm at my house eating ice cream and drowning my sorrows in chocolate syrup and too much red wine.

  I'm so wrapped up in my pity party that I don't realize that the valet has brought my car around until he taps the horn. I open my eyes, but not even the prospect of putting my darling little Vanquish Volante through her paces knocks me out of my funk.

  The valet holds the door open for me. But as I take a step forward, I'm held back by a firm hand on my shoulder. I jump, surprised, but when I turn, the surprise fades.

  Dallas.

  Of course he's there.

  Of course he's come to me.

  "Stay." His voice is low. Steady.

  "I can't. Seriously, Dallas. I need to go."

  But he just lifts his arm, then signals the driver to take my car away.


  "What the hell?"

  "Wait." He takes my elbow and leads me away from the temporary valet stand so that we can talk more privately.

  I jerk my arm free and glare at him, irritated as much by the whole damn situation as I am by the fact that now I'm going to have to send for my car again. "Dammit, I know what you have to do. I don't know all the details, but I get that your persona's important. And--"

  He is shaking his head. "We talked about it. I thought you were okay with it. I thought we were okay."

  I've been looking anywhere but at him, but now I lift my chin and defiantly stare him down. "You are so fucking dense sometimes. Yes, we had a conversation. But do you really think I want to just sit around while you're upstairs in your bed with your mouth on some other girl's cunt?"

  My voice is so low it's barely a whisper. Even so, the words come out like a lashing, and I glance around quickly to make sure no one else has heard them. Part of me doesn't even care. Because honestly, he's pissing me off. I mean, he really doesn't get why I might want to get the hell out of here?

  Apparently he's also clueless about how annoyed I am, because the son-of-a-bitch is actually grinning at me.

  "What?" I demand.

  "You don't have to leave."

  "You know what, Dallas? Fuck you." I've had enough, and I turn to head back to the valet stand.

  He catches my hand and tugs me back. "What you're worried about--it's not happening."

  I cock my head, then yank my hand free and cross my arms. "In case you've forgotten, Mr. Sykes, you have a reputation to protect. Or destroy, depending on your point of view. Do not even try to convince me that you won't have a girl in your bed tonight."

  "I will," he says, looking at me with the kind of intensity designed to make me melt. "You."

  "What?" My legs suddenly feel a little weak, even as my head feels a little confused.

  "I want you in my bed, Jane. You. Because you're the only woman with the right to be there. Go," he adds. "Go now."

  "Dallas." My voice is a protest. He knows as well as I do why me heading to his bedroom right now is a very bad idea.

  He steps closer, all power and control and intensity. "Now. Or I'll spank your ass right here and if any one looks at us funny I'll tell them it's a big brother prerogative."

  Now I actually have to fight a smile, and the tears are the happy kind. "You're only four months older than me."