Sweetest Taboo Page 6

  "Part and parcel," Noah says. "Coffee's fresh and strong if you need it." He points toward a small kitchenette on the far side of the room, but I only shake my head. Coffee sounds a little too rough right now.

  "Where's Quince?" Dallas asks.

  "Just finished a session. Kept increasing the dosage throughout the night, still got nothing. Frankly, he's a little pissed with himself for pushing too hard. Now he's got Colin on a saline drip and some counteragents...working the drug out of his system." Liam glances at his watch. "Not too much longer, I'd think. We figured Jane would want to talk to him with as clear a head as possible."

  "Good." Dallas turns to me. "He hasn't said a damn thing yet even with the drugs. You might be more effective than truth serum."

  "Or I might not," I say. I don't add that maybe there is nothing for him to confess to. Dallas and the guys are already convinced. And, though I hate admitting it even to myself, their certainty has convinced me as well. Even so, I want to talk to Colin personally.

  "Miss Jane." Across the room, Archie steps from the conference room, a smile wide on his face. I tug out of Liam's arms and run to him, then engulf him in a hug. He starts to pull away, but I hold on tight for another heartbeat, needing this connection to my childhood. A time when, as complicated as life was, things were simpler. A time when, though I now know that I'd been naive, I'd understood the people around me.

  When I finally release him and step back, I find the Sykes family butler smiling down at me. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you're safe, Miss Jane. I won't say that all is well," he adds, his eyes softening, "because we both know that it isn't. But you are here and you are whole, and that is a very good beginning."

  Despite everything, I smile. Yes, I'm standing in the middle of a criminal organization's safe house. Yes, criminal. Because even though an argument can be made that everything Deliverance did to rescue kidnap victims skirted against but never crossed any legal boundaries, there is no question that kidnapping Colin pushed them well into criminal territory, no matter how justified that action might be.

  Dallas is at risk. So are Liam and Quince and all of the team, including Archie.

  So, for that matter, am I. Accessory after the fact. I'd been married to an Assistant United States Attorney long enough to know that much at least.

  And yet I'm here because even though I believe Dallas, I have to face Colin. With a sigh, I turn back to Dallas, my heart twisting a little when I see the expression on his face. Not just concern, but pity.

  "I can handle it," I tell him for the umpteenth time. "More important, I can't move on until I hear it all from you guys, and then talk with him."

  "I know."

  I nod firmly, steeling myself. "All right," I say. "Tell me everything."

  Liam and Dallas look at each other, and I can see the unspoken communication pass between them. Dallas nods, then takes my hand. "Conference room," he says. "We'll lay it all out for you."

  And he does.

  I sit numb in the leather chair as he and Liam flash documents up onto a screen, run through a timeline, and describe fact after fact after fact. They don't bother to speculate--they don't need to. The evidence is too damning. And each additional piece of information is like a stab through my heart.

  Proof that Colin was in London at the time of the kidnapping--and that he'd used a false passport to enter the country.

  A computer hard drive with damning emails between him and Silas Ortega, one of the six men who physically grabbed me and Dallas that horrible night seventeen years ago.

  Proof that Colin wasn't in Boston as he'd told me when Ortega was murdered before he could cut a deal with the Feds. Instead, Colin flew to South America--which was where Ortega was being held.

  Cryptic conversations picked up on a bug planted in Colin's Brooklyn house. Conversations that suggested that Colin was in the process of liquidating his assets in order to disappear.

  And on and on and on it went with dozens and dozens of little facts that at first just swam into my brain, but then connected together to form a picture.

  I didn't know why he would do such a horrible thing to Dallas, much less to me, but by the time Dallas said, "That's it. That's everything we have so far." I was convinced. I might not know the why of it, but I was certain that Colin--my birth father--had been our Jailer.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I--" But I can't get the words out. Instead, a wave of nausea rises up inside of me, and I stand in sudden panic--and then vomit all over Dallas's shoes.

  "Jane." He is on his feet immediately, pulling me close and holding me tight. Then he pushes back. "You shouldn't do this."

  "No. No, I was just--thank you," I say as Liam hands me a glass of water. "It was just all too much. But I'm okay. Really." I wrinkle my nose and glance down. "Sorry."

  He doesn't look convinced, but he kisses my head and slips off his shoes. "Come on," he says, then leads me to a bathroom complete with spare toothbrushes and toothpaste. I brush my teeth, then take the time to splash water on my face. Dallas has left, giving me privacy, and I lean forward, my hands on the counter as I peer into my own eyes.

  "You can do this," I say, and I look so resolute that I almost believe it.

  Then I step back into the main area to find Quince standing beside Dallas. The wall to my left is no longer solid. Instead, a section of concrete appears to have been removed, revealing what I assume is a one-way window. I can see Colin inside, seated at a table, his wrists cuffed to the tabletop.

  I realize I'm biting my lower lip and force my attention back to Dallas. I draw in a breath, then kiss him hard. I need that connection. That reminder of what is good and right in my world.

  And then I go with them to the door and wait as Quince punches in a code. Dallas stands by, his hands clenched into fists, clearly burning to go in with me. To protect me.

  Suddenly, I don't want to step into that room. For hours, I've been thinking that I can handle this. That I'm strong. That I've been through so damn much that this is nothing--nothing at all by comparison.

  But that's not true. My skin feels prickly. My stomach still burns. I'm alternately hot and cold, and at the moment there's nothing I want to do more than curl up into a ball and cry.

  Except that's not true, either, because what I really want to do is run. Far and fast and away from this place and this man who so cavalierly hurt me. Hurt Dallas.

  But I can't. I have to stay. I have to hear the truth from him.

  Most important, I have to do this alone.

  And so when the door slides open, I draw in a breath and walk on shaking legs into the cell to face the man who was once my father.

  Now, I think, he is a monster.

  "Jane. Oh, thank god, Jane."

  I hesitate just over the threshold, hoping that Colin can't see the way I'm shaking. I can still taste bile in my throat, and for a moment I'm afraid that I'm going to vomit all over again.

  I don't turn around, but I know Dallas is behind me. I can practically feel the intensity of his eyes on my back, and I'm certain that if I show even the slightest sign of weakness he will come to my side, take my arm, and yank me out of this room.

  Part of me wants him to do just that--to give me an excuse to turn around and not confront this man I once trusted.

  But that's the cowardly part of me, and I don't want to be a coward. Not about this. Not anymore.

  Right now, I need the truth as desperately as I need air and food and water. And so I straighten my posture, lift my chin, and walk across the room toward Colin.

  Behind me, I hear the door click shut, and for just the briefest moment, I hesitate. Then I continue across the room, pull out a chair, and sit across from my birth father.

  I fold my hands in front of me so that I'm sitting much like he is. Except that my wrists aren't attached to the table with iron. My fingers are twined together, and I'm clenching them more tightly than is comfortable. I hope I look casual. As if this whole experience isn't k
illing me. As if I don't feel like I am trapped in a nightmare.

  "Jane," he says.

  "Why?" I say at exactly the same time.

  Colin shakes his head. His eyes gleam as harsh lights reflect off his tears. "No," he says. "No, baby, you have to believe me. What they say I did--I swear to you. I didn't."

  His words squeeze my heart, and I wish I could believe. But I've heard too much.

  I push away from the table and stand up. Then I turn my back on him and head toward the door, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.

  As my hand closes over the knob, his cry of "Jane!" stops me. I hesitate, and then I turn. I say nothing, though. Just look at him expectantly.

  "Don't go. Please, please don't go."

  I shift back toward the door. "I'm not interested in lies, Colin. I came for answers. If you're not going to give them to me, then I'm just wasting my time." I grasp the knob again, and this time I turn it. I give it a tug, and it swings open a fraction of an inch.

  "I didn't want to! Oh, god, Jane, I made a mistake. The most horrible mistake!"

  His words slice through my heart, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I will not cry. I will not cry.

  What I want to do is race from this room and into Dallas's arms. What I do instead is close the door, slowly turn around, and walk back to the table. I keep my eyes on the ground, though. I'm not prepared to look at him. Not yet, anyway.

  Once I'm seated, I blink and swallow as I take a mental inventory. I don't want him to see on my face how much his sideways confession has hurt me. I don't want this man to see me cry. "All right." I lift my head. "Tell me."

  "Ortega approached me," he begins.

  "How did you know him?"

  "I didn't. I'd never met the man. But I'd heard of him. Through, well, some of my other business connections."

  I raise my brows at the word "business," but say nothing.

  "He--well, he was connected. Intimidating. He--he had his fingers in a lot of things. We overlapped on the smuggling, and he got my name somehow. Said I was on his radar. I don't know why. He didn't say." He raises his hand as if he is going to reach for his face, but the motion is aborted by the cuff and chain that keep him attached to the table. Irritation flashes in his eyes, and I get the impression that he's lost his stride.

  I wait.

  Colin fidgets, then continues. "He said that he'd been watching me, and that led him to watching Eli. And Eli's bank account. He said that he learned about what your mother did, and Eli. About how they took you away from me." His voice cracks with emotion. "I was wrecked then--I tried not to show it to you, but losing you just about destroyed me. I was hurt. Angry. Everything. I lost my way, sweetheart." A fat tear spills from his eye. "Totally lost my way. And then Ortega said he'd had his eye on Eli as a mark--that he wanted to snatch Dallas and hold him for ransom. I was horrified--I was!--but then Ortega said that he wanted my help. That taking Dallas would be a way to punish Eli. To punish Lisa. To twist the knife in them the way they'd twisted it in me."

  I'm fighting not to cry--I can't believe that he would even think about doing that, much less go through with it.

  "I was angry. Hurt. I wanted to get back at her. At Eli. I wanted to punish them, and I shouldn't have. Oh, god, I shouldn't have." He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

  "How did you help?" My words are hard. Cold.

  Slowly, he raises his head. "I--I told him where Dallas went to school. I answered questions when he planned and hired the men. But that was all. I swear, that was all. And I needed the money--you remember how bad off I was--I needed the money and he said that just for that information I'd get half."

  "They--they took me, too." I hate the way my voice cracks. I don't want to show emotion. I don't want him to see just how much he hurt me.

  "I know." His tears come in earnest now, and he has to bend his head down almost to the table to wipe them. There is a box of tissues on the far side of the room, but I don't get up to bring them to him. "He told me afterward, and I flew into a rage. You weren't supposed to have been there, and I begged him to let you go. But he said it was a perk. More money. And when I told him he could have my share of Dallas's ransom if he just set you free, he laughed and told me I was a fool. Jane, Jane, sweetheart, you have to know I would never do that to you."

  But I don't know that. I don't know anything anymore.

  "Were you there? In the cell with us?"

  "No! No, I went to London because Ortega told me I had to. He told me how to do it so that nobody would know. But I just stayed in a flat he'd rented for me."

  "And the Woman?"

  "Who?"

  I hug myself, suddenly cold. "There was a woman. She--she was vile."

  "No." He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "No, the whole team was made up of men. There wasn't--"

  "Bullshit," I say as I push my chair back and stand. I yank out my phone and pull up the picture of me on the ground. I shove the picture in front of him, then point to my face, where the bruises still linger. "She did that to me. And she did worse--so much worse--when we were teens."

  He's shaking his head. "No, no. There was no woman. There wasn't."

  I turn around and head for the door.

  "Jane, wait! Don't leave. Please don't leave me."

  I round on him in sudden fury. "Then tell me the truth, goddammit. For once in your life just tell me the fucking truth!"

  "I am! I swear! How can you believe I would do this? I don't understand what's happening. I don't know why you won't believe me. I've told you I was involved. I was an idiot--it was stupid and horrible and you're right to hate me. But, sweetheart, there's nothing left to tell."

  "There was a woman," I insist. "Tell me about her or I walk out that door."

  "Yes, yes, okay, yes, there was a woman. She was Ortega's girlfriend, and I know she brought your food, but I barely knew her. She's dead now. She's been dead for over a decade."

  "Bullshit."

  "It's true. It's true." Tears track a path down his face. "Jane, sweetheart, please. I love you. I love Dallas."

  A wild fury rises inside me, culminating in the explosion of a single word--"Don't." I draw in a breath, forcing myself back to some level of calm. "Don't say that. And don't you dare say his name again. You gave up that privilege seventeen years ago."

  "What are they going to do to me? What are you going to let them do to me?"

  "I don't know," I say, then deliberately turn my back on him and step toward the door. "Honestly, I really don't care."

  "Don't do it, man."

  Dallas took his eyes off Jane long enough to glance sideways at Liam. "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't put your fist through the glass. It's a bitch to replace."

  Dallas's mouth quirked in an ironic smile. "I'll keep that in mind," he said as Jane paused in front of the door, listening as Colin said he loved her. That he loved Dallas.

  Fucker.

  "She did well." Quince leaned against the wall at the edge of the window.

  "You believe him?" Liam asked, the incredulity clear in his voice.

  "Not a word," Quince said, then immediately corrected himself. "Well, one or two words. He did go to London, and he definitely knew Ortega. He may even genuinely love you and Jane," he added, with an eye toward Dallas. "At least in his own twisted way. But the rest of it? Utter fabrication."

  "Can you get him to admit it?"

  Quince lifted a shoulder. "Yesterday, I would have said absolutely. Today, I say probably."

  "Why? I thought he was susceptible to the drugs."

  "He is. Possibly a little too susceptible. The standard dose completely narced him up. Cross a line, and all you get is nonsense. Truth, fantasy, remembered bits of bad television shows. He talks, sure, but it's like he's dictating a wild dream after a long night of drinking tequila. Can't put much stock in that, mate."

  Dallas nodded. "All right. So you play with the dose. More time, but event
ually you get there."

  "That's the plan," Quince said. "And as for the bit about the Woman being dead, I'm going to hook him up to a polygraph, but I need to wait at least forty-eight hours for the drugs to fully clear his system. If he's the lying asshole we think he is, that supports the theory that Jane's attacker was the Woman. If he's telling the truth, well, that's something we'll have to factor in."

  "Do it as soon as you can," Dallas said, as they watched Jane turn back to the door, pull it open, and step outside to join the men.

  Dallas was at her side even before the door clicked closed behind her.

  She looked up at him, her expression hard. Visibly, she was keeping it together. But he could see the cracks. Her red-rimmed eyes. The tension in her jaw and shoulders. With the notable exception of his ruined shoes, she'd handled everything that had been thrown at her with remarkable aplomb.

  But even a woman as incredible as Jane couldn't keep absorbing the blows. And he was afraid that if she kept taking hits, she was going to shatter.

  "He says it wasn't his idea," she said. "He says the Woman is dead."

  The words seemed to stab him through the heart. "I know. I heard. Do you believe him?"

  Her throat moved as she swallowed and tears spilled from her eyes, cutting tracks through her makeup. "Not a goddamn word." She gasped a little, and then, as if the words broke through a dam, her tears came in earnest. He pulled her close, holding her against him as sobs racked her body. His arms were tight around her, and all he wanted in that moment was to take the pain from her. To make her forget. To help her cope. To erase the horrible truth that was cutting through her. Destroying her.

  But no, that wasn't really all he wanted to do. What he wanted more was to burst through that door, put his hands around Colin's neck, and squeeze until he'd snuffed out every bit of life remaining in the man. A man who claimed to love him, to love Jane. A man who hurt them. Who lied to them. Who'd run roughshod over their lives, destroyed their childhoods, and left both him and Jane broken.

  Broken.

  No matter how much he wished it wasn't, he knew damn well it was true. They coped--and god knew they coped better together than apart--but that didn't change the simple fact that Colin's fucked-up kidnapping scheme and what happened inside that cell had broken both of them.

  There was no going back; they could only move forward. And Dallas knew that killing Colin now couldn't change the past.