by J. Kenner
My man, I think, and hug the little nugget of pride close even as a disturbing question occurs to me. "Why is he here? Do you think he's found out about--" I'm looking at Dallas, but I don't finish the question because it occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea if Archie knows about Deliverance. But I'm terrified that Bill has come on behalf of WORR--the World Organization for Rescue and Rehabilitation.
It's a group with a mission I believe in--assisting government agencies in the rescue of kidnap victims. But it has another purpose, too, and that's to locate and shut down vigilante groups. A former assistant United States attorney, Bill is one of the top people at WORR. And Deliverance is very much on his radar.
"If that's why he's here, we'll deal. But I'm going to start with the assumption that this is family business." His gaze cuts toward me. "After all, the man used to be my brother-in-law."
I scowl, not liking that reminder.
He heads for the door, pausing long enough to glance at me, his smile thin but reassuring. Then he's out the door and out of sight.
I expect Archie to leave. I hope he will, actually, because I really want to get out of this bed and get dressed.
But he's not going anywhere, and I'm pretty sure I know why.
"We've shocked you," I say.
His mouth curves just slightly, making the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen and softening his usually dour, professional expression. "No, Miss Jane. At least not in the way you mean."
" 'Not in the way I mean'? I don't understand."
"Deliverance," he says flatly, and my eyes go wide. "I'm surprised he told you."
I think back on the conversation. "How do you know he did?"
"Because you're worried that your Mr. Martin is here to interrogate him. That he's learned that Dallas created Deliverance, and that he's on a mission to bring him down."
"Well, yeah," I admit. "That about sums it up." I consider him thoughtfully. "I guess I should have assumed that you'd know. You know pretty much everything that goes on in this house."
"I do indeed." This time, I don't have to search to see that he's amused. It's all over his face. "Surely you didn't think that I find job satisfaction in throwing decadent parties for a useless playboy."
"I--no." I frown, remembering. I've seen the pride on Archie's face when he looks at Dallas, heard it in his voice. But Archie isn't the kind of man who would be pleased by the lifestyle that Dallas projects. On the contrary, he helped raise us, and I know he feels proprietary about us. A wasted life isn't something he would be happy about.
"And Mrs. Foster?" I ask, referring to Liam's mother.
"She knows about Deliverance. Dallas and Liam decided early on that it made sense to tell her. She supports it, though she doesn't work for it."
"And you do."
"As much as I'm able."
I exhale loudly. "So many secrets ..."
"But fewer today than yesterday, Miss Jane."
"You call Dallas and Liam by their names. Why am I Miss Jane?"
"Because I'm an old man set in my ways."
I actually snort. "Not hardly."
He chuckles. "I'll let you get dressed now. Shall I pour first?"
It takes me a minute to realize he means the coffee. I've managed to wake up just fine without a single cup. "I'll get it myself in a bit."
He nods, then starts toward the door.
"Archie?"
He turns back.
"Thanks."
He hesitates. "I should clarify--when I said that I was surprised he told you about Deliverance, I meant the timing, not the revelation. You two couldn't be what you are to each other with something that significant hanging between you."
"He told you that?"
"No, but as you said, there's not much I miss that goes on in this house. Last week, I knew you two had a disagreement. I had hoped you would make up, of course, but I didn't anticipate that revelations about Deliverance would be part of that equation."
"Deliverance was at the heart of the argument," I confide. "I learned about it accidentally and kind of freaked out."
"Ah," he says, as if all the pieces are falling into place.
They're falling into place for me, too. "You don't really have a sick aunt in Pennsylvania, do you?" I recall how he'd left without even speaking to Dallas. We'd simply come back into the house from the cabana and found Archie's note.
"I have a cousin in Chicago who's feeling slightly under the weather, but no. I thought the two of you needed some privacy."
"And, um, it really doesn't bother you? What Dallas and I are to each other, I mean." It's an awkward question, but I'm compelled to ask it. If Archie's not freaked out, then maybe my parents will come to accept it, too.
It's a nice little fantasy, and so I cling to it gratefully, but I also know it's not true. My mother, maybe. But Daddy? Not in a million years.
It takes a moment for Archie to answer, and in the silence, I can read nothing in his face. Finally, he speaks. "Do you intend to give him up?"
"No." My answer is firm and immediate.
"Then it doesn't matter what I think. It doesn't matter what anybody thinks," he adds, as if he understands exactly where my mind has been going.
"I guess it doesn't." I want to be satisfied with his answer, but I can't deny that I crave the words--the reassurance that he doesn't judge us harshly. I want that, and at the same time I hate how insecure that need makes me feel.
"Jane," he says gently, "I saw the connection between you two more than twenty years ago. I'm not upset at you, but for you. You have a hard road, but you can make it. You're strong," he says. "You were forged in fire ... You're a fighter."
And he's right. Dallas and I both are.
But the problem with a fight is that there's always the chance you'll lose.
The Other Man
Dallas paused outside the den, his hands on the polished brass knobs of the massive double doors. He didn't know why the hell he was hesitating. It's not like William Martin intimidated him. And if Bill had come to arrest him, there'd be a shit load of Virginia farm boys dancing all over the mansion's front lawn.
Except, of course that was bullshit.
Not the part about the FBI, but about not knowing why he was hesitating.
He knew.
He was still standing out here in the hall because he simply didn't want to see the man whose ring used to be on Jane's finger. The man who'd laughed with her, lived with her. Made love to her.
Intimidated? Not even close.
On the contrary, he was seething with jealousy, and he hated himself for it.
With one final breath to steel himself, he pushed open the door, then extended his hand to the man rising from one of the leather armchairs.
"Bill, good to see you again. It's been too long."
"It has." Bill met him midway across the room and took his hand in a firm shake that only irritated Dallas more. In his mind, William Martin was a skinny, quiet pansy who had never deserved a woman as vibrant as Jane.
In real life, Bill was not only a brilliant and respected attorney, he was a decent-looking guy with ginger hair and the all-American features that had certainly helped him climb the government ranks. Not only that, Dallas happened to know that the man could hold his own on a basketball court.
Were Jane not in the picture, Dallas would probably like him.
As it was, he barely tolerated him.
Right now, he was doing his best to not flat-out ask the man what the hell he was doing in Southampton. In Dallas's house in Southampton, to be more specific.
"You're probably wondering why I'm here," Bill said, and Dallas had to laugh.
"To be honest, I was. Not that I don't welcome a drop-in from you at seven in the morning ..."
Bill had the good grace to look sheepish. "I need to get back to DC for a lunch meeting, but I wanted to talk to you. This was the first and only chance I've had. Frankly, I considered myself lucky you were here. But I guess you had a party
last night?"
Dallas flashed his most charming smile. "If I'd known you were in New York, I would have invited you. There were quite a few single women who I'm sure would have been very interested in meeting a well-placed attorney." He studied Bill's face. "Or are you seeing someone."
"No," Bill said. "No one special." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is Jane?" As soon as he said the words, it was obvious he regretted them. He waved his hand, as if trying to call them back. "Sorry. That's not why I came. Besides, I know you two don't talk much. I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject for either of us."
"Not a problem," Dallas said. He turned away, then went to the sideboard and began to pour himself a glass of juice. "I don't think she's seeing anyone in particular," he said, hating every word. "But I thought you two kept in touch. Wouldn't she have told you?"
He turned back in time to see Bill's bemused expression. "Strangely enough, ex-wives tend not to discuss their dating lives with their former husbands. Continuing friendship not withstanding."
"I suppose not," Dallas agreed. "Did you come here to talk about my sister?"
"No. No, of course not." He gestured to the juice. "Do you mind?"
Dallas poured Bill a glass then passed it to him before taking a seat on the small divan across from the armchair that Bill had returned to.
"Thanks." He swallowed half the juice in one gulp. "Honestly, I'm not sure how to begin."
"I'd suggest the beginning," Dallas said, leaning back and extending his feet even while keeping his eyes on the other man. "But that's just me."
"Are you familiar with the name Silas Ortega?"
Dallas sat up straighter. Apparently when Bill decided to cut to the chase, he went right to the heart of it. "I am. Jane told me about him." That much was true. What he didn't tell Bill--and what Bill certainly didn't know--was that Deliverance had learned about Ortega as well.
"I told her she could," Bill said. "His incarceration was classified, but considering the information he provided--"
"A Sykes kidnapping," Dallas said coldly. "Yeah. I heard about that, too."
"Dallas, we can find who did that to you."
To you. Dallas drew in a relieved breath. Jane had once told him that she'd never revealed anything about her kidnapping to Bill. Apparently, that still hadn't changed. As far as Bill knew, Jane wasn't taken at all.
"Dallas," Bill urged. "We can help." Bill's voice was soft. Soothing. And Dallas wanted to smash his face in.
"I haven't asked you to do that." Dallas tried to sit still. To keep his hands on the arms of the chair and just sit calmly.
To hell with that.
He got up, paced the length of the room and back. "I haven't asked it," he repeated. "And I don't want you to."
"It's not your call," Bill said, his voice irritatingly level. "It's not even Eli's call," he added, referring to Dallas and Jane's father. "Although I'm going to talk to him, too. Professional courtesy. Family courtesy, too."
"Courtesy? You think it's courtesy to insert yourself where you don't belong? It's been seventeen years, and Ortega--" He snapped his mouth shut before he jammed his foot right into it. Dallas knew damn well that Ortega had been killed in custody--and that his death had been labeled a suicide. He also knew damn well that the government was keeping the death quiet. It was locked up tight and classified, sealed with a nice shiny bow.
Which meant that the playboy department store heir Dallas Sykes couldn't know about it. And Bill couldn't know about Dallas Sykes, the founder of Deliverance, who had his own means of obtaining that kind of information.
"What about Ortega?" Bill pressed.
"Just that--you have him in custody. He's going to say whatever he thinks you want to hear," Dallas improvised. "And since it's been seventeen years, the odds are pretty damn good he doesn't know anything useful. But he can make all sorts of shit up and send you on a wild goose chase. And that may keep your agents earning their paychecks, but it's going to wreak hell with me and my family." He took a beat to calm down. "Just let it go, Bill. I have."
He closed his eyes, thinking that every single word was a lie. A deception. And that he damn sure hoped that it worked.
"You're right that it's a risk," Bill agreed. "Ortega might not have anything relevant to reveal. But I think he does."
Dallas narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out Bill's angle. The man knew Ortega was dead, so what kind of game was he playing?
He debated between feigned disinterest and another plea for Bill to just drop the issue on the one hand, and a request to know exactly what information the supposedly still alive Ortega might have on the other.
He knew he should try to push the topic of the investigation away. But he was too damn curious. "What? What do you think he knows?"
Bill sighed. "This is top secret, Dallas, but Ortega was murdered in prison. Murdered right after revealing that he would disclose information about a Sykes kidnapping in exchange for leniency. That's a bold stroke, and highly risky."
"Which is why you believe what Ortega said--that there really was a Sykes kidnapping."
"Exactly," Bill said. "But there's more. Security was tight around Ortega. Damn tight. No one outside of WORR, the FBI, or UNODC should have been aware of the information he was providing," he added, referring to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, with which WORR worked closely.
"So you have a leak," Dallas put in. He didn't say that Bill himself was the leak, albeit an unknowing one. Dallas hadn't realized it at the time of Ortega's death, because he hadn't known about Colin. Now that he did, Dallas understood what happened--Bill had told Jane. Jane had told Colin.
And Colin had arranged the kill.
Dallas fought the urge to close his eyes against the truth that pressing in against him. Sure, he could be wrong about Colin. About all of it. But more and more he feared that Colin was at the heart of it. And when Jane learned that her conversation with Colin led not only to Ortega's death, but had also triggered WORR's investigation into the Sykes kidnapping ...
Well, it would rip her apart.
He had to tell her. But how the hell could he tell her?
Bill let out a frustrated breath. "A leak? Yeah, it sure as hell looks that way. And whoever wanted Ortega dead must have a solid network of eyes and ears looking for leaks about the kidnapping even after all this time. A network," he reiterated, "and a powerful one at that. He was able to insert an operative to kill a witness. That's someone dangerous."
He met Dallas's eyes. "And that's someone that neither my group nor the FBI nor any of the agencies that WORR works with is willing to have on the street. Your kidnapping is our best lead to finding this person. Maybe we prosecute for the kidnapping, or maybe we prosecute for Ortega's murder. But we are going to follow the evidence. And, Dallas, the evidence starts with you."
"I guess this wasn't ever intended to be a friendly chat," Dallas said, his temper rising. He wanted his kidnappers caught--no question. But he fully intended to be the one who had the pleasure of bringing the Jailer and the Woman down.
He took a step toward Bill and felt a sharp stab of satisfaction when the other man sank back in his chair. "You just came here to tell me you'd shoved a knife in my gut and now you're going to twist it."
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Dallas. But I do want to find the person who did this."
Dallas pointed to the door. "You know what, Bill? Why don't you get the hell out of my house?"
Bill levered himself out of the chair. "Now wait a minute, Dallas, you're being--"
The door opened, and they both turned as Jane stepped into the room, her eyes going wide as she assessed the situation.
Dallas started to move toward her, craving the comfort of simply touching her. But he couldn't claim that now. Not in front of Bill. And so he stopped in place while the man he wanted off his property went to greet the woman Dallas loved.
The woman who had once belonged to Bill.
The woman Dallas had no right to have
.
Dallas pressed his fingertips to his temples, fighting a building headache. The certainty that it was Jane who had tipped off Colin. The thought of Bill knowing the details of the kidnapping. Of learning that Jane had been a prisoner, too. The memories of what the Woman did to him--and the horror of knowing that Bill might learn that as well.
And on top of all that, the thought of Bill touching Jane. Of knowing her body as intimately as Dallas did.
And even more intimately, too. How many times had Bill been inside her? Filled her up and heard her moan. How many times had he--
Fuck.
"Bill was just leaving," he said, forcing the words out through a clenched jaw and even more tightly clenched hands.
Jane glanced between Dallas and Bill, finally settling on the latter. "I'll walk you out. Come on."
Bill looked back at Dallas. "We'll talk more later."
"I have no doubt."
Bill frowned, but turned away. Jane looked back at Dallas, though, and he saw the pain in her eyes.
"Why are you here?" Bill asked, drawing her attention to him and away from Dallas.
"Oh, they're fumigating the townhouse. Apparently I have ants. And I'd heard that Dallas was having a party last night, and I wanted to see the debauchery for myself ..."
Her voice faded as they stepped through the doors and out into the hallway. He heard their footsteps echo across the entryway, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing.
And only when he was surrounded by silence, did Dallas let himself drop down onto the sofa, lean forward, and bury his face in his hands.
Deliver Us From Evil
"Why didn't you tell me Dallas had been kidnapped?"
We're outside the house, standing beside the ornate ceramic pots filled with colorful flowers. His car is parked less than ten yards away on the circular drive, and all I want is for him to get in it and go far, far away.
But I know Bill. He's dug in now. He wants answers.
Hell, he wants answers to questions he doesn't even realize he should be asking.
"Jane," he presses.
"I did tell you," I say. I walk a few feet further, leaving the front porch and taking a seat on the marble bench that is one of the focal pieces of a large flowerbed that lines the curving driveway and leads all the way down to Meadow Lane. "I told you the same day you told me about Ortega."