And Logan had no idea what was coming for him. There wasn’t a moment to lose. She had to hope that Kantor would be out for a while.
Clutching the gun in the folds of her dress, she scanned the dungeon for Jordan, but he was nowhere to be found.
Damn!
Running all the way to her room, taking stairwells and lessertraveled hallways in case Kantor came to, she finally reached her room. It was empty, and Logan’s smell lingered here. Their intimacies hung in the air, and she prayed desperately that they both came out of this alive.
She dug out the sat phone and quickly placed her distress call. A male voice advised her that backup was en route and would be on the island within minutes.
Tara just prayed she could find Logan and that they lived that long.
She stared at the bedside clock, anxiety eating into her gut. Logan should be back by now. But eleven rolled around and he didn’t return, she called Xander’s cell. No answer.
Anxiety became panic as Tara threw on a pair of harem pants in an earthy bronze and a matching bandeau top that covered her breasts but didn’t conceal the rosy pink of her areolas. Very submissive, and she wondered where—and when—Logan had bought this stuff for her. She hoped like hell she got the opportunity to ask. At the moment, she was more thankful that the sheer pants, while showcasing her bare pussy, had pockets at each thigh. She slipped the gun into one, a can of pepper spray into the other.
As much as she wanted the shoes for running, she didn’t dare tip off any of the other resort employees that anything was amiss. Instead, she left her previous costume on the bed. If Logan returned, he’d know at a glance that she’d been here and hopefully wait for her.
Cracking the door open, Tara peeked down the hall both ways. She didn’t see Kantor. Pressing her hand to her nervous stomach, she stepped into the hall and around the first corner, toward the dark hall that led to the Pit’s elevator.
Her hallway joined with another in a T, and as she passed it, she turned to see a familiar, out-of-place figure in a dark suit bearing down on her.
“Tara!”
She blinked and tried to reconcile his appearance. “Adam . . . what are you doing here?”
“Thank God, I found you.” He pressed a hand over his chest. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“You’re not supposed to be here!” She was on a mission, and he knew it. Why the hell would he turn up here and blow her cover?
“It’s fine, Tara. It’s over. Darcy has been recovered.”
A warm rush of profound relief went through her. “Thank God! How did you find out?”
Adam sent her a sheepish smile. “I asked Bocelli to contact me once things were over. He knows how worried I’ve been, so he gave me the green light to find you and take you home.”
She held in a groan. As a former agent, Adam had to know that showing up here at the conclusion of her mission was, in short, embarrassing. If her own stepfather didn’t think she could take care of herself, then no one who worked with her would believe she could, either.
But she’d worry about that later. Darcy was okay, and that was more important than anything. Except . . . “Who found her? And how? Were there other active agents on the island?” And why hadn’t she known about them?
“Bocelli didn’t give me details. I was just so grateful that he let me come and assure myself that you’re safe.”
Tara frowned. That sounded unusual. Bocelli wasn’t old enough to be soft or sentimental. He struck her as a straight-up agent with a will of steel, so the man telling her stepfather that he could take her home right away, before debriefing?
Really
unusual. And she’d just talked to someone from the ground team Bocelli had set up moments ago. None of them had said a word about the mission being over to her. How would Adam have been close enough to get the news and get here?
“I’ve been so worried, and I’m relieved that you’re unharmed and well.”
This felt like a bizarre dream, where things happened but none of the events were logical. She frowned.
“Princess?” He walked closer and held out an arm, as if he meant to embrace her. “Come with me, and I’ll take you to Darcy.”
Your stepfather killed my mother
. Logan’s words flashed through her head. Twenty minutes ago, she would have never believed it. She wasn’t sure she believed it now. Her stepfather was former FBI—one of the good guys, right? He’d never exhibited a violent tendency. But his presence here didn’t add up.
What reason would Adam have for lying to her?
Up the hallway, the sudden pounding of footsteps grabbed her attention. She turned to find Logan charging up the hallway, gun in hand, pointed at her stepfather.
Did Logan mean to subdue Adam or just shoot him?
“Tara!”
Fury poured from his eyes as he stopped a few inches from her and jerked on her arm. “Get behind me.”
She resisted. “What is going on?”
Logan didn’t veer in the least, just lined Adam up in his pistol’s sights. “Move out of the way. Not only did this fucker kill my mother, he runs this place and tried to sell your friend, Darcy, to a Saudi oil sheik. Xander is with her now. She’s a mess. Adam’s minions ‘disciplined’ her within an inch of her life. He had Robert York killed as she watched. Baby, your stepfather is Sire.”
Everything was happening too fast. Tara blinked, rooted in place, staring at her stepfather. Logan’s allegations sounded so far-fetched, so surreal. She waited for Adam to vociferously deny them.
Her stepfather glared at Logan. “That’s a lot to hurl at my head. You can’t back that up. You just hate me because I tried to separate Tara from your bad influence.”
“You lying motherfucker.”
Adam loosed a long-suffering sigh. “Are you trying to hurt her again? Wasn’t once enough? You brutally broke her heart and left her, then you walk back into her life and expect her to trust you”—he snapped his fingers—“like that? She’s wiser to you now. This attempt to come between us . . . are you hoping to win her over, separate her from my support, then crush her again? Is this some sick game to you?”
Tara sucked in a breath. She stung as if she’d been slapped all over. Adam repeated all the secret worries she’d harbored since Logan walked back into her life. He gave voice to her fears that she was nothing more than a trophy to him.
A glance at Logan showed the stark angles of his face set with determination, his mouth a grim line, and his eyes the iciest blue she’d ever seen. He wouldn’t look at her, didn’t say a word against those accusations. Inside, her heart broke a little. She wanted to take her stepfather’s arm, and sink into the familiar parental comfort he offered, ask him to take her to Darcy.
But a niggle of doubt tugged at her.
“Logan, just . . . put the gun away.”
He clenched his jaw. “You’re going to believe him?”
Honestly, she didn’t know. Neither man’s story made sense. “I’m trying to sort it out, but I can’t think when you’re pointing that in his direction.”
“I’m not lowering the gun. Don’t ask me to trust him. On surveillance monitors, I
saw
him in the Pit, watching some sadist take a crop to Darcy while she cried, and he just smiled, Tara. Smiled, like it was a sunny fucking day, then sliced her with the crop himself.”
Tara flinched. Logan had
seen
that? Really?
“Are you sure?”
Because that didn’t make sense. But then Adam’s presence here didn’t make sense, either. Why had her stepfather been lying to her?
“What’s going on here?” She turned to her stepfather.
“Besides Logan losing his sanity? I told you, princess. The mission is complete. Darcy’s been found. You can come home with me now.”
“Don’t listen to him, Tara,” Logan roared. “You should know by now that I love you and I’d never hurt you again.” He shifted his attention to Adam. “I left her once—because you threatened her life. I’d blow you away before I let you touch a hair on her head. I know who and what you are.”
“Ah, yes. A would-be murderer and criminal mastermind capable of a worldwide sex ring. Tara, does that really sound like me?”
No, and that’s what she struggled with. Though he had retired from the FBI, he seemed like a fairly easygoing guy. He went to church nearly every Sunday, was respectful to everyone he met. He’d never had so much as a parking ticket.
But he hadn’t denied Logan’s accusations, either.
“Cherry, he’s trying to confuse you,” Logan insisted. “Ask yourself how many identities he assumed as a field agent for cases over the years, sometimes for weeks or months. Maybe the good suburban dad was just another cover so that no one would suspect his real activities. Please, baby, believe me and step behind me.”
Her big, bad Dom was begging her. An angry scowl slipped across her stepfather’s face, but he just shook his head, as if befuddled.
Glancing between the two men, Tara realized that it didn’t matter if Adam had bullied her boss into letting him on the island or if Logan was mistaken in thinking that he’d seen Adam on the video monitors. Whatever was happening here, she had to choose between them. Past or present? Head or heart? Her thoughts spun as she heard the mental clock ticking.
“Tara,” Adam said with a sigh in his “be reasonable” tone.
Logan gripped his gun tighter with one hand and held out his other to her. “Please. Let me keep you safe.”
Instinctively, the submissive in her didn’t want to disappoint her Dom. The woman inside her responded, seeking the shelter of her man. The memories from earlier that day seared across her brain, the trust she had placed in Logan’s hands and the gentle way he’d worshipped her body, revered her. He’d felt perfect entwined around her, packed tightly inside her. He’d felt like home and tomorrow and all the things she craved. If all Logan wanted was some twisted revenge, he’d given up the opportunity to avenge his mother’s death with an easy kill. Instead, he’d started explaining to her. Even if he proved to be wrong about Adam, he was the right man for her. If she failed to put her faith in him now, they would have nothing.
Heart beating wildly, she reached out to him, their fingers brushing, his a warm flare of warmth and strength.
Before he could take her in his arms, an arm curled around her waist and dragged her backward against a hard chest. She felt cold metal jammed up against her temple. It took her a moment to realize that her stepfather now captured her in his forceful grip and held a gun to her head.
“Adam!”
“Shut up, you ungrateful bitch. I
raised
you, and you did what? Chose the guy who fucked you good over me.”
Shock washed over her. Ice spread through her veins as she struggled against his hold. “What are you doing? Let go!”
“I don’t think so, princess.”
“Do it, you motherfucker! Let go now,” Logan yelled. “Or I’ll blow your head off.”
Adam held firm, the gun biting into the soft skin of her temple. Tara realized that he was using her as a shield so that Logan couldn’t take a clear shot. And Logan clearly knew it. Terror and frustration burned from his blue eyes. He stared down the gun at Adam like an avenger, his finger taut around the trigger, just waiting for any opportunity.
“Not before I blow hers off first.” Adam’s arm moved from her middle to loop around her throat—and squeezed her windpipe.
Tara choked. Before this, she would have never believed her own stepfather capable of hurting her. Now, she had no doubt he’d do exactly as threatened.
“Why?” she gasped out.
“Once my buddies in the Bureau told me that you’d broken into Kantor’s office, I knew it was only a matter of time before you figured everything out. You always did well with puzzles.”
“What are you saying?” But Tara had the sinking feeling that she knew.
Her stepfather was everything Logan had claimed. Inside, the fury and betrayal swirled, beating deep. She thrashed and elbowed Adam in the stomach. He grunted but held firm.
“Nice try, but I’m much better at this game than you, princess. I played it for twenty years for the Bureau. I got a lovely watch and a very modest pension as a ‘fuck you very much’ from Uncle Sam. That wasn’t going to do. I had the contacts to go into a very lucrative business for myself, so I did.”
“Selling women and little girls against their will as sex slaves?”
“Stop with the righteous indignation,” he
tsk
ed. “You’re young and you have twenty-plus productive, money-making years ahead of you. You couldn’t possibly understand until you get older and your nest egg isn’t enough to really live on. I wasn’t about to suffer the rest of my days in the thoroughly middle class income bracket after risking my life over and over. These girls don’t matter. Most come from poor families who can barely feed them. And the women . . . I’m just giving them a permanent outlet for their kink.”
She gasped, shock like a sledgehammer in her chest, pounding all the air out of her lungs.
Damn it, why hadn’t she believed Logan sooner?