Dare You to Run (4 page)

“Yes.” She answered in a whisper because she knew if she spoke any louder, he'd hear how devastated she was. How it was killing her to send him away and Vitus Hale wasn't the sort of man to let her shield him. But she loved him, so she would. Even if he hated her for it.

Vitus Hale contemplated her for a long moment, studying her with his keen eyes before taking the ring. Damascus watched the flames of rage flicker in his eyes, the ones fueled by the way she'd slashed at his heart. A man like him would never forgive her for such a wound.

“Guess you are a little girl after all.” His expression had turned to granite, sealing her out. “Better run back to Daddy.”

Damascus watched him leave, soaking up the details of his stiff posture. Saxon watched her from where he was leaning against a car, shooting her a look designed to gut her. It didn't though, because she was already mortally wounded.

But Vitus was alive.

 

Three years later …

“You're going to get out of this van.” Special Agent Kagan had a frame that a professional football player would be envious of—or scared of, depending on what side of the field he was on.

Vitus only gave his section leader a mildly amused look, facing off with a frame that was just as wide and a confidence that was well earned. “It's been three years, a little late to be tossing me to the press at this point. Go find some kid fresh from Afghanistan to be your pretty boy. I don't need a medal. I sure as hell don't need a medal from Damascus Ryland. Can't believe you think her daddy is going to be too happy about having me anywhere near his precious little princess.”

Kagan grunted and leaned against the side of the van. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

From some men, those words would have been a dig, nothing more than a halfhearted attempt at getting him moving. But from Kagan, they were more. Any man with half a brain would be wise to remember that Kagan was a section leader for a reason. The man knew his shit, and some of the crap he had rattling around in his head, a wise man didn't want to know but was still curious about.

Vitus contemplated his superior for a long moment before he levered himself out of the van and yanked his dress uniform jacket from where it was resting over the back of one of the seats. “Explain.”

Kagan snorted. “That time off softened your brain.”

Vitus finished buttoning the tunic-length jacket and flashed Kagan a single finger salute. “Proven fact: Being pissed off lowers intelligence. Since Tyler Martin took my badge, I was at liberty to be pissed at him. There was little to occupy my brain.”

Kagan offered him his hat before they both started walking toward the back entrance of the White House.

“It's simple really,” Kagan offered softly. “Tyler Martin is still out there. You and your brother think it's Jeb Ryland who pulled the strings to get him freed after that business with the Magnus family.”

“So do you,” Vitus responded. “The good congressman is gunning for me, and in his entitled way of thinking the bastard believes he has the right to go after my family. Tyler seems to have signed on for the duty. Tyler was in control of assigning that Magnus case to my brother—he had a nice little vengeance death planned out. Tyler rolled over for someone who demanded it. Only person I can pinpoint on that list is Ryland.”

“So what are you going to do?” Kagan asked seriously. “Sit back and wait for the man to make his next attempt?”

Understanding dawned on Vitus. They were getting close enough to see the glow from the lights. They passed Secret Service personnel with high-powered rifles, Vitus cutting a few officers salutes. It had been a long time since he'd been in uniform, even longer since he'd been respectable. Congressman Jeb Ryland had made sure he lost his shield when he returned his daughter to him, and there wasn't a decent outfit willing to test the congressman's good will and hire him on. Which was going to make tonight's award ceremony interesting to say the least.

“Fill me in.” Vitus said to avoid thinking about Damascus Ryland. He was on the congressman's turf now and needed to stay focused. Thinking about Damascus was a one-way track to disaster. Three years hadn't been long enough to loosen her hold on him and apparently, neither had losing his shield. Her face was floating through his mind even as he tried to focus on Kagan, on the very real fact that his brother Saxon had nearly been taken out in some crazy quest for vengeance by the congressman.

Nope. None of it mattered. He clearly saw her. Ginger curls that fluffed up when she didn't have a team of servants to keep her looking perfect. Blue eyes that reminded him of the way the water looked on the beaches of Hawaii. Lips the color of dawn in those moments when you first woke up and believed that anything was possible if you just got moving.

“Simple,” Kagan said. “I want you to push against the bastard's comfort zone. See if it gains a response. If it doesn't, he's clean.”

“Or smart enough to know when he's pushed too hard,” Vitus countered, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand.

His section leader cut him a sidelong glance. “Wouldn't put money on that horse if I were you.”

Vitus offered him a grin, but there was nothing nice about the expression. It was pure intent, and Vitus planned to enjoy it. “I'm still holding out on the bet I made three years ago when Tyler Martin pulled my shield. I'm going to make sure Jeb Ryland has enough rope to hang himself. And I plan to be there when he does it.”

“Vengeance is a double-sided blade.” Kagan offered him a warning.

“So is hamstringing a man who was sent in to recover a kidnapping victim,” Vitus replied. “I pulled his daughter out of a fucking concrete-lined hole. One her kidnappers never planned on her leaving.”

“That wasn't the part the good congressman had difficulty with.”

“Yeah, well, he can get the fuck over it,” Vitus shot back.

“Sounds like you haven't.”

Vitus didn't answer. He wasn't going to rise to Kagan's bait. His section leader was a master at shadow operations and as such, the man liked to know everyone's soft spots. Damascus was his.

What was Kagan up to? There was only one way to find out. Play the game. It looked like he was about to get a medal added to his record. It was overdue and that was a fact.

It was also a fact that he was perfectly willing to tuck tail and run in the opposite direction. That was a first for him. But then again, Damascus tended to be a whole bundle of firsts for him. The first time he'd fallen for one of his mission targets; the first time he'd been willing to overlook his field operating procedure; the first time he'd been unable to forget a woman who had so clearly written him off. He kept walking, his fingers curling into a fist as his jaw tightened.

A medal? It was going to feel like a goddamn brand being pressed into his chest.

*   *   *

Her escort was out of the front seat of the limousine before the car completely stopped. Damascus Ryland took a deep breath to steady herself before her door was pulled open, exposing her to the telephoto lens of the press. She slipped one foot out of the car, making sure her evening dress stayed over her thighs before scooting across the edge of the seat and placing her other foot on the ground. To some people it might have been overkill, the amount of attention she gave to exiting the car, but those people had never experienced the love the press had for tearing apart any gaffe she might make.

And then there would be her father's reaction.

She stood with the help of one of the security men assigned to her. Her expression remained serene and poised. Her dress settled into place, exactly one inch above the polished top of her shoes, a testament to the skill of her private tailor. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say it was a blunt reminder of how much everyone lived in fear of her father's wrath. Congressman Jeb Ryland didn't suffer excuses, or even reasonable facts, well. If something was out of place, the reason was irrelevant.

Oh yes, everything had to be perfect.

So Damascus glided up the red carpet entry path to the White House like a swan. The press remained behind their barriers, snapping pictures as she softly greeted a few with grace and poise.

Public Image.

Critical to her ambitious father.

Her smile faltered a little. She didn't like referring to him as her father. “Sire” suited her feelings better. You see, fathers loved their children. Jeb Ryland only viewed her as a commodity, one to be used and exploited for his benefit.

She refused to let that fact hurt her.

Her sire didn't deserve the benefit of her tender feelings. She'd learned that was the best way to face her life. Of course it had come at a high cost, but most life lessons did. Part of her enjoyed the way her heart ached from time to time, because it reminded her how very intent she needed to be if she wanted to avoid having life slap her again.

A ripple of pain, a familiar one, went through her. The reporter in front of her had asked something and she'd completely missed it as the shaft of anguish pierced her heart. She wasn't dwelling on it. No, it was worse than that.

She was savoring it.

She held the memory of Vitus Hale tight, even as the reality of her world tried to rip it away. Damascus made a polite reply and moved on. She refused to forget Vitus. Jeb might force her to do a great many things, but he would never be able to control her feelings. Just her life details, but that appeared to be enough for him.

Unfortunately, her memories would have to be enough, because there was no way to escape his reach. Not at the moment. She was working on that though. Her smile was sincere as she contemplated just how intent she was on making sure her future would be what she desired it to be.

“Soon.”

She savored the word and everything it meant. Hope was something she lived on, cultivating it like the last shred of life left inside her. Honestly, she was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping her going, the knowledge that she was going to have a life beyond her sire's ambitions.

Well, she would if she managed to succeed.

The Secret Service milled around her, maintaining a security net that they believed protected her. In reality, it kept her exactly where Jeb Ryland wanted her. A woman in a smartly tailored navy blue suit was waiting just inside the open doorway for her. There was a smile on her lips and excitement in her eyes. The poor woman believed in what she was doing, that sparkle a testimony to how devoted she was to the position she had. There had been a time when Damascus believed too.

It was long gone.

“Welcome Ms. Ryland. I will be your liaison for tonight's ceremony.” The woman extended her hand, engaging in a firm handshake.

Another thing her father insisted on was feminine attire. It was something she'd taken delight in for years, never questioning the wisdom behind wispy fabrics and stylish heels. Fate had taken a hand in helping rip away the rose-colored glasses her sire had secured so tightly to her head. Now, she knew that there were times she might have to rely on herself. A secret little smile lifted her lips as she followed the liaison into the White House. She could run now. That was something the next bunch of kidnappers wouldn't be expecting from her.

Ability.

Maybe resourcefulness was a better way to put it. All that Damascus cared about was never, ever, feeling as helpless as she had when Special Agent, former Navy SEAL Vitus Hale had rescued her. No, she was never going to be that frightened little girl again.

You will never see Vitus again either.

Well, that was wrong too. She saw him every night in her dreams. Her sire couldn't take that away, even if the ambitious congressman had managed to ensure she wasn't willing to cross him and return to the man she loved. It was a small thing, one little bit of defiance she held close to her heart because it was the only thing in her life that was truly hers.

She loved him and always would. Damn her sire to hell for making it impossible for her to go back to the man she craved.

Damascus held her secret close to her heart as she entered the world of politicians. She would swear she could smell the ambition in the air, feel it on her skin like a film of oil she wanted to wash away. The crowd inside the White House was an odd mixture of predators seeking a way to climb higher on the power ladder and people there to serve what they believed was a noble cause.

She was no different, just a resource for her sire to trade for his own success. It wasn't even a secret. There were people watching her now. Critiquing her with gauging looks as they contemplated how much trouble she might be to their own agendas. She didn't care. At least not about the ones who viewed her as a potential problem. What left her mouth dry were the men who swept her from head to toe like a prize racing horse. They were contemplating making a try for getting a saddle on her, which of course was what her sire wanted. All of her grooming and poise was designed to bring in a match that would add weight to her sire's bid for the vice presidency. That was why she couldn't marry the man she loved.

Her sire would kill Vitus before he'd ever see his chances for the vice presidency threatened. She didn't doubt his sincerity, which was why she'd left Vitus. It had been the only way to truly protect him. At least Vitus hated her now. She took that bit of knowledge and hugged it close to her heart. It was very dear, because Vitus Hale wasn't a man to bend in the face of a threat. Her lips curved into a genuine smile as she thought about him. No, he had a warrior spirit, one that would face off with anyone who threatened him.

Her smile faded as her belly knotted with the harsh knowledge of just how different her sire was from Vitus. Jeb Ryland's concept of honor was twisted. Her sire wouldn't fight fairly. Oh no, he'd move to strike Vitus from any angle that would ensure his victory, dirty ploys perfectly acceptable.