Sorry for the delay, guys. I wasn't home last weekend, and the week was busy. But here is the next chapter. Thank you for all the reviews on the previous ones and continuing to follow the story.
Emily walked through the safe house will her small carry-on, which was really just a duffel bag, slung over her shoulder, and followed Elle toward her designated bedroom. They'd arrived barely minutes ago, and she'd waited by the door while Derek and Elle had cleared the house. Then Derek had left to get them dinner. Elle stopped at a door, and pushed it open, gesturing her inside.
"Make yourself comfortable, this room is the master suite, so there's a bathroom attached if you want a shower. I'll come get you when Derek gets back with dinner."
"Thank you," Emily said, and made her way into the room. It was nothing glamorous, but it would be comfortable. She'd certainly stayed worse places on the CIA's dime. And Interpol's too. Hell, she and Clyde had actually spent one night hidden out in a ditch in Kazakhstan. After that, anything dry and warm was paradise.
The shower wasn't quite soothing, but it did help. It also gave her the privacy to cry. She could feel the scumbag's hands all over her, his penis rubbing against her buttock, the soft skin of it rubbing her face as he tried to shove it in her mouth. All of that was far worse than any of his physical assaults. Though she was glad he hadn't aimed those assaults at her stomach, which she would have been unable to protect with her hands tied.
That made her cry harder. She had been worried for her unborn child, and that frightened her. She was already attached to it, the child she created with Ian Doyle. Ian Doyle, the terrorist who's touch she yearned for after being abducted by a serial killer. A child that could never be, from a relationship that wasn't even real.
How had her life become a bad spy novel crossed with an even worse lifetime movie?
After climbing out of the shower, Emily promptly threw-up. Then she dressed in comfortable clothes, towel dried her hair, and walked back toward the main part of the house. She found Elle sitting on the sofa in the living room, her face creased in a vexed expression, a folded newspaper in one hand and a pen in the other.
Without looking up she asked. "Eight letter word, Original definition of Bastard. It might begin with a "b"."
Emily thought that over as she sunk into an armchair. "Baseborn," she said.
Elle penciled it in, surprise registering on her face moments before she looked up. "Seriously? Who uses words like that anymore?"
She shrugged. "Period novelists?"
The FBI agent tossed the paper and pen down on the coffee table. "I hate those things anyway."
"So, what's it like being in the FBI?" Emily asked, hoping to avoid silence.
"Depends on the day and who you're working with. I'm lucky, my team is great and very close. Most days it's good, and then there are some cases…it can be pretty hard."
She nodded. "Derek is your partner?"
"Yeah, not for very long, but one of the best I've ever had. He's a tease and a flirt, but it's all affectionate. He's a good guy, and he respects women." Elle suddenly held up a finger. "But he's a slob. Never go on a road trip with that man, the car becomes disgusting."
Emily chuckled. "I think that's a guy thing. Their mothers always cleaned up after them, so they don't really think about it."
"Yeah, but when your 35, and you've never been married, you should have learned to clean up after yourself."
She smiled. "Yes, I'd say that's reasonable."
The silence that followed didn't last long. "Your…" Elle gestured to her stomach. "Does he clean up after himself?"
"Actually, yes. I think he's more of a neat freak than me."
"Is he your boss?"
Emily snorted. "No, definitely not."
"That's the only other scenario that I could think of that would cause you so much stress." The agent's voice was soft, and her eyes held no judgment and no pressure.
She looked at the ground, and ran her tongue over her lips. She looked up at Elle and offered the simplest explanation that she could. "He's not a good man."
"But you still love him."
"Yeah…yeah, I do."
Elle slid over on the sofa, and reached for her hand. Emily accepted the comforting squeeze with a tired smile. They were both startled by the opening of the front door.
Elle held a hand out at Emily as she pulled her weapon from her holster and headed toward the kitchen. Emily was familiar with the drill and stayed put, happy that the conversation was ended. Even if she'd been able to explain her situation, she doubted Elle would be sympathetic. Hell, Emily wasn't even very sympathetic to her own situation. She'd screwed up in so very many ways she'd lost count.
"Well finally, what took you so damn long?" She heard Elle ask.
"I drove out of the city to get some authentic southern food." Emily smiled at Derek's buoyant tone.
"Did you go to Georgia to get it? And why southern food?"
"I went to Alexandria, thank you very much. And, because Lauren should have something healthy for the baby."
As Elle answered Emily began to make her way to the kitchen. "Seriously? You got authentic deep fried southern food as something healthy?"
"Not everything southern is deep friend, Elle, and I figured this is as close to a home-cooked meal as she's going to get until we get this guy."
"Thank you, Derek. That was very thoughtful of you," she said, interrupting their bickering.
He stopped emptying bags and smiled at her. "You're very welcome." He turned toward Elle who was busy grabbing dishes. "At least someone appreciates me."
The other woman sauntered over. "Oh, I appreciate you, Derek. I appreciate when you're not in my way."
His mouth fell open, and he turned to Emily. "Do you see the abuse I put up with?"
Emily was pretty sure part of their bickering was a show to put her at ease, but she smiled anyway. It reminded her of Clyde. They had a way of communicating and a chemistry not dissimilar to the pair of FBI agents. And he always had her back. If she couldn't have Ian, she'd have settled for Clyde, though she supposed she couldn't expect a hug from him. He wasn't really the hugging type. But then, neither was Emily – normally.
Morgan stretched out his shoulders, and plopped on the couch, jostling Elle and earning a scathing look. He grinned at her. His partner glared.
"Lauren tucked in for the night?" She asked, eyes back on her crossword puzzle.
He nodded. "Yeah, she seems okay. I told her to sleep as late as she wants tomorrow."
"She's going to need it, between being pregnant and being kidnapped it's amazing that she lasted as long as she did."
"You ever thought about it?" He asked.
She responded without looking up. "Thought about what?"
"Getting pregnant. Having kids."
Now she looked, eyes wide and mouth open. "Excuse me?"
Morgan held up his hands. "It's a legitimate and innocent question."
"I don't know. Kids aren't really my thing. I've never been good with them. Why have you?"
He nodded. "Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I think it might be nice to come home to something other than Clooney, you know?"
She snorted. "How about you start with a steady girlfriend then, Casanova?"
"Because this job…it doesn't leave time for much else. And I don't want to ask a woman and kids to compete with that." Morgan's eyes drifted away, looking toward the wall instead of his partner.
They rarely talked like this. Elle had the temperament of a guy, and guys don't share their feelings, especially with other guys. Usually it's a woman pushing them to talk. Elle never pushed him to talk, because she herself wasn't much of a sharer.
"Hotch does. He and Haley are even trying to get pregnant."
"He told you that?"
"No. I walked by his office, and heard him ask someone when they were ovulating that month. I assumed he was talking to his wife." She gave him a pointed look.
Morgan ran a hand over his head. "I don't know…" He pulled on a sassy grin and wiggled his eyebrows. "I guess I just like being Casanova."
Elle rolled her eyes and kicked him in his shin.
"Ouch! Damn woman, why'd you do that?"
"That's for treating women like tissues."
"Hey now, you know I respect every lady I spend time with; I am very upfront about the temporary nature of the relationship."
"That's why it was a wussy kick. If you were a true player, I'd have aimed for your nuts." She nodded toward his crotch.
Morgan winced. "Remind me to wear a cup when I'm around you."
Elle opened her mouth, but an odd sound caused him to throw his arm out to silence her. He felt her immediately go on alert beside him, her body tense, hand down by her Glock. Morgan searched the house with his ears, trying to place the noise. He failed.
"You're sure it's not Lauren?" Elle whispered.
He heard it again, a soft clicking. Like a lock being turned. "Yeah. I'm sure."
Ian had tapped all of his contacts looking for Lauren, and the information had come in frustrating bits and confusing pieces. One of Liam's contacts had found her and said that Lauren was with police, more specifically FBI. Ian briefly entertained the idea that Lauren had staged the abduction and gone to the other side. But she wouldn't do that. Lauren would never betray him. Then he'd milked every contact he had that had an in with police, and found out that Lauren had been abducted by a man responsible for raping and killing several women, that those FBI agents had rescued her, saved her life. They were stashing her at a safe house until the bastard was caught. Liam had already sent out some men to track him down.
Lauren was alive and safe, but Ian Doyle wasn't about to wait for the justice system to take care of the animal, no he would do it himself. No one put their hands on Lauren and lived to talk about it. Not so long as there was breath in his body. And if the man raped her? Oh, Ian had a special treat for him if that proved to be the case.
But for now, his men moved like shadows around the perimeter of the safe house. A few positioned themselves at each exit, ready and waiting for his signal to move. They all carried guns in their hands, but were instructed not to use them. He didn't want the agents harmed. All he wanted was to get Lauren back into his arms.
He had called in every favor he was owed to find out the location of the FBI safe house. It wasn't easy, but Ian had long ago established a network of contacts within law enforcement in several countries. He was a practical man, and knew the best way to avoid law enforcement was to have them in his pocket. Today it had paid off in spades. Tonight, after 36 hours of worry gnawing at his gut, he'd get to see his Lauren, to hold her again, to feel the relief of knowing that she was safe and that he'd never allow her to be unprotected again.
"We're set," Liam's voice breathed into his earpiece.
Ian surveyed the men with him at the front door, earning a nod from each. "Go now."
They moved fluidly, breaking the lock easily and bursting through the door, each with their weapons drawn. The agents stood wide-eyed, only two of them, both with their weapons drawn and leveled at Ian and his men.
"Put down you're weapons, I've no wish to hurt you," Ian said.
The dark-skinned man shook his head, chin jutted out. "Sorry man, we can't do that."
"I'll ask again, agents, and then I'll make you. Put down your weapons. Please."
Neither agent moved. Ian shook his head in irritation and then nodded to Liam's crew, who'd approached from the other direction. He nodded at a few of his own as well. They quickly advanced on the agents, disarming them before they could fire. Not without a fight though, especially the man, who was quite angry.
Ian watched his men shove the black plastic pieces that looked almost like large cell phones into the agents' bodies. He saw first the woman's body jolt and her scream echo through the house. Then the man's body did the same, his ensuing yell filled with pain.
Footsteps caught his attention, and he looked toward the sound to find the most beautiful image he'd ever seen. Lauren was at the darkened landing above the stairs, looking down at them with wide eyes. She suddenly charged down, eyes hitting the fallen agents.
"Oh god, Ian tell me you didn't kill them!"
"Of course not, Love. They saved your life, they've earned theirs." He reached a hand out and pulled her close. She remained tense. "We only used tasers, Lauren."
She relaxed finally, allowing him to pull her close. He kissed her forehead and studied her face. The gash, the bruises and swelling, the exhaustion written into her eyes and the creases of her face. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to relax and focus on Lauren's needs, and she did not need his fury right now. "Come Love, I'm taking you home."
Suddenly Lauren leaned into him, her face in the bend of his neck, her warm breath whooshing out against his skin. "I missed you. I wanted to go home, but I didn't want to lead them to you. I didn't want them to ask questions."
"Shhh…" He cooed, pressing his lips to her head. She had protected him. Even with her own pain and suffering, she'd protected him. Ian loved her even more.
Ian led her out of the house to their SUVs, sending one of his men to grab her bag. He helped her inside the second SUV, and was pleased when she curled up against him. He could feel it in the way her body lay against his that all of her energy was spent. He imagined that it had been a while since she'd slept. More importantly, he could sense that she had not escaped her abduction unscathed. He tightened his arms around her, and made another silent promise that the bastard who took her would suffer.
When they reached the house they were renting, Ian took her bag and ushered her into the house and up the stairs. Still in her pajamas, Lauren just climbed into their bed, urging him to join with a hand gesture. He did as asked, shimming close to her, and allowing her to mold her body into his, her forehead against his chest.
"Lauren…I need to ask you something."
"Hmm?" She nuzzled closer to him.
Ian ran a hand over her head. "I need to know…did this man that took you…did he force himself on you?"
Her body went rigid instantly, and his heart caught in his throat. It was difficult to swallow around how intensely it was pounding. He tried not to tense, not to let Lauren feel the anger flooding through his body.
"He tried. He failed."
Ian could swallow again. He could breathe. A little smirk actually tugged at his lips. "Oh?"
She looked up at him, her eyes as intense as he'd ever seen them. "He tried to shove his cock in my mouth, so I bit one his testicles until he screamed."
"That's my girl," he said, pressing a kiss to her head. Her eyes fluttered, so he moved lower, allowing his lips to barely brush over the bruises on her face. Lauren sighed, but it was high-pitched and almost broken, like a whimper that was meant to be a sigh.
"Rest now, Love."
Lauren laid her head down again, and snuggled into him. Ian ran a hand over her curls until she fell asleep. He was well on his way to drifting off as well, at least until Liam appeared.
"Liam?"
"We found him."