Redemption

Chapter Sixty-Eight

She shivered in the cold air as it blew past her. Trying to ignore it, she focused on the memory of Bobby wrapping his strong arms around her, keeping her warm and making her feel safe. Of course, the reverie would not last long, the voices of the men who surrounded her and her guard—whose name she still had yet to discover; they only got his attention by calling him "You"—making it impossible to stay in dream-Bobby's embrace.

The whole time she'd been captive, she'd made a point to stay strong, but as the hour came to a close, fear instantly set in. She was frightened at the fact that she might never see Bobby's face again or feel his tender caresses as they lay in bed. She would never become Mrs. Bobby Manning, like she'd been dreaming of for months; her heart hurt at that thought. No little children with her original dark blonde hair and his dark blue eyes would be running about the dream home she'd imagined them moving into once they were married. She felt a silent sob exit her throat and her shoulders shake. That wasn't a nightmare she wanted to come true.

"Pull it together," a familiar voice pierced through her quiet turmoil. Her breaking down into an emotional heap would not be in the best interest of anyone, right now. "No matter what you think, I will not let them hurt you."

"Why would you risk your life to save me?" she asked, softly, knowing her blindfold had collected her tears, 'And why aren't I allowed to look at you?' she added as an afterthought. "You" was the only one she had to be blindfolded for. At first, she thought it was Palmerro-Dessa who had wanted her eyes to be kept from wandering, yet she'd realized it was because he didn't want her to see his face.

"I'm just doing my job," it sounded like he smiled when he spoke.

"You're FBI, aren't you?" How she'd come to that conclusion, she wasn't sure, but now that she had, she couldn't help but roll with it. Their missing team member; the surprising secrecy through the surveillance team when it dealt with their inside man—it was all coming together, now. "Jeff, are you?" she asked when he didn't answer right away.

She heard him suck in a breath, but didn't release it. She'd figured him out. He'd understood that it was only a matter of time, but he'd pictured them in nicer surroundings when she'd discovered his true identity. With shaking hands, he'd reached up and removed her blindfold, allowing her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light that filtered in through the windows.

She blinked once and then again, before focusing on his. He'd waited for that exact moment to answer, wanting her to see the sincerity in his eyes, but all he could manage was a soft, whispered "yes".

"And you didn't bother to tell me?" She honestly thought they'd had a friendship where they could tell one another everything and he'd hid this from her for years. And now, she was supposed to trust this man with her life, yet that fact made her blood run cold. If he'd kept something as severe as his occupation from her, then how was she supposed to trust him to save her?

"I would if I could have, but I had my orders." His voice was sullen at those words. He truly had wanted to tell her for months—since their friendship had become so firm—but because of the severity of the situation, he couldn't entrust anyone outside the Bureau with his secret. He really wished he had, now, if only to avoid the awkward feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

"So, what was all of this?" she asked, confusion written all over her expression. "Was this all a set up?"

He nodded, which only added more to her confusion. "It was a set up for Stern," he replied, making sure she knew that this had nothing to do with her and that she had been left out of the loop for her own safety. He knew how stubborn she was and knew she would have wanted to help if she knew the true nature of him being on Stern's team. "I had to get him to trust me enough to tell me everything, including his connection with Dessa. I was supposed to protect him. I was supposed to stop his murder, but I failed and here I am; in the lion's den; probably only a few short breaths from dying myself."

The last part of that statement was muttered enough so she couldn't hear him, though she was sure of what it entailed, but she wouldn't worry about that, right now. There was a certain part of his speech that had caught her attention. How he could think that he was at fault for Robert's death, she wasn't sure, but it was ridiculous. There was no way he could have possibly predicted it and there was no way he could have been watching him twenty-four hours a day while still working under cover in the terrorist's lair.

She wanted to voice this opinion, yet she couldn't find the right words that could make him feel any better about himself; they were inside of her, she was sure, but they just didn't want to be found at this time. The only words that seemed to be brave enough to exit her mouth were: "I don't understand."

He shook his head as an announcement came over the walkie-talkie he carried. The cavalry had arrived and they needed to be prepared for whatever was in store for them. "I can't explain right now," he said as he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, "but I promise, after this is all over, you and I will have a long talk." He managed a small smile that made his self-confidence—or lack thereof—known. Yet, his amber-brown eyes lit up so spectacularly, because he was no longer alone in this strange territory. He finally had a kindred spirit with him to help guide him through whatever lay ahead.

She smiled back as widely as she could possibly manage in this kind of situation and poked him in the shoulder with a single finger. "You'd better keep that promise." And she meant it. She wouldn't let him die during this just to get himself out of that talk. They were going to have lunch when this was all over and then everything would finally be out in the open.

He nodded, but said nothing more about it. "Stay close to me," he warned. "I'm going to be handling the trade-off." How he'd managed to get that honor was beyond him, but it would certainly help him in his task to get her out safely.

But, all of that changed in a blink of an eye—or a snap of the fingers. At that sound, a large, brute of a man grabbed his arms and relieved him of his weapon, which was tossed aside as another took hold of Danni as well. DeMarco's eyes went wide as panic rose in both of them. "What are you doing?" he asked the men, though they gave no answer, except for deep, haughty laughs.

"I'm afraid the plans have changed," said a cynical voice, followed by a sharp cackle. Four sets of eyes rested upon Dessa's face as he smiled at them. He stood tall and proud, his hands resting comfortably behind his back to show that there was no use fighting; nothing good could come from a man who's perfected that and he certainly had.

Jeff's hands were tied tightly behind his back; his handler being less than gentle with him as his arm was twisted too far, making him wince in pain. The rope used was very uncomfortable and rough against his skin, yet he did his best to hide his discomfort. He had other things on his mind, anyway; like why the plans had changed. He knew he hadn't gained their trust enough to make him truly one of them, yet he'd been content with the privileges he'd been given. It was obvious, now that they had never intended to keep him along for the rest of their ride.

"You see, I no longer have any your for you," Dessa said, looking DeMarco straight in the eye, the tone of his voice just as proud as his stance, "you've given me everything that I've needed. So, I think I'll let them deal with the traitor you are." There was an underlying reason to his words, Danni realized as he waved his hand and Jeff was taken away from her side, though what that was, she just could figure out, until she was practically nose-to-nose with the Prince of Terror. She never understood how this man had gotten such a name. Even with his original face, he didn't seem so evil, but she should have known that looks could be deceiving and knew the devil was lurking under his pale complexion.

Dessa pulled away slightly, letting his dark eyes lecherously scan her body as her arms were held back, allowing him to enjoy the sight of the young woman. He grinned, his eyes showing the hunger her felt, but wouldn't act on. As much as he would have loved to take advantage of the bonded woman, this was neither the time, nor the place; nor was he the kind of man to take advantage of such vulnerable prey. He never had to convince a woman to go to his bed, but he could guess that she would put up quite a fight.

"And you, my dear," the words dripped with something that no person could describe in such unconscionable company, "it's a pity we hadn't met in another lifetime. You and I could have done many great things together, I'm sure of it." He reached up and lightly ran the back of a dirty finger across her chin, making her cringe in disgust. It wasn't because of the dirt or even him as a person; it was because there was a strange, yet familiar smell on the appendage that made her stomach twist in knots. "You have a fire that burns inside of you that would most definitely compliment a man like me."

Just at the mention of the word "fire", her stomach twisted again. He couldn't possibly be thinking of doing what she thought he was; could he? 'Stupid question,' she told herself as she glared at the man who still insisted on running his finger over as much of her exposed flesh as possible. She cringed and tried to wrestle away from him, with no luck—the man who held her was very strong and impossible to move in her weakened condition.

"I'd rather you just kill me and get it over with," she pat, actually spitting upon him, using as much saliva as she could muster—she had refused water as well, leaving her highly dehydrated.

His hand found its way back to her chin, taking an indirect detour across her abdomen. "Where would the fun be in that?" he asked, his grin becoming even more lecherous the more he touched her. It was becoming more and more difficult to control his manly urges, especially when her tank top and short shorts left little to the imagination. She was a delectable morsel, he would admit, but her death would help him more than she could comprehend.

"You were not the one I intended to be taken, though you will do nicely. After all, it is better to have a whole hostage, rather than one who was defective." He made sure to emphasize the word, gauging her reaction to the darkness of his eyes and his tone.

Her anger rose severely in a matter of nanoseconds when she'd heard that word—defective. She tried to charge at him, but the grip of the guard who held her arms was too strong for her to break away from and strangle the man who stood before her. "Don't you dare call her that," she growled when she realized attacking and using up her reserve of energy was not the best way to get her point across. All of their lives, Sue had been ridiculed for her deafness and Danni had defended her without so much as a second-thought. Sue wasn't defective, as the "Prince of Terror" thought—how he could think otherwise was completely insane; of course, he was completely insane, she mused.

He licked his lips, her anger, making something stir deeply in his belly and possibly lower. He did love a woman with spirit. "I thought you might say something like that," he sneered, though not hiding his attraction of the angry fire that was raging in her usually calm, steel-blue eyes. "You must think very highly of her. It truly will be a shame when I make sure she's properly disposed of. She, along with the rest of your friends that is." With one final caress of her chin, he reluctantly turned and walked away, leaving her to ponder his words.