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  Mitch glanced over, but instead of snapping at her, he looked away as he downshifted for a turn. "And what did happen there?"

  "We already went over this. Layton sent his men to get Jonah. Grant's a good man." She paused, swallowing as she imagined what it had been like for him to face a gun with two teenagers counting on him to protect them. "He wouldn't have stood by and let someone take my son."

  "I told you before that Keller doesn't know where you are."

  "You think all this is just a big fat coincidence?" she asked.

  "If he knew, he would have contacted me to let me know Jonah was accounted for. He's not a man who lets people waste their time, or his."

  "You saw that my home was trashed, didn't you? Not just ransacked, but destroyed."

  "And what would be the point?"

  "Revenge would be the point," she said, trying hard to keep her patience under control. She didn't mention the paperwork that had been burned, making it extremely difficult for her and Jonah to run away easily.

  "I find it hard to believe that a man like Layton Keller would --"

  "Are you his friend?" she cut in.

  He glanced at her as he braked at a stoplight. "He's my employer."

  She saw it, the glimmer of doubt, and hope flared. "Then you really don't know what he would or wouldn't do."

  "I'm a good judge of -- why am I defending myself or anyone to you?"

  "Because you're a reasonable man, and you want to do the right thing."

  The light turned green, and the car leapt forward. "I'm done with this conversation."

  "When Jonah was nine, Layton tracked me down --"

  Swerving onto the shoulder of the road, Mitch slammed on the brakes. Turning in his seat, he sank his fingers into the front of her shirt and yanked her forward. Her handcuffed hand dangled from his, trapped between them, and in the darkness of the car, his eyes were black holes. "You act like you think you have a shot at turning me on him," he said, his voice low. "You don't. I've already chosen a side, and if I'm anything, it's loyal. Got it?"

  She let her held breath out slowly. His anger vibrated through his arm against her, and she realized that Layton must have wanted her alive so he could kill her himself. Otherwise, this man would have murdered her long ago. And he probably would have enjoyed it.

  He gave her a shake. "Got it?"

  She managed not to wince. "Yes."

  After releasing her, he steered the car back into traffic.

  Deflated, Alaina looked out at the passing night. Perhaps she could signal to another driver that she needed help. Maybe they would pass a police officer.

  She let three cars go by without making an effort to get their drivers' attention.

  The truth was, Mitch was right. If Layton really did want to find Jonah, he would spare no expense. She, on the other hand, had nothing. She couldn't afford to hire a detective. If she went to the FBI or the police, they would find out that she was the one wanted for kidnapping him in the first place. Worse, they might connect her to the man she had been forced to kill in self-defense many years ago, if they hadn't already. Awful as it was, Layton was probably the only one capable of locating Jonah quickly and efficiently.

  And then what?

  Jonah would be found. He'd be safe.

  He'd no longer be hers. The pain that squeezed her heart took her breath away.

  He would know how she had lied.

  Chapter 11

  On the highway, with nothing but the hum of the engine to fill the silence, Mitch fished his cellphone out of the leather holder strapped to his belt. After thumbing the button to get to the phone's directory, he pushed the speed-dial number for Layton Keller. Beside him, his passenger remained quiet, but he sensed the sharpness of her attention.

  His boss answered. "Keller."

  "It's Mitch."

  "Ah, Mitch. How are you?"

  "I've got her."

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and Mitch began to wonder if the phone had lost its signal. Then Keller said, "She's there with you now?"

  "Yes. But I'm afraid your son is unaccounted --"

  "Tell her I've got him."

  Mitch hesitated, uncomfortable, and a bit surprised at the glee he heard in his employer's voice. He glanced sideways at Alaina, found her watching him intently. He didn't know what to say to either of them.

  "Are you there, Mitch?" Keller asked.

  "Yes. I, uh, that's good news. I trust he's unharmed?"

  "I haven't seen him yet. Some of my associates put him on the corporate jet this afternoon. It was delayed a couple of hours because of weather, but he's due in in the next hour."

  "How, if you don't mind my asking, did that happen?"

  "It's a long story," Keller said. "One I'll tell you when you get here. The PCware jet will be in use in the morning, but I'll send it to Chicago in the afternoon to pick her up."

  "We can take a commercial flight tonight --"

  "No, no, that's not necessary."

  "It's no problem," Mitch said.

  "The thing is, I'd like some time with my son. Do you understand?"

  Mitch felt Alaina's gaze boring into the side of his face, felt her holding her breath, hanging on his every word. "I understand."

  "Good. I knew you, of all people, would. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know when to bring her to the airport. No need for you to accompany her back here. I'll have the feds meet her at Dulles. Once you drop her off, your job is done."

  Mitch disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into its slim pocket. "Jonah's okay. He's flying into D.C. on the PCware jet."

  The tension that held Alaina rigid drained away, and she sagged back in the seat, covering her face with her free hand. Several minutes ticked by, and Mitch wondered whether she was crying. He should have felt triumph. The kid wasn't missing after all, and the good guys had won. Layton Keller was going to be reunited with his son within the hour.

  But the knot in his stomach didn't loosen. The tension that tightened his shoulders stayed stubbornly put.

  "He's never flown before."

  The sound of her voice jolted him. Dead. As if someone had just punched a fist through her chest and ripped out her still-beating heart. She sat with her head bowed, her eyes closed. Her face was so still she might have been a corpse.

  It took all of his will to turn his gaze back to the road. It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter what she was feeling. She had made her bed ...

  "You'll see him tomorrow," he said, his voice gruff. "Focus on that."

  She raised her head. "Tomorrow?"

  "Keller is arranging to fly you to D.C. tomorrow afternoon."

  "Why not tonight?"

  "Because tomorrow is the soonest --"

  "No. I need to go tonight." Some of the strength returned to her voice. "Now."

  It surprised him that she was so eager to get to Washington, where she faced the likelihood of being arrested and charged with kidnapping and maybe even murder. In fact, the feds must be onto her. Otherwise, why would they have showed up at her workplace? Instead of heading right into trouble, she should have been trying to figure out a way to get away from him, so she could go into hiding and save her own butt. "Why the hurry?" he asked.

  "Jonah is going to be scared. Confused."

  "What's to be confused about? He's finally meeting the father he never knew ..." He trailed off as the real reason for her anxiety hit him. "You never told him Keller is his dad."

  She didn't respond, and he took her lack of an answer as affirmation. The knot in his gut drew taut as he imagined what it would be like to meet your son for the first time and know that to him, you would be nothing more than a stranger. Because someone else -- his mother -- had denied you ever existed. "Son of a bitch," he said under his breath.

  "I had good reasons," she replied, no more emotion in her voice than if she'd said that it looked like rain.

  He snorted in irritation. "Of course you did."


  "You have no idea what happened then. You don't know what that --"

  "You're right," he cut in. "I don't know, and I don't need to. All I know is that you never told his kid who his father is. When Jonah finds out ... he's not going to be too happy with you. All the lies you've told him --"

  "I never --" She broke off, fisting her hand on her knee. "I protected my son."

  "You lied to him. Every damn day of his life."

  "I don't have to justify anything to you."

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, you don't. But your son will want an explanation, and I hope it's a good one, because what you've done is going to leave some deep wounds."

  "Can we focus on getting to D.C. tonight?"

  "We're not going to D.C. tonight. We're staying put like my boss told me."

  "So that's it? You're just Layton's lackey? You do whatever he tells you and don't ask questions?"

  "I ask questions when the situation warrants it."

  "Then why aren't you asking yourself how it is that Jonah is on a jet to D.C. when you supposedly never told Layton where to find us?"

  Ignoring her, he took the exit that would lead them to the hotel room he'd kept for the past three weeks. "I'm done with the Q&A session."

  "Because you can't answer that."

  "It doesn't matter. The drama is over. Your son is safe, and tomorrow, you'll face the music."

  * * *

  At the hotel, Mitch was relieved that no one was in sight, because he didn't doubt that, given the chance, Alaina would have screamed her head off. Luckily, no opportunity presented itself. In the room, he told her to sit on the bed as he worked the key to the cuffs out of his pocket.

  She obeyed, completely docile, her head down, dark hair falling forward.

  He figured the fight had finally gone out of her. He couldn't blame her. She'd had a tough day. On the other hand, it left him a little disappointed. He hadn't expected she would ever give in. Not when it came to her son. He realized his mistake when he unlocked the cuff from his wrist and moved to secure it to the headboard.

  Her body leapt to life, and jerking away from him, she made a break for freedom.

  Even caught off guard, he was able to get to her before she had her hand on the doorknob. Grabbing her shoulder, he whirled her around and levered her against the wall next to the door.

  She fired a fist at his head, and he caught and pinned it to the wall. Ditto the other hand. Next, she tried to fight with her knees, and he trapped them, too, until he was pressed against her from head to toe. His every hard angle dug into her every soft curve. He had to be hurting her, but he couldn't back off. She would nail him the instant he did.

  Panting, she leaned her head against the wall, her eyes flashing with frustration. He dragged his gaze from her mouth, conscious that, as she moistened her lips, the drumming beat of his heart tripled. An alarm went off in his head. What the hell?

  Oblivious, she strained against him, still determined to break his hold. Lifting his hips back, he immobilized her at the shoulders and firmly planted one of his thighs between hers to keep her knees from attempting any damage. The change in position did nothing to calm his sudden, raging awareness of her as a woman. Her scent -- lavender and vanilla -- filled his head.

  She must have felt the shift in him, because she suddenly went deathly still. Breathing hard, he wondered what had chased the flush out of her face.

  Wary now, and clearly frightened, she asked, "What are you doing?"

  "I'm trying to keep you from knocking my balls up into my throat," he growled.

  Closing her eyes, she swallowed, every inch of her rigid, as if she expected him to rip into her throat with his teeth. "You can let go," she said.

  "Are you going to behave?"

  "Yes."

  But he hesitated to release her. She'd fooled him with compliance only a few moments before, and then she'd struck. He didn't trust her.

  "Let go," she said, giving her wrist an impatient jerk.

  Instead, he lifted her off her feet and hauled her toward the bed. She writhed so violently in his arms that he almost dropped her. "Dammit, knock it off," he snapped. Then, annoyed at her and himself, he tossed her onto the bed.

  She barely bounced before she twisted and tried to scramble away. Seizing her by the ankle, he dragged her back and straddled her, trying to subdue her long enough to get the handcuff attached to the headboard. Under him, her eyes went blind with terror. "No! No! Get off!"

  He reared back to dodge a flailing fist, caught her wrist and flattened it to the bed next to her head. She bucked frantically, the cords in her neck standing out. "Don't! Don't!"

  The frenzied desperation of her struggles, as if she were suddenly certain he was going to kill her, shocked him. He couldn't hold her still long enough to snap the handcuff around her wrist. Afraid she would hurt herself, though she gave no indication of pain, he leaned over her and said her name. "Alaina."

  She didn't seem to hear as she thrashed. Then she started to beg. "Please, no. Please, no."

  His stomach wrenching, Mitch made one last effort to secure the cuff and nailed it. Relieved, he rolled away from her and to his feet.

  Alaina curled into a protective ball on her side, shuddering as she covered her face with her free hand. Her breathing was harsh and uneven.

  He watched her, a sick feeling in his gut. Getting the hell out of that hotel room suddenly became imperative. "There's something I have to do," he said, then cleared the shakiness from his throat. "I'll bring back food."

  She made no sound, her eyes tightly closed.

  Before he left, he crossed to the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. Though he doubted she was in any shape to try to make a call, he couldn't take the chance.

  When the cool air outside struck his face, he stopped and drew it into his lungs, seeking its calming effect.

  She'd thought he was going to assault her.

  The knowledge made his head whirl, and he tried to process it. Had she glimpsed the flare of lust in his eyes? Because he acknowledged that, for a moment, his thoughts had veered in that direction. How could they not? She was an attractive, spirited woman with enormous appeal. Had their gazes met across a crowded room, on neutral ground, he would have been drawn to her in an instant. In the past few weeks, while watching her with her son, he had noted her attractiveness, but it had been of no consequence. She'd been an assignment, a job. How striking she was didn't change his objective.

  Perhaps that was why the physicality of the moment against the door had caught him so off guard. He hadn't expected to have those feelings for her. He wasn't even sure now why he had.

  One thing he did know for sure: The wild fear in those gray-green eyes of hers would haunt him for the rest of his life. And his heart ached with the knowledge that he had terrorized her.

  Standing near the door for several moments, he listened for weeping, but if she made any noise, he didn't hear it.

  Finally, he pocketed his hands and walked away.

  * * *

  Alaina lay with her eyes closed, one hand fisted against her chest, the other cuffed to the headboard. Her muscles were so taut, they ached, but she couldn't get her body to relax. She focused on breathing, telling herself that she was okay, that he had not hurt her, that he'd had no intention of hurting her. Still, memories pummeled her. Layton tearing at her clothes, shoving himself into her. The terror was fresh, as if it had happened yesterday rather than fifteen years ago. She had worked hard over the years to keep the memories at bay. Counseling had been a tremendous help. But perhaps more effective: There had been more important things to do, a child to take care of, someone whose very survival depended on her maintaining her grip.

  But now Jonah might be lost to her. And there was nothing ... nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. Soon, he would know. Soon, he would meet his charming father, a man who could sell a side of beef to a vegetarian. That man would tell the vulnerable fourteen-year-old boy that his heartless
mother had stolen him away, denying him a life beyond his wildest imaginings.

  Despair was a live thing, writhing inside her, and she fought to control it.

  As her raging heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed, she turned her attention to the cuffs securing her wrist to the headboard. Jerking against them, she found them to be steadfast. The movement also sent a surge of pain into her injured shoulder. She rubbed the soreness absently, considering her options.

  They were beyond limited. In fact, there was only one: Go to D.C. and face the past.

  Chapter 12

  Addison Keller stood at the sink, staring at herself in the dark window as she sipped her third glass of pinot noir and wondered what the hell she would do with her life when the feds hauled Layton away in cuffs. Imagining the sight, she smirked at her reflection, even giggled a little. Take that, you lying son of a bitch.

  Realizing that she'd had too much wine, she set the glass aside. She could have finished the bottle for all that it mattered. Layton had slipped out an hour ago without telling her where he was going or when he would be back. Not that she cared. The longer he was away, the less she had to pretend she still cared.

  Sixteen years. Wasted. She was almost forty years old. She had devoted her life to being a corporate wife. She sat on all the appropriate community boards. The YWCA. The public library. The women's club. The community college. Schools for mentally handicapped children. She organized fund-raising events for single moms. Chaired a drive to collect toys for underprivileged kids during the holidays. Headed a literacy program for families on welfare. Her days were packed with activities that kept her in the public eye and polished to a golden sheen the images of her husband and family. Just like her mother had.

  "Addy? Where are you?"

  She turned from the window, surprised at the excitement in her husband's voice. Smoothing the wrinkles in the front of her blouse, she walked through the dining room and into the living room, where she stopped in mid-step and stared.