Page 7 of The Captive (The Kelley Legacy #5)

The thought brought a tremor of panic. Had the room been cleaned in anticipation of a guest? As in her? She glanced around her, studying the single bed against one wood-paneled wall, the little desk under the window and the thick white shag carpet beneath her sandaled feet.

And then she spun around to face Deacon, who quietly closed the door behind them.

Their eyes locked. Silence fell over the room, hanging there for several seconds, until Lana finally exploded.

“Why the hell are you doing this to me, Deacon Holt?”

* * *

Deacon cringed as his name, his real full name, snapped out of Lana’s mouth like a sharp round from a shotgun.

She sounded absolutely livid, and he couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked with her cheeks flushed in anger.

He pushed aside the inappropriate thought and focused on her blue eyes.

He had no idea where to start, or how he could possibly explain himself and his actions to this woman.

So he just stood there, his mouth half open, his brain working overtime trying to find a way to make this right.

Uh-huh. Because making this right was actually a legitimate option.

Fortunately, Lana spoke again before he could say anything, though when he heard the words, he realized there was nothing fortunate about it.

“You’re a cop, right?” she said urgently.

His eyebrows shot north. A cop? She actually thought he was a cop?

“Undercover,” she went on. “You’re pretending to be in cahoots with these jerks so you can arrest them, right?”

A headache formed at his temples. Christ. The hope flashing across her face was almost painful. He dreaded having to burst that optimistic bubble.

“You’re going to get me out of here. Right? ”

The pleading note to her voice did him in.

He broke the eye contact, turning his head to focus on the splintered old desk beneath the window.

He knew Le Clair had been trying to punish him by assigning him babysitting duty, and he felt wholly punished.

Not because he’d gotten stuck with a task that most soldiers despised, since coddling targets was always a pain in the ass, but because he now had to explain to the woman he’d taken to bed that she was wrong.

That he was, in fact, one of those “jerks” she spoke of with such vehemence.

“Deacon,” she begged softly.

He found the courage to look at her again. “No.”

A beat of silence. “No, what? No, you are in cahoots with them, or no, you won’t get me out?”

A pained sigh left his throat. “No to both.”

Horror flooded her eyes. “You’re not a cop?” she whispered.

He shook his head.

“You’re…you’re part of this?”

He nodded.

The horror turned to rage. Her petite body began to shake in violent shudders.

“Lana—” he started.

“Don’t you dare say my name!” she roared. “If you want to call me something, call me Miss Kelley, just like my other kidnappers.”

“Keep your voice down,” he said sharply.

“Why?” she taunted. A humorless laugh popped out of her mouth. “So the others don’t find out you had sex with your hostage? So you don’t get fired?”

That pesky spark of guilt ignited in his gut again.

He forced himself to ignore it. Fine, so he’d slept with the woman he’d been assigned to tail.

Nobody ever said he was an honorable man.

In fact, honor played no part in his life.

Had it been honorable for his father to murder his mother?

Had it been honorable for his uncle to steal Deacon’s inheritance?

Hell, no. His entire genetic code had dishonor programmed into it.

“So we don’t get killed,” he corrected, in harsh reply to her demand. “If Le Clair finds out about that night, he’ll either fire me or kill me, and then you’ll be all alone here. If he decides to kill you, too, I won’t be here to stop him.”

Another laugh. “You just said you’re not here to save me. How do I know you wouldn’t just let him kill me anyway, even if you were standing right beside him?”

“I promise you, I won’t let that happen.”

She went quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, disgust laced her voice. “Jeez, I actually believe you. What is wrong with me? I slept with a criminal, for God’s sake. You’re kidnapping me! Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because it’s the truth,” he said simply. “As long as I’m here, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Those big blue eyes searched his face. “You mean it.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“You don’t want me hurt.”

“No,” he agreed.

“Then let me go,” she pleaded. “Please, Deacon, let me go.”

“I…can’t.” Weariness spilled into his body. “I know you don’t understand any of this, but you need to cooperate with these men. You can’t antagonize them. They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you, Lana. I promise you that.”

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

Deacon forced himself to stay still, not to eliminate the short distance between them and take her in his arms.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Your family will be contacted soon, and I assume the exchange will happen shortly after that.”

“The exchange? You mean, extorting money from my father?” Her tone rang with bitterness.

He nodded ruefully.

“I…never took you for greedy,” she finally said, her dark blond eyelashes coated with sparkling moisture. “That night at the museum, you acted like money didn’t matter to you.”

“No, I picked up on the fact that money doesn’t matter to you. ”

“So this is why you’re doing this, for the money?” She shook her head, a slow sad gesture that made him uncomfortable. “I must have misjudged you.”

His discomfort grew. She sounded so disappointed, a tad judgmental, too, and it was the judgment that raised his hackles.

What did this woman know about poverty? Had she ever lived on the streets?

Sat on a sidewalk holding out a tin can, begging for coins?

She lived in splendor now, but had that splendor ever been taken away?

He knew all about the life Lana Kelley led.

The Beverly Hills mansion, the Montana ranch, the numerous vacation homes.

He’d lived it, too. He’d been the son of a shipping tycoon, for Chrissake.

And he’d lost everything. Every last thing, save for the clothes on his back and the small duffel his uncle had let him pack before kicking him out on the street.

Lana Kelley didn’t know what life without money was. She’d never had to fight for her own survival.

And she had no right to judge him.

“Put on some warmer clothing.” He moved stiffly to the door. “You must be hungry after that long flight. I’ll bring you some food.”

“Wait.”

His hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, he turned around. Her face was pale, her eyes weary with defeat.

“I don’t care what your motives are,” she said in a miserable voice. “But if you want money, I’ll give you money. I promise, whatever—what did you call him? Le Clair?—well, whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it. Just help me get out of here and I’ll make sure you have all the money you want.”

He stifled a sigh. Double the pay? The offer might have been tempting, if not for the fact that Le Clair would hunt him down and murder him if he ever defected.

He said as much to Lana, eyeing her unhappily. “Le Clair is a very dangerous man. A man you don’t cross. As much as I want to help you, I—”

“You don’t want to help me,” she cut in angrily. “If you did, you wouldn’t have kidnapped me. You wouldn’t have—” She stopped abruptly, a suspicious expression filling her face. “Did you know who I was, that night in the Louvre? Were you planning this, even then?”

Deacon wanted to lie. It bothered him that his first instinct was to protect this woman, even from the ugly truth. But although he was many things, a liar he wasn’t.

“I knew,” he replied gruffly.

She blinked, and the tears sticking to her lashes broke free and slid down her smooth cheeks. “You knew,” she echoed.

“Yes.” He found himself giving a hurried explanation. “But I didn’t plan for us to…be intimate. I was only supposed to watch you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, annoyed with the sign of weakness. “But then you spoke to me, and…well, it just happened.”

Her tears fell harder. “I can’t believe this. I can’t…” She looked at him with tearstained cheeks, suddenly appearing much younger than her twenty-four years. “Don’t let them hurt me,” she finally whispered, her arms encircling her own waist and tightening over her stomach. “Just promise me that.”

He tore his gaze from her and turned the doorknob. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, Lana. I promise.” Then he slid out the door and, ignoring the ache in his chest, locked it behind him.