Defending Allye Page 16

  The tattooed woman was not in her cage, but Nightingale knew that was because she’d gotten more ink done today. She’d had to be sedated because they were working on her face now. The last time she’d been brought in for tattooing, she’d been combative and weepy. There was nothing Nightingale liked less than a slobbering, crying woman.

  But once her face was tattooed, she’d be ninety-five percent complete. He just needed to have the bottoms of her feet and her palms inked, and she’d be the first woman to be one hundred percent covered by tattoos. Even the insides of her labia and lips had been marked. And he owned her. It was a heady feeling. He’d submit pictures for the Guinness Book of World Records as soon as she was ready.

  His albino was in the next cage. Nightingale flipped a switch outside her enclosure, which turned on the spotlight over the area where she was chained, and smiled. She’d proved to be a wild one. Refusing his attempts at training her. Until he’d brought in the head box.

  One of the trainers had inadvertently found her weakness after she’d freaked out when a moth had entered her room one night and flitted around the light bulb on the ceiling.

  So, the next time she’d refused to do what he wanted—namely, not fight him when he entered her cage—he’d had her chained down and the box slipped over her head. It was filled with moths. The way she’d trembled and screamed as the creatures flitted around her face, brushing against her cheeks, getting stuck in her hair and even crawling into her ears, made him laugh hysterically.

  He kept the box of completely innocuous creatures inside her cage, as a deterrent to more inappropriate manners. So far, it was working. Nightingale much preferred her subdued and docile, if not terrified, to her out-of-control behavior. It made strapping her to the bed so he could have his way with her much easier. He hadn’t been with an albino before. Her skin pinked up so nicely when he smacked her, and the bruises he left on her skin were vivid, so much easier to see than on regular women . . . He liked that.

  Nightingale smiled. He loved owning unique things.

  That led him to think about his Mystic once more. He’d been so sure, after she’d learned about the warning he’d left for her, that she would return to the city—yes, he was convinced now that she’d fled San Francisco, maybe even the state—to prevent any more of her friends from being killed. Then he’d finally be able to add her to his collection. He had a cage by his bed for her when she wasn’t in the empty room at the end of the long hallway. Everything was all ready, including her special stage.

  He couldn’t wait to wake up in the mornings and see her beautiful eyes staring at him, full of fear. There was nothing like terror to help him start his morning right. He’d tried to make the other woman—he didn’t even remember her name now, not that it mattered—look like his Mystic, but it hadn’t worked. She was too tall. Too skinny. And all she’d done was cry.

  Even after he’d dyed her hair and put in the beautiful swath of white, it wasn’t the same. The contacts had helped, but he shuddered remembering how she’d screamed and carried on when she was strapped down and her eyelids were removed so she wouldn’t be able to hide her brown and blue eyes from him.

  Nightingale scowled and stomped to the end of the row of cages. He pounded on the zookeeper’s door and waited impatiently for him to open it. The albino and the little woman needed food, and the twins needed to be separated. He’d agreed to keep them together, but only if they behaved. And they were not behaving right now.

  He knew his anger was all out of proportion. He was usually much more patient with his pets. It was all Mystic’s fault. If she would just come home, he’d be able to concentrate again. Train his pets better. It was time to send her another message. She’d eventually get the hint. If she didn’t, he’d just keep on communicating. His way.

  The man who took care of his special pets finally opened the door, and Nightingale lit into him. By the time he left for the night, he was confident all would be well with his pets when next he returned.

  Chapter Eleven

  The longer Gray spent with Allye living in his house, sharing his space, the more anxious he got. It wasn’t her, per se; it was the feeling of impending doom. Something was going to get screwed up. He’d either do something, or she’d decide she had to go back to her life, or the mysterious T.B. would find out where Allye had gone and come after her here.

  It was as if the more perfect things were between them, the stronger his feeling of dread.

  She’d been in Colorado Springs for three weeks now. Three of the best weeks he’d ever had. She just seemed to fit seamlessly into his life and routines. They’d get up in the mornings and shower, sometimes together, other times apart. He’d make them breakfast, then he’d take her downtown to the dance studio. She’d begun spending more and more time there, sometimes not texting him to pick her up until well after lunchtime. The kids and the owner loved having her. Barbara had even begun to pay her for helping out with the children’s dance classes.

  They’d gone shopping to buy her more clothes and other odds and ends that she needed to feel comfortable. Gray had wanted to pay for everything, but she’d flatly refused, saying that she had plenty of money at the moment to clothe herself.

  While she was at the studio, Gray would meet with the guys or stay home and do research, trying to find something that would lead to the elusive Nightingale, then go and pick up Allye when she let him know she was done. They’d have lunch together, sometimes eating out, other times going back to his house and eating something there. Then he’d do some accounting work in his home office, creating spreadsheets and doing other financial work for his clients.

  In the evenings, they spent time together. Making dinner, watching TV, or making love.

  He’d learned that she could be stubborn—not just about not letting him pay for new clothes—and didn’t give in gracefully when she wanted to do something and he disagreed. But she was also fairly easygoing about most things. She didn’t care if his furniture was a mishmash of expensive masculine and college student, didn’t seem to get wigged out if the floors weren’t immaculate or if he hadn’t dusted. In fact, she was somewhat messy; he was always picking up her clothes from the middle of the master bedroom.

  Then again, she’d begun to complain about the small beard hairs he left in the sink after he shaved in the mornings. Or the way he never rinsed out his dishes, just left them in the sink to deal with later. She claimed they were harder to get clean that way because the food was dried to the dishes by the time they went into the dishwasher.

  But none of that ultimately seemed to matter to either of them. They spent every night wrapped in each other’s arms. The first week they’d lived together, they’d made love every day, at least once, sometimes twice. Gray hadn’t been able to get enough, and Allye seemed to gladly take whatever he gave her. She never complained when he was in the mood to take his time and be gentle or when he needed to take her roughly.

  But he’d already begun appreciating the nights he simply got to hold her. They were intimate, if not passionate. He’d memorized the way she nuzzled into the space between his neck and shoulder, warming her nose. And the way she ran her fingers over his chest, lightly playing with his nipples. Not to arouse him, but just . . . exploring.

  With every day that went by, however, it seemed as if whatever danger lurked above their heads was getting closer and closer. And Gray had a feeling when push came to shove, he was going to lose Allye. Somehow. Someway. She’d slip through his fingers. And that was making him dread waking up each morning, wondering if today was the day he’d lose her.

  Last night they’d been making out on the couch, not watching whatever movie Allye had insisted they watch, when his phone rang.

  He’d seen it was his mother and immediately answered. Allye hadn’t been all that receptive to him inviting his mother to Colorado so she could meet her, and wouldn’t talk about why. He’d decided that moment was as good a time as any to make introductions, even if they were ove
r the phone.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hello, son. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Can I put you on speaker?”

  “Sure.”

  Gray clicked the phone on speaker and hugged Allye to him. She’d tried to sit up—to leave the room, he knew—but he wouldn’t let her. “Mom, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Allye, this is my mom. Mom, meet Allye Martin.”

  “Oh, hello, Allye. How are you?”

  Allye had looked up at him, her eyes wide and stricken, and had mumbled hello. Then she’d crawled out of his arms and went upstairs to the master bedroom. He’d let her go, because the look in her eyes wasn’t irritation—it was unadulterated terror. She was scared to death to talk to his mom, and he hated it. He’d told her how great his mother was, and he’d tried to reassure Allye that his mom would love her, but he obviously hadn’t gotten through.

  He’d talked to his mom for a while, avoided telling her all the details about how he’d met Allye, admitted that she was the one, talked her out of immediately planning his wedding, and told her to tell his brother hello for him next time she talked to him. Then he’d hung up and gone to find Allye.

  “Allye?” he said as he opened the door.

  She was in bed, the covers pulled all the way up her body, her back to him. They’d gone to bed at this time before, but when they did, it was because they both wanted to make love, not sleep.

  Gray sat on the side of the bed. He ran his hand over her head. “Are you okay, kitten?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turned her head to look at him, and he almost flinched at how sad she looked.

  “What? Talk to me, Allye.”

  “I’m not good with moms,” she said quietly. “They never like me.”

  And with that, Gray’s heart just about broke. He stripped off his shirt, took off his jeans, and climbed under the covers with her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back to his chest, and simply held her as tightly as he could. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. The first boy I dated in high school . . . he and I were getting along fine. I went over to his house one night, and when his mom found out I was a foster kid, she turned cold. The boy never asked me out again.”

  “His loss,” Gray murmured.

  “Then there was the mother of a guy I dated when I first started working at the dance theatre in San Francisco. He thought it would be fun if we went out to dinner with his parents. She took one look at the cheap dress I was wearing and turned up her nose at me. I think I had two more dates with that guy before he ended it.”

  “My mom isn’t like that,” Gray told her.

  “I think I have some defective mom gene,” Allye said softly. “My own mom didn’t like or want me, so no one else’s does either.”

  Gray turned her onto her back, forcing her to look at him. “After you left, my mom interrogated me about you. She even looked you up on her computer as we were talking. She gushed about how pretty you are, and then even had the nerve to ask what you were doing with a reprobate like me.” He smiled to let her know he was teasing. “I had to talk her down from calling all her friends and telling them I was getting married.” He ran his hand over her head again in a gentle caress. “I’m not saying you’ll be best friends, but she’s going to love you.”

  Allye had just shaken her head and sighed. Then she’d inched her way down his body and begun to make love to him. He knew what she was doing, distracting him so she didn’t have to talk about his mom anymore, and he let her. But he knew his family. They would embrace Allye as if she were one of their own . . . if she’d allow it.

  There were a lot of things he didn’t know about the woman he loved. Things he couldn’t wait to learn. But in return, there were things she didn’t know about him. He’d told her about his time as a SEAL, and what had happened to make him leave, but she didn’t know that sometimes it still affected him. He didn’t have nightmares too often anymore, but certain situations sometimes threw him right back there. Where he’d been helpless to do anything but watch as his captors hurt those women right in front of him. When it happened, he tended to shut down. To block out any kind of emotion so he didn’t have to feel.

  Would she understand? Would she take it personally? He had no idea and no desire to find out.

  His phone ringing snapped him out of his reverie. Allye was at the dance studio, and he was alone in the house. He was supposed to be working on taxes for a client, but he couldn’t concentrate. The feeling of impending doom was too thick to let him effectively think about tax laws or do any kind of math.

  “Gray.”

  “It’s Rex.”

  Gray’s stomach dropped. “What happened?”

  “He got another one.”

  Gray knew exactly what his handler was talking about. “Who?”

  “A woman named Melany Brewer. She actually took Allye’s place as lead since she’s been here in Colorado Springs.”

  “Fuck,” Gray swore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s not going to take this well.”

  “Then, don’t tell her.”

  “I’m not keeping this shit from her. I promised I wouldn’t, and she has a right to know. Are we any closer to tracking down T.B. or Nightingale?”

  “Yes and no,” Rex said reluctantly.

  Gray’s stomach clenched again. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what his handler said next. “What?”

  “T.B. is Nightingale.”

  “How is that possible? His name is Gage. T.B. doesn’t match.”

  “You know that Arrow and Black are in California. They’ve done some digging. Talked to a lot of shady folks. Word on the street is that there’s a man, known only as ‘the Boss,’ who takes orders for specific kinds of women.”

  Gray stood up abruptly and began to pace. “Shit. So that’s it. Proof that the head of the most notorious and elusive sex-trafficking ring does want to get his hands on my woman.”

  “Looks that way,” Rex said, his voice seemingly unruffled.

  “You don’t sound too fucking worried,” Gray barked. “In fact, you make it sound like this is just another day for the Mountain fucking Mercenaries. Well, it’s fucking not. This is my woman’s life on the line, Rex. And I’m telling you right now, there’s no way Nightingale is getting his hands on her. I’ll take her and disappear so he can’t ever find us. Hear me?”

  “Calm down, Gray,” Rex said evenly.

  Gray sighed and ran a hand through his hair, absently noting that he probably needed to get it cut. “Does anything ever ruffle your feathers?” he asked. “Seriously, you’re always so fucking calm. Never show any emotion. Do you give a shit about anything? Because from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like it.”

  “Yeah, Gray. I give a shit about a lot of things. Women disappearing and never being heard from again. Their loved ones never knowing what happened to them, if they’re dead or alive. That’s what I give a shit about. That, and taking down people like Nightingale so it doesn’t happen to someone else’s family.”

  Gray blinked in surprise. He’d never heard his handler say anything as personal as what he’d just revealed. They’d all guessed the man had some experience with a loved one going missing or somehow being involved in the sex-slave industry, but they’d never had confirmation—until now.

  Someone else’s family.

  Before he could say anything, like apologize for being insensitive, Rex spoke again.

  “Talk to Allye. Tell her about Melany. Arrow and Black are doing what they can from California to track her down. We’re also trying to figure out what the deal with the boats was all about. I mean, if he kidnapped both Jessica and Melany and simply had them brought to him, why didn’t he do the same with Allye? Why bother with the damn boats in the first place? Was it just an elaborate ruse to throw people off? Or was there a deeper reason behind it? Maybe we’ll know more when we find Melany . . . or when her body shows up. In the meantime, call
if you need me.” And with that, Rex ended the call.

  Looking at his watch, Gray saw that it was only ten, but he needed to see Allye now. He had the same questions about the boats, but they could wait. Talking to Allye couldn’t.

  Pocketing his phone, he headed for the garage.

  Thirty minutes later, he was ushering Allye into his Audi, her apologies to Barbara and the little girls echoing in his head. She’d been in the middle of a dance lesson when he’d barged in and said he needed to talk to her.

  Without complaint, she’d said her goodbyes and gone with him.

  As soon as they were in the car, she put her hand on his thigh. “What’s wrong?”

  “When we get home,” Gray told her.

  Allye bit her lip but nodded. She kept her hand on his thigh, but Gray couldn’t make himself touch her. He wanted to, wanted to comfort her, but he was too on edge. Too worried that she was going to lose it when she heard.

  The rest of the trip was done without either of them speaking. Gray tried to go over in his head how he was going to break the news to Allye. She had to know Melany. Had to have been friends with her. Hearing about Jessie had hurt, but hearing about Melany might break her.

  They got home and entered the house. As soon as the garage door closed behind them, Allye turned and said, “Tell me.”

  “Go and sit,” Gray said. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No,” she said a little testily. “I want to know what happened.”

  Gray sighed. He put his hand on the small of her back, feeling the dampness from her workout earlier. She was wearing a pair of yoga pants and had on her normal tank top under a T-shirt. For once, he wasn’t thinking about how sexy she was, but how vulnerable and small she seemed next to his six and a half feet.

  Gray encouraged her to head into the living room and sit.

  She did, but he could tell her patience was about over.

  As soon as they sat, he told her the bad news. “Do you know someone named Melany Brewer?”