“Why did you lie to me?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Risa, you were finally finding some peace,” Abigail cried softly. “I couldn’t tell you. The doctor has to be wrong; it’s been years.”
“I had a right to know.” Her fists clenched at her side. “God, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I hadn’t realized something was wrong with me? Do you have any idea how I felt, Grandmother?”
Of course she didn’t. No one asked, no wanted to hear, so Risa hadn’t spoken of it. And she couldn’t very well tell her grandmother she was dying to be f**ked.
“And what the hell are you doing here?” She turned to Micah, avoiding his gaze, avoiding the demand in it, the pity she was terrified of seeing.
“Miss Clay, Mr. Sloane is private agent on loan to the Department of Justice. He and his team will c hiht= be your protection.”
She was going to throw up. She turned to the mirror, the two-way glass, wondering who watched now. Then she turned to Micah.
“They knew,” she whispered, her lips numb now. “Last night, all of them, they knew who you were.”
“They knew,” he said, his tone firm, quiet.
They had lied to her. Morganna and Clint, Ian and Kira, Kell and Emily, Reno and Raven. They had all lied to her.
“Did they even know you?” she asked then, wondering at the extent of the lies.
“I’ve worked with Reno and the others several times,” he stated. “I’ve known them for years. When the Department of Justice contacted my team for your protection, we contacted Reno’s because they’re here in Atlanta.”
“They’re no longer with the Navy.” She remembered that. Morganna and Raven had thrown a party when their husbands had finally left the Navy.
“No, they aren’t with the Navy. They’re private now, Risa, the same as I and my team.”
They were private. That was why they were gone so often, because they were private. Like Micah. Because they were liars. Because Clint had stood in her face and chided her for hiding in her apartment, convincing her to come to the club with them and to meet his very good friend Micah.
“Perfect.” She laughed again, a hollow, mocking sound that tore at her chest as it escaped. “How f**king perfect. Is Clint back there?” She waved her hand toward the mirror. “Is Morganna with him? Do you think they both know just how pleased I am to be used this way?” She screamed the question at him.
She was coming apart inside. She could feel it. She was unraveling like a ball of twine and she couldn’t seem to stop the destruction.
Turning away from Micah, she faced the attorney instead. She didn’t know him. He didn’t matter. The fool she had made of herself the night before didn’t affect his little world one way or the other.
“So tell me, Mr. Stephens.” Breathing was almost impossible. She felt as though she were going to go to her knees at any moment. “Exactly what does the all-powerful United States of America need from me? Should I paint a target on my chest? How about taking out an ad in the newspaper? You can watch me then? See who bites?”
She hated the pity in that bastard’s eyes. How dare he stare at her with such somber compassion?
“No, Miss Clay,” he said gently, his hands braced on the table as her own attorney wiped his hands helplessly over his face. “We want you to work with us, and with Mr. Sloane. We want you to allow our agent into your home, pretend he’s your lover. While you do this, his team will watch you; they’ll cover you completely. When Orion tries to strike, we’ll be there. If you remember anything at any time, then we’ll know and we can assist you.”
She licked her dry lips and fought the dry heaves that twisted in her stomach. Maybe she should have eaten that morning after all; at least then she would have had something to throw up.
“How do they protect me against a bullet?” She shook her head mockingly. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Stephens. He’d be impossible to track.”
His expression flickered with regret before he looked over her shoulder.
“Risa, sit down for this.” Micah’s hands touched her shoulders again.
This time when she tried to jerk away, they tightened. A second later he turned her around, stared down at her, his black eyes flickering with fury as she slapped at his chest.
“Stop fighting me,” he demanded roughly. “You don’t want to stand up for this. If you want the truth, then sit your ass down and listen.”
His harsh tone broke through the ice forming in her belly. She had to swallow tightly, had to grip her control with the last of her strength as she pushed back from him and slowly took her seat again.
She glared at him when he sat down beside her. She wasn’t happy with the glare she received in return.
Turning back to the attorney, she forced a tight smile to her face. “So he doesn’t use bullets?”
Attorney Stephens took his seat and shook his head. “He doesn’t use bullets.”
“Go ahead and spit it out,” she demanded. “Let’s not pretend to care about my feelings at this late date if you don’t mind.”
His nostrils flared, but the compassion in his eyes never dimmed.
“He finds a way to sedate his victims and kidnap them. As I said, this is the first advance notice we’ve had of one of his marks. This is our chance, Miss Clay, to make certain he never kills again. And, with any luck, our chance to find out who hired him, and what they’re afraid you know.”
“How does he kill them?”
Stephens looked down at the table for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to hers. “He has two manners of killing. If it’s a male, he’s rather merciful. He simply cuts their throats. His female victims, he’s not so gentle with. He ties them down, legs raised, wrists down. He slices their wrists and watches them bleed out.”
She blinked back at him. She could sense the edges of her vision growing dim and forced her head to the table, forced herself to close her eyes and fight back the need to faint. Hell, she was going to swoon for damned sure. Wasn’t that so Southern?
“Risa.” She felt Micah’s hand at her back, a warm, comforting weight that sent talons of aching need slicing through her. “We can protect you. As Carl said, this is the first time we’ve had warning. We can protect you.”