She didn’t do careful really well, though.
“Call him,” he growled. “Put your ass on the line with mine if you’re so fucking sure of him. Call him, tell him he’ll find the coordinates buried in the programming of the nano-nit currently attached to his e-pad. Time will be at thirty minutes before the time Mark McQuade was killed. If he doesn’t know the exact time, he can ask his mate. I’m certain she remembers.”
She nodded slowly. “That doesn’t give you much time.”
Gideon shrugged, breathed out roughly, rose to his feet, shifted his shoulders restlessly, then stalked over to a secured metal door on the other side of the room.
Khileen followed, curious when he stared back at her as though impatient with her lack of haste.
Swinging the door open, he allowed her to stare inside the darkened room, tiny to the point of claustrophobic, and holding a single bound, gagged and blindfolded male. The same male Rule Breaker was searching for.
Lifting his hand and crooking his finger in a “come here” signal, he then led the way to the bank of security monitors on the other side of the room, flipped one on and surprised her yet again.
“The wife?” she glanced up at Gideon’s gaze questioningly. “Why kill the wife?”
“Kill her?” Gideon smiled. “Honey, I’m not going to kill her. I’m going to let her hear the bastard’s confession when he starts spilling his guts. Now make that fucking call before I do what I was going to do when I arrived. Kill the bastard, release the wife outside town and get the hell out of Dodge.”
She had to laugh at that. “And leave the mate you’re obviously well aware exists close by?” she asked softly.
He stilled. Not a muscle moved, and even the pulse at his neck seemed to still.
She smiled gently. “I told you, I’m no fool. But neither am I your enemy. Think about it, think very very closely, and you’ll realize, Graeme, I’m probably the dearest friend you’ll ever hope to have.”
With that, she turned and walked slowly away from him, showing him her back, giving him the chance to take her out if that was what he wanted to do.
Hell, he’d be doing her a favor if he did.
CHAPTER 30
FOUR HOURS LATER
The cavern was dark, shadowed. It had obviously been used for more than simply holding one gutless bastard beneath the glare of an uncovered bulb. It worked for that, though. Very well actually.
Gypsy stepped toward the light slowly, aware of Rule, Lawe and Diane at her back, ensuring her protection.
Was it the same, she wondered, not bothering to censor her thoughts as she felt Rule’s presence inside her. Was it the same as the hunt, the heady rush of adrenaline once he would have been caught?
He wouldn’t have run.
No, she thought as a whisper of certainty touched her mind. He wouldn’t have run. He would have lied. He would have turned to Thea and her parents and they would have believed him, no doubt.
“That’s far enough.” The voice came from the darkness, drawing her to a hard stop as her gaze jerked to the darkness behind the light.
Gideon.
“He’s not at his most presentable.” The voice was amused and filled with disgust, the primal rasp of sound had Jason Harte flinching, a whimper leaving his throat as the scent of urine became decidedly stronger.
A heavy sigh sounded from the disembodied voice a second before broad fingers curved over his shoulders. Where his nails should have been, strong, sharp claws stained with dried blood extended instead.
“He doesn’t hold his water very well,” Gideon drawled then. “I remember when we were in the labs fighting for the fucking Council. The bastards they sent us up against didn’t piss themselves so easily, did they, Commander?”
“No, they didn’t,” Rule agreed as Gypsy felt the heavy weight of sorrow, remnants of remembered fury and pain echoing from him as she tried to find a way to comfort him as he did her.
She reached for him with her hand, feeling his fingers enclose hers as she continued to stare at the terrified Jason.
His brown eyes were bloodshot, pupils enlarged with terror. The tanned flesh of his face was strikingly pale, the once immaculate shirt and slacks hanging on his frame, torn, smeared with dirt and blood.
“Mark was brave when he died,” she whispered, seeing none of that quality in the friend he’d so trusted. “He wasn’t afraid for himself, just for me.”
She remembered that. Remembered the pain and regret, the sorrow and how his gaze had been so heavy with the lack of hope.
The hand on his shoulder moved.
Another whimper left Jason’s throat, filtering through the gag tied across his lips just before it was released.
“Gypsy?” Frantic, terrified, he searched the shadows where she stood. “God, Gypsy, honey, what are you doing here?”
He tried so hard to seem sincere, confused. He wasn’t confused, not in the least.
“Mark always told me to cry when I needed to,” she mused, feeling a heavy, dark fury filling her. “He said it would heal my heart. He said I didn’t have to be brave, that was what big brothers were for. And he never gave me nicknames. But you always laughed at me. Told me to be a big girl when you caught me crying over something. You always jeered at me because you said I wasn’t brave. And I fucking hated being called Peanut,” she spat out at him. “It’s over, Jason. I remembered what Mark was trying to tell me when he told me to be brave, not to cry, and called me Peanut. But even more, I remember what I saw when I watched Grody whisper the name of the friend who betrayed him in his ear. The pain.” It tore through her, ripping at her soul. “He loved you like a brother.”
Jason’s nostrils flared as he stared back at her, despite the darkness surrounding her. His gaze searched the darkness for some sign of weakness, for a way out. She recognized that look. The look of guilt, calculation and pure fear.
“Gypsy, you’re wrong—”
“Save it,” Rule snapped. “She’s not alone, Harte, and the stink of your lies makes me want to rip your throat out myself.”
“Gypsy, please . . .” Jason cried, only to whimper as that claw-tipped hand landed on his shoulder again.
“I have a better idea,” Gideon rasped, amused despite the anger she could feel pulsing from him. “You want the truth, but this man will never give you such a thing without a little help. And with men like this, they never give such things willingly.”
“No,” Jason whispered, shuddering, whimpering as the claws bit into his shoulder.
Blood seeped into the shirt from the points where the sharpened nails bit into his flesh.
Gypsy inhaled, fury beating at the edges of her brain despite the shield she felt Rule throwing between her senses and the ragged, raging emotions clawing at it.
“Stop,” she whispered to him. “Don’t make me hide from it.”
“Gypsy, you don’t have to hurt like this,” he growled, the sound powerful, commanding.
“Me and my emotions are old friends, Rule,” she told him then. “I’ve waited nine years for this moment. I don’t want to lose a single emotion, a single second of it.”
Lawe murmured something to him, and though the shield was suddenly gone, she felt Rule with her more strongly than ever.
She could handle that, though. It kept her moored, kept the agonizing rage from poisoning every particle of her being as a low, enraged cry parted her lips.
“Dammit, Gypsy, I loved Mark like a brother . . .”
Grody leaned to Mark, but his gaze was on her as he whispered the words. She watched his lips, saw the words form and her gaze jerked to her brother’s eyes.
Resigned sorrow and rage had filled her brother’s eyes.