No Place to Run (KGI #2)(23)

“Why aren’t you two out there with Sam?” she demanded. “What if something happens to him?”

Garrett shot her an incredulous look. “Nothing’s going to happen to him. Sam can handle himself.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re in here.”

“You want something to eat?” Donovan asked.

Startled, she glanced at him, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten. Powered by the suggestion, her stomach caved, and she broke out in a sweat. Her hands shook.

“Have a seat,” Donovan said gently. “I’ll bring you some soup, okay?”

With a resigned sigh, she sank back onto the cushion. Donovan disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her with Garrett.

“Do you always have that look on your face?” she asked.

For a moment his frown slipped and he looked startled by the question. Then he scowled but didn’t reply. She shrugged and settled back on the couch, closing her eyes wearily.

Her drug-induced coma hadn’t been a substitute for a good hard sleep, and now her body was nearing shutdown. The smell of chicken wafted across her nose, and she stirred but was so tired, she wasn’t sure she could summon the strength to open her eyes and eat.

“Sophie.”

Her eyes flew open to see Sam standing there, his gaze boring into her. Had he always been so tall and muscled? She’d spent a lot of time naked with him, but now, dressed in a black T-shirt and camo pants, he looked . . . fierce. Like a man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure of.

“You need to eat,” he said.

It was then she saw the bowl in his hand. She swallowed nervously. They hadn’t talked—hadn’t said anything since she’d dropped her bomb on him. Should she tell him her father was dead? That she’d killed him? Would he even believe her?

Her stomach bottomed out again, and she covered her nervousness by shifting position on the couch. Her arm was starting to ache fiercely again, and despite her anger over the forced painkiller, it would have been nice to have the pain subside again.

She cleared her throat, hating to show weakness. She’d been forced to show strength in front of her father for so long that it was ingrained.

“Do you have something for pain?” she asked. “Like a pill. Something that won’t knock me out.”

The lines in Sam’s forehead deepened. “Of course. Here.” He handed her the bowl and slid the spoon around the inside until it rested against her finger. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”

She cupped the bowl in her palms and let the warmth bleed into her hands. She sighed as she inhaled and closed her eyes to let the steam rise over her cheeks. It smelled like heaven.

Sam returned with a small plastic bottle and a glass of milk. He shook out a couple of the tablets and sat next to her on the couch. Then he held up the milk.

His gaze dropped to her belly. “For the baby,” he said gruffly.

Carefully she put the bowl on her lap, balancing it carefully so the soup didn’t spill. Touched by the gesture, she took the milk and the pills and then peered at him over the rim of the glass as she chased the medicine down.

It was hard to gauge his mood. He was frowning, but then it seemed all the Kellys loved to frown.

His eyes flickered, and again he looked down at her belly.

She drained the glass and set it aside before reaching for the bowl again. He made her uneasy, watching her as she sipped at the broth. They were all watching her like she was some bug under a microscope, some undiscovered species.

Spoonful by spoonful she concentrated on the warm liquid that coated her throat down to her empty stomach. When she was finished, Sam took the bowl, their hands touching for just an instant.

He paused and she stared down at those fingers, remembering how they felt on her body, how tender he’d been. How rough he’d been. And demanding.

She shook away those memories, determined that they not have sway in the here and now. Who was she kidding? She’d wish away the present in a heartbeat if she could just go back to those precious days she’d spent in his arms.

No, she wouldn’t go back. She’d give up a lot but not her freedom. Maybe she’d made a mistake to run to Sam. She’d thought she was out of options, but maybe she should have just kept on running.

She looked into his eyes, meeting that steady gaze with steel determination.

“What do we do now?”

CHAPTER 9

SAM pulled a small digital camera from his pocket and turned the LCD toward Sophie.

“Recognize him?”

She recoiled, and her stomach heaved. She jerked her head away as her breaths hiccupped from her mouth. The man was obviously dead, a gaping cut to the throat.

“Do you?”

She glanced back and folded both arms over her belly. Then she nodded.

“He’s the one who threatened to kill our baby,” she said in a low voice.

“You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

She lifted her gaze to meet Sam’s. There was anger reflected in the blue. But there was also coldness and she shivered against the violence of it.

“Did you kill him?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Neither did she hesitate. “Good.”

“He was one of your father’s personal assassins,” Sam said. He pushed a button on the camera and then turned it again so she could see.