Mine To Protect (Mine #6)(8)

She gave a broken laugh. “Trust me, I knew plenty.”

Tell me plenty, sweetheart. Tell me. “Did he ever admit it to you? Did he ever tell you—”

“That he had my mother killed?” Her voice was just a rasp now. Her lashes lifted. She gazed up at him, and there was so much pain in her eyes. “There was no need to tell me. The police report said it was a home invasion. But I was there.”

Tell me. It was his job to get the truth from her. His hands were still fisted at his sides. Fisted so hard they hurt. Touch her. Hold her. Take away her f*cking pain. Only right then, he was the one putting her in pain as he made her dig up her bloody past.

“My mother was one of the only people who actually loved him.” A tear slipped from her eye.

Oh, hell, I cannot handle her tears. “Zoe…”

“I need to shower,” she said again, voice tight. “Please, I-I need to shower.”

You need to tell me. Give me nails to shove in Luther’s coffin.

She pushed past him and ran into the bathroom. She shoved that door closed—as much as it would shut.

Victor stared at that white door and its peeling paint. He knew he couldn’t press her anymore, not right then. He had a job to do—one he didn’t like. One Zoe didn’t fully understand. Getting her to trust him, getting her to confide all in him—yeah, that was the plan. The big order from up top at the Bureau.

But right then, Zoe had been through enough. She’d nearly died—right beside him—that night. Fear was still present, curling like a snake in his gut. He wasn’t used to fear. There were only two people in the world he cared about. Two people that weren’t family, not really, but fate and circumstance had bonded them so that they were better than family. Saxon Black and Jasmine Bennett. Though Bennett wasn’t the name she used any longer…Long ago, he, Saxon and Jasmine had forged a life together on the streets. Helped each other. Supported one another.

Kept each other’s secrets.

He’d feared for them before. Been worried as all hell about their survival. But Saxon and Jasmine had beaten the threats they faced.

And his fear had faded.

Until Zoe. Until beautiful Zoe Peters had come into his life. Until she’d been threatened. When he’d thought she might be dead in that SUV with him, something had changed. The fear had come barreling back, only it had been so much worse than any terror he’d ever experienced before.

The fear hadn’t faded, not completely, and he knew it was because Zoe still wasn’t safe.

Zoe was getting under his skin. The plan had been for her to connect with him. Not for him to feel this stupid f*cking tie with her. But…

It’s there. Her pain hurts me.

He headed toward the bathroom door. He could hear the roar of the shower inside. He put his hand on the door. “Zoe, do you need anything?”

There was no response. His hand moved to the doorknob. Was she crying in there? Was she—

“Just leave me alone, Victor.” Her voice was soft and so very sad.

His hand stilled on the knob. I wish I could, baby. I wish I could…but that isn’t going to happen.

***

Zoe needed clothes. When she’d been fleeing to the bus station, she hadn’t exactly stopped to pack an extra bag. Her priority had been to get away from the FBI agent, Russell Aiker, who’d been guarding her. So she’d pretty much vanished with the clothes on her back. Now Zoe stood in the middle of the bathroom, her hair wet and a towel wrapped around her body. The mirror in front of her was too fogged up for Zoe to see her own reflection. That last bit was probably a good thing—she didn’t want to look at herself right then.

After all this time, and, yes, looking in my own eyes is still too hard. Because she didn’t like what she saw in the mirror. Didn’t like it at all.

Luther’s daughter.

Maybe she’d just put back on the clothes she’d worn before. She could do that. The long sleeved t-shirt and jeans would be fine for now. Far better to wear them than to prance around in front of Victor just wearing a towel.

That would be such a bad idea. As bad as sharing a motel room with him tonight? Because Victor had only booked one room. One room with one bed.

As if her night had not been bad enough.

She heard a sharp knock—one that had her head jerking to the right. Only the knock wasn’t on the bathroom door. The sound had been too distant. Someone is outside of our motel room.

“Relax, Zoe,” Victor called out. As if he’d known she’d just gotten scared as all hell. “It’s my team.”

Good. Fabulous. His team. Not the current killer on her trail. And with more FBI agents there—their presence definitely meant it was time to put her clothes back on. She dressed as quickly as she could, not bothering with her shoes, but wearing her underwear, jeans and that t-shirt. Then she yanked open the bathroom door.

The group was waiting near the bed. Victor, looking confident and grim—his usual style. Victor’s dark hair wasn’t even tousled. His blue eyes glinted, and his broad shoulders were set with determination. Russell—he wore his suit, unwrinkled, his usual perfect style. Russell Aiker was a tall, handsome, African American in his early thirties. She actually liked Russell. And he seemed to like her, too. That was how she’d been able to give him the slip before. Don’t make the mistake of being kind to me. I use kindness.