Oh, God.
It was Deacon! Deacon, standing right there on the platform, the hem of his trench coat blowing around from the brisk wind in the station.
Their eyes locked. For one brief second, hope shot up her chest, warming her heart. He was here. He was going to save her. He was—
“Keep walking,” Deacon snapped, and all the hope in her body fizzled like a wet candle.
She felt pressure against her hip. Realized Scar Cheek was pressing his gun into her back. Fear spiraled through her. Fear and amazement and pure and utter shock.
Deacon. Was here. He was here, with two other men. With guns.
Oh, God, she was being kidnapped by the father of her baby.
Chapter 2
Deacon Holt was not a religious man. Never had been, probably never would be. Yet at that moment, as he stared into Lana Kelley’s bottomless blue eyes, he found himself praying.
Praying that she’d keep her mouth shut.
If she said his name, or let on that they’d slept together, they’d both be screwed. Le Clair wouldn’t think twice about yanking Deacon’s ass off this assignment, and if that happened, Lana Kelley would be utterly alone. Defenseless.
Dead.
Deacon forced the troubling thought from his head and kept walking. A quick backward glance and he confirmed that the flood of familiarity was still swimming on Lana’s gorgeous face. She knew exactly who he was.
Well, no kidding. They’d gone to bed with each other, of course she wouldn’t forget that.
Frustration gathered in his gut, making his intestines burn. Damn it. Why, why had he slept with her? He’d always prided himself on possessing incredible control, yet one look at Lana Kelley’s flawless features and slender fragile body, and he’d been a goner. He was supposed to be tailing her, monitoring her movements until Le Clair got word from his bosses that the mission was a go. Instead, he’d fallen into bed with the woman, unable to steel himself against her soft, melodic voice and big blue eyes.
At least Le Clair didn’t suspect anything. After Lana left his hotel room that night, Deacon had reported in, informing his boss that inadvertent contact had been made. Le Clair promptly pulled him off tailing rotation, and Deacon had spent the past two weeks alternating between the urge to kick himself and the need to see Lana Kelley again.
Somehow, the woman had gotten under his skin. Big-time.
And yet you’re kidnapping her, said the mocking voice in his head.
Deacon didn’t allow himself to dwell on the sliver of guilt that pricked his skin. This was business. He might have messed up and screwed the target, but he wasn’t about to screw himself. His work as a mercenary was all he had. He’d been forced to fend for himself since he was fifteen years old, making money by whatever means necessary. And he hadn’t gotten to this point by distracting himself with foolish human emotions like guilt. Emotions, frankly, were a waste of time, and he forced himself to remember that as he led the group toward the exit of the station.
Behind him, Charlie and Tango were practically dragging Lana, urging her in hard tones to keep walking. Deacon had never worked with the two men before. Didn’t even know their real names. Le Clair assigned each team member names from the military alphabet, corresponding to the letters of their first name. So Charlie and Tango could be Carl and Tom, or Chris and Tim, for all Deacon knew. But they were pros, that much was evident. They’d handled Lana Kelley with supreme efficiency back on that train.
Deacon might even have been impressed by their professionalism, if he hadn’t been battling the ridiculous urge to take Lana into his arms and carry her off the train to safety.
What the hell was the matter with him?
Focus. You’re on a job.
Deacon drew in a calming breath. Okay. He had to quit remembering the way Lana Kelley looked naked—as mind-blowing as the image was—and treat her as he did any other target. Faceless. Nameless. A means to an end. And in this case, the end was a staggering amount of money. Whoever had hired Le Clair was obviously rolling in dough.
“Please, don’t do this.”
Lana’s agonized whisper made his shoulders stiffen. He refused to turn around. Didn’t want to see the fear and horror and disappointment on her pretty face.
“Shut up,” Charlie muttered.
She ignored the order. “Please,” she said again. “I’ll give you anything you want, just let me go. I have money. Lots and lots of it. My father is—”
“We know exactly who your father is,” Tango cut in, sounding amused. “So shut your trap and walk.”
Lana made a startled noise, as if Tango had shoved her, and Deacon fought back a wave of rage. If Tango touched her one more time, Deacon would…do nothing.