Czytaj książkę: «When You Dare»

Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Lori Foster

“Foster writes smart, sexy, engaging characters.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan

“Known for her funny, sexy writing”

—Booklist

“Foster’s latest is pure entertainment and a joy to read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Back in Black

“Foster outwrites most of her peers.”

—Library Journal

“Intense, edgy and hot. Lori Foster delivers everything

you’re looking for in a romance.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann

Krentz on Hard to Handle

“Lori Foster delivers the goods.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Tension, temptation, hot action, and hotter romance—

Lori Foster has it all! Hard to Handle is a knockout!”

—New York Times bestselling author

Elizabeth Lowell

When You
Dare

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Readers,

I’ve launched into a new series of über-Alpha hunks. The men are similar to private mercenaries, so they’re big, capable, a little dangerous and oh-so-sexy. When it comes to rescuing the innocent, they do what has to be done, however it has to be done. I like to call them my men who “walk the edge of honour.”

Stay tuned for the next two books in the series, Trace of Fever and Savour the Danger, coming soon.

To see more about the books, visit my website at www.LoriFoster.com. And feel free to chat with me on my Facebook fanpage: www.facebook.com/pages/LoriFoster/233405457965.

I’m very excited about this new series, and I hope you will be, too!

To Shana Schwer,

Thank you for lending me your fur babies, Sargie and Tai, to be featured as the Labs in the book. Your girls are truly beautiful, and I love their unique personalities.

I hope I did them justice!

Pet owners are truly wonderful people!

Lori

CHAPTER ONE

MIDNIGHT CAME AND went with only the quiet buzz of meager traffic along the beach. An occasional horn blew or tires squealed. Two people exited a bar nearby, laughing too loud before piling into an SUV and steering drunkenly onto the road.

In the shadows of a weed-ridden parking lot at the back of the rundown motel, no one noticed them. Avoiding the glow of the full yellow moon, they stood behind the south wall beneath a broken security lamp.

A lamp Dare Macintosh had broken.

Ocean breezes stirred the air and heightened his senses. While scanning the area and repeatedly peering at the black van he’d rented when first arriving in San Diego, Dare waited. His friend, Trace Rivers, embraced his younger sister with choking emotion.

It had been a long two days filled with frantic preparation, little sleep, less food and loads of pumping adrenaline: the conditions in which Dare operated best.

With the job done, and then some, he desperately wanted something to eat and a place to sleep. Even more than that, he wanted to check on the skinny, abused woman still out cold in the backseat of the van.

“Tell me,” Trace said, not to Alani, whom he kept crushed close, but to Dare.

After again glancing at the van, Dare nodded. He’d found Alani and returned her to Trace as he’d sworn to, but neither man knew yet what she had suffered.

“She was in Tijuana, as you said. Locked in a trailer with some other women in an isolated area.”

“Heavily guarded?”

“Yes.”

Trace drew a strained breath, and uttered what they both had known: “Human traffickers.”

Dare nodded. “Not much in the way of food or drinks. Dirty, airless with the windows screwed shut. They had the women …” He hesitated, knowing how Trace would take it, but he needed to know. “They were leashed, chained to grommets in the floor, with just enough chain to reach a toilet. No sink.”

“Fuckers.” Overcome with rage, Trace knotted his hand in his sister’s hair and squeezed her tighter, protectively.

She didn’t complain.

Trace never used coarse language in front of his sister, which meant he was on the ragged edge, barely aware of what he said or did. Dare looked away from them, understanding the lack of control.

He focused on the rented van. “I had to go through several lookouts and a few armed guards to get her out of there.”

“Quietly.” Trace made it a statement, not a question.

“There wasn’t much fuss.” Dare always worked in efficient silence; an alarm would have brought more armed guards, possibly too many for him to combat. As much as he wanted to kill them all, he hadn’t.

Only those most responsible.

By the time the empty trailer was discovered, Dare was already heading over the border into San Diego—where Trace waited. Over the years he’d built up alliances everywhere, and sometimes worked with the coyotes who made a living taking people back and forth over the border.

Thanks to those contacts, even with the extra cargo slumped in his backseat, no one had stopped him as he went through the border checkpoint. The van had been given only a cursory inspection, his weapons ignored, and the excuse of the women being tired—never mind that one was beaten and haggard, only half-dressed—had satisfied all questions.

Both men were damn good at what they did. But Trace couldn’t go after his sister himself as he’d wanted, because the men holding her knew what he looked like. Before he’d have even gotten close to Tijuana, Trace would have been spotted by lookouts.

So Dare had gone—and come back with more than he’d bargained for.

Making a small sound, Alani tucked her face in closer to her brother’s shoulder. The siblings shared blond hair and light brown eyes, but that’s where the physical similarities ended. Trace was thirty, of an age with Dare, eight years older than his sister. He stood six foot three and weighed over two hundred pounds—all of it muscle.

Next to him, Alani looked tiny and fragile and, presently, wounded. Even since Dare had removed her from the trailer, fresh bruises continued to show on her arms and around her narrow wrists. Because the bastards had planned to sell her, they hadn’t harmed her face.

Innocence was a huge commodity, and at twenty-two, having led a sheltered life, Alani gave off a definite vibe of innocence. Blond-haired, blue-eyed women brought the most profit, but he had a feeling that Alani’s golden-brown eyes, in contrast to her very fair hair, would have fascinated the sick pricks.

Dare prayed they hadn’t raped her, knowing a woman ill-used would bring less, but he left that uncomfortable discussion for Trace.

Hearing a noise like a soft moan, Dare zeroed in on the van with his senses on alert. He’d left the rear door open so he’d hear her if she moved, if she awoke…. But she did no more than readjust.

Three hours had passed since he’d carried her out of that trailer. Worry gnawed at him.

Why didn’t she awaken?

“Dare?” His eyes filled with pain, rage and relief, Trace whispered, “Thank you.”

Alani gave an audible swallow, and then she, too, said, “Yes, thank you. So much.”

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Dare replied without words. He’d known Alani for years, watched her grow up, and felt like a pseudo big brother in many ways. He’d attended her graduation, both from high school and college. He’d been there with Alani and Trace when they buried their parents.

They had become part of his hodgepodge family.

Two days ago human traffickers had snatched Alani outside her hotel while she vacationed near the beach. Tomorrow she would have been sold, and finding her after that might have become impossible.

Right now, what the siblings needed was time alone, and Dare needed to sort things out with his remaining passenger. “I should get going.”

Trace followed Dare’s attention toward the van, saw the slim, dirty foot that appeared out of the open rear-passenger door, and lifted one eyebrow in an expression of disbelief. “You have a passenger?”

“A small complication, that’s all.”

“You’re serious?”

Dare shrugged. “There were six women in that small trailer, Trace. Four of them were local and scattered as soon as I got them free.” He nodded his head toward the van. “That one was drugged, near starved, grimy.” And in many ways, even in the cramped confines of the rusty trailer, she’d been separated from the others, kept alone.

For certain, she wasn’t the typical woman kidnapped for the growing sex trade.

Trace grew curious in that quiet way of his. “An American … complication?”

“I think so.” From what he’d seen of her grubby face, she didn’t look foreign. “She hasn’t come to yet, so I haven’t been able to talk to her.”

Alani turned in her brother’s arms, and she, too, looked toward the van. “She fought them whenever she came to. She called them names and almost … egged them on.” Alani shivered in remembered fear. “It was so horrible. The men slapped her around for being mouthy, but she didn’t stop. She just cursed them more.”

Dare frowned. The little idiot might have been killed. “Foolhardy.”

“I think she was really … angry.” As if she couldn’t fathom such boldness, Alani took a breath. “Even when they held her down to force more drugs on her, she didn’t cry. She … raged.”

“Did she speak English?”

Nodding, Alani said, “She sounded American to me. I mean, no accent or anything.”

Considering all that, Dare said aloud, “She wasn’t there for the same purpose as the rest of you.”

“Probably not. Sometimes four or five of them would come in the trailer, but they’d stand around her and I couldn’t see what they did. As far as I could tell, they never really leered at her like …” She bit her lip, shivered again. “Like they did the rest of us. They never seemed to be sizing her up for anything. They just picked on her.”

Trace hugged her again. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

She nodded, shored up by the courage her brother had given her, and faced Dare. “She was there when we got there, already looking pretty bad. Once, before the men drugged her, she told me her name was Molly.”

“Molly what?”

Alani shook her head. “We weren’t supposed to talk, so I was afraid to ask her anything.”

Trace tucked her back in close and asked over her head, “What are you going to do with her now?”

“No idea.” Dare thought of her insubstantial weight when she’d been over his shoulder, of that tangled, light brown hair that had concealed much of her bruised face. “Hopefully someone will pay me for bringing her home.”

Without releasing her brother, Alani reached out and punched Dare for the callous comment. He grinned, caught her wrist and kissed her knuckles.

She’d been given a terrible fright, and two days had probably felt like a month, but Alani had spirit. She’d get through this, thank God.

But the other one … How long had they had her? And why? Impatient with thoughts of her, Dare said, “I gotta run.”

“Hold up a sec.” Trace caught his arm, then dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a fat envelope.

Pissed, Dare took a step back. “What the hell is that?”

“Expenses. And don’t curse in front of Alani.”

Hell, just because he usually hired out didn’t mean he’d charge a friend—a brother. He’d have gone after Alani if he’d had to crawl the whole way. “I don’t need it.”

Solemn, Trace held the envelope out to him. “But I need you to take it.”

It hit Dare anew how difficult this was for Trace, not just that his sister had been hurt, but that he hadn’t been able to go after her himself.

Dare took the envelope. “Thanks.” He leaned in close. “And for future reference, I resolved the issue of you being recognized.” There was no one left who knew Trace.

Deep satisfaction glittered in Trace’s eyes. He gave a sharp nod. “I should have doubled the amount.”

“No.” Dare’s smile wasn’t friendly. “That was all my pleasure.”

With no further discussion of money, Trace and Alani said their goodbyes and left the lot in Trace’s silver Jag. They’d stay in an upscale hotel for the night and fly home tomorrow. Until then, Trace would keep his sister under very close guard.

Dare stood there, watching them until the purr of the engine faded and their taillights could no longer be seen. Moon shadows surrounded him. Night creatures gave a gentle call.

The peaceful ambiance didn’t deceive him.

Hands on his hips, he looked again toward the van.

Now what?

The hospital, with all those questions and a lack of answers?

A hotel room? That would be his preference, but not with a woman on the brink of death.

If she was on the brink of death. Drugs could be a real complication, giving false symptoms and concealing a true state of health. It was possible that if she’d just come to, she’d be okay.

But maybe not.

Dare needed her to drink, to eat. And it wouldn’t hurt to get the bugs out of her hair.

Before he even realized it, he strode that way, anxious to look in on her again.

One hand on the top of the open door, the other on the side of the car, Dare leaned in—and found her awake. Enormous, bruised eyes dominated her face.

Before he could register that she’d come around, he got a very dirty foot to the face. Hard.

He jerked back. “Son of a—”

The attack took him by surprise, and even with her meager strength, a heel to the nose hurt like hell. But he didn’t want to compound things by overreacting. She’d recovered with a vengeance and most probably a lot of confusion. Though blood trickled from his nose, Dare wasn’t disabled in any way.

With no help for it, he leaned into the backseat and, after a very brief struggle, pinned her down with her arms over her head, her legs caught under his.

Those large, slightly unfocused eyes glared at him. They were dark brown, like rich chocolate, and at the moment filled with a wealth of fear and rage.

She didn’t scream, thank God, just breathed hard and fast and strained against him.

“You’re safe now,” Dare told her while trying to control her in a way that wouldn’t allow her to hurt herself. “You’re in San Diego, not Mexico.”

She blinked fast, giving away her nervousness.

Dare sought the right words to reassure her. “I was there to retrieve a friend, one of the girls trapped in the trailer with you. And there you were, too, so …” Lacking a sound business argument for his decision, Dare rolled one shoulder. “So I took you.”

She stilled a little, wary, uncertain. Hopeful.

“Your options now are the hospital, hotel or police. Take your pick.”

Seconds ticked by. A drop of blood from his nose landed on her chest to mingle with dark bruises, numerous scratches and dirt. She didn’t flinch, and short of releasing her, there wasn’t much Dare could do about his bleeding nose.

Lifting her head, she looked beyond him, but it was dark, too dark to see and recognize the dubious safety of an American parking lot.

Then, just as suddenly as she’d attacked, she went limp, her head falling back, her muscles weak. Either from her recent exertion or continued terror, Dare felt a fine trembling in her slim body.

Voice quaking, she whispered, “Hotel, please.”

Unexpected.

But appreciated. “Wise choice.” He waited for theatrics, for that scream that didn’t come. Cautious, Dare eyed her. “I can let you go without more violence?”

She gave one jerky nod.

Slowly, he sat up and levered himself out of the van. She didn’t move. She didn’t look capable of moving.

Stripping off his shirt, he used it to clean the blood from his busted nose.

What to do now? If he went to the front desk to register them, would she try to skip out on him? Dare could see that she wasn’t yet herself, didn’t have much left of strength or composure. If panic sent her running, she wouldn’t get far, and could end up right back in trouble again.

But he couldn’t very well traipse her into the motel with him.

For one thing … she reeked.

Not that he held that against her. Thanks to the conditions he’d found her in, personal cleanliness would have been impossible. But to add to that, the space they’d provided her hadn’t been much better than a dump. He’d seen rat holes near the moldy mattress they’d supplied her, as well as a variety of bugs crawling around.

For another, she wore only a long T-shirt that didn’t quite reach her very dirty, scuffed knees, with another oversized man’s button-up shirt over it. The clothes dwarfed her small body, looking absurd. Mud and more caked her bare feet. Her brown hair looked like it had been through a blender.

While he tried to sort out his next move, she slowly sat upright, holding tightly to the back of the seat for balance. She swallowed convulsively. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Without a word, he opened the front passenger door and fetched a bottle of water from the floor. Knowing she was weak, he opened the cap and handed it to her.

He started to caution her about guzzling, but she didn’t. She sipped, made a sound of pleasure, sipped again. “Oh, God, that’s good. My throat is so dry, I think I could drink a river.”

“No problem.”

Sitting back against the seat, she closed her eyes, but only for a moment. “What day is it?”

Fascinating. Little by little, she pulled it together, and instead of hysterics, she wanted to make sense of the situation. Dare admired that—because it’s what he would have done. “March ninth. Monday.”

As if that made her head pound, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’ve … they’ve had me for nine days?” Lower, more to herself, she said, “I lost track, but … it felt so much longer.”

Dare gave a low whistle in surprise. Nine days—and she was still alive? Unheard of. Captured women were not kept around that long, because hanging on to them upped the risk of being caught. “You were in that same trailer the whole time?”

“The whole time.” Struggling with emotion, she sipped again, rolled her lips in and turned toward him. “I’m sorry about your nose. I wasn’t sure …”

“Don’t worry about it.” In his line of work, he’d had worse injuries. Already it had stopped bleeding, and probably wouldn’t even bruise.

For some reason, his reassurance made her look ready to cry. But she rallied. “I’m still a little woozy. I haven’t eaten for days.” She touched her hair and flinched. “God knows I need a shower. And a real bed would be like heaven.” She took a few more sips, swallowing painfully.

Dare watched her, impressed that she showed great intelligence in not gulping the water, which would probably have made her barf.

She scrubbed at a bruised eye with a small fist, then sighed. “I can’t very well be seen like this. Humiliation left me long ago, but it would raise too many questions.” She looked at him for a solution.

“I can check us in.” With each passing second, he grew confident that she wouldn’t skip out. She was more clear-headed, more reasonable than he could have hoped for, given what Alani had told him.

Again she sipped, and Dare knew it was to buy herself some time, to think for a quiet moment.

Holding the bottle tight, she drew a breath. “I have money, Mr….?”

“Just call me Dare.” He didn’t share his name, or his identity, lightly. He still didn’t know enough about her to trust her.

After a nod, she stuck out a dirty hand with chipped fingernails. “Molly Alexander.”

Ridiculous. But Dare took her very small hand in his. “Molly.”

Even though she’d initiated the handshake, his hold must have alarmed her; she drew back after barely touching him. “I have money to reimburse you, Dare. I promise. But obviously … not on me. For reasons I’d sooner go into later, I don’t want to involve the police in any of this.”

Interesting. What secrets could this skinny bit of a woman be hiding? “Ditto on hospitals?”

“Definitely.” She shrunk away at just the thought. “No hospitals.”

If she went to the hospital, they’d need a name, and then they’d want to call the police. Why didn’t she want them involved?

“You’ve been drugged.” Dare wondered what they’d given her, and if there would be any side effects. “You know, Molly, you could be sick, hurt—”

“No, not hurt.”

Her definition of hurt differed greatly from his. With a raised brow he eyed several bruises and scrapes on her delicate skin. “Someone hit you. More than once.”

Her eyes clouded again, and her voice went gruff. “Yes, and it was the worst experience of my entire life. But I’ll be fine.”

“Are you convincing me, or yourself?”

“I will be. I promise.”

Lots of promises, Dare thought. He glanced down at his bloodied, ruined shirt, and tossed it toward an overflowing garbage container in the parking lot. Intending to find a new shirt, he reached around her for his overnight bag.

Gasping, she covered her face and scuttled back into the corner of the seat. But she almost immediately caught herself and sat up again as if in challenge.

Unwilling to press her, Dare paused. “We’re on the same side, remember?”

Pained, she closed her eyes and nodded.

Gutsy little thing, he decided. He pulled on the fresh shirt and then waited, arms crossed. If she didn’t want to pass out in the van, she’d have to hurry it up and make a decision. Already she looked on the verge of keeling over.

After swaying from what looked like a wave of dizziness, she cleared her throat. “If you could arrange for a room tonight, I’d be really, really grateful.”

“I could do that.” Her continued formality confounded him. Most women would be babbling and crying for their mommy or daddy, or maybe a husband. Did Molly have a husband, a significant other?

Avoiding his gaze, she rolled her lips in again, took a few deep breaths and then whispered, “One room please, but perhaps with two beds.” Tears welled, and she blinked them away before saying in a voice broken by fear, “God’s truth, I don’t want to be alone right now.”

NOW THAT SHE WAS safely inside a small but clean motel room, Molly tried to organize her thoughts. In order to keep from collapsing, she had to prioritize her most immediate needs, which were food, clothes, sleep, shower …

One glance down at herself, and she shuddered. Shower first, definitely. Now that she was free, she wasn’t about to spend even one more night sleeping in her own filth. And as hungry as she was, she refused to eat with such dirty hands.

Mustering her flagging courage, she turned to Dare. He was so damn big, and very gruff. Seeing him without his shirt when they were still in the parking lot should have alarmed her; even in the moonlight, she’d detected several scars over his chest, rib cage and shoulders that looked like healed knife and bullet wounds. Even now that he was dressed again, doing no more than settling into the room, he looked powerful, with noticeable strength.

But after being threatened endlessly for nine days by the most corrupt animals imaginable, Molly knew foul intent when she saw it.

Dare wasn’t foul. She had the feeling he used his incredible strength to protect, not to inflict pain. Though he hadn’t been sent for her, had no promises of payment for his efforts, he’d rescued her rather than leave her behind.

And now, whether he realized it yet or not, he was stuck with her.

She would pay him—once she got his agreement to keep her safe. “Excuse me, please, but if I could impose further …”

“Look.” The big man turned away from the twin bed where he’d set a battered leather overnight bag. “Enough with the proper bullshit. You’ve been through hell, yes?”

Blue eyes, fringed by the thickest lashes, took her measure. The pulling of his black brows drove home just how disgusting her physical state was right now.

Molly nodded. “Absolutely.” Hell times ten. Never in her wildest imagination—and as many could attest, her imagination could be pretty wild at times—had she envisioned the awful scenario she’d survived.

But she had survived it. And now she had to figure out how to proceed while still protecting herself.

“I don’t need you to be formal.” He set the bottle of water on the nightstand by her. “I don’t need you to put on a good front, either. You’re a small woman, probably not weighing more than a buck ten.”

Molly glanced down at herself. She’d always weighed one twenty-five, but now … she just didn’t know. She had lost weight. But that much?

“You’re hurt,” Dare continued, “and hungry, tired, dehydrated and pretty damn dirty.”

Absurdly close to tears again, Molly scowled. “Your point?”

“If you want to fall apart, feel free. I sure as hell won’t judge you, and it’ll stay between us.”

How kind that Dare would offer to keep her confidences for her. “No, thank you.” She hadn’t survived that hell just to crumple up now. “I’ll be fine.”

He folded muscled arms over an equally muscled chest. Beard shadow roughened his jaw. His knuckles looked as if they’d recently struck something—or someone.

She sincerely hoped it was one of the pigs who’d treated her so badly.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I need you to drink that bottle of water, and then another after that. Slowly.”

Right. Water would be good—if only her stomach weren’t so jumpy.

“And the phony, unaffected act has got to go.”

Fresh anger wrung through her already aching muscles. “Look, buster, I’m not going to lose it now, got that?” She chugged a few sips of water and returned the bottle to the small table between the beds. Then she clutched it for support. Her knees wobbled; her voice went husky. “I’ve held it together this long, and not for you, not for anyone, am I going to let those miserable bastards break me down.”

One brow lifted in surprise as Dare studied her for long, silent moments, and then he shook his head with annoyance. “Sit down before you fall down.”

She didn’t take orders well, but this time she gladly sat. It required all her willpower not to sprawl back on the bed and just fade into oblivion. But if she did that, she’d wake just as dirty, and it turned her stomach to even think it.

Dare stopped in front of her. He examined the bottle of water and must have been satisfied—so far. “What do you want to do first?”

“Shower.” She needed to be clean again. “Oh, God, I want a shower.”

“I’ll get it started for you.” He hesitated. “Can you manage on your own?”

Her heart almost stopped. “Yes, of course.”

Still he didn’t move away. He crouched down in front of her, and his powerful thighs strained the material of faded denim. Those blue eyes were eerily intense as he studied her face. “You’re safe with me, Molly.”

“I … I know.” She sensed that much. She just didn’t have the wherewithal to start asking questions yet. Priorities, priorities.

“If you need help—”

“I’d stay dirty first.” She was quite certain about that. No way would she invite a man to bathe her. She shuddered at the thought.

His mouth flattened. “Suit yourself.” He straightened and started toward the tiny bathroom. “While you’re in there, I’m going to run across the street to grab you something to wear. I’m guessing a size six?”

Something to wear. Like her own personal angel, he would buy her clean clothes to put on after her shower.

God bless the man.

Those blasted tears threatened again, clogging Molly’s throat, making her nose feel stuffy. “Yes,” she croaked out around a giant lump of emotion. “Anything simple would be … wonderful. Something for my feet, too, please. Size seven. I’m not picky.”

She heard the water start, and through the open door she saw Dare set out towels, open the packaged soap, the shampoo and conditioner.

So remarkably considerate.

Her empty stomach cramped and recoiled, but she couldn’t think of food just yet. She tried a little more water, knowing he was right, that she had to get some fluids back into her system.

Moving with a silent grace uncommon to a man so large, he came back into the room. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, too. Anything else?”

There were so many things she needed that she couldn’t fathom a list just yet. Her dry and cracked lips hurt when she licked them. “Something bland to eat?”

“Already thought of that.” He paused by the door. “You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?”

After what she’d survived, no way would she risk herself in any way. “I’ll be very careful. If I get dizzy, I’ll shut off the water and just sit in the tub.”

Reluctant still, he stood there, and finally agreed with a nod. “Don’t put the chain on the door.”

As he spoke, he walked over to the desk to retrieve his belongings, including a big black gun and a very lethal-looking knife that folded together. The gun went into a holster at his back, fastened to the waistband of his jeans. He slipped the knife into a pocket, then covered the gun with the hem of his shirt. He treated the weapons as casually as he did his wallet and cell phone, fascinating Molly.

It would make her nervous just to touch either one.

He stopped in front of her again. “If you pass out, I want to be able to get in without breaking anything and causing a scene.”

“Okay.”

“I won’t be gone long,” he cautioned. “So don’t linger in there.”

If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be asleep before she could hit the shower. “No, I won’t.”

Using the edge of a fist, he brought her chin up so that she had to look at him. “You’re weaker than you realize.”

On the contrary, she was stronger than she’d ever imagined. But his concern was nice, so she only reiterated, “I’ll be fine.”

Frustration palpable, he ran a hand through short brown hair, nodded once and walked out.

He’d wanted to say more to her, Molly knew. He didn’t understand her lack of questions, her acceptance of him as her rescuer. But he didn’t push her, and she appreciated his restraint. Right now, all she could manage was the direst of necessities. And thinking that …

It took a lot of effort to drag herself up to her feet again, but she did it. The ragged, torn and stained shirts came over her head and with sublime satisfaction she stuffed them into the garbage can by the desk. Never again would those disgusting scraps of material touch her body.

She’d been denied underwear of any kind, so removing the shirts left her naked. One glance down at herself and Molly saw evidence of her ordeal in places she hadn’t considered. She remembered the rough treatment, being jerked, shoved, hit … Her breath caught.

No, she was away from there now, and she wouldn’t dwell on it.

Anxious for the long-denied comfort of warm water, she stepped into the shower’s spray.

Oh, heaven.

Though her every muscle trembled and the most pervasive weakness dragged at her, never had she appreciated a shower more. Lathering the soap into a washcloth, Molly scrubbed all over, determined to wash away the disgust she still felt.

She had to hurry to finish before the last of her strength waned. Already she felt faint, sick to her stomach, her knees quaking.

Lack of sleep provided a perpetual headache that burned behind her eyes and left her hollow.

With her skin now clean, she opened her mouth, filled it with fresh water, swished and spit, then used the cloth to clean her teeth as best she could.

She had to lean against the tiled wall to rest for a minute. Her head pounded with so many impossible problems for the future. But for now, for this moment, she was safe.

Safe. There had been times when she’d thought … when she’d been sure that they would kill her. They’d taken great pleasure in taunting her, slapping her, keeping her uncertain and on edge. Sleep had come in only fitful spurts, because sleep left her vulnerable to their intent—whatever their intent had been.

Her hands knotted into fists. Fear curdled with a rage so bright it sustained her. She struggled to fill her lungs with air, to beat down the raw panic that had accompanied her since being abducted.

So much to think about … but for now, she had only to worry about finishing her shower. Then eating.

And then sleeping without the fear of never waking again.

She drew one more breath before picking up the shampoo with a shaking hand. So many tangles knotted her hair that she decided she’d cut it—after it was clean—rather than brush them out. She lathered, rinsed, then lathered again. She refused to look down at the tub to see what had washed out of her hair.

Emptying the entire tiny bottle of conditioner onto her head, she worked it through, rinsed, and then … she had nothing left. No strength. No reserve. She couldn’t even dry herself. She barely got a towel around her hair and another around her body.

Stumbling back into the main room, Molly hit the bed hard, snuggled in and literally passed out.

CHAPTER TWO

DARE CAME IN QUIETLY, saw her curled on the bed and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep show if he moved to the foot of the bed.

Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.

Besides, the less involvement he had with her, unscrupulous or otherwise, the better. He needed to figure out what had happened to her, and the quickest way to safely remove her from his care.

He’d known she was spent, on the edge, but the fact that she hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself proved her level of exhaustion.

More than anything, she probably needed to eat. But should he wake her for that when she also needed sleep?

He wasn’t a fucking babysitter, but since he’d personally gotten her out of Mexico, he couldn’t very well just dump her somewhere. By rescuing her, he had accepted an implied responsibility.

Trying not to rattle the bags and juggling the food with his other purchases, Dare closed the door and locked it. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time at 1:30 a.m. He’d only been gone a half hour, tops.

Luckily the Walmart across the street stayed open twenty-four hours. He’d found not only clothes for her, but food, too. Dressing and feeding her would go a long way toward resolving her most pressing issues.

With barely a sound, he stowed the drinks in the tiny fridge and put her share of the food into the microwave to keep.

Removing his wallet, change and cell phone from his jeans, he placed them neatly on the desk. Next he took out his knife and the Glock 9mm he carried, and set them beside his other belongings. He stretched out his knotted muscles. Too many hours crawling over rough ground, ducking for cover and demolishing men without enough sleep or food had left him tense and weary.

After pulling a chair out from the round table, he opened the covering on his pancakes and coffee.

He’d taken only one bite when she stirred, sniffed the air and drowsily opened her eyes. Dare turned toward her.

She gave him a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.

He studied her, a small bundle huddled tight on the bed, face still ravaged and eyes wounded. Never had he seen a woman look so vulnerable.

He swallowed his bite and, sounding as casual as he could under the circumstances, asked, “Hungry?”

She stared back, then struggled up to one elbow. Her expression changed, the wariness hidden beneath that intrepid bravado. “Starved. Literally.”

With all the dirt removed, her big eyes dominated her small features. More marks showed on her fair skin, one on her cheekbone and under her left eye, one on her throat, and a darker, angrier bruise on her right shoulder.

Dare thought of men hitting her, manhandling her, and bone-deep disgust ignited. He despised bullies of any kind, but a man who would hurt a woman was at the top of his list of assholes that needed a lesson.

She breathed deeply, her eyes closing and her nostrils flaring. “That smells so good.”

Out of his seat already, Dare fetched her food. “Do you want to sit here, or eat in the bed?”

She hesitated, looking down for a moment as if uncertain of her welcome, not wanting to inconvenience him. “Table please, but … I should dress first.”

“All right.” He set the food on the table and opened the bag of clothes, pulling out a few T-shirts, panties and a pair of pull-on cotton shorts. “You can get more stuff tomorrow if you feel up to it. Something warmer, maybe, and nicer for the plane ride. But for now, I figured this would fit.”

She didn’t look at the clothes. The arm she leaned on barely supported her, and her breath went choppy with effort.

Voice weak, strained, she said, “I’m sorry, but … I haven’t eaten in too long and I’m feeling kind of … faint.”

Dare straightened, going on alert. Would she pass out on him?

“If … if you could help me into the bathroom, I’ll dress in there.”

Shit. He did not want her passing out alone, maybe hitting her head. “Yeah, no problem.”

Dare moved to the bed and slipped an arm behind her, then drew her to her feet. She swayed into him, one hand clutching at his shirt and holding on for dear life.

She made no attempt to step away. He didn’t ask her to. “What would you like to do?”

“I can’t …” She choked, cleared her throat, and her voice was so low he barely heard her when she said, “This is embarrassing, but the shower …” She swallowed. “I think I’m depleted.”

Easing her back onto the bed, Dare knew he’d have to be firm to get her agreement. “Okay, Molly, listen up.” He kept his tone as impersonal as possible. “This isn’t a big deal. I can dress you. I can even feed you.”

She rolled in her lips with embarrassment, a habit he’d already noticed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he lied.

That brought her dark eyes up to his.

Damn, but her eyes could melt a man’s soul. “I’m in the personal protection business. You’re not the first woman I’ve rescued. You’re not even in the worst shape.” Another lie. Most women he retrieved were found in the first forty-eight hours before too much damage had been done—or they weren’t found at all. “Okay?”

Still with her gaze locked on his, she nodded.

“Good girl.” He grabbed the clothes from the bag. He wasn’t really discomfited by the task, but he’d just as soon get past it.

Taking clothes off a woman, yeah, he had plenty of practice with that.

Dressing the near-dead … not so much.

“Panties first, okay?” He still had no idea what had been done to her, how she might have been tormented or used. If it was sexual in nature, then this would be doubly hard on her. “We’ll take this nice and slow, and if at any point you feel panicky, just tell me.”

“I won’t panic.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah, well, I’d just as soon not get kicked in the face again.”

For a split second, he thought he saw a slight smile on her bruised mouth. Then she looked away. “No, I won’t do that again.”

As Dare knelt down to work her small feet into the legs of the very plain cotton underwear, he noticed more scrapes and bruises. After she ate, he’d dig out the first-aid kit and patch her up.

When he had the panties up to her knees, he took her elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Hold on to my shoulders.”

She was so much shorter than him, maybe five-seven to his six-three, that, while he stood upright, holding his shoulders pretty much stretched her out.

He bent to the task and she leaned against him. She was surprisingly … soft for someone so thin. And she smelled good now, clean like shampoo and soap and warm, gentle woman.

In a shrill, nervous voice, she asked, “So, who did you rescue? Other than me?”

“A friend. Almost like a sister.” Her thighs were trim, firm. He did his best to look away as he dragged the underwear up under the damp towel. His knuckles dragged against her soft bottom, a bottom that wasn’t as skinny as he’d thought.

Not that her curves mattered. With her shivering against him, he felt more like a damned doctor than a man who’d been without sex for months. “Now the shirt.”

He took the damp towel off her head and tossed it aside. Her hair fell in tangled wet hanks to her bare shoulders. Her neck was long and graceful, her chin stubborn.

And she looked ready to drop with both weakness and degradation. She was not a woman used to needing help, he could tell, especially not with something so personal.

“Feel better being clean?” If he kept her talking, maybe this would be easier for her—and for him.

“You have no idea.” Dare pulled the shirt down over her head, and as soon as she popped free, she added, “Do you have any scissors?”

He had to practically lift her arms to get them through the armholes. Because a bra had been well beyond him, he’d bought the shirt big and loose. It fit over the bundled towel she had wrapped around herself. “Why?”

“I was going to cut it.”

“It?” He reached beneath the shirt and pulled away the bulky towel. Surprise stilled him for only a moment. Dirt, distress and injury had hidden it, but Molly Alexander had one hell of a rack.

And he felt like a grade-A prick for noticing.

“My hair.” Not quite defeated, but close, she sat back on the bed again. Face pale and mouth tight with strain, she kept her shoulders back, her bare knees and ankles squeezed together. “There’s no way I’ll get the tangles out. And truthfully … I just don’t care enough to try.”

She was not his problem, Dare reminded himself, and her hair sure as hell didn’t matter to him. But damn it, for whatever reason, he didn’t want her to give up now, not on anything.

“Let’s worry about it tomorrow, okay?” Taking her arm again, he got her upright and helped her step into the shorts. Decently dressed, clean, and marginally rested, she made quite a picture.

Sort of cute, but still very bedraggled and wearied, not to mention abused.

Dare led her to the table. “You sure you don’t want to do this in bed?”

A hoarse laugh huffed out. “I’ve been tied to a disgusting, filthy mattress for nine days, unable to sit up or walk or … anything. Trust me, I’d rather be at the table.”

The image sickened him. “Gotcha.”

He set juice in front of her. “Try to drink it all, okay? It’ll help.” Then he opened the microwave and pulled out her still-warm cup of soup.

“I know the pancakes probably smell good, and there’s enough for you if you want to give them a go, but I figured it might be too much—”

“It would be.” She drank a little of the juice, waited, then drank some more. “It’s been so long since I’ve eaten, I have to take it slow or I know I’ll be sick. And I’d rather be beaten than barf again.”

“Again?”

Her expression flattened with memories. As if the shock and humiliation still burned her, she didn’t look at him as she explained.

“At first they brought me corn tortillas and some kind of strong alcohol. I was afraid of what they’d do if I got drunk, so I wouldn’t drink it. But then they gave me the nastiest-looking water, like something out of a mud puddle. I didn’t trust that, either, and they tried to insist, but I just … couldn’t.” Her shoulders hunched a little as she drew into herself. Her voice lowered. “That’s when they started … drugging me.”

Dare set aside his fork. Hearing even a smidge of what she’d gone through made it near impossible to stay distanced; he wanted to go back and kill people all over again.

“After that, I couldn’t seem to resist when they told me to drink it, but I got … sick.” Her hands fisted, and her entire small body tightened. “It’s not like there was any place for that. I mean, not a bathroom or even a bucket. I … I soiled part of the small area they’d given me, and tossed up the pills they’d forced down my throat.”

Jesus. To imagine being a woman alone, afraid and sick, stuck in such an untenable position—he hid it from her, but it enraged him.

“They stood over me, furious, barking at me in a language I didn’t understand, but I got their meaning loud and clear, and I cleaned it up the best I could with the rags they threw at me. After that, they barely fed me. Usually only once a day, but at least the water they brought was cleaner, I guess to avoid a repeat of things.”

Motherfuckers.

“But then yesterday and today they brought me nothing at all. I don’t know why.”

She left out a lot of details, but Dare didn’t push her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how wretched it’d be to get ill while closed in that hot, airless little trailer. The feeling of helplessness was something he’d never experienced, but he knew it’d be different for a man.

Any woman held captive would be constantly under the fear of more than just physical abuse or neglect. She’d be terrified of rape.

Setting the soup and a spoon in front of her, Dare broached that topic. “They manhandled you a lot.”

She said nothing, just tasted her soup, groaned, and tasted it again.

“Molly … if you were hurt …” Idiot. She was so hurt that it pained him to think of it. Dare started over. “That is, if you were hurt in ways that aren’t easy for me to see, then a trip to the hospital would be a good idea.”

With each bite of soup, she looked more lethargic, as if the nourishment eased a terrible ache and allowed tiredness to take over again.

“Molly?”

“I can’t.” She took another swallow, but her eyes were getting heavy as color seeped back into her cheeks.

“Can’t what?”

Another swallow. The seconds ticked by. “I can’t … can’t talk about this now, can’t give you details, and I can’t go to the hospital.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Please, if we could talk about it in the morning, I’d be grateful.”

Damn it, he didn’t want to be responsible for her health. He stood to pace, trying to decide.

“Dare?”

He turned back to her, left eye twitching, jaw tight.

“I wasn’t raped. I swear.”

Something in him eased. He tried to read the truth in her eyes, but saw only bleak resistance there. He rubbed his bristly jaw. “You would tell me if you were sexually abused?”

“If I had been … I don’t know. I don’t know how I’d feel.” Despite her ordeal, her chin lifted. “But I wasn’t.”

Dare continued to study her. He could read most people, but this woman had so much emotion in her face, and so many secrets in her eyes, he just wasn’t sure.

“That … that isn’t what they wanted with me.”

Remembering how she’d been separated from the other women, kept unclean, neglected instead of primed … he believed her.

That’s what she wanted to talk about tomorrow, he realized. He nodded. “All right.”

She started to stand, albeit shakily, and Dare said, “Wait. Let me turn down the bed.”

He prepared it for her, much like he would for a child, then came back to her. “Do you need the bathroom first?”

Pale, trembling, she shook her head. “No.”

Knowing that decision was likely determined by her inability to make it there on her own, Dare took the choice away from her. “Of course you do.” After all, he’d been pushing fluids on her, and she’d obliged him.

Lifting her up, he carried her into the small tiled room. She weighed next to nothing and felt insubstantial, delicate, in his arms.

He set her down next to the john. “Okay?”

She grabbed the sink and held on. “Yes.”

Hardly, but he’d done as much as he could without causing her further embarrassment. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside the door. Just let me know when you’re finished.” He left her to it.

Leaning against the wall beside the door, thinking of what he’d learned, and what he hadn’t, Dare waited for her. Seconds later he heard her flush and then run water in the sink.

The door opened.

Eyes more closed than open, shuffling along like a zombie, Molly moved past him to the bed. Dare rushed to hold her arm, to steady her and steer her to the sheets.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she literally tumbled to the mattress. “So tired.”

Worry gnawed on him again. Should he damn her objections and take her to the hospital anyway? Already she looked to be asleep. He knew firsthand how exhaustion, especially when amplified by hunger and dehydration, could weary a body and soul.

Seeing her there, looking peaceful for a change, he made up his mind. A few more hours shouldn’t hurt. If she wasn’t steadier after sleeping, he’d insist she get checked out by a physician.

Before he thought better of it, Dare smoothed back her hair. It was so thick that it hadn’t dried much, but a wet head was the least of her worries.

He pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin, and heard her sigh. “Rest up, Molly Alexander. In the morning we’ll sort things out.”

No answer.

For more than a minute, Dare stared down at her, wondering what he was going to do with her. She’d held it together with an admirable iron will and unwavering determination. Despite her horrific ordeal, she’d been reasonable, practical and intelligent.

But it was what she hadn’t been that told him even more.

She hadn’t been anxious to report to the police, hadn’t even looked at his gun or the big knife he carried, and she hadn’t wanted to call anyone.

That was a first for Dare. It was his experience that men and women alike, when recovered from a dangerous situation, had someone they wanted to speak to ASAP, someone they wanted to reassure, or have reassure them.

Not Molly.

What a mystery she was.

As efficiently as he could, Dare spread out her hair on the pillow so it’d dry quicker. Valuing order in all aspects of his life, he took time to tidy the room and get rid of the empty food containers.

He put the gun and knife under his pillow. They made a familiar lump that gave him a specific peace of mind needed in his line of work.

After stripping down to his boxers, he neatly folded his clothes and put them away in his duffel bag, kept on the other side of the bed. With one more glance out at the still-quiet parking lot, he drew the heavy shades, putting the room in darkness, and crawled under the blankets. The aged air conditioner hummed and whistled as it sent cool air to swirl around the room; he’d been too many hours without rest.

Within minutes, he fell into a light sleep.

Hours later, a short, guttural sound of panic drew him from a vague dream. He had his gun in his hand and was on his feet before the sound had faded.

HEART PUNCHING, stomach cramping, Molly jerked upright in the bed. Her hands balled into fists and her throat burned from the scream that almost escaped. Almost. Someone loomed next to her, someone big.

“Molly?”

She knew that voice. Still tinged with panic, she took quick inventory of her surroundings. The unfamiliar bed didn’t crawl with bugs, and the usual stench of unwashed bodies, fear and sickness didn’t pervade the air.

Reality crashed back in, and with it shame, mortification and sadness. She gasped, blindly reaching out. “Dare?” Her hand hit something, maybe a hard thigh.

“Yeah, just me.” He set something heavy on the nightstand, and then his big body dipped the mattress and his hand touched her shoulder. “Bad dream?”

More like bad memories, but she didn’t want to go into that right now. Her breath shuddered in. “Yes. I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“You’re okay now?”

“I …” What could she say? That she’d never be okay again? Unacceptable, because that would mean they’d won, whoever they were. “Yes. Now I am.” Fear continued to rip through her in agonizing waves. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough with the apologies, okay?”

His gruff voice somehow reassured her. She nodded in the darkness, struggling to get her bearings. “I thought …”

“That you were back there again?” Cautiously, a little awkwardly, he drew her against him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to take you a while to shake it off.”

Then he put another bottle of water in her hand.

A near-hysterical laugh bubbled up, and she barely repressed it. Shake it off? Is that what he would do?

Probably. He was so much stronger, so much more capable than she.

She dutifully drank some water, then handed the bottle back to him. He set it aside, but then pulled her close.

Her cheek met the bare skin of his upper chest and fit neatly against the notch of his shoulder. So much heat emanated from him. He smelled good, too, clean and pure. And he felt even better, like strength, safety.

Her rescuer had nothing in common with the filthy, depraved animals who had imprisoned her, who had likely been hired to … do what with her?

Molly could hear his even, calm heartbeat, and it helped to slow her racing heart. Other than his initial, probably automatic gesture of comfort, Dare didn’t touch her. One of his hands rested lightly on her shoulder, un-moving but offering the knowledge that she was no longer alone or in danger.

“Dare?”

“Hmm?”

He seemed perfectly comfortable in their present position, as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

Molly wished she felt the same. Never in her life had she asked for comfort from another person. For her, this was all very awkward, but basic need, the need to survive, drove her now. “Would you mind if I just stayed like this for a few minutes?”

“No problem.” As if in affirmation, he coasted his hand up and down her back, then up again, to tangle in her hair. “At least your hair is mostly dry now.”

Another strangling, semi-ironic laugh almost slipped out. “Yeah, I’ve got that going for me.”

He was silent a moment, then said, “I didn’t think to ask earlier, but do you need any aspirin or anything?”

Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure what the pills were that they forced me to swallow, but I’d rather not take anything else for a while.”

“They were probably some kind of hallucinogen. Or maybe tranqs.”

Reminded of how the pills had made her feel, she stiffened, pushed back from him a little to look up at his barely visible face. “I detest being out of control.”

He went curiously still. “Now?”

“No, when they were doping me.” She remembered the lack of control over her sluggish limbs, how her mind dredged up such ridiculous, vague and misty dreams. Everything was surreal, implausible, insubstantial. “I don’t drink, and I never, ever took drugs. I’ve never even smoked pot. And then to have them force me … It was awful. Why would anyone ever drug themselves on purpose?”

He relaxed again. “No idea.”

She believed him. Dare was a man who enjoyed being in charge. He wouldn’t blunt that ability for the sake of kicks or a quick high.

More to herself than to him, Molly whispered, “I like being me, not a loopy version of me.”

He said nothing to that.

Needing to talk, to drive away the remnants of that dream, she again looked up at him. “The other women … You said you saved one, but there were others there, too. What happened to them?”

“Four of them were apparently local, because as soon as I freed them and told them it was clear, they took off.”

“I hope they’re all right.”

He shrugged. “They seemed to know right where they wanted to go.”

“Those men …” Damn it, she had difficulty finishing thoughts, much less sentences. “They were so cruel, taunting the women, pawing them.”

His muscles seemed to bulge. “The blond woman. They pawed her?”

Icy anger sounded in his tone. “Sometimes, but I got the impression she was too valuable to abuse. They said she’d bring a lot of money.” Now Molly soothed him, clutching his big shoulder. “She’s the one you saved? The one you said is like family?”

“Yes.”

She put her cheek against his chest again. “Where is she now?”

His hug was automatic, for them both. “With her brother. Safe.”

Safe. Such a strange concept, but Molly now knew that no one was ever really safe. “I’m glad. She’s so young.” His warmth seeped into her, making her drowsy again. “I tried talking to her, but she was too afraid.”

Looking down at her, he asked, “And you weren’t?”

“I’ve never in my life known that kind of fear.” The dark and quiet of the small room, the casualness of his touch, made it easier to talk. “Dare, can I tell you something?”

He shifted, almost like he was settling in for something monumental. “Yes.”

How to explain it? A prisoner was a prisoner—but she’d been imprisoned differently. “I wasn’t like the others.”

Rather than question her meaning, he just said, “I know.”

Did he? “Those girls were in their late teens or very early twenties, and they were all stunning. They were kept on one side of the trailer, with more opportunity to bathe. They were given clean clothes. Ridiculously revealing clothes, but still … And they had more food, more water. It was almost like the jerks wanted them to look good. Healthy, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But Molly frowned at her own words. “I’m not saying they had it any easier than I did. Captivity is captivity, and we were all miserable.”

“But?”

She swallowed. “But … I’m thirty years old.” She twisted to look up at him. “I know I’m plain. And even if I didn’t already know it, I’m not stupid.”

She heard something in his tone when he agreed. “No, you’re far from stupid.”

“They didn’t want me to sell, like they did the others.”

As if he’d already come to that conclusion himself, he said, “No, they didn’t. But then why did they take you? Do you know? Did they say anything?”

They had said plenty, most of it in Spanish. “I’ve gone over it again and again, and I think … I think someone must have paid them to.”

In the quiet security of that small motel room, she counted their breaths, waiting for Dare to react. By small degrees, his muscles again bunched and flexed.

But his hold remained gentle.

When he spoke, he sounded matter-of-fact, as if he believed her without further explanation. “Who?”

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, hating the reality of what her life had become. “That’s the conundrum, isn’t it? I have no idea who I can trust anymore.”

His hand smoothed over her hair, then cupped the back of her skull. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”

Not if she had to sleep alone. Hedging, she asked, “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? We’re not on a schedule yet.”

But she hated to further inconvenience him. He hadn’t been paid to come after her. He’d probably rescued her with the thought of dropping her on the other side of the border, someone else’s problem to deal with.

Unfortunately, she had no one else right now. “Do you have a flight to catch?”

Before he answered, he urged her back down in the bed. Her head sank into the soft pillow, and the clean sheets, though cheap and scratchy, smelled good. He stayed close as he all but tucked her in.

She should have been alarmed, having a man bending over her, especially a man of Dare’s size and obvious strength.

Instead, she felt more at ease than she had since being grabbed and stuffed into the back of an old van right in front of her own apartment building. She doubted the quaint community in southern Ohio would ever again feel boring to her.

Dare smoothed the covers over her shoulders. “When I’m on a mission like this, I can’t make plans too far in advance. If anything had gone wrong, if I hadn’t been able to get Alani out of there so easily, or if she’d already been moved, then I’d still be tracking her.”