His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(31)
Author: Shayla Black

“You’re still not eating, pet?” Thorpe asked gently, but he didn’t sound pleased.

“I’ve just been so busy.”

He leveled her with a demanding stare that said he refused to let the subject go.

“All right. I’m going.” She gave a long-suffering sigh and rose.

Thorpe swatted her ass. “A meal, Callie. Not an apple. Not a cup of yogurt. I left you several choices in the fridge. Warm one up.”

The gorgeous brunette looked like she really wanted to protest, but she didn’t. “Yes, Sir.”

At the reverence in Callie’s tone, another pang of envy pained Bailey. The heiress had found her place in this world, people she belonged with and to, men who watched over her. Looking back on her childhood, Bailey realized that she had shared a name and a house with her parents . . . but no real bond. And she hadn’t connected with any boyfriends, never felt the sort of love flowing between these three. So she’d focused on her dance and tried to use it as an outlet for her yearning.

But none of that mattered now. Someone wanted to kill her because she might be a long-lost Russian child. Until she could shake them, she couldn’t figure out who she was, where she belonged, and who she belonged with.

As Callie let herself out of the room, Bailey made her way back to her seat and sank onto the cushion, feeling more alone than ever.

“You okay?” Joaquin asked.

He didn’t have to care at all. She resisted softening toward him for asking.

“I’m all right. Where did Sean go?”

“To see what other information he might be able to dig up to assist you,” Thorpe offered. “He’s still consulting with the FBI on this case. They might have some background that will help. If nothing else, he’ll get the murder of these women on their radar so they can start investigating possible tie-ins.”

A good thing. Even if she never came within sneezing distance of danger, these madmen needed to be stopped so no one else faced this fear or endured the dead women’s horror again.

To Thorpe, she just nodded.

He frowned at her. “I’m working some angles from here, too. Joaquin and I have been talking. I’ve sent Axel, my head of security, down to Houston.”

“He’ll see if anyone is looking for you and make sure that no one messes with your boyfriend because they’re looking for you.”

Joaquin must mean Blane. Bailey opened her mouth to explain that he was just a friend, then stopped. The man who’d taken her from her house had tried to kiss her. Worse, she’d nearly let him. If he believed that she was taken . . . well, she didn’t really expect him to keep his distance because of it. After all, a guy willing to pluck a sleeping woman from her bed might not have a lot of scruples, but at least she could use Blane as an excuse if Joaquin tried to kiss her again. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had now. And she needed a boundary between them. She had enough on her plate trying to decipher her real identity and hide from killers. But that wasn’t all. Joaquin oozed this sex vibe that told her he’d been around the block. She, on the other hand, was still taking baby steps down the driveway. He’d chew her up and spit her out. The last thing she needed was to get emotionally tangled with someone like him.

“Thanks,” she said to Thorpe. “Blane will appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sean opened the door a minute later with a piece of paper in hand. With a purposeful stride, he headed in her direction. “Joaquin said you don’t remember anything before you were five. And that you only dream about being picked up bloody on the side of the road. Is that right?”

Where was he going with this? “Yes.”

“Do you have a vivid image of the little girl in the dream?”

“No.” Bailey frowned, trying to remember the nightmare in detail. “Parts are fuzzy, but I don’t see the girl’s face. I am the girl, so I see a shirt, a hand, a pair of bare feet. Nothing else.”

He glanced down at the paper he carried. She saw now that the back looked glossy. It was photo paper. He glanced between the page in his hand and her a few times, then whistled. “I used my FBI contacts to get this from the sealed police files in Crawford County, Indiana. Not many have ever laid eyes on this picture. Take a look, Joaquin.”

The other man took it from Sean’s hand. After the merest glance, he swore. “What color shirt are you wearing in the dream?”

Dread sliced through Bailey. “We’ve been over this.”

“Remind me.”

She clamped her lips shut and leaned toward Joaquin, trying to peek at the photo, but he turned it facedown on his lap.