Cassidy Page 8

  “Get outta here,” Cassidy muttered, her anger rising. “I’d like to see him try. That sleazebag’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to climb all over me.”

  “Believe me, he won’t ask. You’ll be unconscious when he takes you. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them,” Jude groaned, pulling her against him in the dark. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. I truly am. God. What was I thinking?”

  Once again Cassidy found herself in his arms, her face pressed against his shoulder. Jude seemed to have an instinctive need to hold her, probably because that was what good fathers and kind husbands did. They took care of the women in their lives. She didn’t pull away.

  “I kept thinking of what you told me. You know, when you told me I could trust you.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m one of them?” he asked sharply. “That I’m down here lying to you? That I’m anything like Greg?”

  She paused, the answer to that question more difficult than she expected.

  “Here. Maybe this will help you make up your mind.” He pushed his hand beneath hers on his chest.

  Her fingers outlined his knuckles and then shifted to the palm. There, in raised flesh, was a crescent-shaped scar. Her breath caught. Jude had endured precisely what he’d rescued her from. “They branded you? Why?”

  “Because I showed up at their front gate four months ago with no assets to my name, and I dared seek membership in this circus.”

  She smoothed her fingertips gently over the welt. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You didn’t do it.”

  “I know, but...” His story touched her. She knew what he’d gone through. Almost. “How’d your daughter get involved with this cult?”

  “My ex-wife.”

  Cassidy heard the bitterness in his words, but she also heard a measure of grief. “What’s her name?”

  “Rachel. I just found out that she died last December. Judith’s been alone since...” A shudder passed through him, and Cassidy was done guessing whether or not he was telling the truth. There was no way this man could be lying The look in Judith’s innocent gray eyes earlier validated everything he’d just said.

  Cassidy reached for his face.

  He groaned softly, his breath hitching back in his throat as if she’d hurt him. He clasped her hand against his cheek. “What are you doing?’ he asked, his voice full of torment.

  “I need to know who I’m trusting,” she said. Okay, so it sounded stupid. She wasn’t Helen Keller or anyone smart like that. She didn’t know the first thing about Braille, but she knew people. She needed to reinforce the mental image of him that she thought she remembered.

  He released her hand and let her continue.

  Cassidy traced his brows and forehead, trying to match the geography beneath her fingertips with the fuzzy memory in her head. When her hands brushed the stems of his glasses, he removed them. She let her fingers massage the edge of his scalp at his temples, just enough to determine the length of his hair. Scruffy, maybe three to four inches in length. A well-trimmed haircut would’ve grown an inch each month. His story fit.

  Dropping her thumb down his forehead, she outlined a very straight nose before she ended at his chin. Scratchy stubble bristled against her palm. A handsome image materialized. Shaggy dark hair. Square jaw. Rugged chin, not too big. Not too wimpy. Just right. Perfect eyebrows that ended at the corners of his eyes near what might’ve been laugh lines once upon a time, only now they matched the V she felt above the bridge of his nose. Stress and worry etched his handsome face.

  She pulled her hands back, but not far enough.

  He quickly reclaimed them. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t stop.”

  She obliged him, her palms flat to the side of his face, her thumbs caressing his cheeks. That simple contact elicited a pang of heat deep inside her body, a sensation she hadn’t felt in years and had yet to accommodate. No man had ever felt this weak in her hands, or so strong. Jude was putty. Strong. Weak. Gray putty.

  Anxiety radiated off of him, and she had to know. Something else was going on between them, so she persisted. “Are you okay? You can tell me. I’ll understand.”

  “No...” He halted, and she thought he’d push her away. But he didn’t. “It’s just that... Cassidy, no woman has touched me in a very long time. Rachel quit… God, she quit everything long before she left. It almost hurts, it feels so good.”

  The sound of her name tripping off of his lips did something warm and wonderful to her heart. She cast her hesitation aside, but the moment she moved in to hug him, he bowed his face into her shoulder. She settled, her cheek against his ear. Now she was the comforter. “It’s okay,” she whispered, patting his very strong back like she would a little boy. “I promise. Everything will be okay.”

  He didn’t answer, probably because men didn’t like it when they had a meltdown around their woman. Their woman. That errant notion raised a little red caution sign for attention in her tomboy psyche, but she liked it. Holding this particular male body made the dark place seem bearable. He needed her. In order to do what had still to be done, they needed each other.

  Her story poured out. She told Jude about The TEAM and her boss, Alex Stewart, her senior agent, Rourke O’Neill, and exactly who she was looking for, Melissa McCormack. And why. When she was through, Jude knew she was a very capable covert agent, a trained sniper, single, and that she lived alone in Puyallup, Washington. He knew her home state was Utah, her cat’s name was Magic, and that Magic ate gourmet cat food from a footed, crystal dessert bowl. Like royalty, or something. Cassidy didn’t leave a thing out.

  He reciprocated with how he’d met his wife Rachel, and how she’d cheated on him long before she divorced him. Cassidy knew the color of Rachel’s lying eyes, and that Jude had hoped against hope right up ‘til the bitter end that he could salvage their marriage, but then she disappeared. He’d been searching for his ex-wife and daughter ever since.

  He explained as much as he knew about the inner workings of the cult, the bizarre midnight ceremonies of the Elite, the four circles of hell, and the continual brainwashing carried on against the children. The Elite were always listening, always watching, but mostly always laying in wait. Cain had a list of commandments that he seemingly pulled out of his hat at his convenience. Members who stepped out of line ended up in the barn at one of those late-night meetings. All were to be taught the excellent ways of the prophet, and, of course, to turn over all financial assets. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Cassidy also knew how Judith was born one month premature without complications, that her favorite color was red, and that she loved to read. She adored the opera Les Misérables and knew every last line and song. The warmth in his voice said it all. Jude’s only child was his favorite topic.

  Miss Fluffy, Judith’s cat, lounged her life away in a three-story high, pink-carpeted cathouse that looked more like a dollhouse. Judith had her own bedroom at Jude’s place, even though Rachel had filed for and won sole custody. His world was about to implode when Rachel and Judith disappeared. Most importantly, Jude wouldn’t leave the Palma Christi Cult without his daughter.

  “The thing is, Judith’s why I came here in the first place. I never thought Rachel would come back with me. I’m not sure Judith will, either. She seems to think the blessing is her right, and why not? Jerusha’s had her in her clutches since December.”

  Sitting there in the dark, side by side with a man who had risked his personal mission to save her, Cassidy deliberated her next words. Accountant, nothing. This was no ordinary guy and infiltrating the cult was no small feat. Most parents would have called the police and sat back and waited. They’d have wrung their hands and prayed. Not Jude. There he was, branded and taking chances he shouldn’t. He needed hope to hang onto, or they’d fail before they started.

  “She loves you,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah. Thank God. She does.”

  “Then that’s all we need.”

  “The old
‘love is all you need’ ploy, huh?”

  That word. That one word. Despite his nonchalance, it sounded different out of Jude’s mouth. Most guys used it to get what they wanted, but Jude wasn’t most men. Love meant something to him. He would die trying to save his child.

  Kiss him.

  Thunder erupted in chest at that wild notion. It might be precisely what Jude needed. Cassidy lifted to one knee on the step beside Jude, her heart pounding. She’d been aggressive with men in plenty of sports competitions and certainly in her line of work, but this was her first in the intimacy arena. Very carefully, she closed the distance.

  He stiffened when her fingers made contact with his chin. “What are you doing?”

  “This,” she whispered, for once not doubting a guy’s intentions. Trembling at her audacity, Cassidy intended nothing more than that one foolish kiss. She’d never done anything so out of character. Cheerleaders blatantly used their femininity. Cassidy Dancer, never.

  Palming his scruffy cheek, she zeroed in on his mouth. Jude was big enough. Man enough. He could always stop her.

  He didn’t.

  Her lips touched his with a quiet groan from her savior, and Jude took over. With one gentle tug, she was on his lap and in his arms. Deliciously enfolded within muscle and man.

  She laced her fingers around his neck, consumed with the taste of his mouth. Gently, his tongue ran the seam of her lips, asking, not demanding. Compliance blossomed deep within Cassidy. She let him in. Every nerve ending flared to life. Oh, my hell. He tastes so good.

  Achingly slow, his fingertips trailed downward. Never big enough to attract attention, her breasts were small and solid from her physical activities and sports. No need for C-cups when a little padding and a decent B would do. Only now...

  She arched into him, wanting his hands on her aching breasts. Willing to comply for her first time ever. The hopelessness of their predicament slipped away. The darkness faded. The only sound the thrumming beat of his heart in time with hers.

  One kiss was not enough. The warmth of his body spiked crazy desire down to her core. No sooner did that delicious thought flit through her mind than he stilled. His hand retreated to her cheek, his tongue still making love with her mouth.

  No. Don’t stop.

  But Jude wasn’t a mind reader, or maybe he was. He pulled away from her demanding mouth, breathing heavily into her face. With his forehead against hers and her palms cupping his cheek, she felt the crinkle of a smile. “You’re something else, Cassidy Dancer. You made me forget my problems for a moment there.”

  He was right to stop. She should have never taken the liberty of kissing this tormented man. He seemed to be as much a moth to a flame as she was, but this craziness had to cease. He needed help, not to get laid.

  Cassidy extricated herself from his embrace. Swallowing past the dry knot in her throat, she sat a respectable distance from Jude, breathing hard and not exactly sure what she’d done. He seemed to understand, but she was pretty sure that huff of his was frustration. Smoothing her trembling fingers over her dress, she straightened her attitude along with it. “We need a plan,” she said, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.

  “I plan to get Judith out of here.” He made it sound doable and simple.

  “But exactly how will you do that? It’s taken months to find her.”

  “I’ll find a way.” Again with the bravado of a desperate father who hadn’t a clue what it took to extricate a person from this volatile situation.

  Butch, her alternate persona, kicked into gear, and she was back on track. “Listen up, Cannon. You’re outnumbered and outgunned. So am I, but if I can get out of here tonight, I’ll be back by morning. We can stop the blessing and get your daughter.”

  “What about your client?”

  “She doesn’t know I’m here. Besides, Melissa McCormack chose this lifestyle. Judith didn’t. Let’s focus on rescuing your endangered little girl first.”

  “You would do that?” God, this man was running on empty. The incredulity in his tone stabbed her common sense along with her heart, but wouldn’t Rourke be thrilled to learn she’d just tripled the risk to their operation?

  “Oh, hell yeah. I’m part of The TEAM,” she stated boldly despite a frission of unease at making a promise for Rourke and ultimately her boss, too. “That’s what we do. Find people. Save people. Kick ass when we have to. Are you with me or not?” Right, Alex Stewart? Isn’t that what you’d be saying if you were here?

  Jude reached through the dark until he clenched her hand between both of his. Cassidy honestly didn’t know which of them trembled more. Maybe both. She swallowed hard and turned to face the man she couldn’t see. She didn’t need to. Sight seemed unnecessary after what they’d shared.

  The fervent kiss to the back of her hand melted her resistance. With that simple touch, he’d gotten past Butch, her avatar, and straight into Cassidy. She meant to squelch her feelings for this guy before they got the best of her. Honest, she did. Someone should have told her tomboy’s heart. All that came out of her mouth was a totally unexpected and a very breathy, “Who can you trust?”

  “I trust you,” he said without hesitation. But then he made it worse. “I’d rather you call me Jude, Cassidy. Cannon sounds too formal. When Judith is finally safe at home, I want you to visit me in Florida. I want to get to know you better. Would you consider it?”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat, the lump that felt like her impulsive, stubborn, hardheaded heart intended to get the last word in. Damned if it didn’t speak right up.

  “I’d like that very much. Jude.”

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s back here under the stairs.”

  Cassidy gathered her courage and led the way into the tunnel. She needed physical evidence. Not only would it serve to indict Lucien Cain and his Elite, but it might buy her some wiggle room with her uptight companion agent once she returned to camp. Knowing she wasn’t alone anymore helped. Knowing Jude was behind her? Yeah. She couldn’t focus for shit.

  Her errant mind wandered to that handsome man following. She wished he wasn’t half the gentleman she now knew he was. A heartfelt hand on her ass would certainly bring a lot of—comfort. At the burlap drape, she shook off the lust-filled thoughts and entered the den of horrors. Climbing to her feet, she stepped aside to make room for Jude.

  “I believe this is directly under the silo,” he said. “Watch out. Low ceiling.”

  She scoffed. “Like I could ever bump my head in here?”

  His hand came to rest on top of her skull. Ruffling his fingers through her slightly damp hair, she sighed. He had yet to touch her in a way that didn’t bring warmth to her belly. “Guess you are kind of short, aren’t you? So where are they?”

  She batted his fingers away. Keeping one hand on the wall to keep track of the exit, she turned to the opposite wall. “The first one is on your right, about three feet from the entrance. The rest seem to be placed around the edge of the room. I think.”

  “You don’t know for sure though, do you? You didn’t make it to the center of the room, did you?”

  He was right. The moment she freaked, she’d roared out of this creepy chamber in a silly, schoolgirl panic. It still kind of lingered, her scream lodged down deep in her throat. A damned light would’ve been nice. Why hadn’t Jude thought to bring a lantern? Oh, wait. Prophet’s rules. No modern conveniences, or something just as stupid.

  She had a feeling Jude had no plan after he found his daughter, likely because it had taken months to accomplish that single goal. Not good. He’d been too careful, not that he had much choice. This cult ruled with fear and that damned discipline board, but too much caution could get a man killed. Maybe Judith too.

  He grasped her hand and together, they edged forward. “Now, don’t scream,” he said firmly.

  “I’m not going to scream,” she retorted, but then chuckled. “I already did that.”

  “I found one,” he said quie
tly.

  At the same moment, her probing toes, which she’d safely secured inside her boots again, made contact with something solid. “Me, too,” she said, cringing as she tapped the body with the tip of her boot. “Feels like an arm and, there it is. A skull. Wow. There are quite a few dead people down here.”

  “It could be an ancient Indian burial ground,” he offered.

  “Underneath Cain’s silo? I don’t hardly think so.”

  “You’re right. If he’s involved, these people were murdered.”

  “I don’t think they’ve been dead that long. The bones I felt earlier weren’t all dried up. Only the skulls were. I think.” Not wanting to step too far from the safety of the tunnel exit, Cassidy turned toward the way they’d come. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  “Then let’s go back.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. I have to take something back with me.”

  “You what?” he asked sharply. “Like a souvenir?”

  Cassidy wished she could see Jude’s face. He sounded shocked.

  “Sorry, but I need a small forensic sample,” she explained. “It’s evidence, and it’ll help with body identification and a conviction.”

  “Index finger okay?” he asked from somewhere near her feet. How cavalier. He meant to get that sample for her.

  “Yes. Perfect.” She tore a piece from the hem of her dress in preparation for the finger, and waved it in the direction he was kneeling. “Here’s something to wrap it in.”

  Snap. Jude grunted, then took the cloth. Another snap and the sound of sawing met her ears.

  “Do you have a knife?” That would have been good to know earlier.

  “Of course.” At last, he stood. “You don’t think I’d chew a finger off one of these bodies, do you?”

  “Did you get one?”

  “Got two, just in case. Is there anything else you need while I’m down here?”

  “No, thanks. That’s good.”

  “Go on then. I’ll give them to you when we’re out of here.”

  This time Cassidy knew exactly where the exit was. The stair joists, too. “That’s a lot of dead people in there,” she said, her butt back on the steps. “Did you notice they’re not all decayed?”