Chapter 37
Lark had been at the party for less than twenty minutes and already wanted to escape through the nearest window.
Her mother had managed to find fault with everything.
The dress was “a little unexpected.” Meaning it wasn’t up to her standards.
Her hair was “far too loose.” Adding in her usual passive aggressive tone, “You could have done something with your hair. You have such beautiful hair when you actually take the time with it.”
Her makeup was “rather heavy.” She expected better from an “artist.” Apparently, there was a precise Meadows-approved shade of lipstick, and naturally, Lark had chosen the wrong one.
Normally, she’d have spent the evening shrinking beneath the criticism. Tonight was different. Because Cormac was beside her.
Lark had been tongue-tied when he first appeared before her, dressed and ready for the party.
He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, which somehow made him even more attractive.
His dark charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly, the jacket tailored enough to emphasize his powerful build without looking like he was trying too hard.
Beneath it, he’d worn a crisp white shirt with the top button left undone, no tie. Very Cormac.
His sleeves ended neatly at his wrists, but she knew the tattoos continued beneath the fabric. A simple dark belt and polished dress shoes completed the look.
His hair was freshly trimmed and neatly styled. His beard was closely groomed, emphasizing the strong line of his jaw.
Lark’s gaze had traveled slowly from his face to his shoulders, down the lean strength of his torso, and lower before she caught herself.
He’d raised an eyebrow. “See something you like?”
“Maybe.”
His mouth curved. “You’re staring.”
“I was appreciating the view.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Careful. We’re supposed to be going to an engagement party.”
Lark smiled up at him. “I know.”
“And you’re looking at me like you’re already planning our escape.”
“Maybe I am.”
His grin widened. “Good. Because I’ve been planning it since your mother opened the front door.”
Now, she caught him watching her from across the room while she spoke with one of the Meadows family friends. His expression held none of the judgment she’d grown accustomed to seeing from her family and the people who attended these gatherings.
He simply looked at her like she was beautiful. Like she was enough. And somehow, that mattered more than every criticism her mother could throw at her.
The difference between this party and every other Whitmore event she’d endured was astonishing. Usually, she’d spent the night calculating every word, every movement, every smile.
Tonight, she had Cormac. And Cormac stood beside her like a sentry. He didn’t hover. He didn’t need to. He simply occupied space. A very large amount of space.
People seemed to notice. A few had attempted to flirt with him already, apparently deciding that a man with broad shoulders, a military bearing, and that devastating blue-eyed stare was worth the risk.
Lark had watched with increasing amusement as Cormac politely shut down every attempt.
One woman had touched his arm. He’d removed her hand. Another had asked whether he was “always this serious.” His answer had been, “Usually.” She’d laughed awkwardly and retreated.
Lark had nearly choked on her champagne. She was beginning to understand why his teammates enjoyed tormenting him.
Unfortunately, not everyone was intimidated. Across the ballroom, Bradley stood beside Wren, speaking to a small group of guests. His gaze found Lark. Then Cormac. The smile that crossed his face didn’t reach his eyes.
Lark’s amusement faded. Something about the way Bradley was looking at them made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Then he leaned toward Wren and whispered something. Wren looked directly at Lark. Her smile disappeared.
Lark felt Cormac’s hand settle against the small of her back. “You okay?”
“Fine.” He didn’t look convinced. Neither was she.
A moment later, Bradley excused himself from the group and started toward them. Lark’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t alone. Grant Calloway was walking beside him. Her blood went cold.
Cormac felt the change in her immediately. His body shifted almost imperceptibly, putting himself between her and the approaching men without making it obvious.
Calloway smiled. “Miss Meadows. Pleasure to see you again.”
She couldn’t make herself answer the same. Meeting him this time felt different. Especially since she knew what he was connected to. She called upon her well-honed experience of growing up in this life and put her indifferent mask on.
“Hello,” she said smoothly.
Calloway’s gaze moved to Cormac. “Lieutenant Cormac Shibley.”
Cormac’s expression didn’t change, but Lark felt his hand tighten against her back. “Good memory,” he said.
“Yes, well. Occupational habit,” Calloway replied smoothly. His gaze lingered on Hoot for a beat too long. “I make it a point to keep tabs on certain people.”
The words sounded harmless. They weren’t. Lark felt the tension roll through Hoot’s body beside her.
“I’m flattered,” Hoot said dryly.
Calloway’s smile never faltered. “You shouldn’t be.” For the briefest moment, something cold flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the polished charm of the man everyone else in the room apparently trusted.
Lark’s stomach tightened. Whatever Calloway meant by certain people, she had a terrible feeling Cormac was one of them. The words sent a chill through her.
Cormac’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been a long time. Why keep tabs?”
Calloway smiled. “Your reputation precedes you.”
She forced a polite smile and turned to Cormac. In the sweetest voice she could come up with, she put a hand on his chest and teased, “I didn’t know you had a reputation, babe.”
For half a second, Hoot simply stared at her. The sweet little smile, the hand on his chest, the endearment—it was so far removed from the Lark he knew that it nearly caught him off guard.
Then he recovered, slipping an arm around her waist. “Only the good parts, sweetheart,” he drawled, playing along. “The rest are highly classified.”
Her smile widened. Calloway’s eyes flicked between them, and Lark caught the briefest hint of calculation in his expression. Perfect. Let the bastard wonder exactly what they knew.
His eyes remained on them for a moment too long. “Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunities to become better acquainted.” Lark wanted to gag, not liking the sound of that. Neither, apparently, did Cormac. His hand settled more firmly against the small of her back.
Calloway finally excused himself, disappearing into the crowd with Bradley.
Lark watched him go. “What did he mean by that?” she murmured.
Cormac’s gaze followed Calloway. “Don’t know yet.” That answer did nothing to settle her nerves.
Before she could say anything else, Wren appeared beside her. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Lark turned. “Why?”
“I need your help with something.” Wren glanced toward the restroom hallway. “Come with me?”
Lark hesitated. She looked at Cormac.
He didn’t say anything. He merely gave the smallest nod, his expression changing almost imperceptibly. She trusted that look. “I’ll be right back.”
His eyes tracked her. “I’ll be here.”
Lark followed Wren down the hallway. She didn’t worry. Cormac had positioned himself where he could see the entrance to the restroom without making it obvious he was guarding her. He’d probably look like another bored guest waiting for his date.
The restroom was quieter than the ballroom. Wren stepped inside first. Lark followed. The door swung shut behind them.
Inside, Wren was washing her hands. “So,” she said, “what do you think of the flowers?”
Lark smiled faintly. “They’re beautiful.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m trying to decide whether I hate the flowers or the fact that the Whitmore’s spent more on them than I make in a year.”
Wren laughed. Then the stall door opened. Lark glanced toward the mirror, a man stepped up beside her. Aside from the fact that he shouldn’t be there in the women’s room, something about him immediately felt wrong.
Before she could turn, another man emerged from behind Wren.
Her sister screamed. The first men lunged for them, cutting off the scream before it could gain ground.
Lark twisted away, driving her elbow backward.
It connected with something solid. The man grunted.
She grabbed Wren’s hand and ran for the door.
The second man caught Wren around the waist, pulling her away, allowing the other man to regain ground and grab Lark again. She kicked violently, catching him in the shin. “Get off me!”
Wren fought too, clawing at the man’s face. Then a hand clamped over Lark’s mouth. She bit down. The man swore. And then she heard his voice. “Hold still.”
Everything inside her went cold. She knew that voice. Her body stopped fighting for half a heartbeat. The island. The gun against her head. The fifth man. The one she’d never gotten a good look at. But she’d heard his voice.
“You,” she gasped against the hand covering her mouth.
His eyes narrowed. “That’s right. You caused me a lot of problems.”
Panic exploded through her. She fought harder. She kicked. Twisted. Bit. Anything to get free.
She couldn’t let him take her again. Not this time.
“Cor—!” The man jerked her backward, choking off her cry for help. A sharp sting struck the side of her neck. Lark gasped. She reached for the spot. Her fingers came away trembling. A needle. Her vision immediately began to blur.
“No…” She tried to scream. The room tilted.
Wren’s voice sounded distant. “Lark!”
Lark fought to stay conscious. She thought of Cormac. He was just down the hall. He would come. He would find her. The edges of her vision darkened.
The last thing she heard was the fifth man’s voice. “Move. We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before somebody notices.”
Then everything disappeared.