Chapter 19
After this, she was never going to let go of Rhys again.
She buried her face in his chest, and let his arms take away all the pain and stress, not just of the last few hours but of the last few weeks.
To all intents and purposes, it was over, and even now, like this, she barely dared let herself believe it.
What Rhys had started, Cruz Livingston and his team were finishing, with the assistance of local law enforcement, apparently summoned by the FBI team to provide support.
The jet had been impounded for the investigation to follow, and even now, the Evidence Response Team was preparing to tear it apart.
The KDT fixer and his thugs—identities to be confirmed but now assumed to be high-price, high-end muscle for hire—were already on their way to San Antonio to be interrogated, along with the pilot and cabin crew, who also had questions to answer.
The materials they’d flown in to retrieve, though fake, were safely back in the possession of the FBI.
“What did Nick say?” Taylor asked.
At the first opportunity, once the situation was under control, Rhys had called Nick to brief him on what had happened, and that they would be on their way back to the ranch as soon as possible.
“He wanted to be absolutely sure we’re both all right. I told him, but I don’t think he’ll fully believe it until he sees us.”
“So, what did you say to him?”
“That we’re fine, neither of us needs hospitalization, and we’ll be back as soon as we can. He offered to come for us, but I told him there was no need. Unless you’d like to go now? I can always call him back and ask him to pick you up. I can finish off here.”
Taylor shook her head. Much though she appreciated the offer, it wasn’t what she wanted. “I’m staying here. I… I know it sounds stupid, but I feel safe when I’m with you.”
His arms tightened around her—everything she needed was in that hug. “Nothing you say sounds stupid. If that’s the way you feel, then you’re not going anywhere until we go together.”
“Rhys?”
“Uh-huh?”
Taylor took a deep breath. She’d asked this question more than once already and still hadn’t received an answer.
The thought occurred to her that the reason might be that it was something she didn’t want to hear, but that wouldn’t change the truth.
“Why won’t you let me see Pops? Is he… Is he okay? ”
The chest beneath her chook took a deep breath. “Tay?—”
“How are you two doing?”
Before Rhys could reply, Livingston arrived, having left his team to check on them.
Taylor appreciated the gesture, given everything that was going on back at the hangar.
She raised her head to turn her attention to him.
“Relieved it’s finally over,” she admitted, “but what about Pops? What’s going to happen to him and…
” She shook her head. “I don’t even know her name. ”
“Bree McAndrew.” The FBI agent glanced toward the cluster of individuals that included Charles Markham and his lady friend.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about.
They’re being checked over by the medics right now, but regarding what happens after that…
On the one hand, they are both the victims of a kidnapping, but at the same time, there’s the matter of the information Markham lifted from the company, which he proceeded to use to blackmail the officials, instead of handing it over to us.
And that doesn’t even touch on the criminality of the officials themselves.
The nature of the information means it’s a multi-agency matter but for now we’re taking point. ”
Taylor’s stomach churned. “Before you take him away, can I talk to him?”
She hadn’t planned to ask—it was an impulsive question, and in the silence that followed it, a sense of foolishness for having asked started to creep into her soul.
“Look, I appreciate the difficult position you’re in,” Livingston said. “We have to take both of them back to San Antonio for questioning before we decide on further action. We can’t delay that, but I can let you have a few minutes with your father while we get ready to leave if you’d like.”
It was more than she could have hoped for, in the circumstances. “Please. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“Is there any chance you could take the cuffs off?” Rhys asked. “He’s not going anywhere, but if he does try anything sketchy, I’ll bring him down myself.”
The reassurance seemed to be enough to convince Livingston. He signaled to one of his colleagues to remove the bonds from Charles Markham’s wrists.
Rhys took a step back from her. His lips brushed her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Go and talk to him. I’m here if you need me. Just remember one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“He might not be the man you remember.”
The warning spelled out the thought that was haunting her. She nodded, deeply touched by Rhys’ understanding and support. She had no idea how the conversation with her father would go, but she was absolutely certain she’d need her man afterwards.
Taylor started toward her father. As she came closer, one of the FBI agents watching him removed the zip tie but remained close enough to apprehend him if necessary.
With each step, Taylor fought the rising compulsion to turn around and return to Rhys.
As she took up a position in front of her father.
the agent withdrew far enough to give them some privacy.
“Hi, Punkin.”
Opening with her childhood nickname fired a broadside at her emotional defenses. At the same time, and with Rhys’ warning at the forefront of her mind, there was something about that greeting that urged caution. “Pops.”
“Got a hug for your old man?” Charles Markham held out his arms.
Taylor stepped forward and gave him a perfunctory embrace. It felt awkward.
“That the best you can do?”
To Taylor’s ears, his short laugh sounded forced.
Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if he was faking it.
In spite of what he’d done, Charles Markham clearly expected a much more positive welcome from her than the one he’d received, but she simply didn’t have it in her.
When she looked at him, she saw a man whose actions had put her in danger, rather than the man who’d cared for her when she was growing up.
All the things that had bothered her about his letters, his actions—or lack thereof—rose to choke her.
“Why did you do it, Dad? Or more to the point, why didn’t you take what you knew to the law?
I thought that was what you were going to do.
I asked and asked, but you never responded and you clearly never did it. Why?”
“Dad?” His brow creased and he gave a short, nervous laugh. “You’ve never called me that before.”
Taylor closed her eyes and gave a quiet snort of disbelief. Of all the things she’d said, he picked up on that? She tried again. “Why didn’t you take it to the police, like you said you would? It’s been four years. Four. Years. I thought I’d get my life back in weeks. Months, at most.”
His expression underwent a subtle hardening that made Taylor’s blood run cold.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining. As I recall, from what you’ve written over the years, you’ve made a pretty good life for yourself here.
You should be thanking me. I gave you all that. Hell, I even gave you my name.”
There was something odd about the way he said it that triggered a question she’d never imagined asking. “What… do you mean, you gave me your name?”
He raised an eyebrow—a gesture she knew so well—but this time it was accompanied by a curl of the lip that turned his expression into a sneer. “Since I’m no longer ‘Pops,’ it’s time you knew the truth, Punkin.”
The odd emphasis he placed on the nickname this time gave her an even more uneasy feeling. Whatever he was about to reveal, her instincts were screaming at her to run. “What truth?”
“I’m not your biological father.”
>>><<<
His mind was only half on the conversation Rhys was having with Cruz Livingston. The other half was on Taylor, standing just a few feet from her father, who was rubbing his wrists after the removal of the handcuffs.
The scene troubled him. There was something about Markham’s body language that didn’t read right, not even when he gave his daughter a hug.
And judging by Taylor’s stiff body language, she wasn’t happy, either.
Rhys stopped in the middle of what he was saying and shifted his entire focus to his woman.
He couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching a predatory master manipulator targeting his prey.
“Dalton?”
He spared a glance at the FBI agent. “Do me a favor and get the handcuffs back on Markham,” he said quietly. “I’ve got a bad feeling this is about to go sideways.”
Quite how, Rhys didn’t know, but that was what his gut—always reliable—was telling him.
With a swift, silent gesture, Livingston ordered his closest agent to move in.
In the same instant, Taylor was stepping back, her hand covering her mouth as she shook her head in blatant disbelief.
Rhys launched into the fastest sprint of his life, and as he closed in on whatever was going down, he heard Taylor’s horrified denial.
“No. What you wrote… the note. It can’t be true. It can’t.”
“You can bet your life it is, Punkin. After all, I did—bet your life, I mean. Think about it. Would your real father have put you at risk by sending the incriminating material to you, rather than sending it to the Feds?”
The incongruous remark was puzzling enough, but Rhys’ focus zeroed in on three words—your real father. What the hell had he been saying to her?
As the FBI agent slapped the cuffs back on Markham’s wrists, Rhys made a grab for Taylor and swung her away from the prisoner, shielding her with his own body. Markham was in no position to pose a viable threat, but Rhys was taking no chances, especially with Taylor clearly in a state of shock.