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  Pushing off the bar, Des didn’t give himself time to think. In a few minutes, all hell would break loose. He wanted his dance, their first and only dance, damn it. And he didn’t care if the senator approved. Not this time.

  In a few long strides, Des closed the distance between himself and Jessica, sidestepping several other dancers and stopping by her side. Jessica stopped dancing, her light blue gaze registering surprise.

  “Can I cut in?” Des asked, focused on her, not the senator.

  The soft piano music echoed in his ears as he waited for her response. She stared at him. One second. Two. She turned to her father, pushed to her toes. She whispered in his ear before stepping out of his arms.

  Des reached for her, taking her hand in his, electricity shooting up his arm. Images of their naked bodies, entwined intimately, flashed in his mind. Urging her forward, he eased her closer, posturing them for a dance, his hand on her waist. It would be so easy to meld her tight against his body, to feel her soft curves pressed to his. It would also be inappropriate for their circumstances.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice husky even to his own ears.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice a bit tentative. “I’m surprised you broke in on a dance with my father.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed, her expression saying she didn’t believe he’d even asked that question. “You seem uncomfortable with him. He’s very opinionated about my life. I thought perhaps you preferred to avoid him.”

  “I never avoided him or his opinions,” he said. “Just the opposite. I did what he wanted.”

  “Meaning what?” she asked cautiously.

  The song changed, turned slower, softer. Des used the opportunity to close the distance between them, taking a step forward, their legs touching.

  His gaze touched her lips, full and sweet, perfect. Lips he knew tasted of temptation. He fixed her in a sizzling stare, finding her look guarded. But he could smell her arousal, feel her heat.

  He answered her question. “Meaning I stayed away when I didn’t want to.”

  She pulled back then, staring up at him. “That sounds remarkably like an excuse.” Her gaze delved, probed. “Somehow I don’t take you for an excuse maker.”

  “I wanted to see you, Jessica.” He spoke the words low, with conviction.

  She studied him a moment longer. “Why are we dancing, Des? If you avoided me because of my father, why are we here now?”

  Her father was just one reason to distance himself and he knew it. Perhaps Senator Montgomery was simply an excuse to avoid facing the truth. The primal side of him stirred to life around Jessica in a way he feared he couldn’t contain. Even now, it clawed at him, rejecting the idea of just walking away, demanding he drag her off somewhere and claim her. It wanted her this moment; his assignment, this crowd be damned. He steeled himself inside, fighting the power of that demand. The Beast usually never rose unless he called to it. He gave it control during battles and sex, and it behaved the rest of the time. It was a deal between man and Beast, a pact of sorts.

  “Des?” Jessica pressed. “Why?”

  He stared at her, fearing the control he’d thought he owned over the Beast had become a facade. He had to distance himself from Jessica before he did something crazy. This feeling, this primal urge felt beyond mating. He was afraid he’d hurt her.

  He drew a breath and began to formulate a method of distancing himself from her. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  Her expression didn’t change, her face still registering cool composure. But Des felt her mood shift, darken. She stopped dancing. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you. I hope I’ll see your donation here in the museum. Enjoy the rest of the party.”

  She tried to step away but Des tightened his hold. “Don’t do this, Jessica,” he said, stopping her departure when he should have let her go.

  “Do what?” she asked stiffly.

  Turn to ice instead of fire. But he didn’t say the words. Who was he to ask such a thing after the way he’d treated her? Besides, he was dangerous. He was on edge, out of control.

  “Nothing,” he said, forcing himself to let her go, regret rocking him inside and out. Des offered her a tiny bow. “Thank you for the dance.”

  He straightened, their eyes locking, and for a second he almost grabbed her again, almost pulled her close. His fingers balled into fists and then released, tension, desire, demand chasing his willpower, fighting for control.

  Finally, he managed to incline his head and walk away. Not a moment too soon, either. Max sounded in his earpiece. “Greg’s on the move. The game is in play. I repeat, we’re in play, Knights.”

  Des returned the smile offered by an elderly woman as he paced the room in a nonchalant pattern, prepared to take action. All the while, he knew Jessica’s exact position, determined to watch out for her safety and praying everything went down without a hitch.

  Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, a trickle of warning tightening his chest. His gaze rocketed to where Jessica stood next to the punch bowl. She was swiping at her dress with her napkin, a large wet stain on the front of it, a man obviously apologizing profusely. And then she started walking toward the elevator. Des started walking, too. Fast.

  “Son of a bitch!” The words were spoken in his ear by Max. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that if Jessica goes upstairs, she could walk right into trouble.”

  No, he did not have to be told. Des sidestepped several people and made fast tracks toward the stairwell. The brunette from earlier that evening stepped in front of him, stumbling. Des reached out and caught her, irritated. Trying to be nonchalant when his heart pounded so hard he thought his chest might explode.

  He gently set the woman away from him, the scent of alcohol flaring in his nostrils. He murmured an apology about an urgent phone call, promising a dance on his return. Finally free, he took long strides toward his destination.

  Desperate to find Jessica before that trouble found her first.

  Chapter 12

  Jessica stood behind her desk, the stain stick she kept in her drawer at hand, but there was no hope. Her dress looked as bad as she felt. She’d already been upset over Des’s aloof treatment, but now she was downright near tears. Tears, good grief. That would make twice in a week. She tossed the stick back in her drawer and headed back to the hallway, disgusted with herself for falling apart.

  Who knew if she would have reacted so intensely to Des, or any of this, if her mother’s absence weren’t such a predominant theme to the evening. Yes, they were honoring her mother, but in death rather than in life.

  She eyed the end of the hallway, the double doors leading to the secure area where the journal was being guarded. Despite her grief, pride welled inside her. Soon, it would be on the main floor, a vision for all to see.

  Halfway to the elevator, she passed an office and heard a noise—whispering, she thought. A shiver raced down her spine, a premonition of trouble.

  “Where is your other shoe?”

  Fear slid away, anger in its place. So much for Greg’s great catering company. A sexcapade during a high-security event was outrageously inappropriate. She shoved open the door, intending to blast the couple inside, finding herself a bit shell-shocked at what she saw.

  Greg was in the room with another man who had discarded his pants but still wore the caterer’s white-shirt-and-tie ensemble. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, not sure what she had walked into, but quite certain it was far more than she’d expected.

  “How about some privacy?” Greg demanded, moving in front of the other man as if protecting his lover.

  Jessica eyed the clothes on the floor again, her heart pounding in her ears. Something was so not right here. “Sorry,” she said, easing backward, trying to act embarrassed when she was freaking-out scared.

  The stairwell doors burst open and Des appeared. “Jessica.”

  One look at his face and she could see th
e edginess, the tension. “Des?”

  He started walking, long strides closing the distance between them quickly. The urgency she felt in him further ignited her own. She yanked the door shut on Greg and the other man, and rushed to meet Des halfway, a feeling of being chased pressing her onward.

  “Hold it right there.”

  Greg’s voice alone wouldn’t have stopped her from her destination, but the sound of a gun being cocked brought Jessica to a dead halt.

  “Turn around, Jessica,” Greg said. “Nice and slow, and don’t even think about making a sound. Right now, even as we speak, a sniper is in the crowd, ready to target your father. One word from me, and the trigger goes off.”

  Jessica’s eyes locked with Des’s and somehow his presence offered a sense of security, despite the gun at her back. “Do as he says,” Des whispered.

  Drawing a deep breath, she desperately tried to quell the rage racing through her. Slowly she rotated, staring down the barrel of a gun. This couldn’t be happening.

  “What is this about, Greg?” she hissed, but she knew the truth and it sickened her—he wanted the journal.

  “Shut up, Jessica,” he ground out between his teeth. “I am so sick of hearing you talk, always Ms. High and Mighty.” He called over his shoulder to the man who had been with him in the office. “Secure the journal.”

  Suddenly, Des was by her side and Greg jerked the gun in his direction. “Stop right there,” he said. “Don’t think I won’t use this.”

  “You won’t risk the noise,” Des said. “Not before you have the journal out of here.”

  Greg glared at Des. “You underestimate me. The gun has a silencer. I can put a bullet in your head—” the weapon pointed at Jessica “—or hers, without anyone knowing.”

  Des laughed. “There is no silencer on that gun. Do you even know how to fire it?”

  Blood rushed to Greg’s face. “There is a silencer and I damn sure know how to shoot the damn thing. Want to find out firsthand?” He aimed at Des’s knee. “How about I start at your legs and work my way to your arms?”

  Jessica made a plea. “If this is about money, Greg, my father has lots of it. He’ll pay you.”

  “He wants more than money,” Des commented. “Don’t you, Greg?”

  He narrowed his gaze on Des. “You have no idea what I want.”

  Des ignored his statement and continued, “Any promises they made you,” Des replied, “they won’t keep.”

  “The journal is secure,” came a voice from behind Greg.

  Jessica’s attention riveted to the man who appeared beside him, and she recognized him instantly. He wore all black as he had the night he’d raided her father’s house. Her attention shifted to Greg. “You took the diaries, too, you bastard.”

  Abruptly, the doors behind them burst open. Jessica found herself thrust behind Des as two men moved to either side of him, both pointing guns at Greg and the man in black. Somehow, Des managed to arm himself as well, a gun now held in each of his hands.

  Her stomach lurched, fear dancing along her nerve endings. Who were these men and how did Des know them? Had Michael been right? Was Des some sort of security specialist? With the insurance company? Or was he more—something dangerous? She started to take off for the stairwell when she remembered the threat against her father.

  She couldn’t leave without knowing her father was safe. Jessica pressed herself tight into the corner and squatted down, managing to get a good view of what was going on. Hopefully, positioned as she was, any bullets would fly over her head.

  Des fixed his weapon on Greg. “All right, Greg,” he said. “Let me tell you how this is going to play out. You’re going to bring me that journal. If I don’t have it in sixty seconds flat, I’m going to let my partner here—” he motioned to the man on his left with a slight incline of his head “—shoot out one of your knees. See, he loves torturing people.”

  Three more men in black charged the room. Jessica recognized them as well from the attack at her father’s house, including the one called Black Dog.

  “Well, well,” Black Dog said. “Look who we have here.” His forehead crinkled. “Someone is playing both sides of the field now, aren’t they?” He narrowed his gaze on Des. “You pretend to save the senator and his daughter, but your men stole the diaries from us.” Black Dog eyed Jessica where she cringed in the corner. “You didn’t know your boyfriend here stole from you, did you?”

  “Wait,” Greg said, his voice fired with anger. “Are you telling me he took my diaries?”

  “Oh yeah,” Black Dog said. “He took them.”

  Jessica could barely believe what she was hearing. She surged to her feet, knots twisting in her gut. “Des?” Everything inside her said she could trust Des, but there were things that didn’t add up, things Michael had picked up on. “Tell me that’s not the truth. Tell me.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Jessica,” Des said. “He’s trying to upset you.” The men beside Des moved in a flash of inhuman speed, knives flying across the room and into the thighs of the two men flanking Black Dog. They gasped, moaned, legs buckling even as they reached for the blades.

  “Give us the journal,” Des said, his voice low, deadly. “Now.”

  “The only thing we’re doing is walking away,” Greg said. “And if you so much as blink, the senator and every guest around him will get a bullet in their heads.”

  As Greg and the men in black started to back away, Jessica sucked in a breath, fearful that bullets were about to fly, worried for her father, for the guests. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. So completely without resources. So completely out of control.

  She didn’t know if she could trust any of these men, not even Des. Didn’t even know which of them would shoot at her, which would protect her, if any of them.

  A night meant to celebrate her mother’s life might well be stained in blood. And at this moment, she wasn’t so sure it wasn’t going to be her own.

  Fury ate away at Des in the few seconds he had to think through his actions. In those seconds, the enemies backed off, preparing to slip away, and conflicting agendas pounded on Des’s mind. He wanted to end this—no, needed to end this. Right here and now, he and his team could take down these men and secure the journal.

  But at what price? What if there really was a sniper in the midst of the guests? Sacrificing innocent human life wasn’t an option. It would violate every responsibility he possessed as a Knight of White.

  He watched as the men turned a corner and then disappeared out of sight. “Damn it!” he cursed, shoving his weapons in his waistband. “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe I had to let them go.”

  “It was the right choice,” Rinehart said in the earpiece. “The only choice.”

  Jessica spoke then, drawing his attention, her anger more than evident in her hissed words. “Tell me you didn’t take those diaries.”

  Des turned to her, forcing himself to look into her eyes, knowing what she would see in his. That she would know he’d lied.

  He took a step toward her. “Jessica—”

  She backed away, hit the wall. “Don’t come near me. Answer the question. Did you take those diaries?”

  “There are things—”

  Her voice lifted. “Did you take them?”

  What could he say? “They’re safe.”

  She shook her head. “You bastard. You lied to me. You…used me.”

  Des barely contained his flinch. He’d been called a bastard plenty of times in his life, and learned to let it roll off his shoulders. This time it stung. He remembered her calling Black Dog a bastard back at her father’s house. Now he himself was no better than a criminal to her. But then, that didn’t surprise him. “Call me what you must, but I was protecting the journal.”

  “Trying to steal it is more like it.”

  Des kept his focus on Jessica. “There are things going on here you don’t understand, and I don’t have time to explain them now.”

  He though
t of the diaries, of Jessica’s study of her mother’s work. If there was any hope of finding that list of bloodlines without the journal, the diaries were the answer. And Jessica would understand her mother’s notes. She had to come with them.

  The elevator dinged. Someone was coming. Des cursed and grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand. In a stealthy maneuver, he pushed her into the stairwell, his team following.

  Outside the door, Michael’s voice sounded. “Jessica?”

  She fought against Des, landing a solid blow to his groin that had him barely containing a grunt. Frustrated, he shackled her legs with his and pushed her against the wall.

  His mouth went to her ear, his voice a hissed whisper. “I know deep down inside you trust me, but I don’t have time to make you see that. People will die if the contents of that journal get into the wrong hands.”

  He reached for his tie with his free hand, the other one still covering her mouth. They needed her help and it was clear she wasn’t giving it willingly. He had no choice but to take her by force.

  Muffled sounds came from her, attempts to shout, her body stilled by his stronger one. All the while, Max was yelling through his ear mic, warning him to hurry up. He had Michael on camera, and he’d spotted the pile of clothes the fake catering person had left behind.

  Des managed to yank his tie free. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said a second before he wrapped the tie around her head and gagged her mouth. Fear radiated off her, and he drank it in, hating it, but having no option but this one. They had limited time to recover that journal and find that hidden list before the Beasts. Without that journal, those diaries were their only hope. If anyone could find an answer in them, it was the daughter who knew her mother well; it was Jessica.

  Des bent over and lifted her over his shoulder, eyed Rinehart and motioned them onward. Part of him screamed with the rightness of carrying her away, of taking her with him. Another part of him thought goodbye would be easier to swallow than the contempt he’d seen in her eyes a few moments before.

  At least that contempt would keep him—and his Beast—at a distance. Jessica wasn’t likely to let him anywhere near again. Not tonight. Not ever.