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“Alec’s sister.” She glanced at Liam. “Your sister. Yes, I’ve met her, too. She was very kind to me.” So kind, she remembered now. And not at all judgmental. Just like Alec. Like Angelina.
“That pretty much brings you up-to-date,” D’Arcy said. “I’ve got deaths on my conscience, the Thurman family among them. But I’ve never lost a witness I was responsible for,” he told her. “I don’t want you to be the first.”
Cate glanced from him to Liam, then back again. “So what is this new plan?”
“Callahan,” D’Arcy said. “Nobody knows of his connection to the agency, which is more important than I can explain right now. And he has more lives than a cat. He should have been killed at least a half dozen times I know about—and probably a few I don’t—but somehow he’s cheated death time and again. That’s why I want to put you in his hands, Ms. Mateja—Cate. If anyone can figure out a way to keep you safe until the trial begins, it’s Ryan Callahan.”
A cold, sinking feeling washed through Cate. And she knew the face she turned to Liam was ashen, her eyes stricken, unable to hide how betrayed she felt—a betrayal she had no business feeling. She knew logically Liam didn’t owe her anything. He’d kept her safe thus far, but only to help his brother. To help salvage the case against Vishenko and the rest of the defendants. Not because he cared what happened to her—twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t even met her.
Twenty-four hours? she asked herself, shocked at the answer. Dismayed. Because it seemed as if she’d always known him. Always trusted him to keep her safe.
The idea of losing Liam’s protection cut her to the bone, and for a fleeting moment she imagined if she looked down she’d see herself bleeding somewhere. Then she carefully wiped all expression from her face, pulling back within her internal borders. She was alone...as she’d always been nearly her entire adult life. As she always would be. No one but herself to count on. Liam wasn’t hers, not in any way. Not even in this. And you’d better accept it, she told herself harshly. Savagely. You’re on your own. Again. Still.
* * *
If Cate had stabbed Liam she couldn’t have wounded him more than she had with that one stricken expression...followed by that deliberate blankness. As if she thought he was abandoning her. As if she expected it.
His anger built quickly. What had he done to give her that impression? What kind of a man did she think he was? Then he remembered Alec telling him Cate’s story had literally made him sick, that she’d been Vishenko’s prisoner for two years. Two hellish years. Helpless. At the mercy of a man like Vishenko, who had no mercy in him. Those scars on her wrists told their own story. She’d eventually escaped...on her own. No one had helped her back then. Or all the years since then, except for much of this past year. She’d been on her own and on the run for six years until Alec found her. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to Liam she expected the worst from the men in her life. Except maybe Alec.
Still...it hurt. Just as it had hurt when she’d shied away from his innocent gesture yesterday. He wanted—perhaps unreasonably—for Cate to trust him, the same way she trusted Alec. And where did that come from? he asked himself. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. Couldn’t ignore how he felt.
“I’m not leaving you, Cate,” he explained, forcing himself to gentleness despite his anger and hurt. “Earlier this morning—before you woke up—D’Arcy was laying out his plan to stash you with Callahan. But that doesn’t mean I’m out of the picture. Not by a long shot.”
“I don’t understand.” She strove to shield her emotions from him—that was obvious—but Liam thought he saw something in her eyes. Those pale blue eyes looked almost gray—a trick of the light, he knew—and eventually she lost her internal struggle, her eyes beseeching him to explain.
His dreams of last night came unexpectedly to mind. Dreams of saving Cate, rescuing her from any and every danger that threatened. And all at once he knew it wasn’t just in his dreams he felt that way. He wanted to keep her safe. Needed to keep her safe. No matter what he had to do.
He’d already killed once for her—his protective instincts kicking in even before he knew her, because he couldn’t let anyone be murdered in front of his eyes, not if he could prevent it. But this wasn’t the same thing at all. Now he knew her. Now it was personal. Now he knew just how much she needed him, even though she thought she didn’t. Even though she didn’t believe she could count on his protection.
