Tested: The Dark Necessities—Dalton's Tale #3 Page 6

  “Is everything okay, Molly?” He tilted his head at her, trying to read her responses, as well as her thoughts.

  “Of course,” she mumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she replied. “Anyway, it’s not about me, Dalton. How are you feeling?”

  He sighed. “Fed up. It’s impossible to sleep in these places, and even if it was the Ritz, I can’t rest, Molly—not until I know Delle’s okay. You understand, don’t you?”

  Molly’s jaw tightened, and she pulled in a deep breath. “I do, Dalton.” Her eyes fluttered at him—more than you know.

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?” Dalton leaned closer toward her. “I’m pretty good at reading people, and I can sense something’s wrong.”

  She lifted her chin and stared at the fluorescent lighting.

  Oh God. He knows. How does he know?

  “Knows what, Molly?”

  “What?” Her focus was back on Dalton in a heartbeat. “I didn’t say anything.”

  His gaze narrowed. He knew women well enough to know when they were covering for something—or someone. “What do I need to know?” He employed his deeper voice, and judging by the way Molly’s eyes widened, the timbre wasn’t lost on her.

  “It’s… it’s just like I said.” Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she flustered. “Connor will be along soon. He’s meeting me here.”

  “Hmmm.” Dalton reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. He had an idea she might be telling the truth about that part, but still, something to do with Connor was obviously causing her anxiety. “Did you two have an argument or something?”

  He stared into her gaze, trying to decipher her thoughts, but they were scattered, the panic inside her burgeoning. Dalton could feel it as though the frantic energy radiating from her every pore.

  “Connor and I?” She shook her head. “Of course, not.”

  “Then what?” he demanded. “It’s something, Molly Clary, and don’t you dare lie to me again. I might not be your master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t chastise a naughty little girl when I find one.”

  “Dalton.” She pulled her hand away, her expression sad all of a sudden, and he regretted the threat at once.

  “I’m sorry.” He threw his palms up. “I didn’t mean that. I would never do anything like that without discussing it with you and Connor first.”

  “It’s okay.” But it didn’t sound okay. Molly’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  There, I said it. Her thoughts were despondent. Connor and Saul will be pissed with me, but it’s done now.

  Dalton took a deep breath. “What are you worried about?”

  Shit. I knew he’d ask.

  “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  His brow rose at that. “Okay, what are you supposed to do, Molly?”

  “Stay here with you.” Her gaze fell to his hospital bedding as though she was ashamed, and all at once, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Dalton.

  “Keep me here?” His voice was curt even as he asked. Dalton wasn’t angry with Molly—far from it. A scheme like this had his brother’s name written all over it.

  She gulped, her gaze flitting back to his for a moment before it returned to her hands, but neither confirmed nor denied his assertion.

  “Molly?” He sighed. “Please, just tell me. I’ll speak to Connor and Saul. I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

  “It’s not that.” There was a tremble of emotion in her voice, and as though she was acting on instinct, she glanced toward the large wall clock. Its crawling hands showed the time as almost twenty-five past eight in the morning.

  He closed his eyes, tuning into whatever was causing the wave of apprehension in her mind, and her thoughts were coming in loud and clear.

  Oh God, Connor. Please be okay.

  “Where is Connor really?” His stare was fixed on her again. “And no bullshitting me, please. Tell me the truth.”

  Molly caught her lip between her white teeth. “I don’t know, Dalton, and that’s the truth.” Her blue gaze was unfaltering as she replied, and for the first time since she walked in the door, Dalton believed her.

  That was the truth.

  “Okay. So, what is he really doing?”

  “He’s going to be so fucked-off with me for telling you.”

  “Molly, please.” Her eyes flitted back to meet his. “I just want the truth.”

  “He’s on some mission to rescue Delilah.”

  “Delle?” Dalton’s heart hammered even faster at the sound of his lover’s name. “Why? What happened?”

  She blinked at him. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry. Just that, Saul devised a plan, and he and some others spent the whole night working on it. Saul told me it was starting around eight.”

  “Oh God.” His heart was pounding so loudly, he could barely hear her talking. “Where?” he demanded. “Where was this happening?”

  “I don’t know, Dalton. I don’t know anything else, but I’m so worried.” Molly’s voice broke, and the tears that had been forming in her eyes began to fall.

  “Hey.” He regretted his insistent tone as he reached for her hand once more. “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay. Connor will be fine. He’s always fine.”

  Molly wiped her eyes with the heel of her free hand.

  “I hope so,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I know it’s pathetic, but I worry about him so much.”

  He laughed softly. “Oh, I get that,” he answered in a wry tone. “I’ve been worried sick since I came around. Being in here makes me so fucking ineffectual.”

  She flinched at his words.

  “It’s not you, Dalton. It’s just the situation. You’ve been ill. You nearly died.”

  He leaned back against his pillow and sighed. If he had to hear another bloody person tell him that, he swore he was going to go mad.

  “I know that.” He released her hand and lifted his palm to his forehead. “That’s just the thing, Molly. I didn’t die, did I? I’m alive, but I might as well have fucking died if I’m going to be stuck in here. I could be out there with Connor and the others. I could help get Delilah back.”

  Dalton’s eyes slid closed as the frustrated fear resonated. What plan were Connor and Saul enacting? What plan would involve striking so early in the morning? He didn’t think they’d be bold or foolish enough to go for the jugular and break into Hyland’s premises. The place was much like The Syndicate and would be well protected, and after all the shit he’d caused when he’d taken out Morley at Delilah’s place, he doubted they’d even consider such a scheme.

  So, what then?

  He rubbed the side of his weary head. What could be happening at eight in the morning that would facilitate taking Delle back? If not at Hyland’s base, then somewhere else. Lauper’s maybe, although taking her from there, would likely implicate their mole in the operation and blow his cover. Saul wouldn’t want that. No, it had to be something else.

  Somewhere else.

  Somewhere between the two, maybe—when Delilah was in transit between Hyland’s place and Lauper’s?

  His eyes flew open.

  Yes! That had potential. Likely the route between the two would be their best option, but that still left quite a few miles to consider. He inhaled and threw back the cover. Molly’s gaze widened in astonishment as he slid to the edge of the bed beside her and rose to his feet for the first time in days.

  “Dalton!” She practically hissed his name. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting out of here. I’m going to help.”

  “What?” she was on her feet seconds later, her gaze traveling up the length of his body.

  Dressed only in thin pajama bottoms, he must have looked quite a state, but he couldn’t care less.

  “You can’t do that! You’re not ready to leave, and we haven’t even spoken to the doctors.”

  “Screw the doctors.” He turned toward the small closet which, he assumed, hou
sed whatever clothing he’d been wearing at the time he’d arrived. Ignoring the ache in his ribs and the way his head threatened to spin, he advanced toward it. “They can’t stop me, and this is too important, Molly. I know where they are, and if we hurry, I can get there; still be useful.”

  “Not in this condition.” Her eyes flashed a warning. In this state, you’ll probably end up dead before you even arrive.

  “So be it.” His voice was solemn, but Dalton meant it. He absolutely meant it.

  Molly’s large blue eyes widened. “What… that doesn’t make sense?”

  “If I die, then so be it. At least I’d have gone fighting for the woman I love.”

  She gasped. What? How the hell could he have known I thought that?

  Dalton’s lips curled. Of course, Molly was still oblivious to his unusual telepathic abilities, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore—except Delilah.

  “You came here in a car, right?” He was at the cupboard now. Reaching inside, he pulled his shirt from the hanger. “There’s no way Connor would have let you get the tube.”

  “Shit, he’s going to kill me for this.”

  His smile widened. “Forget about that,” he insisted. “Let me handle my little brother. You told me the truth. How pissed can he be about that?”

  Molly snorted. “Knowing Connor, absolutely seething.”

  “True.” Dalton chuckled as he pulled the shirt over his body.

  “But you’re right. That’s not important right now. What matters is that he and Delilah are okay.”

  He turned in her direction. “So, you’ll help me then?”

  She bit her lip. “Do I have any choice? You Reilly men are all the same—hot-headed and determined.”

  “True again.” Dalton ceded as he grabbed his trousers from the closet and wandered back toward the bed. “Can you give me a moment to get changed?”

  Molly blushed, and once again, he could see just what Connor found so alluring about her.

  “Of course.” She was already retreating in the direction of the door. “I’ll be outside.”

  “It’s fine, Molly.” He grinned at her. “Just turn around for a moment while I change my pants.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sucked her lip between her white teeth as she turned.

  Sitting on the bed, Dalton quickly removed his uninspiring pjs before climbing into the trousers he’d been wearing when Hyland’s crew had beaten the seven colors of hell out of him. His body ached as he rose on trembling legs to fasten the garment, but Dalton ignored the pain. Whatever the suffering, Delilah was worth the risk.

  “Okay.” He stumbled forward and grasped at the unit for support.

  “Oh God, Dalton.” Molly spun in his direction and ran across to where he was standing. “Are you sure about this? Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

  Her large blue imploring eyes fluttered at him, but Molly’s tricks weren’t going to work. Not today. Not on Dalton.

  “It has to be. Give the driver a call and let him know you’re ready to leave.”

  “Okay.” She reached into her purse for her cell, and Dalton watched as she scanned her messages.

  Shit, still nothing from Connor.

  He glanced back to the clock. It was almost a quarter to nine, and that didn’t bode well. Whatever the plan was, he expected Connor to message by now. He knew Molly would be worried.

  “What about the other guy?” Her tone was uncertain as she flicked through her contacts.

  “What other guy?”

  “The one who accompanied me here at Saul’s insistence. The one who’s loitering around outside your room right now.”

  Dalton’s brow rose. “I had no idea. Who is it?”

  She swallowed. “I think he said his name was Gavin?”

  “Gavin Prime?” Prime hadn’t been with The Syndicate long, and Dalton didn’t know much about him, but he was young and strong, two salient factors.

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Okay. You call the driver and get him to meet us. I’ll go and say hello to Gavin.”

  She pulled in an audible breath. “Dalton.”

  He paused at the gravity of her tone.

  “We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?” Molly hesitated. “I don’t mean about how angry Connor will be or anything like that. I just mean we don’t want to go there and make things worse?”

  He considered her words for all of thirty seconds.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Whatever happens, it’s all on me, Molly. It will be fine.”

  The last thing he saw before he lurched toward the door was the uncertainty in her eyes, but just like the pain in his body, he pushed it away.

  Chapter Eight

  Connor

  In the end, they had been up all night, planning the whole thing, though their options were albeit limited. Given the timing and the fact it was one of the busiest parts of the city at the best of times, Connor had no choice but to accept the risks associated with tangling with Hyland’s men in a public place. The best they could do was to go in hard and fast, grab Delilah, and get the hell out as fast as possible. The biggest problem, of course, would be the actual escape part of the scheme—going anywhere fast in a car at that time of the day was nigh impossible. It was bad enough going the couple miles to the private hospital Dalton was in. They’d decided attacking from either side of Hyland’s vehicle gave them the most options.

  It was by no means a perfect plan, but it was all they had.

  They left early, bundling into two of The Syndicate’s cars, and set off on different routes. The idea was to wait on opposite side streets at one of the many intersections, then pounce on the car carrying Delilah when it passed. This relied on a number of assumptions. First, the idea Hyland’s car would be crawling along the street at that time in the morning, which was a safe bet. There was no other way to drive in this bloody city at eight in the morning. Then there was identifying the car in question. That wasn’t difficult if Hyland stayed true to form. Lauper had already given them the registration for the car they’d used so far, and they just had to hope he didn’t make any last-minute changes. One of them would loiter on the main street and let the others know as soon as the vehicle was spotted. From there, based on the average speed of the London traffic, Connor calculated they’d have a couple of minutes to get in position. The final, and perhaps most troubling assumption, was just how they managed to achieve that. Pulling out and getting to the head of a line of traffic, even on a side street, was challenging, and frankly, they wouldn’t have that much time once they’d had word the car was on route.

  Connor was full of uncharacteristic nerves as the car he was in, parked.

  “Get as close as you can to the junction,” he muttered to Marks. “That’ll help us out when the time comes.”

  “Got it,” Marks replied, crawling forward as far as he could without attracting the attention of some fucking cop.

  There was practically nowhere you could legally leave your car in the city these days, so it was already touch-and-go whether they’d have to take out some interfering traffic cop before they got the word to move.

  Connor lifted his cell phone to his mouth. “Car one in position.”

  “Copy that,” Wallace replied from the street around the corner. “No sign of them yet.”

  “Good. Car two, what is your position?”

  “We’re stuck in bloody traffic,” Kenny grumbled from the speaker. “ETA ten minutes.”

  Connor glanced down at the clock in the middle of the car. “Bullshit ten minutes,” he hissed. “This thing could be over in five. We need you in position.”

  “We have time,” Marks proffered from the driver’s seat. “Saul said she arrived at Lauper’s by eight-thirty most days. That means we have time.”

  Connor shot him a hard stare. “We don’t know anything for sure,” he corrected him. “So, let’s not be sloppy and leave things to chance.”

  Marks nodded, turning back to the road.
Connor twisted the loaded weapon in his hands, running through the details in his head for the hundredth time. He wasn’t sure why he was so apprehensive. It wasn’t his woman they were rescuing. Connor had only met Delilah a couple of times, and he couldn’t say he was that enamored by her, but when push came to shove, she was with Dalton.

  Dalton.

  His mind flitted back to the image of his brother in his hospital bed.

  He was doing this for Dalton. That’s why it was so important to him.

  Aside from his kitten, Dalton was the number one person in Connor’s life. The idea Dalton might have died had almost destroyed him. He wouldn’t save Delilah from Hyland because it was the right thing to do—Connor didn’t give a shit about the right thing—but he would do it for the love of his brother, for the only person who’d ever truly stuck by him over the years.

  Connor checked his wristwatch. It was nearly twenty past eight in the morning. “Wallace, any sign?”

  The ball of anxiety twisted at his question, and he waited in silence for the answer.

  “Not yet.” Wallace didn’t sound sure. “Although there are a lot of fucking dark sedans out here.”

  Connor’s brow furrowed. “Keep your eyes open,” he warned. “We don’t want them sailing right past us.”

  “Car two.” His jaw tightened. “How about you?”

  “We’re almost there. A couple of minutes more, maybe.”

  Fuck.

  Connor tilted his head back against the leather headrest. As usual, they were cutting it fine with their timings. He exhaled, tightening his grip on the handle of the weapon. Each of them was armed, but he and Mitchell were carrying the most efficient guns. Their automatic weapons would unload round after round of bullets in no time at all, and while he hoped it didn’t come to that, he was glad for the backup. Hyland’s guys were bastards, and they sure as hell wouldn’t do them any favors. If they wanted Delilah back, they’d have to take her with force.

  “Hang on.” Wallace’s excited voice interrupted his thoughts. “I think I see them.”

  Connor’s body straightened up. “Where?”

  “Further down the street. It’s bumper-to-bumper out here.”