Page 31 of Marked

“Just know it’s tedious. You don’t want to broadcast the fact that you’re asking about child traffickers. People will close up shop and hightail it the fuck out of dodge if they think anyone is onto them.”

“But how do we know it’s traffickers who have her?” The idea made vomit creep up her throat. It was bad enough her daughter had been kidnapped—just the possibility that Bella was in the hands of a child abuser made her head explode. “There’re many facets to Lionsgate. Some of the people in the organization might have no idea what’s going on with the children. Nash didn’t.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s a starting point. I’m assuming that’s the case you’re still working on?”

She’d already told him she couldn’t speak about the case, but when it came to locating Bella, she wasn’t going to hold any cards to her chest. “That’s right.”

“Then we’re on the right track. Look, why don’t you rest a few minutes? I’m not going to have any new info for a few hours and—”

“I can’t sleep. No way.”

He shrugged. “Then don’t. Just put your head down.” He nodded at the bed and then turned back to the computer.

The plush-looking mattress beckoned her. A digital clock on the nightstand told her it was after 2:00 a.m. There really wasn’t anything she could do but exhaust herself further. If she just rested for a minute, maybe she’d feel more rejuvenated.

Besides, if she stayed in the room where Cole was working, with the lights on, she wouldn’t fall into a deep sleep and miss something.

She walked toward the bed and sat, pressing her hand into the soft pillow. Sleeping in Cole’s bed should be repulsing, considering he killed people for a living. But God, her head was so heavy. She’d already been in his house, sat on his furniture, in his car. What difference did it make?

Pulling up her knees, she dropped her head to the pillow. In seconds sleep swept in, pulling her body down into the comfort of the mattress.

Blackness closed in around her.

***

After several minutes of silence, Cole glanced over his shoulder. Sophia lay on his bed, her head on his pillow. She was curled on her side, her hands clamped between her knees and a perpetual frown line carved in her forehead.

Soft breaths broke from her nose.

He’d need sleep too if he wanted to function tomorrow. Getting up from his chair, he picked up the comforter and spread it over Sophia’s form. She wriggled against the material then settled deeper into sleep.

After clicking off the light, he left the door slightly ajar and went to the couch. All he needed was a couple of hours. He’d operated on less before, but this case was different.

More delicate.

If he didn’t bring Sophia’s kid home... Jesus, he couldn’t go there. Not only would he effectively bury himself in the felony charges awaiting him, but he’d also have the weight of a child’s death on his shoulders.

Over the years he’d killed countless people. Criminals who deserved it, corrupt politicians, drug dealers. Hell, he’d had his hands in it all. Not a single one of those lives rested heavily on his chest. He’d always figured that meant he was in the right line of work. That he lacked a conscience.

But for the first time, this appeared not to be the case.

The responsibility of saving Sophia’s daughter was being heaped on him with greater force by the second. Never had he felt obliged to anyone. Not even family, for fuck’s sake.

This was different.

Sophia hadn’t asked for his help.

His motive hadn’t even been to help.

He forced all images of Sophia in his bed from his mind and closed his eyes.

The heavy arms of sleep pulled him into the leather, and he drifted off.

It was so cold. So dark.

He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t. Maybe a little for his brothers. Dallas would grow up feeling as if he were missing a limb. Nash and Dare...they might not grow up at all. Not if their dad had any say in it.

He’d miss them.

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