Page 14 of Tactical Lies

Was it odd that even though Becca had been living in Cambodia for several years, less than twenty-four hours after he showed up they were attacked?

That was crazy.

Wasn't it?

This whole conspiracy thing was really getting to him, and it was hard to tell these days what was real and what wasn't. The other men involved in his mom’s rape had already proved they were willing to go to any lengths to try to get his family to back off. Everything Cole and Susanna had been through was proof of that.

Were they determined enough—or crazy enough—to try to target the village where his ex-girlfriend lived and worked?

As badly as he’d love to say no, Connor couldn’t.

With his one handgun, he was no match for the well-armed attackers, and if he tried picking them off one by one, he’d only be signing his own death warrant. Which he would be more than prepared to do if it meant saving Becca’s life, but right now, he was possibly the only thing standing between her and death.

So he had no choice but to slip soundlessly between the trees as he headed the way he’d told Becca to run. He knew she was going to be angry he hadn't been able to get to her friend and the children, but the kids were scattered throughout the town, and several men were standing around the house Becca shared with Isabella.

There was nothing he could do, and he hated it.

Hated knowing the tiny woman who hadn't hesitated to tell him to stay away from Becca was likely going to be murdered.

If she was lucky.

Because if Bella wasn't she was going to be wishing for death before it finally came for her. He knew what these kinds of men were like, knew the torture they delivered to beautiful young women like Isabella. She’d be raped for sure, possibly trafficked, so he had no option but to hope she was already dead.

Becca would no doubt blame him, which he would absolutely take if it meant he could get her out of this mess alive.

There wasn't anything he wouldn't shoulder so she didn't have to, anything he wouldn't take to make her load a little lighter. If she had to blame him for Isabella and the villagers’ deaths to process them then she could.

After all, she might be right.

Had the people after his family followed him here? Had he brought this horror right to the doorstep of the woman he loved? As much as he didn't want it to be true it quite easily could be. After all, when he was off alone on the other side of the world, he was a much easier target than when at home surrounded by his brothers.

He moved faster than he’d advised Becca to go, partly because this was his job and he knew how to move making barely a sound, blending into whatever landscape he found himself in, but mostly because he ached with the need to get to her. Needed to see her with his own two eyes, needed to confirm that she wasn't streaked with blood like the villagers he’d seen lying dead in the fields.

Like she had been the night of her assault when he’d rushed to the hospital as soon as he received a call from a cop friend who’d been on the scene.

Nothing could erase those images of her from his mind.

So small, so broken, laid out on a gurney. Most of the skin on her left side torn from her body, her ankle hanging off, barely attached anymore. Machines and wires had been attached to her body, and she’d been unconscious.

The stuff of nightmares.

In fact, he’d had nightmares about it regularly those first several months. Even after their relationship ended, he had them. Even now he had them often enough.

Now he needed to know his girl was okay.

Even if she wasn't really his anymore.

Only a sudden change in the atmosphere had him freezing. His gut screamed at him and he wasn't going to ignore it. Something was wrong and he needed to know what.

He’d been following the trail Becca had made so he knew she had been going in the direction he’d told her, the direction he thought would give them the best chance at escaping unscathed. She was likely around here somewhere, he hadn't been gone that long and she was scared and in shock. Catching up to her should be easy.

“Such pretty girl,” a voice said in a slimy tone he recognized as one some men used when talking to a woman they felt they held all the power over and could do to her whatever they chose.

There was no response, and his heart rate doubled.

If the man was talking to her then Becca had to be alive.

And there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Becca was indeed who the man was talking to.

---