Sins and Scarlet Lace Read online

  She didn’t let the sobs break free until she’d unlocked the door and smelled the familiar scent of his cologne. She dropped to the floor where she stood and let the tears fall as the last of her innocence was finally shed.

  And she didn’t stop to think as she packed several boxes of the things most important in her life and loaded them into to the trunk of her car. He could burn the rest or sell it for all she cared. There was no way in hell she was coming back to get more.

  She locked his apartment door behind her and tossed the key in a dumpster on the way out. She was through with Declan MacKenzie, and if she never saw him again it would be too soon.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eight Years Later…

  Mayan Ruins, Guatemala

  Declan MacKenzie knew when an op was about to go to shit.

  He’d always had a sixth sense when it came to life or death situations—the way the skin at the back of his neck tingled or the way he could feel the crosshairs being centered between his eyes. The one and only time he’d gone against his gut, he almost hadn’t made it back home alive, and the jagged scar on his face was a daily reminder that the only things he could trust were his own instincts.

  His sister’s life was on the line, and if they wanted to get Darcy back from the drug lord who’d kidnapped her, then the team he’d put together would have to be smarter and faster than the soldiers Alexander Ramos had hired to protect his compound. Dec’s men were well trained, and his brother, Shane, was watching his back, along with Brant Scott and Kane Huxley. If he had to trust anyone, it would be those three.

  Dec looked at the team gathered around him, waiting for their orders, and he knew someone was going to die. That feeling in the pit of his stomach just wouldn’t go away. But Darcy was counting on them, and he was in charge because he knew how to make the hard decisions and had the spine to follow through with them. God knows he’d had to make some hard ones in his thirty-five years. Lives were lost every day in his line of work, but he’d never had to face that it might be one of his own family.

  He stared into the eyes of each of his team members and knew he’d gladly sacrifice himself if he could save the lives of his brothers and sister. His good friend, Brant Scott, loved Darcy whether he wanted to admit it or not, and that made him family. The poor bastard. Smith had three children and Huxley had a wife. Everyone had someone at home counting on them. Except for him. He’d destroyed those dreams long ago.

  Dec quickly strategized the best way to keep them all alive. “I want communication every step of the way,” he commanded. “Smith and Huxley, take the north side. Max and Brant will cover the southwest, and I’ll take the southeast. Jade will cover us from here. SEAL Team 6 and 4 are both on site. Don’t get in their way. Our mission is to get all of the hostages out alive if we can.”

  They were all dressed for battle—dark green BDUs, face paint, and night vision goggles strapped to their heads. The SEALs would go in first and take down as many soldiers as they could to clear the path for the agents going inside the underground compound.

  The sound of gunshots echoed in the distance, and Declan gave the signal for them to move into position. He watched his team disappear into the surrounding foliage and counted down the seconds in his head. He ran toward his own checkpoint, hoping he was right and the bulk of Ramos’s men would be in his area.

  He stayed to the shadows and watched Ramos’s soldiers set up around the perimeter while the feeling in his gut intensified. The way they moved in coordinated fighting positions looked like it had been taken from the US military handbook, which meant things were worse than he imagined. He knew there was a mole somewhere among the agents or politicians he worked with, but their identity was still elusive. Too many missions had been compromised for there not to be someone on the inside. Several of the agents under his command had been outed and brutally terminated, and he didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Hell broke loose about the time he reached the edge of the clearing where the southeast entrance to the compound was located. Soldiers swarmed and came at him from all directions. Fear never had a chance to take hold—fear was crippling—and he took out the two soldiers closest to him while Jade Jax shot a steady stream of fire from that magic rifle of hers and made it a more even playing field.

  A bullet grazed his arm at the same time one of the soldiers dived at him and took him to the ground. Dec felt the air leave his body as the meaty flesh of his attacker slammed against him. He wasn’t as big as his brothers—skimming right at six-feet, his muscles lean and sinewy—but his movements were fluid as he absorbed the hit. His left forearm slammed into the soldier’s throat as he reached for the Ka-Bar stuck in his boot. Dec barely noticed the surprised look in his attacker’s eyes as the knife sunk into flesh, and he pushed him aside and reached for his gun as others came at him.

  Jade was consistent in her shots, and adrenaline pushed Dec to fight harder and faster until the ground was littered with bodies and he was finally in position next to the locked metal door that led into the compound.

  “I’m in position and going in,” Dec said through the com set. “Check in.”

  “We’re in position,” Huxley called out. “Going in.”

  “We’re in,” Brant said.

  “Everyone is clear that I can see,” Jade said. “But I’ve got blind spots to the north.”

  “Shit! Shit!” Huxley suddenly yelled.

  Rapid gunfire and the screams of the dying echoed in Dec’s ears, and his heart stopped beating as he waited for the inevitable. His blood turned cold and he fell back against the wall as he shook his head in denial. Smith and Huxley should have been fine. He’d calculated the risks and taken the biggest ones for himself. They should have been fine.

  “Aww, God—Dec,” Huxley said, his voice raspy with pain.

  “Report, goddammit,” he ordered. “Huxley? Don’t you fucking die on me. Sophia will be pissed.”

  A small exhale of a laugh could be heard through the earpiece and Declan closed his eyes as another soul was added to the list of those he’d been responsible for and failed. Huxley was his closest friend—more like a brother—and they’d been there for each other through the tough times. Dec had stood by him at his wedding—when Hux had married the one woman Declan knew should’ve belonged to him—and he’d let it happen because Hux had been his friend.

  “She will be pissed,” Huxley said softly, his breath hitching again. “Smith is down. And I’m—hit.” A few seconds of labored breathing went by before he spoke again. “Take care of her for me, Dec. I know you will. I’ve always known about—”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Declan answered before the others could hear Huxley’s deathbed confession. “She’ll be safe. I swear it.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Three Weeks Later…

  Sophia Huxley sat huddled in the corner of the small square room. The walls and floor were grey concrete and the fluorescent lights were harsh. The wooden chair beneath her wobbled, and she had to keep both feet pressed to the floor so she didn’t slide forward. A small metal table sat bolted to the floor, scarred and dented from years of abuse. A long stretch of mirror reached across the opposite wall, and she knew they were watching her.

  Her mouth was dry, and she wrapped her arms protectively around her roiling stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full meal. Maybe a few weeks ago when she’d gotten the news of her husband’s death. Things had been a blur since then.

  She’d lost track of how long she’d been inside the interrogation room. She was in trouble and she didn’t know how to fix it. She had no family, no close friends. Kane had made sure of that after they’d married. His jealousy had caused her to cut all ties.

  Shame crawled up her spine and wrapped around her skin like it always did when she remembered what a fool she’d been. Dec hadn’t wanted her enough, loved her enough, so she’d ended up with a man who’d reminded her of him—in the way he spoke and the way he’d charmed her with
his teasing personality—only she hadn’t known at the time it had all been an act.

  It had taken her more than a year after Declan’s cruel parting before she’d started dating again, but Kane Huxley had walked into her life and been relentless in his pursuit, and six weeks later she’d married him. Sophia hadn’t known until she’d walked down the aisle that Declan and Kane had been friends—not until she’d seen the stone mask come down over Declan’s face—the scars there still puckered and red—as she promised to love and cherish another man—a man who would never have her whole heart. It wasn’t every day the bride spent time throwing up in the bathroom instead of enjoying her reception.

  Another round of shudders wracked her body, the muscles of her arms and legs knotting into tight balls, and she bit her lips as she tried to massage the areas. They’d dropped the temperature in the room and her teeth chattered as she waited endlessly for someone to come in and speak with her. They called her a traitor. A terrorist. And a dry sob escaped at the thought of what might happen to her.

  There was no one left she could turn to. No one who could find out why they were calling her such terrible things.

  Thoughts of Declan came to mind—at least the way he’d been when he’d loved her. It hadn’t been the first time she’d thought of him over the years, but it was the first time since the day he broke her heart that she actually wanted to see his face one more time. Maybe he’d been right when he told her when one was faced with moments of life or death, thoughts of the things or people who meant the most were what occupied the mind. Unfortunately for her, it seemed like it was still him. Leave it to her subconscious to enjoy being kicked while she was down. Declan had been Kane’s friend and Kane had betrayed them all. There was no reason for him to come to his widow’s rescue.

  Her head snapped around as the grey metal door opened on silent hinges and a man stepped through. She didn’t recognize him, but he was a hell of a lot scarier than the agents who had taken her from her home in handcuffs.

  Sophia shuddered involuntarily at the humiliation being handcuffed had brought her—as her neighbors gathered on their lawns and the reporters swarmed around her and she was driven away.

  “Mrs. Huxley,” the agent said. “My name is Agent Brennan. And you’re in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”

  His size filled the doorway and the freshly creased slacks and blue dress shirt couldn’t hide the savagery within. His hair was dark as night and swept rakishly across his forehead, and his eyes were the same piercing blue as his dress shirt. He held a large file in his hand and had a weapon at his hip.

  Her fingernails bit into her palms and she tensed as he moved into the room and took the chair on the other side of the table. His chair either didn’t wobble or he didn’t care about the discomfort. He didn’t look like the kind of man you’d want to cross.

  The pain from squeezing her fists was only a reminder that the nightmare had become reality, and she stared past Agent Brennan into the long expanse of mirror, wondering what the men behind it saw when they looked at her.

  “Mrs. Huxley?” Agent Brennan asked, the frown lines marring his forehead making him all the more menacing. “Are you all right?”

  The laugh that escaped was harsh and filled with disbelief at his question. “Why am I here?” Her voice cracked and she swallowed once, trying to soothe the dryness.

  “Let’s not play games, Mrs. Huxley. Things will go much easier for you if you just tell us the truth.”

  “What truth?” she spat, heat rushing to her cheeks as her temper unleashed. “I’ve been called a terrorist and a traitor without any explanations. I’ve been locked in a room for hours without food or water, and no one has read me my rights or asked if I’d like an attorney.”

  “Terrorists have no rights. Welcome to the United States of America.”

  “I’m not a terrorist,” she said, but the words trembled past her lips and fear rooted in her belly. “I’m not. I haven’t done anything.”

  “Your husband was a high ranking agent within the CIA who had top-secret security clearance. Do you know what his legacy is, Mrs. Huxley?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “He’s the man who put a price on his agents’ heads and sold them to the highest bidder. He’s been responsible for the deaths of fourteen agents, and God knows how many more names he sold before he had the good sense to die.”

  Sophia shook her head in confusion. “This is a mistake. My husband was a contractor for a steel company. He never took government contracts because he said they didn’t pay enough. I’ll be the first to agree with you that he’d be capable of murder, but he wasn’t an agent.”

  She watched in horrified fascination as the heavy file landed with a thud onto the table. He flipped it open and picked up the document that sat on top. Attached to it was a photograph of her husband. He pushed it towards her and her blood ran cold at the sight of him. Everything she’d never known about him was listed on that one sheet of paper—his security clearance, those under his command, his contacts, his family—her.

  “My God,” she said, meeting Agent Brennan’s stone cold gaze. “This has to be some kind of a joke.”

  “I promise you, it’s not. Your husband went to work every day and looked into the eyes of the people he was selling out. He was a murderer.”

  His eyes flashed with anger and she felt the blood drain from her face. The words he’d said earlier suddenly hit her. She had no rights. No friends. No protection. She was locked in a room with a man who could do anything he wanted so long as she confessed what he thought was the truth, and those watching would do nothing to stop him.

  “I want out of here,” she said, pushing back her chair and coming to her feet. The muscles in her calves cramped and the pain almost brought her to her knees, but she stood her ground and gritted her teeth through the pain. “I want to know what you think I’ve done. I want an attorney. You can’t keep me in here when I’ve done nothing wrong.” Hysteria edged its way into her voice and she looked around the room, looking for some way to escape.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Huxley. Do you expect me to believe this act? That you could be married to a man like him and not have any idea the kind of hell he brought down on people’s lives?” Agent Brennan’s voice never rose, as if he was used to watching a woman approaching breakdown status.

  Sophia stared at him in shock and answered before she could think better of it. “Of course I know the kind of hell he brought down on people. He was a master at manipulation, at mind games, until you no longer recognized yourself anymore and his truths became your reality. You see these two fingers?” she asked, holding up her right hand so the crooked appendages were easily seen. “He did this the day I told him I wanted a divorce. And then he held a knife to my throat and raped me while he told me he’d kill me if I ever tried to divorce him.” She pulled down the collar of her shirt so he could see the faint scar where the knife had bit into her skin.

  “As soon as I managed to crawl away and scramble to my feet I grabbed the rifle I kept by the door and held it on him until he left. But I never found the courage to file for divorce. And every day after I looked over my shoulder because I knew if I ever let my guard down he’d find some way to strike when I wasn’t looking.” She looked at her hand and flexed her fingers back into a fist. “I guess he found a way to strike back at me after all, because here I am. So you don’t scare me, Agent Brennan. I’ve lived through the hell of Kane Huxley.”

  “It’s an interesting story,” he said. “And I have no doubt he would do something like that to his own wife. But it doesn’t excuse the evidence that says you’re as guilty as he was. Do you know how he died?”

  Sophia just stared into the cold depths of Gabe Brennan’s eyes and didn’t answer. There didn’t seem to be a point.

  “Kane made a deal with the wrong man.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands across his stomach, as if they were just having a casual chat. “We’d deployed a team to Central America to destroy one of
the largest drug labs in the world and disband the Ramos cartel. Huxley sold out the team so the soldiers were waiting for them, but the drug lord in charge decided to take Kane down with them instead of parting with the five-million dollar fee Kane had asked for.”

  “I don’t know anything about this. About what he did,” Sophia said again.

  “You were married to the man. You shared his bed and his home. You can’t tell me you didn’t know what was going on.” Gabe spread the file open and fanned the papers so they arced in front of her. “The evidence doesn’t lie.”

  She barely glimpsed at the papers and kept her eyes steady on him. “Kane Huxley and I were married in name only,” she said, feeling the humiliation creep up on her once again. Her eyes darted to the long expanse of glass—she could feel their gazes on her. “I barely saw him when we were married, and I only saw him twice in the three years after I told him to leave.”

  “Maybe so, but Kane has been an agent within the CIA for a dozen years. Surely you became suspicious of his behavior during that time.”

  Her fists pounded down on the table, sending some of the papers to the floor. “I was too busy trying to outguess his moods and keep my sanity,” she screamed, her voice breaking again. “Do you know what it’s like, Agent Brennan, to be young and confident and on top of the world, and then have that world shattered in the blink of an eye? Until you have no self-confidence or self-respect because someone is in your face day after day, listing your faults and implanting new ones in your mind just because they like to fuck with you?”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she ignored them, just as she ignored the brief glimpse of pity she saw in Gabe Brennan’s eyes. She didn’t need anyone’s pity. She needed her freedom. It was all she’d wanted since she’d made the mistake of tying herself to Kane.

  “You’re an accountant at a very large and prestigious firm, Mrs. Huxley,” Gabe went on, changing the subject abruptly. “The money your husband collected for selling out the agents had to go somewhere. Your firm moves millions of dollars all over the world every day. It wouldn’t be hard for you to do the same for your husband.”