Liam's Witness Protection (Man on a Mission 4)

“No,” Cate said, shaking her head. “That’s too much of a coincidence to be true.”

“I kid you not. I don’t know the whole story—Keira and her husband would never say exactly what all was involved, and trying to get anything out of McKinnon is like pulling teeth. But it’s true.”

“You must be very proud of your sister.” The wistfulness was back in her voice, and she suddenly turned away, staring out the window. “I could never be that brave,” she said under her breath.

“Are you kidding?” The words came out rougher than Liam had intended. “You were walking into a courthouse ready to testify against one of the most depraved, most vicious criminals in this country. A man who has never hesitated to kill witnesses against him. A man who tried to kill you to keep you silent. And you’re still willing to testify. Do you know what kind of guts that takes?”‘

“But I’m afraid,” she explained, as if that made all the difference. “To do what your sister did, to do what Angelina did when she killed the man who would have killed your brother—I’m not brave that way. I’m not brave at all—I’m a coward. Without Angelina, without Alec, I could never face Vishenko.”

Liam cursed under his breath at how she was putting herself down, how she was minimizing her own valor. “You think Keira wasn’t afraid? You think your cousin wasn’t afraid?” He wanted to shake some sense into Cate, but knew he couldn’t touch her. Not when anger was spilling through him. “Yesterday morning when we heard the Uzis, you think Alec and I weren’t afraid? Hell yes, we were afraid. What do you think bravery is, Cate? It’s conquering your fear and doing what you have to do in the instant you have to do it. Anyone who says they’re never afraid is a liar, or a fool.”

The fingers of Cate’s right hand touched her left wrist, and Liam suddenly realized she had a habit of doing that. A habit that betrayed her inner turmoil. He hesitated, then reached over across the aisle and placed his hand on hers. “You’re not a coward, Cate. A coward wouldn’t have these scars.” She averted her face, as if embarrassed, but he wouldn’t let her look away. He caught her chin with his hand and turned her to face him.

“Do you know how much it tears me up inside to see these scars?” he told her, his voice rasping like sandpaper, but so low he knew he couldn’t be overheard by the men in the front of the plane. “But I’m awed by your courage at the same time. Knowing what these scars mean, knowing what Vishenko did to you, and you’re still willing to face him in spite of everything. That’s courage, Cate. Courage far beyond anything I can claim.”

The color drained out of her face. “Alec told you?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No. He only told me who you were running from when you went underground. He said anything else had to come from you. But I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. It didn’t take much for me to figure out what caused these scars.”

He lifted the hand he held and kissed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, where he could feel her pulse racing. “They’re nothing to be ashamed of,” he told her. “They’re badges of honor.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her. “You don’t know,” she said in a shamed little voice. “You don’t understand. You think you do, but you don’t.”

“Can’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it given his anger at Vishenko. “I want to understand, Cate. I really do.”

“No.” Her voice wobbled at first, then she repeated the word, more firmly this time. “No. Please don’t make me tell you.”

Another dagger to his heart. Liam let Cate’s hand go, but not until he’d kissed the palm. “No,” he said, and it was as fervent a promise as he could give. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do, Cate. Never.”

Chapter 8

Aleksandrov Vishenko bent his cold, hard gaze on one of his brigadiers. “Where is she?” he demanded. He didn’t have to specify a name. There was only one woman on Vishenko’s mind now, and all of his men knew it.

“Vanished.”

“That answer is not acceptable.”

The brigadier shrugged. He had been with Vishenko for many years, almost since the beginning, and his loyalty was unquestioned—as far as anyone in Vishenko’s position could count on loyalty. Which meant the brigadier could be brutally honest, instead of telling Vishenko what he wanted to hear. “It is what it is, Pakhan. She is not to be found. It is as if she crawled into a hole and pulled it in behind her.”