The Missing

behind the steering wheel, unfazed about the woman he’d tried to kill and the girl crying in the trunk.

    He was a cold piece of work, that was for damn sure, and Taige didn’t regret hitting him, not one bit. But she was completely disgusted about her busted hand and the fact that she was going to have to ask Cullen, of all the people in the world, for help. When she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Cullen was standing exactly where she’d left him, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his legs spread wide. His hair, that same, dark shade of near black, was tousled and standing up on end. As she watched, he pulled a hand from his pocket and shoved it through his hair for what was probably the hundredth time.

    He caught sight of her and went still. Taige had her bra on, hanging unfastened over her back, and her T-shirt tucked against her breasts. A dull flush rushed up her cheeks, but she kept her voice empty as she presented him with her back. “I can’t fasten this.”

    Blood drained out of his head as Cullen stared down at Taige, her long, slender, back bare from her neck to the base of her spine where a pair of stark black cargo pants molded her round ass. His mouth went dry as he recalled a thousand dreams where he’d cupped that plump, perfect butt in his hands as he pulled her close against him. Dreams . . . they weren’t dreams at all. How it was possible, he didn’t know, because Cullen wasn’t any more gifted than he was blind. That weird connection between him and Taige was something she must have brought on, consciously or not. Otherwise, there was no way he’d know about her broken hand or her battered face—or the round, puckered scar low on her back.

    A bullet wound. Somebody had shot her. He wished something besides Jilly had brought him here, wished he had the right to sink to his knees and kiss the mark some senseless act of violence had left on her. But he was here because of Jilly, and once Taige found his daughter, he was going to disappear from her life, and no doubt, that was exactly what she wanted.

    Whenever she looked at him, it was with empty eyes as though she didn’t give a damn about him. He lifted his hands and watched, unable to stop himself, as he stroked one hand across her smooth, rounded shoulders. She stiffened, and Cullen cursed himself, reaching for the straps of her bra. She dropped her shirt on the floor, and Cullen quickly averted his eyes, but it was too late. He’d already seen the satiny slopes of her breasts as she adjusted the lace cups around them. Jaw clenched, he fastened the back strap, and the second his hands fell away, they both pulled away from the other as though they’d been burned.

    Taige bent and grabbed her shirt from the floor, and Cullen groaned softly as the fabric of her pants stretched taut across her ass. Turning away from her, he stared out the window. “I’m going to need your help with my boots,” Taige said.

    He looked back to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding her feet into a pair of boots that looked like something that belonged on a soldier, not the woman whose face haunted his dreams. He hunkered down in front of her and started drawing the laces tight, concentrating on that task as though it required all of his attention. Better to focus on it than Taige—or worse, Jillian.

    “You going to tell me why I found you on the floor?”

    She shrugged. “Works like that sometimes.”

    “I don’t remember it ever working like that before.”

    He stole a glance at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring somewhere over his head. “That’s because back then every time this . . . thing . . . occurred, it was passive. Seeking it out hits me harder.” She shrugged.

    Harder how? He wanted to ask, but in all honesty, he was afraid to. He really didn’t want to know, because even if it was some kind of agonizing hell that she went through, he’d ask it of her a thousand times over if it saved Jillian.

    As he went to work on the other boot, the phone started to ring again. She grabbed it and turned it on, held it to her ear. “Yeah?”

    Faintly, Cullen heard a voice, and he knew who it was. Taylor Jones.

    Taige averted her head, and the voice faded to an indistinct buzz. He started to look back down, and then Taige glanced at him, frowning. “Yeah, actually, I have heard from him. He’s here right now.”

    Shit.

    Listening to Jones on the other end of the line, Taige shook