Cassie Miles - Warrior Spirit

“No.”

“Did you follow him?”

“No.”

She was still holding something back. He could feel her resistance. Harshly, he snapped, “You’re not telling me everything.”

“No.” Her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t want to divulge this secret.

“Why?” he demanded.

Helplessly, she shook her head from side to side.

“I don’t get it, Sierra. You’re a strong woman. You don’t let people push you around. Why did you protect Lyle Nelson? Why did you stay with him?”

“Because he was the father of my child.”

There was a hollow ring to her voice; she was speaking from the depths of unbearable sorrow.

Abruptly, she stopped crying. Her eyes opened wide, revealing her unassuageable pain. “I miscarried. After Lyle was arrested. I lost my baby. My son.”

The color drained from her face. In a matter-of-fact voice, she said, “I wanted to die.”

Her miscarriage was the secret she’d been hiding from him, and Trevor had forced the words from her. My God, what had he done?

She’d been right to call him a monster.

Though Trevor’s interrogation of Sierra Collins was complete, he did not unfasten her restraints. Not yet. If he released her while she was still under the influence of the mind-numbing truth drug, she’d be disoriented and confused, possibly even delusional. A few hours of recovery time was necessary.

He leaned over the chair and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Hush now, Sierra. You can sleep.”

“Don’t want to.” She gave a halfhearted tug at the restraints. “Let me out of here.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Relax, Sierra. Relax.” He keyed his voice to a soothing cadence. “You’re tired, aren’t you? Bone tired. Think about it. Feel how tired you are.”

Though she made an effort to resist, her eyelids drooped. Sierra was in a highly suggestible state. Her defenses were gone, shattered by his interrogation. When she looked up at him, her deep brown eyes reflected a vulnerability that touched his heart and made him feel guilty. He had no right to strip away her dignity and pry into her life. Still, he asked, “Why did you stay here after Lyle was arrested? Why didn’t you go home to your family, where they could take care of you?”

“Too tired.” The words fell slowly from her full lips. “After my son died, I holed up in my house. Didn’t work. Didn’t do anything. Maxed out my credit cards. I was too miserable to live, and too scared to die.”

It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that she’d been severely depressed. “Then what?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “One morning I got up and decided it was time for me to get a job. I’ve been working ever since. It’s time for me to go back to Brooklyn, to forget about Montana.”

Trevor would do what he could to spare her from the sorrow of her memories. Hypnotic suggestion would make her reawakening easier.

Gently, he said, “Breathe deeply.”

Her chest rose and fell.

“That’s good, Sierra. Inhale. Exhale. Feel the pain and stress flowing away from you. Listen to my voice.”

Though she had no reason to trust him, Trevor had a natural talent for projecting his will. One of his instructors at Special Forces counterintelligence called it charisma. He offered her reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. Okay?”

“I suppose.”

“I want you to think about a beautiful place. The mountains. Or the ocean. Maybe a tropical island.”

“I’m from Brooklyn,” she said. “I don’t know from tropical islands.”

“What’s the most beautiful place you can think of? Somewhere special.”

“The East River.”

As she spoke, her eyes took on a less guarded expression, and he knew that she had begun to relax. “Okay, Sierra. Tell me about the East River.”

“There’s a park in Brooklyn where you can look across the river at the Manhattan skyline. And you can see the Statue of Liberty.”

Most people chose a more secluded version of beauty, but he was coming to realize that she was unique. “Imagine you’re there. Overhead is a beautiful sky.”

“At sunset,” she said. “The air is soft and pink. Then the city begins to light up. It’s magical.”

“Feel the breeze off the water. Hear the gulls and the lapping of the waves. Close your eyes and see it.”

She nodded. Her lips formed a gentle smile.

“Now relax,” he said. “Start with your toes and your feet. Allow those muscles to release. Now your calves. Your thighs.”

“Feels good.” A soft moan escaped her lips.

“Relax your hips and your buttocks.”

Trevor glanced down at her full, sexy hips. Even in the shapeless garment, her hourglass figure enticed him. He longed to touch her, to hold her lush body against his.

This had to be the most unusual interrogation he’d ever done. He felt as if he was making love to her with his words, caressing her with his voice. “Feel your spine, Sierra. Relax each vertebra.”

He could see the tension leaving her body as she relaxed her arms, shoulders and neck. Breathing deeply, she was on the verge of sleep when he whispered a final suggestion. “When you wake, you will remember nothing of this interrogation. You’ll feel refreshed.”

For a few more minutes, he sat and watched, making sure she was asleep. Her rosebud lips parted slightly, and the slight frown lines across her forehead smoothed. She was serene and so damn pretty that he could hardly believe it. Trevor whispered two words he had never before spoken to an interrogation subject. “I’m sorry.”

LEAVING SIERRA TO SLEEP until the effects of the TD wore off, Trevor went upstairs to inform the others of the little he had learned from her.

It was unfortunate that she hadn’t been able to provide him with a solid lead on the Montana Militia for a Free America—the group of homegrown terrorists that Lyle Nelson, Sierra’s former fiancé, had belonged to.

When it came to traitors, the Militia were among the worst. They pretended to be fighting for a free America, while committing murder, sabotaging railroad trains and kidnapping innocent women and children. Their reign of terror had started five years ago, when the Militia had bombed a government building in an act of senseless terror that resulted in the deaths of two hundred people, including the sister of Cameron Murphy, the former Special Forces colonel who’d founded Big Sky Bounty Hunters.

With Murphy’s help, the Militia had been caught, they were tried and convicted. They should have been rotting in Montana’s Fortress prison, serving life sentences with no chance of parole. Instead, two months ago, they had done the impossible and escaped.

Though the bounty hunters had managed to thwart two of the Militia’s deadly schemes, these bastards were still at large, and nobody had a clue as to their whereabouts.

It was damn frustrating. The Big Sky Bounty Hunters were highly trained experts who had served in the Special Forces under Cameron Murphy. They should have been able to nab the Militia without breaking a sweat. Instead, they were thwarted at every turn.

In the kitchen, Trevor ran into Mike Clark, who was making a sandwich. Clark studied Trevor, reading his emotions. Then he frowned. “The interrogation didn’t go well.”

Trevor gave a noncommittal shrug. He sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about his attraction to Sierra. “Did you learn anything else at Lyle Nelson’s funeral?”

“Most of the townspeople hate the Militia, but there’s a growing faction of sympathizers. A backlash. It’s mostly young men who think there’s something cool about being an outlaw.”