Page 63 of Taylor’s Warrior

“Rhys?”

“Uh-huh?”

Taylor took a deep breath. She’d asked this question more than once already and still hadn’t received an answer. The thought occurred to her that the reason might be that it was something she didn’t want to hear, but that wouldn’t change the truth. “Why won’t you let me see Pops? Is he… Is he okay?”

The chest beneath her chook took a deep breath. “Tay⁠—”

“How are you two doing?”

Before Rhys could reply, Livingston arrived, having left his team to check on them. Taylor appreciated the gesture, given everything that was going on back at the hangar. She raised her head to turn her attention to him. “Relieved it’s finally over,” she admitted, “but what about Pops? What’s going to happen to him and…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know her name.”

“Bree McAndrew.” The FBI agent glanced toward the cluster of individuals that included Charles Markham and his lady friend. “That’s what I came to talk to you about. They’re being checked over by the medics right now, but regarding what happens after that… On the one hand, they are both the victims of a kidnapping, but at the same time, there’s the matter of the information Markham lifted from the company, which he proceeded to use to blackmail the officials, instead of handing it over to us. And that doesn’t even touch on the criminality of the officials themselves. The nature of the information means it’s a multi-agency matter but for now we’re taking point.”

Taylor’s stomach churned. “Before you take him away, can I talk to him?”

She hadn’t planned to ask—it was an impulsive question, and in the silence that followed it, a sense of foolishness for having asked started to creep into her soul.

“Look, I appreciate the difficult position you’re in,” Livingston said. “We have to take both of them back to San Antonio for questioning before we decide on further action. We can’t delay that, but I can let you have a few minutes with your father while we get ready to leave if you’d like.”

It was more than she could have hoped for, in the circumstances. “Please. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“Is there any chance you could take the cuffs off?” Rhys asked. “He’s not going anywhere, but if he does try anything sketchy, I’ll bring him down myself.”

The reassurance seemed to be enough to convince Livingston. He signaled to one of his colleagues to remove the bonds from Charles Markham’s wrists.

Rhys took a step back from her. His lips brushed her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Go and talk to him. I’m here if you need me. Just remember one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“He might not be the man you remember.”

The warning spelled out the thought that was haunting her. She nodded, deeply touched by Rhys’ understanding and support. She had no idea how the conversation with her father would go, but she was absolutely certain she’d need her man afterwards.

Taylor started toward her father. As she came closer, one of the FBI agents watching him removed the zip tie but remained close enough to apprehend him if necessary. With each step, Taylor fought the rising compulsion to turn around and return to Rhys. As she took up a position in front of her father. the agent withdrew far enough to give them some privacy.

“Hi, Punkin.”

Opening with her childhood nickname fired a broadside at her emotional defenses. At the same time, and with Rhys’ warning at the forefront of her mind, there was something about that greeting that urged caution. “Pops.”

“Got a hug for your old man?” Charles Markham held out his arms.

Taylor stepped forward and gave him a perfunctory embrace. It felt awkward.

“That the best you can do?”

To Taylor’s ears, his short laugh sounded forced. Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if he was faking it. In spite of what he’d done, Charles Markham clearly expected a much more positive welcome from her than the one he’d received, but she simply didn’t have it in her. When she looked at him, she saw a man whose actions had put her in danger, rather than the man who’d cared for her when she was growing up.

All the things that had bothered her about his letters, his actions—or lack thereof—rose to choke her. “Why did you do it, Dad? Or more to the point, why didn’t you take what you knew to the law? I thought that was what you were going to do. I asked and asked, but you never responded and you clearly never did it. Why?”

“Dad?” His brow creased and he gave a short, nervous laugh. “You’ve never called me that before.”

Taylor closed her eyes and gave a quiet snort of disbelief. Of all the things she’d said, he picked up on that? She tried again. “Why didn’t you take it to the police, like you said you would? It’s been four years. Four. Years. I thought I’d get my life back in weeks. Months, at most.”

His expression underwent a subtle hardening that made Taylor’s blood run cold. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. As I recall, from what you’ve written over the years, you’ve made a pretty good life for yourself here. You should be thanking me. I gave you all that. Hell, I even gave you my name.”

There was something odd about the way he said it that triggered a question she’d never imagined asking. “What… do you mean, you gave me your name?”

He raised an eyebrow—a gesture she knew so well—but this time it was accompanied by a curl of the lip that turned his expression into a sneer. “Since I’m no longer ‘Pops,’ it’s time you knew the truth, Punkin.”