Chapter Thirty-Three

It was still dark out the next morning. With dawn barely lighting up the distant horizon, ghostly fingers of mist drifted around the cabin and between the trees.

Lena finished her stretches, gazing meditatively across the shimmering lake and its surrounding forest. Her thoughts were miles away, despite the fact she ought to be focusing on strengthening her muscles and regaining her endurance. She was way out of shape, and well aware that if danger came knocking right now, she’d be in big trouble. Adrenaline could only do so much.

And danger was definitely on its way.

After a final glance at the dark cabin where O’Donnell still slept in the second bedroom, she was on her way, frustration spurring her on.

Last night’s debacle proved this man was one tough nut to crack.

Octavia had done her best, after Thyra’s botched attempt at seducing him. She’d been more subtle about it, but few men would have been able to withstand a woman basically rubbing herself against him. O’Donnell had managed, though. There had been a hitch in his breath, and some distinct hardening of his male parts, but in the end he had gently set her aside and walked out to do…whatever.

Lena growled. And the others dared call her inept when it came to seduction. She would not have failed.

Right. The derisiveness in that single word echoing in her mind was strong.

Rather than argue, she refocused her attention. She’d planned a five-mile run, and damn if she would let her weakened body dictate whether or not she would finish it. Mind over matter was her motto.

Pushing aside the discomfort, she pondered her more pressing problem.

Creed.

It still chafed that he was alive. Son of a bitch. She frowned and involuntarily rubbed at the sudden tension in her throat. Tension that had nothing to do with the exertion burning her lungs from running, but everything with the memory of that bastard’s hands clamped around her throat.

She forced the memories back as her pounding feet took her along the narrow, winding path through the misty woods. Branches slapped at her, but they barely registered. Nor did she notice how her legs had trouble finding a steady rhythm after so much time away from the routine that used to be a daily exercise. The feel of her newly acquired gun, hard and heavy against her lower spine, reassured her on a near subconscious level. She wasn’t expecting trouble—not yet, at least—but she wasn’t taking any chances.

As she ran, the morning fog curling lazily around her feet, Creed’s name was like a living entity echoing inside her head.

It had to be Creed who was after her. To doubt that would be stupid. Instead, she relished the thought. If she played her cards right, she could mess with his head so much he was bound to fuck up. Hell, he could be watching her right now. Waiting to make his move. Plotting with his twisted little mind. Biding his time, but eager to face her in their inevitable showdown.

She hoped.

A stiff, cold smile momentarily creased her sweaty face, until the need for oxygen became too much.

If there was one thing that had been proven time and again about Creed, it was that he was incredibly obsessive about those he considered “his.” A few open displays of affection or signs of sexual attraction to another man should be more than enough to send him off the deep end.

At least that was what she was counting on.

Back in their days with ATDF, Creed had been a menace whenever he thought she was interested in someone other than him—a trait he’d had with all his previous girlfriends, she’d found out too late. As it turned out, making the little bastard seethe with anger took no effort at all. Just look at what he’d done to the friendly country doctor who’d given Joey a fatherly hug goodbye, and the two idiot gangsters she’d run her hands over searching for weapons.

The smallest transgression on Creed’s perceived male territory would set him off.

She was nobody’s plaything. Not his, not anyone’s.

But his sociopathic obsession she could use.

O’Donnell’s mere presence with her had undoubtedly set Creed off. Clementine had claimed they’d been sent to kill the guy in room twelve. Not the woman or the couple, so she was already halfway to achieving her goal.

She drew her brows together in concentration.

The question was, when should she bring the whole scheme up a notch? She had to be absolutely sure Creed was watching if she wanted him to lose every semblance of self-control. Her entire plan hinged on drawing Creed out at the time and place of her choosing.

And then she could kill him.

Now all she had to figure out was how much could she get away with, when it came to enticing her dutiful protector. If she laid it on too thick, O’Donnell would get suspicious and potentially ruin her plans. She had to be subtle. Which, admittedly, wasn’t her strong suit. She pulled a face at that understatement.

Suddenly, she broke free of the woods and, with a gasp of surprise, skidded to a halt on the lake’s edge. Her vision swam for a moment, her lungs burning for air as she struggled not to collapse from sheer exhaustion.

This was embarrassing, she thought angrily, struggling for control as she propped her hands on her knees and waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.

The inner mantra gradually made her breathing slow and her control return. Along with her previous thoughts.

Caution in her behavior toward O’Donnell was essential. He would not appreciate being bait—or being baited, for that matter. Nor would he like having been played the fool. So, she better play her role well, and not give away too much about Creed…or her plans for the bastard.

Tell Rory the truth. We can trust him.

The fleeting sentiment came from within. She didn’t take it seriously for even a second.

“Quiet,” she admonished, refusing to be swayed from her course.

Aching from top to bottom, she squinted across the lake to where the cabin stood in the looming shadow of the Ozark Mountains.

O’Donnell.

He was turning into a bit of a problem.

She should just ditch him and save herself the trouble. Go after Creed on her own.

She gnashed her teeth at the sudden protest welling up within her. As much as she hated to admit it, at the moment she wouldn’t be able to take down a kitten, let alone Creed.

No. She needed O’Donnell.

At least until she was strong enough to face Creed by herself.