Midnight Vengeance

by Lisa Marie Rice

  She smiled up at him. He didn’t wince and look away. He searched her face and gave a small smile back.

  Wow.

  Suzanne, Claire and Allegra kissed her, hugged her and dispersed. The guys from ASI had gone; only John and Douglas were left and they were checking something on a monitor, frowning.

  The party was over.

  Well, the party inside her wasn’t over; she still felt the champagne bubbling in her veins. Or maybe that was—happiness. Happiness. She turned the word over in her mind. A couple of days ago she’d been listening to Jacko’s plans to keep her safe essentially by keeping her locked indoors 24/7, which had been fine with her, since the alternative was a messy death. And before that she’d planned to disappear forever. Leaving all these wonderful people behind.

  Happiness hadn’t even been a consideration; survival was. And now—now she was looking at a life that was more than survival. A life with a job she loved, friends she loved, a man she...loved?

  He was standing next to her, his arm cocked at that peculiar angle. She slipped her hand into the warm space between massive forearm and brawny biceps, feeling his strength and feeling his solidity. This man who’d been willing to give his job up for her, this man who’d been willing to stand between her and danger. Forever, if necessary.

  Happiness. Love? Well...just maybe.

  They walked out of the building just as Suzanne’s three p.m. came in. He was unmistakably one of Suzanne’s clients. Tall, slender, exceedingly well dressed. And giving Jacko a slow up and down.

  Lauren smiled to herself. Sorry, mister, but he’s all mine. And he swings my way.

  Lauren leaned heavily into Jacko, squeezing his arm. He looked down at her and smiled again. Smiles looked odd on his face.

  Maybe she’d get used to it, in time.

  Chapter Ten

  There she was!

  Walking out of the building where Suzanne Huntington ran her business. Together with the business of her husband, which, alas, was security.

  That was quite unfortunate. Frederick was hoping to conduct his business with Suzanne Huntington alone. He didn’t want any input from a security guy. All security professionals in his experience were professionally paranoid.

  Not good.

  Particularly not good when Frederick was showing his face shortly before Anne Lowell disappeared.

  So he shot laser beams at the two vidcams at the gate of the compound and at the two just inside the door and turned in time to see Anne Lowell walk down the driveway clinging to the arm of the man who looked like an ugly bruiser.

  Looking good, our Annie. Well, she’d just learned that the man chasing her was now dead. She must be feeling that sweet sagging sensation of relief at a danger passed. She was intact, safe, and her nemesis was dead. The most fundamental, most primordial of sensations, that of a dead adversary. The human animal was primed to be awash in endorphins when danger was averted. Simple biology.

  So her guard would be down, which was good.

  Unfortunately, the guard of the man by her side was not down. He walked arm in arm with her, checking on her but checking on his environment as well. Calmly quartering his field of vision for any possible threats. The man’s dark gaze swept to Frederick’s face, lingered like a spotlight. It was very uncomfortable.

  Frederick knew who the man was, besides clearly being Anne Lowell’s lover. Morton Jackman. Frederick always did due diligence and had taken a look at the business website of Suzanne Huntington’s husband. He’d even studied the faces and brief CVs of his employees and had recognized the man who’d been by Anne’s side at the art show.

  The headshot of Morton Jackman on Alpha Security International’s website showed an unsmiling portrait with a number of piercings that were now gone. Former SEAL, which was not good news. More or less everyone in the company was a former SEAL including the two owner-partners.

  SEALs were formidable adversaries. As they walked toward each other, Frederick gave himself an almost exaggerated feminine walk and simpered at Jackman. That usually worked with machos, amused them, distracted them. But this Jackman didn’t let down his guard at all. Frederick got a full appraisal, head to toe, and he was very glad he wasn’t armed because something told him Jackman would figure it out. Maybe by the way he walked.

  And then they were gone and Frederick was walking into the building. He was wearing his Borsalino and kept his head tilted downward. There was no question of blinding the two vidcams at the entrance. Half the security company would come roaring out.

  No, he needed to keep his eyes on the ground, face hidden by the larger-than-normal brim and continue.

  The left-hand side door, he knew, was Suzanne Huntington’s business. There was no security camera above her door. He knew there would be one over the door of ASI but all they would see was his back and an expanse of very expensive charcoal-colored cashmere.

  He was buzzed in, walked over the threshold and...paused. In admiration. My, the woman knew how to create an ambiance. He was instantly taken with the room, instantly put at ease by the colors and shapes, the soft furniture, the faint smell of potpourri. Truly remarkable.

  “Mr. Andrews.” The woman coming toward him with a smile and outstretched hand was stunning. Dark blond hair caught up in a French twist, Grace Kelly face, slender figure. Wearing a Donna Karan suit if he wasn’t mistaken. Warm and elegant. “Welcome. Do please take a seat.”

  Instead of leading him to one of the two client chairs in front of her desk she took him to a small damask-covered sofa and sat down beside him.

  The office was a very eloquent advertisement for her services. It was highly decorated without being overwrought, modern without being stark. Every single object struck just the right note, including its owner.

  She smiled at him. “How can I help you, Mr. Andrews?”

  “Well, I have a small investment firm...”

  “Not so small,” she said.

  Very well done. It was a flattering comment while also a warning. I do my research. Frederick looked again at Suzanne Huntington and this time noticed the sharp intelligence in her gaze, not just the elegance and beauty. This woman was not to be trifled with. He had to keep his best game on.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her words. Not commenting because a very wealthy man knew he was very wealthy and nothing else needed to be said.

  “So.” He leaned back, a man at ease with himself and the world. “I’m thinking of relocating, at least temporarily, to Portland. Portland makes a good hub. I need decent premises for my business and myself. I recently looked at a property that would be large enough both for offices and home premises. Each part would need a different look, of course.”

  “I’m familiar with a lot of properties in Portland, Mr. Andrews. Which one would this be?”

  Frederick smiled. “Please, Mrs. Huntington. Call me Paul. I suspect we will be doing business together.”

  She cocked her head, smiled. “Of course, Paul. And you must call me Suzanne.”

  “Excellent, Suzanne.” He watched her face carefully. “The property I was thinking of would be the penthouse at the Sorensen. Either a rental or I might just buy. Would make a good tax break.”

  By not a flicker of a long eyelash did Suzanne betray anything other than polite interest. She knew perfectly well that the decorator of the penthouse at the Sorensen would be landing a public relations coup. Big spreads on decorating websites, AD, you name it. Frederick knew her portfolio and it was already impressive. This would make her a nationwide name.

  “That’d be an interesting job,” she said with a polite smile, cool as silk.

  He nodded. “I’d want the office to make a statement. Investment is as much about psychology as about data. And I’d want the home premises to be very comfortable. Other than that, I’m open to any designs you might care to offer.”

  She gave him a sharp glance. “I often do business with Ingram Realty so I’m familiar with the specs of the Sorensen penthouse. I could
get some preliminary designs to you by next week. Give you several options, so we could narrow down what would be to your taste. I often find that clients recognize what they want when they see it. And it isn’t always easy to articulate the kind of look you want. So I always give a range of looks.”

  Frederick beamed. “That would be excellent,” he enthused. “By the way—before making an appointment with you, I happened to stop by the Beckstein Gallery. Which is how I got your name, by the way. I was simply blown away by the renderings of your designs. Whatever designs you do, I’d love to buy them. Even the ones we don’t go for. It’d make for an interesting collection on one wall—variations on a theme. You have an extraordinarily fine hand. My congratulations.”

  If he was expecting her to take credit for the renderings, he was wrong. She smiled. “You’re quite right, they are extraordinary, but I can’t take the credit for them. They are all by a friend of mine, Lauren Dare. She is very talented.”

  Frederick managed to hide the leap of delight he felt. Lauren Dare. So that was the name she went by here.

  Silly, silly girl, he thought. Lauren was her grandmother’s name. How sentimental. Sentiment got you killed.

  “Funny.” He cocked his head. “I met the gallery owner, Mr. Beckstein. He gave me to understand that you were the artist.”

  She had the grace to blush, a very becoming rose. “That’s because until very recently, Lauren had some...problems. Ah, fiscal ones. And it was easier to pretend that I was the artist. But now her problems seem to be, ah, over. And I’m sure she would enjoy the work.” The blush was gone and she narrowed her eyes. “Her price just went up, though. Way up.”

  Frederick nodded. A price increase was no problem. He pulled out his cell. “Could I have her number?”

  Suzanne opened her mouth then closed it. Frederick could see the calculations running through her head. Her friend was free and clear, the bad guy after her was dead, but still...

  “Um. I think she is in the process of changing providers. I have your cell number and I will be sure to pass it on to her. She’ll contact you herself.”

  No, my dear, Frederick thought. I’ll be contacting her first.

  He stood and she stood with him. He buttoned his jacket, put on his overcoat, heavy and warm and expensive. God, the rich had such a nice life. He kept his hat in his hand, ready to don it the instant he crossed the threshold.

  “Well,” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you both.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Suzanne pulled open her door. “You’ll definitely be hearing from me and from Lauren.”

  Yes he would. And Suzanne Huntington would be getting an email from the personal assistant of Paul Andrews in about a week. Paul Andrews was switching the focus of his investments to San Diego. It had been a pleasure, he would keep her in mind...yada yada.

  Happened all the time in the business world.

  On the way out Frederick kept his eyes on the ground, the brim of the Borsalino covering his face.

  Outside the compound, he walked up the street and around the corner where his driver was waiting. He called his pilot and quietly made arrangements to have “the briefcase” delivered to his hotel.

  The rich were different in many, many ways. The rules governing ordinary people didn’t apply to them. He’d been cursorily examined upon arrival in the private part of the airfield, called general aviation, and the plane wasn’t examined at all. Inside a compartment in the plane’s hull was a briefcase with an untraceable weapon and several preloaded syringes of fentanyl.

  Frederick wasn’t operational, had no aspirations to being operational. He’d observed Alfonso’s and Jorge’s goons from a distance, and with great distaste. He himself was an intellectual and he solved problems with his mind.

  Some problems, however, required action, and this was one of them.

  The fentanyl was to put Anne Lowell under.

  The gun was for the thug by her side.

  * * *

  “Oh my gosh!” Lauren bounced in her seat. “I can buy that big wireless Mac desktop for my graphic work! No more laptops for me!” She rubbed her hands. “I can actually declare myself to the IRS, pay taxes.” She slanted a glance at Jacko and scrunched her nose. “Believe it or not, that’s a biggie. I hated evading taxes. And I’m going to buy myself at least three pairs of high heels! Louboutin! Red! And...maybe a puppy. But only if you promise to share in taking him out for walks.”

  She turned her head to look at him fully, smiling.

  Jacko clenched the steering wheel and tried not to look at her. She was flushed with happiness, electrically alive, heartbreakingly beautiful. It took every ounce of self-control not to slam on the brakes and reach out to her.

  But it was snowing and if he pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine, she’d freeze. He wouldn’t be cold, no sir. He was never going to feel the cold again, not as long as Lauren was with him. Near him. Even the thought of her filled him with blazing heat. They could put him in a snowy ice field naked and if she was nearby, there’d be a melted circle of water around him.

  A puppy. Jesus. A dog. He’d never had a pet, never. As a kid there hadn’t been enough to eat for him, let alone a pet. So he’d never had one, not even a goldfish. Pets required work and required his staying in the same place for more than a day or two. In his SEAL days it would have been impossible, of course. SEALs couldn’t keep their wives, let alone their dogs. You could be wheels-up at any minute with no advance notice. And these last few years working for ASI? Well, he’d been one to volunteer for anything that took him out of town. Hotel rooms were more welcoming than his place.

  Only now could he admit to himself that his apartment was spare and cold and depressing. He never really liked coming home, which was why he worked out of town as much as possible and when he fucked, he slept over at the woman’s house, whoever the woman of the day was.

  And now? Permanent girlfriend. Living in that pretty house with Lauren, sleeping with her every night. And a dog.

  “Puppy, huh?” He pretended to scowl. “What kind?”

  “Golden retriever,” she replied. “The kind with the long eyelashes. The kind that—”

  “Pees everywhere?”

  She laughed. “That’s the one.”

  Lauren was irresistible when she laughed. She looked like an imp, face alive with delight.

  “We could do that.”

  She laughed again, sobered, put her hand on his forearm. He kept his face forward but in his peripheral vision he could see her looking at him..

  “So...you’ll be okay with living in my house? You wouldn’t miss yours?”

  Considering there wasn’t much in his place to miss...”Nah. But I’ll be moving in the TV.”

  “Okay.” She considered. “I think it will fit on the living room wall. You wear a headset if you watch late at night.”

  He slanted her a glance. “Making ground rules already? That was fast.”

  “Yeah.” She tightened her grip on his forearm. “But I think I’m really easy to live with, though I haven’t lived with anyone since my college dorm roommate.”

  His heart leaped. She’d never lived with another man. He had no idea why that was important to him, but it was. “I’ve never lived with anyone either.” Though he couldn’t count his sex partners, no one had lasted more than a couple of weeks. Most a couple of days. “I think I snore.”

  “Yeah, you do. I forgive you, though. Seeing as how you did everything you could to keep me safe. Thank you so much.”

  She waited, looked at him expectantly. Oh man, oh fuck. This was the moment, the perfect moment for him to tell her what he felt. He hadn’t so far. He hadn’t because...he couldn’t. Everything was deep in his chest, so tangled and so hot it hurt. But nothing of that hot, wet tangle of feelings could make it up through his throat to tell her what she wanted—needed—to hear.

  That keeping her safe was his top priority. That he’d defend her with his life. That she was now abso
lutely vital to his well-being. That he...he shied away from that thought. Telling her...that...would hurt. He’d never told that to a single human being in his life.

  His whole life had been about being invulnerable, in every way. Nobody could hurt him, man or beast—he wouldn’t allow it. He’d been like that since he was five, maybe even earlier. Nobody gave a shit about him so he learned to take care of himself right from the get-go and never depend on anyone. He grew big really fast so no one had bullied him, ever. He’d learned early to project that don’t fuck with me vibe. It was ingrained.

  So giving Lauren what she deserved—an indication of just how fucking important she was to him—well that was hard to do. But he had to tell her. How his chest would cave in if something happened to her or if she walked away from him.

  He knew he didn’t even really have to say The Words. She was smart. She’d read between the lines if he opened up to her.

  But...he couldn’t. He could fuck her nearly to death but he couldn’t tell her what he felt. A lifetime of never expressing emotions stood like a huge, towering mountain of granite between them.

  Lauren could sense something was going on inside him. Though his face was impassive—it took a freaking effort for him to show anything—inside he was vibrating with stress. She glanced at him, eyes wide. Waiting to see if he said anything.

  No.

  He couldn’t. Fucking couldn’t.

  The only thing he could talk about was facts. The outside world—that he could do. “We’re here,” he said and swerved into her driveway. The first time she’d been to her house since they’d left a couple of days ago.

  Lauren was talking again, a happy rush of words. He should be listening to what she was saying because she was always interesting—but right then all he could pay attention to was her flushed, happy, beautiful face. Hear the happiness in her voice. She chattered as he helped her down from his SUV and as they walked up her driveway.