Hidden Sins

by Selena Montgomery

  Warily, Mara nipped the photos from his hand, careful not to make contact. The body on the slab was Poncho. She riffled through them, stopping at the fifth shot. Shooting him a look, she said, “I saw this downstairs. What’s your point?”

  “According to my research, Poncho had quite a history here in Kiev. Bar fights and nights in jail until your grandfather bailed him out. The story goes that when he got drunk, he’d drop his pants and show complete strangers his naked butt. He claimed it was one part of the key to a fortune in gold.”

  “I told you, the marks on the bodies were made by my father. Poncho was much older.”

  Undeterred, Ethan flipped to another photo. He pointed triumphantly to the shaded mark on the magnified photo. “These bones were found in the cemetery. I think it’s your grandfather’s body, Mara.”

  She jerked subtly, appalled. “My grandfather? You dug up his bones?”

  “Unmarked graves, Mara. I didn’t know whose bodies these were until I arrived. I’ve already made arrangements for them to be reinterred in the main cemetery. I’m sorry.”

  “No. No, you couldn’t have known.” Mara touched the photo delicately, studying the image. Biblical numerics were specific, she knew. Only certain numbers had meanings. The symbols Ethan had photographed were spaced too closely to be specific digits and they did not form any words.

  More numbers.

  Insight coalesced and she understood where her next clue could be found. Casting her voice with disappointment, she shrugged at Ethan. “I can’t decipher these for you.”

  Eyes narrowed and suspicious, Ethan prodded, “You can try.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.” Mara leapt off the bed and resumed gathering her things hurriedly. She snatched up her duffel bag, mumbling, “If I were you, I’d drop this wild goose chase, Ethan. No good can come of it.”

  “Advice from you? How the hell do you expect me to trust anything you say?”

  “I don’t. But without my help, you’ve got no choice. Let it go.”

  “Will you?”

  “Absolutely.” Mara swung the strap across her shoulder. “Thanks for the hospitality and the patch job. But I need to move to safer territory as soon as possible. The men hunting me are bound to return. I’d prefer to not lead them to you. I owe you.”

  Owed him? The pithy phrase stung, like a kick to the gut. Not long ago there’d been more between them than a balance sheet. They’d been lovers. Partners, for an instant.

  Fool me twice, he thought, and the blame’s on me. To think he could rely on her had been his fault. She’d reminded him of who she was, and he would accept it. Again. Grimly, he left her side to jerk open his closet and grab a pair of khakis. Bunching them, he aimed for the spot on the bed near her, tempted to aim higher.

  She ignored the pants and turned to the door.

  “Put them on,” he instructed brusquely. “You probably don’t want to skulk out of here in boxer shorts.”

  Because he was correct, she set her bag down and shimmied into the pants. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

  Stifling a snarl, Ethan moved to the desk. “Take your time. I’m just grateful to have the warning this time,” he sneered. “Should I check my wallet?”

  At that, she simply met his burning eyes. Her voice, like her face, held no emotion. “Screw you, Ethan.”

  He sat on the corner of the broad desktop, bracing his leg on the floor. Folding his arms, he drawled, “As I recall, that’s what you did before you took my money, darling. I’m not in the mood for a repeat performance.” Even as he spoke the words, Ethan winced internally. Only Mara ever drove him to cheap shots and juvenile attacks. He’d forgotten that about them.

  Before he could apologize, Mara had gained her feet. She reached for her backpack at the foot of the bed. Slinging it awkwardly over her shoulder, she headed for the door. She gripped the knob tightly, regulated the hitch in her breath. Four days. She’d had four days with him.

  That was more than she’d expected. More than she deserved. “I’ll send your clothes back when I get a chance.”

  “Don’t bother.” He firmed his mouth, biting off the question that unmanned him. Why did she keep leaving him?

  Because the answer was clear, he said nothing. He hooked his fingers together, prepared for a wave of self-disgust. Years ago he’d found his answer. Mara required excitement, adventure. Traits he didn’t possess. Twelve years ago he’d been too staid for her, and obviously that hadn’t changed. He could pretend that playing with the dead held intrigue and danger, but in the safety of a laboratory the worst that would befall him was a rash. Mara recognized this before and she’d seen it again.

  At least this time she was leaving before he fell too hard.

  In the doorway, Mara looked over her shoulder to the only man she’d ever loved. His leg swung negligently, the heel tapping the desk’s leg. The afternoon light burnished his dusky copper skin and the hauntingly handsome features were cast in relief. A firmly molded mouth that had crept into her dreams night after endless night, and eyes that could see through her.

  In those eyes, she’d once been beautiful. Not a misfit or a mistake. Simply his. She looked her fill, knowing it would be her last. This time, when she left, she wouldn’t be coming back.

  No one would ever see her as he had, would love her as he had.

  Dropping her bag, she spun on her heel and crossed the expanse between them in long, hurried strides. Ethan didn’t move.

  When she reached his side, she cupped his face in her hands, the fingers trembling with anticipation. “I missed you. I’m sorry.”

  Then she closed her lips over his and gave herself to one final kiss.

  The moment her mouth touched his, Ethan felt the world slip away. Soundlessly. Completely. There was only the glide of Mara’s lips against his. The insistent press that cajoled his mouth to open, to welcome her inside. Heat, like an inferno, blazed in his veins. Temptation, like a song, clouded in his mind. It demanded that he slide his arms around her, that he trail his hand along her spine to sink into the silken curls at her nape. He wanted to pull away, to resist the skeins that would bind his heart to her again, but he’d forgotten that she tasted of honeyed sweetness. Instead, he sank deeper, plumbing her mouth for secrets, for answers. For oblivion.

  Mara moaned beneath the hungry kiss, wrapping herself against him, desperate to crawl inside. Their tongues tangled, danced, and she reveled in the movement. She splayed eager palms against his chest and tormented the flesh she found there. Too far away, she gripped his waist to pull him closer, until she stood cradled between his hard thighs.

  Not close enough, Ethan thought hazily, and he surged forward until his leg slipped between hers, their mutual sighs rising into the air as their hips fit into one another. Tilting her chin, he changed the angle of the kiss, determined to taste every change, to find every memory. Licks of fire burned his skin where her tongue traced his mouth. He caressed the high, taut breasts that were naked beneath his borrowed shirt. When his fingers crested the first peak, she gasped into his mouth.

  “More. More.” She panted out the demand, fumbling at his buttons. Her body fairly vibrated with anticipation. It had been so long since he loved her. “Once more.”

  Drowning, he let sensations swamp him, filled his lungs with the scent of her. As passion submersed him, he thought dimly that he would never surface again. “No.”

  Ethan wrested his mouth free and quickly set her away from him. While Mara swayed in stunned reaction, he walked into the kitchen on legs that weren’t at all steady. At the faucet, he fumbled to open the taps and poured a glass of water. Swallowing quickly, he refilled the glass. The cool liquid slid down his parched throat, but there wasn’t enough water in the world to put out what Mara had begun.

  He loathed that with a single kiss he’d forgotten his vows to himself. And his almost promises to Lesley. He despised that he’d been dragged—no, that he’d rushed—back for more. More heartache. More disappointment.
More loving a woman who never understood what that meant. A woman he would never be daring enough to satisfy.

  “I thought you were leaving,” he rasped out, staring into the empty glass. If he met her eyes, he would beg. “If you need money—”

  “N-No.” Mara flushed with embarrassment, but she refused to slink away. “I’m not a whore, Ethan. I can take care of myself.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.” Just as she knew that for a second he’d wanted her again. Needed her. With her body still pulsing, she resisted the urge to touch her mouth. To press the kiss against her lips so she would never lose the taste of Ethan’s desire. Because she knew now he would never touch her again.

  For the second time she went to the door, anxious to get outside and find a place to think. To process. “I’ll send your stuff soon. Thanks.”

  She rushed out of the studio, willing herself to keep it together until she made it downstairs. Her thoughts swirled with confused longing, and she banged her arm against the railing. She made her way to the door, eyes away from the covered bodies. Clasping her throbbing arm, she levered the door open and emerged into the alleyway, head down. Straight into danger.

  “Hi, Jennie.” Rabbe’s gravelly welcome was accompanied by strong, hurtful hands wrenching her wrists behind her. “Or do you prefer Mara?”

  She tried to scream in agony but a wet, slippery palm covered her mouth before she could emit a sound.

  “None of that, lady.” Guffin pressed his hand tight, grinding her swollen lips against her teeth. “Don’t want no one to come an’ save you this time. Not till Mr. Conroy gets a look at you.”

  “Shut up, moron.” Rabbe scowled at his partner, and Mara kicked out at him. Her foot caught him in the solar plexus and he doubled over, out of breath.

  Taking quick advantage, she jammed an elbow into Guffin’s ribs, but the man moved quicker than she thought. He released her mouth and instead shifted into a chokehold. As the meaty arm tightened around her windpipe, Mara’s struggles stilled. Black dots danced before her as she clawed at Guffin’s forearm.

  In response, he squeezed harder. From what seemed a million miles away she heard the dulcet voice explain, “I’m not like Rabbe, miss. I don’t like hurtin’ women, but I will.” She felt the barrel of his silencer tracing her side. Nearly out of air, Mara stopped resisting. As soon as her legs stilled, the constriction eased. “Now, you just come along to the truck and we’ll be on our way.”

  Mara stumbled forward, urged along by the cold press of metal at her side. Rabbe regained his breath and caught up with them. “Bitch, I’m gonna enjoy myself with you, ya hear? As soon as the boss gives the word, I’ll make you wish you’d never met me.” He reached for her breast, but Guffin shifted into his path.

  “Don’t. Mr. Conroy didn’t say nothin’ about you hurting the lady. He just said bring her to him.”

  “He won’t care if I have a little taste, Seth. Now move out of my way.”

  Rabbe tried to reach for her again, but Guffin topped him by a good six inches. He stared down at his partner, the pale blue eyes soft but filled with warning. With Mara tucked by his side, he gestured with his pistol. “You focus on driving, Arthur. I’ll take care of Ms. Reed.” When Rabbe hesitated, Guffin pointed again. “Not gonna happen, Arthur.”

  Muttering beneath his breath, Rabbe circled around to the driver’s side while Guffin put Mara in the rear and slid in beside her. She startled when he reached past her. “You need to wear your safety belt,” he explained sweetly. “These SUVs have a habit of flipping over. I don’t think they’re safe, but Arthur likes the size, don’t you, Arthur?”

  “She’s not some damned guest, Guffin! Stop treating her like the Queen of frickin’ England.”

  “There’s no call to be rude,” countered Guffin mildly. “Or to be unsafe.” With a satisfied smile, he clicked the lock into place. Of Mara, he asked, “Is it too tight?”

  “It’s fine,” she answered dazedly. “Thank you.”

  Guffin grinned widely, displaying a dazzling array of gold and white teeth. “Common courtesy isn’t nearly common enough.” He leaned forward to tap Rabbe on the shoulder. “We can go see Mr. Conroy now.”

  Chapter 6

  The Expedition crawled along Shahar, weaving into and out of viscous afternoon traffic. A high sun blistered the ground, and the pavement steamed beneath its rays. Because it was Texas, trucks, rather than cars, crowded the four-lane county road and forced the SUV into a modicum of conservative behavior. Rabbe cursed steadily as signal after signal stopped his momentum. The massive engine purred beneath his hands, begging to be released to roar.

  “Podunk town,” he muttered, blasting his horn at a red Dodge Ram that inched forward ahead of him at a snail’s pace. Frustrated by Guffin’s chivalry and everything keeping him from his revenge, he cracked the window enough to stick his head out. “Move that ancient piece of crap before I show you what a Ram is!” He nudged the Expedition closer and leaned on the horn again. “Come on, move it!”

  Guffin frowned at the red light, then leaned forward. “Don’t rile anyone, Arthur. We’ve got what we came for. No need to cause trouble.” He thumped Rabbe on the arm. “Try them breathing exercises I showed you. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

  “Up yours, Seth,” Rabbe snorted. “I’m not doing any sissy meditation. Save that for your boyfriend.”

  Unperturbed, Guffin shrugged, pulling out his cell phone. “It will be your funeral when you die of a heart attack.

  Mara listened to the bickering with half an ear and a pounding heart. Someone named Conroy demanded her presence, and she had no idea why. Given Rabbe’s urgency to bring her, instead of giving vent to his expected murderous rage, she assumed Conroy had something to do with the journal and Mary Kay’s death. His name tugged at her memory, but she couldn’t place it.

  “Ms. Reed, Mr. Conroy would like to speak to you.” Guffin held the phone out and she accepted it warily.

  “Hello, Ms. Reed.”

  “Mr. Conroy?” The smooth, cool voice held menace and power. She allowed her voice to tremble violently, thickened her words to sound teary. It wasn’t difficult. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry I stole from you.”

  Conroy allowed the silence to lengthen. “Ms. Reed, I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble, almost for naught. But if you have my property in your possession, I think we can resolve this upon your arrival.”

  His journal. And he was the man responsible for Mary Kay’s death. “Where am I going?”

  “To meet me. And demonstrate that your penitence is real.” Conroy fondled the key, imagining its mates. “You’ll help me find the others and the gold, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Think harder.” The growled threat made her tremor real. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Rabbe glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her face pale. He grinned. “Conroy doesn’t play nice. Hope you’ve got his property. Otherwise, I’ll ask him to let me convince you to share. Like Cassandra.”

  Reports of what Rabbe had done to Cassandra, her partner in Detroit, had made the front page. The police hadn’t known about Mary Kay. Slick, greasy shame roiled in her stomach. In a harsh whisper she murmured, “She didn’t know about the scheme. Not all of it. Wasn’t her fault.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I should have listened to her. But it was hard to hear her over the screams,” he sniggered.

  “Cut it out,” Guffin commanded. He patted Mara’s shoulder awkwardly. “Mr. Conroy does not appreciate tormenting women. Keep it up and I’ll report you.”

  “Sissy.” But Rabbe returned his attention to the road. They’d stopped at another traffic light, one of the gazillions in this rinky-dink town. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

  “I find it charming,” Guffin said. “Quaint. All the little shops nestled in their nooks and crannies.” Pointing across the road, he exclaimed, “An old-fashioned soda shop! How lovely.”<
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  Mara caught the wistfulness and turned her attention to him, shaking off her horror. “Kiev is quaint. Built during the gold rush in the 1800s. Mrs. Kneller, who owns the shop, says it’s been in the family for generations.” She sent him a shy grin. “Makes the best orange crème you’ve ever tasted.”

  Seth preened under the attention. Given his height and girth, most ladies found him terrifying. “Might have to try it out. Next time you’re in Brooklyn, try Mannie’s in Dyker Heights. Amazing egg cream.”

  “I will.” Mara tried to recall her last trip to New York. “Dyker Heights? Near Bay Ridge?”

  “You know it?”

  Adopting the patina of an accent, she launched into a description of her three weeks there. The scam had been an art swap at the Brooklyn Arts Academy. Soon, Seth was chortling in appreciation.

  “Stop entertaining her, moron!” snapped Rabbe. The truck had come to another standstill at a red. The tinkling laughter that had filled his head now grated unbearably. Grinding his teeth, he warned, “Mr. Conroy warned us. She’s trying to distract you.”

  Guffin bristled. “Keep your eyes on the road. Ms. Reed and I are enjoying our shop talk.”

  Rabbe wanted to argue, but above the red Ram the light changed to green. He punched the horn sharply; still, the truck idled at the light. On either side, traffic resumed its motion, but the truck did nothing. The truck’s driver had his head down, and Rabbe could only see the outline of shoulders hunched over the passenger seat. Because he sat on the truck’s bumper and the car behind him had drawn up close, he couldn’t maneuver the oversized vehicle enough to cross lanes. Trapped, Rabbe snarled and jammed the horn again. Through the open window he hurled more invective, each word increasingly more graphic.

  “Calm down, Arthur. You’ll only piss him off.”

  “Like I give a shit.”

  Mara listened to the string of obscenities and plotted her move. Rabbe had a limited vocabulary but an inventive imagination, one that kept his attention averted. She watched Seth instead, tensing with anticipation when the truck’s owner burst out of his vehicle, shotgun in tow. The grizzly bearded stranger tipped his hat low and trained both barrels on a suddenly quiet Rabbe.