by Jory Strong
His hands tangled in the golden silk of her hair. He desired her as he would never want another woman. “It’s punishment and pleasure alike, Etaín. You’ll know the same by morning.”
* * *
Cathal made the short leap from pier to boat then followed Sean into a comfortable stateroom. The Giants were playing on a big-screen TV, the sound turned down.
“Want one?” Sean asked, holding up the bottle in his hand.
“Sure.”
Cathal claimed a chair and accepted a beer. Sean took the seat next to him, a table between them.
“She’s at Aesirs,” Sean said. “Might as well get that out of the way first in case it impacts what you want to talk about.”
A kick to the stomach would have been easier to take. “How long?”
“Long enough.”
“To do what?” Cathal asked, not positive which one of them was fishing for information.
Sean cut him a look. “Fucking the blond whose estate is in Pacific Heights for one. Drawing pictures of the guys you say drugged and raped your cousin and her friend for another. You tell me why she’s there. The tracker on her bike had her at your uncle’s place earlier today. And now you’re here.”
Cathal’s guts knotted, twisting more with fear for Etaín than with jealousy, though the prospect of his father or uncle ordering a hit on Eamon was darkly tempting.
“Maybe she’s doing both,” he admitted.
“Nothing you can do about either.” Sean picked up the remote control. “Meeting over?”
“No.” He didn’t have to think about it.
“What’s on your mind then?”
“Finding a way to circumvent my father and uncle without sacrificing them to the authorities, or ending up buried in an unmarked grave with Etaín next to me.”
Sean laughed and took a swallow of beer. “Something easy. Good.”
“I had a rough idea, of sending you to arrange for her brother to swing by her place and see the drawings in a way where there’d be no fault attached to anyone.”
“Possibly workable, except her being with the blond has screwed up your chance to be the unsung hero in this story.”
“Eamon,” Cathal said, washing the name down with some beer. “He owns Aesirs.”
Sean whistled. “Smart lady. Since you’re paying for my observations and opinions, you’re going to get both. Obviously you care about her or you wouldn’t put yourself at risk this way, but you need to think outside the box when it comes to this situation.”
“As in?”
“She’s got something your father and uncle want and, unfortunately for her, they have a long reach and a lot of motivation. Meaning there are definite advantages to sharing her with Eamon. Between the two of you, you might just be able to keep her alive. The real question to look at here is whether you want her badly enough to overcome your social conditioning.”
Cathal didn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed. “Overcome my social conditioning?”
“Yeah. It’s what I would do if I were you. Especially if that’s the way she wants it. There are ways to make it work, if the parties involved are committed to it.”
“Did I get on the wrong boat? Is this Dr. Phil or McAlister Investigations?”
“Just trying to help you out. You afraid this guy is better than you are?”
“Not even close.” Memories of what it had been like with Etaín made it impossible to label himself second in her life. “I just want exclusive.”
“More like, if you’re in bed alone, you want her to be, too. Misery loves company and all that.”
Cathal couldn’t argue Sean’s assessment so he didn’t.
“Eamon know about you?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s okay with it?”
Cathal remembered Etaín’s Mona Lisa smile after he’d set up breakfast at Aesirs and his dick got harder despite the fact that they were talking about Eamon. “He’s into the kink. He’s willing to share her.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
Surprise ripped through him. “You have?”
“Yeah. I have. Not just shared as in his place, my place, but the three of us living together in our place.”
Sean lifted his bottle in a silent tribute. “The psychologists have it right. The male of our species is turned on visually and competitive as hell at his core. Thank god. The sex was incredible.”
“It didn’t last,” Cathal said, harsh words mirroring just how ruthlessly he had to suppress the domination fantasies that accompanied images of walking in and catching Etaín naked with Eamon.
“True, it didn’t last, but for reasons that would be TMI, way, way too much information for you to handle given your current puritanical frame of mind. Something I find amusing considering how your father and uncle earn their money, and your owning a club where the rich and moral-less come to play.”
Sean pushed off his chair and padded over to a small refrigerator, getting himself another beer. “Besides the sex, you want to know what I loved best about sharing a woman with another man?”
Almost unwilling, Cathal found himself asking, “What?”
“When the job consumed me, there was someone there for her. And when I fucked things up with her, she had someone to turn to until I could get my shit together and clean up the mess I’d made out of things.”
Sean returned to his chair, plopping down in it with a sigh. “Before we leave the topic, I’ll go on record as saying that given the right chemistry all around, I’d rather be part of a threesome instead of a twosome.”
His attention diverted to the Giants with three men on base and only one out. Cathal let himself be distracted, too, imagining taking Etaín to PacBell Park and watching from the luxury suite he often used.
Two runs and two outs later, Sean said, “Now back to your problem, which is compounded by not knowing if Eamon is aware of the visit to your uncle’s place and the purpose behind it. Any idea whether or not she’d share it with him?”
Something inside Cathal relaxed. Etaín didn’t readily share information about herself. She’d only admitted to using her talents to help the police after hearing about Brianna’s suicide attempt. Even then, she’d left out that the victim Parker asked her to visit was the Harlequin Rapist’s.
He refused to believe Eamon knew her any better than he did. “No. I don’t think she’ll share the drawings with him. Or tell him she intends to do them.”
He thought about her throwing up after visiting Brianna. How ill she’d looked when she emerged from the bathroom. A glimmer of understanding came, at why she might have gone to Eamon. To distance herself from knowledge horrible enough to make her sick, and from what she’d endured because of her involvement with him.
“Time and options are limited,” Sean said. “You’ve got to intercept her after she’s finished drawing.”
“She’s promised to call.”
“Good. Your idea about involving her brother is the most expedient. It’s high risk but I’m not coming up with anything else even remotely workable. I’ll put someone on him so he can be approached in person with a message as soon as you connect with Etaín. How are you going to sell this as an unpreventable accident to your father and uncle?”
“A dump of her cell phone records. Assurances I know where she’s been. Her brother showing up and her not knowing anything about the setup. It will play out as believable because of her lack of fear when I take her with me to see them. They’re trusting me to handle this so they’ll buy I did my best but it went sideways on me.”
“You pretty sure there’ll be no repercussions to you?”
“As long as her brother keeps quiet.”
“Skirting the edge there, letting an FBI agent get a hook into you even if it’s to keep his sister out of trouble. Might be better to put aside your pride and do a face-to-face with Eamon. Guy like that could bring pressure to bear on a lot of different fronts. The two of you joining forces could be
unbeatable.”
“No.”
“Your call. Your woman.” Sean took a drink. “Or at least, half your woman.”
Cathal bridled at the casual taunt. “Start investigating Eamon.”
“Looking for leverage to keep him away from her?” Sean laughed. “Who’d have guessed you’d pay top dollar to consult me, then be so resistant to taking my advice.”
“Just do the work I hire you to do.”
“Sir. Yes sir.” His gaze flicked to the empty beer bottle in Cathal’s hand. “You staying for the rest of the game? Or going back to your club?”
Curiosity about Sean’s past got the better of him. The certainty that Sean wouldn’t be able to resist saying more about the relationship he’d been in made Cathal say, “I’m staying.”
“Beer’s in the fridge, help yourself. I only serve clients.”
Nineteen
There was no prelude to the dream. It filled Etaín’s mind, surging into her and becoming her reality as though it were liquid and the force of it, the weight of it easily knocked aside any barrier erected against it.
Caitlyn. The image came with trapped horror and irreconcilable guilt, with drugged haziness and emotional sickness.
A scream welled up inside her, primal and terrified and hopeless. No!
She was aware of the heavy breathing above her. The grunting. The pain between her legs that came with having another one of them on top of her. Jordão she thought, by the smell of his hair, doing to her what Adam was doing to Caitlyn.
The bed spun, turning the pictures on the walls into a kaleidoscope. Her vision blurred and when it cleared again, the boy named Mason had taken Adam’s place above Caitlyn.
I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, she screamed silently.
And her scream blended into a boy’s, into yelling. Confusion. Panic.
The weight on top of her disappeared but the bed still shook violently. Caitlyn flailing. Thumping. Writhing naked next to her then going completely still, drooling blood and spit so close that if she could make her arm work she could reach out and close Caitlyn’s mouth for her.
There was the sound of gagging. The smell of pee and shit.
An arm reached down wearing a Rolex. Jordão. His fingers pressed to Caitlyn’s throat.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
The words were underwater. Hazy but she heard them.
Get help. Get help. Get help.
Was that her or one of the boys? She couldn’t tell if her mouth moved.
But then she knew it did. Fingers pushed between her lips and she tried to turn her head.
“Come on Brianna, open up.”
She sobbed at the sound of Adam’s voice. Sobbed again as he forced her jaw open then closed it, holding it shut.
She choked and coughed on something lodged at the back of her throat. Welcomed the darkness when it came, falling into it with the sensation of tears dripping from her eyes.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
There was nothing until she woke in a hospital room.
“Caitlyn!” she screamed, her first thought. “Caitlyn!”
She tried to climb out of bed but a heavy-bodied nurse was there to restrain her. “Caitlyn!”
“Hush, now. Hush, Brianna.”
Images pressed in on her, like segments of a terrible, horrible dream. It couldn’t have happened. Not Adam. No. None of it was real.
She struggled against the nurse’s restraint again. “Let me up!” she screamed, thrashing violently, trying to bite and claw until she noticed the soreness between her thighs.
The first sob felt as though her chest had burst open delivering it. Guilt poured in, panic.
“Where’s Caitlyn?” A whimpered question instead of a screamed one.
“Hush. Don’t think about your friend now. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“I want to see Caitlyn! I want to see Caitlyn!”
She screamed it. Bucking. Wild with emotion. Caitlyn’s face, blood on a gold comforter, flashing through her mind with every movement.
Above her the nurse yelled for help and suddenly the room was filled with other people. She fought harder as they held her down.
“She’s ripped the catheter out,” one of them said.
“Let me see Caitlyn. I just want to see Caitlyn.”
“Stop, Brianna,” her father was there, laying a hand on her forehead. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”
Another sob ripped through her. She couldn’t face him.
A scream came from deep inside her. It erupted, piercing the air.
Another welled up as tubing was placed around her arm and a man stepped forward with a syringe. “No!”
He pushed a needle into her arm. “Rest now. Rest is what you need.”
“Please. Please. Just tell me where Caitlyn is.”
“Let’s take care of you now.”
The fight went out of her, suppressed by waves of sleepiness. Helplessness.
Hopelessness.
Get help. Get help. Get help.
Are you crazy? Jordão’s voice. They die of an overdose. Too bad. So sad. Shit happens.
She was conscious of tears rolling down her cheeks. Caitlyn was dead. That’s why they wouldn’t answer her question. That’s why they wouldn’t tell her where Caitlyn was.
So sad. So sad. So sad.
Her fault. This was all her fault.
She curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest.
She wanted to die. The pain would go away then. It would all go away and she’d be with Mom and Brian and Caitlyn.
Etaín woke shivering, sweating. Her knees pressed to her chest as grief and guilt crushed her into the mattress. Something terrible had happened. Something she was responsible for.
She felt deathly ill, chilled to the core despite the fire at her back. Her thoughts were fuzzy though she recognized she’d experienced this before, a high that had veered into a dangerous, nightmare crash.
Confusion swamped her. Disbelief. Anger. She hadn’t touched drugs since the captain had her locked in a cell.
Bands of steel tightened around her chest at the memory of it. She struggled to breathe, struggled to escape until finally the sound of Eamon saying her name penetrated, allowing dissociation, providing the separation from stolen reality and self she needed.
She realized she was shaking, her teeth chattering, but still she forced her arms from around her legs, her knees away from her chest. “Let me up.”
Panic gathered when he continued to imprison her. Only sheer determination kept her from becoming wild, violent as Brianna had been. “I have to draw.”
Eamon bit off a refusal, fighting his worry for her and his anger at Cathal for asking this of her. “Stay in bed. I’ll get your things.”
He cursed silently. Hating to leave her even to pad across the room to the desk where the tablet and box of colored pencils brought from her bike waited. Hating, too, that he couldn’t immediately take her in his arms and warm her as he had when she first arrived at Aesirs, pouring magic tied to fire into her and restoring what had been depleted.
He gathered the supplies and turned, jaw clenching at seeing her sitting, huddled in blankets. The shivering had stopped though she continued to look ill.
A surge of violence welled up inside him. True fear wasn’t an emotion he often experienced and yet he’d felt it as she dreamed and seemed to fade away as if she approached death.
If Cathal were here . . .
In that moment it didn’t matter that he’d allowed this to play out and seen the advantages of it. He didn’t think he could tolerate Etaín seeing Cathal much longer, not unless the relationship was made a permanent one, with all the obligations that would entail for Cathal.
Eamon reached the bed, handing her the drawing supplies. “Don’t think you can send me away,” he said, taking up a position behind her then lifting her onto his lap.
He needed to understand this, to see how her gift manifested so he could help her
control it. Survive it. He needed to offer what comfort he could through the touch of skin to skin.
She didn’t resist, only picked out a colored pencil and applied it to the blank white of the paper, unconsciously pulling on his magic as images flowed across each page. Each of her strokes sure, her hand steady, her attention complete.
Nothing existed for her other than her drawing. Not him. Not her surroundings.
Anger toward Cathal disappeared with the disturbing retelling of a terrible story. She was a talented artist, capturing not only the physical details but the sense of violation. Guilt. Anguish and horror.
Elf or human, had what happened to Brianna and Caitlyn been done to someone who called him Lord, he would have used any means at his disposal to find and punish those responsible.
When she finally closed the sketch pad there was no relief in the gesture. Pushing it aside, along with the case of pencils, she pulled her knees to her chest again, wrapping her arms around her legs.
Eamon accommodated the shift in position, his arms settling on top of hers, hugging her to him. His mouth delivering comfort as he kissed her shoulder and neck.
Etaín relaxed into him, grateful for his presence and his touch. Usually she needed a shower to rebuild mental walls. Usually she puked when she first woke.
This was much better.
His heat was like the warm lap of ocean waters onto a beach. Soothing, taking away all evidence of what had passed across the sand in a gentle restoring of her defenses.
“Brianna Dunne’s memories?”
“Yes.”
A measure of dread returned to mar the peacefulness. Though the barrier against the memories was in place, awareness that they weren’t complete remained. She knew she had an ending but no beginning, understood the beginning was of equal importance.
She couldn’t suppress the shiver that came with the prospect of returning to Denis’s house. She’d never had to touch a victim twice, never felt so physically sick after doing it as she had with Brianna.
“I need to see her again.”
She felt the sudden rigidness of his muscles. Heard threads of ice in a smooth-flowing voice when he said, “There’s more?”