Innocent as Sin

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “You don’t want to.”

  She closed her eyes. The neutrality of his voice told her more than any words; his twin’s loss was still an open wound on his soul.

  Silently Rand watched a feral cat slide from shadow to shadow, hunting rodents in the exclusive resort’s carefully tended gardens.

  Good hunting, buddy. The world needs less rats.

  Kayla knew she should let the subject go. And she knew she wouldn’t. Rand interested her in too many ways, on too many levels.

  “When?” she asked simply.

  “Five years ago. In Africa.”

  She remembered scraps of information that Faroe had given her. Goose bumps rose along her arms. “The man in the bwana suit?”

  “Yeah. Only we knew him as the Siberian. I was the photographer. Reed was the rifle. One of us gave away our position. The Siberian shot Reed, then sent the army after us. I survived. Reed didn’t.”

  He sipped the drink again and was surprised to find it half gone. Slow down, fool. He set the drink on a small glass end table and shifted his shoulders. At least the knots were looser. A little.

  “That’s how St. Kilda got to you,” Kayla said. “They dangled a chance to get Bertone.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So St. Kilda hires assassins?”

  “No. They want Bertone alive. Dead broke, but not dead.”

  “What about you?”

  “Dead. Period.”

  37

  Royal Palms

  Sunday

  12:15 A.M. MST

  Kayla drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly, telling herself that Rand didn’t really mean his words literally.

  Knowing that he did.

  “When I was in college, my parents died in a small-plane crash in the interior of Alaska,” she said finally.

  Rand nodded.

  “You knew that already,” she said. “It was in that damned file.”

  He nodded again and said, “Just like I know that kind of loss rips out a chunk of your soul that’s never replaced.”

  “You get used to it. The pain.” She grimaced and set aside her drink. “That sounded way too close to another pity party. What I meant is that you get past it, you get used to the new reality, and you get on with your life. But then, you already know that.”

  Not really. I’m still learning.

  Then Rand realized that he’d spoken the words aloud. He twirled his glass on the side table set between the two chairs. The faint sound, glass on glass, was impatient. After Bertone is dead, I’ll…

  Yeah, fool. What then? Will you finally get your act together? Or will you still feel like you’re on the outside of life, looking in?

  Half dead and the other half lonely as death.

  Kayla’s silence finally registered. When he looked at her, he could see unshed tears magnifying her eyes.

  “Don’t,” he said roughly. “It was five years ago.”

  “Not to you. To you it’s here and now and as new as your next heartbeat.”

  “My problem, not yours.”

  “Yesterday you’d have been right.”

  Something in her voice caught him. “And today?” he asked.

  “Today I know that I could die between one heartbeat and the next. I know it. I don’t want to die regretting any more than I have to.”

  He waited, telling himself that she wasn’t saying what he hoped she was.

  She put her glass next to his, stood, and held out her hand. “I want you. I believe you want me.”

  He came to his feet like a hunting cat. “You know I do.”

  She smiled. “I know you make me feel…glittery, hot, different than I’ve ever felt with a man.”

  “It’s called adrenaline.”

  “It’s called lust. I’ve never felt it before.” She smiled. “I like it.”

  He pulled her close, licked her lips, tasted tears and liqueur. “So do I.” Then, reluctantly, he straightened. “Are you sure?”

  One of her hands lifted from his shoulder, smoothed down his chest, and slid over the front of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure. And you’re interested.”

  His breath stopped as she stroked him through the denim. The humming sound of pleasure she made as she measured him just about brought him to his knees.

  “What do you have on underneath that robe?” he asked roughly.

  “Me.”

  His breath hissed out. “Bedroom. Now.”

  She looked over at the lounge waiting against the side of the patio.

  “No,” he said. “Too many guards. The fountains can’t drown out the kind of sex I want with you.”

  “I forgot where I was.” She made a ragged sound. “Sorry.”

  He felt the heat climbing her cheeks and wanted to howl. “So am I. So I’ll take a rain check on sex beneath the stars.”

  Before Kayla could decide on an answer, a sweep of Rand’s arms yanked the patio drapes closed.

  A night-light glowed like a candle on the bar.

  “I’ll try to make it good for you,” he said against her neck, “but it’s been way too long for me.”

  “For a guy, two hours ago is too long.”

  He gave a crack of laughter and pulled her closer, tugged at her lapel, and finally had a chance to taste the maddening tattoo that had been playing peek-a-boo with her robe.

  “This has been driving me crazy,” he said against her skin.

  She shivered. “The tattoo?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to lick it the first time I saw it.”

  “Then I’m glad I have two more.”

  “Where?”

  “One follows me everywhere.”

  “Show me.”

  Kayla pointed to her left hip.

  He licked his lips. “Show me.”

  “You mean…” Her hands went to the bow she’d tied in the robe’s sash.

  “Yeah. Strip.”

  “You first.”

  He toed out of his shoes while his fingers yanked at shirt buttons. It was way too hot in here for clothes anyway.

  “Jeans,” he said huskily. “I’ve got something in my pocket.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t fallen for that one since I was in second grade.”

  Rand laughed despite the need hammering in his veins. He wanted to think it was because it had been too long since he’d buried himself in a woman, but he didn’t believe it. Something about Kayla just flat turned him on.

  “Unless you want to go commando,” he said, shrugging out of his shirt, “you’d better get in my pocket.”

  “Commando?”

  “Bare.” His hands were on his fly. “As in no condom.”

  Her hands dove into the hip pockets of his jeans. She searched, squeezed. Nothing but hard man muscle.

  “You’re killing me,” he said, watching her smile.

  She moved to his front pockets. Searched, squeezed. More hard man muscle. Very hard.

  He groaned. “You’re a tease. Do it again.”

  Finally she pulled her hands out of his pockets. Foil packets gleamed. In one impatient motion he pulled off his jeans and underwear and reached for her.

  Condoms scattered from her fingers as he stripped her robe off, turned her around, and fastened his mouth on her second tattoo. He bit gently, then not quite gently, felt her shiver.

  “I never knew I had a thing for tattoos,” he said, “until I saw yours.”

  “You’ll love my third one,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Where is it?”

  She turned, showed him.

  He whispered something, bent his head, and licked. Sucked. Nibbled. Sucked harder.

  She tried to breathe, but there wasn’t enough air in the room. The tension that had been drawing her tight, achingly tight, tighter—suddenly snapped, sent her spinning, crying, heat exploding.

  Rand felt her release, tasted it, and shuddered. He barely remembered to sheathe himself in the condom before he sheathed himself in her.

  She was e
verything he’d been afraid she would be.

  Perfect.

  Tight.

  Hot.

  For the first time since his twin’s death, he let go of hate and allowed himself to live.

  38

  Royal Palms

  Sunday

  6:15 A.M. MST

  Fully dressed, Rand sat beside the bed and watched Kayla sleep, telling himself how many kinds of fool he was. The problem was that he couldn’t decide whether he was a fool for letting himself love her last night or if he was a fool because he wasn’t in bed with her now.

  I’m sorry, Reed.

  When Rand heard his own thought, he was shocked. Was he really feeling guilty because Reed was dead and he was alive?

  Got that in one, fool.

  He didn’t know if it was his own voice or Reed’s that pitied him.

  After I kill Bertone, then I’ll…

  Then what? Reed would come back from the dead? Rand would be alive again?

  I was alive last night.

  And guilty as hell for it this morning.

  Rand set his teeth and told himself he was a fool.

  Big news flash that was.

  Sunlight slid through a crack in the drapes and spread across the bed, across Kayla, highlighting the rose tattoo on her collarbone. He’d been with other women since Reed’s death, but he’d never felt guilty about it. Why Kayla? What was it about her that made him want…too much?

  That’s easy, bro. She makes you feel alive.

  Rand went stiff. Reed?

  About time, too. I told you to live for both of us. One of us dead is plenty. Kayla is good for you. Don’t fuck it up and blame it on me.

  Before Rand could move, could think, he realized that Kayla’s eyes were open, slowly focusing on him.

  “Who was here?” she asked sleepily.

  “Just me.”

  “No. Someone else.” She yawned. “Like you, but different.” Her eyelashes lowered, stayed down. “’S too early to get up.” She sighed, pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

  “Go back to sleep,” Rand said softly.

  One eye opened. “What about you?”

  “If I get in bed, neither one of us will sleep.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Or are we out of condoms?”

  He smiled in spite of himself as he remembered the hours before they fell asleep. “Getting there.”

  “No wonder they gave you five thousand dollars.” She yawned again. “Condoms aren’t cheap.”

  Rand laughed out loud. It felt so good that he did it again.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asked around another yawn.

  “No, at me,” he said.

  He took off his shoes and stretched out next to her on top of the bed. She turned toward him. She smelled of bath oil and sex and sleepy woman. He pulled a bundle of covers and her against his body.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said against her forehead. “I kept you up too long last night.”

  “Huh. I thought I was the one keeping you up.”

  “Sleep, Kayla.”

  She tried to, but it didn’t work. She was awake enough to remember all the reasons she shouldn’t be relaxed.

  Bertone.

  Handcuffs.

  Dirty money.

  Her name on the bottom line.

  “Well, damn,” she said against Rand’s chin.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m awake.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll call room service.”

  “Food?” she said, nibbling on his chin, tugging on his beard with her lips.

  “Not many calories in a beard,” he said dryly.

  “Mmmm, the Beard Diet. Works for me. Nibble the pounds away.”

  “You don’t need to lose weight. In fact, some more weight would look good on you.”

  “More? Yowsa. Now I know I’m in love.”

  Rand didn’t fight the laughter crowding his throat. He just let it go and enjoyed.

  She snuggled closer. “Yesterday I felt like I was in a combat zone. Today I feel ten feet tall.”

  “Life is a combat zone. That’s why you have to take love where and when you find it. But I’d forgotten about that until last night. You aren’t sorry, are you? I know you’re not the one-night-stand type.”

  “Couldn’t prove it by me,” she mumbled, flushing.

  “I read your file.”

  “When do I get to read yours?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Everything. Nothing in particular. “Is this a one-night stand?” she asked.

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” he said. “You know, don’t you? You knew last night when you held out your hand to me.”

  “What did I know?”

  “I’m going to kill Andre Bertone.”

  She looked at Rand’s eyes, sage green and clear. Cold.

  “I knew,” she said. “I saw it at the party.”

  “You didn’t let it stop you last night.”

  It wasn’t a question, not quite, but it was close enough that she answered.

  “You haven’t killed him yet,” she said.

  “And when I do?”

  Silence came, grew, and vanished into a sigh. “I don’t know. I’d like to kill Bertone myself. I thought about doing it. A way out of this mess, you know?”

  Rand nodded and watched her like a feral cat.

  “It wasn’t so much a thought,” Kayla said, “as a bone-deep desire to wipe him off the face of the earth. For the first time in my life I understood how someone could be driven to kill.”

  “If you back a mouse into a corner, it will try to rip your throat out. And you’re no mouse.”

  She let out a long breath. “Were you and Reed working for St. Kilda when he died?”

  “Sort of. The Camgerian government was paying, but we were hired through St. Kilda, though we didn’t know it at the time.”

  “You were soldiers?”

  “As in mercenaries?”

  She grimaced. “I guess.”

  “No. We were hired to train Camgerians to use the kind of arms that would give them a chance against the ivory poachers who were destroying the elephant herds. We were also trying to teach Camgerians management techniques for their game preserves. So officially we were members of an international wildlife conservation group helping the locals to protect and manage their valuable resources. Unofficially…” His voice faded.

  “What?”

  “The poachers were all rebels bent on overthrowing the government. Ivory, oil, coltan, hardwood, whatever would sell, they stole it and got arms in return, AK-47s and RPGs.”

  “Bertone.”

  “Krout, the Siberian, Bertone. All the same man.”

  “So you were training men to fight the rebels.”

  “In a side-door kind of way, yes. Back then Reed and I were young enough to be idealists and smart enough to know that idealism is a young man’s game. We didn’t think of ourselves as starry-eyed virgins, but we were.” Rand’s mouth flattened. “We believed that the good guys always win in the end.”

  Kayla bit her lip and didn’t ask any more.

  Rand kept on talking. “We thought we’d seen it all. We hadn’t. Somebody once described Africa as a place where anything that can be done by a gun has been done there. Faroe knew that.”

  “Joe Faroe was over there, too?”

  “Through St. Kilda, Faroe was working an operation on behalf of an American NGO, trying to discourage the arms trade. Reed thought Faroe was the greatest man he’d ever known, smart, tough, resourceful. I wasn’t quite as charmed. I kept telling Reed that Faroe could get us in trouble.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, hell no. We did it all by ourselves. Our training gig was up, but we both were sick of seeing what the arms trade was doing to Africa. We talked to Faroe. St. Kilda hired us to gather information on Krout/Bertone and his operation. To shut the bastard d
own.”

  Kayla’s hand touched Rand’s cheek, stroked lightly above the soft beard. “It was a job worth doing.”

  “Intellectually, no argument. But my gut doesn’t think that Reed’s death was worth it, no matter how many others might have survived because of what we did. His death was goddamned real. The lives he saved…” Rand shrugged. “Not real enough.”

  “So you set out to get proof that the Siberian was a gunrunner,” she said, luring Rand away from his bleak thoughts.

  “Reed and I figured out the Siberian’s smuggling network, his cutouts, who took his bribes. We wrote down the tail numbers on all his planes, documented the arms he was delivering. But none of that was quite enough. We needed solid, undeniable proof to nail the Siberian’s ass. Reed got wind of a planeload of arms coming in. We went to the dirt strip, built a blind, and waited.”

  “Did the plane come?”

  “Yeah. The pilot was either certifiable or clanged when he walked. I got it all—the plane, the waiting rebels, the cargo offloaded, the coltan loaded in return. Even the bag of diamonds passed directly to the Siberian. Then it all went from sugar to shit.”

  Kayla waited, not sure she wanted to know, but certain she should.

  “The sun moves real fast in that part of the world. Either my lens caught it, or Reed’s binoculars. The Siberian picked up a sniper’s rifle and drilled Reed. I grabbed Reed and an assault rifle and took off for the Rover. I drove us to the helicopter that was waiting. Before we could take off, a rebel helicopter strafed us. I brought it down, but it was too late. Too fucking late. I buried Reed in the savanna he loved.” Rand met Kayla’s eyes and said, “I’ll bury Bertone, too.”

  “What if you bury yourself?”

  “Then Reed won’t be alone anymore. Win-win.” At least, it had been until last night.

  “Well, you’re honest,” Kayla said, shoving the covers aside. “One-night stand it is.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You love Reed more than you love your own life.” She began dressing with short, sharp motions. “Sorry if I diverted you from your hair-shirt shrine.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t lie to you. Bertone needs killing.”

  “You aren’t a murderer.”

  “You don’t know me very well.”

  “You don’t know yourself very well,” she retorted, pulling on a T-shirt. “You don’t understand what it will cost you to drop Bertone in cold blood.”