by Pamela Clare
She touched a soft hand to his cheek, tears streaming down her sweet face. "Maybe so, but that's not who you are. You held me when I was afraid, stayed with me. You took bullets for me. You make me feel things no man has ever made me feel. You're not a monster!"
The pressure in his chest almost beyond bearing, Julian could scarcely speak. "You can say that—after what I just did to you?"
She gave him a shaky smile. "And what do you think you did? Do you think you raped me? You big idiot! You didn't take anything from me I wasn't willing to give. I love you, Julian."
Her words shocked him, drove the breath from his lungs. For a moment he could do nothing but stare at her. Then he gritted his teeth, forced out the words. "I am not worth this!"
"God, for a special agent you sure are a fraidy cat." Then she leaned into his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.
With a groan, Julian felt the torrent inside him rise up black and venomous—and break like a wave against her gentle strength.
He opened his mouth to her, gave in to her touch, accepted her passion. Her lips never left his as her hand slid up his thigh, fought with his zipper, stroked him to readiness. Then she lowered herself onto him, taking him with her heat, filling the bleak emptiness inside him, penetrating his darkness.
Musk and salt. Mingled cries. Shattering pleasure.
A baptism of tears, of fire, of light.
Redemption.
She collapsed against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her breath coming in shudders. Julian held her, kissed her hair, felt his own heartbeat slow. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt clean.
They ate a quiet dinner of sushi, sharing a single plate. Then they took a shower and crawled back into bed, where Julian made long, slow love to Tessa, showing her all the finesse and gentleness he'd denied her in his rage, giving back everything he had taken.
Now Tessa lay sleepless in the dark, her head on Julian's chest, his heartbeat strong, his breathing deep and even as he slept. She'd never known him to sleep so deeply and realized he must be exhausted. He'd revealed things he'd never told another human being, baring his soul to her out of a mistaken sense of guilt. And what he'd told her had broken her heart.
She imagined a tiny boy torn from his mother's arms, doomed to grow up without love amid squalor, depravity, and violence. She imagined the terror and grief of a young mother, doomed never to see the child she loved again, not even knowing if her son were still alive. The unbearable sadness of it all welled up inside her.
"I love him," she whispered to the darkness, not realizing she'd spoken until she heard her own voice. "I'll watch over him."
Something in the darkness seemed to ease.
Then, at last, she, too, fell asleep.
Tessa sipped her latte and sorted through documents on her computer, reading the criminal histories of the nearly 100 known Red Mafia leaders suspected to be operating in the United States. She'd already eliminated those who dealt only in drugs or weapons, but that still left more than 60 men, all of whom had some alleged involvement in prostitution or pornography.
"What a bunch of losers," she muttered to herself.
She heard a "humph" and glanced up to find Julian standing at the other end of the table, arms crossed over his bare chest, a frown on his face—his surliness surely proof that she was on the right track. He'd been hovering nearby from the moment he'd heard her on the phone with Moscow this morning.
Still, she couldn't feel irritated with him. It was just his way of protecting her—one of the many ways he'd showed her today that he cared for her. He'd gotten up early and had already forwarded the threatening e-mails to his own computer and purged them from hers by the time she'd opened her eyes. Then he'd woken her up with a kiss and a homemade latte. While she'd made breakfast, he'd rigged her e-mail account so that it would reject all e-mail from unknown addresses, ensuring she wouldn't get any more unwelcome surprises over the Internet.
Even so, it wasn't easy to sit down at her computer and look at the screen. She'd found herself wondering if Kara's mother knew any weird New Age cleansing ceremonies for laptops.
She glanced up at Julian. "You know, instead of glowering at me, you could just tell me who the bad guy is."
His scowl deepened. "Not a chance. If you write an article about him, you'll only send him into hiding, and I'll have to start from square one."
"What if we published every known fact about him—his picture, his mother's maiden name, his favorite color, his hometown? Wouldn't that make it impossible for him to hide?"
He gave a snort. "You think underground crime lords eat at Burger King and stroll down Main Street? These guys keep to the shadows, Tessa. Most of their men don't even know what they look like. You can't flush them out with bad publicity."
She wasn't convinced. "Do you know what he looks like?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
Then a sound she'd never heard before interrupted them— a high-pitched metallic whine.
The alarm!
In an instant, Julian was on his feet and reaching for his gun. "Get downstairs! Arm yourself, and hide!"
Heart thumping, Tessa made a dash for the stairs. She'd made it halfway down, when she heard Julian cut loose with a stream of profanity.
The alarm went silent.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He sounded furious.
A woman answered. "Thanks for the welcome. Dyson sent me. He said you'd had some e-mail trouble."
Tessa walked back up the stairs in time to see a tall, gorgeous redhead walk through the front door—and kiss Julian full on the mouth.
So this was Margaux. Dressed in tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a red leather jacket, she was almost as tall as Julian, her body slender and athletic. With high cheekbones, a slim nose, and full lips, she looked like a runway model—except for the gun she carried in a hip holster.
Tessa couldn't stand her.
It wasn't just that Margaux had kissed Julian or that she'd once been his lover or that she'd hurt him or that she was sexy and beautiful. It was all of those things together—and something more.
Green isn't your color, girl.
Tessa tried to force aside her irrational jealousy. After all, it was obvious that Margaux and Julian wanted nothing to do with one another. They were barely able to be civil to one another. Then again, what woman wouldn't be jealous? Margaux was an Amazon. She radiated sophistication and sexuality. Men probably flocked to her like ants to apple butter.
Margaux had shaken her hand, given her a warm smile. "You must be the little reporter. And you are little, aren't you?"
Tessa had put on her sweetest smile. "I imagine that even most men seem short to a big woman like you."
Margaux had glanced pointedly at Julian. "Most men come up short one way or another, that's for sure."
Tessa had wanted to smack her. "Maybe it's not the men. Maybe it's the company. Certainly, Julian has never failed to rise to the occasion."
Margaux had shot her a look of pure venom, then she'd gone off with Julian to his office, where the two of them now sat behind the closed door, presumably trying to trace the e-mails. This was Margaux's area of expertise, and according to Margaux at least, she was very good at it. Tessa thought she was probably very good at other things, too.
With no small amount of discipline, Tessa turned her mind back to her work, reading one by one through the criminal CVs of guys with names like Vladimir, Anatoli, Aleksander, and Pavel, looking for any possible tie to Colorado, human trafficking, or a deceased creep known as Lonnie Zoryo. She'd already tried searching for those terms and had turned up nothing. So much for taking shortcuts.
Some guy named Yuri with a bad cocaine habit. One Todor who was only nineteen. The thousandth Aleksander. One Ilya who was nearing seventy. An Alexi.
She scrolled through the document, about to move on, when she saw it: Gzel, Russia.
For a moment she sat, frozen. Then she grabbed for her file
on Zoryo, flipped through the pages searching for the autopsy report and quickly scanned it, her adrenaline humming.
"Birthplace: Gzel, Russia."
Could it be a coincidence? She glanced back at her computer screen, checked birth dates—1952 and 1949. They were almost the same age, Zoryo a few years older. Could they have known each other? And then she found the clincher.
Both had been arrested during a police raid in Moscow on May 14,1982.
Heart pounding, she looked at her watch and saw that it was midnight in Moscow. Certain her source must be asleep, she picked up her phone and called the newsroom instead. "Sophie, I think I found him. I think the man I'm looking for is named Alexi Burien."
"Whoever did this knows exactly what they're doing. Burien must have one hell of a tech expert. This is going to take an eternity to unravel—if it's even possible."
Julian leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest, fighting his growing irritation as he watched Margaux work. Why in the hell had Dyson sent her? They'd both agreed that Julian would forward the e-mails to whichever expert Dyson assigned to track them. Perhaps Dyson was checking up on him, making sure he was keeping out of trouble. Or perhaps Margaux had talked Dyson into giving her his address in order to make sure he wasn't holding out on her again as he had with Zoryo.
Thank goodness he had his files on Pasha's encrypted under another username.
He decided to come right out with it. "Why are you here?"
Margaux slipped a CD into his computer, dragged the e-mails onto it, and clicked BURN. "Unhappy to see me?"
"Cut out the games. Did Dyson send you, or was this your idea?"
She shrugged. "It was my idea. I have to admit I was curious to meet this reporter of yours. She is, after all, the first woman you've hooked up with since I dumped you."
His irritation grew into real anger. "So you managed to talk Dyson out of my location and came out here just to check out Tessa?"
She popped the finished CD from his computer, slid it into a crystal case, and dropped it into her purse. "I would never have imagined you'd get involved with a woman like her— girly, unsophisticated, inexperienced. She's probably a great breeder, though."
So Margaux was jealous. She'd always felt uncomfortable about her height. "You mean 'feminine, genuine, and relatively innocent' ? Leave her alone, Margaux."
"Oooh, listen to you! Mr. Protective. You really have gone over the edge." Margaux stood and walked to the door. "Don't worry. I'll keep my claws off your little toy."
Julian followed Margaux down the hallway, wondering how he could ever have thought her attractive. What he'd once found stunning now seemed vulgar, tawdry, even cheap. There was nothing soft or tender about her, not a warm, caring impulse in her body. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, for the adrenaline of the bust, for the kick of a hard orgasm.
Which pretty much describes you, too, Darcangelo.
No, not anymore.
Tessa glanced up at him, talking to someone on the phone, a nervous look on her face.
"I need to go, Sophie. Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow." She set the phone aside. "Were you able to trace it?"
Julian shook his head. "I'm not sure we ever will."
"We'll get to work on it, but it's not like it's a huge priority." Margaux glanced at her watch, then over at Tessa. "It's just a few threatening e-mails. Compared to most of the shit we see, it's nothing. But then, I suppose to a sheltered debutante like you—"
"Margaux." Julian cut her off.
"It's okay, Julian." Tessa laid her hand on his arm. "It's obvious that although Margaux might know a great deal about computers and violence, she doesn't know anything about good manners. Nor does she know a thing about me. For that reason alone, her attempts to insult me only make her look pathetic and desperate."
Margaux laughed, but her face flushed an angry red. "Your kitten's got claws."
"Let me see you out." Julian strode to the front door, opened it.
Margaux took the hint and followed. "Good to see you again, babe."
Julian caught her wrist before she could grab his crotch. "Give Dyson my regards."
Chapter 24
"You know how most of the time you plumb a man's depths and find yourself stranded at the bottom of a Dixie cup?"
Tessa couldn't help but laugh at her mother's folksy but descriptive metaphor. She'd never realized what a funny sense of humor her mother had. "Yes, I know that feeling."
"Well, Frank ain't like that. He's always got somethin' important to say. He's real respectful to women, sweet as sugar to me. But I don't know—gettin' married at my age?"
"You're only forty-two, Mom. That's not exactly old." Tessa fluffed up the pillow she'd propped behind her back and switched the phone to her other hand. She felt decadently lazy, still lounging naked in bed when it was almost noon on a workday. "Do you love him?"
"Yeah, I guess I do. But I spent my whole life takin' care of other people, and I don't want to saddle myself—" Her mother's voice trailed away. "Oh, Tessa, I didn't mean you! I never felt burdened by you!"
Tessa couldn't fathom how that could be true, and she felt touched somehow that her mother still loved her enough to try to spare her feelings—as if Tessa didn't already know that her existence had been a terrible mistake. "You were talking about Grandpa."
"That's right, I just set out on my own, after all. I'm afraid to get tied down too soon. I'm afraid of makin' a mistake."
Tessa understood that feeling, too. "Is Frank willing to give you some time?"
Julian opened the bathroom door and walked out, a damp towel around his waist, his hair hanging wet around his shoulders. He walked over to his closet and dropped the towel on the floor. The rounded muscles of his tight ass shifted as he walked into the closet and pulled a pair of jeans off a hanger. Then he bent down and stepped into them, giving her a quick glimpse of his heavy testicles before the faded denim concealed him from view.
"Are you there, Tessa?"
"Oh, yes, Mom. Sorry. I got distracted for a moment."
Julian glanced at her over his shoulder, a smug grin on his face.
She stuck her tongue out at him—which only made his grin wider.
He turned around and slowly unzipped his fly in a mini striptease, leaving his cock to hang free, thick and veined. Then he turned around and slowly pushed the jeans down his hips, baring his delicious ass again with a naughty bump-and-grind motion.
Tessa's mind went blank. She mumbled something to her mother. "Uh-huh."
He leaned down, dug her foot out from beneath a tangle of sheets and blankets, and began to kiss and nibble her toes. Shivers ran up her leg, leaving goose bumps on her skin.
"Frank's takin' me to a Halloween party tonight. Everyone from Denny's is gettin' together at the bowlin' alley."
"That sounds fun." Tessa watched as he kissed and licked his way up her calf to her knee, felt herself grow wet. "Are you going to wear costumes?"
"One of the girls is pregnant, and she's comin' as a nun. I don't know about the rest of us. I'm just too old for that stuff."
Julian's lips, so hot and smooth, reached her inner thigh. He kissed her skin, nipped her with his teeth, soothed her with his tongue.
"N-no, you're not. Mom." It was hard to think, hard to breathe. "I'm sorry, Mom. I have to go. No, everything's fine. I'll call you again tomorrow."
Tessa dropped the phone, met his gaze, saw the heat in his eyes. Desire licked hot through her belly. "Now!"
He chuckled, rose up, his cock now fully erect. His hands closed around her ankles, and he dragged her slowly toward him across the bed, forcing her legs wide apart. Then he sank down and tasted a path up her other leg until his breath was hot between her thighs.
She buried her fingers in his wet hair, whimpered. "Please, oh, please, Julian!"
He parted her lips with his fingers and took her with his mouth, flicking her with his tongue, tugging on her clitoris with his lips, tasting her wetness. And then h
e did it—the sucky-swirly thing—and slid a finger deep inside her.
She came hard and fast, exploding against his mouth, the rush of pleasure almost too intense to bear, as he kept up the rhythm, drawing out her climax, making it last.
For a moment she lay there, floating. Then she heard Julian swear and opened her eyes to see him fighting to get a condom over his erection. And then he was inside her, driving into her with strong, sure strokes, his lips closing over hers, carrying her musky taste into her mouth.
She moaned, met him thrust for thrust, wrapping her legs around him, her hunger building to a second peak with such speed and ferocity that it astonished her. But this time he went over the edge, too, soaring into the void with her.
They lay there for a moment, panting.
"So," he said at last, "how about for Halloween, you dress up as a naked woman?"
"Only if you go as my muff warmer."
He raised himself onto his elbows, gave her a grin. "Honey, you've got yourself a deal."
Julian's good mood lasted until he got into the kitchen. He'd just grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and was about to slip into his harness when he saw it. Stuck to a manila folder was a small to-do list on a yellow Post-it note. At the top of the list was written "Get crim. hist. on A. Burien."
Get criminal history on Alexi Burien?
"What the… ?"
He set the water aside, opened the folder, and began to read through it, his temper building. Inside were dozens of pages listing some of the most notorious criminals to come out of the former Soviet Union, some of whom he'd helped put away, some of whom were still at large. He'd known she'd called Moscow to talk with some expert about the Red Mafia. He'd had no idea how far that conversation had taken her. There on top was a document with Alexi Burien's name circled in red.
"What are you doing?" She stood there wearing one of his T-shirts, her hair a sexy, tangled mass, a look of confused irritation on her face.