by C. C. Gibbs
“Nice flat slash palace,” Nicole said drily, as they walked up to double doors that were being opened by two men in dark suits who looked as though they knew how to handle a weapon or two. Even a shoulder-fired missile wouldn’t be a stretch; they were big.
“One of the dukes of Savoy built the house for his mistress,” Rafe explained. “It’s not massively grand, that’s why I like it. Hey, guys, everyone fine?”
“Couldn’t be better,” the taller of the two men answered.
“I’d like you to meet Nicole Parrish. Nicole, Meyer, Rick, they help everything run smoothly here. We won’t be long. Simon’s driving us to the tech center as soon as Nicole changes and finds a book. Did the luggage get here yet?”
“An hour ago. It’s in your suite.”
Nicole shot Rafe a look and said under her breath, “My clothes got here before me? What if I’d said no to Geneva?”
“I would have sent them back.”
“Liar.”
He held her gaze. “You’re wrong.” Then he waved toward a monumental black marble staircase. “This way. Ganz is waiting.”
She felt leveled by his calm, cool look. Chiding herself for pettiness in the midst of his challenges, she took his hand and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He turned to smile at her. “Once you get to know me better, you’ll find that I generally mean what I say.” His grin widened. “Not that omission hasn’t been useful on occasion, but not so much with you, pussycat. I don’t feel the need. So if you want to know something, just ask, I’ll tell you. Same page now?”
She nodded, a dozen questions immediately racing into her brain as they ascended the grand staircase. But this was hardly the time to begin an inquisition, when his company was in peril. She could be a mature adult. She could stifle her curiosity. Well, maybe some of it. “Do you live here alone?”
He gave her a startled glance.
“I meant do your mother and stepdad live here too. It’s a really big place for just one person.”
“Ah. No, just me. My mother has a place on the lake a few miles outside the city. I prefer this old part of town.” He didn’t say that memories of his father haunted the house on the lake, or, more aptly, cursed it. “To the right here. My suite’s at the end of the hall.”
She didn’t know if he was cutting off further inquiry or simply giving directions, but he’d sounded slightly distant, so she took the hint. Not that he didn’t have a lot on his mind—important, grave concerns. This wasn’t the time to be chatty.
His suite had stupendous views of the city and lake, the period furniture conforming to the date of the building with a few modern exceptions, like a long comfortable sofa and chairs in the sitting room and a wall of TV screens in the bedroom opposite the palace-size four-poster bed hung with cream silk bed curtains. The half dozen skateboards stacked in one corner were an anomaly in the splendor of the room.
She pointed. “Obviously, you skateboard.”
“Occasionally. Basil and I used to compete when we were younger, thirteen, fourteen. Won a few trophies. Then I grew another seven inches.” He shrugged. “My size became a disadvantage. Your things should be in my dressing room,” he added.
She got the message, no matter the softness of his tone; he was in a hurry.
Leading her through the bedroom to his dressing room, he indicated a bank of mirrored doors to their left. “Over there, I’m guessing. I have a few calls to make, so I’ll be in the sitting room. Take your time.”
He clearly didn’t mean it, with the muscle twitching in his cheekbone. “It won’t take me long,” she said. “If you’d like to save time, pick out some books for me.”
He flexed his fingers, then smiled. “Sorry, nerves. They’re pounding our systems hard. But whether you or I select the books isn’t make or break. You don’t have to rush.” With a quick smile, he turned and left.
She knew better, so she found the brilliant blue cashmere pants and hoodie and her own flip-flops and changed in record time. Quickly returning to the sitting room, she found Rafe standing at the window, speaking rapidly in French on his phone. He must have heard her come in, because he turned and ended his call.
His brows lifted. “No bra?”
She opened the hoodie. “T-shirt underneath. I figured if I was going to sleep in these, I might as well be comfortable. You could be there for a while you said.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “I want to lock you away for my eyes only. I’ve never felt that way before.” He slowly exhaled. “Not exactly possible in this day and age, so”—his smile was tight—“I’m just going to have to warn off everyone.”
“Jeez, don’t embarrass me. If you go all caveman on me, I’ll have to put you in your place, and neither one of us wants that right now.” She shrugged. “So in the interests of workplace harmony and not weirding you out, why don’t I go put on a bra.”
“Hang on.” His teeth closed on his bottom lip for a second, then he said, “I’m a big boy. I’ll deal with it. You weird me out in every other way—what’s one more? Come on, we’ll find you some books.” But he paused briefly halfway to the door, kicked a pair of Vans out from under a chair, and slipped them on. “When the tech room’s in panic mode”—his brows flickered—“everyone’s overcaffeinated, distracted, jittery, spilling crap. Now what do you like to read?”
His library was huge, with floor-to-ceiling books, some, Rafe casually mentioned, from Gutenberg’s time. Sliding ladders gave access to the higher shelves and an ancient globe that looked like it had been hand-painted by monks before the discovery of America sat on a stand just inside the doorway. Comfortable leather chairs were scattered about the room and the large, elaborately carved desk located center stage was clearly medieval.
Wide-eyed, Nicole turned to Rafe. “This isn’t pretty decent, this is like illustrious. You better just point me to the books that don’t cost a fortune.”
He smiled. “All the books are meant to be read. Take whatever you like. Some of the new ones are on those shelves to your right. There’s a first edition of Fanny Hill in the cabinet by the window though, if you’d like to get off before I have time to join you.”
She snorted. “As if I’m going to do that with a room full of IT people.”
“I have a nice, cozy office.”
“Ummm…”
“Exactly. Let me get it for you while you check out the more recent fiction.”
“You’re way too nice.” She looked up at him and licked her bottom lip. “I’m beginning to get all starry-eyed and impatient about our anniversary.”
He laughed. “I’ll have to see if I can get away for an hour or so tonight and celebrate with you.”
“Really, you mean it?” She felt like some screaming teenybopper fan being offered her pick of rock stars.
“Really,” he said, very softly. “Unless the fucking world blows up. Even then, I’m thinking somehow I’ll get to you.”
Chapter 21
The tech center was housed in an ancient building on a narrow, winding street that was filled with crowds of tourists on a Sunday in summer. The computer room on the main floor was manic with activity, although strangely quiet, everyone intent on their keyboards and screens, only an occasional command from Ganz breaking the silence.
Rafe took a few minutes to show Nicole his office, the cafeteria, the exercise room, the small walled garden in back, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, said, “Make yourself at home,” and walked over to Ganz, who was standing in front of a bank of computer screens that had code running so fast it was practically a blur.
Nicole found herself a comfortable sofa in a corner of the large room and after watching the intensely focused diligence for a short time, she opened a novel that had gotten critical acclaim and began reading about an officer in the KGB shortly after World War II who was beginning to question his conscience and duty. It was well written, well documented, and so suspenseful that she didn’t notice the time until her stomach
began growling.
Glancing up, she saw that the sun had set and the sky was gray with rain clouds. Putting her book down, she stretched and surveyed the operations still in full swing, the energy levels undiminished, Rafe seemingly moored to the spot he’d been in when she’d begun reading. Although a number of coffee cups were on a nearby table along with a footed mirror for Ganz’s drug of choice.
Whatever it took, she reflected. They might be up for hours more.
As if Rafe felt her presence in the midst of the chaos, he glanced over and smiled when she rose from the sofa. She made a spooning motion to her mouth and with a wave, left the room and made her way to the cafeteria.
Even though it was the weekend, three chefs and a full service crew were on hand to accommodate anyone’s food tastes. Selecting some items from the chalkboard, Nicole dined well on fresh corn chowder, lake trout with almonds, and a delicate genoise layered with ganache. Everything was so delicious, she ate every bite, the rich food acting like a sleeping pill.
Rafe’s office had a small bedroom and bath: perfect.
Detouring back into the computer room, she picked up her books, waved at Rafe, who’d watched her since she’d walked in, then, leaving the high-tension atmosphere, she moved down the hall to Rafe’s office.
“You follow her like a hawk its prey. I’ve never seen you so captivated,” Ganz murmured, as Rafe’s attention returned to the monitors. “What makes her so special?”
“I just like her. You’re on the offensive now,” Rafe remarked, not about to discuss his feelings, not sure what they were in any event; he’d never had any practice apportioning meaning to his emotions. “Does that mean we’re out of danger? I’m assuming so.”
Taking the rebuff with good grace, Ganz nodded. “They can’t touch us anymore. It’s over for you.”
“While their whole network is disintegrating like it’s been bombed.” Rafe stared at the screens, then at Ganz. “How the hell are you doing that?”
“Two moles. I have all the passwords, routing info, identifying IP addresses, and firewall settings. Every fucking one. And now that Contini Pharma is out of the line of fire, I’m going to crash their systems.” He shot Rafe a grin. “Armageddon, baby. Watch them self-destruct.”
“Fucking impressive.”
“Yeah, well, congratulate me once I get my two friends out. I need one of your planes in Macao.”
“You got it. When?”
“Soon. I couldn’t plan ahead because I didn’t know when and if they’d hit you, although it was more when than if, which is why I got my ass down to Monaco. But fucking walls have ears, so I couldn’t talk about it. With major shit like this, you can’t tell who’s dependable. After the dust settles, my friends will initiate their exit plan. They have to get from Shanghai to Macao, no small feat. So it should be a day or two before I need your plane in Macao.”
“I’ll make a call right now to get things rolling. It might be useful to have a backup team to get your boys to the airport. Macao’s pretty wide open if you look like a high roller. I’ll send some men along who can play at the big boys’ table; they’ll be ready to escort your friends to the plane.”
Ganz nodded. “The fallout will be huge, so thanks.”
“Fuck, you saved my ass. I owe you.” Rafe looked up from punching in a number on his cell. “You can explain the details once they’re in the air. I’ll just get the plane off the ground.”
“I’m going to need your help after this extraction too. The man who ordered the hit on my father is next on my list.”
Rafe had wanted to kill his father so many times, he considered Ganz fortunate to have had a father he loved. Dragging in a steadying breath as Ganz’s filial devotion brought up the old brew of repressed memories he’d locked away, Rafe forcibly brushed aside all the tiny barbs of recall and replied, “No problem. Who’s the target? Hang on, Davey, or wait, I’ll call you back.”
“He runs the unit I worked for. Name’s Zou Yao.”
Rafe shook his head. “Don’t know him, not that I should. Do you have a plan? If not, Carlos can help you. Even if you do, Carlos can help. He can get people in or out, dead or alive, your pick.”
“Zou has a wife and family in Shanghai he sees occasionally. He has a young mistress and child in Hong Kong he adores. They’re my bait.”
“Just bait, I hope.” Rafe lifted one brow. “Unless the mistress is some operative herself.”
“Uh-uh. They’re catch and release.”
“Good enough. Whatever you need, it’s yours. Money, manpower, me at your side if you like. You saved the company. Your war is my war. I’m all in.”
“Until my friends are out, Zou’s on hold.”
Rafe punched his phone again. “Hey, Davey, file a flight plan for Macao. Leave tomorrow. More details on their way, okay?” Hanging up, Rafe said, “I’ll give you Davey’s number and you can fill him in on your end. I’ll see that he has all the men he needs to see this through—Mandarin-speaking just to be safe. It’s a long flight, there’s plenty of time to massage the plan.” He flipped his hand toward the monitors. “This is winding down, right? How much longer?”
“Four, five hours to make sure everything’s clean. I don’t need you though. Take your sweetheart home.”
“I can stay if you want. I told her it might be a while.”
“Nah. Go. Although you can come and celebrate with me once the Macao venture is complete. I told Madeline I’d meet her in Paris as soon as I can get away. A couple nights at the Chandelier Club, and I’ll be primed to go after Zou.”
Rafe frowned. “I don’t know. Nicole isn’t really hard core. She might freak out at a sex club.”
“Ask her.”
“If she says no, I’m out.”
“A grand says she won’t.”
Rafe shrugged. “I’m not betting. Either way, it’s her call.”
“As soon as I’m done here, I’ll let Davey know what I need from your team in Macao. You’re using the phone I gave you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Everything’s encrypted. Call me.”
A few minutes later, Rafe stood in the doorway of his office bedroom, a smile on his face. “So how’s Fanny Hill getting along?”
“She’s being rogered by a lovely young officer. I don’t suppose you want to get a uniform from somewhere.”
He smiled. “I know something even better to amuse you.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go home.”
“Seriously? Home?”
“Yup. Simon’s waiting downstairs.”
She was already scrambling off the bed. “Wonderful, great, lovely, and every other word that signifies gratitude. I missed you.”
“I missed you like crazy, but we’re finally out of danger. Leave the books. Someone will bring them back later. Come on, it’s our anniversary. I need to feel your body next to mine.”
But Rafe was visibly wired when they got back to his house. While Nicole undressed, he restlessly paced, his gaze focused somewhere off in space; twice he started to speak, then changed his mind. Finally coming to a stop by the window, he stared out blankly at the lights of the city, plagued by long-suppressed memories of his father.
Normally, those nocuous memories were buried deep, but perhaps exhaustion was a factor, or too many hours of stress, maybe having to fend off the enemy Maso had initially provoked with his usual arrogant stupidity was reason enough. But all the disturbing ambiguities Rafe kept locked away were pouring out.
It wasn’t just the heavy-handed and erratic discipline for offenses Rafe hadn’t actually committed that flooded him. The memories of being pushed into sex too young, too hard, too fast, always made him cringe, as did the image of his leering father overtly or covertly in the background. He could feel it all washing over him again: the embarrassment, the discomfort, the awkwardness and baffling feelings.
He’d planned his retaliation for months.
A school assignment in Tokyo he’d told his father; Basil and Henny had the same class proje
ct. His father never asked what it was; education wasn’t a significant concern for him. He saw boarding school as an opportunity to meet the right people—meaning other rich people—and make the necessary contacts that would be helpful later in life.
Rafe had researched tattoo artists and found a man renowned for traditional work. He’d made arrangements with the artist, then for lodging and possible medical care; he’d learned young to prepare for the unexpected. No surprise with a father like his. He’d discussed the design with the tattoo artist, the necessary time to complete it, whether the elderly man was willing to commit to the long hours. He couldn’t be absent from school for more than a week.
The Hokusai tattoo had been deliberately provocative and ultimately successful in breaking him free of his father’s noisome ideas of a youth’s education. For purely personal reasons, his father detested all things Japanese. A business deal had gone bad, his opponent at the helm of the other company a woman who’d taken a huge sum of money from him and taunted him mercilessly in her victory. Maso had issues with women, huge issues. Deep-seated, Freudian issues.
As the proverbial icing on the cake of his liberation, one of the few signed Hokusai woodcuts of The Great Wave figured largely in his father’s botched deal; a bonus, as it were, to the victor. An empowering goad for Rafe.
With the first glimpse of his newly inked dick, paternal oversight disappeared from his sex life. Although, in a way, it was a Pyrrhic victory; Rafe had already been ruined, wounded, scarred, call it what you will, and his father knew it. For that smug conceit he’d wanted to kill Maso more times than he could remember.
At base though, beyond murderous urges, what screwed with his head even more was the fact that he’d learned what he’d learned and ultimately enjoyed knowing what he knew. For that schizoid mind fuck, he hated his father most.