by Tina Folsom
“Everything’s fine,” he said calmly, as he opened the door halfway so Quinn could see Portia’s long, dark hair but not her face. If he hadn’t opened the door, Quinn would have only become suspicious.
Quinn glanced inside the room. “Hey, I was just worried because of the assassin the other day.” Then he grinned. “Anybody special?”
Zane shook his head. “Just a one-nighter.”
“You can send her over to my room when you’re done with her,” Quinn suggested with a lascivious grin.
In his dreams! “By the time I’m done with her she won’t be able to stand.”
Quinn chuckled. “Lucky bastard.”
Zane slapped him on the shoulder and shut the door. When he turned back to the bed, he saw Portia pushing down the cover and taking off her shoes.
“Stop it right there,” he warned, not wanting her to take any more clothes off. The temptation was big enough when she was fully dressed. If she were naked, he’d have a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping his hands off her.
“What are you gonna do? Scream for help?” she teased.
Zane jumped onto the bed and snatched her arms, holding her down. “You, baby girl, listen to me now. You have a choice: either you behave and I might let you stay until tonight, or I’ll call Oliver right now to pick you up.”
Hell, what was he saying? Letting her stay? To do what? To torture himself for the next few hours by having her close, without being able to touch her? Was he going completely insane?
Portia pursed her lips. “Can you clarify what you mean by ‘behave’?”
“Don’t play your games with me, Portia, I’m warning you.”
“Or you’ll do what?”
Kiss you. Fuck you. Bite you. Those were the words he wanted to say to her, but couldn’t. All he could do was stare at her and lose himself in the green depths of her eyes, wondering what could have been if they’d met under other circumstances, in another time. If he were a different man, one not consumed by hate and revenge, maybe he could even make her happy. But he was who he was.
“You have to leave.” He released her wrists and rolled to the side.
“But you just said if I behaved, you’d let me stay.”
He shook his head. “It’s better for both of us if you leave now.”
She turned to her side, angled her elbow and rested her head on her hand. “Because you think I don’t want what you want?”
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to talk.”
She lifted her hand and stroked it along his cheek. Zane closed his eyes, warring between pushing her away and pulling her onto his body. He did neither, her touch felling him like a bullet would a deer. He felt just as vulnerable in Portia’s hands.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered.
“You’re already touching me.” If she did anything more intimate to him, the last thread of his control would snap.
“I want to touch the rest of your body.”
Zane groaned. “Please don’t.” Please do.
“You might like it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered under his breath.
Shit, he’d never felt so weak in his entire life, not even when he was human, but as much as he knew he should stop her and make her leave, his body didn’t obey any signals from his brain and simply lay there, coiled tightly in anticipation of her caress.
When her hand slipped beneath the fabric and stroked along his chest, his pulse quickened and his breath stuttered. Her fingers were softer than he’d expected, and wherever they touched him, his skin burned like he was being lathered in hot tar. Pain and pleasure joined with every lingering stroke and every sensual caress.
“Didn’t you say you were a virgin?” he breathed, unable to comprehend how the touch of a woman as inexperienced as Portia could have such devastating effects on him.
“I’m following my instincts.”
And her instincts told her at this moment to loosen his belt and pull his robe aside.
He’d never been shy about his body, and he’d always been comfortable with nudity with women as well as around his friends and colleagues, but this time it was different. He felt bare before her, exposed and vulnerable in his desire for her. There was no way he could hide from her now, hide how much he wanted and needed her.
He watched as Portia’s mouth dropped open when her gaze lowered to his cock. His fully erect cock. He couldn’t remember ever having been this hard.
“You are …” She licked her lips. “… big.”
But despite the apprehension he sensed in her, her hand traveled farther south, traversing his stomach with seeming determination and a clear idea of where it was going. If he didn’t stop her soon, she would touch his hard shaft, and within seconds he’d spill in her hand, unable to hold back any longer.
“Portia, please …”
Her hand reached the nest of dark curls that surrounded his cock.
“… stop. Don’t …” Air rushed out of his lungs as her fingers reached the base of his erection and touched the sensitive flesh.
He jerked and gripped her hand in the next instance. “No.”
“Zane, I want to—”
The ringing of his cell phone saved him. Glad to have an excuse, he jumped from the bed, wrapping the robe tightly around him, and answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“Zane, sorry to wake you. It’s Oliver. I need your help.” Oliver sounded agitated, and Zane had a pretty good idea what had him in such a tizzy.
“What’s up?”
“Shit, man, I lost Portia. She tricked me and ran off. I don’t know what to do. Samson and Gabriel are so gonna fire me. You need to help me.”
“Calm down, Oliver. I’m already on it.” Was he ever! “Portia came to see me. She’s here.” But was she safe?
“Oh, thank God! I’ll come right over and get her. I’m so grateful.” Then suddenly Oliver’s tone changed as if he’d just caught on. “Hey, why would she go to your place?”
Ah, fuck, that kid was smarter than he’d given him credit for. “Listen, I won’t tell Samson about your fuck-up if you don’t tell him about this.”
“What’s she doing at your place?”
“What do you think she’s doing?” Seducing him, that’s what she was doing to him.
“You tell me.”
“You need to pick her up. Right now.” He ignored Portia’s protest behind him. “But be careful. Quinn is staying here. I don’t want him to hear you. Is that clear?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in ten.”
There was a click in the line.
Zane turned to face Portia, make that a furious Portia.
Her hands at her hips, she stood next to the bed, glaring at him. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”
“You are, baby girl. Voluntarily.”
“Hah!” she huffed. “You can’t make me. Oliver can’t restrain me. I’ll escape him again.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Watch me!” she threatened.
With a calm he didn’t feel, Zane took one of her hands and led it to his face. He nuzzled his face in her palm and pressed a kiss into it, seeing Portia melt in front of his eyes.
“You won’t do anything of the sort. If you do, I’ll ask my boss to take me off this assignment, and you’ll never see me again.” His threat was a bluff, but he was good at bluffing, his face remaining a stony mask of indifference, a mask he’d worn for decades. It had gotten easier with the years, but tonight, it was the hardest thing he’d had to do.
“You wouldn’t!” Her eyes searched his, but he held steady and didn’t flinch.
When she finally lowered her lids, he saw the disappointment that swept over her face. “You’ve won, but only for today. This is not over.”
He didn’t stop her when she walked down the stairs, but he followed her to the top of the stairs and watched her as she waited for Oliver to arriv
e. When his car pulled up in the driveway, she opened the door and left without looking back at him even though she had to know he was standing there.
Knowing he couldn’t sleep now even if he tried, he walked into his living room, where Z slumbered peacefully.
“You’re some watch dog! You bark at everything and you couldn’t warn me about her?”
The dog only blinked briefly before continuing his siesta.
Chapter Sixteen
Quinn knocked on the door to Samson’s private office and took another deep breath. He felt like a rat. It wasn’t right that he’d been ordered to keep an eye on Zane. After all, he was Zane’s oldest friend and should be supporting him. But there was also his loyalty to Scanguards and his own worry that his friend might be heading for a cliff.
He’d always seen it in Zane, the desperation that would sometimes grip him when he felt he’d failed in his mission to bring those monsters to justice—monsters like Müller and Brandt. Yet he’d never breathed a word about Zane’s past to anybody in the organization. Nobody knew what Zane had been through. Even Quinn knew only the sketchiest of outlines. The rest he’d puzzled together by himself—and wished he hadn’t. There was such a thing as too much information, and this particular information could turn anyone’s stomach.
“Come,” Samson’s voice sounded from the study.
Quinn turned the antique doorknob and let himself in.
Samson wasn’t alone. As expected, Gabriel was in attendance, like Samson waiting for his report on Zane’s state of mind. After an obligatory shaking of hands, Quinn sat down on the comfortable armchair and looked straight at Samson.
“Glad you could join us. How was your flight?”
“As always, I was in the lap of luxury.”
Samson grinned. “Yeah, we just upgraded the jet. With Delilah and the baby I wanted to make sure there’s a little place for her to lie down.”
“Little?” Quinn chuckled. “That bedroom suite is larger than my entire home in New York.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “If you’re angling for a pay raise, try again.”
Quinn made a face. “Lucky me that I like to slum it.”
Samson laughed. “Is that what they call it these days on Park Avenue?”
Quinn shrugged. “It’s only a condo.”
“A five thousand square foot full floor condo if I remember correctly,” Gabriel added.
“In need of upgrades.”
“Pleasantries aside, does Zane suspect the reason for your visit?” Samson asked.
“I don’t think so. He was his usual abrasive self.” Before entering the room Quinn had already made up his mind not to divulge anything about the assassin Zane had met with. It would require explaining the why and how, and he couldn’t betray Zane’s trust by giving away the secrets of his past.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Gabriel nodded in agreement and shifted his foot. “Have you noticed that he’s more aggressive than usual?”
“Actually, no. In fact, he seems calmer than normal. Maybe that dog is doing him some good. Nice little beast.” The puppy was a rambunctious little rascal and the perfect companion for Zane. “The dog even listens to Zane. Whenever he sits down, the pup jumps onto his lap. And Zane doesn’t seem to mind.”
Samson exchanged a grin with Gabriel. “Looks like my idea wasn’t that bad after all.”
“We’ll see,” Gabriel replied. “He’s only had the dog for what, three days, four days? I’d like to see what long term effect he has on him.”
“Is he sleeping?” Samson asked, looking back at Quinn.
“The dog? All day long.”
“Not the dog, Zane.”
Quinn couldn’t suppress a grin. “He sure wasn’t sleeping much during the last day.”
Samson frowned, but Quinn waved him off quickly. “It’s not what you think. He wasn’t brooding. He had a woman over.”
“I thought he never took women to his place,” Samson mused.
Quinn shrugged. “Surprised the hell out of me too, but hey, there she was in his bed. And he wasn’t even willing to share her. Must have been quite a catch. Hey, not that I’m pissed or anything. I can get my own women. But hey, it was quite a departure from his usual modus operandi.” Which generally meant a quick fuck in the backroom of a club or bar, or even in an alley.
“Do you know whether he hurt her?” Gabriel asked.
Knowing that Zane wasn’t one to shy away from mixing a little pain with his pleasure, Quinn wasn’t at all surprised at Gabriel’s question. However, he had no answer for it. “I was up for only a half hour or so. I didn’t hear any screams if that’s what you’re asking. And this evening I found Zane sleeping on the couch with the dog curled up by his side. Must have been quite a day for him to be so exhausted. I had to wake him to make sure he got to his assignment on time.”
Samson quietly contemplated Quinn’s words before he spoke. “Well, at least it appears he’s calm and under control. I spoke to Drake earlier. Of course, his ethics don’t allow him to disclose what Zane spoke about in his session, but Drake knows when to warn me about erratic behavior. And there seemed to be none.”
“Do you think he’s trying to fool us by pretending to be calm and collected when he’s not?” Gabriel asked, staring at Samson.
“He’s doing a good job if that’s the case,” Quinn chimed in, not wanting them to suspect how agitated Zane really was.
The encounter with the assassin and the discovery that Müller was most likely behind a master race breeding program had shaken Zane up; Quinn could see that. Having a woman over for a little playtime had probably helped calm his nerves a little, but Quinn knew all too well that this wouldn’t keep Zane calm forever. Only one thing would: finding the headquarters of the breeding program and eradicating its leader and top ranks.
Once the last of the monsters of his friend’s past were destroyed, perhaps he could finally find peace.
“Keep an eye on him. If anything changes, alert us immediately. We don’t want another killing.”
Quinn nodded in agreement and rose. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. I’ll check in with you periodically.”
“Thanks, Quinn, you’re a great help.” Samson offered his hand in thanks, and Quinn shook it.
When he stalked out of Samson’s Victorian home in Nob Hill and walked down the hill, he felt a heavy stone lifted from his shoulders. He hadn’t said anything negative about Zane; he’d given nothing away that would even border on betrayal. Of course, Zane wouldn’t see it that way. He’d still call him a snitch and toss him out on his ass. But if he were honest, even Zane would have to admit that Quinn was only helping him. As long as he could keep Samson and Gabriel pacified and make sure they found Zane to be no longer a danger to anyone, he was helping his friend rather than betraying him.
Having already checked out the Greyhound station on his way to Samson’s, Quinn headed for the train station, hoping to have better luck finding the locker that could be opened by the key Zane had given him.
The rush hour crowd had long left the station, and only those individuals who worked late were now waiting for trains to take them home. Quinn surveyed the platforms. Two trains were in the station, a couple of dozen passengers loitered along the gates waiting for their train to show, and a station agent wandered near the ticket windows, consulting his watch on and off.
Everything looked normal. Yet Quinn had worked in security long enough not to be fooled by the appearance of normality. He was never lulled into complacency, or any sense that this would be an easy task. At any time, another attacker could strike. If Brandt’s son had taken the precaution of not having identification on him so he couldn’t be traced anywhere, it was clearly information others were guarding, and Quinn knew to exercise caution in trying to unearth such information.
Instead of heading straight for the lockers that he spotted at the entrance to platform one, he perused the departure board. Only five more trains were s
cheduled for the remainder of the night. He looked over the passengers waiting on the platforms. His suspicious nature was appeased when he confirmed that only those platforms where trains were due in the next half hour were occupied by people. Good. At least on the surface, it appeared as if only genuine travelers were at the station.
Quinn turned and wandered toward platform one. He’d memorized the number on the key and now scanned the rows and columns of lockers, looking for it. There weren’t many, and he was lucky; his number was among them. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the station agent pacing.
Turning his attention back to the lockers, Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He inserted it into the lock and was encouraged momentarily when it turned, but there was only a click. He pulled, but the door didn’t open.
Steps from behind him made him spin on his heels, ready to attack.
“If it doesn’t open,” the station agent drawled, “then you gotta put more money in it.” He pointed toward a red flag over the lock that screamed EXPIRED.
“Oh, thanks.” Quinn pulled a few coins from his jeans pocket and dropped them in. After the third coin, the flag switched to green. He twisted the handle and heard another click.
The little hairs on his nape stood in alert. Quickly, he sucked in a deep breath. Shit! A familiar scent reached his sensitive nostrils.
“Still not opening?” The station agent’s hand came up and reached for the handle. “Sometimes you’ve gotta yank it.” And he did.
“NOOOOOO!” Quinn screamed to stop the man from pulling on the door and jerking it open, but it was too late.
The explosion rocked him back and, acting purely on instinct, Quinn jumped, grabbed the man and hauled them both several feet down the platform. As he covered the station agent with his own body, searing heat passed over him and debris scattered. Luckily, his heavy leather coat provided some protection from the heat as well as the metal items that flew through the air.
“Shit!” he cursed again. He’d smelled the residue of the explosive the moment the station agent had gripped the door and yanked it open.
Excited voices and screams came from the waiting passengers, and from the corner of his eye he saw several people running. Quinn turned his head, surveying the crowd, but his eyes strayed into the distance to the far platform where one man stood, not having moved.