Silent Cymbals

by Lakes, Lynde

  Rusti turned her back to him and lifted her hair up out of the way. His nearness was a palpable surge of energy. She trembled as his fingers slid down her back and slowly unzipped her. She closed her eyes as a wave of desire flowed through her. She had to do something, say something to break the spell. “I’m sorry about this. The kidnappers may be on their way here. And I’m trapped—”

  “Ben’s standing watch.” Razor’s breath fluttered against her bare neck. She felt the zipper give way, felt his hands massaging her back, unhooking her bra. She shivered, from arousal, not fear.

  He lightly pressed his lips to her shoulders, her neck, her bare back. She stood motionless, transfixed, awaiting his next move, yearning for him. He turned her to face him and for a brief moment their eyes met. He gently kissed the cut over her eyebrow and her bruised cheek. Shivers ran down her spine. He touched his lips to hers, tentatively, seeking a response. She melted into the kiss, ever so slightly increasing the pressure. In tune with every muscle, every vertebra, his supple hands urged a release of her tightly held inhibitions. She ached for the kind of fulfillment his caresses promised. Heat radiated from him, firing the fuel of her own body, and she opened herself to it. She felt herself spiraling out of control, abandoning all caution. Hungrily she sought his tongue, and he responded with a demanding fervor. He drew her closer; her nipples tightened. And when she felt him swell against her thigh, she struggled to focus through a haze of confusion and desire. We shouldn’t be doing this. Especially with killers after us. But, God help me, the heightened danger is exactly why I need him so much. He nuzzled her neck and she was lost in the warm, tingling sensation.

  At the sound of a loud crash, Razor stiffened and released her. He ran to the back of the house. Clutching the unzipped dress to her naked breasts, Rusti followed. Once her dazed mind functioned again, she realized one of her large clay pots must have smashed on the patio’s brick floor. Razor pulled the drapes aside and peered out. She looked out, too. Ben and the neighbor’s Irish setter, Red, stared in at them. Ben smiled his reassurance, and with her face flaming, Rusti stepped back as Razor let the drapes fall back into place.

  “It was just a dog this time,” he said, “but it could’ve been real trouble.” Razor pulled a chair up near the window. “Quickly, get dressed and let’s get out of here.”

  Rusti hurriedly dressed in a navy suit and pumps, grabbed a pair of navy slacks from a portable clothesline, threw them in with the other things she had packed, and scooped her toothbrush and cosmetics into a carryall. She tucked her favorite lipstick and the blemish cover into a purse. She could apply them in the limo. At the last minute, she used the kitchen scissors to cut some roses from the tree she and Petra had planted by the front door. She would give them to Petra’s mother.

  Before heading for LAX to meet Petra’s parents, they made a quick pass by Razor’s pad. “You can just drop us here,” he told Ben. “I’ll drive the Mustang. And do me another favor, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he added, “If one of those yahoo’s hasn’t already grabbed Rusti’s car from the cemetery and zipped it away to a chop shop, pick it up and tow it to her place in Pasadena.”

  “Chop shop?” she cried. Not her beautiful car. She hadn’t thought what might have happened to it, and everything in it, after they were kidnapped…

  Razor ignored her outcry and added, “Get your guys to check it out,

  first,” he said. “Just in case the kidnappers wired it with explosives or cut the brake cable.”

  His precautions sent a shock of fear through Rusti. She felt like a pawn in a chess game she didn’t know the rules for.

  She was still reeling with those thoughts, when Razor left her sitting in the manager’s office while he went upstairs. “I won’t be long,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “Just going to change, grab some things, including a new credit card, and make a couple of phone calls.” He paused and gave her an impish grin. “We’re going to need a hotel room. I’ll make reservations.”

  “What!” she cried. “A hotel room?” The thought of that much intimacy so soon again was too much. “You can just forget that idea. I’m not spending another night alone with you in a hotel.”

  “Calm down, Rusti,” he said. “Your place, mine, and René’s are all off-limits until the killer is caught. We need a location the killer doesn’t know anything about.”

  She hadn’t thought about where they’d stay. Things were moving too fast for comfort. But why couldn’t she go upstairs with him. Because he needed privacy? To make reservations? Or? Even though the kidnappers had taken everything from them, including his cell phone—he could’ve used Ben’s during the drive. Obviously, he didn’t want to be overheard. And insisting that she stay in the manager’s office assured him of that. What could he possibly talk about that she shouldn’t hear? Once again, the double agent idea churned in her mind.

  Watching the elevator door close behind him, she felt as bereft as she had the night René died. And if such feelings were any indication of how she’d feel when they parted company for good, it would take a long time for her heart to mend. She touched her lips, remembering their fiery kiss, while in the back of her mind she still worried about Razor’s secrecy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Buck Williams answered Razor’s call to Langley on the first ring. The meet to hand off the microfilm had been scheduled with a Captain Harry Noble at the LAPD. The twenty-four hour delay Razor had talked Buck into had expired, but another forty-eight hours of anxiety still lay ahead before they could bring down the axe on Terrilla and his cartel.

  A call to the old kingpin was next, and Razor wasn’t surprised to hear that he already knew about the kidnapping. Razor had the feeling Terrilla was protecting someone, but he didn’t push it. “When I find out who roughed us up, he’ll be spitting teeth,” was all he said.

  “Did Rusti tell the kidnappers more than she’s told you?” Terrilla asked.

  “Nah. She doesn’t know anything. She fed the head honcho a clever piece of fiction and he bought it.”

  Terrilla chuckled. “Smart girl.”

  “It gets better. She tricked the rest of them into following him and when they split, we got loose.”

  Terrilla laughed. “All’s well that end’s well.” The dead silence that followed didn’t feel right—nor did the cold, serious words that came next. “We need to talk face-to-face. Soon.”

  Razor’s heart rate accelerated, but he managed to keep his voice even. “Sounds serious. Problems?”

  “Just want to run some things by you.”

  Razor took a deep breath. “I need a couple of days. I’ve got a lead on a computer programmer. There’s a rumor now that the microfilm idea was a scam to flush out some perps, and if there ever was any film evidence it’s been scanned into an LAPD program. We need to be on top of this. Either way, whoever is looking for the microfilm is chasing a wild goose.”

  “Well,” Terrilla said, sounding more easygoing now, “the sooner we know, the sooner we can cover our tail. There’s no extradition from the Caymans.”

  “Yeah, I know. Azure seas, azure skies, azure everything.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I’d have sent my driver to pick you up.”

  “I’m afraid Rusti isn’t all that anxious to meet you. I called Ben’s Limo, of course. Only way to travel.”

  “Too bad. I’d like to meet her, but I understand her squeamishness. It comes with the territory. I’m used to it. So, how are you doing with that little schoolmarm?”

  “She doesn’t know anything. She hardly even knew her sister.”

  Terrilla chuckled. “I was talking about your love life. Have you gotten her into bed yet, or is she running you around like she did the kidnappers?”

  “She’s a kindergarten teacher, Boss. What can I tell you?” Razor hung up the telephone with the sound of Terrilla’s laughter still ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath of tentative relief—it looked like his cover was still intact. At least for now.


  ****

  Rusti sighed in relief for the first time in days. Since it wasn’t safe to meet at any place the killer knew about, Razor had made arrangements for them to spend the afternoon with Petra’s family in a private dining room at a hotel near the airport. Their quiet little haven overlooked a small lily pond with a trio of golden carp. It was just the sort of refuge they needed to get together and share their loss.

  “Mr. Jones is my personal bodyguard,” she explained. But he was so much more—smoothly unobtrusive, yet warm and accommodating—Razor had handled this sad and difficult meeting with all the delicacy and finesse anyone could wish for. For the first time, Rusti had seen the private citizen, Marc Devaux, in action. Although she still had to introduce him as Razor Jones, there were no rough edges—his gangster persona had not been invited.

  His steadying influence while they were with the Morgans had very nearly caused her to forget the gun. But when he’d leaned over to pick up the napkin she had dropped, his suit coat gaped open, revealing his shoulder holster. It was true she’d begun to respect the value of his weapon in a crisis, but that didn’t mean she could accept it in everyday life. No. She’d just been fooling herself. Their kiss had been a mistake.

  Soon, it was time to zip Petra’s loved ones back to the airport. Now as they headed to the hotel after the sorrow-filled meeting the silence seemed deafening. She glanced over at Razor. He hadn’t said two words to her since they left the airport area. He must have sensed that she needed time to recover from the difficult visit with Petra’s parents, and she was grateful for the silence. She looked down at the single remaining burgundy rose; she’d given the others to Petra’s fiancé, David, and the Morgans. Recalling that poignant moment, she pressed her lips together to hold back a sob. Razor reached over and grasped her hand. Once again it was Razor who kept her from falling into a yawning gulf of grief.

  “I need to go to the cemetery,” she said abruptly. “René’s vase is being installed today, and I’m supposed to check it out before paying the bill—and besides, I have this rose to put in it.”

  “No way. Remember what happened last time?”

  “You’re right. Just drop me off at my place in Pasadena. I want to get my car.” Surely Ben had towed it there by now—if those yahoos hadn’t stolen it. “I’ll meet you at the hotel later.”

  He shook his head. “Did you think I’d actually fall for that? You’re getting to be as big a con as I am. I’ll take you to the gravesite, but when I say we leave, we leave. Got it?”

  Razor Jones was back, ordering her around. How could he be two such distinctly different people all in the same afternoon? “Got it,” she said. She wouldn’t fight him on this. He knew the crime business and how to survive in it. She didn’t.

  They’d been at the cemetery only a short time when Razor grabbed her arm and started to drag her back toward his black Mustang parked by the curb. She had planned to be totally compliant, but this was ridiculous. She pulled back.

  He motioned to a higher slope of land in the near distance. Sunlight reflected off something shiny. A dark figure emerged from behind a family crypt.

  “Oh, my God,” Rusti cried. The barrel of a rifle was pointed right at them.

  “Get in the car, quick!” Razor shouted.

  Rusti ran to the car and yanked the door open. The side window shattered into a glistening glass web.

  “Hit the floor!” Razor slid into the driver’s seat and tried to start the car. The engine made a grinding sound. Another window shattered. Razor tried again to start the car. The engine roared to life. Tires squealed and the smell of rubber and exhaust fumes filled the air. Rusti huddled on her knees, staring up at his rigid body. “Stay down,” he shouted. “There’s a gray sedan on our tail.”

  Grateful for the barked order, Rusti did as she was told and prayed the next bullet wouldn’t get Razor. He rounded a corner on two wheels. Rusti couldn’t see the speedometer, but she felt the vibration of the car, heard the roar of the engine, and the unrelenting howl of the head wind.

  “We’ll be okay once we reach the freeway,” Razor said. After a series of squealing twists and turns, Rusti felt the car climb the freeway ramp. “It’s safe now,” he told her. “Get up here. I need you. Look for a late model, gray Mercury sedan with dark windows.”

  Rusti crawled onto the seat and faced the rear window. “I don’t see it,” she said.

  “Keep looking.”

  “I’m sorry, Razor. I should have listened to you.”

  His sharp glance told her he agreed. She knew him well enough by now to wait until she saw his shoulders relax before saying anything not related to the Merc. She brushed a spot of dirt off her skirt and picked up her handbag from the floor. Razor changed lanes and merged with the San Bernardino freeway traffic. She wanted him to tell her they were going to be all right, but he probably wasn’t sure of that himself.

  She gathered her courage. “I know I sound like a broken record, but we need Baxter’s help.”

  Razor stiffened. “Your last plan nearly got us killed. From now on I’m calling the shots.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn. We can’t fight sniper bullets on our own.”

  Razor slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Neither can the police.” He took a deep breath. “We need to hide out and regroup.”

  “You made reservations at a hotel. Can’t we go there?”

  “Best to get out of L.A. for a few hours.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep our options open—our reservations are guaranteed for twenty-four hours. And since the place is just a few blocks from the LAPD, where I’m to meet my new contact, it’ll be a safe and comfortable place for you to stay while I’m meeting with him. But right now I want distance from L.A. And seclusion.” Razor glanced at her, his eyes bright, excited—they were the eyes of a man who enjoyed the game, the danger. “Don’t give up on me, Rusti. I’ll get us out of this.”

  The confidence in his tone made her believe him, but where was he taking her?

  He drove silently for a few miles. She shifted in her seat. He probably enjoyed keeping their destination a secret, damn him. When she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, she asked, “So, where are we going?”

  He grinned over at her. “There’s a safe house up at Big Bear. A cozy little cabin in the woods. Very romantic.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hot showers and clean clothes had revived their spirits. But Razor put his hand over hers when she started to unpack the rest of her things. “Don’t unpack your bags. Even in this safe house, we have to be ready for quick flight,” he said.

  “You could have gone all night and not told me that,” she said, rocked by the irony, and thinking of how the woods that surrounded the isolated cabin left them vulnerable to a sneak attack. “How do you live this moment-to-moment life? The constant stress must be almost unbearable.”

  “Sometimes it is, but there’s an addictive high that goes with it.” His voice was deep and tinged with regret.

  She sighed. That was why she couldn’t get too attached to him, why she had to remember that whatever developed between them was only temporary.

  Rusti watched him start a fire on the hearth, appreciating his honesty about their situation, but wishing it wasn’t true. Well, she couldn’t just stand here staring at how his broad shoulders filled out that wool shirt or how snugly his jeans fit those lean hips, wishing for the impossible.

  As Petra always said, the way to handle the rough times was to dig in and get busy. Rusti took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen area, where she managed to rustle up a meal of canned chili and crackers. Razor ate what she prepared like it was gourmet fare, even finished what was left in the pot while she stacked the dishes in the sink. She washed and he dried.

  “How about some coffee?” he asked. “I saw a can of those Danish cookies in the cupboard.”

  “No cookies for me, than
ks.” Sweets had never been her weakness, but staying alone in this remote cabin with the sexiest man she’d ever known was an almost overwhelming temptation. Rusti swatted at him with her dishtowel and escaped to the deck outside.

  Chilled yet contented, she pulled her bulky sweater tighter around her shoulders and leaned against the porch rail. The moon’s reflection had turned the lake’s surface into shimmering glass. She inhaled deeply, exulting in the clean mountain air, the subtle fragrance of pine.

  Razor’s heavy footsteps across the planked flooring broke the stillness. “Your coffee, Miss.”

  Rusti wrapped her fingers around the warm cup. “Umm,” she said. “It tastes sinful. What’s in it?”

  “Irish Cream, Miss. It’ll have you doin’ a jig in no time.”

  It was the other things she might be seduced into doing that worried her. A breeze tumbled her hair forward. Razor gently smoothed a wayward tendril back from her face. A tingling warmth spread through her at his touch. She leaned back and rested her head against him.

  “Feeling better?”

  She nodded. “Trouble seems very far away.” But a reawakened and forbidden attraction was brewing.

  They lingered on the porch under the moon, and when he drew her into his arms, Rusti looked up into his questioning eyes and ached to stay just this way forever.

  He sought her lips and she stiffened. Slowly, he released her. “What about that come-hither kiss at your place?”

  She wanted to answer him with her lips, her body. But she knew that one night of loving couldn’t satisfy her longing. It would take a lifetime. And with a man like Razor that lifetime could end tomorrow. “It was a mistake.” She hoped her trembling voice didn’t reveal her desire.

  Razor removed his coffee mug from the railing and sat down on the top step. “It won’t be long now until you’re rid of me for good.”

  The thought of never seeing him again sent a searing pain through her.