Slumping into a chair, he rubbed his forehead and wished he had the energy to get up and take one of those damn pills the doctor had prescribed. He’d left them in his bedroom, determined to get through the day without needing them. Being such a stubborn ass could be a real pain.
As soon as he’d called a break, Kathleen had slipped out of the room. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away. Having lived with this shit for so long, he thought he’d become inured to the impact. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Both Kennedy and Nick had gone out, too, but he somehow felt less embarrassed for revealing all of this to them. They had lived and survived Mathias’s and Adam’s evil schemes. Neither of them could be surprised. But Kathleen was a different deal altogether. She had to be sickened by it all.
The door opened and closed, and Eli lifted his head. Kathleen stood in front of him, holding a glass of water and one of the pain pills.
“Take this before your head explodes.”
Without looking at her face, he accepted the water and pill, swallowed both, and said, “Thanks.”
Expecting her to leave again, he was surprised when she sat beside him. “Eli, look at me.”
When he did, he wasn’t surprised by the anger in her eyes. No decent person could help but be disgusted by what his family had gotten away with for all these years.
“I’m so very sorry.”
Jerking at the apology, he asked, “For what?”
“For what you had to do, what you had to endure.”
“Hell, Kathleen. Most people would figure I haven’t done enough.”
“No, they wouldn’t. Not if they saw what I’ve seen. And not if they know you. Even Kennedy and Nick, who by rights should hate the Slater name, like and respect you. I’m proud to call you my friend.”
The tension in his entire body loosened. There was nothing she could have said that meant more. “Thank you for that.”
“Kennedy and Nick are taking a walk outside before lunch.” She glanced over at the sofa in the corner. “I’m going to lower the lights so you can lie down for a few minutes. Give that pill a chance to take the edge off your headache.”
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Kathleen was a nurturer. She tried to act tough and unaffected, but the longer he knew her, the more her true nature was coming out. Wondering just how far he could push that nature, he said, “Come with me?”
Surprise flickered on her face, but she stood and held out her hand. On the way to the sofa, she stopped and dimmed the lights, then sat down. “Use my lap for a pillow.”
Eli stretched out on the sofa and settled his head into her lap. The light was too low for him to see her expression clearly, but he saw the outline of her face and what looked like the curve of a soft smile on her lips. And just before he fell into sleep, he felt her fingertips brush gently, tenderly over his face.
Chapter Thirty-two
Boise, Idaho
The bar with its dim lighting and nineties decor was just seedy enough for her purposes. Most people who came to places like this were here for two things: getting drunk or finding a one-night stand. It was the perfect place for her and the lowlife sitting across from her.
Joseph Braden gave a loud belch, grinned an apology, and said, “Did I mention you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”
Willing herself not to throw up at the rank smell of her target’s breath, she gave him a sultry “let’s do bad things together” smile. Only a few more minutes and she’d have him exactly where she wanted.
A cocktail waitress appeared at their table. “Can I get you another drink?”
Before he could refuse—she wanted him good and drunk—she smiled her thanks. “Yes, two more, please.”
“You’re trying to get me drunk.”
The statement startled her, until she saw the wicked pleasure in his glazed eyes. Apparently, he didn’t care if she had to pour him into his hotel room or that he wouldn’t remember a thing tomorrow. Not that the remembering part mattered, since he wouldn’t be alive.
“Not drunk.” With a smooth, sexy move, she flipped her long black hair over a slender shoulder. “I just love to party, don’t you?”
His eyes followed the movements of her hair, just as she’d planned, and then he gave her a goofy grin. “I live to party, darlin’.”
No, he didn’t, but not from lack of trying. She knew her mark well. A traveling salesman for a small computer company, Joseph Braden was only slightly less disgusting than his sleazy brother, Frank, had been. When he was out of town on business, he tried—and failed—to be a ladies’ man. More often than not, he spent lonely nights in his hotel room watching porn and being harmless. Which was not what he was when he was home.
Depriving a wife of her husband or children of their father wasn’t a concern for her. She had a job to do. However, she had to admit that this kill was a little more satisfying than most. Braden’s wife had visited the emergency room four times in the past year. Clumsy woman apparently kept falling down and breaking bones. Their two kids, a twelve-year-old boy and an eight-year-old girl, had had two ER visits apiece in the past twelve months. Clumsiness and broken bones seemed to run in the family.
Killing an abusive bastard wasn’t any more difficult than killing a saint. However, it did add an additional element of satisfaction.
Fresh drinks appeared before them, and she drank hers in three swallows. A high tolerance for alcohol was an asset in many ways, not least when challenging a low-life misogynist. Joseph Braden would not allow anyone, most especially a woman, to out-drink him.
As she watched him throw his whiskey back like a wannabe cowboy in a bad Western movie, she wished his death could be more brutal. That was unusual for her. Killing was a job she did well, but rarely did she want to prolong the actual event. But this man with his big fists and cruel twist to his mouth just made her want to give him some of what he’d been giving his family.
At that thought, she pulled herself out of her head. There were three basic rules an assassin learns early. Do the job. Get the money. Move on to the next target.
Forget those rules and get dead.
Knowing he was near his limit, she moved in for the figurative kill. Making sure her assets were on display, she leaned forward. “What do you say we make this party a private one?”
His glazed eyes took on an even sleazier glitter. “I got a motel room bout a block from here.”
Oh she knew all about the motel room. In fact, she had already made a visit there in preparation.
“I’ve got a bottle of bourbon in my bag, along with a box of condoms.” Just in case he didn’t get the message, she leaned over even farther, so her breasts were directly in his face, and whispered, “I want it rough and wild. You up for it, cowboy?”
“Oh yeah, baby,” he groaned. “I’m ready for a hard ride.”
Glad to hear it, she stood and held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
He got to his feet, teetering slightly, and then straightened up the way people do when they’re stupidly drunk but want to pretend otherwise. As she wanted him stupidly drunk, she smiled widely.
Since he was too far gone to remember to pay the check, she threw down enough for their drinks, plus an appropriate tip. Having anyone remember them wasn’t in her plan. They were just two drunk, horny people. No different than ninety percent of the patrons in this dump.
With her arm wrapped around him, they weaved toward the door. She was glad she was in such good shape since the creep was practically making her carry him. Maybe that last drink had been one too many.
Refusing to contemplate that she’d have to do this all over again if he passed out on the street, she moved as rapidly out the door and down the block as she could.
Five minutes later, she took the key from his hand, unlocked the door to the motel room, and pushed him inside. He turned around, belched loudly, and gave her a drunken leer. “Get naked.”
“Let’s get something to drink first.”
He belched again, then shook his head. “Don’t want no more. I drink anymore, gonna puke. Get naked.” He reached out for her. “Now.”
She laughed and skirted his grasp. “Come take a bubble bath with me.”
He wasn’t so drunk that he misinterpreted her delay tactic. Beady eyes going mean, he snarled, “Get naked, or I’ll rip your clothes off.”
As threats went, it was as lame as any she’d ever heard. Still, one did what the job demanded.
With one swift movement, she pulled her dress over her head and knew exactly what he would see—perfection. Dressed in a cherry-red demi bra that barely covered her nipples, a dental-floss thong, and four-inch stilettos, she was every man’s fantasy. Her body, created by nature, perfected by man, was second to none.
“Take your clothes off, too, and then come find me, baby,” she whispered softly and walked into the bathroom.
Having prepared the bath earlier, she only had to get him into it. She touched the water, grimacing at the coldness. Wouldn’t do for him to jump out the minute he hit the water. She let out a little of the water, then ran more hot.
Not hearing any noises telling her he was coming inside, she opened the door and then growled softly. Slumped into a chair, his chin resting against his chest, her mark was snoring like a giant hog.
Her gaze dropped to the chair legs, and she smiled when she noted the rollers. Actually, this would work better. She hadn’t been looking forward to fighting him. Bruises on him would invite questions she didn’t want.
Going to the chair, she stood behind it and wheeled the unconscious man into the bathroom.
Her hands quick and efficient, she quietly undressed him. His pants were a challenge with him sitting, but he was so out of it, he never woke as she tilted his hips and pulled his pants off.
Now completely nude and sawing logs like a lumberjack, the man didn’t appear to feel a thing when she pushed the chair all the way to the tub and upended him into the water. He hit his head on the edge on the way in, and she laughed softly. Really, this one had been one of her most cooperative marks in years.
Righting his body, she pressed his head beneath the water and held it down. Whether he was so drunk he couldn’t wake up or the hit on his head had knocked him out, she didn’t know. Whatever the reason, he didn’t fight. When he’d been under a good five minutes, she pulled him up slightly. Checked for a pulse. Nothing.
She stood, watched as his head submerged again. Returning to the bedroom, she took the bottle of whiskey and brought it back to the dead man in the tub. She set the bottle beside the tub and then stepped back to take in the scene. Yes, exactly as she’d wanted it to look.
Taking five minutes or so to wash the glass she’d used and wipe down the rooms for her fingerprints was an irritant but had to be done. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Satisfied that she’d erased all evidence that Joseph Braden had been entertaining company when he’d drowned in his bathtub with a belly full of booze, she slipped her dress over her head.
The song Another One Bites the Dust playing cheerfully in her head, she walked out the door.
Now on to Dallas.
Chapter Thirty-three
Dallas
Eli channeled his fury and slammed his fist into the heavy leather bag so hard that it swung wildly. He grabbed it, held it still, and then began a series of rapid, focused hits. Every one of them designed for maximum force.
Two weeks. Two frigging weeks, and they weren’t any closer to finding the fucker than they’d been before. Tons of information had been dissected and decimated, dozens of people had been investigated, with many more to go, and all they had to show for all their efforts were more questions and a crapload of possible suspects.
This wasn’t going to work. Eli had felt all along that the attacks were personal. And though he didn’t have a rational reason for that belief, his opinion hadn’t changed. Kathleen and Kennedy had also both mentioned that the attacks might have nothing to do with the business at all. If that was the case, they were wasting time while the bastard was just sitting and waiting, looking for another opportunity to strike.
Damned if he would allow that to happen. He was ready. The injuries he’d sustained in the wreck were healed. It was time to be proactive. Being reactive was pointless.
Another series of punches slammed into the bag as he thought about today’s revelations. It had started with a statement from Kathleen that had been well justified and one he should have been prepared for. Instead, it had taken him by surprise when she’d said, “Perhaps it would be helpful if we’re all on the same page here. You, Kennedy, and Nick have information I’ve not been privy to. You need to tell me everything about your family.”
Eli had frozen, knowing where it was leading yet unable to verbalize a reasonable objection. She was right. All of them needed all the facts and not just what the general public knew.
So, he had sat down and told her all he knew about what Mathias and Adam had been guilty of, including the murder of Kennedy’s first husband, Thomas O’Connell. Both Kennedy and Nick had lived and suffered through that. They already knew about Mathias’s responsibility in Jonah’s incarceration and Teri Burke’s death, but Eli had felt the need to take it one step further. For the first time, he’d also revealed that Adam, at Mathias’s urging, had practically forced Shelley to overdose and kill herself. He hadn’t gone into detail of when he’d learned this. That was a revelation he wasn’t quite ready to make.
After that, Eli had called a break. The shock and pity in his friends’ eyes had been hard enough to see. He hadn’t been able to even look at Kathleen. He’d walked out the door and come down here to beat the shit out of a boxing bag because the people responsible were out of his reach. Mathias was dead, Adam was in prison, and Eli couldn’t reach up and kick his own ass.
Bottom line, he had failed Shelley. He might not have known how ruthless Mathias was at that time, but he’d known enough. Enough to know that his family might be in jeopardy. Shelley had been vulnerable, an easy target. Eli had failed to do his job of protecting her.
Another wave of fury swept through him, and his fists slammed, slammed, slammed again.
Her heart breaking for him, Kathleen watched as Eli punished himself. She had come to the gym to work out, not knowing he was here. When he’d abruptly walked out of their meeting, she hadn’t known where he’d gone, only that she was sure he wanted to be alone. She should have figured he’d come here to work out his demons.
She had been standing in the doorway for at least half an hour watching him deal with those demons. These last two weeks had taught her more than she’d ever believed possible about this man. Honorable, fierce when challenged about something he believed in, yet open-minded enough to listen to other points of view. She’d already known that he was protective about those he cared about, but she hadn’t fully grasped how very deeply he took his responsibilities.
How had Eli grown up with a hideous father and disgusting older brother and survived? Not just survived. How had he developed into a man of honor, integrity, and depth? The answer, though not simple, was obvious. Eli Slater had purposely become the exact opposite of those two men.
Was he perfect? Absolutely not. He had proven time and again that he could be ruthless in pursuing what he wanted. But never with intent to harm.
When at last he stopped pummeling the boxing bag, he pressed his forehead against it. Sweat poured down his shoulders and back. The muscles in his arms and legs bulged from the strain. She had known he was in excellent shape. Having been in his arms, felt the power of his body, the solid strength of his muscles, she had known. Beneath the elegant, expensive clothing, the sophisticated veneer, was a
body that spoke of discipline and good health. A man in perfect physical condition.
Her mouth watered, with appreciation, with delight, with desire.
And she knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that she was falling in love with him. Question was, what was she going to do about it?
The last couple of weeks had been so focused on uncovering the person behind the threats, they’d had little time to have any more intimate moments. She had a feeling Eli was deliberately giving her some time and space. He had already apologized for pushing her. And silly her, who’d insisted that she wanted him to stop his advances…she found herself missing them. His touches, those delicious slow kisses, the sexy looks. Even the handholding. She missed it all.
He abruptly whirled around, startling her. “I’ll leave if you want to work out alone.”
Instead of backing away, she walked toward him. “I don’t want to work out alone.” She jerked her head toward the mat on the other side of the room. “If you’ve still got some juice left, come take me on.”
A sexy smile replaced the grim line of his mouth. His eyes smoldered with the wicked gleam she had missed. “Oh, I believe I have plenty of juice left in me.”
Kathleen headed toward the mat, trying with all her might to ignore the sane, cautious voice inside her asking just what the hell she thought she was doing.
She stopped in the middle of the mat and turned to face him. It had been months since she had sparred with anyone. She kept in shape by running, lifting weights, and yoga. Not only was she out of practice, she was about to take on a man who, with one touch, could turn her body to liquid heat. She wasn’t quite sure if this was the worst idea she’d ever had or the very best.
Eli stopped about five feet in front of Kathleen, took in the sight of her, and decided that the person who invented spandex should be given some kind of humanitarian award, because…damn, she was beautiful. A black, cropped top covered small breasts that showed delightfully tight nipples, as though she was already aroused, and revealed a generous portion of pale, smooth skin and flat, firm abs. Mid-thigh shorts hugged a taut, firm ass and slender, muscular thighs. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her lovely face already glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration.
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