by Nancy Brophy
“If they kicked everybody’s ass that I had a problem with, they’d all be in jail.”
Was she kidding? “Am I missing something here? You know what would have happened if you family didn’t show up.”
“Nothing happened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t need my family to fix my problems.” Her eyes popped open. In the dusky tub, he read fortitude and resolve. “I’ll handle Cain.”
If tone alone could save her, she had that handled, but she needed more help than just her own determination.
“I can help.” In his head he saw the dark playground and the fear she battled. His stomach twisted in concern for her. She needed him.
“Forget it. I see that look in your eyes. You see yourself as the white knight. I don’t need you, I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”
Liar. This woman had bravado to an art form. She had no idea how scary the real world was for most women who didn’t have a family of men standing behind her. “When? How much worse?”
She paused. Just what he thought, she was all talk. She’d never been even remotely in trouble like this before.
But he misjudged her. “I was once sued for hexing a boy.” She threw down her trump card.
No way was she dribbling out information a little at a time. She thought ‘hexing a boy’ put her in danger as opposed to an encounter with a killer like Cain?
“How?” he demanded.
She tossed her head. “According to his family, I made him a bed wetter.”
He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “Can you do that?” he asked, working hard to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“If I could, Cain would already be dead.”
Luca’s words came back to him. Trouble has a way of finding her. Man, oh man, she had a wealth of material they could use. His first instinct was to commandeer her photos and fingerprints, all the evidence she’d gathered and disappear back to Washington.
But that left her exposed. Whether he liked it or not, she was the best link they had. Combined with the fact she was smart and dauntless in her pursuit. That left two options, either take her with him or bring the team to her.
Chapter Eleven
“Cezi, are you here?” a muffled masculine voice called from somewhere outside the bathroom.
She raised her head off John’s shoulder and yelled in response. “In the tub.”
“Oh shit. This is ugly. Hang on. It’ll be a few minutes.” More than one male voice expressed garbled opinions on the scene above them.
Cezi twisted, dragging a hip against him. His body reacted. “Hold still.” He gripped her, holding her immobile, knowing it was too late to prevent embarrassment when she rose off him. From the reactions he’d seen so far, he doubted the protective males in her family would find his rock-hard erection amusing.
The mattress tilted. A loud rumbling followed as the debris crashed to the floor. Two flashlight beams shown in his eyes.
“What the hell…”
Even better. They weren’t expecting him at all. Great. He wasn’t sure if Cezi hopped up or was lifted, but the cool gust of wind was a relief or would have been if it hadn’t been wet. He pushed the top half of his body off the blanket and twisted to see the large gaping hole in the back wall and roof.
It wasn’t totally dark. Outside light made it easy to see the three pairs of angry male eyes glaring at him. Even so hands reached out to grip his forearms and help him rise. A fourth man held Cezi in a protective bear hug.
“Enough. I’m okay,” she said. “How bad is the rest of the house?”
When no one answered, she shook herself loose and flipped the light switch. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Nothing happened. Snatching a flashlight from the man nearest to her she checked the face of each man in the room, most snarled in response.
“Where have you been?” Cezi said. “I had an asthma attack. If Agent Stillwater hadn’t carried me back here I’d have been caught out in the storm.”
The hostile mood in the room shifted to a mixture of chagrin and annoyance.
“You’re practically naked,” The man who’d been hugging her said, struggling hard to maintain the upper hand. “And he was handling you.”
She huffed. “Not through choice. He was forced into protecting me because there wasn’t another solution.”
She was good. Had she not turned the tables on the men, a fight would have broken out by now. But her words bothered him. Did she truly think he was repelled, but forced himself to touch her? He only wished that was true.
Cezi hop-scotched out of the room on tiptoe, carefully avoiding the rubble covering the floor. Unable to help himself, John laughed.
The tallest man snarled. “You think this is funny?”
“No. I’m just glad to see I’m not the only man she leads around by the nose.”
Lips curled. “No kidding.” He noticed the men kept their voices low. Even though a tiny woman ruled them, not a one dared to admit it where she could hear.
A hand extended to help him out of the tub. “Next time. Stay dressed.”
“Yeah. Well, when an attractive twenty-four-year-old woman suggests you take off your clothes and join her in the tub, I’ll be interested to hear your answer.”
Several grunted, but the one who’d been hugging Cezi rebuked him. “She’s not an attractive woman; she’s our cousin, so keep your clothes on. And Dude, she’s nowhere near twenty-four. She’s at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Way too old for you.”
John’s couldn’t decide what surprised him the most. That she was older than he thought or that her cousin thought she was over the hill.
“I’m Rolf, by the way.” He offered his hand and introduced his brothers, Stefan, Andrej and Tomas.
Tomas, the youngest of the group, frowned. “Where are your clothes?”
Andrej bent over and held up a soggy shoe. The reality of the situation became apparent. “You can’t go outside like that; you’ve already got every aunt in a panic. I’ll get you something of mine.” He sprinted out the door.
“Let’s hurry up and get her stuff out of the rain. You know how she’ll be if her clothes are ruined. Tomorrow we can hammer a tarp on the roof until we get permanent repairs done.”
In order to save as much as possible, the men gathered her belongings and moved them into undamaged rooms while Cezi, now wearing jeans and a t-shirt, stood on the coffee table and directed the orchestra. Several friendly back pats assured him of his acceptance as he shouldered his load, dressed like a bumblebee in Tomas’s sweatpants and yellow and black striped soccer shirt.
Exuberant puppies had less energy than her family. They work as they laughed and joked among themselves, played tricks on each other and broke into scuffles that ended in laughter rather than bloodshed. Yet, the more time he spent, the more he sensed the harmless exterior covered a tight-knit family group prepared to use any means available to defend their own.
Fighting skills could be taught, but unwavering loyalty was rare and had value beyond consideration. Would he have acquired such dedication to his family or heritage if he’d been raised on the reservation?
His parents and his favorite sister, Dyami, were dead, his remaining half-brothers and sisters scattered. In his line of work, being too involved was dangerous. Living the life of a lone wolf suited him, although a very small part of him was pleased to be included so easily.
As the group was being ushered out the front door, he was comfortable enough to joke. “Well, at least your pink couch was saved.”
Only to hear the entire chorus of men say in unison, “It’s mauve.”
A grin she didn’t even try to suppress lit her expression as she locked the front door. He was not the first who’d made that mistake. Pink? Mauve? Fuchsia? Blush? Who cared? They were all pink.
“If the back half of the house is standing wide open, why are you locking the door?”
She made a sign with her hand, “To fool the evil eye.”
&
nbsp; Her skills better be damn good because if Cain McIntosh acted on his threats more than her house needed to be protected.
Chapter Twelve
Across the hall of her father’s house Czigany’s bedroom door was closed when John slipped out early the next morning, wearing nothing but clean underwear, socks and another dress shirt. Worried that she would feel the aches and pains of their confinement in the tub, he let her sleep. They’d have to go to work soon enough.
The long carpeted hallway muffled his footsteps as he headed toward the living room. A glance at his watch told him that with the time change, his team would have been at work for a couple of hours. He pressed speed dial on his cell.
The scent of coffee and fresh baked cinnamon rolls drew him toward the kitchen where Nicholae iced pastries.
Both men nodded. Neither spoke, but the older man gestured toward the table. He placed a hot roll on a plate and poured a cup of coffee. Even from the distance of the five feet that separated them, John saw the thick, black syrup would be a serious eye-opener.
He’d completely forgotten his cell phone call until the voice in his ear spoke. “Our guy struck again last night,” Ciggy said in lieu of ‘hello’.
“Where?”
“Luray, Virginia. Twylla and Dare are already there interviewing witnesses. Standard MO. One girl missing, black limo outside the bar. Her friends can describe him. I’ve sent the photos to Twylla’s phone to get confirmation.”
“Luray? They’re having a harder time in smaller towns. Download the case file to me. I want to see if Czigany has a handle on how they are choosing the locations of their hits.”
John forked the warm cinnamon roll. The phone was quiet, but he knew Ciggy sent the information as they spoke. “Also,” he said into the receiver. “Send all the photos of the missing girls. Let’s see if we can pick up any physical similarities. Have Twylla call me with anything she finds.”
“Will do.”
John slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and raised the fork to his lips.
From the kitchen Nicholae made a choking noise. John ratcheted his head almost one hundred and twenty degrees to determine the problem. The silver-haired man stared out the window, muttering unintelligible words as he launched into action. Scrambling around the kitchen he grabbed everything out of place. Without even a glance in his direction, Nicholae snatched the plate holding the cinnamon roll from under John’s fork. In an apparent afterthought he also grabbed the fork.
Opening the oven he shoved the fork, cinnamon roll and extra pan of rolls inside and shut the door. A sharp determined rap sounded on the front door. John rose to make a quick exit with his coffee, but when Nicholae walked by he placed a strong hand on John’s shoulder and firmly pushed him back to his seat.
“Stay here,” he snarled. “Damn woman.”
Cezi’s father appeared unflappable. So it was with interest that John picked up his coffee mug and settled back into his chair. The kitchen door opened to the inside and shielded John’s view of the guest, but he could hear her voice.
“Nicholae.” The twitter made John place her at late thirties or early forties. No spring chick and yet her voice told him she was still capable of flirting. Nicholae hid his distress well. “I’ve been so worried about your family. I made some of my mushroom strudel you like so well.”
His smile managed to project both surprise and delight by the gesture, but John suspected from his earlier actions perhaps this was not an unusual occurrence. Cezi’s father was a good-looking man, widowed, successful. No matter where one lived that spelled hot catch to certain members of any society. John suspected one stood at the door now.
The woman continued talking, oblivious to the fact she hadn’t been invited inside. “The gaje is with you?”
John strained to hear even though she’d lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. The gaje had to be him.
“Do you wish me to talk to your daughter?”
“About?” Nicholae’s tone shifted from friendly to wary. His fingers gripped the door handle in a stranglehold.
“Well, you know… Outsiders. Men.” The unseen voice faltered.
“Cezi’s heart belongs to her blood.” The firmness of his tone brooked no argument. “I trust her judgment.”
“But… what about marimé? Gaje have different beliefs… particularly between men and women.”
John made a mental note. This was the second time the gypsies had used the word marimé. He needed to understand what it represented.
Nicholae made a flippant gesture with his hand, dismissing the woman’s concerns. But John had to give the woman points when she was not prepared to let the man ignore her concerns.
“Others say he’s dangerous. Scary. His face is….”
John suspected she gestured in lieu of saying the words aloud. His fingers traced the scar tissue.
“The girl,” the woman’s voice a shade more desperate, “is unmarried. She doesn’t know men. She must be protected.”
John imagined Cezi’s reaction to such a condemning statement. She was competent as hell. It was John who needed tips on how to deal the little powder keg, not the other way around.
Somehow, Nicholae managed to send the woman on her way and get the door shut. John raised his eyebrows but buried his smile when his host walked to the refrigerator to tuck the strudel inside.
“Why hide the cinnamon rolls?”
Unlike his brother, Nicholae rarely smiled, but his dark eyes sparkled with the same mischief as his daughter. “Are you kidding? I haven’t had to cook in several years. But if Nadya saw Lyuba’s cinnamon rolls, I’d have an all-out civil war on my hands.”
He opened the oven and had barely returned the roll to the table when another knock sounded on the door. As he reached for the roll to snatch it away again, John waved him off. “I’ll wrap it to-go.”
“Good. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Hoping to avoid another overheard conversation, John asked, “Do you want me to wake Czigany?”
Nicholae laughed softly. “My daughter doesn’t sleep. She left for the office hours ago.”
As John heard his words, he wondered again briefly if the gypsies weren’t running a three-card monte game on him. One kept the attention focused on him while the other fleeced the gullible chumps.
In the bedroom he texted Ciggy. “Check out the Romneys. Poppy, Nicholae, Luca and Czigany. C what u can find.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cezi stood with her back to the door. Agent Stillwater had arrived. His woody scent teased her nostrils and made her mouth water. What was it about him that made her want to take a bite of him?
Even though he hadn’t entered the room further than the doorway, she was sure she could feel the warmth of his body, which was hilarious because instead of warming her, it brought a shiver.
“You left early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She didn’t think she was wrong to think of John as a precise man who performed every aspect of his life with purposeful resolve. So when she heard the careless slapping of his footsteps on the hardwood floors, she clamped her teeth together and forced herself to look at him.
Her morning had been arduous, but his hadn’t been any easier. He wore maroon sweatpants, two inches too short, a blue tailored shirt, and a blue and gold tie. Beige bedroom slippers flopped as he walked across the floor. Every piece of self-restraint she possessed was required to keep from laughing.
His annoyed scowl told her he knew precisely what she thought. “No stores are open yet. I had to borrow pants and shoes to come to work. Why didn’t you wake me?”
Cause she wanted to be alone. “I, uh, left early.” Even to her own ears, her lie failed to convince.
“How early?”
“Around two-thirty.”
“We didn’t go to bed till after midnight.” He had the temerity to glare at her as though accusing her of the crime of sneaking out.
It was none of his business. “I don’t sleep much.”<
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“Got your inhaler?”
She nodded and patted her pocket. Tenderness flooded her chest. He thought to ask about her inhaler. She smiled, but was put off when his response was to frown. Apparently, they’d hit his Mr. Nice Guy image and he didn’t want her to expect it.
“I have to use your computer. Do you have a color printer?”
She gestured toward the aging monitor sitting on the desk in the far corner. “Help yourself.”
His eyes took in her appearance from head to toe and found something lacking. Because he made a wider-than-needed circle to avoid any possible contact as he moved to sit behind the monitor. Granted she was in shorts and camisole, but they were clean.
“What’s wrong with what I have on?”
“Not a thing,” he snapped. His tone had her raising an eyebrow. How dare he be annoyed at her? She was one with cause to be mad.
Stomping over to the desk, she placed both hands palms down on the table and leaned over the ancient monitor.
“I know what ‘swing a cat’ means. It’s a spanking reference. What is it with you men and spanking threats?”
Slowly he raised his eyes, pausing midway for a long look at her breasts, then her lips. By the time his magnetic eyes met hers, a shock of electricity rattled her body. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“If you keep flashing those perky little nipples at me, it’s going to be more than a threat.”
Cezi jumped as quickly as if the desk had burst into flame. “I am not.”
For good measure she covered her breasts with her hands. The hard points beneath her jersey top alerted her to what he’d seen. Of course, she was braless. A bra was designed to support something, but judging by the low tenor of his voice and the fire in his eyes he wasn’t looking for bodacious. A look of pure male satisfaction crossed his face.