by Nancy Brophy
Cain ripped open the car door. “Find a private place, throw the kid in the trunk. Meet me back here as fast as you can.”
“Wha…?”
“Do it.” Cain slammed the door and took off at a sprint after her. Was she following him? Why was she here? His little thief joined other students milling around the steps of a stone and pillar building. She waited for him.
The pit of his stomach churned when she vanished from sight, but reemerged a moment later when a taller boy moved. Peek-a-boo. I see you. Cain slowed and swallowed to catch his breath. She pretended to ignore him while conversing with another woman.
He’d told her he was coming. She hadn’t been able to wait. Yet, still she teased him, pretending like she didn’t know he was there. Casually he ran a hand through his hair and smiled.
You’re mine, little thief.
Chapter Eighteen
“Peata?” The name the older man had called her, tattooed in his mind. Cain placed a hand on her shoulder, baring his teeth in a partial smile. He’d enjoyed the game and so had she. But now she’d stopped running. She was ready, waiting for him.
The last time he’d seen her she’d been on her knees eager to accommodate him. Disappointment had ridden her hard when her family showed up to separate them. Knowing, like he did, they were meant to be together.
His little thief turned. A smile lit her blue eyes and her freckled nose crinkled. “Do I know you?”
The pretty features belonged to another woman. Cain swallowed, then bit his inner cheek and flexed his fists to keep his reactions in check. “Forgive me.” He bowed his head slightly in apology. “I thought you were someone else.”
He stepped back, wanting to tilt his head back and howl in rage, needing to be away from everyone. Now. But as he stepped backward, the trickster stepped forward. “Who were you expecting?” Her smile invited him to remain, but the need to leave pushed him on.
“A friend. From the back you look like her.” He walked in the direction of the limo only to discover the woman had fallen into step beside him.
“Perhaps we could be friends,” she suggested. The back of her hand brushed against his and she ran her hand up the inside of his arm in a possessive movement.
“Don’t you have a class?”
She shrugged and tossed her head back to laugh. The obsidian curls caught the light and the scent of her seductive cologne snaked out to drag him closer. “My friends can take notes.” Her voice was throaty, eager. He studied her mouth covered with sparkling pink lip-gloss and watched her tongue dart out, tempting him. Her blue eyes boldly returned his stare, daring him to do his worse.
Gathering a handful of her thick locks, he sniffed them like a dog. It wasn’t Peata’s scent, but it enticed well enough. Perhaps they could be friends. And more.
What was he doing? This girl wanted to take the little thief’s place. So be it. Maybe he’d satiate himself with her and in doing so eradicate the other woman from his memories.
“You have no idea how much I would like to be your friend.” He smiled that slow promising look he’d practiced in the mirror, the one that made young girls swoon. His skills didn’t fail him now. She practically panted, more than ready.
“My car’s down the hill. Let’s take a ride. I love Chicago on nights like this, don’t you?” He reached out and stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek.
A look of conquest flickered over her features. So she’d thought she be the one calling the shots. He bit back a laugh of triumph and ran his tongue against the sharp underside of the top row of his teeth and imagined sinking them into her skin. Raking his eyes appreciatively over her body, he was delighted when she preened under his scrutiny.
“Sweetheart, you are the perfect antidote.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the waiting limo.
“My name’s Sophia.”
“’Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste,’” he half-sang the Rolling Stones song and noticed she didn’t appear to know the words to Sympathy for the Devil. As he opened the limo’s rear door, he bowed in a courtly manner. “’I’ve been around for a long, long year. Stole many a man’s soul and faith…’”
# # #
Armadillo Creek
Cezi leaned against the dock’s gas pump and dangled one bare foot in the cool water. Sunrise streaked the cloudless blue sky with golden shafts of light. Too early for the busy lake to be operating, she attempted to reign in her fears.
For the past two nights, Cain’s face had appeared to her in her dreams. Watching, waiting, teasing. Overblown in size and blurred in form, the eyes hovered above her marking her every move. She woke each day with sweat beading on her face and bile lodged in her throat, the last thing she remembered were his lips curling into a sneer as he vanished in the light of the day.
Poppy told her to come up with a plan, but her mind was so distraught that she lacked the ability to piece a coherent sentence together, much less a plan of action.
She didn’t miss Agent John Stillwater. She didn’t. How could she miss someone she only knew for a single day? How could she be attracted to a man who hadn’t even kissed her?
But she’d dreamed of kissing him. And a whole lot more. In her sleep his smell enticed her, the corded muscles in his arms surrounded her and those chiseled lips wanted hers. Yet, the moment things started to get good, John’s face would morph into Cain’s, scorning her nostrils and stinging her flesh.
She’d jerk herself awake, trying not to scream.
In a couple of hours the morning dew would have dried and Armadillo Creek would be up and about. Work could finally begin. Today she planned to install motion-activated video cameras at every potential airplane-landing site she’d found. If she had any say in it at all, Cain would not be taking her by surprise.
She organized the location data John had given her yesterday. Today, she’d work on finding a pattern. They weren’t smarter than she was and they weren’t throwing darts at a map. But there were so many places to choose, how would she be able to narrow it down?
# # #
Mexico
The rich cherry-wood den with the massive Italian marble fireplace served as a study-in-contrast to the rest of the house. Cain suspected it held a clue to Adam’s past, but in five years his boss’s previous life remained a mystery.
The same could not be said of Adam. He recruited, trained and supervised the small staff. But more importantly Adam knew each employee’s secret including real names and why each was prepared to live off the grid. Cain hadn’t seen or talked to a former friend or family member since the night he’d been recruited almost six years ago. Hadn’t missed them either. He never looked back.
Adam had made Cain rich, but at a price. Cain suppressed any personal opinions or disagreements. Those who’d challenged Adam disappeared. The story was always similar. The men quit and returned home. But none had ever packed a bag or removed a single personal possession. Once someone was gone, his name was never spoken. No need to poke about in other’s business.
Cain had perfected compliancy, echoing the party line with fervor. Never once had his performance been called into question. Until today.
“You jeopardized our entire operation. You endangered a child worth a half-million to us. And for what? A piece of ass?”
Adam ran the heavy fireplace poker between his thick fingers. His cold gray eyes were almost silver as they took Cain’s measure. Cain stared back, willing himself not to blink, fearing the other man wouldn’t hesitate to take a vicious swing and Jackson Pollock his brains all over the ball-and-claw foot mahogany table that, according to rumor, had once belonged to Thomas Jefferson.
Herod sat across from him, separating his mustache hairs with a fingernail, while drumming his fingers on the leather arm of the chair. His lips twitched and his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed each time he swallowed. Herod held himself back by a thin thread.
Cain cursed silently. How dare they question his
methods? The boy was fine. Maybe a little bruised from riding in the trunk, but nothing more.
Night after night he exposed his face while the rest hid from public scrutiny. Even Eli wore a uniform and cap most would notice long before they would see his face. All it would take was one apt description and every law enforcement agency in the country could have an artist rendering of his features plastered on America’s Most Wanted. He might never be safe again.
Adam and Herod sat in the shadows criticizing, picking apart everything he did. Like right now, they were pissed about the girl. Well, so was he.
Sophia turned out to be a major disappointment.
Seductive and eager to get in the car, the little bitch changed her mind and screamed her fool head off when she saw the plane. He’d calmed her down with a few hard slaps and punches. That’d taken the fight right out of her, but screwing a limp dishrag had disgusted him, so he’d taken her anally while she shrieked until she bled all on the bed covers. Then the stupid little whore passed out leaving Cain to scrub the blood and puke off the furniture.
And now Herod was giving him shit about her condition. Herod! A man who took pride in the fact he could make any female screech in terror for hours.
“You’ve let a girl get a hook into you.” Adam shook his head. “Shake her off. Use this one you brought home to straighten…“
“Sophia’s not the one.”
“…yourself out.”
Why couldn’t Adam see this wouldn’t help? “Let me go back to Armadillo Creek.”
Herod rose, stepping away from the table, a gleam of morbid fascination in his eyes. If Adam swung, Herod would do nothing to stop him. In fact, Cain could imagine his macabre grin of sadistic pleasure.
A chill, armed with the certain knowledge that he’d pushed too hard, ran down Cain’s back. He gritted his teeth to keep from begging.
Adam leaned across the table until his nose was inches from Cain’s. “We’ve had this discussion. The answer is no. Close your eyes when you fuck her and pretend if you have too, but deal with this.” Cain braced himself to keep from recoiling from Adam’s foul breath.
Sweat broke out on Cain’s forehead and he longed to wipe his brow, but movement might encourage Adam to add action to his threats. How the hell had he gotten in this situation? Lowering his eyes, Cain waited for the blow.
“I’m giving everyone time off until next Friday. That’s over a week.” Cain let out a breath. Adam’s voice had calmed. He’d backed down. “You have ‘til then.”
Cain raised his gaze. The reprieve was only an illusion. Adam raised the poker. “Remember,” he said, “where I found you. Don’t think all those surgeries we paid for will save you.” The poker swung through the air, stopping inches from Cain’s capped teeth. “What we have given, we can also take away.”
All the stiff muscles in Cain’s neck rebelled as he forced his head to bob in agreement.
“Go clean yourself up.” Adam slammed the poker into the fireplace stand and strode out of the room with Herod on his heels like the mindless, little lap dog he was.
Cain’s legs wobbled. He braced himself against the table for balance. The sour stench of urine wafted upwards. A large wet spot covered his thigh. He’d peed himself.
His humiliation was one more thing Sophia had to answer for. By the time he was finished with her, the little thief would be a distant memory.
Chapter Nineteen
Washington, DC
The cocktail lounge resembled other hotel bars. Deep green walls, wood trim, tiered seating and packed with men and women looking to unwind or a hook up for the night. For the FBPA agents the lone advantage was location. The hotel was a block from the office, three blocks closer than any other bar.
Stillwater pushed a chair to the table occupied by his team who shifted sideways to make room for him.
“You’re late,” D’Sean yelled to be heard over the loud music.
Stillwater shrugged to indicate it couldn’t be helped. Skeet pushed a beer in front of him, then nudged him with an elbow and tilted his head in the direction of the bar. Stillwater shifted in his chair to view the action.
A leggy blonde, just the type he liked, was checking him out. Sophisticated, sensual, on the prowl. The kind Washington DC bred in abundance, decorated with tidy little suits and high heels. He preferred women who knew what they wanted and for exactly how long. Purposely, he allowed a smile to curve his lips in acknowledgement.
The woman flipped her hair, then leaned over to stroke her stocking-clad calf in an obvious invitation. No one spoke as he rose from the chair, grabbed his beer and made his way to the bar.
“Buy you a drink?”
Carefully he watched her reaction as he turned his head so that the scars were more prevalent. Some women were repelled, but some women saw his face as a new dangerous frontier to be conquered.
This one damn near salivated as she purred, “no, but you could ask me to dance.”
Absolutely not. He hated dancing. He could fake his way though it if the music was slow enough and all that was required was to press an agreeable body against his. But this wasn’t his night to try. “Two left feet.”
Stepping closer, he placed his beer on the bar and created a space between two occupied chairs. The woman pressed her manicured fingers against his chest and leaned in close. “Do you want to go somewhere we can talk? I have a room upstairs.”
Confident. Aggressive. While he generally liked to make the moves, right now he didn’t care. It’d been months since he’d allowed himself the luxury of sinking into the oblivion of a willing woman. He nodded his agreement.
She wove a path across the crowded floor and he trailed behind, wondering why his body wasn’t reacting in the usual manner. Perhaps he needed to touch her, to feel her silky hair between his fingers and her glossy lips opening against his.
The hotel lobby was both cooler and lighter. He blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the changes. At the bank of elevators, his nameless date waited as a young brunette stepped out, the wheels from the bag she dragged caught between the hotel floor and the elevator.
Czigany.
He hadn’t thought her name once since the office meeting three hours ago. Damn near a record for the past five days. What was she doing? Did she wonder why he hadn’t called? He should have and would have with any other victim, but pride, or cowardice if he was honest with himself, had kept him from it.
The brunette freed her wheel and stood to face him.
It wasn’t her. He’d known it wouldn’t be and yet his heart had lurched in his chest, hoping he was wrong. He smiled. She frowned, annoyed perhaps at her luggage, maybe at him. If she had been Cezi, her ire would definitely have been directed toward him. So why was he wasting his time thinking about a woman who didn’t like him?
Vowing to forget her, he followed the blonde onto the elevator. Both stood not speaking like polite strangers until the doors opened on the seventh floor.
“My room is close,” she whispered, digging a card key out of her purse.
“Good.” With any other woman he would have reached for her, offering her a little preview of coming attractions. Instead he tagged along following her determined stride.
The door barely closed when she launched herself into his arms. Their lips met as she tried to devour his face, while wrapping her legs around his waist. He whirled and thrust her back against the door, giving him a little leverage.
How many arms did this woman have? She scrambled, pulling and tugging to remove his jacket from his shoulders. He shifted to aid her struggle when reality hit him.
He felt nothing. His body was on autopilot - going through the motions - but even with her firm breasts rubbed against his chest he couldn’t work up any interest. And then the ugly truth stood in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to be out of there.
“Stop.” He used his hands to release her legs and waited until she stood under her own power. Her hazel eyes, glazed with either arousal or al
cohol, blinked open to look at him.
“I’ve got to go.”
Streaks of red materialized in her cheeks. “What? First time to cheat on the missus?” she scoffed, her voice tinged with anger and distain.
“Sorry. This was a mistake.” He owed no explanation. All he knew for sure was this was wrong and obeying his instincts had saved him more than once. As he reached for the door she planted her feet and crossed her arms to prevent him from leaving. They engaged in a staring contest that lasted less than thirty seconds before she backed down.
“Go on. Get out of here. Go home to the little wife.” The last few words were screamed at the closed door. John not only was out of there, he sprinted down the hall to be away as quickly as possible. If his reaction to this woman was any indication, he’d be collecting that bet money from D’Sean by Christmas.
As clearly as if Czigany been standing next to him, he heard her laugh. Was she mocking him? How had she gotten a hook in his mind? No matter how attracted he was, she was part of an investigation, he would never allow himself to get involved with her.
Chapter Twenty
Armadillo Creek, Texas
The Solstice celebration was the culmination of a week of preparation. Feasting, dancing and fireworks heralded the event, marking a change in season and for some, a change in marital status.
The claiming dance loomed, distracting her. They were fifteen minutes into dinner before Cezi became aware that her father’s face was laced tighter than a shoe. Nadya had joined him for dinner. The chicken paprikash, which only moments before, had slid down her throat, now was gummy and dry.
And while most of her male relatives looked appalled, Cezi noticed the women of the compound barely hid their smirks. Nadya was making her play and she’d chosen a very public stage.
Apparently seventeen years of widowhood was enough for the aunts. Their sights had shifted from the daughter to the father. Getting Nicholae married again was the evening’s goal. She craned her neck, looking for Nadya’s main competition, Lyuba who sat snarling in the corner. As she suspected, not every woman was eager to see her father married again. At least not to Nadya.