Afterglow

by Cherry Adair

  She shook her head and scowled at him through the window as he pressed the door-lock button on the remote control. A distinct click drove home his point.

  The bank was an imposing gray stone building with enormous metal-studded doors. The street was lined on both sides with cars. Plenty of traffic, both vehicular and foot. The sun beat down on his head, and Rand felt a sense of anticipation as he paused before crossing, his eyes scanning the area even though he had no idea what he was looking for. His bad guy was unlikely to be wearing a trench coat and a fedora.

  The women wore summery, sleeveless dresses, and everyone walked with purpose. He waited for a break in the traffic before sprinting across the four-lane street. He checked out the people around him as he moved. The metro station was right outside the building. People came and went. Organized chaos—the studied kind of flow every city cultivated.

  In the distance, the unique Gothic spires of Santa Maria del Mar were sandwiched between modern glass-and-steel skyscrapers and quaint little shops in narrow alleys. Tucked on one side of the bank building was a dry cleaner, beside that a closed newsstand. Plenty of office buildings. In the crowded outdoor seating area of a nearby tapas bar, a group of young office workers were saying their good-byes near the black-painted doors. The street was alive with people; the savory fragrances of the many outdoor cafés permeated the afternoon air; and the smell of strong coffee made him consider a to-go cup.

  Business as usual.

  Except somewhere close by was a killer.

  Rand looked up and down the car-lined street. Everyone seemed focused on whatever it was that brought them out—shopping, business, going back to work after lunch. It was a pretty summer day. Nothing looked unusual. Nothing appeared out of place, yet his gut told him everything teetered on the edge of horribly wrong.

  He had to trust that Dakota was correct. That the person who’d last held the case containing the vials was somewhere close by. The bank? Why? And damn it to hell, who? Had he wanted to do some banking? Pick up a payoff? Make an after-hours deposit? But then, this whole fucking mess was odd.

  He stood in the canyon of tall office buildings. Hundreds and hundreds of businesses. Thousands of places to disappear. He had no idea whom he was looking for in the metropolitan haystack.

  Bank first, he decided. A highly polished brass plaque on the stone wall at the foot of the stairs gave the hours of business. The bank had closed an hour earlier. Either his guy was still inside—which was highly unlikely—or he was somewhere else. In which case, Dakota was wrong and they were screwed.

  Would he have thought differently of her had he known about her ability to track people? He’d like to think that he’d have been fair. Shaking his head, he took out his phone to see if any of his team had called in updates. He frowned. They hadn’t. What’d happened to reporting in? Oh, right—he’d told Cole to have everyone report to him. His assistant wouldn’t call him unless he had news.

  No news was good news right now.

  Rand took the deep granite stairs three at a time. The towering, bas-relief–paneled bronze doors were closed. Of course they were. Fuck. Just for yucks, he tried the handle. His gut clenched in anticipation as the door swung open a few inches. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he slipped inside.

  All the lights were on, he presumed for the cleaning crew. Not that there was any sign of life. No sound of floor polishers. No voices. No music; whatever piped Muzak the place used must have been shut off at closing time. Perhaps the guy was meeting someone in one of the private offices. Someone who’d orchestrated the ten-thousand-euro payoff to the waiter?

  The floor in the vestibule was glossy cream-colored marble. Ahead was a set of elaborately carved wooden doors with heavy polished-brass handles. The doors had large panes at eye level, and as he approached, he could see into the vast interior of the bank. Even though there was no sign of anyone around, he withdrew the Glock from the shoulder holster and walked cautiously, listening for sound, aware of his surroundings as he moved.

  As he cautiously opened the door, he was struck again by the unnatural, absolute quiet. Shouldn’t there be someone around? Security? Janitors? Managerial types with paperwork to catch up on?

  Then he saw the bodies.

  Sprawled in groups on the floor throughout the silent marble and mahogany space, they were dead still. A faint cloying aroma of roses mingled with the stench of death. Holding his breath in case it was an airborne contagion, he did a quick visual scan of the large, open area. He’d gotten many gigs for his ability to hold his breath underwater—and thanked God for that training now. Because it appeared that the patrons of the bank had been gassed, and he could feel the insidious lethargy pouring through him as he stood there. Crapshitdamnfuck.

  Bank customers and personnel were scattered about like dead houseflies, all in various stages of undress. Old, young. Didn’t matter. They’d died while fucking like bunnies. Even after seeing something similar at the wedding, the sight was still shocking. A pornographic still life that was as disturbing as it was chilling.

  Lungs burning, Rand crouched beside a conjoined young couple, felt for a pulse behind the guy’s ear. Still warm, but dead. From beneath him, the woman looked up with eyes filmed a hazy white. A quick glance showed him that everyone had milky eyes.

  Everyone had been interrupted mid-coitus.

  Everyone was dead.

  “Jesu—” The sweet rush of rose filled and expanded Rand’s lungs. A surge of adrenaline flooded his body as euphoria engulfed his senses. His heart began to race, and his dick came to life with a vengeance.

  He muttered “Fuck” under his breath, then held it on the exhale as he yanked the empty plastic bag from his back pocket and slapped it over his nose and mouth.

  Was this the same shit administered to the wedding guests in their champagne? The positions of the bodies provided a graphic answer. Hell yes. It must’ve been introduced through the ventilation or air-conditioning system.

  Just the couple of whiffs he’d taken already had a profound effect on his body. Rand was fully, painfully aroused, his senses heightened, his reflexes maddeningly slow. All he wanted to do was fuck. Anything. Anyone. It was a powerful, driving force, a directive he couldn’t ignore. His skin felt too tight, his lungs constricted, and his dick so hard it was excruciatingly painful.

  Get the fuck out. Pressing the plastic hard against his face, he craved a deep, liberating breath. Now! No, damn it! Get a grip… . Get the hell …

  His breath tight in his lungs, sweat rolling down his temples, he forced his sluggish brain to take in as much data as possible. He tried to pin his focus inside the aura of light surrounding everything in a magical, truly beautiful way. It was the light he’d seen in religious paintings throughout Europe. The light of purity and love and holy fucking—

  He slammed the Glock into his cheekbone. Barely felt it. He slammed his fist on a nearby marble counter. Pain, distant and disconnected, jolted up his arm. Behind the long teller counter, the vault door stood wide open. No one had stopped the robbers. Everyone had been caught in the throes of the powerful aphrodisiac, just as the wedding guests had been yesterday. A brief glance showed several security cameras smashed. No witnesses. No record.

  His brain felt light. Fantastically light. Brilliant. Buoyant. Invincible—

  Get … fuck … out …

  His lungs burned with the need to breathe. He needed to breathe. And why the hell not? His body felt powerful, expansive, fucking incredible. He wanted Dakota in here. Now. He wanted to bare her breasts and taste the freckles on her skin; he wanted to plunge his hardness into her wet heat—

  Drug talking! Get a fucking grip, Maguire!

  The sunlight streaming through the high windows illuminated in exquisite detail the half-naked bodies, limbs entwined. Pants shoved around the men’s ankles, the women’s dresses askew, blouses ripped, breasts bared. Everyone had died in the throes of sex. And good sex, by the looks of rapture on their faces.

&n
bsp; He wanted—

  He needed—

  Goddamn it—

  “Rand?” The voice—sultry, feminine, fucking hot as sin—split the heavy silence of the corpse-strewn bank. “Rand, we have to go. The bad guy is on the move agai—oh, crap!”

  He turned too fast, almost falling to his knees because his body was racked with overwhelming, clawing lust that felt like a raging, rabid animal inside him. Her red hair floated in slo-mo around her slender shoulders like living flames and licked the luscious swell of her breasts, outlined to perfection by the thin white T-shirt. He could practically taste the rose flavor of her nipples. Her hips looked womanly and lush, encased in tight jeans that accentuated her long legs.

  Rand imagined the soft ginger curls at the juncture of her thighs, his heartbeat manic. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face as he stalked toward her. He wanted her. Needed her. His heart threatened to explode in his chest. His dick throbbed, a painfully hard entity that demanded satisfaction.

  Mouth dry, he forced out the words, “Get. Out. Now!”

  “DAMN. DAMN. DAMN!” The blood drained from her head as Dakota surveyed the bodies sprawled behind Rand, then fixed her eyes on his dopey smile. She sucked in a rose-scented breath, then mentally cursed a blue streak as she realized what she’d just done. Even though she’d never smelled Rapture in this form, she knew what it was right away. The effect was immediate and delicious. The silky pink smell curled through her, expanding her awareness of her body, urging her to tackle Rand and take him to the floor—oh, for crap’s sake!

  She grabbed his arm. “Rapture. Move it!”

  The tanned skin was pulled taut over his features, giving him a feral look that made the hair on the back of her neck lift. He resisted her urging to race to the doors. His eyes glittered feverishly. His hair was mussed, and his mouth looked delicious.

  What was it that she’d been saying? “Hey,” she protested. Her mind shimmered into someplace warm and comfortable. Someplace without cold marble floors or dead people.

  Just Rand.

  “Now,” she shouted, but the word edged on a groan as he placed his large hand on her breast, curling his fingers around the aching weight. Holding her breath, she grabbed his hand hard, trying to pull him with her. “Rapture. Don’t breathe. Don’t talk. Move!” But she’d already taken several breaths herself. The soft pink rose flavor of the drug seeped into every cell in her body, expanding her veins and blood vessels with pleasure and happiness.

  But she knew they had to get out. Knew …

  The tantalizing, sensual fragrance of roses perfumed the air. Her mind floated free, and she turned into Rand’s chest, catching herself inhaling deeply. Eager for even a trace of the smell of his skin, that wonderfully hot, musky smell she remembered so well. He was so damn hot. Hot, sexy, and fiery to the touch. His skin burned as she ran her hand up his arm, feeling the tensile strength of muscles and tendons under her fingers. He had on too many clothes. A jacket. A shirt. She wanted to touch bare skin and feel the crisp rasp of the hair on his forearm. She rose on her toes to taste him.

  His other hand shot out and his fingers curled around her upper arm. There was something metallic and cold in his palm, and he pressed it hard against her skin as he rasped, “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

  She shoved hard at his chest but couldn’t quite grasp why. She did it again, walking him backward as if they were dancing. Very romantic. Except for the gun aimed point-blank at her shoulder.

  Did it matter? No, of course not. Damn it, why couldn’t she think? Because she had trouble forming coherent sentences when she was around him, that’s why. Their footsteps slowed as Dakota leaned into him, her tight breasts rubbing against his chest. God that felt amazing. She did it again, back arching just enough to change the pressure, the angle, to something decadently wicked. She moaned low in her throat, and tried to wrap her arms around his neck to pull him harder against her.

  She ached and throbbed from the top of her head to the sensitized soles of her feet. It felt glorious. Magical.

  Towering over her, he speared his fingers into her hair, drawing her face to his.

  Rapture! “Rapture!” Dakota slammed her fist into his shoulder. “You idiot,” she shouted, dancing him backward until she staggered. “We’re drugged! Hold your breath and move!”

  His reply sounded muffled, thickly indistinct. She blinked and glanced down to see what they’d stumbled over.

  Two people lay tightly entwined on the floor. It was odd, really, but now that she thought about it, the marble looked cool and slick, and God, she was burning up. Her skin was on fire and felt too tight. Her nipples hurt, and moisture pooled between her thighs. The throbbing, pulsing heartbeat of an orgasm made her dizzy with lust as she reached for him again.

  She had a wisp of a thought that she had to do something important. What had she been saying? It didn’t matter. She knew what she wanted now. “Lie down with me,” she urged, trying to tug her arms free of the shackles of his fingers. He was running his thumbs up under the short sleeves of her T-shirt in a sensual caress, making her breath catch and her mind fuzzy. “I think—I think that gun is supposed to be in your pocket.” She laughed, filled with a wonderful euphoria that made everything around her glow and throb.

  Her knees seemed to melt as she started to lower herself beside the couple at her feet.

  Rand hauled her upright. “Up. Out. Now!”

  “No, we don’t have to. Everyone is having fun, Rand. Look!” There had to be two dozen or more … couples? She blinked them into focus as Rand spun her around, now shoving her back through the double doors of the lobby and hauling her unceremoniously outside into the sunshine.

  The sun was extraordinarily bright and hot on her upturned face, and she had to squint to see him. “I think we should stay.”

  His fingers tightened around her arm as he forced her to move her feet or fall over. “Stop talking.”

  Dakota was vaguely aware of car horns blasting as he hauled her across the street. He unlocked her door and shoved her unceremoniously inside. “Stay!”

  FIVE

  The car was toasty warm. Womblike. Dakota’s breasts ached—in fact, her entire body ached. Folding her arms over them, she pressed down. A little better. Best would be Rand’s large hands squeezing her nipples. God … was she … ? Whatever that thought had been whisked away. She crossed her legs to ease the ache, and because it felt so good, squeezed. The orgasm hit her fast and hard. She was gasping and shuddering as Rand slammed his door shut.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him grip the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles white. He bowed his head over his hands and let out a shuddering breath.

  Dakota reached out to touch his hair, but he jerked out of reach, eyes blazing. “Don’t touch me! Jesus. Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.”

  She heard and vaguely computed, but her hand slid across his leg to settle on the hard erection beneath his pants. She pressed her knees together, shuddering as another climax rolled through her. The blast of air from the air conditioner teased her sweaty skin, making her nipples painfully hard. She tried to pull down Rand’s zipper. Impossible. Frustratingly impossible over the ridged length of his erect penis.

  He grabbed her wrist, grinding her palm against his hardness. He was hot, even through his pants, hot and throbbing beneath her fingers. Leaning over the center console, she tried to get closer as she tightened her hand like a vise around him. She reveled in the hard length of him, remembered it. His penis jerked under her hand. She still wanted to undo his zipper, but she didn’t want to let go of him long enough to do that.

  So many decisions.

  “Don’t,” he said thickly, but he lifted his hips to increase the pressure. Dakota tightened her fingers, and he groaned and flung back his head, the tendons in his arched neck throbbing. His body clenched as her thumb pressed against the head. She remembered the taste of his skin and came again, spasming in her seat, gasping for breath.

  “Jesus …�
� His breathing was fast and labored, sweat rolling down his temple. His fingers clamped around her wrist. She pressed the heel of her hand down hard, causing him to jerk and cry out. His climax made her want him more. But this time, he was almost breaking her wrist in his attempt to pry her fingers off him.

  Something prodded at the edge of her consciousness. Something bad. Something …

  A man pounded on the side window, giving them an evil look, before walking away. Dakota frowned. What on earth … “Look around you,” she gritted as a moment of lucidity shocked her into awareness. They were parked on a busy street; pedestrians strolled by, most unaware of what was happening inside the car.

  Sensation flooded her body. Heat. Light. Need.

  He shoved away her hand, then placed his own on the steering wheel in a death-defying grip so tight the bones shone through his skin. Color rode high on his cheeks, and a nerve jumped in his jaw. “We’ve been drugged.”

  “It’ll pass,” she insisted. She knew it would, but the feeling filled her to the brim, and she didn’t want to be rational and sensible right then.

  He gave her a cool look from hot eyes. “Whoever put the drug in the champagne at the wedding must’ve run it through the vents at the bank. Didn’t you see everyone on the fucking floor?” He glared at her. “They were dead, Dakota. This time, the dose was lethal. We got a whiff. Thank God you had the presence of mind to get us out of there, but it was close, very close. Those poor bastards had no idea. They lost their inhibitions and were so busy screwing anyone who moved that they didn’t notice or care what they were doing. The bank was robbed, and those people are all dead.”

  Think. She had to reel her brain back into functionality. Dakota wasn’t sure if she’d sucked in enough Rapture for it to have such a profound effect, or if she just wanted him, any way she could get him—floor, car, on the freaking moon, if that was an option.

  A small sliver of sanity parted the euphoria like a curtain. She forced herself hard against the seat back as his words resonated. “The drug’s in our systems. It’s going to be a bitch to fight it, but we can’t stay here, Rand. We’re right outside the bank! We have to leave. Can you drive?” She could barely form coherent words, let alone thoughts. She fought the insidious pleasure with all her might.