“I said I’d handle it. Besides, you need to prepare for that party. Scratch Mr. Smith off the long list of things I need you to handle today.” He didn’t give her time to respond, turning on his heels and sauntering away with a cocky air about him.
Damn it! Disappointment washed over her. She really wanted to see Des. All she could do was hope he’d ask to see her. He was taking care of her flat tire, so surely he would.
“I told you,” Michael said. “He’s checking out Greg.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Greg is trying to steal the credit for my work.” She started toward the elevator. “And I don’t know why I let him get to me. I do this because I love history, not for pats on the back.”
Michael fell into step with her. “I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “Of course, that’s normal for Greg. I’m not denying that. But you heard him. The board wants him involved. This isn’t Greg’s doing. It’s someone else’s.”
“Right. Like the board really talked to him.” She waved off that idea. “You can’t believe a word Greg says.”
“Fine, then. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He raised the bag. “Ham on rye. Want half?”
“Only if you promise to let me eat in peace. No talk of undercover secret plots.”
“I said fine, then, already.” He lifted his head with a prim air. “But just because you don’t talk about it, doesn’t make it untrue. Pretending it isn’t so simply doesn’t work.”
She started to reprimand him, but his words hit home in too many ways to completely discount them. He was right. Pretending didn’t work. She couldn’t pretend her mother was away on a trip and make it so. Nor could she pretend those diaries would be returned. No matter how much she tried to block out the hard facts of recent events, they were there, a part of her life that wouldn’t go away.
Nor could she block out the feeling that the whirlwind of the past year was about to end. Destiny had something more in store for her. Calling to her. The question was—why did Des, a man she barely knew, feel a part of that destiny?
Saturday night, Greg stood under the shower, warm water pouring over him, adrenaline pouring through him. Finally, the night of the charity event, the night when he would gain his rightful place in this life, had arrived. With Black Dog and his men covertly working for him, the journal would be in his possession, and he’d find the treasure the map inside led to. Then, he’d hold the treasure captive until Segundo turned him into a powerful demon, an immortal without human limitations. Tonight would be the beginning of a new and better future.
Abruptly, the curtain flew back, revealing Segundo. All of the bravado from moments before washed down the drain beneath his feet, leaving him naked, exposed.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, the words gone from his mouth before he could call them back.
Segundo’s eyes flared red, his human mask distorting into that horrid half Beast, a snarl sliding from his lips. A second later, Greg found himself pressed against the tile wall, feet dangling above the tub’s surface.
“Do not press your luck with me, human. I can cause you so much pain, you will beg for mercy.”
Greg’s hands went to his throat, to the beastly fingers cutting off his windpipe, clawing for mercy. And then, as suddenly as the Beast had picked him up, Greg was dropped.
His feet hit the wet floor of the tub and he slipped, reaching for support but to no avail. He fell hard, his shoulder taking the brunt of the hit, his head knocking against the porcelain side.
Segundo towered over the tub. “I’ve been patient, human, but no more. Bring me my journal before this night is over. If you don’t, I’ll tear you apart limb by limb and then find someone who will.” He turned and walked away.
For several seconds, Greg didn’t dare breathe for fear Segundo would return. When he did not, the tension in Greg’s body slowly eased, but the humiliation did not. It was a familiar part of his life he’d long ago vowed to put behind him. Resolve formed as he pressed himself upward, fighting against the dizziness the head injury caused.
He would be humiliated no more. No more!
Chapter 11
Des straightened his silver Armani tie and then inspected himself in the mirror. His hair slicked back, his white shirt starched, his suit expensive: his appearance appropriate to mingle with the rich bastards he’d be around at the charity event.
Turning away from the mirror, he found the hallway and started walking, feeling on edge, ready to chew nails. He’d be seeing Jessica tonight for the first time in days. Seeing her long enough to watch her crushed by the events that were about to unfold, by the loss of that journal.
Jessica’s feelings were only one of the many reasons uneasiness played in his mind, in the taut lines of his body. Their extraction plan had holes. Big holes. Based on limited surveillance feed from various locations, including the catering company’s office, they knew an attempt on the journal would be made at the party. That meant the Knights’ best strategy was to intercept the thieves as they tried to exit the building with the journal in their possession. Letting them get past the exits would be too risky. Des still planned to attend the party, which put him inside the museum, ready to respond where needed as the plan went into motion.
It had all sounded good as they’d rolled it out several days before. Right now his gut said differently, and if he could postpone their actions he would. But they were throwing down tonight no matter how much he thought they needed more time. Because one way or the other, someone was taking that journal home before the party ended, and it wasn’t going to be the Beasts. And though they had found no direct proof Greg was working for the Beasts, it didn’t really matter. Even if he wasn’t, once he had the journal, the Beasts were near, and they’d take it from him.
Hoping for some sort of positive news from Max, Des completed the path down the hall and entered the surveillance area. Max sat in front of a computer. Which, now that Des thought of it, was where he always was. Des had yet to see the Knight sleep. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that Max had earned his respect, if not his trust. The trust part of the equation just wouldn’t come. He remembered that flash of red in Max’s eyes and it gave Des pause. Was the red in his eyes as well? Could he and Max be alike? Had the Beast consumed Max as it had Des, and he simply didn’t recognize it in himself?
Des shook off the thought and focused on the matters at hand. “Where do we stand?” he asked Max, hoping for something new, something extra to go on. Even with the bugs he’d planted in Greg’s office the day of the tour, they’d gotten limited feed.
“No better than thirty minutes ago when you asked me last time,” Max spat back, glancing over his shoulder. He was the only one left at the house. Rock and Rinehart were in position, their team with them.
“Chingado,” he cursed in Spanish. “That’s not good enough. We need more information.” They knew the catering company, Greg and this man called Black Dog were in bed together and intended to switch the journal out with a fake at the party. One or all of them were likely being controlled by the Beasts. But that was the extent of their knowledge. Not enough as far as Des was concerned, considering the public forum this was all going down in.
Max scrubbed his face, a heavy stubble darkening his jaw. “I know. Believe me, I know. I’ve hunted for info on Black Dog but came up empty. These guys are good, some sort of special-ops team who really know the meaning of covert.”
Des grimaced and eyed his watch. “I have to go. This is going down wrong. I feel it. We can’t draw swords on humans, and why do I think they know that?”
Max swiveled around to face him, his eyes hard. “Pain can be worse than dying. If anyone knows this, you should. No one says you can’t cause one hell of a lot of pain.”
The words, spoken with a sharp intensity, swept Des with the force of truth. Words that went beyond the surface meaning, deep into the recesses of Max’s soul. Des saw it in the other Knight’s eyes, and decided in that moment, he and Max had at
least two things in common. They both had a past that refused to let them see into the future. And they both agreed on what had to happen tonight. If Greg or his men got in the way of saving that journal, they were going to have a hurting put on them.
Jessica stood in the main hall of the museum, the charity event in full swing, her nerves in a jumbled mess. The journal would be publicly unveiled for the first time in a mere hour. For some reason, she couldn’t shake the sizzle of fear deep in her gut. If anything happened to that journal, she’d be crushed. Worse, her father would be crushed.
The insurance people had been thorough, she reminded herself. Borderline paranoid even. They’d checked out every detail of the party, even the new catering staff. She knew because they’d kept her beyond busy for days now, jumping through hoops that helped keep her mind off the fact that Des had disappeared from her life as suddenly as he’d arrived. Even her car keys had been left at the reception desk after his tour. Yet, he would be here tonight. Or so Greg told her. He’d be going to review the Smith collection the next week. Greg, not her. Des had shut her out completely.
Des. His name ran through her mind as it had a million times. Despite all that had happened, he simply refused to be expelled from her thoughts. Dating and the entire male-female relationship quandary occupied a tiny piece of her life, but even in his absence, Des consumed a big portion. Maybe it was the age-old temptation of wanting what you couldn’t have, though that had never appealed to her in the past.
Michael approached, looking handsome in a black three-piece suit, tailored to perfection. The man had been her rock the past few days, juggling last-minute details that to some would be a crisis. To him, they’d been nothing but wrinkles that needed touch-ups.
He gave Jessica’s dress—a pink knee-length chiffon—a once-over and let out a low whistle. “You’ve got style and class, sweetheart.”
Her lips lifted in an attempted smile. “Thanks.”
“I’m not feeling that smile and I’m wondering why?” His hand elegantly swept the decor of silver and pink. “The party is absolutely spectacular. You did your mother proud tonight.”
She avoided his question. “We did her proud,” Jessica corrected, loosening up a bit thanks to the familiar banter she often shared with Michael. “This would never have happened without you. Oh, and I love the pink ribbon cake. The catering company turned out to be excellent.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.” He gave her a keen look and then glanced around the room. “Any sign of your father yet?”
“Not yet, but that doesn’t surprise me. This entire night is emotional for him.”
“And for you, I suspect,” he commented. “Is that why I’m getting that tentative vibe off you?”
“You’re right about this night being emotional,” Jessica admitted, not at all surprised he pressed for answers about her mood. “But honestly, that’s not what’s bothering me.” She flattened her palm on her stomach. “I have this funny feeling something is going to go wrong.”
“Meaning what?”
“I’m worried about the journal.”
He waved off her words. “Honey, the way the insurance people flocked around us this week, you have nothing to worry about.” His attention went to the door. “Speaking of insurance people. Look who’s here.”
Jessica’s gaze went to the door, where Des entered. Her heart fluttered wildly, the impact of seeing him again washing over her with far more intensity than she’d expected. Heads turned as he walked in, female heads. Unbidden, a tingle of jealousy played on her nerve endings.
“Des is not with the insurance company,” she said sharply.
“Whatever you say,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “Insurance company or not, he’s an attention grabber.” His voice perked up with interest. “What’s up with the two of you, anyway?”
Her gaze went back to Des’s profile, noting the bosomy brunette who was trying to claim his attention. Her lips pursed and she cast Michael a nonchalant look. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Shouldn’t you greet him?” Michael pressed.
“He looks well taken care of,” Jessica commented before she could stop herself.
No doubt Michael would pick up on the bitterness in her tone. From the look in his eyes, she was about to get another round of questions, but a sudden rush of activity arose at the front door. Jessica and Michael, and a hundred or so other guests, turned toward the commotion.
Jessica spotted her father standing near the front door. Her lips lifted as she watched him work the crowd as an accomplished politician, shaking hands, smiling. Though she was too far away to see his eyes, she suspected that smile didn’t touch them. This night came with the pain of loss over his wife, over her mother.
She glanced at Michael. “Now, there’s a man who needs to be greeted. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
She waved to Michael before working her way through the crowd, heading in her father’s direction. But only a few feet away, she stopped dead in her tracks when she found him talking with Des. These were the last two people she’d expected to see in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. She wasn’t one to tuck tail and run, but she preferred to deal with her awkward reunion with Des alone. Not in front of her father.
She contemplated her options. She considered retreating, if only momentarily. But there was no escape as both men seemed to sense her presence, overwhelming her with their attentive stares.
Her father motioned her forward, and Jessica caved to expectations. She drew a deep, calming breath and started walking, refusing to meet Des’s stare, but no less unnerved by his attention.
She hugged her father and kissed his cheek before inclining her head toward Des. “Glad you could make it.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his expression guarded. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“I was just thanking Des for his help the other night,” her father commented. “I didn’t exactly show my gracious side that evening.”
“As I said, Senator,” Des offered in a mild voice, “the night was full of emotional upheaval. We were all on edge.”
Jessica cast Des a pensive look, her instincts telling her he wasn’t overly receptive to her father’s apology, despite the respect in his manner.
“May I have your attention?” Michael stood on a stage where a small orchestra had taken seats. “With us this evening is Senator Montgomery.” The crowd clapped, heads turning to him. “The Senator will unveil an amazing piece of history. But not yet.” Michael smiled and the crowd made sounds of teasing displeasure. “We don’t want anyone to miss this, so we’ll give people time to arrive. In the meantime, I’d like to introduce our entertainment.” He went on to list the band’s credits, then added, “Let the dancing begin!”
The crowd calmed and couples began to ease onto the dance floor directly in front of the stage. “Would you like to dance, Jessica?” Des asked softly, drawing her gaze.
His invitation surprised her. She wanted to dance with him, but then, she didn’t. Des confused her. Des enticed her. He had also hurt her. And he would be gone tomorrow. She looked into his eyes, finding them warm and telling of the connection they still shared.
Business, and his donation, seemed a good excuse for rushing into the fire again, into his arms. Before she could speak, before she could accept the dance, her father interjected. “Actually, I’d love to have my daughter be my first dance of the night.” He held an arm out to Jessica, as if staking a claim. His gaze went to Des, the kindness of a few moments before tinted with a hint of steel. “I’m sure you understand?”
A dark look flashed across Des’s features, and for a moment, Jessica thought he was going to say no, he did not understand. Because, frankly, she didn’t understand, herself.
After a long pause, Des inclined his head. “Maybe later then,” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting second, ice where there had been heat.
Jessica tr
ied to will him to look at her again, but he wouldn’t. Whatever haunted Des, whatever made him respond to her father as he did, obviously had a deep hold on him. And she could do nothing about it in their limited acquaintance.
Jessica linked her arm through her father’s and let him guide her to the dance floor, knowing she couldn’t reprimand him. Not on a night like this one. There were more important things to focus on.
She refused to allow anything, or anyone, to get in the way of honoring her mother’s life, her work. And that included Des, no matter how sexy and mysterious the man might be.
Des walked to the bar and dropped cash on the counter, barely glancing at the bartender as he covertly scouted for Greg. “Tequila, straight up.” A shot glass appeared, filled with his drink of choice. Des downed the contents. “Oh yeah,” he said when the bite slid down his throat. “Hit me again.” He wouldn’t get drunk, but he damn sure needed that kick.
He finished off his second shot and leaned on the bar, his eyes catching on his target. Greg stood in a far corner talking with an elderly man whom Des recognized as one of the museum board members. He couldn’t wait to take that bastard, Greg, down. Eyeing his watch, Des checked his time lines.
According to the intel they’d managed to secure, Greg would be taking drugged refreshments to the two guards in direct contact with the journal. When they passed out, the catering staff would replace the guards and the journal, all before the unveiling ceremony started. Max had tapped into the museum cameras and would watch for Greg to launch into action, alerting the entire team.
Des’s gaze landed on Jessica as her father twirled her around the dance floor, a vision of beauty in pink. Something inside him moved when he looked at her, and it wasn’t simply about fire and attraction. It was deeper, more intimate, impossible to ignore.
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