Dangerous Kiss

by Michelle Love

  Teresa was confused. “What?”

  Mike shook his head. “I don’t know, Teresa, I really don’t. We have a call with the lawyer that Podesta mentioned in his will, somewhere down in Louisiana. We’ll get to the bottom of this. The question is … do you think I should tell Zea and Flynt?”

  Teresa sighed. “Not until we know more. They’re so happy at the moment, and Zea’s had enough fear and worry to last a lifetime. Let’s wait.”

  Mike agreed. “I think so too.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. “Say, this place is coming together.”

  Teresa grinned. “It is. I’m pretty excited about it.”

  Mike grinned. “Good. I like to see your smile, Terry.”

  “Stop flirting with me, Michael; we ended things for a reason.” But she was grinning at his flirtatious manner. Mike pretended to scratch his head.

  “Right now, I can’t remember what those reasons were.”

  Teresa was very thankful that there were workmen standing around watching them or she would have kissed Mike right there and then.

  Kizzie had gotten home after a day at the hospital with Ethan, and her mind was whirling. For a change, it was a pleasurable thing. Ethan’s wounds were healing, and his whole demeanor was improved, so much so that she had seen the fun-loving boy she’d met that first day in the survivor's group. His sense of humor had returned, and she saw that finally telling the truth had lifted an incredible weight from him.

  He wasn’t even worried if the DA was going to charge him. “If he does, I’ll do my time, get myself straight. I should be held responsible for not saying anything, even if I thought Nick might be fronting. People died. Lexi died. I have to pay my dues, Kiz.”

  She’d touched his face. “I’ll visit every day if you’re in the clink and bake a cake with a file in it.”

  Ethan had laughed and grabbed her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers. “I believe you would, Boo.”

  Today, they’d been playing a game of cards when Ethan had leaned over and brushed her lips with his. She could still feel the tingle from where their lips met. He hadn’t pushed it, but merely leaned his forehead against hers. They had had no need for words.

  Now, as she let herself into her home, she was smiling and didn’t see him until he launched himself at her.

  Nick Petersen grabbed Kizzie’s hair and slammed her into the wall. Crying out in shock and alarm, it took Kizzie a second to recognize what was happening. As Nick wrestled her to the ground and wrapped his hands around her throat, she began to fight back, kicking and scratching, twisting her own body to try and free herself.

  “I’m gonna kill you, Kizzie Kline … first you, then Bree Saffran and your brother, and when you’re all dead and buried, I’ll kill your coward boyfriend, Fonseca. You’re all dead.”

  Kizzie, despite her terror, managed to press her thumbs deep into Nick’s eyes and with a yelp, he jerked away. The pressure on her neck released and she rolled away from him. Scrambling to her feet, she darted for the kitchen. She grabbed the phone, as well as the biggest kitchen knife she could find.

  Nick appeared in the doorway just as the 911 operator picked up and Kizzie managed to shout her address and that she was being attacked as Nick lunged for her. She swiped at him with the knife, catching his cheek, and the pain brought him to a halt. Clutching his bloody cheek, he roared at her, but Kizzie advanced with the knife. Nick turned and darted for the front door, and as he disappeared, Kizzie slammed the door, deadbolted it, then quickly scrambled around the villa, securing it. She found the 911 operator still on the line, who told her a unit was on its way.

  Only when she was sure she was safe did Kizzie break down. For a few minutes, she let herself breath heavily, deeply, trying to keep the terror at bay. It was the sudden violence that had gotten to her most. Jesus …

  Angry now, she pulled out her phone and dialed her brother.

  “Hey sis.”

  “If you don’t kill this fucker, I’m gonna.”

  Jesse cursed. “What happened?”

  “Just tried to use his particular brand of intimidation on me again. Didn’t work. Asshole.”

  “Are you okay?” Jesse sounded panicked now, but Kizzie reassured him.

  “Police are on their way.”

  “Fuck,” Jesse spat, barely controlling his anger. “Look, me and Bree are going to come stay with you. I don’t want you alone.”

  Kizzie felt relief. “I’m all for that. How’s Bree?”

  “Pissed.” Jesse gave a strange laugh. “More than that, actually. She’s angry. She’s determined. She wants to get this bastard.”

  “Jesse?”

  “Yup.”

  Kizzie hesitated. “He threatened her. And you. He said he was going to kill us all, and Ethan. I believe him. And I believe he could do it.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because he’s careful. Because he’s psychotic. And because he’s done this before.”

  She could hear her brother’s breathing, heavy, angry. “Yeah.”

  Hopelessness settled over her. “Oh God, Jesse ... how the hell are we going to stop him?”

  There was silence. “I don’t know, sis. But I know this. He’s not going to get near you again. He’s not gonna touch you, Bree, Ethan, any of us— even if it means killing him. He killed our sister, Kiz. I’ll happily spend the rest of my life in jail for killing that scum.”

  “Agreed. Jesse?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful. I don’t think you’re safe either.”

  “I don’t think any of us are while Petersen is around. Look, sis … can you maybe get back into the city and go stay with Ethan in the hospital? Or call Jake? I need to know you’re safe.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’m fine, but yeah, I’ll stay with Ethan.”

  She heard a voice in the background. “Is that Bree?”

  “Yeah, hang on.” She heard him pass the phone.

  “Hey, angel.”

  “Hey, Bree, you okay?”

  “Yes, honey, I am fine. I just wanted to tell you not to worry. If he touches you or Jesse; if he touches anyone else; I’m going to blow his motherfucking head off. See ya.”

  She giggled, and Kizzie laughed, shocked, amazed. She heard Jesse laughing as he came back on the phone.

  “Well?” He kept sniggering.

  Kizzie nodded to herself, smiling. “Yeah, Jesse. She’s ready.” And she laughed.

  Thursday night. The day before Luca and Bree Saffran were due to come to the Harper compound, and Emory felt nervous. No, nervous was the wrong word. Terrified. Tomorrow, whatever happened, everything would change, and her safe little bubble with Dante would burst.

  She stood at the window of their bedroom now, in the dark, looking out into the twilight. A sadness pounded at her chest, but she felt guilty for it. If what Dante thought was true, then there were people missing her, mourning her. Casting all selfish reasons aside, she knew this was the right thing to do. The longer she stared at Luca Saffran’s photograph, the more she was remembering, and she could feel a fondness for him—kind of. A bond, however, tenuous at this point. Like she knew him, but there was still a block …

  She felt Dante’s arm slide around her waist and she leaned back into his arms.

  “Hello, beautiful.” His lips were on her neck, and she sighed. How could she give this up? She turned around in his arms and pressed her lips to his.

  “Dante,” she whispered, “Tonight is ours, promise? Just you and me and nothing else.”

  “You read my mind.” His fingers slid under the straps of her dress, and he pulled them gently down her arms. He pulled her dress down to her waist and then freed her breasts from her bra, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn, teasing them until they were hard and sensitive.

  Emory undid his shirt slowly, running her fingertips over his chest as if she were committing every part of his skin to memory. When they were both naked, she stroked his cock, hard and proud agains
t his belly, gazing up at him.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered. “Please, Dante, don’t wait.”

  He swept her onto the bed and pushed her legs apart, thrusting his ramrod- hard cock deep inside her, their eyes locked, his hands pinning hers to the bed. His big body, dwarfing hers, dominated her, made her feel loved, made her feel safe. As they made love, with each thrust the pleasure and the pain grew more intense, and when Emory’s orgasm hit, she cried out with the pain she had buried for so long and sobbed in his arms, knowing she would rather die than give him up, even if it meant breaking Luca Saffran’s heart.

  “Mrs. Azano?”

  Zea frowned. She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the phone. “It’s Mrs. Newlan now … who is this, please?”

  “It’s Detective Lindstrom from Auburn Homicide, Mrs. … Newlan. Congrats, by the way. I’m sorry to intrude on your new life, but I have important information for you regarding your husband—excuse me—your former husband’s case.”

  Zea felt a chill. What could it be now? “Okay.” She sat down. Flynt, who was chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter, looked at her curiously, and she shrugged at him, looking confused.

  “Mrs. Newlan, new information has come to light in the case. I think you’re aware of the toxicology results on your hus—on Mr. Azano’s body? We found a significant amount of the drug known on the streets as bath salts.

  “Yes.” Her mouth felt dry. She’d found that hardest to believe—that David was taking hard drugs. There simply had been no signs. “Detective, please tell me what you need to.”

  The detective sighed. “Okay, here it is. It appears that the drugs were slipped to your husband without him being aware. He was drugged, Mrs. Newlan. Someone—a pupil—targeted him and supplied the drugs and the weapons. Told him who to kill. Apparently, this student had a grudge against the Kline family and the Saffrans. He also harbored a crush on Mrs. Grace. When he made his feelings clear to Mrs. Grace, she obviously reported it to the dean, as is policy.”

  Zea felt all the horror of the shooting flooded back. She felt the blood drain from her face. “Stop saying ‘this student’—the pupils at Auburn are old enough to be tried as adults. Tell me his name.”

  “Nicholas Petersen.”

  Oh, God. She knew Nick … he’d worked as a mechanic at his dad’s workshop. Both Petersen Senior and Junior were creeps; she had never liked either. “Why did he pick David?”

  “We don’t know. Mrs. Az—Newlan, we need you to come back to Auburn, just for a time. Is that something you feel you could do now?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

  Detective Lindstrom sounded relieved. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Goodbye, Detective.”

  She pressed the end button and looked up at Flynt, her whole body aching. She told him, in a halting voice, what the detective had told her.

  “And that is that,” she said softly. Flynt frowned.

  “I’m so sorry, Zea.”

  Zea stared at her phone for a long moment, then carefully stood and threw the phone against the wall. It shattered and flung glass and metal across the room. Flynt flinched and reached for her, but before he got hold of her, she’d walked unsteadily over to pick up one of the shards of glass glinting in the carpet. She closed her hand around it, letting out a primal scream of pain, rage, and betrayal as the glass sliced into her skin.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Flynt gathered her into his arms and bore her over to the couch. Sobs began to rack her body, and she slumped, unable to stop the ragged, shuddering howls of grief. Flynt rocked her as if she were a child.

  “Ssh, ssh, baby girl, I’m here. Let me look after you.”

  Her sobs juddered to a halt finally, and she pulled away from his arms.

  “I’m sorry, Flynt. I just … God, poor David … he never deliberately did anything to hurt anyone, and now he’ll forever be known as a killer. Because of this psychopathic student.” She looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “I can’t bear it.”

  He swept her hair away from her face. “I’ll get you some painkillers. I think you should go to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  She nodded her thanks, and he was quickly back with a glass of water and two little white pills. She swallowed them as he started to clean up the cut on her hand. The smell of the blood filled her nose. She opened her mouth to speak but found she could not, the whirling in her brain speeding up now, confusion muddling her thoughts.

  “Baby … you okay?” Flynt’s voice seemed even more distant now, barely audible. Black spots began to crowd into her vision, and finally, she passed out. The blood from her hand dripped slowly onto the carpet.

  Tatiana greeted them as she leaned against his car and Luca smiled. He had invited Tat to go with him and Bree to Dante Harper’s house. Tatiana had become a good friend, someone he could talk to. Last night, at another late dinner, she had asked him if he was ready to know what Dante Harper was about to tell him.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, his fingers twisting the stem of his wine glass. “I guess I’m still waiting to feel that Emory’s dead and maybe Dante has information where her body is. God help me, I need that closure before I can move on, Tat.”

  “I understand. Luca, what if … what if Emory is alive and Dante knows where she is?”

  Luca took a deep breath in. “Then I would hope he would tell me where she is.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

  Luca looked shocked. “Why on Earth … ?”

  “Luca, think about it—and don’t shoot the messenger,” Tat added with a grin. “What if Emory thinks Ray is still out there, alive, free? What if she thinks as long as he thinks she’s dead, then Bree is safe?”

  Luca sighed. “It had crossed my mind, and yes, it would be like Emory to think like that. Maybe I should have let Maximo deal with Ray Grace, let the police find his body and get it out to the press. Ray Grace’s death would not bother me for one second.”

  Tatiana blinked, and Luca realized he was still talking to a journalist, as much as she was a good friend. He held up her hands.

  “Forgive me, Tat. Sometimes my anger gets the better of me.”

  “It’s really okay; it’s just strange to hear it come from you.”

  Luca gave a small laugh. “You think I don’t want to rip that son of a bitch limb from limb?”

  “I do, but still…”

  Luca studied her. Tatiana was a little older than Emory, and physically, they could not have been more different; Emory was small, dark, and curvy, whereas Tatiana was nearly as tall as Luca’s six feet, willowy, and slender. Despite their differences, there was one thing they had in common. Both had dark eyes which sparkled with warmth and love. God, what are you doing, Saffran, comparing your friend to your dead lover?

  He looked away from Tatiana’s gaze. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming tomorrow?”

  “Not at all.”

  Now they were in his Mercedes, Bree having taken the back seat, and were speeding towards Dante Harper’s estate. After a time, none of them spoke, all locked in their own thoughts. Eventually, Luca pulled up to the gates of a large estate. Tatiana looked at him, then around at Bree.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Last time I ask, promise.”

  Luca’s eyes met Bree’s in the rear-view mirror, and he saw his daughter nod. “We’re ready. Let’s go.”

  Jesse stopped in town to grab some groceries. Since he and Bree had moved in with Kizzie, he thought with a grin, they’d managed to eat her entire refrigerator and cupboards bare. He had to admit, he enjoyed living with the two girls—despite the situation they were in, they kept each other sane.

  He dumped the sack of groceries in the trunk and moved to get into his car. He stopped and looked over to Nick Petersen’s father’s workshop. Since the APB had gone out about Nick, Gary Petersen had shut up shop, avoiding angry parents and the press.<
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  From the corner of his eye, a flash of light had caught Jesse’s eye. Nick’s abandoned workshop was in darkness, but he could have sworn … a flashlight swept across the inside of the building. Jesse, glancing around him to see if anyone else had noticed, felt a small jolt of anxiety. He crossed the street and looked in at the window. At the far end of the workshop, a door stood open. Jesse knew it was the door that led upstairs to the apartment above. Gary had always kept it locked. Jesse didn’t know if the police had left it open when they’d searched it but … he cupped his hands over his eyes and tried to see any movement. Another flash, this time from the stairs.

  Jesse chewed on his lip. He walked around to the stairs that led to the apartment and climbed up the stairs. The apartment was dark, but he peered into the windows. Nothing. He blew a breath out. The events of the past few weeks had affected the whole island. He, like many others, had been on the lookout for that bastard Petersen ever since Ethan told the truth. He shook his head and stepped away. Behind him, the door creaked open. Jesse stopped and turned his heart thudding. His body tensed, he pushed the door open.

  “Petersen? Ain’t no use hiding. The whole island’s looking for you.”

  “Are they?”

  Jesse whirled around just as Nick Petersen loomed up behind him. Jesse felt his balance slip as, with both hands, Petersen shoved him violently. Jesse felt the balcony rail slam into his back and felt himself flip over. Just before he slammed into the dirt below, he saw a flash of bright light, heard an agonized scream, and then he hit the road and blacked out.

  Kizzie looked up as a dark-haired, pretty young woman approached her. She was waiting outside Ethan’s room while nurses changed his dressings and had her head stuck in a book when the woman spoke.

  “Kizzie Kline?”

  Kizzie nodded and stood, taking the woman’s offered hand. “I am.”

  “I’m Zea Newlan … I was Zea Azano.”

  Kizzie felt a jolt of shock. The woman in front of her couldn’t be much older than herself. She looked nervous and trembling, and Kizzie’s heart went out to her. Of anyone, Zea Azano had nothing to be afraid of.