by Marie Harte
“She ought to know better.” Jurek looked grim. “The accounts she supervises are extremely sensitive. We’ll have to remove her immediately.”
Max interrupted, “Just as soon as we nail Glass. Thorne’s meeting her tonight at the Royale Hotel.”
Thorne nodded. “I’m hoping she’ll give me a little more to go on.”
Storm was agog at the thought of her brother playing smooth and sophisticated. Luc, she could see pulling it off. But not Thorne. “Okay, James Bond. I’ll bite. How exactly are you going to get the information from her?”
Luc laughed. “Yeah, ’cause I don’t see you charming it out of her.”
Thorne glared. “I can do charming. Trust me, I’ll get her to lower her inhibitions—”
“I could do that with a few beers,” Luc offered.
“Then I’ll mindread what she likes and find us information we can use,” Thorne said with a glare at his brother.
“The sooner the better. My visions are getting worse. People are dying.” Rafe glanced at Storm with real worry in his eyes. “No way in hell can we let that happen.”
He hadn’t mentioned any new visions to her.
“Rafe?”
He glanced away from her and described his dreams. Floating bodies, women in red, black water, dark hair—all of it seemed pointed at her. But had Rafe seen her death as a future they couldn’t fix, or was it a warning of something they could prevent?
Rafe cleared his throat, his voice gruff when he spoke. “I think maybe it’s time Storm stayed with someone else. I’m too close to the investigation, and I have a bad feeling that being near me might be her death sentence.”
She wanted to protest, but her family’s intense scrutiny kept her mute. She’d talk to Rafe in private, after the meeting.
Unfortunately, Jurek agreed with him. “We should play it safe. Glass has issues with Westlake, with Rafe in particular. Now that I think back on it, Richard used to mention Rafe quite a bit.” He turned to Rafe. “I think he saw you as competition. Maybe that accounted for his subtle animosity.”
“Why me?” Rafe asked.
“Who knows?” Jurek shrugged. “You’re a stellar agent, but so is Hunter. Hell, even J.D.’s been improving.”
J.D. snorted. “Thanks for the glowing recommendation.”
Max added his own two cents, but Storm had a hard time concentrating on anything but Rafe, who’d conveniently turned to J.D. To avoid looking at her? Storm wondered at the legitimacy of his excuse to part ways. Rationally, his decision made sense. If only she could be sure he wanted her gone to keep her safe. Or was it because they’d grown so much closer and it scared him? The sheer heat they generated wasn’t just sexual, it was emotional as well, and he knew it. A small part of her even thought about what it might be like to have a baby with him, to celebrate their ties with new life. Talk about the wrong time for her biological clock to start ticking.
Thorne started coughing. He drew in air in great, heaving gulps, and she had a bad feeling she hadn’t shielded that last part well enough. Her brother stared at her, wide-eyed.
“What?” she snapped.
The others continued to discuss the matter of her new accommodations.
In a low voice, Thorne offered, “You can stay with me and Luc. While I’m working Jennifer over, he can keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need an eye on me.” Not unless it belongs to Rafe. She started to rise from her chair when Rafe grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her.
He turned away from J.D. midsentence. “You need as many eyes on you as Buchanan can authorize. Westlake will help. We have men to protect you.”
“I’m just a distraction. Glass wants you. I don’t need protection.”
“Yes, you do,” he said quietly.
All talk in the conference room ceased.
Storm wanted to know what Rafe thought as he watched her. Not for the first time, she wished she had Thorne’s ability.
“No, you don’t,” Thorne growled. “We need to go. We have some things to talk about, you and I,” he said to her. “Luc, come on. Uncle Max, we’ll be at our place.”
Thorne pulled her out of her chair and practically dragged her out of the conference room, Luc trailing. At the elevator, he lowered his voice and whispered, “I’m going to be an uncle?” His glance at her belly embarrassed the hell out of her.
“No! Would you please stop eavesdropping on minds you shouldn’t be reading?”
“Trust me, I wish I’d never seen half the things that asshole in there was thinking.”
“Ah, seen?” She blushed bright red. She knew he sometimes caught both images and thoughts from the minds he read.
“I don’t want to talk about this here.”
Luc nudged her to follow their brother into the elevator.
The three of them traveled home together in silence. Storm tried to maintain the shield over her thoughts, but her erratic emotions made it hard to hold tight. Already she missed Rafe. He’d talked about a future without saying those exact words. She wanted very much to believe they could be together. But who knew what the future held?
Actually, Luc did. She looked at the back of his head and wondered.
“Don’t even think of asking him,” Thorne warned.
“Would you stop doing that? You don’t like what you see, then keep out.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared unseeingly out the window at the passing scenery. “So what was Rafe thinking about in the conference room?”
“Yeah, what made you almost burst a blood vessel back there?” Luc asked. “Or don’t I want to know?”
Thorne sighed. “Aside from what would burn your eyes and ears out, the man is pretty smitten.”
Luc turned to her brother and frowned. “Smitten? Who the hell talks like that?”
“I don’t. But Jennifer likes the thought of a man smitten with her. Apparently, she’s not the only one.” Thorne exhaled a long, drawn-out breath.
Storm flipped her brother the finger, exhilarated at the thought that Rafe really did want her around.
She still didn’t know exactly how it had happened, but the connection she and Rafe shared refused to leave her thoughts. The intimacy between them may have started with the physical, but it had definitely transcended into an emotional bond she didn’t want to lose.
Though he had yet to admit anything of his feelings, she knew, deep down, that he was the one for her. They hadn’t been together long at all, but she could feel the rightness between them. Rafe made her happy, and not because she wanted him to, but because he wanted to. They had so much in common in addition to killer physical chemistry.
The integrity, force of will and psychic strength the Buchanans prized resonated in Rafe as well.
“Okay, this is bad.” Thorne sounded put out. “I’m not even trying, but you’re broadcasting something fierce. Storm, please. You’re giving me a headache. Rafe this, Rafe that. I think I’m gonna puke.”
Luc chuckled. Storm smiled with him, because Thorne sounded less annoyed than resigned.
“I can’t help it. I think I love him.”
Luc stopped laughing and slapped a hand over his eyes. “Hell. Don’t tell me we’ll have to welcome another one of Westlake’s guys into the family. Alex’s husband is bad enough.”
“Trust me. Savage is feeling a lot more than brotherly toward our sister. But it’s more than physical, and just saying that makes me want to rip out my own tongue,” Thorne grumbled. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror before turning back to the road. “He’s really scared for you, Storm. If anything happened to you, I don’t think the guy could go on.”
Thorne’s subtle acceptance of her relationship made up for Rafe’s earlier rejection. Pushing her away because he was afraid for her, that she could handle. She leaned forward and patted Thorne on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, big brother. I’m sure some woman will be smitten with you one day. And if she’s lucky, you’ll feel the same. Scary and wonderful all at once.”
>
“Yeah, if I live through tonight, I’ll look forward to that.”
Luc’s grin faded. “I still think I ought to go with you. I’ve actually tried, but I can’t see how tonight ends.”
“I’ll have J.D. with me. He’ll be waiting a few doors down in Sean York’s room in the Royale. Apparently Jennifer is so excited to meet me she got her own room at the place and plans to spend a few nights there. We don’t want to spook Jennifer or Glass, so we’re keeping our undercover op small. Between the two of us, we should be okay. I mean, if the woman has anything planned, I’ll read it before she can carry it through. You stay with Storm. Anything happens to her and your ass is grass. I’ll tell Dad. I swear I will.”
Luc snorted. “Jackass. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not scared of Dad.”
Storm and Thorne answered together. “Liar.”
Chapter Twelve
The Royale Hotel
Thorne Buchanan, Storm’s obnoxious older brother, sat next to Jennifer in her room, sticking to his weak cover as a new Westlake agent. From the shadows where he watched, Richard focused on his psychic powers to muddy the waters. Not only could he instinctively avoid danger, but when he concentrated, he could shield himself and others from unwanted psychic scrutiny—a skill that had saved his ass time and time again from Jurek’s clairvoyant hounds and nosy telepaths.
He studied his surroundings, keen on watching his little show play out. Dark mahogany furnishing, a plump couch and loveseat, and expensive prints lent the main room of the suite a luxurious feel that explained its expensive fees.
Outside the suite, two doors down, J.D. Morgan waited and listened. Richard had sensed danger the minute he’d stepped foot in the hotel. Then again, discreet wasn’t a word he would have applied to Morgan. Despite the man’s genius with computers, he’d never been a competent field agent. Not on Richard or Savage’s level. Disappointed that Jurek wouldn’t give him better opponents than Buchanan and Morgan, he nevertheless watched the scene play out.
Buchanan stared at Jennifer. Two flutes of champagne bubbled next to the couple, who considered one another while in a state of near undress. Jennifer certainly had thrown herself into the role, the little slut. Buchanan’s unbuttoned shirt exposed his bare chest. Jennifer’s silky red dress parted in the center, exposing all but her nipples. She’d draped the flowing ends between her thighs, showing off her legs.
“You’re gorgeous,” Buchanan murmured and stared at Jennifer over the top of his glass. He took a sip. “I can’t believe you work for Westlake.”
Pathetic line, but Richard could see Jennifer soaking up the compliments like a sponge. “Oh?” she breathed.
“What’s a beautiful and sexy woman like you doing working for an investigation agency?”
A soft flush stole over her features.
Buchanan continued his trite lines. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m surprised you’re not further up the corporate ladder. You have brains as well as beauty. A lot of people I met at the company speak highly of you.”
Jennifer’s smile lit the room. She took another sip of champagne before setting down the glass. Then she moved around the table to step between his legs. “Sean?”
He set down his glass and placed his hands on her curvy waist. Whatever else could be said about Jennifer Barnes, she had a sex appeal that called to a man’s base fantasies.
“Jennifer?” Buchanan toyed with her hip.
Richard wondered what she saw in him. He was tall, heavily muscled and dangerous. Apparently Jennifer liked her men with a lethal edge and little brains.
“Kiss me,” she said as she settled herself on Buchanan’s lap. Then she plastered her mouth to his, taking the decision from him.
Good girl.
Buchanan appeared wrapped up in the kiss when a sudden bang and muffled shout from the outer hallway interrupted them. Ah, Lewis was right on time.
Buchanan broke off the kiss, panting heavily. “What was that?” He pushed her off his lap and looked through the peephole. Richard’s cue to move into the bedroom closet.
After hiding, he heard the hotel door open but knew Buchanan would see nothing. The hallway was empty.
The door shut and Buchanan said, “Sorry about that, I—”
In the bedroom, Jennifer hurried out of the rest of her clothes and splayed herself out on the bed like the whore she was.
“Jennifer?” Buchanan called from the main room.
“In here, Sean.”
He entered in moments and just stared. Richard knew how he felt. Despite the woman’s vapid nature, she had an undeniable beauty. She wore nothing but a gold chain on her ankle, framed on the bed by stark white sheets.
Buchanan approached her as if in a trance. “Jennifer?”
She spread her legs and touched herself, whispering to Buchanan of her need. But her eyes darted just over his shoulder toward him, and a part of Richard relaxed. The woman hadn’t forgotten the reason for this farce. She wouldn’t screw it up, especially since Richard kept her thoughts shielded.
Jennifer slowly rose to her knees and stared pointedly at Buchanan’s tenting trousers. She crawled to the edge of the bed and knelt to press herself against him. “Fuck me, Sean. Fuck me hard.” She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and kissed him with an enthusiasm that had him groaning even as he gripped her tight.
To push her away or pull her closer?
Before Richard could make his move, Jennifer unbuckled Buchanan’s belt and unbuttoned his trousers. She had the man unzipped and burrowed her hand between them.
That hadn’t been in the script.
Buchanan groaned and tightened his hands on her shoulders before breaking the kiss. “Jennifer, honey, wait—”
“You’re so big,” she breathed. “So thick.”
The whore. Ugly thoughts entered Richard’s mind, his rage swelling like a balloon about to explode. He quietly crept from the closet. One step closer, then two, three. He moved with a burst of speed and shoved the syringe hard into Buchanan’s fucking neck.
Buchanan stumbled forward but recovered quickly. He yanked the needle from him and spun to face Richard. But the cocktail had done its trick. Buchanan blinked several times and passed out cold on the bed.
To Jennifer, Richard said, “Wonderful performance, my dear. So very realistic.”
“Oh good. Did you like it?”
He raised a brow. “Improvisation, Jennifer?”
Jennifer had the grace to blush but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t recall giving Buchanan a hand job to be part of our deception.” When she continued to look at him with a hint of scared defiance sparkling in her eyes, he took a different tack. “Nevertheless, nicely done, sweet. Now put your dress back on. I want to take it off you slowly.”
Jennifer rushed to obey him. In seconds, she stood before him, ravishing in red.
“The shoes too.”
She didn’t question him and put on the high heels he’d chosen especially for tonight, for this special occasion.
He circled her, studying her like a work of art. Then he turned her so that they both faced the dresser’s mirror. Richard stopped behind her and placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Perfect.” He nuzzled her neck and inhaled. She wore the ripe scent of waiting death, more alluring than any perfume. “This is just as I imagined.” He drew the steel garrote from his jacket and looped it around her throat before she could protest.
He waited until she thrashed, the scent and sight of her fear captivating. Toying with the pressure around her neck, he took his time choking the life from her, not satisfied until he watched the last spark of light wink from her eyes.
Now to finish. Richard carefully placed her on the bed and posed her. In death she looked like a life-size doll. “You wear the red silk dress and shoes to perfection, Jennifer. Only a hand-crafted blood red necklace could compliment such loveliness.”
He had to admit, he did lovely work. He’d never made two necklaces that looked the
same. A one-of-a-kind Richard Glass original.
A knock sounded at the door. Three raps, then nothing.
“Come in,” he called.
Lewis used his key. Heavy footsteps preceded him. The thug entered the bedroom and looked past Richard to the bed. “What a waste.”
“I’m sorry, Lewis, but she never would have taken to you, and we needed to kill her anyway. I tell you what, I’ll give you the Buchanan bitch after I’m through with her. But you’ll have to be quick. I plan to kill her before long.”
Lewis nodded. “That’ll do.”
“Fine then.” He nodded at the half-dressed, unconscious male on the bed. “Grab Buchanan. Use the laundry cart in the hallway, as we’d planned. Make sure to cover him up. Wouldn’t do to be found before we get away, would it?” Richard took one last look at Jennifer in perfect repose, then reached down and took her in his arms. He used her hair to hide the bloody line across her neck.
Lewis hefted Buchanan over his shoulder without making a sound and followed Richard out the door.
In the historic district, Rafe shifted on his couch, unable to concentrate on the folder detailing Richard Glass. He tossed the file aside and lay back, rubbing his temples. Dark colors and energies flowed through his mind. A murky lassitude suddenly held him in its thrall. His breathing slowed almost to a stop and the vision came, unwanted, unbidden.
Thorne in danger, Jennifer dead, Glass at large.
The minute Rafe returned to himself, he lunged for the phone and dialed. “Jurek, any word from J.D.?”
“Not yet. It’s only been a few hours, and he’s consistently checked in. Why?” Jurek paused. “Hold on, I have another call coming in.”
Rafe swore as Jurek put him on hold. When Jurek came back, Rafe knew the worst had happened.
“Thorne’s gone.”
“Shit. I knew you were going to say that. I just saw it too late to do anything about it. Jennifer has to be the dead woman I saw before, floating in the water. A red dress, dark hair. It fits.”
“Shit. This isn’t good.” When Jurek swore, bad news usually turned worse.