Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  He spun her around by the shoulders. “Calm down, I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The look in her blue eyes suggested she didn’t believe a word of it. She raised her chin a notch, but remained rigid beneath his hands, quivering like the string of a violin.

  “I’ve come to get you out of here, you’re in danger,” Marsh told her. Understatement of the century.

  “Elizabeth said that if anybody found me it would be you. How’d you do it?” Her voice caught him off guard. It was as soft as a whisper and stroked his nerves like a gentle caress.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted.

  Josephine smiled tremulously. “But you found me anyway.”

  She looked so forlorn that he released her shoulders and was about to explain the danger when she piled her knee into his crotch so hard that his vision blanked. Pain exploded into every neuron of his body, telling him to die now. She was out of the door in a flash, racing across the garden.

  It took him a good twenty-seconds before he could move, and then it was just an inelegant stumble. At least he hadn’t screamed—or had he?

  “Damn.” He went after her. Vicious little cat.

  He could hear her crashing through the bushes as she headed towards the beach. He ran flat-out through the shadows and over the uneven ground, relying on his luck not to break a leg or trip in the blackness. Not that his luck seemed to be doing him much good tonight, but he couldn’t let her get away, it was too dangerous.

  The noise stopped abruptly and Marsh slowed down, moving quietly around large bushes and trees. Another sound caught his attention, the low throb of a powerboat heading out to sea. He ignored that sound and focused on his immediate target. He could hear the waves lap against the dock. Smell the salty tang of sea air. She was close by, he could feel her. A sliver of moon illuminated patches of garden, but dense shadows shrouded most of it. She wore black, but her face and hair would catch the moonbeams.

  He almost called out to her, but decided silence was his best ally. He could explain the situation when they were somewhere safe and the shrew wasn’t trying to emasculate him. He rubbed his balls, which still ached from her knee. Patient now, he crouched on the grass beneath an overgrown honeysuckle bush looking for reflections of moonlight across pale skin.

  There. Just beside the trunk of a massive oak was the glimmer of a face.

  He backtracked behind the honeysuckle and along a lilac hedge, keeping his attention focused on the spot where she hid. He crept forward slowly until he could make out her faint profile against the night sky and see her shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

  He caught her from behind, banded one arm around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides, while his other hand covered her mouth to smother her screams. She writhed and struggled violently, trying to bite his hand and scratch him with her nails.

  Damn, for all she was slight she was fierce.

  Other sounds caught his attention, deep male voices followed by the abrupt cutting of a powerboat’s motor. Silence followed, with just the splash of wake causing the dock to bounce and grate against its moorings. Soon even that was gone and the sounds of their struggle carried like bomb-blasts in the silence.

  “Hush,” Marsh said.

  She bit him. He squeezed her chin hard enough to get her attention.

  “Goddamn it, I said be quiet,” he hissed into her ear. “We’ve got company and it’s not the fucking Boy Scouts.”

  She stilled in his arms and he finally had her full attention.

  Marsh pulled them both back behind the oak tree and started to reverse toward the thick vegetation that edged the fence at the side of the property. He froze as three dark shadows crept stealthily toward the house. Josephine flinched beneath his hands as pistols were drawn and magazines inserted. He kept his hand over her mouth just in case she did anything stupid. One man broke off and headed around to the back of the house—to block her escape.

  When the men entered the open French-doors, Marsh decided it was time to get out of there. He turned her around to face him. “Look, they’re here to torture and kill you. Got it?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.

  “My car’s parked just the other side of this fence. If I let you go, you have to promise to come with me, to trust me.”

  She stiffened her spine, but nodded. He let her go, knowing he could never trust her, but she wasn’t stupid. He kept a tight grip of her hand, just in case she decided to bolt.

  Drawing the SIG from its holster he took the safety off and moved along the fence to the spot where he’d climbed over earlier. They could hear movements inside the house, shouts and the sound of furniture being broken. He jumped the fence and waited for her to join him, but she tripped and fell, cutting herself on a wooden post and crying out in pain.

  Marsh pulled her to her feet.

  “Run.” He hissed and half-pushed her along the road. He could hear feet pounding through the garden. They were still twenty feet from the car when the first mobster opened fire.

  Marsh fired back blindly. Bullets whizzed past his head with only inches to spare. He threw himself into the car at full speed and gunned the engine. Josie still had one leg out the passenger door when he floored it and tore down the road with grit spitting out behind the tires.

  They’d made it, for now.

  TWELVE

  Mount Vernon Street, Boston, April 12th

  Josephine Maxwell’s silver blonde hair fell down from its twist, making her look younger than her twenty-seven years. Marsh untangled the knots gently with his fingers, tentatively traced the outermost shell of her ear. Delicate features in a heart-shaped face denied the ice that flowed through her veins—making her look as soft and innocent as an angel.

  But she was a player and he shouldn’t be fooled. She’d kicked him in the balls a split-second after she’d conned him with those big blues. If he underestimated her again it would be more than his manhood at stake, it would be her and Elizabeth’s lives.

  At least now he had her under control.

  Drugged.

  They’d made it back to his family’s Louisburg Square home without incident and he’d carried her up the wide staircase to the guestroom closest to his own bedroom.

  To keep an eye on her.

  Sitting on the satin coverlet, he pulled a wide-bore syringe from the little surgical kit he kept in his office. Josephine would escape from him at the first opportunity, but he intended to be ready for her. In fact, he needed her to escape. He was relying on her to lead him straight to Elizabeth.

  Heavy bronze-colored drapes were closed against prying eyes. The lights were on, but he was confident that Josephine wouldn’t rouse, and he needed to see exactly what he was doing. Carefully, he turned Josephine onto her front, gently moved her arms to the sides of her body, turned her head to the side so that she could breathe more easily. He pulled up the black top she wore, exposing her back, ready to swab the insertion site with alcohol.

  Her skin was as pale as alabaster and she wasn’t wearing any underwear. That was the first thing he noticed. Then his gaze lit on the first scar and his mouth twitched. He pulled her vest higher and saw that she was covered in evil lines of old pain. They formed an ‘X’ in a series of crisscrosses over her back.

  Heart thumping unevenly in his mouth, Marsh swallowed and turned her onto her back, lifted her top and traced the pale jagged lines that ran from just below her collarbone to her navel. One sliced the edge of her nipple, furrowing its edge. Desire surged within him at the sight of small pert breasts and a lean soft stomach, but he ignored it, concentrating on something more important. Six scars ran the length of her torso, in long straight lines. Smaller ones flashed across her skin, pearly white in the bright light.

  Jesus. He sat stunned and it took a moment to realize the pounding in his ears was blood blasting through him like a juggernaut down a ravine.

  He’d forgotten about the report. Forgotten about the fact she’d been knifed, almost to dea
th, as a kid.

  Son of a fucking bitch. And he’d wondered why she was so bitter and angry. Pulling her shirt down, he covered her up and smoothed the material at the edges.

  How could anyone do that to a small, defenseless child?

  If I ever get hold of the bastard... But he wouldn’t. Life was never that neat and tidy.

  Marsh looked at her sleeping form and shut off the guilt and anger that hummed within him. He rolled her onto her front where she flopped like a giant rag doll. Trying not to think about the violation, he pulled up her vest, picked up the syringe and inserted the tiny transmitter, subcutaneously, just below her shoulder blade.

  There was no time for sentiment. Neither woman would applaud his methods, but he wasn’t looking for thanks. Standing back he gazed down at her. She would hate him if she found out what he’d done, but he’d deal with that. If he had any hope of keeping Elizabeth and Josephine alive, he didn’t have a choice.

  ***

  Eliza stood on the porch with two hands wrapped firmly around a mug of hot coffee. She’d pulled on a pair of baggy sweats under her nightshirt and was wrapped up in her bathrobe. She was watching a bizarre scene play itself out in the yard. Blue and a couple of other ranch dogs were rounding up a bunch of stray cows that had somehow managed to get into Rose’s garden. Rose ran around, waving a tea towel like a red flag. But, most incredible of all, two kittens had joined in the chase and cornered a large cow against the back fence.

  Despite her sour mood, Eliza couldn’t help grinning. The kittens thought they were tigers, not half-pound bags of bones. Snarling, sharp-clawed bundles of fur, they hissed and spat until the cow dived for the gate and ran back into the meadow. Eliza laughed out loud and Rose noticed her for the first time.

  The older woman wasn’t long out of hospital. She must have spotted the cattle from her bedroom window and rushed out to defend her precious flowers that were just starting to sprout. She wore a navy bathrobe over flannel pajamas, bare feet stuck into heavy work boots. Iron-gray hair flew haphazardly around her face, softening the heavy wrinkles carved into her narrow mouth and wide forehead.

  Rose waved her over. Reluctant to disobey a direct command from the matriarch of the Sullivan family, Elizabeth grudgingly went.

  “They breed them fierce around here,” Elizabeth said, pointing to the kittens with her coffee mug. She clutched it like a shield, wary of the older woman’s regard.

  Rose gave a husky laugh as she slammed the gate behind the cows. “They do that,” she agreed.

  Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her robe more tightly around her shoulders. It was cold out here in the open with the wind blowing.

  A ruddy glow spread across Rose’s cheeks, emphasizing her otherwise pale complexion. Rose grimaced as if in pain and took time to catch her breath. Elizabeth put a hand on the older woman’s arm, but Rose patted it away with a half smile.

  Eliza wondered where Nat was. She’d wondered where he was all last night. In fact she’d lain awake for hours, expecting him to turn up at her door and take her up on her offer of ‘no-strings’ sex, half dreading it, half desperate to get it over with.

  He never came.

  She’d given him a massive green light yesterday, but obviously he’d reconsidered.

  “The boys spent last night foaling another mare,” Rose said, reading her mind. She folded the tea towel neatly into quarters and slapped it against her thigh.

  Elizabeth spun towards the older woman. “Was everything all right?” Her sense of relief was tempered by the grisly memory of Banner’s carved-up body.

  “Yeah.” Rose nodded towards the stables where Nat and Cal appeared out of the gloom, grimy and rumpled, but both smiling.

  Eliza caught Nat’s gaze, and even at this distance, the air sizzled.

  Rose obviously felt it too. The woman’s expression turned pensive, her lips drooped down at the corners. “Worst thing about dying is leaving your babies behind.” She followed Elizabeth’s gaze back to Nat.

  Elizabeth looked at her sharply. “Are you dying?”

  “Yeah,” Rose nodded. “Yeah, I am.” The old woman pulled her stooped shoulders straighter, slapped the tea towel rhythmically against her thigh.

  Elizabeth watched Nat walk slowly toward them where they stood on the other woman’s frost-burned lawn.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured to Rose, noting the gray pallor that permeated her skin, knowing her sorrow was wasted. Rose wasn’t telling her this to gain her sympathy.

  “It’d be nice to see at least one of my babies settled,” Rose said with a gleam in her eye. “I know he’s got his eye on you and my Nat is mighty picky.”

  “It isn’t like that,” Elizabeth stated, blushing at the same time. She could hardly tell Rose they were only interested in sex—not marriage and babies.

  “Don’t break his heart, ya hear,” Rose muttered fiercely under her breath.

  Elizabeth watched Nat move. His long legs covered the ground with an easy stride, broad shoulders strong and sure, blue eyes dazzling. Her breath caught. There was no way she’d ever intentionally break his heart.

  “We don’t always get to make the choices we want.” Elizabeth matched Rose’s quiet tone.

  Rose laughed and tapped her chest before Nat was close enough to hear, though he eyed them nervously. “You don’t have to tell me that, girl, I know. But if you hurt him, I’ll haunt you all the way back to New York City.”

  Elizabeth smiled the way Rose had meant her to, but sorrow tugged at her heart. Staying wasn’t an option.

  “I’m going to put on breakfast.” Rose called to the dogs and kittens and headed into the ranch house at a brisk walk. “Come on in when you’re ready.”

  Elizabeth nodded, emptied the dregs of her coffee onto the flowerbed and held Nat’s gaze as he approached. She’d spent half of last night scared to death that he was going to show up and the other half pissed because he hadn’t. She wasn’t backing down now and she wasn’t running away—not anymore.

  He had on the same clothes as yesterday and he stopped an arms’ length away from her, resting his hands on his hips. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal strong forearms, roped with lean muscle and covered with warm, tanned skin. She wrinkled her nose. He smelled musty and sweaty from the work he’d done, looked tired as he stood watching at her.

  Elizabeth took a half step toward him, but he held up his hand, palm outstretched to stop her from touching him.

  “I’m in dire need of a shower, Eliza,” he warned. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you—”

  Elizabeth caught his hand in hers and reached up and pressed her lips to his mouth. She muffled his half-hearted sound of protest and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him for all she was worth. Nat gave up the fight, folded his arms around her waist and pinned her to his chest. He molded her body to the length of his with firm strokes of strong hands, lifted her up off the ground in an effort to get even closer.

  Eliza’s head spun from the sensations that bombarded her. His mouth claimed hers with a passion that felt both fiery and tempered. Restrained—like a volcano.

  It was heady to realize she could do this to him. His mouth was wild and gentle and as sweet as spring water. She ran her fingers through his silky hair, cradled the back of his head and gave her lips free rein across his rough jaw. He shuddered and closed his eyes. She raised her head, traced the crease that lined his forehead and placed a small kiss at the edge of his mouth.

  She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked down into his eyes as he held her aloft.

  A shrill whistle blasted the air, breaking the moment and the illusion that they were alone. Nat grinned and threw Ryan a one-fingered salute before he lowered Elizabeth back down on the ground.

  “Well.” Nat leaned back on his heels, still holding her shoulders in a loose grip, “Good morning to you, too.”

  She tried to pull away, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just...” The feeling that time was running
out meant she didn’t want to waste a moment of it. “I wanted to do that all night and well...”

  Nat laughed, held onto her and kissed her again. “Yeah, apologize, why don’t you? Like that wasn’t the best damned kiss I’ve ever had.”

  Warmth spread from her toes to her hairline, leaving a telltale blush that heated her cheeks. Desire skittered below the surface of her skin, reminding her she was a flesh and blood human being, not a husk of womanhood that Andrew DeLattio had chewed up and spat out.

  Dawn rays glinted off Nat’s hair as he squinted down at her. He seemed to have understood her swift change of mood and his eyes turned serious, full of patient concern.

  She knew the difference between sex and violence, knew the difference between force and desire. But she didn’t know if her mind was strong enough to cope with making love, or if she would freak when push came to shove.

  “We have to talk.” Eliza stepped out from his embrace and wrapped her arms across her chest. She might not be able to tell Nat the full details of what had happened to her, but he deserved the basics. She owed him that before things went any further between them.

  Nat nodded, looked at the ground for a moment as if reluctant to meet her gaze. “Yeah.”

  “Tonight,” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and forced a smile. Telling Nat what had happened to her was not going to be easy, but she was determined. It was way past time.

  “Tonight,” he agreed. He reached out a hand and stroked a finger down her bottom lip and along her chin and then tapped her nose lightly.

  A sound caught her attention. She saw a car behind Nat’s shoulder, just cresting the rise to the rear of the ranch house. Her fingers automatically reached for her pistol, only to come up against the soft toweling of her robe. No holster. No Glock. Stupid.

  “You’ve got company,” she said, her voice, hard and low.

  Nat turned and cursed. “Sheriff Talbot. What the hell does he want?”

  ***

  An hour later, instead of wrapped up in the arms of a handsome cowboy, she sat opposite a local law enforcement officer, Sheriff Scott Talbot, in the Sullivans’ den. She’d showered and dressed as slowly as she could, hoping to avoid the man, but it turned out he’d come to interview her—about her little brawl down at the Screw Loose.