Sinner (The Hades Squad Book 1)

by Jianne Carlo

  “Let’s get down to business. Want to do the honors?” Satan directed his question at Lucifer. He took a seat adjacent to Linc and swallowed another swig of his coffee.

  “I have everything programmed re the Indonesian Express—ship blueprints, crew backgrounds, projected paths. Hit the switch, Satan.” Lucifer, mug cradled in one hand, plopped onto the other end of the couch.

  Satan flipped two switches. Motorized blackout drapes, a deep sapphire, gradually covered the picture window, and a seven-by-ten-foot LCD screen descended from the ceiling.

  “This is a bird's-eye view of the Indian Ocean. India's on the right. Myanmar starts at the V and continues for a few hundred miles. Then the rest of the V is Thailand. Guido's experts ran the currents, excluded water too shallow for a three-hundred-ton shipping container and all the populated areas. We have five possible bays where the pirates can hide. As we speak, search aircraft are combing each one.” Lucifer moved the laser pointer to five different spots on the map.

  “We haven't heard from the pirates?” Linc leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin balanced on steepled fingers, and studied the map. “Crew? Captain?”

  “Ransom demand delivered four hours after the Indonesian Express went missing via email, so far origins untraceable. Skeleton crew, captain is Norwegian, been with the line five years. One of the crew, one of the pilots I believe, is female.”

  “A female is piloting that three-hundred-pound monster?” Satan scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Progress on the glass ceiling,” Lucifer commented, his expression belying the words.

  “I guess. Beats me, anyone wanting to work in that profession. Months at sea interrupted by seedy ports. Crap food.” Satan shook his head.

  “Rape is a possibility, then,” Linc mused and forced his mind away from the notion of the woman pilot being sexually abused. “We'd better come up with a strategy fast.”

  “One other small problem—Homeland Security's muscling in. I received a pointed phone call not an hour ago,” Satan declared.

  “Yeah, I know. They've been monitoring every maritime hijacking since 9/11, and they've a right to. I don't even want to begin to imagine a supertanker ramming a port like Rotterdam or Singapore or Shanghai. It's not just the disruption caused by destroying the three busiest ports in the world. Shanghai's population is what, over sixteen million?” Linc asked, his question more rhetorical than a real query.

  “Hovering just under seventeen mil these days. But it's too far away.” Lucifer highlighted Singapore with a red laser dot. “If it's terrorists, this is the easy target.”

  “Singapore's the second-densest independent country in the world.” Satan swirled the liquid in his cup.

  The jiggling, circling mug grated Linc's nerves. “Either drink the fucking coffee or toss it.”

  “Girlie nerves?” Satan grimaced but gulped the coffee.

  “Ass-hat,” Linc snapped.

  “What about Rotterdam? Can you imagine the psychological impact on world confidence? The world's economy can't take another hit like that.” Lucifer dashed a hand through his hair. “Good thing the ship didn't vanish off the Sudan. At least we can rule out Rotterdam and Shanghai. And India—no major ports nearby.”

  A couple of hours later, after having detailed different strategic responses to either terrorists or kidnappers, Linc left Satan and Lucifer arguing over whether to go into the city to troll for hookups or stay local and choose from the available talent. By the time he turned in the Hummer and ducked into the local train coverlet, his watch showed the time as five thirty.

  Rush hour. At least he'd be swimming upstream. Linc stopped at a newsstand. Might as well see if the print media had caught wind of the story. He bought the Times, the Post, and on impulse, the New York Daily News. Five minutes later, he collapsed into the first empty seat he spied and settled down to skim the headlines.

  The Post and Times each carried a one-paragraph report in the business section on a suspected hijacking in the Indian Ocean. He paged through the Times' entertainment section. Albert Gilbert's tenure with the New York Philharmonic had begun in September, and during Linc's last conversation with his mother, she'd raved about the new conductor's amazing talent.

  Would Destiny learn to like classical music? She liked his voice.

  He'd already agreed to his mother's plea to be part of the Philharmonic's Christmas performance of Handel's Messiah at the Riverside Church in the city. Maybe that would pique Destiny's interest.

  Did she want kids right away? Would she settle on Long Island?

  He flipped the crinkly Post pages and halted when a blurred shot of a familiar face caught his attention. The caption under the photo read, “Juanita Sender Blames Former Editor Sara Parker for Leaked Sex Tape.”

  Fuck. Had any of the other rags printed this crap?

  Dread clogged his lungs.

  The News gossip headline read JUANITA SENDER THREATENS ST. PAUL'S EDITOR SARA PARKER WITH LAWSUIT.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I wasn't there for you, Destiny. I wasn't there to protect you.

  Who'd started this rumor? That bitch Juanita had to be involved.

  Lucifer.

  Linc fumbled his cell from his pocket; rage made his movements clumsy. He thumbed Lucifer's number and smashed the phone against his ear.

  Come on. Come on. Answer. Answer.

  “You miss me already?”

  Linc heard bar noise, clinking glasses, male and female raised voices. “Go take a leak.”

  Lucifer must have heard the fury in his voice. “You want quiet as well as private?”

  “Yeah.”

  A door slammed, then another.

  “Clear.”

  “Get ahold of today's Times, Post, and News. Arts and entertainment section.”

  “There's a pharmacy across the road.”

  “Pick them up. Read the Juanita Sender stuff. I need to know who's behind this. Call me back the second you have a lead.”

  “Done. I’ll get right on it.” Lucifer hung up.

  Linc's mind churned like a zero-gravity accelerator. Why was this bitch picking on Destiny? What had Destiny said in the cabin?

  “First she steals my boyfriend; then she makes millions off the sex tape.”

  He hit Receive before the mobile phone could complete its first shuddering ring.

  “Why's this fucking bitch got it in for your woman?” He'd figured Lucifer would bring the others up to date immediately and knew Satan would be the first to call. They had each other's backs always. Satan's ferocious snap warmed his insides.

  “That's what I need to find out.”

  “How soon you need this?”

  Lincoln hesitated. “Yesterday. I want every single piece of dirt on the scumbag who screwed Juanita.”

  “What's he got to do with this?”

  “He's Destiny's ex.”

  “Linc.” Rarely did they ever call each other by their real names. “Buddy, don't go off the deep end. You near her place?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Address, in case I need a face-to-face tonight.”

  Linc gave it to him. Remembered Nadine’s treatment of Destiny in Alaska, and his gut had him adding, “Tell Lucifer to widen the net. See if Nadine and this Juanita are friendly. They both publish with St. Paul’s, and Destiny’s been screwed by both women.”

  “’Do you one better. I’ll check in with Nadine myself. See what I can get out of her.”

  “I owe you one.”

  Linc phoned St. Paul's only to discover that Destiny had left work early. He near ’bout caused five fender benders on the race from the subway to her apartment, ignoring lights and dodging cars when he crossed intersections without stopping.

  Oncoming pedestrians took one look at his face and parted like the Red Sea under Moses' command.

  Don't be crying, Destiny.

  He might have five sisters, but had never become immune to a woman’s tears. It fucked him royally.

  Jesus
, this would shatter her blossoming trust, and she'd retreat into that emotional shell, watching, waiting for betrayal.

  Two days ago, he'd waited for one of the residents to enter the building's security, unwilling to chance her welcome. Not today. She didn't answer his repeated intercom stabbing, and alarm ratcheted his heartbeat to a bongo drum roll, which roared in his ears, preventing coherent thought.

  Call 911? Flag a cop?

  “Pardon me, young man. Are you waiting for someone?” chirped a thin, reedy voice.

  Linc pivoted. He had to fist his hand to restrain from grabbing Mrs. Charles and lifting her high in the air. “Mrs. Charles, it's me, Lincoln Chapman, Destiny's boyfriend.”

  “Of course, dear. I'd recognize you anywhere.” Mrs. Charles patted her bouffant hairdo. Snapping a small beaded purse shut, she jiggled an ornate brass key ring dangling an outline of the Eiffel Tower.

  “Allow me.” Linc gently relieved the older woman of the tower.

  “Why, thank you, dear. I'm so glad we bumped into each other.”

  Linc held the door open and waved Mrs. Charles through.

  Mrs. Charles twirled around and blocked the short distance to the elevator. She batted her eyelashes, smiled, and sweetly stated, “I've been meaning to speak to you about Destiny. Now, young man, I hope your intentions are honorable. I'm all the family that poor child has. And she has so few visitors. Why, if I didn't prod her into having brunch with me, she'd do nothing but go to work and keep to herself.”

  I don't have time for this, lady.

  “Let's walk and talk, Mrs. Charles.” Linc cupped a hand under her elbow and turned her around. “I have every intention of marrying Destiny. Hopefully, within the next couple of weeks.”

  She minced slower than a snail crawling up a vertical branch. Every tortuous, strolling step made his teeth grit together hard enough to crack.

  Mrs. Charles kept up a running chatter in the elevator. It was all Linc could do not to keep stabbing the button for Destiny's floor.

  Calling on the last of his discipline, he guided Mrs. Charles down the narrow hallway, opened her door with the keys he'd retained possession of, and nearly shoved the still prattling woman into her apartment.

  “Mrs. C, I’ll wait outside your door until I hear the lock click.” He enunciated each word and spoke louder than normal.

  “Thank you, dear.” She batted her lashes.

  He pulled the door shut before Mrs. C could utter more dribble. “I’m waiting.”

  Linc rocked on his heels until he heard the first lock click; then he sprinted the three-second distance to Destiny's apartment.

  Growling a string of expletives when he tested the round brass knob and the door opened, he marched inside and kicked the door shut.

  Destiny stood at the stove but whipped around, hand up in the air, the wooden spoon she held glistening with rich brown liquid. “Hi!”

  A tad taken aback by her wide beam and cheer, he folded his arms and inspected her from head to bare toes.

  “Where've you been? I got off early and thought I'd cook us a gourmet meal. Come'n taste this.”

  She waved the spoon. “Oh cripes. I forgot to ask if you like duck. Do you?”

  What the fuck?

  Trying to contain his surprise, he answered, his tone even, controlled, “I like everything, including duck.”

  Linc shut the dead bolt home and twisted the other two locks.

  Does she always leave the damned door open?

  “Come taste this. I think it needs a bit more orange.”

  He strode forward, studying her face.

  No bloodshot corneas.

  No smeared makeup.

  No reddened nose.

  Linc covered her hand with his, brought the spoon to his lips, and sucked the end. Sticky. A perfect tart-sweet sting remained on his tongue, along with a burnt marmalade flavor. This close, their eyes five-or-so inches apart, he saw no evidence of any emotion other than a forced exuberance. “How was your day?”

  “Same old, same old,” she replied, blinking rapidly and twisting to the stove. “And yours?”

  Why wouldn't she tell him? There was no way in hell she didn't know. She was in publishing, for fuck’s sake.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  Linc mustered control of his mouth. “I had to make an emergency trip to Long Island. Sorry I wasn't here when you got home.”

  He kissed her nape, toyed with the wisps escaping from the black claw that held her hair up, and tickled her ear with his tongue.

  “To your family?” She sighed and arched her neck.

  “Mmm, you taste good. No, to Satan's place. Something came up with the Italian shipping line.”

  “Something serious?”

  “Maybe. We don't have enough information as yet.”

  “Are you going to have to leave town?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “I made a list of areas halfway between Manhattan and Long Island, but since I don't know where your family lives, they could be at the far end of the island. Maybe you should make a list too. I can always look for a place if you have to leave.”

  “Woman, I'll move wherever you want. I'd prefer you not to have a long commute. I can work remotely. I don't need to be in any particular location.”

  “I figured you'd want to be able to visit your family often.”

  “I'd like us to visit the family often.”

  She went stiffer than a plank of wood.

  “My mom's gonna love you to death.” Linc nuzzled her neck, and some of her tension ebbed. He sniffed her nape, lavender and oranges, and the sensual aroma distracted him for a couple of seconds.

  “So are all my brothers and sisters. Dad's going to read me the riot act for keeping you a secret, and he'll have the talk with me about honoring a woman and treating her like a cloud because all it takes for a cloud to vanish from the sky is a slight puff.”

  “My day was awful,” she whispered. “Just awful. Oh, Linc, you won't believe what happened.” The spoon clattered to the tiles, bouncing and penning an orange streak, until it crashed and stilled on the baseboard.

  She buried her face in his jacket and coiled her arms around his neck.

  “Juanita acc…accused…” Sob.

  “Accused me of leaking the sex thing.” Hiccupped sob.

  Hands dropping and fisting, she hammered his chest. “She said I was jealous because she stole Kenny the rat.”

  Her head lifted. She grabbed his jacket. “As if I give a shit about him, that asshole. As if he could hold a fucking candle to you.”

  Such language, Destiny Driven. I love you. I love you for reacting this way.

  “That's my woman,” he crooned. “Don't let that bitch and the scumbag win. I have Satan and Lucifer working on the dirt in their pasts. You don't worry for a single second. Got that?”

  A supersize grin curved her mouth.

  “I think I just discovered the positive side to your bossy overprotectiveness. Seriously, though, I have to clear my name somehow.” She swallowed a couple of times and blinked. “Jess suggested I take a few days off, but I told her I didn't need any time off.”

  “I could ride in with you. Meet you for lunch.”

  “No. I'm a big girl. I can handle this.” She unzipped his jacket, spread the lapels, and pushed at the shoulders. He cooperated, shrugging the sleeves off and letting the garment plop to the floor.

  “I thought about the situation all day. And I have to face facts. If Juanita does file suit against me, my editing career is toast. No one will touch me, not New York, certainly not the top e-pubs. I may be able to find a job at some desperate bottom-of-the-pile e-start-up. I will not stoop to trying to turn a string of sex scenes into a real story.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tell him about the book.

  Why did that have to be her first thought upon awakening from their pre-dinner lovemaking?

  A finger's width of a streetlight peeked through the edges of Destiny
's blackout drapes, casting shimmers of gold on the tips of the darker follicles shadowing Linc's jaw. She resisted the temptation to trace the ridge and lick the slight dip in his chin. Her gaze trailed his ribs as he inhaled and exhaled, loving the heat his body generated, the way he followed her if she moved in her sleep, nuzzling, tucking her rear against his groin.

  First I'll submit the book to Jess. See what she thinks. Then I'll surprise him. Maybe cook him a romantic dinner.

  “Why so solemn?”

  She flinched, clapped a hand on the valley between her breasts, and tilted her chin to meet eyes more emerald than honey. “Cripes. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I'm a light sleeper.” His voice had a sexy, just-awakened huskiness.

  Destiny's toes curled. She loved the way he smelled of soap and a hint of a woodsy aftershave.

  He turned on his side and slid down on the mattress so they were face to face, noses bumping. The pillow's goose feathers billowed, and a puff of air tickled her lips.

  “I felt the change in your breathing.” He finger-outlined her mouth.

  She smelled orange and wine on his skin and a blush warmed her face and neck. For a second, his glance dipped, and returned to fasten with hers. “What's made you blue, Destiny Driven?”

  I'm wondering if Jess will like my book. I'm wondering if you'll like my book. I'm wondering if I'll lose my job. I'm wondering if we have a future. I can't think straight when you're all caring and tender. I definitely can't think straight when your penis twitches on my stomach and leaves sticky splotches.

  “Did you know your bottom lip reflects your thoughts?” His thumb grazed the seam of her mouth. “Now, for instance, you're having some sort of inner debate. Your lips start to curl at the corners, then flatten. Then this bottom one pouts the tiniest bit.” His palm cradled her face, “What's worrying you, Destiny Driven?”

  “Work,” she replied and shrugged. “I should've called a lawyer yesterday, but I was soooo mad. I chopped that duck in half in one blow.”

  He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  She poked him in the navel. “I don't see what's so funny.”