Trust No One (Vista Security)

by Diana Layne

  Even tucked under the comforter, Ben’s teeth still chattered, the noise less than romantic, thank goodness. She searched through the armoire for another blanket.

  “This should help keep you warm until I get a fire going.” She found a blanket and tucked it on top of the other covers.

  “Or you could climb in here with me.”

  “Obviously you’re delusional and need more medicine.”

  He watched her with eyes that were disturbingly intense. “Got any of those magic pain killers you gave me at your apartment?”

  It was the fever that made them that way, she told herself. “Ready for more, are you?”

  “They do help with sleeping.”

  “Yes, they do. If I’d known you’d be stupid enough to follow, I would have definitely brought more. I like you better when you’re sleeping.” She sent him a smile meant to wow him with the phoniness, though he was probably too sick to notice.

  Which was obvious when he made an attempt at an answering smile. She realized the last of his strength was draining away fast.

  She held a hand over his brow. Still warm. “I just have over-the-counter pain medicine like you took earlier.” She made herself move her hand. “I’ll get you more.”

  Outside, MJ checked her phone before getting the bags from the car. She intended to call Jeff to have him to work on the prescription, and then call Angelina. But there were no bars to indicate service. Of course there was no service out here in the middle of nowhere, why should she have expected anything different?

  She dropped the bags inside the front door, opened hers and pulled out her sparsely supplied travel medical kit. Taking the bottle of pain medicine with her to the kitchen, she took a glass from the cabinet, rinsed it, and filled it with water realizing they were going to need other supplies besides medicine.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Ben dozed fitfully, frowning and tossing his head from side to side. He stilled at her touch, opening his eyes.

  “It’s only been a couple hours since you took the last ones, but I figure two more can’t hurt you any worse than you are already.”

  He struggled to sit up, grimaced as he put weight on his injured arm.

  “I’m going to start a fire in the fireplace, then leave you for a while. I need to find a pharmacy to get antibiotics and something stronger for the pain.”

  He swallowed the pills. “It’s getting late, can’t it wait?”

  “You need antibiotics right now. Either that or a hospital.” She waited expectantly.

  He didn’t have to answer.

  “And aside from that, I don’t have enough gauze to change your dressing more than once. And we need food. I’d like to eat. Figure you would too.”

  “Okay, okay.” He handed her the glass and lay back on the pillow. “Though that big laundry list of excuses on why you need to leave could still just be a way to ditch me.”

  “You think I’d abandon you in this condition?”

  “You did before.”

  She didn’t answer, but set the glass on the night table, went into the bathroom, got a wash cloth and wet it. He could stew a few minutes thinking about whether she’d leave him or not.

  Back at his bedside, she laid the cloth on his head. “Rest easy, I won’t abandon you out here. When I left before, you could get transportation easy enough.”

  “Yeah, if you call hotwiring a car with a cop nosing around easy.”

  “Easy enough for you, so quit complaining.”

  “You need sleep yourself.”

  “Once I stop I’m done for, so I have to keep going.”

  The resigned look in his eye said he wasn’t sure he believed her but obviously he had no other choice.

  He jumped and touched the cloth on his head. His hand brushed hers. “That’s cold,” he complained.

  For a split moment she stared at the contrast in their two hands—his dark, hers dark as well, but a much lighter hue. She had an unexplainable urge to brush her thumb across his knuckle. When she realized what she was doing, she mentally smacked herself and moved her hand.

  “The well water here’s always cold. It should help with your fever.” She patted his head in a nurse-like fashion. “And there’s a generator for power, but no fuel, so no hot water or lights until I get some gasoline. Thank goodness the cabin has a fireplace and there’s a decent woodpile.”

  “Gas, food, medicine. This trip is going to take you for frickin’ ever.”

  “Longer still if I don’t get going.”

  “How far back was that pharmacy?”

  “About forty-five miles, so I have to leave now if I want to get there before they close.” She hoped her phone came back into range soon so she could get a prescription for the antibiotics underway, and they’d be ready for her by the time she got there.

  “Leave me my Colt. It’s in my bag.”

  Typical agent, always wanting a weapon close at hand. “I don’t think Tasha will try to finish off the job.”

  “You never know. She might have a partner, too.”

  MJ didn’t particularly like the reference Ben made to himself as her partner. “I doubt it. Tasha’s always favored working alone. Hardly ever works with a partner. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get your gun.”

  She went to the entry way, grabbed their bags, carrying them to the room. Seeing her bag with his should make him feel more secure. She dug down through an array of his clothes. Touching them gave her the sensation of well-worn, comfortable. It seemed so at odds with the man at the moment.

  She touched cold steel on the bottom of the bag and handed the Colt .45 pistol to him. As she went to the fireplace, she said, “Don’t get trigger happy.”

  “Better let me know it’s you.”

  MJ piled some wood into the fireplace, got a match from the box on the mantle and a pinecone fire starter from a tin pail by the fireplace. She struck the match, lit the pinecone and stuck it under the wood. “Don’t kill Tasha if she shows up. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Be prepared, I always say.”

  “What a good little boy scout.”

  “Nope. Eagle Scout. And you did pretty well with the fire, thanks.”

  She stopped, looked at him. “Eagle Scout? You’re kidding? You liked that stuff?”

  “What’s not to like?”

  “How did you end–”

  “How did I end up with Vista? Just wanted to make the world a better place. When you get back, I’ll tell you about my Eagle Scout project.”

  “Oh, joy. I can hardly wait.”

  “I knew that’d get you. And if you hurry, I’ll toss in a few stories about my service in the Green Berets.”

  Military too? Figured. Shaking her head, MJ only said, “I’ll be back in spite of the promise of torture. Shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours.” Then she turned and left his room, and locked the cabin door behind her.

  Eagle Scout and Green Beret. So maybe Ben really wanted to make the world a better place. She wondered if he had. So far he hadn’t done diddly for hers, other than cause a lot of trouble she didn’t want.

  And make her think thoughts she didn’t need.

  * * *

  Tasha smoothed the golden glitter on her legs enjoying the sensuous feel of the lotion gliding on her skin. At times like this she realized just how very alone she was, dressing up to go kill, instead of for a lover. She doubted she’d ever have the pleasure of dressing up for someone she really cared for. She was too old, too tainted from being in this damn business too long.

  Hm, feeling rather glum tonight. She pulled on her bright blue barely there Versace dress, and smoothed the glitter on her arms as well as the cleavage exposed with the plunging neckline. Time for this nightmare mission to be finished. While her resolve wasn’t wavering, exhaustion tagged along with every success.

  She looked in the mirror. The glitter looked provocative on the skin exposed by the skimpy dress, and it created a shiny illusion, but no man would ever be a
ble to polish away the tarnish on her soul.

  Jesus, how poetic. Might as well just put a fucking gun to my head and shoot. Concentrate, woman.

  Hair. The hair was next. What color? She stared at her array of wigs. Black tonight. The dark color, along with the bright blue of the dress, would deepen the color of her blue eyes. Occasionally she wore colored contacts as well, but tonight she’d go with her natural eye color.

  She pinned her own hair on top of her head and slipped on the wig.

  Now up or down? She stared at the mirror. Wearing it up would show off her long neck, which the plunging neckline on the little dress would make seem even longer. Yes, up. She didn’t even know why she had to think about it. Her brain was moving slow tonight.

  Tasha pulled the wig off, settled it back onto the stand and deftly smoothed the human hair into a slick French twist. Once back on her head, she studied her image. The effect showed a lot of skin, furthered the illusion she was almost naked.

  And illusion was the name of the game. She pretended she was a young and beautiful woman whose most fervent desire was to strip naked and bump hips with an ancient but powerful ex-senator, and he pretended he wasn’t a slimy slithering snake sagging with wrinkles and festering in filth.

  She slipped on her strappy gold four inch Versace heels that exactly matched her gold toenail polish. She turned toward the bed. “Well, Cy, how do I look?”

  The black furry dog, which turned out to be a Papillon when he was cleaned up, was busy chewing a treat. He only lifted his head slightly at her question then went promptly back to his treat.

  She laughed at his disinterest. “You do so much for a girl’s confidence.” Not that she needed confidence boosting. She had always known she was beautiful. Vista had further trained her to accentuate her assets and use them however necessary to get the job done.

  After jobs like those she’d feel like a whore. Yes, a well-paid, and at times a murdering whore. Murder often came with an assignment after all.

  Already she saw signs of aging, laugh lines that didn’t quite disappear, under eye circles that were harder to hide after a long night. She wouldn’t get the do-what-you-have–to-including-fuck-them kind of assignments much longer. It was a day she anticipated, being too old to do the job. In the meantime, she consoled herself with the thought that almost everybody had something about work they didn’t like.

  On the other hand, she might have already insured she had no more jobs, at least with Vista.

  Though she didn’t miss the irony of her objective tonight or the last weeks. While using sex for information, sex to get close to someone, sex to kill was sometimes part of her job, here she was doing it, and had been doing it, off the payroll.

  But with a stronger motivation, which definitely made it more rewarding.

  Only not tonight. She studied her array of killing toys. “I’m getting tired of those nasty old men. I don’t know that I can stand to do it even one more time.”

  With that thought, she chose a different weapon, a small vial of poison. “You understand, don’t you?” she told Cy, who was still happily gnawing his treat. “Who am I kidding, you’re male. No, of course you wouldn’t understand.”

  She slipped the vial into her purse. And on second thought, just in case, she took the cloisonné hat pin as well.

  Chapter 11

  The tires spewed out gravel while MJ sped down the road. No, relationships weren’t on the radar for her she thought, and the less she knew about Ben and his Eagle Scout projects, the better. Because no matter how hot the guy was, or how supposedly honorable even, getting close to a man wasn’t in her plans. Her one attempt at a long term relationship had sucked. And, she never had to be knocked over the head to learn a lesson.

  She turned onto the paved road, making much better time without worrying about bouncing Ben all around.

  Finally her cell phone beeped. It was working again. She picked it up, punched in a number lodged deep in the inner workings of her brain, but disturbingly easy to recall.

  Jeff’s assistant transferred the call.

  “Hello, MJ.”

  Like Pavlov’s dogs, an adrenaline rush hit MJ at her boss’s voice. Too many times to count, his voice over the phone called her in for an assignment. Then it was off to the job, more often than not out of country. Adventure filled with danger, and yes, often excitement as well.

  “Jeff,” she said at last.

  “It’s good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you.”

  “Sorry I can’t say the same.”

  “Didn’t like getting dragged away from motherhood, did you?” His voice hardened. “If Tasha hadn’t–”

  “I need antibiotics for Ben.”

  Immediately Jeff’s tone changed. “What’s happening?”

  “Gunshot, he’s running a fever.”

  “Should he be in a hospital?”

  “Probably, but he won’t go. I haven’t been able to shake him.”

  “So you tried shooting him?”

  “Yes, that would be in keeping with my record, wouldn’t it?” she said grimly. “But I’m not the one who shot him.”

  “Who did?”

  “No idea.”

  “More than likely Tasha,” Jeff guessed. “So what’s up with her?”

  Jeff seemed more concerned about Tasha than the injured Ben. MJ decided she’d puzzle over it later. “I don’t have time for analyzing Tasha. I’ll be at the pharmacy in about twenty minutes. I need medicine to get Ben back on his feet. I want to go home to my baby,” she practically growled.

  “Yes, Mommy Dearest. I’m on it.” He mocked her angry tone before leveling his voice. “What pharmacy? And then stay in range, we still need to talk.”

  Terrific, he was going to call and grill her. She was so not in the mood to be chatty with her former boss.

  During the reprieve, she called to check on Angelina again, who was now awake and eating her dinner. Dottie held the phone to her ear. MJ babbled to her little girl in a happy voice, “You eat all your food for Dottie and I’ll be back to get you as soon as I can.” Angelina, having very little vocabulary and no phone skills stayed quiet through MJ’s chatter, until at the end last when she said, “mama”.

  MJ’s heart fluttered up and got stuck in her throat. Her smile would have lit the whole small town of Whiddon.

  But after MJ disconnected, the silence of the car overpowered her, sucking away the brief moment of happiness. Her body slumped from the effect. She told herself Angel was safe, but the hollow thought didn’t make it any easier to be over a thousand miles away.

  Funny how quickly the baby had become a vital part of MJ’s life. But from the first, the little girl starved for affection, clung tightly to MJ, perhaps sensing her as a lifeline. MJ latched on just as tightly and learned exactly what the line in the poem about “an adopted child not being born under my heart but in it” meant.

  Of course there had been an adjustment for MJ, learning to deal with a baby, but Angel had been patient as her new mom worked out a routine, which included finding a new place to live, a job and a sitter. Tex and Dottie had been a life saver.

  Something else she owed Niko for, MJ realized. If he hadn’t taught her to work on cars, she would have been forced into a life of misery at a desk job.

  Niko. Her teacher, mentor, lover. He’d been her lifeline more than once.

  * * *

  “Good news,” the doctor said. “You should be ready to go home in a couple of days. Of course, you can’t drive yet, so you’ll need to arrange for someone to take you home. And I would recommend a full time nurse for another month. Do you have anyone to call or should we make arrangements for you?”

  MJ couldn’t blame the doctor for asking. The weeks she’d been at the hospital, her visitors had been few and far between. Neither flowers nor get-well cards decorated the one shelf in the room. MJ’s business didn’t really promote friends.

  “I can arrange it,” she told the doctor, hope battling with despair. Of
course she was happy to be going home, but going home to what? Months more of rehabilitation? An empty apartment and an equally empty future? Would she ever work again, ever be allowed to work again? As things stood now, walking was still a struggle, the demands of her job far beyond her reach.

  Because of Vista, MJ lay in the hospital bed, fighting emotions as she called in. Vista was footing the doctor bills, and now they could damn well make arrangements to get her home. And full-time nursing care, she noted as the phone rang. Add that to the list.

  Jeff’s assistant promised to call the doctor, check on the details, and two days later while MJ watched a morning game show, waiting for the release forms to spring her free, someone walked into her room.

  Curiosity turned her head. When she saw him, her heart stalled.

  Niko. Here. She swallowed. Stared.

  “Hi, stranger,” he said softly, a gentle smile on his face, his intense ice blue eyes more warm than she remembered. His brown hair was shoulder length. He’d worn it long since college. And his body, ripped with muscles, resembled a professional body builder.

  Still, she stared. She never expected Vista to send Niko. She hadn’t seen him in years, had only heard about him through reports. She licked her lips, tried to say . . . something. Anything. But her pounding heart interfered with her speech process. She never expected such an emotional impact—had to be because she was at a disadvantage, stuck in the hospital bed recuperating.

  He took her hand, brushed a kiss against her lips, and it was her undoing. Tears clogged her eyes, her throat. She blinked, tears leaked out.

  With his other hand, he used his thumb to wipe her face, compassion in his gaze, no repulsion for the way she must appear. She’d lost at least twenty pounds, nothing she could afford to lose on her lean frame. Her face looked old, haggard, sunken in. His gentle actions only made her cry harder. She grabbed his shirt sleeve, pulled him toward her. His lips brushed the top of her head this time; she experienced a moment of thankfulness the nurse helped her wash her hair earlier.

  “I’ve missed you.” His words rustled through her hair.