by D. V. Berkom
Really? Leine rolled her eyes and remained where she was, allowing the knowledge of the depth and pain of Miles' impending hangover to alleviate her annoyance at his juvenile antics. It's only two weeks, Leine. You can do this.
They were both in hysterics by the time they returned. The driver glanced at Leine in the rear view mirror and shrugged with an apologetic, what was I supposed to do? look. Leine handed the woman's purse to her, sidestepping just in time as she vomited all over herself.
“Oh, gross,” Miles exclaimed, his hand covering his nose. He glanced at the night's diversion and her ruined dress, then at Leine. His look said, do something.
Leine sighed, and called the young woman a taxi.
***
It was past two before they arrived back at the mansion. Leine sent the driver home, locked the front door and activated the alarm. Miles disappeared into the kitchen. He acted wired and didn't appear close to turning in yet. Leine kicked off her shoes and took off her shoulder holster, carrying it with her to the kitchen to join him.
The open refrigerator door cast a yellowish glow on the oversized kitchen island. Miles leaned against the counter, shoveling ice cream into his mouth with a spoon, a bottle of orange juice next to him. Leine walked to the other side of the counter and placed her gun on a chair nearby. Miles slid the carton of espresso mint ice cream to Leine. She opened a drawer next to her, picked out a spoon and tried a bite.
“That's good,” she said, and dug into the carton for more.
Miles grabbed another container from the freezer, holding it up so she could see the label.
“Pineapple-mango-raspberry sorbet,” he said, tapping his spoon against the carton. He took a bite, savoring it, and then chased it down with a swig from the orange juice. He leaned over the counter and propped himself up on his elbows, frowning at his spoon. “Y'know, when I was a little kid, ice cream was something special. I used to collect aluminum cans and turn them in for money to buy it.”
“Didn't your folks believe in treats?” Leine asked, taking another spoonful from her carton.
Miles shook his head. “I was a foster kid. Got shuttled around to different families.” He shrugged. “I was what they called a 'problem child'. My foster families couldn't figure out what to do with me.”
“That must have been hard.”
Miles took another bite of sorbet. “I can definitely say it wasn't the Brady Bunch. I did luck out one time, but I fucked up and they sent me back. Like they were returning something defective.”
Leine's spoon paused mid-air. “What happened after that?”
Miles replaced the top on his sorbet and put it back in the freezer. “I ended up in a group home. Things worked out okay because they made sure everyone went to school every day, and they checked. I hated class, but loved clowning around, making people laugh. One of the teachers suggested I channel my energy into theater and recommended me to an after school drama program. They accepted me, and I took to acting like a duck to water. I could be anyone. Anyone other than the kid nobody wanted. The rest, they say, is history.”
Leine slid her carton of ice cream toward Miles and he returned it to the freezer for her. “And now you have everything.”
“Not really.” He took another drink of the orange juice and gazed into space.
“What don't you have? People love you. You're rich and famous.”
He looked at Leine. “You have family?”
“A daughter. Who wants to meet you, by the way.”
Miles smiled, a little wistfully if Leine was reading him right.
“You're lucky. I don't have that. No family. No brothers, no sisters, no kids. My parents were killed in a car wreck when I was five. No one came to claim me. Essentially, I'm all I can count on. Jarvis was the closest thing I've ever had to a brother.”
“That explains you being so angry the other day.”
Miles reached up to undo his bow tie and unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt. “I tried getting information on locating surviving members of my family from the foster care agency that originally placed me, but I ran into a brick wall. They either don't know or couldn't tell me.”
“I'm sorry. I understand how important it is to feel like you belong somewhere.” Leine felt her attitude toward him soften.
Miles cleared his throat as he reached for the orange juice. He drank some and then put it back in the refrigerator. “I think I'm going to turn in. Thanks for tonight, Leine.”
“Goodnight, Miles.”
Miles left for bed and Leine poured herself a glass of water from the refrigerator. His loneliness had transmitted itself and dug deep into her bones. The longing for Santiago began as a slow burn. By the time she'd checked the doors and windows along with the evening's digital feed, it had become a conflagration.
CHAPTER NINE
YURI HESITATED BEFORE ENTERING THE conference room. The painful result of the last time he'd met with his boss made him gun shy. Rolled gauze pads stuffed his nostrils, and the bridge of his nose was bruised and swollen, giving him the appearance of the undead. The doctor told him his face would never look the same, but for enough money he'd give him any nose he wanted. Yuri opted for the less complicated route of using ice and a handful of pain meds. Besides, he didn't doubt Greg's threat of killing him if he failed to find Mara. What did a corpse need with a perfect nose?
Greg Kirchner sat at the head of the conference table, engrossed in working on his laptop. Though Yuri dreaded telling Greg they'd lost Mara a second time, at least now he had an idea how to track her. There was one small problem. The dark-haired woman working security at the theater looked familiar and he didn't like it. He'd wracked his brain, trying to remember where he knew her from, but didn't have any luck. The memory would surface, Yuri was certain. He just had to let it simmer.
Yuri took the chair on Greg's right and remained silent.
“Did you find her?” Greg's clipped tone set Yuri's teeth on edge.
“We did.”
Greg shifted in his chair and leaned toward him, interest sparking his eyes. “So where is she?”
“We lost her.” A chill descended on the room. Sweat spilled down Yuri's back.
“You lost her…again?”
Yuri took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. “I know how to track her, boss. Give me another couple of days. I promise I will find her.”
Greg blinked rapidly. “Tell me.”
“I had a hunch. I went to where Fournier was putting his handprints in cement at the Chinese theater down in Hollywood. There was a bunch of screaming kids there, and I figured Mara would maybe try to get the guy's attention like she did before at the hotel. I was right.” Yuri smiled, feeling smug. “She tried to get through the fence while he was giving his speech. We never would have found her in the crowd if she hadn't done that.”
“What happened?”
“Something spooked her and she ran.”
“Did she see you?”
“I don't think so. We were careful. But I know she'll try again. That's two times with this actor. She's alone in a big city and the only person she thinks she can trust is him.”
“That's great, Yuri. But what if she was spooked because she saw you? Do you think she's going to make the same mistake and show herself again? From now on, you're going to do things my way.” Greg nodded toward the hallway. “I've got a call to make. Close the door on your way out, but stick around.” He reached for his phone and hit speed dial. “We'll discuss what you're going to do as soon as I finish up here.”
Yuri returned to the lobby and sat on the couch. He picked up a magazine from the coffee table. A minute later he put it back. Then he stood and began to pace.
Fifteen minutes went by before Greg called Yuri back into the conference room. He gestured toward the phone lying in the middle of the table.
“I've got someone on speaker who knows Miles Fournier very well. He has an intriguing proposal for finding the girl I want you to hear. Listen care
fully. If this doesn't work, my earlier promise will come into play. I doubt you want that.”
CHAPTER TEN
LEINE PRESSED THE BUTTON FOR THE third floor, arguing with herself as the elevator ascended. Miles suggested she take the night off. He promised her he wouldn't leave the house without letting her know. Rico Pallini was meeting him there that evening to go over some contracts. Otherwise, Miles intended to watch a movie and turn in early.
She'd called the security company for a temp to guard the house. Her confidence in their training gave her the green light to leave the Fournier property, but her own training and professionalism warred with her conscience.
She assured herself Miles would be fine.
The elevator doors opened and she moved quietly down the hall. It was late, well past midnight. She'd had dinner with April and Cory, and then spent the rest of the evening at the Blue Mermaid, nursing a drink, trying to talk herself out of doing what she was now doing. She paused, her hand hovering near the doorknocker, heart pounding in her chest. She marveled at her heightened awareness, reminiscent of when she was actively pursuing a target.
Similar operative parameters and sequences, she supposed.
There's no going back, Leine. If this goes as planned, it alters everything. Hesitation was never a trait she'd cultivated. Considered a weakness, uncertainty was a luxury not afforded in her previous line of work.
She wasn't about to start now.
The sharp rap of the knocker echoed through the hallway. Leine prowled the small section of hall as she waited. Unbidden, the thought there could be someone else flickered through her mind, but she shrugged off the unease. She'd deal with the matter if and when it arose.
Moments later, she sensed someone on the other side. She stepped in front of the peep hole. The locks rattled as they slid free and the door opened.
Jensen stood before her, shirtless, revealing a deeply muscled chest. A narrow trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his partially-buttoned jeans. At first, his expression appeared relaxed from sleep. When he saw Leine, his eyes grew dark and the muscle in his jaw pulsed. They stared at each other, neither one speaking.
Vaguely aware of her shallow breathing, Leine's gaze moved from the intensity in his eyes to his strong nose and full mouth. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and felt the heat rise in her face as memories of the last time they were together crashed into her, erasing everything else.
She stepped forward and his warm hands encircled her waist. A groan escaped his lips as he moved to meet her. She closed her eyes and tasted his tongue, inhaled the musky scent of sleep, painting him with her body. He drew her inside the apartment and kicked the door shut, leading her through the living room to the kitchen. Leine undid the last of the buttons and slid his jeans to the floor where he stepped free of them. Jensen pushed her camisole up and over her breasts, lowering his head to suck first one, then the other. Leine leaned her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in the jolt of electricity that surged through her body.
He stepped back and she reached behind her to unzip her skirt, never taking her eyes from his. She let it drop to the floor and arched her spine, cupping her breasts with her hands, an open invitation he was only too happy to accept. Her silk bra joined the skirt and the matching thong followed. With a low growl, Jensen lifted her onto the island. The tile felt deliciously cold on her flushed skin. He bent to taste her and explored her with his fingers. Slipping her legs over his shoulders, she leaned back on her elbows with a sigh. He knew exactly where she was most sensitive, as though he'd memorized the terrain.
Inside, the tension built to an unbearable level. She gripped his hair and moaned, pulling him closer, unaware of anything but the need for release. She cried in frustration as he backed off, teasing her, toying with her self-control. Leine grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her, feeling him smile against her.
He brought her to climax, then lifted her off the counter, spun her around and bent her over, facing away from him. Leine's skin tingled as he planted kisses along her shoulders and down her spine. She arched her back again and pushed against him.
Leine closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as a second orgasm coursed through her. He leaned against her and groaned, shuddering as he came.
Neither moved for a moment, allowing the sensation to ebb and their breathing to return to normal. Leine relaxed into Jensen's embrace, her mind tranquil for the first time in months.
She turned in his arms and cupped his face with her hand. She wanted to remember everything about him—the laughter lines, the dark shadow of stubble along his jawline, the peaceful expression on his face as he looked at her, the complexity of emotions at play in his eyes. If he told her to leave, she'd go with no argument, satisfied the memory of their encounter would be enough for now.
Still watching her, he traced her nose and lips with his finger, then slid his hand behind her head, weaving his fingers though her hair. He brought her to him and gently kissed her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue. Leine sighed and leaned into him, returning the kiss.
She broke away first and led him to the bedroom where she slipped into the bath and turned on the shower. He followed and they took turns bathing each other, exploring, memorizing every detail. This time their lovemaking was languorous as the initial urgency had passed, leaving behind something more tangible than lust.
Finished showering, they moved to the bed and she lay in his arms, content to steal a few more moments from their separate lives, knowing them as a small reprieve.
She left him shortly before the alarm clock sounded, the silent pink of dawn beginning to reveal itself in the eastern sky.
***
Miles Fournier snapped awake, gasping for breath, the familiar nightmare more vivid than usual, cold sweat soaking his shirt through. Five years old again, he watched as the semi careened toward them, saw the fear frozen on his mother's face. His father reached for them both, attempting to shield them from the impact. Metal smashed against metal, the screams of a brutal demon mixed with the smell of acrid, melting-hot rubber as both drivers tried desperately to avoid the impending collision.
Disoriented, he glanced around the darkened room, focusing on the large, blank screen in front of him.
You're in the screening room, Miles, not the car. The accident took place years ago—it's over. You're safe. But he never felt safe. Shifting in his seat, his hand closed around the letter Rico gave him the night before. A dim light had broken through the clouds that hovered over him, planting in him the seed of fragile hope. He took the letter from the envelope and read it for the seventh time. It had to be true.
The figure next to him emitted a muffled groan and shifted position in the fully reclined theater seat.
“Hey, Rico. Wake the fuck up.” Miles smacked him on the shoulder.
“Wha—where am I?” Rico Pallini shook his head to clear it from the ocean of tequila he'd consumed the night before. He stuck his tongue out of his mouth and grimaced. “Probably shouldn't have smoked that spliff on top of the slushies. Man, you gotta warn me next time you make those. They go down way too easy.” Rico cleared his throat and attempted to eject himself from his chair, but fell back, slapping his hand to his head as if to keep it from splitting open and spewing his brains, or what was left of them.
“Do you think this is the real deal? You think she's actually related?”
Rico glanced at the letter and shrugged. “I don't have a clue. She included information no one else has about you. Hell, I didn't even know some of that stuff until last night.”
“Exactly.” Miles sprang from the seat, gripping the envelope. “I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna meet with her. Can't hurt, right?”
“What about Ms. Basso?” Rico's derisive tone conveyed his obvious dislike of the security specialist.
“I'll definitely have Leine check her out, but first I want to meet her, decide for myself whether she's who she says she is.” Miles looked at R
ico, amused. “You don't like Leine. Why? You pissed because she's got bigger balls?”
Rico scoffed. “Yeah, that'd happen. No, I just think she takes herself too seriously. She's arrogant.”
“That's what I like about her. She doesn't take crap from anybody. She's going to teach me some moves from that Israeli Special Forces shit.”
“Krav Maga?” Rico snorted. “Isn't that the fighting technique du jour? You should have her teach you Muay Thai. That rocks.”
“Muay Thai is for sport, dude. I need to protect myself. Krav Maga's where I wanna be.”
“Whatever.” Rico rolled his eyes. He was silent for a minute, then tilted his head and looked at Miles sideways. “Think she'd teach me, too?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARA WATCHED THE MAN IN the SpongeBob costume, who she now knew as Keith, open a can of soup and dump it into a small saucepan on a single-burner butane stove on the floor. The apartment was clean but sparse; a twin mattress lay on the floor by the lone window, and Mara and SpongeBob/Keith sat on two torn and rusty kitchen chairs. The small stove was the only other item in the apartment besides a sink flanked by two cupboards with the barest of eating utensils. The bathroom was down the hall. Mara didn't like how dirty the toilet was and avoided going in there as long as she could. Inch-long cockroaches skittered out of sight when she turned on the overhead light.
Keith smiled shyly, then looked back at the warming soup. “I know it ain't much, but it's off the street. You shouldn't be out there alone. There's some real bad people who like to hurt little girls.” He stirred the soup with a big spoon and adjusted the stove's flame. “I'm not going to ask you why you're by yourself, but have you thought about going to the cops for help?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don't trust them.”