by Jianne Carlo
“Uh-uh. I’m not giving away any secrets. So what’s up?” He grasped her wrist and rubbed his nose on that soft spot on the underside. She smelled clean, pure, and a hint of his aftershave remained on her skin. He smiled.
“I am going back to the cloister.”
“That’s good with me. I told you before—I’ll take you back.”
“Ah. You seek to placate me. I am not talking about going to the cloister when you see fit. I will go the minute you take me to a town. And before you plan that we see no towns before the week is out, let me tell you this. If I have to swim to the river’s banks, I will. I will leave for Roraima before the sun sets tomorrow.”
When had his face become so readable? He schooled his expression, letting his cheeks go flat, relaxing his compressed lips. Knowing she wouldn’t believe it if he capitulated too easily, Demon trapped her hands. “No. Not tomorrow. Give me three days. There are a few things I have to wrap up. And don’t even think that you’re going back without me. Not going to happen. Three days or you’re on the plane tomorrow, hog-tied and wearing duct tape if it has to be that way.”
She eyed him, tilting her head to one side. “One day.”
“Not budging. Three.” He met her stare head-on.
She blinked. “I would like you to come with me, but I’m so afraid to wait. Tell me why three days will not make a difference.”
Because your Sister Helen is long dead, but he couldn’t tell her that. Demon hooded his eyes and rolled them over. “It will not make a difference. I promise you that.”
Then he loved her again, pouring everything into the act, worshipping her with his lips, tongue, hands, and cock. After, when they lay together listening to the relentless rain drumming on the wooden roof, he linked their fingers together and kissed each tip.
“I should like to know something.”
He choked back a groan. “I’m listening.”
“When do you meet with o Assassino Sorridente?” Her eyes looked more luminous than ever, the turquoise irises the true, breathtaking color of Caribbean waters pictured in tourist promos.
“It’s best that you know nothing about that. Why do you want to know?” Demon cuddled her closer, determined to keep her distracted and off balance until he had her stowed on a plane en route to the US.
She looped her arms around his neck. “I must confront him.”
Over his dead and buried body. “What’s the point? He killed your mother. What else must you know?”
“I must know why.” She frowned, and he smoothed her wrinkled forehead.
“You’re not stupid. And not that naive. You really think he would tell you?” Demon held her wrists and set them on either side of her head. He nudged her legs apart, letting his turgid arousal rest on her belly.
“You’re angry with me again. Can you not understand that I must do this? I must stand in the same room with him. I must ask him why. And I must see his eyes when he answers.”
He shook her. “Jacinta. It’s not going to happen. Not going to. Get that through your head.”
“You cannot stop me.” She leveled her chin.
But he could and he would. “We’ll table this discussion. Right now we need to get going if you want to leave for the cloister in three days’ time.”
Expecting her to be pissed and sullen, Demon rolled off the bed and pulled on his jeans.
She caught his hand. “Do not be angry with me. We must each do what we have to.”
“I’m not angry with you, kitten.” He kissed her palm. “It’s time to get going.”
“Can we have that stew first? My stomach is eating itself.” She sat up and stretched like a sensuous cat—arms high, back bowed, breasts lifted—and he couldn’t resist suckling first one, then the other.
“You are insatiable. I like it.” She caressed his balls and worked her way slowly up his erection.
Sucking in a deep breath, he loosened her hold on his dick. “Hold that thought for later. First we eat, though that stew’s probably inedible by now. Then we head out. If we leave within the hour, we should arrive at San Carlos by early tomorrow.”
“San Carlos? We are really heading back to Roraima, then. Why must we wait three days?”
Distracted by her luscious ass when she shimmied into her jeans, Demon answered her barrage of questions without thinking. “San Carlos has a cell tower. Nunez’s estate lies on the borders of Guyana, Venezuela, and Brazil. It’ll take me two days to get there and back.”
“I will wait for you in San Carlos?”
He stared, fascinated by the way she hooked her bra in the back with quick, deft movements. His damned dick protested when she spun around and grabbed one of his tees. “Yes. Put in your contacts. I’ll dish out the stew.”
When Demon reached the stove, he discovered that the gas had run out and the stew not only hadn’t burned to nothing, but actually looked appetizing. He switched out the gas tanks and heated the stew.
“Why must I wear the contacts now? They’re scratchy.” She sauntered into the kitchen wearing an adorable pout, which quickly turned into a fierce glower.
“No food unless you put them in.” He crossed his arms and returned her stare, blocking access to the stew.
“But why? We have many hours before we arrive in San Carlos.” She jammed her hands on her hips.
“Jacinta, from now until I get you back to the cloister, you'll wear those lenses constantly. Even to sleep. Not negotiable. Go put them in, and then we’ll eat.” She had a stubborn streak that rivaled his, and he foresaw a ton of down-and-dirty fights and a ton of hot makeup-sex sessions.
She ducked her head and shot him an up-from-under glare fierce enough to pierce the thickest hide.
He grinned. “I’ll throw in a handful of M&M’s after the stew.”
“You are bribing me.” She shrugged. “Two handfuls.”
“One and a half. Dust it up, kitten. We really do need to get going.”
“Dust what?” She swiveled and threw the question over one saucy shoulder.
“Hurry up. Dust up. Like when cowboys ride so hard and fast all you can see is the dust of their tracks.”
Demon traced her cute backside until she disappeared into the bunk room. He spooned the stew into a bowl and chuckled when she let out a string of curses that couldn’t have been learned from nuns.
“Where’d you learn to cuss like that?”
Jacinta appeared, hair tousled, eyes brown and bloodshot, and none too pleased with him if her flaring nostrils were any indication of her mood. “You think nuns do not know how to curse?”
He lifted a brow, pushed the chair away from the table, and sat. “The vaunted Sister Helen again?”
“I can feed myself.” She ignored his invitation to sit on his lap. “There is only one bowl.”
“You’d deprive me of such a small pleasure?” Demon opened his arms.
“You can be very much the nuisance.” She huffed and plopped into his lap.
Demon fished out a large mussel. “Open.”
By the time they’d eaten every scrap and washed down the food with a shared can of soda, her sunny nature had surfaced once more. “I did not think I would like the mussels, but I liked them a lot.”
“Teach you not to judge a book by its cover.” He couldn’t resist tweaking her nose.
“This I do not understand. What do a book and a cover have to do with an ugly mussel? English makes no sense.”
Demon considered explaining the idiom for three seconds. “Up you go. I’ll haul anchor and get us underway. Any coffee left?”
Jacinta scooted out of his embrace and glanced at the shelf opposite the sink. “There is more than enough. I’ll make it and bring you a mug.”
Before going on deck, Demon donned his boots and a shirt. Though rain still fell, the torrent had been reduced to a drizzle. A few lonesome stars due west showed the promise of the clear night to come, which suited Demon’s plans to a tee.
Keeping the deck lights on, he maneu
vered through the narrow entrance to the island and let the boat idle to get his bearings and check the immediate area. Nothing in sight. He flicked the lights off and navigated to the left bank before turning the boat to follow the river.
According to Hades Squad intel, Rosa Nunez had tried and failed to escape from her brother a total of three times. The first time, she’d run off with one of his lieutenants, who was subsequently found with his dick and balls stuffed into his mouth.
On the second occasion, she had faked an illness, been moved to a nearby medical center, and escaped, sneaking past the two men guarding her room. Rosa’d made the fateful mistake of appealing to the local priest for assistance in getting her out of the country. The man of God called Pedro immediately.
After that, Pedro kept a doctor and nurse on staff at his estate. The third attempt was fraught with tragedy. For some reason yet unknown, not a few months later Rafael Vilas, at the time Pedro’s chief finance man, drove off Pedro’s estate with Rosa secreted in the trunk.
Pedro’s reaction had been ruthless and relentless. To force Rafael to return Rosa, Pedro’d kidnapped his daughter, Elvira, and raped her repeatedly before sending her to a whorehouse he controlled.
When Rafael found Elvira several months later, he immediately married her off to Pedro’s exiled and semiparalyzed ex-lieutenant, Jose Genro.
Why had Rafael helped Rosa? He must’ve known there’d be horrific retribution.
From all accounts, Rosa had returned to Pedro voluntarily after she learned of Elvira’s kidnapping and had never attempted to escape again. By all rights, Emilio and Elvira should be grateful to Rosa.
Instead Jacinta’s half brother had been intent on tit-for-tat revenge. Rape Jacinta and send her to Pedro.
The big question was—why the fuck would Pedro care about a niece he didn’t even know existed?
Chapter Eight
Moonlight streamed through the engine room’s open door, and Jacinta glanced outside, surprised to find the rain had stopped. The river’s weather changed with each bend, or so it seemed. The boat’s wake took on a strange silvery color, and the foam curdling off the parted stream sparkled like faerie dust.
Somewhere a flower bloomed and a sweet fragrance reminiscent of the African violets Sister Helen grew wafted to her nose. She inhaled, and a smile tugged at her lips. So many times she’d caught Sister Helen tracing the delicate petals, sniffing, her eyes closed, her expression so serene, so at peace that it was easy to think of her as a nun, as a woman devoted to peace. Her chest ached. It had been so long since she’d seen Sister Helen.
“Are you going to give me that cup of coffee? Or just stand there and tantalize me with the smell?” He cocked his head and slanted her his unique three-dimpled grin.
She flinched, and the liquid slopped the mug’s sides. “Of course I am going to give you the coffee.”
“Bring it on then, woman.” He motioned her over.
“Why are you looking at maps in the dark?” She peered through the shadows and walked to him.
“Don’t want to attract attention. Did you turn off the kitchen lights?” He accepted the cup and sipped.
“Yes. Why will you not tell me everything?”
“The less you know, the safer you are.” He didn’t look at her but bent closer to the map.
“I should like to see o Assassino Sorridente’s photo. And one of my father.” Jacinta narrowed her eyes. “You owe me that.”
He straightened and met her stare. “You’re right. When we get settled in San Carlos, I’ll be able to access the Internet. I’ll show you pictures of them all, including one of your mother.”
Her jaw dropped. She had expected to have to argue with him.
“Do you know how to use a cell phone?” He drained the mug and set it on the desk.
She rolled her eyes. “I am not stupid. Clara. Of course I know. The principal gave me one before I left with Emilio. He has it now. I will never be able to pay back all that I’ve lost. But at least the cell phone is replaceable. Sister Helen’s dress and shoes are not.”
“Does Sister Helen have a last name?”
He had that tone in his voice again. She studied his features, but the darkness hid the color of his eyes and she couldn’t begin to guess what he thought. “Sister H. Ferrera. That’s how the letters that came for her were addressed.”
“You said the mail came with the parish priest. Was there one that came before they told you about living in the outside world?”
“Yes.” Her insides clenched. What was he getting at?
“Did you notice the postmark?”
Jacinta closed her eyes. “Thirty-two, ninety, one hundred and five.”
“Are you positive?”
She blinked. “Sim. Of course. I can see it when I close my eyes. It’s like a picture. It was the only way I could learn the physics. I would study my notes and then read them back in my head.”
“You have a photographic memory.” He stood, picked her up, and twirled her around and around. The maps went flying; the mug thudded and bounced to the wooden floor.
“Stop. Stop. You are making me dizzy.” But she couldn’t stop smiling because he wore his infectious, dazzling grin. “Why does this make you so happy?”
He stopped so suddenly her neck cricked, and she rubbed the sore spot when he set her down.
“Because I can pick your brain, and maybe, just maybe I can put this all together. Let’s start with letters that came to the cloister. How many? How regularly? Who got them? Grab that pad from the shelf and a pen and make a list for me.”
She did as he ordered and curled up on the bench below the window. “Can we not turn on a light?”
“No. Use the flashlight hanging from the hook.” The engines thrummed, and he eased up the throttle. “I’m going to have to concentrate for the next few miles. According to Fredo’s notes, three tributaries join the Orinoco here.”
“Who are we hiding from? We travel only at night. We have to be hiding.” She nibbled on the end of the pen.
“Pedro’s enemies have put a price on the Demon Seed’s head. A large price.”
A shiver crept across her shoulders. She hugged herself. “I do not like this. One bit.”
“Work on the lists. Let me worry about everything else.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Simply telling me to not worry will not make me stop.” She drew two columns and wrote down a list of letters, the postal codes she could remember, and dates. “I’m finished.”
“Let me see.”
She passed the pad to him; he glanced at the page, frowned, and asked, “You remember the dates?”
“Everyone had to sign the visitor log with their name and the date. I was in charge of the office and filed away each log. Of course I remember. What now?”
“Turn off the flashlight. There’s a bunch of boats coming our way. Can you see them?”
He scooted the pad back to her; she picked it up.
Jacinta sat on her haunches and looked out the window. “One’s a ferry boat. The other two are smaller. I just remembered something. All the letters except those addressed to Sister Helen had return addresses on the envelopes. Is the postal code enough to tell you who wrote to her?”
“No. But it’ll tell me the country and the region.”
They both went quiet when the ferry drew nearer and the roar and vibration of the diesel engines became too loud to converse. She wrinkled her nose when the flint and smoke erased the flowery perfume of the night.
Minutes lapsed into half an hour. Jacinta turned the page and began writing.
“Remembered more dates and letters?”
She jerked, and the pen dug into the page. “No. When Consuelo told me she’d help me get back to the school, she had me enter my cell phone number into hers. We were at a café, and she went to the ladies’ room. I looked at all her other numbers. I made a list.”
“You are a treasure, kitten.” He slapped his hand on the podium-like desk by the throttle
. “Why don’t you come here and let me thank you properly?”
“I thought you needed to concentrate.” She slipped off the bench.
“I do. Just don’t like having you so far away.”
“I should like to ask you something.”
“Come around here.”
Complying, she edged to stand in front of him.
“That’s better. What’s bothering you?”
“I have been meditating on the situation. Does it not seem all odd to you?”
“What do you find odd?”
She shrugged. “Everything. Emilio. You. Me. O Assassino Sorridente. That it all happened the way it did? I feel as if someone is playing the puppeteer with us.”
“You surprise me at every corner. And you’re dead right. There are too many coincidences. Someone or someones is jerking our strings. We’ll figure it all out.” He knuckled her cheek.
“That is not what I wanted to ask.”
“Spit it out, Jacinta.”
“Do you think o Assassino Sorridente is the one pulling the strings?”
The muscle just below his eye twitched. “He’s pulling some strings all right, but not all of them. When we get to San Carlos, I’ll be able to find out more.”
“You will communicate with the ‘we’ that I must know nothing about?”
“Yes. Why don’t you grab a few winks? I’ll wake you up when we’re closer to San Carlos.”
“I’ll make more coffee and leave it on the stove for you.” Jacinta suppressed a smirk. He hadn’t expected her to agree to his order, and his brows rose when she spoke.
She felt him following her every move but didn’t look back, didn’t once glance at him as she sauntered into the kitchen, replenished the coffee, and then headed to the bunk room.
Her intention had been to search the duffel bag. But the code for the padlock had her stymied, and she abandoned any attempt at breaking it after a few seconds.
A search of his jacket revealed two cell phones, neither of which had been activated. There was nothing else she could do for now. Jacinta shrugged out of her jeans and lay down on the bed. It had been easy to avoid thinking about the cloister, about her mother, but now this news of her father and half brother crowded her mind. So much remained unexplained. Demon’s suggestion that her mother had sent her away so she could be safe made sense, but why had her father, this Jose Genro, not claimed her? And why had he claimed Emilio? And why did Emilio hate her so?