For Love or Vengeance

by Caridad Piñeiro

  For Love or Vengeance

  The Reborn Series

  Caridad Piñeiro

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Caridad Piñeiro Scordato. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Nina Bruhns

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-293-7

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:AK-47, Tec-9, Glock, Sigma-SW9F, Kevlar, Starbucks, José Cuervo, Cuervo, Dumpster, Formica, Taser.

  To my daughter, Samantha. Thank you for being my best friend and for all your support and understanding. You rock!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  MOUNT OLYMPUS

  The chase was on once again.

  Nemesis sensed her father’s growing anger as he sought her out along the halls of Olympus. She had just returned from another mission down on Earth with the humans, her goals twofold. First: to make sure justice was served so that the puny mortals would not fall into chaos and disorder. Second, and possibly more important to her on a personal level: avoiding her father’s rutting ways.

  It had been nearly a month since he had taken her, brutally and against her will. Not that it bothered him that he had hurt her, physically and mentally. For that matter, it didn’t seem to bother her mother or any of the other denizens of Olympus, none of whom were bold enough to challenge Zeus.

  As Nemesis raced into the furthest wing of the palace nestled amongst the clouds, Zeus’s bellow shook the walls and the ground beneath her bare feet.

  To the humans below the sound would seem like thunder, but to the other gods and goddesses lingering about the palace, it instilled fear since they understood such a mood always brought punishment.

  Nemesis sped to her room as quickly as she could, wanting to escape back to Earth before Zeus could lay his hands on her once more.

  As she opened the door to her chamber, she realized she was too late. Zeus was already there, lying across the center of her bed, his head of golden curls pillowed against his muscled arms. At first glance he seemed the picture of contentment, but when she met his gaze, thunderbolts of fury lit his celestial blue eyes.

  “You’ve been ignoring me, daughter,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly rising to his towering height. His presence was immense as the force of his energies buffeted her psyche.

  She ducked her head, wishing she could disappear into herself. “I’ve been spreading justice as you’ve commanded, Father.”

  Zeus laughed and the sound rumbled throughout the palace.

  A second later her mother, Hera, flew into the room and came to stand beside her.

  “Husband, is something wrong?” her mother asked, the tones of her voice demure since she, too, sensed Zeus’s growing rage.

  “Our daughter avoids me. She claims it is because she is on my mission—”

  “I am,” Nemesis insisted, raising her head to meet her father’s stormy gaze.

  “Silence,” he commanded, and clapped his hands, the noise almost deafening. It shook the clouds beneath their feet and was followed by a bolt of lightning that burst from his palms.

  Both she and her mother lowered their heads once more, and with a satisfied huff, Zeus strolled over and circled, inspecting them.

  “You say you are on my mission?”

  “I am, Father,” Nemesis repeated softly, hating the sense of powerlessness his presence brought.

  “Justice must be very important to you,” he said as he tucked his thumb under her chin and urged her head upward.

  “It is, Father.”

  His gaze bored into her, making her quake with fear that he would come to know the real reason for her determination to be on Earth.

  “You enjoy your time with the mortals?” he questioned, arching a brow.

  “I spend time with them to do what I must,” she responded, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

  “Methinks that is not the only reason, Nemesis.” Obvious displeasure colored his words as he shifted his hand to cradle her jaw and leaned close. “Methinks it is to avoid me, Daughter.”

  As if to prove his point, he brought his face near until he nuzzled the skin of her cheek. In low tones, he whispered, “You will not refuse me. I will have you whenever I want.”

  Abruptly he pulled away, shooting daggers at her and her mother, who had remained impassive beside her. He paced a step or two before facing them once more. “If keeping the humans in line is so important—”

  “It is, Father. It is why—”

  “Silence,” he commanded again. “Then you will have no issue with taking a solemn vow to exact justice on Earth.”

  With a dip of her head, she answered, “Justice is my sole mission.”

  “Our daughter has fulfilled your word admirably, Husband,” Hera said, slipping an arm around Nemesis’s shoulders in a rare sign of support.

  Zeus narrowed his eyes as he considered them.

  Hera did her best to appear subservient, but she knew he could sense the disobedience hidden beneath her calm surface, as well as her daughter’s. He would brook no such disobedience.

  She suspected punishment would not be long in coming.

  Leaning close to their daughter, he said, “As part of your vow, you must understand that if you fail, your time on Earth as a goddess will come to an end.”

  Nemesis bowed her head. “I understand.”

  “No! Wait, Daughter,” Hera cried, but it was too late.

  With a blast of lightning, Nemesis was gone from her side, returned to Earth to fulfill the vow she had just made—a vow she had not completely understood in her haste to be away from her father.

  “You do not play fair, Husband. She did not comprehend the true terms of her pledge,” Hera chastised, but Zeus only shook his head and laughed, the sound of it like thunder across the sky.

  “Fair? All is fair in love and war,” he answered, and with a clap of his hands, disappeared.

  Her body trembling with fear and disgust, He
ra stumbled to her daughter’s bed and sat. Pressing a hand to the pain in the middle of her chest, she prayed Nemesis could keep her vow.

  Justice must be served or else…Nemesis would forever be condemned to life as a mortal, with all its inherent dreariness.

  But worse, with the promise of death.

  Chapter One

  NEW YORK CITY

  When justice failed, chaos prevailed.

  In a place as bustling as Manhattan, the demands of justice would surely keep her busy.

  Helene Alexander unpacked the last of her personal items from the box she had brought from Philadelphia to her new location—the New York City field office of the FBI. With a sigh, she plopped down in her chair and shot a glance at her watch. Only half an hour to go until her meeting with the Assistant Director in Charge who would provide her with a new assignment and partner.

  She hoped the latter would be better than the half dozen or so men with whom she had worked in Philadelphia. Men who had failed time and time again to understand the ends to which she would go to accomplish her mission on this mortal plane.

  Possibly because they didn’t understand the severity of the penalty if she failed.

  For nearly two millennia, Nemesis had assumed various guises in order to fulfill the pledge she had made to her father, Zeus. In the early days she’d only had to stir up the crowd and let vigilantes exact justice. As the mortals evolved, however, her task had become more difficult, until it had become necessary for her to work within their lame legal system to see justice was done, one case at a time—currently as FBI Special Agent Helene Alexander.

  But while being human and following their rules might be a pain at times, being forced to return to her life as a goddess on Olympus should she fail was way worse. In Olympus, she would have no control over her life, and would face the constant threat of her father’s so-called affections.

  With a shudder at those thoughts, Helene rose from her desk, deciding to kill some time by grabbing a cup of coffee before her meeting with the ADIC.

  Weaving her way through the rat’s nest of desks where her fellow agents had settled as they’d arrived at the office, she noticed the glances shot her way. Lots of looks that said they thought she was hot. Not hard to do since she was an immortal who could choose whatever shape or persona she wished. Suspicious looks from a few others, possibly the ones aware of her time in Philadelphia and the reputation she had earned there.

  Neither fazed her, human emotions being unreliable and not something she generally cared about. Even after so many centuries among the mortals, she get their reactions. Sadness at an honorable death instead of joy. Happiness at the birth of another when they were only born to suffer.

  She wouldn’t even consider the weirdness of human love, a condition that had confused her more than once. That desire-filled look from a loved one that somehow was also filled with sadness, peace, and wonderment…

  No, she didn’t understand human love and she didn’t want to experience it, she told herself as an unexpected pull came from deep within as she reached the door to the break room. She stopped at the entry since someone was already at the machine busily preparing a cup of coffee.

  Someone hot.

  His back was to her, giving her a good look at broad shoulders and a deliciously formed butt. Although she didn’t really care for half-assed mortal involvements, she did have her physical needs while in this form, and was not above a one-night stand with some fine man candy.

  Based on what she was seeing so far, this mortal had great potential.

  As he turned, a brightly colored mug in hand, she was not disappointed with his flipside. His face was ruggedly handsome, with skin the color of cinnamon-flavored milk. Latino, she thought, well aware of the human need for senseless labeling.

  Green eyes that were so dark they appeared almost black widened in appreciation as he swept his gaze over her. His obvious interest dragged a sexy smile to her lips.

  She started toward him, tempted by his looks and the size of him, but as she neared she became aware of his aura even without the use of her second sight. It swirled around him quite forcefully—wounded and conflicted.

  More than once she had seen such seemingly strong men reduced to nothing by the weight of similar emotions, and she wondered if this man could hold up under the weight of them. Although she didn’t know why she should even care. As an immortal, her reactions were generally black and white. The excess emotional baggage of humans generally put her off. But…

  There was something about the complexity of this man’s emotions along with his physical presence that intrigued her, and so she approached, determined to discover more about him.

  Miguel Sanchez stopped dead in his tracks as the most incredibly sexy woman he’d ever seen walked into the coffee room.

  She wore a basic men-in-black outfit—dark suit and simple white blouse—not that either detracted from her tempting femininity. If anything, the stark, functional lines accented the slender but curvy shape of her body. The fabric of her plain blouse caressed her ample breasts, making him itch to do the same.

  He dragged his gaze to her face.

  Possibly a mistake.

  Her full lips were tilted in a seductive smile and as her gaze met his, there was no mistaking her interest. It ramped up the physical reaction he’d been experiencing from the moment he noticed her. She was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever encountered, with her awesome body and classic features.

  He restrained those wayward thoughts, telling himself that workplace entanglements generally did not end well.

  Especially in the FBI.

  But as she finally stopped before him, obviously intending to talk to him, he had no choice but to acknowledge her. He held out his hand.

  “Special Agent Miguel Sanchez. I just transferred from the Atlanta bureau.”

  A slight wrinkle marred the straight line of her nose for a second, as if she suddenly smelled something bad. But she finally shook his hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

  “Special Agent Helene Alexander. I just transferred from the Philadelphia bureau. I guess we’re the newbies.”

  He nodded and kept on shaking her hand until he realized that he had been doing so far too long, which was confirmed by her quick downward glance at their joined hands and the way her smile broadened knowingly across her lips.

  She was enjoying his reaction to her.

  So not good. He released her hand and reminded himself of the foolishness of revealing too much emotion, even to a fellow agent. Especially to a fellow agent.

  “I guess we’ll see each other around,” he said, wincing at his lameness while trying to regain some measure of control. Jeezus. She had him feeling like a teenager making his first pass at a pretty girl by her locker.

  A wicked gleam played in her eyes before she, too, reined in her reaction. “I sure hope so,” she said, and strutted away toward the coffee machine.

  He took a moment to appreciate just how fine she was before heading to the desk he had been assigned earlier that morning. He’d spent a short time organizing his personal things before being put through the human resources routine. In less than half an hour he was expected at the Assistant Director in Charge’s office, presumably to become acquainted, get his first case, and hopefully, snag a good partner.

  Miguel hoped it would be someone easygoing and capable. As he thought about the agent he had just met in the break room, he hoped it wouldn’t be her. Office relationships were difficult, but getting involved with your partner was downright dangerous.

  He wasn’t even sure why he was thinking of anything other than the job, considering the state of his life. He had transferred from Atlanta to try and get his damn house in order. Any kind of involvement—even only a physical one—would complicate his life.

  Something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  Pulling himself away from such thoughts, he logged onto the network and made sure he could access his e-mails and o
ther vital programs, sipping his coffee as he did so. The time passed quickly and with five minutes to spare, he sauntered to the ADIC’s office.

  Murphy’s Law must have been doing overtime. As he arrived at the anteroom to the area, Special Agent Alexander was there as well, sitting primly as she apparently also waited for the Assistant Director in Charge. Miguel identified himself to the ADIC’s assistant, who smiled mechanically and motioned to the sofa. “Take a seat. The ADIC will be with you when he’s ready.”

  As he approached the sofa, he dipped his head in greeting. “Special Agent Alexander.”

  She flashed that tempting smile once again. “Special Agent Sanchez.”

  He took the spot on the couch farthest away from her chair, silently praying that her reason for being there had nothing to do with him.

  Chapter Two

  ADIC Jesus Hernandez leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, mentally reviewing the report on a new and particularly brutal serial killer who had so far claimed the lives of four young New Yorkers.

  The local newspapers had already dubbed him the “Butcher of Broadway,” since all four of his victims had been aspiring actors, singers, and dancers. Beyond that very obvious connection between the victims, his agents had not been able to find a link to the killer.

  The material in the file contained detailed information on the methods of the unsub, including the possibility that he had taken parts of the victims as trophies. Despite the data, he sensed there was something very wrong with the analysis.

  Something that might be the key to finding the killer.

  Surging forward in his chair, Jesus planted his feet on the floor and quickly reviewed the details of the murders, wanting to be ready when he met the agents to whom he was reassigning the case.

  As he had concluded, the profile of the unsub was lacking somehow, and he was more convinced than ever that what was wrong was the FBI’s conclusion about the method by which the serial killer chose his victims. The theory that he hunted them down on the Internet just didn’t hold water for a couple of the victims, and serial killers didn’t usually change their M.O. so quickly.

  Making that connection was the missing key to finding the killer.