For Love or Vengeance

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Afterward, they stood silently in the war room, considering the new facts on the bulletin board. As with the other murders, the killer had kept to his method. In the background of the photo was a large billboard advertising the shark exhibition at the Coney Island Aquarium.

  The Sharks. The name of the Puerto Rican gang in West Side Story, and the basketball courts where so much of the action had occurred in the movie.

  For the second time, the killer had added a prop. In her hands, Lanie had held a white and blue bridal garter. Miguel stood before the photo, struggling with the clue until Helene came up beside him and woodenly said, “In the story, Maria worked in a bridal shop.”

  He was both impressed by and worried about her detailed knowledge. “I know we need to understand his motives and why he does these things, but we can’t—”

  “Get lost in his head. I understand. I’m not even close to doing that because we still don’t have his motive.”

  Miguel scowled. “He’s a sociopath. He doesn’t need a motive anymore. Something set him off and he’ll keep on going until we stop him.”

  Helene crossed her arms and paced back and forth between the bulletin boards, recalling the images and emotions she had read from Lanie’s body as she touched it at the crime scene. “No. I’m not feeling the sociopath thing. This isn’t random. There’s a specific reason he’s targeting young actors and actresses.”

  In truth, the images she had gotten from the two dead bodies they’d seen in person had been jarring and confusing. The vibes had never been as muddled as with this last body. The other victims she’d viewed at the morgue had been deceased too long for her to get any kind of read. The last victim had yielded a few visions, and Lanie had provided even more images as Helene touched the dead young woman with her gloved hand. She would have much preferred skin to skin because that improved her perception, but that was against procedure and not possible.

  Mortal conventions once again interfered with her immortal mission.

  “We need to find out where Lanie got that faked casting call paper,” Miguel said.

  “It’s too late to visit her roommates and give them this news,” she said. “We’ll start in the morning.”

  He shot a quick look at his watch. “Almost 2:00 a.m. We should grab some shut-eye.”

  Without a doubt, she needed a break to regroup and try to put together the disjointed imagery and ideas this case was generating in her brain.

  “I’ll meet you back here at six?” she asked, and when he agreed, she walked out of the room with him close behind. They each stopped at their desks to retrieve their weapons, then walked to the elevator.

  They were silent on the ride down, but the thrum of awareness and sexual tension was almost palpable in the small space of the elevator. Thoughts of bed had her remembering last night. Obviously, he was, too. As they exited the building, he offered her a ride to her apartment. She was tempted, but—

  “Thanks, but I’m going to go get a drink.” She definitely needed one.

  Surprise slipped across his features before he said, “I’m not normally the drinking type, but would you mind if I came with you?”

  The thought of sharing some downtime with him, small talk and the peace that he seemed to bring with his presence, was appealing. Maybe she’d even let it lead to something more than a drink. After all, he was quite good in bed, and despite the fact that she’d abruptly ended their last hookup, tonight she needed something good to drive away the frustration she was feeling at losing Lanie Santini.

  She smiled and put her arm through his. “Sure. That would be nice.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Miguel had somehow pictured Helene’s favorite watering hole to be more elegant and refined than the almost scary Goth club to which she brought him. As they entered, he instantly realized how out of place they were amid the sea of black leather and metal. And yet, Helene walked through the place as if she were one of them.

  “Them” being a ragtag collection of rough-looking patrons of all ages with enough tattoos and piercings to make him flinch just imagining the pain of acquiring such body decorations.

  The whole place pulsated with a strange kind of energy. Low and powerful, it invaded his body and stole through his mind. He had never sensed anything like it before.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked Helene as she threaded through the crowd to the bar at the far side of the club.

  She nodded and gave him a knowing smile. “It’s primal, isn’t it? Danger. Sex. Pain. The place is alive with it.”

  Primal, his ass. But he didn’t argue with her. He had come to relax. But she sent a heated glance in his direction, almost as if to say, “We both know better.”

  Which maybe they did. They both knew why they had left together—why he had asked, and why she had agreed. They both knew, and yet there was still a game to be played. So afterward they had a good excuse for why it had happened—and why it didn’t mean anything.

  As they approached the bar, two of the patrons got up and left, their half-full glasses still sitting on the counter. The bartender smirked at Helene as he whisked away the glasses and wiped down the surface with a damp rag.

  “Naughty, naughty,” he said with a chuckle, clearly sharing some kind of private joke with her.

  She eased onto a stool and the action pulled her skirt up, revealing tantalizing inches of her long shapely legs. Somehow Miguel dragged his gaze away to the bartender, who glared at him with glacial eyes.

  “Is this your squeeze?” The man motioned to Miguel with the hand that held the rag.

  She cocked her head in his direction, the smile on her face playful. “Are you jealous, Daniel?”

  She was on a first-name basis with the bartender? How often she did she come here, anyway? He battled back his own nasty little envy monster at the thought. The man was tall and good looking, in a hard sort of way. Just like Helene…He took the stool beside her and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’m Miguel.”

  The bartender jerked his head up and down, tossed aside the rag and said, “The name’s Foley. Only my friends call me Daniel.”

  Message received and understood. Miguel pulled back his hand. Jerk.

  Helene held up two fingers. “Shooters and keep them coming until I say stop.”

  “If you can say stop,” Foley teased. He reached beneath the bar and retrieved two shot glasses, which he slammed on the bar. Snaring a bottle of Cuervo from the shelf behind the bar, he placed it next to the shot glasses.

  “It’s on the house. Heard about your bad luck.”

  She grabbed the bottle and poured out two shots. “I guess news travels quickly in your circles.”

  “A waste of good blood…” Foley muttered, and walked away.

  “A waste of good blood?” Miguel repeated, stymied by the man’s words. Was that code for something?

  Helene held up her glass. “To Lanie Santini. May she rest in peace.”

  He tapped his drink against hers. “To Lanie.”

  In unison they downed the shots. Before his glass could hit the bar, Helene refilled it and then her own.

  With a quick flick of her wrist, she chugged the shot, but he sipped his more slowly, the burn of the first shot still warming his stomach. She refilled her shot glass a third time and once again knocked back the tequila.

  He frowned, concerned on multiple counts. “Don’t you think you should take it easy?”

  Helene considered her partner over the rim of her empty glass, debating over a fourth. “Worried I’ll get too drunk?” Of course, she wouldn’t. But he couldn’t know that.

  He laughed roughly and took a small sip of his drink. “Why would I worry about that?”

  It was Helene’s turn to chuckle and shake her head. “Because you’re too honorable to fuck me if you think I’m drunk.” She decided against the fourth shot. She could think of more intoxicating things than alcohol. Placing her glass and the bottle of tequila down on the counter, she reached up and l
aid her hand on Miguel’s shoulder. Inching it up to the edge of his collar, she slipped her thumb along the skin of his throat.

  His body vibrated beneath her touch. No need to release her second sight, she could sense the desire and conflict in him even without it. It mirrored her own. “You do want me, don’t you?” she asked. “Because I want you.”

  As he slammed down the remainder of his shot, his throat muscles worked beneath the pads of her fingers.

  “Well?” she prompted. She never had been good at playing games. Their dance of denial was wasting time better spent in bed.

  He lifted his emerald eyes to her. They were dark with anger…and desire. “You try to be hard and distant. But I see what’s inside you, and that scares you. It scares me, too, because I do want you.”

  The clatter of something heavy and metallic hitting the bar shattered the moment.

  A heavy brass ring with a big brass key and tag sat on the bar in front of them. Foley was glaring at them. “Spare us all the sideshow and get a room. That’s on the house, too.”

  In one fluid motion, Helene snared the key and Miguel’s hand, and pulled him from his stool. “Let’s go.”

  Miguel called himself a fool, and yet was powerless to deny he needed her. Needed the comfort of her arms. Needed to reach beyond her inflexible façade to the intense woman within. The one who felt pain and joy so deeply. Who understood the need for justice, and strove so hard to find it. The woman he hoped might be capable of more than just an occasional one-night stand.

  She was leading him toward the door to another part of the club. It was guarded by a pale, muscular bouncer. The bouncer moved to block their path, but she held up the key and waved her hand, literally brushing him aside so they could pass.

  Her steps were quick and short, the sound of her heels staccato sharp against the tiled floor in the hall.

  Room number five was at the end of the hall. Her hand fumbled as she tried to slip the large key into the lock and Miguel reached out to steady her hand.

  She looked up at him and murmured, “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Never one to miss a beat, she said, “And mine, I hope.”

  They went in and she locked the door behind him, then flashed him a sexy smile.

  For a brief second, he registered an assortment of adult toys tacked up on one wall. And then her body was pressed against him, his back against the door.

  She was quick to reach for his suit jacket, but he gently grabbed hold of her hands and stilled their motion. “I know you need to forget what happened today, but there’s no sense in rushing. We have all night.”

  He reached up and caressed her curls, then rested his hand at the crook of her neck. He gently brushed aside her hair and bent his head. Nuzzling the soft skin by his hand, he whispered, “You’re very beautiful.”

  She tipped her head to give him better access and murmured playfully, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

  “Immodest, too.” He kissed the side of her throat and leisurely dragged his mouth along the sensitive skin to a spot behind her ear. “And headstrong.”

  “Ooh, you say such sinful things to a girl,” she cooed breathily.

  He tugged on her finely worked hoop earring with his teeth, tongued her lobe, and whispered, “Opinionated.”

  She cradled the back of his head and slipped her hands beneath his suit jacket to tug him closer. “I think those two are almost redundant,” she murmured.

  “Smart-mouthed.” Then he covered that smart mouth with his, tasting her full lips. Urging her into the kiss with the press and tug of his mouth against hers. Inviting her to open, and when she did, slipped in to trace the perfect line of her teeth. He danced his tongue across hers and dared her to do more.

  She dropped her hands from his shoulders and covered his pecs. Found the hard nubs of his nipples beneath the fabric and circled them with her fingers, making his erection surge to life. He gave a rumble of pleasure. She smiled against his lips. “You like that, don’t you?”

  He could lie, but what was the sense. She seemed to know more about what gave him pleasure than he did himself. “Mmm. I like.”

  She increased the pressure, tweaking the nubs before bending down to suckle first one, then the other, through the fabric of his shirt.

  He held her head to him and because he needed more, he grasped her hand and moved it to his cock. “Touch me.”

  She stroked him through the rough wool of his pants, moving her hand up and down the length of him. Then she muttered, “This is crazy. Too many clothes.”

  A second later she was racing to remove all his clothing. When he stood naked before her, she took a step back, and surprised him by saying, “You’re beautiful, too.”

  With a smile, he crossed his arms and said, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

  A musical laugh escaped her, and she closed the distance between them. Touching the head of his erection with teasing fingers, she met his gaze full on and said, “You’re a hard man, Miguel Sanchez.” Coyly dropping her gaze downward, she added, “A very, very, hard man.”

  He groaned and covered her hand with his, stopping her because her touch was close to undoing him. “It’s my turn,” he said, and deftly undid all the buttons on her shirt, then parted it to reveal the very feminine, lace-edged bra beneath.

  With a quick twist of the front clasp, her full breasts spilled free. Her nipples were already tight and begging for his touch. He cupped her breast and strummed his thumb across the tip, dragging a fractured sigh from her lips.

  “I guess you like that, too,” he teased and encircled the tip with his thumb and forefinger, rotating the hard nub. That earned him an intense sigh of pleasure. Her hand quivered against the tip of his erection as she whispered, “Kiss me.”

  He leaned down again and kissed the tip of her breast, sucking and biting on it until her body was shaking and she could no longer keep her hands still.

  They parted only long enough for her to remove the rest of her clothes, then they came together, holding each other tight as their mouths met and they kissed over and over. With faltering steps they backed toward the large bed until his buttocks hit the edge of the mattress.

  “My turn now.” With gentle pressure on his shoulders, she urged him to sit. Then she moved her mouth back to his chest, suckling his nipples, her body tucked in the vee of his spread-eagled legs. She rubbed the softness of her belly against his balls and erection, until he could no longer hold back.

  “I need you,” he said. “Now.”

  She slipped from between his legs and together they slid up to the middle of the bed. With a roll, she straddled him, her hands braced on his shoulders.

  Her gaze was hot and languid as she looked down at him. “Like this, you mean?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  With a swift shift of her hips, she took him in and buried him as deep as he could go.

  He groaned in pleasure, and closed his eyes at the blissful sensation of her body surrounding his. Drowning in the slick heat and tender caress of her. Awed by the acceptance found in their union.

  “Open your eyes.” The command in her voice couldn’t be denied, so he dragged his eyes open and met her gaze. Her confused gaze.

  “You don’t want to feel this way,” he said in sudden comprehension.

  “I don’t,” she confessed.

  “I don’t either, but I need this,” he admitted, and grasped her hips, afraid that she would flee again. “I need you.”

  She swallowed heavily. “I—I do, too. But I also want to run.”

  “Why?”

  She gazed down at him, a strange wonder in her eyes. “I’ve never—” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid of where this might lead.”

  She started to move away, and he knew she intended to escape again. “Stay,” he said, his voice a rough plea. He was terrified, too, but his need for her was greater.

  “We’ll just hurt each other,” she whispered, but he
r hands, gently caressing his, said otherwise.

  “No doubt,” he returned, and twined their fingers together.

  She shuddered out a groan, and began to move. She rode him, slow at first, then hard and fast, building undeniable pleasure. He scooped her into his arms, sat up and kissed her, driving himself deeper and deeper.

  After the explosion of pleasure, and the gentle drifting down, he tugged her down and gathered her to his side, and murmured contentedly, “My beautiful princess. My champion.” He would swear he heard a sighed whisper, so low he was surely not intended to hear. “Zeus help me, I’m lost.”

  Helene’s call woke the heavens, dragging her father and mother from their rest.

  Hera opened a portal to see what was happening as she heard her daughter’s faint cry, but then quickly closed it as she realized Nemesis was busy bedding a human.

  A mere mortal, but one who was presenting an unexpected challenge.

  Zeus rolled over lazily in their bed of clouds and scratched his chest. “What is it, wife? Is Nemesis in trouble?”

  Oh, yes. She was in trouble. Not that her husband would understand or accept. He had tricked their daughter into that deceitful vow. And at the quiet despair in her whispered plea, for the first time in millennia, Hera feared for her daughter’s life.

  The human man she was allowing into her heart could only weaken Nemesis. Distract her from her god-given mission. And if she failed—

  Rising from the bed, Hera earned Zeus’s annoyed glance, but she ignored it and said, “Never mind. It’s a woman thing. Go back to sleep.” Which he did.

  She hurried to their audience chamber and quickly summoned the other goddesses. Only by banding together could they help Nemesis should she falter in her task.

  As they appeared one by one, grumbling and yawning, Hera formulated her plan.

  Chapter Twenty

  Peace filled Helene as Miguel lazily stroked her back. She snuggled closer to the warm strength of his body and he splayed his fingers across the small of her back to urge her even closer.