She hadn’t eaten since the café and her body hated her for it. Opening her pack, she pushed her stolen supplies out of the way.
She didn’t have any food.
Only the bright lights of the club promised nourishment this late at night, and by reading the sign she surmised wallets would be wide open, too. Torrhent stood, pushing her pack farther up her shoulder, and dodged traffic toward the Promised Land.
She got in line with the rest of the club-goers and tried to wait patiently for her turn at the door. Her foot tapped against the cement sidewalk, her stomach wrenching with the smell of fries wafting outside. Targeting which patrons would add the most cash to her bundle, she wondered how much longer it would take before someone recognized her. God only knew how many people paid attention to the news.
Blood pounded in her ears, a headache shoving its way behind her eyes. Torrhent couldn’t get her paranoia under control, the weight of it holding her down. Only the distraction of a fight at the front of the line calmed her. She craned her neck to see what the problem was but was viciously pushed backward and into a wall of hardened flesh.
“Sorry.” Torrhent kept her head forward, unwilling to attract unwanted attention.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
That was the second time she’d been reminded since arriving in LA, but Torrhent wouldn’t allow herself to turn around to give him a piece of her mind. If she pretended she hadn’t heard him, he’d continue on with his night and she’d continue on with hers.
But the curiosity ate at her like a worm. It wanted her to turn around, just for a quick glance. There wasn’t any harm in that.
Of all the things someone could say, why did he use those exact words? Even his tone reminded Torrhent of the man she’d run into this morning.
She looked back over her shoulder, fighting against her instincts, and promptly snapped her eyes forward.
It was him.
No mistaking it. The tribal tattoos she’d noted earlier had practically burned themselves into her retinas and she’d recognize them anywhere. Over six feet tall with short, buzzed hair, Harrington reminded her of those Isaac employed.
Dangerous.
Suddenly, Torrhent felt in over her head. There were no coincidences in her world, especially since her escape from prison. Her body tensed, forcing cramps down her limbs. Running into the same man twice in one day, in Los Angeles no less, set her on edge and confirmed her instincts.
Isaac had sent someone to keep tabs on her.
Harrington was just like the men her stepfather employed. He had the same build, the same militaristic stance, and even the familiar dead look in his bright blue eyes. She imagined the men who’d killed her mother surveyed the people around them just as this man did.
“Haven’t I met you before?”
She shook her head without looking back at him and scoured the street for an exit.
He nudged his way into her vision and Torrhent tried to hide behind her shortened hair. It didn’t work.
“Earlier today. On Main.” She caught a glimpse of electric blue eyes as he stared down at her. “You ran into me then, too.”
“You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.” She checked out the line again, eager to get inside. Four people ahead of her. Harrington hadn’t made any threatening moves toward her or said anything suspicious, but invisible ants crawled up her arms and legs again, telling her to get as far from him as possible. Or was it closer?
While her instincts had always given her the right answer, this time they seemed to be playing some type of trick on her. The crawling sensation turned to warmth in the pit of her stomach, soothing. Almost as if she recognized him, Torrhent’s body tingled everywhere. She’d never experienced this type of reaction before and chanced another glance at him.
Harrington held her gaze for two full breaths. In that time, her mind wrapped around a single idea: he could solve her problem. Strong, determined and a bit scary, Harrington suddenly gave Torrhent hope she’d get her revenge.
And he’d grant her freedom.
She’d hold off long enough to get some food in her then work out the specifics. Already her mind sifted through dozens of possibilities and outcomes should she convince him to come back to New York with her.
Harrington released her gaze, brushing invisible dust from his T-shirt. “Regular old kismet. Do you make a habit of running into people or is it just clumsiness?”
Torrhent faced the front of the line in annoyance. She obviously couldn’t play ignorant anymore. He’d recognized her from earlier in the day, but probably not as the felon she’d been branded. “Maybe I was looking for you,” she whispered to herself.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” She snapped her mouth shut and mentally chastised herself. If she expected her plan to work, she had to play the part. She couldn’t give away her intentions. Vulnerable. She had to seem vulnerable for this to work. Didn’t men always want to be the knight in shining armor? She could give Harrington that chance, and by the time she was done with him he’d be putty in her hands and willing to fight for her cause. She deserved revenge and her mother deserved justice, and Isaac Rutler would pay for her death. One way or another, Torrhent would make sure of it.
“Are you applying for a job?” The guy’s voice sent chills down her tense muscles.
She wanted to bolt from the simmering guilt in her chest but couldn’t see a way out that wouldn’t draw attention. Her mother had always taught her to be honest, to trust people to do the right thing, but a lot of good that’d done her. Did she trust Isaac to save her? She pushed the thought away and swallowed the lump in her throat. The guilt went with it. For now. “No. Just hungry.”
“Hey!”
Torrhent turned to find it was her turn in line. They’d moved without her even noticing. Thoughts of the past and schemes in the present forced her to let her guard down. A half dozen faces stared at her and the weight of their combined gazes pushed heat into her face.
“ID,” the bouncer demanded and held out his hand. He was obviously a weightlifter, at least two hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle. His black skin held a shimmer of sweat that reflected the neon lights of the club.
Torrhent fumbled for the fake ID in her pack, the one item she’d acquired back east, and handed it over.
He looked at it questioningly then back to her. “No.” The tone in his voice sounded accusatory. He motioned the man behind her forward.
“What?” The familiar heat of anger slithered beneath her skin, coalescing in the center of her chest. She’d never used the ID before, but had assurances it would work in most situations. And if it didn’t, she would make the seller pay if she ever got out of this mess.
“It’s fake. No ID, no admittance.” He reached for something behind the booth next to him.
Torrhent fumbled through a list of options in her mind. She couldn’t get picked up by the cops, not after everything she’d been through, not for some stupid mistake. Her heart pumped behind her ears, the only sound she heard through her heavy breathing. Her eyes darted for the quickest way out. Would Harrington follow? She still hadn’t discarded the possibility of him working for Isaac, and if that was the case, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. There was only one way to find out if her plan even had a chance. She took one step out of line and a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“She’s with me,” Harrington said. His leather jacket creaked close to her ears as he moved in, and he smelled intoxicatingly wonderful. A mixture of cinnamon and man flooded her senses, but her fear didn’t let her enjoy it.
He’d done exactly what Torrhent hoped he wouldn’t.
She pushed the hand off in frustration. Harrington worked for her stepfather, which meant he’d been paid a lot of money to find her. How in the hell would her charms stack up against Isaac’s cash? Men like Harrington did what they were paid to do, and she couldn’t match his salary, not even a tenth. “Don’t touch me.”
&n
bsp; His hands raised in surrender as a small smile crawled across his face. “All right.”
Torrhent faced the bouncer again. If she didn’t keep her emotions in check, she’d give herself away. She couldn’t explain why Harrington was able to pull so many reactions from her, but right now she didn’t care. She needed to get inside. “I’m not here to watch. I’m here for a job.” The lie slipped from her tongue easily and that bothered her. She’d never been a good liar.
The bouncer shrugged, reaching for the velvet rope separating her from safety.
The overwhelming noise and darkness of the club made her step back toward the door. The unfamiliar territory of the strip club heightened her paranoia. Dark lights, lots of men, waitresses serving drinks with who-knows-what in them. She watched with pity as women stripped down to nothing but a pair of underwear onstage. Only one thing kept her from bolting: money. The men paying for their lap dances or watching the stage show discarded bills left and right and she wanted some of that action.
The room was stifling, scented with a mixture of sweat, cigarette smoke and alcohol. She could barely breathe. Torrhent made her way toward the bar through the dozens of small round tables, passing middle-aged men with suits and bald spots who reeked of alcohol. Her eyes lingered on the woman who’d taken the stage when she’d walked in, but she couldn’t judge her. Everybody did what they had to in order to survive.
She kept moving toward the bar. “What kind of food do you have?” she asked over the music and sat on one of the last available stools.
“Wings.” The bartender moved down to a paying customer a few stools over.
“I’ll have an order.” Torrhent wasn’t good at waiting, but her food arrived faster than at most fast-food joints. She ate while keeping her targets in sight and counted over ten possibilities.
The first target sat next to her at the bar, his attention diverted toward the dancer onstage. The lift was easier than most, his wallet located in the left pocket of his windbreaker. By the time she’d finished her first round of the club, she’d taken over a thousand dollars, all in singles. It wasn’t enough, but it helped.
As she began her second round of the club, Torrhent slowed as she passed a familiar face. Her gaze connected with Harrington’s and her breathing hitched. Filled with a combination of lust and warning, his eyes dared her to approach. For a fleeting instant, she actually believed she could turn him into her personal hit man, that he’d follow her every order and devote himself to her blindly.
Then his gaze hardened, focusing on its prey.
It set Torrhent on edge. If her stepfather wanted her so badly, he should have come himself. You shouldn’t depend on others to do your dirty work, Isaac. Leveling her chin parallel to the floor, she took two steps closer to Harrington and stopped directly in front of his table. They might turn on you. She’d made her decision. She’d lift one more wallet, but this time her future depended on getting caught.
It was dangerous, but possible. She’d have to play her part perfectly then gamble against every instinct in her body that Harrington would fall in line.
“What do you want now?” he asked when she didn’t move. With an arm relaxed against the back of the booth, he slowly sipped the drink in his hand, his eyes wandering across the club.
“I wanted to apologize. For running into you . . . twice.”
“Great.” He didn’t go on.
Torrhent studied him, taking in the way his hands shook as he lifted his glass. He avoided her gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact he’d been sent to kill her that made him jumpy. Maybe both. Not all the men her stepfather hired were professionals, especially when they would only be good for a one-time job. The possibility of getting back at Isaac in even the smallest way kept her in place, however. Harrington’s expertise didn’t matter. She only needed him to pull a trigger. “Buy me a drink?”
He chuckled sharply. “Aren’t you a little young?”
“Not at all.”
“Listen.” He set both of his elbows on the booth’s table, giving her a perfect view of his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “If you want to throw your life down the drain, be my guest.” His eyes connected with hers. “But don’t pull me into it.”
She froze in place, her hand half outstretched to rob him.
“John”—a woman, clearly one of the club’s dancers, waited for him to respond from the other side of the table—“are you ready?”
John?
A rebellious thought crossed Torrhent’s mind as Harrington shifted his attention toward the new arrival with a smile; she’d made a huge mistake. The dead eyes, the way he carried himself and even how he surveyed his surroundings had given her the impression of a hit man, but men like that didn’t keep arm candy on the side. In fact, they made sure nobody remembered their faces or names. Even the stupid ones knew better than to play with fire.
Snaking an arm around the dancer smiling up at him, he addressed Torrhent as they moved. “Catch you later.”
What the hell does that mean? Torrhent had little time to think. Despite the hooker at his side, her instincts screamed at her that Harrington, or “John,” was exactly what she’d originally believed: a killer.
She’d set out to bring her mother justice and she couldn’t let an integral piece of her plan just walk away. He’d turned his back on her and started for the exit.
Torrhent pushed her way back toward the bar through a growing crowd of men and skin. Exhaustion weighed her down. She hadn’t showered in days and she was still a thousand dollars away from buying her papers, but damnit she’d see this to the end. Catching her breath at the bar, she eyed a thin version of Mr. T and spotted the piece of metal glinting under his jacket. Undercover cop. She smiled at him. “What’s your name?”
Brown eyes met hers. “Do I know you?”
“Only if you’d like to.” Coyly running her fingertips over the back of the man’s hand, Torrhent directed her gaze at Harrington’s back. He’d almost made it to the door. “Why don’t we take this back to my loft?” she asked. She straightened then sweetly pressed herself into his arms. “But maybe we can take care of business first?”
Her target’s smile widened. “Certainly. How much?”
“Two hundred.”
Mr. T. reached under his jacket and Torrhent held her breath.
A nice new pair of handcuffs reflected the strobe lights above and then wrapped around her left wrist as he pulled her other arm around her back. She had to play the part. Make it look real, Torrhent. “What are you doing!”
Harrington turned back, his expression full of surprise when he caught sight of her predicament. Pausing at the door, he dropped his hand from his hooker’s side and took a step toward Torrhent, as if he wanted to help her.
That’s right. Come rescue the princess from the dragon, my knight.
Mr. T. pushed her facedown onto the bar, pieces of nut crushing under her cheeks. “You, my dear, are under arrest for solicitation.” He pulled her upright, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “You’re coming with me.”
The cop pushed her toward the exit, but Harrington had already disappeared.
* * *
Taigen faced the medicine cabinet, confronted with his reflection in the mirror. He leaned closer, studying the electric blue color of his eyes. He searched for something he long feared he’d lost: his humanity. He could have helped the woman at the bar but restrained himself. Almost completely numb inside, he remembered why he’d let himself become so cold. It had been to save his own life, but now it would be to save his sister’s. The idea of getting back into the game turned his stomach. His contacts, his handler, everyone he knew were either dead or behind bars.
He didn’t know where to start.
Sounds from the TV news trailed into the bathroom.
“Murderer . . . caught . . . Rutler.”
Isaac Rutler.
Pushing away from the mirror, Taigen wrapped a towel around his waist and faced the te
levision in the living room. He grabbed the remote, turning the volume nearly all the way up.
“Agent Trullio, what will happen with her now?” a reporter asked.
A pretty blonde with sharp features addressed the crowd. “If these reports are correct, the FBI will regain custody of Torrhent Lynd and make sure she continues her sentence at Bedford.”
“Will her sentence be extended?”
“Nothing is for certain at this point,” the agent answered.
“Is it true the suspect’s stepfather, Isaac Rutler, is seeking harsher sentencing?”
“Yes.”
Bastard, Taigen thought. The information told him what kind of man he was going up against, told him how far Rutler would go to get what he wanted. Pushing for your daughter’s conviction was one nasty act, no matter how much they despised each other.
“When will Ms. Lynd be back in FBI custody?”
Agent Trullio responded as a full shot of the suspect appeared in the corner of the screen. Red hair. Gray eyes. Sharp, strong jawline and freckles.
Taigen froze.
It was her, the woman from the club, the one who’d run into him twice that day.
She’d changed her hair, cut it shorter and dyed it black, but nothing could change the defeat in her eyes. He’d only caught a glimpse of that look back at the club and forced himself to look away. The memories of seeing the same expression in his sister’s eyes had made him physically ill, his hands shaking, his stomach rolling. He’d remember that look for eternity and pitied the pretty woman on the TV who’d succumbed to it at such a young age.
Racing into the bedroom, he dressed faster than he thought possible, memories of the last jailbreak he’d attempted fresh in his mind. He pulled his duffle bag from the bottom of the closet and checked the 9mm inside. The gun hadn’t been used in over two years, but he’d kept it clean and fresh for the day his sister returned. Wherever she went, enemies followed. Today, however, he’d use it to kidnap Torrhent Lynd.
* * *
A mixture of sea salt, freshly baked bread and sewage tainted the air. Isaac covered his mouth with a free hand, forcing his body to accept the lack of oxygen. Gypsies lined the streets of the Alfama District of Lisbon, their dry, cracked hands offering knockoff goods and fresh vegetables. He shrank away from them, unwilling to look into the eyes of poverty. He’d left that life behind in Detroit, taken his life into his own hands after his father killed his mother and himself. Murder-suicide. Nowhere to lay the blame. “You better have a damn good reason for bringing me down here, Nicholas.”
Die for Me Page 4