Behind Closed Doors m&f-1

by Shannon McKenna

  “That's right,” she said. “I'm not free.” She hadn't been free from the first breathless moment that Seth Mackey had fixed her in his hungry gaze in the elevator. Only two days ago, and it felt like forever.

  But she would never be free for this man. Under any circumstances. Not in this lifetime, or the next.

  “I am desolate,” he said softly.

  Miss Nicey Nice smiled before she could block her automatic smile muscles. The catamaran was arriving. She glanced at it, counting the seconds until she could escape this man's vicinity.

  “Would you be so good as to give your employer a message?”

  “Of course,” she said politely.

  His gaze swept her, from head to toes and slowly back up again. “Tell him the opening bid has just doubled. Those exact words.”

  She felt like an animal frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. “May I tell him who the message is from?” she asked faintly.

  He reached out and touched her face. She jerked back with a gasp, her eyes focusing on his outstretched hand. The last joint of his index finger was missing. He had touched her with the scarred stump.

  “He will know,” the man said softly. “Count upon it.”

  There was a glint in his jade-colored eyes, like a flash of ancient glacial ice. He gave her a cold, unfathomably remote smile and strolled away. She stared after him, frozen into place.

  If she'd known Seth's phone number, she would have rushed out, bought herself a cell phone, and dialed it. Just hearing his gruff voice would make her feel safer. Even if he yelled at her again, it would be comforting. But she was on her own.

  The noise of the people disembarking jarred her back into reality. She hastened down to board the boat. Why was she so intimidated by a stranger indulging in a harmless flirtation? There was nothing so terribly sinister about the encounter. She was imagining things.

  Calm reason did not bring the butterflies in her stomach into line. The opening bid has just doubled. What could it mean?

  Nothing good, of that she was absolutely sure.

  She swallowed hard and turned her face to the cold wind again. Being Seth Mackey's mistress had never sounded so good.

  Chapter 11

  “Rise and shine, dude.”

  Seth's arms jerked up, shielding his face. He dropped them, muttering a disgusted curse when he saw what he'd done.

  Not since his early Army days had he woken up flinching away from a blow. He focused on Connor McCloud, holding out a steaming cup. “What the hell?”

  “Whoa. Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine today.”

  Seth swung his booted feet to the floor and grabbed the coffee. McCloud's penetrating stare was making him uncomfortable. He hated being studied like a rare bug.

  “That couch is not long enough for you,” McCloud commented. “Use the bed, for Christ's sake. Is Lazar still out at the island?”

  Seth glanced at his watch. “Forty minutes ago he was.”

  Connor stuck his hands in his pockets. His eyes were worried. “You keeping it together? You look like shit.”

  Seth gave him a freezing stare. “I'm fine.”

  Connor shrugged. “Just checking. Just wanted to let you know that your video Barbie is headed out to Stone Island too.”

  Scalding coffee splashed over Seth's hand and sprayed across the floor as he lunged for the computer. “Where is she now?”

  “Hey. Relax. My guy at the parking garage told me the limo was headed for the marina. He overheard the Lazar staff that left an hour before bitching about the blonde being late and missing the ferry. That's how he knew. I just got the call about ten minutes ago.”

  “Why the fuck didn't you call me then?”

  “I was already on my way,” Connor's voice was calm, but steely. “You planted vidcams at the marina, right? So settle down. Open them up. Let's see if she's still there.”

  Seth typed feverishly into the computer, flipping the marina vidcam windows open one after another until he finally found her, almost out of range, hanging over the railing of the deck that overlooked the marina. The wind had tugged some long, wispy curls out of her braid. The camera caught her delicate profile, gazing out into the infinite sky like an ad for expensive perfume. She fished a tissue out of her pocket, wiped rain off the lenses of her glasses, put them back on.

  “Come on, man. It was inevitable,” Connor said. “Lazar had to want a piece of that sooner or later”

  “Shut up and let me concentrate,” Seth snarled. He rested his elbows on the desk and dug his fingers into his hair, calculating the time it would take to get down to the marina to stop her. But she'd refused to be rescued last night Why would she change her mind now? He rubbed the grit out of his eyes, and grappled with senseless panic.

  “Hey. Seth. Check out the guy in the trench coat.”

  Seth jerked his attention back to the screen. He wished his body would stop pumping him full of useless adrenaline. Pure torture, being all jacked up and revving, with no saber-toothed tiger to grapple with, no river of molten lava to run like hell from. Just a computer screen to stare into, with mounting horror and disbelief. “Holy shit. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” For the first time ever, Connor's voice was totally devoid of irony.

  “No way” Seth said.

  “Way.” Connor scooted closer to the screen. “The face is different, yeah. He's had surgery, someone really good But his vibe gives him away. He oozes slime.”

  “This guy's taller. Thinner. And the hairline is different from Jesse's video footage,” Seth countered.

  “So he's wearing lifts, lost weight and shaved his temples.”

  Raine backed away. The man advanced with a predatory jackal's smile. Seth leaped to his feet, skin crawling. “I'm going down there.”

  “You're too far.” McCloud's voice was flat and matter-of-fact. “Sean and Davy are both closer than we are. Besides, he's probably got six bodyguards armed to the teeth covering him.”

  Seth's fist slammed down, making the keyboard leap and rattle.

  “You were the one who pushed for the cold, patient approach, man,” Connor reminded him. “Calm down. Look at him. He's feeling confident, flirting with her, letting the whole world get a good, long look at his new face. He's getting cocky. This is good news.”

  “Good news? What's good about it? She's there, he's there, we're here. This is not good news. This is fucked!”

  Connor dropped into a chair and stared at the screen. “I could call the Cave,” he said slowly. “Nick lives down near the marina. I trust Nick. They're the cavalry, Seth. If we can't call them, we can't do shit.”

  “Brilliant,” Seth snarled. “The last time you called the Cave, my brother was slaughtered and you spent eight weeks in a coma.”

  Connor's haunted eyes slid away from Seth's. “I don't get it. Those guys are my friends. We've risked our lives for each other.”

  Seth's fingers danced over the keys, opening a new window as Raine backed out of range. “Shut up, McCloud,” he muttered. “You're making me cry.”

  The mystery guy lifted his hand to her face. Raine flinched, and they both stopped breathing, noticing the missing last joint on the index finger. Proof positive.

  “He’s ditched the prosthetic,” Connor whispered. “Arrogant prick.”

  Seth shook his head. “He just took it off to creep her out”

  “It worked,” Connor said.

  Seth flipped open the other windows one by one, following Novak until he walked out of range and disappeared

  The group of people getting off the catamaran climbed up the stairs to the deck, hustling past Raine. She stood there as if hypnotized. Someone jostled her, and she jumped, looking around like a bewildered, lost little girl. She hurried down the stairs to the dock.

  “The day's got off to a hell of a start for your girl,” Connor commented. “Off to the island to service Lazar, all cuddly and tight with Novak. Who knows what else the day will hold?”

  Seth ignored him. H
e fought off nausea as he watched the catamaran pull away from the dock. Moving away, getting smaller. No stopping her now.

  “... yo, Seth. Anybody home? You in there?”

  “Huh?” He swung his focus back to McCloud's frowning face.

  “I was just saying that this could be an interesting slant. If Novak is interested in her, which he obviously is, and who can blame him, then we've got another lead. Maybe one of us should ask her out. Find out what she knows. Plant a transmitter on her. Excellent, huh?”

  “She doesn't know anything,” Seth growled

  “You don't know that. I'd even give her a try myself.”

  Seth spun around so fast he knocked the mouse off the desk.

  “You have first refusal, of course,” Connor added hastily. “I know you've had your eye on her, but if you don't have the heart for it, I could shave and comb my hair and give her a whirl. No hardship. She's hot.”

  “McCloud—”

  “Or I could pass her on to Sean,” Connor said thoughtfully. “He's better-looking than me, and he likes juicy blondes with great tits as much as the next guy. I don't think Sean's ever fucked information out of a woman before, but hey, there's a first time for everything.”

  Something snapped. Everything got weird and faraway, as if there were a blood-red filter across his eyes. Space and time distorted. He flew through the air in slow motion, slamming into Connor. He knocked him off the chair, onto the floor. Electronic equipment crashed down with them. His hands were around Connor's corded throat, squeezing. Connor’s hands were jammed against his own jaw. He was talking, his voice thick and strained. The words began to register.

  “D—don't, Seth. Don't do it. Chill, man. You don't want to get into it with me. Big waste of time and energy for us both. St—stop.”

  The red haze subsided. Connor's face emerged through it, slowly. Strained, but controlled. Squinting. Watching him like a hawk.

  Seth forced himself to relax and let go. He rolled up into a sitting position and dropped his face into his shaking hands.

  Connor dragged himself upright. “I think you threw my back out,” he said. “And you've wrecked some of your gizmos.”

  Seth didn't even look up. “I’ll fix them,” he said dully.

  “Oh, thanks for your concern. Don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine.”

  Seth's hands dropped. He stared down at the dingy gray carpet. He groaned and covered his face with his hands again.

  “You've had her already, haven't you?” Connor demanded. “You sneaky son-of-a-bitch. Why didn't you tell me?”

  Seth met his eyes, and looked away quickly.

  “Aw, shit.” Connor flopped back down onto the floor. He shoved back the tangled mass of hair that had fallen across his thin face and stared up at the ceiling. “Look, if you want out, just say so. Take her off to a desert island. Do whatever it is you do with her, I don't give a flying fuck. Just stop screwing with my investigation.”

  “It's our investigation, McCloud, and I haven't screwed anything.”

  “Nah, just Lazar's mistress,” Connor spat back. “If that's not screwing with the investigation, then—”

  “She's not his mistress. Lazar offered her to me. She knows jack shit, so don't push me. You won't be able to talk me down a second time.”

  Connor jerked up onto his elbows. His astonishment was satisfying, but he had good recovery time. “I wouldn't bother,” he snapped. “I'd just proceed directly to beating the living shit out of you.”

  Seth's hands clenched into fists. “Like hell.”

  “Then you'd have a big macho ego crisis about being flattened by a guy with a cane. Fucking pathetic. I want to spare you that, you know? Being as how you're such a sad, sorry son-of-a-bitch already.”

  Seth stared at him for a long moment, and then looked down. He suppressed a snort of reluctant laughter.

  Connor scooted on his ass across the floor to retrieve his cane, and struggled to his feet. “Let's beat our chests some other time. When all this is over, we'll do some sparring. Find out whose balls are bigger and hairier. Until then, peace. Deal?” He held out his hand.

  Seth got to his feet. He reached out and gripped Connor's scarred hand. “I'm holding you to that.”

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

  “You were deliberately messing with my head, weren't you?” Seth asked. “Don't do that again, McCloud.”

  “I wanted to see how far out of your mind you really were,” Connor said coolly. “I feared the worst, but this is worse than the worst. You're not just obsessed. You're in love.” “Bullshit,” Seth growled.

  “Is it? Whew.” Connor mimed wiping the sweat away from his brow. “You don't mind if we use her as bait then, right?”

  “Do not get anywhere near her. Do not factor her into your plans, do not even think about her, McCloud. She is out of the game. Got it?”

  “Get real,” Connor said sagely. “She's out at the island with Lazar. She's chatting up Novak. And now she's screwing you. How much more in the game can she be?”

  Seth shook his head, feeling hunted and desperate. “She's out of it,” he repeated.

  “Hey. Take it easy” Connor said gently. He brushed the grit from his jeans and shook his head, letting out a muffled crack of laughter. “What a joke,” he muttered. “Why should I feel sorry for you? You're the one who just got laid. We'll see how far out of it she is when we hear what Novak said to her. The gulpers at the marina caught it, right?”

  Sean clenched his teeth. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Go get it, then. And, uh ... how long has it been since you've showered and shaved? You look like a derelict, man. You skulk around the marina looking like that, you'll get arrested for vagrancy.”

  “Fuck off, McCloud,” Seth said wearily.

  Connor swatted him on the shoulder with a grin. “That's my boy.”

  Raine's mind expanded, hushed and awestruck, as the dark hulk of Stone Island grew closer. A sense of silent immensity extended in every direction from the place. Wind sighed through the pines, and swollen clouds hung heavy in the sky. The morning fog was beginning to lift, revealing the familiar shape of the shore. The scent of moss, damp wood, algae, pine and fir filled her nose.

  Clayborne, Victor's personal assistant, was waiting for her on the dock. He was a middle-aged man with a pencil-thin gray mustache on his long, twitching upper lip, and a manner of perpetual anxiety.

  “Finally,” he fussed, waving for her to follow. “Come along. We needed your French during business hours, and it's past seven in the evening in Morocco. What on earth kept you?”

  “Sorry” she murmured absently. The house rose up before her eyes as they ascended the path, a sprawling but still somehow graceful structure. It was deceptively simple from the outside, sided with wood shingles that had mellowed to a glowing silver-gray.

  The scents of the luxurious interior shocked her sense memories to life. Bowls of lavender and pine potpourri were in every room, and the walls were faced with fine cedar paneling. Alix had always complained about the rich smell of the wood, claiming that it gave her headaches, but Raine had loved it. The scent had lingered in her things for months after they had run away. She still remembered how bereft she had felt that day in France when she had buried her face in the folds of her coat and realized that the perfume of cedar had faded entirely away.

  Clayborne led her directly to the bustling office on the second floor, shoved her behind a desk and began to fire instructions at her at full speed. Just as well. She was grateful to him. There was so much to do, and all of it in such a tearing, anxious hurry that there would be no time to work herself into a state. It was the perfect way to hold memories at bay.

  At some point, sandwiches and fruit were left on the sideboard, but nervousness got the better of her and eating seemed unthinkable. The house beckoned and whispered to her. If she turned her head fast enough, she would catch a glimpse of her former self: a silent scrap of a girl with big, startled eyes
magnified behind coke-bottle glasses.

  Wind sighed and moaned outside, whipping the pines into a frenzy. Raindrops trickled down the windows by her desk, and bit by bit, the frantic activity and the roar of white noise ceased to shield her from the memories. There had been no other children to play with on Stone Island when she was small. Her father was closeted in the library with his books, or out sailing with only his silver flask as a companion, and more often than not her mother stayed at the apartment in Seattle. Raine had made friends with silence, with trees and water, stones and gnarled roots. The whole island was her own private fantasy landscape, inhabited by dragons and trolls and ghosts. Later, amid the noise and chaos of changing cities and languages, the remembered silence of Stone Island had become like a dream of paradise to her. That fantasy world pulled at her now, whispering in a thousand hushed voices.

  Towards the end of the day, Clayborne bustled into the room. “Raine, go to the library, please,” he said importantly. “Mr. Lazar has correspondence that needs to be Fedexed as soon as we get back to the mainland. Go on, hop to it”

  She grabbed her notebook and set off, and was halfway there before she realized that she hadn't asked where the library was. A stupid lapse, but too late to fuss about it now.

  It was strange how she had forgotten how lonely and chilly Stone Island was. The only warm, colorful thing about the place had been Victor. Compared to her father's detached melancholy and her mother's self-absorption, Victor had been a hot blast of dynamism and danger. She stood in front of the library door, her hand trembling.

  Too much dynamism and danger. She pushed the door open.

  The familiar room reached out and twined sensuously around her, pulling her in. It was lined with books from floor to ceiling, with tall windows between each bookcase. The windows were adorned by borders of stained glass, designs of curling vines and morning glories, rain-spotted and glowing with the deep blue of early evening.