by Alice Sharpe
She left without waiting for a response, his long coat flopping around her legs as she ran. He dashed toward the street and the protective arch that spanned the driveway, connecting the gatehouse with an eight-foot-high stone wall that he knew from satellite pictures surrounded the property.
He stared back at the house, waiting for Skylar’s headlights, wondering if she’d leave word for her uncle where she was going and what Futura would make of that. If it offended him that Cole was seeing his niece, would it jeopardize his standing with the man?
And what about Skylar?
This wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t in the plans for him to develop feelings for her. At first he’d thought their mutual attraction might be a bonus, but now it presented itself as a pit of vipers.
He heard a noise behind him, from the street side of the arch, and turned, wondering how Skylar had arrived from that direction. He sensed movement, and then something very hard smashed against his head and he fell to the ground, landing first on his hands and knees and then facedown, his cheek in a puddle. He heard a gasp as lights appeared from somewhere. He saw a leg close by and grabbed it down around the ankle. The black skin pulled away from the bone. Stockings. The person the leg was connected to made a grunting noise and tried to pull free, but even though Cole’s head filled with blurred stars, he held on tight.
He heard other sounds he couldn’t place. More voices, one of them Skylar’s, but the words were incomprehensible. His grip lessened until his attacker yanked free. Cole tried to tell Skylar to run, but his lips wouldn’t move.
His attacker fell down to the ground next to him, sobbing.
He looked up, but her face was covered with her hands. Above her he glimpsed Skylar, eyes wide with shock. And then he saw nothing.
Chapter Six
Skylar wasn’t sure what to do. Cole appeared to be out cold, and his attacker had dissolved into tears mumbling over and over again, “God forgive me, I killed the wrong man.” Not that Skylar figured that out all at once. The tears garbled the crying woman’s voice; it was only through repetition that Skylar finally understood what she was saying.
“You didn’t kill him,” Skylar said, though she’d seen the wooden bat the woman must have clobbered Cole with, and the fact he was alive seemed like a miracle.
The woman suddenly looked up toward the house. Her tone changed from remorse to fear. “He’s still here! You are friends of his?”
“Friends of who?”
“That man. He took my little girl.”
“What man?” Skylar demanded. “Who are you talking about?”
“Banderas,” she said, spitting the name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. “How many more must he take?”
“You’re the woman from the hotel restaurant,” Skylar said, finally recognizing her. “What’s your name?”
“Svetlana Dacho. Do you know where he took Malina?”
“Listen, ma’am. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong house. My aunt and uncle live here.”
The woman shook Cole’s arm. “Maybe he knows.”
“Leave him alone. You’ve done enough.”
“Skylar?”
She looked down at Cole, trying to shield his face from the rain with her back, pulling the frantic woman’s hands away from Cole. “Oh my gosh, Cole, thank goodness. Are you okay?”
Thanks to the headlights on her aunt’s car, she could see him try to focus his gaze on her face. His hand slowly went to the back of his head and he winced. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his words broken. “I think so. Was I out long?”
“No, just a few seconds.”
His attention traveled to the woman who had attacked him. “Is that—”
“The woman from the restaurant last night? Yes.”
“Why did she hit me?”
“I don’t think she meant to hit you. I think she meant to hit someone else.”
“Ian Banderas,” he mumbled, trying to sit.
At the mention of the Banderas name, the woman sat back, and her sobs abated. “You know that slime? He left money as though he could buy my silence. Where did he take her?”
Cole, of course, didn’t understand a word of this and looked at Skylar for help. “She’s convinced Ian Banderas is here at the house and apparently has something to do with the disappearance of her daughter.”
“She’s right,” he said, trying to sit. “Banderas is here.”
The woman seemed to sense that Skylar and Cole couldn’t or wouldn’t help her, for she stood suddenly, the bat back in her hand. Skylar rose to protect Cole from another attack, but it wasn’t necessary. Without another word, the woman turned and ran toward the street, disappearing into the shadows and the rainy night.
Skylar looked down at Cole, who had managed to sit. He was rubbing his neck as rain flattened his hair to his head. He looked bedraggled but undefeated as he asked her for a hand.
“Ian Banderas isn’t here,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll help you back up to the house.”
“No.”
“Cole, really. We’ll get my aunt’s nurse to take a look at you.”
“Not necessary,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is nothing,” he said, fighting a losing battle with brushing mud off his suit. “I’ve had a lot worse. All I need is my own bed...and an aspirin.” He looked down at the ground as though it hurt to raise his head. “Will you drive me back to the hotel?”
“Of course I will.”
She helped him around to the passenger door, and he got in with a grunt. “Good thing the seats are leather. I’m a little damp.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She closed his door and walked around the car. His coat had kept her body dry and warm, but the wool garment was soaked now and heavy and made slipping behind the wheel a bit tricky. Her hair was as wet as Cole’s, and she turned the heater up and glanced over at him.
His head rested against the seat, eyes closed. “Let’s go before someone comes outside to see what’s going on,” he said as though sensing her looking at him.
“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I know, but I have a funny feeling that Banderas has.”
“My uncle would never employ a dishonest man.”
“Skylar? Could we just go?”
She started the car’s engine and turned out onto the street. There was no sign of the woman. “What do you mean Ian Banderas is here?”
“He came to see your uncle.”
“He never comes to the house.”
“I got the feeling your uncle wasn’t too happy about it. Banderas seemed agitated.”
“Maybe he knew that woman was trailing him.”
His eyes still closed, he shook his head and groaned. “Ouch. No, I don’t think Banderas is the kind of guy to let a middle-aged woman scare him. But I didn’t see a car. He must have taken a cab, and if he did, how did she manage to follow him on foot?”
“My uncle’s office is across the street and around the corner from the estate,” she said. “Ian probably walked over.”
Cole’s eyes fluttered open. “Do you suppose the woman’s situation is connected to Aneta’s murder?”
This time, Skylar shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine how. I hardly think you chased a middle-aged woman down the fire escape and mistook her for a guy.”
“No, it was a man, I’m sure of that. What kind of car does Banderas drive?”
“I have no idea, but really, Cole, don’t be absurd. My uncle is a very astute man. If Ian was doing something shady, he would know.”
“Why else would that woman be hell-bent on bonking him?”
“I don’t know, but just because she’s under the impression Ian has something to do with her daughter’s apparent disappearance doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Did my uncle tell you about the police lead he mentioned at dinner?”<
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“Banderas arrived before he could say anything. Do you know what he was alluding to?”
“No clue.” She was silent for a moment and then commented, “Your hotel is up ahead.”
“You can let me off at the front.”
“No, I’m going to make sure you get tucked in all safe and sound,” she said.
She could feel him gazing at her. She guessed he wasn’t particularly fond of needing help, but that was too bad. She’d let him get away without seeing the nurse, but she wasn’t dropping him off at the hotel entrance.
It was still relatively early, and their wet, disheveled state raised eyebrows from the parking valet to the lobby staff. Cole’s limp was more pronounced than ever as they made their way down the long hallway to his room.
Once inside, she shooed him into the bathroom with directions to take a hot shower. He handed her out his suit, and she deposited it and his overcoat into dry cleaning bags and called housekeeping to pick them up outside the room. Then she called through the bathroom door, asking Cole if he had aspirin, and he told her he’d already used a glass of tap water to take two from the bottle he carried in his shaving kit.
As he bathed, she used the brush in her purse to comb out her damp hair, then started opening drawers, looking for pajamas for him. The first drawer she opened revealed the box she’d given him the night before and also a colorful figurine of a clown that looked old and worn. She picked up the figurine, too curious to mind her own business.
Why did a guy like Cole Bennett carry around a child’s toy? It added an unexpected dimension to him, another little puzzling thing that she couldn’t identify or stick with a label, just as his watchful demeanor that night had made her wonder if he was there for a reason he wasn’t sharing.
“Please put that down,” he said, and she whirled around guiltily, the clown still in her hand. He stood just inside the room, a white towel wrapped around his waist. His exposed skin glistened with dampness, the muscles beneath chiseled and defined. She’d known he was put together better than your average male, but the true extent of his fitness left her shaky.
She turned back around and replaced the clown. Raising her gaze, she saw in the mirror that he was now standing right behind her, his reflected image intent on what she was doing. The man moved like a cat, limp and all.
She closed the drawer and turned again, ending up right against him. She was as aware of the towel knotted at his waist as she was the clean, fresh scent of his newly washed skin.
“I wasn’t prying,” she said. “I was looking for your pajamas.”
He smiled that way he had. “I don’t wear pajamas.”
Of course he didn’t.
He took her hand and led her toward the bed.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“Nothing an old soldier can’t handle,” he said and sat down. As the towel rode up his muscular thighs, she got a glimpse of his left knee and swallowed a gasp.
His gaze followed the direction of her own. “Sit down,” he said gently.
She sat down beside him. “Does it hurt?”
“My knee? Yeah, at times. I must have fallen on it tonight.”
It was obvious he’d had more than one operation and also that it was relatively new as the scars hadn’t entirely healed. She touched the surrounding skin, and he flinched. She got the feeling it wasn’t because she’d hurt him but because she’d actually touched him.
He raised her chin with his fingertips. “I took a piece of shrapnel in Afghanistan.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I got out alive. The others weren’t so lucky, so all and all, a limp is a small price to pay.”
“And it cut your career short?”
“I could have stayed on and done other kinds of work, but that wasn’t what I wanted. By the time I got out of rehab, I was finished with that part of my life. Now you know the whole story.”
She doubted it. He was glossing over the physical and emotional pain he must have experienced, but she understood his instinct to protect himself.
“I’ll turn my back, and you can get under the covers,” she said, trying not to imagine what he would look like when that towel fell to the floor.
“You don’t have to turn your back,” he said, his mouth very close to hers.
“You have a head injury,” she whispered.
He glanced down at his lap, and her gaze followed. It was obvious his body was responding with a mind of its own, and she yearned to touch the growing shape, strip away the towel, feast her eyes on him, feel her against him and inside of her. She licked her lips.
“You smell wonderful,” he said, nuzzling her neck. His breath was hot against her skin as his hands slid around her back. She leaned into him. His mouth closed over hers, and she felt like she was drowning, sensations coming over her like waves she couldn’t climb. The kisses grew deeper, one hand buried in her hair, the other caressing her neck.
Her uncle never would have admitted Cole into his home if Cole hadn’t checked out to be who and what he said he was. But that kind of check didn’t address a person’s character directly; only time and experience would reveal those traits.
Did she care? Right this second? Um, no.
He pulled her back on the bed and half covered her with his hard, lean body. As he kissed her over and over, deeper and harder, his hands roamed her chest, and though no buttons were undone or straps removed, her flesh felt almost naked under the heat of his fingers. He pulled her against him and delivered the granddaddy of kisses while his hand caught the bare flesh of her thigh, and she knew it was time to shed her clothes. Instead, he caught her shoulders and sat up, pulling her with him, holding her so tight against his chest she couldn’t breathe and she didn’t care. When he looked down at her, she stared back, lips parted, eyes half closed. He looked as frazzled as she felt.
“Skylar? This isn’t a good idea,” he whispered.
She wanted only to wrap her arms around his solid torso. She was hot and moist and feeling almost drunk with desire. What was his problem? “But—”
“No,” he said, gently, settling a fingertip against her lips. She could feel a tremor in his hand as though he was fighting a great battle.
“Is it your head?” she said, coming back to her senses.
He continued to stare at her, and then he nodded. “Yes. It’s my head.”
“Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. Let me look.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Lower your head,” she demanded, and he finally did.
She carefully parted his soft dark hair. The skin was a little swollen and red but not broken. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure about not seeing a doctor?”
“Absolutely.” He got to his feet and so did she, demurely turning her back while he dropped the towel and slid between the sheets. He yawned and settled into his pillow. “I just need to sleep,” he said.
She’d never known it was possible for a guy to go from hot and breathing heavy to sleepy that fast. Either she was the most boring lover the world had ever known or he truly did hurt.
“Good night,” she said. She took a card from her wallet and set it beside his lamp. “That’s my phone number. Don’t hesitate to call if you need something.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked, gazing up at her as she switched off his lamp.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “That’s up to you. Call me.”
He caught her hand, then released it. Using the light from the bathroom to navigate, she let herself out of his room.
* * *
HE LAY THERE FOR QUITE A WHILE thinking he’d never get to sleep, trying to figure out the identity and significance of the woman who had hit him and what her problem was. Skylar hadn’t said much, and what she had said was kind of lost in the quicksand of his near concussion. Something about Banderas taking her daughter.
Was it possible Futura was
involved in some kind of human trafficking? Look at what he’d done decades earlier; this wasn’t such a big stretch for a man who forged passports and adoption papers.
Maybe Ian was Futura’s partner in crime. Maybe the woman was trying to bash the wrong man.
If this was true, where did it leave Skylar? Now his thoughts flew back to her, and he took a deep breath. He had won a few medals for bravery and things like that, but the real medals should come for doing the decent thing and not making love to a woman who (a) he wanted and (b) wanted him. She’d been his for the taking, and instead, he’d put her back on the shelf, neat as a pin and undamaged to boot.
He must have slept because eventually he awoke to a ringing phone. He sat up too fast, and the room took a spin. He grasped his forehead with both hands. As he sat there contemplating moving again, the hotel phone went silent. He eventually managed to get both feet on the floor and shuffle into the bathroom where he took another shower and two more aspirin. A new towel fastened around his waist, he was in the process of leaving the bathroom when the phone rang again and he snagged the receiver.
“This is Cole,” he said, expecting to hear Skylar’s warm voice.
Instead he heard the crisp words of a woman he didn’t recognize. Her English was excellent but accented. “I am Irina Churo. Your brother gave me your number.”
His brother.
The concept still amazed him. And not just one brother—two. After growing up an only child, he found it a pretty incredible experience to suddenly have a family. Not that he could mention their existence to anyone, not until this mess in Kanistan was cleared up, but the knowledge they were back home waiting for him was like the promise of a fire in the hearth when you’re slogging through the snow. “You’re talking about John?” he said. His other brother, Tyler, had never been to Kanistan.
“Yes. He mentioned me, perhaps?”
“Yes, Irina, he did. You’re a policewoman in Slovo. John met you months ago when he came to Kanistan to investigate his memory loss.”
“Yes, and again when he was trying to find his brothers. I called him recently with news, and he asked that I contact you because you are here in Kanistan. Would it be possible for you to travel to Slovo, say tomorrow?”