In his world, life and death were flips of the same coin.
One of the agents, Wade—tall and skinny with a buzz cut—played a game on a laptop, while Butler—his shorter, darker partner—snoozed on leather upholstery under the New York Times.
Looking at them, Andrew wanted to smile because he knew they were dead.
Crushing out the cigarette, he paced the floor, went over to the mini-bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon.
He was smart. The plan was set. Very, very soon.
Andrew was looking forward to killing Juliette Morgan. The need stabbed at him, distracted his mind when he should have been concentrating on escape. Tapping his fingers on the soft leather on the back of the chair he remembered the last time he’d seen her—spread-eagled and naked on the bed. Trussed up, just the way he liked ‘em.
His nose itched from where she’d kicked him in the face. Everything he’d done to her and the only thing he could recall was that sharp rush of pain as the bone snapped. Anger narrowed his eyes and tightened his mouth. He gripped his glass so hard he thought it might shatter.
There was a knock on the door and he jumped, nerves as taut as tripwires. The feebs stood, unbuckled their weapons.
“Get in the john,” Butler, the short one, ordered him.
Andrew walked away to the marble-tiled bathroom shaking his head. He hated these guys. The FBI thought they knew everything, but he’d show them. And he wanted to know her real name before he did her again, wanted to destroy Juliette and her alter ego once and for all.
Ah Juliette.
From behind the door he heard Larry greeting the agents. Andrew came out, wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. Larry was performing small miracles for him with the District Attorney’s office. Stupid fuck. The lawyer juggled his briefcase in one hand and a large box of takeout pizza in the other, along with a plastic carrier bag.
“I met the delivery boy in the foyer and thought I’d better bring it up.” Larry gave the agents a frown of disapproval as he handed over the plastic bag and pizza boxes. His hands were shaking.
“I have to go over a couple of points with my client.” Larry nodded towards Andrew, but avoided his eye.
Intimidation got the best results.
“We’ll go into the bedroom to discuss them, if we may?” Larry’s voice was even thinner than usual.
The feebs searched Larry, a quick up and down of hands and a brief inspection of his briefcase. Then they turned away, eager for their food while it was still hot. They sat down at the dining table that overlooked Soho’s bright lights and cracked open some soda.
Andrew led Larry into the bedroom, closed the door on the other men. Larry’s hands shook so badly he could barely undo his briefcase.
“I have your word my family will no longer be in danger?” Nervously Larry pulled a letter from his briefcase. Held it pinched between two fingers like it was contagious.
“You do everything Charlie told you?” Andrew grabbed the letter, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.
Larry nodded.
“Then your family will be fine.”
He read the letter. Scanned the contents in one quick motion. Charlie told him not to worry. He told him he’d organized a little surprise for the Feds.
Could mean anything.
Andrew shrugged and figured he had no option. For now he had to trust Charlie.
His fingers itched. He wished to God he had a gun. The springs of the mattress squeaked as Larry sat down heavily. The old man hung his head in his hands. He looked like he was about to crumble.
Having your family threatened was hell on a person.
Andrew walked back to the door. Listened carefully. A crash sounded and Andrew opened the door a crack. Both agents lay on the blue carpet convulsing.
What the hell?
They were breathing heavily. Holding their throats.
“Charlie.” It came out as a whisper of blessed relief. Andrew didn’t know what the man had poisoned them with, but he was grateful he’d never liked pizza.
Cautiously he walked across the thick carpet to look at the men who lay dying. Butler had stopped breathing and looked dead already. Andrew pushed him with his foot, but the guy didn’t even blink. Wade made gurgling noises that rattled up from his lungs. Andrew thought about shooting him to put him out of his misery, but decided not.
Why waste a bullet?
He hunkered down. Lifted the SIG-Sauer from Butler’s belt, raided the man’s pocket for ammo. Andrew’s own pulse settled and the tension in his shoulders relaxed as he handled the gun. Now he could defend himself. Now he had a chance. He flipped open Butler’s wallet, found baby photos on the inside flap.
Andrew raised his head as Larry came to the bedroom door.
“Oh my God.” Larry held his hands to his throat as if he could feel the poison at work. “I didn’t know...I mean the pizza boy was just there. I offered to bring it up...”
“Sure you did, Larry.” Andrew walked into his bedroom, grabbed his coat and hat and slipped into both. “Tell it to a judge.”
Larry gaped open-mouthed. “I, I, I—”
Andrew shot him in the temple, watched as Larry crumpled to the floor. He walked over to take another look at the agents who had insulted and derided him. Wade was still alive. Gasping those last little breaths with slow torturous desperation. Andrew saluted him mockingly, felt the man’s eyes follow him as he left the room.
Now he’d show Juliette just what she’d been missing.
****
They lay silent as her heartbeat slowed to a quiet cadence. A wolf howled in the hills, a desolate lonely sound, competing with the wind that whispered quietly against the window. The wolf’s plea resonated through her, melancholic and dramatic, making her quiver—reminding her how close she’d come to death.
And death still stalked her.
Nat reached for the bedcovers and pulled them over Eliza, keeping her warm and holding her tight.
He wasn’t asleep then.
She wished he were.
She brushed her lips against his chest, trembled, hugging him firmly for a second, before releasing him. He’d changed things for her and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it. There was a quality about Nat Sullivan that touched her soul and scared her down to her toes. She was healing—and that scared her almost as much as the thought of dying. Her fists balled uncertainly, lying rigid and tight against his flesh.
He’d pulled her back from the brink of self-destruction and taught her to trust again. To love.
Could it be love?
Restlessly she moved away from his warmth, climbed out of the tangled covers and walked through to the lounge to lock the front door. Pulling the drapes, she shut out the moon, preferring the dark now, and leaned her forehead against the coolness of the wall.
“Come back to bed, else I’m gonna have to come and hunt you down.” Nat’s voice rumbled through the open doorway.
Elizabeth knotted the thick drapes around one hand. Nobody in Nat’s world would hunt down and kill anybody, but in her world—for a price, or revenge, or kicks—they’d do it without mercy.
What had she done by coming here? Closing her eyes, she ran her finger against the hard edge of the casement window. She bit her lip. If DeLattio found her here, they were all as good as dead.
But he wouldn’t. Swallowing back the pain, she knew she couldn’t stay, but the thought of moving on, of leaving Nat, tore her in two.
Returning to the bed she stood quietly at its edge. Nat took her fingers in his palm and kissed each fingertip, her knuckles, the fragile blue veins on her wrist. He pulled her down besides him.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asked. His voice was deep and even. She concentrated on the timbre, wanted to imprint the sound on her memory.
Her rape. Did she want to talk about being raped? A shiver worked its way through her shoulders and vibrated through her frame. No fecking way. The memories that stole through her mind made her
burrow her nose deeper into the curve of his shoulder.
Bound wrists. Blurry images of sex with fractured flashes of clarity. The drugs had blunted the pain and the details. Dulled the degradation. Useless arms had lashed out at him. Useless legs had kicked and DeLattio had laughed at her efforts. His laughter still haunted her dreams.
She didn’t want to talk about it, but knew she had to.
“I worked undercover for the FBI, but not organized crime. I worked in art theft.” Eliza squeezed his arm, felt him squeeze her in return.
“I was at a gallery opening when this guy started hitting on me.” Her voice shook. “He made me nervous—not something that happens very often. So I left. Avoided him.” She circled a finger on his chest in a nervous gesture.
“Turned out he was some big time mobster.” Her finger stilled, pressed gently into his skin. “The Organized Crime Unit approached me the next day and asked me to go out with him on a few dates. Plant a few bugs.” She shrugged. “The usual thing.”
Her fingers sifted his hair, contrasted the softness with the solid muscles of his body. She liked touching him, liked having that freedom. “They promised to protect me, but they didn’t.”
A knot formed in her throat, constricted the words. Nat seemed to realize she couldn’t go on and pressed her head against him, comforted her with the soft weight of his hand against her skull. She breathed deep, inhaled his scent. Heard his heart beat slow and true, next to her ear.
Trembling, she embraced him and swallowed down the tears that wanted to escape. She had no business making love to this man, pulling him into her web, into the mess that her life had become. Whatever it was that burned between them should have been left to die. But it was too late for that now. She hadn’t been able to resist the attraction and it killed her to know she’d have to leave him soon.
But not yet.
Determined to get away from the confessions about her past, she reared over him, smoothed one hand across the firm planes of his chest.
“So who are you, Nat? Cowboy, photographer, sharpshooter? Just who is the real Nathan Sullivan?” She tried to smile, silently begged him to change the subject. The pain-filled memories were in the past, she wanted them to remain there. He grabbed her before she could move an inch and rolled her beneath him in one smooth move.
“You forgot demon lover.” Nat nibbled her bottom lip. “You’ve just met the real Nathan Sullivan, ma’am. He was the one sweating all over you. Maybe you’ve forgotten him?”
“Maybe I have,” Elizabeth said, tracing his lips with her fingertip. “Maybe you’d better remind me.”
Her hands moved lower, ran over his flesh to play with flat brown nipples. The muscles of his abdomen clenched against her tummy, the hardness of his erection pressed against her thigh. Bending her head, she teased him with her tongue, licked his nipples and sucked them gently. His breath tightened and his hands gripped her.
She couldn’t answer many of his questions and she wouldn’t lie to him, but perhaps she could make him happy for a little while longer. Make him mindless with lust—exactly what she wanted to be.
Chapter Sixteen
Stealth shifted agitatedly beside him, scenting the mare waiting patiently ahead. Nat wiped the sweat off his forehead as raw energy poured from the black stallion in hot waves that stank of excitement and eagerness. The brood mare was a Morgan, quiet and experienced and in a strong standing heat. Nat had chosen her for Stealth’s first breeding partner, having collected semen from a phantom mare in the past.
It was an edgy time.
Inexperienced stallions tended to switch off their brains and act stupid the first time they met a mare in heat. Pretty much like most guys. Nat glanced over at Eliza who was helping Ezra put salt licks onto the back of the pick up. Dressed in work jeans, with her jacket buttoned up to her chin, she still looked cold despite the warm wind that blew down from the ridge. Dark circles rode her eyes and fatigue wore down the edge of her smile. She laughed at something Ezra said and the sound rippled along his nerves, reminding him of how they’d spent most of last night.
The stallion snorted, velvet nostrils flared red as he danced around, jerking back on the lead-rein. Stealth’s first sexual intercourse was fraught with potential danger—most things depending on the mare. If she kicked him during mating he could become gun shy and be too afraid to ejaculate. Or she could bolt and make the stallion prone to rush to mount mares in the future, to hang onto them too tight.
Shit, Nat could relate. There was nothing simple about dealing with females.
Sweat gathered on Stealth’s back and withers, a sure sign he was geared up for action. Eliza raised her head and looked over at him as if feeling the weight of his thoughts. Then she looked over at the mare who stood lined up against the breeding wall.
Did she compare servicing a mare to rape?
He stumbled slightly and Stealth jerked fussily on the end of the rein.
Nat forced himself to relax. Knew that his own anxieties were easily transmitted to the young stallion. He led Stealth towards the mare, put gentle pressure on the breeding halter, and was pleased at how the stallion responded to him, despite the mind-numbing distraction of imminent sex.
No, Nat didn’t equate the two. A mare that didn’t want to be bred would be damned difficult to force, even by nine hundred pounds of teeth and sex hormones.
Nat swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and tried to concentrate on the job in hand. The mare angled sideways slightly, took a long look at the young stud that approached her, deciding whether or not she was going to accept him. Nat let her look, but sensed no reluctance. Cal nodded and Nat brought Stealth up to the rear of the mare and eased the stallion over her haunches. The mare braced herself against the added weight of the stallion, but didn’t swing around or kick out.
She was a good mare.
Nat glanced at Eliza, felt the air go sultry between them. Stealth needed no help guiding himself into the mare and Nat stood to one side and tried not to get turned on by the thought of doing something similar with Eliza.
Jesus, this was routine, a normal job on a busy working farm, but today it felt...personal. His nerve endings were on fire and his body in a heightened state of arousal. Damn. It was embarrassing. He scrubbed his hands over hot eyes, and felt like a pervert, lower than the lowest scumbag.
Ezra said something to Eliza and she turned away.
A car crested the hill behind the main house and Nat cursed, knowing the timing couldn’t be worse. The mare shifted nervously as Stealth strove for completion.
The driver gunned the engine and Nat used every ounce of willpower he possessed to calm the mare and urge Stealth to get the job done.
His mouth thinned. He wanted to yell at the driver, but he didn’t dare glance away from the bonded pair. With an inelegant snort Stealth ejaculated and collapsed on top of the mare.
Cal held the mare steady as the stallion slid down, and was already leading her away by the time Nat eased the stallion to the ground.
The horses were fine. Everything was fine. Nat breathed out a sigh of relief, still as uncomfortable as hell in his snug jeans.
Figured.
Nat stroked Stealth’s nose, rubbed his ears and told him he’d done a good job. Even if the mare didn’t conceive, the event had been a success, thank you God. Nat turned to the newcomers and kept his face carefully neutral when he saw Troy and Marlena Strange, standing next to a new model Mercedes four-by-four.
Tomorrow was the day of the auction.
Nat stopped himself from grinding his teeth. Chances were that by tomorrow evening, Troy Strange would own a piece of his heart.
Okay—so maybe things weren’t so fine.
Marlena glanced at Nat’s crotch with a wicked smile that killed his arousal stone dead. The woman was stunningly beautiful, but she left him colder than a gravestone.
“What do you want?” Nat asked. It wasn’t exactly neighborly, but he didn’t give a shit.
“T
hought you might be ready to let me take another look at that stallion of yours.” Troy flashed a phony megawatt smile, the accent pure Texas, but thick with insincerity. “And here he is all ready for me.”
Troy moved toward Stealth, who stood quivering from exertion, and raised his hand to stroke the black stallion’s nose. The horse bared his teeth and rolled his eyes until their whites gleamed like bloodshot crescents in the afternoon light.
“Touch him and I’ll put my fist through your face,” Nat said. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. With one step he moved between Troy and the stallion.
Troy hesitated, dropped his hand. “You can’t afford to be choosy, neighbor.”
As if Troy actually had a say about the matter.
“If you go belly-up, I’ll have this place for peanuts, the horses too.” Troy snapped his finger and thumb together for effect. He took a cigarette packet out of his shirt pocket and offered one to Nat.
Like they were friends having a conversation.
Nat kept his silence though he wanted to smash Troy so hard, he could barely hold back. His fists rounded into solid blocks by his side, but he didn’t need a lawsuit on top of everything else and Troy Strange would bring a lawsuit.
Nat said nothing, stood absolutely still and stared down at Troy like he was a bug on a pin.
“You know it and I know it,” Troy continued, ignoring the silent warning. “Why don’t we just cut the crap and I’ll buy the horses and the ranch now for a fair price.” He named a ridiculously low figure, tapped the cigarette on the packet and lit up. He breathed the smoke deeply into his lungs, blew out, straight into Nat’s face.
Nat didn’t blink.
Troy thought he understood the code of the west, thought he knew how to be a real man, but he wasn’t even close. If Troy had been bigger Nat might have taken him on, lawsuit be-damned, but he was only medium height with a slight build. It would be like punching out a child.
Marlena strolled over to stand beside her husband. She towered over him, slim and lithe, long dark brown hair flowing in waves halfway down her back. Troy placed a possessive arm around her waist as if to rein her in.
Her Sanctuary Page 21