This could be her chance. Her pulse skipped a beat.
At the very next door, Yelena stopped. “Here is…” The Cleatian woman paused, searching for the English word. She opened the wooden door to show a sink and commode.
“Powder room?” Janna supplied. How could she get away alone? Was the woman going to guard the door?
“Dak! Powder room.” Yelena’s rouged lips tilted in an off-center smile. “I return one moment. Check on cook.”
Relieved, Janna thanked her, went in and closed the door. She listened until she no longer heard the tapping of the woman’s heels. No telling how long Yelena would be gone. She might have to pacify either Roszca or the cook. Or both.
She had to hurry.
She peered out. No one in sight. Surveillance cameras covered the outside of his compound, but not inside. Once inside his castle, he wanted privacy.
Slipping off her heeled sandals, she tiptoed back the way she’d come and into the game room. She touched a finger to a key, but drew it back. For sure, Roszca had a security device. But what? She knelt down and peered at the back of the CPU. The two-inch-long plastic device plugged into the back meant her flash drive was useless. Disappointment sagged her shoulders.
At the sound of heels clicking on marble, she shot to her feet. Too late to return to the powder room. She dashed to the loveseat and waited, dangling her high heels from one hand.
“Ah, there you are, Yelena.” She gave the surprised woman an airhead smile. “You caught me. I simply had to sink my tootsies into this heavenly carpet.” She wriggled her toes in the thick white shag in front of the loveseat.
“No matter.” Yelena’s brow furrowed as her gaze darted around the room. She apparently didn’t know whether to be suspicious or not. “Come. We eat now.”
“Oh, good. I’m famished.” After stepping into her shoes, Janna slipped her arm through Yelena’s.
The woman seemed grateful for the feminine connection. Arm in arm, they hurried down the hall. To Janna, their clicking heels sounded no louder than her pounding heart. “Everything okay with the cook?”
“Dak, um, yes. Okay.” A heavy accent didn’t disguise the anxious edge on the reply.
Up close, Janna saw that everything was not okay with Roszca’s mistress. She owed her vivid coloring in part to heavy makeup. Makeup meant to cover the fading yellow of large bruises.
Chapter 18
JANNA’S HEART HAMMERED, and she fought to even her breathing. She gripped the other woman’s arm and pulled her to the courtyard side of the passageway. “Yelena, how did you get those bruises?”
Color drained from the woman’s face. Beneath the heavy makeup, her skin was ashen. “Is nothing. I fall. It heals.”
A bird chirped in the potted palm standing in the courtyard. The perfume of frangipani blossoms floated on the light breeze. But all Janna smelled was the stench of abuse. “No, Yelena. You didn’t fall. I know because I’ve been there.” She tried to sound confident and soothing, but couldn’t keep her voice from shaking.
Yelena averted her eyes and shook her head.
“A fist made the bruises on your cheeks. Your mouth is swollen too. A man’s open hands squeezed the bruises into your neck. Roszca did this to you, didn’t he?”
“It was my fault. I displeased him.”
Janna squeezed her eyes closed as she sought strength. How many times had she said the same thing? How many other women had made excuses for their abusers?
She took Yelena’s trembling hands in hers. “He has no right to beat you. I—”
“Come along, ladies. Dinner is now being served.”
Janna looked up sharply to see Roszca standing in the foyer. His penetrating blue eyes seemed to bore into her soul. How long had he been there? What had he heard?
The other woman squeezed her hand before releasing her, a silent plea for silence. In her eyes was a mirror of Janna’s old fears. Color had returned to Yelena’s cheeks in crimson flags of alarm. Or shame. Or guilt. Or both. Facing the truth and what Janna had to do about it had taken her months. Yelena needed time, a limited commodity given the circumstances.
But this was not the end of their conversation. Janna would make certain they’d talk again.
“Thank you, Yelena,” she said brightly, “for showing me these gorgeous plants. I may start sketching flowers as well as birds.”
“It was my pleasure,” Roszca’s mistress said as she allowed her abuser to take her elbow and lead her to the dining room.
***
When the two women returned with Roszca, Simon suspected from the high color on Janna’s cheeks that she’d been up to something. She confirmed his worst suspicions when she wouldn’t look him in the eye and chewed her lower lip.
The glass-topped table could’ve accommodated ten easily, but was set for the four of them. Roszca and his mistress sat on the ends. That left Janna and Simon facing each other between silver candelabra. When she finally met his gaze, the haunted look darkening her eyes to pewter nearly made him lose his cool. What the hell had happened in the short time she’d vanished with Yelena?
He had no choice but to wait until they returned to the Horizon to find out. He shuttered his expression and murmured an appropriate response to his host’s change of topic. They were back to horse racing again.
Roszca hadn’t leaped aboard the yacht-race proposition at the beginning and still wasn’t warming to it. Did he suspect a trap? Or did he simply doubt his boat’s speed? Whatever the reason, his mistress’s arrival had given him the opportunity to avoid the topic.
Simon’s jaw tightened. He had to come up with an alternate plan to lure the arms broker off his island sanctuary. And he had little time to do it. The evening took longer than any surveillance detail he could recall. Thank God he could discuss horse racing without having to concentrate.
When a clock chimed the witching hour, he took the reins and made their excuses. But he didn’t make it out the door without Janna wangling an invitation from her new best friend. Amazing, but she orchestrated it so that Roszca thought it was his idea.
Yelena agreed to fix a picnic lunch so the two of them could roam the island to look for the elusive orangequit.
What the hell was Janna up to? She didn’t have time to go looking for a damn bird — if orangequits even existed. Simon ground his teeth as he hustled her down the path to the dock. He’d started the evening twisted in knots, and his condition only got worse. Seeing her in that nothing of a dress and the kicky heels that showed off her world-class legs had set a match to his tinder. He’d felt like pawing the ground as Roszca ogled her. Asserting his possession, Simon had remained as near as possible — touching distance. Touching her knee, her arm, the arch of her neck. Inhaling her scent. He appreciated her depths, but their slimy host saw only the beautiful exterior.
As DARK intended. The concession made him feel no better.
He fired up the motor and watched as she slipped off her sandals and climbed into the tender. She avoided his eyes and stared into the darkness.
She’d snooped. A sure bet. But he kept his accusation to himself until they reached the privacy of the Horizon’s salon. At the foot of the companionway, he spun her around and grabbed her shoulders. “Give. What did you do to Roszca’s computers? Did Yelena see anything?”
She clutched his arms with the same vehemence. “We have to get her out of there, Simon. He beat her. And not for the first time, I think.”
He shook his head. Her words made no sense. “My nerves are jumping like ants on a summer sidewalk. You scared the crap out of me going off alone like that. The computer. What did you do?”
She cleared her throat, but emotion still plucked at her voice. “Nothing. I couldn’t. But Simon, you have to listen. She needs help. Our help.”
Maybe she didn’t mess with the computer. He’d get to that, but the anxiety tightening her mouth and the corners of her eyes had him kicking at his stall. “Okay, tell me.�
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Janna gripped his arms so tightly he could feel each fingertip. “Roszca beat her. He’s abusing Yelena. She’s afraid of him. We have to get her out of there.” Moisture sheened over the fear in her eyes.
“Couldn’t you be mistaken? Not every woman—”
“Didn’t you notice how stiffly she got out of her seat? Who knows what he did to her?”
This was a complication they didn’t need. “We can’t help her. It would blow the mission. You could be wrong. Roszca said she hasn’t been well. That’s all.”
“No. She has bruises. The heavy makeup almost concealed them, but I saw. Fading yellow bruises on her face and neck. He probably choked her too. And her lip was swollen.”
“Maybe she fell.” The words sounded hollow and false, even to him.
She hooted, a bitter laugh with no humor or music. “That’s the classic excuse. Covering up. ‘I fell down the stairs. Clumsy me.’ No, I’m certain. She admitted it, even blamed herself, the typical abused woman’s excuse. I need to talk with her, to convince her to leave Isla Alta with us.”
“The picnic.” When she nodded, he said, “Roszca’s not going to let you two women traipse off alone. He’ll send one of the twins to watch you, or Ivan.”
“I’ll find a way, a few moments alone. Please, Simon.”
“I can’t commit to helping this woman. It could trash the mission.” The trembling through her body seemed to burn his hands. He pulled her into his arms. For reassurance and comfort this time, not sex.
“We have to get her away from that monster. He must be keeping her prisoner. We’re her only chance.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. Her eyes were fathomless gray pools of fear and sadness.
“Getting in and getting her out of Isla Alta without being detected or caught? A tough call. Besides, once Roszca is in DARK custody, she’ll be fine.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
At the end of his arguments, he shook his head. “You’re asking the impossible. Our only chance might be those mythical pirate tunnels.”
He expected her to escape his arms, but she stayed put. Fine with him. He wanted more, a hell of a lot more, but just holding her while they talked was all he allowed himself.
“Pirate tunnels? I’d forgotten about them.” Her gaze grew unfocused, a sure sign of deep thought.
He kissed her nose. “I do love to watch your brainiac mind go into action, Q, but this one will stump you. Now tell me about the computer system.”
“I didn’t tamper with the computer. Remember?”
He exhaled his relief. “Start at the beginning. Where did Yelena take you?”
“Across the foyer and along the passageway to a powder room.”
“The green one beside the game room?”
“It’s pale turquoise, but yes.”
“The game room with the computer in the corner.”
She nodded, finally stepping back. “Yelena left me to go check on the chef. I think she kept Roszca from breaking something.”
“Who knows? Go on.” He sat on the arm of the white leather sofa.
“I went into the game room, as you assumed. But I couldn’t touch a thing. The drive has a key logger.”
“Which is? Don’t get too tech on me, Q.”
She appeared to relax too, dropping her sandals and coming to stand before him. Close enough that he could pull her between his spread legs, feel her warmth again and breathe her in. Her skirt barely fell to mid-thigh. He could… He shook off the image before it took root.
“A key logger is a small device to capture keystrokes. Roszca or whoever monitors the network would know what keys were pressed, what programs were accessed, e-mails, anything.”
Keystrokes. Key strokes on her toned thighs would open her to him. She wanted him. Why not? But at the moment, she was serious, professional. And fragile enough to shatter. Reaction to Yelena’s predicament. He forced his attention away from sexual possibilities. “Ah, I’ve heard of those keystroke grabbers. Other missions have used them for surveillance.”
“Not all that high-tech but effective. I couldn’t remove it without their knowing. I’m back to hacking.” She sighed.
“Yeah, hacking, not bird-watching. Is an orangequit a real bird?”
“Of course, Euneornis campestris. It’s native to Jamaica. A rare songbird.”
Unable to resist, he clasped her hand. “I should probably be grateful you didn’t recite the Latin name to Roszca. He might’ve suspected that sexy dress disguised more than your average boat bunny.”
She laughed, familiar music to his ears. “Thanks for agreeing to consider helping Yelena. And thanks for cheering me up.” She covered a yawn. “I’m going to make some coffee and boot up. There’s one more strategy I want to try.”
He slid onto the leather cushion. Abandoned. She’d gone off to work at her precious computer. No sex. He should be grateful. Relieved. Hell, wasn’t that what he wanted?
***
The yacht chronometer rang four times as Janna signed off with Jack Thorne. Cracking the last barrier into Viktor Roszca’s files had nearly taken her until morning, but she couldn’t have slept anyway. Not after the emotional upheaval of knowing the arms broker was also an abuser.
And not after that encounter with Simon.
He’d been as seduced by the evening’s pretense as she had. His constant caresses had sensitized her to his touch. He held her as she poured out her worries for Yelena. Then he argued and resisted helping the woman, but he was too honorable not to yield.
He’d wanted to make love to her again. She saw it in his eyes, sensed it in his touch. The same desire streaked down her spine and swirled in her belly.
But he might’ve thought she was giving herself to him to persuade him to help Yelena. And she had to find a way to persuade the woman to leave. Time was running out on their mission. And time was running out on them.
One more night. Maybe two. A little food, a little wine, a little breeze, and his shaky barrier should crumble. Being in his arms would heal her, and she could move on. Simon would see that she was fine, so he could release his misplaced guilt. They could remain friends afterward. She repeated it aloud to block the twinge in her chest.
***
Janna awoke smothered by a wet towel of tropical heat. Through her porthole, she saw the sun shimmering its fire from high in the bright, blue sky.
The yacht was silent, except for the constant hum of the generator. Oh, no, Simon had left for further negotiations on Isla Alta. This was the first time she’d missed listening in on his talks with Roszca.
She raced to the captain’s console, where she found a note in Simon’s slapdash scrawl. Get some sleep. No prob about not monitoring. A-okay. Will return in time for picnic.
Eleven-thirty. Not much time to get ready.
After a shower, she searched her undercover wardrobe for something more modest than shorts that barely concealed the color of her underwear. She settled on a scoop-neck T-shirt. But the only pair of shorts with slightly longer legs rode low on her hips.
When Simon tied up the dinghy at the stern, she hurried to the rail. Back at the dock, three pelicans settled back on the waters now that all was quiet again.
“Great steering,” she said. “You haven’t bumped the dock or the boat since the first day.”
Tight with Roszca, Simon had apparently chosen to dress more casually. The sleeveless Henley and the khaki shorts allowed her a clear view of his smoothly muscled biceps and corded legs as he tied up and climbed aboard the yacht.
“I’m ready to try docking something bigger.” He shot her a crooked pirate grin that curled her toes in her sandals.
The sun flashed off his earring. In his mobster persona, he intrigued her more, seemed more dangerously seductive. Daydreaming like this wasn’t like her. She shook away her thoughts.
“Like the Horizon?” she said. “Mmm, maybe, but it would be the difference between
parking a sub-compact and a semi. You can try docking this boat when we get back to Gitmo.”
Stepping aboard, he lowered his sunglasses. “Would you say that if it was your uncle’s boat and not Wharton’s?”
She laughed. “We may get back to Gitmo soon. During the night, I cracked through Roszca’s defenses. Thorne’s techs are copying the server’s hard drive. They should have something for us later.”
His broad smile heated her insides to match her sunbaked skin. “Q, I knew you could do it. It’s the winner’s circle for you. I’ll check in with Thorne right now.”
Donning her sunglasses, she pointed at her watch. “Time to go. I don’t want to blow my chance to talk to Yelena.” She started down the gangway to the swim platform.
A hand on her arm stopped her. “Don’t.” His teasing grin morphed into a grim line.
Chapter 19
HER PULSE STUTTERED. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
He scrubbed his beard-shadowed chin with one fist. “Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I don’t know. Roszca said to make Yelena’s apologies. She isn’t feeling well today and can’t make the picnic.”
A vise banded her chest. She flung away her sunglasses to get a better look at the island house. Willing Yelena to appear well and whole didn’t conjure the woman. Only blank windows stared back. The sun’s rays flashed on them with blinding intensity. “Damn him! If he’s hurt her again, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop, sweetheart.” Simon turned her toward him and chafed her upper arms in soothing strokes. “Do you hear yourself? Whatever happened is not your fault. Or Yelena’s.”
A vise cinched her throat as she fought to breathe, to free herself. She let Simon draw her into the shelter of his arms. When the strength of his body and the feel of his strong, steady heartbeat calmed her, she said, “I know. It’s hard to eradicate the victim mind-set. My knee-jerk reaction shocks me.”
“If Roszca beat her or locked her up, it was for his own depraved reasons.”
Dark Rules (The DARK Files Book 3) Page 15