Deadly Games

by Clark, Jaycee

  “She feels warm to me.”

  Becky put her hand on Darya’s face, then her arm, and shook her head. “No wonder. Child won’t eat, doesn’t sleep, she’s bound to get sick sooner or later.”

  The panic fluttered anew. What did she bleeding know about sick kids. “Becky? What do I do?”

  Becky’s face softened. “Just hold her. I’ll call Mrs. K. and see what we have to give her.”

  Rori pulled back and studied Darya. “Do you think we should take her to the doctor or something?”

  Becky chuckled. “Oh, new parents.” She patted Rori’s arm. “You just go put her up in her bed and sit with her. I’ll bring up some soup. Main thing is to keep liquids down her.”

  She nodded. “Anything else?”

  Becky’s smile was tender. “Just mother her, luv, like ye’ve been doing.”

  Rori turned and walked out of the kitchen. Well, she knew the girl had a fever, but what to do about it was another matter. Becky acted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, but still . . .

  She turned back and walked into the kitchen again. “Becky.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Kinncaid was a doctor, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes. Doctored little ones, she did, still does from time to time.”

  “So she’ll know what to do?”

  Becky frowned. “We should take her temperature. Mrs. K. has one of the computer kind around here somewhere.” She opened a drawer, then closed it, muttering. Next she checked the cabinet next to the sink. Aspirin, bandages, first aid supplies. “Ah, here it is, then.” Becky pulled out a box with a coiled wire and thermometer on the end. She slid a plastic cover down over the thermometer and motioned Rori over.

  Rori set Darya on the counter. The little girl blinked slowly. “Ian’s going to be bloody furious,” she muttered.

  Becky humphed and picked Darya’s arm up, sliding the thermometer under her arm. Five seconds and several beeps later, she said, “One-oh-two point three.” She frowned at Darya and said to Rori, “Put her to bed and I’ll call Mrs. K.”

  So relieved that something was being done, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Becky’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”

  She carried Darya out of the kitchen and upstairs. She opened Darya’s door, the room cool to her. Maybe she should build up the fire. She sat her on the edge of the bed and undressed her, tossing her jeans and sweater to the side and putting some flannel pajamas on the girl. She at least knew enough to keep the girl warm.

  She pulled the covers back and tucked Darya in. The entire time, the girl only stared, her hand clutching the photograph. She pulled the ragged teddy bear to her and lay down, her eyes closing.

  “Please don’t let her have any nightmares,” Rori whispered, brushing the hair off Darya’s forehead.

  Maybe a cool cloth would be the thing to do. She hurried to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. Sitting on the bed, she put the folded linen on the girl, who opened her eyes and stared for a moment before closing them again.

  God, what if they’d been wrong? What if she had been sexually molested or some such and had come down with something? It could be anything.

  Rori chewed on her thumbnail and a memory flashed through her brain. Nikko nursing her after he’d rescued her from that hell of an apartment. They hadn’t gone to his apartment on the same floor. Instead he’d taken her to a house, and then when she’d been better, they’d moved quite often until settling in Italy.

  Nikko. God, her brain wasn’t working.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Darya and hurried from the room into her and Ian’s. There she grabbed her mobile, which she’d plugged in last night so it would charge.

  She started to punch his number, but Becky came huffing up the stairs. “Mrs. K. said to give the poor dear a teaspoon of this, and in a few hours give her this other one.” She held up two bottles of children’s versions of pain and fever relief. “And we’re to take her temperature every half an hour to make certain it’s going down, and Mrs. K. said she’d be calling to check up on things.”

  Rori took the bottles and thermometer from Becky and said, “Thank you, Becky.”

  “Go give her the medicine. I’m going to put some chicken stock on for soup so perhaps she might eat something tonight.”

  “I hope she will.” With that, she turned and walked back into Darya’s room. The girl hadn’t moved. Rori looked from one bottle to the other. Which one did she give first? Did it matter? Setting her phone down, she jogged out of the room and down the staircase, catching up with Becky in the hallway.

  “Which do I give her first? You didn’t bloody say.”

  Becky shook her head and muttered something. “Doesn’t matter. Pink or purple, you choose.”

  That’s it? She hurried back upstairs and measured out some of the pink bubble-gum-flavored fever reducer. Picking the girl up, she coaxed her to drink it all down.

  Darya licked her lips, and lay back, staring at her picture.

  She looked so lost.

  Rori took the wet cool cloth and wiped Darya’s face. “He’ll be back.”

  Darya stared at the photo until her eyes slid closed.

  Rori reached over on the nightstand, stood, and walked to the window ledge. Hitting the preprogrammed number, she waited for the phone on the other end to ring.

  “It’s about damn time you called. What the hell is going on?”

  “Hello to you too, Nikko.”

  “Cara,” his voice warned. She caught the worry in it.

  “How do you take care of a sick kid?”

  For a minute he was silent and then he chuckled. “Oh, the things I miss!”

  “Nikko, it’s not bloody funny! She’s sick, has a fever, and I haven’t heard from Ian—have no bleeding clue where he is and she’s running a fever. I gave her some bubble-gum fever reducer medicine,” she rattled off, biting on her thumbnail.

  “Cara, calm down.”

  She took a deep breath and watched the girl sleep on the bed.

  “You haven’t been sleeping,” he commented.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know you. You ramble when you’re tired. Why no sleep?”

  She sighed. “Ian’s been gone tying up some loose ends. Darya hasn’t eaten or slept really since he’s been gone. Not a bite in two days and nightmares every night.” She ran a hand over her hair.

  “It’ll be fine. You were sick when you first came to live with me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Took care of you, same as you will do for little Darya.”

  Rori thought about how Nikko had a way of cutting through everything else. She sighed. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, Nikko,” she admitted.

  “How so, cara?”

  She sat on the windowsill and thought about it. “This . . . this job is all fucked to hell.”

  He laughed.

  “I don’t find anything amusing.”

  “You know, I am as proud as any parent can be of their child. But do you know what I have always wanted, always prayed for you?”

  “You pray?”

  “I’ve returned to the flock. My priest is constantly giving me penances.”

  “Did you tell him what you’ve done?”

  “I don’t have that much time, cara. I’d be saying Hail Marys until I passed onto the next world. It’s better to give it to him in small doses.”

  She laughed, trying to picture it.

  “You.”

  “You,” he answered.

  “I miss you, Nikko.”

  “I know, cara.” He sighed. “I want you to find happiness . . . peace . . .” He waited. “Does Mr. Kinncaid bring out those things.”

  She stared out over the sunlit dead grasses and bare trees. “Ian makes me feel. Period.”

  “Then that is a good thing. Now tell me, what loose ends must he tie up?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  Silence, then. “Perhaps you’d be in
terested to know the streets are alive with talk of Mr. Petrolov and his guard dying in an explosion in Amsterdam.”

  She hadn’t known, damn the man. “That was the plan.”

  He humphed. “Cara, the man for you is not an average man. One, you are a very strong woman, you need someone who can meet you. And you obviously have feelings for the girl.”

  She took a deep breath. “I think I did something stupid, Nikko.”

  “You never do anything stupid.”

  “I did this time. I signed my name to a marriage document.”

  “What?”

  “The marriage to Kinncaid . . . it’s um . . . real.”

  She expected silence, expected disappointment, even anger. What she didn’t expect was laughter. “You, cara, have brought such joy to my life. Enjoy yours. As I said, you’ve never been stupid and you’ve read documents before.”

  So she had. “I just wasn’t thinking,” she tried.

  He tsked. “No, this time you were finally thinking with your heart and not with that keen intelligence. Fate moves us in ways we should go if we’re too stubborn to go there ourselves.”

  “Nikko, you’re starting to annoy me.”

  “Denial is a terrible thing. Now, what are you going to do about Mr. Kinncaid?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “He’s keeping the girl?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I like this man. If he hurts you, I’d have to kill him, but I think I like him. He makes you feel, truly feel, and that is much. Plus, he didn’t have to take the child, but he did. That’s a good man.”

  “He reminds me of you, I think.” She rubbed her forehead and watched Darya shift to her back, still asleep.

  “That is lovely. But love him for who he is, not because he reminds you of someone. I must go, cara. Take care and call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, by the way, your two fish, Frank and Henry, or whatever their names were—”

  “Frank and Fred.”

  “Yes, well, they are no more.”

  “It’s sad, Nikko, when you’ve reached the point to kill fish.”

  He said something not very flattering. “Ti amour, cara.” And he hung up.

  She realized he’d never answered her on where he was.

  *****

  8:04 p.m.

  Quinlan said good-bye to his mother and father and promised to be home tomorrow night for a family dinner. He set the vase of flowers on the shelf in the hospital and looked again at the newest little Kinncaid. Another girl. Seemed like there were girls everywhere. Miss Anna Marie was seven pounds and thirteen ounces and twenty inches long.

  Everyone else oohed and ahhed over her, and though she was cute, he supposed, she looked like all babies looked to him. He’d already brought in a big pink chenille elephant and Gavin had only shaken his head. Ryan had been talking ninety miles an hour. He’d just missed Aiden, who was returning home, where Jesslyn was with the twins.

  He had no idea Ian had even left until his mother mentioned it, and he was stupid enough to comment on his lack of knowledge. “If you’d come home more, interact more with your family than with the hotel guests, you might know what’s going on.”

  For a moment, he’d thought she’d meant something altogether different. Then he shook his head and placated her by saying, “I’ll come out to dinner tomorrow.”

  “And cancel at the last moment.” She patted his hand.

  “No, I won’t.” He would try not to.

  “You know, Marylin Pladdock’s daughter is staying with them for a bit. You remember the Pladdocks.”

  A shudder danced down his spine. “Mother, I have to go. If a date is required, I will find my own, thank you.”

  “At the hotel?”

  Shaking his head, he slapped Gavin on the back again. Kissed Taylor’s cheek. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Quinlan.”

  “Isn’t she just the coolest, Uncle Quin?” Ryan asked him.

  “That she is, Ryan.”

  “Anne Marie.” Ryan stood smiling beside his dad.

  Jock was busy taking pictures with the digital camera. It was time for him to go.

  “Tomorrow night,” his mother reminded him.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He hurried from the hospital room before anyone else could grab him.

  Once in his car, he breathed a sigh of relief and drove to the hotel.

  A date. God, why couldn’t Mom just leave well enough alone.

  Back at the hotel, he walked to his office, checked his messages. No messages from Alla.

  His stomach grumbled and he figured he’d go eat.

  In the restaurant things were going smoothly for a Friday evening. The place was packed, people waited to be seated, but it was normal with no snags.

  He glanced at the bar and saw her at once.

  She sat again, dressed in a dark suit of plum, still sexy as hell, the dark V showing off something lacy and black. She stared at him, her slanted eyes promising delights that haunted him, her lips curved seductively in her come-and-get-me smile.

  And why did he want to?

  He remembered the feel of her on him, against him, under him. Her tight muscles, her beautiful breasts. The way she moved, tight as steel and fluid as water.

  Hell. He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. He’d been in meetings most of the day, spent the evening at the hospital and had planned to eat, and later work out on his treadmill.

  Then again . . .

  An image of her riding him, those lips of hers curved and demanding, her muscles squeezing, squeezing. Quinlan closed his eyes and shook his head. What the hell was with him? Women were nice, he enjoyed a good lay as well as the next guy, but this . . .

  This was like a craving. A hum under his skin that itched to the surface.

  She arched one brow.

  Some inner voice said he should just turn around and walk away . . .

  He walked toward her and figured why not enjoy that which was offered.

  When he was even to her, he said, “You’re back.”

  Her eyes ran the length of him, her nail raked down his tie, and he felt the tug straight to his groin.

  He narrowed his gaze at her. “Staying the night?”

  She licked her lips, grazing her teeth over the plump bottom lip. “Depends.”

  He leaned closer, smelled that enchanting swirl of floral and something he could never put his finger on. His hand on the small of her back, he whispered against her ear, “On what?”

  Her lashes swept up as she stared at him. “You.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, her husky laughter floating out and tightening around his control as surely as her fist on his dick.

  “I just so happen to have a room.”

  “I remember.”

  Tonight, so would he.

  Chapter 28

  8:55 p.m.

  Ian sat, the D.C. night glittering beyond the window of his boss’s office. The Capitol building shone white, beckoning.

  This was it.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Pete said yet again.

  Ian turned from his study of the nightlife and looked across to the man he’d met so many years ago after he successfully completed a mission in the 75th. This man had found him and recruited him. His life was never the same.

  “You regret it?” Pete asked, lighting a cigar.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You could offer me a departing cigar.” He opened his eyes. “Like a celebration.”

  “Or a death.” Pete didn’t offer him the humidor. “Besides, you’ve quit. If you slid now, you’d have to start all over again.”

  Ian shook his head. “You always were a hard-ass.”

  Those hard lips flashed into a rare smile, or what could only pass as a smile on Pete Jones.

  “If you ever need a job . . .” Pete left it open.

  Ian shook his head. “N
o, thank you. I’ve had enough of shadows and games to last me way past this lifetime.” He wanted to pace or tap his foot. He did neither.

  Pete nodded and blew out a plume of smoke. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know the remains of Dimitri Petrolov, his guard, Jean Tabeier, and another guard, belonging to a local club owner, were all identified.”

  “And?”

  Pete shrugged. “The remains were cremated tonight.”

  Ian grunted. It was over . . . almost.

  He scratched the side of his mouth with his index finger. “Guess I need to turn my gun in.”

  Pete raised a brow. “What gun?”

  Ian waited a moment, then smiled. “Only one last loose end to tie up.”

  “Two,” Pete corrected and leaned up, his maroon leather chair squeaking. He pursed his lips, tapped the desk and leaned back again. “About to become one.”

  “Really? Care to expound on that, Pete?”

  Something shifted in his hazel eyes and he huffed a breath out. “Don’t ever get married.”

  Ian frowned, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. Pete had been married now for . . . well, several years to his second wife. Quiet woman who worked in an accounting firm.

  “Pete, I want a name,” he said, returning to the topic. “I want to know who blew my cover.”

  Pete stood and walked to the window, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the shirtsleeves rolled up. “You’ll get one, when I know for certain. Until then, you’ll wait. You’ll be notified if I find out anything for certain.” He glanced at Ian, and those eyes were as hard as he’d ever seen. “I don’t take the fact your cover, and others’, was blown way the hell open any more lightly than you do. And probably a hell of a lot more serious than even you would imagine. It’s not just you, we’re learning. There were others, are others . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “Christ.” Without looking at Ian, he said, “Go home to your family, Ian Kinncaid. Your work here is done.”

  Ian stood, slapped Pete on the back. “Why do I feel like you left off the ‘until we need you’ bit?”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the office. The secretary wasn’t at her normal post.

  An armed guard nodded to him and let him out the door. It shut and locked behind him.