1606010948-Palace-of-the-Jaguar-Womack.doc

by Palace of the Jaguar (lit)

  How very Jack Gunnison. He fought the serious nature of her love to the bitter end.

  Thunder rumbled across the roof. A warning she didn’t heed.

  “You may as well hear this before we move on to the next part of our lives.”

  “Holy shit! What’s going on? You getting fucking serious on me at a time like this?” His firm lips set in a sensualist smile, the lashes of his ebony eyes lowered to make him appear languid and deep in the pool of erotic desire.

  “I think it’s time I told you up front — the way I feel about you.” The cords in his forearms tensed beneath her palms. “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Her voice shook with tension.

  Casually, obviously bent on ignoring her comment, he leaned down to suck her earlobe, his exotic scent seeping into her blood, teasing her tongue.

  She sighed, flinching but enjoying the hot little flames that flickered where he touched her. “So, you’re going to ignore me. Pretend I don’t love you.”

  His heavy exhale spoke volumes. Not meeting her direct gaze galvanized the meaning of his comment. “You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

  Philosophy! After she’d spilled her heart full of devotion for him. Okay, she deserved that. He’d told her not to go soft on him. Don’t you dare cry, not now. Grab tonight, grab now!

  Bullshit! That wasn’t good enough anymore. No way to call it back, not her ignorant declaration of love or her hand that sliced through the quiet air to collide in a jarring slap to his cheek.

  He glared at her, hot disbelief in his eyes. “Really nice, Donavon.”

  “Well, hell, Gunnison. You should have expected that.” She sneered, feeling everything but disgust with him. “This is enough to make a gal wish she’d pleasured herself in the shower. Want to get your carcass off me?”

  The quick blaze of embarrassment flaring in his eyes pleased her, made her want to crush his ego a bit more, but no. She would wind up the loser no matter what, and she’d done that well enough. He was pissed off to the hilt. So was she.

  “Yeah, sure,” he gritted out in a splintering oath. He sprang from the bed and stalked toward the door. “I’m outta here.”

  “That’s right. Run away, you damned coward!”

  Fury borne of rejection blazed over her like a desert storm. Jumping off the bed, she trotted after him.

  She caught up with Gun and hooked her arms over his shoulders. He exploded with anger.

  “Back off, Donavon.” He tried to shake her loose, only managing to collide with the wall in his angry rush.

  “You have a lot to learn about me, boy!” Her voice was loud, a habit after years of shouting over a houseful of males. “I’m not ashamed of being in love with you. I’m a full-grown woman. I don’t do anything halfway. Especially love.”

  He pried his face off the wall and pried her loose, turning to grab her arms. She missed kneeing him by inches. “Knock it off.”

  Her teeth were clenched in determination to grab the waistband of his pants. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He stopped to glower down at her. “You’re pulling my pants off my ass.”

  Laying her weight on the cloth, she shot back. “I’ve seen your ass before. Talk to me.”

  His body tensed with suppressed anger, his gaze icy while watching her slide down his leg to the floor.

  “We’ve talked. Get back to your room.”

  “Like hell, Gun. You’re going to listen for once, not run away like a lacy-pants, sniveling coward.”

  Oh, my God!

  Wind rushed around her in a furious roar, nearly bursting her eardrums. He clutched her upper arms to pull her from the floor. Ali couldn’t see, her head spun, the air jolted from her lungs after he pressed her against the wall.

  The lava-hot anger glinting in his eyes startled her. “Listen to me, and listen good.” His face was flushed. “Shut your mouth and get out of my face.”

  Ali opened her mouth to comment on his manhood, but decided to stop the kid stuff. “Why are you so afraid of allowing someone to love you?”

  His voice grated like broken glass and razor blades. “Donavon. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Well, yeah. His voice could freeze her nipples off, but Ali refused to wither.

  “Is that your best threat, buster?” She couldn’t camouflage the grunt from her belly when her back smacked against the wall again. “All this because you’re afraid to love me?”

  Gun clenched his teeth over his comment. “Terrified, you little bully.”

  The pressure on her arms forced her to blink. “Okay. Put me down, and I’ll get out of your life, coward.”

  Maybe she was pushing him too hard, but anything worth having was worth a good war. Right now, Gun looked like a battle-hardened warrior, ready to fight for freedom. She didn’t care. He would have to talk to her if he was pissed off.

  He crowded her, all six foot four of him, moving in to press her to the door. Dangerous and intriguing, his gaze glittered like wintry, midnight stars.

  “I thought you were smart. But, you’re not.” Catching her hands in his, he pinned them above her head. “I’m not fit to wipe your feet on.”

  Now, he wants to talk.

  “You’re also dumb, Gun”

  “One more of my qualities.”

  “You’re too dumb to let go of your past and let yourself fall in love, even when you know it’s right and the best thing you’ll ever have a chance at.”

  He eyed her with a wry smile. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be getting a hell of a bargain, but what about you?” His face contorted with frustration. “Why the fuck can’t you see what a lousy fit we are?”

  Ali wouldn’t beg for his love anymore, like a cat at his back door. “All right.” He dropped his hands, and she turned to walk away from her heart.

  “Wait a damn minute. You never had to hear the word love when we fucked before.”

  He told the truth, but it hurt just the same to hear him tell her she was cheap, an easy lay, and he simply couldn’t love her.

  Cover up, Ali. You’re not weak, just in love.

  “I don’t need to hear it now.” She looked back at him, eyes barely seeing him. “I’d know you were lying.”

  What else was there to say? With her dignity in shreds, she found her loungers and pulled them on, trying to ignore him and his deep voice.

  “Aw, hell. Where are you going?” He got up and followed her to the connecting doors. “I thought we talked about this before, Donavon. So this wouldn’t happen.”

  She turned to look at him, wanting to run for the bathroom to scream, but stood her ground. “It’s okay, Gun. You’re right. Just remember, nothing’s free.”

  His expression altered from anger to humor, ticking her off to the explosion point.

  “Name the price, Donavon.”

  “Love is expensive.” She was shutting the door to her emotions. “You can’t afford it.”

  * * * *

  Gun expected to suffocate in his frustration, his heart slamming against his ribs. He intended to follow her.

  No, this is best. Leave it alone.

  He wanted to yell at her to stop when the heavy doors shut, closing her world against intruders. Had she barred the door to keep him out?

  He jumped up, racing to test the lock. Pissed off or not, she wasn’t sleeping in a room with the doors closed. No fucking way.

  The sleek handle moved down under the pressure of his hand, silent and efficient. The doors opened, just enough for him to see her getting into bed.

  Okay. At least she wasn’t throwing knives at him. So far.

  An ottoman against the door propped it open, and he turned away from her and the crazy reasons he wouldn’t admit how much she meant to him.

  Drawn to the window by the sudden blast of snow against the glass, Gun fell into a grim mood, one to equal the scene outside his window. A new storm system was barreling its way up the eastern seaboard, dumping another foot of snow in its wake.

  H
is shoulders sagged with the weight of regret and longing. He wanted to tell her to wipe him from her life, like a smudge on her shield. Damn it!

  He hit the windowsill with the heel of his hand. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Not the way he handled sex.

  Okay. Time to lay it out and be honest with her. She’s only going to give you one shot.

  Oh, man, she deserves something so much better than you.

  Gun turned and took a ragged breath, his stride quick and sure, taking him through the passageway to his quest.

  “Donavon. We have to talk.”

  Like a coiled spring, she sat up to stare at him. “You’re kidding!”

  “Never more serious” He sat on the edge of her bed. “Don’t love me, Donavon. I’d only make you hate me down the road.”

  Her stunned expression quickly set into a gaze of speculation her slow appraisal of him chopping him up. “You’re right. Damn you!”

  He dodged her fist aimed squarely at his nose. “You need a guy who likes parties and going to church and nurseries. You’ll be wanting babies pretty soon, Donavon.” He caught her hands. “I’m just a little slow. I should have broke it off clean after Bogotá. You would’ve been in a good life by now, not thinking you loved a paid killer.”

  “Stop preaching.” She was strong and yanked her hands free. “Shut up, damn you.”

  The fire of rage in her blue eyes cut him to shreds. “No, I won’t shut up. We should’ve hashed this out long ago.”

  She hit him in the chest. “My God. You top it all for arrogance, you complete prick.”

  “See, Donavon. You know me better than anyone else.” An attempt to hug her was met with a glare of fury. “Okay. What would keep us together? How long before my ways drove you to someone else?”

  He’d seen her angry, but there wasn’t a word to describe the fire in her eyes. She pushed him away to slap him twice before he caught her close to his chest. She screamed out her rage.

  “Someone else! I wish I could look at someone else. I’ll die alone because of you! You’re a bastard that no one can understand. No one but me!”

  What the hell could he say to her?

  She didn’t know how lucky she was to not be tied to him.

  Chapter 45

  Morning brought more snow in its dreary gray cloak. No sun would pierce the thick clouds and blustering skies over New York that day.

  Ali heard the jangle of the suite’s telephone. She let Gun get the call, steeling herself for bad news. It was always bad news on their cell phones. No, wait, the suite’s phone would be just another wrong number. No matter, Gun had to see what it was.

  “Damn it.” He groaned and stepped out of the shower to pick up the phone on the vanity. “Yeah. Joe Gunther here.”

  She got out of bed and pulled a blanket around her shoulders, herself, hearing tenseness in his voice. She listened to his end of the conversation. “What’s going on?”

  He gestured as if it was unimportant, and looked away. “Yeah, sure. I’ll come down for it.” He groaned in apparent displeasure and questioned the person on the line. “Did they leave a name or phone number? No, no. I’ll come down.”

  He hung up the phone and scowled. “Don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going down to the lobby to find out.”

  Ali knew that expression. He was wary about the situation. “Wait, Gun. I’ll go down with you.”

  He nixed her idea. “No use. Probably a mistake.” He went to his room and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “Come lock the door.”

  She followed him, calling it her crazy, superstitious nature, but the odd feeling of melancholy was heavy. “Watch your back.”

  He turned to look at her before getting in the elevator. “Always.”

  Then, she was alone. Ali went back to her bedroom, absently pulling on a long-sleeved thermal top and gray sweats. She put on heavy socks and her boots. True to habit, she didn’t lace them up immediately.

  She looked at the shield and weapon on her bed, the heavy weight of their job hitting home. Just great. Another social call the forlorn, empty tenement buildings.

  Stop it. You have a job to do.

  She wanted to be finished with this part of her life. It took too much from her to be in constant turmoil.

  What was that? Gun! Her mind snapped to full alert. He wouldn’t rap on the door like that. He would have called her before knocking.

  She picked up her weapon and walked to the door, stopping a few feet from it.

  “Who’s there?”

  The reply was muffled, indistinguishable.

  “Who is it?” Ali released the safety on her PPK.

  “Housekeeping…to clean your room.”

  Ali looked around. The place was a wreck. “Okay. Just a second.”

  She concealed her weapon at her side and unlocked the door, opening it a few inches. A young woman with an armload of sheets and towels stared back at her.

  “Cleaning. Your room, señorita.” Her sudden bright smile seemed sincere, lifting some of Ali’s suspicion.

  “Sure.” Ali smiled and let the woman into the room. “I’ll be out of your way in a flash.”

  The woman was not like the usual housekeepers that cleaned for them. Talking fast she hurried to the bathroom. Too friendly and way too early.

  After clipping her weapon on her waistband, Ali turned to pick up her jacket, but helplessly dropped it on the floor. Pain radiated through the back of her thigh, deep and paralyzing.

  She fought to stay on her feet, but couldn’t, struggling to stay upright when she couldn’t see through the sudden darkness. “What did you …do?”

  The damned woman had hit her.

  Was that her voice, a pitiful mewl in her splintered brain while rough hands moved her, slapped her? Through squinted, almost blind eyes, Ali couldn’t distinguish if the shadowy figures were real or imaginary. What was wrong with her? Buzzing ears allowed her to pick out heavily accented voices and words she only partially understood. She didn’t know these people and flailed her hand to tell them so.

  Confusion ripped through her. The shadows were talking about killing her. Her partner might be killed in the crossfire. If she could reach her weapon.

  Gun. Her call for him lay silent on her numbed lips.

  Someone pulled her hair and jerked her backwards until she fell, only to be yanked to her knees. A loud, ugly voice told her she would be dead if she balked again.

  I wasn’t balking…I…

  The words wouldn’t form on her tongue, and she put her hands out to touch the person talking to her. A slap to her cheek forced her head around, sending her off balance.

  She was on her feet now, being jerked and dragged along. Something heavy covered her and her feet slid on the floor. No, she was cold and in the dark, falling onto a hard surface.

  She finally slid into a crevasse of silence.

  * * * *

  Gun couldn’t shake the growing lump of worry in his gut, the damn slow elevator didn’t help alleviate the dark feeling.

  He thought about taking the stairs back to his room to check on Donavon. He should have insisted she come down with him.

  This whole deal stunk. The elevator door finally opened, and he jogged through the lobby to get to the front desk.

  “I’m Joe Gunther. There’s supposed to be a letter for me.” Damn. Why was it taking so long for the clerk to focus on his comment?

  “I’ll check on that for you, sir.”

  The guy obviously didn’t give a damn about any letter. Gun wanted to jump the counter and have a look for himself.

  As if he were in a sleepwalk mode, the clerk rummaged in the wall of pigeonholes, and came back at a sloth’s speed, empty-handed. “I’m sorry, sir. Nothing is in your suite’s personal mailbox.”

  Gun clenched his teeth for a second. “Someone called my room saying there was a message for me. Are you sure there’s nothing?”

  “Positive, sir.” The clerk’s smile was benign. “Perh
aps a friend playing a prank.”

  Gun didn’t try to hide his annoyance, looked around at the crowd that chatted and milled around the lobby. No, he didn’t know anyone here, and this was no prank. He sucked in a cold breath, the cogs of reason clicking in his brain.

  Donavon.

  He kicked cold dread aside, turning to head back upstairs. He was worried as hell, fighting to get back to check on Donavon. Damn it! He couldn’t seem to run, his legs heavy, and holding him back. Sounds of happiness, people, laughter, and warm greetings from people who had no idea how scared he was. He plowed through the herd and vaulted up the stairs, desperate to reach the third floor.

  “Donavon, baby. I’m coming.”

  His murmured plea was still warm on his lips as he burst through the stairwell door, slamming it back against the wall.

  Silence. Deep, ominous silence as he ran down the empty hallway. His door was closed tight. Her door opened by simply touching it.

  Why the hell had she left her door open? Wait until he could give her a good piece of his mind. Donavon.

  He stepped inside the room, holding his breath. The place seemed to be held in suspended animation, quiet and forlorn.

  She was gone.

  Gone!

  Blinding desperation rendered him into a wild animal, feeling only rage and fear. Pain as real as any mortal wound speared his heart and clutched him in a cold embrace.

  A glint from across the eerily quiet room caught his eye. He choked with emotion, the empty, vicious-looking hypodermic needle ignited in him. She hadn’t left. Someone had taken her.

  Blinding fear clutched his throat as his gaze raked all four walls, seeing everything and nothing he wanted to see. Calm down. You have to get hold of yourself.

  One thought took precedence in his brain. He had to find Donavon. She was tough, but he was her partner and had screwed up. Images raced through his mind, scenes of dirty streets, and numbers, rundown tenements, and a heartbreaking image of Donavon, trying to fight, but being unable to defend herself..

  Stop wasting time.

  His brain shouted that command repeatedly. On his way out of the bathroom, he tripped over a pile of sheets and towels on the floor.