Endgame (Last Chance Series) (21 page)

"I'm fine. I was just thinking about the case. About Bosner's murder." As soon as the words left his mouth he willed them back.

Her face tightened and she wrapped her arms around her waist, the combined gesture making her seem all at once lost and frightened.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head, visibly pulling her emotions into control, or at least keeping them well masked. "Don't be ridiculous. It's our case. We have to talk about it. I don't know why I'm letting it get to me this way. I know better."

She said it as though she could control the emotion, but Gabe knew better. Guilt was an insidious thing, whittling its way deep inside you, twisting around your gut until it was almost inextricable.

"You can't control what you feel, Madison."

"Of course I can." The words were uttered with enough gusto for four people, but it still didn't sound as if she believed them. "I don't have a choice really, do I? Not if we're going to figure out who's behind all of this. One thing's for certain, I don't want Jeremy's death to have been for nothing."

He had to admit she had spunk. Still, he worried that suppressing it would only make it all that much worse later on. Not that there was a thing he could do about it. She had to find her own way. He
, more than anyone, recognized the truth in that.

"They'll go over the apartment and the building across the way with a fine-tooth
ed comb. If there's anything to find, we'll find it."

"That's just the problem." She chewed on her lower lip, a sure sign she was wrestling with something. "Whoever our assailant is, he doesn't make mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes. We just have to find them."

"Maybe." She was frowning now. "But it's almost like two different things are happening here. First the murders. And then the hacker and our attempt to catch him."

"What are you getting at?" Gabe asked, intrigued.

"I'm not sure really." She leaned forward, the robe gaping open a bit, but Gabe forced his mind to stay focuse
d on her words. "The murders, even in the beginning, have been performed with a certain degree of skill. At first in an obvious attempt to avoid being caught, and then with the proficiency of a hit man."

"Right. You said earlier that it almost seemed like two different killers."

She nodded, her brow still furrowed in thought. "I think that makes sense. But what I'm talking about here would be a third player."

Gabe's eyebrow shot up in question, his disbelief palpable.

"Not a third killer," she clarified. "But I'm not convinced the hacker is related to our killer. At least not directly. I mean, look at the merry chase he's been leading us on. It's almost like he wants us to catch him."

"Which is the exact opposite of the killer. But maybe he's playing two games with us. A blatant attempt to confuse."

"Maybe." She tilted her head and sighed. "But it doesn't feel right to me. Why would he make the effort?"

"
To distract us? Or maybe it is a separate person. Someone who is part of the same group and therefore honestly playing the role of decoy."

She sat back, playing with a now cold French fry. "It's possible. Maybe even makes sense. Especially since the diversion—if that's what it is—didn't start until we were on the job. But I'm still thinking the explanation is something more than that." She shook her head. "But I'll be damned if I know what."

"Payton and Harrison are working on finding something to tie W. Smith to a flesh-and-blood person. And if he's one and the same as the killer, we're in business. If not—" Gabe shrugged "—then maybe he'll be attached to our terrorists and through that link we can find the killer."

"All of which takes time." Madison stifled a yawn. "And that's something we simply don't have."

"Not with consortium members dropping like flies." She shuddered, and he immediately regretted his choice of words. "When exactly is the summit scheduled?"

"In ten days. Which means that the Chinese are likely to go ballistic when they hear about Jeremy's murder. And unfortunately
, there's not a lot we can do to soothe their fears. The truth is, someone out there is murdering people faster than we can process them. All of which spells trouble for both the consortium and the accord." She paused, her eyes saying what her mouth could not.

Cullen and the others were in immediate danger. And for Madison at least, that was more frightening than anything else the killer might hope to accomplish.

"Cullen knows how to take care of himself. I've seen the man in action, remember?"

"But you had his back." She was chewing her lip again, the strains of the day clear against the pallor of her face.

"I've got it again." Her face hardened, and he immediately amended the statement. "We've got his back." Unless Cullen was the one pulling the strings. Gabe didn't want to believe that, but it wasn't something he could ignore, either.

"We don't know that he's involved." Madison sighed, the lines around her eyes deepening. It seemed they were now communicating without words. A heady thought.

"All we can do is examine the evidence. You know as well as I do that eventually it will tell us what we want to know."

She nodded, but looked so forlorn, he reached out to touch her hand, not certain whether he was doing it for her or for him. He just knew he needed the contact.

Fire danced along his skin. He almost jerked back, but she turned her palm, her fingers closing around his.

"We'll make this right." It was as much a question as a statement, her eyes begging for reassurance.

His hellcat had a softer side, and the idea warmed him all the way through, her humanity lending her an air of vulnerability that he found enticing.

Hell, downright sexy.

Unfortunately she was also nearly asleep on her feet, which meant that her needs superseded his. So for the moment, it seemed, he'd been given a reprieve. Although it sure as hell didn't feel like one.

MADISON WOKE with a start, the neon lights from Times Square flashing a pathway of pulsing light across the floor. She could almost feel a tangible beat. The city breathing. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, her mind turning to the man on the other side of the closed door.

Gabriel Roarke.

Just the thought of his name made her shiver in anticipation. She rolled over onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head. What she needed was sleep. Or rather, rest—honest-to-God, peaceful rest.

She flopped onto her back again.

Fat chance of it happening here. She toyed with the idea of getting dressed and going home. Surely her father was gone by now. She even went so far as to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes lighting on the closed door.

Leaving would mean walking right by him, and just at the moment, she didn't trust herself to successfully make that journey. Which meant she was stuck here until morning.

With a sigh, she stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the street. Even at this hour there was activity below. People walking along, some sauntering in groups, others hurrying, on their way home or off to meet friends.

New York—the city that never sleeps.

She laughed at her own silly thoughts. She'd lived most of her life here, and still she found it oddly foreign, as if she could never predict what might come next. It was exciting, but also a little insular, as if she were marooned in the middle of nineteen million people.

A lonely thought. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I thought I heard you moving around." His voice was as smoky as the night. "Are you all right?"

She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. "I was just feeling alone."

"Part of what you do, I guess." He walked toward her, stepping for a moment into the dancing neon light. He'd pulled on his jeans but hadn't bothered to fasten them, the hair on his chest narrowing to a thin line that disappeared into the open zipper.

"No, it's more than that." She had the fleeting thought that she shouldn't be sharing—that it was too intimate— but the words pushed out of their own accord. "I mean, you're right of course, I do spend a lot of time living in killers' minds. Part and parcel of their nightmares. But this is something more, something I've felt ever since I was a little girl. Silly, I guess, but I've never been able to shake it."

"It's not silly." He took a step toward her, the dark engulfing him again. "I know the feeling. Or at least something like it."

There was always the chance that he was taunting her. In the dark it was impossible to see his face. But some part of her urged her to take the chance. To believe.

"It's almost as if you're alone in a room full of people." He spoke softly, as if to himself. "I spent my entire childhood like that. Always on my own, never trusting anyone. And then somehow it just spilled over into my adult life." She heard him release a breath, a sigh. "You may live in the monster's nightmare, Madison, but I have to live with him. Pretend I
am
him. And sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of me at all."

"What a pathetic pair we are." Her laughter rang hollow, and she felt the momentary fear that in saying it she'd somehow made it true.

"Not pathetic. Just self-aware." He was slightly mocking now, but the words included them both, giving a sense of connection rather than rejection.

She liked the way it felt. Liked the way the darkness enclosed them, a cloak protecting them against the dangers of the night. As if he'd read her mind, he closed the gap between them. His breath brushed across her face, and then he was kissing her, his hunger only surpassed by her own.

She wound her hands through his hair, savoring its soft, springy texture. They pressed together, the heat of the moment combusting between them in a spiral of passion she hadn't believed existed in the real world.

Everything that was hard and unyielding about him came together in the moment, hot and demanding. And she matched him thrust for thrust as their tongues met and dueled. Each of them striving for power. Possession.

There was a current arcing between them, the connection incendiary. He was a take-no-prisoners kind of man and she reveled in the thought of what that might mean. His hands found the smooth plane of her back beneath the undershirt she slept in, massaging in circles, the friction from his callused palms erotic.

He moved slightly, his mouth trailing kisses along her brow line and down her cheek, finding the soft whorl of her ear, his tongue stroking the tender skin, a prelude of things to come. She pressed closer, feeling him hard against her abdomen, and knew he was aching for her as much as she longed to have him hot and ready inside her.

They danced around in a circle, Madison running her hands along the velvet muscles of his chest, while he felt for the hem of her camisole. She leaned back, lifting her arms, her eyes boring into his. In one fluid movement he stripped away the cotton chemise and, with a swallowed moan, pulled her back into his arms, his skin hot against hers, all velvet and steel.

He kissed her, then bit her bottom
lip, the sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain, traveling first to her belly and then trailing fire to the wet place between her legs.

God, she wanted this man.

With a blatancy that surprised her, she slid her hand into the open waistband of his pants, gliding along the smooth skin of his abdomen until her fingers closed around him and moved rhythmically up and down.

With another groan, he swung her up into his arms and moved to the bed, setting her amidst rumpled sheets of cool cotton. She arched her back, her hands on her own breasts, their gazes colliding in a heat that was palpable. She let her hands trail slowly down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, teasingly running a finger across the crotch of her silk panties.

Silvery sparks flashed in his eyes. She shivered in anticipation, watching as he pulled down his jeans, his penis springing free, hard and solid, and one hundred percent male. With a smile that would no doubt melt icebergs, he straddled her, two fingers hooking into the elastic at her waist.

He slid the silk off, and she opened for him, her body humming with a life of its own. Dipping his head, he found the tender crest of one breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth, sucking it with a strength that sent heat rippling from breast to groin.

There was nothing soft about Gabriel Roarke, and she realized that making love with him would be much like dancing with the devil, hot and fierce.

He let his mouth trail lower, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his tongue finding the hole in her belly, driving in, pressing skin against skin in a way that made her writhe against him, wanting more. Needing more.

His thumb found the soft skin of her labia, and quickly laid her defenses to waste, his fingers sliding deep inside her, his tongue still twisting into her belly button. She swallowed, the delicious tension inside her ratcheting up to levels beyond anything she'd ever experienced.

His thumb flicked against her like a mischievous feather, and she threw back her head and moaned, the sound guttural, coming from deep inside her. His mouth found her then, tongue replacing thumb in a flittering dance that made her buck against him, then struggle to escape the finely drawn pain he was creating.

But his hands found her hips, cupping her bottom and holding her in place, his tongue moving faster and faster, lightning streaking through her with each and every touch. She wanted more and yet she wasn't certain she could survive the passion he was unleashing inside her.

He sucked then as if she were nourishment, food for his soul, and she climaxed. Sensation, white-hot, breaking in icy shards around her, sending her beyond all reason, internal contractions so powerful that she thought she might die. She fought for breath, her mind swirling, and then cried out as the heat enshrouded her and there was nothing but sensation and the feel of his mouth upon her.

He moved, sliding his body along hers, until they lay pressed together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. She reached for him, and pulled his lips to hers, the kiss slower than before, but no less hungry. This time she explored the hot crevices of his mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth, feeling the heat rise in her again.

This was a game for two, and with a slow smile, she pushed him back, rolling over to straddle him. He reached for her breasts, the feel of
his fingers against her skin exquisite. He rubbed both nipples until they were hard and throbbing, mimicking the shaft that pulsed between her legs.

She tightened her thighs, holding him locked against her vulva, the tiniest wriggle sending pleasure rippling through her.

"I need you, Madison." His words were low, almost a growl, and she marveled at his strength, his male sensuality. "Now."

Her
lips curved into a knowing smile, and she enjoyed the moment of control, knowing full well that if he chose, he could change their positions in an instant.

Using her hands and legs she massaged his penis, loving the velvety feel of the head, envisioning it inside her, stroking her, filling her.

With a muffled groan, he lifted her with both hands, and together they worked to impale her. He was big and he filled her completely, her slick passageway stretched tight. Slowly, she slid upward, moving almost to the end, and then down again, pushing to take him deeper.

Amazingly the tension inside her was building again, stronger than before, demanding release, promising pleasure beyond imagination, the only reality the sensation between her thighs.

His hands circled her hips and he began to move with her. Up, down, in, out. Over and over again, deeper and deeper, their eyes locked together, a connection beyond the physical.

The heat between
them built, flames of passion licking at them both, winding them tighter and tighter, pulling the thread taut, and then, with a shatter of sparks, sending them both flying toward the sun.

*****

GABRIEL LAY BACK against the sheets, loving the feel of her body against his, her heat mixing with his, their breath twining together as they fought to slow the pounding of their hearts. He'd heard the term "little death" all his life, but he'd never really understood its meaning until now.

Madison had pulled things from him that he'd never even allowed himself to acknowledge. There had been more than a meeting of bodies here. Their climax had been intense, more than physical, his mind coming along with his body, the combination devastating and stimulating all at the same time.

Little death.

He smiled, stroking the damp hair from her face, even that simple gesture pleasurable. She shifted against him, turning her head so that he could see her face. Her eyelids were still half closed, her gaze still clouded with passion. He felt a surge of possessive pride. She was a wildcat. Giving as well as taking. The kind of woman a man dreamed of in the dark lonely hours of the night.

"That was wonderful." A lazy smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, then flickered away as if the movement simply took too much effort. She ran a finger along the plane of his chest, stopping to circle each nipple.

"More than wonderful, Madison." Her name sounded sweet in his ears. "Fucking amazing."

Her lilting laughter was better than any music he could think of. "That's certainly one way of putting it. But I can tell you it's not going to get you into the romantics' hall of fame." Her fingers had moved lower, grazing along his flaccid penis, each stroke awakening the fires inside. "Looks like with a little encouragement you might be up for a second round."

No talk of love and romance for this woman. Instead, she shifted so that she straddled his legs, leaning down to take his penis in her mouth, the wet heat getting an instan
t response. Her hand circled him just below her lips, and gently squeezed as she sucked, his mind turning to jelly as his hormones hit high gear.

She laved him with her tongue, the rasping almost painful to his over
sensitized flesh, but wonderful nevertheless, and he twined his hands through her hair, urging her onward, loving the sight of her taking him deep into her mouth.

The spring inside him wound tighter and tighter, pleasure turning to need, need to desire. He wanted to be inside her. To watch her come even as he did. He moved
slightly, pulling her head back, and she sat back on her heels, her eyes meeting his.

"Now?" Her smile was a
little wicked, her fingers still kneading him.

He nodded, struggling for words, amazed at the emotions she aroused in him. "If you do that one moment longer it will be too late."

Her grin widened, and she moved to lie on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, her breasts tickling his chest. Oh God, if there was a heaven, surely this was it. With a groan, he pulled her against him, rolling over so that he was on top, one knee between her legs.

It was his turn to torture, and sliding his fingers deep inside her, he began to move, his thumb flicking against her clit, watching as her laughter faded, replaced with passion. She pushed upward, taking him deeper, and then bit at his
lips, forcing her tongue inside his mouth, finding the same rhythm as his fingers, her action reversing their roles yet again. The tortured becoming the temptress.