Hell on the Heart (16 page)

Herod sat across from him, separating his mustache hairs with a fingernail, while drumming his fingers on the leather arm of the chair. His lips twitched and his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed each time he swallowed. Herod held himself back by a thin thread.

Cain cursed silently. How dare they question his methods? The boy was fine. Maybe a little bruised from riding in the trunk, but nothing more.

Night after night he exposed his face while the rest hid from public scrutiny. Even Eli wore a uniform and cap most would notice long before they would see his face. All it would take was one apt description and every law enforcement agency in the country could have an artist rendering of his features plastered on America’s Most Wanted. He might never be safe again.

Adam and Herod sat in the shadows criticizing, picking apart everything he did. Like right now, they were pissed about the girl. Well, so was he.

Sophia turned out to be a major disappointment.

Seductive and eager to get in the car, the little bitch changed her mind and screamed her fool head off when she saw the plane. He’d calmed her down with a few hard slaps and punches. That’d taken the fight right out of her, but screwing a limp dishrag had disgusted him, so he’d taken her anally while she shrieked until she bled all on the bed covers. Then the stupid little whore passed out leaving Cain to scrub the blood and puke off the furniture.

And now Herod was giving him shit about her condition. Herod! A man who took pride in the fact he could make any female screech in terror for hours.

Herod rose, stepping away from the table, a gleam of morbid fascination in his eyes. If Adam swung, Herod would do nothing to stop him. In fact, Cain could imagine his macabre grin of sadistic pleasure.

A chill, armed with the certain knowledge that he’d pushed too hard, ran down Cain’s back. He gritted his teeth to keep from begging.

Adam leaned across the table until his nose was inches from Cain’s. “We’ve had this discussion. The answer is no. Close your eyes when you fuck her and pretend if you have too, but deal with this.” Cain braced himself to keep from recoiling from Adam’s foul breath.

Sweat broke out on Cain’s forehead and he longed to wipe his brow, but movement might encourage Adam to add action to his threats. How the hell had he gotten in this situation? Lowering his eyes, Cain waited for the blow.

“I’m giving everyone time off until next Friday. That’s over a week.” Cain let out a breath. Adam’s voice had calmed. He’d backed down. “You have ‘til then.”

Cain raised his gaze. The reprieve was only an illusion. Adam raised the poker. “Remember,” he said, “where I found you. Don’t think all those surgeries we paid for will save you.” The poker swung through the air, stopping inches from Cain’s capped teeth. “What we have given, we can also take away.”

All the stiff muscles in Cain’s neck rebelled as he forced his head to bob in agreement.

“Go clean yourself up.” Adam slammed the poker into the fireplace stand and strode out of the room with Herod on his heels like the mindless, little lap dog he was.

Cain’s legs wobbled. He braced himself against the table for balance. The sour stench of urine wafted upwards. A large wet spot covered his thigh. He’d peed himself.

His humiliation was one more thing Sophia had to answer for. By the time he was finished with her, the little thief would be a distant memory.

The cocktail lounge resembled other hotel bars. Deep green walls, wood trim, tiered seating and packed with men and women looking to unwind or a hook up for the night. For the FBPA agents the lone advantage was location. The hotel was a block from the office, three blocks closer than any other bar.

Stillwater pushed a chair to the table occupied by his team who shifted sideways to make room for him.

“You’re late,” D’Sean yelled to be heard over the loud music.

Stillwater shrugged to indicate it couldn’t be helped. Skeet pushed a beer in front of him, then nudged him with an elbow and tilted his head in the direction of the bar. Stillwater shifted in his chair to view the action.

A leggy blonde, just the type he liked, was checking him out. Sophisticated, sensual, on the prowl. The kind Washington DC bred in abundance, decorated with tidy little suits and high heels. He preferred women who knew what they wanted and for exactly how long. Purposely, he allowed a smile to curve his lips in acknowledgement.

The woman flipped her hair, then leaned over to stroke her stocking-clad calf in an obvious invitation. No one spoke as he rose from the chair, grabbed his beer and made his way to the bar.

“Buy you a drink?”

Carefully he watched her reaction as he turned his head so that the scars were more prevalent. Some women were repelled, but some women saw his face as a new dangerous frontier to be conquered.

This one damn near salivated as she purred, “no, but you could ask me to dance.”

Absolutely not. He hated dancing. He could fake his way though it if the music was slow enough and all that was required was to press an agreeable body against his. But this wasn’t his night to try. “Two left feet.”

Stepping closer, he placed his beer on the bar and created a space between two occupied chairs. The woman pressed her manicured fingers against his chest and leaned in close. “Do you want to go somewhere we can talk? I have a room upstairs.”

Confident. Aggressive. While he generally liked to make the moves, right now he didn’t care. It’d been months since he’d allowed himself the luxury of sinking into the oblivion of a willing woman. He nodded his agreement.

She wove a path across the crowded floor and he trailed behind, wondering why his body wasn’t reacting in the usual manner. Perhaps he needed to touch her, to feel her silky hair between his fingers and her glossy lips opening against his.

The hotel lobby was both cooler and lighter. He blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the changes. At the bank of elevators, his nameless date waited as a young brunette stepped out, the wheels from the bag she dragged caught between the hotel floor and the elevator.

Czigany.

He hadn’t thought her name once since the office meeting three hours ago. Damn near a record for the past five days. What was she doing? Did she wonder why he hadn’t called? He should have and would have with any other victim, but pride, or cowardice if he was honest with himself, had kept him from it.

The brunette freed her wheel and stood to face him.

It wasn’t her. He’d known it wouldn’t be and yet his heart had lurched in his chest, hoping he was wrong. He smiled. She frowned, annoyed perhaps at her luggage, maybe at him. If she had been Cezi, her ire would definitely have been directed toward him. So why was he wasting his time thinking about a woman who didn’t like him?

Vowing to forget her, he followed the blonde onto the elevator. Both stood not speaking like polite strangers until the doors opened on the seventh floor.

“My room is close,” she whispered, digging a card key out of her purse.

“Good.” With any other woman he would have reached for her, offering her a little preview of coming attractions. Instead he tagged along following her determined stride. 

The door barely closed when she launched herself into his arms. Their lips met as she tried to devour his face, while wrapping her legs around his waist. He whirled and thrust her back against the door, giving him a little leverage.

How many arms did this woman have? She scrambled, pulling and tugging to remove his jacket from his shoulders. He shifted to aid her struggle when reality hit him.

He felt nothing. His body was on autopilot - going through the motions - but even with her firm breasts rubbed against his chest he couldn’t work up any interest. And then the ugly truth stood in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to be out of there.

“Stop.” He used his hands to release her legs and waited until she stood under her own power. Her hazel eyes, glazed with either arousal or alcohol, blinked open to look at him.

“I’ve got to go.”

Streaks of red materialized in her cheeks. “What? First time to cheat on the missus?” she scoffed, her voice tinged with anger and distain.

“Sorry. This was a mistake.” He owed no explanation. All he knew for sure was this was wrong and obeying his instincts had saved him more than once. As he reached for the door she planted her feet and crossed her arms to prevent him from leaving. They engaged in a staring contest that lasted less than thirty seconds before she backed down.

“Go on. Get out of here. Go home to the little wife.” The last few words were screamed at the closed door. John not only was out of there, he sprinted down the hall to be away as quickly as possible. If his reaction to this woman was any indication, he’d be collecting that bet money from D’Sean by Christmas.

As clearly as if Czigany been standing next to him, he heard her laugh. Was she mocking him? How had she gotten a hook in his mind? No matter how attracted he was, she was part of an investigation, he would never allow himself to get involved with her. 

The Solstice celebration was the culmination of a week of preparation. Feasting, dancing and fireworks heralded the event, marking a change in season and for some, a change in marital status.

The claiming dance loomed, distracting her. They were fifteen minutes into dinner before Cezi became aware that her father’s face was laced tighter than a shoe. Nadya had joined him for dinner. The chicken paprikash, which only moments before, had slid down her throat, now was gummy and dry.

And while most of her male relatives looked appalled, Cezi noticed the women of the compound barely hid their smirks. Nadya was making her play and she’d chosen a very public stage.

Apparently seventeen years of widowhood was enough for the aunts. Their sights had shifted from the daughter to the father. Getting Nicholae married again was the evening’s goal. She craned her neck, looking for Nadya’s main competition, Lyuba who sat snarling in the corner. As she suspected, not every woman was eager to see her father married again. At least not to Nadya.

Personally, Cezi wanted her father to choose a woman who liked his daughter. In her fantasies she’d picked out Michelle Pfeiffer, sometimes alternating with Meg Ryan. But if he wanted someone who almost looked gypsy, why not Debra Winger?

As dinner ended and the bonfire pit was lit, families took their places on logs and blankets in the large circle that surrounded the fire. Cezi slipped away without anyone noticing. 

As she passed the shoreline, large boats formed a semi-circle around the firework platform. Cars, trucker and campers lined the dirt road around the compound. The quiet murmuring of adults and the laughter of children drifted over the electrified fence.

From her front porch, she’d be able to see the fireworks. It wouldn’t be the same as being there, but she wouldn’t be pushed into the pathetic act of dancing so some poor loser could sacrifice himself to marry her.

Her cell phone rang as she reached her door. Despair gripped her, knowing the getaway hadn’t been as clean as she’d hoped. She’d groped for a believable lie, but when she glanced at the caller ID, it was a 202 area code.

“Hello?”

“Have you solved the puzzle?” a male voice said without even so much as a greeting. Who else was as arrogant as her relatives? Agent John Stillwater.

A very masculine snort followed. “You want to be a member of the team, but acceptance requires earning a place.” His voice was suave, persuasive.

Not the smarty-pants tone her cousins used.

Well, she knew her stuff. “One of three places. Carlsbad, New Mexico, Bisbee, Arizona or Grant’s Pass, Oregon, but I’ve halfway eliminated New Mexico because they were in Texas so recently.”

She heard the smile in John’s gravelly voice and knew she’d passed another test. “Picked up two. A ten-year old boy followed by an older girl that could pass as your twin from the back.”

“According to witnesses, he realized his mistake as soon as she faced him and tried to back off. But the girl pursued him to flirt.”