In For the Kill (45 page)

“So. What, ah . . . what changed, for you?” he finally forced out.

She cupped his cheek. “Almost dying makes you see things so clearly. So did all that time in the hospital. I saw how selfish I'd been.”

“Selfish?” His voice cracked. “You? The sacrificial virgin, out to save the world at any costs?”

“Yes, exactly. At any cost. That was the heart of the problem,” she said. “The cost was too high, and I didn't get that until it was too late. I was so stupid, Sam. Always insisting on my own agenda. Using your feelings for me for my own purposes. It wasn't right, and I'm sorry.”

“Oh. Okay. You're, uh, forgiven.” He discarded several vapid follow-ups to that and shook his head, defeated. “It was complicated.”

“Maybe it was,” she said. “But it isn't anymore.”

He covered her hand with his own. “Just tell me what you want. Keep it really simple. I don't have a lot of brain cells left.”

“Okay.” Her fingers twined with his. “I don't want a boy toy, or a friend with benefits. I want you. Always, and forever. I want you in my bed, all night, every night of my life. I don't want crumbs. I want the whole cake. I want to gorge on cake every day. I want—oh!”

His kiss lifted her off her feet. Their combined weight sank his feet deep into the soggy sand. The surf lapped below his knees, but his legs were braced against the sucking pull of ice water. She made a surprised sound that swiftly turned into a sweet moan, a boneless yielding. She molded her body to his, twining her legs around his thighs.

He felt rooted, connected down to the center of the earth.

They drank each other in. Her crotch rubbed against the bulge in his jeans. Her lips were so soft. Her slender limbs so strong, around his.

With her perched on his thighs, his hands were free to move all over her as he sought to convince himself that this was not a fantasy or a dream. He splayed his fingers under her shirt to feel the pansy-like softness of her skin. Her spine felt prominent. Ribs, too. She needed feeding up. “You're so thin,” he said accusingly. “What's with that?”

“Missing you,” she said. “It was awful. Kills my appetite.”

“We'll fix that quick,” he said. “With lots of cake.”

She laughed. He captured the happy sound in his hungry kiss.

Time dissolved, swirled, measured by the rhythm of the surf. He was wet to his thighs, but he barely noticed. At some length, he noticed flashes of light out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look.

Fireworks, shot off from Tam's terrace. Oh, for the love of Christ.

Sveti laughed, delighted. “How sweet! They're celebrating for us!”

“And probably monitoring me with a rifle scope, too,” he growled.

“Don't be silly. Oh, look! I love pinwheels.”

Colored sparks twinkled and glittered as they drifted down toward the beach, winking out on their way.

“I guess it's better than shooting me where I stand,” he observed.

“No one's really mad at you,” she scoffed. “They were a little miffed about you staying away when I was laid up, but they all love you.”

He grunted eloquently. “Yeah, whatever. Tonight, we light out of here, find a hotel. Turn off our phones. Stay in bed. For about a week.”

She rubbed her cheek against his. “Sounds perfect. But first, we toast with the champagne that Val ordered specially from France.”

Sam sighed, resigned. “We're doing the family dance? Then we might as well make it official.”

“Official how?”

“Like this,” he said, digging in his jacket. “I brought it along. Just in case, you know, my wildest dreams should come true.”

He pulled out a small hinged box covered with black ribbed silk and tied with a ribbon bow. Held it out to her.

Sveti slid from her perch on his thigh into knee-deep swirling foam, her smile fading to wonderment. She opened the box.

The ring was part of the set that had been on display at the Hotel Aurelio. Rounded rubies, sapphires, and emeralds embedded in a complicated tangle of burnished coils of gold. It glowed in the dimness, as if it had trapped some of the sunset light and held it for them.

“Oh, Sam.” Her whisper sounded lost.

“I've got the earrings for you, too. I've been hungry for my cake for a long time.” He waited as long as he could stand before prompting her. “Will you wear it?”

Her nod sent tears flashing down her cheeks.

He paused long enough to kiss them away. Her heat, her salt, her wet. All his to claim, to protect and cherish and treasure.

He pulled the ring out of the box. Managed to slide it onto her ring finger without dropping it into the foaming surf. It glowed on her hand, a perfect fit. Not worthy of her beauty, but fuck it. Nothing on earth could be. He gathered her close, kissed her wet face. It cracked his heart open, the trusting way she rested her head in his hand.

The surf continued its thundering hum of approval. Stars were coming out. Fireworks exploded from the terrace on the mountainside. The warm yellow squares of lit-up windows signaled approval and welcome, urging them to come in from the cold, which was well and good, but not quite yet. It was too soon to share. It was so sweet, so fine and rare. Vulnerable as a newborn child, powerful as a bonfire.

They could only cling and sway, cradled in the arms of the cove, lapped by foam, ruffled by the wind. Awed and humbled by the vast, unfathomable grace of it. They had found their hearts' home at last.

And they were welcomed in.

E
PILOGUE

 

R
achel gazed morosely through the balcony railing. The party was in full swing, and from her perch on the walkway above, she had a perfect view of the dance floor. Sveti and Sam were lip-locked, swaying to an old ballad about crazy love. The plunging back of Sveti's ivory bridal gown made her look half-naked, the effect enhanced by the fact that her front was plastered to Sam's chest. Which was more or less where it had been since they got engaged. On the beach, in front of everyone. Flipping exhibitionists. Like, get a room. Please.

Of course, she was happy for Sveti. And Sam was great. Brave, smart, handsome, blah blah blah.

Misha sank down beside her, having sneaked up on her. Which was creepy-sneaky, but also kinda cool. She was glad to see him. He suited her mood. He had his pissy moments, but he was a good guy.

“You look sad,” he observed.

She shrugged, rebelliously. “I hate how everything has to change,” she said. “Why San Francisco? It's so far away.”

“Better than Cambodia, or India,” Misha pointed out philosophically. “It could have been anywhere. It still might. Soul Rescue will grow fast, with those two working together. Lots of money, lots of power.” His cool voice had a tone of measured approval.

“Please.” She echoed Tam's world-weary tone. “It's not about Soul Rescue. All she can talk about is Sam.”

“That will pass,” Misha observed.

“Yeah, and she'll be thousands of miles away when it does, saving the lost children. What are you doing here? You were supposed to play video games with Sam's pinheaded nephew. Weren't we supposed to be the friendly ambassadors to Sam's tight-assed family?”

“I tried.” Misha's voice was long-suffering. “He is afraid of me. He thinks I will stab him if he wins. Not that he ever would. Kev is almost as good as you, but he and Jeannie are herding the little kids out of trouble downstairs. They did something terrible to the cake. The caterers are trying to fix the structural damage with sugar glaze.”

Rachel snorted. That gang could be counted on to make trouble. Kev and Jeannie tried to cover for them, with limited success. But Sveti and Sam weren't concerned about their wedding cake. They swayed, blissed out. In fact, there was a lot of rapt romantic contemplation happening on that dance floor. Weddings brought it out in this crowd, though Mama could usually be counted on not to get mushy. Seth and Raine were twined together, Seth's nose buried in her silver-blond hair. Aaro and Nina swayed as close as they could get, with sleeping baby girls draped over their shoulders. Miles swayed with Lara, his big hand cupping her pregnant belly. Little Eamon, Uncle Sean's oldest, danced with Sofia, undaunted by the fact that she was a head taller than he. Nick and Becca snickered at some private joke and kissed, passionately. Yikes. Way too much PDA out there. Eeeuw.

Sam's father and sister were trapped in a corner by the decimated dessert buffet, hemmed in by Zia Rosa, who gesticulated wildly as she talked. God knew what story Zia was telling the Petries about them, but it hardly mattered. Any story that Zia might pick out of a hat would scare the piss out of a mere mortal man. Her weirdo family rocked.

Liv sat in a corner, nursing Caroline. Sean sat behind her, his cheek resting on her shoulder. Davy and Margot were in a clinch on the dance floor. Lily's head was on Bruno's shoulder—Marco was in the stroller next to Zia, blocking the Petries' escape route. Edie and Kev danced, Kev's hand splayed over her butt. Even Mama and Papa danced, though Mama glanced up, eyes narrowing when she saw Misha, who had not slunk into the shadows fast enough.

“Shit,” Misha muttered. “Now she will come check on us. She hates me. She thinks I am a psycho killer.”

“She does not,” Rachel soothed. “She's just nervous.”

“We should go, before she comes. I found a way to the tower on the fourth floor. Want to see?”

“The guy said it was off-limits, for insurance reasons! Locked off!”

“Locked?” Misha gave her a crooked smile. “With whom do you think you are speaking?”

She grinned, delighted. “You mean, you picked the lock?”

“Shhh, do not spoil it. Do you want to see? Or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then come.”

She followed as he padded down the staircase and skirted the ballroom, wending between tables and strollers. Liv smiled at them as she laid Caroline down. Liv and Sean rejoined the dancers as the ballad pulsed on. Zia Rosa hailed them as they slipped by. They pretended not to hear and darted into the corridor that led toward the kitchen.

Children spilled out of a bathroom. Kevvie was scolding. “. . . going to clobber us all! God, Tonio! Do you have rocks in your heads?”

“We just thought those pink roses would look cool in Lena's hair, because her dress is the same pink! I didn't know they were made of sugar, and I didn't mean to knock off the top tier! It just happened!”

Lena slunk out the bathroom door, her shiny black ringlets still gummed with flakes of pink sugar. Jamie followed, his freckled face dripping, frosting traces lingering under his square chin.

Kevvie caught sight of her. “Are they after us? Have they heard?”

“Nope,” Rachel assured him. “You're good. They're all out on the dance floor, hypnotized by sappy old-time music.”

“Good,” Jeannie said, relieved. “We'll be okay until the caterers rat us out, and they're too busy rebuilding the cake, so scatter, everyone! Try not to look guilty! Hey, where are you guys going?”

“Tell you after!” Rachel called. Misha pulled her around the corner. He pulled a couple of metal tools from his pocket and jiggled them in the lock, an abstracted look in his eyes. The lock clicked open.

They slipped inside just as someone rounded the corner.

“. . . a discount for the cake, since it's a tier short now, but the boss is gonna shit bricks. Who let those kids in there, anyhow?”

“The bride and groom aren't gonna notice,” another voice said. “They can't detach their mouths from each other.”

“Maybe not, but that old Italian lady is gonna be all over our asses. She'll come down like a ton of broken rock. . . .”

Rachel and Misha fought to muffle their snorts of laughter.

The locked-off stairway smelled different from the lived-in part of the house, older, dustier, colder. The lightbulbs were a lower wattage, the wallpaper darkened with age, and abandoned furniture covered with drop cloths loomed eerily in the corridor. This section of the building was not renovated. It was dusty and forgotten.

Misha led her through it as if he'd lived there all his life. They climbed stairs, higher and higher until they got to a twisting spiral ladder in a wooden tower. Rachel followed Misha up, feeling her way. He pushed a trapdoor in the ceiling upward. Moonlight spilled down onto them.

They crawled out, onto the floor of a gothic tower. Eight arches, open to the night. They saw everything: the grounds where the party had begun that afternoon, the rose garden, the fountain.

In the other direction, the tower looked out over the massive Columbia River Gorge. Moonlight had washed out the stars and lit the river into a pale, snaking ribbon that disappeared into the mountains.

They stood side by side, staring at the sky. The old mansion hummed beneath them, full of music, talk, light, and life. Above, the wind sighed and rustled, tossing the limbs of big, ancient trees. Whispering something she could almost understand, but only with a part of her heart that struggled under some heavy weight.

She stared up at the moon and felt that weight lessen.

“I feel like we could just take off from here, like birds,” she said. “Fly out over the canyon. Follow the river all the way to the ocean.”

“You are crying,” he said, alarmed. “Is it because Sveti is leaving?”

“No.” She flapped that wrong assessment away with her hand. “Well, maybe. A little. It's just that I think . . . I think I get it now.”

 “Get what?”

Rachel struggled to put it into words. “The point of Soul Rescue. It started with us. Sveti and I would have died if they hadn't rescued us.”

“And me,” Misha said, his voice flat.

“You too,” she agreed. “Everybody's been rescued, one way or another. We have a safe, strong place now. To take off from, to come back to. She just wants that, for everyone. It's a good thing to want.”

Misha made a low, wordless sound and nodded.

They were standing a little closer now. So close, their hands just barely brushed . . . and then clasped. Neither dared to speak.

They stood for a long time, barely breathing. Gazing at a world full of moonlight and shadow, magic and mystery.

And endless possibilities.