Kat Attalla Special Edition (28 page)

They stepped onto the dock. A blinding light lit up the sky. A blast deafened her. She moved her hands to her ears in an instinctive reaction even as she was thrown to the ground. She struggled for a breath. A smothering weight on top of her kept her pinned her down.

Debris fell all around. Large chunks landed close enough to shake the wooden planks below her. The thirty seconds she spent on the ground felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the suffocating weight on top of her shifted. Jack had been covering her.

When he pulled her to her feet, she felt the intense heat of the orange and red flames reflected off the murky waters. A thick black cloud filled the air with a choking smoke. Shouts sounded from all directions.

“Come on.” He dragged her back the way they had come.

“Shouldn’t someone call the police?”

“Not us. Let’s go.” Angered by his insensitivity, she fought him. He stopped and took her roughly by the shoulders. “Don’t you get it yet? That was meant for you. Now move.”

Reality hit her like a stinging slap across her face. Until that moment, she’d considered Jack Murphy her biggest threat. After all, he’d stalked her for two months. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one.

Although tired and scared beyond reason, she drew on her basic desire for survival and ran through the old port city in any direction he took her. In and out of narrow alleyways, through a labyrinth of cobblestone roads, they ran until Lilly could no longer catch a breath.

“Please. I can’t.”

She leaned back against a building and put her hands on her knees, gasping and coughing. Jack waited, suspiciously eyeing anyone heading in their direction. His hand remained at his side, on his gun she guessed.

“Can you move yet?” he asked.

She nodded and stood up again. He kept the pace to a fast walk and weaved his way down the back alleys. Finally, he stopped at the rear entrance of an old brownstone building. Jazz music blared through the open window.

“We can stay here for the night. It’s safe,” Jack announced. She eyed the building skeptically.

What is it?”

“It’s a theater. Sort of.”

He knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. A young woman in hot pink shorts and a midriff shirt pulled open the door and smiled broadly. “Jack!”

The girl spoke French, and Lilly couldn’t understand anything that followed. The woman led them to a back room. Jack talked with the owner, a beautiful, dark-eyed siren. She smiled in Lilly’s direction and then left them alone.

Lilly glanced out the office window at the parade of half-naked women traipsing by on their way back from the stage. The smell of cheap perfume lingered. Theater, her foot! He’d brought her to a burlesque house. The dancers strutted past in little more than gold sequined G-strings. She hadn’t seen that many tassels since the night of her high school graduation. She refused to remain there ten minutes, let alone spend the night.

“A regular hangout of yours, Mr. Murphy?” she asked, anger burning deep within her.

“Do you have a better idea? I know these people and I trust them.”

As her pulse rate leveled, her temper soared. “You know them? You trust them?” she shrieked. He reached for her arm. She twisted away and scooted around a chair. “This is my life we’re talking about, you crazy bastard. You damn near got me killed tonight.”

He came up in front of her and held her hands against her side. “Keep your voice down. Chantal is doing us a big favor by letting us use an upstairs room for the night.”

“Your girlfriend is too generous.” She paused and sucked in a deep breath. “A room? You mean two rooms, right?”

He shook his head. “No. If I meant two rooms I would have said so.”

“I’m not sleeping with you again. You can shoot me first.”

“I wasn’t offering you a choice. You seem to have forgotten that I’m a terrorist. I issue the orders, and you follow them.”

“I also remember you denying that accusation,” she reminded him sharply.

He obviously meant her no direct harm. If she hadn’t dragged her feet, making them both late, he too would have been killed on that boat. Apparently, he lost his partner but he didn’t blame her.

She could sympathize, but she had her limits. She no longer controlled her own life. Her right to exercise freedom of choice boiled down to no choice at all: spend the night in a strip joint with a man she didn’t know or take her chances alone against some killer she couldn’t identify.

* * * *

“Is it safe to let your arms go?” Jack asked ruefully. He saw every one of her emotions clearly in her face. From fear to fury to resignation, Lilly’s features animated each of her changing emotions. Her blue eyes burned like sapphires, perfect gems that he could admire but never own.

“Yes.”

He shook his head, wondering if he’d been foolish enough to speak his thoughts aloud. “What?”

She glanced down at the fingers that clutched her wrists like tight handcuffs. “You can let me go now.”

He dropped his hands and took a step back. “Would you like to have a bath?”

“Not if I have to share that with you too.”

Jack laughed. He hadn’t thought about the logistics. She couldn’t be left alone or she would disappear out a window. “I’ll figure something out.”

He took Lilly’s hand and led her to toward the apartment. She repeatedly  stumbled over his feet as they passed the scantily clad dancers in the narrow corridors. Thank goodness she didn’t understand French. If she had any idea what the women were saying to him, she’d be out the door in a flash. Although the comments complimented her  well-endowed figure, he didn’t think Ms. McGrath would be flattered.

The apartments above the theater had been built as a brothel during the First World War. Chantal restored the furnishings to their original splendor with the exception of a few added modern conveniences. Lilly’s aversion to the theater in general stopped him from telling her about its notorious past.

“Chantal. Can you have someone run a bath for Lilly?”

“A shower would be fine,” Lilly added quickly.

“A bubble bath. Women should spoil themselves, no?” Chantal said in English, with a delicate French accent.

Jack glanced at Lilly. She twisted her fingers together and muttered, “Whatever. I don’t care.”

Her flushed face and lowered gaze said otherwise. Although she talked tough, she wasn’t an operative used to this kind of thing. If he knew any place safer, he would move her.

“You could do with a bath yourself, Jack,” Chantal said. She ran her hand along his jaw and added, “And that cut. It should be taken care of.”

He shot an accusing glare at Lilly. “Maybe later. Let’s go see about that bath.”

* * * *

The old, bear-claw tub was filled to the top with hot, bubbly water. Lilly eyed the bath with desperation, torn between ripping off all her clothes and jumping in or remaining stubborn until Jack gave her some privacy.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m waiting for you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving without your clothes.”

“Don’t you trust me?” she asked innocently.

“Only marginally less than you trust me. But I know you won’t try to leave without your clothing.”

“Turn around.”

His dark eyes danced mischievously in the dim lighting. He enjoyed inflicting humiliation on her. Refusing to let him have his way, she stepped into the bathtub, fully clothed. She wriggled out of the wet shorts and tee shirt while submerged,  presenting  certain  difficulties,  but  she  managed  and  flashed  a triumphant grin.

He picked up the wet clothes from the floor. “You still have to get out of it later, Lilly.” He reached down and splashed the surface of the water, sending a hand full of bubbles into her face. She wiped it away, ready to snap again when she noticed he had left.

Finally alone
.
Without one stitch of clothing and no one to help me
.

She leaned back and let out a sigh. If she got lucky and lived through this, she might write a book about her ordeal. She’d met her share of weird characters. Jack Murphy ranked at the top of the list. She had no idea what to make of the enigmatic mercenary. He had to be freelancing for her ex-boss; otherwise, he would have shown her official identification. Besides, if her own government wanted her back, they only needed to ask and she would have returned.

Lilly sunk down into the tub to let the lavender scented water ease away her tension. She refused to waste another second of this bliss thinking about Jack. A knock on the door brought her head up with a start. He hadn’t given her five minutes of peace. “What?”

Chantal walked in, carrying a towel and some clothing. “Jack asked me to bring this for you,” Chantal explained, placing them down on a small chair next to the tub.

The French might think nothing of entertaining visitors in the bathroom, but Lilly felt uneasy when Chantal sat down on the edge of the tub.

“Thank you. I’m almost finished,” Lilly said politely, hoping the woman would take the hint to leave.

“Jack says that you and he had a—how you say—close slave at the marina.”

“Shave,” Lilly corrected.

“You are very lucky woman, don’t you think?”

Lucky? Had Chantal thought her lucky to be forced to endure Jack’s presence for the night? “No. I don’t think I’m lucky.”

“No? But Jack is the best.”

A testimonial to Jack was the last thing she wanted to hear. Chantal spoke with such reverence that Lilly wondered if only she saw the horns and pitchfork when she looked at him. The women there seemed to think a halo floated above his head.

“If you think so much of him, you sleep with him.”

Chantal drew her brows together in confusion. Suddenly, comprehension flashed in her dark eyes, and she laughed. “No. You misunderstand. I was talking about his work.”

Lilly cast a doubtful gaze toward the heavens. “I guess even kidnappers have to have a top in their field. Someone to look up to.”

Chantal’s eyes widened. “Jack! A kidnapper? No, enfant, Jack is no kidnapper. He is a—”

“Chantal,” Jack called out sharply. He strolled in the bathroom spouting something in French. When he finished his tirade, he glanced at Lilly.

The bubbles in her bath water had begun to disappear, exposing more of her body than modesty allowed. Jack’s stare remained riveted to her deep cleavage, more notably pronounced as she held her arms across her chest. She leaned forward and slid her arms around bent knees. “Would you mind leaving?”

A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back and made himself comfortable. “Yes, I mind.”

Lilly yelped in frustration. She had never known a man so chronically obnoxious. She would stay in the tub until she died of exposure before she’d stand up in front of him.

“Jack. Stop teasing her. You know how repressed American women are,” Chantal chided him.

“Repressed?” he repeated with a rich, booming laugh. “She’s a wild woman. Especially when her hands are tied.”

Lilly felt her body burn in spite of the cooling bath water. Obnoxious had been too kind. The man was a cretin.

Chantal pulled him out of the room by the arm. “Bon ami. Aren’t you the one who complains that a passive woman is like warm milk? Only good for putting you to sleep.”

The second the door clicked shut, Lilly sprang from the tub and covered herself in the plush red towel. A quick glance at the clothes confirmed her worst fears. Chantal had loaned her a sheer nightgown and a white Victorian robe. She couldn’t have looked more bridal. If Chantal meant this to be a joke, Lilly failed to see the humor.

* * * *

Jack lit a fire in the fireplace and settled on the bed. Minutes later the door opened, and Lilly slipped in the room. When she caught sight of him, she stopped short.

He bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. She looked like a vestal virgin being led to the sacrificial fire. He could blast Chantal with no provocation at all. Or perhaps, the woman  before him was provocation enough. The perfect combination of raw sexuality and sensual innocence. And she glared at him with such icy contempt that he felt a chill.

“There’s only one bed,” she said.

“I know. And I’m in it. What do you suggest?”

The hot bath failed to improve her foul disposition. She yanked the blanket off of him and grabbed a pillow, tossing them on the floor.

The warm glow of the fire cast a golden shine on the mass of wheat-colored hair that fell to her shoulders. The flimsy material of the negligee and robe hid little of her well-rounded curves as she stood in front of the only sources of light in the room.

While working, Jack tried not to notice the physical appearance of his quarry. He couldn’t stop himself from noticing her then, as she curled up in front of the fireplace to sleep. A feeling of chivalry washed over him, and he decided to offer her the bed. He ran his hand along his face, feeling the gash on his cheek, and changed his mind. She deserved a night on a hard floor.