SiNN (4 page)

Her expression said he was dead wrong or nuts. Shoving her
keys in her front pocket, she reached into her backpack.

Toby got really serious. “You’re not carrying a firearm, are
you, Ms. Baptista? As I’ve said, we are law enforcement.”

She pulled out her cellphone. “Tell that to 9-1-1. How do I
know you didn’t get your badges on Ebay?” She looked at Jake. “How do either of
you know I’m not into drugs? Have you been following me?”

“We’ve investigated you,” Toby said.

Her jaw tightened.

Risking her further wrath, Jake approached and wrapped his
fingers around her wrist, his thumb on hers, stopping her from punching in any
numbers on her phone.

She gave him a pissed frown and tried to pull back her hand.

Jake didn’t allow it. “We know you grew up in foster care,
and that your mother brought you into the system when you were three. The
surname she gave you at that time was Baptista. In Florida, where you were
born, your last name was Morales. Your mother was married to Manuel Morales,
one of the lieutenants in the Cubrero drug cartel. Until he was murdered, they
lived here in Phoenix. He was your father.”

A sense of unreality settled over Lea, quickening her pulse,
causing her thoughts to race. She’d been born in Florida, her last name was
really Morales, her mother brought her into the system, her father was dead,
murdered?

No. Not true. All the times Lea had questioned her many
foster parents about her origins, they’d always said her grandmother had raised
her after her mother cut out in favor of men and having a good time. The woman
had died in an auto accident before Lea’s second birthday. Shortly after that,
her grandmother had become ill, eventually having to turn Lea over to the
system.

All these years, a persistent memory had haunted Lea. In it,
she was wrapping her arms around a woman’s neck. Clinging to her, overwhelmed
by panic, Lea cried, not wanting to leave. The woman’s face was always wet with
tears. She’d smelled of cinnamon and coconut.

Even now, Lea recalled her lilting, heavily accented voice
asking, “You want
arroz con coco
?”

One of Lea’s favorite dishes, white rice sweetened with
coconut milk and sugar.

That had to be a memory of her grandmother. Lea recalled the
woman’s loving hug before she handed her over to a black woman who took her
away in a car. No man was in those memories, no husband, no devoted mother or
recollections of Florida.

What Jake had said was a lie. Why was he doing this? Why was
Toby? Had she been so very wrong about her initial perception of them? Was this
an elaborate ruse by two guys who were stalkers or rapists?

Lea’s fingers tightened around her cellphone. If Jake
noticed, it didn’t get him to release her wrist.

“We need to leave now,” Toby insisted.

“She wants more proof,” Jake argued, then spoke to her.
“Call the Phoenix police, ask for Detective Sanchez. We spoke with him before
coming here. He’ll still be at his desk.”

Lea forced down a swallow, her attention moving from Jake to
Toby. One dark, the other blond. Both formidable. “You spoke to him about
what?”

“You,” Jake said. “Call him. The number’s—”

“Yeah, right.” She twisted her hand to free it. “I’ll find
it on my own.”

Toby sighed. Lea shot him a look.

Didn’t faze him at all. “He’s in violent crimes,” Toby
informed her, then spoke to Jake. “We need to leave.”

No fucking way. Not until she knew who he and Jake really
were.

She pulled up Phoenix’s directory on her cellphone, locating
the number for violent crimes. By the second ring, her heart beat so fiercely
Lea wasn’t certain she wanted the call answered.

On the third ring, it was out of her hands. A man said,
“Violent crimes.”

Lea’s throat tightened. She shifted her weight. “Ah, can I
speak to a Detective Sanchez?”

“Who’s calling?”

Damn. There was actually a detective named Sanchez working
there?

Wait a minute, this was Phoenix. Sanchez was about as common
here as it was in Mexico. Unwilling to tell the man her name, Lea said, “The
woman who’s with two guys who claim they’re U.S. Marshals…a Jake Gabriel and
Toby Quinn.”

“Just a sec.”

She had expected him to ask, “who?” His lack of hesitation
made Lea’s skin clammy. Faster than she expected or wanted, another guy came on
the line. “Sanchez here, Ms. Baptista.”

Blood drained so quickly from Lea’s face, a wave of
dizziness buffeted her. She gripped her phone.

“Ms. Baptista?” he said.

She blurted, “What these two guys have told me is true? All
that stuff about my past really happened?”

“I’m afraid so. You need to go with them.”

“Are you kidding? Where?”

“That’s up to them. Let me talk to Deputy Gabriel.”

“But I want to know—”

He interrupted, “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Please
put the deputy on.”

Lea’s hand trembled as she handed the phone to Jake. “He
wants to talk to you.”

“Gabriel,” Jake said, then listened. “No,” he offered,
pausing once more as the detective spoke. In the coming minutes, Jake responded
with little more than a cryptic
no
or
yes
.

Toby offered no comment.

Lea risked a glance. He was already regarding her. For
another man, it might have been an awkward moment. Not for Toby Quinn. He
didn’t look away. That same arousal she’d seen earlier simmered in his eyes.
Heat rose to Lea’s throat and face.

If her blush pleased or aroused him, he didn’t reveal it.
With that same neutral expression, he studied her for a moment longer, then
focused on the area surrounding them as though he expected trouble.

You’re in danger,
Jake had said.

Lea locked her knees to keep her legs from wobbling. Turning
his back to her, Jake strode to the left, speaking quietly, no doubt so she
couldn’t overhear.

Lea noted his cowboy boots, as black as the rest of his
attire. Raising her face, she inhaled deeply, smelling a car’s exhaust and the
pungent odor of garbage carried on the lazy wind. In her peripheral vision, she
caught movement. Turning, she saw the edge of Toby’s suit jacket flapping in
the breeze, showing her a bit of his shoulder holster, the gun he carried.

Aw, God.

Ending the call, Jake returned to her and Toby. “We need to
leave now,” he said, handing her the phone. “Do what we ask and you’ll be
safe.”

She studied the contours of his shirt, wondering where he
hid his gun. “Safe from what?”

“We’ll tell you on the way.” Once more, he wrapped his
fingers around her upper arm. Whether it was for moral support or because he
didn’t want her to flee, Lea didn’t know.

With him on one side and Toby on the other, she felt both
protected and vulnerable. They led her from the lot to the darkened street,
walking briskly, not stopping until they’d passed the business end of the area
and entered a modest residential development. There, they stopped in front of a
black Chevy SUV.

Toby opened the back door. Lea’s stomach churned. “Tell me
now,” she said. “Before I get inside. I mean it.”

The men exchanged a look.

Lea frowned. “Dammit, what are you keeping me safe from?”

“The man who wants you dead,” Jake said. “The one who
murdered your father.”

His wait was almost at an end.

For years, he’d lived for tonight, the feel of his hands
around Lea Baptista’s throat, her pulse quickening beneath his thumbs, her eyes
pleading with him for mercy, her voice catching on a cry that she wasn’t Maria
Morales.

He knew better. He’d discovered the truth a short while ago.
For what her father had done, she would also pay.

His body tensed with fury, but he kept his expression
relaxed, just another man biding time until the next performance.

A young female server stopped in front of his leather wing
chair, blocking his view of the stage. Appreciating her naked breasts and the
black G-string she wore, he finally looked at her pretty face.

“Another Chivas?” she asked cheerily, glancing at the scar
on his chin.

The only Scotch he’d ordered remained untouched on the small
table to the side. He wasn’t a man who indulged in liquor or drugs, not while
stalking his prey.

“Of course,” he answered agreeably, not wanting to bring
unnecessary attention to himself.

With what appeared to be calculated intent, she leaned
close, the side of her breast brushing his sleeve as she took his still-filled
glass. A light, lemony fragrance wafted up from her pale skin, the scent
complementing her wheat-colored hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Turning her face to his, she flashed an inviting smile,
telling him he could have her if he wanted.

The thought intrigued. Along with how far she’d be willing
to go.

When he ordered her to her hands and knees on his bed,
securing her wrists to the headboard, would she protest? He doubted it. She
appeared in need of authority and punishment.

The strokes of his strap would be quick and precise. When
her ass was as pink as her cleft, he’d sink his cock into her cunt, then take
her anally, all while stroking her clit, making certain she enjoyed the act.
After which, he’d be forced to kill her so she couldn’t identify him.

Clearly, there was no time for such pleasure tonight, not
with Maria Morales to deal with.

He brought up his iPhone and looked at the screen, ignoring
the young woman deliberately, reflecting on how lucky she was to live another
day.

She lingered only a moment before moving to the man on his
left, asking about his drink, her question no less pleasant despite the
rejection.

Waiting until she reached the crowd behind the chairs, he
checked the time on his phone, noting that the next and final show of the
night—SiNN’s—would begin shortly.

In painstaking detail, he recalled her last performance more
than an hour ago. How she’d licked her forefinger, swirling the moisture on the
tips of her nipples, making them even harder. The way she’d stroked the chains
that scarcely hid her naked cunt, taunting the audience with the hope that she
might just take them off, along with her mask.

She had not, hiding her identity here even though she had no
idea he was after her. He’d learned that from her father before executing him.
She’d confirmed it during her last show when their eyes had touched. There had
been no recognition in her gaze. No fear in her expression.

There would be before the end of the night.

The server finished delivering her orders just as the first
strains of soft Latin music…a flute, piano and an acoustic guitar…filled the
room, the tones sultry, expressive, romantic.

Abruptly, the lights went down casting the room in complete
darkness. He blinked rapidly, wanting to see, demanding to regard SiNN again,
her surprise and then her pain as he sought retribution.

Bit by bit, the stage’s overhead lights came on casting the
platform in a muted glow, revealing the young man with the longish,
blond-streaked hair. His back was to the patrons, his large body hiding SiNN’s.

The incessant male murmurs died down, replaced by the sounds
of shifting bodies as the men tried to get a glimpse of her.

From his vantage point, he saw one of her thick tresses
curled around the male dancer’s biceps, a dainty gold chain draped on her right
hip, her long expanse of leg. The man to his left lifted his head, glancing at
the flat-screen TV.

The camera’s position showed even less of SiNN, zooming in
instead on the male dancer’s profile.

As the audience began to grumble, wanting more, the music’s
tempo quickened, becoming soulful and dramatic. With the grace of a much
smaller man, the male dancer turned and slid behind SiNN, holding out her arms,
exposing her to the audience.

Delighted applause thundered through the room at her naked
breasts, the intimate body jewelry, feathered mask, the beginning of her
submission.

It was all a lie. A fucking lie.

He stared at the woman, then the TV screen. A wave of fury
bubbled up in him. This woman’s irises were blue. Maria Morales’ were hazel.
Even though she now went by the name Lea Baptista, her eyes were still fucking
hazel.

His thoughts raced. Why wasn’t she here? Had she sensed
something about him when she’d been on stage?

No. Impossible. He’d smiled as all the other men had. He’d
behaved no differently than any of them. She’d given him a few seconds of her
attention prior to glancing at those in the back.

Gripping the arm of his chair, he wanted to leave, to tear
through this place until he found her.

No,
his mind warned instantly, even as his fingers
dug into the leather. If she wasn’t here, he had to know why. Going to her
apartment could put him at risk. She might have left early to be with a man. In
that scenario, he’d have to kill them both quietly, quickly. There would be no
time for him to play with her.

Jaw clenched, he forced himself to wait, to think this out
and keep a calm outward demeanor. He couldn’t risk alarming the patrons here or
the management. He couldn’t chance detection. Law enforcement had no idea who
he really was and could not.

Steeling himself against the delay in his plan, he forced
himself to watch the show, this dancer performing the same routine as SiNN.

Twice, her blue eyes touched his. Both times, he forced
himself to seem interested and non-threatening. When the other men left their
chairs to offer tips, he remained seated, his thoughts brimming with images of
SiNN, her wrists fettered, legs spread wide, ankles bound.

With her trapped and helpless, he wouldn’t yet let her know
his identity or his plans for her. Their first moments together would be the
time for enjoyment. Removing her body jewelry first, he’d slip the chain from
around her throat, leaving the flesh naked and defenseless. She’d moan at his
fingers trailing across her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples. To silence
her, he’d offer a deep, lingering kiss. Breathless, eyes closed, she’d lift her
hips as he took off the other chains, at last revealing her smooth cunt, the
moist pink petals parted for his cock.