Sins of the Flesh (31 page)

Wells’s humanity had been his downfall.

Morales had seen that weakness in Wells immediately. He had expressed his concerns to Edwards when their
partner had started to get balky about the introduction of the additional DNA strands into the patients’ therapies.

In truth, Edwards had been more interested in the science of what would occur than any possible financial gain. It had been Morales who had seen the economic potential of the ultimate genetically modified organism—a human GMO altered for whatever your need and under total control.

Too bad Morales had complicated everything by having Wells killed before the completion of the Gates Genengineering merger, and now by hiring a psycho to take care of Shaw.

Morales needed to know what was going on. He picked up the phone and dialed, but the call went to voice mail.

“Call me,” was all he said.

Edwards set the phone back in its cradle and once again considered what Carrera had told him. If Mad Dog succeeded, there would be no more worries, but he had hired Carrera because of his reputation for success.

He couldn’t take a chance that this was the one time Carrera would fail.

Swiveling his chair to face his computer, Edwards accessed his assorted accounts as well as those of Wardwell and reviewed the various financial records. Then he began transferring money to a number of his private overseas accounts. He was in the process of shifting cash to one of the banks when he realized there was already a rather large sum of money in the account. More money than he recalled being there.

He was about to access the transaction log when his phone rang. He would have ignored it, but the caller ID indicated it was Morales.

With a quick glance at his watch that showed that nearly an hour had gone by, he said, “It’s about time you called.”

Morales chuckled, clearly unfazed by his anger. Never a good sign when an underling didn’t respect you, Edwards thought. “Well? Where were you?” he insisted.

“Transferring one of our GMOs.”

Transferring one of the patients
? “What are you talking about?”

“Someone needed a way to deliver a bomb into a secure facility. Shaw’s genetic twin was the answer to their problem,” Morales advised. He spoke as calmly as if he were ordering take-out.

“You sold one of the patients?” Edwards asked in disbelief, even though he had come to understand that was the ultimate goal of his partnership with Morales.

“Check your account. I deposited half of the payment there this morning.”

He didn’t need to check. He now had his answer about the extra money. Morales had put the other woman who had been implanted with the same gene fragments as Shaw on the market. A woman who had been much more malleable, both mentally and physically, than the prickly cellist.

“What if she’s discovered? What if—”

“It’s a one-way mission. The bomb will take care of her no matter what.”

Several million for a disposable GMO.

More than Edwards had expected, but there was still the problem of Mad Dog.

“Your mercenary has taken Carrera’s sister hostage. The body count may get too high on this project.”

Morales laughed once again, much more wickedly than before.

“I wouldn’t worry, Raymond. I’ve got it all under control.”

Morales hung up. The second time someone had hung up on him that day.

He didn’t much care for it. Didn’t much care for Morales calling him by his given name. It was downright disrespectful, and he intended to set Morales straight about it.

But first he had to finish transferring funds. After that, he would make sure to gather everything he needed to protect himself regardless of whether Carrera or Mad Dog was victorious.

Edwards had seen what Morales had done to Wells.

He had no doubt the little pimp would do the same to him unless he had some insurance.

Mick had spent hours preparing both of them for that night’s mission, reviewing dozens of photos of the site from both amateurs who had visited on tours to images stored in the private archives of the military. Aerial shots had provided an overall picture of the layout of the assorted batteries and buildings comprising Fort Hancock, as well as the roads and parking areas on Sandy Hook.

He had even hacked into one site to secure more detailed diagrams of the tunnels and mechanisms that had formed part of the Nike missile system, a frontline defense deployed during the Cold War but made obsolete by the development of ICBMs. The Nike missiles hadn’t been fast enough to take down the newer, faster weapons, which had resulted in their decommission.

Mick and Caterina must have scrutinized the schematics and maps for what seemed like the hundredth time when he shot a quick glance at his watch and said, “It’s time you got some rest.”

In truth she was tired and hungry, but they still had several hours to go until their assignation with Mad Dog.

“I’ll go make us a bite to eat,” she said and left him behind in his office, understanding he needed some time alone. As well as Mick had tried to prepare her, Caterina knew there were things he had kept to himself. Things he had to deal with in order to be ready for tonight’s mission.

The pickings in the refrigerator were slim. She quickly made two turkey sandwiches and took them upstairs. They ate together and yet apart. Each bite mechanical because they were both thinking of other things.

Of what the night might bring.

When they finished their sandwiches, Mick thanked Caterina and woodenly repeated his earlier instruction. “You should go get some sleep.”

She returned to the guest room but was too wired to rest.

In the corner, leaning against the wall, was the cello. As it had always been for her, the music was the salve to her soul as she sat down and began to play, her fingers shifting smoothly along the strings. Her bow stroking alive deep rich tones from the cast-off instrument. She didn’t know how long she played, only that when she was done, her heart raced, her bow arm ached a bit, and the back of her neck was damp with sweat.

As Caterina laid the hand with the bow on her knee and took in a deep breath, she realized Mick was standing
at the door to the room. Arms across his chest. A predator’s look in his gaze. When he took a step toward her, her heartbeat skipped and then accelerated when he kneeled before her and took hold of the bow and cello. Gently he moved them aside. Took the place of the cello between her legs.

Mick clutched her face between his hands, the action in rough contrast to his earlier approach. The look on his face more fierce. She understood.

There would be no gentleness in this taking. This was the warrior needing what might possibly be a last taste of life before facing death.

She grabbed hold of his wrists, her grip tight as she demanded he release her. He did and she shifted forward in the chair. Urged him forward until they were face-to-face and she became the aggressor.

She kissed him hard, accepting the reason for what would follow. Absolving him of guilt for any lack of tenderness because frankly, she wasn’t sure she could be gentle herself. She needed his loving too much to reaffirm the reality of life.

He answered her, opening his mouth and accepting the rough thrust of her tongue. Digging his fingers into her scalp to imprison her head as the kiss deepened until every breath they took was one. Until they were both shaking and she needed to feel the heat of his body beside her.

Inside her.

She yanked at his clothes as he did hers. Separated from him only long enough to remove them. Then he was kneeling before her again, cradled by the softness of her thighs. The jut of his erection pressed to her midsection.

She encircled him and stroked the length of him, but he surprised her by brushing away her hand and bending to suckle the tips of her breasts. She cradled his head, holding him close. Raising her hips to invite him to enter, but he tantalized her by shifting downward.

He trailed his mouth along the center of her body. Dipped his tongue into her navel before continuing lower until she had no doubt about his destination.

She bucked up off the chair as he grasped her thighs and found the center of her with his mouth. Tongued the nub between her legs until it swelled and became more sensitized. Brought his one hand to caress that nub as he kissed her nether lips and then tasted her. Eased his tongue within her center.

Moaning, she gripped him tighter with her knees and caressed the back of his head as he pleasured her. Gasped as the pressure built inside of her, needing more. Needing the hard wide length of him buried within her.

“I want you, Mick,” she said, placing her hands on his broad shoulders to compel him upward.

He complied, shifting forward to take her mouth with his as he filled her and then held still.

His arms wrapped around her waist, eliminating any space between their bodies. His kisses were flavored with her taste beneath the more demanding essence of his masculinity.

Then he began to move. His strokes sure. Growing more forceful and faster until the chair groaned and bucked beneath them.

He tightened his hold on her and with one powerful thrust, rose from his knees.

She wrapped her legs around him as he turned and took the step or two to bring her to the edge of the bed.

They fell upon it. Upon each other.

Their movements almost frantic as they sought release. Fought for that final acknowledgment of life.

But what of love? she wondered.

Was there anything of love between them at that moment?

There was so much doubt. So much fear for anything lasting to possibly be forged by this union.

She drove those saddening thoughts away and focused instead on the strength of Mick’s body as he moved. As he took them both to the edge before the free fall came and they collapsed in each other’s arms.

He was heavy against her, growing limp within her when he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Caterina silenced him with the barest touch of her finger against his lips.

“Don’t apologize. I wanted this. I
needed
this.”

The soft strands of his hair tickled her breasts as he nodded and said,
“Te quiero
.
”

He shocked her with his words. Smiling, she urged him upward to place a gentle kiss on his lips as he slipped out of her. “I love you, too.”

As he gazed down at her, a hesitant grin blossomed on his lips. “Glad to hear that.”

M
ad Dog would expect them to come down either Hartshorne Drive or one of the multipurpose paths running beside that main road. He might also be familiar with the black Jeep Mick drove.

A stop to see his cousin Ramon to advise him of what had happened, as well as to swap out cars, took care of one of the problems. Ramon’s Safari Wrangler with its desert sand paint job would be hard to pick out, especially since Mick planned to drive it along the water’s edge.

Based on his review of the area details and Mad Dog’s instructions, Mick guessed that the other man had Liliana in one of the old ammo areas between the Nike radar site and the gun batteries toward the northernmost part of the national park. If Mad Dog positioned himself along the top floors of any one of the remaining battery buildings or close to the rise for the lighthouse, he would have a clean line of fire toward the path and road.

As Mick drove past the ranger station, he cut the lights on the Wrangler and pulled the car off the road and onto the sand.

He stopped it for a moment to make sure Caterina was ready.

She was buckled into the passenger seat beside him, once again dressed all in black. Her upper body appeared bulky from the Kevlar vest beneath the sweater.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Caterina nodded and he reminded her, “Keep your head down and stay behind me. If things go south—”

“I’ve got your back no matter what,” she reassured and Mick had no doubt about it. She had proven her strength of character time and time again.

Her strength was why he loved her.

With a curt nod, Mick sent the Jeep careening along the hard-packed sand close to the waterline. It might have been a fun ride under different circumstances, with the moon bright above them and the occasional refreshing spray of water kicked up by the tires as they cut through the water at the shore’s edge.

Caterina hung tight to the handle along the roll bar as the car bounced from side to side as they hit a dip in the sand.

They made it past the radar site, but Mick feared they were too close to Atlantic Drive as they neared Gunnison Beach.

He trained his gaze toward the lighthouse as they approached and breathed a sigh of relief as they passed without incident. Ahead of him, the half-moon’s light illuminated the shadows of the older buildings and battery guns. To their right, beyond the water’s edge, lay the glittering lights of New York City’s boroughs.

Mick stopped just short of North Beach where the walking trails would lead them to the old proving grounds and batteries.

The first
ping
sounded against the Jeep a second later.

“Get down,” Mick said and forced Caterina’s head below the edge of the windshield, which cracked in one corner as a second bullet struck the Jeep. He hit the gas and the vehicle lurched forward until, with a sharp turn, he nearly buried it in the side of a high row of dunes, which provided cover from Mad Dog’s sniper fire.