Taming the Fire (16 page)

“How?”

The tiny hitch in her breath made her breasts push against her top—and, sure, he was a jerk for noticing, but her admission about being a virgin made him wonder if any man had caressed them. Kissed them. Sucked them until she was ready to come from oral loving alone.

“I just know,” she said, so quickly that he knew there was more to the story than her “just knowing.” “You're the type of man who wants instant satisfaction. If you can't get what you want in three moves, you hire someone to do it for you.”

How nice that she knew him better than he did. He snapped shut the lid of her laptop. “Sounds to me like you did a lot of research when you were staking me out.”

She made a frustrated sound. “Maybe I'm just a good judge of character.” She crossed her arms across her chest, which made her breasts overflow from the top, and made him grind his teeth.

“And maybe I'm a green-blooded space alien.” He tore off his jacket and threw it on a seat. “And why the hell is it so hot in here?”

She muttered something, but he ignored her as he dug into his jeans pocket for his cell phone, made arrangements for a rental car from the nearest dealer at the airport, and requested several maps of the area.

“Okay, we're done here—” He broke off as Coco stood up, holding the remote to Ulrika's collar.

“What's this?”

“Nothing. Give it to me.”

She jerked it away. “You're involved in something a lot bigger than arms dealing.”

“Because I have a remote control unit?”

“Because it belongs to Itor.”

He swallowed. Hard. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't bullshit me, Ryan. If you want me to help you, you need to be straight with me.”

Unbelievable. How many times had he told her to get away from him, and here she was, acting as if he'd begged her to stay. “I want you to forget you ever saw me.”

“Well, I don't have the luxury of amnesia, like one of us here. So spill.”

“How do you know it belongs to Itor? How do you know about Itor?”

She sat and crossed her slim legs at the ankles, looking all prim and proper. He wondered briefly what she'd think about getting messed up—good and sweaty, delicate designer clothes so torn that she'd have to wear her lover's shirt around the house. The very thought made his loins stir, but would probably disgust her. No wonder she was still a virgin.

“As you can imagine,” she said, slapping him out of his ridiculous thoughts, “I deal with a lot of people who run outside the law and under its radar. The name Itor comes up every once in a while, and once I found someone who knew what it was, I started paying closer attention when I came across it.” She pointed to the symbol at the base of the remote. “The weapons-development company that made this, Global Weapons Corporation, is affiliated with Itor. Supposedly, they have both legitimate and illegitimate dealings, and all of the best weapons and technological breakthroughs are swept right down the pipe to Itor.” She held up the remote. “I'd be willing to bet this isn't legit.”

“Give it to me” was all he said, but she just cocked an eyebrow and tucked it behind her back. “Remember what I said about killing you with my bare hands?”

Sure, right now she was in more danger of him ripping her clothes off than she was of him strangling her, but she seemed to believe him, and changed her mind. He took the remote, stuffed it back into his jacket pocket and threw the jacket over his shoulder.

“Come on. I need to get the car.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

She lifted her chin and stared at him through fiery eyes. “I know too much for you to let me go.”

Okay, this was officially the weirdest thing that had ever—in the last eight months anyway—happened to him. Who in their right minds tried to convince their kidnapper to keep them?

“You're the worst kidnap victim ever,” he muttered, and she grinned, as if what he'd said was a compliment. “Fine. You can come with me. You might be useful.” Actually, he was sure she would be. If she knew that much about Itor… hell, she probably knew more than he did about his life.

“So,” she said, as she gathered up her laptop and bag. “Where are we going?”

“To kill a woman.”

She fumbled her laptop, and he caught it just before it hit the floor. “What did you say?” Her hands shook a little as she took the computer from him.

“You heard me.”

“What did she do?”

“No idea.”

“You're just going to kill her for no reason?”

“You changing your mind about coming with me?”

She raised that chin again, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “No. I'm going to find out who you are and prove you aren't as bad as you say.”

In a move that surprised both of them, he leaned down, cupped the back of her head, and brought his lips to hers. Her outraged gasp opened her mouth, allowing him access. He slid his tongue against hers in a hot, penetrating kiss. It only lasted a second or two, but it was enough for him to know it was going to be really fucking hard to keep his hands off her. Cursing, he stepped back.

“I hope you're right, Coco. Because if you're wrong, I'm the last person you want to trust with your body. Or your life.”

Ulrika would have offered up a prayer that she was doing the right thing by going with Trance to his friend's house, but she'd given up on prayer a long time ago.

So now she just had to hope this wasn't the dumbest thing she'd ever done, and hope Trance didn't discover what her chains were really for.

He set me free
.

God, she couldn't believe he'd done that. He'd had power over her, had held her life in his hands when he'd held the key to her ankle cuff. She'd cursed herself for being so stupid as to allow him to get the key in the first place, her mind taking her back to all the times her handlers had kept her on a leash—a virtual one, but a leash, nevertheless.

Trance had set her free when he could have used her in so many ways. Even her inner wolf was warming up to him now.

“So where are we going, exactly?” she asked, as she looked out the passenger window of Trance's BMW, which still had a faint new-leather scent to it. She'd never had a car… didn't even know how to drive.

Maybe he'd teach her if they got a chance—in the time between the running for their lives and the sex she needed to control her homicidal urges.

Idiot
.

“Plymouth.” He turned on the windshield wipers to sweep away the buildup of drizzle that made the night even darker. “Is that far enough away for now?”

“It'll never be far enough,” she murmured.

Trance touched her leg lightly, but it made her jump. “You need to tell me what we're up against.”

“I already did.”

“You held back. You never said why these people are after you.”

“I told you I have a temper.”

He hit the brakes to avoid rear-ending someone who'd pulled over but still took up part of the left lane on the M3. “I know a lot of people with bad tempers, and they don't have any secret agencies chasing them.”

She turned away, unsure how much to say. He deserved more than vague half truths, but how much would he believe? And how much would potentially put her in danger if he realized what she was worth not only to Itor, ACRO and TAG, but to several terrorist organizations that either wanted her dead or who would love to use her as a weapon?

“I told you they grabbed my entire family. Itor. That's what they're called.” She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She hated talking about her family, which actually meant nearly a hundred members of her clan. But her immediate family had included a mother, father, two older brothers… and a betrothed, an arranged match with a clan-mate two years older than she was. “My people believe that animal spirits exist in us all, but few can feel it. Communicate with it. Become it. We can. We can mentally shift into our animal soul—it's not a physical transformation, but more of a… joining.”

“So, what, you take on animal habits? Behaviors?”

“Something like that.” It was weird talking about this, because although her lifestyle and spiritual beliefs had been normal for her, she wasn't sure how someone on the outside would react. “We had a lynx-shifter who would become one with his animal spirit to assist in hunts. His sense of smell was an asset. And Horst?” She smiled at the memory of the elderly gray-haired man who'd always had cookies for the kids. “His was the soul of a squirrel. When he shifted, he'd run around collecting nuts and climbing trees like he had suction cups attached to his hands and feet. It was funny to see an old guy digging up acorns and scampering for tree trunks.”

She risked a glance at Trance, but his handsome face was expressionless as he drove.

“What's your animal?” he asked.

“A wolf.” A very, very angry wolf, though at the moment, she was calm.

“And this agency wanted your people because of these abilities?”

She nodded. “They wanted to harness the animal part of our souls. They wanted to twist it and mutate it, and make it manifest physically. They killed everyone but me in their failed experiments.”

The nightmare had begun within days of her arrival at the Itor labs. Her father was the first to die, her mother had gone just weeks later, and though she'd never seen her brothers again, she'd heard they'd both died around eight months after their mother passed away.

“Were you a success?”

“No,” she said truthfully, because she didn't consider what they'd done to her to be a success. “But I escaped, and they want me back. To put me down and put their experiments to bed.”

He muttered something that sounded like a curse, and then blew out a breath. “I'm sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“You believe me?”

“I've lived my life with this insane strength, so yeah, I'm willing to go out on a limb with this.”

She turned, locked eyes with him. Even in the dark they were gorgeous, piercing, and they weren't full of bullshit. He believed her. He must have seen some crazy shit as a cop. “Thank you.”

He nodded, went back to driving. She reached for the heat, a sudden chill in the air wrapping around her like an icy blanket. It filled her chest and numbed her fingers so she couldn't turn the knob.

Her senses tingled and her collar itched, and oh, shit, she was feeling that Itor sensation again.

“Rik?” Her name floated in the air around her head, never really making it inside her skull to her brain. “Rik!”

She gazed out at the M3, at the passing signs and cars. There was no sense of immediate danger, like there had been at the club, but the feeling was still familiar, the one she'd felt a couple of times since her escape, especially lately, but most memorably, every time her Itor handler had turned her loose to kill.

“Rik!”

She'd start out in human form, would be dressed to play whatever part she was supposed to play Maybe a high-priced call girl. Maybe a businesswoman. Maybe a maid or a take-away delivery person. Then, once she made contact with her target, the shock would slam into her through the collar, and within seconds, she'd be a slavering, raging wolf-creature that would rip apart everything in sight.

“Goddammit, Rik, what's wrong?”

Eventually, they'd shock her again, turning her back into a woman, but her clothes would be shredded and she'd probably be hurt. Twice she'd been shot, and she'd lost track of the stab wounds and broken bones.

The sensation melted away, leaving behind aching lungs from a held breath. Raggedly, she took in oxygen, practically panting. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she was shaking uncontrollably, more from the bad memories than the actual sensation of being in Itor's clutches again.

“Rik.” Trance's voice was rough, sounding strangely rattled. “Tell me what just happened. Did you feel them again?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like at the club and at my house.”

“Do you feel them often?”

“When I was with Itor.” She hugged herself, rubbed her arms. “Before I escaped. And then not again for months. But recently I felt them again.”

“You were tugging at your collar. Like you wanted to tear it off. Is that part of it?”