Turbulent Sea (20 page)

Joley's heart jerked. She remembered the malevolent look he'd shot her as he walked toward the crew bus. There had been genuine, naked hatred on his face. "Harm me?" she echoed, fear tugging at her.

"It looked as if he were heading up the running path after you. Several people mentioned he watched you take off running and that you were alone. They were worried about your lack of security." His gaze flicked to Ilya. "And he had a knife."

Branscomb had known all along they hadn't left together. Ilya had to give him points for that. Of course suspicion would fall on him. He was Russian. He was a bodyguard and very strong. He knew that Dean's death had been a hit, and Nikitin had probably ordered it; he just didn't know why. He had known the body was there. He'd felt the dark, violent energy and gone to investigate, worried for Joley. Fortunately he'd approached the area from above, and he'd seen the body and the mess that had been made of it. Walters had died of a bullet to the head, but they'd stomped every bone in his body first.

Ilya remained silent, waiting for Joley to give him up. He prepared himself for Joley's betrayal. He shouldn't look at it that way. She would think she had to tell the exact truth, and maybe there wasn't anything else for her to do. But the thought of being handcuffed and taken in, and his past brought up to further cast doubt on him in the midst of his investigation, was doubly dangerous.

Joley flicked a glance from Ilya to the detective. It was very obvious where he was going with his questioning. She put a hand on Ilya's arm, her mouth suddenly dry, heart pounding. There was a strange roaring in her ears. Ilya couldn't have killed Dean Walters. He couldn't have. She would have known the moment she touched him. Yes, he was violent, and yes, he had killed, but under what circumstances she didn't know, and right now it didn't matter because he hadn't killed Walters. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts said, not even for her had he done this.

"It's difficult to have a relationship with someone with the paparazzi following everywhere you go and photographing your every move. The things they print—all the lies and innuendos—it ruins any chance at a real bond. We try to be careful so we have the opportunity to build a foundation before it's all over the media and we're both hounded into the ground."

Her voice was soft, persuasive, held a note of pure truth the detective couldn't fail to respond to. Ilya didn't even know if she was aware of the compulsion buried in it. His hand slid against hers, fingers tangling and then enveloping with hers. He brought her knuckles up to his mouth.
Thank you
.

He knew she was protecting him, implying, without saying it, that he had joined her immediately. No one had ever done that for him, stood in front of him, not at their own risk—and she was risking a lot. If Branscomb discovered she was shielding Ilya by deliberately misleading the detective, there was no doubt he'd haul her into his office and make life very uncomfortable for her.

Ilya was fairly certain that strange sensation in his chest was his heart melting. She yanked emotion out of him when all feeling had been buried so deep he'd thought—he'd hoped—it was lost for all time. He loved her in that moment, yet at the same time, a part of him was terrified that she could do that to him, and that part was dangerous and cunning and hated her, because anyone who could make him that vulnerable held power over him—endless power—and he had vowed that would never happen again in his lifetime.

She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes soft and loving, twisting him up inside because she wasn't even aware of it yet. He could rule her sexually, he knew that, and he knew he could bind her to him, and that he'd always be bound to her, but this was more—way, way more than he had bargained for. Joley was more than just his—she was so deep inside of him she was a part of him—and just as she had protected him, he would protect her with his last breath.

Ilya read the cop as intelligent, and he was already cutting Joley a break. "Nikitin sent several of his security force here to sweep the area for bombs. He's had many death threats, as has Miss Drake. And I spotted at least four photographers busily filming the argument as well as the band members from the rocks. If you can find them, they might have caught something on camera that would help."

It was a risk—although a small one. Ilya had a way of blending into the background, making it difficult for people and lenses to spot him. As he was nearly always aware of the photographers, he found it easy enough to hide his presence from them. Branscomb deserved a little help, and in any case, he had probably already thought of it.

Branscomb nodded. "I'll be in touch. If you think of anything more, call my number. I left my card on the table."

Chapter 8

THE door closed behind the detective. Joley stood very still in the ensuing silence, her gaze locked on Ilya's face, her body trembling. He crossed the distance between them and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She burst into tears.

Ilya pressed her face against his chest, his fingers sliding into her hair to massage her scalp, murmuring softly to her. He didn't know where the words came from, most of it made no sense, just soothing noises, but her distress was so genuine. He hadn't known he could actually feel gentle, or tender; he'd thought those things had long ago been beaten out of him, but she brought out a softer response and he was grateful.

"You feel too much for others, Joley," he said, pressing his lips into the soft disarray of her hair. "This was not a good man."

"He has family. And we don't know that he wasn't good."

"If he had anything to do with the Russian mob, believe me,
laskovaya moya
, he wasn't good. And contrary to popular belief, members of the mob don't kill indiscriminately. If he drew their attention, he was in bed with them." He nuzzled the top of her head, his chin sliding through the soft strands of hair. He loved holding her, and that was terrifying. She made him soft inside, different. This woman could turn him inside out with one look. And dark eyes drowning in tears were enough to turn stone into molten gold.

She sighed and turned her head so her cheek rested against him. "Do you think he was using our band, traveling from one city to another in order to run drugs or something?"

He brushed tears from her cheeks with his fingertips. "Or something."

She pulled away just enough to look up at him. "You knew he was dead, didn't you, when you came up the mountain? Did you see who did it? Do you know why?"

"If I saw who had done it, I would have told the detective and I would have called for help immediately. Do you think I had anything to do with that man's death?"

"No. No, of course not." She wrapped one hand around the nape of his neck and rested against his solid strength. "But the detective was suspicious, I could tell."

"It was dangerous handing him Nikitin," Ilya pointed out. "Nikitin isn't kind to his enemies, and you've skated for a while on the edge of slighting him by refusing his invitations to his parties."

"Branscomb was going to get that connection anyway," Joley said and reluctantly pulled away from him. "There was someone with Dean at the party. I saw him with three other men and the group of girls. One of three was another member of my crew. I recognized that I'd seen him working on the equipment, but I never saw his face. The others I'd never seen before, and I assumed they were other guests. I was hoping Dean might know the names of the other girls so the police could question them."

"You're not thinking of finding the other man who was with Dean." Ilya made it a statement. "Joley, you always rush into things without thinking. You're not a cop, you're a superstar, with cameras on you every second. You can't conduct a secret investigation into a murder or a child's disappearance."

"Well I can't just do nothing! Dean was in my crew. He worked for me. And the girl went to a party thinking she was going to party with the band.
My
band. Sarah and Elle would investigate. They'd never let it go until they found out the truth."

"Well you aren't your sisters. Stay out of it and let the professionals handle it." Even as he said it, her eyes flashed fire and her mouth set in a firm line. Her chin lifted a little and he cursed under his breath. Joley was a powder keg, and telling her what to do was the same as lighting a match.

"Like you? You said you were going to talk to Dean, that you were looking into that girl's disappearance."

He had the urge to shake her. "You're not a defiant child, rebelling against a parent. I'm telling you this is dangerous and to stay the hell out of it. What good is it going to do if you get yourself—or Brian or Jerry—killed?"

Joley paled visibly. "Why would anyone want to kill Jerry or Brian?"

"They asked Walters questions, didn't they? Has it occurred to you that whoever killed him might not have wanted him to answer questions? He knew something and they didn't want it out, so he's dead. This friend of his. still on your crew, is either part of what Dean was into or entirely innocent. If you question him, you could draw attention to him and the killer might think he knows something, or worse for you, if he's in on it, they might target both of you for execution." He stepped closer to her again, catching her arm and pulling her against his body. "You stay away from all of them. Don't ask questions and let the cops take care of it."

Her large eyes darkened, glittering with anger, and he felt lust hit with a hard punch to the gut. His belly burned and his blood pooled hot and demanding in his groin. He bent his head, one hand anchoring in her hair, and he took her mouth, effectively stopping the protest he knew was coming. Heat spread through his body, rockets went off in his head, and colors burst behind his eyes. He pulled her closer, locking her tight against him, so that he could feel every lush curve of her soft, feminine body.

She tasted just like the honey he remembered so vividly from the beehives outside of the school where he'd spent so many years being trained. He'd stolen that, too, just as he stole his kiss from Joley. And like he'd accepted the stings he'd received as a child, he would accept whatever punishment Joley meted out, because in the end, the pleasure spreading through him at her taste, the feel of her soft skin and silky hair, the fire in her rising up to meet the fire in him made any and all retribution worthwhile.

It wasn't just sparks she gave off, it was a conflagration, and the rush was instant and consumed him. The flames devoured him so quickly he didn't have a chance for control and discipline, the two things that had been drilled—beaten—stomped into him. No woman should be able to shake his control and take over his body, but the moment he touched Joley's soft skin, felt the whisper of her warm breath against him, the touch of her lips, and tasted her, wild and addicting, he was lost.

His hands spanned her throat, tilting her head back so he could take her kiss, devour her the way he needed. Music burst through him, perfect notes he rarely heard. Fire and ice, wind and calm, sky and earth, water and rock all fused together. Joley seemed as wild and turbulent as the sea, yet beneath her fiery passion, at the very core of her, she was as forceful and strong and as constant as the deepest ocean currents. Ilya seemed as calm as a windless sea, yet beneath the surface smoldered a volcano of such explosive magnitude, his power could easily sweep everything from his path. Together they completed each other, his melody and hers merging into a single, perfect harmony.