Wilderness of Mirrors (20 page)

She waited for him to open the door, and then stepped out into the snowflake-strewn evening. She hadn’t expected the white, not in London in February. It was an unexpected pleasantness.

When she was certain no window viewable from the upstairs’ landing would give her away, she zigged back down the street toward the blue awnings over the entry to the restaurant,
One Twenty One Two
. She passed the main hotel entrance, where a mass of revelers crushed about on the navy and silver carpet.

A moment later, she entered the restaurant and hooked a right. There were elevators at the very end. Ones servicing private apartments that had been sold off along with the Gladstone Library.

Samantha knew those floors well. She and Jane had been hired to renovate and decorate a rather large slice of them, and the plastic swipe card still lay pocketed in the recesses of her wallet.

She removed her glove and slid the card out and through the elevator’s inner scanner. Then she punched the fourth floor button and waited, fingers in Tam’s fur, until the polished doors opened on Megan and Miranda’s suite of rooms. She doubted the sisters were home. February was a time to be skiing or sunning somewhere other than London.

The assumption was correct and stillness met her. Once inside their mirrored lobby, she made her way through the plum and silver series of familiar rooms. Tam padded behind her, sniffing lightly at the leftover scents of two teacup poodles and a Pomeranian.

He wasn’t impressed and needed no prodding when she reached the apartment’s rear exit. The door opened out, but locked once it was closed. She pushed through and left a glove snagged between the door and its jamb.

Now they were in the hall adjoining the spiral stairwell. She motioned for Tam to sit, and crept forward. The floors were thick with Turkish rugs, and she hoped her feet made no sound. At the edge of the corridor, the bits of stained glass in the skylight sprayed color across her feet. The crimson was an unpleasant reminder of what could come.

By now, the dark-haired gentleman had assumed a very different pose. He was just inside the men’s bathroom, no longer carrying the stole, waiting, foot keeping the door ajar just enough to view The Bar’s egress.

And then, unexpected as an indoor hurricane, Nigel’s hell-bent frame crowded the bottom of the enormous stairwell.

Samantha’s relief at his being alive was short-lived. AG had found a chink in her armor and she’d be damned if another good man was going to lose his life because of her.

She caught Tam’s eye.

He’d locked onto Nigel and tensed.

She whispered, “Rang ta,” and threw a prayer for safety into wake of the dog’s churning limbs.

Nigel’s eyes caught a triptych of movement.

There was Sam crouched two twists above him.

A figure taking too long to leave the men’s lavatory.

And the Alsatian covering the stairs in a maelstrom of soundless ferocity.

Bloody hell, there were two bad guys. Fucking Jaak had lied to him.

Nigel whipped loose the Glock he’d confiscated and sprinted low and ready to dodge. The man’s shoe disappeared and there was a whisper of clothing or perhaps a holster. Not waiting to discover which, Nigel rushed the door and smashed the man behind it into the wall. There was a scrabble of feet against stone and wood. The skitter of a gun ricocheting into some corner of the washroom. And the harsh, newly arrived scent of wet dog and wide saliva-soaked jaws.

“Don’t get near him; he’ll kill you!” Sounded in Nigel’s ears just as he tried to warn Sam away with his hand.

But wait; she didn’t know what he did, didn’t know Jaak had been outside. How could she have flushed this guy out and gotten herself and Tam in a position of offense?

His head started ringing again.
She’s got another life. A very different and darker one. This has to do with that. Maybe she tried to keep what she stole for herself and this is retribution.

Then his mind stopped trying to work it out and his hands and feet did the thinking for him. He slipped in through the loo door, kicking it shut and blocking his enemy’s retreat. Tam was lost to the door’s closing, a reluctant snout and snarl ultimately pushed away by the pressure of the heavy door.

Nigel’s enemy was clad in a dinner jacket. Whatever the pretense, he was not new to London. Was British down to his Vulfix shaving cream.

Trapped and riled, the man flung himself at Nigel, who managed to turn the impact a bit from his injured side. They smashed against the door only to ricochet away as Nigel ducked and punched the man’s midsection. It was a short-lived respite, and a punch of breath-snatching proportions plowed into Nigel’s kidney, momentarily sucking away his will to keep breathing.

On the way to his knees, Nigel planted an upward chop into the man’s exposed groin. The man crashed to his level, and using the brief lull to his advantage, Forsythe laid a heavy punch under his opponent’s exposed chin.

But its effect was less than spectacular, and he wondered for the first time in ages if he was in fact losing his touch.

Still wise enough to plow ever onward, Nigel grasped the man’s throat. He could hear the sounds of gasping and feel the pounding of flailing fists and feet.

Twice, he almost let go when the jarring agony of being hit in his ribs and thigh ripped through his already depleted resources. “Who do you work for?” he asked, inches from the writhing face.

“Fuck you!” The man grabbed Nigel’s little finger and bent it back.

Despite the snapping sound and ensuing misery, Nigel pressed on, lifting and slamming the man’s head into the marble flooring. “Answer me! What do you want with her? With me?”

But the door to the loo swung inward, Travers and two bouncers blotting out all but the slim line of Sam’s long leg.

“We’ve got him, Mr. Forsythe. Easy.” He felt Travers’s hands move under his arms, and he was pulled away as the bouncers flanked and descended upon the snarling intruder. “Miss Bond came to get us, sir. I’m very sorry about this. I never saw him come in. You have my sincerest apologies.”

Nigel was upright, pulled a safe distance from his attacker, and mentally cursing his ineffectual position. It wasn’t as if he could continue bashing the witness to procure information. He was forced to stand back, feigning gratitude and the surprise that would have come with such an attack. “It’s not your fault. He probably came in through the hotel side while you were busy getting someone a taxi.”

“I’ve called the police, sir. Would you like an ambulance as well?”

Nigel shook his head, running a rueful hand through his hair. “Not tonight. Bashed up a little is all. Haven’t had such fun since ruggers at University.”

They both laughed and Nigel was released from the man’s supportive grip. The bouncers moved past, hands all over their angry prisoner. “Ta.”

They nodded, pleased as punch to have flexed muscle in a normally tranquil environment.

And then, quick as that, Sam and Nigel were alone again.

There was a lot of distance between them.

Yet she’d gone to get help. Not the move of someone who wanted to keep her business secrets – well, secret.

He touched a bruised knuckle to the corner of his mouth to stop the tide of blood. She didn’t move to help him, just fixed her gaze on the line of red that trailed away when he withdrew his touch.

“Something you want to tell me, Sam?”

H
er composure had begun to disintegrate before the question. Now, with thoughts of what might have happened to both Tam and Nigel flying helter-skelter through her rattled mind, she felt as though she were standing on a spinning top.

Worse still, she couldn’t even tell him the awful truth.

Finally, somewhere inside her, a speck of rationale initiated a deep breath. Her eyes mapped the pooling blood above and below Nigel’s skin.

His jaw had a grim set to it. “You didn’t text Brad. Why?”

“I – ” Her voice felt unfamiliar. Rough along her throat. “I’m sorry. I just thought you were feverish again.” Then a shiver attacked; and her knees, already weak, began to wobble. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she were going to collapse.

His demeanor changed slightly and he stepped closer. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

She stayed motionless. “I haven’t told you everything about me.” It came out before she considered the words. He would know tonight’s attack had to do with her. And while she couldn’t tell him all, she could give him something that was reasonably close to the truth.

He waited, blood crusting along his mouth, his hands unflexed but still taut. “Let’s sit you down first.”

“I don’t want to sit. I…that man…I think I know why he was here.”

Nigel’s glacier-blue eyes narrowed. “Didn’t like the job you did decorating his flat?”

I am too cold
. Fingers of ice were running up and down her skin. “I’ve never seen him before, but I think someone I know hired him.”

“To come after you?” His look was murderous.

She jerked her head down. “Or you,” she whispered remembering Mr. Turner’s unexpected presence on her doorstep. She didn’t have to press too much lie into the truth. “There’s a man, a powerful one, who didn’t like it when I turned him down.”
Mr. Turner isn’t visiting because of Mum anymore.
Why hadn’t she noticed before tonight?

Nigel’s eyes remained downright hostile. “I see.”

“It’s made me a little reluctant to date.” He seemed inclined to believe her.

The firm mouth drew tighter. “Is that why you broke it off with Brad?”

Suddenly, honesty was all she had. Sam dipped her chin, terrified Nigel would walk out the door and head straight for Heathrow. “Yes.”

Only it wasn’t the case any more. But how would she ever make him believe it?

Her answer. Her explanation. Not lies. He knew without a doubt, she was telling him the truth. To be sure, there was more, but his distrust in her had all but melted.

Unfortunately, it left him knowing just how much she and Brad had once had.

And how much Wellington Turner was going to regret showing up.

He attempted a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ve made me quite jealous.” Then he noticed her hair was wet. “You were outside?” The thought was instantly chilling. When had she gone out? Had Jaak seen her? Nigel’s heart began to pound.

“When you didn’t come back, I went out looking for you.” She paused to take another breath.
Jesus, her hands were still shaking
. “That’s when I spotted him. Knew exactly why he was waiting there.”

“So you decided to what?” Nigel pieced together her position and Tam’s very timely arrival. “Sneak upstairs and set a trap for him?” The thought made him hot with fear and anger.

She glanced at Tam, lolling unperturbed against the wall. “Jane and I did some work in a set of apartments next door. You can reach them from the elevators beside the restaurant.” Absently, she slipped the card from her pocket. “I still have a key…”

Her skin was so white; it was almost translucent. He hadn’t thought of her as fragile until now. “Here.” He reached out and slid the card from her. “It’s okay. Everything is fine now.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s why I didn’t want to come tonight.” Tears skimmed the sharpness of her cheekbones.

He felt a wrench unlike any emotion he’d had before. “Please don’t cry.”

She seemed just as surprised. “I don’t. Not at Granddad’s funeral. Nor Marc’s. Or even John’s.” She sucked a soft sigh through parted lips. “Thought I’d used them all up when Mum was killed.”

“Why now?”

It was a whisper. “No more willpower.”

“What do you need it for?”
Do you miss Brad?

Her dark eyes met his. “For walking away from you.”

And then his hands were on the steep, elegant planes of her face and there was no turning back.

T
he hollows beneath his cheekbones deepened. His firm, bloodied hands were on her and for once she had nothing left to use. There were no witty sarcasms, no easy exits, and no muscles left in her brittle awkward frame. Her tears had stopped as quickly as they’d started, and she simply stared at him. Lost herself in the eyes she had so foolishly thought frozen.

Ultimately, he closed them.

He has enough strength for the both of us
.

She was mistaken.

He released her and unbuttoned the first three holes of Brad’s ripped and gory shirt. “Put your hands on my throat.”

“What?” Her hands were shaking, not up to the task, and yet ready in the same trembling instant.

“Put…your… hands… on… my… throat.”

Tentative, she stretched them and found the outer edges of his corded neck. She could feel him breathing. It was a rough sensation, like the bark on Bath’s giant oaks.

“I–” The syllable burned her; it was umber-colored, smoky and controlled. “–don’t want to be with you.”

She’d have snatched her hands away, but his fingers clamped down on her wrists. Forcing her to touch him, he continued, eyes still hidden beneath bruised blond-lashed lids. “But I can’t help it – can’t fucking help how I feel when I’m with you. You overrule my senses, Sam.”

Her heart began to beat again.
And you do the same to mine. But I will get you killed if we stay together.

With deliberation he swallowed. His hands were shuddering or maybe hers were to blame. He was holding so tight. She felt that swallow. There under the moon’s glow. She felt it and
heard
it somewhere deep within her.

His eyelids fluttered. Fear and lust swept the blue landscape like alien storms on a distant planet. For a second he stood frozen; then, he grabbed her hand and yanked her into the men’s room.

The door closed behind them huffing a chilled batch of air down the back of her neck. He crowded her against the wooden surface, their chests brushing. His mouth flexed like he was trying to decide whether or not to kiss her. Instead, he gripped her sleeves and pulled away the jacket. Then his hands were running the length of her thigh – one ducking behind, the other catching her boot’s heel. Off it came. She wilted against the door, supported only by its teak lineage and the pressure of his hands. The second boot was soon a memory.