by Ciana Stone
“I don't need him,” Cord stressed the word need. “I just thought that since I'm going to be there, and he was sort of in the area the last time he called, that it would be a good opportunity for us to get together. I do like to spend time with my son now and then, you know. Besides, there's nothing to do there so he can just hang around and keep me company.”
“First, he was not in that area. And second, this isn't on you. It's a site that was set up without your involvement, and you haven't been asked to consult—”
“But I have. I spoke with Tom, and he's going to give me clearance. We have to figure this out.”
He knew it was kind of deceptive since he'd pretty much invited himself to the party, but Tom had agreed and not knowing what happened was driving Cord nuts.
Morgan stared at him for a long moment. “Fine, but let me tell you one thing, Cord Alexander. If you go there and get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you.”
“I'll be okay, Morgan. Come on, you’re overreact-”
Morgan cut him off as she continued. “And if you let anything happen to my son, you may as well not come home.”
“Morgan.” He appealed in his most convincing tone, looking away as he did. “You're just being paranoid. After all, the FBI has everything under control. What could possibly happen?”
When he stole a glance at her, he hastily changed the subject. “I'm starving. What do we have to eat?”
“I don't know. Nothing.”
“Well, come on, let's go get some lunch.” He hurriedly left the room before she could start on him again.
Washington, D.C.
“Close the door.” A sharp voice came from the opposite side of the room.
Cassie jumped at the sound of the voice. She closed the door quietly behind her but lingered in front of it, hesitant to move and reluctant to speak. The scene she’d just witnessed had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She’d barely had time to get herself under control when Victor's voice came through the room's intercom, demanding her presence. She swallowed nervously and fidgeted as she waited.
“Have a seat, Cassandra.” Victor swung his chair around to look over the wide expanse of the desk.
She hurried to a long sofa that ran down the length of the wall to the left of his desk. Once seated she looked at him. He remained motionless for a well over a minute, during which her anxiety level rose.
Finally, he rose, strolled to the sofa, and sat down close beside her. As he sank back into the soft, supple leather upholstery, he unceremoniously slid out of his expensive leather loafers and propped his feet on the glass coffee table. He appeared completely relaxed and unconcerned as he closed his eyes and let his hands lie peacefully in his lap.
Cassie sat in tense silence, edgy about what his next move would be. With Victor, one never knew. One moment he could seem perfectly normal, and the next he might be ripping your heart out with his hand. Not about to incur his ire by speaking too soon, she remained perfectly still and watched him warily.
Such a beautiful man. At least in appearance. She studied his features. He wore his black hair in a fashionable cut. Heavy jet eyebrows shadowed deeply set slate-hued eyes that changed from a flickering blue-gray to a luminous blue-black when angered. The color seemed somewhat incongruous with their almond, almost Asian shape, yet it served to add a mysteriously exotic aspect to his appearance.
Sculpted high cheekbones and a straight aristocratic nose gave him a classic profile. A perpetual shadow of heavy dark beard covered the lower half of his face. His lips were inviting but usually set in an expression of narcissistic self–assurance.
Her eyes moved over his body as he reclined on the sofa and a heat grew within her. At six foot four, he carried his weight in solid muscle. His massive chest was rock hard. Black hair decorated the skin, merging into a thin line down the center of a torso that rippled with muscle. With narrow hips and carved firm buttocks, his body gave the impression of tightly controlled power.
Her introspection of the delights of Victor's body came to an abrupt halt when she realized with some measure of embarrassment that he was staring at her with a conceited smile on his handsome face.
Victor laughed, then his face suddenly closed in an expression of portentousness. Cassie wilted under his scrutiny. Fear mingled with lust as she sat subservient before him.
“Let's begin with a short quiz, shall we, Cassandra?” He suggested in a soft, smooth tone.
“A quiz? On what?”
“Can you define the word ‘dead’ to me?” Victor raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
“Dead?” Cassie was taken completely off guard by the question and had no idea where Victor was headed.
“Yes, dead. D–E–A–D. As in deceased, lifeless, extinct.”
“Why?” She queried, still perplexed.
“Why?” He thundered and vaulted up from the couch. “You cannot be that stupid! I gave you explicit instructions. Kill Cord Alexander, I told you. And is he now dead? No!”
Victor paced the room like a caged animal, shouting at her with uncontrolled fury. Suddenly, he stopped directly in front of her, grabbed her by the arm, and jerked her up. With his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of her upper arm, he held her aloft so that her toes barely scraped the floor.
“Victor, please. It wasn't my fault. It was Workman! He let the car get out of control, and it spoiled the shot. We had him until the car flipped over then our shot was blocked. Just as he broke out in the open, a bullet hit the gas tank, and it exploded. There was no way to see. I did my best, honestly. You know I’ve never failed you before. Today was a fluke. It wasn't my fault.”
She stumbled and fell awkwardly to the floor as he shoved her from him. “Victor,” she continued to appeal to him. “Give me another chance, I won't fail you, I promise.”
As he strode over to the bar, he looked back at her with his eyes narrowed in mistrust. “Is there anything you have left out, anything you would like to add?”
“I can't think of anything.”
“Nothing?”
She shook her head and watched him furtively. Silence rang loudly in the room for several long minutes. Finally, she summoned the nerve to speak. “What more can I tell you?”
“Who killed Workman?”
Unsure if he was angry about Workman being eliminated, she hesitated. Did he order the termination or not? She decided to play it dumb. “I have no idea.”
“Very well, Cassandra.” He turned back to the bar. “Please make yourself comfortable. I will fix us a drink.” With his back to her, she could not see his hands as he prepared her drink.
Victor smiled to himself. Cord Alexander's brush with death had brought a realization to Victor. If Cord had been killed, his revenge would have been far less sweet when it finally all played out. Cord had to stay alive long enough to see his life destroyed, his wife turned against him and his fortune gone. Then his suffering would be long enough it would almost be a mercy to release him from this life.
With a measure of satisfaction at how providence always tended to smile on him, Victor turned from the bar. Two ice cubes cracked in the warm liquid as he delivered the drink into Cassandra's hands.
“Salute,” he toasted her with his own drink.
“To you, Victor, and our success.” Cassie returned the salute then upended her glass and drained it in one swallow. “Well, if business is concluded, perhaps we have time for pleasure.” The one thing she knew about men was that the best way to control them was the tried and true method women had used since the beginning of time. She stood slowly and began to provocatively unbutton her blouse.
“No need for that.” He moved in front of her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and forced her down onto her knees before him.
She did not hesitate to unfasten his slacks, free him from the material and eagerly begin her oral administrations.
Victor's hands moved from her shoulders to either side of her head. His fingers tangled in her long hair. With a vicious
snarl, he crushed her head to him, driving himself deeper into her throat. Cassandra was nothing more than a warm eager mouth. Her needs and desires meant nothing to him. As easily as if he was alone, he indulged himself in a memory, seeing the event in his mind's eye.
Juan showed Victor to his room, and then retired for the night. Victor undressed and lay across the bed, staring up at the whirling ceiling fan. It had been sweltering and humid that August night. Even the combination of air conditioning and ceiling fan could not dispel the heat. He rose from the bed and walked out the glass door that opened onto a large patio. The patio was empty, with only the sounds of the crickets and frogs to break the silence. The automatic lights had already turned off for the night, leaving the pool lit by only a full moon hanging low in the sky.
Victor crossed the patio to the pool and slid into the water. Its coolness enveloped him, dissipating some of the heat and stickiness. He submerged beneath the water and swam the length of the pool. When he surfaced, he propped up in the far corner of the pool, his hands gripping the sides. Dark shadows from the nearby trees concealed him like a protective cloak.
He leaned his head back and looked up at the moon between the branches of a large oak. A noise caused him to turn and look back at the house. A door opened on the upstairs balcony and from it appeared what would become a key component in his plans for revenge. Morgan Alexander.
Even now, in his mind, Victor could see her as she had appeared that night. Her long ebony hair streamed down her shoulders, concealing her breasts. She wore only the smallest pair of white thong panties that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her firm body appeared like a living work of art in the night.
His passion overflowed as he thought of her and how he would destroy her along with her husband, bringing the stimulus he needed to climax deep into Cassie's throat, holding her head firmly in place until he was spent.
Choking and retching, Cassie fell back from him as he refastened his trousers. “Clean yourself up, then we will discuss your next assignment.” He looked down on her in revulsion.
Humiliated and furious at having been treated like a common tramp she glared at his back as he turned away from her. But afraid not to do as he ordered, she stood, mustered what self–respect she could manage and walked into the adjacent bathroom.
Cotton Creek, Texas
Morgan and Cord were both silent during the ride to the restaurant. Cord was deep in thought about how he was going to test the system. Morgan was still fuming over Cord's decision to go and was in no mood for conversation.
Once seated they quickly ordered and watched the waiter leave. “If you want company, I'll go with you.” She spoke, challenging him with her eyes.
“Uh, I need you to stay here and get in touch with Trevor.”
“You can give up on that lame excuse. What is it you're not telling me?”
For a moment Cord's eyes dropped to the tabletop to avoid her flashing stare.
“After twenty–two years of being truthful with each other, I can't believe you're going to start holding out on me now.” Her tense voice began to rise in volume, carrying beyond their table. “Or are there other secrets I don't know about?”
“Okay, okay!” Cord looked around to see if anyone was listening. He leaned closer to her over the table and lowered his voice. “I think I know where the stuff might be. But I need the tracking satellite to help me pinpoint it. If I'm right, it's going to take some footwork to locate, and that's where Trevor comes in. Using Jess’s motorcycle gang, I can cover a lot of territory in a relatively short amount of time. Plus, if there's any trouble it won't hurt to have those guys around.”
“Are you out of your mind? Dammit, Cord! Why don't you just call the FBI? We're talking about terrorists here. You know, those guys who enjoy killing people? Be realistic. You and I are just ordinary people, not spies, or secret agents. Now you want to go running around the country looking for nuclear waste? Just call the FBI. It's their problem. Let them handle it. Please.”
“Morgan,” Cord lowered his voice more. “Let me explain, please. This is just a hunch. I might be wrong, and I don't want to be like Tom, running around blowing whistles and chasing ghosts. I just want to check out the system in Andrews, make sure it's not something I've done wrong. Don't you understand? This could be my fault. What if it's me? A mistake I made? I just want to check and make sure, okay? If I find anything, I'll call them immediately. All right?” He sat back in his seat, hoping what he said appeased her.
“No. No, there's nothing you can say that will convince me it's a good idea, so I'm asking you to not go. For me. Don't go. Please.”
He saw no way to refuse her, at least not at the moment, so he acquiesced. “Fine. I won't go. Happy?”
She sat still as a statue with her eyes drilling into him. “And you still haven't answered my question.”
“What?” He didn't remember the question.
“Are there any other secrets I don't know about?”
In a nervous reflex, he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “No, that's everything.”
Mark Samuels sat in the surveillance van in the parking lot of the restaurant. He knew he couldn't follow them inside, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't home in on their conversation. All he managed to get was a mix-mash of chatter. When he checked his watch, he realized that it was time to check in. He set aside the 'big ear’ and picked up his cell phone.
Back at the Bureau, Smith had been assigned to coordinate the flow of information between the FBI and the CIA. Samuels was to continue field duty. His assignment was to keep an eye on the Alexanders. The official line was that Cord was not at the present time a suspect. The surveillance was for his own protection. At least that was the official account.
Over the cell phone, Samuels filled Smith in on Cord's plans to go to Andrews County. Smith ordered him to stay close to Mrs. Alexander and advised him that the Bureau would have someone pick up Cord's trail in Andrews.
His conversation concluded, Samuels sat back watching the entrance of the restaurant. A smile grew on his face. Watching Mrs. Alexander wouldn't be hard at all. In fact, right now he couldn't think of anything he'd rather watch. With Cord out of the way, maybe he could spend a little time getting to know her. The thought widened his smile into a grin.
Chapter Eight
Cord pushed back from his desk, propped his elbows on the armrests of his chair and laced his fingers over his belly. His index fingers tapped in rhythm to the music from the overhead speakers. He'd done as much as he could remotely and had found nothing to indicate a breach in the system or even a break in the data reporting.
If there had been a break-in and waste was missing, then he had no clue how it was accomplished. In fact, at this point, he was starting to doubt there had been, but he wouldn't say that aloud until he'd been to the site and could verify it in person.
That presented a problem. Morgan had made it crystal clear she was against him getting involved in any kind of investigation. When he argued it was his responsibility, she reminded him that the government had built the facility, stored the waste and installed his technology without informing or consulting him, so it was clear they didn't want or need his involvement.
She might be right, but he wasn't ready to admit it. And as much as he wanted to honor the promise he'd made to her to stay out of it, the whole thing was driving him nuts. He'd never rest until he could figure it out and the only way to do that was to go see for himself, first hand.
The question was, how did he convince her it was the right thing? That thought prompted a realization. It was nearly seven, and she hadn't come home yet. He knew the ranch hands would have knocked off at six. Morgan was insistent on their employees having decent working schedules. When there was a need for people to work over, she made it well worth their while.
So, where was she?
That question had him rising and heading out of the house. Damn, it felt good to move around. He'd been sitting way too much lat
ely. Rather than take one of the ATV's from the garage, he opted to walk. It wasn't long before twilight, and the sky was streaked with color. Cord took his time, appreciating the moment and allowing himself to remember how much he loved this place and its beauty.
His breath nearly caught in his throat as a paddock came into view and he beheld the sight of the small woman and the horse inside it. No one could break a horse like Morgan. She stood in the center, tirelessly swinging the rope, around and around. In time with her motions, was that of the massive eighteen hand stallion she'd bought off a man in New Mexico who'd labeled the horse as untrainable and sold him to Morgan for next to nothing.
Cord was quiet as he walked over and leaned his forearms on the top rail of the fence. If Morgan realized he was there, she didn't acknowledge it. Her attention was entirely on the horse. After a couple more minutes she stopped swinging the rope, gathered it and turned her back on the horse.
This was the moment that made Cord nervous. Many a trainer had found himself in a pickle when the horse decided to pound him into the ground. Cord watched as the horse pawed the ground with one hoof and then shook its head. Morgan ignored it or at least appeared to. She ambled to the side of the paddock, looped the rope over a post and then put her hands on the rail.
The horse watched, and when she stilled, it snorted, shook its head again and then went motionless. The seconds ticked away, and Cord started to wonder if she'd failed. Then the horse moved. Slowly and deliberately, it crossed the paddock to her. She never moved as it put its nose against her back, then on her shoulder.
When the horse leaned its big head against hers, she reached up and rubbed its face. For a long time, they stood that way. He could hear her murmur and saw the way the tension in the animal's body diminished. When she finally turned toward the horse, its body looked relaxed. She put a hand on either side of its face, kissed its nose and breathed into its face several times before turning in Cord's direction.
