Dante circled out of sight, into the darkness surrounding the house. Had she thought he possessed the penchant for practical jokes—or maybe even role playing—she might have considered this some odd game, but the way he prowled, weapon drawn, moving deliberately and silently, told her otherwise.
The hell with this. She grabbed the handle of the door and almost opened it. Then changed her mind. He was a professional. If he’d decided she needed to stay in the car, she should stay in the car.
She ducked down, slammed her eyes closed and wished for the screams in her head to stop. In the darkness she couldn’t tell if her vision was blurring, but she knew her stomach was churning in that familiar, unwanted way. She started counting in her head to block out the past pushing in on her. One minute. Two. Five.
She slapped a hand over her mouth as her door was ripped open and light flooded the car. “Come on. Inside. And keep your voice down.”
Her body went cold, then arctic as she looked at his face before she got out of the car. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Not out in the open.” He helped her out and closed her door, but not in the normal way. He pushed it so it only made a quiet click. “Let’s go.” He took her keys from her the second she pulled them out of her purse. “No lights.” He took her hand and pulled her with him, then pushed her against the wall. “Wait here until I come back.”
“No!” She grabbed his arm and pulled hard. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Why are you playing master spy all of a sudden?”
“I’m not a spy and it’s not sudden,” he whispered. “I was sent here to do a job and I’m going to do it.” He looked down at her hand barely visible in the darkness of her home. “Let me go, Nissa. Now. You hear anything off, you run.”
She released him as if he’d turned to flame. He’d been sent here to do a job? What kind of job would he possibly…
“Oh, God.” She covered her mouth against the urge to retch. This had to do with what had happened in South America. He’d been sent to kill her, hadn’t he? First he’d seduce her, then slit her throat like that poor girl…
Nissa dropped her bag on the floor and kicked off her heels. She raced into the kitchen and grabbed a knife out of the block. Clutching it in her hand she ran for the back door, jiggling the door handle as the lock refused to yield. The back yard. Except there wasn’t a gate out. If she went that way she’d be trapped. She was trapped now.
She whirled at the sound of footsteps.
It may have only been days, but she knew Dante’s shadow. That wasn’t him.
Her mouth went dry. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her fingers went numb around the hilt of the knife as she inched closer to the island. He followed, silently stalking her.
He lunged. She cried out and dived to the side. Two soft pops burst in the kitchen as she ducked down. She heard the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. Dead. He was dead. Some strange man was dead in her kitchen.
“Nissa!” Dante was at her side in a second, hauling her to her feet. She clutched the knife to her chest. “I told you to stay put!”
“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”
“What?” As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see the shock on his face. “Nissa, no, of course…not.” He looked down at the knife. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Keep it if it makes you feel better but for God’s sake straighten your wrist before you hurt yourself. There’s at least one more in the house.”
“He wasn’t alone?” Human traffickers had invaded her home?
“No. Living room. Quietly, now.” He pressed a finger against his lips and grabbed her hand, tightening his fingers around her limp ones. She didn’t want to go with him, but she didn’t want to stay here, either.
“This is about South America, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How do they know who I—”
He turned on her and kissed her exclamation point hard. “I will explain when this is over, but for now. Be. Quiet.” He shoved his gun into the back waistband of his pants and turned to the staircase. He moved the side table out of the way, then pulled open the door to the cabinet. “Wyatt’s Batcave. Get in.”
“What? No.” She planted her feet. “You might need my…help. Yeah, okay, never mind.” She ducked inside and only then did she realize how little space there was for her with all the boxes. “Where are you going—?”
“I’ve already called the police.” He pushed her onto her butt, and ducked down before grabbing the door. “I’m going to try to lead them away from the house. You stay in here and don’t move, do you understand me?”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever understand anything ever again,” Nissa muttered, but waved him away. “Just go already so you can get back. Wait, Dante?” She whisper-called his name and felt an odd sense of relief when he shifted back to her.
“What?”
The admission lodged in her throat, but knowing what was out there—who was out there, she didn’t want to die—didn’t want him to die, without knowing the truth. “Whatever happens out there? I love you.”
He actually grinned and winked. “I know.”
~*~
All Dante had to do was keep the intruders occupied while Jack’s contact at the San Francisco FBI office got his ass to St. Helena. Relying on Jack to play logistical officer and relay messages between himself, the FBI, and local law enforcement was Dante’s only choice now. Somehow, he had to find enough faith in his boss to believe Jack would put a woman’s life ahead of his profit margin.
Not just any woman, though. The woman Dante loved.
He crept through the family room in the back of the house, looking for out of place shadows as there wasn’t any place to hide, not with the lacy curtains. Something upstairs in Nissa’s bedroom squeaked. He looked up, considered firing through the ceiling but he couldn’t count on the bullet getting through.
Gun at the ready, he cross-stepped up the stairs and wished she’d gone for wall to wall carpeting rather than hard-wood. He pulled out his phone, tapped open the flashlight app and shined it onto the landing. Empty. The office had been searched and not nearly as deliberately and carefully as Dante had done. Obviously, they hadn’t found anything either since they were still here.
That they’d done the same to Wyatt’s and Caley’s rooms, set anger simmering inside of him. Caley’s plant experiment had been trashed, the seedlings and dirt scattered on the floor by the window. Her bottles of “potions” smashed on her desk. Wyatt’s books had been ripped up and tossed aside, his favorite teddy bear sliced open from throat to tail.
“Idiots.” How stupid did these guys have to be to think Nissa would have hidden incriminating photographs of a human trafficker and drug lord in her child’s toy?
That left the guest room and Nissa’s bedroom. Dante stepped back into the hall, caught a shadow of movement in the guest room and raced to the door which was half closed. He could hear rifling, drawers opening and closing, mutterings and cursing. One voice or two? Dante stuck his head in as far as he dared, strained to hear.
“Yeah, I’m looking. I’m not finding anything connected to you. Do you know how many photographs this woman has?”
Dante’s pulse kicked in double time. He pressed his clasped fingers against his forehead and tried not to smile. This was why super criminals really needed professional help. All Dante needed was to get a hold of that guy’s cell phone and they could have a direct line to Banner. Maybe. Burner phones were a bitch to trace. Take him alive and they could turn this guy against Banner. Maybe then the FBI wouldn’t need Nissa at all. If they could get Banner to cut a deal, she wouldn’t have to testify, wouldn’t have to expose herself. She and the kids would be safe.
He waited, listening, as the intruder passed by the door before he crept inside. Slowly, closet behind him, Dante got to his feet, gun poised in one hand, his cell in the other.
“Has Clarence checked in with you?” the man said. “He was supposed to me
et me back up—”
Dante’s phone buzzed.
The intruder spun around, hand going to his belt as Dante opened the flashlight app. The man cried out, shielded his eyes, as he pulled his gun free.
Dante fired twice. Tap, tap. Point blank. The ghostly voice on the other end of the phone erupted in the silence of the bedroom as the intruder collapsed. The smell of hot gunpowder filled the room as Dante reached out for the light. And froze.
A gun cocked behind him from the walk-in closet. Instinct kicked in and Dante ducked and spun. The bullet whizzed past his ear as he kicked out and caught the man behind his knees. The man went down hard enough to shake the house. Dante dived for his gun which had spun out into the hall, but he was kicked hard in the ribs as his foe returned. Pain sliced through him as another fist rammed hard into his back. He tried to roll, but the man was almost as big as he was. He landed a few punches, his knuckles burning as they sliced open. He could not let this man out of this room. He couldn’t let him anywhere Nissa.
Dante tasted blood in his mouth as he took another punch, which put him in position for a head-butt. He swore as his head rang, but he’d done enough damage to stun his attacker. For a moment at least.
But not long enough. The man growled, low and desperate, fury and rage driving him back to his feet.
“That’s far enough!”
The light clicked on. Panic tumbled around fear in a way he’d never known at the sight of Nissa standing in the doorway, a camera in one hand, Dante’s gun in the other. She aimed both at the intruder and clicked the non-lethal one. Her gun hand was shaking, her skin was sickly pale, but the abject determination in her eyes bolstered him.
“Nissa,” he whispered and reached for the intruder. Who made the wrong choice.
He ignored Dante and stepped toward Nissa.
Who fired.
~*~
Nissa sat curled in the corner of her sofa, a quilt her mother made for her tucked around her shoulders. She couldn’t seem to get warm. Not with the heat on. Not with the alphabet soup swarming all over her house. FBI, the D.A., local police. She’d lost track of the names and faces and surrendered to the white noise of shock.
“You doing okay, Nissa?” Sheriff Jonah Baudouin bent down in front of her and pressed a steaming mug into her hands. “It’s tea. Decaf. Thought maybe you could use it.”
“Thank you.” She accepted and sipped but couldn’t quite break through the fog in her brain. “The man I shot—”
“He’s already on his way to the hospital.” Jonah shifted to sit beside her on the sofa. “Bullet went clean through his leg. Made a mess, but he’ll live. Might be sorry he did.”
“Why?”
“Because of his boss. I listened to Dante Thanos give his statement to Agent Reeves.” He jerked his chin toward the dining room. “He works for a man named Banner. Been on every law enforcement’s radar for nearly two decades. Thanos seems to believe you might have photographs of him.”
“Photographs.” Nissa repeated the word as she rubbed her temple. “No, I don’t think…oh. Of course.” Disappointment crashed through her, hollowing out her chest where her heart used to be. “South America. That’s what his job was. To find the photos he thought I took. I want to talk to him.”
“Thanos? Yeah, okay, let me check—”
“I’m done,” Dante said as he rounded the corner. He was bruised and bloodied, his tailored shirt was torn, and two buttons had disappeared. Worse of all he looked…unshaken. As if killing two men and all but cage fighting a third was normal activity for him.
“Everything was a lie, wasn’t it?” If Nissa expected him to show a hint of remorse about his deception, she was in for yet another disappointment. It wasn’t that he looked proud necessarily. But he certainly didn’t look apologetic. “That’s why you were in the park that day. You’d been told about what happened in South America.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Nissa. I might not have told you everything—”
“Dude, when you’re in a hole, stop digging.” Jonah slapped a hand on Dante’s shoulder as he passed. “Nissa, we’ll probably have some follow up questions for you over the next few weeks, but it’s clear this was a case of self-defense.”
“Yeah, the other two bodies should prove that out.” She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead, all she could do was stare at Dante and wonder if anything he’d ever said to her was the truth.
“I called your parents,” Dante told her. “They should be here soon.”
“Great. I’m sure Mom has a trick for getting arterial blood out of hardwood and carpet.”
He cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Nissa—”
“You can go now.” She tugged the quilt tighter around her shoulders.
“Not yet, I can’t.”
“Don’t tell me.” She took a deep, rib aching breath and lifted her eyes to his. As much joy as the sight of him had brought her the last few days, that was how much pain coursed through her now. “You want to explain. Tell me it was all a misunderstanding and that you never meant to hurt me.”
He dropped folded hands between his knees and ducked his head. “I would like to explain. And no, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to believe there’s something to salvage—”
She snorted that unladylike laugh that only came with heartbreak. “You lied to me, Dante. From the second we met. And don’t talk semantics. Not telling me everything is the same thing. Lance never told me about all the girlfriends. Those were lies, too.” Lance. An entirely new pool of dread formed in the bottom of her stomach. When he found out about this—
He flinched and shook his head. “You’re really going to lump me in with your ex-husband?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to trust you? To trust that you were interested in me? Me, a frumpy, almost thirty-year-old washed up photographer with two kids?”
“I do.”
“But I let myself. And this entire time, all you wanted from me were some lousy photographs. You used me, Dante.”
“That’s how it started, yes, but…”
“There are no buts. I want you to leave.” She uncurled from the sofa. “Now.”
He hesitated, his jaw tensing. “I told you, I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Two feet. Put one in front of…the…other.” And then she understood. “Of course. You can’t leave without the pictures.”
He winced.
“Right. Okay.” She stood up and took a long breath. “I’ll be right back.”
After she got permission from the lead agent, she was escorted up to her bedroom where she dug into the bottom of her closet. The box she hauled out was one she’d almost thrown away. She didn’t want the camera; didn’t want the nightmares it caused or the fear it brought. Nor did she want the man who came looking for it.
“Here.” She dropped it into Dante’s hands when she returned to the living room. “Congratulations, mission accomplished.”
Dante turned the camera over, clicked a few of the buttons so efficiently that she now realized he was as proficient with the device as she was. Another lie. Another deception. He clicked through the images, his brow twitching. “Thank you. Will you say goodbye to Caley and Wyatt for me?”
She wanted to say no, because she knew it would hurt him, but it wasn’t in her. Not tonight. Not ever. “Yes, I will.”
He got to his feet, because she asked him to leave or maybe because he’d heard the distinctive sound of her mother’s voice blasting through the front door. “Just so you know, and I don’t expect you to believe me, but I never lied about my feelings for you. I’d hoped once this was all over that maybe—”
“You’re right, Dante.” She picked up the quilt again. “I don’t believe you.”
“Nissa! Dante.” Eileen Lafferty pushed through the throng of police and dive-bombed her daughter, wrapping her in her arms as effectively as a cocoon. “This is just horrible. Horrible! I’m so glad you’
re…okay.” Eileen turned glassy green eyes on Dante. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Nissa sniffed. “Dante was just leaving. Right, Dante?”
He looked at her, defeat bright in his eyes, but also understanding. And that was what broke her heart. He’d known what he’d done, what he was doing, and he’d still gone ahead and done it.
“It was nice to meet you both,” Dante said to her parents. “You can take care of her, now.”
Nissa watched him as he walked away, spoke to the Sheriff. She kept her eyes pinned on him as he headed to the door.
And walked out of her life.
Chapter Eleven
“What’s this?” Dante looked up when Jack tossed a thick manila envelope in front of him. In the week since he’d been back in New York, he’d found a local bar to haunt and while he wasn’t drinking himself into a stupor every night, he had become convinced six months’ vacation was going to be a row he couldn’t hoe. He needed to work. He needed something to focus on other than the massive mistakes he’d made with Nissa and all he’d have done differently if he’d only realized his feelings for her sooner. He needed a distraction. “My next job?”
“Severance package.” Jack slid onto the stool next to him and signaled the bartender for whatever Dante was having.
“Yeah, kind of thought that was coming.” He rubbed his fingers against his temple. “Guess you don’t appreciate your contract employees giving you orders.”
“I don’t, no. But that’s not why I’m letting you go. You destroyed evidence.”
Dante smirked. “Prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove it. You deleted those pictures on the camera’s SIM card. The techs might not be able to see what you took off, but they can see you deleted something. Bad business, man.” He slugged down some beer and reached for the toxic mix of pretzels and salted nuts.
“No photographs means he can’t come after her again. Ever.” And since Dante wasn’t going to be around to protect her and her children, it was a risk he’d been willing to take.
St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love In Focus (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Laffertys Book 2) Page 10
