by Cara Summers
He’d been counting on the time in Denver to give him some respite from thoughts of Cilla. He’d been looking forward to catching up with his best friend, Gabe Wilder. Their other pal Nash hadn’t been able to make their annual party because his grandmother had arranged for a private Christmas cruise that would allow Nash and his wife, Bianca, to get to know some recently discovered members of their family.
Though their career paths had drawn them apart since the years they’d spent at Denver’s St. Francis Center for Boys, they tried to get together whenever they could, and Christmas usually provided the perfect time. He’d been looking forward to a poker game tonight at Gabe’s apartment and shooting some hoops tomorrow.
The note that had been hand delivered that morning had changed his plans. Like the first, it had come in a small green box tied with a red ribbon. The message had been playing in his head in a continuous loop, and each time it repeated, the feeling in his gut grew stronger.
The word pleasures had appeared in both notes, so now he was headed back to the club. Pulling his parking stub out of his pocket, he checked the aisle, turned left, and increased his pace.
He nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. Though he managed not to break stride, he now knew what it must be like to take two barrels of a shotgun right in the belly. She was leaning against the back fender of his car, her mile-long legs crossed in front of her.
Cilla Michaels.
As often as he’d considered calling her, as frequently as he’d imagined her in his mind, nothing had prepared him for the impact that seeing her again would have on him.
It was all he could do to keep his pace from quickening. That night in the hotel lounge, her dark hair had been pulled back into a long neat braid. Tonight, it spilled in dark curls over her shoulders. The open red leather trench coat revealed a very short black dress. The shoes were red with open toes and dangerously high heels. And the legs…well, they were incredible.
But as he reached her, it was the eyes that drew his gaze again, just as they had before. They were a pure and piercing green with a shimmer of gold around the pupils. Fascinating. And looking into them for too long had the same effect he’d experienced the first time. He forgot to breathe.
When he drew air in, he felt the burn in his lungs. No other woman had ever affected his senses, his mind, his breathing, his gut in quite this way.
Nearly a month had passed and he hadn’t stopped wanting her. Now, seeing her again, he wanted her even more. He wanted his hands on her. He needed hers on him.
All the more reason to remember that she was dangerous for him. All the more reason to send her away. He had bigger problems on his plate right now. The two notes he’d received needed all of his attention.
“Cilla Michaels,” he said. “Gabe sent you.”
She nodded. “He contacted me as soon as your plane left Denver. He thinks you need protection, and he warned me you might not like it.”
“It’s not a matter of liking. Do I look like someone who needs protection?”
“Not in the least.” Cilla had had plenty of time to study him as he’d walked toward her, but she was sorely tempted to run her gaze over him again. The black leather jacket and jeans suited his tall, lanky frame and made him look tough and a little dangerous.
“You look to me as if you could handle yourself just fine,” she said.
“Good.” He opened the passenger door and tossed his duffel on the seat. “Then we’re agreed that I don’t need your services.”
“We’re not agreed on that.” She waited until he met her eyes, then added, “The least you can do is let me give my sales pitch. It’s the job of G.W. Securities to think of things the client might overlook.”
He leaned a hip against the car door. “Such as?”
“Would you have thought to check for a bomb under your car?”
He narrowed his gaze. “No.”
She smiled. “I did. It’s part of the service.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that she might have scored a point, but the game wasn’t over.
“I know that the first note said, ‘six days and counting…’” she continued, “the second said five, but that could be a lie. Sociopaths aren’t known for their honesty.”
Silence.
“And you’re probably thinking it’s highly unlikely that someone could have traced your car to this particular parking space, but I got a friend of mine to run down your license plate. Then I simply drove through the garage until I located your car. If I was able to do that, so could someone else. They could easily have booby-trapped it.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point.” When he smiled at her, the effect rippled right down to her toes. Then he took the lapel of her jacket and rubbed it between his fingers. Her toes, the little traitors, curled.
“But you’ve obviously got better things to do tonight. From the looks of it, Gabe’s call pulled you away from something or someone special.”
She thought of the empty cheese and cracker plate, her disgruntled cat and the movie on the Hallmark Channel’s Countdown to Christmas and barely smothered a yawn. Instead, she tried a smile of her own. “Actually, it didn’t. I was having a quiet evening at home.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “You dress like this for a quiet evening at home?”
“I changed after Gabe called. I thought this was more appropriate for Pleasures. That is where you’re headed, isn’t it?”
His smile faded. “Gabe is overreacting.”
“He said you had a feeling.”
“I may be overreacting. It’s probably a crank.”
“Perhaps.” But in the three hours he’d sat in the Denver airport waiting for his plane, he hadn’t changed his mind about coming home, Cilla thought. “But you don’t think so. You don’t like the fact that they used the word pleasures in the note.”
Surprise flickered for a moment in his eyes. “No, I don’t like that.”
“Could be coincidence, but…”
“I don’t trust coincidence.”
“But you do trust your instincts.”
He let the silence stretch again, so she pushed her advantage. “Look, I know we have a history. And we made a deal. One night.” She waved a hand. “Let’s put all of that in a side bar for now. This is strictly a professional offer.”
He narrowed his eyes fractionally, and dammit, her toes curled again. For an instant, her mind flashed back to that moment in Denver when they’d first stepped into the hotel room and he’d pushed the door shut and put his hands on her. His eyes had narrowed then, too, and she recalled how they’d glinted in the darkness. Ignoring both the image and her traitorous toes, she ruthlessly focused.
“Gabe’s a friend of yours and he’s my boss. He asked me to make sure you got to Pleasures safely. As a favor. I’m not even here on G.W. Securities’ clock. But I am here as a private security agent. And I’m good at what I do. You can call Gabe and get a recommendation.”
He frowned. “I’m not questioning your abilities.”
“Then why don’t you think of my escorting you to your club as a way to set Gabe’s mind at ease?”
“You’ll follow me to Pleasures and that’s it.”
“Not exactly. The service G.W. Securities provides is more than door-to-door. I check out your apartment before you go in. Double-check the security system. And I get a chance to walk you through Pleasures on the way. I’ve never been there.”
He considered for a moment. “Sounds reasonable. I run the risk of sounding like a real prick if I say no.”
“Not exactly the way I’d phrase it, but you’ve got the gist.”
“You are good at this, aren’t you?”
She beamed a smile at him. “I’m the best. How about I follow you to your club?”
HE LIKED TO KEEP HIS ROOM dark. In his opinion, everything was way too bright during the holiday season, as evidenced by the amount of light pouring through the windows. On the screen of his laptop, he could see that Jonah Stone’s pla
ne had landed—10:15.
The anger that he’d been keeping tightly leashed for the past three hours eased just a little. He didn’t like it at all when he had to adjust his plans. The plane should have landed three hours ago.
But Stone was finally here. It wasn’t too late to go forward with the scheme. It would be another forty-five minutes to an hour before Jonah Stone would reach Pleasures.
He took a cell phone from his desk and punched in a number. On the fourth ring, a raspy voice said, “Yeah?”
He relayed the information and gave the order. “Got that?”
“Consider it done.”
Turning off the cell, he laid it carefully on the desk. Then he rose, walked to the closet and took out his overcoat, a hat and a long scarf. He trusted the man in charge of the mission, but he would still be on the scene to make sure his orders were carried out.
Five more nights—that’s how long it would take to complete his mission. It was all planned out. And during those nights, Jonah Stone would pay for the life he’d taken.
Moving to the nightstand, he glanced down at the picture. It was framed in crystal, and a small flameless candle burned in front of it.
Elizabeth. Poor, innocent Elizabeth. She’d been the only person he’d ever loved. And he’d had to leave her. He had a calling. She’d understood. He’d known that she’d been fragile, but how could he have foreseen that in his absence, she would fall under the spell of a man who’d seduce her and then reject her and kill her?
Five nights from now, on the anniversary of her death, he would exact revenge.
After running one finger down the side of the frame, he put on his coat, the hat and the scarf. Then he walked to the door.
When one set up a plan, part of the pleasure was watching it come flawlessly to fruition.
4
“YOU’VE GOT A CLASSY PLACE here,” Cilla remarked as she joined Jonah at the rear of his car. He’d pulled into a private lot half a block down from Pleasures and spoken briefly with the attendant, who’d then waved her through.
“I like it,” he said, shifting his gaze to the three-story club on the corner across the street.
And well he should, Cilla decided as she studied it. The location was prime, right in the heart of the city, and the building was old with tall arched windows on two upper floors that recalled a different, more gilded age.
On the second floor, shadowy figures wove their way among tables lit with candles. Through the windows on the street level, she caught a glimpse of a crowded bar. Tiny white Christmas lights twinkled on the awning, a subtle salute to the season.
“I know that I only talked you into letting me escort you here and lock you up tight for the night, but you really should allow G.W. Securities to provide you with round-the-clock protection. At least until we get a handle on what’s going on here.”
“You talked to Gabe on the drive over.”
She shrugged. “He is my boss. He wants to put a couple of men on you even without your agreement. My feeling is that the moment you spot them, you’ll shake them. He agreed. So we’d like your permission.”
“You’ve got all you’re going to get from me tonight. I have a business meeting tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t need a couple of babysitters tagging along. You can tell Gabe that I’ll check for car bombs myself in the morning.”
She let it rest as they watched a couple exit through the glossy red entrance doors to the club and head up the street in the opposite direction. At this time of night, there were very few pedestrians, and many of the other buildings on the block were dark. So were parked cars. In contrast, Pleasures glowed like a tempting little jewel.
“Shall we go clubbing?” he asked.
“Can’t wait.”
Jonah extracted his duffel from the front seat and started across the lot. Behind them, the car beeped as he locked it with the remote.
She walked to his left, just half a step in front of him, and when they reached the sidewalk her eyes scanned the street. Directly across from them was a narrow alleyway, but the light from a streetlamp revealed only Dumpsters. To the left was an unmarked van in a loading zone. But it was seemingly empty and already sported a parking ticket on the windshield.
There was nothing at all to cause the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. The door of the club opened, releasing another couple along with the faint sound of bluesy music and laughter. The man and woman turned away from them, crossed to the opposite corner, then disappeared down a side street.
As they stepped off the sidewalk, Cilla slipped an arm through Jonah’s, and drew him on an angle toward Pleasures. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to drop in your club for just a drink.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Why haven’t you?”
“Usually I’m not dressed for the occasion.” That was true enough, but not the only reason she’d avoided going into the bar. “My apartment’s not far from here, so I’ve walked by on my way home from work. You painted the doors red a few weeks ago.”
“My manager Virgil’s idea. He wanted to try it out for Christmas.”
“Festive. One of these days I’ll dress up and treat myself to a glass of champagne at the bar.”
“We don’t have a dress code.”
“But with a club like Pleasures, dressing up is part of the deal—kind of like Cinderella going to the ball. It wouldn’t have been the same if she’d worn her work clothes to the castle. Know what I mean?”
“Yes.” He looked over at the bright lights of the club. “I know exactly what you mean. Providing the opportunity to dress up and escape the workaday world is part of what each of my venues offers.”
The itchy feeling that had been nagging her since they’d stepped out of the parking lot suddenly increased, and Cilla had to exert all her control not to turn around. Instead, she listened hard.
Some kind of movement near the van? Their backs were to it now. Then she heard the footsteps, approaching from behind.
When Jonah tensed beside her and would have turned, she increased the pressure on his arm and pitched her voice low. “We have company, so do exactly as I say. Take me into your arms.”
She moved with him, shifting so that her body shielded his, then raised her hands to his face. “Lean closer.”
He leaned so close that his lips were nearly brushing hers. She was very aware of the fact that the footsteps were growing louder. But she was aware of other things, too—a flood of sensations. The hardness of his body, the heat of his breath on her mouth, the ribbon of pleasure that unwound right to her toes. Every cell in her body remembered him. Wanted him. For a fleeting moment, one desire—to feel those lips on hers—nearly swamped her.
Ruthlessly refocusing, she whispered, “Be my eyes. How many, what do they look like, and how close are they?”
“Two and they look like Laurel and Hardy.” He nipped at her bottom lip, and for just an instant, her mind clouded, then emptied as if someone had pulled a plug. She was aware only of Jonah—the hardness of his thighs against hers, the tightening of his hands at her waist, the heat of his breath as it moved over her lips and between them. Sensations hammered at her, and all she wanted was to melt into him.
“They’re about ten feet away. And the fat one, Hardy, has a gun.”
“Shit.” Adrenaline spiked through her system, clearing her thoughts, stiffening her spine. “I need them closer.”
“You’re getting your wish, sugar.”
“The one with the gun is mine.”
“Not going to happen.”
She nipped his bottom lip hard. “I know what I’m doing. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll be the helpless female, you the macho man. He won’t know what hit him. Trust me.”
“Let the girl go,” a gravelly voice said.
Arguing time was up, but Jonah dropped his hands. Cilla immediately pivoted toward the men. Eyes widening, she pressed a hand against her breast and focused on her training. “Sweetums, he’s got a gun
.”
“Step aside,” the tall, skinny one said to her. “We don’t want you.”
“Go ahead, sugar,” Jonah said. “Run on up to the club. I can handle this.”
“Okay. Okay.” The words came out on breathless gasps as she took one shaky step, sideways. Without missing a beat, she shot her other leg straight up. Her toe hit Fatso’s wrist dead-on and the gun clattered to the pavement. Pivoting slightly, she landed a punch to the man’s temple. With a grunt, Fatso fell like a rock.
She glanced up to see Jonah racing after the skinny one. “Dammit!”
Pausing only long enough to kick the gun on the sidewalk out of the way, she ran after them. Her heart shot straight to her throat when the back door of the van near the alley slid open. There was at least one more thug to deal with—the driver. She could see him through the windshield now. Broad shoulders, short gray hair.
Before skinny could nose-dive through the door, Jonah grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. One punch straight to the face took him down. Cilla winced and for the first time registered the sting in her own knuckles.
Then the window on the driver’s side lowered and she saw the gun.
“Get down,” she shouted to Jonah. He did, hitting the sidewalk and rolling as the shot rang out. Skidding to a stop, she pulled her own gun out of her pocket, gripping it in both hands as she took her stance and fired. Tires squealing, the van lurched away from the curb and up the street. It backfired loudly in the intersection, then roared off. She got the license plate before it disappeared.
Sliding her weapon back in her pocket, she turned to see that Jonah had already sprung to his feet. The relief was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”
So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.
