by C. C. Gibbs
“Hell, that’s easy. First, Rafe Contini wouldn’t know what love was if it showed up at his door wearing gold sequins, a pink feather boa, and a neon sign flashing the word LOVE. He’d figure it was someone from a costume party who’d lost their way. Second, even if he recognized the word love, the naked babes draped all over him would divert his attention in a New York minute. And third, baby girl, have you lost your motherfucking mind. His name is Rafe Contini and he screws every woman in sight just as hard as he works at being CEO. Have I made my point?”
“I wish.”
“Then you need a brain transplant.”
“I know.”
“Oh God, don’t cry. I can’t help you from this far away. Come on, please?”
“I’m not crying…or maybe just a little—it’s so stupid…I’ll stop, gimme a second. There.” A few more quick breaths, a couple sniffles. “Jesus, emotional involvement really sucks. But I’ll survive. I know the trope. No one dies of love. Scars all over the bloody hell, but life goes on, right? How’s it going with Jack?”
“Look, my therapy sign’s still on the door. Spill your guts. I’ll listen all night if it helps. By the way, where is the billionaire? Oh, shit, is he gone, gone? Is that what this is about?”
“No, he’s gone temporarily. He’s downstairs. But he’s been unimaginably sweet and gentle, so damned perfect that it takes my breath away. Makes you realize how fragile happiness is.” She couldn’t speak of the dangers Rafe was facing. But the level of activity on the island frightened her. “I’m trying really hard not to fall any deeper in love. I’m mentally rehearsing every cliché about broken hearts and unrequited love to remind me not to be a complete fool.”
“Good for you, because Rafe’s probably the same sweet, gentle, perfect guy with every woman he knows. Practice makes perfect. Just sayin’.”
“You think I haven’t told myself that? But Rafe says it’s different for him too. Like slammed-by-a-freight-train different.”
“Come on,” Fiona said softly. “What do you expect him to say? He’s good at this, okay? He knows all the moves, all the words, what works and doesn’t work. He’s a pro.”
“Is Jack like that?”
“He’s awesome, but I’m keeping my feet on the ground. You better do the same. This is summer break. We go home when it’s over. Don’t forget the plan.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nicole drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Thanks for the reminder. Summer break. I’m still not registered for fall semester, there’s shit to be done. Okay, I’m back on track. Feet on the ground, braced against the gale-force winds. Got it.”
“Rafe won’t give a shit if you’re crying over him, that’s all I’m saying. And there isn’t a bookie who’d bet against him taking off sooner or later, ’cause that’s what he does. He doesn’t do permanent. So stiff upper lip, babe. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with. The billionaire with the legendary dick. He’s not like the boys you’ve left behind.”
“Yeah,” Nicole said. “Boys. Bless my naïve little heart, that’s the irrevocable difference. Look, thanks for listening. I’m under control, in full self-preservation mode. Have you heard anything from back home? I talked to my mom earlier today.”
“My mom’s having a meltdown over my little sister. Wrong boyfriend, I guess.” Fiona laughed. “You’d know about that.”
“Oh, Rafe’s not wrong. He’s right in a thousand beautiful, dissolute ways,” Nicole murmured. “That’s the problem.”
“My advice. Take pictures. For your scrapbook.”
“Fuck you.” But they were finished with this conversation; she’d cleared up some of her angst.
“Not when I have Jack. Maybe later you and I could get together and check out the L-world,” she teased. “Hey, Jack’s knocking on the door. Ciao, baby girl. Keep on keeping on. It’s the only way. Oh, by the way, if Sarah calls don’t feel you have to answer. I slipped up and told her you were with Rafe.”
Whether serendipity or just bad luck, Nicole had no more than ended Fiona’s call when her phone rang and Sarah’s name came up on her display. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, not sure she wanted to talk. On the other hand, she didn’t have to say anything about anything if she didn’t want to.
Hitting the Answer button, she quickly counted backward to San Francisco time—three in the afternoon—picked up and jerked the phone away from her ear for a second. Ear-splitting music was blaring in the background. “Where are you?” Nicole asked, loud enough to be heard over the din. “Party or bar?”
“Party on the beach,” her friend Sarah shouted. “The surf is prime. Just a sec. I’m gonna walk away…” Her voice settled into the normal range. “From the speakers. Fiona just called me to gloat. Is she really partying in Ibiza with some prince?”
“I think so.” Sarah was a Twitter slut, so the less said the better. “I haven’t talked to Fiona lately,” she lied.
“Because you’re too busy fucking Rafe Contini, I hear. I am sooo jealous. Seriously, I hate you right now.”
“We’re just on holiday for a few days. It’s no big deal.” Nicole’s feelings for Rafe weren’t for public consumption, particularly with the gossip queen of the world.
“Gimme a break. Everything about Rafe Contini’s a big deal. He’s the freaking god of hotness. Remember when we saw him at that conference? We wanted to rip off his clothes with our teeth.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Fuck if you don’t. You and I both got wet just looking at him. So tell me every down-and-dirty detail of what it’s like to fuck the god.”
“Look, I’ll be home in a few days. I’ll tell you then. I’m not alone,” Nicole said, although she was.
“Oh, God, is he there? Naked? I think my heart might stop. Can I listen to him breathing at least or—”
“Jeez, relax, Sarah. Rafe’s in a meeting. Hey, someone just knocked on my door,” she said, so not in the mood for this. “I gotta go.”
Tossing her phone aside, Nicole softly exhaled. Of course she remembered the first time she’d seen Rafe.
It was at a medical conference in San Francisco. The auditorium at Stanford was packed. While the seminar topic of Targeted Chemotherapy was of interest, Nicole suspected many of the attendees found the speaker even more interesting—the gender ratio definitely skewed female. A kind of breath-held expectation was humming in the air. And it wasn’t just because a free wine bar had been set up in the lobby before this last seminar of the day.
A tall, willowy blond doctor from the Department of Medicine introduced Rafe; at the time he was head of R&D for Contini Pharmaceuticals. The doctor first expressed her admiration for Contini Pharma’s innovative Research and Development Division, then went on to describe her admiration for the speaker in more personal terms than appropriate for the venue. Halfway through her fawning testimonial to Rafe’s impressive educational and professional credentials, he came to his feet and politely interrupted her lengthy presentation of his boy genius college degrees with a light remark about having missed his childhood. Then he deliberately moved to the podium so she had to step aside and take her seat.
For a moment he stood calmly at the podium: straight and tall, his flint-gray bespoke suit beautifully tailored to fit his lean, hard body, his long dark glossy hair gleaming under the spotlight, his handsome face all bones and sharp contours, his golden eyes hooded like a hawk’s.
Whether he was accustomed to the rapt attention or simply waiting for the buzz to die down, it was another few moments before he smiled and said, “Let me show you what we’ve been working on for the last few years.”
His presentation was erudite and definitive, first offering an overview of Contini Pharma’s current research on targeted chemotherapy, then describing their newly developed drugs, and moving on to detail their next-generation research, which was heavily focused on immunotherapy and bioelectronics. He spoke without notes, operated the digital and visual displays himself, explained all the various graphs and charts down
to their minutiae, and, once he finished, opened the floor to questions.
Nothing ruffled him, no question was too difficult, the few dissenting queries—never absent from any conference seminar—were politely refuted or corrected with substantive, corroborating data.
He was a brilliant, charming technocrat.
And when he said, “Thank you very much for your time,” he received a standing ovation.
Never underestimate the X-rated, rock-star factor no matter how stuffy the occasion, Nicole had thought at the time, whistling her appreciation while Sarah beamed and clapped and elbowed her in the ribs.
Afterward, Nicole along with the other chem students, waited while their professor brought Mr. Contini over for a previously arranged meeting. The blond doctor was clinging to his arm, but Rafe casually ignored her adulation and smiled in acknowledgment as a brief round of introductions was made. Then he offered a few remarks about the relevance of a chemistry degree to his business, answered a blunt question about Contini Pharma’s hiring practices from one of the male students, then handed several of his business cards to the professor. “I personally answer that number, so if anyone’s looking for work, give me a call.” He smiled warmly. “We like to hire alums. How many of you are seniors?”
Before anyone could answer, his adoring companion reached up, pulled his head down, and whispered something in his ear.
He stiffened slightly, removed her hand, then straightened and brushed his hair back with his palm. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, without expression. “Dr. Andrews reminded me of another engagement.”
But Nicole was standing at the edge of the group, so she heard him say under his breath as he and the doctor walked past, “For God’s sake, Amy, couldn’t you have waited another few minutes?” Although whatever the doctor said in reply made him laugh.
An awkward silence fell in the aftermath of the couple’s abrupt exit.
Professor Norton cleared his throat. “Now, who wants one of Mr. Contini’s business cards? He’s willing to take a personal call. That’s rare.”
“I wonder if you have to be female to get an interview?” one of the men said drily.
“For once, I might have the advantage then,” a smart-ass woman noted.
“Too bad he’s rich,” Sarah had whispered to Nicole. “I’d pay him to fuck me.”
“Maybe we could bribe one of the hotel staff to let us into his room,” Nicole had whispered back. “He might like a foursome. We could just ignore the good doctor. She doesn’t look very wild if you ask me.”
“You wouldn’t!” Sarah’s eyes flared wide.
“I would. Or I might for him,” Nicole said with a little shrug. “He’s hot.”
But then someone brought up a party just down the street and Sarah dragged Nicole there because Sarah had been lusting after one of the guys in their chem group and off they went, moving on with their lives.
Somehow fate had intervened in Monte Carlo and here she was, half in love—more, probably, if she chose to admit it—with a man who may or may not recognize the emotion. Or if he did, would deal with it…God knew how.
The shadowed silence in the tower room suddenly took on a presence, or maybe it was the silver streaks of moonlight shimmering in the darkened room. Nicole gave herself a quick shake, told herself ghosts didn’t exist, flicked on the lamp behind her, and did some yoga breathing to calm down, losing count as usual.
But regardless of what Fiona had said, she felt as though Rafe was taking the same emotional risks; they both had doubts, plenty of them. She also understood that it was a merciless world for Rafe right now. That every second they had together was precious.
Although she couldn’t argue with Fiona’s long-term assessment. This shining moment wouldn’t last. It was absolutely essential she keep that in mind. Stay calm, relax, enjoy what she had. And right now, see if there was a remote somewhere, because no way was she going to be able to sleep after that come-to-Jesus conversation with Fiona. Ah—a remote next to the lamp. She looked around. No visible TV. So.
Flicking on the remote, she smiled as a TV rose up from the foot of the bed. Now to find a program in English. Unlike Rafe, who spoke several languages, she was a seriously derelict linguist. A few necessary phrases in French and Spanish, that was it.
As she walked toward the bed, she warned herself to maintain a cool, calm, and collected mask for the remaining days of her holiday. Avoid disintegrating into a tearful mess. Abstain from drama, temper tantrums, hysterics.
In other words, be a mature, considerate adult until Rafe left her.
Such starry-eyed optimism.
It must be love.
Chapter 10
It was nearly midnight when Rafe entered the underground rooms. Despite the hour, a number of people were busy monitoring scores of computer screens, as well as live feeds from contacts around the world. Others were hunched over keyboards, accessing data on the movements of Zou and his cohorts. Or in the case of Zou, nonmovements. He hadn’t left his suite in the Shanghai office tower in two days.
Prior to his sudden departure from Unit 21986, Ganz had set up cameras in the suite’s ceiling molding, the devices essentially invisible, the equipment undetectable with any current scrubbing techniques. Unaware of the surveillance, Zou felt secure in his suite or he would have bolted by now. He must be waiting for something or someone. He slept in his small bedroom and ate from stockpiled food to avoid poisoning. His only communications were via an encrypted cell phone that Ganz had been trying to break into for the past four hours.
Rafe came to a stop before the monitors scanning the office suite. Zou was at his desk writing in a notebook. “Doesn’t trust his computer,” Rafe murmured. “Can we see what he’s writing?”
“Only a word here and there,” a technician muttered. “He’s shielding the notebook with his body.”
“He’s had too many offices bugged,” Rafe said.
“That’d be my guess. Trust no one.”
“A survivor like him. That message is etched on his liver.”
“Not just his,” Carlos said, coming up behind Rafe.
Rafe turned. “No shit. I learned that at a young age. So what’s going on? Fill me in.”
Carlos gave Rafe a quick glance from head to toe: finger-combed hair, wide smile, unbuttoned blue shirt, shorts, bare feet. “Looks like you’ve been well fucked. She sleeping now?”
Rafe smiled at Carlos’s snarky comment. “She is. Is that okay with you?”
“It would be okay with me if she was sleeping in her uncle’s apartment in Monte Carlo or Paris or back home in San Francisco. Then we’d have your undivided attention.”
Rafe grinned. “Now if only I gave a shit what you wanted. And I multitask very well, so shut the fuck up.”
“You mean more than one woman at a time? I’ve seen you doing a lot of that kind of multitasking.”
“With all due respect, Carlos, I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do, so could we cut the crap?”
“Sometimes I wish you were twelve again,” Carlos grumbled, having been hired as a bodyguard to Rafe years ago.
“I was trouble then too if you recall, so tell me what’s going on. What I can do to help. Can we jack Zou out of his office and get his head in the crosshairs?”
“Maybe,” Carlos said. “I’ll show you.” Turning, he moved toward a doorway across the room.
Ducking his head a few moments, Rafe followed Carlos into what must have been a prison cell centuries ago. A single desk with a computer and six monitors above it were being manned by a technician. The remaining space held a narrow bed with a sleeping man, a short counter, small refrigerator, sink, two-burner stove, and a microwave. A door led to a compact bathroom.
Carlos waved at the monitors. “Look familiar? The exterior of the Shanghai office tower from every angle.”
“Snipers,” Rafe said softly.
“Yeah. Even if Zou comes out from the underground garage in his armored car, we have a shot. Armor-piercing
rounds, one of the best men in the world behind that scope; a man with a grudge. Zou disappeared his brother. No trace, not a clue, the body was never found.”
“Our sniper’s there for the duration then,” Rafe said quietly, understanding the nature of vengeance.
“Until hell freezes over, if that’s what it takes.”
“If we find Zou’s second family,” Rafe said, studying the monitor showing the garage entrance, “he’ll be coming out whether he wants to or not.”
“Unless one of Zou’s enemies can muster enough support and a large enough force to go in and get him.”
“Wouldn’t that be fucking great? We’d just have to send flowers.” Rafe moved closer to the man working at the desk and lowered his voice so the sleeping man next to him didn’t wake. “Appreciate your help, Zander. How’re Klara and Bo?”
“Enjoying summer at our cottage.”
“Maybe we can get you back to Stockholm soon.”
Zander glanced up and smiled. “That’s what I told Klara when I left.”
“Then we’d better make sure we don’t piss her off.” Rafe glanced at the screens again. “Does it look like business as usual at the facility?” he asked. “Or is there increased activity, more people coming and going, larger contingents of military? Is Zou’s siege mentality altering the schedule?” The building had been under surveillance since Ganz had decamped; the daily routine graphed down to the food delivery men and the occasional masseuse.
“Definitely more activity. Carlos has the new lists of GSD, MUCD, and SIGINT staff entering and exiting. Times, dates, names. Frequency of individual activities.”
“Can we distinguish between enemies and comrades?”
“Sometimes, not always. The alliances are fluid.”
“How fluid?”
Zander looked up briefly from his monitor. “That’s the million euro question.”
“With Zou holed up, I’m assuming no one’s gained entrance to his suite.”
“Right.”
Rafe glanced at Carlos, then back to Zander. “We have to be looking at a rapidly shrinking time frame. He can’t stay in isolation long.”
