He sat next to her, staring at the back of her mop of wild, flopping, snarled elf-locks. “Nina,” he said.
No response. It was starting to piss him off. They did not have time for this self-indulgent shit. He’d confessed, he’d apologized, he’d paid a fucking fine. What did she want from him, blood?
“Turn around, Nina,” he said. “Look at me.”
She did not. He grabbed her, hoisted her up onto his lap.
Wrapped his arms around her, effectively immobilizing her.
He stared directly into her blazing, furious, bright eyes.
“Be pissed, if you want,” he said softly. “But don’t push me away. Normal couples can have stupid fights. We don’t have that luxury.”
Raw emotion flashed in her eyes, and for a moment, he was terrified that she was going to cry. But she pulled herself together, brushing at her eyes with the back of clenched fists. “Did you do it to me?” she demanded. “Did you coerce me into anything?”
He didn’t bother playing dumb. His silence was his answer.
Her eyes widened.”You son of a bitch! What did you make me do?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, as the bus lurched into movement.
“Bullshit, nothing! Tell me!”
Aaro caught several pairs of eyes on them. “Tried to coerce you into not coming tonight. But it doesn’t work on you. You’re safe.”
Her eyes slitted. “Let me see.”
He closed his eyes, and let those vault doors creak open. At least the experience wasn’t painful, like when Anabel and Dmitri did it. Nina’s mental touch was delicate, like being brushed by butterfly wings. In fact, it made him hard. Nina felt it, and abruptly withdrew.
“That felt nice,” he said wistfully. “Do it again.”
She sniffed. “I wasn’t trying to titillate you.”
“You saw that it’s true, right? I can’t push you. I tried, I failed.
You’re safe. OK? You still mad?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m mad because you tried. You dog. ”
He rolled his eyes. “So do I owe you four hundred bucks now?”
“You owe me a hell of a lot more than that!”
He sat there, wondering what to say. “Fine. I’ll pay,” he said rashly. “Stick around, Nina. I’ll just keep on paying. Forever.”
The feel of her body changed. Her mind quested, butterfly wings brushing, trying to figure out what he meant. “Aaro?”
It came together, like a landslide crashing down. The decision had been grinding along, making itself for a long time, almost since he’d met her. Certainly since he’d fucked her. Now the decision was made.
He opened up. He liked having her in there, petting, stroking.
He let her see what he wanted, what he longed for, what he was afraid of. He was too tired, too blasted apart, to even bother being ashamed of what a fucking mess he was in there. It felt good to be known.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m principled and trustworthy,” he said. “I was raised by a mafiya vor. I was taught to steal and kill and do whatever’s expedient. And fuck, yeah, I’ll goose a waitress in a diner to get you a sandwich, after you faint on me. I’d do it again, and pay the four hundred bucks. Cheerfully. Or eight, or sixteen. I’m not hurting for money. The fee’s not an issue for me. You get me?”
“Ah . . . yeah, but—”
“No buts.” He had to get this out, all in one piece. “You see what I am, right? When you look inside? No secrets, right?”
“Yes, but what I meant was—”
“You see that I’m a rude, bad-tempered, suspicious, oversexed butthead? With zero moral values, and a pathologically bad attitude?”
“Ah . . . yeah, but I also see that you’re—”
“I’m all fucked up,” he forged on. “I’m going to piss you off on an hourly basis, if not more. But I love you.” There, he’d said it.
He just sat there, dumbfounded at himself, staring into her big, startled eyes. “I love you,” he said again, more loudly. He liked the way the words made him feel. “I love you. And I want you.”
Tears welled into her eyes. They flashed down over her cheeks.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
The silence that followed was like being boiled alive. As the seconds ticked by, he had to fight not to twitch. “Well?” he ground out.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“That’s another thing that’s good to know up front. I’m not fair, and I never will be. If I can trick or manipulate you into my evil clutches, I will. Count on it.”
That earned him a wobbly smile. “So I’m in your evil clutches?”
His grip tightened. “Fuck, yeah. You’re not going anywhere, anymore. Not without me.”
He waited, but it was just silence again. “So? Out with it.”
She sucked her trembling lower lip between her teeth, and rested her forehead against his. “I don’t quite know what to say—”
“I could give you some suggestions.”
“Shut up, Aaro,” she scolded. “This is hard to say.”
“Fine,” he growled. “I’m all ears.”
“I guess . . . I’m just enjoying this. All of it. The fighting, the talking. Scolding you. Having you tell me that you love me. It’s all part of the fun fiction that we could actually have a future together.”
That cut into him, deep and cold. “It’s not a fun fiction.”
“Aaro, it’s day three,” she said. “Deal with it. Face it with me, please. Don’t leave me all alone with it.”
“No,” he replied. “I will not allow this to happen. And you’re not alone. I’ll never leave you alone. Never. No matter what.”
He couldn’t say it, but there was no hiding from a telepath.
She read it in his mind. That if the worst happened, he’d be with her to the last, clutching her hand. Glad to follow along behind, right on her heels. But they weren’t going to give up without one hell of a fight.
But he couldn’t say those words. Literally. Could. Not.
Emotions flashed across her face, but she just pried her hand loose and pressed it to his cheek. A light, butterfly touch, like her mind.
“OK,” she said simply.
“We will get through this,” he said thickly. “I want this. Us, I mean. I never have before, but I want it now.” His voice broke.
He hid his face against her neck. “I want years of it. Decades. I want to be together ’til we’re old and creaky and shriveled, with no teeth.”
“OK,” she whispered again.
“What the hell does OK mean? You never had any problems expressing yourself before! Can you imagine being with me?
Forever?”
She wiggled her arms loose, and wrapped them around his neck.
“You bet I can,” she said softly. “Let’s get old and creaky and shriveled together. I am so on board with that.”
The joy that leaped up inside him scared the living crap out of him with its intensity. He had to breathe it down some before he could even speak. “Really?” Bleating for reassurance like a nervous little kid.
She kissed him, his mouth, his cheek, his nose. Little soft, hot points of contact that glowed and sparkled against his skin like stars.
“Really.” She leaned back, and gave him the hairy eyeball.
“But if you ever try to coerce me again, I’ll rip out both your lungs.”
“No, never,” he assured her hastily, and they melted into one of those hugs again, as breathlessly close as they could possibly get with their clothes on. Tears kept slipping out of her eyes, and he would kiss them away, licking the salty drop off his lips.
“Don’t cry,” he begged.
“I’m just so sorry,” she said, her voice choked. “That you got caught in this trap along with me, with Helga’s drug. The last thing I wanted was for you to be hurt. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said baldly. “I’m glad.”
She blinked at him, loo
king nonplussed. “Glad?”
“I’m not hurt,” he announced. “That is to say, I was hurting before I met you. I’ve been hurting my whole life, but I’m not hurting now. I’m scared shitless. Greedy for more of the good stuff. But I’m better right now, at this moment, with you, than I’ve ever been. Ever. In my life.”
She smiled through her tears. “Oh, Aaro. That’s so sweet.”
That bugged him, that his raw confession could be construed as romantic babbling. “It’s not sweet,” he insisted. “Just the facts. If you’re heading for a wall, I want to be with you. We’ll hit the wall together.”
She wiped her eyes, sniffling. He offered her the hem of his shirt, which made her laugh, and soon they were twined in that breathless hug again, and laughter and tears became indistin-guishable.
“Me, too,” she admitted. “Better than I’ve ever been. Mortal doom and psycho monsters be damned.”
“Yeah, fuck ’em,” he said, with fierce satisfaction.
They swayed together, in a state of perfect grace, for at least twenty minutes. Nina lifted her head. “How long to Denver?”
He glanced at his phone. “Three hours. Miles called us a car service to get us up to Spruce Ridge. Another hour by car.”
“Do you think we should study the transcript again?”
“No. I think we should spend the time madly tongue-kissing.”
She sucked in her lip to suppress the smile, but the smile won.
He had at that sweet, smiling mouth again until she was breathless.
She dragged in air, at one point. “Is this a clever brainstorming technique to help you think outside the box?”
“Sure,” he agreed. “Brilliant technique. One thing, though. I want you to do that thing you were doing in my head while I kiss you. Touching me, inside. I liked it. Turned me on.”
Her eyes darted toward the other passengers. “We can’t get hot and heavy in a crowded bus in broad daylight, Aaro,” she said sternly.
“Can we get hot and heavy in the privacy of our own minds?”
“Oh, whatever, OK.” She cuddled up, and he didn’t even have to make those vault doors creak open for her now. They were flung wide. Hers, too. It occurred to him that when she was like this, wide open and trusting, he could probably pull off the coercion trick.
He banished the thought. He was not going to fuck up his good thing so soon. Besides. She wanted so badly for him to be this heroic righteous dude who kept his promises. He would try to be that, for her sake. Whatever, man. Whatever, if that was what got her off.
The bus lumbered on, dragging them through space and time toward that wall, but he wasn’t thinking about it, or letting her think about it, either. They floated in their magic bubble of ideal perfection, and he wasn’t going to let anybody take this away from him.
Not even himself.
Chapter 26
Stimulating, Oleg reflected, to do for himself a task that he would ordinarily have delegated. He gazed around the bust -
ling waiting room of the OHSU OB/GYN unit. It was physically taxing, yes. Flying to Portland on short notice with health issues like his was not easy. But there were certain things that had to be done by himself, alone.
He sensed urgency, in this hunt. He had no proof that there was a ticking clock, yet he heard the ticking, and he paid attention to it. That was what set him apart from other men. It had made him Vor, made him filthy rich, and kept him alive. So far.
He pressed his hand against his liver, ravaged by cancer, surgery, and cirrhosis, peeking with a pang of longing at the Starbucks cup of the woman across from him. Hot, black, strong coffee, just as he liked it. But coffee was forbidden now.
He saw his targets the instant they emerged from the corridor.
It would have been impossible to miss them. A tall young man with dark curly hair and dimples holding his curly-headed, shrieking son under his arm. The jowly, rectangular woman in hot pink who dragged a wiggling girl alongside her, the girl a female version of the boy. The old woman was haranguing the man in a dialect that sounded Italian.
The man rolled his eyes. “Get it through your head, Zia. She doesn’t like boiled fish and baked apples, so there’s no point in you dragging them in here for her. She wants a chicken sandwich with pesto and a fresh fruit salad from the cafeteria, OK? The pregnant lady gets what she wants, capisce? So stop throwing your weight around!”
“I’m thinkin’ about the baby!” The woman looked hurt.
“Looks like I’m the only one, eh? Chicken and pesto, pah!”
“Chicken and pesto will nourish the baby just fine, Zia.”
The woman hefted a heavily loaded plastic bag, and dropped it into the trash receptacle next to Oleg. She met Oleg’s eyes.
“Puo fare che cazzo vuole,” she said belligerently. “Me ne frego un cazzo di niente.”
Oleg dragged the remnants of his Italian up out of his head.
“Giovani di oggi,” he offered sympathetically. “Non capiscono niente.” Young people these days. Haven’t got a clue.
She gave him a grateful look and took off after the little girl who had disappeared around a corner and into one of the medical suites. “Lena!” the lady shrieked, thudding heavily along. “Torna qua! Lena!”
Meanwhile, the man was doing the same thing, running after the scampering boy. Shrill laughter and bellows retreated into the distance.
Oleg got up, folded a magazine, and strolled in the direction from which they’d come. As a distraction, he could ask for nothing better than the Ranieri family. Noise, bombast, color. Constantly moving parts. Perfect. He scanned room numbers. He knew Lily Parr’s room, the details of her health, the health of her unborn child. He knew everything in the hospital database, and everything in various other databases. Colorful past. Couldn’t wait to meet her.
He turned the knob, and went in.
Lily Parr was curled up on her side, hugging her very pregnant belly with one arm, and tapping a message into her cell phone with the other. She glanced up at him, jerking up onto her elbow.
She was very pretty, even eight months pregnant, disheveled and clad in a baggy nightgown. She pushed a hank of wavy red-blonde hair from her eyes.
“Hello?” she said cautiously. “And you are?”
Oleg smiled. Her face paled. “A friend,” he said gently.
“Friend to who?”
“You, I hope. If all goes well. Don’t touch that button, Ms.
Parr.”
Lily Parr’s hand froze as she groped for the call button. Her eyes went wide, and her throat worked as she tried to speak, but he clamped down and simply held her still. “Give me your telephone, Ms. Parr.”
She resisted, but she was too inexperienced to be effective at it. Soon her hand began to extend, shaking with terror and tension. Her breath sawed in and out of her mouth. No doubt her heart was racing triple time. Her forehead shone. Her powerless-ness terrified her.
He was sorry to upset a lovely pregnant girl. Women were to be cherished, coddled, enjoyed. Particularly beautiful ones, like this one. A juicy, succulent piece of strawberry tart. He’d always liked it when they were ripe with child. He found it stirring. But there was no alternative.
He plucked the phone from her hand, and toggled the display back into the outbox, to read the message that she had just sent.
Yo, Miles. Aaro needs u 2 stop at a drugstore
when u get 2 spruce ridge. Get electric hair
clippers, razors and shaving gear, black hairpins
for Nina, some sparkly jewelry, rhinestones,
maybe, 4 hanging out with fat cats. + following
makeup, just give the list 2 the salesgirl.
Lipstick-Lucia Magarelli, long lasting glow,
#3245 Autumn Wine. Foundation, also LM, ivory
and alabaster, #149 . . .
The list was long and extensive. Eyeliner, four different colors of foundation, concealer stick of three different types, brow en-hancers, highlighters, moisturi
zers, under-eye creams, and things he’d never heard of. Women’s tricks. Bless them.
“Miles,” he murmured. “Joining Aaro and Nina in a place called Spruce Ridge. Where exactly is Spruce Ridge, Lily? I can call you Lily, no? I feel as if I know you, after reading that long, thick file. Fascinating life you have led. And your man, too. That incredible business last year, my goodness. Shocking stuff. Congratulations on surviving. And on your impending nuptials. All the best. But we digress. Spruce Ridge?”
A small, defiant head shake was her answer, but he leaned closer, smiling. Clamping down, squeezing. Hard.
She let out a tiny, creaking sound. Tears leaked from her eyes.
He put his hand on her swollen belly, and her muscles twitched. That was all the movement permitted to her. “You need to tell me the location of Spruce Ridge,” he said. “If you care about your little son.”
Her eyes widened still more, horrified.
He clucked his tongue. “Oh, dear, have I made a gaffe? Yes, I saw the ultrasound reports. Had you requested not to be told the child’s sex? Spilled the beans, did I? I’m devastated. Spoiled the surprise for you. Oh!” He gasped, chuckling. “He kicked me! Already defending his mamma. Such a brave, good boy.”
She struggled to speak, and to her credit, got enough traction against his mental pressure to do so. “Fuck . . . off,” she ground out, tonelessly. “Don’t . . . touch . . . my . . . baby.”
“I don’t want to hurt your son.” He plugged the key words Spruce Ridge into his phone, and surveyed the results. “Hmm.
California, Nevada, Wyoming, Montana, Colorado. Help me narrow it down, my dear. This is too much territory for one tired old man to cover.”
She shook her head again.
“Denying me is not an option,” he said. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
Her soft lips pursed. She was wondering if she could stall him until her family got back with her chicken pesto sandwhich.
Which they well might, if he did not speed things up. He pulled the video stills from his coat, taken from the hospice. One of Sasha, one of his lady friend.
Lily Parr had neither talent nor training in hiding her feelings.
She recognized both pictures, and her reaction was strong, and visible.
One Wrong Move Page 32
