The Dangerous Boxed Set

by Lisa Marie Rice

  “Well? Can you see something?”

  Charity turned to her uncle, pained at the dejection in his voice. Be cheery, she told herself. The last thing he needed was to hear her own desperation.

  “No,” she said, injecting false confidence in her voice. “But I’m sure—”

  She broke off, peering out the window. Could it be—oh God, yes!

  The lawn sloped sharply down on this side of the house, so she saw his head first as he approached.

  It was a sight she’d never forget, till the end of her days.

  A coatless Nick, walking up the slope, with Aunt Vera wrapped up in his coat and clasped in his arms. The snow and dim light blurred perspective, so it looked like he was rising up from the bowels of the earth instead of walking up toward her. The snow was halfway up his shins but he moved forward easily—a warrior coming home from battle, carrying a wounded comrade in his arms.

  Wounded, please God. Not dead.

  Nick shifted Aunt Vera in his arms and Charity clearly saw her aunt tighten her arms around his neck.

  She was alive!

  Charity’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh and her legs trembled. She shot out a hand and gripped the counter, otherwise she’d have simply tumbled to the floor. For the first time, she admitted to herself how terrified she’d been that they would find a corpse in the snow. Her eyes burned and she blinked to keep the tears at bay.

  “There they are—” The words came out a dry croak, inaudible. She cleared her throat and coughed to try to ease the tightness and speak, but then it wasn’t necessary. A sharp intake of breath behind her told her Uncle Franklin could see them outside the kitchen window.

  Charity lost the battle with her tears and could feel the wet cold on her cheeks as she threw open the door, just as Nick reached the steps up to the porch.

  In a second they were inside and Nick was barking orders.

  “Get those wet things off her and wrap her in as many blankets as you can. Charity, bring that pan of water over to the table with a big towel.”

  Charity and Uncle Franklin scrambled to strip her aunt. Somehow, Nick was there, helping, while making sure he couldn’t see Aunt Vera’s naked body.

  It was at that moment that Charity fell in love with him. As charmed as she’d been by him up to now, she’d managed to keep a little something of herself apart.

  It was so over the top, having an outrageously handsome, incredibly rich man sweep her off her feet, and ply her with out-of-this-world sex. Deep in her heart, Charity knew that Nick was too good to be true.

  What could she possibly hope for? He was passing through Parker’s Ridge on business, his mind probably already on the next thing. Charity would be insane to think that their time together was anything more than a brief affair.

  She’d had quite enough pain for one lifetime, thank you. Losing her parents at the age of twelve. Almost a year in the hospital with a broken body and all of her teens spent doing rehabilitative physical therapy so she could walk again. Oh yeah, she’d had quite enough pain. She hadn’t suffered in love, because she hadn’t given herself in any significant way.

  Sex hadn’t meant all that much up until now. Pleasant, comforting at times, a little boring at times. She’d always gotten out of bed the same person who’d tumbled in.

  Sex with Nick was an order of magnitude stronger than anything she’d ever had. Mind blowing, frighteningly intense. She’d had to work to keep herself together, to keep the whole thing as casual as possible. Physically exciting, yes, but that was it.

  And now, watching her lover walk into the kitchen with Aunt Vera in his arms, helping to disrobe her gently and discreetly, Charity felt a huge hole open up inside and all the little defenses she’d put up simply crack wide open.

  Inside a couple of minutes, her aunt was cocooned in a thick bundle of blankets, drinking hot tea while Nick held a finger to the pulse of her other hand.

  He met Charity’s eyes. “Pulse is almost normal. Temperature is a little low, though. We need to raise her core temperature.”

  “How?” What more could they possibly do?

  Nick put the big pot of boiling water on the table and took a towel in his hand. Gently, he positioned Aunt Vera so that she was breathing in the steam, then put the towel over her head like a cowl, directing the steam toward her. “Breathe deeply, ma’am.”

  To Charity’s relief, her aunt did just that. By some miracle, the clouds in Aunt Vera’s head parted and some meaning shone through. It was erratic. You never knew when she’d understand you and if she did understand, whether she’d respond.

  But perhaps something in Nick’s tone penetrated what was dulling her mind because the deep breaths she was taking were audible under the towel.

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Nick said reassuringly. “Just keep breathing.”

  In all of this, Uncle Franklin sat, spent and passive, head bowed. Exhausted and frail.

  “Why does she need this?” Charity asked.

  “Core rewarming by inhalation. Sends heat directly to the head, neck, and chest area, which is the body’s critical core. It warms the lungs and the hypothalamus, which regulates the body’s temperature. She’ll need to do this for at least ten minutes.”

  Nick sat back down next to her aunt and kept a finger on her pulse. Charity walked to her uncle and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The bones beneath her hand felt fragile, like bird bones. She leaned down to whisper to him. “She’ll be all right, Uncle Franklin.”

  He looked up and forced a smile. It occurred to Charity that now she had Uncle Franklin to worry about, not just Aunt Vera. He’d been such a rock for her, all her life, especially after her parents’ death. He wasn’t a rock now. Now he was a tired, anxious old man who was barely keeping it together.

  Okay. Time for her to step up to bat. She shifted mental furniture and included caring almost full-time for elderly relatives into the parameters of her life.

  It was daunting. She was only twenty-eight and had hardly begun to live. She hadn’t traveled at all as much as she’d like to and now knew that she never would, as long as Aunt Vera and Uncle Franklin were alive.

  If her love life had been difficult before, now it would be impossible, since her priorities would be wrapped up in care-giving. What man would put up with that? Once Nick left, she could kiss even a semblance of a love life good-bye.

  She nearly sighed at the thought.

  When she looked up, Nick caught her eye and winked.

  Then again, for now she did have Nick. He’d leave, but he wasn’t leaving right this minute, and so there might be a little more of that spectacular sex in her immediate future. Oh yeah.

  Twenty kilometers south of Budva

  Coastline of Montenegro

  5 a.m. November 21

  She was a rusty freighter flying the flag of the Union of Comoros, stinking of rotting fish and cabbage. The North Star was just one of the hundreds of thousands of vessels making a marginal living by trawling in overfished waters, destined to be decommissioned by her owners as soon as she cost more to run than she earned by her catch.

  No one paid any attention to her at all, in a world of huge, sleek container vessels making 20 knots an hour.

  She lay quietly at anchor in a deserted cove, rocking gently on the calm Adriatic. It was the darkest moment of night, just before dawn began. American satellites had excellent tracking abilities but night maneuvers eluded them. So the transfer from the truck to the boat was made in the dark. The crew seemed to have a supernatural ability to see in the dark, for they didn’t need flashlights as they went their quiet, efficient way. There was a half moon and that seemed to be enough.

  After twenty-four hours in the back of the truck over pitted back roads, Arkady was stiff and a little disoriented. He tripped twice, once emerging from the back of the truck and once on the gangway up onto the ship.

  He felt a thousand years old, particularly in front of the crew, who were all young and strong. The four crewmen
who preceded him made their way back onto the ship like agile monkeys.

  Below, on the rocky shore, hired hands manipulated the canisters from the truck, ready for boarding on the rusty fishing boat.

  No one would look twice at the North Star, which was a good thing. Because beneath the rotting boards of the deck lay a gleaming, stainless-steel heart driven by a Wärtsilä-Sulzer RTA96-C turbocharged two-stroke diesel engine and a new retrofitted hold designed for the transport of humans.

  The human cargo wasn’t meant to be transported in comfort but in safety, to be delivered alive at the port of destination. They were goods, after all, and worth money at the end of the journey. So there were toilets and spigots to hose them down at the end, before delivery.

  The hold was designed to carry 150 passengers. Its last cargo had been 200 Senegalese who’d boarded north of Kayar and been locked in for two weeks. The man responsible for stocking food had run off with the money and the men had been on starvation rations for the trip. Two had boarded with tuberculosis. Only eighty survived.

  The Vor’s stipulations had been clear. The hold had been completely cleaned and disinfected. Arkady could smell disinfectant over the smells of the food on a small table.

  A simple meal. Local sausage, goat’s cheese, bread with a bottle of Vranac wine and rakija, the Montenegrin brandy. The Vor had thought of everything.

  A space built to hold 150 people was more than roomy enough for one lone nuclear scientist.

  Two seamen silently brought in the canister and started fixing it to special brackets in the wall. They spoke quietly to each other as they worked. Arkady recognized a few words from the many operas he’d listened to.

  They were speaking Italian, though not the Italian of Verdi. It was a rough dialect of Italian, probably Pugliese, the language of the Sacra Corona Unita, the local mafia of the area right across the straits, Apulia.

  The Vor had been making strategic alliances all over the world. Indeed, right now, he probably had diplomatic relations with every criminal group on earth—like a potentate—which was what he was—with embassies spanning the globe. Vassily was the new Tamburlaine. On his way to becoming the most powerful man on earth. It was Arkady’s duty and pleasure to help the Vor to this position.

  The two seamen departed and Arkady went back above deck. He walked to the railing and stood for a moment. The familiar scent of pine overrode the unfamiliar scent of the sea. He’d only seen the sea once before in his life, on a family trip to Crimea. That was before his father was taken away and destroyed in a Siberian camp. They never found out which one. Arkady had no idea where his father’s remains lay.

  Arkady was second-generation zek. There were some families who had lost a member every generation since the Revolution.

  He pulled in a deep breath, savoring the night air, before closing himself again down below. He knew the trip would take around a week and this would be his last chance to see the stars and smell the sweetness of fresh air for a while.

  He pulled out the blue cell phone, punched a number in, and waited. There was a delay as he imagined the signal bouncing off a satellite and down to a small town in Vermont.

  “Hello.” Arkady’s heart leaped at the sound of Vassily’s voice. It was as strong as ever, even though it was three o’clock in the morning, Vor time. His master was well, but not sleeping.

  No zek ever slept easy. The memories came with sleep.

  Though no one was listening, Arkady curled around the cell and lowered his voice. “It’s me. So far so good. Things are going well. The sea is calm.”

  “Good. Very good.” And Vassily cut the connection.

  Arkady smiled and leaned over the railing. The moon left a bright path to the horizon. Just a few short miles away was Italy. He’d never been to Italy but he loved art and music and had always dreamed of seeing Florence and Venice.

  There were still 100 canisters of cesium 137 left back in Krasnoyarsk and Vassily had plans for every single one. For a total of a billion dollars. But after they were all gone, Arkady would ask the Vor’s permission to spend time in Italy. Perhaps be the Vor’s ambassador to the various mafias in the country.

  He looked down. The Adriatic was completely calm. He dangled his hand over the railing and let go of the cell phone. A second later it disappeared into the sea with a soft plop.

  Arkady watched the rings of disturbed water flow outward and then waited until the water was calm again.

  With one last look at the starry night sky, he made his way below deck, ready for the long journey.

  Eleven

  Parker’s Ridge

  November 21

  The snow plows had already cleared the roads, so driving back was a snap, certainly compared to the trip over. But even if they hadn’t cleared the roads, Nick could handle it. There was very little he couldn’t handle behind a wheel.

  It wasn’t a skill he had ever intended to show Charity, but he’d had to break cover on the way over. It had saved the little old lady’s life, but he just hoped that Charity’s worry allowed her to overlook the fact that it wasn’t normal for a perfectly average, staid stockbroker to know how to drive a car at eighty miles an hour in a snowstorm.

  So he made a point of driving back very slowly, even though every cell in his body wanted to get back to her house as fast as possible so that he could get back in her as fast as possible.

  “Thanks so much, Nick,” she said quietly. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. Not because of the danger, but because if he looked her way, he’d just keep on looking.

  Not even he could drive down icy roads with his head turned to stare at the most desirable woman he’d ever seen. It was bad enough driving with a huge boner so strong the muscles in his abdomen and the long muscles in his thighs were pulled tight. It seemed as if every muscle in his body was centered around his groin. All his blood, too.

  They’d end up with the front fender wrapped around a tree, covered in shards of glass, if he stared the way he wanted to. Not how he wanted this evening to end up. Well, not evening, he thought after a lightning fast glance at the dashboard. It was three in the morning and the weekend was officially over.

  “You’re welcome.” He kept his voice as quiet as hers.

  “I’m so grateful to you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “Yeah?” Nick’s hands tightened on the wheel. “That’s nice to know. Really nice. So, since we’re on that subject…how grateful?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nick could feel the air displacement as she swung her head around to look at him. He kept his eyes resolutely on the road but he had excellent peripheral vision. Her pretty pink mouth was pursed in an O of astonishment.

  “You heard me. How grateful are you?”

  “Oh. V-very.”

  “That’s good. Because we were interrupted at a very important point when your uncle called. You remember what point we were at, don’t you, Charity?”

  He could almost feel the heat of her face, glowing in the darkness. “Oh yes,” she said softly.

  “That’s good. What point were we at?”

  The heat intensified. Great. He was burning up, himself. It’s good that they were in this together.

  “We were, um—”

  “Yes?”

  “We were—you know…”

  Her whole body was glowing with heat now. It came off her in waves. Nick didn’t know why he was pushing her. She was wildly uncomfortable with this conversation. Hot as she was in bed, she was also very ladylike. He’d never heard her swear, ever, let alone say fuck. So this wasn’t easy for her.

  Tough shit. It wasn’t easy for him, either. Besides being hard as a pike, his skin felt way too tight for his body, his blood felt hot and thick in his veins. It was a pity he knew a lot about hypothermia, because every instinct he had was telling him to pull over, stop the car, pull Charity’s pants down, drag her into the backseat and mount her.

  Pick up where they left off.

  Oh yeah. A second a
fter entering her, he’d be fucking her like a wild man. Nick was really good at visualizing. All soldiers were. You went through the steps of a mission, one by one, visualizing success like crazy. It was the only way to deal with walking into danger. So he could see in his mind’s eye exactly how it would be. Charity, lying in the backseat, long slender legs wrapped around him and him on top of her, fucking away so hard even the heavy Lexus would rock with his thrusts.

  Unfortunately, he could also see how dangerous it would be. Once he was in her, he’d be oblivious to everything else. If another dense snow flurry came and buried the car, he might find it hard to get it going. If they were stuck, he’d have to turn the engine on to keep the heater going. He was a little low on gas and once the gas ran out, they could be stuck in a freezing car, waiting for a break in the storm.

  Charity could die.

  The thought kept him from pulling over, but it didn’t cool his blood.

  He’d been a good boy. He’d let her pull away while they were fucking, he’d come to the rescue and he’d saved the aunt.

  It was payback time.

  “We were what?” he prodded.

  “We were in the middle of…making love.” Her voice was small.

  His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s right. We were right in the middle of making love. We were getting it on just fine, until we were interrupted. And that’s about all I can think about right now. Picking up where we left off. I’d give my right nut to pull over and get back in you, but the weather’s too severe for that. So I’ll have to wait. But the instant we walk through your door, I’m going to be inside you one second later. And I want you ready.”

  A little indrawn breath. “Ready how?”

  His jaws clenched. “I think you know. But if not, let me spell it out for you. I want you all wet for me. I want that luscious little cunt all soft and warm and wet for me.” His voice was harsh, hoarse. The crude language came naturally, as a direct expression of his deepest desires. Something of his desire had communicated itself to her because he could hear her breathing speed up in the quiet darkness of the car. “I want all that before we arrive. Because I’m sure as hell not going to have time for foreplay once we get there.”