by Nancy Gideon
She felt her jaw drop. How did he know?
"How did you know?"
"Gabriel told me."
But when had Gabriel had time to do that? She hadn't seen or heard him make a call. Perhaps while she was out of it in the thrall of that unnaturally heavy and sudden slumber. “Why should you care what happens to me? I don't know you."
"True. But I know you. Raelene Borden, 34, lives alone, prefers to work alone, unmarried, unattached and apparently uninterested."
"What is this, the dating game?"
"You enjoy kickboxing, you like to read Haiku and hard-boiled detective fiction, you're rated a marksman with a pistol and expert with a rifle."
"I make a mean chocolate trifle, I like squirrels, walks on the beach and men who aren't afraid to say they're sorry—preferably before they smack you."
LaValois continued, ignoring her tart remark. “You got interested in police work while teaching self-defense at a local women's shelter. You worked domestic assaults, until you sent a battering husband to the ER with three broken ribs and a concussion."
"If I'd sent him to the morgue, he wouldn't have smashed his wife's collarbone with an aluminum bat three weeks later.” Her bitterness over that episode still prickled in her tone. Where was all this going?
"After you got off suspension because no charges were filed, you were put into vice."
"A nice place to meet men you're interested in dating."
"Your colleagues don't want to work with you because you won't let go of something once you start. It becomes a personal vendetta.” He tented his hands and regarded her over them thoughtfully until she wondered what sort of assumptions he was forming. She didn't feel like making any explanations in her own defense. Then he surprised her by saying, “We are strangers to one another, Ms. Borden, but friends of the same cause."
"What cause?” Her tone relayed her caution. “Revenge?"
Marchand smiled narrowly. “Revenge and justice. A satisfying combination when taken together. But the first can be self-destructive if pursued alone.” He sighed somewhat sadly. “I have seen your record. It speaks of valor and distinction, yet you were ready to throw it all away by acting against the system you believe in. Why is that? The first time, I can understand considering your past."
Rae tensed, ready to strike out verbally or on foot if he pursued that path. Again, he threw her off balance.
"You are a fine officer, Ms. Borden, who can't abide a wrong being done once it's brought to your attention. But with Zanlos, you have no evidence to prove the man has committed any crime."
"I didn't need any. But then no court would arrest or convict on my gut instinct, would they?” Her reply was flat and factual. “Kazmir Zanlos killed my best friend and her father."
"Probably. Or had it done."
"And you're saying I should do nothing about it?"
A low chuckle. “Oh, no. That's not what I'm saying at all. Men like Zanlos deserve what they get."
"Then why did you stop me tonight?"
"Because you do not deserve what you would get if you pulled that trigger. Haven't you heard the expression ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold'?"
"While I wait for it to cool, he gets away with what he's done."
"And that injustice infuriates you, does it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then let me help you do something about it."
She did a quick top-to-toe assessment of him. “You're not a cop."
"You are right. I am not the law. The law can be bought and paid for by a man like Zanlos, which is why he has escaped it so many times before. I have been a soldier, and I have always served the rights of mankind—at first on my own and then with the assistance of a chosen few. That number has grown as the crimes against mankind have grown."
"You're vigilantes."
"Nothing quite so mundane as that. We adhere to laws. Those of our kind."
She glanced between him and Gabriel. “And what kind are you? Some sort of paramilitary group? Are you working for the government?"
"Some factions of the government are not unaware of us."
They were covert-ops. But what were they doing working on U.S. soil? Rae knew she had to tread carefully. These people could often be more dangerous than those they pursued for reasons not always sanctioned by the law.
"Are you after Zanlos?"
"No."
"Then we have nothing in common, and I'd like to go.” She didn't have time to be drawn into some spook operation. She had her own agenda to attend.
"No. Not directly,” Marchand clarified. “But he works in conjunction with the one we are after, and striking at one may well bring both down."
Rae leaned back into the couch's obliging cushions. “I'm listening."
"You are a smart girl. But are you ready to step into a danger so great you may not survive?"
"Zanlos murdered what was left of all that I held dear. Surviving without them isn't as important as punishing the one responsible for taking them away."
He studied her, and she could see he was impressed with her words. Yet she intuited he was a man one had to impress with actions.
"Going after Zanlos tonight was stupid,” she admitted at last. “I know that now. If you have a better way, I'll listen."
"Bien. Tell me what you know of Zanlos."
"He's a partner in a very high profile legal firm that handles contract law. He has the reputation of being someone who makes things happen."
"And how do you think he makes those things happen?"
"By hook or by crook, Mr. LaValois. Mostly by crook. I think he intimidated Thomas Grover into signing a government contract just before he died. I think he arranged the death of my friend and now is courting Grover's widow to seal the deal. I think he makes things happen by being unscrupulous and too clever to be caught."
"Not clever enough, if you and I know what he is. And you and I can stop him if we are prepared to be equally unscrupulous and clever. You say you want justice, Miss Borden. What are you prepared to do to see it done?"
"Anything."
"Anything within the limits of the law?"
She returned his somber gaze with an unblinking intensity. “Anything within the limits of my ability."
Where was the law when I attended two funerals in one week?
As she sat in Marchand LaValois's office, she purposefully, intentionally turned her back on all the things that motivated her career. Things like honor and duty and right and law. Those things meant nothing now because they meant nothing to a man like Zanlos, and she couldn't bring him down unless she played by his rules. And that meant surrendering herself to darkness.
She didn't know this man LaValois any more than she knew his servant, Gabriel McGraw. But she knew people, and she knew this was a man she could trust.
"What can I do for you?"
"Get on the inside of the Noir de Nuit. Move where we can't go."
"But I'm a policewoman. They'll know who I am."
"Not if we cover your tracks well. And believe me, we are experts in that area."
"What's on the inside?"
"Let me tell you what I know, and then tell me if we can work together."
"Tell me."
* * * *
"What do you think of her, my love?"
Nicole LaValois curled into her husband's embrace upon their big, satin-covered bed as the dawn brightened in a world they would never see again. “I think she's angry and in pain."
"Can she be trusted?"
"I feel a strong sense of honor in her. She reminds me of our Frederica."
He sighed as her head pillowed upon his shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing. Am I wrong to send her against an enemy she doesn't understand?"
"What could you tell her that she would believe? Besides, she won't be alone. There are those on the inside to protect and watch out for her. But she's not the one I fear for. She's not the only one who stands to lose much by being kept in the dark."
&nbs
p; "We've discussed this, Nicole. It is not our affair, not our family."
"It's like family to me, Marchand. Someone should tell him the truth and let him make up his own mind instead of forcing him to become a pawn to those of us who think we know what's in his best interest."
"We do, Nicole. The less he knows, the better. Considering what we know of his character, what do you think his choice would be?"
"That's unfair and unlike you. What really has you so worried?"
He hugged her tightly so that she could feel the tension vibrate through him. “Being this close to that demon. Have you forgotten?"
Her touch was gentle in its stroke along the side of his face, but her tone was tempered steel. “I've neither forgotten nor forgiven. You were right. The time has come to put an end to it. And if this Borden woman can be used as the tool of that destruction, I say use her."
Marchand caught his wife's hand and pressed a firm kiss upon its smooth, ageless palm. “How fierce you sound."
"When those I love are involved. I am tired of living with this ever-present threat hanging over them. If we strike now, much of the evil that's been done will lose focus and fall away."
"That's my hope. But promise me, my love, that you won't interfere.” At her silence, he prodded, “Promise you will not go to Gerard. That would only bring him into the fray, and with his habit of recklessness and uncertain loyalties, we will lose our only chance to finally be rid of her. I've been a soldier all my life. I weary of the fighting."
"I give you my promise not to seek out my old friend. Make this your last battle, my love. Then the only skirmishes you'll have are those with me."
He rolled abruptly so that he was above her. “Ah, but those are the battles I enjoy."
"When you win them,” she teased as her gaze invited an engagement.
"Win or lose, the result is sweet."
And he went on to prove it.
* * * *
Rae had listened to Marchand LaValois until nearly dawn. Then, their bargain made, Gabriel drove her back to the Grover country home, speeding recklessly along the dark, empty roads to deposit her at the door. Sensing his hurry, she let herself out. As she shut the door, he leaned over to call, “Be careful, and don't pull your gun on anyone unless I'm there to watch your back."
Rae smiled wryly and flashed him a salute then stepped back quickly as his tires threw gravel in their bid for traction. After his taillights disappeared, there was nothing left for her to do but enter the silent house where memories waited like restless spirits to haunt her mind and torment her soul. They swarmed her, stinging with barbs of regret as she finally lay back beneath the canopy in the hug of a comfortable tee shirt.
Why had she stayed away for so long? Why had she allowed pride and her own painful past to separate her from those she loved?
And now it was too late to amend those mistakes. Now she would have to find a way to live with them, unresolved and aching within her heart.
And she would have to trust a stranger in order to see they rested with the peace of the vindicated.
She closed her eyes, trying to summon sleep, but her mind spun at a frantic pace refusing to be still. Within a few hours, the game would begin in earnest, and knowing that had her both anxious and anticipating. She didn't like the idea of using an innocent in the trap to bait Zanlos, but if Nick Flynn was working for him, how innocent could he be? He had been there minutes before Thomas Grover ended his life. He was privy to whatever drove that good and decent man over the edge and beyond redemption. And for that knowledge he would pay, as Zanlos would pay.
And she would do whatever was necessary to collect upon that debt. To the limit of her ability, she'd told Marchand LaValois, the intense Frenchman who may or may not be using her as well. She didn't care about that as long as Zanlos fell in their quest to get the party LaValois was after. Whatever means to the justified end.
To the limit of her ability. To the limit of her soul.
To the limit of her life.
Chapter
Five
What had he gotten himself into?
The bourbon in his hand was the only thing strong enough to take that relentless question away.
He'd had one or two too many. He could tell by the way the pleasant numbness spread from his fingertips toward his brain. Good. That was good. Soon he'd be able to go up to his room and sleep without dreams. As it was, he could almost lift his gaze to meet his reflection in the mirror behind the bar without a spear of guilt and regret taking him to the heart. Almost. As he stared into the somber face, the jab was now a manageable twinge. And once he finished his drink, he wouldn't notice it at all.
He took a deep pull from his glass as his gaze tracked movement in the room behind him. The bourbon sat warm and tingling upon his tongue for a long moment.
It couldn't be.
Rae.
Even the overabundance of alcohol couldn't mute the effect those long, lean legs had upon him.
He finished his drink with a hasty, choking swallow and watched her in the mirror. A finger of unexpected jealousy crooked about his insides and jerked hard.
Who was she here to meet? That question gnawed at him.
He should have been asking himself why he'd care, but that logic never formed into a defense against the longing swelling within his soul. Not a yearning for sex, though the mere idea had him quickening with heat and anticipation. The mere sight of her made him yearn for something missing, something much more complex than an easily obtained physical relief. The relief he sought was on a more esoteric plane, and why he thought he could find even a piece of it with a high price call girl would have amazed him if the need wasn't powerful enough to engulf all common sense.
Or perhaps that was the bourbon talking.
The memory of her in the molten evening gown had delighted his imagination all day, keeping the mounting uneasiness about his job at bay. Now, here was the real deal more conservatively clad in a business suit. Some business. The turquoise jacket was cut in dramatic lines—big shoulders, nipped in at the waist and flaring over curvy hips, with low, overlapping lapels that displayed sheer lace over pale skin. A brief, snug skirt left miles of leg adorned in silvery colored silk. And shoes of the same bold, Carribean-waters blue boosted her height a good three stilt-like inches. A fever broke hot upon his brow. He didn't exhale until she wove out of sight behind the booth petition.
Disappointment and loss hit like a punch to the solar plexus.
If he were to take a quick peek around that paneled divider and find that she was alone, would he be setting himself up for another one of her ego-sapping rejections?
Tonight, on this lonely night, he deemed it worth the risk.
Leaving a large tip on the bar, he straightened his tie and tried to summon up his usual swagger. No need to look too desperately pathetic. Finally satisfied with the rather dashing gentleman he saw in the glass, Nick took a fortifying breath. Grateful that his steps were steady, he took a turn about that petition, hoping for a miracle.
His night for miracles.
She was alone in a back booth, staring idly out the window into the hotel's circle drive. But alone didn't mean available. She glanced up when he stopped at her table.
"Hi."
"Hello, again, Mr. Flynn."
She remembered. Crazy sensations did handsprings within his chest. He felt fifteen years old again.
"Expecting someone?"
"Not any more. I had an appointment cancel at the last minute, so I thought I'd grab a quick drink before grabbing a cab."
"I thought you didn't drink."
"Mineral water. Good for the skin."
"Oh."
He just stood there, floundering. Nick Flynn the lady killer, smiling like a fool with no amusing sentiments surfacing to save him.
Then she threw him a line.
"Would you like to sit down?"
"If it's not an intrusion."
She shrugged, the movement elegant and un
intentionally sexy the way it made the front of her jacket gap, letting him glimpse the plump orbs of her breasts through the wispy lace. Or perhaps very intentional.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
He dropped onto the booth seat like a sack of cement.
"What are you doing here alone at this time of night?” she asked.
"I live here."
"In the bar?"
"Upstairs. I have a suite."
"You live in a hotel? Not much for permanence, are you?"
"It's just temporary. I just started a job a little over a month ago."
"Not sure it's going to work out?"
Talk about getting right to the heart of the matter. He fought not to grimace.
"Probationary period."
"You with them or them with you?"
"Both, I guess. And how about you?"
"Just in for Ginny's funeral."
"Oh.” How dejected he sounded with that one single syllable.
"But I like it here. I might stay if I could find decent work."
"What can you do?"
"I'm ... versatile. Just don't ask me to type. Not that I've had many prospective employers sit me down at a keyboard.” The slightly cynical curl to her smile made him laugh. It was the first time he'd laughed ... since he'd come to D.C. It felt cathartic.
"I promise I won't ask you to do dictation."
His hand found hers almost by accident on the tabletop. His fingertips slid over the backs of hers, then lingered, intrigued by the soft warmth of her skin. She didn't draw away.
"What would you ask me to do, Nick?” That quiet question steeped with steamy innuendo.
His touch glided over her knuckles, stroking down her thumb to slip under her palm, tracing the delicate whorls of life and love fate had etched upon it.
"Nothing you didn't want to do."
Here it was, her chance to ditch and run or plunge boldly ahead.
Rae was silent for a long minute, studying the man across from her. He'd been in the bar awhile. She could smell the bourbon, but it didn't seem to affect his coordination or smooth speech. Nor did it put her on the instant defensive the way it usually did. She was sure with his spectacular looks and boyish grin that he had no problem picking up women but with her, he seemed oddly uncertain despite his confident approach. There was nothing practiced in his come-on. Nothing jaded or expectant in his posture. His eyes convinced her. That direct contact, staring straight into hers with a flattering interest. No nonsense. Just like his conclusion.
