Silent Cymbals

by Lakes, Lynde

  Roughly, Razor peeled her from his neck. His eyes were as blue as flame, his gaze as searing. “I was afraid you were hurt, or I’d have gone after him.”

  “I told you I was fine,” Rusti muttered. She turned away and limped a couple of steps back down the hall.

  “You are hurt! Can you make it?” His voice was low, still angry.

  She nodded.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, then swept her into his arms.

  A rush of emotions tore at her. Why did she feel like crying?

  Razor carried her back to the hotel room and laid her on the bed. The muscle twitch in his jaw belied his tender touch. He grabbed the few things they’d taken from their still-packed bags and tossed them in. “We have to get out of here.”

  “But where can we go? The killer finds us wherever we are. At least here we have the advantage—we can’t be surprised anymore. We’ll get Baxter to put a guard on the door.”

  “Don’t argue with me, dammit. That attack on you isn’t the only thing that happened this morning. A wildcat killer is on the loose, and there’s no telling what he’ll do next.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  While they waited for a stoplight to change, Razor made two brief calls on his cell phone. He talked low and fast, apparently finalizing some arrangements he’d made previously. Rusti didn’t get the full gist of it, and he didn’t offer any explanation. When the traffic started again, he was so busy changing lanes and grumbling at other drivers that she didn’t want to press him for information.

  Grim-faced, he entered the freeway and merged into the southbound Beach Cities lanes. Then he accelerated and began passing even the fastest moving cars. Rusti held her breath until Razor eased up on the throttle and joined the regular flow of traffic. She’d feared that in his agitated mood he might continue to drive like a madman. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Newport,” was all he said.

  She dusted herself off as best she could, relieved to see that her slacks and shirt hadn’t gotten ripped in the scuffle. And after running a comb through her hair and applying some lipstick, she felt reasonably presentable for whatever lay ahead.

  They drove in almost unbearable silence. She kept darting glances at his hard, unapproachable profile, questions spinning in her mind. Until he cooled down, maybe it was best to let him ride out his turmoil before asking them.

  She went over what might be bothering him. He blamed her for opening the door and not sticking to the plan, and he was right. But what did he expect? They were about as opposite as two people could be; it was clear that their minds didn’t operate on the same frequency. That bulge in his jacket, the tool of his trade, gave mute testimony to that. Razor Jones was a man with a gun, and for the time being at least, she was stuck with it—with him. Even so, she could deal better with the situation if he’d tell her what was going on. What besides the attack on her had happened this morning?

  Had something gone wrong at his meeting with Capt. Noble? He’d come back to the hotel earlier than expected—which probably saved her life. Did his foul mood mean something else had gone wrong with the drug bust? She had to know and to try to clear the air.

  “I’m sorry, Razor. I admit I blew it. Again.”

  He didn’t take his eyes from the road. “What was that?”

  Rusti shook her head. She hadn’t put a dent in his preoccupation. “I said I’m sorry I got us into another near disaster. I guess you’re taking me someplace where I can’t cause any more trouble. But where could that be?”

  He chuckled. “I can’t imagine such a place.”

  Just like that, he was back, his dark mood tucked away. Earlier he’d mentioned Newport. “What’s in Newport?” she asked.

  “Boats.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “You mean we’re just going to sail off into the sunset and forget about all the killings…the kidnapping…the latest attack? What about your cartel bust?”

  “I need to figure that out. And I want to be incommunicado.”

  “But I’m not supposed to go where Baxter can’t find me.”

  Razor glanced at her, his eyes serious. “We’ve run into another tragedy.” His voice deepened. “Before I could deliver the microfilm to Captain Noble someone slashed his throat. He’s dead.”

  “Oh, my God, Razor, another killing, another decent police officer down.” She took a deep breath, realizing that she’d been saved from death by a mere quirk of fate—and by Razor, who’d been there once again when she needed him. Now she understood. He still had the microfilm in his possession. Rusti shuddered. “Will this nightmare never end?”

  ****

  Rusti blinked, unable to believe her eyes as Razor pulled the rental car into the parking lot of the Newport Harbor Yacht Club, and she saw who was waiting for them. Ben Guerrero! He raised a hand, and Razor pulled up beside him.

  “What’s he doing here?” Rusti whispered.

  “Shhh. I’ll explain later. Just go with it.”

  They got out of the car and the two men shook hands. Rusti managed a smile and a nod. Then they all went into the aging but well-maintained clubhouse for lunch. Aromas of grilled fish and French fries spiked the air.

  “This place is famous for their fish and chips,” Ben said, as though they were merely friends sharing a meal on a bright, sunshiny day.

  They all ordered the place’s specialty with coleslaw and sourdough rolls. It was the first substantial meal Rusti had eaten in a couple of days, and she ate ravenously, watching the boats and wondering which one was theirs.

  None of them were. They loaded their bags and a box of provisions from Ben’s car into a dockside dinghy. Ben took them out to a large powerboat moored in the middle of the bay. He boarded and swung a ladder over the side for Rusti. The bobbing dinghy made climbing awkward. Razor steadied the dinghy and the ladder. Good thing she’d worn slacks.

  The men busied themselves stowing the gear; all Rusti could do was carry a few things into the cabin and wait. She’d been sailing a few times but didn’t know her way around in a boat like this. It looked like a miniature luxury liner. Why here? She had no idea what Razor’s game plan might be; she figured he had one.

  With dismay, she watched Ben climb back into the dinghy and head for shore. She’d counted on him to act as a buffer. Now she and Razor were alone again. And stranded out here. “How will we get back?” she asked Razor, who had come to stand beside her at the varnished rail.

  He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze. “Worried?”

  “Well…it’s a long swim to shore.”

  He took her hand and led her around to the other side. Another dinghy, tethered to the forward mooring lines, bobbed gaily as a boat passed. The deck beneath their feet rose and fell with the passing waves. She gripped the rail, not wanting to lean into Razor…wanting to keep a safe distance between them.

  “I’m glad the wind died down,” Razor said. “Kicks up the water too much. Come on. Let’s go below and I’ll show you around.”

  He explained the galley, the cabins, the heads—there was a tub in one.

  “You’ll have your own room.” He pointed into the master cabin. He had stowed her bags on a king-sized bed.

  “Wow, classy. Whose boat is this?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Not Terrilla’s!”

  Razor’s blue eyes twinkled. “I told you not to ask.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Being Terrilla’s right hand man has certain privileges. No one will surprise us here. I can promise you that.”

  This was insane. She was in way over her head. The whole situation was too complicated…too dangerous. Razor was turning Terrilla in, yet the old man considered him a foster son with all the privileges and protection of a real son. How did Razor feel, plotting Terrilla’s downfall? He must have mixed feelings…maybe even mixed loyalties. How did he handle them? Would the backlash of all this treachery ultimately destroy him? And her?

  Rusti closed her eyes and
sent up a prayer that his training had prepared him for all this duplicity. Only a chameleon could come out of this one unscathed.

  She rubbed her throbbing head. Dammit. She didn’t want to be here, but for the moment, she had to follow Razor’s lead. She ached everywhere from the fight with her attacker. Her swollen knee pulsed with pain. She spied the therapy tub. A hot soak in it might make her limbs feel better. She pointed. “May I try it out?”

  Razor grinned. “Sure, but there’s a definite economy to bathing together.”

  Rusti darted him a daunting look, and he left her to her solitude. She helped herself to the bath salts, and as the tub filled, she examined the painful place on her hip. A large bruise was beginning to color. The pain between her shoulder blades suggested the probability of another bruise.

  “Hey,” Razor said, knocking on the door. “Don’t fill the tub too full. Whenever a boat goes by and makes waves, the water will slosh over the sides.”

  She hadn’t thought of that and turned off the faucet before the tub got too full. Immersing herself in the hot, scented water, Rusti leaned back and allowed herself to relax. It was so peaceful, and as Razor said, every so often the boat rocked and the water washed gently over her. She stayed in the tub until the water cooled.

  After dressing in beige slacks and a caramel silk shirt, she emerged from her cabin to find Razor lounging on deck, shirtless. He looked for all the world like a man on vacation, rather than a FBI man on the run. She’d thought his eyes the bluest she’d ever seen, but today they were even bluer, intensified by the seamless sky, the sparkling sea—

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked, interrupting her reverie. “Beer? Coke? Champagne?”

  “A Coke would be great.” Champagne would always remind her of the burgundy rose…and her black-clad attacker. “But sit still. I’ll get it.”

  Her limp brought Razor to his feet. “You’re limping again.”

  “An old injury. My fall at Big Bear and my fight today made it worse.”

  “Maybe there’s an athletic bandage around here someplace. There’s everything else.” He swept her up and carried her into the main cabin. Heat radiated from his bare chest, right through her thin blouse to her skin, stirring dangerous feelings. Razor eased her down on the settee and gently felt along her pant leg. “You’ll have to take your slacks off. I want to get a good look at your knee.”

  Rusti could scarcely breathe. Could he hear her heart slamming against her breast?

  Before she could say no-way, he said, “I’ll get you a pair of shorts. There’s always plenty of chick…that is…ladies’ clothes on board.”

  She hadn’t thought to pack shorts. But she wasn’t sure about wearing someone else’s clothes. He rummaged around in one of the cabins and tossed her a pair of white shorts with the price tag still on them. $198.00. She could buy a whole outfit for that. She was way out of her comfort zone on this rich man’s boat—with this make-believe wise guy who oozed sex appeal. “Turn around,” she ordered, not wanting to tempt either of them.

  He grinned, but did as she asked without reminding her that they’d already been half naked together, and she gave him another gold star for allowing her to set the rules of intimacy.

  When she joined Razor again on the settee, he wound the athletic bandage around her knee. Before fastening the clip in place, he worked her knee back and forth to check the give and take. Then he massaged the area just above the knee. A tremor slid up to her thigh. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  Fighting a blush, Rusti nodded. He was so gentle…such a gentleman. And, although it made no sense, she was disappointed.

  Razor smiled. “You’re blushing.”

  “I know, and I don’t know why.”

  He shifted and leaned back on the bank of pillows, pulling her up beside him. She didn’t resist. They lay quietly for a few minutes, listening to the water lapping against the hull, the sound rhythmic, mesmerizing.

  Razor turned her to face him and lifted her chin. She shivered with awareness… anticipation, ignoring the danger signals going off in her brain. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. Rusti could no more stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck than she could stop breathing. He groaned and pulled her tightly against him, his bare chest pressing into her thin silk shirt, the heat of him warming her breasts, hardening her nipples. She opened her mouth to him and tangled her tongue deliciously with his.

  Her moan of surrender seemed to trigger something in him. The almost ruthless urgency of his kisses heightened her excitement to a point of no return. They were wrong for each other, but she wanted this. After the horror of the past few days, she needed it. He looked deep into her eyes and Rusti found herself drowning in a sea of blue.

  His arousal throbbed against her and he whispered, “I want you more right now than I’ve ever wanted anyone, anything.”

  “I want you, too,” she said, strangely unafraid for the first time in days. It no longer mattered that he wasn’t hers to keep. Tragedy had taught her that the moment was all anyone really had, and she was willing to forego the unknowns of tomorrow for this one day in the certainty of Razor’s arms.

  He carried her to the master cabin and stood her on her feet. He slid his fingers into her hair and drew her closer and kissed her again. And again. The adrenaline surge stirred them into a frenzy. They gasped for breath—undid buttons, zippers, kicked off clothes—stood naked in the rosy glow of the setting sun that filtered through the portholes. Razor lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him. Together they headed for the bed, where he laid her gently on the smooth satin sheets.

  “You’re magnificent,” Razor murmured, tracing her nude body with feathery light touches of his tongue from her inner thighs to her navel, up to her breasts and on to her lips.

  Rusti slipped her hand down his muscled length and stroked his erection. He groaned and his breath came in ragged spurts. She grasped his buttocks with both hands and pulled him to her. He lifted her hips to his, and holding her there in his powerful grasp, slowly entered her. She writhed and moaned in pleasure. “Look at me,” he said.

  She opened her eyes, and looking deeply into his, became caught in a riptide of rapture as the strength of his striving thighs carried her to delirious heights she’d never felt before. Pulsating waves carried her higher and higher. She clung to him, both of them sweaty and wild as his forceful thrusts brought them to their zenith. They plunged over the edge, shattering into a kaleidoscope of ecstasy.

  Breathing hard, she lay spent in Razor’s arms. It was seconds before she became aware of the boat rocking sleepily in the quiet bay water. Razor’s breath stirred her hair, and occasionally he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

  Although they both knew they could never hope to have a life together, when he’d asked her to look into his eyes, she’d seen and felt a moment of love there. That might be all he could ever give her; and, with their mismatched lifestyles, all she’d dare accept. She snuggled deeper into his arms, determined not to spoil this precious moment in time. She could shed tears of loss later.

  ****

  Drifting and dreaming, they didn’t stir until the moon shone through the open hatch above them and the chilly night air invaded their sanctuary. Razor picked up the clothes they’d tossed on the floor, pulled on his pants and handed her shorts and shirt to her. His bandage looked slightly moist.

  “I hope you didn’t hurt your shoulder,” she said.

  “What shoulder?” Grinning, he closed the hatch and turned on the lights. “How is your knee?”

  “What knee?” she said, her grin matching his.

  He laughed. “Good. Put on a sweater and come on deck. We’ll have some supper before we do that again.”

  He was incorrigible. And she loved it. Rusti tested her knee and found it was much better with the elastic bandage around it. Well, enough to climb the stairs to the deck.

  In the galley, she made a salad and steamed some broccoli while Razor grilled a coupl
e of salmon steaks. After their feast, they sat on deck listening to the slapping water and the sound of the light breeze ticking in the weathervane. The moon slipped behind fast-moving clouds, but glistening shore lights danced across the surface of the dark bay. Razor had brought her to a land of enchantment. It wouldn’t last, but they were here now. Together.

  Voices drifted across from the yacht club along with soft strains of music. “Unforgettable, That’s What You Are,” Rusti hummed. She could see people dancing.

  “Look, Razor…” But he wasn’t looking—he was lost in thought. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  He drew her into the circle of his arms. “You.” He kissed the top of her head. “While you bathed this afternoon, I called Buck to brief him on what had happened. With Captain Noble out of the picture, we need a new man.” He paused. “You’re going to love this. I asked Buck to double check your Detective Baxter.”

  “I thought you said I was on your mind.” Already, he was drifting away from her, back into the world of dead bodies and killers. She’d known it would happen, so why did she have this feeling of abandonment?

  He hugged her closer. “You are,” he said. Then immediately returned to his subject. “If the detective is on the up and up, I’ll get his help to keep you safe.”

  She’d wanted that all along. Now that Razor agreed, she could play his switch-off-the-emotions game with equal detachment. “I’ve been thinking about something, too,” she said. “And the more I mull it over the more it makes sense.”

  “What’s that?”

  “René’s effeminate hairdresser may be the killer. I pulled off a glove and saw longish fingernails. Longer than on most men.”

  Razor hesitated as though considering someone else, then shook his head. “The hairdresser is a lightweight, and the sicko we’re looking for has killed five people. Shooting Bull and me from across the room is one thing, and Noble was asleep when he got it. But hand-to-hand conflict with a combat-trained FBI agent like Kincaid takes skill.” Razor paused. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s more than one person involved. What if the person who attacked you killed Petra and René, but someone else killed Kincaid?”