by Nancy Gideon
She quickly masked her eyes behind dark glasses, drawing herself up pridefully to ask, “I could really use a cup of coffee. I have some research to do. Is it permitted for me to go down to the lounge?”
“As long as I’m with you.”
“Of course.” She let her shoulders sag slightly, as if defeated, and started toward the elevator.
“Ms. Terriot, ma’am,” Bart stammered.
She paused and glanced back at him. “Yes?”
“You might want to change your shirt first.”
“What?” She twisted to look behind her, the movement eliciting a quick, painful inhale. Bright dots of crimson patterned the fabric just above the line of her pants. “Oh . . . dear. I guess I should.” She stood there, looking at a loss for a moment then asked uncomfortably, “Would you mind sealing me up again? I can’t do it myself, and I don’t want to create a scene.”
“Of course.”
He entered the room with her, expression impressively immobile as she shed her top and presented him with her back.
“Good God!” he blurted, obviously taken by surprise by the ugly nature of her injuries. “Did he—” Bart caught himself. Taking a manful breath, he restored her bandaging as best he could.
“Don’t look so distressed,” Sylvia chided with a slight smile. “I knew there’d be a cost in coming back to him. As I’m sure you did when you returned. The price of doing business. Am I good to go?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She selected another shirt, this one a colorful print that would better disguise a stain. Bart helped her put it on, earning another faint smile. She could tell he was unsettled and pretended not to notice as if to spare his feelings. She knew she’d won him over when he took her elbow carefully to steer her into the elevator. On the way down, he caught her looking at the chain that held his key.
“Are we safe here, Bart?”
Her quiet question again spurred an alarmed response “Of course.” As he spoke his gaze canted up toward the ceiling panels. They were being watched, or at least, listened to.
“Good. I’m not eager to have any more of my past catch up to me.”
“We’ve got good security, ma’am. And I’ll be keeping a close watch over you.”
She eased down the dark glasses to give him big, grateful eyes and whispered, “Thank you. After what I did . . . before, I wouldn’t expect you to be kind to me.”
“It’s my job, ma’am.” But his smile said it was more.
She had a conquest ready for some special handling.
Bart seated her in a quiet corner of the lounge and went personally to get her coffee. In his absence, she noted no less than three of James’s men taking a casual walk through. She pretended not to see them as she opened the book and made a show of pouring over its pages. When Bart placed the mug down, she smiled up at him gratefully and waved him to join her. After a bit of hesitation, he took a seat.
“Are you worried about your fella coming after you?”
“No. I’m worried about him killing me. He’s . . . very dangerous.”
“I don’t get it. Isn’t that his mark you’re wearing?”
“That makes me his property. He’ll come after me for no other reason. That, and because he knows what James and I were to each other. I shamed him when I ran from him. He won’t forgive that.”
“Like I said, you’re safe here.”
She shook her head, fright tightening her features. “He’s a hunter, a tracker, a killer. There’s no escaping him. No place is safe from him.” She bowed her head and made a show of wiping her eyes. A handkerchief appeared, and she took it with a muffled thanks. “If only James trusted me enough to let me stay up on his floor. I feel so vulnerable out here in the open, like I could find my throat torn out at any minute.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She gave him a faint smile. “I know you’ll do your best to protect me, but you don’t know him. You can’t be there every second.”
His hand pressed over hers for a brief instant. “I don’t need to be. We have security monitors everywhere. No one gets in or out without us seeing them.”
“I’m sure that let’s Jamie sleep well behind his locked doors.”
“They’re everywhere,” he assured her. “In the elevators, in the halls, on the buffet line, on every entrance and we'll be installing them even in the parking lot. And they know what to look for.”
Meaning Turow and Cale. Her smile wobbled. “That makes me feel much better. But what if someone gets to them? Or if the power goes out?”
“Backup generator. Any trouble, elevator and stairwells go on lockdown until James orders otherwise. He follows the video feed from his suite.”
Yes, he would have his paranoid eye on everything.
“What if Turow doesn’t come alone?” Her voice held just the right tremor to inspire Bart’s sheltering instincts.
“We’ve got a dozen men on the floor at all times. They can take anything your fella throws at them.”
A dozen. She’d take those odds. James was the problem, getting him away from the viewers. There was no way he wouldn’t instantly recognize his brothers. They’d never have a chance to get upstairs.
A youthful laugh caught her attention. Something familiar about it.
Sylvia glanced up to see a very tall, very young man wearing preppy clothes, thick-rimmed nerd glasses, a backpack and a stocking cap in the very handsy company of a much older woman. Noting her attention, Bart followed her stare until Sylvia chuckled.
“That’s how I want to spend my Golden Years, playing grab ass with some young stud.”
Bart smiled and shared her laugh.
“I think I’m ready to go up now.”
When she stood, Bart rose immediately, his eyes on her as the May/December couple passed by. The woman suddenly stumbled, falling against Bart who, of course, instinctively reached to catch her, giving Sylvia the right opportunity to grip his keys and break the chain with a quick tug disguised as a helping hand. She passed them into Kip Terriot’s palm then jostled his arm, spilling his beer all over his partner and hers.
“Aww, geez. I’m sorry. How clumsy. Let me help you.”
Bart brushed off his hand with a mutter of no harm done as he struggled to right the obviously intoxicated female. Giving Sylvia just enough time to lean in to whisper to her brother-in-law.
“Keys to the elevator and top floor. James is up there. Watch out for security.”
Their eyes met for just an instant, long enough for her to catch his wink.
Her pulse leapt. If Kip was here, Turow was here!
His tipsy friend back in his control, Kip again apologized and steered her toward the restrooms, her whiny grumbles about ruining her new dress fading as they moved away.
Soaked in beer, Bart looked from the restrooms to her, torn between a quick cleanup and his orders not to leave her.
Sylvia relieved him of his worries. “There’s Rosalee. I need to talk to James right away. I’ll ride up with her while you change your shirt. If that’s okay.”
Not anxious to appear before his boss smelling of alcohol, Bart nodded.
It took all her resolve not to give the area a quick sweep in search of her mate as she and Bart crossed the casino floor. She could feel him nearby, that shivery awareness brushing over the surface of her skin the way his fingertips would. She struggled not to betray her eagerness as she joined Rosie by the elevators. The girl was all wily smiles.
“Wesley says hello.”
“You spoke to him?” Sylvia demanded as they waited.
“I called him this morning to fill him in on our wonderful girls’ escape. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”
When they stepped into the elevator, Rosalee smiled up at the grate and pressed for the top floor. Apparently, the elevator was rigged with sight as well as sound, for they smoothly began to rise.
“There was a bit of excitement though.”
Rosie’s playful simper made S
ylvia want to smack her silly. “Oh?”
“Apparently Turow thought you’d run off with Colin. I hear there was a bit of a tussle between them in Reno.” When Sylvia didn’t look all that surprised, the girl gaped at her. “You and Colin?”
“What?” she remarked blandly. “He’s a sex machine. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”
She pouted. “He told me I needed to grow up first.”
Sylvia held to her grin. “He’s also a jerk. He was careless with his conversation. That’s one of the reasons I had to leave in such a hurry.”
The girl ate it up like a scandal talk show.
“Is Colin—?” Sylvia broke off as if she thought better of asking the question.
“What?”
“Is Colin aligned with Jamie?”
“Why do you ask?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Because it would be fun having him around once in a while. I just thought since he had no great love for Cale that Jamie might have connected with him.”
“I thought he and Cale were tight.”
“Oh, no. Cale may think so, but then he thinks everyone adores or is scared of him. Colin, not so much. Particularly since he got dumped into that cesspool in Louisiana instead of restored to his inherited spot in defense just because his mother is a spiteful bitch and has clout.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Funny the things you learn under the covers. So Jamie never reached out to him?”
“I don’t know. Jamie doesn’t share much with me.”
Smart man.
“Colin would be an asset,” Sylvia continued as if she didn’t know they were being overheard. “He has the Guedrys’ ear, and one of them in his bed, which is his main point of contention with our king. He knows the lay of the land in New Orleans, he’s got money and military pull, and he’s pretty damned hot, too.”
“You should talk to Jamie about him. If he’s not with us yet, perhaps you could recruit him.”
If he was, maybe she could discover that truth and make points with Cale by dissuading him. If he wasn’t, maybe she’d just found a way to get him on the inside. She hoped he wasn’t because Colin was pretty damned hot, and she’d grown quite fond of him as a friend.
She would have enjoyed watching him and Turow fighting over her. Grappling in the mud. In thongs. That was something she’d like to see in a pin-up magazine spread!
Sylvia sighed regretfully and told Rosalee, knowing her words would be heard, “Turow would have forgiven me for running away and maybe even for betrayal. He did before. But not for screwing his brother after we’d bonded. He’s a traditionalist. He’ll never get over that. He’d forgive Colin, but not me.”
“Men,” Rosalee commiserated.
On that note, the doors opened on the top floor.
And James was there waiting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
His gaze dropped meaningfully to the book in her hand, and without waiting to be asked, Sylvia urged, “We need to talk. Now.”
Ignoring a pouty Rosalee, James took Sylvia’s arm and towed her into his office, shutting the door behind them. Her quick scan of the room touched on his spy central of monitors tuned in to the elevator, the casino, the main and rear entrances and the lounge. She caught sight of Bart leaving the bathroom, heading for the table where they’d been sitting to do a frantic search. He’d noticed the missing key. He came up with the rabbit’s foot that had fallen off the broken chain. Sylvia almost felt sorry for the absolute terror that came over his expression.
“The book,” James began without any pleasantries.
“It’s the inscription. It’s an account number.”
“That clever bitch. For a lock box? Where?”
“I don’t know. New Orleans would be my guess. She always said her legacy was secure. I’m thinking that’s where we’ll find her papers and her formulas.”
“I’ll get my people there looking.”
“You have people in New Orleans?”
He regarded her impatiently. “Of course.”
“Anyone I know?” she asked, as if only mildly curious.
He studied her carefully for a long moment then replied, “When you need to know, I’ll let you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I have so many friends there I can’t wait to revisit.”
He brushed off her sarcasm with a curt, “Where did Martine have accounts?”
“I don’t know. That’s something your people in New Orleans can find out for you. And the sooner the better. I need to get busy.” She brushed by him and started for his living quarters, hoping to keep him away from any screens that might give away activity below.
Not in time.
“What the hell?”
She leaned over his shoulder to peer at the monitor holding his attention. He zoomed in the focus on the casino floor to a figure winding casually through the early-day risk takers at the slots. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a ball cap and leather-and-suede jacket. Sylvia froze, her pulse staggering as the man’s head tipped back so he was looking directly into the camera to offer a grim smile.
Turow.
And then all hell broke loose.
They walked right in.
A nice place, well designed, comfortably busy, and inviting. And somewhere inside, his mate had been tortured and waited, all alone, for his rescue.
Only Cale’s steadying hand on his arm kept Turow from doing something suicidally stupid.
He took a deep breath and let everything settle into that still, distant place where emotions took a back seat to serious intention. He couldn’t protect his king and affect a rescue if his head and heart were at odds. Thoughts of sweet revenge and sweeter reunion would have to wait.
They saw Kip across the casino floor. He’d gone in earlier to get into position, pretending to woo some drunken cougar in his guise as frat boy. Turow had remained outside with Cale, hiding the chafe of urgency until the perfect foils appeared in a shiny new lift-kitted truck. Cale bumped it with their rental, just hard enough for the knock to be noticed. They got out to engage driver and passenger in a tense conversation that grew civil the moment Cale produced a wad of cash. By the time the driver tucked it away claiming, “What the hell. That’s what insurance is for,” their new bro-pals were more than happy to enjoy a bar tab in the spirit of forgiveness.
The two armchair quarterbacks with their jean jackets, beer bellies and one of their local trucking firm ball caps hiding Cale’s face provided cover for incognito shape-shifters easing past security feeds. So far so good.
Then Row saw her, and his best intentions threatened collapse.
She was with Jamie’s man, the one whose life he’d spared in their escape from Vegas. A mistake he wouldn’t make again. She looked terrible and so devastatingly beautiful at the same time. Since she didn’t appear in immediate danger, he didn’t reach out across their psychic link, afraid she’d give away their presence. He’d have to be content with her knowing he was coming for her.
While Cale’s new best buds were introducing him to the sweetest slot machines, Turow followed Kip’s progress across the room. He’d been reluctant to include the boy because of his age and inexperience, but watching the youngest prince filled him with a new respect and confidence as he not only made contact with Sylvia, but she was able to pass something to him in a quick handoff.
That’s my girl.
Seeing Kip, she’d know he was nearby.
After Sylvia and Rosalee disappeared into an elevator, on their way presumably to James, Turow was able to concentrate on the plan he and Cale had hurriedly conceived.
Leaving Cale in the casino with their new pals, waiting for a sign from Kip, Turow skirted the edges of the room, silently, swiftly removing every threat he came upon. The security guards never saw or felt him until his arm was about their necks, choking them into unconsciousness before dragging them out of sight. He was moving up behind the next target when the abrupt shock of Sylvia�
��s attention jerked him to a standstill. He could feel her eyes on him, and slowly his lifted to the closest camera.
I’m here for you. And I’m here for James.
The instant that thought flew from him to her, power went out, silencing the screen and machines, plunging the open space into shadows. Kip. Spigots opened overhead, sending down a showering spray. Startled patrons raced in panic toward the exits. All except Turow and Cale who jogged rapidly toward the elevators. Just before they got there, eight extremely motivated men, less the four Turow had already removed, came between them and their goal.
The two brothers plowed into them without pause, free in the absence of humans to release the beasts inside each of them with a roar and slash of claws. Fierce motion harnessed Turow’s fears and frustration, funneling them into a surge of vicious intent. Arterial spray hitting his face in a hot rush, he pushed by one already-dead challenger to meet the next, battling with elbows and fists to finally snap his opponent’s spine over his knee. He could hear Cale’s wailing war cry behind him. The sound raised the hair on his neck, a harbinger of certain death for his opponents. There was no one he’d rather have at his back when rushing overwhelming odds.
A hard blow between the shoulders dropped him to his knees, sending him skidding in the pooling blood as a potentially lethal kick swung toward his ribs. He caught that booted foot, twisting hard to bring his attacker down on the wet tiles beside him. With a flash of teeth, the savage taste of the other’s life filled his mouth and fueled his fury. He lunged over the still twitching form to tackle a would-be assassin about to plunge a blade into his king’s back. The flurry of motion never distracted Cale from the two still standing of the trio who’d thought to surround him.
Turow was lifting up from that lifeless form, whirling toward a figure behind him when met with upraised palms.
“Whoa! Row, it’s me!”
It took a moment for his rage-filled brain to register Kip, urging him to back down from the emotionless carnage surrounding them. A quick glance told him Cale was safe, rising up without a scratch from between the two who’d thought to best him, their futures dripping from his fingers.
