by Liliana Hart
Anger began to simmer low in her gut and the tears dried quickly. She knew she was as much to blame as he was, but that didn’t stop the act from hurting any less. She wasn’t made for one-night stands or quick flings, and Shane wasn’t good for anything but.
She pushed at his shoulders and he rolled to the side. He reached for her and tried to pull her in his arms, but she sat up quickly and pulled the sheet around her, covering her nakedness and shame.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching for and flipping on the lamp on the bedside table.
She blinked at the brightness of the light and wished she were back in darkness. Shane laid beside her, his body a masterpiece of perfection and the lazy smile on his face smug and content.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!” she shouted. “How could you do this to me?”
“Well, if you need me to explain the particulars I’d be glad to, but I’d just as soon show you again, Sugar.” He smiled and eyed the sheet wrapped loosely around her breasts, giving it a gentle tug. She held fast to the sheet and what was left of her pride and jumped from the bed to face him standing up.
“This isn’t a joke. You took advantage of the situation. You knew I didn’t want to sleep with you,” she said.
“Well, it was a little hard to figure out the signals, considering I woke up naked in bed with you and you were wrapped around me tighter than a glove. It’s not as if I got shot on purpose just so I could have my wicked way with you.”
“I was taking care of you, you ungrateful—” she couldn’t even finish the sentence she was so angry. “I was asleep,” she finally said.
“So was I. And it’s not as if you were fighting me off. What’s this really about, Rachel?”
“Let me make this as plain as possible. I will not be a substitute for your wife. I’m not her. I never will be, and I wouldn’t be if I could. I don’t sleep with men I hardly know, and I sure as hell don’t sleep with men who are just looking for an easy lay until they can move on to the next available woman. I need more than just a roll in the sheets to be satisfied.”
Shane’s face grew dark and angry at her words. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Sugar, but it was your name I called out at the end.”
He rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration and stood up to face her, unmindful of his nakedness or how it was distracting her from the conversation.
“I’ve never compared you to Maggie. Where the hell is that coming from? And whoever said anything about you being easy. Right now you’re being a definite pain in the ass. I’m not a mind reader. You can’t keep your hands off me one minute and the next you don’t want anything to do with me. Just what exactly is it that you do want?”
“I want to get out of this mess alive. And if you’d prefer not to see things through to the end due to our current situation, we can certainly terminate our business arrangement. But if we do go on together, I want you to keep your hands to yourself. I have enough problems in my life right now.”
“Understood, Sugar. But maybe you should sleep in your own bed from now on just to make sure.”
Shane turned around and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. She heard the shower turn on and went into the other bedroom to put on clothes and get herself together. It didn’t seem to matter what she did or how she tried to protect herself. It looked like Shane Quincy was going to break her heart anyway.
***
Shane leaned his head against the cold tile of the shower and wished he knew what the hell had just happened. He tried to think back over the last couple of days, but the hours seemed to run together. He vaguely remembered Rachel always being there when his eyes had opened, shoving pills and food down his throat and going back and forth between pleading and arguing with him to get better and wake up.
Well, he was awake now, and he wished he could crawl back under the covers. Only now that he knew what it felt like to make love to Rachel, he wanted her to be under the covers with him. Forever. And that scared the hell out of him because he wasn’t sure if he believed in forever anymore. He knew better than anyone how temporary, and how fragile, life was.
He had no idea why Rachel would think he was comparing her to Maggie. Maggie was gone. She would always be a part of him, but she was his past. Rachel was his future. Or at least he wanted her to be. From the way she’d reacted after they’d made love things weren’t looking too hopeful.
The hot water pounded on his sore muscles, and he didn’t care about the bandage at his shoulder getting wet or that the water stung the raw knot at his temple. At least he was alive. The amount of pain rioting through his body told him that much. He wanted to feel whole again, and right now he just felt tired and defeated. Some bodyguard he was. He’d spent God knows how long in unconsciousness while his charge had gone unprotected. Anything could have happened to Rachel while he’d been down. And he refused to be responsible for the death of anyone else he loved.
Love. The word in itself was frightening, and he found himself backtracking, thinking of another way to describe his feelings for Rachel. He wasn’t ready to love, especially after knowing her for such a short time. Surely a few days couldn’t determine a lifetime. Besides, he wasn’t capable of loving anyone again. And it wasn’t fair to give Rachel anything less. No wonder she was angry with him. It was obvious she’d already thought through the consequences of how things would be between them if they took their attraction too far. He’d already told her he would never give all of himself to a woman again. And she’d taken the words inspired by his nightmares to heart. He only had himself to blame for saying something so stupid. So hurtful.
Shane soaped up and rinsed off quickly, the layers of sweat and sickness swirling down the drain along with the despair he felt. He could fix things with Rachel, but they had to get out of their current situation. She was right about having more than enough to deal with at the moment.
He turned off the water and got out on shaky legs. He needed food and something to help the headache he couldn’t remember not having. It was time to take back control of the situation. He wrapped a towel loosely around his hips and walked back into the bedroom.
He heard Rachel moving around in the kitchen and decided from the way she was banging pots and pans around that her mood hadn’t improved. It was probably best to give them both a little space for the time being. She needed to cool off and he needed to come up with a plan.
The sheets had been stripped off the bed and a washing machine rumbled from somewhere in the house. It looked like Rachel was anxious to get rid of any memory of what they’d done. It was fine with him. He’d made her a promise and he wasn’t about to go back on it, no matter how much he still ached with wanting her.
He found his jeans folded on the dresser. They’d been washed, but holes had been torn in both knees from his fall. A stack of new shirts sat folded in the drawer in several different sizes along with white athletic socks and a package of underwear. He dressed and did nothing more than towel dry his wet hair and gave a cursory thought to shaving when he rubbed his hand across the stubble on his face. The idea was quickly dismissed as the smell of something hot reached his nose.
His system was off and he had no idea what time it was. The clock on the microwave said six, but he wasn’t sure if it was A.M. or P.M. Rachel had sandwiches and soup sitting on the table when he came into the room. Her dark hair was pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck and thin wisps of hair had slipped free. Her face was flushed and there were dark circles under her eyes. Obviously he’d given her more than one sleepless night.
“I didn’t thank you for taking care of me,” he said as he sat at the table. Things were awkward between them, but he tried his best to put her at ease. They had a difficult road ahead of them and they needed to be able to communicate. “I know I’m not usually the easiest patient.”
She kept her head down and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “You would have done the same for me. I just hope you’re not overdoing it too so
on.”
“I know my limits. I’m feeling better. Just a little stiffness in my shoulder, and I’ll have to watch accidentally opening the wound since I wasn’t able to get stitches. It might still come to that.”
“As long as I don’t have to give them to you.” She sat down across from him and picked at her food. He’d already inhaled his and was on a second helping. Her brow was furrowed and she shifted in her chair. He could tell she had something important on her mind.
“We need to decide how long we’re staying here,” she finally said. “I’m beginning to go stir crazy, and I’m anxious to get to Chicago, get the list, and hand it over. I know the way Angelo works, and Galen Marsh’s death will be just the beginning if we don’t see this through as quickly as possible. I don’t like being in limbo like this, out here in the middle of nowhere while innocent people are being slaughtered.”
“What did Wildcat say when you talked to him?”
“Your pal Wildcat never bothered to show up.” The frustration was palpable in her voice. “There’s no phone in this place, and I left the disposable cells in the car. Wildcat gave me explicit instructions not to leave the house, and I’ve spent three days staring at beige walls. For all I know, Wildcat could be sitting outside with either a group of FBI agents or some of Angelo’s men. I’m not too anxious to find out which one.”
“If Wildcat didn’t show up, it’s for a good reason. He wouldn’t take the chance of leading anyone to us accidentally.”
“If you say so, but you mentioned the last time you talked to him that you were sorry you hadn’t kept in contact with him over the last couple of years. Two years is a long time, and people can change.”
“Not Wildcat. He’s as solid as they come. You’ve just got to trust me on this one.”
“Fine. I guess I don’t have any choice, but it doesn’t make me feel very safe to know we’re locked in here like prisoners with only one way to escape. What were they thinking putting one metal door and no windows in this place? It’s enough to drive a person insane.”
Rachel tore her sandwich apart in what he recognized as a nervous gesture. She was scared, and the last couple of days were starting to take their toll. He hadn’t stopped to consider what she must be feeling. Most civilians he knew would have reached their breaking point long ago. He’d taken her strength for granted and forgotten that she’d lost a father, her home and most likely her friends. He’d let her ramble on and get everything off her chest, and then he was going to suggest she take a nice long soak in the tub and get a solid eight hours of sleep.
“Of course, they could try to burn us out,” she continued. “Though I’d hate to think that they’d try the same old, tired routine. I know dad always had a fondness for keeping people off guard. It was one of his trademarks.”
This was information Shane already knew. The last thing he wanted to get into was a conversation about Dominic Valentine. He rinsed his dishes out in the sink and put them in the drain pan to dry. Rachel continued to sit at the table and stare at her untouched food, so he took the liberty of clearing her plate from in front of her and tidying up.
He knew she wouldn’t welcome it, but he needed to touch her. To reassure her that everything would be okay. He walked up behind her and put his hands on the back of her neck, ignoring the way she jumped skittishly at his touch. Then he kneaded the knotted muscles slowly until she all but melted beneath him.
“It wouldn’t be very practical for a safe house to have only one route of escape,” he said, continuing the massage for a few more minutes. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Shane took her hand and held it casually as he led her into the second bedroom. He opened the closet door and moved a wooden shelf out of the way. Behind it was a square, no bigger than a suitcase, with a sliding door. “There’s your second doorway,” Shane said, sliding it open.
It was dark inside and smelled of earth and disuse. Cobwebs clung to the corners.
“Where does it lead?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but it’ll open up into a bigger tunnel and go for a couple of miles. It’s standard for any FBI safe house. But if you have to use it make sure you take a flashlight.” He closed the door and moved the shelf back in place.
Shane went into the small living room and looked at the arsenal of weapons she had laid out. “Looks like you were prepared for anything.”
“I figured I had enough firepower to scare anybody who tried to come through that door,” she said. “Of course now that I know about door number two, I think I’ll opt to take the coward’s way out.”
“I’ve never known anyone who was less of a coward than you,” Shane said. He picked up a .9mm Glock and checked to make sure it was fully loaded. He slipped it in the small of his back and headed to the metal door that led to the outside.
“Wait a minute. Where are you going?” Rachel asked.
“I’m going to take a look around the grounds and make sure we’re secure. I want you to stay here.”
“Like hell. I want out of this place. And what if you have a relapse or something while you’re out there? The bump on your head looks worse than it did two days ago, not to mention how much blood you lost with the hole in your shoulder. You’ll feel pretty stupid if you get out there and pass out.”
“I’m fine, Sugar. Almost as good as new, but I’m glad to see you’re so worried about me.”
“I’m worried about me,” she said with a scowl. “What if your friend turned you in and the FBI is out there waiting to arrest you? We have warrants out for our arrest.”
“Huh. I’d forgotten about that,” Shane said. “Make sure you use the second escape route if you hear shots.” The color drained from her face and shame washed over him. He was still raw from the words she’d spoken earlier, but that was no excuse. Shane brushed a finger down the side of her cheek, but kept his face void of emotion as she jerked back from his touch. “There’s no one out there, Sugar,” he reassured her. “I just want to get a lay of the land and see what we’re up against. If there is someone out there I’ll deal with it. This is what I do. If I’m not back in an hour use the door in the closet and get as far away as you can.”
Shane closed the door in the face of a very angry woman. He needed to get away and think things through. Two years was a long time, and he was starting to suspect that Rachel could be right. Jones Daugherty might not be the man he remembered.
***
Angelo Valentine was enraged.
The servants were still cleaning up the mess from his reaction to the messenger who’d had the unfortunate task of telling Angelo that Jimmy Grabbaldi was dead. It wasn’t the fact Jimmy was dead that bothered Angelo so much. He’d been planning to dispose of Jimmy anyway. It was the fact that Jimmy had failed to kill his bitch of a niece and the man she’d brought in to help her with family business. Angelo couldn’t tolerate failure. Wouldn’t tolerate failure. There was incompetence all around him—the men who worked for him were easy come, easy go, but incompetent just the same. If he had to dispose of everyone who’d ever failed him, he’d have a very short payroll. How hard could it be to kill a former interior designer, for God’s sake?
Angelo walked into the den and poured himself three fingers of whiskey from the decanter over the fireplace. He was expecting company shortly and preferred to have the meeting in comfort rather than his stuffy office—the stuffy office that had once belonged to his brother. Not to mention his guest might find the current state of the office in bad taste. Blood still soaked the Aubusson rug and brain matter was splattered on the walls. He’d found in the past that members of law enforcement reacted strangely to such things.
The oval mirror over the mantle showed a man distinguished in years—the silver at his temples and the lines of age on his face emphasized as much. He didn’t have his brother Dom’s charisma or the natural leadership that had emanated from him. But he held power just the same. He inspired loyalty in his men through fear like Dom never had. Nice guys never fin
ished first in the mob. And Dom had too much nice in his old age. He’d gotten soft and never quite bounced back from the death of his youngest daughter.
The order of events had worked out exactly as Angelo planned, all the dominoes falling nicely into place. First, take advantage of Dom’s weaknesses, meaning kill his wife and daughters, and then destroy Dom. Piece of cake.
Rachel would’ve already been dead if it hadn’t been for Dom’s harebrained scheme to turn on his business family and his rivals alike. And so Angelo had had to move things around in his timetable and dispose of Dom first. Dom’s disappearance and eventual death had been easy to orchestrate—members of rival families had been glad to help out once they’d learned Dom had turned traitor. It had been even easier for the grieving brother to take over the reins of the Valentine empire. Rachel was the only loose end left.
Chimes echoed through the house and his butler opened the door. Two sets of footsteps clipped along the marble tile and there was a light rap on the heavy doors that led into the den. Angelo kept his place standing by the stone hearth—a position of power so he could look down on an underling.
“Enter,” he commanded.
His visitor didn’t seem impressed by the opulence of the room. And his visitor especially didn’t seem impressed by the company.
“Mr. Valentine. You said you wanted to see me.” The visitor smiled slightly and took a seat in one of the club chairs facing the fireplace. Angelo didn’t know why, but he had the sudden feeling he was no longer the one in control.
“There’s a certain place in my organization for overconfidence,” Angelo said. “This is not one of those times or places. Everyone’s usefulness runs out eventually. It’s best you remember that.”
The visitor nodded, but the small smile never vanished. Sweat snaked down Angelo’s spine and dampened the Italian shirt he wore. He could smell his own fear and wondered if the visitor could as well.