by D. L. Roan
Again she nodded, her lungs clawing for air as she forced her lips into something resembling a smile. When the door finally closed behind him, her knees hit the tile and she fell to her side, gasping for breath as a single tear trailed down her cheek and splashed onto the floor.
Jesus fucking H. Christ! Car accident my ass. Grant stood outside the bathroom door and listened as Thalia fell apart. It took everything he had not to bust through the door and gather her in his arms, but he already knew her well enough to know she would only kick him right back out.
“Fuck!” He didn’t know what had set her off, but he would damn sure find out. He threw his towel onto the bed. Forgoing his boxers, he picked up his jeans and pulled them on, then sprinted to the room at the end of the hall. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him. One thing about being who he was, he had access to all kinds of neat toys and contacts.
He mumbled another curse as he took a seat in front of the bank of computer screens and picked up the phone receiver in front of him. It seemed the more answers he got from her the more questions he had. Typing in a password, he accessed the system and pulled up the central departmental search engine as he dialed a number he pulled from memory.
“Diver.”
“I need you to find something for me,” Grant barked at the familiar voice on the other end of the line. As he spoke, he quarried Jauhar’s file from three different bureaus and hit enter.
“Lieutenant! I thought you were chasing hangovers and pussy in the Caribbean. Or was it Fiji? You miss me that much?
“Get your hand off your dick and listen up.” Grant didn’t have time for social niceties. Thalia would pull herself together quick enough, and he needed to have this wrapped up when she came out.
“Shoot.”
“I want everything you can find on two unknown Americans killed in a car accident in Mumbai ten years ago. They had a daughter, seventeen, first name Thalia, last name Brezlin, or some derivative. She’s twenty-seven now, five-ten, black hair, grey eyes.”
“Okay.” He could hear Diver’s fingers flying across his keyboard in the background. “Tango-Hotel-Alpha-Lima-India-Alpha.”
“Correct. I’ll get you additional specifics when I can. And find anything you can on a tango, first name Issa, India-Sierra-Sierra-Alpha. May or may not be a relative in Mumbai. Add Mozambique and Madagascar to your search grid.”
“So you are chasing pussy.” Diver’s chuckle grated on his nerves. He was in no mood for jokes. “Okay,” Diver drew out the last syllable in feigned agitation. “Perky as usual I see, Lieutenant. I’ll dig up what I can.”
“Call me as soon as you get anything.” Grant paused before he set the receiver back in the cradle. “And Diver?”
“Yeah?”
“The Lieutenant is dead. Don’t use that name again.”
Silence weighed heavy on the line. Grant thought he’d lost connection just before Diver cleared his throat. “Okay boss, but I don’t really know what else to call you. Except maybe asshole.”
“Fuck off.” Grant disconnected the call. He wouldn’t hold his breath for the off chance any of her story panned out. He didn’t think she was lying. No, she believed every word of it. He had nothing to say it wasn’t true except the uneasy feeling in his gut, which he’d learned long ago to trust without fail.
On auto pilot, he dug through the desk drawers until he found a blank flash drive and popped it into the port. With a few clicks, he downloaded the files and logged out, not bothering to look at the information. He snatched a backpack from the back of the door and stuffed the drive and one of the two laptops in it before he left the room, locking the door behind him.
He could hear Thalia moving around in her bedroom as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. He understood the unyielding need to go to her, to fix whatever was wrong. And he didn’t like it. For the first time in his life he cared about someone beyond himself, and a part of him knew he was fucked for it. Caring made you weak, a soft target. Ten years living with a drunk and three years in the foster system taught him that. The minute you cared about something it was gone, or worse — used against you.
Still, a bigger part of him, a deeper part which seemed nonexistent before Thalia washed up on his beach, reveled in the thought of somehow keeping her in his life. She was important.
And the sex! Christ. He had literally just had the fuck of his life. She had taken everything he had to give. Everything he’d meant to hold back but couldn’t. He knew he could be dominant and a bit rough when it came to sex. Apparently more than normal with her. Knowing she had a past that was probably steeped in sexual abuse, he’d thought it best to tone down that side of himself, at least until he knew more. When she had swallowed his dick, something inside him drove him to a madness he’d never experienced, or ever be able to explain. He would never get enough of her.
If she was a slave and she truly had no memory of it, he could be stepping into a minefield every time he touched her. He couldn’t ignore it. There was no way in hell now that he’d had her that he would be able to keep his hands off her. They would have to discuss what had set her off. Which would probably set her off in a completely different, furious kind of way. His little mongoose didn’t like to show her weaknesses.
He grinned as he pulled out a saucepan and grabbed the milk, butter, and a couple of limes from the fridge. He actually liked it when she went a little feral on him. Her eyes turned that wild shade if silvery blue, her chest heaving as she reined in her initial savage instincts to tear into him. The only time she was ever more magnificent was when she came apart beneath him. Something he planned to see again very soon, and very often.
A new thought splintered his attention. His dick twitched against his thigh when he thought about the fight she was going to put up when he told her she wasn’t going to be making that call to Jauhar. She was crazy if she thought he would allow her to continue with her disastrous plan for revenge.
No way in hell was he going to let that bottom feeder get within a hundred feet of her. She would just have to refocus her need on something else, because it wasn’t going to happen. Oh, he’d kill the mother fucker, slow and painfully, but she would be well out of reach when it happened.
He stirred a little flour into the melted butter in the pan, mixing in a little rosemary and pepper before adding in the milk and some crumbled parmesan. He loved having contacts in high places with fully stocked kitchens, especially when they owed you a favor.
“Smells good.”
His well-honed reflexes had his gun drawn from his waistband and pointed mere inches from Thalia’s face before he had even blinked. “Sonofabitch, Thalia! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
She froze and stared down the barrel of the gun in Grant’s hand, her heart rate hitting the stratosphere. Swallowing was pointless. Her mouth instantly dry, she slowly reached for the glass of water sitting on the island bar in front of her. Jesus. He was like a damn ghost. She hadn’t even seen him move. Between the gun and the sight of his ripped, bare abs, she thought she would choke on her tongue before she took her first sip. After spilling nearly half the water down the front of her dress, she managed to gulp down enough to satisfy a horse before carefully setting the glass back onto the counter. “I wasn’t sneaking.”
She watched as Grant gathered himself and tucked the gun back into the front of his blue jeans. He grabbed up a hand towel and stepped around the bar. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She stood paralyzed as he wiped the front of her dress, unsuccessfully ignoring the wave of heat that pooled between her legs when his hand lingered on her breasts.
She cleared her throat and snatched the towel from his hands. The last thing she needed was to seem more pathetic than he already thought she was. “It’s okay.” She dabbed at her dress as he walked back over to the stove. “I can see the calming qualities of almost having your head blown off.” She threw the towel onto the counter and slid back onto one of the wooden bar stools, twining her fingers to
gether in her lap to keep them from shaking. “You should think about marketing your approach to spas and yoga instructors.” She caught his critical gaze and lifted her chin. “Besides, I think we’ve already established that I know my way around a gun.”
“She’s beautiful and funny. Whatever could she see in me?” She abandoned her quest for quick-witted reply when he plated the food and sat one in front of her, along with two white tablets and another glass of water. “Take those,” he said before he turned back for his own plate.
“What are they?”
“Antibiotics.” She was only marginally grateful he took the seat across from her instead of next to her. She knew she was about to be interrogated, but at least she didn’t have to feel his heat so close to her skin while he was doing it. “Two twice a day for a week. And no arguments.” He took the bottle from his pants pocket and set it on the counter next to her plate.
“Thanks.” She popped the pills to the back of her throat and took another swig of water. When she caught his gaze over the rim of her glass she couldn’t ignore his confused expression. “What?
“I didn’t exactly expect you to buy into the whole no argument bit so easily.”
He sat there, staring at her expectantly. “What? You want me to hack them back up and start over with a fuck-you?” He laughed. A big, burly, carefree kind of laugh she’d never heard from him before. Something inside her turned all warm and fuzzy knowing she had made him let go enough to share that with her.
“No. No need to do that. I just thought I’d have to arm wrestle you into taking them.” He took a drink of water, licking his lips as he set the glass back down. Another lustful shard of arousal spiked in her belly as she watched the moisture bead on his lips. When he glanced back up, his wicked grin told her she’d been busted. “So does this mean you trust me?”
She shook her head and picked up her fork. “Let’s just say there is something about you that makes me want to trust you.” Before she could bring the fork to her mouth he snatched it from her hand with another display of lightning speed. “Hey! I really want to eat that.”
“And I really want you to eat it, but I need you to clear something up for me first.” He set the fork down on his plate and picked up his glass again, taking another small sip before he continued. “What happened in there?” He tilted his head towards the bedroom.
She should have known he would stick around to snoop. She sat back in her seat and ran her fingertip along the edge of her plate. What would he think if I just dug in with my hands? “I don’t know what you mean.”
She jumped when he set his glass down with a loud bang, water sloshing over the sides. She watched in amazement as he subtly restrained his temper and repositioned himself in his seat. “I’m not asking for the hell of it, Thalia. Did I do something that sent you into that panic attack?” The hard look on his face relaxed with concern as his arms raked down the edge of the counter and fell into his lap. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to keep my hands to myself if that’s it.”
A small hiccup of laughter bubbled up from Thalia’s chest at the dejected look on his face. “No,” she said and shook her head, her shoulders relaxing despite the fact she had just lost the last shred of her pride. “It’s not you.” She found it hard to look at him so she focused on the beads of sweat running down the side of her glass instead. “I’ve had those for as long as I can remember. They’ve been worse lately, but it’s not you.”
“What’s the trigger?” She darted a glance toward him and her heart nearly melted. How was it possible that he cared? How did she tell him that he was the only man who had ever made her crave the closeness that usually brought them on? She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him about the nightmares. Still avoiding eye contact, Thalia shrugged, as if the motion itself would toss off the weight of her embarrassment.
“Don’t be embarrassed, fossa.” Grant reached across the counter and tilted her chin so that she had to look at him. “I’m only asking so I don’t do something that will cause it. I know I can be demanding and pushy when it comes to sex, but I can dial it back a few clicks if it’s too much.”
She shook her head, dislodging his grip on her chin. “No, please.” More heat crept into her cheeks and she reached for the glass of water, taking a long sip before setting the glass back down. God, how could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself? “It’s…I get this heavy, suffocating feeling in my chest when I’m close to someone that way. I mean, normally I can’t stand for a man to be…”
“On top?”
Thalia nodded, still unable to meet his gaze, his silence as unnerving as having his gun stuck in her face. “But it’s different with you. I don’t know what caused it this time.”
“Different how?”
Geeze, he was going to make her say it. “It just is, okay? I don’t know why or how. I just want you that way. I don’t want you to change anything.”
“Thalia, look at me.”
She straightened with the zing that ran along her spine in response to the command in his voice. She lifted her head to look at him, the gold in his eyes swirling with intent. “You will tell me if I do anything that makes you feel like that.” She hesitated at first, but couldn’t refuse him. She nodded and he shook his head. “Yes or no, fossa. I need to know that you understand.”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t hide it from me again. I want to know you, Thalia, all of you, for however long this lasts. Understand?”
“Yes.” She nodded. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel like a child who had just been scolded. It went against her nature to give that much to him but she couldn’t deny him. Despite what she had told herself, she wanted to know him too.
“And you’ll let me help you dress your wounds next time.”
Her hand cupped the bandage she’d applied to her shoulder before she’d left the bathroom. “I can—”
“Yes, fossa. That’s all I need to hear.”
“Yes.”
She scoffed when Grant cut a bite of food from his own plate and held the fork to her lips. “Indulge me.”
Just like that, he shifted back into a playful, irresistible jerk, as if she hadn’t just had one of her darkest secrets ripped from her soul for all to see. She hesitated, wondering what kind of game he was playing, but thought what the hell. She could play, too. She let her eyelids droop as she leaned forward and slowly wrapped her lips around his fork. Any point to the game was lost on her when flavors she couldn’t describe exploded on her tongue. “Mmm.” Her jaw ached from the tangy spices and the meat was so rich and tender. “That’s fantastic. What is it?”
“Zebra.” Grant smiled and took a bite of his own.
Even if she had been lost in a desert for a week without food, if someone had offered her zebra she probably would have refused it. No. Not probably. She’d eaten some pretty strange foods in India, but never once had she imagined eating a Zebra. Simple fact was, it was delicious. “I’ve never had zebra before.”
Grant chuckled and cut another bite for her. “It’s socially unacceptable in the States, and illegal. Most people think they would rather starve than to eat something like this. Then again, most of those people have never known what it’s really like to be starved. They’re just talking out their asses. It’s actually quite a common food here.”
She had expected him to jump right into the next interrogation phase of their evening, but it seemed he had different plans. As he continued to feed her, which she found more erotic and intimate than she ever thought it would be, he kept the conversation light. They talked about different places they’d been and their favorite foods and books. When he asked her about her musical tastes she couldn’t help but tease him about what she’d found on his iPod.
“Is it so terrible that I like the symphony and classical music?” His blush surprised her. She didn’t think Grant could be self-deprecating enough to be embarrassed.
“No,” she laughed. “Issa listened
to it all the time. He was a huge Tchaikovsky fanatic.”
Grant leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment before he picked up his glass of water and took a drink. He moved his plate to the side and leaned his elbows on the counter, his eyes turning from playful to calculating just before he spoke. “Tell me about Issa.”
Chapter Twelve
He watched as she dabbed her plump lips with her napkin and pushed her plate away, all twelve layers of those damn iron shields she used to protect herself falling back into place. All his hard work using small talk to loosen her up swirled down the drain with a single question.
“What do you want to know?”
Grant settled back into his seat and shrugged. “Anything you want to tell me.” When she didn’t immediately answer he asked what seemed like the easiest questions to answer. “What did he do? What was he like?”
She shrugged, her eyes focused on a spot on the wall behind him. “He owned a transport company in Mumbai. Regional trade mostly, some international exports.”
“You worked for him?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “I scheduled the loads and managed the books. All behind the scenes stuff. It was difficult, given how young I was, but Issa taught me a lot.”
“Is that how you learned to shoot? Doesn’t seem like there’s much need for sharp shooting accountants these days.”
She giggled. Honest to God giggled, and it made him want to wrap her up and keep her somewhere safe, where he could hear her laugh anytime he wanted. While it was tempting, he realized that doing so would be like trying to wrap a cactus in bubble wrap.
“No,” she said on another giggle. “There isn’t, but…outside the fact that I’ve lived on the run the past year and a half…” A mischievous smile bloomed on her lips, lighting up her entire face. “I went through a really self-destructive phase during my first few years with Issa. When his bodyguard caught me trying to steal his gun, Issa thought it was a good idea to show me exactly what I was asking for. He took me out on one of his boats and let me target shoot at some offshore floats. I was hooked from that first shot. He taught me everything I know about guns and shooting. He was very strict about making sure I knew how to defend myself. Not that I minded. I loved it.”
