by Lori Sjoberg
On the bright side, his nightmares seemed to have subsided. Perhaps he needed something or someone to anchor his mind in the present, and for some strange reason he’d chosen her to fill the role. If that was the case, she saw no choice but to stay by his side. After what she’d caused, it was the least she could do. Besides, she got the distinct impression he wasn’t letting her loose anytime soon.
With an aching yawn, she settled against him. The adrenaline rush gradually drained from her body, leaving her completely worn out. Her heart rate evened and slowed, until the rise and fall of her chest matched his. If she had to be honest, it wasn’t all that bad. His body felt warm and solid against her back, his arm a possessive weight holding her tight. The masculine scent of him lingered in the air, dark and musky and undeniably male. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept with a man and had forgotten how much she enjoyed the feelings of closeness and security.
Closing her eyes, she gave in to the pull of exhaustion. For the next couple hours, they’d share a makeshift bed in the name of a good night’s sleep. Nothing more, nothing less. Come morning, they’d resume their usual hostilities.
Dmitri woke at the break of dawn. Sunlight peeked through a space between the curtains, bathing a sliver of the room in a soft orange glow. As the veil of sleep lifted, he became aware of the woman lying by his side.
Not any woman. Gwen. Through the thin cotton of the T-shirt she was wearing, he could feel the heat of her body. Her back was pressed against his bare chest, his right arm curled around her abdomen. The fabric of her shirt had ridden up along the front, and the palm of his hand lay flat against her bare stomach, her skin so soft, so inviting beneath his fingers. How the hell did she get here? When? And more importantly, why?
Even more disturbing was the fact he sported a raging case of morning wood. Of all the times for his dick to decide it wanted a little action. Good thing Gwen was still asleep or he’d never hear the end of it. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he performed long division in his head until the erection finally subsided.
“Gwen,” he murmured as he gripped her shoulder and gave her a light nudge. “Time to wake up.” He inhaled, and the lush, sweet scent of her filled his nostrils. Shit, now he had to do more math.
She mumbled something under her breath, her face obscured by a curtain of honey-blond hair.
He knew the exact moment she became aware of her surroundings because her muscles bunched beneath his fingers.
Nice to know he wasn’t the only one troubled by this latest turn of events. “Care to tell me why you’re down here?”
She groaned, scrubbed a hand across her face. “Long story.” Her voice sounded like she’d been gargling glass.
“I have time.” And he was anxious to know the answer.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself to sitting. “You had a nightmare.” She paused, scratched the back of her head. “About the Pit.”
Dread slithered down his spine and settled low in his gut. Gwen was the only reaper who knew what happened during that period of his mortal life. She knew all about the pain, the torment. The degradation. To her credit, she’d never shared the information with the others. Why, he had no idea, but he appreciated the discretion. “How do you know what the dream was about?”
“Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.” Hearing her speak the words chilled his blood. “You kept repeating it in your sleep, like you used to when they …” Her voice trailed off. “Well, you know.”
Yes, he did. He remembered like it was yesterday, but refused to acknowledge the rage. “You tried to wake me.”
She shrugged. “I thought—well, it didn’t work out the way I hoped.”
That didn’t sound good. “What happened?”
She twisted around, and the sight of her slender neck knocked the air from his lungs. A dark, angry bruise mottled the skin around her throat. If he looked closely, he could make out the outline of each individual finger.
“I did that to you.” The words sounded hollow to his own ears.
She nodded, pulled back when his fingers grazed her throat.
Shame hunched his shoulders. He’d repaid her compassion by crushing her windpipe. “I am so very sorry.”
“Eh, no need to apologize,” she said. “If it makes you feel better, I scratched the hell out of your face. Besides, you’ve probably been itching to do that for the better part of a century.” Her lips curved, but the smile failed to reach her eyes.
She was right. More than once, he’d dreamed about doing just that. Good grief, he was nothing more than a mindless brute. No wonder Elena turned her back on him all those years ago.
Gwen pushed off the floor and padded toward the bathroom. The shorts she wore clung to the contours of her ass, and he pretended not to notice. She stopped to pick up her duffel bag and glanced back in his direction. Her eyes met his, and a look of concern softened her features. “Relax, Dmitri. It’s no big deal. You know how this works. The marks will fade in a couple hours.”
True, but the memory would last forever.
He turned away as she closed the door, and less than a minute later he heard the sound of the shower running. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, an emotion he was unaccustomed to experiencing.
There has to be a way to fix this, he thought as he paced the length of the room. But playing peacemaker wasn’t part of his natural skill set and he was drawing a complete blank. He paused at the mirror when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Damn, she wasn’t kidding. Claw marks scored the left side of his face and neck, the result of her attempts to break his hold the night before. Already, the wounds had begun to heal, and would probably be gone within an hour. Eating would accelerate the process, providing the energy boost his body needed.
If he hurried, he could buy bagels from the diner across the street and be back before she finished her shower. Food would help her heal faster as well, and a quicker recovery time would unburden his conscience.
Or at least he hoped.
After dragging a T-shirt over his head and tucking it into his jeans, he tugged on his flack boots and strode toward the exit.
He yanked the door open and stopped dead in his tracks. A plain white envelope was taped below the peephole, with Gwen’s name written across the front in neat block lettering.
Dmitri’s gaze darted about the hallway, the parking lot, and the small strip mall across the street, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. The only activity was at the diner, where a few cars were parked out front. A tractor-trailer drove past on the main road, the rumble of the engine fading as it rounded the bend and disappeared from view.
Turning his attention to the letter, he pulled it off the door and stepped back inside. The paper felt damp from the morning dew, and the flap on the back was glued shut. Not bothering to wait until Gwen got out of the shower, he tore the envelope open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded into three sections.
More gibberish. The letter appeared to be written in the same code as the message on the wall in Charleston, a sure sign it originated from Ziegler. And since he lacked the ability to read the code, he had no choice but to wait for Gwen to decipher it. The knowledge stuck in his craw. As much as he disliked depending on others, he hated having to depend on her.
The water cut off in the shower. A few minutes later she emerged from the bathroom dressed in faded black denim and a clingy blue tee. Her wet hair was slicked back against her skull, making the bruises on her neck more pronounced.
She pointed with her brush toward the opened envelope on the bed. “Where did that come from?”
“I found it taped on the door.”
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “Hey, my name’s on that.”
“So I noticed.”
“That means it’s for me.”
He gave her a level look. “What’s your point?”
“Jackass.” She shook her head in disgust as she snatched the letter from his han
ds. Her eyes skimmed over the paper, her forehead crinkled with concentration. “It’s the same code as before.”
“No shit. What does it say?”
Gaze never leaving the letter, she held up a finger to indicate she needed more time. At last, she said, “He wants to meet with me to discuss the situation at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.”
“When?”
“This morning at ten-thirty.” She glanced down at the clock on the nightstand. “That gives us a little more than three hours to get there.”
“That shouldn’t pose a problem.” The motel was located about forty miles outside the District. Barring some type of traffic nightmare, they should be able to reach the museum with time to spare. But the impromptu nature of the meeting made him edgy. It gave him little time to turn the situation to his advantage and no time to prepare for contingencies.
“There’s more.” She glanced up, her eyes catching his. “While I’m meeting with him, he wants you at the National Air and Space Museum. If he doesn’t have confirmation from his people that you’re there, the meeting’s off.”
“He has people?”
“Apparently so. That might explain what happened to the missing reapers from Charleston.”
Dmitri frowned. “Out of the question. That leaves you without cover.” Not to mention it made it impossible for him to nail the bastard. In all fairness, he would have done the exact same thing if the roles were reversed. Part of him admired Ziegler’s tactics even though it meant his own job just got a lot harder.
“We don’t have a lot of say in the matter. This is probably our best chance at finding out what he’s up to. It’s either meet according to his terms or we don’t meet at all.”
Dmitri shot up from the bed and paced across the room. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t like it, either, but I don’t see much in the way of alternatives. If I talk with him, maybe I can figure out what’s going on inside his head, and we can use that information to bring him in.”
Deep down, he knew she was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Until they knew more about Ziegler’s motivations, they had no way of predicting his movements. Meeting him alone had red flags all over it, but if she was willing to take the risk, who was he to stop her?
Gwen leaned against the wall by the bathroom vanity while she laced up her shoes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about that. You’re a big girl, you can handle yourself.”
“Gee, you keep talking like that and I’m going to get misty.” She hitched the duffel over her shoulder and walked toward the door. “I’m starving. Let’s figure this out over breakfast.”
Chapter 4
After breakfast, they drove to the capital, parked the Challenger at Van Dorn Street, and rode the Metro to the National Mall.
The city was already bustling with tourists eager to visit the sites. Vendor carts were lined up along the sidewalks, selling food, American flags, Tshirts, and an eye-numbing array of patriotic souvenirs.
Gwen’s gaze darted from building to building, her eyes wide and her mouth partly open.
“What is it?” Dmitri asked.
She shook her head. “Oh, nothing.” Still, she gaped at the scenery with a sense of near wonder. “It just looks so different from what I remember.” The National Mall was almost unrecognizable from the way it appeared in the early 1960s. Back then, the Capitol Dome had been under reconstruction, the National Gallery didn’t have an East Wing, and the National Air and Space Museum hadn’t even broken ground at its current location.
“You lived here?”
“Yeah, but not for long. I only stayed here for a few months while I trained for—” She caught herself before she said too much. “Never mind.”
Dmitri laughed as they hooked a right onto Constitution Avenue. “They trained you well. Even after all these years, you still obey your masters.”
Bastard. Three hours after apologizing for choking her, and he was back to acting like an asshole. “Like you’re any better.”
“I never claimed to be.” Together, they stopped to wait for the light at the crosswalk. He looked down his nose at her, the condescension plain on his face. “How far did you go to serve your country, zaika? Did you step up, or lie flat on your back?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Ah. On your back, then.” He smirked. “Tell me, how many men did you fuck during your time at the Bureau?”
A few, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Come hell or high water, she’d completed every mission, and her body had been a powerful tool in her arsenal. Each encounter had left her feeling cheap and unclean, but it was a small price to pay for the sake of national security. “I’m warning you. Drop it.”
His smirk widened. “Dozens? Hundreds? Did they leave their money on the dresser or the nightstand?”
She slapped him so hard his head whipped sideways.
“Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty on me,” she hissed. “You did the exact same thing, probably worse, and so did your precious Elena.”
The ice in his eyes let her know she’d hit a nerve. He caught her by the crook of her arm and dragged her around the corner. After waiting a few moments for a family to walk past, he pinned her against the cool, polished limestone of the Department of Justice Building. With both hands braced against the wall on either side of her head, he towered over her, scowling.
“Do not ever speak her name in my presence,” he snarled. “Ever. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
No way was she going to let him bully her around. She tipped up her chin and met his furious glare. “Don’t act like an ass, and there won’t be any need to bring her up.”
His nostrils flared and she could have sworn she heard him growl. This close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and on some sick level it gave her a thrill. “You’re pushing your luck,” he warned.
“Oh, and what are you going to do about it? Even you’re not stupid enough to cause a scene in a public setting.”
“No, but as soon as I get you alone—”
“Excuse me,” a man’s deep voice said from behind. “Is there a problem?”
Gwen peered around Dmitri and spotted a police officer standing about ten feet away. Middle-aged and physically fit, he had the look of a man who’d seen a lot during his years of service. One hand rested on the top of his radio while the other hung loose at his side.
“Everything’s fine, Officer,” she answered with a smile. Dmitri moved to the left and faced the cop, allowing her room to maneuver.
D.C.’s finest didn’t appear convinced. “Are you sure, ma’am?”
“Positive.” She could plant a mental suggestion to compel the officer to move on, but she’d rather conserve her energy. She stepped beside Dmitri and looped an arm around his waist. To anyone else he probably appeared relaxed, but she felt the slight flinch of his muscles at the contact. “We’ve only been dating for a few months, and he just can’t keep his hands off me. Isn’t that right, honey?”
She flashed him such a sickeningly sweet smile it made her own teeth ache. There’d be hell to pay later, but for now she was enjoying his discomfort.
Much to her surprise, he upped the ante. “That’s right, sir.” He mimicked the cadence of her accent perfectly. “Sorry if we caused you any problems.” She nearly yelped when he palmed her ass and pulled her tight against his side.
“Where are you two headed?”
“The museums,” Gwen replied.
“In that case, you should probably get moving. Most of them opened twenty minutes ago, and this time of year they crowd up early with kids on field trips.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the tip, Officer.” She watched as the cop walked away, only stopping when an elderly couple asked him a question. As soon as he turned the corner, she shifted her attention back to Dmitri. “You can take your hand off my ass now.”
&n
bsp; Instead, his palm skimmed lower, his fingertips brushing the center seam of her jeans. “So soon? But you just told the nice police officer I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
Heat flared between her legs, and she cursed her body’s reaction. Reaching back, she swatted at his hand but his grip failed to loosen. “Knock it off. You know why I said that.”
A wolfish grin lit up his face. “Sure I do.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let me go. I’m supposed to meet Patrick in less than ten minutes.” The National Museum of American History was just across the street, but she didn’t know how long it would take for her to reach the Americans at War exhibit on the third floor.
“If you insist.” When he released his hold, she wasted no time putting a few feet of concrete between them.
“Thank you.”
“I still don’t think you should meet him alone.”
“Duly noted, but his instructions were specific. The meeting’s off if his associates can’t verify your presence inside the National Air and Space Museum.” To be honest, she wasn’t thrilled with the terms either. With Dmitri at the opposite end of the Mall, she had no support in the event things went sour. It railed against her sense of self-preservation, but she couldn’t think of a better alternative.
He frowned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. There’s no way Patrick would ever hurt me.” Of course, that applied to the Patrick she knew before. After what she saw in Charleston, all bets were off.
“I’m not worried about you,” he said. “I’m worried about losing the opportunity to take the bastard down.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re a prince.”
“It’s all part of the service.”
She reached the exhibit with a little less than three minutes to spare. The cop had been right; the museum was buzzing with school-aged kids on field trips. The boisterous hum of human vitality filled the building, making it difficult to search through the clutter for Patrick’s essence. Groups of children moved from one display to another, some snapping pictures while others looked bored to tears. Nearby, a chaperone scolded two preteen boys for talking too loudly while their tour guide spoke about George Washington’s uniform and scabbard.
