“Sloan, please let me—"
She stopped him with an uppercut to the jaw.
He didn’t stagger, but she’d stunned him enough to slip from his arms and place several feet between them.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head to clear the fuzz.
While she adjusted and zipped up the dress the best she could, Baine righted his pants and waggled his mandible. Sloan grabbed her shoes from where they’d fallen and stepped around him into the doorway.
His words stopped her.
“I heard the crash. There was no warning. No squeal of brakes. Not the small silence before impact. You know the one where everyone holds their breath, hoping not to hear the impending collision? It was just this awful screech of crunching metal. I knew without a doubt my mother was dead.”
When she turned back toward him, Baine shifted and looked down at his hands as he scrubbed them together, obviously uncomfortable. He’d fastened one of the remaining buttons on his shirt, but the tails hung open. He looked younger and somehow smaller, maybe. No, not smaller. Hard for a man who stood four or five inches over six feet and weighed about two of her to appear small…but vulnerable, maybe? The adjective seemed out of place on such a man, and, Lord help her, endearing.
“All the reports said she had a massive stroke, causing her to lose control of the car, and she died from injuries sustained when she struck the building.” He smiled and Sloan saw roots of deep sadness in the glint of his eyes and the wrinkle of his brow. “But,” he continued, “a head-on impact doesn’t leave a circular entrance wound on one side of a person’s skull and blow the other side completely away.”
“He ordered the hit,” Sloan stated more than asked.
Baine’s gaze met hers for the first time since she fled his arms. “She was leaving him. We both were. Not that I’d ever really been with him. I spent most of my youth at boarding schools in London, I had thought, because both my parents didn’t give a shit about me. Turned out, it was my mother’s way of protecting me.”
A silent minute passed then Baine stepped forward and pinned her with his blazing no-nonsense gaze. “I will strip my father of everything he holds dear. His wealth. His business. His power. And his legacy. I’ll make him go on living in the dirtiest back hole prison with nothing, hurting him more than any physical pain or death could.”
He closed the gap between them. His scent polluted her air. Sloan bit her cheek against the piercingly decadent aroma. His warm fingers on her chin turned her face up to his.
“You can help me, Sloan, or you can get the hell out of here. Out of this house and this continent. Do you understand?”
Her fists balled at her sides.
“You want to hit me again, don’t you?” he asked. The barest hint of a smile played over his swollen red lips.
Damn him and his smile because the expression infuriated and softened her at the same time. “I want to knock the smugness right off your face.”
“That’s my girl,” he nodded.
“I’m no—"
“Figure of speech,” he cut in, holding up a palm. “What’s it going to be?”
She swatted his hand from her face. “There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m leaving.”
“I know,” he responded with a purse of his lips. “So, you’re going to help me?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you have a solid plan or not.”
He took a step back and raked a hand through his already rumpled hair and down his face. The scratch of his whiskers sounded like the ripping of Velcro. Her face and neck burned where the hair had buffed her skin.
Baine grabbed her hand and, once again, dragged her behind him. He towed her so often she felt like she owed him money for the service. Tired of being jerked around, Sloan put on the brakes.
He kept tugging, but placated her in soothing tones. “Can’t really talk out here and I have some things to show you.”
“Okay, but you know I can manage walking all by myself.” Her voice went soft and sweet on the last few words.
He freed her hand and continued walking. “Smart ass.”
“You seem to bring out the best in me.”
Inside the bathroom he closed and locked the door then made his way to a closet. Sloan hung close to the door ready to make her escape at any moment. The bathroom was large, but sharing the space with Baine made her twitch. Claustrophobia was a weakness she didn’t possess, but perhaps people could develop it. She’d heard it could be triggered by a traumatic event. And fucking like animals with the enemy certainly qualified as traumatic, dramatic, and too amazing to wrap her mind around.
“Come.” He urged her forward with an impatient hand when she didn’t move. “Jesus, I’m not going to bite.”
“You already did.” She pointed to the faint outline of teeth on her shoulder.
“And you survived.”
Would she? She wasn’t so sure the events of the night wouldn’t lead to the infection of a metaphorical organ she rarely used, and a slow painful death. Damn her heart.
She huffed out a breath, squared her shoulders, and walked into the closet. He’d had plenty of opportunity to kill her and he hadn’t. So, for the time being she trusted him not to hurt her. But after she’d served her purpose, who knew?
Baine turned his back to her and shoved some pricey clothes down the rack. He removed a panel and depressed a series of numbers on the keypad on the wall.
“You need a better safe. Give me a minute and a half and the right tools. I’d have you cleaned out.”
He slanted a look at her over his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d say that. See, to debilitate my father’s empire we must access his safe. In it he holds bank records, his dealings with every buyer and seller, and a list of government leaders on his payroll—all in one book.”
Out of the depths Baine extracted a folder and handed it to her. It held three pages—a sketched layout of the house, top and bottom floors, a layout of an office, and a photo of a safe, complete with make and model written in the margin.
“The plan is simple. Tomorrow after dinner, I distract Kobi and my father while you excuse yourself, break into the office, crack the safe, and swipe the book. We meet in your room after, confirm we have the intel to bring him down. Then we do just that.”
“If you have all this information, why haven’t you already gone after the book?”
Shit, if she’d had this intel, Devereaux Kendrick would’ve been worm food two days ago.
Baine shook his head. “Don’t get all blustery on me. Devereaux never entered his safe or even revealed its location to me until the day I shipped out to D.C. While away I confirmed the make, model, and specs of the damn vault, and it’s nearly impossible to get into without the code. Which I have been trying to find since I got back.”
“That puppy’s about as tight as they come.” Sloan didn’t even know if she could crack it, but she’d try her damnedest. “What about cameras?”
“He’s a paranoid bastard. So none in the office, out of fear someone in security would use them to compromise him. Only has them in the hallway and they sweep. If you’re as good as you think you are, they shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Fine. But you’re suggesting we do this—just you and me,” Sloan asked, trying to keep the are you nuts out of her tone.
His lips spread in a wide grin that made her swallow hard. “Pretty much.”
The twinkle in his eye told Sloan he left out some details. Thinning the particulars in a situation like this was a good way to get their butts shot off. She shoved the folder at him. “What?”
He hiked a brow. “What?”
“Deception doesn’t become you.”
Quiet for a while, Baine seemed to mull that over then cleared his throat. “You’re the first one to say so.”
She shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t let his comment derail her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His hands nestled into his poc
kets. “Too perceptive for my own good or am I really that transparent?”
“Who knows. Now give,” she demanded.
“All I’ll say is I have an ace up my sleeve.”
That damn butler. It had to be. But she didn’t reveal any hint she knew what he talked about. “Well, with twelve to two odds, we’ll need all the help we can get.”
His smile fell and the azure of his eyes darkened as his jaw strained. “We have to be on the same page. I know you’re capable, but I don’t want you killed cleaning up my mess.”
“Devereaux Kendrick is a lot of peoples’ mess. And don’t you worry about me.”
Baine set the folder on a mahogany dresser then placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. Eyes haunted and expression troubled, he said, “I can’t stop myself from caring about you.”
The best laid schemes
Of mice and men go often awry.
17
Sloan fled as though he’d pulled a knife and promised to spill her guts onto her stilettos. He called out to her, his deep voice rumbling in the granite and stone confines as she fumbled with the lock and doorknob. She didn’t look back. A backward glance would reveal the hurt in his eyes. She’d glimpsed a hint of it as she pulled away.
Her legs carried her quickly through the bedroom. Mindful of the cameras, she didn’t run, but the urge reared its head when she passed the balcony where they’d taken each other so completely. The doors still hung open and her panties lay in a ruined heap on the masonry floor. Sloan’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and bile sloshed up her throat, threatening to escape. Gaze locked on the door, she marched on, swallowing the sickness back.
She refused to slow until she exited the room and made it down the service stairs. Glancing left and right, Sloan surveyed her surroundings, not wanting to be caught off guard by anyone else this evening, but all was quiet, almost eerily so. Or maybe that was only her twisted perception.
Once inside her bedroom Sloan slid down the door. The heel of her palms ground into her forehead as she tried to block the last two hours from her mind. It didn’t work. The quivers in her belly eased, but a soul-deep sadness eked in.
Sloan bit down hard against a sob. Her chest heaved with arid huffs. The metallic tang of blood tickled the end of her tongue, but she ignored it, caught in a hollow hell of her own making.
The last time she’d cried like this, she lay in a huddledball on the dirt floor of the servant’s hut with twelve other children the day after she watched her parents’ executions. At the time, she’d thought she would never stop crying. And now she felt the same way. Tears rained down her face, spattering on her chest. Her hand clamped over her mouth and her body shook with raw emotion. Then that stupid question began as a chant in her mind.
Why? Why? Why?
Logically she knew it was the single greatest waste of time to ask the inescapable query. Why, didn’t matter. Nothing would be solved by answering the why. Any of them. Why didn’t her parents take her to the States when unrest erupted in their backyard? Why hadn’t someone stopped Kendrick before he ordered her town massacred? Why had she believed in hope, when all life proved on a daily basis was treachery and despair?
Then suddenly the question changed.
What?
What hurt worse, that she could no longer trust herself, or that Baine had stirred that damn useless notion of hope with his declaration? Whether his words were honest or not, the effect had been the same. And the emptiness that was her life seared her broken heart. She pressed her hand against the ache.
If she died tomorrow, she could think of only one person who’d cry for her. Only one. And even Ryan would buck up given a little time. They were partners and pals when on mission, watching each other’s six and blabbing to pass the time, but in D.C. they led separate lives. He had friends, family, and plenty of late night entertainment. She had the job, her training, revenge, and nothing else. Sure, he’d invited her into his world time and again, but that son-of-a-bitch called fear always drew her back. Kept her huddled in her shell like a turtle. Fear of opening herself to anyone, depending on someone then losing them, having them reject her, or worse, be ripped away, imprisoned her.
Owen and Barbra Harris might shed a superficial tear or two. For the cameras. For those around them. Not for her. The couple held such promise for a terrorized little girl. With sweet smiles they’d welcomed her into their immaculate home. They’d given her a soft bed to sleep on, clean clothes to wear, and she got to shower daily. She still remembered Barbra’s care and concern for her. The way she’d combed her hair each morning and night. How she’d tucked her in and left the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t fear the dark. Her voice had been a soothing, even cadence when she read Sloan three books each night before bed.
The hope Baine’s friendship had ignited burned bright in her chest in the Harris home, until two little lines on a stick snuffed it out. They were having a baby. Sloan rejoiced over the notion of becoming a big sister. She looked forward to protecting and nurturing a life, and even having someone look up to her. But instead of being included in the tiny miracle, they cast her aside. The little African orphan.
She should have been grateful. She had the best tutors and handmaids money could buy. By age eight she spoke half as many languages. She expanded that knowledge base when she attended the best boarding school in all of North America and then graduated from Yale. Most of Devereaux’s child slaves were sold into the sex trade and became pawns for dirty old men. Sloan was never violated. She never longed for any material thing, but she’d have given them all up, she’d have slept on the dirt every night, for a hug or the soothing lull of a bedtime story.
Anger dissipated the sadness. There was only one reason Sloan’s life was as desolate as the Arctic shelf. There was one reason she was often compared to that cold isolated place. And she was about to decimate him once and for all.
Resolve shot through her veins like adrenaline and she pushed off the floor. Baine’s scent hung on her, a decadent ensemble too rich for her current state. That, plus the sticky between her legs and the overpriced undercover, and under-covered, outfit had Sloan restless for a shower and her sweats. More rational now, she didn’t freak about some seminal fluid. She took the strongest pill on the market and had been given two rounds of anti-STD drugs before leaving the States, which for women in her line of work was standard operating procedure. Never knew what you’d be forced—or willing—to do to complete a mission. It wasn’t a perk, but reality. And reality was a heartless bitch.
18
Sloan’s finger tapped Morse code in super speed on the bedside table. Soon the incessant sound annoyed her so much she thought about her own digits. Instead she jumped up and paced the line again. Bathroom door to window and back. Determined to steer clear of Baine today, she’d holed up in the room for the last eight hours, ordering in breakfast and lunch trays. Now she had energy to burn. The thought of leaving the house and going to Kruger National Park for a run had lodged itself in her brain two hours earlier. It wasn’t like she had work to do. She couldn’t contact her people to confirm Baine’s story. All she had was a beacon to call in the cavalry laying low several clicks north, and it wasn’t time for that, yet.
The last drop of her patience hit the floor with a thud. She’d changed into running gear an hour ago. Who was she kidding? She needed out. An ounce of peace before the coming war. Sloan eased out the door and down the hall.
“Where are you going?” Lana asked, meeting Sloan head on at the rear foyer.
Sloan relaxed her stance and inclined her head toward the woman. “For a run,” she said with a smile. “Have to keep at it or these curves will take over. Want to come?”
Lana wrinkled her nose. “I do yoga. Running is too high impact. It’ll give you varicose veins, you know.”
“No way?” Yeah, she’d take spider veins over a bullet in the butt any day.
“You need to keep an eye out for those,” she said, shaking a finger at
Sloan.
“I will.”
Sloan ducked into the garage not wanting to chance the higher traffic areas of the house. All three doors were up and she bounced twice on the bottom step before pushing off on the balls of her feet at an easy jog.
She saw Kobi step out from behind a Hummer only a half-second before she plowed into him.
His arms came around her greedy and tight. “Whoa, where you runnin’ off to so fast? We have some unfinished business.”
She played stupid. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I was just headed out for a run.”
“Well, there’s been a change of plans.” His uneven teeth practically waved at her from behind his spread lips.
God, she wanted to kick the crap out of him. It’d be easy. And fun. But she couldn’t blow her cover over this slimebag. She’d have to find another way out because she’d kill him and hide his body before she’d sleep with him.
She’d slept with a man once for the job, and it wasn’t Baine. As much as she wanted to say it’d been for the mission, the fact was she’d slept with Baine for herself and no one else. In the light of day she could admit it. The mental exhaustion of trying to deny it had gained her a restless night’s sleep.
Kobi leaned in, flicking his tongue over her earlobe. Instead of sugarplums, images of his bloody nose and broken teeth danced in her head.
“I remember bringing you to my room the other night, but I don’t remember your sweet, hot pussy.”
Sloan tried not to vomit, or laugh in his face. “You were pretty wasted, but we had a hell of a time.”
His hands bit into her arms as he turned her around and shoved her against the trunk of some extravagant car. “It’s time I get a taste of what I missed.”
Since most guys couldn't get it up when pissed, Sloan swallowed the rage threatening to erupt from her chest and changed tactics. “Maybe tonight. I’m still pretty sore from last night. Baine’s cock is huge and he’s a very energetic lover.”
Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) Page 10
