Dead Right

by Cate Noble

  That he managed to unfasten her front-hook bra without destroying it was a fucking miracle. Spreading the cups wide, he leaned away and just stared.

  He’d long fantasized what Cat would look like naked. She exceeded his fantasy. Her breasts were full and round, with dusky nipples that pearled beneath his palms. And the tiny, exotic, more, more noises she made in response to his touch were gonna kill him.

  She unzipped his fly, then began shoving his pants down with one hand, while her other hand worked its way inside his briefs. He jerked as her fingers closed over the swollen head of his cock and lightly squeezed. No, that was gonna kill him.

  “Oh, Sweet Jesus, I want this.” Her voice was husky.

  “You read minds, too?”

  She squeezed again.

  He grinned again.

  “Do you have a rubber handy?” she whispered.

  “In my pocket.”

  She stepped away as he attempted to drag his pants back up, nearly tripping in the process. He looked up to find that Cat had removed her skirt and shoes. She stood totally naked except for that bit of mistletoe.

  She was so damn beautiful. So damn perfect. And shit…his mouth was hanging open. Great. He probably looked like one of those cartoon characters just before their eyeballs fell to the floor.

  “Here let me,” she said, tugging the foil package from his hand.

  Earth to Dante. He ripped his shirt open and dropped it. Then he toed off his shoes and kicked out of his pants.

  Now Cat stared, her beautiful green eyes caressing his chest, dropping lower, lower…then widening.

  “Um. Wow. You’re really…nice. Nice and, um, big.”

  “We’ll go slowly. Easy.” Jesus, she really was kinda tiny…except for her rack.

  “The hell you say.” She palmed the condom. “And you’re sure this will fit.”

  “Positive.” He watched, enthralled, as she grasped the shaft of his cock, holding it steady while slowly, too slowly, unrolling the condom, stroking him as she went. First time that had ever made him want to come.

  “Finished?” Now his voice sounded cartoonish.

  “We haven’t even started.”

  “I can fix that.” He grasped her shoulders, urging her close for another kiss. She pressed her whole body to his, scorching his flesh with hers.

  In his dreams, they’d made love for hours. Funny thing, dreams…

  “I’m about to explode,” he warned. “I won’t last.”

  “Me either. The first time is always awkward anyway.” She panted as she spoke. “So what say we just slam-dunk it, get this one out of the way. And move on to round two.”

  “Okay. And after that, I want to marry and live happily ever after.”

  “You trying to break the mood here?” she joked back.

  Dante lifted her as she spoke, bracing her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and made a slight noise as he positioned his cock between her legs. She was wet and hot and ready.

  He was beyond ready, yet still he hesitated. Wanting to remember it all. Every feeling. Every sensation. She was right; they hadn’t even started. And already he never wanted it to end.

  She squirmed, pushing her breasts into his face. “Please, please!”

  His mouth closed over one tip. He teased her nipple with his teeth as he pushed partway in and paused, savoring that delicious hesitation, the tightness of her body that held him back for a fraction of a second before melting around him like a warm, sweet rain. Her velvety softness hugged him, sheathed him. Welcomed him. He slid in farther, deeper.

  “You were wrong,” he whispered. “This isn’t awkward.” He pressed all the way in. Then slowly drew back. “It’s fucking divine.”

  Cat shuddered, whimpered. “Harder.” She rolled her hips. “This slow stuff…will destroy me.”

  He began pumping harder, faster, and was rewarded with her nails scratching his shoulders, clawing his back as she strained to meet each thrust. “Better?”

  “Yes, oh, yes.” She let out a satisfied hiss and then stiffened. “Yes, there!”

  There pushed Dante over the edge. With a growl, he started grinding into her, thrusting, pounding, filling…being filled.

  And as a powerful climax ripped through both of them, he knew he’d never, ever, get enough of this woman.

  Chapter 18

  Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  July 9

  (Present Day)

  “You owe me two thousand, U.S,” the man, a forger, whispered in Portuguese. He smiled, displaying rotting teeth that matched his breath.

  Cat bowed her head, hiding her anger. In a different life, she would have taken him down before the last word left his mouth. Perhaps with a lightning-fast karate chop to his larynx. Not enough to cause permanent damage, yet painful enough to send the message that she wasn’t a woman to be fucked with.

  Of course, in a different life, the documents she needed would have been handled in-house. She wouldn’t be dealing with a local lowlife. Hell, for that matter, she wouldn’t be hiding, running, always on guard.

  Still she longed to teach him a lesson. They were the only patrons in the small bookstore.

  She trembled with the effort to keep her hands fisted at her sides. “We agreed on seventeen hundred. U.S.” You ass.

  The man shrugged, and then tugged a book from the shelf above his head. “If it’s a problem, we can negotiate the balance.”

  His innuendo of sex-in-exchange had her reimagining the blow. She’d hand him his testicles. Then walk. The small dagger strapped to her thigh grew heavy, reminding her of its presence. Too bad that wasn’t an option either.

  She had expected these passports two days ago, not that she could have actually left then. Not with Sister Dores ill.

  “I can’t imagine that your work is worth…extra,” she said.

  He handed her the book. “See for yourself.”

  The book naturally fell open near the middle where two passports were wedged. One for her, one for Marco.

  Assuring they were still alone in the shop, she examined the documents. They were not the best, though this man wouldn’t be aware that she knew the difference.

  She was accustomed to perfection, had a collection of high-quality forgeries stashed in her hiding spot. The problem was all but one bore known aliases. Using them would be like shooting off a signal gun.

  Aside from being too crisp—she’d smudge and wrinkle them up later—the passports appeared good enough to get them out of South America. She had a second, better, set saved for later, when they reached their final destination.

  She would have preferred to have several sets, but this was the best she could do on short notice and with limited funds.

  “You have the corresponding birth certificates?” she asked.

  The man withdrew an envelope from his pocket and hesitated, as if thinking about asking for even more.

  Again she struggled with the temptation to teach him a lesson. But this wasn’t the place. And she damn sure didn’t have time.

  While she didn’t like being shaken down, she had been prepared for it. It was part and parcel of dealing with the sleazy street networks. Even the more reliable ones were shysters.

  “Um…The doctor said I should wait until the blood tests come back before…” She gave him a worried look, then shrugged. “I mean HIV can’t turn to AIDS that fast, can it?”

  The man leaned back, as if not wanting her to breathe on him now. “How much money do you have?”

  She made a pained face. “Eighteen hundred. But you wouldn’t take it all, would you?”

  “Yes, and then we’ll call it even.” The man held out his hand. “Besides, when you find your husband, you’ll get more.”

  She had told him she was searching for a wayward husband who’d gone off seeking better work in Colombia. His smirk just then said he didn’t believe she’d find him.

  With an anguished sigh, only partly fake, she withdrew her cash and completed the trade
.

  Cat made certain that the certificates matched the passports before putting them away. The forger fanned the hundred-dollar bills and swiped a counterfeit detection pen across them. Still no honor among thieves.

  Exiting the store, she walked four blocks before doubling back two. She was in a hurry, but she couldn’t take chances. Not now.

  Confident she wasn’t being followed, she boarded a crowded bus. With frequent stops, it was just as fast to walk. But today taking the bus was about conserving energy. She had slept little the past three nights.

  The virus sweeping through the city had hit the orphanage hard. All the babies, including Marco, were sick now. They cried during the night, miserable with vomiting and diarrhea, as Cat moved from crib to crib, soothing and changing diapers. The younger nun, Sister Lolita, had also been sick, and the day after Cat returned, Sister Dores had come down with it as well.

  Cat had secretly worried the seventy-seven-year-old nun wouldn’t recover. To lose her…A lump formed in Cat’s throat. Sister Dores was the closest thing to a mother Cat had ever known.

  Abandoned at age three on the mean streets of Rio, she had been taken into the orphanage by Sister Dores. And she’d stayed long past the age that most children left. When Cat turned sixteen, the nun had even helped her obtain a fake passport to pursue a modeling career in Mexico City.

  Though that opportunity hadn’t turned out—good God she’d been naïve back then—she’d stayed in Mexico, getting work at an illegal fireworks factory and discovering her natural affinity for gunpowder.

  Sister Dores once again intervened, helping Cat get a missionary-sponsored scholarship to a small business college in England. But life as an administrative assistant wasn’t in the cards.

  She’d gone to London, where she’d eventually met Giselle Barclay, and then Remi St. James. Meeting Remi had been her first life-changing experience. He’d taught her how to use and enhance her prodigious memory skills. And so much more. God, she missed him. Giselle, too. All the people she’d loved.

  Including Dante? She had a memory of dark hair, dark eyes, and strong arms.

  No…she was still angry at him.

  It does no good to stay angry with the dead.

  Dante. Max. Both had died. She blinked away tears, refusing to grieve. She’d once acted rashly in grief and look what it had cost her…

  The bus jerked to a stop, forcing Cat’s thoughts back to the present. Climbing off, she zigzagged through the streets and alleys toward the deserted convent two blocks from the orphanage. Like many older buildings in this area, the convent had been damaged by fire, but as still-consecrated property, it had avoided the latest wave of reconstruction.

  After assuring she was alone, Cat turned down the walkway beside the wall and entered the building’s basement. Sister Dores had shown her this secret chamber, used long ago by nuns helping runaway slaves. Lying in order to save another’s life isn’t a sin. Sister Dores had been the last of her order to live in the old convent.

  Inside, Cat lit a candle and let herself into the small room hidden behind the brick facade behind the old furnace. Once inside, she began lifting the floorboards and tucked away the new passports. That was it. She now had everything packed and ready to go. As soon as Marco was well enough to travel, they could leave.

  She’d postponed their departure long enough. In fact, this morning she had even debated skipping work, though it meant forfeiting the week’s wages that Ernesto owed her.

  But after paying more for her passports, she reconsidered. The stash of money she had would have to last them awhile, so every cent counted.

  She left the convent and hurried away. She would work today and then go in just long enough tomorrow to collect her pay. Then—providing Sister Dores and Marco were both better—she and her son would disappear.

  She wrapped a bandanna around her head as she walked. When she drew close to the alley leading to Pouca Flor, she slumped her shoulders, assuming her Luzia persona before ducking into the brothel’s basement where laundry was done.

  “I wish I could stay home in bed when I am sick!” Theresa, one of the other maids, chided her. “But if I don’t work, my children will not eat.”

  Cat tied on an apron. Theresa had five children and another on the way. How did women go through the pain of childbirth over and over? Once had nearly killed Cat.

  “I will work through lunch,” Cat said. “And you can take an extra break when you-know-who isn’t around. Is he pissed that I’m late?” Moot question, she realized. Ernesto, the brothel’s owner, was always in a bad mood. The only time she’d seen him smile was when he was counting his money.

  “Actually he hasn’t been down here. Half of his girls are sick and he’s making them work anyway. I swear he would sell his own mother if the price was right.”

  Cat shrugged without comment. As much as she hated the exploitation, the prostitutes made more money. If she could have peddled her body without showing her face…

  Grabbing the basket of wet sheets Theresa had just washed, Cat carted them to one of the ancient dryers.

  The laundry here never ended. Neither did the floor scrubbing. She and the other maids cleaned up after men who cared little about the women they fucked and even less about the mess they left behind. Yet they expected a spotless room and clean sheets.

  Ernesto was especially picky about the front parlor, where men paid big bucks for cheap whiskey while the available prostitutes paraded by, each trying to outproposition the other. Some of the things Cat had heard the women offer to do sickened her. Maybe she wouldn’t make such a great prostitute after all.

  From the hall, they heard their boss swearing.

  “Uh-oh, I spoke too soon,” Theresa said.

  “Theresa! Luzia! Get buckets and come quickly. The toilets upstairs aren’t working.”

  Cat bit back a groan, wishing she hadn’t come in. But now that she was here, she wouldn’t leave the other woman alone to face such a mess.

  Once Ernesto left, Theresa was very vocal about her boss’s request. “I don’t know how you do this without complaining.” Theresa shook her head. “I would go crazy holding it in.”

  Been there, done that.

  Cat straightened. “I try to keep in mind that it can always get worse.”

  Much worse.

  Two hours later, Cat returned to the laundry room with the latest batch of dirty sheets she’d collected upstairs. Theresa shoved more towels into the dryer, but had trouble straightening her back.

  Cat moved to relieve her. “I’ll get that. Take a break.”

  “Marsala just came in, so that will help us catch up.” Theresa moved to sit down. “She said all her sister’s children are sick, too. Oh, and a child came by asking for you. Said that Sister Dores promised you’d give her a candy.”

  Cat froze. “What child?”

  “One of those urchins the nuns feed.”

  While the orphanage housed only infants, Sister Dores continued to hand out bread and a kind word to the older children who lived by their wits on the streets.

  “What did the child say?”

  Theresa lifted her shoulders. “She kept asking for candy, said the nun promised. I shooed her away. If Ernesto caught her begging—Where are you going?”

  Cat had stripped off her apron. If Sister Dores had sent someone here, it meant there was a problem.

  Marco! Had her son gotten worse?

  Or had the unthinkable happened? Had someone come looking for Cat? She swayed, felt as if she’d been punched.

  “I’ll be right back,” Cat said. “I just need to find the child, to see if the nuns need something.”

  “The way you worry about those nuns—you should have been one,” Theresa called after her.

  Outside, Cat hurried away from the brothel. Ever cautious, she took a different route to the orphanage.

  When she arrived, she circled the crumbling building, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Saint Maria’s had once
been a beautiful old church, but a fire a year ago destroyed one wing. The roof of the main building collapsed nine months ago, rendering the church unusable. Many parishioners had started going to Saint Bernadette’s once it became apparent there was no money for repairs.

  Because the orphanage was housed in a separate building, it had remained operating, but Sister Dores had long predicted that the facility would be closed or consolidated.

  The nun had been right.

  That a rowdy group of children played in the road was a good sign. These street-wizened denizens had a sixth sense about danger. They would have hidden if a newcomer or stranger were about.

  Satisfied, Cat approached the back stairs, bounding up the wooden steps without sound, a skill she’d honed years ago and that still served her well.

  She let herself in the unlocked door and hurried toward the nursery. Both Sister Dores and Sister Lolita held crying babies. Zetta, another volunteer, was changing another infant.

  “Where is he?” Cat’s eyes swept the room, not finding her son.

  Sister Dores laid the infant she held in a crib, then hurried to Cat’s side. “Marco is at the hospital. He is okay, but his fever rose so high this morning he started having convulsions.”

  Cat felt her knees weaken. “Is he is still there?”

  “Yes, they want to keep him overnight. He’s badly dehydrated and if his fever spikes again…”

  “I will go to him.” She turned to leave and misstepped.

  Sister Dores caught her arm. “You don’t look well.”

  “I just turned too fast.” And I’m worried to death about my son. She couldn’t say that in front of the others. “None of us have had much sleep lately.”

  “And some of us have had a little more sleep than you,” Sister Dores said. “You’ve been up all night, taking care of sick babies and working long hours.”

  “I’ll rest when I get to the hospital.”

  “More likely you’ll collapse.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Cat took off and ran all the way to the hospital, forcing herself to calm down before going in.

  At the children’s ward, she approached the nurses’ desk. The large room behind the desk echoed with children’s cries. She scanned the cribs.