The Huntress

by Dorothy McFalls

  “Vega,” he whispered her name as if he understood her every desire, her every hurt. His dusty- brown eyes smoldered in the lamplight.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said and sounded sickeningly sincere. Some men could do that, look a woman in the eye, and make her heart long to believe him. Grayson had refined the trick into an art form.

  She swallowed hard. Memories of those late night erotic dreams sent shivers pulsing through her body while his pressing, deep gaze softened her mind. Oh God, she couldn’t breathe for a moment from the overwhelming need to feel his lips on hers.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” He inched closer to her lips, moving as achingly slow as she dreamt he would. He reached out his empty hand with deliberate care as if trying to lure a wounded animal closer.

  Sensing no immediate danger, Vega remained perfectly still while her heart hammered in her chest. His hand tentatively touched the side of her face and then, when she didn’t pull away, caressed her swelling cheek. “I bet whoever slapped you is whimpering on some floor right now and feeling sorry for himself,” he said, a smile crept onto his lips. “I think that’s why I like you so much. You can take care of yourself.”

  He recognized her strengths—found her competence sexy—hmmm…Vega found herself pressing her cheek against his hand. Her skin tingled underneath his gentle touch.

  Why are you following me? She wanted to ask. What’s this game about? No words formed in her dry mouth. For a strange moment, he became that shadowy man haunting her dreams—a man who could fill that empty spot burning in her chest. This dream world with Grayson became more real to her than any other time in her life. The tip of his finger lightly traced a trail down her nose and tugged seductively over her lips.

  Vega’s own raging frustrations roared out of control. Her mouth parted with a tiny growl. Tossing her common sense into a heap at her feet, she pressed her lips to his.

  For a glorious, wild moment, she tasted satisfaction. Grayson’s shocked lips softened and surrendered to her subtle attack. She was in complete control of this moment with him. The surge of power filled her. She hungered for more as her tongue swirled in his mouth, thrilling when Grayson moaned in response.

  The feel of his hands roving her body nearly tore her restraint completely away. He shoved her up against the locked emergency exit behind her. The solid bulge in his pants pressed against her belly, pinning her to the spot.

  “You are something else, Vega. I tried, but I couldn’t stay away.” He inched her sweater up. His warm hands teased the tips of her breasts.

  A tingling sensation pulled against her common sense, heating her chest, her belly, and deep between her legs. Vega raked her hands through his short, dark hair and tugged on the blunt ends to hold his head tight.

  Things felt so good, so right.

  Life suddenly felt easy—too easy.

  She peeled her lips from Grayson’s. She leaned her forehead against his and heaved a calming sigh. If there was just one thing Vega understood, it was that life was never, ever easy.

  “No,” she said, and pushed on his chest while concentrating on regaining her balance. This man was not an innocent warrior going around rescuing damsels in distress. He was a ruthless killer who’d used Fiona to lure her to Atlanta and play a part in his dangerous scheme.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He stared at her, his eyes clouded with naked lust.

  She swallowed. “I--I have to take you into custody now, Grayson. You understand that, don’t you?”

  He leaned forward and nudged her lips with his own. She fell into his kiss, his hot breath seeping low into her belly. Perhaps she could lose herself with Grayson for just a little while longer. He caressed her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and pressed his full weight against the length of her body.

  This last act of Grayson’s was purely aggressive. She pushed against him with both hands. He resisted. His one hand encircled her neck, the other pinned her arms.

  Damn, damn, damn. She fell so neatly into his trap. She struggled against his immovable body to no avail.

  He let her out of the kiss and looked down on her with those expressive brown eyes of his. “What do I want?” His lips brushed her lips. Fear kept her lust in check. “I wanted you to be wondering why I’d kill my best friend instead of wasting your time with those old cronies from Millville and dredging up dead memories.” His breath sounded as ragged as hers was just a moment ago.

  “I’m not a detective, Grayson. You might be as innocent as a baby, in fact. I don’t care. It’s not my job to care why you killed anyone. My only responsibility is to see you returned to the justice system.”

  He’d neatly pinned her, luring her close with those damned words of admiration. Shit.

  She’d been stupid. Surely she wasn’t so starved for love—for real love, the kind that didn’t care about quirky behaviors or tried to mold her into something she wasn’t, the kind that lasted—surely she didn’t just throw away her life in the hopes of tasting that kind of love?

  “I have to poke into every aspect of your life whether you want me to or not,” she whispered.

  He tightened his hold around her neck. ”That’s exactly what I had wanted you to do. That’s why I had sent for you, Vega.”

  Stars began to dance in front of her eyes as his hands continued to squeeze. He was killing her, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

  “But I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to see you or your sister harmed.”

  A threat?

  “Keep Fiona safe. Don’t go near Six-Star.”

  Sure sounded like a threat. This was exactly why she shied away from relationships where she might slip up and make herself vulnerable.

  His iron grip closed off her airway. “Greg Harper kept a secret set of files in his office. There’s too much incriminating information in those files. It will get someone killed. I don’t want you near them. Do you understand me?”

  Vega’s head bobbed as waves of fuzzy dizziness attacked. A shadowy Brer Rabbit hopped across her path, or was that just a large rat? Her lungs pounded against her chest and struggled for that next fresh breath that just wasn’t coming. She did manage to nod when he asked again if she could hear him. Not for long, but for the moment the pathway between her ears and her head still sparked.

  “Good.”

  Vega could no longer see Grayson. Her eyesight dimmed even further and then faded to nothingness. The sounds around her were pulling away. Grayson’s voice sounded like it had to travel through a long tunnel to reach her. The words he spoke made no sense. His fingers continued to tighten around her throat.

  “We will meet again, sweet.” She felt the feather-light touch of his lips brushing hers—and then nothing at all.

  * * * *

  “Damn it, stop fussing over me.”

  Fiona, armed with concealer, powder, and liquid base makeup, poked and wiped at Vega’s bruised cheek and neck. She’d been fussing all morning.

  “You shouldn’t have gone unarmed,” Fiona scolded for the sixth time that morning. Vega was counting. “We both knew Grayson was keeping an eye on you. That letter you’d jammed into your pocket the night we picked up poor, confused Matt Lockler said as much.”

  “You went through my pockets?” Vega pushed Fiona away and dabbed at her neck with a little powder. She was more than capable of concealing a faint bruise on her own.

  “Had to. You won’t tell me anything.”

  “Won’t I? I’ll tell you this. Grayson says he’ll kill you if I try to get into his dead partner’s files at Six-Star. You know, Greg Harper, the guy Grayson hacked to bits?”

  “He’s pushing your buttons.” Fiona dropped a handful of makeup on the bed and began pacing, mimicking the wide stride their father used to make when he sank deep into his thoughts. “He wants you to do something he couldn’t do when I bumped into him at Six-Star.”

 
“Bumped into him at Six-Star. That’s a funny way of putting it. He saved your ass, Fiona. Tell me about those security guards again.”

  “There’s not much to tell. They were dressed all in black and wore masks. I heard one say—at least I think I heard one say this, I was nearly unconscious at the time—well, I think he said he needed to kill me if I got too close. And then the other said he wanted to have some fun with me since I was going to be killed anyway.” Fiona turned to Vega then and blazed a grin. “See, Vega. I was getting close.”

  Vega could only shake her head. Only her sister would find a way to turn a near-death experience into a validation of her abilities. “What do you think you were getting close to?”

  Fiona shrugged elegantly. “Don’t know. I didn’t find anything...I was close to finding it.”

  “I think Grayson’s threat against you is meant to prod me. To get me to go to Six-Star and investigate Harper’s office and find these missing files for him.” Vega, too wrapped up in her line of thinking, barely noticed Fiona bouncing on her heels. “I bet he thinks if he asked me to investigate the files, I’d ignore him, thinking he was sending me down the wrong path. He’d be right, too.”

  “I said all that already. Really, Vega, you should start listening to me. He’s got you chasing your own tail. But, I agree, we do need to return to Six-Star. That guard had said I was getting close.”

  Vega didn’t like the way Fiona continually emphasized how she’d gotten close to getting killed. It just wasn’t something Vega wanted to be reminded of. “It might still be a false lead. Yet, because of how it was presented and because of what happened to you, this lead begs to be followed.”

  “Exactly!” Fiona darted into the adjoining room.

  Vega got up from the bed and leaned against the doorframe between the two rooms. Her sister was pulling out a black spandex cat suit and matching knee-high, lace-up boots sporting a three-inch heel.

  “What in the hell do you intend to do with that outfit?” Vega asked. It was either ask or laugh aloud.

  “Wear it for our break-in.”

  “You don’t mean…? Don’t tell me you wore that crazy cat suit and impossibly high-heeled boots on your first outing at Six-Star?” Vega buried her head in her hand, knowing all too well the answer. “You’re damned lucky you didn’t break an ankle running up the stairs away from those security guards.”

  Fiona snorted. “I didn’t break an ankle,” she muttered under her breath. “Plus, it makes good fashion sense.”

  “Put your Halloween costume away, Fiona. I’ve no intention of breaking into Six-Star Enterprises.”

  “But you said…?”

  “I said I would have a look at those files. I’m not planning to break the law to do so.” Vega glowered at Fiona just like their mother glowered. It never was very effective.

  “They won’t let you in. The head of the company—” Fiona dived across her bed to grab her notebook lying out on the bedside table, she moved quite gracefully, Vega was forced to admit. “Joshua Whitfield, the third partner of Six-Star and the only man in charge of the company, wouldn’t even let me come meet with him or have a peek at the personnel files. That’s where I was headed when I was getting close. To the personnel files.”

  “Whitfield will cooperate.” Vega sounded surer of herself than she felt. She too hit a brick wall when trying to wrest information from the tight-lipped Whitfield. But then, that was before she first encountered Grayson Walker.

  This was no longer just an assignment to Vega. This was her proving ground. Grayson had run circles around her, making her the fool far too often. Not only was a great deal of money at stake, but also apprehending Grayson would give her another chance to prove her father wrong. To prove she was worthy of his pride.

  “Grayson’s had two opportunities to kill me...but he hasn’t,” Vega wondered aloud. “Why?”

  “Four,” Fiona said.

  “What?”

  “You’ve given him four opportunities to kill you. Which two are you forgetting?”

  “The number isn’t important.” But that got Vega wondering herself which two had slipped her mind. There was the time he shot her in the middle of the swamp. There was last night.

  “The number is important. I was nearly killed only once, and I’ve been working on this assignment longer than you have.” Fiona propped her hands on her hips and gave her long, brown hair a toss. “I bet you don’t count last night.”

  “I do count last night.” And then she remembered Grayson chained her to the cooler in the convenience store. He could have easily shot her then.

  “He expected you the night you picked up Matt Lockler. Even you were afraid he’d rigged a bomb for you to trip.”

  “None of that matters. I’m alive and I’ll be his downfall.” Brave words to be spouting when Vega had no clue how she was going to make that happen. He should’ve killed her, but he hadn’t. Why?

  Those damned heated kisses of his were confusing the hell out of her. Why had he kissed her when a killer would have used a more permanent means of silencing her?

  Was he truly innocent?

  She needed to get a peek at those files in Greg’s office.

  “While I’m banging on doors at Six-Star Enterprises—”

  “They won’t let you see anything,” Fiona interrupted.

  “We’ll see. In the meantime, I don’t want to waste today. Matt Lockler might have some information about Grayson in that muddled head of his. Would you mind questioning him? You’ll have to charm his lawyers in order to get in, of course.”

  “Of course! I can impress on Lockler’s lawyers how his cooperation could only help his case. They’ll give me full access.”

  Giving the task to Fiona seemed harmless enough. Besides, questioning Lockler was something that needed to be done.

  “Good.” Vega stepped back into her room. “We better get busy then. We’ve both got a lot to do.”

  Fiona tossed her arms around Vega’s neck, nearly knocking her to the ground. “Thank you.” Fiona squeezed harder. “Thank you for believing in me, even just a little.”

  * * * *

  Vega didn’t bother to make an appointment with Joshua Whitfield. He wouldn’t grant her one, for one thing. She wanted the element of surprise on her side, for another. Though she’d told Fiona that she wouldn’t be breaking the law to get what she needed, she never promised not to bend it a little.

  After a phone call to an inside contact at Six-Star she’d made when searching for Grayson the first time, she discovered that Whitfield was in town and would be spending the day handling business from his Six-Star office. How fortunate.

  Vega arrived at the Six-Star glass and steel building a few minutes past ten that morning. Her contact, Frank, was the security guard working the front desk. He’d known Vega for several years, and was happy to provide information and to clear her through security without confiscating her Beretta or handheld Taser.

  Frank directed her to Whitfield’s office on the top floor while calling for the elevator.

  “If anyone asks,” Vega said to him as she stepped inside, “you never saw me. I don’t want you to get into trouble for this.”

  “Don’t worry about me none.” Frank blushed. “Just take care of yourself. There’s some nasty business going down on those upper floors. Dirty, nasty business I’m keeping clear of.”

  On her way through the outer offices on the top floor, Vega grabbed a handful of letters from a mail cart and proceeded through the sanitized office as if she belonged.

  No one questioned her until she reached the secretary guarding Whitfield’s door.

  “May I help you?” The secretary, her jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head, barked the question with no intention of actually offering any help.

  “No, I don’t think you can,” Vega said before brushing past the desk and throwing open the double oak doors to Whitfield’s corner office.

  A man in his mid-fifties with a full head
of silver hair and a suit as expensive as those worn by Detroit’s newest bad boy, Finn Kayne, sat behind a massive brushed aluminum and oak desk. He glanced up at the intrusion and appeared bored by it.

  “Whitfield,” Vega said. She calmly crossed the room to stand directly in front of his desk. “I’m Vega Brookes, the one you’ve been ignoring. My firm has been hired to find Grayson Walker and I need to have a look around Greg Harper’s office.”

  Whitfield may have well been dead. His lifeless expression gave away nothing. He sat tall in the leather chair and steepled his fingers in front of his pursed lips, listening.

  “I happen to know investors are running from Six-Star. With one of the two active partners dead and the other accused of murdering him, finding Grayson Walker and settling this mess could help lure back those fleeing dollars.”

  “Investors are meaningless to me, Miss Brookes. Six-Star has no need of outside funds.” He smiled then. The dead expression cooled the room by at least twenty degrees. “You are wasting my time. Please leave, Miss Brookes.”

  Vega narrowed her eyes and stared down Whitfield. But this man hadn’t risen to the top of investment banking by caving to pressure. He gave her another little smile before turning his attentions to his nails.

  “I get them done every week,” he said. “It’s extravagant, I know. But I can’t stand dirty nails. I pay others to get dirt under their nails for me.”

  Vega listened. There had to be a threat couched in there somewhere. But she hadn’t earned a reputation as a damned good bounty hunter by giving up easily, either.

  “Security will be here in a moment,” he said. “I suggest you leave before they arrive.”

  Three members of Whitfield’s personal security team, dressed in black—no masks—marched into the office not a breath later, with automatic weapons tucked under their arms.

  “What are you doing to warrant this level of security, Whitfield?” Vega leaned over his desk and asked. The question sounded like an accusation, because she meant it to.

  He smiled, pushed back his chair, and tilted his head in a mock salute. “Goodbye, Miss Brookes.”

  The closest guard poked her with the barrel of his gun.