chanted as he flipped through papers. "Ah, yes." He plucked a sheet out of the bunch
and laid it on the desk. His eyes widened briefly as he read whatever was on the sheet.
"You were a singer here?"
"Yes." She didn't want to make conversation. She was beginning to wish she'd
never come here. To hell with the money.
"You were paid extremely well." His eyes flicked over her threadbare attire as if he
couldn't understand why anyone had given her so much money. Her voice had only
been part of it. Prince had paid her well, but not excessively so. He'd always preferred
to hold the purse strings himself, but he wanted her to get used to the kind of life he
could give her. A complicated man was Jethro Prince.
"I just want my check." She held out her hand and waited. If he didn't give it to her
in the next five seconds, she was out of here.
Taken aback by her abruptness, he nonetheless recovered quickly. "Of course, Ms.
Nixon." He turned the paper around to face her. "Just sign here. It says that you've
been paid what you were due and that you won't bother the new owner looking for any
more."
Picking up the paper, Blythe read the document from start to finish. It wasn't long
and said exactly what the accountant said it did. "I'll want a copy of this." She grabbed
a pen off the desk and scrawled her signature across the document before handing it
back.
His bushy brows rose behind his glasses, but he nodded as he shifted his chair over
to his copier, lifted the top and popped the page inside. Seconds later she had her copy
as well as her check.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome, Ms. Nixon." He lowered his head and went back to work on the
journal that was open on his desk. She'd been dismissed, but she didn't care. Whirling
around, she hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
Relief hit her so hard that she felt lightheaded and leaned against the wall for
support. The papers in her hand crinkled as her fingers closed around them. Forcing
herself to relax her grip, she straightened the copy of the release form and the check,
folded them carefully and placed them safely in the inside pocket of her jacket. She
would stop at the bank on the way home and deposit her money.
Feeling calmer now, she shoved away from the wall and had taken two steps down
the hall when she heard voices coming toward her. Great! The last thing she wanted to
do was run into anyone else she knew. She just didn't have it in her to participate in any
more small talk. These people were from her past, a past she was doing her best to
forget.
Moving silently, she slipped through a door just to her left. It was a storage closet,
but she didn't care. She'd only be in here long enough for them to get past her and then
she was out of here. There was no time to close the door, but Blythe got it pushed
almost all the way shut just in the nick of time. Their voices were almost on top of her
now.
"Sign that new band, Toxic Shock--we want to attract a young crowd for the
opening weekend. Make a big splash." The deep male voice reeked of authority.
"Yes, Mr. Prince." The other man hesitated. "About that other problem."
Blythe stilled, afraid to even breathe. The last person she wanted to meet face-to-
face was Adrian Prince. She shuddered to think how close she'd come to running right
into him. The men seemed to pause right outside the door. Like a statue, Blythe refused
to so much as blink.
"What have you found out?"
"The Dalakis family is extremely rich and powerful."
"They may be rich, but they have no idea just what power is," Adrian snarled
impatiently. The more he spoke, the more she heard the similarity to his older brother.
"Yes, sir."
"Continue," he snapped.
"No one remembers seeing Lucian Dalakis in the place the night your brother and
Smith were murdered."
"I don't give a shit about Smith. The man didn't do his job. If he were still alive, I'd
kill him myself."
"Yes, sir."
"Saunders." Adrian said the other man's name softly, but the menace was there.
Blythe shivered, barely daring to breathe.
"There were several people waiting to get into the club who remember seeing him
that night. He's a big man, good-looking too from what the women were saying."
"You can ask him for a date later, Saunders, if you want to fuck him."
Blythe felt an unexpected sympathy for Saunders. She could sense his fear even
through the thickness of the door. It was a palpable thing. Fear was one emotion she
knew intimately. Shame was another.
"Yes, sir." Saunders continued, his voice shaking. "No one saw him leave, but the
police never questioned him." He hesitated briefly. "Your brother had kidnapped Chase
Deveraux to lure his sister here. She's now married to Lucian Dalakis. I don't think you
can discount that."
The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud in the quiet hallway. A man moaned. "Do
you think I'm stupid, Saunders? Do you think I don't understand the implications?"
"No, sir. No, sir." The ingratiating whine in the other man's voice made her
stomach twist. "I just wanted to know what you want me to do about it."
"Send out Farley and one of his boys. Tell them to watch for their opportunity. I
want to make an example of Lucian Dalakis and his little wife. If that bitch had died
when she was supposed to, my brother would still be alive."
Blythe blanked her mind and forced herself to take light, shallow breaths. Her
vision dimmed, but she blinked hard. If she fainted, they'd find her. If they found her,
she was as good as dead.
"Yes, sir. I'll get on that immediately."
"See that you do." The voices were moving away from her now. "I need to talk to
my accountant."
A door opened and closed. Then footsteps hurried back down the hall. Blythe
leaned her hands against the wall, lowered her head and sucked in a deep breath. That
was close. Too close. She counted to thirty before she eased the door open. Slinking
down the hallway, she took a deep breath and entered the bar area. Barney was still
behind the counter.
Forcing herself to smile, she sauntered toward him. "I got my check. I also went
back to the dressing rooms and looked around. Sort of one last look, you know." She
gave him a practiced smile, one that always seemed to make fools out of men. God
knows that if her time with Jethro Prince had taught her anything it was how to be the
consummate actress. Her life had depended on it, just as it did now. This place was
permeated with evil and she wanted out.
Barney stared at her and then smiled slowly. "I know what you mean. You want a
drink?"
She could see the eagerness in his eyes. Knew that he thought he might score. She
gave him what she thought of as her disappointed pout. It made a man think that she
really wanted to stay, but had to go. "Maybe next time." She glanced at her watch. "I'm
already late."
"Sure thing, Blythe. Next time."
Waving her fingers, she forced herself to stroll across the room and out through the
front door. If anyone asked about her, Barney was her alibi. Clutching her coat tight
around her
shivering body, she all but ran back to her meager apartment. She made
herself detour at the bank and deposit her check. If anyone checked up on her it would
seem strange if she didn't.
By the time she pushed open the door of her apartment, she was shaking like a leaf.
Closing it behind her, she engaged the seven locks she'd had installed. Excessive
maybe, but even though Prince had been dead three years, she still didn't feel safe. She
didn't think she ever would.
Yanking off her wet clothing, she let it drop from her numb fingers as she went into
the bathroom and turned the shower on full. Climbing into the tub, she let the hot water
rain down on her as she shivered and shook. She didn't think she'd ever be warm again.
She was cold all the way to her soul.
Lifting her face to the spray, she let it wash away the salty tears that flowed over
her cheeks. Her life had just gotten even more complicated.
Now she had to figure out what to do about Lucian Dalakis and his family.
The sun was just setting when Sam Cassidy left the main house and headed back
toward his apartment. The steel shutters had just risen so he knew that the family
would be up and around any minute. He tried to give them their privacy.
Stopping in the middle of the garden, he lowered himself to a stone bench. The rain
had stopped early in the afternoon and the sun had dried up most of it. Everything
smelled fresh and clean. This place had changed a lot in the last years, mostly due to
Delight. She loved to garden and had turned the small area behind the house into a
peaceful oasis.
Linking his fingers together, he leaned his elbows on his knees and contemplated
the situation. Zane York was back in town, nosing around. No crime in that, but
Cassidy knew he had to go and talk to him sooner or later, find out what he really
wanted with the Dalakis family.
But it was more than that. He was restless.
Sighing, he released his fingers and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He'd
been feeling twitchy for a few days now. Like he was waiting for something to happen.
Something big. Something nasty.
Sitting quietly, he allowed the peace and serenity to seep into his bones. Whatever
was going to happen would happen and there was nothing he could do about it. All he
could do was react to the situation as it occurred and handle it.
He snorted softly under his breath. That's what he did best--handle things.
Finally, the lush scent of the trees and flowers relaxed him. He was contemplating
what to cook for supper when a slight rustling sound reached his ears. Very slowly, he
drew his weapon and waited. Maybe it was just a bird or a stray cat, but Cassidy didn't
think so. The insects had gone quiet.
There it was again, this time closer. The bulk of the trees surrounding the bench hid
him from view, so he waited. He caught a glimpse of a sneakers and jeans as the
hooded figure scurried past him.
Silently, he rose and raised his weapon. "Freeze. You're on private property."
The figure, probably a young boy from the size of him, froze for a brief moment and
then bolted, dropping an envelope from his hand. Swearing, Cassidy holstered his
weapon, already in pursuit. His long legs ate up the distance. Reaching out, he snagged
the back of the sweater and pulled.
The boy stumbled backward, falling to the ground. Keeping hold of the sweater,
Cassidy flipped the boy over and stared down into the bluest set of eyes he'd ever seen
in his life--like a sunny Texas afternoon. Those eyes were fringed with long, black
lashes that brushed against high cheekbones when their owner blinked. Lush, rosy lips
were parted on a gasp.
"You're not a boy."
"Very astute of you." The voice was sultry but tinged with anger. "Let me up. I
wasn't doing anything wrong."
Cassidy helped her to her feet but didn't release her. She came to just about
shoulder height on him and might be slender, but there was no doubt that she was all
woman. Even damp and dirty, she smelled good. Like summer rain, sweet and clean.
His cock stirred, pressing against his zipper.
She struggled, brushing against his chest. He froze as he felt her soft breasts graze
him. She swore and tried to pull away. "Let me go."
"No." Cassidy had no intentions of letting his mystery lady go. Not until he knew
why she was here and what her name was. And if he didn't stop being stupid, he was
going to get himself killed. She could easily have pulled his weapon from his holster
and shot him with it.
"No," she repeated. "You can't keep me here."
"You were trespassing."
"So sue me." She dug in her heels and refused to move when he tried to pull her
toward the house. Her hood fell back to reveal a cap of soft blonde hair. It was so light it
was almost white.
"Don't want your money." In a quick move, he pulled both her hands behind her
back and held them in one of his. "I want to know why you were here." He patted her
down, looking for weapons and some kind of identification. She swore at him again
when he reached inside her back pocket and pulled out a bank deposit receipt. "What
do we have here?"
She dropped without warning, letting all her weight fall. Cassidy released her
automatically, not wanting to hurt her. She rolled to her feet and took off like a flash. He
started to pursue her, but let her go. Now that he had a bank slip, he was certain he
could find her.
Strolling back down the path, he picked up the envelope. It was addressed to
Lucian. Ignoring that fact, Sam ripped the envelope open and plucked out the single
sheet of paper inside. He read it. Then he read it again. By the third time he was
swearing a blue streak and wishing he'd ran after the little vixen. He'd find her, and
fast. He had to know more about this latest threat to the family.
Who'd have thought that Jethro Prince would have a brother who'd come looking
for revenge? Crumpling the letter in his hand, he strode to the house. The brothers
needed to know about this immediately.
Chapter Seven
Zane sat beside the bed and watched Sophia sleeping. He swore at himself again,
cursing his lack of control. In his lust for her, he'd taken too much blood. When she'd
slumped against the wall, his heart had all but stopped. He'd pulled out of her, scooped
her into his arms and hurried into the bedroom, placing her carefully on the bed.
She'd passed out, but her breathing was good. As a precaution, he'd willed one of
his fingernails to elongate and had sliced open his wrist, allowing his blood to flow
freely. Bringing it to her sweet lips, he'd used his grip on her mind to make her drink.
Even passed out, she'd fought him, but he'd ruthlessly overpowered her mind and
forced her to drink. When he was satisfied she'd had enough, he'd tugged his wrist
away and licked his tongue over the cut, healing it instantly.
Her pants and underwear were still caught around one of her feet. Pulling off the
rest of her clothes, he'd tucked her under the covers. She looked so small and fragile
lying there, but he knew that to be a lie. She had the courage of a lion and the heart of a
warrior. He'd smiled in spite of himself as he collected her pup
py-dog slippers from the
living room and placed them by the side of the bed.
He hadn't wanted to leave her, but he'd had no choice. He had things to do and the
night was quickly waning. Knowing she'd go right to work as soon as she woke, he
once again forced his will on her, commanding her to sleep until he returned the
following evening.
In spite of his command, he'd been surprised when he'd arrived just after sundown
to still find her asleep. He figured it was her exhaustion, lack of food and the emotional
and physical turmoil she'd been through last night that had allowed his compulsion to
stick. Sophia wasn't as weak-minded as most humans were.
Glancing around, he examined her bedroom as he waited for her to wake. He
hadn't really had time last night. Like the woman lying in the bed, the room was
practical, yet it had touches of whimsy. The furniture was plain--a simple bed, four-
drawer dresser, a straight-back chair and a nightstand, all made of a rich honey maple.
The area rug was shades of green, matching the utilitarian blinds that hung on the two
windows. The walls were a very pale yellow.
A large chunk of rose quartz sat on top of the nightstand next to a lamp with a rose-
colored shade. An iron candleholder perched on top of her chest of drawers and had a
large, squat beeswax candle seated on top of it. Several pictures hung on the wall, both
depicting nighttime scenes of New Orleans. Zane recognized both artists. He had some
of their paintings hanging in his own apartment back in New York.
The room smelled like her--a hint of vanilla, honey and a scent that was uniquely
Sophia. He took a deep breath, drinking it into his lungs. Satisfaction filled him. Now
that he'd tasted her blood and she'd taken some of his, they were connected for all time.
Nothing could ever change that.
She stirred and pushed the pristine white sheets away from her face. The colorful
green and purple comforter was already bunched around her waist. Her eyes fluttered
open and once again he was struck by the purity of her pale green eyes. She frowned
when she saw him sitting in the chair beside the bed. "What are you doing in my
bedroom?"
"Do you remember what happened?"
She blinked several times. He could see her memory flooding back as sleep
Dalakis Passion 4 - Eternal Brothers Page 8
