The sound of Flayme’s frightened shriek as Kane aimed the gun at her would haunt her for a long time to come. She didn’t know which had frightened her more—Flayme’s panicked screams or when Kane turned away from shooting at the secretary and suddenly shot at her.
Goose-bumps had plunged through her soul clear to her toes. Like the icy fingers of death, they’d danced all over her, but nothing had alarmed her as much as the ice-cold merciless look in Kane’s pale gray eyes when he turned his attention on her.
And there she’d stood, cornered in an elevator for the second time that night. From the gleam she’d seen in his hard gaze, she wondered if he’d been considering screwing her one last time before he put a slug between her eyes. It’d be just like him, the icy bastard. The challenge of making her climax under such extreme circumstances would be an added bonus for him. The man was seriously wired the wrong way.
Jayla shuddered at the thought of Kane ever touching her again.
How had he known where she was going when she left the Ambassador?
How had he got in without setting off alarms?
Had Sam’s secretary let him in? Somehow, she didn’t think so, and that worried her even more, but nothing had been as scary as looking down the barrel of that gun and Kane pulling the trigger, but apparently he’d used all his shots shooting at Sam’s secretary.
Jayla beat it out of the building and hurried across the slippery pavement toward her car. A few steps away from it, she clicked the key and heaved a sigh of relief at the mild chirp. The fact that Kane hadn’t taken the time to disable her means of escape was a big relief. He’d probably never contemplated she might get away from him a second time or maybe she’d arrived after he was already inside the building.
The Mustang’s lights flashed a friendly welcome. Not too much farther. Minutes. Seconds now. Seconds—
Too late! That damn spooky sound—the muffled cough-cough now terrifyingly imprinted on her brain, filled the darkness. The impact of the bullet hit her hard in the upper shoulder just below her left collar bone. Jayla grunted and half-spun from the force of the bullet striking her. White-hot pain slammed into her shoulder and arm, paralyzing her ability to think.
“Ahhh, God!” Abruptly her legs turned wooden. Her left arm dangled uselessly at her side and felt like an iron bar, too weighty to lift. Crimson slashes speared the pure white snow as blood ran in warm rivulets, downhill, to drip off the tips of her fingers. Trying to ignore the fierce pain, she stumbled against the left rear fender of her car and nearly fell. Don’t fall! If she went down, she knew she’d never get up again. But Lord have mercy, she hurt. Fiery pain speared from her shoulder, down her arm, and blasted across her chest like shock waves. Panting, and favoring her injured arm, she moved from the rear of the car and edged closer to the driver’s door, regaining the ground she’d lost.
Jayla pressed her good hand against the side of the car and took a few more unsteady steps alongside the little Mustang. Oh, God. The ache in her shoulder throbbed. She felt like her shoulder had been jabbed with a red-hot poker. Every step jarred it, sending fresh waves of excruciating pain jittering clear to her fingertips.
Determined to make her escape, she clenched her teeth. But damn, she hadn’t known one little bullet had the ability to make one’s entire body feel as if it’d been ripped in half. Her vision wavered. She blinked several times to get her bearings. Where the hell was her car? Oh, yeah, she was propped against it for heaven’s sake. It hadn’t moved after all.
Leaning against the side of the vehicle for a desperate moment, her lungs ached, not only from the terror ripping her insides apart, but from the sharp bite of the freezing air. She had to get her chaotic thoughts in some kind of order or else…
Her mind refused to go past the or else.
Steadying herself, she drew a sharp breath to clear her mind. Think. Clear your head and think about what’s happened. Okay. If Kane was behind her, and the shot came from in front of her, then the big question was—who the hell shot her?
Was she running a gauntlet here? Well, not running exactly, staggering and stumbling like a drunk, definitely not running. She might as well have been shot in the leg for all the momentum she’d gained.
How long did it take to walk the length of one tiny car? Forever if one’s body suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. More importantly, how many freakin’ assassins did she have to avoid from rear to driver’s door? How many bullets? Oh, yeah, scratch that one. First time a loaded gun was actually fired at her she got hit. No contest there.
Who did Kane have on his payroll willing to kill her?
Most likely, the real question was who didn’t he have on his payroll?
Was her stepfather involved or was this strictly something Kane had gotten mixed up in on his own?
Who was out there in the shadows—in front of her, prepared to murder her?
Jayla blinked, narrowed her eyes, and searched the darkness, but the falling snow blinded her. Attempting to see her surroundings clearly was like swimming through a river of feathers. She moaned and tried to wiggle her fingers, but their movements were slow and awkward. Crap. Her left arm was losing all feeling.
What if Kane was right behind her? She didn’t know how far away he was or even if he’d regained consciousness. If he had, then he was surely still several feet behind her, nowhere near the front of her—unless he’d circled the building?
Right this moment she didn’t care. She had to escape, and that was all she needed to concentrate on. She felt like laughing in triumph when her fingers closed around the door handle. At last! Jayla tore open the door and dropped inside. Damn if she didn’t feel like she’d raced a marathon and won.
Her hand shook as she fumbled with the key. Damn it. Why wouldn’t it fit the switch? She blinked. Her vision wavered, a soft, watery blur. Tears slid down her face. Oh—was that why everything was distorted? Because she was crying? Don’t cry! Chin up, girl, you’re tougher than you think. You’ve always had inner strength and a tough hide when you needed it. This is one of those times you need it.
Why the hell was she shedding even one damn tear over Kane? He’d just callously tried to kill her. No. The ties, the emotions—the loss, was much more complicated than anyone could ever imagine. She wasn’t crying over him, but because of the terrible things he’d done—to her—to others, and continued to do.
And she was just as guilty. Her role in the wrongs she’d committed could never be justified by any explanation or made right. She’d hurt so many innocent people—hurt…him. Would she ever get the memory of that day out of her head, the utter contempt on his face when she lied? Oh, God, she’d sent an innocent man to prison—
Jayla flinched as the memories crashed down upon her head. The wall she’d always used to hold them back crumbled away brick-by-brick. The awful things that had happened in her past burned vivid and harsh in her mind. In spite of the physical pain it caused her, those ugly memories would always be a part of her life, past and present, but by God, she could change the future. She’d done such horrible, unforgivable things.
Death seemed like a fair price to pay, but not before she made things right with the man she’d wronged.
She swiped at the tears and blinked. Why was she even thinking about something that happened seven years ago? Jayla dashed the foolish tears away again. Yes! Thank God. She could see better now. She wasn’t losing her vision or something crazy because she’d been shot.
Oh, but—was that a man walking toward her car from the edge of the woods? Kane? No, she didn’t think so. Kane was big and muscular. She couldn’t tell for sure through the dark or the blinding snow, but the slender figure coming toward her was vaguely familiar. She knew the assassin, but she couldn’t think how she knew him. Where the hell was the switch? There! It was there!
She rammed the key home with unsteady fingers and started the powerful engine. Shoving the gear into the reverse slot, Jayla fishtailed backward, threw the stick shift into drive and t
ore away from the CIA parking lot.
The honey of a car roared like a powerful lion on the prowl. Her tears returned, blinding her. Damn it! She had to stop this useless crying. Jayla wiped the futile tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. Control. She had to get some measure of control. She really did. Crying wouldn’t save her life. Only she could do that. She’d learned that harsh lesson a long time ago.
Tears certainly weren’t going to solve this mess she’d stumbled off into. They wouldn’t slow Kane down or stop him from following her and doing what he’d now set out to do.
She glanced at her coat sleeve and laughed—a watery sound that shocked her. Her trench coat now matched her nice vintage Jackie suit and, like it, was ruined, but not with Molly’s blood. Her blood seeped from the wound in her shoulder like a freakin’ river, and of course, there was the nice bullet hole in the material. It sort of made her coat look a bit ratty now.
“Tissues! I need tissues,” she screamed, then giggled tearfully. Near the verge of hysteria, she reminded herself of an anxious surgeon in the operating room yelling, Forceps, scalpel, clamps, gauze! Now she knew why they were so excitable and shouted for the instruments.
Jayla grabbed several tissues, wadded them together and plugged them in the unnatural hole in her body. She pressed tightly, praying the pressure controlled the bleeding or at least slowed it down. “Ouch-ouch-ouch!” Crap, it hurt worse than a frickin’ bleedin’ ulcer. She’d had one once, so she knew how it felt.
Concentrating on her driving, she tried to ignore the burning and discomfort. Jayla whipped the car onto the entrance ramp of the George Washington Memorial Parkway and headed south until she connected with Interstate 66, then she turned the car west. West.
What the hell was out West for her?
Help?
Doubtful.
But if she was going to die—and she was pretty certain her time on Earth was limited, then she wanted one last chance to ask Wild Remington for forgiveness for the wrong she’d done him. One last opportunity to explain why she’d lied and sent him to prison for five years. He’d still hate her, and she wouldn’t blame him, but at least her conscience would be cleared—sort of.
She pressed down on the accelerator.
West, it was—straight to another man who wanted to kill her!
Chapter Eight
People don’t know me. They think they do, but they don’t.
~Andrew Cunanan
Rimrock, Montana
Blackstone Ranch
February 16, Monday
Nine hours before the assassination…
Smitt Davis sat in the hayloft of Sheriff Danger Blackstone’s barn and stared down at the white Ford extended cab pickup parked in the drive. Lacey darling was inside that truck, probably a frightened little mouse terrified of her own shadow.
He toyed with a long-bladed knife he’d filched earlier from inside Danger’s house. He imagined it was the same knife he’d used on Lacey. He smiled, pleased at the thought that he’d left his marks on her.
Ah yes, she’d be a timid little creature now, afraid for the rest of her life, he thought with an air of certainty and smugness. And here he was, right here, under all their noses, and they had no clue. A shaft of pleasure intensified through his body. It jolted him like an electrical current buzzing through his bloodstream. Just knowing they had no idea he was close enough to their perfect worlds that he could snuff out their lives if he so desired, was almost as good as an orgasm. Almost.
Oh, but he was even closer than they all knew. He was inside their very homes, their lives, their minds. He’d destroyed Danger and Lacey from within, in ways they hadn’t even learned of yet, but in time, they’d know. Yeah, in time, they’d all know just how clever, how cunning Smitt Davis really was.
The sheriff and his ex-bitch might never have zoomed in on his radar if they hadn’t discovered those bodies in the cave—his women, his brides. He couldn’t abide Danger’s interference, so he’d sought revenge, and oh how he’d enjoyed every precious moment he’d tortured Lacey darling.
Yeah. He might be down, still recovering from the gunshot wounds that bitch Kaycee Remington had plugged him with, but he wasn’t out by any means. No siree, he was just getting his second wind. He’d be back, all in good time, and he’d strike when they least expected it.
His body hurt like a sonofabitch from that freakin’ tumble down the cliff, but his cock still got hard, like now. Like most all the time. Like every time he thought of the women he’d fucked, carved with his knife and killed. That Remington bitch—Queen Jillian—now she’d been fun. For a woman who’d screw a snake, she’d squealed like a little stuck pig every time he poked his wick in her and spilled his love juice.
Course, her screaming might have had more to do with the fact that every time he humped her and howled his release, he sliced another piece off her—a fingertip, a bit of ear, or a sharp bite on her tits. Inflicting pain enhanced his ejaculation, and Jillian was one woman he’d enjoyed torturing. There’d been so much pleasure to be had carving her up like a slab of meat.
The thought of getting his rocks off while torturing some snooty highfalutin’ bitch always raised his cock. And oh, he’d loved inflicting pain on Lacey darling, too. He’d savored every single moment he’d had with her, was able to take his time, because he’d known her ex-husband, the hot-shot sheriff wasn’t coming home anytime soon.
No, the sheriff had been too busy fucking another woman to interrupt his plans.
Oh the fun he’d had with Lacey Blackstone. She thought she’d escaped her fate. They all believed her safe now. No way was she evading him so easily. She’d never be safe as long as he drew breath.
In the meantime, silent as a cat, wary as an injured wolf, he took his pleasure stalking the unsuspecting. He waited, always in the shadows of their lives, a malevolent, unseen presence, until he was ready to be seen. And like a mean-ass rattler, when the time was right, he’d strike and sink his fangs deep.
Again.
Smitt watched the tall man place some boxes inside the truck. The man stood eyeing the sleeping woman, a tender expression on his sappy face. Fucker. He hated this new man in Lacey darling’s life. He acted as if he owned her, but Lacey darling belonged to him.
Daringly, Smitt pushed the weather-beaten planked window open a little more. He wasn’t afraid of getting caught. Few people looked up. They looked around, in front and behind them, but rarely did they look up. Besides, the deep shadows concealed him, and there was nothing unusual about an aged board window blowing open on an old barn.
Smitt snickered. So the Sheriff of Rimrock had lost his sweet little woman to another man. Glory be! Smitt had thought his challenge lay in taking Lacey darling away from the dangerous sheriff, but now—Oooh-wee, this new man in her life looked a lot tougher, meaner, and more dangerous. A challenge. Oh yeah, he’d have to show the big man exactly who owned sweet Lacey.
Smitt rubbed his aching cock behind the zipper and moaned. He needed her. He needed to sink his hard shaft inside her and fuck her until he couldn’t think straight. His Lacey darling was there, so close, so close, he smelled her. He moaned, savoring his memories of her and how her body had soothed the beast within his own. There, inside the truck, the engine idled, keeping her all warm and snuggly and yummy. Oh, he could do a number on her right there. No-no-no! Patience. He had to remember patience.
He breathed deep, his chest rising and falling in hard, fast pants. His body quickened with need. The cold no longer touched him. Instead, he was surrounded by a nebulous warmth. The memory of her delicious taste heated his blood. His body burned white-hot. His cock throbbed urgently. His balls tightened, squeezing to the point it felt like a thousand needles jabbed his flesh.
Unzipping his pants, Smitt released his brick-hard dick and stared at the engorged tip. Slowly, he worked the firm length in a familiar rhythm, pretending he was buried deep inside Lacey darling’s warm, sweet pussy. “Yes! Faster. Harder! Sweet, sweet, Lacey, I
’m coming for you, darling Lacey. Oooh, yeah, coming for you. Coming for you…ahhhhh.”
His seed spurted onto the hay in four thick globs, then dribbled from his cock for several more seconds. Such a waste. He’d much rather come inside Lacey’s hot snatch or between her tits again. Oh, but he would. Soon. He promised himself both special treats. Very soon, he’d feel her bucking beneath his plowing cock. He’d come hard inside her and leave his little swimmers racing to her baby carriage. He’d give her another baby to take the place of the one he’d destroyed. Yeah, the next baby in her would belong to him.
Lacey darling was the only woman to ever escape him, except for Kaycee Remington, but he no longer counted her. He hadn’t managed yet to get as far with the lovely Kaycee as he had the sheriff’s wife. Yum. He’d touched Lacey’s sweet pussy, even tasted it.
There wasn’t an inch of her he hadn’t licked, bit, or touched. Smitt grinned. He’d played with her like a cat plays with a mouse, cutting her and using his toys on her until she’d begged him to kill her. He’d licked and sucked her tits. He’d come on her, for her, enough times his balls had finally softened and his dick had swung long and relaxed.
Yes, Lacey darling had bled for him. Oh, how she’d bled for him. She’d cried, begged, and pleaded, but he did exactly what he wanted to do to her. He still felt the pleasure of the sharp-edged knife slicing across her soft belly, the thrill of the first cut, the power it gave him. Over and over, he’d cut her, buzzing with pure pleasure at the sight of her warm, red blood flowing so freely. She belonged to him. He wanted her back, and he wanted her fat with his baby.
Furious, Smitt watched the man get inside the truck and take off with Lacey darling. Panic lodged in Smitt’s throat like a big old goose egg. He clenched his fists, livid that once again, his Lacey darling made good her escape from him.
Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) Page 11
