by Peggy Jaeger
Chapter Three
She should have slept like the dead after everything she’d gone through, but sleep eluded Gemma most of the night.
It wasn’t that she was in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable bed; Gemma could sleep anywhere easily, and the bed was sound.
It wasn’t that her bruised knee was causing her discomfort; she’d propped it up on a pillow and hadn’t needed to resort to any of the pain pills the doctor in the emergency room had prescribed.
It wasn’t even because she was concerned about cancelling her shoots for the week; when she’d called her clients on Ky’s secured cellphone, explaining that she was “sick,” they’d been beyond accommodating, both telling her they would wait until she was better and could fit them into her schedule. They wanted her to do their photographs, no one else. Gemma got a mild ego boost knowing her work meant something special to them.
No, the unease that filtered through her mind all night had nothing to do with any of those things and everything to do with Special Agent Kyros Pappandreos.
He was annoyingly arrogant, professionally polished, too handsome for his own good, and made Gemma’s stomach flutter every time he speared those ocean-blue-green eyes her way.
When was the last time a man had made her insides quiver?
In all truth, it had been a long, long while and it bothered her in more ways than she could count.
Gemma wasn’t ignorant of the way she looked. She knew she was considered attractive and had only to glance at her sister Kandy for confirmation. The two of them could have been twins and Kandy was gorgeous by anyone’s standards. But even though they looked alike, they were very different in their thoughts about certain things, men being the uppermost.
Kandy had given her heart freely and unconditionally to her husband, Josh. He’d come into her life to protect her from a stalker and wound up breaking down all the walls and barriers she’d erected to make sure her heart was never broken by a man. Gemma’s walls and barriers were made of much stronger brick and mortar.
She’d been a shy and scared ten-year-old when her father had decided being married and having to support a wife and seven daughters was more than he’d ever bargained for.
Gemma, too young to understand the grown-up events which had led to her parents’ split, felt the biting sting of abandonment hard. She grew introverted and distrustful of anyone but her family.
As a teenager she’d grown into her height and blossoming beauty but had still been crippled with the paralyzing shyness of her younger years. When Kandy had given her a camera for her fifteenth birthday, Gemma blossomed like a rose waiting for spring sunshine.
Overnight, she found her life’s passion. Behind the camera lens she became a different person: cool, self-assured, and cocky. Her shyness flew the moment she winked an eye into her viewfinder.
With her new self-confidence, Gemma allowed herself to start acting like a teenager and did the one thing all her contemporaries did that simply terrified her: date.
There was no lack of boys who wanted to be with her. Hair the color of ink framed a face with eyes a vivid blue no one could look away from. Tall, lithe, and angular, she quickly became the It girl in her class. And just as quickly lost her heart.
Her first boyfriend, being a typical teenage male ruled by raging hormones, had wanted nothing more than to claim he’d had sex with her, which he did, to one and all. That it was a lie, no one cared, despite Gemma’s protestations. Just as soon as the rumor started, he’d broken up with her.
The next boy to come into her life had expected her to do the same with him as he’d heard she’d done with the other. When Gemma refused, he’d become physical, smacking her and forcibly restraining her in the backseat of his car while he brutally shoved his fingers inside her. He laughed when she cried, telling her no one would believe her if she tried to get him in trouble. Her easy-girl reputation would negate any claims she made about being assaulted. He dropped her off at home without so much as a word or another look. Mortified, Gemma never told anyone what he’d done to her. Thoughts of her father’s betrayal, coupled now with this boy’s attack, consumed her and she spent the remainder of her high school career the whispered subject of rumors and painful innuendo by her peers.
College had fared little better. She’d hoped higher education and age would have instilled a sense of maturity into the male species. Disappointment met her at every corner when the reality of drunken and sex-starved frat boys spilled around her.
When Kandy hired Gemma as her primary photographer and launched her professional career with the very first cookbook she’d photographed, opportunities opened left and right, and with them an influx of new, available men.
The lessons of her early days stayed with her, though, and Gemma protected her heart like a lioness protecting its young. To truly love a man she knew she’d have to give away the two things she could not and would not: her trust and her control.
She’d been lucky so far. No man had made a lasting impression, and she’d easily kept up her guard. The number of people she trusted could be counted on one hand. Gemma took care of herself financially, physically, and emotionally. But now she was being forced to put her safety and trust in a man she didn’t know, wasn’t sure about, and who made her feel just the slightest bit uneasy in a way she didn’t like.
Before rising from the bed, she straightened out her injured knee. It was a little stiff, but the pain had abated. When she stood she was able to put her full weight on it. An internal sigh of relief blew through her when she dropped to the floor and began her daily stretches.
Twenty pushups, forty crunches, and five minutes of meditation later, she thought to check her cell phone and e-mail when she remembered Ky had her phone, and he’d disabled the Internet connection to her laptop.
“This just sucks wind,” she mumbled while moving to the adjoining bathroom.
When she emerged, dressed and ready for the day, she made a silent wish for her confinement to come to a swift end.
In the kitchen, Jon Waters was standing by the counter speaking with two men she’d never seen before.
“Good morning,” Gemma said.
Jon’s smile was bright and fast. “Morning.”
When her gaze flicked to the two others in the room, Jon said, “These are Agents LaRoux and Coble, Miss Laine.”
Both men nodded at her.
“They’re part of our team and have been assigned to help with keeping you safe.”
Gemma moved forward and shook hands with both men, committing their faces to their names. Both had the basic look of all the government men she’d met so far: six foot, square jawed, and somber.
“Any news?” Gemma asked Jon when the men left. “Have they found the man who attacked me?” She shook her head when he lifted the coffeepot.
“I haven’t heard anything yet,” Jon said. “Sure you don’t want some of this?”
“I don’t usually drink coffee or tea, but thanks.”
His eyes widened. “No? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t need a hit of caffeine in the morning.”
She smiled at him, having heard that line many times in her life from scores of people. “Oh, I need a caffeine hit just like the rest of the world,” she said. “But I prefer to get it from a cold soda. I don’t like hot liquids as a rule and rarely drink them.”
“Unfortunately we don’t have any, but if you tell me what you like, I’ll have LaRoux or Coble get it for you.”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to.”
“You don’t have to what?” Ky asked as he came into the room.
Gemma mentally steeled herself before turning to face him.
Clad in a muscle hugging T-shirt and loose-fitting sweats with the FBI logo running down one leg, his body was bathed in shiny moisture. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water. When he tipped his head back an
d took a long chug of it, his Adam’s apple shifting and bobbing with the effort, Gemma found herself swallowing as well.
“Our guest doesn’t overdose on coffee like you and I do, Papps. She prefers soda to get her going in the morning.”
Ky recapped the bottle and leveled his gaze at her.
His breathing was fast but even, his shoulders and chest rising with each inhalation, pulling against his drenched shirt.
Gemma’s fingers itched for her camera. He was so profoundly male, so starkly masculine, bathed in sweat, testosterone gushing off his body in waves, she knew exactly how she’d photograph him.
“Soda?” His gaze zeroed in on hers, and her back instantly stiffened at the judgment she heard in his voice.
One word. It had taken just one word from him for her to get irritated again. Okay, maybe not the word itself, but definitely the mockery in his tone. She was all set to ask him if he had something against drinking soda, but before she could get the words out, he forced them back into her, unspoken.
“My sister Ariadne drinks soda for breakfast, too. Diet Mountain Dew by the case. Drives my mother nuts.”
Gemma’s grin came so fast she couldn’t have prevented it if she’d tried. “A girl after my own heart. And taste buds. That’s my morning wake-up drink, as well.”
“I’ll have LaRoux go pick some up,” Jon said.
“Please don’t go to any bother on my account,” she told him. “I can do without it for a day.”
The look that passed between Ky and his partner had Gemma’s internal radar kicking up. “What?” she asked, her question aimed at Ky.
Before answering, Ky uncapped the water again and took another long draught. Gemma’s nerves, frayed to begin with at the circumstances she’d been forced into, went into overdrive waiting for him to respond.
“You might need to stay here,” he said after he swallowed, “a little longer than another day or so.”
“Why? You said it wouldn’t take long to find the men responsible.”
Good Lord. Was that her voice whining like a three-year-old?
“If you’ll remember, I said it shouldn’t take long to find them.”
Gemma sliced her hand in the air. “Whatever the wording you used, your implication was it would be soon. What’s changed?”
His expression gave away nothing. He must be awfully good at his job, she thought. The average person would look at his face and see a blank wall. But Gemma wasn’t an average person. She was a trained and keen observer of subtle body language, telltale motions, and minute physical changes the average person never noticed. So, even though his face remained a mask of calm emptiness, the slight constriction of his pupils, flare of his nostrils, and tension in his fisted hands told her quite the opposite.
Ky shot a quick look at his partner. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
He pulled a chair at the table for her, waited until she grudgingly sat in it, and then took his own seat across from his partner.
“Well?” Gemma folded hands across her chest.
“I got notice just a few minutes ago that the man who attacked you, Charlie Faldo, was located this morning.”
“Where?” Jon asked.
Ky glanced at him and then back to her. “The Hudson River.”
She gasped, the noise bursting from inside her.
“He was fished out about five-thirty when a jogger on her morning run noticed something floating in the water along the waterway.”
“How?” The word came out before she could stop it.
Ky’s gaze hardened as he focused on her. “His throat was cut. Clear through to his spine. Then he was dumped.”
“Ritandi’s a big fan of slice and dice,” Jon said, as if he were discussing the weather.
Ky nodded and finished his water. “We need to keep you hidden,” he told Gemma. “Faldo was executed because he failed to kill you. Ritandi won’t stop looking for you.”
“But I don’t know anything about any of this! I never even knew his name until you told me.” Gemma bolted up from the table and backed into the counter. “Jesus!”
Ky was up and on her in an instant. “Easy,” he said, reaching out to grab her arm.
The strength she felt seep from his touch, for some unknown reason, instantly calmed her.
And irritated the hell out of her.
With a quick jerk, she pulled out of his grasp and folded her arms in front of her chest again, flattening herself against the counter ledge. Ky’s hands drifted slowly down to his sides as he took a step back. His gaze, though, never wavered from hers.
“We can keep you safe here. We just need to ride this out a little longer than anticipated.”
“What about the men who killed your agents?” Gemma asked.
“The bureau has every available agent searching for them.”
“Searching? That tells me you have no idea where they are, do you?”
He didn’t answer her, but merely nodded.
“This just sucks,” she said, repeating her thoughts of earlier.
Whatever appetite she’d woken with was gone now, killed by the knowledge that her life had been turned upside down and wasn’t about to be righted any time soon.
She wanted to fly out the front door, grab a cab and run back to her condo. She’d shut and lock the doors and spend her solitary days working, pushing the horror of the past twenty-four hours from her mind.
She wanted to immerse herself in work until her eyes bled and her head begged for relief.
She wanted to punch something—anything—hard enough to free her mind of the fear and anger soaking through it.
She wanted to do all that and more, but what she wound up doing was storming from the kitchen, back up to her tiny, safe bedroom, and plopping down, face-up, on the bed that wasn’t her own.
* * *
“She’s been up there all day,” Jon said hours later.
Ky looked up to the clock on the wall above the couch.
They were in the den, the room they’d fashioned as a command center, each at a desk, their laptops opened in front of them, files scattered atop the desks. For most of the day they’d been reviewing documents, arrest forms, witness statements, phone records, anything and everything that might give them a lead on how Ritandi had known where to find Calafano. So far nothing had popped for either of them, and Ky was getting more frustrated by the moment.
Live video feed of the outside of the house streamed on six different screens, each focused on a separate area of the perimeter, the back yard included.
“Didn’t come down for lunch,” Jon added, looking up at the ceiling. “And she didn’t have any breakfast before you told her about Faldo. She’s got to be hungry, don’t you think, and lonely, up there all by herself.”
Ky glanced over at him. “You sound like my mother, worried if someone skips a meal they’re going to die from starvation.”
Jon grinned.
“She’s upset about the situation,” Ky said, simply, leaning back in his chair. “Being stuck here, unable to do what she wants to do. Go where she wants to go. And I don’t imagine she wants to be around either of us since we’re part of the reason she’s here.”
“Don’t you think one of us should check on her, though? Make sure she’s okay? See if she needs anything?”
Ky regarded his partner through slitted eyes. “When did you become such a mother hen?”
“I’m not.” Jon’s grin turned wry. “I’m just saying one of us should make sure she’s okay.”
Ky shook his head. “Okay, YiaYia.” He rose from the chair and stretched his arms over his head. “My eyes are starting to cross from looking at all this anyway. I’ll go check on her.”
“Ask if she wants something to eat,” Jon instructed.
Ky turned from the doorway. “I’m getting the dist
inct impression you’re not as worried about her stomach being filled as you are about your own.”
His partner’s face split into what Ky’s oldest brother, Chrystos, mockingly called a shit-eating grin.
“Well, it is almost time for dinner. And we do have our deal, remember? You cook. I clean. It works.”
Ky threw him a speaking glance and then started up the stairs.
The door to Gemma’s room was closed over, but not shut. Ky tapped gently on the doorframe. When he got no response, he pushed it open just a bit so he could look in.
The bed was made but empty, the sheets rumpled as if she’d lain on top of them; the bedside light off. The sound of water running had him glancing at the accompanying closed bathroom door. A thin line of light beamed from under it.
His gaze was drawn to the desk and chair situated under the open window. Shaking his head he realized he needed to have a conversation with her about sitting in front of it since she didn’t seem to realize she was making herself a target.
Atop the desk her laptop was open, a slideshow moving across it, littered with photographs. Like metal to a magnet, it pulled him closer, the images scrolling by calling to him.
He’d known she was an exceptional photographer just from viewing the untouched photos she’d captured of his crime scene. But what he hadn’t realized was what a magnificent eye for detail and color she possessed.
Every single picture that slid by was better than the one before. Black-and-white images of city buildings, buildings he recognized and had even been in, never realizing how beautiful their architecture truly was; colored images of sunrise at South Ferry station, gazing out over the harbor; the Statue of Liberty at sunset, Lady Liberty looking as if she were going to jump down and walk away from her pedestal.
His breath caught in the back of his throat when the next series of photographs scrolled through. They had to be family portraits because each woman bore some resemblance to the one before. When a shot of a beaming Kandy Laine holding an infant popped up, her husband next to her, his arm thrown possessively across them, Ky knew the photos were of Gemma’s own family. But not one picture in the collection was of her. Gemma Laine was the face behind the camera, never, apparently, in front of it.
