by Jianne Carlo
“That true, Nikar?” Satan asked.
“Yeah. Same old, same fucking old. SEALs move at the speed of light. The bureaus haven’t seen the light.” Nikar sipped on dark single malt whiskey. “Hey Sinner, what’s this Satan’s saying about you taking the ball and chain bullet? Voluntarily?”
No way could Sinner stop his happy grin. “You bet. Wait till you meet her. Destiny’s incredible. She’s going to pamper me like there’s no tomorrow, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute.”
“Jesus. Is Sinner still in there somewhere? What happened to the man who was going to fuck his way through New York and Long Island?” Devil threw Sinner a disgusted grimace. “I fucking hope whatever you’ve got isn’t catching.”
Sinner smirked. “I am so going to fucking rub it in when you’re drop-kicked into the marriage rabbit hole.”
“Never.” Devil folded his arms. “No fucking way. My cock’s not being harnessed. Unless it’s during a leather scene at Bacchanal. You gotta come with me next time, guys. Whole new experience.”
Demon blew out a long sigh and crossed his long legs at the ankles. He swirled a honey-colored liquid in a crystal tumbler. “Pussy is as pussy does. Can’t see any reason I’d want a woman to wear a collar. And I don’t like fucking in public.”
“Come with me once, and you’ll change your mind,” Devil declared. “You should too, Sinner. At least taste the life before you get shackled.”
“Not interested. Destiny’s all I need.” All at once he was anxious to get home, to hold Destiny in his arms. Sinner rubbed the spot on his arm where the stray bullet had grazed him.
“Did you let the medic take a look at that injury?” Satan pointed his pen at Sinner.
“Naw. Volac cleaned and dressed it. It’s a mere scratch,” Sinner stated.
“It was careless.” Satan’s jaw worked. “You know better, Jinn. Just because he looked like a kid, you figured he wasn’t dangerous. He could’ve shot the captain.”
Jinn ran both hands through his chestnut curls. “I’ll fucking berate myself for that fucking stupid error for the rest of my life.”
They all fell silent, and Sinner knew each man was replaying the surprise attack by the young man who held one of the two ordinary seaman positions on the Indonesian Express. Until the man-boy, who went by the name of Ashraf Ali, dived for a pistol concealed beneath the wheel in the navigational bridge, not one of the Hades Squad team members had suspected that the pirates had an inside man among the crew.
“So, when are you biting the bullet, Sinner?” Volac raised his glass to Sinner.
“It’d be tomorrow if I had my druthers. Going to aim for early December.” Sinner didn’t hold high hopes for that date estimate.
“You do realize your mother’s going to insist on throwing you a huge wedding? Ten to one, she’ll try to get the pope to officiate.”
Satan’s wide grin didn’t alleviate the anxiety his statement provoked in Sinner.
“Fuck. Destiny’s going to have a fucking conniption.”
Chapter Fifteen
Linc hadn't called, and he'd been gone more than seventy-two hours.
Destiny didn't have any way of contacting him besides his cell, and that went to voice mail on the first ring.
Where are you? Are you safe? Please, please, don't be in any danger.
Last night she hadn't slept a wink. Her imagination fired into overdrive, and every time she nodded off, the same dream repeated—Linc wounded, never coming back to her.
You're such an idiot, Destiny Driven.
You meet the man of your dreams, and you refuse to commit, waiting for him to turn into your father, waiting for him to betray you.
All her grievances seemed trivial. Nadine, Juanita, not even her finished book compensated for Lincoln's company, his touch.
“We're here, lady,” the cab driver announced.
Whaaat?
Destiny unsnapped her beaded black clutch, fished for a twenty, and handed the bill to the driver.
“Thank you.”
She'd expense the ride to the Plaza anyway, so why not give the guy a good tip. A notion occurred to her. “I'm going back to my place in an hour and a half. Can you come back for me?”
“Sure, lady.” He handed her a card. “Call me twenty minutes before.”
“Thanks.”
She dreaded facing Nadine and Juanita without Linc at her side. Destiny trudged up the hotel's marble steps, meandered through the lobby, and made her way to the champagne bar.
Angel Robinson, aka Nadine, headed the reception line.
Dressed to impress and wearing the heavy makeup necessary for television and paparazzi, Angel wore figure-hugging electric blue spandex, four-inch stilettos, and enough ice to light the darkest shadows of Manhattan.
Nadine threw her arms wide, one sapphire-and-diamond-encrusted platinum bracelet spinning brilliance around a slender wrist, and cooed, “My favorite editor. Dahling, so wonderful to see you again.”
During the requisite air kiss Destiny made the mistake of inhaling, only to dry choke on the thick, heavy scent of Gucci's Eau de Parfum.
Cameras flashed.
“Turn around,” a man whose face was hidden by a T. rex-sized zoom lens attached to a camera ordered.
Destiny obliged and spread her lips wide.
More flashes.
Steven Eldridge appeared, as did Jess, and they posed for a group shot.
Destiny slunk away from the masses herding the restaurant's entrance. A penguin-suited waiter offered her a flute of fizzing champagne, which she accepted with an alacrity that surprised even her. Another similarly clad attendant proffered blini stuffed with caviar and a sour cream dip. Destiny snagged two and popped one into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savored the salty fish essence coating her mouth in culinary ecstasy, and her thoughts tangoed from Keechum to Linc hanging from the pear tree, to his acrobatic, talented tongue, and an ache smoldered in her chest.
I love him. I really love him. Why am I even here?
Was becoming senior editor worth having to deal with Nadine? Juanita? Not in a zillion years. Destiny gulped the rest of the Dom Perignon bubbly and deposited the empty crystal glass on a passing waiter's silver tray.
“Well, well, if it isn't the high-and-mighty Destiny Driven, also known as Sara Parker.”
Juanita's voice grated like chalk on a blackboard, and her words didn't impact for two racing heartbeats.
Destiny Driven?
One palm clamped on her chest, Destiny pirouetted.
“A deer in the headlights. How perfectly delicious.” Juanita, all five-four of her perfect petite figure, shimmered in a plastered-on silver lamé sheath. “Tsk-tsk, you really must invest in another cocktail dress. I think I even remember that oily spot. Not a good strategy to call attention to… What's the PC term? Ah, yes, curves, that's the term.”
Think of something, anything.
“You remember Kenny, Sara? Or should I say Destiny? Editing under a pseudonym—how quaint. Afraid of the pursuit by adoring hordes? Or hiding a criminal past?” Juanita spoke in a tinkling musical rhythm, a tad higher than the conversational buzz of her neighbor. One by one, heads swiveled in their direction.
Out of the corner of one eye, Destiny spied a frowning Jess forging a path through the crowd.
This is not happening. This is not happening.
“What's going on?” One hand propped on her hip, the other holding a half-empty flute, Jess glanced from Juanita to Destiny, once, twice.
“Seems your assistant editor's implicated in some sort of sordid fraud. Did you know of her dual identity? According to her passport”—Juanita flung out her hand, pointing a manicured finger—“her name's Destiny Driven.”
Jess’ even features pinched. She visibly blanched, her porcelain, peaches-and-cream complexion paling to snowflake whiteness. “Sara?”
Destiny squeezed her eyes shut, unable to meet Jess’ direct stare. “It's not like she's implying, Jess.”
> A muscle in Jess’ cheek flexed. “Tell me she's lying.”
A balloon inflated in Destiny's throat, and she couldn't get a word out.
“Honey?” Jess touched her wrist.
Destiny met her mentor and friend's brown eyes, eyes lit with warmth and kindness, and choked. “She's not lying, Jess. The name on my birth certificate is Destiny Driven.”
Jess blinked, became aware of their hushed audience, and her hand clamped around Destiny's forearm. “Come with me.”
Cameras flashed; photographers stumbled out of their way. Glancing over one shoulder, Destiny caught a glimpse of Juanita holding her own mini press conference.
Jess took her into the powder room, locked the door, set her glass on the table, and forced Destiny into one of the two upholstered chairs against one wall.
Destiny watched, mute and despairing, as Jess filled a tumbler with water from the tap. She thrust the glass into Destiny's hands and ordered, “Drink. You look like you're going to pass out.”
I wish I could.
“Start from the beginning.” Jess folded her arms and sat in the opposite chair, crossing one red pump-clad foot over the other.
Destiny's skull ached as she stumbled through the tale. She couldn't meet Jess’ eyes, instead traced the little burgundy squiggles bordering the pedestal sink's foot. Knuckling both temples, she finished with, “And that's the all of it.”
“Bugger Juanita,” Jess snapped. “That bitch has never been able to accept the fact that you have more talent in your little finger than she has in her entire body.”
“I'm sorry, Jess. I guess I should have told you everything, but I never thought of myself as anyone other than Sara Parker until recently. When I knew I had to go to Alaska via Canada, I…I didn't know if the birth certificate with the name Sara Parker would stand up to post-9/11 scrutiny.”
“Honey, I don't give a bleeping damn what your real name is. I've known you for five years, considered you my little sister for at least three of those. I know who you are, and what's in that generous heart of yours.”
“I still don't understand why Juanita turned on me. I thought we were friends. I mean, I know there's a huge wealth gap, but it didn't seem to matter. I'm so glad I never trusted her with the details of my past before. Not that it matters now. Those details are going to be plastered all over the net.”
“I tried to tell you, Sara.” Jess made a moue. “It's going to take me a while to get used to Destiny. Your mother must have had a quirky sense of humor to name you Destiny Driven.” She tilted her head to one side. “Although it has a nice ring to it, Destiny Driven. When you finally finish that manuscript you've been working on for the last five years, you should consider using that name.”
“I finished it.”
Someone had sprayed a sickly sweet floral scent in the powder room. Destiny plucked the cap off the aerosol air freshener, sent the green gods an apology, and hit the pump. She inhaled a rain-forest, lime-zinged fragrance, her nose once again a happy camper.
She risked a glance at Jess to find her unflappable boss’ jaw dropped. A smile crept across Jess’ lips. “Praise the heavens. When?”
“A couple weeks back.”
“And why isn't it in my grubby little hands? And why can't you look at me?”
“I could lie and say it slipped my mind, but truly I've been dreading submitting it to you. Too much of a coward, I guess.” Destiny rolled a shoulder.
“I want it in my in-box tonight, girlfriend. No vacillating, got that?”
Got that? Linc's line when he's deadly serious. Are you safe?
“Yes, ma'am.” Destiny tipped a salute.
“Speaking of which, I heard a rumor tonight about a certain hunk and a lip-lock in the office?” Jess arched her brows a couple of times, the gesture dripping a sexual question. “Do tell. Is he the one who got you all hot and bothered in Alaska?”
She knew her heating face and neck wore a blush. “And then some.”
Jess’ crossed leg did a little dance. “Spill, girlfriend. Gory details.”
Cooperating but giving only the basics, she told Jess about her and Linc’s time in the cabin in Alaska.
“Did you two have a spat?” Jess’ arms slipped to her knees when she leaned closer. “Is that why you were so grouchy when you came back?”
No way Nadine would keep her trap shut about her and Linc.
“Sort of. Weeell, as it turns out, technically you could say Linc's one of Nadine's exes. A couple of years ago they were snowed in at her house, and boredom set in on his part.” Let Nadine tell those gory details.
“Whoa.” Jess’ bob bounced side to side. “No way I could wrap my mind around Nadine and my boyfriend and a past. She’s a vicious bitch, Sara—Destiny. And lately she and Juanita have been a little too cozy, considering they were once nasty enemies. I’d watch my back.”
And you don't know the half of it. Ha!
“Trust me, it's not easy.”
“He must be a helluva guy, honey.”
“He is.” On impulse, Destiny blurted, “He says he wants to marry me.”
“Whoa. That's fast work.”
“I decided to say yes tonight.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you've been through a lot in the last while. Juanita and Kenny and that sex tape. Her little stunt tonight's going to have tongues wagging in the publishing circles for some time.” Jess stared at a spot on the wall for a couple of seconds. “On the other hand, it's a brilliant marketing strategy. Especially if he's as hunky as I heard. Going to do the whole white-wedding bit?”
“I don't think I'm going to have a choice. He has ten brothers and sisters.”
“Ten?” Jess’ little shriek made Destiny's lips twitch. “I hope he's not entertaining you having a brood.”
“We haven't even talked children yet. Don't worry. I anticipate a long engagement. Your turn, Jess. Who've you been babysitting?”
“Tom Rodney,” Jess replied. “But it's a big secret.”
“Scout's honor, I won't blab. Wow, that's incredible. He's coming back to St. Paul's?”
“And I'm his editor.”
“Why? Not why're you his editor—you're the best—but why's he returning to a small press?”
“Partially because we do both print and e-books.” Even Jess’ ears reddened when she blushed. “He says he admires the way we marketed Juanita's book.”
“The way you marketed her book. You're the one with the genius marketing streak.” Destiny leaned over and hugged Jess. “I'm so happy for you. What's it like working with him?”
“Interesting. His general knowledge is amazing. The man's read Nostradamus in the original French.”
“He speaks French fluently?”
“If only. The man's fluent in six languages, including Mandarin.”
“Impressive. Juanita's going to hate being number two in the pecking order,” Destiny mused.
“And she's not going to have the influence she has now with Tom back in the fold.”
Jess was the best friend and boss anyone could hope for, Destiny decided thirty minutes later when the cab she'd called stopped in front of the Plaza. She climbed into the vehicle, pulled the door shut, greeted the driver, and reminded him of her address. Settling back against the worn leather, she shivered as a delicious wave of heated air coasted across her bare shoulders.
Jess had had a eureka moment and had devised a brilliant strategy to downplay Juanita's dramatic announcement. When she returned to the party, Jess planned to protest loudly to all and sundry that Juanita's revelation had not been a publicity stunt, which of course, guaranteed that's how the whole event would be interpreted.
I must remember to email the book to her when I get home.
Destiny laid the press packet for Angel's new release on the seat at her side. Remembering Jess had mentioned something about a first for the novel, a new idea about cross-marketing, she searched through the contents of the Cartier purse that made up the kit, ignoring the chocolate g
oodies, the requisite bookmarks and recorded book trailer, and pulled out Angel's latest hardcover.
She scanned the contents and dedications, skipped to the last page, then flicked to an otherwise blank page with the words, “Turn the page for a preview of Juanita Sender's new blockbuster, Fated Destiny.”
Whaaat?
The words blurred. She blinked and whispered, “Juanita Sender's Fated Destiny.”
Her title?
Had she ever discussed the title with Juanita? Must have.
Pulse quickening, she raced through the first paragraph, the second, all six pages of the preview, each word anticipating the following one, each sentence a boot kicking her belly.
By the time the cab came to a stop, Destiny's temples thrummed, her thoughts whizzed, and her stomach churned, acidity doing an Indy loop up her throat.
I'm going insane. Juanita couldn't have stolen my book; I only just finished it. Maybe I unconsciously plagiarized Juanita. No, no. I wrote that first chapter five years ago.
Juanita's the plagiarizer, not me. She stole my book. But how?
On autopilot, she paid the cabdriver, entered the building, prodded the elevator into movement, and stared at the paneled roof.
Her temper kicked in before the elevator dinged.
No way in hell am I letting Juanita get away with this stunt.
Destiny jingled the keys in her hand as she trudged down the hallway to her apartment, her eyes sweeping the baseboard absently.
Was Linc safe? When would he get back? How to tell him she'd changed her mind about everything?
“Destiny,” a soft male voice intoned.
The keys flew out of her hand. She jumped back, her heart juggling an erratic hip-hop. “I have mace. My neighbor's a light sleeper. I'll scream.”
While she squeaked out the words, Destiny's fingers scrambled for the pepper spray in her purse. Creepy Mr. Ronson deserved a shot. He'd scared her too many times waiting for her in the shadows.
“Linc sent me. He didn't want you to hear the news on television.” The giant hulk moved out of the shadows, and a Nordic vision backlit by the hallway's meager fluorescent tube made her gasp.
