Standing in the Shadows

by Shannon McKenna

  She chuckled. “Surprising. I would have thought that your phone call would put a damper on things.”

  “Not at all. He reacted just as I would have expected. Fear and anger leads directly to the desire to conquer and punish and control.” He wrapped the lock of hair around his finger and tugged it. She winced, and cried out. She had learned, to her cost, that hiding pain was a big mistake. “I studied him, you know,” he went on. “I profiled him, just as he has profiled me. We have a great deal in common.”

  “Really? What?”

  He let go of her hair, to her relief, and stared up at the ceiling. “Unusual childhoods, for one thing. We both suffered the traumatic loss of our mothers at an early age, for instance.”

  She made a soft, distressed sound, but he was not trolling for sympathy. His eyes were remote. “We both had mentally imbalanced fathers. We both have physical defects. His were inflicted by me, and mine, indirectly, by him.” He held up his maimed hand, and passed it over the puckered bullet scar that marred his pale thigh.

  “Fascinating,” she murmured. “I never thought of the symmetry. The matching injuries. Hand and thigh.” She leaned over, ran her hand over the scar on his thigh, and took a calculated risk. She drew his hand to her lips and kissed each scarred stump.

  He smiled his appreciation of the gesture, and she shuddered with her relief. “What else?” she urged.

  “Intensity,” he mused. “Inability to compromise. He is a good enemy. I will be sorry to lose him. It will be almost like losing a friend.”

  Like he knew what it meant to have a friend.

  The dangerous thought flitted through her mind before she could suppress it, and fear followed in its wake. She could not afford to let such things float to the surface of her conscious mind. He was supernaturally acute, sniffing out every slightest scent of treachery.

  His eyes focused on her with unnerving intensity. “I have always been good at sensing fault lines, exploiting them,” he said. “So was Victor. He actually had the gall to try it on me. Remember?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “That was why you killed him.”

  “I found his weak point, and then tap, tap, crack, and he came apart. That is how I will destroy them all. Tap, tap, Tamara. That’s all it takes, and they will fall over their own feet to destroy themselves.”

  She hoped her smile was not shaking. “Brilliant,” she said.

  “Erin will be the hardest, but I think I have the key to her now.”

  “Her weakness is Connor McCloud, obviously,” Tamara said.

  “Look deeper than the obvious,” he snapped. “Erin likes order. Chaos makes her frantic. Her father’s disgrace, what happened at Crystal Mountain, it shook her to her foundations. When the rest of her world falls to pieces, we will see what she is really made of.”

  “Brilliant.” Her voice sounded mechanical to her own ears.

  “This is moving fast,” he said. “We must accelerate things, to keep up with McCloud’s and Erin’s immoderate lust.”

  “I spoke to our operative in Marseilles earlier, right before you came to me,” she told him.

  He seized a lock of her hair and tugged it again, cruelly hard. “You should have told me immediately.”

  She forced herself to whimper and cringe. Her own nature would have dictated stoic silence, but she did not want to challenge him. Oh, no, no, no. Even she knew when to bend. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You were so passionate…it drove it right out of my mind. Please…”

  He let go of her hair and backhanded her across the face. “What did he say?”

  She touched her throbbing cheek. Another bruise. She was brilliant with paints and powders, but there were limits even to her genius. “Martin Olivier is ready to play his part,” she said. “They’ve coached him carefully. He will be captured by the police, and confess to seeing you and Georg at the rendezvous point outside Marseilles. Whenever you want him to.”

  “Call them,” he said slowly. “It must happen the day after tomorrow. That gives Ingrid and Matthieu time to arrange poor Claude’s transport to Marseilles.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to move a man in a coma?” she asked timidly.

  Novak shrugged. “Claude has never disobliged me in his life. He would not dare to die before it is convenient for me. Yes, Tuesday morning would be best. That will also give Erin and McCloud time to generate some titillating X-rated video footage for us when they get back to Seattle. I need it for the grand finale. Speaking of which, Rolf Hauer is in place to take care of Claude? That has to happen shortly after Martin’s confession. Preferably the same day.”

  “He is in Marseilles, awaiting orders,” she assured him. “All the pieces are in place. Your choreography is absolutely brilliant.”

  He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You flatter me, Tamara,” he said slowly. “I hope very much that you don’t ever presume to manipulate me with flattery. I dislike that.”

  The white-hot glow in his eyes terrified her. “God, no. Really, I—”

  “You know, of course, that your knowledge of all these details binds you to me for life. And beyond.”

  She forced herself to relax against him and smile up into his eyes through her lashes. “Yes,” she said softly. “I am honored by your trust.”

  He parted her legs and thrust his hand inside her. She reminded herself, as she moved sinuously against him, that this couldn’t last much longer. And he would pay for every insult to her body, in blood.

  He lost interest in touching her very quickly, thank God, and flopped onto his back. “I wish I could have watched them tonight.”

  “You’ll have your chance,” she said. “This is just the beginning.”

  “I’ve developed quite a taste for video voyeurism. I imagine you did, too, during your time with Victor, hmm? It was his passion.”

  She covered up her shiver at the mention of Victor’s name with a rippling laugh. “Oh, I humored him.”

  “Did you, my beautiful whore? How? Tell me everything.”

  She gathered her ragged acting skills together. She’d never felt so alive as during that brief time she had spent in Victor Lazar’s bed. He had seen past all her tricks and accepted her for what she was.

  And he had wanted her, too, with a searing passion that had shocked emotions to life inside her that she had thought were safely dead. One of the few things she absolutely could not bear would be for her current employer to paw through her memories of Victor.

  But then again—her anger and her fear reminded her of why she was doing this in the first place. That was very good. That helped.

  “There’s not much to tell,” she said lightly. “He was more dull and straightforward in bed than one would have thought, to know him. Far less fascinating and challenging than you, for instance.”

  He kissed her, his long tongue thrusting like a snake into her mouth, and sank his sharp teeth into her lower lip, holding it fast. They sank deeper, almost breaking skin. She went rigid with terror.

  He laughed, and released her. “I think you are lying to me.”

  She rolled onto her back and shook her head. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Like a dog who showed its throat to the head of the pack in hopes of not being ripped to shreds. “I wish that I were,” she said. “You know how I hate to be bored. I would make up some kinky stories for you if I didn’t know that you prefer the truth, boss. Even if it’s less interesting than a juicy lie.”

  She looked directly into his eyes, projecting with all her considerable strength. Warm, glowing. Oh, so disarmingly sincere.

  He stroked her cheek, nodded and smiled. He bought it.

  She was so relieved, she had to do something with the rush of emotion, so she rolled up onto her elbow and kissed him, trailing her fingers down the front of his wiry, cruelly strong body. She found him already hard. Good. It was easier for her to cover while fucking than while talking. Men were so much more stupid when they were fucking. Her hand tightened, moving in a swirling, expert
caress.

  He murmured with pleasure. “What a mysterious creature you are, Tamara,” he said. “Intriguing. Full of secrets.”

  “Not to you,” she assured him.

  “So strong and fearless. A person’s greatest strengths and her greatest weaknesses are one and the same, did you know that?”

  “Are they really?” She shimmied down his body and replaced her hand with her skillful mouth.

  “Yes. I will exploit both your strength and your weakness.”

  He was quiet for a few minutes, his fingernails digging painfully into her scalp as she did her best to distract him from this dangerous train of thought. She was skillful enough to do it on total autopilot, and lucky for her, because she couldn’t control her thoughts. Her thoughts were thinking her. Crazy thoughts, out of place in this room, with this deadly man. Thoughts of love, of all things. She wondered, inside that barricaded part of herself, if what she had felt for Victor was love. She would kill to avenge him. If that wasn’t love, what was?

  It didn’t matter. It was closer to love than she had ever hoped or wished to come. It had been scary. It had hurt. It had made her feel weak and vulnerable, and then he had died, at Novak’s hand. She had been so angry, she’d wanted to lob a nuclear bomb at someone.

  A woman like her could not afford to have a heart. It could get her killed, and she still wanted to live. She was not yet that far gone.

  All too soon he tired of her efforts. He wrenched her head away from his groin. His eyes were lit up with a phosphorescent glow, a look that always portended danger. “I miss him from time to time, you know.”

  She wiped her mouth, blinked innocently. “Who?”

  “Victor. It’s sad, to lose a friend. I have so few, the world being what it is. But he crossed the line, Tamara. He crossed me.”

  She smiled demurely, still pumping his stiff penis with her hands. “And when have I ever crossed you, boss?”

  He stroked her cheek with the stubs of his fingers. A surreal parody of tenderness. “Never, I hope.”

  He wrenched her up by the hair and flung her facedown onto the bed. He shoved her legs open and drove inside her, so hard and so suddenly that she slid up the bed and hit her head against the headboard before she had a chance to brace herself. She saw stars, put her hand out to cushion her head, and thought about killing him.

  Usually, it helped. This time it only maddened her. His defenses were so smooth and impenetrable. She was seldom alone with him, only when she was naked in bed, and he was far more physically powerful than she. He always had whoever served him sip his drinks and taste his food before eating. He was always armed. He never slept. Never, as if he had a supernatural font of energy. Like a perpetual coke high, but he never touched drugs. Which was too bad. She was good with drugs. It would have been so much easier to kill him that way.

  His arm snaked around in front of her neck, arching it back and cutting off her air. She gasped, hovering on the brink of fainting.

  “So fearless,” he crooned, his body pounding into hers. “Never cross me, Tamara. I would be so hurt.”

  “Never,” she choked out. “Never.”

  Chapter

  11

  Erin’s dream was a snarl of erotic images, a volatile mix of pleasure and danger and painful longing. Male voices merged with it, and the click of the door closing pulled her to wakefulness.

  A deep, sensual ache permeated her body. Her skin was strangely sensitized. The brush of the sheet against her body made her want to writhe and stretch. She opened her eyes a tiny crack and peeked.

  Sure enough. It was the hotel room. Oh, God. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real, all of it. Hours of it. A delicious shiver rippled through her. She took a deep breath and rolled over to face him.

  Connor stood by the bed, looking down at her. He wore only his jeans, his hair waving loose over his shoulders. His eyes looked somber and shadowed. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she echoed. “Did you sleep well?”

  He shook his head. She thought of last night’s strange, inexplicable phone call, and how badly it had upset him. Of course he hadn’t slept, poor baby, but it was probably better to avoid the subject entirely. He was sure to be twitchy and defensive about it.

  She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. “Was someone just here? I thought I heard voices.”

  He held up his hand. It was full of condoms. “Turns out there’s a vending machine in the men’s bathroom in the lobby. I was too crazed to think of it last night. The desk clerk brought them up for me.”

  He was so casual about it, like it was a given that they were going to make love again, again and again. Heated images from the night before raced through her mind, and liquid heat rushed and throbbed between her legs. She blushed and shrank back against the headboard.

  His face hardened. He dropped the condoms onto the bedside table. “Don’t give me that scared rabbit look. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never force you.”

  Oh, good Lord, he was so proud and high-strung, and now she’d hurt his tender feelings. She grabbed his hand as he turned away and tugged at it. “Connor, don’t. I’m just shy, and tired, and kind of overwhelmed. It would be too much, to make love again. That’s all.”

  A slow, cautious smile curved his mouth. “That’s cool with me,” he said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “They’ll keep.”

  She stared at him, dazzled at how gorgeous he was. She finally managed to drag her eyes away, and focused on the heap of condoms. “Good heavens,” she said blankly. “How many did you ask for?”

  “I figured twelve would hold us until we have a chance to get to a drugstore,” he said. “Based on how things went last night.”

  Her eyes widened. “Twelve? Connor, I have to walk past that guy when we check out of here! Twelve?”

  “Sorry.” He blinked innocently. “Don’t worry, Erin. We don’t have to use them all this morning. I was just being, you know—prepared.”

  She drew her knees up to her chest and hid her face against them. “This is a big deal for me,” she said. “I don’t know how to be cool and casual about it. I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to act.”

  He sank down on his knees next to the bed. “Don’t act,” he urged. “Just be. No masks, right? Didn’t we establish that last night? I go for that, Erin. It turns me on. And this is a big deal for me, too. Believe me. Now give me a good-morning kiss.”

  His warm, teasing smile was magnetic. She swayed toward him, and their lips met. Soft and tentative, for the first nanosecond, anyway.

  A blast of sexual energy roared through them. She found herself writhing beneath him, the sheet torn away from her naked body, both her hands buried in his thick hair. His mouth moved over hers in a savage, sensual kiss calculated to lead them straight into another bout of wild sex. He could manipulate her so effortlessly.

  It took a huge effort of will to turn her face away. “That’s enough,” she pleaded. “I have to get ready. I have to concentrate. Don’t do this to me, Connor. Please.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “So concentrate. Be my guest.”

  “You’re distracting me,” she snapped. She scrambled out of the other side of the bed. Her nightdress was the quickest way to cover herself. She tugged it out of her suitcase with desperate haste.

  “Gee, sorry.” His eyes roamed over her body.

  She yanked it over her head and let it drift into place. “I have to take a shower, and iron my suit. And I have to do something about your clothes, too. They’re in a terrible state.”

  He looked suspicious. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  She pulled out her travel iron and plugged it in. “The clothes you wore yesterday are all right for the meeting, if I iron them, but you won’t be going to the restaurant anyway, so it doesn’t matter if—”

  “Hold on.” His eyes narrowed. “Back up a step. What’s this about me not going to the restaurant?”

 
She heaved her suitcase up onto the bed and braced herself for a struggle. No way could she contemplate having a business lunch with her most valued client while Connor hovered over her, being intense and difficult. “I looked up the restaurant on the Internet before I came,” she said. “It has a formal dress code. I don’t see a garment bag lying around here, so I assume you didn’t bring a jacket and tie.”

  “You’re not going anywhere that I don’t go, Erin.” His tone was cold and flinty-hard. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She laid a fresh towel against the desk for an ironing board. “I arranged this lunch with Mueller before you entered the picture. Nothing can happen to me in a crowded four-star restaurant. And you promised that you wouldn’t disrupt—”

  “Wait a minute. Hello. Earth to Erin. Let’s just set aside the fact that I’m currently your bodyguard. Let’s ignore that phone call we got last night. Let’s assume that trifling detail wasn’t even an issue. After what has just happened between us, you are still planning to have lunch with your goddamn millionaire while I wait out in the lobby like an asshole?”

  She gaped at him, appalled. “Connor, be reasonable. I’ve never even met the man. There’s no reason to be jealous. This is about my work. It isn’t about you, or Mueller, or—”

  “Like hell it isn’t. You played your cards wrong, sweetheart. After a night in bed with me, you can forget the romantic, private gourmet lunch with another man. Just…fucking…forget it.”

  The possessive fury that emanated from him was like a blast of wind in her face. He advanced on her. She backed up. The wall bumped into her back. “Stop, Connor,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Good. Be nervous. That’ll make two of us, and I wouldn’t mind some company.”

  “Connor, I—”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight. If you so much as have to pee, I am following you into the ladies’ room. That is how serious I am about this. You reading me? Are we finally communicating?”