Warrior Without Rules

by Nancy Gideon

  He’d changed into a pair of dark slacks and a cabled sweater, but there was nothing casual about his stance or his ever moving gaze. Ten years had passed and he still made her heart beat with a crazy, out-of-sync rhythm. She’d seen better looking men, men with the features of an Adonis who had feet of clay. It wasn’t about perfection. That wasn’t what made Zachary Russell so compelling.

  To a critical eye, he was average in appearance, average height, average looks, nothing, at least outwardly, to set him apart. He wore his brown hair buzzed nearly to the scalp, perhaps in defiance of a receding hairline or maybe in indifference to it. His nose was crooked, his mouth too thin except when he unleashed an occasional and always surprisingly wide and white smile. He had nice eyes, intelligent, kind, she’d thought at first, and changeable the way hazel eyes had a tendency to be. And he had a jaw like granite, stubborn, often stubbled, squared and fitting a face on Mount Rushmore.

  No, there was nothing spectacular about his features, just a pleasant arrangement that was not unappealing. What set Zachary Russell apart, what made her pulse skip and leap like a child’s game of hopscotch, was the total package.

  The man reeked of charisma. He had a way, with his direct gaze, of conveying an intensity, a strength, a confidence that both overwhelmed and reassured. His silky, accented voice held just the right amount of authority backed with reasonableness. His body language was all bold, male assertiveness with nothing to prove, no one to impress. But by heaven, he impressed her. Right from the start.

  Ten years had passed. Time had been both kind and cruel. He still wore the same sleek air of sophistication the way he donned his expensive wardrobe. Casually, comfortably. There was still compassion in his gaze but also a ruthlessness that could suppress other more forgiving emotions. There was now a harshness in the angles of his face, making him more formidable than magnetic. And scars, she’d noticed, beneath his right eye and on his chin. To match the one he’d have on his hand. He’d been a consummate professional ten years ago. Whatever had transpired in that interim decade had made him into a deadly and decisive force. She wondered a bit guiltily how much of that change had been her fault. Now he was a man of narrow smiles that never reached his eyes, one of strict rules and unforgiving principles. One who’d allow no harmless flirtations.

  The camera whirled, happily capturing her wistful expression. That look stiffened when she noticed Veta sizing up her security competition. Her friend crossed over to Russell, her movements contrived to seduce and conquer. Many a man had made the mistake of underestimating Veta Chavez. They saw only the lush body and alluring features and not the steel of the woman within. Zach gave her a brief glance, but true to his word, refused to be distracted. They spoke, whether of the job or of the past, Toni could only guess. All she knew was when Veta’s red-tipped finger drew a line down the center of Zach’s chest to gain his attention, she was drawing a different sort of battle boundary, one Toni couldn’t cross. She could compete with her older companion in realms of business and social situations, but when the stakes took a turn toward the intimate, Toni was quick to cash in and back out.

  “Toni, you lost it there.”

  Sensitivity to her moods was what made Bryce Tavish extraordinary behind the lens. He was temperamental but a genius at the same time, and Toni enjoyed working with him. They were friends as well as business professionals. “Shall we take a quick break? Rufus, there’s enough glare off her skin to give me a sunburn.”

  While one of the makeup people touched up a shiny spot on her forehead, another one of the assistants approached with a flat mailer envelope. Without a second thought, she took it and tore open the end. Anything to distract her from the cozy conversation going on back in the shadows. There was a garment inside the envelope. A pullover top made of an electric blue spandex. Something from advertising, perhaps. But the sleeve was torn and there were rust stains on it. With a puzzled frown, she began to examine it more closely. Somehow, it looked familiar, like something she might have worn. There was a piece of paper tucked inside the neck line. She unfolded it and with the block printed words upon it, all else crumpled.

  WHERE’S THE MONEY?

  A sudden suffocating tightness closed about her throat. Her hands convulsed about the bright stretchy fabric.

  She had worn it.

  Those weren’t rust stains.

  She tried to draw a breath. The sound strangled in her chest. Over the engulfing roar in her ears she heard Zach Russell’s harsh command.

  “Get the bloody hell out of my way.”

  She tried to swallow and felt herself choke as if something was wedged in her airway. The package fell from her hands, the note fluttering from numbed fingers. An odor of dank earth and the sensation of cold preceded a swelling blackness so complete, she never felt Zach catch her on her way to the floor.

  Chapter 3

  Antonia Castillo sat on the windswept terrace oblivious to the outward temperature as she watched the white-capped waves below. The elements paralleled her mood, cold, agitated and forbidding. She didn’t turn at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind. For a long moment, Veta stood at her side without speaking. Finally, she asked the expected.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure, fine, peachy. I need a cigarette.”

  Veta passed over the contraband with a pack of matches and waited for Toni to struggle with the cutting wind to light it. After a deep draw, Toni stared in disgust at the shaky state of her hand. She wasn’t fine. Nowhere close.

  “Do you want one of your pills?”

  That was Veta. No time wasted on sympathy or sentiment. Right to the practical solution.

  “No, I do not want a pill,” she snapped, denying the lure of that blanking peace of mind and spirit. “I need to be able to think. Where’s Russell?”

  “Reading the staff the riot act, I believe. A little late for that now, don’t you think? Toni, we don’t need him here. We can handle this in house.”

  That was her father talking. Don’t involve outsiders. Take out your own trash. Family business is family business. She took another drag on the cigarette, letting its harshness distract from the bitter taste of those edicts.

  Her voice was low and strung with steel. “I need him here, Veta. I don’t expect you to understand or agree but I need to know that you’re with me, too.”

  Veta was her strength. The role model she’d looked up to since she was a child, the savior who’d ended part of her nightmare with a single shot, the cooler head and constant support she’d needed to assume her mother’s place. She was more than an assistant, more than her security, more than a friend, more than her advisor. If Toni had pressed her to put a name to their relationship, she would say with typical brevity, family.

  Veta bent to loop her arms about Toni’s shoulders in an uncharacteristic outward show of solidarity. The gesture wound about Toni’s heart with equal warmth. “You know I am. Just the way it’s always been. Whatever you want, Toni. I’ll play nice. It’s a big sandbox.”

  That coaxed a smile. And released a huge pent-up load of anxiety. She was not alone. Toni patted her friend’s arm. “Thanks.”

  “Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on Russell to make sure he’s doing his job. I can’t say that I’m impressed so far.”

  Toni chuckled reluctantly. “Leave Russell to me. You watch my back.”

  She straightened and stepped to an impersonal distance. “He’s all yours.”

  From the sudden chill in Veta’s tone, Antonia guessed her companion’s nemesis had finished dressing down her entourage and was coming to lecture her on the facts of life as dictated by Zachary Russell. She took another puff from Veta’s imported cigarette and shot a fierce jet of smoke full steam ahead.

  “So, what did you find out?” she demanded as Russell replaced Veta on her left.

  He delivered the news in a flat monotone. “Prestamped and addressed from drop-off box downtown. No way to trace it. I’ll have it checked fo
r fingerprints just in case our friend was careless.”

  “He won’t be.”

  Zach’s silence said he didn’t think so either. He didn’t ask how she was doing, coming even more quickly to the point than Veta. It would have been nice to know he cared.

  “In the future, you accept nothing yourself. Not packages, not phone calls, not visitors. Everything goes through me.”

  “Rule One.”

  “Exactly. Your employees have been advised of that, as well.” A pause then right to the heart of it. “Tell me about the blouse.”

  Toni sucked a deep gulp of frigid air to help maintain her calm front. “I was wearing it when I was kidnapped.”

  His voice softened imperceptibly. “And the bloodstains on it?”

  “Mine, I think.” She closed her eyes, mentally flinching as she recalled the harsh slap in the van and the coppery taste that filled her mouth.

  “I’ll have it tested.” He put up his hand to ward off her protest. “No worries. Strictly off the records and low key. A favor from a friend.” Then his look grew more serious. “Who took it off you?”

  “That’s a dead end. Literally.” She took another pull off the cigarette. The palsied tremor in her hand belied her cool summation.

  “So, who would have kept it for ten years? And why? Where would it have been?”

  “A souvenir? A trophy? I don’t know.” Frustration built in her tone as she considered the possibilities. “The other man was never caught. Maybe he was just biding his time until I came into money since he couldn’t get any from my father the first time around.” A patient premeditation. Where’s the money? Her worst nightmare come true. “If only I knew what he wanted.”

  “You need to cancel tomorrow night’s party.”

  Her reply was automatic. “No.”

  “So many people coming and going and in the house makes you more vulnerable.”

  She twisted in the chair to look up at him. He was staring out over the lake, his expression as inviting as those cold waters. “No. Hire more guards. Increase security. That’s your job. My job is business as usual. I will not hide from this man. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.”

  But she was. And no matter how much bravado she flung up between them, he had to know it.

  “We’ll compromise. Throw your shindig tomorrow but no press conferences, no public appearances thereafter. Low profile, just like you said. I can’t cover all bases if you’re the center of attention in a crowd.”

  Her acceptance was purely practical. “All right.”

  Zach squinted at her, doubting her sincerity. “No public PR things in Mexico, no opportunities for the bad guys to get close to you.”

  She shivered slightly. “Deal.”

  “In. Out. Back to business.”

  When she lifted the cigarette for another pull, Zach intercepted the movement, plucking the half smoked filter tip from her hand. He took one last long draw from it himself before flicking it away.

  “Those are bad for you.”

  His bland pronouncement was the last straw for this already broken camel. “Bad for me? Having someone stalk and terrorize me is bad for me.”

  “But you can’t control that. You can control what you choose to do to yourself. Like taking unnecessary risks with people who don’t really matter.”

  “Thank you Dr. Freud. And I’ll thank you to remember your own Rule Three. My personal habits are none of your concern, Russell, so back the hell off.”

  His level gaze never flickered. “They are if they make my job more difficult.”

  “Deal with it.”

  “My rules. My way.”

  Their stares battled for supremacy, then she finally relented with a stiff “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “Good girl. Now, what’s on your plate for the rest of the day?”

  With her thoughts and emotions so embroiled in the past, it was hard to focus on the hours of the day that remained. She took a deep breath to clear her mental slate. “About three hours worth of business calls. Nothing that you’d care to sit through.”

  “Your agenda is my agenda. Don’t feel you have to entertain me.”

  “That was nowhere near the top of my list of concerns.”

  A faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t have to hurt my feelings.”

  Because she was thinking how seriously sexy that small smile made him, Toni’s reply cracked with irritation. “As if that could happen.”

  His features settled back into their impassive lines.

  Sighing with aggravation, she pushed up out of the chair. “Well, come on, then. Time to get back to work.”

  And work she did. Tirelessly. Aggressively. With a level of determination and energy that exhausted him as he watched and said nothing.

  She had an office on the second floor that capped one end of the house. Three sides were glass. Instead of conventional heavy wood, the furniture was a light, airy wicker and the cushions splashed with bold colors. He stretched out on a surprisingly comfortable chaise while she made her calls to everyone from distributors, trucking companies and printers to talk show hosts, sport and fashion magazine editors discussing the move, the new spring merchandise and her succession to the throne of power. With her calendar and Rolodex flipping, she set up appointments in L.A., New York, and Dallas in the upcoming months and, true to her word, canceled those in Mexico. She treated each individual with charm, respect and an underlying authority. She was very good at her job. Zach had to wonder why her father worried. The company was obviously in loving and capable hands.

  Because the sight of her against the backdrop of the setting sun made a picture too achingly beautiful to behold for long, Zach closed his eyes, letting the crisp cadence of her voice become music to his weary soul. He stirred restlessly on the lounge, shifting to find a level of comfort that escaped him. His hand throbbed meanly. His eyes ached with the gritty burn of too little sleep but real slumber was a distant luxury he couldn’t afford. Instead, he eased into the twilight state that served him while in the field when the ability to hear an enemy coming was the only thing that kept him alive. Dozing lightly on the edge of awareness, he considered the puzzle of his situation.

  Why had Castillo requested his return? The man had done everything within his considerable power to have Zach dismissed from his position. Dereliction of duty and gross incompetence. The shame of it still burned like the sting of Jack’s neat stitches. Ten years ago. He’d been so green. His first big assignment. And nearly his last. If it hadn’t been for the respect his superiors had held for his father, he might have ended up selling those shoes the lovely Ms. Castillo manufactured.

  And yet Castillo had sought out Jack, asking him to use his connections to find him in whatever hell hole he’d buried himself for the sake of Queen and country. He wasn’t an easy man to find. He’d left above board intelligence work behind shortly after the fiasco with Antonia Castillo, sinking deeper and deeper into the covert mire until he was no longer sure which agency pulled the strings. But he never once wavered from his course. His were no longer the slick, debonair James Bond-type assignments, but he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty for a good cause. As long as that cause allowed him a measure of justice. He was realistic enough to know that was all he would ever get.

  Jack’s offer of a job had taken him by surprise. Jack Chaney was one of the very few who understood Zach’s true motives and knew they had nothing to do with the Royals or the Union Jack or duty or politics. It was something much closer, more personal than that. He touched the diamond stud he wore in his earlobe, twisting it the way he did when he needed a reminder of why he lived on a dangerous razor’s edge for weeks, sometimes months, coming back to the only place he could vaguely call home to stay long enough to wash the grime and gore down the drain. Where he’d pretend for whatever hours that he could snatch away that he really was the urbane sophisticate his neighbors believed him to be. They’d never believe the truth. It was an
illusion he protected zealously, a part of his heritage he couldn’t surrender.

  He’d agreed to Jack’s request. The why was a complex issue. The easy answer, the one that would ride comfortably upon his conscience, was because Jack had asked him. There was precious little he wouldn’t do in the name of their rare friendship. But it wasn’t Jack. And it wasn’t whatever Victor Castillo might think he was owed. It was for the girl with the shell-shocked eyes and victimized body who now wore the mask of normalcy as well as he did.

  And for her, he would put aside his own agenda, if only for a little while, if only to give ease to that trauma he’d witnessed, but she’d had to survive.

  It was hard to concentrate with him in the room.

  Toni’s glance touched upon his relaxed features. She knew he wasn’t sleeping. Behind the closed eyelids spun a busy mind, probably calculating the security avenues he’d have to take to put a lock down on the nightmare of tomorrow’s party. All business, all the time. That was Zach Russell. Even then.

  The next number she needed to call was on the card before her, but she wasn’t looking at it. She was looking back.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen him in the foyer below. He’d been young, mid-twenties, but already with such a foundation of control and potential. Polite, reserved yet capable of charming with a flash of that rare smile. He’d been so different from the other stoic automatons, she couldn’t help being drawn to him. They were there to escort father and daughter to a business meeting in London. She didn’t know what her father’s business there entailed. She never asked. She’d grown up surrounded by his secrets and his security in one form or another so she didn’t question the reasons why.

  Glad for the distraction on what she considered a dreary trip, she insisted that the young and fiercely dedicated agent be assigned to her. She’d flirted with Russell mercilessly, determinedly, and though he retained a careful distance, he’d never made her feel foolish in her infatuation. He hadn’t encouraged her, but she hadn’t needed any. Despite what her father would later claim, he’d done nothing inappropriate. He just done…nothing. He hadn’t provoked her dangerous response to his horribly proper rebuff. It wasn’t his fault that he’d broken her heart, damn him and that stiff British civility.