Warrior Without Rules

by Nancy Gideon

  “That’s it. You’ve never been afraid of me, Toni. Dance with me. I won’t step on your toes.”

  He eased back and she followed. That was enough to encourage the loose circle of his other arm to tighten until she was leaning into him if not with complete trust, at least without objection. And he began to move with her, a slow, side to side shift, rocking her in the cradle of his arms. It was like dancing with a rag doll with only the stiff embroidery on her jacket to give her starch. He gave her time to recover, sheltering her from the curious by letting their revolutions carry them through the room and toward the full-length French doors leading out onto the empty patio.

  Music filtered out after them only to be snatched away by a gust of wintery night air. He imagined the terrace with its smooth stone slabs edged by cement benches, where carefully trimmed hedges glistened with tiny twinkle lights, would be the popular spot for summer fetes but on this blustery night, they were quite alone. He guided her carefully away from the glare of the interior lights, past the central garden with its fountain and fauna stunted by the cold. He knew exactly when awareness returned to her, awakened by the brisk evening air. Her body jerked sharply. Her fingers spasmed, knotting in his coat, threading between his in a frantic twist.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe with me.”

  Shaking her head slightly as if clearing it of sleep, she took an unsteady breath and let her tension go upon its exhalation. Then she collapsed against him, her head tucking beneath his chin, her arms burrowing inside his tux jacket to twine behind the satin back of his vest. And for a long moment she was content to remain like that, dependent upon his strength and his silent support. A rare lapse into vulnerability that reminded him acutely of another time when he held her this close to quiet her fears.

  “Don’t say anything. No one can know what happened.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone?”

  “What?” Her toned was blurred by a poignant confusion that wrenched his gut as brutally as the old memory. “Am I seeing someone? No.”

  “I mean professionally.”

  A pause. Then he felt her stiffen with understanding.

  “You mean a shrink? No.” That independent streak of toughness hardened her reply, but she didn’t relinquish her hold on him. If anything, she tunneled in closer as if to distract him from this unpleasant thread of conversation. “Why would I? I don’t need to pay some head doctor to tell me what my problem is.”

  “What’s your problem, Antonia?”

  He didn’t think she was going to answer. He didn’t need her to tell him in words. He’d seen the stark truth in her eyes inside, when terror overcame all logical responses and shut down all her resources. She’d been one of the walking wounded, shell-shocked, battered, broken and far from healed. But the physical scars weren’t the ones she choose to address when she leaned back just far enough to look up into his face. Hers was as pale as a piece of statuary but her dark-centered gaze was hot in contrast to the icy breeze. She recovered way too fast and was far too good at covering up for any obvious transgressions.

  “My problem, Russell, is guys who stick to the rules.”

  Her hands slid up the slippery sides of his vest, tracking its lapels until they reached the warmth of his neck. Her fingertips brushed along the channel of his throat, riding the sudden gallop of his pulse.

  “I’ve wanted to do more than dance with you, Zach.”

  Temptation, hot and sweet, nearly drowned him in the long, languid moment it took for her to rise up ever so slowly on her toes, stretching up to take from the suddenly mindless slackening of his mouth. He felt the first exquisitely soft touch of her lips, breathed in the fragrant intoxication of her champagne-laced breath. And just as his eyes grew heavy lidded in surrender, reason served up a swift, ruthless slap.

  He reared back, blinking away the blinding passion for what he knew was madness to desire.

  He’d almost—

  And she knew it.

  And that made his last-ditch rejection all the more bitter for her pride to swallow.

  “Thanks for the dance.” Her voice sounded rusty but her stare was a whetted blade.

  Before he could catch her, she spun out of his arms heading, not for the safety of the house, but for the unwelcoming darkness skirting the patio. She disappeared, leaving him to curse both his reaction and his lack of proper response that had hurt her yet again.

  He hadn’t brought a light and the blackness between the patio and the shimmer of the lake some 180 feet below was a complete unknown. He’d have to go after her. And while he searched that impenetrable darkness, he’d have to think of something to say that would ease the horrible awkwardness that passed for unrequited needs. He started to circle the stone rail, searching for an opening that would lead him after her.

  And then he heard her cry out, one muffled sound too quickly muted.

  Chapter 5

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  The word exploded with each downward step she took into darkness.

  Why was the only man who made her feel safe, the only one who could reach through the glassy pain of her past to stir feelings of normalcy, more intent on his duties than upon the desire she briefly ignited in his gaze? She’d made a fool of herself over him not once but now twice. You’d think she’d learn.

  She paused on the narrow stone stairs that cross cut the steep bank, breathing hard into her humiliation. Awareness of her surroundings seeped in with a shiver. She should go back up to where Russell would be waiting to scold her for acting like an impetuous child. Where she’d have to meet his stare and see nothing but business in those cool, assessing eyes. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Wasn’t that the way she preferred it to be?

  With every man but him.

  Why was he the only one who found it so easy to resist her? Because she was just the job? Or because he thought she was spoiled and more than a little bit loopy? She sighed unhappily. Probably both. Around him, she felt that awkward, giddy eighteen all over again.

  She remembered the way he’d looked at her on that drizzly London evening as she paraded in front of him in her blue spandex top and body hugging black leggings, coquettishly asking if he’d give her her first kiss as an adult. He’d been watching her with a tolerant amusement, but suddenly that look changed. Everything about him changed in some subtle, elemental way. His eyes had darkened to a smoky jade green that fascinated and shot a tiny electric thrill through her. And she’d taken a chance, looping her arms around his neck, reaching up for his mouth. His breath had been so warm and moist against her skin. And she’d wanted that kiss, wanted him more than anything before. Or since.

  And then he’d come to his senses, just as he had this time. Denying her the chance to taste passion. The only memories she held now had nothing to do with pleasure, only pain.

  Instead of returning to her party, she continued downward, needing the chill of the night to clear her head and a moment of isolation to gather her fragmented control. Having run these steps all her growing-up years, the darkness didn’t hinder her progress. For once, she embraced it for the anonymity it provided. She’d been in the spotlight all her life, on display for everyone to see, to judge. For the moment, she just wanted to blend in to the background, unnoticed and unremarkable.

  She reached the gravel service drive at the base of the hill. The sound of the waves created a soothing ambiance. Almost as calming as being rocked in Russell’s arms. She shook off that memory with a soft curse and started to walk. Feeling the cold more intently, she banded her arms about herself in an insulating hug.

  She heard the crunch on gravel behind her over the repetitive rush of the swells. Russell come to claim her, no doubt, come to tighten up the leash. She didn’t slow her pace. Let him catch up. Being too much the proper gentleman, he’d never bring up her inappropriate behavior beyond chiding, Rule Three, Ms. Castillo. As if she was the flighty eighteen-year-old instead of the CEO of an international company. Well, he could take his
Rule Three and—

  She felt the movement rather than heard it, the sudden push of air behind her and suddenly next to her. Something whipped over her head and pulled taut about her throat, cold, cutting into tender flesh even as she managed a startled cry. Then the ability for sound was lost as a quick tightening about her neck shut off her airway. Blackness rose apace with terror. Over the roar in her head she heard a harsh warning whispered so close to her ear she could feel the heat of her assailant’s breath.

  “You aren’t safe. He can’t protect you. Only your money can save you. Prepare to pay.”

  “Toni!”

  Zach!

  Her world spun crazily as the pressure and pain at her neck was suddenly gone. She collapsed to hands and knees on the sharp pebbled drive, gasping for breath, struggling to form his name through the raw agony in her throat.

  Bright, blinding light washed over her. She shielded her eyes with a shaky hand as silhouetted figures burst from the darkness to surround her. Hands, firm and strong, settled on her shoulders.

  “Are you all right?” Brisk, efficient, all business and wonderfully familiar.

  She managed a nod as she felt her neck and forced herself to breathe past the pain.

  “Stay here.”

  While she knelt on the gravel in her own circle of illumination, lights slashed through the darkness like a laser show. She heard Veta’s voice.

  “What happened? Where’s Toni?”

  And then her friend was there to kneel beside her, to take her into a consoling embrace.

  “Are you hurt? What were you doing down here alone? Where’s Russell?”

  Toni reacted to the anger in Veta’s voice, instinctively trying to lessen Zach’s part in her attack. “It was my fault.” The words rasped out over the broken glass that seemed to line her throat. “I needed some air. I had too much champagne.”

  “So he just let you take a stroll down here by yourself? What was he thinking?”

  “I was the one who wasn’t thinking, Veta.”

  “Well, thank God you’re all right. No thanks to your bodyguard who never seems to be where you need him.”

  Russell heard the recriminations as he approached and felt the truth of them cut harshly to his soul.

  “Sir, I found this.”

  Zach shone his borrowed flashlight’s beam on the item held out to him. It was a scrap of fabric. “Where?”

  “In the briars over there. It looks like our assailant cut through the brush when he heard us coming. Must have cut himself up pretty good.”

  Zach study the swatch of black fabric and, indeed, found traces of blood on the ragged edges.

  “Be careful with it. It’s the only fingerprint we’ve got to point us in the right direction.”

  The swirl of lights converged where he was standing. The final report was unwelcome, but what he’d expected.

  “No sign of him, sir.”

  “Party’s over. Check the guests discreetly as they leave to see if any of them are missing part of their attire.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  He glanced at the huddled figure, hearing her frightened voice in his head and allowing it to direct his actions now, as it had then. “And have them mucking about? We’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow and no time for their questions. I want a patterned sweep through here at first light to see if we can come up with anything else.”

  Only then did he turn his full attention to where Toni and Veta were getting to their feet. Toni was trembling with cold and delayed shock while Veta was cloaked in a hastily snatched man’s overcoat. Zach slipped out of his jacket and draped it about Toni’s quivering shoulders. Using his light, he studied her neck, seeing the beginnings of bruising and odd abrasions. Before he could ask, she held up a heavy necklace made of sterling. It had been used to choke her, its irregular design causing the lacerations in her skin.

  “A birthday gift from Angel Premiero,” she explained. “Callas. How almost prophetic.”

  “I gave the box to Muriel to put in your room,” Veta was saying. “With all the guests roaming around, I don’t know if we’ll be able to narrow down who might have gone in to take it.”

  “Antonia?”

  Victor Castillo burst into the gathering like a battering ram. His gaze took in his daughter’s pale features and the circling marks about her throat, then he turned furiously to Russell for an answer.

  “How did this happen?”

  “My fault,” Zach admitted stiffly. “A lapse in security.”

  “A lapse in judgment bringing you into this apparently,” he bellowed. “My daughter could have been killed.”

  Toni placed a hand upon his sleeve. “That wasn’t his intention,” she stated quietly. “It was a warning. No harm done.”

  Her father examined her neck more closely. “That’s not how it looks to me. I suppose makeup can cover those marks. No official report was called in, was it?” He glared back at Russell, concern rapidly shifting from his daughter’s well-being.

  “No, Father,” Toni answered for him, her tone flat and final. “We’ll keep it in house. No sense in stirring up publicity.” She gathered Zach’s jacket more closely about herself and started back for the stairs, leaving her father to grill Veta and the others about the lack of professionalism. She flinched slightly as Zach’s hand cupped her elbow. They began to climb together, following the pool of light he shone ahead. They’d reached the first landing before he spoke.

  “About what happened,” he began.

  She cut off his awkward apology with a wave of her hand. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen. You were right, Russell. It’s all about following the rules. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  After the always arduous preparation for international flight and the exhausting crush in the airport, the plane lifted off as scheduled with Toni’s party commandeering all of first class. Advertising and marketing hunched with sunglasses on and window shades pulled down, suffering the effects of too much party while the camera and make up people argued incessantly about the latest fashion trends and diet gurus. Usually, Toni liked to sit in the first row of seats with all the hubbub happening behind her so she could work on her lap top or dictate memos. But Russell insisted they take to row against the divider between the classes. So no one could come up behind them, she supposed. Zach plopped her in the window seat while he went to scope out the passengers and flight personnel. From her seat across the aisle, Veta, who hated to go any higher in the air than the top of three inch heels, was signaling for a preflight cocktail. She’d have a battalion of little bottles lined up before they landed.

  She took a long swallow, sighed, then turned to Toni.

  “Mateo called this morning. He can’t wait to see you.”

  “You mean us.”

  “I’m his sister. You’re his best friend. And if I’m not mistaken, he’d like the chance to change that.”

  Pretending not to understand the insinuation because it sparked a slight jump of unexpected alarm, Toni cried in mock dismay, “He doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”

  Veta snorted. “I told him he was wasting his time, that you’d never take him seriously.”

  “When is Mateo ever serious about anything?”

  “You might be surprised. Running the resort has matured him.”

  “You mean running after all the wealthy ladies staying at the resort has exhausted him.”

  “All I’m saying is look closely at the man he’s become. He’s been working very hard to be considered a success in your eyes.”

  That surprised Toni. They’d grown up together, the three of them as close as true family. “Mateo doesn’t have to impress me.”

  “Every man thinks he has to impress you,” Veta corrected, then glanced up as Russell returned from economy class. “Except that one.”

  Mood soured by that truth, Toni sat up straighter in her seat and pretended to be interested in the final boarding preparations going on outside t
he window as her bodyguard took the aisle seat beside her. She both hated and craved the sense of security that came with him situating himself between her and the rest of the world.

  “Everything all right?” She tried to make her tone nonchalant even as her hand went self-consciously to the bright designer scarf loosely knotted at her throat.

  “Fine. Buckle up.”

  As she bent to retrieve her errant lap belt, the thin leather portfolio resting on her knees slid to the floor. Both of them leaned down at the same time placing their faces in an unexpectedly close proximity. Her gaze flashed up only to be lost in the briefly unguarded intensity of his. Against the charcoal-colored wool of his coat, his eyes were as slated as the winter sky. But not cold. The heat she discovered there seared to the soul.

  Too quickly he straightened, letting her snatch the folder from his hand. As she returned to her proper upright seated position to prepare for take off, he said, “She’s wrong.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ve always impressed me.”

  With that claim, he shut his eyes and maddeningly proceeded to sleep, unmoving, until the pilot announced their descent into Mexico.

  Toni tried to work.

  In their fifth hour of the trip, crossing their third time zone, the passengers had settled into a quiet restlessness, watching a comedy movie on the small overhead screens or sleeping in awkward huddles. Too wired to do either, Toni studied the spreadsheets on her tray table.

  Was she doing the right thing? Was this what her mother would have wanted for the company?

  Her father and all his financial experts assured her that the move was the only way to save Aletta. They never seemed to see the faces of those who’d toiled their whole lives on the lines, on the docks, in the trucks, to bring their product to the consumer. Faces etched with betrayal and fear of an uncertain tomorrow. Emotions she understood. Not their responsibility, her father had said. Was that true? Perhaps, but it didn’t make it feel right.