by Dinah McCall
“Mr. Calderone…I trust you are well?”
Calderone’s upper lip curled. “As well as can be expected in such a hideous place.”
Hollister nodded, as if in total understanding, when in fact he was not. Except for the times when he was forced to come to places such as this to confer with his clients, he had never had the pleasure of the accommodations, and for that he continually thanked God. He started to speak, then noticed the guard was still in the room.
“We require privacy, sir,” he said shortly.
The guard stood his ground. “I’ve got my orders.”
Hollister gestured at the room in which they were sitting. “And Mr. Calderone has his rights, not the least of which is privacy with counsel. As you can see, there are no windows in this room, and I’ve already been searched, so I’ll trouble you to step outside…and close the door behind you.”
The guard hesitated, well aware that the lawyer was within his rights to make such a demand, then turned and walked out of the room.
Calderone waited until he heard the lock turn in the door, then he looked at Hollister.
“You have news?”
Hollister frowned, then put a finger to his lips, as if to indicate silence.
Calderone shrugged. “What more can they do to me, arrest me?” Then he laughed aloud at his own joke as Hollister sat down with a thump.
“I don’t know how long we have, so I’ll make this quick. Your dog…the one who’s gone missing…is nowhere to be found.”
The analogy to Jonah Slade was not lost on Calderone, but the message was not what he wanted to hear. He bolted to his feet, a curse yet to be uttered, when Hollister waved his hands, gesturing for Calderone to calm.
“This is not possible,” Calderone said. “I sent my best man.”
“Yes, well, obviously his best wasn’t good enough. The report I received was that your dog is gone, and no one seems to know where.” Then he added, “Appearances can change. You saw him as one thing, others might see him as another.”
The reference to the man’s undercover work was obvious, and the truth rankled. It was true that Calderone had known the man only as Juan Diego Rivera, a Mexican-American mercenary. And it was also true that he had no idea what the man looked like beneath his long hair and beard, but thanks to the Snowman, he did know his name. And the Snowman had assured him that he could identify Jonah Slade, no matter what his disguise. But now this. It was not to be borne.
Calderone closed his eyes in frustration, and as he did, he flashed on the sight of Alejandro’s head bursting from the impact of the bullet. He moaned, then closed his eyes and started muttering beneath his breath.
The flesh on the back of Hollister’s neck began to crawl, but he stayed his ground. When Calderone finally looked up, Hollister was prepared for almost anything but Calderone’s smile and ensuing shrug. In a way, that response was more frightening than the fit he’d been about to throw only moments before.
“So he’s gone,” Calderone said. “But his pup is not. Tell Elena to go ahead with the rest of the plan. She’ll know what to do. And when she comes next, you must come with her.”
Hollister frowned. “Do you think that’s wise…trying to pass her off as a nun? If she’s found out, everything is going to blow up in our faces.”
Calderone’s smile widened as he leaned across the small table. Hollister’s nostrils flared as he smelled the man’s breath and wondered if the devil himself would smell any worse.
“You do what you’re told,” Calderone said, then added, “and make sure the prison doctor has been taken care of.”
For years, Abraham Hollister had ignored the evil in Miguel Calderone because his greed was greater than the sum of his fears. But right now, what he saw in Calderone’s eyes was enough to make him sick. It was all he could do to keep his seat.
“Of course,” Hollister said, and began shuffling papers from the table back into his briefcase. “I’ll be in touch.”
Calderone leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell them to take good care of that pup. I will be the one to put it down.”
Hollister nodded, then strode to the door and gave it a quick thump. Seconds later, the guard was inside and escorting Calderone back to his cell.
All the way back to his hotel room, Hollister kept fighting an urge to throw up. He wondered how far he could run on the money he had, and how long it would take to get lost enough, then shook off the thought. There was no need dwelling on the impossible.
No one ever escaped from the padrone.
No one.
Ever.
The only escape from Miguel Calderone was in death, and Hollister wasn’t ready to take that trip.
The rat was back, sitting at the foot of Evan’s bed while Evan sat in the corner of the room, watching the rat’s beady eyes and nose whiskers twitch as it nibbled on a crust of bread left from the untouched tray near the door.
Evan called him Howard, although he wasn’t sure of the rodent’s sex. It might be a Harriet, for all he knew, but he didn’t want to find out that his first time sleeping with a female had turned out to be with this damned rat. The humor of the situation kept him sane when he wanted to let go. Already weak from lack of food and certain he had fever, it would be so easy to give up.
Instead he pulled his knees up under his chin and then rested his forehead against them, making himself ignore the tins of food on the tray and the single plastic spoon. It was his kidnappers way of assuring him that the food was no longer drugged, but it had become a point of honor that they would not control what he did. They obviously wanted him to eat. There had been numerous confrontations with the same dark-skinned guard over just that, but Evan stood his ground. He’d seen their faces, so it stood to reason they wouldn’t let him live. While he didn’t understand why this had happened to him, his refusal to do what they wanted was his only weapon.
Suddenly there was a sound at the door.
“Leaving the sinking ship?” he muttered, as Howard bailed off the bed and ran for the hole in the floor.
Moments later the door opened, but it wasn’t the guard who came in. It was a woman, and from the look on her face, she was pissed. She glanced down at the tray, then across the room at him. The left corner of her mouth turned up in a gesture of disdain right before she kicked the tray and its contents. Cans went flying, as did the tray itself. When she started toward him, the plastic spoon crunched beneath the sole of her boot.
Evan flinched at the sound, then dragged himself to an upright position. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he pushed it back, making himself focus on the hate in her eyes.
“You!”
Her demand for his attention was full of anger. Evan lifted his chin, bracing himself for whatever came next.
“You will eat now.”
“Or you’ll kill me?” Evan drawled. “Go ahead and get it over with.”
The woman slapped his face. The force of the blow sent him reeling back against the wall. The male guard dashed into the room, yelling something in Spanish. Evan got just enough of the conversation to learn that they were supposed to be keeping him safe. She turned on the man, her hand on the handle of a knife that she wore on a belt around her waist. Moments later, the man ducked his head and left.
Evan waited, wondering why she had power over these men, wondering if she was the one behind the murders, and wondering why.
The woman picked up a can of peaches, popped the tab top and thrust it under his nose. Suddenly her voice was soft and crooning, the tone she might have used if coaxing a small child to eat.
“Smell this, niño? Is good, verdad?”
Saliva flooded his mouth. He had to swallow before he could talk.
“Probably,” he said.
She smiled. “Then you eat.”
“No.”
A frown split the smoothness of her forehead, right between her eyebrows. She pushed the can toward his mouth. He shoved it away, spilling the contents onto
the floor between them. Her anger spilled with it, as she grabbed at the hilt of her knife.
“Is this it?” Evan asked. “Was that to be my last meal? Are you to be my executioner?”
It was the disdain in his voice that stayed her hand, coupled with a reminder of what would happen to her if she ruined her padrone’s plans for personal revenge.
“Why you not eat?” she asked. “It is not tainted.”
“I see your face,” Evan said.
The frown deepened. “I do not understand,” she said.
What was left of Evan’s defiance suddenly rose and flooded over. Within seconds, he was shouting. His words brought a pair of guards running into the room, but by then he didn’t care.
“You don’t understand? You don’t understand? No, you stupid bitch…I’m the one who doesn’t understand. You killed my mother. You killed my grandfather. And you let me see your faces. Kidnappers do not reveal themselves to victims that they plan to let go. Get it? This place stinks…just like you people. You’re going to kill me sooner or later. Maybe I prefer it to be sooner.”
The woman’s face flooded with rage. She understood enough English to know she’d been insulted several times over. At that moment, the last thing on her mind was displeasing Miguel Calderone. She grabbed for her knife, but the guards grabbed her instead, dragging her kicking and screaming out of the room. The door was pulled shut. The lock was turned. Suddenly Evan was alone again. He glanced toward the hole in the floor.
“Hey, Howard, you can come out now. The witch is gone.”
But the rat chose to make no appearance, and Evan chose to sit down before he fell. He slid downward, his butt thumping solidly as he hit the floor. The scent of peaches was now mixed with the ever-present dust and the constantly growing stench of body waste accumulating in the tiny bathroom.
He wasn’t sure, but it was either his third or fourth day in hell, and he wondered how much longer before it was over.
Sometime during the night he awoke, stiff and cold from sitting on the floor. With considerable effort, he finally rolled over on his hands and knees and crawled to the bed. There was a scuffling noise somewhere beneath it, but it didn’t even faze him.
When he was a kid, he used to dream of monsters hiding under his bed, waiting to come out and eat him, but now he knew that to be false. The real monsters were on the other side of the locked door, waiting to steal his breath.
With a soft, muffled sob, he closed his eyes and rolled up in a ball. Within seconds he was asleep and dreaming of a man who looked like him, and who came in a wall of dust and flame, kicking in the door while slaying all the monsters. And in the dream, Evan knew him and called him Father, and all was right with the world.
It was dark now. Jonah had given up waiting for Carl French to arrive but was too heartsick to sleep. He walked past the command center in Declyn Blaine’s office and wondered what the old son of a bitch would say if he saw his antique cherry-wood tables littered with all the electronic equipment and files that the feds had accumulated.
Earlier, he’d heard Ruger calling the hospital. Not only was Blaine still on the mend, but he’d been taken out of intensive care and put into a private room with a round-the-clock nurse to tend to his every need.
The knowledge that the least innocent person in this whole affair was probably going to be the one to survive only served to resurrect old anger and hate. Suddenly the need to see Macie overwhelmed him. He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and then hurried into her room.
She was sitting on the side of the bed, holding a picture of Felicity and Evan. When she saw Jonah, she shoved the picture in a drawer on the nightstand, then stood.
“Macie…I—”
“Hold me,” she begged, and walked into his arms.
“Jesus,” he said softly, and pulled her close, tunneling one hand beneath the tangle of her hair and cupping her neck, while centering his other hand in the middle of her back.
She was so close, and still not close enough. Her pulse was rapid—almost too rapid. Her breath was coming too fast, and it felt as if she was swaying on her feet.
“Macie…”
She moaned softly, so softly he almost didn’t hear the sound.
“Look at me, baby,” he said softly.
Macie shuddered, then lifted her head.
“Take a deep breath and then exhale slowly.”
“But I—”
“Please…for once, just do as I say without arguing.”
Macie leaned forward and closed her eyes, then rested her forehead against the breadth of his chest.
One deep breath in.
One slow breath out.
Then she repeated it again and again until the floor began to settle beneath her feet.
“Better now?” Jonah asked.
She nodded.
“Would you like something to eat? I could call Rosa and have her bring you a tray.”
Silence. Then a shifting of her body that brought her closer within his embrace. He waited for her to answer. It didn’t happen.
“Macie?”
Then she looked up. “Lock my door.”
“But why—”
She put her hand on his mouth, silencing his question before he could finish, then stared straight into his eyes.
“Jonah, if I asked you to do something for me, would you?”
Jonah’s head was reeling. The softness of her skin, the fullness of her lower lip, that sleepy, half-awake look in her eyes, made him want. Made him want her. Made him want her hard and fast. Even though he knew he was going to say yes, the skin suddenly crawled on the back of his neck, as if warning him against what was to come.
Still, he nodded.
She sighed then, as if relieved by his answer.
He felt the warmth of her breath and wanted to kiss her again, just as he had before. But she was no longer asleep, and the familiarity seemed awkward. It had already occurred to him that he’d bedded one sister and given her a child. That he was attracted to this one as well seemed wrong. He waited for her to continue, then frowned when a lengthy silence began.
There was a slight crease between Macie’s eyebrows, and her chin had begun to tremble. He heard her breath quicken as she lifted her hand and laid it on his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. When he felt the brush of her mouth against his lips, he jerked.
“Jonah…”
“What, baby?”
“Make love to me.”
It was a question right out of the best dream he’d ever had and the last thing he had expected her to say. He looked down at her, studying the intensity of her expression. His first instinct was to take her to bed without questioning the gift, but his conscience wouldn’t let him take advantage of what he considered a request that came out of her distress.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
She frowned. “Do you mean…wouldn’t I rather be a good girl and take the rest of the sleeping pills the doctor left? If so, then the answer is no. As it is, I’ve already spent too many days with grief and death. You don’t have to pretend you care for me. Just help me remember what it feels like to be alive.”
Jonah felt as if she’d punched him in the gut. Her honesty hurt in a way he wouldn’t have believed. There was no denying he wanted her, but touching her now in that way, when she was so vulnerable and so hurt, was wrong—plain wrong.
Still, he leaned forward, centering a kiss on her mouth that left them both aching and wanting more. Reluctant to turn loose of her, he trailed kisses down the side of her cheek, then nuzzled her neck just beneath her ear. For the rest of his life, he knew the scent of lilac-scented shampoo was going to make him want to cry.
“God…Macie, I—”
She tensed, and he felt it, and in that moment he changed what he’d been going to say.
“Damn,” he muttered, then cupped her face with both hands. “I should have the guts to tell you no, but I don’t. God forgive me, but I can’t pretend I do
n’t want you.”
She smiled, then reached for his hand to lead him to bed.
“Wait,” he said, and then added, “you’ve got to promise me something.”
Macie’s heart was still hammering from the kiss they’d shared. Right then she would have promised him whatever he asked.
“Anything.”
“In the morning…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t hate me…or yourself.”
Her eyes darkened. “Oh, Jonah…don’t you know?”
“Know what?” he asked.
“I could never hate you. Before, you only saw me as a child, but I was thirteen and falling in love…in love with you. You were my first love, Jonah. When you left and never came back, it broke my heart. I don’t know what I feel for you now, but I can guarantee it’s nothing close to hate.”
Guilty that he’d been so oblivious to a girl hovering on the edge of womanhood, he cupped her face and then feathered a kiss across her brow.
“Forgive me, sweetheart. I didn’t know.” Then he thrust his fingers into her hair, letting the weight and the silken tangles of it pull him farther away from sanity. “If I was cruel to you, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. When I left, I was blindsided by what Felicity told me and hurting in a way you could never understand.”
“Then make it up to me now,” Macie begged. “We can pretend, just for tonight, that there’s nothing more important than the pleasure of each other.”
Jonah tore himself away from her long enough to turn the lock on her door. He turned around, then stopped, still giving her the time and the distance to change her mind.
Instead she began to take off her clothes. Seconds later, she was naked and waiting.
One minute Jonah felt as if he’d been stomach-punched, and then his heartbeat hit an all-time high. He crossed the floor in two strides, lifted her off her feet and then laid her on the bed. For a long, silent moment he stood there, staring at the beauty of her body and the hunger in her eyes.
