by Stacy Gail
But the rush to lose himself in mindless, hot sex with Sara—a living goddess if there ever was one—had an unforeseen and debilitating side effect. He’d had an entire year to lament how he hadn’t taken the time to savor the taste of her, or embed the feel of her porcelain-pale skin into his nervous system. He had no clue what her statuesque body looked like beneath the rigid, unflattering black and white uniform she wore while on the job, and he could only imagine what her straight fall of hair would feel like sifting through his fingers.
Transplanted a world away from her, this lack of knowledge had grown from a wistful desire to an all-consuming obsession. She was better off not knowing a man like him, he knew that. But he also knew he’d go nuts if he didn’t find out these mysteries that made up Sara Savitch.
When she didn’t resist him—or at least break his jaw—Gideon grew bolder, taking a velvety soft earlobe into his mouth while tangling his fingers in the cool tresses of her ponytail.
Ah. Heaven.
Her hands landed on his waist, neither pulling him close nor pushing him away. She couldn’t have made it any plainer that she didn’t know what the hell to do with him. “Wait. I’m ticklish there.”
“I remember.” He considered telling her the memory of her had kept him sane when he’d needed it the most, and alive when he didn’t necessarily want to be. The words wouldn’t come, because they were too close to a festering darkness he wasn’t ready to vent. Instead he palmed the back of her head and guided her mouth to his. With any luck, she’d be able to figure out what she’d meant to him through touch alone.
The moment his mouth captured hers, a floodgate of dazzling rightness opened up to swamp his senses. Her spicy scent filled him until he didn’t want to breathe anything else. Her lips molded against his like hot wax, scorching him with a heat he yearned to bathe in forever. And her taste...
When her mouth opened under his, Gideon shuddered as the primitive force of desire slammed him senseless, a deep and edgy hunger unfurling in the pit of his gut to make the sensitized flesh behind his zipper throb. Her taste was stormy and hot and so addictive he wanted to stay this way for the next century or two. There was no way he could want anything else, when the staggering flavor that was Sara enslaved him and the sinuous dance of her tongue made the world melt away. If the memory of her had gotten him through the worst kind of hell, the reality of her was enough to convince him there must be a heaven, if only to be found in her arms.
Arms that were pushing him away.
Arms that were turning him out of heaven on earth.
“Sara.” Her name escaped him like a plea when she pulled her mouth from his. But damn it, he couldn’t stop himself. The loss of its stormy heat just might kill him. “Why?”
“I never make the same mistake twice.” Her breath was satisfyingly jagged, and with her face flushed and lips swollen from the pressure of his, she looked as pained as he felt at the distance between them. “I refuse to give you another weapon to hold over my head.”
He winced. Damned if she didn’t have him there. “I’m done with that.”
“Yeah. Sure you are. You’ve just suddenly had a change of heart, right?”
“More like a clearing up of one.” The scoff she offered was a bitter sound, and in all fairness he couldn’t blame her for it. “I’m still not thrilled you’re on bodyguard detail, but I’m trying to accept that you’re here and nothing’s going to change that.”
The impassive mask was locked in place so tightly her face looked as if it had been carved in stone. “The only thing you need to accept is that I’m more of a warrior than you could possibly know, and I’m more than capable of doing this job. Your father is safe with me and my team.”
He couldn’t stop the wry curling of his mouth if his life depended on it. “So you really think you’re tough stuff, huh?”
She didn’t return the smile. “No. I know I am. What you think to the contrary is irrelevant.”
“Look, I know the way I tried to get rid of you was less than kosher—”
“You’re a real master of the understatement, aren’t you?”
“There’s something inside me that needs to protect you.” Both from the dangers of the case, and from the taint that thrived within his own soul, though he’d never tell her that.
“Protecting people is both my job, and my birthright. I’m good at it.” A faint softening crossed her poker face. “You’re not, if that’s how you think you’re supposed to do it.”
“I’m still getting my feet under me. That’s not an excuse, that’s a statement of fact,” he added when she looked away in apparent disbelief. “I’m a different man than I was a year ago, Sara. There are times when I don’t even know myself. But I do know this—I still want you. With everything in me, I want you more than my next breath.”
She kept her eyes averted, and trying to read her expression was like trying to read the Rosetta Stone without any point of reference. “It’s irrelevant what you want. I told you that I won’t be distracted from my mission, and that’s all you are—a distraction. Until this case is resolved and your father is out of danger, nothing personal will happen between us. Not a look. Not a touch. Not a kiss. Nothing.”
Though it could have been a trick of twilight, Gideon could have sworn the world just went a deeper shade of dark. “I’d never put my father in danger by distracting you from doing your job. But do you realize this could take months? What if it never gets resolved?”
“That won’t happen.”
“You have that much faith in the authorities?”
“No.” At last her attention drifted back to him. Though her expression was calm, there was no missing the violent tempest churning in her eyes. “I’m not willing to let this drag on any more than you. That angel card showing up changes everything.”
“Angel?” Gideon frowned, baffled. “You mean the Judgment tarot card? I’m more upset that a package came directly to my father’s address, myself.”
“That is troubling, but not unexpected. That’s why I’ve had my people intercept all incoming mail from the moment we were hired.”
“Okay, so...” He searched her face and came up blank. “What does that tarot card have to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing. Then again, maybe everything.” Sara turned to head back toward the house, and every step was filled with resolve. “Just forget it, okay? All you need to know is that I’ve decided it’s time for Lynchpin to conduct an investigation of its own.”
Chapter Seven
“The Judgment card.” Sporting snazzy steampunk-inspired, copper-framed glasses and a buzz cut that often had various designs shaved into it, Montgomery Macbeth fiddled with the touchpad of his ultra-thin laptop and had the tarot picture up on the screen for the entire conference room to see. “If placed upright, this tarot card supposedly portends legal and contractual decisions in your favor. It also suggests that you should seek forgiveness in your heart for those who have wronged you. If the card is set upside down, it’s basically the reverse of that, and seriously bad news for you—losing legal battles, and anger and revenge focused your way. Translation—someone’s out to get you.”
“We already know that much.” Sitting beside KJ and her bleary-eyed, graveyard-shift team member Carter Howell, Sara stared up at the angel’s image. “We’re assuming this was sent to Noah Mandeville by the person who’s killing the transplant patients, right? So we know he or she is gunning for our client. My question is if there are any heavenly-host connotations to that specific card.”
“No, though if you have any more detailed questions about that subject, the Feds have been kind enough to offer up the services of their consultant and professor in ancient religions, Father Vargas.”
“I still can’t believe they’ve brought a priest onboard as a consultant,” Carter mumbled around a yawn. Middle-aged and as bald as old-school Kojak with a graying goatee, he looked like he was one thin hair away from dropping off to sleep. “Why would they brin
g a priest in as a consultant to a string of murders?”
Macbeth shrugged. “I still haven’t gotten through all the files, but obviously the Feds know more than we do, if they want Vargas with them. For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good call. It seems apparent there are hints of a Judeo-Christian religious message pertaining to the white dove and Judgment card.”
KJ held up a hand, classroom-style. “Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions here. Maybe there are a lot of angelic portraits depicted in a tarot deck, so having the image of an angel on that card is no biggie.”
“Angel images in the tarot are pretty rare, actually.” With a couple taps on the touchpad, Macbeth had four cards displayed onscreen as he spoke. “Out of the traditional tarot deck of seventy-eight cards, only four have depictions of angels. Of those four, only the Judgment card and the Lovers card have the angel image as a focal point.”
“It seems pretty straightforward to me—the card has nothing to do with angels. It’s a clear message that a heaping dose of judgment is coming our client’s way.” Carter frowned up at the screen, bloodshot eyes focused on the word Judgment. “The dead dove bothers me more than the card. Its message seems just as clear—death is your judgment, here’s a sneak preview.”
“Funny you should use the word message.” Macbeth tapped the touchpad. A photo of doves in a ceremonial release at a past Olympics appeared. “White doves in particular have a religious connotation as being messengers from heaven, just like angels. They also symbolize peace. With the death of a white dove, this symbolizes the death of peace, which is basically anarchy and chaos.”
Sara sighed, frustrated. “Again, we already know that. Let’s table the contents of the package for the moment. What about the packaging itself? Anything there?”
Macbeth bent over the keyboard and typed in a file name. “After, um, troubleshooting the police’s files I hit a mother lode of information, and none of it is good.”
Sara ignored the reference to troubleshooting. When it came to Macbeth’s web wanderings, the less she knew, the better. “Why do you say that?”
“Because they don’t seem to have too many leads, and it’s the same for the Feds. The packaging was all generic stuff you could pick up at any discount store.”
Carter frowned at Macbeth. “What about fingerprints, or a postmark?”
“No fingerprints, and the postmark was right here in Dallas, same zip code as Noah Mandeville’s.”
KJ whistled. “Holy shnikeys. Talk about close to home.”
“This person wants us to know they’re right under our noses.” Sara glanced at her smartphone’s screen, then set it back on the table. It was linked to Lynchpin’s specially designed security at Noah’s place, set to alert her should anything be tripped. “Aren’t there usually surveillance cameras in post offices and mailing stores? Maybe there’s a chance our guy was caught on camera.”
“Way ahead of you, boss.” Sounding smug, Macbeth brought the black and white grainy video onto the screen. “These surveillance tapes have already been looked at by the authorities, but it’s impossible to get a solid fix on this guy. All that’s known is that the person who mailed the package is an adult male between twenty and forty-five and is either a tan Caucasian, or of Hispanic, Asian, or Native American descent. Or Mediterranean or Eastern Indian, now that I think about it.”
Carter snorted. “That’s narrowing it down.”
“Can’t tell much else, with that cowboy hat and sunglasses on.” KJ squinted at the screen. “Is it me, or does that mustache look like it’s about to fall off?”
“I’m trying to grow a mustache,” Macbeth volunteered, glancing at the ladies. “I think it’ll make me look more manly.”
“What’ll make you look more manly is another five years of life under your belt,” Carter assured him. “Trust me on this, kid.”
“I’m not a fan of mustaches on guys who like to eat messy things,” KJ decided, looking at Macbeth the same way she would an interesting piece of modern art. “And I’m not all that sure you’ve got what I’d call a mustache face. What about a goatee, like Carter?”
“Don’t give him the idea to copy me, I’m an original.”
“Guys, focus.” For just a moment Sara closed her eyes. Since it felt much too good thanks to a sleepless night filled with the steamy memory of Gideon’s kiss, she forced them back open. “Did law enforcement question the mail clerk to see if there was anything distinguishing about this guy’s voice, like an accent or some sort of speech impediment?”
Macbeth shook his head. “No one remembers this guy being in there, despite seeing him on the video. Apparently his behavior was so unexceptional he might as well be a potted plant.”
KJ frowned. “The parents of the woman whose organs were donated to Noah and the others...they’re still alive, right?”
Macbeth nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s always been assumed that the murder victim who originally donated her organs was murdered by someone she knew, right? If we’re going on the assumption her murderer is also the person who’s bumping off the transplant patients, why don’t we show them this video and see if they recognize him?”
“Um.” Macbeth cringed a little, an expression so un-Macbeth-like it made even Carter’s drooping eyes widen. “Remember when I said at the beginning there was no good news to be had when it came to what law enforcement has dug up so far?”
Sara’s heart did an impression of the Titanic post-iceberg. “Just spit it out, Macbeth.”
“The Feds think they’ve cracked the original donor’s unsolved murder case.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“They’re fairly certain the doer is a guy who’s been in jail for the past four months for another assault that took place not too far from where the donor lived. It looks like a good fit.” He shrugged, as if that would somehow lessen the crushing disbelief. “The organ donor knew him—he was her mechanic, and the impact wounds she suffered are consistent with the ratchet he used on his other victim.”
“So he’s not our guy,” Carter muttered while KJ quietly consigned all ratchet-wielding monsters to the lowest pits of hell. “Damn. I really liked the idea of the killer finishing his victim off once and for all by taking down every person who’d received her organs. Where do we go from here?”
Sara’s brain was already racing ahead. She had a few ideas, but the fact was it was now anyone’s guess as to who had Noah in their sights.
* * *
Sara’s smartphone remained blessedly free of red alerts as she made her way to the Mandeville estate for her on-property shift, the least-favorite graveyard shift of midnight to eight. Normally she might have insisted on staying onsite around the clock, but the threat of Gideon’s presence made her alter her strategy, opting instead to have three eight-hour shifts working around the clock. On the surface, she’d made that choice to avoid any fatigue for her team. That sounded good, but that wasn’t really the reason she chose to go that route.
For the first time in her life, she was running from a fight.
It took a ridiculous amount of concentration to wipe the scowl from her face as she passed two Lynchpin guards at the Mandeville gate. Why she had allowed Gideon to touch her now, much less kiss her, was a complete mystery. While every ounce of logic she possessed had insisted she move the hell away from that made-for-sin mouth of his, her stupid body had decided to go offline and not recognize her commands. Instead of rejecting him as any woman with a modicum of self-respect would have, she’d all but thrown herself into the kiss like a teenager hopped up on a bad mix of hormones and sex advice from Cosmo.
Damn stupid hormones.
A sigh escaped her as she parked near the rambling Victorian and headed for the veranda steps, automatically checking her equipment of walkie-talkie, phone, 9mm and bowie knife as she went. Whether she liked it or not, there was something about Gideon that made her motor rev into overdrive. He was charismatic enough to demand
her attention without even trying. He was sexy enough to make her forget her lone-wolf lifestyle and act as if she’d been weaned on a steady diet of the Romance Channel. Then there was the way he looked at her that made her toes curl. It wasn’t just a meeting of gazes. It was as though he couldn’t find the strength to turn his eyes away from her. No woman with a pulse could be completely immune to that.
Maybe she was losing it. The line of her mouth drooped as she pulled out the key Noah had given her. After all, losing her mind was the only plausible explanation she had when it came to this inexplicable compulsion of allowing Gideon close. Even if he hadn’t already proven himself to be untrustworthy when it came to taking care of her feelings, there was also the small matter of who—and what—she was. The idea of letting Gideon in on that secret was...was...
Unthinkable.
Her brain came to a screeching halt when the door swung open before she could open it herself, revealing the man who had taken control of her every waking thought.
“’Evening, Sara. My dad told me you were taking over the graveyard shift.” And before she could get her feet unstuck from the floor, Gideon caught her hand to bring her across the threshold.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” The words blurted out before she could stop them. But for crying out loud, this was seriously unfair. She’d rearranged her whole life just to make sure she wouldn’t run the risk of bumping into him. Didn’t the stubborn man know he wasn’t following the script?
For his part, Gideon had the testicular fortitude to shoot her an innocent look. “Oh? Where should I be?”
“At home. In bed. Asleep.” She stared at the hand holding hers, watching as his thumb glided over her knuckles. For the life of her, she couldn’t begin to guess why it made her whole arm tingle. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
