by Anne Stuart
“Better?” He acted like he’d never kissed her. All right, she could play that game as well.
“Much,” she said, her voice slightly raw from the power of the chili peppers. “You get to do the dishes.”
“No need. We just dump them in the sink and the magic fairies will come in and take care of things after we’re gone.”
She didn’t bother to hide her outrage. “You’re going to let the dishes sit out all night?”
“As if you haven’t done the same thing,” he mocked her.
Of course she had—she hated doing dishes and her housecleaning skills were sadly lax. Only in the camper was she neat, and that was out of sheer necessity. And of course James would know that, damn him.
“Then you can put the leftover food away. And don’t tell me there’s no need for that either. Your ‘magic fairies’ might be hungry. There are children starving in China.” She brought out the old cliché deliberately.
“There are children starving in Texas, and this isn’t going to help any of them.”
“No, probably not. But we’re not wasting this.” She rose, scooping up the dirty dishes and heading into the kitchen.
He followed her, and in the tight space, so much larger than anywhere in the campers, he seemed to crowd her. He put the food in the refrigerator, and she was just about to move past him when he suddenly blocked her exit, trapping her into the corner of the kitchen counter.
“Did you wear that dress on purpose?”
Lucky she was already burning from the heat of the peppers. “What? No, of course not.”
“That’s a shame,” he said in a low voice. “Because I would so like to pull it up your long legs and find you wearing nothing underneath it.”
She swallowed. “I’ve got granny panties underneath. You’d be disappointed.”
“That would only make it more fun,” he whispered. “And I like the way your nipples stand out when you eat something that’s spicy. I’d like to lie you down on the bed and experiment with you, see what makes your nipples hard, see what makes you wet.”
She was already wet from the sound of his soft voice. Wet and burning, as if he’d put that searing mouth between her legs. He wasn’t even touching her, and she was melting, ready to fall, wanting an excuse, any excuse, to go into his arms. All he had to do was touch her and she’d give in. It was their last night, what more harm could it do, she wanted him so badly . . .
Then he moved away.
Turned his back on her and headed back to the computers, as if he’d said nothing incendiary at all. “I’ve got work to do,” he said without looking at her. “There are a bunch of movies and a portable DVD player in the first room on the right. You should find something to occupy yourself with before you head for bed. We’re going to have an early start, so don’t stay up too late.”
It wasn’t a slap in the face. It wasn’t even a gentle rejection. It was a dismissal, as if she were not worth thinking about. He had more important things to do.
And the thing was, she couldn’t fault him. Oh, she could blame him for cornering her in the kitchen, getting her all hot and bothered, but the stuff he was doing at the computer was keeping them alive.
She left the room without a word, slipping into the hall. She wasn’t going to watch movies, she wasn’t going to read, assuming she could find something that interested her. This house had everything, but a collection of good romance novels seemed unlikely, and racy sex scenes were the last thing she needed right now. Her mouth burned, her body burned, outside the thunder shook the sky, but there was nothing she could do to get through the long night but get through it, she reminded herself.
Merlin had stayed behind with James, and for just a moment she felt bereft. Merlin was as wise as his name—James was going to be up for a while. He was the one who needed company.
She closed the door behind her. She wasn’t particularly tired, but she needed some solitude. She’d forgotten to check his wound—she’d meant to breeze into the room and demand that he remove his shirt, but she’d forgotten all about it. Well, he could just fester if he was too noble to ask for help.
But he wouldn’t. This house would have everything he needed to take care of any wounds. He was probably doing better than she was, and she was almost healed.
She flopped down on the bed, limp as a rag doll, worn out by the emotions, the tension, the danger. Overhead the thunder seemed to be closing in on them, danger from the sky as well as the world around them, and she shivered in the ozone-laden air. Maybe she needed to turn down the AC. The thunder was getting on her nerves, and every now and then lightning would spear through the sky. She rolled over on her stomach, pulling the pillow over her head. She wanted her old life back. This hurt too much—she just wanted to return to her boring world in Wisconsin where James Bishop was nothing more than a distant memory. That was a damned lie—James Bishop had been with her always, every day, an empty place in her soul that nothing had ever filled. Maybe this time she could finally forget him.
And maybe children weren’t starving in China. And Texas. And everywhere, and . . .
For a moment she thought the arm that slid under her was James’s, but the hand over her mouth held a reeking cloth in it, and before she had time to strike out, she was gone, into a scary darkness as the thunder shook the world.
Chapter Sixteen
Bishop pushed himself back from the computer and grabbed another beer. He was almost tempted to take another habanero chili. All he could remember was the taste of her mouth, not the explosive heat, and he didn’t want to be thinking about her mouth. He glanced at Merlin, sound asleep beneath the computers. He’d fed him earlier—the Powers That Be at the Committee had provided the same designer dog food Evangeline used—and Merlin was conked out, as if he’d spent the day racing around, not in a cramped RV.
“Wake up, Merlin,” he said, closing the refrigerator door. “I’m surprised you haven’t been making a fuss about being with her. When I trained you to look after her, I didn’t expect you to fall in love with her.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Not that he expected conversation from Merlin, but why the fuck had the word “love” come from his mouth? And why the fuck wasn’t Merlin moving?
He crossed the room in two strides, leaning under the table to put his hand on Merlin’s neck. The dog didn’t even twitch.
Bishop wasn’t a man who panicked. He spent less than two seconds checking Merlin’s heartbeat and pupils—he was alive but heavily drugged. And then he was down the hall, crashing into Evangeline’s bedroom.
It was dark, but he already knew the bed would be empty. He turned on the light, staring at the open window. The rain had started an hour ago, but he’d barely paid any attention. It was pouring in, the wind whipping the wet curtain across the room, and for a moment he wondered whether she’d run away from him again.
He knew she hadn’t. She never would have endangered Merlin by drugging him—she would have taken him with her. How the hell had someone managed to get into the dog food? Merlin wouldn’t eat anything that didn’t come from someone he trusted, but whoever had taken Evangeline had managed to circumvent that precaution.
Taken Evangeline. The words slammed into his head as he crossed to the open window, but he could see nothing through the torrent of rain. Who? Why? Her main value had been as a way to get to him. If they found her, they found him, and a sniper’s bullet would have taken care of him. That, or blowing up the whole damned house to get rid of both of them.
Instead they’d taken Evangeline, someone who had no enemies, not even that asshole of a not-real husband who’d cheated on her and ripped off her work.
No enemies, except for Claudia, who never forgot a potential threat.
He didn’t want to waste time, but calling London was a necessary evil, and he wasn’t going to go through the computers.
Cla
udia was in the Far East, Madsen told him in the voice of a man who didn’t like to be called at the crack of dawn. He had Takashi O’Brien’s word for it.
Bishop didn’t even bother to consider what time it was in Japan. Taka picked up the phone at the first ring, and he could hear the fretful cry of a hungry baby in the background, quickly silenced. He’d lost count of how many children Taka and Summer had, and he wasn’t about to waste time asking.
“Have you seen Claudia recently?”
Taka didn’t bother with social niceties either—he recognized by Bishop’s voice that things were at a crisis level. “Not for five days. She said she was going to the mountains on Hokkaido, but there’s no way to prove it.”
“Shit.”
If Claudia had decided that Madsen’s edict against killing immediate family no longer pertained to Evangeline, then she was as good as dead. Claudia was one of the best assassins the Committee had ever had, and she had absolutely no compassion or morality. She was a true sociopath—the best kind, untroubled by emotions. She simply did the job.
Maybe she’d seen the writing on the wall, knew her days with the Committee were numbered, and she’d decided to act. She had a long memory, and she had never forgiven James for getting Evangeline out of her line of fire. Maybe Claudia had decided to make the break herself.
It wasn’t as if her skills weren’t highly marketable—she might already be working for the Corsinis. At least that settled things as far as Bishop was concerned. He was going to kill his occasional partner. He should have done it long ago.
Things were beginning to make sense now. His instincts had been right—Claudia would have known where Evangeline was, Claudia would have set the Corsinis after her. Claudia was capable of anything.
The rain was pounding down, and even in the darkness, he could see white balls of hail bouncing off the ground amid all the rain. Lightning hit close by, momentarily illuminating the yard, and it took only that brief moment to see the muddy path they’d taken. It took him another moment to grab his gun, and he was out the window, after them. If he muttered prayers under his breath as he ran, he wasn’t even aware of it.
The pain came first. Evangeline felt as if she were being pulled apart—her shoulders burned, her wrists stung, her head felt like a black hole of misery, and she was wet and aching and blind. No, not blind. It was pitch black, but as her eyes slowly grew accustomed to it, she could make out her surroundings. She was in some sort of shed, and she was hanging from her bound wrists, her toes barely touching the ground. She squirmed, trying to release her hands, but she’d been tied with something that felt like wire, and it was cutting into her wrists.
“Don’t bother.” The voice that came out of the darkness was almost ghost-like. It had no gender, no accent, no age to it; it was just a disembodied threat from the rain-swept darkness.
The cold had finally penetrated her thin dress, and she had started to shiver. The eerie voice didn’t help, but she bit her lip, trying to force some strength into her body, some justifiable rage as she hung suspended.
“Who the fuck are you?” The tone was good, she thought, snappish without sounding petty, and only slightly marred by her chattering teeth. “Let me down.”
“In the words of the immortal Dirty Harry, I’m your worst nightmare,” the voice said, and she began to make out a form in the murky darkness. He was of average height, thin—after that she was lost.
She struggled, trying to move away from the menacing figure, and her body swung slightly. “Why?” Fear was making the cold even worse, but she tried to keep her voice even. “What do you have against me? If you think James will come after me, you’re dead wrong. He’d probably be happy to get rid of me.”
The man laughed quietly, the sound both charming and impossibly creepy. “You’re not very bright, are you, no matter how many degrees you have. I have no interest in James—I sincerely hope he doesn’t find your body until I’m long gone, or I’ll have to kill him too, and he’s too good a tool to throw away. No, I’m afraid it’s you I want dead, and I’m hoping I can take my time with it, enjoy myself. Strung up like that, you’re a perfect canvas for my creativity—otherwise you’d already be dead.”
The soft words were madness, and yet he sounded so matter of fact. “But why?” she said again. “If I’m going to die, you could at least tell me why.”
He snorted, a genteel sound she barely heard over the pounding rain. “What do you think this is—some sci-fi epic where the villain tells all, wasting enough time for the knight-errant to rescue the fair damsel?”
“You’re mixing your genres,” she snapped. Her arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets, but she refused to show pain.
Again the eerie laugh. “And you have no sense. You don’t piss off the villain in the tale. If you think I have some desperate urge to confess my darkest sins, then you’ve definitely been watching too much television. I think the fact that you’ll die without ever knowing why is very satisfying. Telling you would be too easy.”
They must have realized she was gone by now. Merlin would have made a huge fuss once he heard someone in the house, and he’d alert James. The two of them would be searching for Evangeline and her assailant at this very minute, and this patch of land between the river and the creek was too small for them to hide very well. “They’ll find us,” she said, her voice shaking from the cold. “They’ll find us and they’ll kill you.”
“They? Oh, you mean the dog. I’m not worried about him. I gave him enough drugs that I doubt he’ll survive. I don’t have any sentimental qualms when it comes to children or animals—if they’re in my way, they’re fair game.”
“You drugged Merlin?” Her voice was no more than a dead whisper, and then she exploded, struggling, kicking, screaming at him. “If you’ve hurt my dog I’ll kill you! I’ll rip your fucking heart out, you bastard, I’ll . . .”
She felt his fist crack across her face, sending her swinging even more wildly, and then he put his foul hands on her, settling her, and for a moment there was nothing she could do, no way to fight back. And then she spat in his face.
The monster laughed. “He might survive, depending on how much he ate. I had to dump the stuff in his dog food, and that’s one big, scary dog. Maybe he’ll be fine. I’m afraid you’ll never know. And you can forget about Bishop coming after you.”
“Don’t tell me you killed him too! I won’t believe you!”
“Not yet. Bishop trusts me. If I tell him I wasn’t anywhere near here, he’ll believe me.” He caught her, stilling her as she swung gently in the breeze. His hands were strong, and they were gloved, to leave no trace. She was in some sort of shed—she felt the rough wood against her back—but whatever roof the structure had, it was more holes than a cover, and water was running down her back, adding to her chills. Or maybe it was simply that she was terrified.
“Let’s take a quick look at you,” he murmured affably, and for a moment she was blinded by the flashlight. It was sheer discipline that kept her from squirming away from the glare, and she could see more of the man behind the light. He had a shaved head and a beard, but his eyes were simply dark holes in the dimness, and while there was something oddly familiar about his face, she was sure she’d never seen him before.
“Having trouble looking at me, sweetie?” he said with a laugh. “Here you go.” He turned the flashlight on his own face, giving her plenty of time to take stock. His eyes were hazel, and incredibly beautiful, with the lush lashes only men seemed to have. His nose was narrow and straight, his cheekbones high above the scruff of beard, his lips thin and almost feminine. “Do I look familiar?”
She stared. “Yes,” she said, “but I don’t know you.”
“Of course you don’t. Too busy with your nose in a book to learn to observe real life.”
That wasn’t true, and it was enough of an insult that she looked closer, rackin
g her brain for the source of familiarity. She didn’t know him, but she knew someone related to him—a brother or sister. Someone with a strong family resemblance.
He switched off the light, plunging them back into darkness once more. “Can’t risk having Bishop see the light. Not that I’m worried. If he even realizes you’re gone, he’s never going to find you. There’s no need to hurry, but I don’t want to take foolish chances.”
“And how are you going to enjoy killing me if you can’t see me?”
“Oh, sweetie, I can slowly rip you apart with my eyes closed. Don’t worry about me. And I wouldn’t bother fighting against my restraints. That’s a garroting wire you’ve got twisted around your wrists. You’ll cut your hands off before you break free.”
Garroting wire? Why did that sound familiar? She tried to keep calm. She refused to believe Merlin was dead. It would take more than a slimy pissant, like the man who had her strung up, to kill Merlin. He’d find her. Even if they were so well hidden James wouldn’t get here in time, Merlin would find her. “Does your vow of silence include not telling me where we are?”
She was growing used to the murky light, and she could see his face. Which meant he could see hers, and she managed an emotionless expression. “Tut tut. You’re being very sarcastic, aren’t you? We’re in the remnants of a chicken coop, if my sense of smell serves me. At some point a tree fell across it, and it looks like a splintered pile of wood, but there was just enough room for the two of us, all nice and cozy, and you look so pretty, all strung up like that.”
For some reason she felt no sexual threat in his words. Merlin would find her. It was a mantra in her mind, and she wanted to throw it in his face, but it might make him speed things up. She tried to clear her throat, to sound normal despite the fact that he had her captive. “I wouldn’t call this cozy.”
“Ah, you’re used to more elegant surroundings, aren’t you? I’m afraid this was the best I could do on short notice—I wasn’t going to wait until you reached New Orleans, though if there was ever a city where murder is easy, that’s the one.” The man moved closer, pushing his face up next to hers, and she saw he held a stiletto in one thin hand. Evangeline glanced at the weapon dispassionately and then back at his face. If she was going to die, then she wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction.
