Trust No One

by Velvet Vaughn

  Kendall shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered. "Kendall…Kendall Buckley."

  "Mind telling me why you were breaking into my apartment, Miz Buckley?"

  "I wasn’t," she sputtered.

  His face was all harsh angles and dark shadows in the dim apartment. The only light came from a streetlight filtering through the window. "What do you call sneaking around in the alley, keeping to the shadows and climbing up the fire escape?"

  "Trying to stay alive."

  "So you were just going to what, break in through the window?"

  "I would’ve knocked first," she huffed.

  "Oh well, that makes it okay."

  She bit back a sharp retort. She was running on very little, her emotions barely in check. She didn’t need this over-muscled Neanderthal scowling at her like she were a particularly nasty insect and barking at her like she was an idiot. "Obviously this is a mistake." She lurched to her feet.

  "Obviously," he mimicked.

  "Jake should have told me," she muttered under her breath.

  "Told you what?"

  "That you're a total ass."

  "An oversight," he drawled.

  "So I’m assuming you haven’t talked to him?"

  "A few minutes ago, but he didn’t say what you wanted and I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that I’m currently unavailable."

  Kendall frowned. "He said you'd been injured, but he insisted that even hurt, you were one of the best." When he said nothing more she sighed. "Look, I am not going to beg. I need help immediately."

  "Sorry," the man rumbled, his shoulders moving in a very unapologetic shrug.

  "But you don’t know what I need," she protested.

  "Still can’t help you." His cell buzzed and he flipped it open.

  She stared at him in shock. She was running for her life and he dismissed her like she was nothing. She was by no means conceited, but usually men bent over backwards to assist her. Darn it, she needed help and she hated to admit that to anyone. She preferred taking care of problems by herself. This time though, she was in trouble so deep, she didn’t know how to get out, didn’t know where to start, who to trust. But she'd be damned if she begged, especially from an arrogant jerk. She was better off on her own.

  She patted her waist and back, panic setting in. "What did you do with the gun?" He ignored her, turning his back as he spoke into the cell. Blood heated her face and she fought the urge to go smack the arrogance out of him. Then she remembered placing the gun on the ground in the park. She forgot to pick it up. Her shoulders deflated. Great. They might have been able to lift the killer's fingerprints off of it.

  Disgusted with herself and the huge jerk next to her, she pulled out Stefani’s cell and tried dialing Olivia’s number, so angry she wasn't even sure if she was hitting the right buttons. Her fingers stilled. If she told her roommate the man Jake sent her to refused to help, Olivia would be on a plane in the next fifteen minutes. Kendall didn't want her anywhere near this mess. A wave of sorrow slammed into her. Her friends were dead, and she should be, too.

  The rush of emotion weakened her knees. She couldn’t seem to pull air into her lungs and her eyes burned with a hot swell of tears. She needed air.

  Rushing to the window, she clambered through the opening, dropping the cell to the iron platform in her haste. The metal reverberated with a tinny clang. She scooped it up and hustled down the stairs. Stumbling, she managed to grab the railing before she did a header down the rest of the steps.

  "Dammit, wait a minute," an annoyed voice growled above her.

  She didn’t slow. When she reached the ladder, she barely hung on as it slid down, feeling for the crates with the tip of her toes. She stretched out and dropped, landing on all fours. Pushing to her feet she got about four steps when someone grabbed her and shoved her roughly against the building for the second time in less than ten minutes. It was seriously starting to piss her off.

  "Let go of me." Her fists pounded savagely against his chest, but he made no move to stop her. Suddenly all the strength left her body and she sagged against the building, his grip on her arms the only thing keeping her upright.

  "Three of my closest friends were slaughtered in cold blood right in front of me tonight," she choked.

  "Ah, hell." A heavy sigh and then Dorian pulled her against his chest, his palm guiding her head to his shoulder, and she let him. Damn him, he was an ass, but she absorbed his heat, needed his strength. Just for a little while.

  "It’s okay to cry," he murmured.

  She couldn’t cry…she hadn’t yet. Tears hovered and she knew it would all hit her at once and she would lose it big time. But right now she needed to stay strong, focused. She needed to avenge her friends.

  Easing away from him, she sniffed, "I never cry."

  She barely got the words out before he shoved her behind the dumpster. Her ears rung as it pinged loudly. "Get down," he ordered harshly. Several pops sounded around them. He covered her head with his large hand as small chunks of brick rained down on her. He had a gun out and was returning fire before she even realized what had happened. Oh, God, they found her. The forgotten cell phone beeped in her pocket and she powered it off with a shaking finger.

  Dorian’s big body blocked her so she couldn’t see the attackers. It was so dark, she didn't think she could see them anyway. The gunfire seemed to last forever. Finally tires screeched and peeled away, leaving an eerie, complete silence. "Wait here," he whispered. Then he was gone.

  Kendall couldn’t move if she wanted to. Her legs gave out and she slid abruptly to the ground. What were these people after? The attack on Kiki and Bridget and Stefani had not been a random hit. It had been a premeditated massacre, plain and simple.

  But who was the prime target? Stefani had been nervous and jittery all evening, looking over her shoulder. Was she the target? Was someone after her and their friends paid the price? Were Kiki and Bridget’s lives reduced to collateral damage?

  She gasped as a shadow suddenly appeared in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him return. "Come-on," he said, hauling her up by her biceps. "They're gone for now, but no telling how long. We need to get you someplace safe."

  Chapter Three

  What the hell had Dorian gotten into…or better yet, what had Jake Kincaid gotten him into? Beautiful angels breaking into his apartment, men shooting at them with some serious firepower. He hustled Kendall down the alley, unlocked a door and urged her through, forcing her to climb the steps.

  He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt with her earlier. It'd been a knee-jerk reaction to a beautiful woman in distress. The last one he helped almost got him killed. But he was itching to get back into the action, and this woman obviously needed help.

  "W-where are you taking me?"

  "Relax," he crooned softly, hoping to ease her out of shock. She hadn’t even protested when he hauled her up and led her down the alley. "My mother owns the entire block," he explained as he guided her into the apartment, through the front door this time.

  "Jeez, Dor, you scared the hell out of me."

  "Daphne, how many times do I have to tell you to watch your language?"

  "I dunno, big bro, how many?" She smiled and shoved a potato chip in her mouth.

  Dorian rolled his eyes. A perk of the forced vacation allowed him to spend time with his younger sister. With a sixteen year age difference, he didn’t even really know the kid, hadn’t been around as she grew into adulthood.

  Part of him wanted to jump into his Avalanche and hightail it out of town.

  Daphne was a beautiful girl, but she was in the midst of a teenage rebellious stage. Purple streaked through her long black hair, a diamond stud decorated her nose, one small silver hoop hooked through an eyebrow, another her bottom lip. Black lipstick and clothing were the norm. When their mother voiced her concern, Daphne was quick to reassure her that she didn’t have a secret thirst for blood. She called herself a "Gaja" or fashion vampire.

  Like that was supposed to
make them feel better.

  While the bride of Dracula look freaked him out, he was silently glad for her Goth tendencies. She’d scare many guys away looking the way she did now. His hand curled into a fist when he thought about the sickos that would get off on that look. Probably a good thing he lived a few hours away. Otherwise he’d beat the living daylights out of any guy who even glanced her way.

  He wished they'd been closer in age so he could have been around more as she grew up. His mom had gotten pregnant with him at sixteen. Not wanting to disgrace her family, she fled Greece for America to live with distant relatives. His father found out about her pregnancy and followed. They married, started a restaurant and divorced when he was five. Both had been married four times since—always to each other. Usually the separation lasted a few months when they decided they couldn’t live without each other. They would marry and then break up, marry and break up. It was the cycle of his childhood. He knew they both loved him and that they loved each other, they just couldn’t live together, at least for very long. There'd never been any affairs for either parent that he knew of, even during the separations. They loved each other too much to betray the sacred bonds of matrimony.

  It was during their fourth marriage when they gifted him with a younger sister. She was the most adorable baby. But he joined the Navy at eighteen, became a SEAL at twenty and that was his life for the next six years. Then he was seriously wounded at the same time his father became terminally ill. His mother begged him to come home as soon as he could travel. She couldn’t bear to lose both men in her life at the same time.

  Under the heavy burden of guilt, he agreed to the medical discharge his superiors offered and returned home. Using the government’s dime, he earned a college degree. His father hung on for almost a year, passing away two years ago. Soon after, his former teammate called offering him a job with COBRA Securities. He jumped at the opportunity and hadn’t been home much since.

  He refocused on his sister. Tonight she sported two high pigtails. If it weren’t for the garish make-up and gutter language, she could pass for twelve.

  She eyed the woman in his grip curiously. "Who's this?"

  "Daphne, manners?"

  Wiping her hand on her ripped jeans, she thrust it forward. "I’m Daphne."

  "Kendall Buckley."

  "So, you the girlfriend of the week?"

  "No," they both sputtered simultaneously.

  He shot Kendall a disgruntled look. Grabbing a set of keys off a hook he urged her towards the door.

  "Oh, you're taking her to the love nest." She dragged out the "o" in love. "Mind telling me why? No, wait, I took Sex Ed, I think I can figure it out."

  "Mind your own damn business, Daphne," he growled over his shoulder. Daphne’s cry of "watch your language," was cut off by the slam of the door.

  He guided Kendall up a flight of stairs. "My mother keeps this apartment for visitors," he explained. No need to tell her that he had been known to use it as his own personal love nest a time or two in the past. "The bathroom is fully stocked. There are clean towels and new toothbrushes under the counter. You can shower and get some rest and then tell me why someone tried to use us as bullet catchers."

  He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. The one bedroom apartment had been meticulously scrubbed and cleaned, waiting for the next occupant. Flipping on a light, he turned to her. "The blood, is any of it yours?"

  She looked down at herself, as if noticing her red-stained clothes for the first time. Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head.

  "Shower is through that door," he indicated with a sweep of his hand. "I’ll round up some clothes." She nodded and headed for the bathroom. Pulling out his cell, he leaned against a wall and dialed his boss, Logan Bradley. Kincaid had already informed Bradley that he'd sent Ms. Buckley to him for protection, but he wanted to clear it personally. Kincaid had some kind of connection to the woman. He intended to find out what that connection was. After reassurances that his shoulder was fine, Bradley reluctantly agreed that he’d take him off leave to pursue the case.

  Grabbing the keys, he pocketed them and jogged down the stairs. The low pulse of music told him Daphne had retreated to her room. Padding to the kitchen, he switched on his mother’s high-tech coffee maker. It kicked on with a hiss and pop. It took him almost a week to figure the thing out. Who needed that many bells and whistles to make a freaking cup of coffee? He rummaged in the cabinets and came up with two travel mugs and placed them beside the machine.

  Next, he headed to his room, toeing off his sneakers as he reached the closet. He peeled off his shirt and jeans. Some of the blood from Kendall’s clothes had transferred to his. Striding naked to his bathroom, he jumped in the shower. Once he was finished, he dried off and secured the towel around his waist while he brushed his teeth. He needed a shave but didn't want to take the time now. He tossed the towel over a rack and headed back to the closet for clean clothes. He pulled on a black long sleeve T-shirt, tugged on a clean pair of jeans, slid on a pair of hiking boots and followed the loud music to Daphne’s room. He banged his fist against the door. "Daph?"

  The music turned down a notch. "What?"

  "I need to borrow some clothes."

  A long-suffering sigh and then her door swung open. She shoved a bundle at him. "One step ahead of you, bro," she smirked, blowing a bubble and then sucking the pink gum back in her mouth.

  He eyed her suspiciously.

  "What?" She huffed. "Though chic in a creepy sort of way, she didn’t look like the kind of woman to wear blood-stained clothes as a fashion statement."

  "Keep this up and I’ll start to think there is a caring human being under all those studs and black make-up."

  She rolled her eyes and then pushed him out of her room. "As if."

  "Thanks, sis." He bent over to peck her on the cheek. She pretended like it was a trial to suffer through, but he saw the sparkle of happiness in her eyes.

  "Oh, and one more thing…don’t say anything to Mama about this yet."

  "Oops."

  He groaned. "What did you tell her?"

  "You mean she isn’t your smokin’ hot new girlfriend?"

  He exhaled loudly. "How long ago?"

  "Uh…a few, maybe fifteen minutes?"

  "Little sis, I’d kick your behind if I had time," he growled. Shoving the clothes under his arm, he hustled to the coffee maker and filled the mugs before racing upstairs, the smell of baklava guiding him like a trail of breadcrumbs. He hesitated opening the door, almost afraid of what he would see.

  It was about as bad as he expected.

  Kendall sat at the small round dining table, her hair wet and slicked back from her face, bundled in a thick white robe looking dazed, fragile. Boxes of food sat open in front of her. His mom sat across from her, happily twittering away, oblivious to her shell-shocked audience.

  #

  The hot water felt so good cascading down her body, Kendall didn’t want to leave the protective ceramic confines. Maybe if she just stayed where she was, the events of the last few hours would disappear like the soap bubbles slipping down the drain. She scrubbed her body three times, her hair twice. Dorian had been right…the bathroom was stocked with every convenience she needed. Finally gathering the strength to turn off the water, she stepped out and grabbed a fluffy white towel. She found almond scented lotion under the counter and slathered it over her body. There was a whole assortment of trial-sized toiletries so she grabbed deodorant, mouthwash, a toothbrush and paste.

  She felt marginally better when she finished. After running a comb through her hair, she studied herself in the mirror. Even after a steamy shower, her face was still too pale.

  A burst of panic filled her when the door to the apartment creaked open. What if the killer found her and returned to finish the job? She frantically searched for a weapon.

  The unmistakable scent of Greek food filtered under the closed bathroom door. She relaxed against the counter. Dorian must have returned with
food. Any other time, she would be the first one to the table, but after what she witnessed earlier in the evening, her stomach rolled. She didn’t want to offend him, especially since she wasn’t sure he was going to help her, but there was no way she could eat tonight—maybe ever again.

  Snatching a thick white robe from a hook on the door, she wrapped it around her body, feeling decidedly vulnerable without underwear. She opened the door and froze. A woman smiled thoughtfully at her, her hands clasped in front of a pleasantly rounded belly. She stood a little shorter than Kendall, a cap of black curls threaded with strands of silver on her head. She wore an expensive brown outfit covered by an apron.

  "Welcome," she said, opening her arms benevolently. Her voice tinged with an accent. "You are a special friend of my Dorian’s, no?"

  "I’m just a client," she corrected. Or so she hoped.

  The woman stepped closer and clasped Kendall’s face between her hands. She was enveloped in a cloud of allspice and cinnamon and nutmeg and something that smelled uniquely of mother. And comfort.

  "You are exquisite…your skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom and those eyes, ah, what a beautiful color. But why are they are so sad?" she murmured.

  A boulder formed in Kendall's throat and her eyes burned. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. The woman nodded in understanding and gently drew her into the cradle of her arms. To Kendall’s horror, the dam burst and she couldn’t stop the flood of hot tears. The woman let her cry on her shoulder, murmuring comforting words, some in Greek, some in English, while she stroked her back. She suddenly missed her own mother so much her heart ached. It took everything in her not to run for the airport. But she definitely didn't want her mother anywhere near the malevolence swirling around her.