Sin and Sacrifice

by Danielle Bourdon

  “I have, and it looks great. No tentacles in sight.” With that, she took a seat and snagged the bottle of wine chilling in a bucket.

  “All I have to do is call down to the restaurant...”

  “Rhett,” she warned, stifling a smile, and distracted him with a question. “What did you order?”

  “The same thing.” He set the covers aside and sat down opposite her. “But I've had it before, so I know I'll like it. Want me to open that?” His chin ticked the direction of the bottle.

  Evelyn arched a brow. “I'm not totally helpless, you know. Are you having some? There's only one wine glass on the tray.” One wine glass and one plain glass of what looked like water with a lemon wedge floating inside.

  “Nah. I don't drink while I'm working.” He transferred his plate to the table and picked up the utensils.

  Rhett, she discovered, ate like he walked: Brisk, to the point, just get the job done. He chewed hard but ate quietly, adam's apple bobbing up and down every time he swallowed.

  She was so distracted by it that she didn't realize she was staring until he stopped eating, fork poised midair, and stared back.

  “Is there something on my face? You still don't have the wine open,” he pointed out.

  She jolted herself out of her reverie, aiming her sheepish smile down at the wine. Using the corkscrew, she got to work. “You eat like you don't really enjoy the food at all.”

  “I enjoy it. But there's no reason to examine every piece, is there? What—you go out with guys who roll food across their palate and discuss every seasoning and its function?” He eyed her with a dubious expression.

  The cork popped free of the bottle. She laughed, countering his dubious look with an airy retort. “I didn't say that. But you're going to be done by the time I take my first bite.”

  Both of his brows arched that time. “And...?”

  With a rush of heat, it dawned on her that for Rhett, this was work. And when had it become something else for her? His presence disconcerted her. Distracted her. She found herself doing and thinking things she shouldn't considering their extraordinary circumstances. Evelyn had enjoyed men and all the things they could provide in her time on earth: conversation, pleasure, companionship. But she'd never allowed herself more than that.

  None of the girls had, because they knew that it led nowhere. The number of years they could be with a man were startlingly short when someone lived as long as they did. Then there was the risk that the men would become suspicious of why they weren't aging, which caused problems all its own. Minna was the only one of them that had stayed with a man for more than a handful of years. An exception because she knew how to handle her heart.

  Buying time pouring and taking a sip of her wine, she met and held Rhett's gaze. When she was through, she said, “It's nothing. This is just the first time I've eaten with a ma-- anyone other than my close friends for a while. I thought maybe you'd tell me about yourself.”

  Rhett considered her with a thoughtful look. Setting down his fork, he sat back in the chair. “What do you want to know?”

  At first she worried she might have annoyed him, but his tone and his eyes were intrigued instead. Although she'd glimpsed where he lived on his passport, she didn't want to mention it, so she asked, “Where did you grow up? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  While they talked she tested bites of the food, alternating with sips of wine. Once, when she stretched her legs out, she encountered his under the table. Immediately she drew hers back to tuck under her chair.

  “Grew up in Twenty-nine palms. That's in California. And yeah, I've got two brothers. What about you?” He sat forward and this time, ate at a slower pace. Not much slower, but she noticed the difference.

  His willingness to oblige her had that same strange effect on her insides. “I don't have any brothers or sisters and my folks are dead.” The part about her parents was true, at least. Careful to keep her face neutral, she continued. “They moved me around a lot when I was little, so there isn't one particular place I can really name as 'the' place I grew up. But I live in Pacific Palisades. It's in Calif--”

  “I've been there.” He seemed amused that, considering where they'd met and where they currently were, that they both lived fairly close to each other. “Pretty posh.”

  “Yeah, but the beaches there are fantastic.” She picked up the wine for another sip. Evelyn didn't want to imbibe too much in case she needed her wits about her unexpectedly.

  “What do you do for a living, then?”

  “Well,” she said, setting the glass down. “Those friends I told you about? A few of us own some rental property in various locations. It keeps us busy.”

  He nodded while he listened, stabbing bites of food between commentary. “Sounds like it. Good for you. I'm guessing you're successful enough that you guys can travel around, take vacations often.”

  She detected no sarcasm in his tone. He looked genuinely impressed. And the more she talked about her sisters as friends, the more she warmed to the story. It allowed her to acknowledge them and speak about them without feeling like she was giving too much away. It meant she needed to get in touch with them before Rhett or Christian did so they could get their story straight.

  “We do, and yes, we enjoy it. We work pretty hard. I'm also involved in several charity organizations for children, so that takes up another big chunk of my time.” All of the sisters did. It had been part of their promise when they left the garden of Eden—to do good in the world. Spread compassion and kindness. It came naturally to each of them, in fact to all of the sisters, and the others felt as much satisfaction in that capacity as she did. Even Alexandra, the rabble-rouser of the bunch. For all intents and purposes, the girls were like any other women, making their way through life—or many lives. Evelyn was not unaware other people would find them extraordinary and they all understood why it was so important to remain hidden in plain sight.

  The knowledge of their existence had the capability to change everything.

  She caught Rhett watching her with a complex expression. His eyes looked darker, holding hers with an intensity that made her squirm in her chair. It made her uncomfortable when she couldn't gauge his mood or figure out what he was thinking.

  “I would have pegged you as a player, I have to admit,” he said with a wry grin, after a moment. “The kind of woman who takes what she can get and moves on.”

  His assessment startled her. Setting her fork down, she pushed her plate a few inches away. “Why is that?”

  “The traveling around, the fact you haven't ever mentioned anything about a boyfriend, husband, lover. You just look like the type.”

  She frowned. “I guess that old saying is true, then. Don't judge a book by its cover.”

  For a reason she didn't understand, he laughed. A wry sounding rasp that sent goosebumps down her arms.

  “And that's the god's own truth, hm?” he asked.

  Before either of them could say anything else, his cell phone rang. Excusing himself from the table, he took the call. She heard Christian's name and wondered what information the agent had come up with. Sipping at the remnants of her wine, she watched Rhett walk to the open balcony doors. He hooked a hand over his head on the frame, taking up a relaxed stance while he got his update. Silhouetted by the glow of lights from the buildings along the street, the strength of his physique was on prominent display. He reminded her again of a warrior, strong and capable and dedicated to his work. Sometimes he seemed invincible, though the wound on his side declared him as human as the next man.

  He ended the call and pushed the phone into his pocket. Turning, he scanned the room and made his way toward the TV stand. After fiddling with a knob, music made more of static than melody hit the air. Something beautifully foreign and lilting. He adjusted the volume to a lower level and thrust a hand back through his hair.

  “Better than all the noise from outside. More wine?” he asked, coming back to the table to start clearing the plates
onto the cart. He handled it all with brisk efficiency, something she was becoming used to.

  “Thanks,” she said when he took her plate. “And no, I think I'm good. What did Christian have to say?”

  “He's got the rest of your luggage. All of it.” When he had the table cleared, he pushed the cart to the door and left it in the hallway to be collected later or in the morning.

  Evelyn changed her mind and poured herself a little more wine. Just a little. Galiana's things would be with the rest of theirs and she wasn't sure how she was going to face going through it without having some kind of major reaction.

  So far, she'd kept most of her tears and grief in check.

  “At least I'll have my own things again.” Which was strangely little comfort.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, proving that he was sensitive to her mood changes, subtle as they might be.

  “Yes. Trying not to think about—well I'm sure you know. It's hard sometimes.”

  “Yeah. I bet.” He leaned against the wall next to the open balcony doors. “Who taught you how to use a gun?”

  Evelyn glanced up from the swirl of wine and met his eyes. “My friends. They're pretty confident in situations like...those. They stay in practice.”

  “Doesn't sound like you do.”

  “I don't like violent confrontations,” she admitted. She saw no reason to hide it.

  “You used the gun though.”

  “I wasn't shooting at a person. And it's more than just weapons. It's the physical manifestation of the rage that makes my knees feel like jelly. I don't know why.” Feeling like she might have said too much, she had a drink.

  “Everyone has their thing. Sometimes it's mind over matter. I know you couldn't because you were bound, but would you have fought back if you could when they had you in that room?”

  “If it meant escaping—yes. Or helping one of my friends. I'm not sure how effective I would have been though.” The wine glass made a quiet tink on the table when she set it down.

  “What happened to you that made you so susceptible to violence?” he asked.

  Startled by the insightful question, she fidgeted with the outside seam on her jeans. A scene flashed to mind, centuries old but as clear as if it happened yesterday. Four Templars, two stripped to the waist, the iron cross tattoo prominent on their backs. Swords in their hands, teeth clenched, engaging in battle just outside the walls of Jerusalem. She and Alexandra had passed within feet of their growling fury, sweat flying from their faces, veins standing out in their arms. She knew what would happen if they were discovered and caught, which made it terrifying for Evelyn. They passed so close she felt the heat of their bodies, heard the blade sing as it arced through the air. The Templars were legendary with their sword skill. There had been no other place to escape but there at that particular doorway and although the Knights were occupied with something else, it had left a lasting, terrible impression on her.

  “Miss Grant?”

  She started in the seat, jolted out of her memory. “I'm not really sure. I've just never handled it well when I see people fighting up close and personal.” The lie felt sour on her tongue.

  Rhett regarded her like he thought there was more to the story. But he said, “So if I were to stalk you right now, you wouldn't be able to react?”

  Evelyn snapped to attention in a way she hadn't before. Sitting straighter in her chair, posture alert, she wondered if she looked as hunted as she suddenly felt. “I...I don't know. I mean, it's you, and I know you don't mean it--”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he shoved off from his lean and started doing precisely what he suggested. Stalking her. And when Rhett wanted to look intimidating, he could. In spades.

  Less than thirty feet separated them. Out of her chair before he crossed half that distance, she put her hands out like she meant to fend him off, back-stepping toward the kitchenette. “Rhett, I don't think this is a good idea.”

  “You can't hold me off with just your hands. Look for something. What's the best weapon within reach?” Closer, striding long and determined.

  Evelyn felt the breath leave her lungs in a rush. That same, strange feeling hit her legs, like they were wet noodles instead of flesh and blood and bone. She couldn't look away from his eyes for anything, not even a weapon. Her hip glanced off the edge of the counter.

  He was almost within reach. And then he was within reach, pressing against her hands with his body, pushing her all the way back to the door. Dwarfed by his size, by his sheer presence, she tried in vain to move him by pushing at his chest. He felt as solid as a brick wall.

  She looked at his throat, his chin, his mouth. His eyes.

  “The best weapon would have been your glass or the bottle. Crack it against the table to make a sharper point. Or there was that vase to the side, but it would have required you to look away from me and that's dangerous. You had time in the safe house to grab it and throw. Tonight, I would have been on you before you ever touched it. If all else fails, bite and kick and go for the eyes.”

  “I can't breathe,” she said, and it was mostly true. He'd taken her by surprise and done the unexpected, rendering her incapacitated. “And I can't scratch your eyes out. You're you.”

  “You could if I meant you harm. Right? You have to learn to think through the panic. Sometimes the best way is to put yourself in that situation, force yourself to confront it.” He stared down at her and braced one hand against the door to the side of her head.

  Alive too long to usually be affected like this by any man, Evelyn found herself surprised at her lack of control where Rhett was concerned. Like a moth to a flame she was drawn by his eyes, his self-assurance. The way he radiated confidence made her wish she could trust him with her deepest secrets, to let someone else in, lean on him when the burdens became too much. It wasn't the first time she felt caught in his orbital spin, and it wouldn't be the last time she forced herself back to the stark reality that she needed to keep this a business arrangement.

  “If you meant me harm, probably.” Conceding his point, she stared up through the veil of her lashes. It couldn't be her imagination that he seemed as drawn to her as she did him. The way he glanced between her eyes and her mouth was an age old giveaway. But it was more than lust, more than a feral animal heat. It was something she squelched right then and there—again—and refused to acknowledge beyond mutual attraction.

  Minna would set her straight in a heartbeat.

  Against the small of her back, the doorknob rattled and turned. Gasping, she pushed into Rhett even while he pulled the gun out of the holster, putting himself between her and the door.

  Chapter Six

  Christian froze when he came face to face with the muzzle of the gun.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said to Rhett.

  “Knock or announce yourself next time.” Rhett tucked the gun into the holster and stepped back to let him in.

  Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. Flushed from her interaction with Rhett, she brushed hair away from her cheek and moved out of their way.

  It wasn't just Christian pulling a piece of luggage, but two other men, both also carrying luggage, who stepped in behind him.

  One, older than the others, stood at least six-foot-five and had black hair with a goatee and mustache. Hair tied in a neat tail at his nape, business suit and polished boots, he looked distinct and businesslike. Almost his mirror twin, the second man, younger but equally as dark, chose a blazer and jeans instead of a suit and his hair was loose around his neck. He too sported a goatee that he kept neatly trimmed.

  Rhett didn't look concerned or worried and made introductions while she moved out of the way to give them room.

  He gestured to the taller man first. “Miss Grant, this is my boss, Dragar and my associate Dracht. They've been doing a lot of investigating while we've been in transit.”

  Dray-gar and Draw-kt. She locked the pronunciations away and shook Dragar's hand when he offered it. The calloused surface
of his palm felt rough against her own. He had long fingers and a firm but not crushing grip.

  “Nice to meet you, Mister-- er, Dragar.”

  “Mister Sagan. But call me Dragar, hm?” He smiled like an indulgent father might and released her hand. The man towered over her, his dark gaze as sharp as Christian and Rhett's.

  “Miss Grant.” Dracht took up Dragar's place, peering down at her from his loftier height. He had eyes so dark brown they almost looked black.

  Evelyn went through the motions with them both, wondering what they were doing here. Drawing her hand back, she clasped them in front of her. She glanced between the two new agents.

  “Thank you for bringing the suitcases. I didn't expect to get them so quickly.”

  “Just part of the job, Ma'am. We took a plane to cut the time down,” Dracht said. “We have some news about your friends.”

  He and Dragar sat on a sofa, making themselves right at home in the sitting room. They were so tall that they seemed to take up all the real estate on the couch, yet there didn't seem to be an ounce of extra fat on either one of them.

  Christian moved the luggage closer to the wall and went to stand near the balcony, keeping watch over the market.

  Rhett escorted her to a sofa opposite the agents.

  Evelyn perched on the edge, feeling like something important was about to be said. She felt out of place, out of sorts. Nothing could be gleaned by any of their expressions and she felt a moment of sheer panic thinking they were about to tell her that all the other girls were dead.

  Please God, anything but that.

  It struck her again how much had changed in a short amount of time, and that for now, their fates were inexplicably twined with these men.

  Dragar and Dracht watched her straight on, without smiles, their broad hands clasped between their knees. Rhett stood to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. She could feel his gaze pinned right on her.