Into Twilight (The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Book 1)

by P. R. Adams

  “What about Kelly?” There wasn’t a hint of real concern in Gillian’s voice. She was succumbing to the same urges that were driving me.

  I sucked and nibbled at tender flesh, feeling it harden against my tongue. We fell back against the dining room table, and she dropped her arms to let the robe slide to the floor. I swept cloth napkins and silverware from the tabletop, chuckled at the sound of them thudding against the carpet, then grabbed her by the pillowy fullness of her butt and lifted her onto the table.

  “My…mother…” She unzipped my jacket and yanked it off as I worked my way from her breasts to her belly. She wiggled, arched her back, and ran her hands through my hair. When I ran a tongue from the soft slope of her belly down to her labia, her fingers dug into my scalp and curled in my hair.

  She lay flat on the table without letting go of me. Soft moans escaped as her head thrashed from side to side. After a few minutes, her moans deepened, and she began thrusting against me. I slipped slickened fingers around, exploring and teasing until her breathing broke into jagged groans, then concentrated on those areas until we found a rhythm that suited her. Her thighs—hot and smooth—squeezed against my bruised cheeks. I kissed and sucked at the soft flesh until she pulled me back and pressed me against her, rocking against my mouth with bruising intensity. She let go of me and threw her hands over her head, then grabbed the table edge. My mouth went numb, and my tongue seemed ready to fail. Just then, her back arched, her lower legs curled under the tabletop, and she groaned, deep and loud. I continued on for a few more minutes, drawing another shivering response, then she sat up, cupped her hands beneath my jaw, and gently pushed me back. Her face was red, and her breasts glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration.

  I helped her off the table, and she led me into her bedroom, a little unsteadily. While I pulled my shirt off, she tugged my pants down more expertly than the time before. After several minutes of gentle kisses, she pushed me onto the bed and softly covered my eyes with a pillow.

  “Let me…” Her voice trailed off into wordless grunts as she slid me inside her.

  She stopped after a few minutes and got off me, rubbing her breasts against my chest and kissing me. “Not yet,” she said. “We have so much more to do.”

  I started to say something, and she put a salty finger to my lips. “You started it. Now I get to finish.”

  She fumbled around in the nightstand for a moment, then I felt something cool and slick on my abdomen. Her hands ran through it and then over me, and a warm tingling began all through my groin. She mounted me again, and we rocked against each other for a while—slow and intense. Like some progeny Sherpa guiding mountaineers through ancient slopes, she took me through a crazy series of sensations that left me gasping. For once I was thankful for my cybernetic limbs, because I was sure by the time she finally finished me off that I would have been a big tangle of cramps.

  Despite her youthful energy, she collapsed beside me when we were done. She was damp and hot and breathing hard. I pulled the pillow off my eyes and kissed her. Without realizing it, I fell into fondling her again; she swatted my hands away sleepily.

  “I thought you were a broken, old man,” she mumbled.

  I pulled her tight against me, felt her beating heart. It pounded against her ribs. I switched to my thermographic vision, admired the way she glowed. “You must be a fountain of youth.”

  She groaned. “Well you drank me dry. I need to rest, so keep your paws off me.”

  “Were you prowling the retirement communities before you found me? Is that it?”

  Her eyes opened just enough to let the beautiful emerald of her irises through. “I’d always heard older men were more experienced. I never had the interest to find out until I met you.” She ran a hand from my face to a shoulder, then down my arm.

  I wrapped my fingers around hers and drew her hand up to kiss. There was no pretending she didn’t mean something to me. Without a doubt, there was a physical element to it, but I had been with more attractive women. A few. Her power over me was deep—primal—and completely outside anything I could rationalize. It had to be my condition, or at least influenced by it. She was like the rebound relationship—someone who your friends warned you away from but you couldn’t possibly envision being without.

  But there was more to it.

  I pressed our hands against her cheek, then under her chin so I could draw her eyes to mine. When she closed her eyes, I squeezed her hand slightly and said, “I need to know something.”

  Her eyes slid open slightly. “Hmm?”

  “This thing. What’s going on. Is it more than sex?”

  More emerald as her eyelids flew open. A distance opened between us, but she didn’t move. “I don’t know. Shit. I thought the sex was good.”

  “Great. That’s not the point. There’s something about you that goes beyond sex. I like the way you smile and the way you get worked up about your job. And you’re so…fun. I guess that’s the word. That energy you have, it’s contagious.” Or I’m a horny old vampire who can’t admit that your vitality is addictive.

  She pulled away at that point but didn’t cover herself. “We hardly even know each other. I’m a communications manager or campaign chairperson or political advisor. My mother’s a senator in ICU. Who are you? You say you’re a security consultant, but I don’t even know what that means. Who do you work for?”

  The words were a punch to the gut. They echoed in my head, suddenly deeper and foreign inflected, a cultured Korean voice speaking American English.

  Who do you work for?

  She leaned against me, her face inches away from mine. “What? Shit. Stefan? What just happened? You tensed up and just had this faraway look.”

  I sat up, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Memories. That’s all.”

  She hugged me. “Oh. The thing that took your arms and legs? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I—” She squeezed hard against me. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I reached behind me, felt the warmth of her back. It wasn’t her fault. It was a fair question. Who did I work for? What the hell was I doing? A few days before, sleeping with her had been a means to an end; now she controlled me.

  She massaged my shoulders. “Look, what you were asking earlier. Y’know, about what I felt. About us. Well, I guess I’ve been afraid to acknowledge it. I mean, I’m in the middle of this big thing, right? Everything’s so uncertain. It’s when you don’t want your passion to overwhelm your rational mind.”

  “Sure.” I straightened as her hands worked deeper and harder into my muscles. It was almost painful.

  “But sometimes your passion is right. It’s what you should pursue. So if my feelings about you are this intense, maybe it means there’s just a really authentic connection.” Her hands moved lower; her thumbs poked against ribs. “So think about this: Why don’t you come work for me? Drop whatever it is you’re doing. I have budget set aside already for more staff when we ramp up. If we ramp up, I guess. But no matter what, I could use you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Without a doubt. I mean, you do security consulting, don’t you? I could hire you to find out who these assassins are.” She dug her knuckles into the small of my back.

  “That’s Ravi’s job, isn’t it?”

  “He handles protection.” Her voice grew cool when she said, “For now.”

  “You thinking of firing him?”

  “It’s not all his fault, but…” It felt like her thumbs were pushing against my kidneys. The pressure was a distracting counterpoint to the soft press of her breasts against my back. “Don’t worry about Ravi. This is about us. Do it for me. You said you cared for me, didn’t you?”

  I turned and took her hands in mine. “I do. I can’t explain it, but I care about you more than anything.”

  A flirtatious smile spread across her face. She tried to pull her hands free and laughed when my eyes dropped to her breasts. “Then do it, Stefan.” She leaned back on the bed, p
ulling me on top of her and wrapping her legs around me. “Do it. For me.”

  I slid into her again, watching her face as we fell into a rhythm again. She had the slightest twitch to her left cheek that brought her lip up, almost like a sneer. The right side of her brow wrinkled more than the left. The tip of her nose wiggled when she gasped. It was the sort of thing I would normally notice after weeks with someone.

  My gut churned. I shivered, but I kept the rhythm.

  I was going to give the operation up. I was going to leave the team and my share of the five million dollars.

  Her heat, the feel of her flesh, her scent: A voice told me she was what I had been looking for without even knowing it all these years. My voice. She had helped me find myself. She had made me whole.

  I closed my eyes and listened to her breathing. She was close, I could hear it. Feel it.

  She shivered and dug her fingers into my back and bucked wildly, and a few seconds later, it was my turn.

  And in my head, it wasn’t Gillian below me but Ichi.

  I rolled off, eyes wide with disgust and disbelief. How? Why? Gillian was every bit as attractive as Ichi. More attractive. Where had the thought come from?

  Betrayal. I was betraying them.

  Gillian’s hand ran over my chest. I wanted to fling her away. I wanted to wash her from me and get out. I needed to understand what was going on in my head.

  Who do you work for?

  She sat up. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just not used to such intense emotions.”

  That got a smile. She set her chin on my chest. “Well, if—”

  Something vibrated near the foot of the bed.

  She sat up. “Shit! My data device!”

  Clothes sat in a neat, folded pile on top of a small dresser. Tidy. Organized. Planned. She ran to them, dug around. What little illusion of her having been surprised by my arrival disappeared. She had wanted me as badly as I had wanted her.

  She put the data device to her ear and turned around to look at me. Mischievous. “Hello?”

  She bowed her head, put fingers to her brow. “When?”

  I sat up.

  “Are they sure?” She turned away, but not before I saw the shake in her hands.

  I got up.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said.

  She set the data device down and turned to me, knuckling away a tear. I wanted to pull her into my arms and rock her, to whisper promises that I would always be there to protect her.

  Gillian made a sound—half snort, half sob. “That was Ravi. She’s awake.”

  “Awake?” Colors flashed in my peripheral vision. “For real? Not just like last time?”

  She wrapped her arms around me and cried. “Yeah, for real.”

  I held her while she let her emotions work their way through her.

  She exhaled and pushed away. “Come with me. I want you there. Please?”

  The enormity hit me: Weaver was awake. The operation was still a go. There was still five million dollars at stake. I had a chance to get in close.

  I kissed Gillian on the cheek and said, “Let’s get cleaned up. I don’t think she’d like to see us like this.”

  That got a laugh. “Give me a few minutes alone. You know. To…collect myself.”

  “Sure.”

  I turned the shower on, enjoying the memory of her touch, her laugh. I needed her. I needed to protect.

  And I needed to get in close enough to kill her mother.

  Chapter 24

  The drive was quiet and cold, the city a crystal blue slipping into faded rose as evening settled in. Gillian’s soap was a sweet, citrusy cover for what we’d just done. She seemed understandably oblivious to the risk of us sharing a scent, no matter what it was. I gave her what space I could in the small car while she got her emotions under control. She managed that about halfway to the hospital. Sniffling, sighing, blinking—all gone. There was no talk of me hiring on as a security consultant. There was no talk of us. There was no talk. All we had was an uncomfortable silence that let in the hum of tires on asphalt and squeaking brakes while she tapped at her data device.

  And that was fine with me. I sent a notice to the team that I was headed to the hospital to see Gillian’s mother. I left it at that.

  When we reached the hospital, I paid close attention to her routine to better understand the security that had been put into place. The section of the parking garage she pulled into had simple biometric, keycard, and code measures, along with a heavy-gauge steel gate. It was enough to protect the vehicles from half-hearted thugs and the like. Cameras lined the access tunnel that led to the secure lot. There was an elevator down to the ground level or a stairwell, both no doubt secured the same way.

  We took the stairwell, shivering in the cold air and keeping our hands close to the rail without touching it. Our steps boomed off the concrete walls.

  Only the secure stairwell door at the top offered protection. Weaver wouldn’t be brought out this way.

  Outside of the parking structure, the wind brought fumes from the cafeteria or a nearby eatery. Smoked or grilled meat, spices that brought up memories of Morocco. Free for a moment from my lust, I realized how hungry I was. I felt even more irrational and foolish and questioned what it was I had felt for Gillian. She wrapped an arm around me and my doubts disappeared.

  We used the same entrance she’d used previously. Once again, the security looked weak from the entry point to the ninth floor. There were a couple rent-a-cops in bulletproof vests, but they were no challenge to Maribel and Jose, whether human, cyborg, or android.

  On the ninth floor, things changed. Ravi had two people positioned to watch the stairwell door and elevators. They wore the same non-uniform uniform he did: dark jacket, dark pants, white shirt, bright tie. Holsters stood out beneath the jackets.

  Without coming in through a window, there was no sneaking up to the senator’s floor. Not unless the other stairwell wasn’t under observation. Unlikely, but I would check.

  The closer of Ravi’s people checked Gillian’s ID. He was a young white man with a neck as thick as my thigh and a massive brow ridge that turned his sunken eyes into shadowy, unreadable blots. Even when Gillian vouched for me, the guy seemed ready to attack. His partner—black female, tall, short-haired—watched the interaction, never moving, never speaking.

  I liked them. They both seemed competent and alert. But something about the security seemed…inadequate.

  I set my hand in the small of Gillian’s back; it was an intimate move, a signal I was there for her. She didn’t react, so I pulled it away as we came into sight of two more of Ravi’s people. One was a smaller, bald, Southeast Asian man who moved stiffly; he seemed a little older than me. The other was younger, Indian or Pakistani, a little pudgy, with a ridiculously bushy mustache that almost offset the sort of projected physical menace that usually indicated competence. Indian, I decided.

  Once more, they performed thorough checks of Gillian’s credentials before ushering us into Weaver’s room.

  It was nice but not extravagant—bed, privacy curtain, bathroom, a chair near the door and another by the bed, rolling tray, some monitoring equipment mounted on the wall. A window ran the length of the wall opposite the door. No surveillance gear, meaning someone was probably in the room with her all the time. Ravi stood at the end of her bed, jacket unbuttoned, holster exposed. It was a good but late addition to his ensemble. Weaver was propped up in her bed, smiling weakly, looking more worn than before. Her throat glistened where Jose’s knife had cut her. The wound beneath the sealant was a little red and puffy. Diabetes was probably still slowing the healing process.

  Gillian rushed to the bedside and hugged Weaver; Ravi fixed an angry glare on me. He didn’t know what I was up to, but he didn’t trust me. Smart man.

  “Mr. Mendoza.” Weaver’s smile spread. “I think I owe you my life.”

  I bowed toward Ravi. “I think your security detail gets most of the credit. I j
ust got in a lucky punch.”

  “Is that what happened to your face?” Weaver looked at Ravi; he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  I rubbed my tender cheek. “I don’t know if it was lucky or just really good.” That didn’t satisfy Ravi, so I added, “It was the same jokers who tried to kill you. They would’ve gotten me if I hadn’t been around friends.”

  Gillian’s mouth dropped. “You didn’t tell me you were attacked by those killers!”

  “I didn’t want you to worry, especially if you were serious about me hunting them down.”

  A pained smile spread over her face, something special just for Ravi and her mother. “We were discussing the lack of progress with the police and security force investigations. Stefan’s a very knowledgeable security consultant. I think he could make more headway than if we continue to rely exclusively on overworked detectives.”

  Ravi’s hands went to his hips. “Perhaps you should consult with your existing security apparatus before extending such offers.”

  Gillian took Weaver’s right hand and said, “We haven’t signed a contract or anything. It’s just that Stefan shares my concerns about your safety.”

  I squared my shoulders so that Ravi could see me full on. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your operations. In fact, I was just admiring what you’ve done here.” I walked to the section of the room opposite Weaver’s bed. The window looked down on the man-made lake that extended almost to the parking lot and structure. I turned back to Ravi. “Unless they come in through the air, you’ve got a nice defensive position up here with chokepoints at the stairwells and elevator. Does your team have armor-piercing load-outs?”

  He tensed.

  I looked from him to Weaver and said, “They have armor, obviously. You’ll need some pretty serious rounds to hurt them.”