by Falls, K. C.
Suddenly, it hit me. I stumbled onto at least a clue as to what Tristan meant by 'no expectations'. Was it possible that he was such an incredible lover precisely because I had no expectations? Were the gifts he gave me all the more precious because I could not have anticipated them? More to the point, was it possible to carry that concept into the emotional part of the relationship? Could I, could anyone, love without expectations?
I studied my face in the mirror as I brushed my hair. There wasn't any point in trying to hide it from myself. There was no one around to hear me ask my brown-eyed reflection: Can you do it? Can you love one day at a time? Can you love without answers?
Nine
"Raina? Raina?" The knock was insistent and the voice…not good. I quickly pulled the light cotton sweater over my head and answered the door.
"What is it Kwan?"
"Mr. Tristan needs you in his office right now."
I followed Kwan's quick steps up to the next deck and past the huge salon. I'd seen the spiral staircase in the corner of the fabulous room, but hadn't had enough free time to explore every nook and cranny of King's Risk. I'd missed Tristan's nest tucked above it all. Kwan told me to go up the stairs. Something made me take them two at a time.
I knocked once and opened the door without being asked in. Tristan sat at a glossy wood desk surrounded by lots of books and plenty of high tech gadgets including at least three computers. He leapt to his feet and came around the desk when I entered the room.
"Sweetheart…" I should have been thrilled at the endearment. Instead, I was terrified by the look in his eyes and the way he pulled me protectively into his arms.
I pushed away from him enough to see his face and asked, "What happened, Tristan? Is it my parents?" That was the only thing it could be…the only thing that would put that look of panic on his face and make my heart pound like cannon fire in my chest.
"I'm so sorry. So sorry. Artie called. They got to Marjorie."
"Mom??? Tell me!"
"Early this morning. Your father went back to work yesterday. He surprised everyone, including the bodyguards. They didn't have time to do any real reconnaissance on the job site or call in back up. So one of them stayed at the house with your mother and the other one went with your father."
All I could do was nod and stare.
"Don had a lot of pent up energy and a bee in his bonnet when he got to the job site. He made a lot of noise about how he wasn't going to cave into punks. Said he was sick to death of everyone from the Teamsters to the Teacher's union wanting their piece of every tenpenny nail. He made a lot of noise about not giving up until someone paid attention."
"My mother, Tristan, tell me about my mother!"
"This morning, your neighbor, Mrs. Caper . . ."
"Caperelli."
"Mrs. Caperelli came over and found George bound and gagged in the room on the ground floor and your mother gone."
"What the hell do you mean GONE? Gone where?"
"The assumption is that she's been kidnapped."
"Oh my God. Mom." Tears rolled down my cheeks with the image of my wonderful mother at the hands of some bastards like the ones who beat up Dad.
"Okay, now listen to me." Tristan took my shoulders in his strong hands and grabbed onto my eyes with his. "They didn't hurt George. I don't think they're planning to hurt your mother. They want something from your father and your mother's the best way to get to him. Think about it."
I gulped back a sob. He was right. It was awful, but panic was going to get us nowhere. "What now?"
"Obviously, I want to get back to New York as soon as possible. I don't suppose there's any way you'd let me leave you here, out of harm's way? With Kwan?"
I shot him a look that was all the answer that absurd question deserved.
"Right, then. Let's go."
***
By the time Tristan reached around me to fasten my seatbelt in the plane, he had been on the phone with the mayor of New York, the Chief of Police and the director of the FBI. I would have been impressed with the line-up of people who would take his calls, if I hadn't been literally sick with worry.
In between his calls, Tristan had also managed to wipe my cold sweaty brow after I blew the contents of my stomach by the side of the road and again in the elegant bathroom of his airplane. I looked in the mirror after I finished retching and my skin had taken on an unnatural shade of gray. When I came out, Tristan took me back to the master stateroom. He stripped my clammy clothes off and wrapped me in my elegant red velvet robe. Then he sat me on the bed and put a pair of his white cotton athletic socks on my trembling feet. Grabbing the furry throw from the bed, he marched me out to one of the recliners and pushed it all the way back. Then he covered me up and strapped me in.
"I want you to lay here and breathe deeply. When you start to feel warm, let me know. You've got a case of borderline shock. Don't let it get any worse." He held my cold hand in his warm one. "I'm going to take care of this and I'm going to take care of you. But right now, Marjorie needs your strength."
I nodded and tried to follow his instructions. By focusing on the plane taxiing down the runway and the rush of takeoff, I felt the blood returning to my limbs and my heartbeat returning to normal. I smiled at Tristan to let him know I wasn't going to become part of the problem.
Soon after takeoff, Kwan came back into the main salon of the plane and Tristan handed him the phone. There was a great deal of conversation in a language I didn't understand. I recognized it as an Asian language, but that's about it.
"Who's he talking to?" I asked Tristan.
"George. I wanted Kwan to get a firsthand account in their native tongue, in case Artie or the FBI missed something."
"So George and Kwan are from the same country?"
"Laos. Don’t' let the names throw you. All of their names are practically unpronounceable. Kwan chose his name because it at least identifies him as Asian. You'll have to ask George why he chose that particular name."
"Seems an odd choice." The sing-song of Kwan's voice seemed to go on and on. "I sure wish I knew what he was saying. God, it is so frustrating to be up here in this airplane and now I can't even understand what he's talking about."
"Patience. You have to try to be patient. I know it's hard, but please try to believe me when I tell you that no one could bring more pressure to bear on this case than I have."
"I know that. I hope you don't think I don't appreciate it. You've been wonderful." I took his hand in mine, but kept my eyes on Kwan who paced back and forth. He seemed agitated. "Kwan seems upset about something."
"It's the language. It always sounds like they're yelling at one another to me, too."
"Is Kwan a leader of some group of Laotian bodyguards?"
"It's a loosely knit fellowship. They all trained together and trust one another. And, they're very good." He squeezed my hand. "And that's one thing that worries me a little."
I'm sure my eyes widened with fear.
"For the guys to take your mother, they had to have been fairly professional. This was not an amateur operation. George could easily take out multiple men."
"Yes, but Kwan told me that even he can't stop a bullet."
"True. And there are circumstances where a person just has to step back or risk getting himself or someone else killed. George probably recognized that the thugs would have everything to lose by harming Marjorie."
Kwan finally got off the phone.
"Well?" Tristan asked him.
"Perhaps . . . maybe it's best we talk in private."
"Excuse me?" I was not about to be brushed off. "This is my mother we're talking about here."
"Raina's right, Kwan. Whatever you have to say, she has a right to hear."
So Kwan launched into his narrative. A lot of the information we already knew. The abduction had taken place early, just after my father left for work around seven. The street would have been very quiet at that hour. There were four men. They had blown the lock on the out
er iron door that led to the ground floor room where George was staying with some high-powered, quiet and effective explosive. George heard the whisper of the blast and jumped into action. He took one of the men down before he was staring at the barrel of two Glocks leveled point blank at his head. The intruders had his number, too. They remained out of the range of his deadly hands and feet until they were certain that he knew he knew there was no chance. If he had disarmed one, the other still had a clear shot.
They gagged George and bound him with cable ties. Mom had apparently gone back upstairs after seeing my father off to work. George could hear very little as he was on the ground floor and my parents' room is on the third floor. He could hear a little scuffle upstairs and my mother's shouts, quickly silenced. From his position face down on the floor he couldn't see anything. He followed the sounds of the retreating footsteps as the men made their way past his room and out the front entrance on the street level.
The man George had flattened had recovered enough to deliver a vicious kick to George's ribs as a parting shot.
"He said that as they were leaving, he heard one of the men say 'Calm down, Jazzy, we ain't gonna hurt ya.'" Kwan concluded. "Does that mean anything to you?"
I sat bolt upright. "You're damn right it means something to me. No one calls my mother 'Jazzy' except family and close friends."
"I hope George told that to the authorities." Tristan bit his knuckle in thought. "But it's possible no one paid it any mind, or didn't think it was important enough to tell your father."
"Also," added Kwan, "George has a thick accent. It would be easy to misunderstand anything he says."
"Thanks, Kwan. Now get some rest. I have a feeling we're in for quite a long day ahead of us and the jet lag's gonna be a killer." Tristan turned to me. "I'm going to make a couple more phone calls--to Artie and my guy at the FBI. Artie will make sure the NYPD knows about the 'Jazzy' thing and then they can get your father's input."
"My father . . . I have to talk to my father."
"That's not such a good idea. First of all, it isn't going to accomplish anything other than upsetting both of you more than you already are. Secondly, I am now concerned that someone close to your family is somehow involved in this mess. The less your dad knows about where you are, who you're with and what you're doing the better. It may already be too late."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Think about it. Why kidnap Marjorie? What kind of ransom could your family possibly come up with that would be worth committing a serious felony?"
"I assumed the whole thing was about scaring Dad into backing off of his public outrage."
"And you may still be right. But there are lots of ways to accomplish that. If, however, someone learned that 'Jazzy' and Don's youngest was Tristan King's girlfriend there might be an incentive to sweeten the pot with a hefty payoff in the form of ransom."
In spite of all the anxiety and fear about my mother, my selfish heart leapt when he referred to me as his 'girlfriend'. I felt badly about even noticing, given the danger Mom was in. But notice I did.
"Now, I want you to do the same as Kwan. We're only five hours out of New York now and when we land, we're all going to hit the ground running."
"You can't really believe I can sleep, can you?'
"You've had a major shock and I know the adrenaline isn't going to let you sleep right away. But I want you to go to the bedroom and lie down. I'm going to join you after I make the calls. We'll try to relax together."
"Come soon." And hold me, Tristan, just hold me like you'll never let me go.
Ten
I stared up at the moulded ceiling and tried to distract myself by studying the patterns and counting the squares. I'd left the soft recessed lighting on overhead. Tristan came in quietly and I watched him remove his shoes and socks, his belt and then his slacks. His back was turned toward me and I saw him lean against the dressing table and breathe a heavy sigh. His posture told me how tired he was. His broad shoulders seemed weighted down. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, twirling his head in a slow circle to ease the tension there.
I peeled the covers back for him to slip in beside me. His head went back against the pillow and he pulled me close to him. My head rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. We didn't talk at all. I found strength and comfort in the warmth of his simple embrace. As I slipped into a restless sleep, I hoped he found a little of the same in me.
"Stop! No! Take me . . . Stop!" Tristan woke me with his muffled shouts and thrashing.
"Tristan, wake up. You're having a nightmare." I put my arms around him to try to calm him and was utterly shocked when he began to sob against my shoulder. I couldn't really tell if he was still 'in' the dream or fully awake. Finally, his breathing slowed and he hiccupped back to normal.
"I'm sorry, Raina."
"You don't have to apologize. It was a bad dream. Everyone has them once in a while. Can you remember what it was about?"
Tristan turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "It's always the same and I always remember what it's about."
Something told me to keep quiet. For once I had the rare insight to just let someone talk.
"I told you the story of my friend and the accident at the ski lodge."
"I remember."
"Well, I didn't tell you the whole story." He sucked in a deep breath as if he was trying to gather the courage to tell his tale. "My friend was actually my fiancé. Her name was Elsa. When I made that first killing in investments, she had been there, supporting and encouraging me all the way. When I took the group to Italy for the celebration, I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving her behind." He swallowed hard and went on. "Like I told you, I was much more naïve then. I didn't think about the bad elements out there. I was on top of the world."
"How could you have known?" I asked him more to keep him talking than anything else.
"That's the thing. I was warned. I was warned and I ignored the warning."
"Who warned you?"
"My father. He called me shortly after I hit the big numbers. In his own stiff way, he told me that money attracts evil and that I should make sure I was looking over my shoulder and protecting myself and anyone who could be used to hurt me. It was like he knew something I didn't."
"You don't think he . . ."
"No. No, my father may not give a rat's ass about me, but he doesn't actively hate me." Tristan sighed into the darkness. "When we went out skiing that morning, I saw those guys behind us. Alarms should have sounded in my head. But I just went on as if there was no danger at all."
"Again, Tristan, just because the men didn't 'fit' your image of skiers at that lodge, how could you have known how it would end up?"
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that when they grabbed Elsa, they knew who we were. One of the assholes sneered at me--I'll never forget his crappy, crooked teeth--and said 'Bet you'll pay a pretty penny to get her back, won't you, Mr. King?'. So you see, I have all the reason in the world to believe that by knowing me, by being close to me, you or your parents could be in danger."
I took his hand under the covers. "I'm so sorry Tristan."
"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I've spent the last five years making sure that I didn't get close enough to anyone to put them in harm's way. I just couldn't manage to keep my distance from you."
I curled up against his side. "Don't you know by now that I don't want you to keep your distance?"
"I don't know if I could bear it if I've put you at risk."
"Life is all about risks, you and I both know that. I'm willing to to take a chance on you. The question is, will you do the same?"
I didn't get an answer. At least not in words. Tristan took me into his arms and kissed me in the most gentle, seeking way. He told me how much he cherished me with his warm, tender lips. His hands slipped under the robe and found my breasts. This time there was no pinching, just a reverent touch that made me tighten with desire for him.
/> Soon he was naked beside me. In spite of our fear and doubts, we needed the comfort of each others' touch. This time, our lovemaking--and in my mind I dared to call it that--was so different. There was pleasure, of course. Tristan touched me in all the right ways and in all the right places. But there was more than pleasure.
I slipped my hands down to tangle in the sandy curls at his groin. Both hands stroked the velvety skin on his hardness. Together encircling it still left a lot left to cover. My fingers didn't meet around his girth. I played at the cockhead with my thumb and rubbed the droplet of fluid I found there around the ridge. I tried to tell him with my touch how much the intimacy meant to me.
For the first time, excitement took a back seat to a deeper passion. When I took his cock inside my body I didn't need words to let me know that it was more than just a sensual exchange. Other times our bodies were at play. This time, our bodies were focused on reaching for more.
His thrusts buried his erection inside me to the hilt. His eyes were open, searing farther into me than they had ever gone before. He held my gaze, breaking it only to give me kisses with heartbreaking emotion wrapped in every brush of his mouth. There was something bittersweet about the way he took me, as if he had lost a battle. It was a battle within himself, but I gladly took the spoils.
Beneath him, spread open to his conquest, I gave myself over to his need. He whispered my name over and over, his voice husky with desire, affection and even fear. Although I received him, it seemed to me that he was more vulnerable at that moment.
His cock was just as hard and thick, his back as strong, his arms still capable. His muscles still rippled dense and firm under his smooth skin. But there was a depth, an indescribable nuance that transformed us as we pressed against each other.
