Margot coiled herself around his body, embracing him so tightly her muscles trembled with the strain. She vibrated in his arms, a frequency too high for tears, and pressed her face against him, pressing soft, tender kisses against the curve of his neck and shoulder.
He loved it. He never wanted her to stop.
Finally she relaxed, her head heavy on his shoulder. He scooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed, pulling the coverlet over her body.
He sat down in the chair by the bed. He knew his own chronic insomnia well enough to know he would get no sleep tonight. Every cell in his body was wide awake and zinging with tension.
He might as well just go into the office, boot up the computer and make himself useful, but he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off her. There was no place safer than his own bed, but that wasn’t saying much. He’d known since he was ten that no safe place existed. Things melted away, things disappeared, things were stolen. No warning, no rules, no laws.
Bart Wilkes’s mysterious death chilled him to the bone. That combined with Margot’s gothic tale of blood and gore was more than enough to keep his eyes wide open all night long. Speculating, worrying.
Fate had conspired to land her in his bed, and he was by God keeping her there. The world was full of monsters tonight.
He wasn’t taking any chances.
Chapter
13
Faris made his way through the upscale Highland Park neighborhood. The address Marcus had given him was of Dr. Nosomi Takeda, a forty-six-year-old Japanese-American cell biologist who researched and taught at the University of Washington.
He was fortunate to have a job to do, because he was so distressed at the thought of Marcus’s anger, he could barely control his bodily functions. He’d lost Margaret. Again. The GPS tag on her car had showed her going home, but her house had been dark and empty.
He’d slammed through the empty rooms of Margaret’s pathetic little house, almost putting his fists through the thin, water-stained walls, but he knew that he would have much better use for his fists soon. Best not to bruise them now.
His red angel had fallen into McCloud’s trap. She was weaker than he’d thought. He was so disappointed. So hurt and disgusted that she was no longer pure for him. Their love had been sullied. That shining perfection that had transformed him could never be regained.
And the hollow screaming place that he thought had been filled with her love was screaming again, and he had to make it stop. Had to.
He only knew one way to do it.
Faris parked a few blocks from Dr. Takeda’s house and approached it quietly on foot. The house was secluded, the trees creating pools of convenient shadow. He spiraled in slowly, wary of alarms or dogs. Nothing. Idiots. They deserved anything they got.
He boosted the infrared camera on its mechanized tele-stick, weaving it delicately through the branches of the pine trees until he got a clear look of the upstairs bedrooms, and hit the master bedroom on the first try. Two lumps in the bed. Good.
The back kitchen door was equipped with an anti-pick, anti-drill Medeco lock as well as a dead bolt and chain, but he hadn’t wanted to use the pick gun anyway. It was too loud. It took only a few moments of maneuvering his custom MT device under the door, extending it up to loosen the locks on the door from the inside, and he was in.
He took a moment to orient himself. The remains of a candlelit dinner were on the table. Articles of clothing were strewn in the hall and up the stairs, becoming more intimate in nature as he approached the bedroom. The bedroom door hung half-open, a pair of skimpy woman’s panties hanging on the knob. He peered inside, confirmed the presence of the two lumps in the bed, and drifted on like a shadow to check the other rooms. Takeda was a childless divorcée living alone in the house she’d gotten from the divorce settlement, but it paid to double-check.
A shadow in the dark. The shadow of death. He remembered the phrase from when he was a kid in Sunday school. Marcus had used his special memory techniques to help his little brother memorize his Bible verses. Faris had never, ever forgotten them. They were woven into his dreams. The valley of the shadow of death. Inside of him.
He was the shadow of death itself. Silent, invisible. Invincible.
Dr. Haight’s lover, Dr. Takeda, was sprawled naked in the sheets on the side closest to him. Faris crept closer, and studied her naked body in the dim light that filtered through from the hallway. She was in excellent shape for a woman of her age, but too thin and narrow-hipped for his tastes, though all women paled in comparison to his red angel.
Takeda’s black hair was tangled over the pillows, brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle out the secrets of cell biology in her dreams. Faris uncorked a vial and held it under her nose for a few seconds.
He circled round the bed and looked over the new director of Calix Research Laboratories, Dr. Seymour Haight. Heavily asleep, his mouth open. Mid-fifties, gray-streaked, close-trimmed beard. Thick gray chest hair. Mouth open, distorted against the pillow. Stocky, but muscular.
He looked like Titus, Faris’s father. It made Faris nostalgic. He had cried for his father after the heart attack. No one ever suspected what Faris had done with his needles. Invisible. The shadow of death.
Faris uncorked another vial, held it under Haight’s nose—and the need for stealth and silence was abruptly over. He could put on heavy metal music to work with if he chose. Now it was grunt work any idiot could do, even LeRoy or Karel.
The thought of them inflamed his anger and jealousy to a fever pitch. How could Marcus pass over Faris, who had tried so hard to please him for all these years, in favor of those grunting pigs? It made him want to kill, to rend and bite. Blood spraying in splattering gouts.
He wrestled himself back under control. Marcus would never forgive him if Faris spoiled his precious plan, though Faris had long ago begun to hate Marcus’s plan. Any setbacks, and it was always Faris who was punished. Always poor Faris who paid the price.
He flipped on the light, unloaded the pack strapped to his back, and laid out the three metal cases, each filled with a sheet of soft, fast-setting molding plastic. He picked up Haight’s limp, hairy right hand, peeled off the seal and pressed it firmly into the plastic.
The impression was clear. He wiped Haight’s hand with a tissue soaked with a cleaning solvent, waited for it to dry and repeated the procedure twice more. Nothing to it.
He packed up the gear, checked to make sure he’d left nothing behind. He was done, but still he stood, staring at the unconscious man and woman in the bed. He still felt a driving need for something more to fill the screaming hole. The feeling was almost sexual, but Takeda’s slack-jawed slumber and extreme slenderness did not tempt him. Karel was the sex addict. If Karel had been given this assignment, he would have indulged as a matter of course.
But Faris was different. Base, animal sex repelled him. His appetites vibrated on a higher plane. He couldn’t kill Haight, as that would wreck Marcus’s precious plan, but Marcus hadn’t specified that Haight’s lover was off limits. As long as Faris didn’t make a mess, he could indulge himself. No one would know. Not even Takeda herself.
Faris sat down next to the sleeping woman, petting her almost affectionately. What lovely smooth skin. She lay on her side, arm flung over her head. So thin, he could count each rib. Her breasts were barely more than creases of extra flesh on her chest, peaked by brown nipples.
Within seconds, inspiration came. He plucked needles from his wristband. One on each side of her throat, to create blocks in one flow of qi, excesses in another. Then a swift, sharp blow with the very tip of his finger, right between the eighth and ninth rib.
Takeda jerked, whimpering, but did not wake.
He’d hardly touched the surface of her skin, and the blow would barely leave a bruise, but the shock wave of traumatic energy he had directed into her body was sufficient to rupture her spleen.
It would take approximately three days for the mem
branous capsule around that organ to fill with blood. Then the internal hemorrhaging, the sudden drop in blood pressure, and goodbye, Dr. Takeda. So young, to die so mysteriously. How sad.
That was better. Now he could relax, think more clearly. He retrieved his needles, flicked off the light and left, relocking the doors.
Time to turn his attention to Margaret. He was so angry at her weakness of character that even the thought of Marcus questioning her distressed him less than it had before. She deserved to be punished.
He would question her himself, with his needles. She would learn what it meant to betray him. He had tried to be gentle with her, and he had suffered for it, too. It wasn’t his fault if she ruined everything.
Stupid slut. She had only herself to blame.
Margot woke up disoriented. She barely remembered who she was, let alone where. All she knew was that she felt wrung out, limp. Floating. She was unusually comfortable, too, sprawled on a soft…huh? Wow. It was a bed. A real bed. A very nice bed, in fact.
She rolled over and looked around. The bed was huge. She was lost in it. Moonlight streamed through the big windows of a large, simply furnished room. Outside the moont lit up the shimmering expanse of a lake. Then she saw Davy’s long body, sitting in a plain straight-backed chair near the bed. His face was in shadow, but she sensed his tension. He was wide awake, and standing guard.
It all rolled back, a cold, dark tidal wave of memory. The pendant. Bart Wilkes’s body. Fear gripped her.
“Rest,” Davy said. “Everything’s fine. I was just watching over you. Go back to sleep.”
Yeah, right. She didn’t follow orders, on principle, but Davy just didn’t get it yet. She sat up, straining to make out the expression on his face. She tried to think of something to say to him, but the chaotic feelings struggling inside her were too dangerous to put into words.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said. “Not one goddamn thing. So go on. Get some sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”
His words made her heart go soft. She untangled herself from the bedcovers and slid off the bed. “You know what, Davy? That’s the sweetest, sexiest thing a guy has ever said to me, in my whole life.”
She saw a flash on his face that might have been a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Studly, gallant, altruistic. Yum.” She grabbed the edge of her skimpy stretch tank top, and peeled it up over her body. “Does that line always work this well?” She pulled the shirt over her head. “Do the girls always start throwing their clothes off when you say that?”
“No. It’s very specific. Only you.”
“Nice.” She nodded her approval, undoing the top button of her jeans. “Very nice. You make me feel special. Women love that.”
“I’m not feeding you some bullshit line.” His voice was curt. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not tonight.”
Her hands froze on her buttons. “I was joking, pal,” she said tentatively. “Remember the concept? Funny, ha ha, and all that?”
“I’m humor challenged on the best of days, let alone tonight. I’m in a weird space. Too much adrenaline. Maybe it would be better if you got under the covers and closed your eyes. And your mouth.”
His hard voice chilled her. Her arms crept up to cover her bra. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, if you don’t want—”
“Like hell I don’t want,” he snarled. “I want to fuck you so bad, my hands are shaking. But I’m too wound up. I can’t take it easy, you get me? I don’t want to hurt you or scare you. So don’t push me. Please.”
Oh, how sweet. Trying to protect her from the power of his lust. How adorably silly of him. The thought of Davy’s hands trembling with desire for her…wow. It made her lower body tingle and throb. A hot, wild animal feeling. Panther woman. Hear her roar.
An uncontrollable smile spread over her face. She shimmied her tight jeans down over her bottom. “I’ll tell you a secret.” She tried to keep her tone light and teasing, but the tremor of excitement betrayed her. “I mostly use plain white cotton bikini briefs. But since you started hanging around, I’ve been using these skimpy lace thingies.”
“Is that so,” he said.
“Go figure,” she said, in mock wonder. “They’re uncomfortable as the dickens. Scritchy-scratch, and that damned string always riding up between my cheeks. Sexy panties are an invention of the devil. Along with high heels.”
“So take them off,” he said.
She unclasped her bra, tossed it away. Hooked her fingers into her panties and swayed her hips. Shimmy, bump and grind. She’d never done a striptease for a guy before. She’d always been too matter-of-fact about sex for silly games. Not anymore.
She pulled the clip out of her hair, arching to take advantage of the boob-optimizing Playboy bunny position. She shook her hair loose. The longest part of the chopped ends tickled the tops of her shoulders.
“I’ve got adrenaline to unload too, you know.” She swung her thigh over his legs and straddled his lap, face to face with him. “But I don’t want to hurt you or scare you, either.”
He let out a short, harsh laugh, and his hands came up to clasp her waist. She arched and shivered in his hot, possessive grasp. “I told you,” he said. “I’m not delicate.”
“I noticed. I like that. Sometimes I intimidate guys, you see. I shoot off my big mouth, hurt their tender feelings. You know how I am.”
“I’m getting a pretty good idea—” His voice choked off into a gasp as she gripped him, stroking the whole turgid length of his penis through the denim of his jeans.
“But just look at this,” she said softly. “This part doesn’t feel intimidated. Not one little tiny bit.” She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, covering them with moist, lingering kisses. She slid her tongue into his mouth, flicking it against his. “That’s one of the things I love about you,” she went on. “You’re hard to intimidate. I can knock you around all I want, and you just bounce up, begging for more.”
He leaned away from her kiss. “What are the other things?”
She was momentarily lost. “Huh?”
“You said that’s one of the things you love about me. That implies that there are others. So what are they?”
She was startled into silence for a moment. She started to laugh.
“Just what’s so goddamn funny?”
She started unbuttoning his linen shirt. “Like you have to ask,” she said. “Tell you what, buddy. I’ll show you some of them right now.”
“Hey. Are you sure about this?”
She pushed the linen shirt off his shoulders and started fumbling with his cuffs. “Nonverbal communication just doesn’t get through to you, does it? What do I have to do to convince you? Tie you down? Ravish you by force? Say the word, pal. I’m in the mood to be wild.”
“Just give me a goddamn straight answer.” He yanked his cuffs out of her fingers and undid the buttons, flinging the shirt onto the floor. “That’s all I ask.”
She hesitated. “I really wish you’d lighten up,” she said. “My life is awfully grim and serious these days.”
“Forget it,” he said. “If you want lighthearted, I’m not your man. Not tonight, anyway. Just say it, straight out. Let me hear a formal declaration of intent. Do you want to have sex with me tonight?”
“Do you have condoms?” she asked.
“Drawer in the bedside table.”
“Then yes. I’m sure,” she said. “Make me feel something good.”
“OK,” he muttered. “That I can do.”
There. She’d done it, she’d thrown herself into the vortex.
His hands circled her waist, just touching the curves of her hips, sliding over her naked skin. Every gentle stroke made her tingle and buzz, every place he touched felt like it should sparkle with light. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him in her usual bold, take-charge way. He opened his mouth to hers, and their tongues touched.
The astonishing intimacy of the tender contact took
her by surprise. Everything went hot and shaky and unstable.
But she didn’t want to be shaky, stammering and blushing. She needed all her attitude with a guy like Davy. She wanted to wow him, subdue him, shock him senseless, like the fearless barbarian queen. She wanted some goddamn satisfaction. On her own terms.
But it wasn’t going to be that way. It started with just the kiss; one minute she was perched naked on his lap, making love to his warm, sexy mouth, feeling like an invincible siren. The next moment, he was making love to hers, and she’d lost control of the kiss, of him, of herself, of everything. He just took her over, smoothly and completely.
His hand slid down to the cleft of her bottom, delving lower to brush over the curls that shielded her labia. The glancing touch sent a wild jolt of sensation and emotion through her. He pressed the small of her back, pushing her wider as his fingers slid inside her wet folds.
Pleasure uncoiled, unraveling her with every skillful stroke. She was helpless, trembling and soft. He got up, setting her on her feet and pushing her back as he unbuckled his belt. She lost her balance and tumbled onto the bed, scrambling backwards. She’d blatantly provoked him, but the minute he took her at her word, she panicked. This was nuts. She didn’t do this, wasn’t like this. There was only so far she could go before her back hit the headboard. She huddled against it, knees drawn up to her chest, shivering like a silly, terrified virgin.
Davy stripped off his jeans and advanced across the bed, looming over her in the dark. He put both hands over her knees, and the flush of heat and pleasure that spread down her thighs at the contact made her gasp. He flung himself to the side, his body stretching and flexing as he rummaged in the bedside drawer for a condom. He flipped on the light.
It happened too fast to protest. Margot winced, and covered her face with her hands. “I’d rather you left it off, please.”
“No.” His blunt refusal startled her. “I’ve got to see to every detail.”
Out of Control Page 16
