Untraceable

by Lindsay Delagair

  But I couldn’t say anything. I was still in shock that this was happening—or to be more precise, not happening.

  “You must show you are against this,” he whispered, and then firmly pressed his pelvis into mine.

  I inhaled at the pressure, but I still couldn’t react. The phone rang and my head was as void as open air.

  “Damn it, Annalisa—you are going to make this difficult for me,” he stated with exasperation, and then suddenly he was on me, one hand gripping my wrists and the other groping my breasts. I began to scream and beg for him to get off me. “Yes, baby, this is what I need from you. Tell me no,” he begged as his hips began to rhythmically push between my legs. I could tell his body was aroused and I was certain at any moment the fabric would move and this would become real as I pled for him to stop.

  The phone was on the second ring when he lifted his hips and reached over and pressed the screen. Even through my cries of terror, I could hear Sharon’s voice and I knew Micah was about to be witness to something he shouldn’t see. Jonathan had returned to being his unemotional self, his grip feeling as if it could crush my wrists, his eyes void. I could hear Micah’s voice and then Sharon’s. Jonathan was arguing with her, and then he reached over and grabbed the phone.

  Suddenly everything slowed and he was shushing me, telling me it was okay, the call had ended.

  I was repeating Micah’s name over and over. The pain I knew he was experiencing was piercing into my heart and I was so afraid for him right now.

  “It is okay, Annalisa, we did it,” Jonathan crooned.

  “Please,” I asked gently when I understood that he wasn’t preparing to move from between my legs. “Please get off me and give me back my clothes.”

  “You are very beautiful,” he responded, giving me a look that hadn’t been there during our exhibition. His hands were drifting down my arms, sliding over the fabric of my now open blouse against my ribcage. He lifted my breasts under my bra as he did. “I am not this strong—indulge me, Annalisa—I promise you will enjoy it.”

  “You—you gave me your word of honor, Jonathan,” I stammered. “Please, get up. Whoever sent you said to keep me safe—raping me is wrong and you know it.”

  “Kiss me, Annalisa,” he asked as his face moved toward mine.

  “Is this how you keep your word? I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.” I made sure my words were filled with bitterness and disappointment. To my surprise, he stopped advancing.

  “You are right. After everything you have been through with me, I can understand why you feel this way. But I can keep my word.” He rose slowly and removed what he had placed between us. He picked up my underwear and slipped my feet through them and carefully pulled them up.

  “If you would unchain me, I could—”

  “No. I am sorry, but I am afraid I know a little too much about you, and I do not want you trying to attack me—especially in your current state.”

  I swung my legs slowly over the side and sat up. He bent down and retrieved my skirt from the floor. He held it open. I had to rest my hand on his shoulder for balance as I stepped into it. He pulled it up and straightened it himself as we stood their only inches apart.

  “Tell me who sent you—please,” I asked softly. “I’m starting to believe you really don’t work for Sharon.”

  “I am, how you would say in English, a loaner. The person who sent me here knew she was up to something and that it would involve you, so he asked me to work with her and if things progressed, as they have, I am to be your protector.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “The other men, they are Sharon’s, aren’t they?”

  “Definitely. I did not expect her to strand us here with them, nor refuse to return my guns or I would have had you out of here and in New York by now.”

  “New York?” I suddenly realized who my benefactor would be, but why he would send someone to protect me was a mystery. “You work for the Capo dei Capi?”

  Jonathan smiled, “You are a very intelligent young woman. I never expected you to say that.”

  “If I was intelligent, I would have listened to my husband when he told me you were dangerous and I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m not going to New York with you.” My eyes were stinging and my throat beginning to constrict as I suddenly began to feel responsible for what was taking place.

  “You do not have a choice; you will go. And, as far as the other, it would not have mattered, Annalisa. I had to be the one to take you whether you fell for my stories or not. Her men would have hurt you and I could not allow that to happen.”

  “Why is he…” I paused, thinking about what Micah had told me about this man in New York, a man so dangerous that even Micah was afraid of him. “Why would he protect me?”

  “Let me just say he is your very best fan.”

  “Micah—he saved Micah from… He did that because of me?”

  “Yes. He saved your husband because of you.”

  “Then he wasn’t going to make Micah work for him?”

  “No.”

  I sat down, almost too quickly, onto the bed, but my knees were giving out and I was going down anyway. I was just grateful there was a bed below to catch me.

  “Do not do that!” he shouted, reaching to slow my descent, but he simply hadn’t been quick enough. “That is no good for the bambino!”

  He was redressing when someone tried to open the bedroom door. Suddenly, he was all Giovanni as he knocked the chair away and snatched the door open. I didn’t understand much of the Italian he was using, but I was pretty sure it was all cursing.

  The other man looked from Jonathan’s half dressed form, to me sitting there with a tear-streaked face as I buttoned my blouse, and he smiled broadly. “So is that what you call punishment?”

  There were more angry Italian phrases, and a little English to remind the man he wasn’t supposed to be upstairs and then he followed the man out and slammed the door.

  I had a lot to consider. It was the first time in a week that I felt there was a glimmer of hope. But, Jonathan was a masterful liar, and it was possible that once again he was playing me. Yet, somehow, it was just wild enough to be the truth. I had a feeling Jonathan would make a move soon for us to escape, but my problem would be how to escape from Jonathan once that happened.

  CHAPTER twenty-one

  When the predawn glow filled the sky the following morning, Micah was seated on the edge of the bed sliding his muscled legs into his jeans. He flinched when she touched his bare back.

  “You don’t have to rush out of here,” Sharon replied, kissing his spine and trying to cuddle against him. He rose so quickly she lost her balance and nearly tumbled from the bed.

  “I’ve got a job to do, remember?”

  “My God, you are fabulous,” she sighed and pulled his pillow under her head, taking his spot in the bed. “I knew you would be. Stay. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he growled as he pulled his tight, white cotton tank down over his sculpted abs. He snatched his button-down shirt from the chair and slipped it on.

  “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy last night, too,” she said, bordering on sounding pouty. “It’s a little hard for a guy to fake an orgasm.”

  He turned and stared at her. He could see the bruises on her throat, upper body, and thighs. He’d never been so rough without actually killing a woman. The problem was that she loved every moment of the struggle, begging him to choke her into a state of hypoxia. She refused to allow him to stop when she realized he was holding back. She’d orgasmed several times, but she wouldn’t allow her wicked game to end until she was certain he physically caved and joined her.

  She smiled as she rose from the bed and attempted to straighten his collar. He gripped her hands to stop her when she suddenly tried to kiss him.

  “NO,” he snapped, pushing her down onto the bed.

  She tipped her head back
and laughed, “We’ve done everything else—kiss me, you stubborn bastard.”

  “You got what you demanded last night, but I never agreed to kiss you.”

  “You liked it, Micah,” she cooed. “Your eyes are stunning and they say volumes that you’ll never voice. We are exactly alike and I think last night proved that to you. Stay tonight and—”

  “If you want your father dead, I have to leave.”

  She honestly appeared to be reconsidering his mission. He could see the wheels turning in her devious little mind as if her head was made of clear glass. She wanted to be the boss, but she had a sexual appetite that nearly rivaled her thirst for family status and power.

  “Of course I want him dead,” she finally admitted, “but I want you, too.”

  “Dead?” Micah sarcastically mused.

  She gave a wicked half smile, “Oh, I wanted you dead for quite a while, but then I began to see the potential in the type of man you are—there aren’t many… I take that back. There aren’t any men I’ve met like you. From that fabulous body to your beautiful face, and your exquisite sexual kinks to your twisted lack of emotion when you clip someone, you are unique, I’ll give you that. Our game isn’t over, darling. You do your first assignment for me and then we celebrate—my way.”

  He drew in an annoyed breath as he pulled his shoulder harness on.

  “You’ll stay with me for a little while and, when I’m satisfied, you take out Botachelli, and I’ll have Giovanni let your wife go free.”

  “If he harms her in any way, I’ll—”

  “Don’t be stupid, Micah. Giovanni’s not. He may be a little hard to control, but trust me; he is on a leash. He’ll do exactly as I say, but if you insist on going after him when this is over, Caprizio will kill you.”

  He turned his back to her and walked from the room heading for the front door. He could tell she was right behind him. He had just placed his hand on the door knob when she spoke.

  “I’ll call you and tell you where to meet me after I hear the tragic news about my wonderful Papa,” she stated icily.

  “It won’t be safe for us to meet. At least not for a little while—unless you want them to know you ordered the hit,” he said, never turning to look at her. Her silence told him she was considering what he just said.

  “No, I don’t want that revealed, at least not until after the families converge, but,” she stressed, “You will not make me wait. When I say, Micah,” she added, reminding him that she was, at least for now, in control of him, “you will come back to me.”

  He walked out the door.

  CHAPTER twenty-two

  To call the Norfolk home of Vitale Moretti a vacation home was a bit like calling the palace at Versailles, Louie’s chill pad; the French influenced twelve-thousand square foot home sat on five beautifully landscaped acres directly on the Lafayette River.

  Micah studied the home from every possible angle. He had the gate and alarm codes, and he knew the placement of the security cameras. He’d already made one late night trip onto the lush premises to plant some tiny, wireless cameras. The batteries would only last for about a week, but he wouldn’t need that much time. There was a minimal staff on hand; a cook, a housekeeper, and a grounds man, but they would never know that he had even been there observing them as he went about his work. The cook and the groundskeeper lived on the property in a small cottage, and the housekeeper lived within the residence. He knew the interior layout by heart. Sharon provided him with a set of house plans the day he met her at the beach house.

  Sleeping with her had left him feeling, well, odd was the only way he could describe it. Women, with the exception of his mother, had been unimportant in his life. He used them to satisfy his physical needs, but never more. That was one reason why he’d limited his prior female involvement to prostitutes—emotional connections were unwanted and unnecessary when it came to satisfying the baser side of human needs.

  Then Annalisa came into his life and, for once, he wanted a woman for so much more than just a way to achieve a physical release. His heart felt as if it literally had begun to ache in his chest when he realized, if they survived this mess, that he would have to tell her he’d been unfaithful. He knew it would hurt her deeply. She would understand, at least he hoped she would, and with that same hope he would ask her to forgive him. Once again, he was certain she would, but the scar would remain in her heart. Although she was beautiful and perfect to him, he felt he had wounded her innocence too many times—and that hurt like hell. He had taken a vow to belong to her physically, spiritually, and mentally. He’d broken his vow, yet more troubling than that, he allowed his body to enjoy it. Sharon wasn’t better in bed than Leese, but she was different—different like him. At times he still felt like an invader in Leese’s world, almost as if she was still his prisoner. Sharon felt eerily natural. He didn’t like that.

  Neither he nor Sharon had ever cared, truly cared for another person. People were to be used, at least that had been his philosophy at one time. He thought that he had put that man away when he gave Leese his heart. Sharon brought his past clearly, hauntingly, and hurtfully back to reality. He never thought about a man ever ending up a rape victim, especially not someone like him. But he felt his night with her robbed him of something Leese had been molding inside of him. He had been angry, violent, and abusive with a woman, and in that act it felt as if Sharon stole away everything Leese encouraged him to believe about himself. She stole his speck of humanness, and violated his budding sense of goodness. The only thing keeping him attached to being a new person for his wife and son now was a different kind of promise—a promise he never believed he could keep anyway. If he wasn’t careful, his humanity would suffer the final blow and he’d return to being the person he never thought he could escape; Micah Gavareen, untouchable.

  He gave a sigh and tried to close his eyes and rest. Monday would set in motion his eventual invasion of the Moretti home. It wouldn’t be quick. He had to observe them and watch for patterns. Daily life patterns were a hitman’s best weapon. If they had a routine for rising, daylight activities, evening patterns for meals, entertainment, and or bedtime, Micah would pick up on it quickly, and it would make his job just that much easier. He was somewhat pleased to see that Vitale and his mistress only brought two of his guards with them to Virginia. He didn’t know much about the two men, but he’d never had a problem with guards before. Guards have a different mentality from soldiers. Guards are defense, soldiers are offense. Soldiers have the benefit of planning the attack; guards—well—they were always surprised. He would take care of them first, and then Vitale and Darlene would be at his mercy.

  By Wednesday, Micah knew their routines. Vitale and Darlene rose by nine a.m., breakfast on the patio was promptly at nine-thirty each morning. She would sun herself by the pool for two hours while Vitale read the paper and placed business calls. Lunch by one, and then they would go out on the town and neighboring areas until six or seven p.m., dinner out, home by ten p.m. and bedtime, at least for Vitale, was always midnight after he watched the eleven o’clock news. Darlene was usually in bed by the start of the news. Micah suspected it was an effort to avoid sex with her aged companion. Vitale Moretti was sixty-one; Darlene Kenney was the same age as Sharon, twenty-nine. The guards were, at least in Micah’s opinion, foolishly preoccupied with sports and playing cards until two or three in the morning every evening. Then it was set the alarm and total lights out until morning.

  He would launch his attack around eleven p.m., Thursday, but before gathering all the items he would need, he had to make a phone call. He didn’t like involving Ryan, but there was no one else he could trust to do this. David was out of the question.

  CHAPTER twenty-three

  When Friday morning came bustling into a clear and cloudless Virginia sky, Abigale Hawkins, Vitale’s housekeeper for the last three years, made her perfunctory trip to the master suite. He liked to have her pull back the heavy, floor to ceiling drapes that covered th
e enormous, northern wall of windows so he could lie in bed and watch sunlight scatter across the Lafayette river like diamonds scattering over granite. But this morning, she wouldn’t enter the master suite. Matter-of-fact, she wouldn’t go anywhere near the large, ornately carved door because stabbed into the wood with a hunter’s knife was a bloody mass with a note.

  She felt faint, her knees immediately giving way. She crumpled to the floor, but managed to stay conscious as she covered her mute mouth and gagged. Her throat had constricted beyond the ability to scream, but when the strength in her legs returned, she ran, babbling and crying, to the guards’ room. No one was there. Panic overcame her so thoroughly that she didn’t think to use the cell phone in her pocket to call Ike, the groundskeeper, instead she ran out of the main house and all the way to the cottage.

  Police are rarely an option where mafia matters are concerned, especially when the upper echelon is involved. Hits, unless done publicly, are usually dealt with inside of the organization. The gory disaster that had been the life of Vitale Moretti would be handled without police involvement.

  When Sharon’s phone went off that morning and she saw it was her father’s closest friend and his Consigliere, Aldo, she knew Micah had done his job.

  She smiled serenely as she touched the screen, and then put the phone to her ear, “Good morning, Aldo.”

  “Sh—Sharon,” he choked. “I’m sorry; I have some terrible news.”

  Her smile broadened, “Really? I can’t imagine—”

  “Your father…” he stopped sounding too emotional to continue.

  Hmm, she wondered. Aldo was a seasoned member of the mafia; the man never became emotional. Just what had Micah done to cause this man such distress? “What about Daddy?”