She pushed away and her stormy eyes met his. “Is it in your nature?”
Tell her. Tell her and be damned for telling the truth.
“I’ve killed more men than I could ever hope to count.” He didn’t stop her when she winced and rushed off his lap. She moved to the opposite side of the room as if that small distance could keep him from her.
“You’ve murdered people?”
Winded, her voice had an airy quality that would’ve hardened him if panic hadn’t washed over her pale features. It annoyed him that she made his blood surge by the mere sound of her voice.
“For gods and kings, dictators and governments. In a war, it’s not called murder.”
Stella wrapped her arms tightly around her body. “You were in the military?”
No. Mercenaries were the first ones in and the last ones out. They lead the troops none would claim, but everyone wanted on their side.
“. . . Yes, something like that.”
Their loyalty was bought and paid for in gold. That’s how they lived until he met Elyssian. Her soft, apple green eyes so innocent he’d do anything to protect her. He should’ve guarded her from himself, left her untouched, and saved her from an unending death.
“Either you were, or you weren’t.” Her voice raised two octaves and her hands punctuated each word.
“It must be easy to live in a black and white world, so sure of everything.” Sarcasm dripped from each word.
“It is easy, very easy to live by a set of rules you believe in.”
“You judge me? I believe in surviving, at any cost.” He leaned forward.
“Even if that means you’ve killed someone?”
He never wanted her to look at him with contempt and . . . horror, but some things couldn’t be helped. “I will kill anyone to ensure my safety and those I love.”
Stella paced. He studied her agitation, waiting for her to adjust or reject.
“Who are you?” she finally asked.
“I’m a mercenary, a hired killer. It’s what I’ve been my entire life.” All two thousand, sixty- eight years.
“Is that legal?” Already knowing the answer, still, she shook her head in denial.
“In this country, I’m not a mercenary. I’m a businessman. I run a company with hundreds of employees.”
She blinked hard and absorbed his words. “And you’re protecting me? Why?”
“I was hired.” Technically true.
“Doc hired Nicolis Security. A security firm, not a mercenary.” Her voice rose.
“You don’t truly believe he hired me without knowing who and what I am or the complete services I supply. You see a gentle old man. I see a shrewd businessman trying to protect someone he cares about.”
“Doc wouldn’t.” Her hair whipped about her head.
“Who better to protect you from a killer, than another killer?”
“This can’t be legal.”
“When it’s sanctioned by a government, it is.”
He rose from the futon and slowly approached her. He expected her to run. She didn’t. Feet braced apart, hands clenched, she stood her ground. Her face was a changing landscape of hope and fears. Did she still think he attacked her? Probably. Then why did she seem wistful and lost? What was she hoping for?
“You keep asking, ‘Why me?’ What you should ask yourself is, ‘why not me?’ You were a random person caught at a designated time, set by unknown hands. What happened to you could’ve, would’ve happened to any woman that night.”
Stella nodded. It took some time, but finally, she said, “You’re right. It could’ve been any woman and I have been asking ‘Why me—other than the obvious wrong place at the right time—why me? I’m a nobody. I mean nothing to no one.”
He flinched. How she thought of herself as a ‘no one’ shredded his heart and tore into his soul. “That’s not true.” His palm stretched out to touch her face and bring her closer to him, but she moved away, out of his reach.
“It’s true. Those years in foster care, my stepmother dumped me there a week after my father died, and then left with my baby sister. I haven’t seen them since I was sixteen. It was hell.” Her voice trailed away and her eyes became distant. “The fights, they never ended. Girls can be more vicious than boys.”
Everything ground to a halt. His muscles clenched, ready to destroy anyone that hurt her. He wanted answers and names. “Who hurt you?”
“But what really has me wondering—” she ignored him and continued, pacing the small room. He followed, determined she would answer his question, and tell him everything.
“—is why this killer would come after me again? Me—a nobody. So, I got away. I lived to tell the tale. Who cares? Why kill two women to get my attention?”
In mid-step, Roman paused, his brain churning.
“It seems to me I was an opportunity he couldn’t resist, while those two nurses were deliberately killed to get someone’s attention.”
No.
“Most likely your attention, not mine. One killer hunting another killer and unlucky me caught in the crosshairs.”
Rocked. A TKO to the temple. Stella’s implications floored him. If it’s true. . . .
“I’m in as much danger with you as without you.” Her gaze was flat and cold. Probably mimicked his. “I want you to leave.”
“Never.” His hand fisted the collar of her robe. Her gray eyes widened and storm clouds surged in their depths, yet she didn’t fight when he drew her to him. A tempting pink tongue darted out the corner of her mouth and swept across her lower lip. He leaned close, millimeters away from taking what he wanted and could never have.
“Make no mistake, Stella, you are mine to protect. This time, nothing will happen to you.” His lips brushed hers. Panic flared in the depths of her eyes and her hand closed around his fist, yet she didn’t pull away. She leaned closer.
A knock sounded at the door. She jumped, her gaze darted to the door. He released her, expecting her to flee. She moved into the shelter of his body. His hand stroked down her side and settled on her hip. Then he slid down the slope of her butt and cupped the curve. Her breath hitched and her gaze shot to his.
“Still want me to leave?” He moved away before she answered.
A quick glance through the peephole and he opened the door. “Detectives, I’ve been expecting you.”
Stella considered both officers. She knew Lever, but the other one she’d never met. A good foot shorter than Roman, the detective was only slighter taller than herself with a florid face and an overhanging gut.
“Mr. Nicolis.” The detective nodded at Roman then turned his attention to her. A quick scan and the man had completely assessed her.
Ineffectual, incompetent, small, helpless girl. Though taller, Detective Lever seemed to shrink next to her counterpart.
“We haven’t met, Miss Walker. I’m Detective McCabe, head of The Village Strangler task force. We’re here to take you into protective custody.”
She wanted to peek at Roman, to gauge his expression, but both detectives scrutinized her while they waited for her answer. “Has something else happened?” As if there could be something worse than two decapitated heads in a stairwell.
“Two ICU nurses were murdered in their homes last night—” McCabe answered.
“We know that already. Tell us what we don’t know.” Roman interrupted.
“Miss Walker’s in danger,” McCabe said.
“Do you think I’m an idiot Detective? I recognize the danger to Miss Walker.”
“She needs to be protected—”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“—by the full force of the NYPD.”
“Like you protected those poor nurses or the other victims?” Roman shook his head. “No. Your job is to protect every citizen in your jurisdiction. Eight million at last count. My job is to protect one woman. Whom do you think is more protected?”
McCabe ignored Roman. “Ma’am—” his booming voice cracked ac
ross her nerves like a bat connecting with a skull. “—you’re our only witness. This attack was a deliberate attempt to smoke you out of the hospital. It worked. Here you’re practically alone, defenseless. You need the protection of the NYPD to guard your safety.”
Everything the detective said made sense, except—“I don’t think I want to be in the ‘custody’ of the NYPD.”
“Ma’am, there is a killer out there that wants you,” Lever spoke up.
“These latest murders were directed at you, Miss Walker,” McCabe stressed. “You’re in danger and you need to come with us.”
Was she? She glanced at Roman. He stared straight ahead.
“How long do you plan on protecting her?” Though quiet, Roman’s voice still filled the apartment.
McCabe shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
“And if it takes years? This isn’t an episode of CSI. The chance of this case wrapping up anytime soon is slim.”
“It won’t take years. This guy is moving fast and he has a hard on for her.” McCabe thumbed a finger in her direction. “We’ll protect her—”
“—until your budget is cut and the press goes away.”
McCabe bristled. “And you’ll guard her until the money runs out. I work for the city. No one’s paying me to protect her. Miss Walker, please pack a bag and come with us.”
Pinned beneath the glare of three pairs of eyes, Stella swallowed a dry gulp. McCabe jammed his hands into the pockets of his Khaki pants. His loose change jangled and his grim face dared her to refuse. Lever mimicked her boss, all stern, and concern, both so sure about her doomed state. She glanced at Roman.
Off to her left, he waited, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. His visage seemed as placid as his body, until she glanced at his eyes. The right corner twitched. He was ready for a fight. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t frighten her.
“Miss Walker.” McCabe’s impatience irritated her, but her gaze never left Roman’s.
This chance to get rid of him may never come again. Go with the detective’s and be safe. A sad twist of the side of Roman’s mouth asked her to stay, while a raised eyebrow challenged her to go.
“If I go with you, where will you take me?”
“That’s confidential,” McCabe stated.
“No, it’s not. The NYPD can’t afford to keep you in a Motel 6 or an abandoned home. You’re going to put her in jail,” Roman said.
“Thd put me in jail!”
“Solitary confinement, for your protection. That’s the only place they would be assured of your safety for however long it takes to catch the man. Days, months, maybe years.”
“Wait a minute—” McCabe snarled.
Stella tuned the men out and concentrated. She had a choice to make. It should be an obvious one, so simple—jail or Roman—but it wasn’t. Why did it feel like the rest of her entire life balanced on this one decision? Because it did. Damn.
For a second, she relived that moment in the hospital when he entered her room and ordered her to go with him. Fear choked her. She wanted to run from everything and everyone. She almost did. If it wasn’t for Roman, she would’ve checked out of the hospital and ran until she collapsed. But, he stood in her path, pushing, bullying, and threatening her until she gave in. For hours, they were alone. Instead of killing her, he cleaned her house and fed her a meal.
He may be a killer but . . . her lips still tingled from the brush of Roman’s lips against hers. And when he palmed her ass? Whew. Desire, not outrage, coiled low in her groin.
Damn it, she couldn’t allow the lure of a good-looking man to enter her life and scatter all her carefully laid plans. Her lips thinned and she clenched her fist. Her life was too important to let hormones decide. She studied him, standing there, waiting for her answer. His flinty eyes betrayed his deceptively neutral face. What would he do if she decided to leave with the detectives?
Nothing, but watch her leave. Panic flooded her. A weight landed on her chest, trapping the air in her lungs. When she thought of never seeing him again, nausea rolled her gut and her vision blurred. Overwhelming loneliness seized her, causing her limbs to tremble.
“I’m staying.”
Roman’s smile stunned her. It spread across his face transforming his harsh features and melting her insides. How could he possibly get more handsome—and what had she just done to herself?
“Are you sure, Miss Walker?” Lever asked. “You’re sure you want to stay?”
It took effort to stop looking at Roman. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“He’s a mercenary, Miss Walker. A hired killer. With friends in high places, he works barely within the law so that no one can touch him. He’s no better than the man we’re hunting.” McCabe punctuated each word with a finger.
A low rumble sounded in Roman’s throat and he took a step toward McCabe. Both detectives’ hands went for their weapons.
“I know what he is, Detective. He’s my bodyguard, and I’m staying.”
Roman stopped. She took five steps and stood beside him. She felt his eyes drilling holes into the top of her head but refused to meet his gaze. At that moment, she couldn’t.
“Is there anything else you need?” Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin and demanded their respect.
“Yes.” McCabe postured for a few more seconds. “I need to go over your statement again.”
“Why?” Roman challenged.
“Mr. Nicolis let me do my job.”
“Answer the question. Why again?” Roman stepped to him. Inches apart, Roman folded his arms across his chest, cocked his head to the side, and waited for the officer to make a move.
“She may have remembered more. It’s procedure. We need to go over her statement. Alone,” Lever said.
“It’s okay. I’ll do it . . . but Roman stays.”
She sat on the futon with Lever next to her and McCabe sitting in the desk chair in front of her. Roman stood beside McCabe, and then she took her time examining each moment of that night. For three long hours, that one eventful night was pulled apart and placed under a microscope.
“What about your personal life?” McCabe asked.
“I have no personal life. I go to school and I work. That’s it.”
“What about men? Boyfriends, girlfriends?”
“No boyfriends and I’m not gay.”
“Ex-boyfriends then?”
Stella cleared her throat. “No ex-boyfriends either.”
“Ma’am?” McCabe couldn’t hide his skepticism. He glanced at Roman and their expressions mirrored each other.
“You heard me correctly. There are no ex-boyfriends.”
“No boyfriend my ass,” McCabe muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. “Any . . . interested men you brushed off?”
She shrugged and yawned. “Maybe, but I don’t write down the names of the men I reject.”
“I think she has answered enough questions for today.” Roman cut in.
McCabe agreed. “You’ve been helpful. Thank you for cooperating.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“If you need anything, Ma’am, anything at all, call me.” McCabe and Lever handed her their cards before Roman closed the door behind him.
She heaved a sigh. “So what happens now? What do I do?” Her chin dipped to her chest and she clasped her trembling hands tightly together.
“We’ll figure it out.” He curled a finger under her chin and raised her head.
Familiar blue eyes stared back at her. Her heart skipped and her eyebrow rose. “We?”
“Yes, you and I, we will figure everything out.”
She hadn’t been a ‘we’ since her parents died. Misty-eyed, she moved away from him. A quick lift and pull, and Roman had turned her futon into a bed.
“Get in.”
He didn’t watch but retrieved two light blankets from her closet. When she stretched out, still garbed in her robe, he shook the blanket out above her. Like a cloud falling from the sky, it covered her. She couldn’t st
op her lips from stretching into a smile. That’s how her dad used to put her to bed each night before adolescence kicked in and when the military allowed him to be home.
“Thank you, Roman.”
He leaned over her. His warm lips brushed her forehead. “Any time. Get some sleep. You’ve had a hell of a day.”
Eyes heavy, she watched as he sat in the chair and propped his feet on her computer desk. The extra blanket he used as a pillow for his head. He checked his gun and placed the weapon in his lap. He relaxed and the last thing she caught was a sly smirk wash over his features.
CHAPTER TEN
Alamut stifled a childish giggle by shoveling pretzels into his mouth.
“Want another one buddy?” The bartender asked, standing on the other side of the counter.
“Yeah, sure.” He nodded, but his eyes remained glued to the flat screen hanging above the bar. The police were giving a press conference as if they knew something. They knew nothing.
The bartender slapped the Heineken down in front of him. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and took it to the head.
Mr. Invincible. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and kill at will. Untouchable. Unstoppable. Dressed in a cape and tights.
He sputtered and spewed beer on the guy sitting next to him, as the parody played in his head. The man started to curse until Alamut stood to his full height.
“You wanna go outside?” He grinned, praying the little fucker was feeling brave. Killing earlier hadn’t burned off the rush he got from sinking a blade into flesh. He could go another round or two, or three.
Six inches shorter, fifty pounds lighter, the man blubbered, “No problem, buddy.” He grabbed his drink and vanished into the back of the bar.
Alamut sat on the stool and caught his own reflection in the mirror behind the wall. Feral, on the edge of madness, the image made all of him hard. He cupped his mouth and yelled at the bartender. “Can I get another one?”
He turned back to CNN. Some idiot had switched to ESPN. Fury filled him and he white-knuckled the bar.
Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1) Page 8
