Perhaps Nikala wasn’t accustomed to killing? That would explain the vomiting, but the efficiency with which she’d ended the man’s life wasn’t beginner’s luck. That kind of control came with practice. And execution. Who the hell was Nikala St. James?
Cian returned to the closet door to see Malcolm sink into his chair, his face in his hands. A fresh tumbler of clear liquid sat on the desk. He leaned his head back and mumbled to the ceiling. Cian listened harder, distracted now by the sound of Nikala leaving her office and closing the door with a soft click. A moment later, he heard the stairwell door open and close.
Malcolm sipped the drink, his incoherent ramblings white noise to the rest of the office. Minutes ticked by, then the lift pinged and the sound of dress shoes on tile echoed through the lobby area. Cian’s heart beat with each step she took. He knew that gait, had studied it on their way to Malcolm’s office not more than a few hours past.
Without knocking, Nikala entered, her face flush as if she’d been outside in the cold.
“I thought I might find you here.”
“Nikki. Come here, my sweet.” Malcolm held out his arms and Nikala went to him. She placed a kiss on his forehead and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he rested his head at her abdomen.
“Naughty, you.” Nikala pulled back to indicate the ajar safe. “You’ve forgotten to properly shut your safe.” She held Malcolm’s face in her hands and looked at him with a strange mixture of concern and fury. “Was anyone here when you opened it?”
Malcolm’s head swiveled to the safe and he frowned. “Hunter came for the shipment. I thought I closed the damned thing.”
“It must’ve caught on something. Let’s change the entry code, shall we? Can’t have anyone breaking in again.”
Malcolm’s glare should’ve knocked Nikala sideways, but she stood firm. Cian admired the way she stood up to the man.
“I covered for you.” Malcolm staggered to the safe and slammed it shut. He punched in a number twice, then a new number three times. Cian memorized each code.
“Did you? About what?” Nikala handed Malcolm his tumbler and helped him to a chair ten feet from where Cian hid.
He closed the door until only a slight crack remained.
“I told him the amulets were stolen. All the amulets,” Malcolm slurred. “He was none too happy.”
“I told you, I didn’t take anything from you. Perhaps you left your safe open another time, I don’t know.” Nikala sounded sincere in her protestations, but Cian knew it was a lie. “Search me if you don’t believe me.” She held out her arms, taunting Malcolm to find the amulet.
Except, he wouldn’t find anything. Cian wasn’t sure whether Nikala was aware he had one of the “stolen” amulets hidden in his flat. He’d found it where her clothes had been tossed, peeking from beneath a rug. It must’ve dropped during their frantic disrobing, and Cian hid it where he hoped Nikala would never think to look—in a full box of sugary cereal tucked in the middle of his pantry.
Malcolm grabbed Nikala’s arm and jerked hard. “Don’t fuck with him, Nikki. Not now. Not over this. He’ll kill us both.”
Nikala sat down beside Malcolm and removed her arm from his grip. “He won’t kill us. He needs us.”
But Malcolm shook his head. “He won’t for long. Not when the Dawn Project is complete.”
Nikala stiffened and Cian opened the door a fraction wider.
“What’s this mysterious Dawn Project you keep muttering about? Why’s it so important?”
“It’s nothing. Forget you ever heard of it.”
“Let me call for your car and you can tell me all about the project on the way.” She pulled her phone from a pocket and dialed. A moment later, she asked that Mr. Dagniss’s car be brought around. “Let’s get you to your hotel.”
“Not hotel, home.”
“You bought a bloody house? For Christ’s sake, Malcolm, you were only here a week!”
“Not mine.” Malcolm grinned at Nikala like a drunken fool. “Hunter’s. He’s got a place in Chelsea. You have a room, too.”
Nikala burst from the sofa and ran her hands through her hair, snagging on the ponytail. She ripped the elastic out and smoothed her hairs back into place before reapplying the band.
“No. I won’t go there. I can’t see him, not yet.”
“That’s all in the past, Nikki. He promised me. No more tests. No more lab for you.” Malcolm tried to pat her hand, but she pulled it free.
A moment later, she relented and tugged him up from the couch. Her arms went around Malcolm in a hug. Cian saw the tears in Nikala’s eyes as she clutched the older man.
Nikala pulled away and smiled at Malcolm. “Let’s get you to Hunter’s. Don’t tell him I stopped by tonight. I need more time. Okay?”
Malcolm nodded and mumbled, “I’m so sorry, Nikki.”
“I am too, but what’s done is done. Come on, your car’s waiting.” The tenderness in Nikala’s voice stirred something in Cian’s heart.
Whatever the relationship between the pair, he needed to find out. And who the hell was Hunter?
Nikala and Malcolm left the office and Cian waited two minutes before he let his Glamour glow just enough to confuse the cameras and eased out of the closet. He darted for the safe and hurriedly entered the codes he saw Malcolm punch in. On the second try, the safe popped open. He drew a breath to calm his nerves and scanned the empty bottom shelf, sensing fae magic. Fury, sorrow, and indignation tightened his chest. He’d been this close to the kidnapped fae, but was useless to retrieve them. At least now he knew who had them. Yet he was no closer to understanding why they’d been taken.
Cian placed his hand on the empty shelf and released a strand of his magic. The energy from Acelyne’s magic and that of the kidnapped faeries flowed over and into his skin. He absorbed it with a heavy sigh. In that brief contact, he sensed their doom. Rori would’ve been one of them if she hadn’t broken out of the amulet.
Wave upon wave of rage rippled over his body, chasing his thoughts, disordering his control. Cian struggled to regain equilibrium. No good would come of him racing off without information. He had to know who Hunter was, and where he’d taken the fae.
His thoughts wandered to Nikala, but she was too good at evading his questions. She’d said she wouldn’t go with Malcolm to Hunter’s, and her hands had been empty when she’d pretended she was returning to Malcolm’s office. Which meant her bags were still here and most likely, she would return to gather them. He checked his phone and calculated he had three minutes until she returned.
With relative calm restored, and his focus regained, he searched the upper shelf of the safe, finding several papers and a laptop. All of them he removed and placed on the huge desk, avoiding the empty tumbler.
The laptop wasn’t password protected, which made Cian shake his head. It was a boon for him, but Malcolm should know better. His gaze went to the crystal decanters on the sideboard and then to the glass Malcolm had refreshed several times. Perhaps his drinking was making his memory slip. It would be easy enough to exploit the next time they met. Cian filed that tidbit away and opened several folders on Malcolm’s computer.
All of SIRE’s business dealings were there—legal and not entirely above-board transactions were listed in spreadsheets and graphs that made little sense to Cian. He’d need more than a few minutes with the documents to unravel what Malcolm’s company was up to. He searched the drawers of Malcolm’s desk and found a memory stick to copy the files to. A quick check of the time gave him less than a minute. Not enough to fully copy the documents, but time enough to get them started.
While the download started, he snapped pictures of the other papers he’d found in the safe. All the while, he listened for the lift’s ding to alert him to Nikala’s return. As he finished taking the last picture, he heard the sound and rushed to replace the papers. Then he shut the cabinet carefully and tucked the laptop under his arm as he dashed to a room on the opposite side of the office.
Nikala entered just as he slipped into the dark space. He set the laptop on a conference table and returned to the door to see Nikala pick up the two tumblers, a dark scowl on her face. She set the glasses near the decanters and leaned against the sideboard, her head dipped, arms spread wide.
The way her body sagged, and the utter defeat in her sigh, suggested she was in an impossible situation, but what it was, Cian couldn’t guess. Seeing her vulnerable again roused the protectiveness that was, until then, reserved for Rori and his mum. His mouth went dry and sweat trickled down his back. The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and tell her he’d eliminate those who caused her distress, overrode all his senses.
Cian was about to yank open the door when he pulled himself in check.
He didn’t know this woman. Despite their mad fuck an hour earlier, he didn’t know whether her mood was sorrow or anger or despair. Couldn’t afford to get caught up in her business when his wasn’t resolved. At least, that’s the story he told himself.
Cool reserve washed over him and he inhaled a long breath, centering himself.
Better. Much better.
He checked the download and peered out of the slice of emptiness between the door and jamb. Nikala stretched her toned body and cracked her neck several times before leaving Malcolm’s office. Cian quietly slipped from the conference room and strode to the closet he’d hid in earlier. He heard Nikala rummaging around in her office, then she returned to Malcolm’s.
She dragged a bag behind her, the same one she’d had on the train that morning. Dear gods, had it only been twelve hours since they’d met? It felt as though he’d been following her for at least a month. He was shattered and needed sleep, but not until he knew where to find the man with the amulets.
The sound of rushing water came through the wall and Cian crept from his hiding place to the only other door on this side of the office. Nikala had left it open and he peered in. The room was enormous, with a basin and a shower large enough to fit four comfortably, which made Nikala look tiny in the glass box. On his right, a door led to the toilet, and at the far end was a wooden door, leading to a steam room, if he were to guess. Swanky place. SIRE must be doing well to afford such luxury. He’d bet a day’s wages there was a bed somewhere in the vast office, too.
Why would she stay here and not go to her own flat, or a hotel if she didn’t have a place? Cian shuffled to conceal himself better. She’d only stay here if she felt safe. Which meant she felt safer here than at Hunter’s place. Again, a surge of protectiveness asserted itself. Hunter became enemy number one where Nikala was concerned. An image of the dark-haired man leaving as he arrived at Malcolm’s office swept past his thoughts. Possibly Hunter. He hoped the downloaded information could shine a light on who the mystery man was.
Nikala stood with her head tilted upward, letting the water flow over her skin. Her blonde hair hung down her back nearly to her buttocks. Cian studied her like a master his sculpture. Physically, she was perfect: muscular without being bulky, gorgeous, pert breasts, and an ass that his hands twitched to grab hold of once more.
She swept her hair aside and his appreciation of her body turned to horror. Icy chills pierced his heart as a slow burn infused his veins. Across her back, pinkish scars marred the delicate creaminess of her skin. She turned and he saw more scars on her abdomen. Two more dotted her left bicep. That pair, and another two near her collarbone, were roundish, like bullet wounds, but the others—Cian breathed in and out, his nostrils flaring. The others were precise, as if she’d been cut with a scalpel. He counted twenty-three in all.
The protectiveness turned to violent rage at whoever had done this to her and he twisted himself to lean against the outer wall of the bathroom where she couldn’t see him. His heart tripped in its beating and a muffled roar drowned out all sound. When she’d left her shirt on at his flat, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d been too focused on her face and lips, believing erroneously there would be time later to explore her body.
Now he understood why she’d left his flat in such a hurry. His heart ached for her, for whatever torture she’d had to endure to receive such scars.
“No more tests. No more lab for you,” Malcolm had said to Nikala. Is this what he meant? No more brutality that ended with mutilating her body?
The need to punch something, to hurt someone, to utterly destroy, pulsed through Cian. He breathed in deep and out again, but it didn’t help. To hell with not knowing Nikala well enough—he couldn’t allow anyone to be subjected to what she’d been through.
A sharp intake of air ripped down his throat.
The faeries. A wild possibility was forming in Cian’s mind. He didn’t like where it was going, nor did he like what he saw in the shower fifteen feet from where he stood.
He jogged back to the conference room to check on the download. It had one minute remaining. He kept watch on the bathroom, thankful that Nikala was taking her time. When it finished, he ejected the memory stick and secured it in his pocket. He waited for Nikala to emerge from the shower and return to her office, wrapped in a towel, dragging her bag. Her wet hair dripped a path on the carpet, but she didn’t notice and, from the grim determination on her face, didn’t care.
The moment the office door clicked shut, Cian dashed to the safe and returned the laptop to where it was when he found it. Then he left Malcolm’s office. On his way to the stairs, he paused. His mind screamed at him to leave, to let Nikala work out whatever issues she had with Malcolm on her own, but his heart stayed his legs.
He pressed his ear against the door and listened as she moved around the office, humming a song he didn’t recognize. The sound of a hairdryer drowned out everything else and Cian placed his palm upon the wood. He sent his magic through the door to her. Why? He wasn’t sure. But he needed that connection. Needed to know she’d be safe. His magic wouldn’t protect her from the horrors of her past, but it would prevent any harm coming to her this night. It was all he could do.
Then he turned away from her to the stairs with a promise to himself that he’d forget what he saw tonight and remember she was the enemy.
18
Rori stretched on the huge bed, delighting in the feel of soft cotton on her naked skin. She grinned and reached out for Therron, but the other side of the bed was empty. She propped herself on an elbow and squinted against the bright sunlight that streamed into the room. No noise came from the vast suite. She scanned the area, noting the dwindling fire and empty chairs.
“Therron?”
No answer came.
She flopped onto her back and stared at the canopy above her bed. It was well past morning. Therron probably was up and doing whatever it was elves did during the day. She had no idea, but would remedy that today. She’d also remedy her empty stomach. With another full body stretch, she slid from the huge mattress to the floor and shuffled to the bathroom.
After fiddling with the tub faucets for the perfect water temperature, she emptied her bladder and pondered why her body was sluggish this morning. In fact, she’d been physically off since being captured in Acelyne’s amulet. Perhaps not all of the drug had worn off and if so, what kind of potion could knock someone out and make them sleep for weeks at a time? Maybe Meg would know. She’d send a message to the witch after breakfast.
While the tub filled, she called for a servant and rummaged through the silky, frilly, floaty gowns in the wardrobe. Midna had to be freaking kidding. Nothing in there was decent, or practical, or even remotely Rori’s style. Apparently, one of Midna’s conditions for Rori staying at the Unseelie palace was that she had to dress appropriately. Appropriate for Midna, but not Rori.
She cobbled together a temporary covering using two dressing gowns and a robe. The three layers provided enough coverage she didn’t feel exposed.
Despite her desire to train at Midna’s, she wasn’t quite ready to jump in—not feet first as the saying goes—but naked body first. In fact, with each layer, she questioned her en
thusiasm. It had been an excellent idea yesterday, but now? Not so much. She knew why, but didn’t want to admit the reason. As she finished tying the robe, a knock sounded at her door. Rori’s heart beat faster, but when she opened the door, it wasn’t Therron in the hallway.
A handsome servant with copper hair and patrician features bowed his head. “Miss rang?”
“I’d like some breakfast, please. Or lunch. I’m not quite sure what time it is.”
“Just before midday, miss.”
Rori nodded and mentally did the math for how many hours she’d slept. Remembering herself, and the servant waiting for a reply, she blushed. “Whatever they have in the kitchens is fine. And tea, please.”
He bowed again and sauntered down the carpeted hallway. She studied his gait, the haughty way his shoulders swayed, and the elongated stride of his legs. The cream-colored satin court trousers he wore and matching vest set off the russet tones of his skin. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was from the southern lands of Faerie, and definitely not a servant.
She set her musings aside and checked on her bath. Several jars of sweet-smelling crystals sat on a shelf and she tossed a handful from one into the water. Bubbles and foam covered the surface and she stripped off her garments, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
The sting of hot water bit at her ankles, then calves as she lowered into the tub. The stitches on her thigh protested against the heat. Meg would probably tell her a bath wasn’t good for her wound, but Meg wasn’t there and Rori craved the calm a nice bath would provide.
She shut off the water with her toes and lay her head against the cool porcelain. In a matter of moments, she was drifting in a dreamy state of contentment. Her mind rewound to Therron waking her from a nightmare—she shut out the replay of that horrific scene—and focused on what came after, when Therron made love to her.
Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 16
