by Dana Pratola
I closed the gap between us, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, only to be swept away in the next instant when his hands found their way to my face, cupping my chin and cheek, keeping me steady, exactly where I wanted to be, held captive to, and by, his wonderful lips.
After too brief a moment, he pulled away. “Do you love me?” he asked. I nodded. He kissed my cheek, down along my jawline and up to my ear. “Tell me,” he whispered.
“I love you, Josiah. I do. So much.”
He gave me a hard, smacking kiss, then lifted his head to smile at me. “See? Scout’s always right.”
I giggled and brought his head back down to mine. “I’ll never doubt him again.”
THE END
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And now a taste of DESCENDED ~ JETT
PROLOGUE
The light was no match for him. He could become one with any light, or shadow, keeping his presence secret for as long as he wished, causing a man to believe his mind was playing tricks. Or he could be the last thing that man saw before he met his Maker. There were prices to be paid for his rare gifts—consequences—but none dissuaded him from his mission.
Three armed men guarded the corridor, yet he passed room after room unrestrained. The sounds of animal lust pierced his eardrums, the stench of sex invaded his nostrils and his stomach turned in revulsion.
He stopped in front of his target, listened. Beyond the door, a girl reluctantly offered her body to a stranger. Had she sounded the least bit enthusiastic he would have continued on. Her life was her business. But her voice was cold, her tone flat. She didn’t want to be here. And that made it his business. Getting to her was easy. Getting her out, another matter. They were on the third floor, and he couldn’t fly. He wasn’t some kind of super hero. But he had to act now, before what was going to happen happened.
A door opened behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. A man came out, walked down the hall and disappeared down the stairs. One of the guards followed.
That left two to deal with. His odds might not get better than they were right now.
With a thought, he was inside the room.
Yesterday he’d seen this girl wrangled into the back of a car with several others. The evening’s entertainment for a celebration of debauchery at another exclusive downtown club. Now she sat naked on the edge of the bed as her customer shed his twelve-hundred-dollar jacket, reached for his belt buckle. She made no sound, no move to escape, but her eyes pled for mercy.
Rage, pure and deliberate, guided him as he stepped behind the man, gripped his head in both hands and snapped his neck with a violent twist. The man fell like a marionette, its strings abruptly snipped.
“Don’t scream.”
The girl scrambled to the top of the rumpled bed, gripped the headboard with white fingers and drew her legs in tight, shaking from head to toe.
“D-Don’t hurt me.” Her voice was no more than a strangled whisper.
He raised a finger to his lips, remembering too late she couldn’t see it. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes darted around the room. She tucked her head into her arm and cried, no doubt awaiting her next form of abuse. Apparently, she’d heard such promises before.
“I swear I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to take you out of here.”
She dared a peek, but saw nothing.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Diamond.”
“Diamond, you must trust me.”
“Why can’t I see you?”
Her voice told him she wanted to trust him, but at present he could not earn that trust by showing himself. “You will see me later. Right now, do as I say.” She nodded.
Short of killing everyone, he would have to create a diversion. He had just the thing. Simple. Then the girl lifted fear-filled blue eyes.
“You have to get my sister, too!”
“Quiet.”
Sister? Was she kidding?
Diamond moved to the center of the bed. “I won’t leave without her.”
Unreal. How was he to get two girls out unnoticed? “Where is she?”
“First room at the top of the stairs, on the left,” she said. “Her name is Goldie.”
He heard relief in her voice. It was too soon for that.
“I’ll be right back.”
She glanced at the body on the floor. She was on the verge of hysteria, but would probably hold it together.
She’d better.
In an instant he was back in the hall. A guard stood by Goldie’s door, checking his watch, unaware that an intruder had passed mere inches away. Inside the room, a man sprawled naked across the bed, hands folded beneath his head. A naked girl came out of the bathroom and approached.
“Stay there.”
Both parties looked around to see where the voice had come from. Before the man could get off the bed, his neck twisted and cracked in the same manner as Diamond’s customer. But unlike Diamond, this girl opened her mouth to scream.
“Shut up!” He covered her mouth with his hand.
“We’re leaving here. Your sister is waiting for you.”
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him. Goldie swung toward his voice, wrapped her arms around his invisible form and cried into his chest.
He gave that about three seconds, then took her by the shoulders. “Put something on. Quick.” She did, grabbing a white satin robe. “When I tell you, run to your sister’s room and stay there.”
With that, he was back in the hall.
Diversion...diversion... He grabbed the guard in front of the door, shoved him to the end of the hallway and through the window. Crude, but it would draw everyone’s attention.
When the other men ran to the window, he went back for Goldie. “Now!”
She tore off to Diamond’s room and slammed the door behind her. Inside, the girls clung desperately to one another.
“What’s going on?” Goldie stared at the body.
“We’re being rescued.” Diamond answered. “Don’t ask a lot of questions!”
“Good advice,” their rescuer said. “We’re going to walk right out the front door. Understood?”
“What?” both girls asked in unison.
“We can’t!” Goldie took a step closer to where the voice seemed to come from.
“The back exit is no longer an option,” he replied. By now everyone in the building would be staring at a blot in the rear alley. “I’ll be right there with you.”
He went into the hall to clear the way. It would only be a matter of moments before someone came to gather the girls. Couldn’t very well have a bunch of captives around while the building swarmed with police investigating a murder-suicide.
No one in sight, here or on the staircase leading to the main lobby. None of the other occupants seemed to know or care what was going on. He opened the door and two seconds later the girls were running, the hems of their matching robes flying in the breeze.
He remedied the one locked door at the bottom of the stairs in short order, but the larger door leading to the main lobby would be more difficult to breach. Two armed thugs stood guard, and from their casual stances, they had no idea what happened upstairs. They came to attention when they spotted the girls.
The girls stopped, but invisible hands and a whispered command nudged them on. “No matter what they say or do, keep walking.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” one goon demanded.
The girls looked at each other, but went forward.
“Get back upstairs!” the other guard ordered.
He took a menacing step, only to crumple when his leg snapped under him at a distorted angle. Screaming and clutching his knee with both hands, he was relieved of his gun.
Before
his partner could reach for his own weapon, it was removed for him. The butt of the gun swung across his face, and he hit the wall amidst a spray of blood and teeth.
Lips trembling, eyes huge and round, the girls watched the guns float toward them.
“Hold these on them.”
They obeyed, with shaking hands.
“Keep your fingers off the trigger unless they try to get up.”
He riffled through the men’s pockets and recovered a key. In a matter of moments, he dashed the girls across the bustling Seattle street to the safety of a waiting car.
But not before turning back to see a man at the top of the stairs. He recognized him instantly.
His next target.
CHAPTER 1 ~ One Year Later
Haven plunked her brush in a jar of cleaning solution and took a clean brush from a hanging tray beside the easel. Humming to a Luther Vandross hit, she dipped the tip in Thalo blue and initialed the painting discreetly in the bottom right corner, then stepped back to examine the results.
In the foreground, a little blonde girl in a pale green dress sat on an embroidered parlor chair. The far left of the painting offered a peek into a ballroom where a wedding reception was in full swing, with grownups looking on as the bride and groom danced beneath twinkling lights. But the girl was more interested in practicing the newly acquired skill of tying her shoes.
Sometimes Haven had an idea that needed to be set on canvas and the name simply made sense. Often, the lines or movements gave her the title as she worked. At other times she would take one look at a finished piece and know beyond doubt it couldn't be named anything else. Such was the case here.
She smiled, satisfied that Innocence was going to look perfect in her new niece’s bedroom. The fact that her niece had yet to be born, or that her sister-in-law Caroline hadn’t announced her pregnancy, didn’t matter. From the minute Caroline confided her suspicion that she was pregnant, Haven was definite it would be another girl, a sister for four-year-old Mari.
Finished now, and able to view the scene more objectively, it was uncanny how much the child resembled Mari. Haven was musing over how often her life bled into her art, when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Haven Silano, please.”
“This is she.” Haven didn’t recognize the female voice on the other end.
“Good morning. I have a call from Jett Cestone.
Please hold.”
Haven stared at the phone in her hand. Anyone with access to the outside world knew the name. Jett Cestone was a financial and technological wizard, perhaps better known than the President and certainly more respected. Global News estimated his worth at almost a hundred billion dollars, and it was bandied about as absolute truth that he was deeply involved in the development of government spyware. She didn’t have an interest in shoe phones or pen guns, but some said Jett-Way Corporation would one day rule the world.
Business dealings aside, because he guarded his privacy viciously, most regarded him as man and myth. Gossip mills ran day and night grinding out news of the enigmatic magnate. She had only to look down, to the newspaper covering the floor beneath her easel to find an item speculating whether the elusive billionaire had mob ties, or controlled an underground cult. Right beside it, another article claimed recent advances in fuel alternatives and genetic research, due in part to enormous donations from a single source, believed to be Jett Cestone. Popular opinion painted the tycoon as exceptionally generous. Some said he wasn’t human.
Haven nibbled her bottom lip. Why would he be calling her? It had to be one of those recordings, like a political candidate “calling” voters with last minute promises. Maybe he was running for public office or having a fundraiser of some kind.
That made sense. Except the woman had asked for her by name. And he was coming on the line.
She fought the urge to clear her throat. She barely had time to worry over what to say before a deep male voice flowed into her ear.
“Hello, Miss Silano. I hope I’m not disturbing you this early.”
There was an accent but she couldn’t place it. She’d never heard mention of his heritage. Come to think of it, she’d seen only a few pictures of him, from a distance and a little grainy. For such a well-known figure, that was peculiar.
“No—no, you’re not disturbing me. Can I help you?”
“I hope you’ll consider it. I have a proposition.”
Her hands fumbled the phone as she brushed hair from her face and tried to rub any residual mascara from under her eyes. Not that he could see her. “A proposition?”
“I realize this comes out of the blue, but my grandmother, Olivia, is an admirer of yours.”
Haven wasn’t certain she heard right for the whooshing of blood in her ears. “Your grandmother?” Her voice cracked. “Are you sure you have the right—”
“Yes. She found one of your paintings in a consignment shop. I don’t know how it, or she, ended up there.”
“It’s my aunt’s shop.” Haven was too astounded to take offense at the way he’d enunciated the word consignment. “It’s Victorious. In oil.” It was one of her favorites, portraying the discovery of Jesus’ empty tomb by disciples Peter and John.
“Exactly. She was quite taken with the piece. I can see why.” He paused as if waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he continued. “It’s stunning.”
She needed air. “Thank you.” The sound of her voice made her aware of how long it had been since she’d last spoken. The man must think her an empty-headed twit. “You’re very kind.”
“Kind has nothing to do with it,” he said. “If you make use of a particular talent, you’ve earned the credit.”
The imperious undertone, even in the form of a compliment, told Haven he was a man accustomed to being agreed with. She went to the window and threw it open, welcoming in the thirty-degree air.
“Well, thank you anyway.” She lowered herself onto the homemade window seat.
“My grandmother’s seventieth birthday is approaching and she’s requested something special. I would like to meet with you to discuss it.”
“You want to meet? With me?” Haven’s head reeled, trying to process this information. Jett Cestone’s grandmother was an admirer of hers. Of hers! And he wanted to meet with her!
“It’s obvious you don’t have someone guiding your career, so yes, with you,” he replied with a hint of impatience. “Are you free for lunch today?”
Fueled by a mixture of excitement and apprehension, blood surged through her veins like a tidal wave. “Um, sure.” She swallowed, forcing words through her lips. “Yes, I’m free.”
“Excellent. I’ll send a car for you around one. We’ll dine at my home.”
He lived around here? In driving distance? “You don’t have to send a car. We can meet somewhere.”
“That won’t do.”
“Okay, give me the address,” she suggested.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on sending a car,” Jett said, his tone clearly displeased.
Haven paused. This situation was bizarre to begin with and now she was expected to go to his house—a man who seemed to make it his business to remain a mystery—with no means of escape should she need one?
“Excuse me if I’m being rude, Mr. Cestone, but that arrangement makes me uncomfortable.”
“I expected as much, but it’s the way I do things. My wishes, my rules, your benefit.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her mouth fall open or the way it closed and opened again like a guppy’s. She didn’t care how powerful he was, she should hang up on him. But she couldn’t bring herself to push the button, not on this kind of opportunity. Then again….
“I don’t even know if you are who you say you are.”
Even if he was, he could be a serial killer for all anyone knew of him.
“I’ll have to ask you to trust me.”
Trust him? “Can I bring a friend?”
He groaned, agitate
d. “Miss Silano, I don’t have time for childish fears or—”
“Childish?” she interrupted. “I don’t think uneasiness about being taken to a strange man’s home—”
“If you’d rather not come, fine. I can’t say I agree with your willingness to live in obscurity for the rest of your life, but the decision is yours.”
She didn’t reply simply because she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“But if you shore up your courage,” he began, “and get into the back of my car at one o’clock, it will have to be with the understanding that this is to be kept between us for the time being. I promise no harm will befall you, and I’ll not keep you any longer than you wish to stay.”
Hearing him speak her thoughts made her wonder if she was being childish. The circumstances weren’t ideal, but she would be insane not to at least meet and hear him out.
“Okay. No problem.” Breathing presented a problem at this point, but she would just have to walk it off.
“Very good.” He sounded like a satisfied father reading a passing report card. “If it isn’t an imposition, I’ll ask you to bring a few more samples of your work. Just to be sure the first wasn’t a fluke. I look forward to meeting you.” With that he hung up.
Haven was thankful to be denied the chance to sputter like a fool. A fluke? She could draw before she could read, paint before she could write, and while she by no means considered herself a master, she was aware of her talent.
Trying to be indignant, Haven folded her arms against the icy morning air and tapped her foot, but she couldn’t build a good mad through the excitement. More than anything she wanted her work to be seen and appreciated, but so far only Victorious had been traded for cash. The others had either been gifted to friends, or leaned against a wall somewhere in this house. This could be the break she’d always believed was right around the corner. If she blew it, it could be the last.
A cold gust of wind sent a chill up her spine. She closed the window and flipped through the paintings that rested along two walls, looking for the best cross section of her recent work. She couldn’t take Innocence since it wasn’t dry, so she would take Verge, a colorful landscape, and Showoffs, portraying an elderly couple on roller skates. Perhaps Mr. Cestone had a sense of humor.
