Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

When my dick stirs at that thought, she laughs. “Have you eaten a large quantity of oysters lately?”

  “Hmm?” I’m distracted, smoothing my hands down her back. Her skin is smooth as glass.

  “Never mind.” She abruptly changes the subject. “I’m curious about the girl who was with you at the pool. Juanita.”

  I tilt my head on the pillow but can’t see the expression on Angeline’s face. “What about her?”

  After a long silence, she replies. “She reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  When I wait but she remains quiet, I decide I have nothing to lose by telling her Juanita’s story. And judging by the odd tone in Angeline’s voice, I might have some valuable information to gain.

  “She’s Tabby’s neighbor. The youngest of seven kids who all still live at home. Mother always working, no dad in the picture. Tabby sort of took her under her wing. Believe it or not, they have a lot in common.”

  “Because they’re both prodigies.”

  My inner antennae twitch. “Yeah…but how could you know that? You only talked to Tabby for like an hour, and you didn’t even meet Juanita.”

  “I didn’t have to. Geniuses always exude a certain darkness. They don’t fit, they know they don’t fit, and being an outsider to the rest of the human race molds them in a way normal people can’t understand. If you know what to look for, you can always see it.”

  Now I’m fascinated. “How?”

  Angeline hesitates, thinking. “It’s mainly in the eyes. Even when they’re right in front of you, they’re far away. But also it’s a strange sense that they’re…” She struggles to find a word. “Other. Almost like an alien. It’s in everything they do. Once you’re attuned to it, it’s unmistakable.” Her laugh is subdued. “Like knowing when someone’s a killer.”

  Now my antennae are going crazy. “Oh really,” I drawl, trying to sound nonchalant. “Known many killers, Angel?”

  Because our chests are pressed together, I feel the way her heartbeat doubles in the space of two seconds.

  Bingo.

  In one smooth motion, I roll her over, throw my leg over her body, and capture her face in my hand. “I promised we wouldn’t talk about work tonight, and I’m gonna keep my word. But tomorrow’s a different story. Once the sun rises, all bets are off.”

  She swallows. In the low light, her eyes shine. “Yes,” she whispers. “Once the sun rises.”

  I nod.

  She adds, “But for now, you’re going to tell me more about Juanita while I get something to drink. My mouth’s a desert.”

  I kiss her softly on the lips. “Why’re you so interested in Juanita?”

  She rolls out from under me, sits up on the edge of the bed, and stretches her arms overhead. “I told you. She reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  I admire the way her long hair cascades down her back, a sleek brushstroke of mahogany against the golden canvas of her skin. “One more thing we’re gonna talk about in the morning: who.”

  Angeline drops her arms and glances at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are unreadable. “Whatever you say, cowboy.”

  She rises from the bed and makes her way across the room toward the small refrigerator under a console near the television. I cross my arms under my head and indulge myself in the sheer pleasure of watching her nude body move. Poetry.

  When I say, “She was kidnapped,” Angeline whirls around and stares at me with a horrified look. She clutches her throat.

  “Kidnapped! By who?”

  “A psychopath. It’s a long story.”

  Angeline is beginning to look a little green. “That scar on her back…”

  I say flatly, “It’s a long, ugly story.”

  She passes a hand over her face and exhales a hard breath. “Oh God, that poor baby.”

  There’s so much more to her reaction than just average human empathy at hearing a terrible story about someone you don’t know, but I won’t be able to uncover it tonight. So I just add it to the list of things I’ll get to tomorrow.

  “Anyway, me and Connor and the crew found out where she was and went in and got her—”

  “You rescued her?”

  Angeline’s eyes are wide. We stare at each other from across the room. I say softly, “It’s what I do, Angel. It’s the job. I find people.”

  For some bizarre reason, she looks like she might throw up.

  Abruptly, she turns away and goes to the fridge. She yanks open the door, grabs a bottle of orange juice, slams the door, savagely unscrews the cap, and chugs half the bottle without taking a breath.

  I lie still, giving her space for this newest freak-out, because I know instinctively that making any kind of sudden move will result in her running out the door. She stands with her back to me for several long moments until finally she draws a breath and turns back to me with a shaky smile.

  She says, “That must be very gratifying work.”

  “Almost as good as being a travel writer.”

  Angeline closes her eyes.

  “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Come here.”

  She swirls the bottle thoughtfully. “Only if you promise to be nice.”

  I sit up and smile at her. “I’ll be as nice as you want me to be. You know I’m good for that.”

  An attractive blush darkens her cheeks.

  I hold out my hand. “Angel. Come here.”

  She approaches slowly, still swirling the bottle, holding my gaze with a wary look like she’s not entirely convinced I’m not going to suddenly pounce. When she’s close enough, I reach out and grasp her wrist. I pull her between my legs and nuzzle her breasts.

  “You hungry?” I murmur. “I can order room service.”

  “In a bit.” She taps me on the shoulder with the bottle. “You must be dehydrated.”

  “Yeah, I am, actually. Thanks.” I take the bottle from her and swallow the rest of its contents. It’s cold and deliciously tart. I set the empty on the bedside table, lie back on the bed, and pull her down on top of me, because it’s my new favorite thing in the world. I wrap my arms around her and inhale the fresh, peppery scent of her skin.

  Against my neck she says, “So you rescued Juanita…and now she’s on vacation with you?”

  “Her and Tabby are inseparable now. Oh—I didn’t mention—we rescued Tabitha too. Same psycho had both of ’em.”

  When Angeline raises her head and stares at me, I shrug. “Like I said, long story. The upshot of it all is that the two of them somehow convinced Juanita’s mother and psychiatrist that it would be good for Juanita to get away on vacation for a while, so here we are. One big, happy family.”

  My left ear starts to buzz like it does at high altitude when it needs to pop. I work my jaw, but no luck. Why are my lips tingling?

  “I envy your happy family,” says Angeline gently. She presses a tender kiss just below my earlobe. Her voice drops. “And I want you to know this was never the plan. I meant it when I said I don’t do one-night stands. I never mix business and pleasure. Well…until you.”

  Business?

  The bed does a lazy roll, like we’re riding a wave on a boat.

  Heart pounding, I jerk upright. Angeline leaps off me and backs away, keeping a watchful eye on my face. When I try to stand, the room slips sideways. I look at the empty orange juice bottle, her small handbag on the console above the fridge, and, with a bolt of horror, realize what happened.

  “Angel! You didn’t!”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m so, so sorry.”

  She sounds like she actually means it.

  I walk toward her, but in two steps, my balance fails me. I stumble and crash to a knee. The room spins wildly and begins to darken. Everything gets fuzzy around the edges. Indistinct. A sudden hot rush of anger is the only thing keeping my eyes open.

  “What is it?” I demand, furious to hear my words slur.

  “It’s potent but not harmful, I promise,” she says, wringing her hands. “You’ll wake up with nothing but a headache. The
re are no lasting effects.”

  With the last of my willpower, I force myself to lift my head. I focus on her face. Her beautiful, lying face. “Oh there’s gonna be one lasting effect,” I growl, teeth gritted against the encroaching darkness. “And the next time I see you, woman, I’m gonna tell you all about it.”

  She has the good sense to look afraid.

  Her face is the last thing I see before the room fades to black and I slump to the floor, unconscious.

  8

  Mariana

  Even passed out, he’s attractive.

  I roll him onto his back and check his pulse. Normal. His breathing is deep and even. His mouth is slack. Those beautiful lips beckon me to kiss them, so I do.

  Gently brushing a lock of gold hair from his forehead, I whisper, “Lo siento, mi amor. Sleep well.”

  It’s a relief to drop the fake French accent.

  I tuck a pillow under his head because I don’t want him waking up with a crick in his neck to add to everything else he’ll be mad about. Then I stand and look down at him.

  He looks boyish and masculine. Sweet, but with all those muscles and tattoos and his manhood resting against his thigh, impressively large even when not erect. He looks…

  Heartbreaking.

  I press a hand over my chest, blink away the moisture in my eyes, and take a deep breath.

  There’s no time for regret. For wondering about might-have-beens. It’s time to get to work.

  From his drawers, I select a black T-shirt and a pair of his briefs and quickly dress. The gown I wore to dinner isn’t made for climbing balconies, but it does have its purposes. I retrieve it from the floor and rip out the section of hem where I sewed the micro compass. I place it carefully in my mouth, tucked between my cheek and teeth.

  I don’t bother with the handcuff key or the razor blade sewn into different spots in the lining of the dress. Neither safeguard has become necessary. I do need the map with my bug-out route through the hills, however, so I find my heels and crack the left one sharply against the wall. The platform sole breaks off. The little folded map flutters out like piñata candy.

  I tuck the map into the waistband at the small of my back. It’s not snug enough. I’m wearing men’s underwear, after all—they’re not exactly made for curves. The only other place the map can securely travel during a climb in my present garb is my mouth or my crotch.

  I head to the minibar, open a small packet of nuts, dump out the nuts onto the counter, and wrap the plastic packaging around the map. Then I stick it between my legs.

  I’m nothing if not resourceful.

  In the closet, I pull out two pairs of Ryan’s dress shoes. I swiftly remove the laces and tie them into square knots. Wrapped around the drainpipe that runs the length of the building next to the balconies, they can then be tied into Prusik knots, the kind rock climbers use. They’ll slide up a line, but downward pressure will cause them to lock.

  Perfect for scaling walls.

  I look at Ryan’s laptop on the coffee table for a moment, but decide he’ll have too much security on the device to make it worth an attempt at snooping. I’d never get past the login screen. Besides, my curiosity about him is useless.

  No matter what he said about finding me, this is the end of our road.

  I leave my handbag behind. Like all the clothing, cosmetics, and fake IDs in my hotel room, there’s nothing in it of value to me anymore. I take one last look at Ryan, sleeping peacefully on the floor, and allow myself a final twinge of regret.

  It’s surprisingly painful.

  Adios, beautiful stranger. Maybe in another life.

  Then I step out onto the balcony into the warm evening rain, and look up.

  9

  Ryan

  A fist pounds on my hotel room door. Over and over, as relentless as the thudding inside my skull. The two are so perfectly in sync, in fact, that it’s entirely possible the pounding fist is in my imagination.

  Until I hear the muffled shout.

  “Ryan! Brother! Open the goddamn door before I kick it down!”

  It’s Connor. He sounds pissed.

  I open my eyes…and I’m looking at a smooth white ceiling. For some reason, I’m lying on my back on the floor. And Connor is pounding on the door, shouting like a maniac.

  What the fuck happened?

  When I lift my head, the room swims for a moment before settling. An unfamiliar bitter taste lingers on the back of my tongue. The faintest scent of pepper teases my nose before disappearing like a ghost.

  Then I remember exactly what happened, and a searing bolt of anger jolts me to my feet. Heart hammering with adrenaline, I look wildly around.

  It’s morning. The rain has stopped. Everything is still and quiet, including the dumbass roosters in the distant hills who can’t tell time.

  I’m alone, but alive, which honestly is more than I counted on.

  “Brother!” Connor roars. “I’m coming in!”

  Before he can smash through the door—because he will, he’s dramatic like that, plus he loves to break shit—I shout, “I’m comin’, you damn ape. Pipe the fuck down!”

  My voice is hoarse. Along with the headache and the small bit of vertigo which has now cleared, it’s the only aftereffect of whatever Angeline dosed me with.

  Muttering, I stomp to the door and yank it open.

  “What?” I holler.

  Then I blink.

  In the doorway stands Connor, bristling and veiny like Wolverine. Behind him, a small crowd has gathered, which includes Tabby, Darcy, Kai, Juanita—and Elvis, perched on her shoulder—several uniformed people who appear to be hotel staff, half a dozen police officers, and four burly Middle Eastern dudes wearing identical black three-piece suits and murderous expressions.

  I peg them as security or bodyguards, judging by their size and general vibe of badassery.

  Darcy looks down at my crotch. She snorts. “Well, hello there, big boy!”

  This is when I realize I’m stark fucking naked.

  I shout, “Juanita, cover your eyes!”

  She rolls them instead. “Pfft. Why don’t you cover your junk, perv?”

  Darcy bosses, “Zip it, short stuff. A man needs to air himself out every once in a while.”

  Juanita says, “Gross!”, which startles Elvis, who sits up on his hind legs on her shoulder and starts sniffing the air for danger.

  Exasperated, I clap my hands over my dick. “As you can see, I wasn’t expectin’ company. Anybody wanna share why you’re all standin’ in front of my door at the crack of dawn?”

  A young black guy in a beige uniform peers around the bulk of Connor’s shoulder. He speaks with a distinct Caribbean accent. “Good morning, sir. I’m Camilo Bembe, the general manager of the hotel. Uh, we’re so sorry to disturb you…”

  He clears his throat. He’s trying desperately to pretend I’m not standing there with my dick in my hands. “But there’s been an unfortunate incident. These officers need to ask you some ques—”

  “WHERE’S THE GIRL?” booms one of the thugs.

  The hotel manager jumps. Kai shrieks like a startled baby. Connor looks at the goon and growls low in the back of his throat.

  I say, “Oh, you’re lookin’ for her, too? Popular little thing, isn’t she? Can’t help ya, though, boys. Wonder Woman roofied me before takin’ off in her invisible jet, so I’ve got no fuckin’ clue where she is. Maybe you should check her room.”

  Tabby coughs into her hand to stifle her laugh. The four thugs shift their weight from foot to foot. Connor looks at the ceiling and sighs.

  “Get dressed, Mr. McLean. We need to ask you some questions.”

  That comes from one of the police officers to Connor’s right. He’s tall, coal black, and slim as a reed, with unusual eyes the color of grass. His hand rests casually on the butt of the sidearm strapped to his waist. His tone is impassive, but the subtext is clear. You’re in big trouble, son.

  Yeah, well, wouldn’t be the first time. I s
mirk at him. “You betcha. Anything to assist an officer of the law.”

  I turn and saunter toward the bathroom, leaving the door open and my bare ass on display.

  Connor sighs again. Darcy says, “Lawd.” No one else makes a peep, except for one of the swarthy bodyguards, who mutters something in Arabic under his breath.

  I don’t speak the language, but my life has been threatened enough times by dangerous men speaking foreign tongues that I get the gist.

  But I don’t mind. The sooner I discover how Angeline is connected to these men, the sooner I can start working on a way to find her.

  By the time I’m dressed and emerge from the bathroom, the police officers are busy sniffing around my room. They’ve dismissed the crowd with the exception of Connor, who stands to one side of the bed with his legs spread and his bulky arms crossed over his chest. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile.

  I snap, “Okay, brother. Here’s the part where you tell me what you think is so damn funny!”

  His dark eyes dance with laughter. “You sure can pick ’em, my friend. This is even better than the time you hooked up with that Mafia don’s wife.”

  “She said she was divorced!”

  “Nobody divorces the mob, dummy. Remind me, how many goombahs did he send to kick your ass?”

  He’s having way too much fun with this. I make an impatient motion with my hand that basically translates to get to the fucking point.

  “When you didn’t come down for breakfast, I figured you were still…occupied…with your new friend. But an hour later when you didn’t pick up your cell or the room phone, I knew something was wrong. The police were just about to have the hotel manager open your door when we got here.”

  “And the suits who’d like to separate my head from my body? Who’re they?”

  Connor says drily, “Personal security for one Ahmed Akbar Khan Khalid.”

  “Saudi?”

  “Yep. Super rich. Oil money, of course. And a bona fide prince, to boot.” He jerks his chin at the ceiling. “Honeymooning in the suite right above this very room.”