Tainted Hearts Page 8
“What do you mean?”
He chuckled. “Tell me about the man who left you with this warped idea of your appeal.”
Pressing her lips together, she tried not to think about Leo, tried to pretend none of it had happened. “It was a long time ago.”
“That’s a start but hardly enough information to help me understand.”
They weren’t really dancing anymore, just pressing against each other and swaying in time to the music. “I lose interest in the subject quickly, so make your questions count.” She paraphrased his words about his wife.
“Fair enough. Was he your first lover?”
He got right to the point. Well, she’d told him to make his questions count. “No.”
“Your most recent?”
“Yes.” She finally wrapped her arms around his neck but only to hide her face against his chest.
“Did he hurt you?”
“There are many ways to hurt someone,” she pointed out, her voice muffled against his shirt. “He never hit me.”
Easing her back, he framed her face with his hands. “I’m sorry. Nothing in your dossier indicated—”
“My dossier?” The pleasant illusion shattered and he was Marc, her kidnapper, again. “How long have you been planning this? Is my home under surveillance or just my office?”
He lowered his hands. His tense expression told her everything she needed to know. He’d invaded her privacy in ways she didn’t want to think about.
“You keep saying I’m not what you expected. Apparently you should have known exactly what to expect. I’ve agreed to your conditions, now I expect to be left alone!” She headed for the guest bedroom, praying the door locked.
“Tuesday!”
She didn’t look back.
* * * * *
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Marc sat behind the control console in the attic booth. It was better this way. Despite his body’s eagerness to compromise his integrity, he no longer had a reason to seduce Tuesday. The negotiation was complete. Elise would have a new heart.
Desire still sizzled in his blood, even as guilt washed over his soul. Tuesday didn’t deserve the fear he’d forced on her or his aggressive seduction. She needed someone who would appreciate her, someone who had no ulterior motives. She’d just felt so damn right in his arms. The passion simmering within her drew and challenged him. He wanted to dismantle her emotional barricade and watch her flourish. Using a deep breath to clear his mind and calm his body, he pushed the feelings aside. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter. She wasn’t here for him.
He activated surveillance in his daughter’s bedroom. The screen to the right of her image displayed her vital signs. Tiny, fragile, precious, she was resting peacefully.
“Hold on, baby. We’re almost there.”
He accessed his message queue and found a text transmission from Phil Carey. It was after midnight but Phil had marked the message urgent.
It took several minutes for Phil to respond to the audio page. “I tried you earlier.” His voice sounded terse, annoyed. “Why didn’t you answer your vidcom?”
I was too busy trying to seduce my hostage. “You didn’t activate a general page. I hear that anywhere in the house.”
“I had a suspicion you might not be alone.”
Damn, was the man physic? “What gave you that impression and more importantly, what did you need?”
“I have the information you requested but why have you been holding out on me?”
Marc debated what to say. If the kidnapping had gone wrong he hadn’t wanted Phil involved. No, it was more than that. He’d been afraid Phil would talk him out of his rash plan.
“What did you learn from our contact?” he evaded. When push came to shove Phil worked for him.
“Your instincts were right on the mark. Let’s just say you and our prime suspect had similar plans for the female in question.”
Marc’s heart lurched and his stomach knotted. Phil had announced it so casually. “If she weren’t with me now, she’d be in the Tower of Babel. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Affirmative. Our contact was sent to fetch her. You just beat him to the finish line.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “Then our contact is in serious trouble. Those who fail the prime suspect have a habit of disappearing.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, my friend. What would you like me to do?”
Marc raked his hair with both hands, locking his fingers behind his head. There had to be a way out of this mess without endangering Elijah or Tuesday.
“What was your objective, if you don’t mind my asking?” There was quiet demand in Phil’s tone.
“My visitor has access to something no one else will let me near.”
“A gift for a child perhaps?”
“Exactly.”
“And was your mission successful?”
“It sounds like I opened Pandora’s Box in the process, but yes, the child will finally have her gift.”
* * * * *
Anger and isolation pelted Tuesday’s mind, eroding her defenses and exposing her vulnerabilities. She punched the pillow and drew the covers to her chin, rolling onto her side. Marc was probably up in his spy booth watching every move she made, waiting for a reason to knock on the bedroom door, an excuse to… Wishful thinking?
God, she was such an ass. He had no reason to seduce her now. She’d given in without a fight. Well, not without a fight, but she was defeated nonetheless.
Elise would get her heart and life would return to normal. She punched the pillow again. Why was the thought so damn depressing? Her life had purpose. She found fulfillment in her work and enjoyed her close circle of friends.
She snorted into the darkness and rolled onto her back, draping her forearm over her eyes. Who was she kidding? Her close circle of friends consisted of her boss and her imaginary lover.
Unwanted heat unfurled within her belly, mocking her determination to ignore her desire. Her nipples tingled and an all too familiar throbbing erupted in her feminine core. All she had to do was say his name. She knew he was watching her.
I can fulfill sexual fantasies you haven’t dared to dream—yet.
Pride alone kept her from giving in. She’d surrendered too much already. Her fertile imagination had gotten her through many lonely nights. This was no different. She concentrated on her breathing and meticulously recreated the night of the Foundation gala.
She’d worn a dress of emerald green, the formfitting bodice showcasing her breasts while the flowing skirt disguised her less attractive curves. For once in her life she’d felt beautiful. She sipped Champagne and smiled flirtatiously, then Mr. Sinclair had asked her to dance.
She could remember every nuance of his face, the warmth of his dark eyes. Instead of turning him down, she accepted his invitation, immersing herself completely in the fantasy.
They danced through her mind, his strong arms holding her close, his smile for her alone. “May I say you look particularly lovely tonight?”
She smiled, pleased by the fantasy. “You may.” Her voice sounded steady and calm. Her movements were graceful.
“I’ve been watching you all evening, imagining how you’d feel in my arms.”
“Have you now?” She glanced away from his handsome face as desire heated her skin and sped her heart rate. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“How do you feel about this?” His arms tightened, pressing her against his chest and his mouth covered hers. She no longer needed to imagine how it would feel to have his lips slide against hers and his tongue sink into her mouth. She had only to remember the slick heat and his evocative taste.
She shifted restlessly, covering her eyes with her other arm. The ballroom faded into a smoky haze of surreal impressions. She felt his arms, his chest, his mouth devouring her lips, but everything else ceased to exist.
“Let me touch you, Tuesday. Let me make love to you.” He lifted her to a smooth, solid surfa
ce and immediately stepped between her legs. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
They kissed and kissed as his hands stroked her arms, her shoulders and her back. She sifted his hair through her fingers, wishing they had more time, that they could undress and do this properly.
He unfastened her gown and lowered the bodice to her waist, the thin straps trapping her arms. Palming one breast, he bent over the other and circled her nipple with his tongue. She arched her back, urging him on, needing the firm suction of his mouth drawing on her tender flesh. His lips parted. His teeth nipped. She trembled, both in the fantasy and in the cold, lonely bed.
One of his hands sneaked beneath her skirt and rested for a moment on her thigh. The tension inside her mounted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If she touched herself, he’d interpret it as a challenge, and this was just making her ache for the real thing.
“You son of a bitch,” she sobbed and rolled back to her side, clutching a pillow to her sensitive breasts. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited in vain for sleep to claim her.
* * * * *
Tuesday emerged from the guest bedroom sullen and fatigued the following morning. Her captor looked no better, which amused her greatly. Dark rings shadowed his eyes and stubble darkened his jaw. Well, he deserved a sleepless night and a whole lot more.
“I made coffee. Breakfast will have to wait until we return. I’m anxious to get back.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” she said. His brow arched as if he would argue the point, but the door buzzer preempted his reply. “Do you often have visitors up here?”
“Not unless they’ve leased the lodge. It’s not hunting season.” He disappeared into his bedroom for a moment and returned with his vidcom clipped to his belt and a pistol in his hand.
“There was a gun in the nightstand?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Some hostage I turned out to be.”
The buzzer sounded again.
Marc triggered the monitor beside the door. “It’s Bettencourt,” he explained with a muttered curse.
“Bettencourt?” She hurried to see for herself. Flanked by his four lackeys, the general waited on the front porch. “How did he find us? Wait, do you know Bettencourt or has he somehow learned I’m here?”
“I don’t think he knows me from Adam.”
The general rang again, repeatedly.
“Should we let him in?”
“One step at a time.” Marc pressed one corner of the monitor. “May I help you?”
“Open the door, Sinclair. This doesn’t have to be ugly.”
Marc smirked at the screen. Apparently video was only activated on their end. “It’s guaranteed to be ugly if this goon is involved.” Pushing the control again, he said, “What’s the nature of your business…I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“This is the last time I ask nicely. My next signal will bring Special Forces crashing through your windows and the Army isn’t responsible for property damaged during hostile raids.”
“Hostile raids?” Marc scoffed.
She laid her hand on his forearm. “Just let him in.”
Tucking his pistol into the back of his pants and quickly covering it with his shirt, Marc opened the door. The general walked into the lodge, his four subordinates a step behind. How had they found her? What did they know and what did they only suspect?
The general gave a subtle hand signal and his men jumped Marc. With quick, efficient movements, they threw him to the floor, disarmed him and secured his arms at the small of his back.
“Stop it!” She tugged on one soldier’s brawny arm, but he hardly noticed her. “What are you doing?”
“We know this man abducted you, Ms. Fitzpatrick.” General Bettencourt pulled her back from the struggling men. “You needn’t be afraid. We’re here to protect you.”
“Sure you are.” She snatched her arm out of his grasp. “Let him up. He didn’t abduct me. At least not in the way you mean.”
Bettencourt’s complexion deepened from florid to crimson. “You wish your kidnapper released?”
“He didn’t…that is…”
“Yes?”
“It was a surprise.” She did her best to look embarrassed. Oh, to be able to blush on command. “He kidnapped me; it’s true, but only to bring me to this romantic getaway. Do you understand, now?”
“You’re Sinclair’s lover?”
She thought of the countless nights she’d spent with her imaginary Mr. Sinclair and felt her cheeks heat. Better late than never. “Yes. Now, call off your men.”
“Release him,” Bettencourt grumbled. “Secure a perimeter outside.”
Marc scrambled to his feet, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his wrists. “Give me back my pistol.”
“It will be returned to you in Baltimore if you behave yourself.”
His condescending tone made Tuesday cringe. Marc wasn’t foolish enough to attack an armed man, was he? The fury burning in his gaze wasn’t reassuring.
“I thought Special Forces had us surrounded. Why send your men outside?”
Ignoring the question, the general assessed Marc’s features. “You’ve had your face altered.”
“It was part of the surprise. Tuesday didn’t know I was having it done.”
“You were at our meeting, dressed as a courtesy attendant. Do you often play these little games?”
“Why are you here?” Tuesday demanded.
“To rescue you.” He curved his thin lips in a frigid excuse for a smile. “But now that I know you don’t need rescuing—”
“You’ll get the hell off my property,” Marc suggested.
“Shall we sit?” The general motioned toward the table near the windows.
“You won’t be here that long.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Bettencourt scowled at Marc and rocked subtly on the balls of his feet. “Fine. I’ll come right to the point. You aren’t the only one capable of recording conversations.”
“Meaning?” Tuesday prompted.
“Meaning, your recording of my conversation with Ms. Lucero is nullified by my recording of your conversation with Ms. Lucero.”
She hid her shock behind a forced laugh. “Vonne needs an exterminator. Her office is just crawling with bugs.”
“I’m glad you find it amusing. Although our recordings negate one another, I happen to know the identity of little Subject A, which gives me a slight—”
Marc flew at the general, tangled his fists in the older man’s jacket and slammed him against the wall. Bettencourt’s hat toppled to the floor and his gun remained in its holster. Red dots suddenly identified Marc’s vital organs.
“Marc, I like your shirt.” No wonder Bettencourt had wanted them near the windows.
With a parting shove, Marc stepped back. The red dots blinked out.
Tuesday released a shaky breath. Were threats the only strategy Bettencourt knew? If the general actually went public with Elise’s identity, he’d no longer have any power over them. Apparently, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. “General Bettencourt, CPT has been licensed to install the SP-65 in ten test subjects. Subject A has nothing to do with you.”
The general remained near the wall, his resentful gaze seldom straying from Marc. “Despite what you may think, Ms. Fitzpatrick, I’m not a stupid man. I know you and Mr. Sinclair had never been in the same room together before yesterday.”
“Better check the accuracy of your sources. We’ve known each other for years.” She crossed her arms, rubbing her hands briskly against her bare skin.
“I’ve a sad story too, and a girl who needs your help. Sound familiar?” He paused to pick up his hat. “I want the same thing he wants, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I’m just not willing to sleep with you to get it.”
Tuesday’s hand flew fast and hard, jerking the general’s head to the side. She didn’t need to look down to know she sported the red dots. “If President Rawsen needs my help, he can ask for it. I find you completely objectionable!”
“You’re a fabulous negotiator,” Marc snarled. “Must be the president’s pride and joy.”
“I’ve never found pleasure in pain, but there are those in my company who would be happy to arrange a demonstration. They could torture Ms. Fitzpatrick while we watch and—”
“How is this helping Raeanne?” Tuesday rasped out.
The hand against her throat eased. “You’re going to help Raeanne. You’re going to meet with Job and you’re—”
“No! Job is a lunatic and you know it,” Marc objected. “How many agents from how many agencies have attempted to infiltrate PURE? How many have you lost?”
“Why would you fight me on this, Sinclair? You want him stopped as much as we do. What’s the current bounty to PUREify you?”
Tuesday gasped softly, her gaze colliding with Marc’s. “PURE wants you dead?”
“Badly,” he admitted.
“Was that the real reason for your face job? Does PURE finally have you on the run?” He pushed Tuesday away and straightened his uniform jacket. “We want the same thing, and we’re all willing to push certain boundaries to get it. You want your daughter restored to health. President Rawsen wants his daughter returned to safety. We all want PURE dismantled permanently.”
“And I’m the price that must be paid for everyone to get what they want.” Tuesday shuddered.
“I’m not recruiting a sacrificial lamb, more like a Trojan horse.”
“Oh, thank you very much!” Tuesday felt her face burn and wanted to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture. Marc’s soft chuckle didn’t help the situation.
“I simply meant we need a means by which to transport the real threat. You will not be expected to put yourself in harm’s way.”