Kitabı oku: «Warrior Without Rules», sayfa 3

Chapter 3

Antonia Castillo sat on the windswept terrace oblivious to the outward temperature as she watched the white-capped waves below. The elements paralleled her mood, cold, agitated and forbidding. She didn’t turn at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind. For a long moment, Veta stood at her side without speaking. Finally, she asked the expected.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure, fine, peachy. I need a cigarette.”

Veta passed over the contraband with a pack of matches and waited for Toni to struggle with the cutting wind to light it. After a deep draw, Toni stared in disgust at the shaky state of her hand. She wasn’t fine. Nowhere close.

“Do you want one of your pills?”

That was Veta. No time wasted on sympathy or sentiment. Right to the practical solution.

“No, I do not want a pill,” she snapped, denying the lure of that blanking peace of mind and spirit. “I need to be able to think. Where’s Russell?”

“Reading the staff the riot act, I believe. A little late for that now, don’t you think? Toni, we don’t need him here. We can handle this in house.”

That was her father talking. Don’t involve outsiders. Take out your own trash. Family business is family business. She took another drag on the cigarette, letting its harshness distract from the bitter taste of those edicts.

Her voice was low and strung with steel. “I need him here, Veta. I don’t expect you to understand or agree but I need to know that you’re with me, too.”

Veta was her strength. The role model she’d looked up to since she was a child, the savior who’d ended part of her nightmare with a single shot, the cooler head and constant support she’d needed to assume her mother’s place. She was more than an assistant, more than her security, more than a friend, more than her advisor. If Toni had pressed her to put a name to their relationship, she would say with typical brevity, family.

Veta bent to loop her arms about Toni’s shoulders in an uncharacteristic outward show of solidarity. The gesture wound about Toni’s heart with equal warmth. “You know I am. Just the way it’s always been. Whatever you want, Toni. I’ll play nice. It’s a big sandbox.”

That coaxed a smile. And released a huge pent-up load of anxiety. She was not alone. Toni patted her friend’s arm. “Thanks.”

“Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on Russell to make sure he’s doing his job. I can’t say that I’m impressed so far.”

Toni chuckled reluctantly. “Leave Russell to me. You watch my back.”

She straightened and stepped to an impersonal distance. “He’s all yours.”

From the sudden chill in Veta’s tone, Antonia guessed her companion’s nemesis had finished dressing down her entourage and was coming to lecture her on the facts of life as dictated by Zachary Russell. She took another puff from Veta’s imported cigarette and shot a fierce jet of smoke full steam ahead.

“So, what did you find out?” she demanded as Russell replaced Veta on her left.

He delivered the news in a flat monotone. “Prestamped and addressed from drop-off box downtown. No way to trace it. I’ll have it checked for fingerprints just in case our friend was careless.”

“He won’t be.”

Zach’s silence said he didn’t think so either. He didn’t ask how she was doing, coming even more quickly to the point than Veta. It would have been nice to know he cared.

“In the future, you accept nothing yourself. Not packages, not phone calls, not visitors. Everything goes through me.”

“Rule One.”

“Exactly. Your employees have been advised of that, as well.” A pause then right to the heart of it. “Tell me about the blouse.”

Toni sucked a deep gulp of frigid air to help maintain her calm front. “I was wearing it when I was kidnapped.”

His voice softened imperceptibly. “And the bloodstains on it?”

“Mine, I think.” She closed her eyes, mentally flinching as she recalled the harsh slap in the van and the coppery taste that filled her mouth.

“I’ll have it tested.” He put up his hand to ward off her protest. “No worries. Strictly off the records and low key. A favor from a friend.” Then his look grew more serious. “Who took it off you?”

“That’s a dead end. Literally.” She took another pull off the cigarette. The palsied tremor in her hand belied her cool summation.

“So, who would have kept it for ten years? And why? Where would it have been?”

“A souvenir? A trophy? I don’t know.” Frustration built in her tone as she considered the possibilities. “The other man was never caught. Maybe he was just biding his time until I came into money since he couldn’t get any from my father the first time around.” A patient premeditation. Where’s the money? Her worst nightmare come true. “If only I knew what he wanted.”

“You need to cancel tomorrow night’s party.”

Her reply was automatic. “No.”

“So many people coming and going and in the house makes you more vulnerable.”

She twisted in the chair to look up at him. He was staring out over the lake, his expression as inviting as those cold waters. “No. Hire more guards. Increase security. That’s your job. My job is business as usual. I will not hide from this man. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.”

But she was. And no matter how much bravado she flung up between them, he had to know it.

“We’ll compromise. Throw your shindig tomorrow but no press conferences, no public appearances thereafter. Low profile, just like you said. I can’t cover all bases if you’re the center of attention in a crowd.”

Her acceptance was purely practical. “All right.”

Zach squinted at her, doubting her sincerity. “No public PR things in Mexico, no opportunities for the bad guys to get close to you.”

She shivered slightly. “Deal.”

“In. Out. Back to business.”

When she lifted the cigarette for another pull, Zach intercepted the movement, plucking the half smoked filter tip from her hand. He took one last long draw from it himself before flicking it away.

“Those are bad for you.”

His bland pronouncement was the last straw for this already broken camel. “Bad for me? Having someone stalk and terrorize me is bad for me.”

“But you can’t control that. You can control what you choose to do to yourself. Like taking unnecessary risks with people who don’t really matter.”

“Thank you Dr. Freud. And I’ll thank you to remember your own Rule Three. My personal habits are none of your concern, Russell, so back the hell off.”

His level gaze never flickered. “They are if they make my job more difficult.”

“Deal with it.”

“My rules. My way.”

Their stares battled for supremacy, then she finally relented with a stiff “Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Good girl. Now, what’s on your plate for the rest of the day?”

With her thoughts and emotions so embroiled in the past, it was hard to focus on the hours of the day that remained. She took a deep breath to clear her mental slate. “About three hours worth of business calls. Nothing that you’d care to sit through.”

“Your agenda is my agenda. Don’t feel you have to entertain me.”

“That was nowhere near the top of my list of concerns.”

A faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t have to hurt my feelings.”

Because she was thinking how seriously sexy that small smile made him, Toni’s reply cracked with irritation. “As if that could happen.”

His features settled back into their impassive lines.

Sighing with aggravation, she pushed up out of the chair. “Well, come on, then. Time to get back to work.”

And work she did. Tirelessly. Aggressively. With a level of determination and energy that exhausted him as he watched and said nothing.

She had an office on the second floor that capped one end of the house. Three sides were glass. Instead of conventional heavy wood, the furniture was a light, airy wicker and the cushions splashed with bold colors. He stretched out on a surprisingly comfortable chaise while she made her calls to everyone from distributors, trucking companies and printers to talk show hosts, sport and fashion magazine editors discussing the move, the new spring merchandise and her succession to the throne of power. With her calendar and Rolodex flipping, she set up appointments in L.A., New York, and Dallas in the upcoming months and, true to her word, canceled those in Mexico. She treated each individual with charm, respect and an underlying authority. She was very good at her job. Zach had to wonder why her father worried. The company was obviously in loving and capable hands.

Because the sight of her against the backdrop of the setting sun made a picture too achingly beautiful to behold for long, Zach closed his eyes, letting the crisp cadence of her voice become music to his weary soul. He stirred restlessly on the lounge, shifting to find a level of comfort that escaped him. His hand throbbed meanly. His eyes ached with the gritty burn of too little sleep but real slumber was a distant luxury he couldn’t afford. Instead, he eased into the twilight state that served him while in the field when the ability to hear an enemy coming was the only thing that kept him alive. Dozing lightly on the edge of awareness, he considered the puzzle of his situation.

Why had Castillo requested his return? The man had done everything within his considerable power to have Zach dismissed from his position. Dereliction of duty and gross incompetence. The shame of it still burned like the sting of Jack’s neat stitches. Ten years ago. He’d been so green. His first big assignment. And nearly his last. If it hadn’t been for the respect his superiors had held for his father, he might have ended up selling those shoes the lovely Ms. Castillo manufactured.

And yet Castillo had sought out Jack, asking him to use his connections to find him in whatever hell hole he’d buried himself for the sake of Queen and country. He wasn’t an easy man to find. He’d left above board intelligence work behind shortly after the fiasco with Antonia Castillo, sinking deeper and deeper into the covert mire until he was no longer sure which agency pulled the strings. But he never once wavered from his course. His were no longer the slick, debonair James Bond-type assignments, but he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty for a good cause. As long as that cause allowed him a measure of justice. He was realistic enough to know that was all he would ever get.

Jack’s offer of a job had taken him by surprise. Jack Chaney was one of the very few who understood Zach’s true motives and knew they had nothing to do with the Royals or the Union Jack or duty or politics. It was something much closer, more personal than that. He touched the diamond stud he wore in his earlobe, twisting it the way he did when he needed a reminder of why he lived on a dangerous razor’s edge for weeks, sometimes months, coming back to the only place he could vaguely call home to stay long enough to wash the grime and gore down the drain. Where he’d pretend for whatever hours that he could snatch away that he really was the urbane sophisticate his neighbors believed him to be. They’d never believe the truth. It was an illusion he protected zealously, a part of his heritage he couldn’t surrender.

He’d agreed to Jack’s request. The why was a complex issue. The easy answer, the one that would ride comfortably upon his conscience, was because Jack had asked him. There was precious little he wouldn’t do in the name of their rare friendship. But it wasn’t Jack. And it wasn’t whatever Victor Castillo might think he was owed. It was for the girl with the shell-shocked eyes and victimized body who now wore the mask of normalcy as well as he did.

And for her, he would put aside his own agenda, if only for a little while, if only to give ease to that trauma he’d witnessed, but she’d had to survive.

It was hard to concentrate with him in the room.

Toni’s glance touched upon his relaxed features. She knew he wasn’t sleeping. Behind the closed eyelids spun a busy mind, probably calculating the security avenues he’d have to take to put a lock down on the nightmare of tomorrow’s party. All business, all the time. That was Zach Russell. Even then.

The next number she needed to call was on the card before her, but she wasn’t looking at it. She was looking back.

She remembered the first time she’d seen him in the foyer below. He’d been young, mid-twenties, but already with such a foundation of control and potential. Polite, reserved yet capable of charming with a flash of that rare smile. He’d been so different from the other stoic automatons, she couldn’t help being drawn to him. They were there to escort father and daughter to a business meeting in London. She didn’t know what her father’s business there entailed. She never asked. She’d grown up surrounded by his secrets and his security in one form or another so she didn’t question the reasons why.

Glad for the distraction on what she considered a dreary trip, she insisted that the young and fiercely dedicated agent be assigned to her. She’d flirted with Russell mercilessly, determinedly, and though he retained a careful distance, he’d never made her feel foolish in her infatuation. He hadn’t encouraged her, but she hadn’t needed any. Despite what her father would later claim, he’d done nothing inappropriate. He just done…nothing. He hadn’t provoked her dangerous response to his horribly proper rebuff. It wasn’t his fault that he’d broken her heart, damn him and that stiff British civility.

“I’m done here.”

Her announcement brought his eyes open and the coiled readiness back into his partially recumbent form. He was on his feet by the time she came around the desk and they met at the foot of the lounger. Both pulled up short, startled by their sudden close proximity. And by the amazingly sharp recall of another moment so like this one, where awareness of one another took them by surprise and a blind-siding desire came close to overwhelming reason.

Neither moved as the unintentional happenstance built into a storm-charged intensity. Unguarded stares locked. As Toni gazed up into Zach’s eyes, the mercurial green-gold flared with passionate possibilities. Possibilities she’s once wanted to explore more than anything she could dream of. And perhaps, still wanted despite all that had happened between that first blush of innocent desire and now. All she had to do was reach out for the feel of his rock hard chest. All she had to do was stretch up for a sample of his unyielding lips. And in this brief instant with defenses down, he might have allowed it. He might have enjoyed it.

But he’d had his chance.

“Excuse me.”

The intrusion of her rough-edged words brought sensibility snapping back into his cloudy stare. He took a quick step back and the moment was gone. Toni moved past him as if the encounter was already forgotten.

But all through dinner, at a table with a now distant Zach, her father and Veta and assorted business associates, her distracted thoughts quivered with tease of one what if.

What if she had kissed him ten years ago? How different, then, might her life have been.

Chapter 4

Her birthday. Her ascension to the top of Aletta. The house swarmed with the rich and powerful come to pay homage to both events. It was her night to shine, but Toni would have felt more comfortable had that light been under a basket. Because she was very aware that someone in the glittery crowd might have an agenda other than celebration, one that involved a blood-stained blouse and a ransom unpaid.

Her mother had trained her practically since birth to work a room, to make the most of her looks, her smile, her smarts. She did so on a gracious autopilot while her gaze scanned the shadowed corners and her system jumped at every unexpected sound. She searched for Zach, finding instead a host of unfamiliar faces he’d brought in for the occasion to police the room. The sight of those innocuous strangers brought no sense of comfort, though she was sure they were very good at their jobs. They had nothing at stake, no reason to go an extra mile, to make that extraordinary promise to secure her peace of mind. Only Zach Russell had done that.

Where was he?

She snagged a flute of champagne from a passing tray just to have something to do with her hands. She wouldn’t drink. She needed her senses sharp.

Where the hell was he?

Every room of the house was designed for ease of entertainment and traffic flow. Each was crowded with guests intent upon sampling all they could from the elegant appetizers, abundant spirits and undercurrent of classical music served up to them with an unobtrusive style. She moved through the ground floor chatting with friends and business associates while her gaze never stopped its restless journeys and her nerves pulled ever tighter.

Even the stairs were lined with company who lifted their glasses in salute as she climbed past them. Her father was in the huge upstairs room that served as theater, boardroom and, as it did tonight, ballroom. The oriental rugs had been rolled back to expose the gleaming floor. An alcove at the far end hosted a five piece band playing an infectious ragtime. Through the bank of glass to the left was the dynamic view of the lake and to the right an equally impressive sea of imported luxury cars overflowing the drive and extra lot. And her father stood at the massive fireplace, leaning casually against the Danish tiles as he talked business. Even on this night, he was hard at work.

“Antonia, you know Servando Fuentes.”

She took the cold, limp fingers offered by Angel Premiero’s right-hand man. Premiero, who’d grown up with Victor Castillo, had partnered with her father in many of his past ventures. Now he was spearheading the company move to Mexico.

“Señor Fuentes, always a pleasure.” She waited just long enough to be polite before withdrawing her hand, fighting the urge to scrub her palm to restore its warmth.

“Señor Premiero most anxiously awaits your visit and the opportunity to link your families in business.”

She smiled thinly. As long as that was all Premiero thought to link. “I look forward to our meeting.”

“Happy birthday. This is from Señor Premiero. A small token.”

Under the unbridled avarice of her father’s stare, she took the heavy velvet box and opened it with a hint more apprehension than anticipation. Gifts from Premiero didn’t come unencumbered by strings.

It was a weighty necklace of silver fashioned into entwined calla lilies. The bell of each flower was filled with a piece of deep blue lapis.

Fuentes waited with a smug smile for her reaction. When it was slow to come, he prompted, “Señor Premiero remembered those exquisite eyes you inherited from your mother, may she rest with the saints.”

“Put it on, Antonia,” her father urged, but Toni was reluctant to wear Premiero’s controlling collar quite this soon. She shut the box and offered, instead, a pretty thank you.

“Tell Señor Premiero his gift is as lovely as it is extravagant. I will wear it with something more appropriate when we meet.”

Her lack of enthusiasm over the gift clearly annoyed her father, but she spotted Veta by the hall and took the opportunity to slip away with a nod and a wish for them to enjoy the evening.

Veta looked stunning in a full-length tank dress that skimmed her knockout figure with an explosion of grand scale red Impressionist roses upon a dark background. With her vivid makeup and black hair piled high, she looked like an exotic, hothouse species. But Toni knew she carried a .44 in her chic beaded bag. This rose had deadly thorns.

“Here.” Toni thrust the box at her once they were in the hall. “Put this somewhere.”

Veta opened the lid and expressed a low whistle. “Who’s the admirer?”

“Premiero.”

Veta closed the lid and regarded her friend solemnly. “Toni, how are you going to work with his man if you despise him so?”

“My father has worked with despicable characters all his life. It’s part of doing business.” That’s what he’d always told her.

“But at what cost? Promise me you’ll be careful. Premiero is no junior league executive to be easily controlled.”

“As he thinks to control me with his gifts and his oily embassador? I know what Premiero is and what he’s capable of.”

“Do you?”

To lighten that dour warning, Toni placed her hand upon her friend’s shoulder. “That’s why I have you to run interference. One look at you in that dress and he’ll be blinded by more than ambition.”

Veta gave a derisive snort. “One uses what one has to its best advantage as your father would say.”

“Yes, he would.” Toni glanced about restlessly. “Have you seen Russell?”

“He asked me to stick close to you while he handled the perimeter. I guess he’s not much of a social animal. Perhaps his tuxedo is at the cleaners.”

That he would hand her off into the care of others rankled unexpectedly. Just as his intentional absence chilled her. “I’m not paying him to shake the bushes. He’s supposed to be with me.”

Veta raised a speculative brow, but offered no comment. “Last I saw him he was headed back toward the kitchen.”

“I guess it’s time I stirred something up with our Mr. Russell.”

The kitchen, a gleaming bank of stainless steel and oiled butcher block, was a hive of activity with waiters rushing in and out, heat pulsing out from the big industrial oven and flames jetting from the multi-burnered stoves. Six cooks performed under the exacting maestro’s baton of Henri Galliteau, a master chef stolen from one of the pricy Windy City restaurants her father favored. Henri conducted the chaos in his kitchen with a loud and often profane gusto, comparing the qualities of his underling chefs to the nether regions of a suckling pig while brandishing a cleaver as his instructional wand. No one was allowed in his kitchen during an event. Those performances were always closed to an audience. Which was why the sight of Zach Russell sampling a Bearnaise sauce at his side gave her a jolt of surprise.

He did own a tuxedo. And he looked fabulous in it.

“It’s nice to know you’ll have a skill to fall back on when this career is pulled out from under you.”

Russell finished stirring the bubbling cheese mixture, then glanced up without a trace of surprise or chagrin. He’d known she was there. His gaze was cool in the sweltering kitchen.

“It’s been tried before without success. A stellar reputation can survive a few dings and scratches.”

“How about a head on collision?”

Henri murmured something to him in French and Zach smiled faintly, his gaze never leaving the challenge of Toni’s.

He’d been ignoring her and now he was laughing at her. Her temper came to a hot, rolling boil.

“You’re not being paid to entertain yourself playing Julia Child in my kitchen.”

Unmoved by her harsh tone, Zach’s reply was as nonchalant as his manner. “Not enjoying the party? Is that what’s got your panties in a twist?”

All movement ceased in the room. Her fury escaped like steam from a pressure cooker, with a fierce hiss.

“Not so much as you, apparently. And, if my panties were a topic of discussion in front of the staff, be advised that I’m not wearing any.”

As Toni stormed from the kitchen, every male eye was drawn to ascertain the truth of her parting statement, Zach’s included, until the swinging door closed behind her.

“Excuse me, monsieur, I fear I’ve left something burning.” Zach handed the ladle to Henri, who shook it at him with a knowing smirk.

“A few careful stirs will prevent scorching, mon ami.”

She stalked down the hall, heading for the escalating noise of the party. With a quick movement she bolted down the contents of the flute she still carried. It wasn’t enough to extinguish her ire.

“You were in no danger.” He spoke softly and suddenly from just over her shoulder.

“Not as much as you are at this moment.” She refused to look at him.

“I thought you preferred head-on, but you seem to be enjoying these nasty sideswipes.”

She stopped then to confront him directly. “What happened to your Rule Two? Or do you just impose them then break them at your discretion?”

He touched the almost invisible earpiece he was wearing. “I don’t have to be right next to you to be right next to you.”

“So you thought you’d play Iron Chef at my expense?”

Again, the slight quirk of a smile. “I was doing intel work.”

“You think the kitchen staff is going to try to poison me?”

He grinned then, a quick startling flash of white. “The only thing venomous around here tonight seems to be your tongue.” Then before she could parry that remark, he was all business once more. “Who notices the goings on in a big house better than those you never see?”

She took a breath. And another. He’d been working the staff for information. “Did you find out anything interesting?”

His gaze did a quick downward dip. “That you’re not wearing any panties.”

With a huff of aggravation, she spun away and marched back toward her celebration, which was now in raucous full swing. She didn’t have to see Russell’s grin. She could feel it.

Zach watched as she cut through the room like a social heat seeker. To appease her, he remained in plain sight just on the edge of the party while she controlled it.

The crowd loved her just as the camera loved her. How could they help it? She dazzled, with her beauty, with her rapier-sharp wit, with her flair for doing the unexpected.

In a sea of slinky evening gowns, she was the only woman who didn’t feel the need to make a statement by showing lots of bare shoulders, cleavage and leg. Her heavy dark hair was pulled up severely into a knot at the crown of her head then hung in a thick braided tail. She wore an evening suit that revealed nothing yet still managed to be sexy and exotic. Her mandarin-style jacket covered her from neck to fingertips in black silk heavily embroidered and beaded with Oriental florals and banded at collar, cuffs and hem with swatches of stiff peridot brocade. Beneath the weighty jacket that extended just below her hips, she wore loose-fitting black trousers over flat black slippers.

And apparently no panties.

She was still angry with him. She let him know it with her occasional stabbing glances. He wasn’t sure why he deserved it for just doing his job. But, having given up trying to decipher female logic—especially this female’s logic—he accepted it and stayed out of range. To distract himself from the panty issue, he thought ahead, to the trip to Mexico, to the potential difficulties of protecting her in a foreign country while she dealt with a man whose questionable background paralleled her father’s. Would she follow in their business footsteps, shunning integrity for a bigger bottom line? He wanted to think not. He didn’t want to believe “like father, like daughter.”

But she had let him take the fall to protect her father’s reputation. He had never believed it was to save her own. For all her defiant bluster, Toni Castillo wanted to make her daddy proud.

Whether Victor Castillo was worth the effort or not.

As the hour grew later and the party wilder, Zach watched Toni loosen up as the number of drinks consumed overcame her concerns. She danced with the male guests, making each one of them from eighteen to eighty-five fall in love or lust with her. But while she’d do a sexy bump and grind, she refused to be drawn in close for the occasional slow song. What man wouldn’t want to have her pressed into him for a languid, sensual sway? But she shook off their invitations with a laugh and a request for another champagne. Most took her evasion with a good-natured disappointment. But not all.

Jerry Middleton, son of the founder of Middleton Transport. Zach had done his homework on the guest list provided. A punk, a freeloader skating by on his father’s money and depending upon his pull to keep him from doing serious time for any of his frequent tangles with law enforcement. Several of them included burying the complaints of former girlfriends who said Jerry liked to play rough.

And, apparently, Jerry didn’t like to be told no. Especially in front of a crowd.

The first time he tried to push the issue, Toni simply walked out of his clumsy embrace and Veta stepped in to fill her place. Veta distracted him from his intentions and managed to whisper a warning for him not to cause a scene. The warning took, for all of fifteen minutes. Then he was back, cornering his hostess and trying to charm his way back into her good graces. Not wanting to offend him, Toni endured his attention but kept up the physical distance by placing her hand on his chest each time he tried to lean in closer.

He should have gotten the message, but some guys just needed a special delivery.

Jerry Middleton was becoming a rude bore.

Toni knew how to handle men. She did it with humor, with firmness and, if necessary, with force. But Jerry just wasn’t getting it. He wasn’t getting anything from her on this night or any other.

“Happy birthday, Antonia.”

Toni turned gratefully toward one of her father’s bankers and accepted a quick buss upon her cheek. But when he moved away and she looked back to confront her annoying pursuer, Jerry breeched her personal space with a husky, “I haven’t given you a birthday kiss yet.”

Alarm leapt inside her as he crushed her back against a credenza with the wall of his chest. Struggling to control the sudden acceleration of her heart and the instinctive surge of panic, she angled her head to present her cheek, but his hand forked beneath her chin, his fingers clamping tight. Fear, harsh and black, rose to choke her, wadding in her throat, suffocating the need to scream out in protest. Her brain shouted for her limbs to move, to shove him, to hit him, to knee him into submission, but her muscles locked into frozen acquiescence. And Jerry Middleton knew how to take swift advantage of a moment’s weakness.