Midnight Masquerade Page 12

  And just when her hot, deliciously damp and clutching flesh began to clamp down and quiver about him, he thought he heard his name whispered in urgency. It wasn't Rae's voice. She was busy panting into the throes of her pleasure. Odd ... His gaze happened to skim over her shoulder up into the corner of their booth. And he went still all over.

  Smile. You're on Candid Camera.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  Rae gasped in surprise as Nick snatched her back from the pinnacle of her release to deposit her on the impersonal seat beside him.

  "Time to go,” he told her in a terse voice, looking beyond her instead of at her.

  "What's wrong?” she asked with a quiet intensity.

  "This isn't the right place."

  She laughed a bit recklessly. “Of course it is."

  "Not for us,” he argued, pulling her from the booth as she smoothed down her rumpled skirt. Then he was towing her toward the door.

  What had happened? What had yanked him back from the pleasure they had both sought so eagerly?

  Something. Something had happened. She could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the fierce, shallow breaths he was taking. Something huge to distract him so completely from their involvement in each other.

  And damned if he wasn't going to tell her what it was!

  "Nick!” She dug in her heels as they burst into the lobby. “What's going on?"

  "Nothing. Something came up."

  "I know, and I was about to take care of that before you so rudely interrupted."

  He was in no mood for humor, and that alarmed her more than his strange preoccupation.

  And then she was distracted. For going down the wide steps into the basement disco was a spiked-haired Gabriel McGraw leading a pretty and unexpectedly innocent looking girl. Two things struck Rae—the girl didn't seem at all his type, and he was so enamored of her, he had eyes for nothing else. Not even his job. He rounded the landing and was out of sight without ever seeing her.

  Then Nick was hustling her toward the front door. The gleaming silver limo was there waiting. He opened the door so she could slip inside then, to her surprise and dismay, he didn't follow.

  "Have the driver take you home. I have some things to take care of here."

  "Nick."

  She said his name softly. Perhaps he didn't understand. This was good-bye.

  He hesitated, one hand on the door, the other on her shoulder, obviously torn by which direction to take.

  "Nick,” she said again. She took hold of his arm and coaxed him down to her, where she kissed him, deeply, thoroughly, with all the confused desire percolating inside her. Never had she wanted and feared the same man so greatly, the latter because of the former. And because he had her so off balance and she needed her wits about her now, she had to let go.

  It was so difficult.

  Even after releasing the sweetness of his mouth, she couldn't relinquish his dark, desire-drenched stare. She touched his face, holding it between both hands while she probed his gaze for some clue as to his feelings for her and, at the same time, afraid she'd find them.

  "Thank you, Nick."

  "I will see you again."

  A firmly spoken vow.

  One she'd have to make him break.

  She sat back, and he closed the door between them. Before she could think better of it, the limo glided away from the curb, carrying her from the one man she might have loved.

  * * * *

  "Forget something, Mr. Flynn?” The tone of the manager's voice said he'd thought Nick had everything a man could want when he left the first time.

  And he would have been right.

  "Has Mr. Zanlos left already?"

  "Just before you did."

  "Damn!"

  "Can I help you with something, Mr. Flynn?"

  Nick gave him a speculative glance. “Maybe you can, Barry. I need the tape from our booth.” He noted Barry's surprise and quick objection and hurried on. “I was going to ask Kaz, but since he's gone, maybe you ... I don't want you to get in trouble or anything. There was just a little something on it between me and my girl that I thought might set the mood for later on this evening, if you know what I mean?” He grinned disarmingly.

  Barry grinned, too, showing a row of perfect, capped teeth. “I saw your lady friend and could only hope to imagine. But I don't know, Mr. Flynn."

  Sensing that he was losing him, Nick tried another tact. “If you're not allowed to, I understand. I mean if he keeps careful track of them or something. I don't suppose he does, does he?"

  "A new one for every diner, Mr. Flynn. You know the boss, everything labeled and filed properly."

  Nick sighed. “Oh yeah. Well, hell. That shoots down a perfectly good idea.” Then he lowered his voice to a husky locker room intimacy. “Hey, Barry, I don't suppose you'd let me borrow it just long enough to make a copy, for my own personal use, of course. I could have it right back to you, and he'd never know it was missing."

  "I don't know, Mr. Flynn.” But he was looking around to see who was observing their conversation.

  "You'd be doing a guy a favor.” And he smoothly pressed a folded bill into Barry's hand.

  Barry glanced at the denomination. “Oh, what the hell. Who am I to stand in the way of true love."

  "You are a prince, Barry. I'll remember you at Christmas."

  The manager was gone only for a minute, returning with a small bag of what others might have thought was takeout. Some takeout.

  "Go. Go quickly."

  "What?"

  Barry blinked at him. “What?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I said I need that back,” Barry cautioned.

  But that wasn't what he'd heard whispered with a sudden, propelling intensity. Obviously, he was mistaken. Still, anxiety shivered through him, prompting haste. “No problem. We'll just keep this between us. Good night."

  He called a cab out front.

  "Where to, bud?"

  For a minute, he considered giving him the Grovers’ address, but it was too late for that, at least tonight. He gave his hotel's name and sat back for the ride, weighing the damning tape in his hand.

  Blackmail. So that was what the Noir was about, and it explained Zanlos's interest. An influential man doing indiscreet things on tape with a lovely lady not his wife. Possibilities abounded.

  So what was he going to do about it?

  And later, as he replayed the tape alone, his fingertips traced over the image of Rae Borden's face.

  What was he going to do about this? About her? About the way his chest tightened up with heart attack intensity just watching her on the small screen?

  And he'd just handed her over into the middle of something as illegal as it was immoral. And, unless he missed his guess, dangerous as well. How was he going to get her out of it?

  How was he going to get both of them out?

  * * * *

  The ninety-degree vista of windows overlooked a city alive with intrigue and opportunity. That's why Kaz loved it, for the same reasons he might have loved the woman silhouetted against the glass ... if either of them had had a heart.

  It used to bother him that she didn't cast a reflection in the window. He'd gotten over it. He'd gotten over a lot of disturbing little details about her since they'd chanced to meet in his home of South Africa all those years before. Details weren't important. One concentrated on the end result. That's why he was so successful.

  And that's why Bianca Du Maurier let him live.

  "Do you think he knows?"

  "Knows what, darling?"

  Bianca gave him an impatient look. Any time the topic turned to Nick Flynn, she grew edgy and fierce. He didn't like it, but it was another of those insignificant details.

  "Does he know who Rae Borden is? Or rather what she is?"

  "I think not. The question is, now that we know, what will we do about it? It could be dangerous having her this close."

  "Keep your friends close and you
r enemies closer. She could prove useful in dealing with Flynn."

  Poor Nick. Kaz had taken a true liking to his naked ambition. Under the proper tutelage, he could have developed into a fine partner. But watching his unnatural partner pace like a wild thing before the windows, he knew that wasn't in the cards for Nick Flynn. “What have you got planned for him, Bianca?"

  "There is no need for you to know my plans."

  She looked down her haughty nose as if he were something too inferior to understand. At times like this, he truly despised her ... enough to rid himself of the threat of her ... if only he didn't fear her power and lust for it with an equal abandon. It wouldn't do to underestimate her tolerance. He had to be careful, or he would find himself a slave to her will. Their partnership was hardly a balanced one. Each knew the other's weaknesses and secrets that wouldn't bear the light of day. But she didn't need him quite as much as he needed her indulgence.

  "Suffice it to say, you won't need to put his name up on Marvin's door.” She chuckled softly. The hairs quivered on Kaz's arms.

  "He's a good attorney."

  "There are lots of good attorneys. Find another one.” The sharp crack of her voice left no room for argument, so Kaz didn't pose one. Then her humor returned upon another dark chuckle. “Poor fool. He has no clue as to what's going on around him or why. He doesn't know that none of us are what we seem to be, himself included. He's in for a harsh education."

  The way she said it made Kaz very glad he had been a quick learner. Things could have been much worse than partnering up with a demon.

  He looked into the bank of windows, seeing just his own reflection there.

  Much worse.

  "And what if Nick chooses not to cooperate with your plans, darling?"

  Bianca turned toward him. On rare occasions, she allowed him to see what she really was behind the facade of exquisite beauty. The image flickered, faltered and then faded into a juxtaposed shape. The shape of an evil without time or place or rules. An evil so horrendous, so ugly, he had to avert his eyes.

  "He will cooperate. Or he will be dead."

  Hadn't she offered him that same ultimatum years ago?

  Nick was a smart boy. He'd make the same choice.

  * * * *

  Fog.

  Where had all the damned fog come from?

  He'd left a clear, starry night behind in New Orleans to begin his long drive back along I-10 to Baton Rouge. The window was down to catch the cooling air in hopes that it would blow off some of the mental fog settling thick and numbing about his senses.

  He hadn't meant to drink so much and now, halfway between home and going back, he wished he'd taken his host's offer of a room. He could have been sleeping off the celebration with that pretty girl catering the party instead of fighting against the pull of bourbon-soaked weariness to keep his car between the lines.

  Where had the lines gone?

  His headlights bounced back off the impenetrable mists blanketing the two a.m. world surrounding his vehicle. If he hadn't taken this road so many times before in a similar condition, he would have thought he'd made a wrong turn into the Twilight Zone.

  The stretch of highway was eerie during the daytime, its divided ribbon of concrete suspended on pilings above a swamp. The only thing on either side of the road was a forest of rotted-out tree stumps trying to lift out of the murky water upon spidery roots. He'd always thought it would be a nightmare of a place to have a breakdown. As the sun set behind those ghostly sentinels, the creep factor escalated to the nth degree. Splintered stumps went from sharp silhouette to indistinguishable shadows standing watch in the darkness. Miles of nothing but those spooky shapes wading in treacherous waters.

  And now he couldn't see the damned road past the hood of his car.

  He turned the lights to low beam to combat the glare, and that was a little bit better. Only twenty more minutes to go before he'd be back in civilization. He should have stayed the night in New Orleans.

  The temperature dropped to a clammy chill as threads of damp mists seeped into the car and into his bones. He blinked, struggling to focus through the opaque haze. Maybe some tunes would wake up his brain a bit. He reached for the radio but, after twisting the knob from low to high digits, could find no good reception out in this nowhere land. He fumbled on the passenger seat through a scattering of cassettes, selecting one at random and popping it in to play. Muddy Waters. Appropriate. He nodded in time to the soulful ballad. Yeah, man, he could relate to the woeful lyrics.

  He drove on into the abyss of mists to the sound of mournful guitar riffs and the hum of his tires. When the tape ended, the silence woke him from his dozing behind the wheel. He straightened in alarm and scrubbed at his blurry eyes. This was no place to let the attention span wane. If his car went over the side and into those unforgiving waters, it might be days before they found him.

  Wake up. Almost home.

  He groped for another tape and plugged in B.B. King. Yeah, the King of the Blues. And he was the king of the world coming back from a meeting that would change his life forever. No more cold canned spaghetti while watching the news on one of the two channels his old television set received. It would be takeout and imported beer kicked back in front of a big screen picking and choosing through a hundred sports selections off the satellite. Instead of trying to find loopholes in landlord tenant leases for nickels and dimes, he'd be working with the big oil boys to the tune of millions and billions for a hefty percentage of the prize. Ah, life was going to be good. And he deserved it. He'd worked hard for it.

  And he'd make his daddy proud.

  He'd never have to see that anxious, disappointed expression haunt his father's face again. He'd never be another cause for worry in the life of a man who'd known little else. He could give his daddy the rewards he deserved for putting up with the bull and foolishness of his only child's hard partying years. And Stephen Flynn would at last be assured that his only son had settled down into an honorable respectability. Yeah. That notion pleased Nick almost as much as that fat paycheck to come. Maybe more.

  Suddenly too dry of mouth to swallow, he reached for the bottle of water he never left home without. It evaded his fingertips, rolling off the edge of the seat and onto the floor. As he dipped down for it, his attention left the road for an instant. Just an instant. And when he sat back up and looked ahead, there she was.

  Nick sat up in bed, the sound of his own hoarse cry fading in his head. Breath laboring and bare chest drenched in an icy sweat of dread, he dragged himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The ashen features staring back at him in the mirror belonged to a man haunted by his past. He switched off the light, not wanting to recognize him.

  On wobbly legs, he went into the living room, knowing that sleep was now restless hours away. Adrenaline pumped through him, sped onward by the frantic pulse of his fear and remembered horror. Collapsing onto the couch, he fought off the desire for a drink and let the shivering run its course.

  Wouldn't his daddy be proud of him now?

  Unable to share the next few hours with his own thoughts, he picked up the remote and rewound the tape from the Noir. He pushed play, and the sound of Rae's husky laughter soothed through him with 100-proof potency. He let his head drop back into the cushions and curled his feet up under him, a small smile curving his mouth as he watched the screen. Damn, she was beautiful.

  Maybe it was the uneasy residuals from his dream that caused a disturbing queasiness to settle as he watched the tape. Something was out of place, missing from his own recall of the evening. He sat up and pressed rewind once more. What was it? He let the tape play again, studying it with a ‘what's wrong with this picture’ intensity. There he was stupidly swilling his drink and pretending he wasn't so distressed by the situation that his fillings ached. And Kaz, smooth, charming, like a sleek anaconda wrapping up his victim for just a little squeeze. And Rae, gorgeous, glorious Rae, so vibrant and alive, it made his lungs hurt to inhale.

/>   He blinked, astounded then alarmed.

  Where was Anna Murray?

  It was the camera angle. It must have been.

  But she'd been sitting right beside him. There was no way she could have been left out of the shot, on purpose or by accident.

  She'd been sitting right there in that glaringly obvious empty space where on the tape he was laughing and talking to nothing, nobody.

  How had the camera managed to catch the three of them to the exclusion of the icy blonde?

  Chapter

  Twelve

  "May I help you?"

  Rae stared at the obscenely perky young woman behind the desk, wondering why she looked so familiar. “I'm here to see Mr. Zanloz. Rae Borden."

  "I'll tell him you're here, Ms. Borden."

  The young woman smiled, and it hit Rae with the stunning force of walking into a glass door. Numbness vibrated through her followed by humiliation and pain.

  This was the girl with Gabriel McGraw at the Noir. The one he'd been so wrapped up in, he hadn't seen fit to do his job—which was to protect her. Gabriel was tripping the light's fantastic with Kaz Zanlos's personal secretary.

  But was that all he was doing?

  Rae took a seat and began to thumb through a stack of eclectic magazines while sizing up Ms. Perky. Young, pretty with a cheerful energy ... that reminded her, suddenly and unfairly, of Ginny. Had Gabriel been dazzled by that sweet smile and zestful innocence? Had he been lured astray, into telling tales out of school that would taint the investigation of Ms. Perky's boss?

  Someone was tipping off Zanlos, Marchand LaValois had said. Someone with information about the lawful investigation into his unlawful activities. Someone leaking information that kept the clever lawyer one step ahead of their plans.

  Was that someone Gabriel McGraw?

  "Hello, Rae."

  Just the sound of his voice startled a Snap, Crackle, Pop of awareness. She cast a guarded glance up along the exquisitely tailored suit, stopping with a cowardly hesitation at the burgundy power tie. Then she forced her gaze to meet his. She took a long, slow breath so he wouldn't notice how his very appearance sucked the oxygen from her lungs.