#2 Dangerous Games (32 page)

HE WAS GOING TO HAVE to get out of the damned water Clint breathed out raggedly as he shifted Morganna in his arms, holding her against his chest as he pulled himself to his feet, water sloshing around
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his calves as he stepped from the tub and jerked one of the large towels from the low shelf by the tub.

He wrapped it around Morganna, drying her quickly.

A grin quirked his lips as she muttered drowsily at being disturbed She was sleeping in his arms, despite the awkward hold he had on her, relaxed and pliant as he clumsily dried the water from both of them, Shaking his head at her, he padded into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, pulling the blankets over her be-fore heading back to the bathroom to clean up the damp mess they had left there.

The woman was killing him. He couldn't keep himself from touching her, from taking her every chance he had, filling her with his release. Feeling each hard spurt of his semen inside her did something to him that he couldn't explain. The feeling of ownership, of possessiveness, that locked around his soul each time he marked her in such a way was starting to worry him.

It couldn't continue forever, this blinding hunger. He couldn't allow it to. When the danger was over, when she -was finally safe, he would have to leave again. He had no intentions of tying her to him, of creating a bond that would tempt the violence that was so much a part of him. Tossing the damp towels into the hamper after he cleaned up the mess, he moved back to the bedroom, sliding into the bed beside Morganna, trying to ignore how natural it felt. How right. She curled into his arms, a warm weight that his arms seemed to relish, that tightened his chest with pleasure. Had it been sexual pleasure alone, it wouldn't have worried him. But it wasn't. It was a pleasure that pierced his soul and reminded him once again of the heartache that awaited him. because he couldn't keep her. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he needed to. One day soon, he would have to let her go.

TRINA BLAKE MOVED WEARILY INTO her bedroom, ignoring the expensive furnishings, the large, empty bed. As empty as the house she had bought. As empty as her life. Walking toward the antique vanity table on the other side of the room, she pulled off the heavy silver earrings she wore, dropping them to the cherrywood vanity before sitting down on the upholstered stool and unzipping her high boots.

Her feet ached. They never ached. She had been wearing the impossibly high heels for years, moving comfortably u them, enjoying the additional stature they gave to her. The impression of height and inner strength. But lately..... She massaged her arches, frowning at the stiffness there. Lately they had begun hurting.

She turned to the mirror, automatically uncapping t cleansing cream and spreading it over her face before cleansing the makeup off with the tissues sitting ready by her elbow. It was automatic, her nightly ritual.

Cleaning off the layers of the mask she faced the world with and for a few hours, just a few hours, allowing the sensitive skin of hen face to rest.

She stared into the mirror, seeing more than just the residue of the cream and makeup lifting free of her skin. There were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her skin wasn't as her blemished as it had been or as dewy as when she was in her twenties.

She was getting old. And lately, she was beginning to feel it. She was thirty-two years old, and her home, like her soul echoed with exactly how empty her life truly was. She was a puppet, a pawn to the lifestyle and the power she had believed she coveted at one time.

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Slowly she had begun distancing herself from the criminal elements she had been involved with throughout her life With Carmelita's death, that had come much easier. The bitch from hell had been sent back to her fiery realm, leaving Trina in peace for a change. No more late-night phone calls, no more demands from the black-hearted bitch.

Until Diego had shown up. God, how she hated him. wished with every fiber of her being that he had been consumed in the same fiery battle that had taken Carmelita's life. How much easier Trina's life would have been then.

How much easier it would have been if she had never been entered into the insanity of Carmelita's life.

Maybe Trina could have had a measure of peace to go with the wealth she had amassed.

A husband perhaps. Maybe a child. A bitter smile crossed her lips at the thought of either. Such pleasures would be quickly used against her if she even considered such things. Especially now. With Carmelita's death, Diego's paranoia and psychotic tendencies were no longer contained.

As Trina wiped the last of the cleansing cream from her face and stared back at her own expression, she wondered when it had become so hard to look into her own eyes. Had it only just begun, or had it only grown over the years?

Shaking her head, she had picked up her silver-backed brush and lifted it to brush out the long mass of black hair

when a shadow reflected in the mirror, moving toward the bedroom doorway.

A hard, dread-filled surge of blood rocketed through her veins. She had been expecting it. Had actually thought he would come sooner than midmorning. She should have known he would know exactly when to strike.

Laying the brush down, she turned on the stool and waited.

Two of his men moved into the room silently, their hard eyes sweeping over her before ascertaining that she had no company. She had known better than to have company. She had no desire to lose another lover to the games Diego liked to play.

Seconds later, Diego stepped into the room. He had aged much more than she had in the last two years.

Gray marred the thick black hair; his brows were shaggy; his once-trim body sagged. Carmelita was no longer around to

make certain he maintained the image she had demanded.

Without her, Diego was a mess. Trina hoped soon he would be a dead mess. She doubted she would be around to enjoy be sight.

"Good afternoon, Diego." She kept the smooth confidence in her voice, noting the narrowing of his eyes.

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He expected her to be nervous, to show her guilt. She wasn't the fool he thought she was, and she found that she wasn't as afraid of dying as she had once been.

"Trina." The dark rasp of his voice sent a chill up her spine. "My prey escaped your home last night. My men reported that it appeared perhaps my prey had been warned of their arrival. Could this be true?"

The silky menace in his tone wasn't lost on her.

She shrugged negligently. "One moment he appeared to be heading for a bedroom to screw his little whore; the next minute your men told me he had fled. He's not a predictable man, Diego. If he were, I could have killed him myself a year ago."

"Hmmm." He came farther into the room, the silk of his clothes rippling over his gaunt body as she wished she had kept her heels on. They gave her confidence.

She watched, fighting her nervousness as he paced across the expensive cream carpeting toward her, his black eyes glittering with a maniacal anger.

"He and his whore escaped from my hold, Trina. I needed to know how far Santos had betrayed me, and the very people who could tell me have now flown," he sighed, the malevolent light in his eyes sparkling with pure evil. "I will not tolerate failure from those who owe me their loyalty."

He stopped beside her, taller only because she was sitting down, but she knew better than to stand.

Only by sheer force of will did she keep from flinching as he ran his hands over her thick black hair, picking up a few strands and allowing it to cascade from his fingers.

"You were Carmelita's most treasured playmate," he sighed. "She often bragged about your loyalty to her. She loved you above all others, even her family."

Only because Trina had, at one time, cherished life. She had played the game better than the others, had assured Carmelita of her loyalty with acts that even now made Trina's soul cringe. Life didn't seem as important anymore when faced with the same choices.

"I loved Carmelita." She forced a whisper of regret into her voice. "Seeing her murderers pay means everything to me."

She stared up at him, allowing the facade of submission to enter her voice as well as her gaze. Carmelita had taught her the best way to deal with Diego's fanaticism. His insanity.

"You failed me tonight," he murmured.

Fear burned in her gut as his hand tightened in her hair, holding her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"McIntyre fooled me." She swallowed tightly. "I didn't expect him to leave the house. He must have seen your men drive up-"

He reached out with his other hand to caress her cheek. "I have considered this." He smiled, the false gentleness in the curve of his lips assuring her that death would not come easy. If it came. The maniacal genius Carmelita had been successful in harnessing burned in his gaze now. Sometimes .death didn't come. Diego understood that often death wasn't the greatest punishment.

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"Diego, I did as you ordered," Trina whispered, hating the possible reprisals that came to mind as he towered over her.

"I have considered this as well." He released her slowly as he lifted his hand, a beckoning gesture of his fingers toward his men causing her to glance across the room.

The guards stepped from the doorway, allowing several other men to enter. Trina fought to control her breathing, her fear.

"Diego ... please. I did as you ordered."

'You did not do it well enough, and now you must be punished." He stepped from her as the three men advanced. Carmelita loved you, Trina; for this I will not kill you. But she also told me once how much you hated to be raped. To be held down, to be forced."

She stood to her feet, staring back at him in horror.

"I did as you ordered," she cried out furiously. "There's no reason to punish me."

There was no escape. Her eyes went around the room frantically, noticing the placement of his men, the lust glittering in their eyes.

"You failed me. Failure is not forgiven easily," he murmured as the men advanced on her. "Take your punishment, so that I may forgive you. Then we will see if you can redeem yourself in my eyes."

She jumped to avoid the hands reaching out for her, scrambling to keep them from touching her, to keep them from hurting her. Nightmares of the past rose before her eyes, the soldiers who'd held her down, grunting, sweating over her as they raped her.

God, death would have been better.

She screamed as she was tossed to the bed, hard hands tearing her clothes from her body, touching her, laughter echoing around her.

She heard herself begging. Crying. She felt the horror that took her mind as her legs were jerked apart, restrained, and her punishment began.

Was it worth McIntyre's life, she wondered hazily, this punishment? Was it worth giving the fragile emotion she saw in his gaze when he watched Morganna a chance to grow? Was it worth allowing him what she would never know?

Loyalty was earned. McIntyre had earned her loyalty. But with this act, even death would not ease her plans to see Diego fall. By her hand.

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Her mind drifted, darkened. Unable to accept or to deal with the pain, the horror, of what was happening to her body. She escaped the only way she knew how, within plans for vengeance. Diego would fall by her hand.

WE HAVE SOME SERIOUS INTEL moving across the Net," Mace informed Clint as he stepped into the basement fortress, his hands loaded with shopping bags Jayne Smith had arranged to have waiting for him hours before. If Morganna was going to pull this off, then she was going to need clothes. Slipping into her house to get her clothes wasn't going to work, so Jayne had gone shopping for her.

Clint worried about that one. To be honest, the two women seemed way too alike in temperament; he didn't need Morganna getting any clothing or personality tips from the other woman. Morganna was too hard to handle as it was. What have you found?" He set the bags on the couch, glancing toward the still-closed bedroom door. "Don't worry; she's sleeping like an angel," Mace grunted, "I haven't heard a peep out of her." She was exhausted. The weariness that had lined her face as she slept earlier had worried Clint. He hadn't allowed her much sleep during their stay in the hotel room, and last night hadn't exactly been relaxing.

"Intel's coming in from several sources. Trina Blake called her personal doctor a few hours ago. One of her maids is a pretty little spy for the Feds. Seems Diego made a visit. He messed her up pretty bad."

"Shit." Clint pushed his fingers through his hair, a scowl tightening his face. "What happened?"

"Five of his men raped her." Mace's voice was tight with fury. "Diego was pissed off when you got away from his men. He made her pay for it. The maid reported extensive damage, though her physician is treating her from home rather than a hospital."

Clint prowled around the room, his muscles tight, fighting the urge to go hunting. If he did, Diego would merely go to ground; they had learned that over the years. That was why the strike against his compound had been made, to take him and his wife out together, without warning.

It was one of the reasons Trina had become so important as an informer two years before. If it hadn't been for her information, the team would have never located the senators' daughters last year and rescued them before they were brutalized.

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"Any reports or Diego?"

"Nothing conclusive. There are some rumors of several of the large gangs within the South American community being pulled in to work together. I'd hazard a guess that's Fuentes getting his spy network in gear. Your and Morganna's picture is being flashed a lot, but no one is one hundred percent certain where you're hiding." Mace flashed him a triumphant grin. "Those boys just don't know how it's done; that's all I can say." Mace could find a needle in a haystack a continent away.