Enemy Mine (5 page)

“Your lapdog just left,” Selena drawled as her gaze swept lazily over the vampire. He was, she supposed, a dead ringer for the Spanish-born actor Antonio Banderas, but bigger, broader, and certainly more deadly. His thick, black, shoulder-length hair framed an intense face with deep espresso-brown eyes etched with green striations. Sensuality poured off him in waves. While most of it bounced off her, some of it didn’t. The daemon in her stirred.
Damn it
.

Selena laughed off the disconcerting feeling. “Are you attempting to seduce me, vampire?”

He grinned slowly. “I would—never …”

Selena pushed off the edge of her desk and turned her back to him, then looked coyly over her shoulder. Joran had made his willingness to bed her plain from their first meeting years ago. “I may be half-daemon, a fact I curse every day of my life, but my human will is stronger than any daemon urge. Don’t waste your glamour on me, Joran. Save it for someone who cares.”

He laughed deeply and entered her office. She cursed under her breath. He didn’t stop by often, but when he did, she couldn’t keep him out unless she wanted a good ass-kicking. She was strong, but he was stronger. “Still regret that you invited me in so long ago?”

Selena shook her head, moved around to the chair behind her desk, and sat down. “I’m going to assume you spoke with your pit bull?”

He nodded and lifted his hand. With a slow sweep of his fingers, he moved the only other chair in the room from the corner to behind him. He sat down and adjusted his black-silk tailored suit. “I did.”

“And?” She sat back in her chair.

“I’m disappointed, Selena.”

A vision of Johnny’s bloody body lying still in the dirt flashed before her eyes. He would be even more disappointed if she told him what had happened to the serums. “It couldn’t be helped. I’ll go back next week and round up twice the amount for half the cost.”

“I think not. I think you’ll go earlier and I think you’ll do it at no charge.”

Selena lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, which were beginning to redden just around the edges. Slowly, she sat up straight and inhaled, giving the stones around her neck the cue to pay attention.

Standing, she planted her hands palm down on her desk, leaned forward, and spoke slowly. “I think, Joran, you have somehow gotten the impression that you call the shots.” She exhaled. The stones warmed. “I’m an independent contractor. I decide who, what, where, when, and how much. Not the other way around.”

He smiled lazily and purred, “Yes, I know. But I also know, if it involves a nanorian, you will do exactly what I want. On my terms. Isn’t that right?”

She looked sideways at him and fingered the four around her neck. “Perhaps.”

“I happen to know there is one right here in Miami.”

“If there is one in Miami, I’ll find it, without your help.”

“Even when the daemon has possessed a human body as insidious as half of Hell?”

“That’s none of your business.” She could, it was just harder. Black-hearted humans had the uncanny ability to hide the scent of a daemon. Maybe because they were so much alike.

“Ah, a trade secret. Okay, I’ll give you that one, but only because I have my own.” He stood so fast that even with her enhanced vision she didn’t see the movement as anything but a shimmer in the air, like a ripple on a glassy pond.

He stood inches from her now. “A Hellkeeper is running roughshod over some of my assets in Hialeah. That’s bad enough, but the daemon is hiding inside the body of one Armadeo Vegas.”

She started at the name. Madeo Vegas was a one-man death squad for
cubano
mafioso Luis Fernandez and a frequent patron of Lost Souls.

“What do you want me to do that you can’t do yourself? Just go bite the prick and drain him. The daemon will have to vaporize or die with the body.”

“I can’t. He has knowledge of something I need.”

“And this something you need?”

“You know I don’t discuss my business.”

“Oh, come now, Joran, I think we have gone a little past your being shy. Tell me what you want. Specifically.”

“I will tell you this much: My protection, some of which offers you the same blind eye, is proving to be less than protective. In the last two months, many of my—associates have been incarcerated with alarming regularity. It seems those with whom I have financial agreements—and who happen to be the same persons with the power to look the other way—no longer choose to. Vegas has a hand in their newfound sense of justice. I want to know how Vegas is getting to them.”

“How do you know it’s Vegas?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Selena. You know that.” Joran smiled tightly. “I want the information. You’ll get it after you expel the Hellkeeper from Vegas’s body and take possession of it yourself.”

Her? Possess a human body? And even worse, human scum? Selena laughed. Shaking her head, she walked over to her balcony door and opened it. “You’re a funny guy, Joran. Real funny. Now leave.”

He was all over her in the blink of her tired eyes. The door slammed shut and she found herself sprawled on her back across her desk. Joran’s heavy body pinned her to the desktop.

He stared hotly into her eyes, his blazing red. His nostrils flared, his lips twitched, and just beneath, she saw a hint of fang. “You will do it or I will lead Paymon to your doorstep.”

He would not dare! “Then who will you get to do your dirty work?” she sneered.

“Do you think you are the only half-breed out there who can do what you do?”

“I’m the only willing one with the skills to do it and not get caught by the Order. How do you think Rurik will react once he knows his old buddy from across the pond is hijacking immortal blood to create a banned substance?”

Joran picked her up and flung her across the room. She slowed the velocity of her body to keep from slamming against the wall, then hovered just above the smooth granite tile for a moment before lowering to it.

Joran grinned. “We need each other, Selena. Why not make the best of it?” He slipped his hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a small syringe. He wagged it in front of her. “It’s fresh.”

Rev.

When she reached out to take the syringe, Joran held on to it. “Take this now, and it’s understood you get me the information I want tomorrow night.”

Selena nodded. Joran’s fingers loosened. She’d have done the job regardless. She was too close to her goal to turn away such a perfect opportunity. A Hellkeeper walking into her lair? She smiled. The perfect storm, and one giant step closer to living a normal life with her daughter. For that, she would do just about anything.

Joran walked to the balcony. Over his shoulder he said, “Vegas is coming here tomorrow night for some action. Make sure he doesn’t leave until you have the information.” Then Joran jumped into the night.

CHAPTER FOUR

L.O.S.T. compound, location classified

N
ikko did not walk into the war room, he glided. Every sense he possessed was open full throttle. His vision was as sharp as a hawk’s. His hearing that of a bat. His sense of smell as acute as a wolf’s. It was amazing and terrifying, and damn if he didn’t like it.

He blinked back the brightness of the fluorescent lights above. The darkened flat screens that surrounded the room hummed. Natural body scents mingled with subtle soaps and deodorants. And …

He sniffed the air and looked toward Jax Cassidy. The only female L.O.S.T. operative and the only female in the room. She’d had sex recently. Her lover’s scent still clung to her. He grinned knowingly at her. She shot him a glare. Did she know he was different now?

“How’s Cross?” Nikko asked as he strode past her to his seat on the opposite side of the table.

“He’s fine,” she slowly said. “How are
you
?”

He sat back and folded his arms behind his head and looked at everyone in the room. “On top of the fucking world.”

Godfather scowled. Stone, Satch, and Dante shook their heads.

Cassidy slowly stood, her gaze riveted on him. As she approached, her nostrils twitched. He knew she had enhanced senses and strength. That happened when you sucked vampire blood regularly. Nikko harbored no hard feelings toward her boyfriend. In fact, while vampire Marcus Cross wasn’t officially L.O.S.T., he was a huge asset to the team. Even more important, Cassidy wasn’t as grumpy since she and Cross had hooked up. Apparently, vampire sex had its benefits. Images of the last time he and Selena had made love sprang into his mind’s eye. He squashed them. No. He wasn’t going there. She’d been a hallucination. She was dead. His powers, however, were very real.

Nikko knew how Cassidy had gotten her superhuman strength, but he was still floored by his own. How the hell had he gotten so sensitive? And strong? This morning, when opening his car door, he’d yanked it off its hinges. He’d had to ride his Harley in. Carefully.

“Who’d you bite?” Cassidy asked, her question quieting the room to dead silence.

She knew! Could she smell it? The way he could smell her? His skin frosted. Christ, had he been juiced with vampire blood? A year ago the thought would have repulsed him. Now? His body vibrated with power. It intrigued him on every level.

“Cruz,” Godfather began, coming around to stand in his place at the large, round table, “what the hell happened to you out there?”

Nikko shook his head and looked straight into his commander’s irritated scowl. “I was blown to hell. I woke up healed and superhuman.”

“I read your report. Tell me again about the woman.”

Nikko looked around at his team. Only a few of them were there, the others being off on missions. He let out a long breath. As soon as he said her name, Godfather would have him pulled from the field and thrown into the psych ward. With the exception of Cassidy, each person in the room knew how broken he had been when they dragged him through the very same doors he had just walked through. Beaten, angry, and wanting to destroy himself. It had taken almost a year before Godfather was sure Cruz could function in the field as a L.O.S.T. operative. His first mission was to slip inside an Iranian compound and extract the kidnapped daughter of a prominent American political family. In some ways, he felt as if he’d saved his own daughter. It was the exact mission he needed. He’d never looked back. Now he felt as if his emotional seams were about to rupture. He gritted his teeth, frustrated that after all these years, despite how much he fought it, she could still hurt him. He sat up straight. She could go back to Hell where she belonged! He’d be damned if he’d let a ghost screw up his life now.

“Who was the woman?” Godfather asked again.

Nikko looked straight at his commander. “Selena Guerrero.”

A collective round of gasps shivered through the room.

“Impossible,” Godfather said.

Nikko shook his head and swiped his hand across his face. “I know she’s dead. I
killed
her!” He shook his head again, doubting his own instincts, which screamed it was she. “Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. Whoever it was, was the spitting image of Selena.” Grinding his jaw, Nikko could not ignore one vital fact. “Whoever it was saved my life. She injected me with something, directly into my heart. I want to know what and why.”

Godfather pressed a button and a state-of-the-art touch screen popped up before them. He tapped several apps; then a phone chirped. “Fulton County Coroner,” a brisk female voice answered.

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Meade,” Godfather said.

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Mr. Black.”

“One moment please.”

Several seconds ticked by. “Mr. Black,” a deep, authoritative voice said.

“Doctor, I need a report for one Selena Guerrero, DOD June first, ’03. I’ll wait while you pull it up.”

“One moment.”

Godfather looked down at Nikko, who suddenly felt warm and not so sure of anything. A heavy sense of dread coursed through him as he waited for the coroner.
Had
he imagined her? Believing he’d seen her had pumped him up almost as much as whatever had rejuvenated him. If she was alive, she’d saved him—why? Did it matter? She had killed more than their daughter the day she aborted her. She’d killed the fire in his heart, and he in turn had extinguished hers. Or had he? He felt as if he were going to puke. His daughter, she was almost seven months! Viable! What Selena had done was morally and legally wrong. She had murdered her! He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the images his mind conjured.

The ME came back on the line. “Guerrero, Selena Honorea, twenty-five-and-a-half-year-old Latina female, DOA, cause of death, asphyxia due to strangulation. Do you want the autopsy details?”

“Who performed the autopsy?”

“Dr. Elena Mira.”

“Who identified the body? And who was the body released to?”

“Roberto Montoya-Balderama on both counts.”

Who the hell was that? Nikko wondered. Selena had never mentioned him. In fact, with the exception of himself, she’d shied away from the opposite sex.

“I’d like to speak with Dr. Mira,” Godfather said.

“That’s not possible. She passed away, almost eight years ago.”

“How?”

“She seized on the way to work, lost control of her car, and crashed.”

“Was an autopsy performed?”

“I performed it myself. She hadn’t been taking her seizure meds.”

“Don’t you find that unusual for a doctor?”

“Yes. So much so I listed her death as suspicious.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“Yes. It was closed and her death was listed accidental.”

“Thank you, Dr. Meade.” Godfather hung up before the doctor could respond. He looked at Nikko. “Do you know who Roberto Balderama is?”

“No. And Selena never mentioned him.”

Godfather looked past Nikko and around the room. “Do any of you know who he is?”

There was collective head-shaking.

Godfather tapped the screen several times and typed in a few words; all around them the flat screens lit up. A handsome Latino man flashed up. “Roberto Estefan Montoya-Balderama, head of Los Cuatro, a consortium of four heads of Latino states who in the name of preserving the Latino culture as a whole fight those who would destroy it, i.e., drug cartels and unfriendly non-Latino big business.”

“Never heard of it,” Cassidy said.

“That’s because they don’t want you to know. In their own way, they are as covert as L.O.S.T.”

“What means do they employ?” Nikko asked.

“On the surface, humanitarian. Their intentions seem noble. But there has been recent evidence that they have a little terrorist in them.” Godfather pressed another icon and more pictures of Balderama flashed up on the screen. Shaking hands with various heads of state, including the last three US presidents. “Too noble,” Godfather mused aloud.

“How ironic then,” Nikko said, trying to tamp down his anger that Selena might still be alive, “that among the Russian voices, I heard Spanish voices. And how coincidental that Selena is there in the middle of a uranium heist.”

“It’s not coincidence. Somehow she survived your attack, Cruz, and Balderama paid a lot of people to make it look like she had died, then killed to cover it up. I’ll bet my retirement she’s alive and well, and working for Balderama.”

“I’ll lay odds it was her trailing the convoy,” Gage said. “Damn her!” Nikko whispered. Then more loudly: “Damn her for everything!” He shot out of his chair. “I went crazy when Selena killed our daughter. For God’s sake, I strangled her!” He looked around the room at the silent faces of his team. “She died, right there, by my hands.” He looked down at his hands as if her blood still stained them. “There were witnesses. I was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death.
She’s dead
.”

“Look at it this way, Cruz,” Godfather said. “Had you gone to jury trial, maybe the cover-up would have come out, and instead of being convicted of first-degree murder, you would have pled guilty to attempted murder.”

“Because you refused a trial by jury, no one questioned any of it,” Stone calmly said.

Nikko stared at the screen, then at his team. He’d killed her. Murdered the woman he loved, the one who’d destroyed a life he so wanted to be a part of. She had made it impossible for him to forgive her.

“With the kind of money Balderama has, and the pull he has in the Cuban community, he could have pulled it off, especially with there being no trial.” Godfather stared at the screen and Balderama’s smiling face as he kissed a chubby baby as if he were the damn pope. “But why?”

“What value would your ex have to a man like Balderama?” Cassidy asked.

Nikko shook his head, a sudden migraine erupting behind his eyes. He wanted Selena to stay dead. He could live with what he’d done, but he couldn’t live with her alive after what she’d done. He inhaled a deep breath and slowly exhaled, then said, “She’s half-Cuban. Her mother committed suicide the year before we met. She never spoke of her father.”

“Do you know where she was born?” Godfather asked.

“Havana.”

Godfather worked his magic, and in less than a minute Selena Guerrero’s birth certificate sprang up on the screens. Father: Unknown. Mother: Marta Famosa.

“How did she end up with Guerrero as her last name if her mother’s was Famosa?” Cassidy asked.

“
Guerrero
means ‘war’ in Spanish,” Nikko said. “Selena was a fighter. Pissed off at the world. She was probably born with an AK in her hands.”

“Could that be what drew Balderama to her?” Satriano asked.

“Maybe she’s his daughter. Maybe the mother tried to keep her daughter’s paternity a secret so she wouldn’t have to share her with Balderama,” Godfather said.

It made sense. No, it didn’t. Nothing made sense.

“Balderama is half-Cuban and half-Venezuelan,” Godfather said, pulling up an article about the young Latino immigrant who was touted by his peers as the César Chávez of the East Coast. “According to his bio, his mother, Alda Balderama, was a Cuban revolutionary. She died in Gitmo in the late seventies.”

“And so the plot thickens,” Stone said, looking up at the screens.

Godfather looked hard at Nikko. “Let’s go on the assumption Guerrero is still alive. For a man of Balderama’s status, there had to be a vital reason he would stick his neck out to make these arrangements. That she was in the same hunting grounds as we were in Kyrgyzstan, and assuming she was in the employ of Balderama, then I’d say she is a person of extreme interest. Most especially if she was the one trailing the cask. The bigger question is, did she get it?”

Nikko shook his head, refusing to acknowledge she might be alive. Because if she was, he was not done with her.

“What did she do to you out there?” Godfather demanded.

Nikko struggled with his answer. Not that he would not be honest with his team, but he was afraid he would sound like one of those crazies who insisted they had been abducted by aliens.

“Cruz,” Cassidy softly said, “I felt like a complete idiot when I suspected Marcus was a vampire. I did not want to believe my own eyes, or my gut, because it was crazy. And you know how you all reacted. Just tell us what happened. And let us decide what to do with it.”

“I was dying, for Christ’s sake. Out of fucking nowhere, a woman who looked and sounded like Selena showed up. She called me Johnny. My given name. She talked as if she knew me. Jesus, I was dying! I was hallucinating. She said she’d see me in Hell, and then she stabbed me in the chest with a needle. I woke up and felt like Superman. I still do.”

“Superman how?” Cassidy asked.

“I can run faster than a cheetah. My smell is so acute I can tell that you and Cross were at it hot and heavy a few hours ago.” He snorted as Cassidy’s cheeks pinkened.

“Fuck you, Cruz.”

“I can tell each one of you has had at least one cup of coffee.” He stood and grabbed his chair. “I can turn this into a perfect pretzel if I want to.”

Godfather turned to Cassidy. “What’s the soonest you can get Cross in here?”