For Love or Vengeance (11 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Miguel had somehow pictured Helene’s favorite watering hole to be more elegant and refined than the almost scary Goth club to which she brought him. As they entered, he instantly realized how out of place they were amid the sea of black leather and metal. And yet, Helene walked through the place as if she were one of them.

“Them” being a ragtag collection of rough-looking patrons of all ages with enough tattoos and piercings to make him flinch just imagining the pain of acquiring such body decorations.

The whole place pulsated with a strange kind of energy. Low and powerful, it invaded his body and stole through his mind. He had never sensed anything like it before.

“Do you feel that?” he asked Helene as she threaded through the crowd to the bar at the far side of the club.

She nodded and gave him a knowing smile. “It’s primal, isn’t it? Danger. Sex. Pain. The place is alive with it.”

Primal, his ass
. But he didn’t argue with her. He had come to relax. But she sent a heated glance in his direction, almost as if to say, “We both know better.”

Which maybe they did. They both knew why they had left together—why he had asked, and why she had agreed. They both knew, and yet there was still a game to be played. So afterward they had a good excuse for why it had happened—and why it didn’t mean anything.

As they approached the bar, two of the patrons got up and left, their half-full glasses still sitting on the counter. The bartender smirked at Helene as he whisked away the glasses and wiped down the surface with a damp rag.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said with a chuckle, clearly sharing some kind of private joke with her.

She eased onto a stool and the action pulled her skirt up, revealing tantalizing inches of her long shapely legs. Somehow Miguel dragged his gaze away to the bartender, who glared at him with glacial eyes.

“Is this your squeeze?” The man motioned to Miguel with the hand that held the rag.

She cocked her head in his direction, the smile on her face playful. “Are you jealous, Daniel?”

She was on a first-name basis with the bartender
? How often she did she come here, anyway? He battled back his own nasty little envy monster at the thought. The man was tall and good looking, in a hard sort of way. Just like Helene…He took the stool beside her and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’m Miguel.”

The bartender jerked his head up and down, tossed aside the rag and said, “The name’s Foley. Only my friends call me Daniel.”

Message received and understood. Miguel pulled back his hand.
Jerk
.

Helene held up two fingers. “Shooters and keep them coming until I say stop.”

“If you can say stop,” Foley teased. He reached beneath the bar and retrieved two shot glasses, which he slammed on the bar. Snaring a bottle of Cuervo from the shelf behind the bar, he placed it next to the shot glasses.

“It’s on the house. Heard about your bad luck.”

She grabbed the bottle and poured out two shots. “I guess news travels quickly in your circles.”

“A waste of good blood…” Foley muttered, and walked away.

“A waste of good blood?” Miguel repeated, stymied by the man’s words. Was that code for something?

Helene held up her glass. “To Lanie Santini. May she rest in peace.”

He tapped his drink against hers. “To Lanie.”

In unison they downed the shots. Before his glass could hit the bar, Helene refilled it and then her own.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she chugged the shot, but he sipped his more slowly, the burn of the first shot still warming his stomach. She refilled her shot glass a third time and once again knocked back the tequila.

He frowned, concerned on multiple counts. “Don’t you think you should take it easy?”

Helene considered her partner over the rim of her empty glass, debating over a fourth. “Worried I’ll get too drunk?” Of course, she wouldn’t. But he couldn’t know that.

He laughed roughly and took a small sip of his drink. “Why would I worry about that?”

It was Helene’s turn to chuckle and shake her head. “Because you’re too honorable to fuck me if you think I’m drunk.” She decided against the fourth shot. She could think of more intoxicating things than alcohol. Placing her glass and the bottle of tequila down on the counter, she reached up and laid her hand on Miguel’s shoulder. Inching it up to the edge of his collar, she slipped her thumb along the skin of his throat.

His body vibrated beneath her touch. No need to release her second sight, she could sense the desire and conflict in him even without it. It mirrored her own. “You do want me, don’t you?” she asked. “Because I want you.”

As he slammed down the remainder of his shot, his throat muscles worked beneath the pads of her fingers.

“Well?” she prompted. She never had been good at playing games. Their dance of denial was wasting time better spent in bed.

He lifted his emerald eyes to her. They were dark with anger…and desire. “You try to be hard and distant. But I see what’s inside you, and that scares you. It scares me, too, because I do want you.”

The clatter of something heavy and metallic hitting the bar shattered the moment.

A heavy brass ring with a big brass key and tag sat on the bar in front of them. Foley was glaring at them. “Spare us all the sideshow and get a room. That’s on the house, too.”

In one fluid motion, Helene snared the key and Miguel’s hand, and pulled him from his stool. “Let’s go.”

Miguel called himself a fool, and yet was powerless to deny he needed her. Needed the comfort of her arms. Needed to reach beyond her inflexible façade to the intense woman within. The one who felt pain and joy so deeply. Who understood the need for justice, and strove so hard to find it. The woman he hoped might be capable of more than just an occasional one-night stand.

She was leading him toward the door to another part of the club. It was guarded by a pale, muscular bouncer. The bouncer moved to block their path, but she held up the key and waved her hand, literally brushing him aside so they could pass.

Her steps were quick and short, the sound of her heels staccato sharp against the tiled floor in the hall.

Room number five was at the end of the hall. Her hand fumbled as she tried to slip the large key into the lock and Miguel reached out to steady her hand.

She looked up at him and murmured, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Never one to miss a beat, she said, “And mine, I hope.”

They went in and she locked the door behind him, then flashed him a sexy smile.

For a brief second, he registered an assortment of adult toys tacked up on one wall. And then her body was pressed against him, his back against the door.

She was quick to reach for his suit jacket, but he gently grabbed hold of her hands and stilled their motion. “I know you need to forget what happened today, but there’s no sense in rushing. We have all night.”

He reached up and caressed her curls, then rested his hand at the crook of her neck. He gently brushed aside her hair and bent his head. Nuzzling the soft skin by his hand, he whispered, “You’re very beautiful.”

She tipped her head to give him better access and murmured playfully, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

“Immodest, too.” He kissed the side of her throat and leisurely dragged his mouth along the sensitive skin to a spot behind her ear. “And headstrong.”

“Ooh, you say such sinful things to a girl,” she cooed breathily.

He tugged on her finely worked hoop earring with his teeth, tongued her lobe, and whispered, “Opinionated.”

She cradled the back of his head and slipped her hands beneath his suit jacket to tug him closer. “I think those two are almost redundant,” she murmured.

“Smart-mouthed.” Then he covered that smart mouth with his, tasting her full lips. Urging her into the kiss with the press and tug of his mouth against hers. Inviting her to open, and when she did, slipped in to trace the perfect line of her teeth. He danced his tongue across hers and dared her to do more.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders and covered his pecs. Found the hard nubs of his nipples beneath the fabric and circled them with her fingers, making his erection surge to life. He gave a rumble of pleasure. She smiled against his lips. “You like that, don’t you?”

He could lie, but what was the sense. She seemed to know more about what gave him pleasure than he did himself. “
Mmm
. I like.”

She increased the pressure, tweaking the nubs before bending down to suckle first one, then the other, through the fabric of his shirt.

He held her head to him and because he needed more, he grasped her hand and moved it to his cock. “Touch me.”

She stroked him through the rough wool of his pants, moving her hand up and down the length of him. Then she muttered, “This is crazy. Too many clothes.”

A second later she was racing to remove all his clothing. When he stood naked before her, she took a step back, and surprised him by saying, “You’re beautiful, too.”

With a smile, he crossed his arms and said, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

A musical laugh escaped her, and she closed the distance between them. Touching the head of his erection with teasing fingers, she met his gaze full on and said, “You’re a hard man, Miguel Sanchez.” Coyly dropping her gaze downward, she added, “A very, very, hard man.”

He groaned and covered her hand with his, stopping her because her touch was close to undoing him. “It’s my turn,” he said, and deftly undid all the buttons on her shirt, then parted it to reveal the very feminine, lace-edged bra beneath.

With a quick twist of the front clasp, her full breasts spilled free. Her nipples were already tight and begging for his touch. He cupped her breast and strummed his thumb across the tip, dragging a fractured sigh from her lips.

“I guess you like that, too,” he teased and encircled the tip with his thumb and forefinger, rotating the hard nub. That earned him an intense sigh of pleasure. Her hand quivered against the tip of his erection as she whispered, “Kiss me.”

He leaned down again and kissed the tip of her breast, sucking and biting on it until her body was shaking and she could no longer keep her hands still.

They parted only long enough for her to remove the rest of her clothes, then they came together, holding each other tight as their mouths met and they kissed over and over. With faltering steps they backed toward the large bed until his buttocks hit the edge of the mattress.

“My turn now.” With gentle pressure on his shoulders, she urged him to sit. Then she moved her mouth back to his chest, suckling his nipples, her body tucked in the vee of his spread-eagled legs. She rubbed the softness of her belly against his balls and erection, until he could no longer hold back.

“I need you,” he said. “Now.”

She slipped from between his legs and together they slid up to the middle of the bed. With a roll, she straddled him, her hands braced on his shoulders.

Her gaze was hot and languid as she looked down at him. “Like this, you mean?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a swift shift of her hips, she took him in and buried him as deep as he could go.

He groaned in pleasure, and closed his eyes at the blissful sensation of her body surrounding his. Drowning in the slick heat and tender caress of her. Awed by the acceptance found in their union.

“Open your eyes.” The command in her voice couldn’t be denied, so he dragged his eyes open and met her gaze. Her confused gaze.

“You don’t want to feel this way,” he said in sudden comprehension.

“I don’t,” she confessed.

“I don’t either, but I need this,” he admitted, and grasped her hips, afraid that she would flee again. “I need you.”

She swallowed heavily. “I—I do, too. But I also want to run.”

“Why?”

She gazed down at him, a strange wonder in her eyes. “I’ve never—” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid of where this might lead.”

She started to move away, and he knew she intended to escape again. “Stay,” he said, his voice a rough plea. He was terrified, too, but his need for her was greater.

“We’ll just hurt each other,” she whispered, but her hands, gently caressing his, said otherwise.

“No doubt,” he returned, and twined their fingers together.

She shuddered out a groan, and began to move. She rode him, slow at first, then hard and fast, building undeniable pleasure. He scooped her into his arms, sat up and kissed her, driving himself deeper and deeper.

After the explosion of pleasure, and the gentle drifting down, he tugged her down and gathered her to his side, and murmured contentedly, “My beautiful princess. My champion.” He would swear he heard a sighed whisper, so low he was surely not intended to hear. “Zeus help me, I’m lost.”

Helene’s call woke the heavens, dragging her father and mother from their rest.

Hera opened a portal to see what was happening as she heard her daughter’s faint cry, but then quickly closed it as she realized Nemesis was busy bedding a human.

A mere mortal, but one who was presenting an unexpected challenge.

Zeus rolled over lazily in their bed of clouds and scratched his chest. “What is it, wife? Is Nemesis in trouble?”

Oh, yes. She was in trouble. Not that her husband would understand or accept. He had tricked their daughter into that deceitful vow. And at the quiet despair in her whispered plea, for the first time in millennia, Hera feared for her daughter’s life.

The human man she was allowing into her heart could only weaken Nemesis. Distract her from her god-given mission. And if she failed—

Rising from the bed, Hera earned Zeus’s annoyed glance, but she ignored it and said, “Never mind. It’s a woman thing. Go back to sleep.” Which he did.

She hurried to their audience chamber and quickly summoned the other goddesses. Only by banding together could they help Nemesis should she falter in her task.

As they appeared one by one, grumbling and yawning, Hera formulated her plan.

Chapter Twenty

Peace filled Helene as Miguel lazily stroked her back. She snuggled closer to the warm strength of his body and he splayed his fingers across the small of her back to urge her even closer.

She went willingly, basking in a serenity that filled a part of her that had been empty for so long, she hadn’t known it could be any other way. But now she knew. And when he was gone from her life, as surely he would be soon, she would feel that emptiness even more profoundly.

“Helene?” he asked. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she replied, unwilling to allow him further entry into that space. Distracting him from probing deeper by saying, “I’m just thinking about the case.”

“We’ll get a break soon. I promise.”

Such earnestness in his voice and the way his hand tightened at her waist. But then, she had sensed that determination in him from the first. Admired it.

“I know, Miguel. I just wish we’d had that break a little sooner.”

“Yeah.” He moved so they were face to face, cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across her lips. “It was hard to make the call to Lanie’s parents.”

Very hard. She recalled the words of comfort he had used, and the pain in his voice as he’d said them. Which was only a fraction of the agony in the cries and denials from the girl’s parents when he had broken the news.

But he had done it, gracefully and full of compassion.

Raising her hand, she trailed it over the tight line of his jaw. “You handled it well.” Far better than she could have. In a few hours, they would have to speak to the roommates. “Will you tell her friends? I’m not sure I…”

“Can do it right?” he completed for her. He touched her chin with his fingers and urged her gaze upward. “I know you feel for them.”

He moved his hand down to her heart. “I see you hurting. I understand how much you want justice for Lanie.”

She glanced down to where his hand rested. She covered it with hers, pressed it tight, until he could feel the steady beat of her heart. A human heart that was filled with uncertainty.

Not like her real heart. Her immortal heart knew no doubts or hesitation. Only black and white. Only true justice.

“Maybe the pain I feel is because I’ve failed. Failed to find justice,” she said, unwilling to believe it was about anything else.

He shook his head. “You know that’s not true. You feel pain for the victims and their plight. And you haven’t failed. This was a setback, yes. But we will not fail. You know that.”

She wanted to believe him. She wished that she wouldn’t disappoint his belief in her. And yet she knew she would. “The only thing I know for sure is that I want this bastard to pay for his crimes. That’s the only certain thing within me.”

Miguel didn’t doubt it. Helene’s resolve was apparent from her tone to the hard glitter in her eyes. But he also knew where such a single-minded mentality could lead.

She immediately picked up on that, surprising him as she always did with the way she could read him. She frowned and opened her mouth—to tell him where to go, no doubt.

He mounted a defense before she could utter a word. “Justice needs to be balanced with compassion, Helene. Otherwise, it’s just vengeance.”

The peaceful moment between them was shattered.

As she regarded him, he sensed something pass between them, so strong it was almost physical, but the feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Vengeance is mine,” she said darkly. She shifted away and slipped from the bed to gather her clothes.

He sat up and watched her jerky movements as she dressed and composed herself, then turned to face him, fully armored, that almost impenetrable shield behind which she hid all her emotions firmly in place once again.

Almost
impenetrable…because he had breached it. Twice.

“Don’t go in anger, Helene.”

“You want me to be like you, but like I told you before—”

“I know. You don’t do warm and fuzzy. Has compassion been so lacking in your life?” he asked, wondering at what could have produced a woman like Helene.

A harsh laugh ripped from her. “Lacking? You might say that. My father raped me repeatedly. My mother did nothing about it. Those around me watched as if it were some kind of game.”

He froze in total shock, then surged from the bed and encircled her in his arms as she was about to run. Her back was as rigid and cold as Arctic ice against his front. “I’m so sorry, Helene.” He felt speechless with horror, swamped by anger. “I wish…there was something I could do.”

She twisted in his arms and freed herself. She faced him, her fists clenched at her sides. “You can keep your damn compassion. And all those wounded feelings that make you soft inside. The only thing I want, the only thing that will make things right, is to see that every victim gets justice for the crimes against them.”

Before he could say another word, she was in flight, rushing from the room as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.

He dropped back down on the edge of the bed, shocked by Helene’s revelations, though deep inside, he’d known there must have been something very bad that had happened to her to create the kind of woman that she was. One who was always armored against the world, hiding her real emotions beneath a difficult and steel-hard exterior.

Fury swelled within him. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to exact punishment for the crimes committed against her. But only for a moment, because in his heart he understood that vengeance only brought more pain and anger, while true justice brought peace.

As he dressed, he noticed the red imprint of her lipstick where she had kissed his chest. He should go home, get some sleep and a change of clothes. But he knew Helene would not be going home. She would be heading straight back to the office to work on the case. So he would, too, despite his exhaustion.

What the hell. He always kept a spare shirt in his desk. And who needed sleep, anyway?

Helene was at her desk going over the notes when Miguel came in, less than fifteen minutes after she had arrived.
Damn
. She’d hoped he would go home instead. She didn’t really want to face him. What on Earth had possessed her to tell him about her crappy past?

He walked up with a cup carrier in one hand and a small paper bag with the logo of a nearby burger franchise in the other. Without a word, he put down the bag, removed a coffee and set it on her desk. Then he took out a breakfast sandwich and did the same.

“Sorry it’s not Starbucks, but I figured you needed something to fuel you.”

She steeled herself and met his gaze, expecting to see pity there after her revelation. Instead, there was admiration and a more troubling emotion. Something that felt a lot like—

No.
Not love
, she told herself. No one could love someone broken like her.

“Thank you,” she replied, and dipped her head in appreciation.

He offered her a guarded smile, picked up the remaining cup of coffee and the bag. Walking to his desk, he set everything down and took off his suit jacket.

“Miguel?” She wanted to offer him something more…after what they had shared earlier.

He pivoted toward her. There was lipstick on his shirt. An imprint of her lips, bright red, like a burst of blood against the glaring white of his shirt.

Suddenly, visions burst through her brain like a runaway locomotive.
Gunfire. Blood. Bullets
. Miguel’s body lifeless on the ground while another man stood over him. The man’s face was in shadow.
The Butcher
. The certain knowledge came to her a millisecond before the window into the future closed to her second sight. The blood drained from her face, and she grasped the arms of her chair for support.

“Helene?” Miguel came around the desk, obviously worried.

“I’m okay.” She held up her hand to keep him away, afraid of what else she might see if he came closer. Afraid to see him lying there again, dead.
No
.

“Are you sure?” he asked, juggling a plastic bag with a clean shirt in his hands.

“Yeah. I’m going into the war room. I know there’s something there we’re not seeing.” Helene grabbed her notes and rushed to the other room. Dropping down into a chair, she dragged her hands through her hair and squeezed her eyes shut.
No. No way
.

She focused her energies and marshaled control over her chaotic emotions, so she could interpret the images that had pummeled her so badly.
Was that truly his future?
She was wrong. Had to be.

With logic and reason guiding her, she took a deep breath and allowed the visions to play in her brain. But each time as she reached the image of Miguel lying on the floor in a pool of blood, anguish flooded her veins and her concentration failed her.

Failed because she was too emotionally connected to what she was seeing. To
him
. Her emotions were distorting her ability to get to the truth.

This was not getting her anywhere but deeper in despair.

She shook her head, dislodging the unwanted visions.

She focused instead on the crime scene photos and all the information on the bulletin boards. She opened her mind and reached out to the various consciousnesses that existed on this mortal plane and beyond, in hopes of gaining new insights about the killer.

But the universe refused to help.

She rose, picked up a photo of Lanie from yesterday’s crime scene, and tacked it onto the board beneath the other victim connected to the same Broadway show. Running her fingers across the glossy photo, she summoned up the disjointed visions she had gotten from her reading of Lanie.

Jarring images of light and dark. Two different voices—one smooth, the other disturbing.
The two faces of the killer
?
Or maybe two killers?
She glanced at the traits they had assigned to his profile.

Loner. Intelligent. Strong. Sexually inadequate
.

She added another.
Former actor
. Then she quickly amended it to
Former actor/producer/director
.

A hand settled on her shoulder. She started badly, and instinctively pushed back with a blast of goddess power.

Miguel went sailing back, hitting the wall with a solid
thud
. Coffee splashed everywhere.

He wavered on his feet for a second, then straightened with a stunned look on his face. He glanced down at the brown mess on what had been his pristine white shirt, then back up at her. “Princess, you can really pack a wallop.”

Shit
. She was nearly as shocked as he was.
Oh
my God
. She had never lost control of her goddess power like that before. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

He touched the sore spot on his chest where she’d hit him with the heel of her hand, and winced. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

She grimaced. “You caught me off guard.”

“Note to self—” he set the now near-empty coffee cup on the table and wiped at the brown splotch soaking his shirt “—partner can handle herself quite well.”

Damn him for being so nice about this
. In her world, her actions would have yielded a much different response.
Punishment
.

“There’s a department store near Penn Station that opens early. I’ll buy you a new shirt,” she said, and turned back toward the bulletin board to hide her guilt.

He moved to her side—more carefully this time. “You don’t have to buy me a shirt, princess.”

She suddenly wondered when the endearment had become that rather than a chastisement.

With an embarrassed glance at his ruined shirt, she said, “I’ve wrecked two of them tonight. Seems only fair.”

His sexy laugh started a curl of warmth in her core. “I would gladly sacrifice another for you.”

She met his gaze full on this time, warmed by the gleam of desire dancing with amusement in his eyes. “You may regret making that offer.”

He slipped his hand to her waist and inched her close, then brushed a quick kiss across her lips and whispered, “Never.”