Into the Crossfire (28 page)

Sam was struck anew by just how different she was from other beautiful

women. She simply exuded intelligence and purpose. He'd never met a woman

quite as physically gorgeous as she was, but he'd met and bedded his share of

attractive women and none of them was like Nicole. Beautiful women had a

powerful weapon at their disposal and they grew up using it, often.

Sam didn't blame them. The instant he put on his spurt of growth, he'd used

his size and strength to get what he wanted whenever he could. Life was tough; no

one knew that better than he did. You used whatever goddamned tools life gave

you and hoped like hell you came out ahead.

But Nicole was somehow different, though she didn't need to be. She had,

like, a fucking nuclear bomb at her disposal. The most powerful weapon in the

world--female beauty that was off the scale. He couldn't even begin to imagine any

heterosexual male ever saying no to anything she wanted. In essence, she was a

princess.

And yet there was none of that in her interactions. She didn't assume any

kind of female superiority or expect special treatment. She worked hard for

everything she got and didn't whine or look for protection when life got tough.

Amazing.

A woman in a million and she'd become his. So he better goddamned keep

her safe.

"Go back a little further," Sam urged. "Maybe he's looking for something

that came in a week ago, or two weeks ago. Is there anything that could raise a red

flag?"

"No, Sam." Nicole shook her head. "I keep telling you. I'm simply too new

at the game. Confidential or even economically important data is either translated

in-house or would be given to a partner of long standing with access to high-level

encryption, not to me. Wordsmith is a year old. No one's going to send me

anything sensitive. It's true that we get a lot of economic texts but as I said, most

of them are to comply with European Union rules that require a version in English,

and we get the work because, frankly, I charge less than a European translation

agency, and the dollar's really low right now. So we get a lot of legally mandated

translations of board meetings, some company prospectuses, the odd literary

translation. Some technical stuff." Nicole lifted her shoulders helplessly. "That's

about it."

He wanted to pound the steering wheel, pound someone's head, pound

something. If they couldn't get a handle on what the fuckhead was looking for,

they could never stand down from the Defcon I level of alert they were at now.

Defcon I was a level that was preparatory to war. Sam didn't mind going to

war. He'd sure as hell go to war to defend Nicole, but he needed to know who he

was fighting, otherwise he was just spinning his wheels. Not to mention the fact

that you couldn't keep up a maximum level of alert forever, not unless you were a

soldier. Nicole would eventually chafe at staying forever by his side--his left side

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to keep his shooting hand free.

Sam was used to worst-case scenarios because in his personal experience,

the worst thing that could happen often did. He was alive to danger at all times,

but he was also aware that it came off as paranoia to civilians.

Right now, Sam wanted to keep Nicole in his apartment, lock her up nice

and tight till he had a better handle on this thing. He defied anyone who wasn't

Special Forces, and using C-4, to get through his security and even then, he had a

built-in emergency signal sent to his cell in case of a breach.

But he couldn't keep Nicole locked up in his house forever, much as he'd

like to. She wouldn't stand for it. And the police wouldn't stand guard outside her

house forever, either. Sam could pick up the slack after the police stood down, but

he couldn't station his men 24/7 for an indeterminate amount of time; he didn't

have the manpower.

If they didn't figure out what the fuckhead who'd attacked her wanted,

Nicole would walk around with a bull's-eye painted on that beautiful smooth

forehead, because she simply wasn't the kind of woman to cower, to stay put when

he said stay.

"Maybe I was wrong," Nicole mused. "Maybe I did leave the chair pushed

away from the desk and this guy was looking for something else entirely. Like

money, or..." Her voice trailed off as she turned to him. "Well, that's the thing,"

she said, blowing out a little breath of frustration. "I don't know what there could

possibly be worth stealing in my office. I never keep money there and there's just

nothing that has much resale value. But maybe he wasn't looking for something

specific, maybe he was just a thief making the rounds of the offices that were easy

to break into. God knows mine seems to have an invisible sign that says, 'This

one's a snap to break into--come and get it.'"

She slanted him a wry glance.

"No." Sam was already shaking his head before she finished talking. "It

would be nice to think that, but he wasn't a common thief, honey. Burglars don't

carry weapons. It's like a kind of rule. The sentence for armed robbery is more

than twice that of burglary. This guy was armed to the teeth." It had to be asked.

"Do you think--do you think he could have been waiting there to rape you?"

The thought had of course already occurred to him and it was horrifying.

Not as bad as the thought of her being killed, but it was right up there in the same

ballpark of horrible things in a world in which horrible things happened on a

regular basis.

Nicole stared out the window for a long moment, face somber, thinking.

"No," she said finally. "I don't think so. I think if somebody wanted to--to rape

me..." She swallowed heavily. "I think if that was what he wanted then he'd have

been already, um, aroused. I think he'd have made it clear in the first second that's

what he wanted. He held me tightly against him, but I didn't feel, um, an erection.

So, I'd say no, rape wasn't what he wanted."

Sam's grip loosened slightly on the wheel. It was a miracle it hadn't snapped

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off in his hands.

So rape was out. That was good.

Now he only had murder to worry about.

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They turned off the road to drive down into Sam's underground garage. The

last time they'd done that--was it only last night? It felt like a million years ago-he'd turned off the main road and swooped in, fast, with panache, into his

building's grounds and down to the underground garage. He drove like he did

everything physical. With grace and speed and utter confidence.

Not now. He'd driven them from their office building to his house as if he

were ferrying a load of eggs. Driving slowly, braking carefully, taking the turns

wide. All in an effort to spare her any discomfort. And she was grateful, because

her shoulder was throbbing and there seemed to be an ache in every muscle of her

body.

Once he came to a slow, rolling halt, braking gently, Sam muttered, "Stay

put," and came around to her door, helping her out of the car as if she were an

eighty-year-old grandmother.

She had the feeling that if he could slow down the elevator's ascent, he

would have. His big body was completely still at her side, arm around her waist.

She could feel his tenseness. It was only when his bank-vault-level security of his

apartment was engaged, the door quadruple-locked behind them, that he relaxed a

little.

"Come here," he murmured. He turned her into to him, big hand covering

the back of her head, the other around her waist. Nicole leaned into him for a long

moment, grateful for his strength. It was like leaning into a warm, muscled wall

that would stand forever and she simply soaked that strength up.

They stood in the nighttime quiet, the only sound that of the low wavelets

lapping the shore through the open balcony windows. She was so glad he wasn't

the kind of person to keep air-conditioning on all day and all night. The nighttime

breeze was warm and welcome, bringing the fresh smell of the sea with it, so

much more refreshing than chilled canned air.

"So, what do you want first? To eat, or to take a shower?" She could hear

his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

It was a tough decision because the instant he said eat, she realized she was

ravenous, having skipped lunch and dinner. But the thought of a shower...

Sam had one of those huge modern showers with a showerhead that looked

as if it would release a sinful amount of water that was like a warm massage, a

huge, square bronze showerhead that would ease the kinks from her sore muscles,

light-years away from the trickle that came from her grandmother's sixties-era

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shower that was an exact replica of the one in Psycho, where Janet Leigh was

hacked to death.

She pulled away and looked up at him. From this vantage point, he was all

clenched jaws and high cheekbones, heavy five-o'clock shadow and dark, piercing

eyes.

"Shower," she decided. "Followed immediately by food. I'm really hungry."

"Roger that," he said calmly, and swung her up in his arms.

"Sam!" Nicole scrambled to hold on to his shoulders. "I can walk!"

"Yeah," he rumbled. "I know you can. I, ah, I just--" his jaw muscles

bunched and he looked away for a second, breathed deeply, turned back. "I really

need to be touching you right now, and this works for me."

He stopped on the threshold of his huge bathroom, bending his head toward

hers until their foreheads touched. "I was scared shitless back there," he confessed.

"Yeah." She huffed out her breath in a little half laugh, tightening her arms

around his neck. "Ditto. Did I mention how grateful I am you picked my lock?"

That earned her a small smile. "You did mention it, a couple of times, in

fact. Gratitude's an interesting concept. Just how grateful are we talking about

here?"

She smiled back. "Major, major gratitude. Name-your-price grateful."

He moved sideways through the door with her in his arms so he wouldn't

jostle her against the doorjamb. Once inside, he put her down by gently removing

the arm under her knees, holding her steady as she slid down his body. "If I can

name my price, make me a happy man and promise me you won't ever get into

trouble like that again."

"I promise," she said fervently, etching a huge X over her left breast.

She was steady on her feet, but she hung on to his arms just the same. He

seemed to be happy touching her and man, it was reciprocal. Touching him made

her feel a whole lot better. Being close to that big body simply radiating heat was

enough to dissipate the chill of fear and danger.

With Sam right in front of her, hands on her waist, looking at her as if he

wanted to eat her alive, cold and danger and fear were all far, far away.

Head bent to her, a serious frown between his eyebrows, as if he were

solving the most difficult calculus equation in the world, he started carefully

unbuttoning her blouse. The buttons were small and though his hands were huge,

they were deft. In a moment, her blouse hung open.

Nicole stood quietly, making no move whatsoever. Whatever he wanted

from her, she wanted to give it to him.

He lifted his hands to her shoulders. The light linen shirt billowed to the

floor. A second later, her bra followed.

She saw him wince, touch her shoulder and back lightly. "That's going to be

a spectacular bruise tomorrow. Does it hurt?"

It did, but not so much that she wanted him to stop touching her. "A little

sore," she admitted. "It's okay."

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He shook his head briefly, as if to say no, it's not okay, then reached for the

zipper of her pants. He pulled them down gently, together with her panties. He

knelt, lifting one foot by the ankle, then the other, taking off her sandals. "Brace

yourself on my shoulder."

In a moment, sandals, pants and panties were on the bathroom floor. Sam

rose slowly. His big hands had encircled her ankle. As he rose slowly, his open

hands ran along her ankle, shin, knee, thigh. The skin of his hands was rough. By

the time his big hands cupped her hip, the hairs of her forearms were standing up.

Suddenly, Sam froze, making a low, shocked sound. He even stopped

breathing for a moment, eyes fixed on her hips.

"What?"

"My God," he whispered. "I did this."

Nicole craned her neck to see. There were four faint bruises on her hips,

both sides. She wouldn't have understood where they came from if his big hands

weren't touching her. The bruises matched precisely with his fingertips.

A sudden flush raced through her body, head to toe. She remembered

exactly how she'd gotten those bruises. Sam had held her hips tightly as he

rammed into her the last time they made love, when he'd lost control, just a little.

She'd been so excited she hadn't even felt the grip of his hands.

She was excited now, completely naked in the bathroom. The memory of

their night together, his big body so close to hers, made heat blossom in her, made

her bones loosen, started drawing her into a spiral of desire.

Nicole lifted her face for a kiss, then stopped, frowning when he didn't meet

her halfway. What was this? He didn't want to kiss her? Since when?