Limbo Man (9 page)

Now that she was safely barricaded—from assault or from temptation?—excitement flooded through her. Some of it, she had to admit, from the lightning bolts that zinged between Nick and herself, the intensity increasing every time they clashed. The remainder of her inner glow was triumph. The good guys were winning. The great white blank wrapped around Nick’s brain was giving way.

And when it did?

For a moment—one swift nostalgic moment—Vee thought longingly of Florida’s welcoming warmth. Of Cade, the man she knew she could trust with her life.

Instead, she had Sergei Tokarev, a miserable, skirt-chasing excuse for a human being, and Nick, the mystery man. Nick, the shadow who animated the arms smuggler. The granite behind the Tokarev charm.

Nick, the man who lived in Limbo. Next door to Hell.

Chapter 7

Vee woke to Nick shouting, pounding on her door. Another dream? Another memory? Her feet hit the floor running, only to be brought up short by the chair under the door knob. “What?” she called as she snapped on the light.

“Look out the window!”

Vee charged back across the room, thrust the draperies aside. She grabbed the sill for support, as air whooshed out of her lungs in a huge sigh of relief.

“Vee!”

Let him panic. Served him right. Getting her out of bed twice in one night. Shaking her head, Vee removed the bentwood chair, turned the old-fashioned key in the lock. She pointed to the chair. “Sit.” Meekly, Nick obeyed, the look in his arrogant green eyes reduced to something close to sheepish.

“That,” Vee told him, thrusting an index finger toward the window, “is a trap rock barge.” She held up her hand, palm out, to stop the obvious question, resuming her explanation with patience bordering on exasperation. “It’s a special kind of rock used in foundations. Trap rock from here is at the base of the Statue of Liberty. It’s brought down by train from the quarry a few miles north, then loaded onto the barges. Tugboats take the barges wherever the stuff is needed. And, yes, I can understand you didn’t expect to see a boat pulling a long string of barges, the whole thing lit up like a Christmas tree, right outside your window. But, honestly, Nick, it isn’t as if you don’t see that kind of thing in the city. Manhattan is also an island, remember?” Or maybe he didn’t.

“It looked like an invasion,” he muttered. “Iwo Jima, Normandy, Inchon—that kind of thing.”

Selective memory, Vee noted. Weird. But useless to be angry with him, to expect more than Nick could give at this point. And no surprise to discover neither he nor Sergei took a scolding well. What could she expect from a macho male reduced to little more than an invalid, amnesia or no amnesia? “So you’re a history buff,” she said. “Chalk up another memory.”

“Screw memories. I’ll settle for being able to sleep.”

“Me, too,” Vee returned with considerable irony. And then, as she stared at him, willing him to his feet, she took another look, and blew it. This was Nick, her responsibility, with the arrogance and smug defiance knocked out of him. Nick, projecting chagrin and defeat. There he sat, his battered body still well-muscled enough to overwhelm the delicate bentwood chair. A man whose inner strength overcame the bandages on his head, the numerous stitches and bruises on the long expanse of arms and legs not covered by his black tee and skimpy brief. Obviously, he hadn’t slept since his nightmare, or he wouldn’t have seen the string of trap rock barges gliding by outside his window. And she was sending him back to dream some more.

“Okay
.
” Vee sighed. “You helped me earlier. No reason I can’t return the favor.” But as she marched around to the back of the chair, her lavender gown flouncing up, flirting with where the sun don’t shine, she caught Sergei’s lascivious gleam re-emerging in Nick’s dull eyes.
And why not, idiot, when that’s why you bought it. Told yourself it was for the job, but truth is, you wondered what it would take to rock the man back on his heels
.

Unfortunately, what she was discovering was that when Nick got rocked back on his heels, he turned into Sergei. Nonetheless . . . if she was standing directly behind him, he couldn’t see her. And this much she owed him.

He gasped as her fingers bit into his shoulders. Vee snatched her hands back. Had that sound been pleasure or pain? Who knew what was under that black tee? She bent down, got her fingers under the hem, and skinned it off over hands raised as docilely as a one-year-old on the changing table.
Oh. My. God
. It was a miracle he was able to walk. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she murmured.

“Scars not all new,” Sergei said. “Is worth the pain.”

Vee blinked, took a deep breath.
Earlier
in the kitchen
,
he had helped her. She needed to return the favor.
Starting with his neck, which seemed to have the fewest wounds, she massaged every part of his arms and upper back that didn’t have raw abrasions or recent stitches. Occasionally, he moaned. Each time, Vee hastily drew back. “
Nyet
, is good,” Sergei protested, and she would begin again, finally developing a rhythm, feeling his response . . . becoming one with a pliant gargoyle.

Vee’s hands slowed. His head had fallen forward, eyes closed. Profound silence enveloped them. A silence out of time and space, as if they’d warped into a new universe. If only they could stay cocooned on the island . . . never have to go back . . . never face reality.

Almost, she liked the guy. If she couldn’t be marooned on an island with Cade, Nick was an intriguing second choice. Vee sighed. Her fingers stilled. Too much contact. Too personal.

Time to
summon Vee Frost, federal cop.

“Come on, big boy, time for bed.” Vee coaxed him off the chair, steered him to the bed. Pausing only long enough to turn back the covers on the opposite side of the bed from where she’d been sleeping, she tucked him in. Silently, she gazed at the bowling ball head, the top covered in soft brown fuzz, lower cheeks the same, sort of like a skinhead chia pet. Damn! The miserable man had no right to touch her soul, but he did. It must be the Russian in both of them.

She had two choices—sleep in Nick’s bed or join him in hers. If she slept in the room next door, she was going to worry about him. If she didn’t, she was going to worry about waking up with him in the morning. More specifically, waking up with Sergei, whose bent for
cherchez les femmes
just might be enough to triumph over physical weakness.

She needn’t have worried. When she woke, the other half of the double bed was empty. She heard water gurgling through the pipes to the bathroom down the hall, where Nick was obviously taking a shower. A pang of something Vee didn’t want to examine closely stabbed through her. It had to be relief, right? It couldn’t possibly be regret.

As Nick followed the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen, movement caught his eye. Eyes narrowed, he paused at the window above the kitchen sink. “Company coming,” he snapped. “Not false alarm.”

“Dammit, he was supposed to call first—”

The disposable
cell phone
rang. Vee fished it out of the pocket of an apron almost as frilly as that lavender confection she wore to bed. Probably kept her Glock in there too. Women were very strange.

“Yes?” she snapped, her crisp tone displaying her annoyance. Nonetheless, Nick could see tension ease away as the caller confirmed the approaching boat was friend, not foe.

A backup minder? Nick wondered. Or was this the full cavalry charging to the rescue?

“My father,” Vee told him as she ended the call. “He outranks all the agents you’ve dealt with to date. His name is James, but, fair warning, he’s known as Jack the Ripper and Jack the Giant Killer.”

“Can I eat first?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Glaring, Vee slammed a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon onto the table, before dropping into a chair across from him, keeping her pout fixed on her mug of black coffee.

Nick attacked his breakfast, but even with his mouth full, he couldn’t resist the obvious taunt. “Daddy makes you nervous?” he inquired sweetly. Oh, yeah. If dear old dad was that high up in Homeland Security, he’d probably had to sign off on pimping his daughter to a Russian arms dealer. No wonder tensions were high.

“Go to hell.”

But Vee’s heart wasn’t in it, Nick could tell. He could almost see the thoughts ticking in her head.
Dad, docking. Securing lines to a couple of bollards. Walking up the path, climbing the porch steps
. “Aren’t you going to meet him? Front door’s locked.”

“Let him ring the bell.”

“Vee, the guy’s come here to save your neck. Give him a break.”

“This is Jack Frost we’re talking about. Believe me, it’s your neck he’s come to save. Family comes dead last. Pun intended. And, besides, he’s probably carrying a spare key in his pocket. That’s my father. Always prepared, as long it’s business.”

Sure enough. Firm footsteps sounded on the hall’s wooden boards. Jack Frost, also following the smell of bacon to the kitchen.

As their visitor paused in the doorway, Nick bounced to his feet, because anyone who sat and gawked at a man like Jack Frost found himself devoured, hair, skin, teeth, and bones by a serious predator. Nick had a flash of one of his Russian serf ancestors being dropped at the feet of the Tsar. Even Sergei felt a tremor of respect.

Jack Frost topped Nick by at least an inch, a big-boned man with a handsome face honed by classic WASP arrogance. Generations of privileged wealth, the best schools, and the sure knowledge that he was born with the right to govern. To tell lesser mortals what to do. A man who lived by
My country, right or wrong.

Nick recognized the type. Somewhere, somehow he’d known a man like this. Larger than life. A man who could hold a room, a crowd, a country in the palm of his hand. A man who . . .

It was important,
vital
that he remember this giant in his life. But the glimpse of a ghost faded, leaving him with the dynamic presence of Jack the Giant Killer. One thing was certain—Frosty was very well connected.

And so, perhaps, was he.

But he would never wave a daughter like a nice juicy steak in front of a gangster like Sergei. He’d really like to take a swing at the self-satisfied shmuck.

Without so much as a “Good morning,” Frost spoke directly to Vee, who was still seated at the table, looking mulish. As if she knew she had to depend on Daddy, but wished he were anywhere but here. “Valentina, I need to speak with Tokarev alone. We’ll leave you here to finish your breakfast.”

She shot to her feet. “Oh, no, you won’t. You’re not shutting me out.”

Interesting, Nick thought, that Frost didn’t snap her head off. He could almost hear the VIP from Homeland Security counting to ten.

“I will brief you both together, Valentina, but right now I have private business with Tokarev. You will wait here.” No need to add, “That’s an order.” Nobody who heard Frost’s tone could doubt it.

Vee buried her flushed face behind her coffee mug, while Nick followed her father into the living room. The man from DHS waved him onto the sofa, but remained standing. “What are you still doing here?” he barked.

“Sir?”

“Why haven’t you snapped her neck, grabbed her cash and gun, and taken off?”

A valid question, Nick conceded, but damn cold-blooded.

“Okay,” Frost continued, “let’s put this another way. You and Vee were supposed to be surrounded by agents from the moment you left the hospital. The ride to the airport, the flight, the carefully chosen safe house. No way was she ever supposed to be alone with you. And yet within twenty minutes of leaving Bellvue, the two of you were on your own. And she’s been alone with you on this island for nearly twenty-four hours. Even half dead, you could have taken her any time. So why didn’t you? And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know about the cruiser in the boat house.”

Good question. Why hadn’t he made a run for it? “Maybe,” Nick responded after careful consideration, “because I’m not quite as much of a bad guy as you think? Maybe because I believe I have a better chance of getting my memory back
with
Vee’s help than without. Maybe because I don’t want to be responsible for the death of thousands. Maybe I actually want to help.

“And maybe,”
he
added softly, “I like Vee far too much to consider running away from her, let alone snapping her neck.”

Frost sank into a chair opposite the sofa, deflating like a hot air balloon with the gas turned off. “Who. Are. You?”

“Now that’s the problem, isn’t it.” Nick grinned, thoroughly enjoying the older man’s discomfort.

Frost took a deep breath, shook his head, then raised his voice to call his daughter. Although it took a full thirty seconds for Vee to appear, Nick suspected she’d been lurking in the hallway, listening to every word. Her father motioned her to a seat on the sofa next to Nick. “It seemed sensible to save your briefing for the safe house,” he said. “It never occurred to anyone that something could go wrong. I’m sorry about that. We’re still working on tracking down the leak. As for you, Vee”—he regarded his daughter with a mix of apology and pride—“you did well. You saved the day—”