Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) (22 page)

“Yes. I gave him the weekend off because I expected that you wouldn’t be too charmed by his presence.”

“Exactly what kind of dirt do you have on him that ensures that kind of loyalty to you?” Because this went far beyond the call of duty for a butler or bodyguard.

“Remember Alison’s list? Not all the names that end up there are coming from her. An acquaintance of an acquaintance helped him contact her. I took care of his problem, and in turn he keeps protecting me. As you found out for yourself, he greatly disapproves of how I treated the women who came before you, but he never had any issues with my other proclivities. As you can guess, it’s not just my courtroom work that sometimes makes it pertinent to have backup. If you still don’t see eye to eye with him and consider moving in, I can convert the pool house.”

While I didn’t look forward to having to deal with his snooty malcontent again, he had saved my life—or at least done nothing to prevent me from saving myself. That had to count for something.

“And if I don’t move in with you?”

Darren mulled that over for a couple of seconds. “We can easily keep separate residences but see each other frequently. I can stay the night at your place, you at mine. I would greatly appreciate having you by my side again when I have to work the crowds. You were greatly missed, I have to admit. It would be up to you to decide on the degree of separation and privacy you’d like to keep.”

“What about my profession?”

That answer came much faster. “You actually intend to take over for Brigitte when she finally retires? This wasn’t just a ploy to give you an excuse to be back?”

I nodded. “If that agrees with your finer sensibilities?”

He barked out a laugh. “I never had issues with you being a prostitute. I had issues with having to share you—mostly because that made it harder to manipulate you. You quit doing that, right?”

“I haven’t let another man touch me since you, and I don’t intend to change that,” I replied. Maybe not even if things between us didn’t work out, for whatever reason, homicidal or other. I hated to admit that, even to myself—but he was the only man I wanted to be with, and likely ever would. In that, we shared the same kind of madness.

My words pleased him, and I hated how much that, in turn, pleased me.

“I have absolutely no objections to you continuing your work then,” he said. “I’m happy to help you in any capacity, should you need it. As per your agreement with Alison, you have already started to strengthen your own connections. But it is your business, and nothing I will be part of unless you explicitly require my help.”

That particular phrasing made me wonder if people like the professor my girls had had to deal with made it onto that list. That, in turn, made me feel guilty about not even thinking about checking in with the girls all day, but I’d had other things on my mind. Looking around, I realized that I had no idea where my phone was.

“Your purse is in your car,” Darren answered that for me. “The FBI will likely access your records, thus getting confirmation about your whereabouts. They likely already have the data thanks to your involvement with the authorities. It’s rather impressive how many different parties can have tracking software in one little device and it still works.”

By then, I hadn’t exactly figured that he was still in the dark about just how deep my involvement with Agent Smith and her team went, but it was still a point that left me highly uncomfortable. That, also, must have been plain on my face, because he addressed that concern next.

“Let’s be clear about one thing. The only mistake you could make is go to the police and blab about everything that happened. I guarantee you, you will not survive the day that happens, and you will likely not find your end at my hands—but you will bite the dust. That’s not to say that you can’t use these connections to your advantage.”

I believed him—the first part, at least—and had to swallow thickly to make my vocal cords work again.

“They have a witness statement from me about what happened. When I ran.”

I’d expected at least a flash of anger in his eyes, but he took that with relative calm.

“Don’t worry about that. If your dear agent could have used that to knot my noose, she would have already. I was referring to today’s events, and everything that we’ve talked about since. This concerns your present and your future. Be smart about it, and you’ll have one.”

“But you said the police will approach me—“

“And I remain with my statement that you should cooperate—to a certain point. That doesn’t mean that you have to tell the truth, or the right version of the truth. What I’ve always admired about you is that you can seamlessly become the person you are required to be. To me, you are entirely yourself. To Alison, you are the somewhat aloof, tough-as-nails escort turned madam. To Ray, you will always remain the temptress who despises him and uses the fact that he can never again have what he desires from you against him. To the police, you should be the honest if somewhat immoral upstanding citizen that you are. Yes, you couldn’t stand Daliah’s guts, but of course you didn’t wish her any ill. You just didn’t like having to deal with her. Maybe you’re even shocked and sad for what happened to her. After all, you’re a woman. You’re compassionate about women who have to risk facing violence every day. You might not have liked her, but this is not what she deserved. Of course you will help as much as you’re capable of—to a certain point. You have your clients and girls to protect, after all, and when you feel like the tide is turning against you, it only makes sense to let your lawyer handle things from here on out. It might not even come to that because you can be persuasive as hell, and they’ll likely gobble up the story you’ll dish out to them.”

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know… compare notes on that? To make sure we don’t contradict ourselves?”

Darren shook his head. “The more you plan, the more planned your answers will sound, and that is exactly what a criminal investigator is looking for. Stay to the truth as much as possible. Yesterday, while we were talking on that balcony, I told you about my plans for the weekend. I invited you. Maybe I wanted a threesome. Maybe I planned to set you up in another cabin and fuck you while Daliah got her spa treatments. No need to specify the reason. You had cause to be there, so you came. Things did not work out as expected. Daliah stormed off in the middle of the snowstorm, angry and feeling betrayed. I got into your car with you and we drove back to the city, to my house. Where we spent an extensive amount of time having sex, after which you returned home. I expect that by tomorrow morning, the police will find me here, on my own, to inform me of the tragic news. I’ll have my things and car sent back to me, seeing as I won’t have the time nor mental capacity to get them myself, wallowing in grief as I will be. It’s only natural that I would seek relief with the woman I never stopped having an affair with. End of story. Don’t embellish, don’t make extra details up. If this was what actually happened, you wouldn’t do that, either. You are an accomplished liar. Use that skill.”

He made that sound so easy—but, then again, it wasn’t that hard. It was easier than some of the assignments I’d had over the years, with clients who had high demands that went directly against what I’d been comfortable with. I had been Brigitte’s top earner for a very good reason—a reason that, in the end, likely had made Darren come after me.

Suddenly, I was burning with the desire to ask him about that.

“How exactly did you select me? You mentioned that your grieving period for the one who came before me hadn’t been over by far.”

“Ah, that,” he mused. “I was wondering when you’d ask. The answer is simple, if somewhat more romantic than you’re probably comfortable with. I started noticing you at events around the city. There was something about you, almost like a physical pull. I think it started when I saw you mime the fawning companion one night, and the cool, detached diva the other. I was intrigued, so I looked up the men who you’d been with. That got me Brigitte’s contact information. I didn’t know your name, and asking for you specifically would have been creepy, maybe even alarming, so instead I described the kind of company I was looking for. That little game that you were playing that evening, pretending you were hard to get just sealed the deal for me. I had to have you—and the rest is history.”

I didn’t even shy away when he reached for me and slid his hand proprietarily over my ass, then over my hip and beneath my body so he could cup my pussy. Although the actual pain had long since subsided, I remembered the scratching of the tattoo needle all too well as he’d marked me as his. And tonight, maybe for the first time, I didn’t feel bad about acknowledging that the thought made me just as horny as it still horrified me.

I shifted my weight just a little to give him better access, and he took that as the invitation that it was. Hunkering down above where I remained lying stretched out beneath him, his fingers dipped lower, finding me wet and willing. I kind of expected him to go straight for it again, but instead he lay down behind me, his chest flush with my back, and kept stroking me, masterfully working me toward another climax. My mind wasn’t ready for it, but my body more than made up for that indecision still warring in my thoughts.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he whispered into my ear as he continued to finger-fuck me. “Go home. Move on. Do as I told you, and take it from there. I’m always here if you need me—or want me—but I will let you decide what you want to do. Should the guilt become too much, end it yourself. Or come to me, and I will do you that one last service. I promised you that before, and the offer still stands. I know that you’re stronger than this. I couldn’t break you, so nobody else will. But know that your place at my side is always waiting for you. You just have to come to me.”

Reaching for my shoulder, he flipped me onto my back so that he could kiss me, long and deep. It felt so good to get lost in that kiss, to just focus on the sensations he created—and how, slowly but steadily, the latent panic raging inside of me receded until it disappeared. That was furthered when his lips left mine and he kissed a hot trail down my body to settle between my legs, his lips and tongue now joining his nimble fingers. My eyes never left his face, meeting his gaze over the black letters emblazoned on my skin.

I knew one thing for sure—I was his. And he was mine. And tonight? Tonight that was the only thing that mattered.

I left in the wee hours of the morning, but rather than stay at my suite, I just dumped the car in its designated spot, changed into more suitable clothes—for many reasons, I couldn’t stand to remain in the old sundress of mine that Darren had handed me to wear, seeing as my clothes of the day before were now in a charred heap behind the house—packed a light bag, and left. It was easier than it likely should have been to get a room at just after sunrise in a city that was chronically overbooked. I paid cash. That helped, and not just because it made me almost impossible to track.

I didn’t unpack, and I didn’t plan on sleeping. I just lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting my thoughts bounce around the inside of my skull until I thought I couldn’t take it anymore.

Then I showered, put on fresh makeup, and called a cab to take me over to Brigitte’s for our Sunday afternoon meeting.

Business as usual.

Except for the fact that concentrating was virtually impossible, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything, and the latent feeling of guilt was getting strong enough that throwing myself out of the moving car sounded like a reasonable option.

I made it to Brigitte’s in one piece. Most of the girls were already present, making me realize just how late it actually was. The thunderclouds on Brigitte’s face didn’t bode well. As I headed toward the kitchen to grab myself a mug of coffee rather than partake in the prepared mimosas, my former madam didn’t hesitate to corner me.

“Penelope, what the fuck is wrong with you? Clients have been calling me for two days, saying that you’re not picking up. And as much as I understand that you don’t like Pam, it was your duty to call yesterday and make sure that all three girls were actually fine. She came over here last night after she’d spent three hours waiting in the ER to get stitches. That is unacceptable!” I remained with my back turned on her, hoping that this way she wouldn’t see how much my hand shook as I poured the milk. Exhaling slowly, I forced myself to calm down and let her tirade wash over me. None of that was important right now. I knew I’d messed up there—still hadn’t checked my phones—but right now, I had to make it through the day first. Then I could start to worry about mending torn-down fences.

“Are you even listening to me?” she bit out, her change in tone letting me know that she was pissed off for real and not just dispensing what she thought of as mandatory scorn.

“Of course I am,” I assured her, taking a sip. The warm, sweet liquid had absolutely no effect on me, making me wonder why I hadn’t just remained at the hotel.

Something about what I’d said—or likely a clue picked up from my body language—made Brigitte do a one-eighty. Stepping up to me, she touched my shoulder lightly, making me flinch before I could cut down on the impulse. So I was a little jumpy. That was perfectly acceptable the day after killing an innocent human being.

“Penelope? Tell me what is wrong with you.”

I considered all the hare-brained excuses I might have dished out, but I knew that none would do. And I couldn’t very well admit the truth. What was the truth, anyway? Most of the jitters didn’t hail from my actions, but rather the indecision waging war inside of me right now.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” I finally said as I turned to face her, trying to pull myself back together.

Pale brows rose. “Something that has to do with a certain Mr. Hunter?”

“Have you ever seen me this upset about anything or anyone else?” I quipped, immediately wishing I could take the words back. Thank God I’d never told her the whole truth, or that could have been seen as a veritable confession.