Authors: Cathy Pegau
She curled her hands around the edge of the blanket and drew it up to her chin. “They tried to see me when I was with Guy. But after that, when I was in the NCRC, I heard nothing from them. Not a word.”
Sterling stayed still and silent, fearing his movement or the slightest response would break the spell of her opening up to him.
“In the dream, they came to see me. Here. I opened the door, and there they were.” Her gray eyes darkened and rose to meet his. “I was glad to see them, but then they started yelling.”
His jaws clenched briefly. Then he licked his lips. “It was just a dream, Sasha.”
“Yeah.” She dropped her gaze to where her fingers plucked at the blanket. “My folks would never come see me. They made it perfectly clear long ago that the choices I made were forever. Said I’d be no good for anything or anyone but the likes of Guy Christiansen.”
Sterling drew in a deep breath and held it until the urge to find her family and slap them passed. “You know that’s not true.”
How could they write her off so easily? How could they neglect their own blood when she needed them most?
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. A frown marred the smooth space between her brows again.
“Like what?”
Her gaze went to the door and stayed there. “Like you feel sorry for me. Like you pity me.”
“I don’t pity you. I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I like you and I want to help you.”
Hell, if truth be told, he more than liked her. Couldn’t she see that?
Beneath his hand, her body stiffened. She rolled away from him, snatching the blanket off the bed as she got up. Drawing it around herself, she practically ran to the door.
Sterling lay there for a moment, completely naked, blinking at the empty doorway. “What the hell?” he muttered as he swung his legs off the opposite side of the bed and grabbed his trousers from the floor. Half walking, half hopping as he yanked them on, he followed her into the living room.
She sat curled up at the far end of the couch, the blanket encasing her like a shield. He came around but stopped when their eyes met. The pain behind hers made his chest ache.
“You should go.” She turned toward the window.
“No.”
Sasha closed her eyes, wincing. “This was a bad idea.”
“No,” he repeated, shaking his head for emphasis even though she couldn’t see it. Maybe it was for his own benefit. “Bad timing, maybe, but not a bad idea.”
Her head snapped around and her eyes opened. “How can you say that?”
Damn the void, hadn’t they gone over this when he’d met her at the door? What happened to the smiling, happy woman he’d been in bed with an hour ago?
Sterling raked his fingers through his hair then drew his palms over his face. The aroma of her most intimate scent filled him, and he stifled the groan that rose in his throat. Lowering his hands, he slowly sat on the edge of the couch and laid his palms flat on his thighs. “I can say it because it’s true.”
He leaned toward her, still far enough away to keep from spooking her while letting her know he wanted to be closer. It was a vulnerable position if she decided to take a swing at him, but he didn’t think she would. “I know you’re scared. Of the situation. Of Christiansen.”
“Of you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Of what you are.”
Sterling straightened and he frowned in confusion. “Me? What does that mean?”
She closed her eyes again, shaking her head. Slow tears trickled down her cheek.
“Sasha.”
He moved to embrace her, to wipe the tears away and tell her it would be all right. That
they
would be all right, but she jumped up from the couch and strode to the window. Her back to him, he could see the tension in her slender body even under the blanket.
“You should go,” she said quietly.
He approached her as he would a jittery colt. Or a wounded mountain cat. He came close enough to hug her, raised his arms to do so, but stopped when he noticed her trembling. Touching her now would make it worse, whatever
it
was. He lowered his arms and studied her face in the window as she stared down at the icy street below. “I can’t leave you like this.”
She met his gaze in the reflection.
“This,”
she said with a sadness in her voice that pierced his chest, “is all there is. I have to pack.”
Something twisted in Sterling’s chest. “Pack? For what?”
“I’m moving into Guy’s. To stay close to Kylie. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Sterling?”
Confused apprehension became a nauseating roil. An hour ago he was Nathan to her. His jaws went rigid and his fingernails dug into his palms. “Not this way.”
Sasha tilted her head down, breaking eye contact to look out the window again. “Go. I have to get back.”
“Damn it, Sasha, talk to me. What happened?”
She didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. It took every gram of willpower not to grab her and force her to face him. Make her tell him what the hell had changed in so short a time. She regretted sleeping with him? Fine, but there was more to it than that. He couldn’t see it, and she wouldn’t tell him.
What else could he do?
Sterling turned on his heel and stalked to the bedroom. Cold fingers fumbled with the closures on his shirt and boots. Back in the living room, Sasha remained at the window. He picked up their coats near the door and draped hers over the arm of the couch.
Shrugging into his own as he walked back to the door, he kept his tone even and professional. “Be careful. Christiansen is smart.”
“I know,” she said. Her voice sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a mine shaft.
She may as well be that far away.
“Get out alone if you have to.” He opened the door. “I’ll come for you.”
Sterling stepped out into the hall and as the door clicked behind him, he thought he heard her say something else. Squelching the urge to go back and ask, to shake some sense into this whole damn mess, he stomped down the stairs, head pounding with each step. What the hell had he been thinking, forcing himself on her like that? That’s what she was torqued about. He’d told himself—told her—he wanted her safe and happy, but there was more to it.
You wanted to fuck her.
No. Well, yes, but not just that. He’d wanted to show her he cared for her. But somehow, even after he thought they’d cleared up her misconceptions, even after she seemed to genuinely have enjoyed herself, Sasha was afraid of...what?
Out on the street, sharp pellets of snow stung his face as he stopped and looked up at her window. He could have used the telescope and light modifiers in his eye to see past the reflection of the leaden clouds overhead, but he didn’t need to. She was there. He could feel her. He flipped up the collar of his coat and headed around the corner to where he’d parked.
* * *
Sasha forced herself to stand still as she looked down into Sterling’s eyes. Sleet pinged hard against the window, glanced off his skin. He stared up at her as if he saw her there, but neither of them moved for several moments. Then he adjusted his collar and stalked off without looking back.
Yes, go. Pretend this never happened. Pretend you never touched me, kissed me, held me. Because that’s what I’m going to do. That’s what I
have
to do.
Her knees wobbled and a sob started deep in her chest, but she steadied herself.
It’s over. You got it out of your system, and now it’s done. Feel better?
Not even close.
She walked back to the bedroom, her step faltering at the sight of the jumbled sheets and pillows. The indentation where they’d lain together, where he’d told her how beautiful she was. Where she’d almost—almost—allowed him to get close. The memory of their laughter and pleasure mocked her now.
He used you! Plain and simple. He had no right to come here and tell you he cared, because what kind of man does that, puts someone he cares about in harm’s way?
No. Throwing him out had nothing to do with Nathan using her. Hell, she was using him too, wasn’t she? But the way he looked at her with such care and concern. The way he touched her, like she was the most important thing in the ’Verse. And how he trusted her to work with Guy and not falter. It wasn’t anger at Nathan that had turned her into a raving bitch, it was fear that she couldn’t be those things for him and eventually, she’d disappoint him.
That’s what her parents had been yelling in her dream. That she didn’t deserve a man like Nathan Sterling. Never had. Never will.
A growl started deep in her throat and erupted from her like a banshee hawk’s screech. She flung the blanket from her shoulders and lunged at the bed. Sheets tore as she clawed them from the mattress. Pillows and covers flew to opposite sides of the room. The scent of their mingled sweat and bodies spurred her, sent another yowl of despair echoing against the walls.
When there was nothing left on the bed to tear or throw, Sasha stood in the middle of the room, naked, her arms around herself, sobbing and panting. She wiped her runny eyes and snotty nose with the back of her hand, not remembering when she’d started crying. Whatever it was she had been feeling was gone. No more self-pity. Now, she just felt...empty.
She went into the lav and set the temp of the shower as high as she could. The steaming bullets of water pelted her skin, turned it bright pink. She ignored the residual ache between her legs and obliterated the scent that rose from her body with shampoo and wash. When all she could smell was the astringent bite of rosemary, Sasha hit the off button. She stood there for a minute, head down and hair dripping in her face.
It’s done.
She stepped out of the shower, dried then dressed in a skirt and blouse she thought Guy would like. She knew what Guy was after and could give it to him easily enough. Or at least pretend to.
After doing her hair, she packed a few items of clothes and toiletries. Without looking at the picture hanging askew on the wall where Sterling had kissed her, she left the flat and called for a taxi.
Time to finish this and get on with the rest of her life.
Chapter Fourteen
Special Agent Natalia Hallowell was lying on his cot when Sterling returned to the Revivalist Hall fifteen minutes after leaving Sasha. Fully clothed, wearing her long coat and boots, she swung her legs off the creaky bed and sat up.
“Sorry to interrupt your nap,” he said as he pushed the door closed with enough force to shake the frame.
Hallowell eyed him without expression, but he knew she had gauged his mood before he shut the door. Hell, she’d probably heard it in his footfalls coming up the damn stairs.
“I’ve been here since nine this morning. Didn’t expect you to be out. Not that I’m keeping tabs on you or anything.” She grimaced and stretched. “This bed blows, by the way. How do you sleep?”
Not well. Not well at all.
He hung his coat on the hook on the back of the door. “I’m not even gonna bother asking how you got in,” he said as he crossed the room and sat heavily in the chair near the bed.
She grinned. “Don’t.”
“You were just here. What do you want?”
The grin disappeared and Hallowell frowned. “Caught wind of something you might find interesting.”
He was on vacation as far as the CMA was concerned. Officially, there was nothing he was supposed to be interested in at the moment. But she wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t something he needed to know. Sterling leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, and nodded once for her to continue.
“Guy Christiansen.” She studied him, looking for a reaction. He didn’t move.
It didn’t surprise him that Hallowell had sussed out who he was after. They knew a lot of the same people in the Justice Department, had access to the same interagency files. A few well-placed questions, a check into his recent file searches, plus her knowledge of his personal life—limited though it might be—and conclusions could be drawn. It wasn’t that Sterling was lax in covering his tracks. Natalia Hallowell was one hell of an agent.
“He’s doing something to the amber he’s been producing for the last month or so.”
“Cutting it with keracite dust or jackweed, probably.” Both were fillers used by street dealers to stretch their grams and add to their profit margins. The gray keracite dust darkened the amber, making it harder to hide, but dried jackweed leaves were almost a perfect match.
Hallowell shook her head. “He’s been testing a new product. Stronger stuff. More addictive.”
Sterling frowned, thinking of Christiansen’s standard lure and the young couple he’d seen exit The Morrissey, looking furtive and glassy-eyed. “I know he hands out those little cube things to hook new users.”
“No, Nathan.” The use of his first name and the look of pure disgust in her eyes told him that was nothing compared to whatever it was Christiansen was up to now. “This is a chemical alteration, some new formula he’s been working on. Not only is it more addictive, but it’s more likely to cause an adverse reaction.”
Cold fear encased his heart. Kylie. “What kind of reaction?”
“Hannigan was considering expanding his enterprises to amber sales. He’d been getting a feel for the market and says there’ve been one or two friends of friends who took a single hit and just dropped dead.”
Reeve Hannigan’s cousin and business partner was the focus of Natalia’s current case. The two were known for their flamboyant lifestyles and desire to rise on the criminal social ladder. Not the most reliable source, considering the CMA was trying to nail them on fraud charges, but the information had to have merit if it brought her here a second time in eighteen hours.
“Slags aren’t exactly known for keeping on top of their health concerns,” he said. Common street users constantly turned up at medicos across the city—hell, across the continent—with some sort of imminently fatal illness. Delhomme had been right when he said addicts often didn’t give a damn about anything but the next hit, even to the point of disregard for their own health and welfare. “ODing on amber isn’t a shock.”
“It’s not an OD, in that sense. Word is, others who have taken it said the trip is higher, but the crash is worse. It gets better for a bit then some kind of overload takes place.” She shifted on the bed and leaned toward him. “At least six people have died like that in the past three weeks. All officially attributed to an OD, but Hannigan thinks otherwise.”
“Christiansen can’t turn a profit if his product kills people. He’s smarter than that.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s a test batch. Try it on slags before selling the perfected formula to his wealthier clientele. Who’d care about a few low-life addicts if there was potential for greater income from higher-profile customers?”
Like the guests at Christiansen’s party. The drug dealer rubbed elbows with some of Pandalus’s social upper crust. How many of them were no better, really, than a common addict when it came to their use of amber?
But he had bigger concerns. Was Kylie using this new stuff? Maybe not, if it was still in the testing phase. Having your entourage drop dead on you was harder to explain than a few street people. The thought eased his worries somewhat, but an icicle of dread scraped up his spine. He had to get her and Sasha out of there. “No word on wholesale distribution yet?”
Hallowell stood. “Not that I’ve heard, but I’ll keep you posted.” He followed her to the door. She narrowed her eyes at him as he reached past her to open it. “You still look like hell, by the way.”
He gave her a “don’t start with me” glare.
“Just making an observation,” she said.
As she started down the stairs, Sterling called out to her, “Thanks.”
She stopped and turned. “For telling you you look like hell? My pleasure.”
“No, not that. How did you know I’d be interested in the Christiansen info?”
A sly grin curved her mouth. “A little bird.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “A little bird named Mickelson?”
She laughed. “I won’t reveal my sources.”
Had to be Mickelson. Sterling made all manner of deals with the tech for access to Sasha’s and Christiansen’s files, as well as for setting up dummy information for Christiansen to find when he searched the name Nate Hollings. And Mickelson had a crush on Natalia Hallowell.
“He just wants in your pants, you know. He’s happy to spill if it gets him closer to that goal.”
Still smiling, she shook her head. “Not gonna happen.” Her grin faded, and the gravity of what she’d told him about Christiansen showed on her face. “Be careful.”
Hallowell flipped her collar up and sauntered down the stairs. He listened to her boot heels ringing on the treads then the door slam closed.
Damn the void.
He rubbed the side of his hand across his forehead and went back inside to gather clean clothes. The three other doors on that level were locked. There was no concern about neighbors, as he and the landlord had the only keys to all the doors. Paying three rooms’ rent put a hell of a dent in his account, but it guaranteed privacy. Except from Hallowell.
In the dingy lav down the hall, Sterling set the water temp as high as it would go—just above ice cubes clunking out of the showerhead for the first five minutes—and started to strip. He pulled his shirt over his head and the heady aroma of Sasha’s scent surrounded him. Sterling groaned and drew in a slow, deep breath meant to clear his head. It merely increased the provocative images in his brain. Her beautiful fair skin and how it tasted, its smooth softness covering her hips and stomach. Her smile as he bent to kiss her. He’d never seen her smile like that. Satisfied. Genuinely happy.
What had changed from that smile to the time she woke up beside him?
Sterling frowned as he threw the shirt to the floor. She’d said their sleeping together had been a mistake. Maybe she was right. It wasn’t just poor timing. It was poor judgment. He’d known getting involved with her was a bad idea before this morning. Waiting in the hall for her, seeing her alive and well after his own sleepless night, he couldn’t help himself. He had to have her. Had to show her what she meant to him.
But he’d gone about it all wrong. It was his inability to control himself that scared her. And rightfully so.
Disgusted with himself, the rest of his clothes followed the shirt. He stepped under the near-freezing spray and shivered. Damn Revivalist views on austerity and godliness through suffering. A childhood of icy baths and exhausting chores wasn’t enough? He’d have to speak to the landlord. Burning a few kilos of fuel to heat water wasn’t heresy. Sterling rubbed wash over his body and through his hair. The water had barely gained enough heat to rinse away the residue, but it managed to erase Sasha’s scent from his skin, if not his memory. He slammed the water off, dried and dressed.
Enough about this morning. It was done.
Now it was time to deal with Christiansen and this new problem. Would Christiansen suggest using the new amber formula on Sterling’s nonexistent inmates? Probably not.
The investigation process for correctional inmate health had become more stringent since the Exeter incident. Every nosebleed and sniffle was documented. Should an inmate die even for legitimate reasons—age, accident, a shank between the ribs—the inquest took forever as agents questioned everyone and anyone connected to the unfortunate bastard. Christiansen would know this and plan to avoid any unwanted attention. Sterling would get the standard formula.
The longer Kylie and Sasha stayed there, the harder it would be for Sterling to save them. He had to get into the house. He’d tell Christiansen he had doubts about Delhomme, some fucked-up reason why he didn’t feel right about the deal. Something—anything—to get into that damned compound and get them out.
To hell with waiting for the right time. There was no “right time.” Not anymore.
Back in his room, Sterling dropped his dirty clothes on the floor then grabbed his coat off the hook. On the way to Christiansen’s house, he’d practice not reacting to Sasha when he saw her again.
* * *
Sasha stepped out of the taxi and gazed up at Guy’s mansion as it loomed over her. There, on the second floor, was the window of her old room. It would be hers again in a matter of moments. A gust of wind shot sleet into her face and she closed her eyes.
Just until you get Kylie out. You can last that long.
“That’s all you brought?”
Guy’s voice from near the front door chilled her more than the weather. Sasha forced her shoulders out of their hunched position and opened her eyes. Jake carried her single suitcase across the threshold while Guy stood beside the doorway with his hands in his trouser pockets. He wore the same navy suit from breakfast, but his shirt collar was open.
Sasha fixed a smile to her face and climbed the stairs to join him. “I’ve learned to live without much in recent years.”
He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, the ice-cold ruby ring on his middle finger gliding over her skin. “Let’s remedy that. Come inside before you freeze to death.”
Guy slid his arm around her waist and guided her inside. Kenneth, the butler, closed the door behind them. She shrugged off the feeling of being locked back in her rehab cell. He waited while Guy helped her with her coat then disappeared in his usual fashion.
“What took you so long to get back?” Guy asked as they walked down the hall toward his office. A seemingly innocent question, but she knew better.
Sasha had mentally prepared herself for that very question on the ride over. What she wasn’t prepared for were the visions of Sterling floating in the back of her brain. His arm muscles bunching as he held himself above her. His blue eyes burning with a passion that both frightened and thrilled her. His smile that broke through her defenses.
Almost.
She covered the attempt to shake him out of her head with a shrug. “Got caught up in some house cleaning.”
Guy smiled down at her. “No need to worry about that sort of thing now.” He stopped at the doorway of one of the salons. “Here, let’s have a seat.”
A real fire burned in the fireplace—another way Guy showed off his opulent nature—and the enigmatic brunette grinned at them from over the mantel. Two upholstered chairs faced a loveseat covered in the same rich burgundy fabric. He led her to the loveseat, releasing the hold on her waist as she sat. He remained standing.
Sasha looked up at him and fought to put some sort of smile on her face. What was he up to? “I should go check on Kylie.”
“In a minute.” He withdrew something from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Welcome back, Sasha.”
Her smile faltered and she stared at the rectangular black velvet box in his hand. Guy was generous when he was happy. Or when he wanted something.
“You don’t need to give me anything.” She met his expectant gaze, swallowing to keep bile from racing up her throat. She didn’t move to take the box.
“I know I don’t
need
to,” he said, reaching for her hand with his empty one. The ruby on his finger glinted red and gold. He laid the box in her palm. “I’m just happy to have you back in my life.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and grinned like a schoolboy with his first crush, his eyes full of mischievous delight.
Whatever expensive bauble lay inside the box meant one thing and one thing only: she was damned. Accepting it would bind her to Guy for good. Refusing it would insult him and probably get her thrown out. Possibly worse.
Slowly she lifted the lid, as if a deadly spider lay inside. Nestled on a bed of white satin was no spider, but a single ruby the size of her pinky nail in a gold setting. The stone’s facets reflected tones of red from nearly pink to the deep, dark shade of old blood.
Guy lifted the box from her hand and removed the necklace. The delicate chain glimmered in the flickering light of the fire. Reaching behind her, he fastened it around her throat. The cold stone and metal chilled her while his warm fingers lingered at the base of her neck. “Just a token,” he said lightly.
His offhand manner didn’t fool her for a moment. She looked up. In his blue eyes was exactly what she’d expected: triumph. Satisfaction. Possession.
The necklace felt like a shackle around her neck, but she had no choice but to accept it. For now.