Enemy Lover (17 page)

The only thing that gave his soulless life purpose was doing what he hadn’t been able to do as a mortal. Effortlessly infiltrate and eliminate enemies of the state. He had cleaned out more terror cells in the last seven years than the U.S. government had cleaned up in the last three decades. But they were like roaches. When one nest was eradicated, three more sprang up. He had nothing but clear skies and time ahead of him. The thought didn’t electrify him as it once did. Quite the opposite. He wanted something more. Something . . . honest.

He smiled bitterly. There were those who took issue with his end game. He maintained his personal code of ethics, but admittedly, there had been collateral damage along the way. Some of it he wasn’t proud of. He wondered, at times, if he would rot in hell when death finally claimed his immortal life.

Maybe he should stay where he stood and await the sun, then perhaps his soul would be at peace. As it was, it clamored for something he knew he could not find in his current life. What it was he didn’t know. His eyes narrowed and he put both hands against the glass. With slow, methodical care, Marcus strummed her body, much like one would a harp.

Her soft cries of desire pulled at him . . . almost to the edge.

Abruptly he turned from the glass door, hopped to the top of the concrete-and-steel patio wall, then jumped into the night.

The elegant Green Room in San Francisco’s War Memorial Veterans Building was a bustle of activity. From behind a green and gold-trimmed Corinthian column, Jax watched the waitstaff move with the vigor of a beehive. China clinked, crystal chimed and silverware pinged, each sound combining to make an oddly soothing melody.

Jax checked her watch. In just a couple of hours, two hundred and fifty of the senator’s closest friends and supporters would arrive. Each one had paid three thousand dollars for a twenty-dollar cut of beef or hunk of Pacific salmon, as well as the privilege to chatter and pump hands with the upper crust. Of course, those friends would also remind the senator whose hard-earned cash had funded his last three terms as California’s only Republican senator.

Rowland was a rare breed in California—a conservative politician who’d prospered despite the “anything goes” attitude of young adults exercising the right to vote. His opponent, a Democrat whose charm and slick words had captivated the city for years, had an abundance of public peccadilloes. Rowland had exploited them mercilessly.

During a recent FOX interview, he’d very famously stated, “Family is the foundation of our country. If you
erode that, we have nothing.” Then he’d calmly informed the public why he’d been unconcerned when his opponent, San Francisco mayor Johnny Mercer, declared his intentions to run against him.

“You’ ve trusted me for eighteen years—a man who served his country loyally in Vietnam, a man faithful to his wife, and a devoted dad who coaches his daughter’s soccer games; how could you possibly trust a philandering mayor, an admitted louse who preyed on the wife of his own brother? What message would that send?”

When the interviewer had asked him about his opponent’s allegation—that Rowland had used his political muscle to squash a grand jury investigation against his old college buddy Walter “Waldo” Cummings—Rowland had publicly sworn on his daughter’s life that Waldo had had no idea when he’d recruited members for investment opportunities that he’d been intentionally debunking Californians out of their hard-earned money.

Rowland had gone even further, opening his own books and showing that he, too, had lost a chunk of change in the investment.

That had taken some balls. For that alone, Jax was looking forward to meeting Rowland.

Jax backed slowly out of the room and onto the long, columned loggia. Ornate potted palms, brought in specifically for this event, stood sentinel between the columns, giving the illusion of security. They filled in the gaps between the columns, breaking the stiff Pacific breeze. Despite the leafy barrier, the warm, sultry scents of summer wisped around her nostrils. Dressed in a short black sheath, she found the temperature perfect.

Though the function tonight was not black tie, it was formal. Nonetheless, she’d dismissed wearing a fuller-length dress. She wanted optimum mobility if she had to take off after anyone for any reason.

Jax smiled.

Besides, she thought, she had great legs, and the dress showed them off to their advantage in the classic black Jimmy Choo peek-a-boo pumps she wore. The only problem with the attire was the fact that there was no place to conceal a gun, so she’d strapped a short knife to the inside of her right thigh. But she had a few tricks up her sleeve. Literally. Her wide gold bracelets broke down into Chinese throwing stars, and the double finger starburst ring on her right hand clicked into razor-sharp brass knuckles. She could do a lot of up-close damage. Those little trinkets and her hands would have to do the job tonight if she found herself or any of the Rowlands in a bind.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled. She could almost smell the expensive smoke of imported cigars as the gentlemen excused themselves after dinner and hashed out deals in the dimly lit alcoves. She loved the smell of a good cigar; it reminded her of her maternal grandfather. He was one of the reasons she’d become a cop. She’d wanted to be just like Pappy when she grew up. She shook her head and cursed. He would have disowned her if he had lived to see her disgrace.

Jax slipped between a palm and a column and walked to the edge of the balustrade, where she gazed out at City Hall. Inhaling deeply, she slowly exhaled. But if Pappy saw her now, he’d be proud. He’d understand. Everything happened for a reason, her Nona used to say. She’d had to
endure Montes to be here, where she served a bigger purpose. She shifted her gaze to the vast open areas between the labyrinths of buildings that made up the performing arts center in San Francisco—the opera house, the symphony hall and this one, the Veterans Building, which encompassed its own group of impressive rooms. It was the perfect place to throw a mega fund-raiser.

Security-wise it sucked.

Too many entrances and exits. Too many stairways and back-room elevators. And out here on the loggia with all the potted palms enclosing the space like a comforting glove, there were plenty of places to hide. But the senator wanted the lavish event to give his guests a sense of privacy and security. Yeah, Jax thought, a perfect sense of security for anyone who wanted to take a potshot at the senator or snatch his daughter.

Despite the foliage, Jax made a perfect target. To a halfway decent sniper, it would be like pointing a shotgun into a barrel of fish. Her gaze traversed the span of space between where she stood and the rest of the city. Was Cross out there at this moment, watching her? Was she in his crosshairs? A slight shiver ran along her spine up through her neck and along her arms. What if he was? Her lips pulled back into a tight grin. Raising both hands, she gave him the universal salute he would have no problem deciphering.

But she wasn’t worried about anyone taking a shot at the senator. Tonight was not the night Senator Rowland needed to worry about. At least not for his own safety.

His wife and daughter were another matter. Lazarus needed the senator alive. Family was a different story. They were leverage, and if taking out one did not do the
job, then there was always the spare. If she’d been Lazarus and had had to take out one or the other, she’d have taken the wife out first. Surviving the loss of a spouse was easier than surviving the death of a child. It made more sense for the wife to be the next target. Then, with the senator’s most precious possession left, he would do what most parents would do: he would cave. Jax snorted. At least most dads would move heaven and earth to save their child from harm. Jax’s sperm donor would not have done anything for her unless there had been something in it for him.

Yeah, “Fast” Eddie Giacomelli would not win any father of the year awards. The prick had taken off when she’d been a toddler, then drifted in and out of her life when he’d wanted something from her mother. Jax crossed herself when she thought of her mother. God rest her soul. There hadn’t been a gentler, kinder, more loving woman on earth than Carolina Giacomelli. And every time Fast Eddie had shown his snake charmer face, the woman who’d refused to divorce him had given him what he’d wanted, whether it had been food, booze, money or . . .

Jax squeezed her eyes shut. She’d heard her mother’s sobs the mornings she’d woken to an empty bed. He’d never stayed for breakfast. Twice, before Jax learned to hide it, she’d found her piggy bank empty after he’d skulked out in the middle of the night.

Jax shook her head and the bad times out of it. She had a job to do.

“This place is a security nightmare,” she said.

“Tell me about it, mate; once this room fills up we’ ll be elbow to elbow,” Shane said.

“Down here isn’t much better,” Dante said from his position downstairs in the main vestibule. Jax felt a fleeting pang of guilt. Gage had been gone when she’d woken. Neither Dante nor Shane mentioned his absence. For the tact she was thankful.

“We have our work cut out for us tonight,” Jax grumbled. Returning to the balustrade, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Tonight was going to be tricky. Rowland had refused to hire more security, insisting only on L.O.S.T. and his personal detail of three ex–Secret Service gorillas. They were good. But Jax felt they weren’t enough. She and her team needed to be proactive, not huddled around the senator waiting for lightning to strike. So they had split up the detail: Dante would take Mother Goose duty, while Shane acted as eyes and ears and backup where needed, and she was given the task of keeping Cross occupied, and in so doing convince him to make an introduction to Lazarus.

Jax shook her head not liking the odds one bit. If Grace was her kid, she’d lock her up. But she understood the senator’s point of view. He was a public official running for reelection and he had to be visible and so did his family. Despite the fact he had kept them out of the limelight for most of his career. Now he had no choice. Mercer was running a nasty campaign, and Rowland had no choice but to put his family out in the public eye and show himself as the family value candidate he proclaimed to be.

Mercer. Jax couldn’t help grimacing in distaste as she thought of the man.

Even though Rowland had navigated the Where’s Waldo scandal, his bid for reelection would be no slam
dunk. Johnny Mercer was smart. He was slick. He was solidly plugged into the masses of liberal constituents, as well as the still popolar sitting but termed-out liberal president. Even if he didn’t have political clout behind him, Johnny had other intangible assets. He could charm the panties off just about any female who came near him while at the same time garnering slaps on the back from every man who’d crossed or thought of crossing the adultery line.

Jax shook her head. So much for righteousness and justice. If Rowland lost his bid for his fourth term to a snake like Mercer, it would prove once again how imperfect the system was. Why did that surprise her? It had failed her, miserably. Somehow, she doubted the state of California would benefit as she had.

She glanced at her watch. An hour until showtime. She looked up at the pale waxing moon. By this time next month, Joseph Lazarus and Marcus Cross would be but names on a couple of headstones at Arlington.

Jax shivered when she thought of Cross and what he was: on the one hand, a superhuman with a blood fixation that repulsed her—but there was the adrenaline junkie in her that was beyond intrigued. What would it be like to work beside a man like that? Her mind wandered to taboo thoughts. Would he be as voracious in bed as he was when he killed? Would he execute a woman’s body as precisely as he executed his marks? Instinctually Jax knew the answer to her unasked questions. He would be insatiable. He would wreck her, body and soul. And she’d beg him for more.
“Shit!”
she hissed. She didn’t like where her thoughts were headed, and more than that she didn’t like that she
was intrigued by him. He was public enemy number one.

What concerned her as much was knowing they had some type of unspoken connection, and she was unsure what that meant or how it worked.

Her body tightened, and suddenly she felt cold.

She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms and hurried back into the warmth of the room, trying to push away the evocative thoughts of Marcus Cross that bled into her brain.

You cannot hide from me.

Jax stumbled, then stopped in her tracks, nearly falling over in the five-inch heels. “Who said that?” she demanded of her team.

“Repeat, Cassidy,” Shane said, his voice clear and distinct. Jax shook her head.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Dante piped up. Jax shook her head again. Not Dante. Not Shane.

“Must have been one of the staff. Never mind,” Jax said, looking around her and still seeing no one close enough to have been heard so clearly.

“What’s your 20?” Shane asked.

Jax quickly reset her bearings and answered, “North corner of the Green Room.” Her gaze swept the room and she felt no small sense of relief when she caught Shane’s concerned gaze.