First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1 (15 page)

Fondling his genitals, he easily stroked himself erect.

White marble floors chilled the soles of his feet as he padded into the bathroom. Like walking on snow. Like walking through the storm he was about to create. More symmetry. His home was a soothing sanctuary. Yet Sky had not appreciated his offer to share it with her, nor the sacrifice he’d been prepared to make when he proposed staying with her in that rat-hole of a shack she called a home. Soon, however, he’d have her begging him to move in with her.

Resting the glass on the edge of the bath, he turned on the taps and jets and dialed up the heat. He tested the water with his toes and then submerged himself in the tub. The water rose, covering him like silk. As the music built, he stroked himself faster. He kept stroking until he ached for release. But he was nothing if not patient. He was all control.

Hadn’t he proved the soul of patience with Sky? The picture of an ideal brother? Did he press his point when she refused his Bella? No. Quite the contrary. He coddled her and made her cocoa and listened to her prattle on about Benson. He’d borne it gracefully when she’d chastised him for slipping a single valium into her chocolate, even though he’d done it for her own good. The woman hadn’t had a decent night’s rest since Edmond died.

Not that Edmond’s death was his fault. Even if Sky hadn’t betrayed him by choosing Edmond’s companionship over his own, he would’ve had to kill the man anyway—Edmond had threatened his legacy. Having him killed in front of Sky was just punishment for her betrayal. Simply symmetry. Fair warning. But she hadn’t heeded his warning. And now the whole matter was out of his hands.

She’d begged him to advise her, and he had done so. But did she heed his brotherly advice? No. Instead, she’d insisted on defending the clinic against the lawsuit, and worse, against his specific orders, she’d called Benson to her side.

Benson was with her now.

Hot bubbles licked his nipples and swirled around his erection like a harlot’s tongue. Sky had become a harlot, and he couldn’t bear that.

Jerking his hand faster, he let his head fall against the cool granite rim. Warm water seeped into his hairline. He didn’t want to have to punish Sky again. On the whole, she was a good sister. Generally speaking, obedient, loving and loyal. But despite his patient instruction, she hadn’t learned her lesson. She’d joined forces with Benson against him. Against her own brother. Even if he was adopted, he was still her brother. He was her only family.

But it was Benson who was with her now.

Benson was
fucking
her right now.

The tension in his erection built. He pumped himself again. Again. Harder. Faster. Sky had to be punished, no matter how much he hated to see her suffer. One last pump and his release came in creamy spurts. It floated on the top of the water and then disappeared into the surface froth.

Surging out of the bath, he rubbed his body with a towel made from Egyptian cotton. Reveling in the rich texture against his sensitive skin, his mind focused on the detective. No regrets there. In a way, Danny had done Garth a favor by ridding him of that would-be-blackmailer, Jack Spurlock, but on the downside, Garth now found himself deprived of the pleasure of choking the life out of Spurlock with his own hands.

Had Benson walked away from the case, like he was supposed to do—and stayed away from Sky—Garth might’ve let him live. But now the detective was poking his nose in where it didn’t belong, dredging up the past and, at this very moment,
fucking
his sister. He left Garth no choice.

Let the games begin
.

Chapter Twelve

It was Saturday morning and something impossibly sweet beckoned Sky downstairs. While Danny had slept on her couch, she’d barely dozed. Swinging open her kitchen door, she wandered into the breakfast nook to find Danny clad in stonewashed denim jeans that fit snug and low over his narrow hips and a white T-shirt. Short sleeves strained over sculpted deltoids, offering testament to the remarkable resiliency and tensile strength of cotton, and Danny’s thick raven hair was twisted into gold-edged waves and curls. Fingers of clean morning light snuck through the kitchen window and poked her in the eyes. She blinked.

Just at that moment, Danny looked up. Apparently misinterpreting the flutter of her lashes, he winked at her, then returned to what he’d been doing: laying two place settings at Sky’s checkerboard butcher block.

The sight of Danny’s roughhewn hands arranging her mother’s everyday plates—the blue ones, encircled with garlands of miniature daisies—disrupted the regular rate and rhythm of her heart. No more fluid gliding beats, instead her pulse seemed to have kicked into some sort of line dance.

She distracted herself by dissecting the sugary aroma that’d led her into the kitchen into its respective layers. Warm maple. Melted Butter. Vanilla. And something else. Cinnamon, or was it nutmeg? “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why does it smell like…”

“Waffles. They’re out of a box. You just stir in water, oil and eggs, then pour the batter on the griddle.”

She hadn’t slept well, her head ached from worry, and she wasn’t comfortable with Danny assuming the role of bodyguard. With her index fingers, she massaged slow circles into her temples. “I know how to make waffles. But mine never smell this good.”

“I likes to spice things up with secret ingredients.”

“That’s cooking.”

“Well, then…” He shot her a cocky look. “I guess I cook. Just waffles though.” Raising a finger to his lips, he added, “You’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Why?”

“If the guys at the precinct find out, I’m liable to find a Tupperware container filled with special sauce in my locker.”

Her imagination went wild conjuring what kind of “sauce” the boys at the station might use to fill Tupperware, and she felt an uncouth smile break loose and ruin her indifferent demeanor. “Yeah. I get that. But I meant why waffles? Why not steak, or meatloaf, something more practical?”

“I like waffles.”

“Me too. But if you can only cook one meal…”

“Long story.”

She had an extensive list of things to accomplish today, and neither listening to a cute story over breakfast, nor breakfast itself, was on her list. She wanted to tell Danny what she’d found taped underneath Edmond’s desk, find out what light if any he could shed on that key, and then get busy with her day. “I need to get going—I’m going to have to pass on the waffles.”

“I can see how my waffle story wouldn’t interest you,” he said with an irresistible, guileless smile.

Impossibly irresistible
. “Okay, but just hit the highlights.”

“Remember Nine Eleven?”

While he filled a pair of jelly-jar glasses with apple juice, she considered pulling up Wikipedia and reading aloud the definitions of “hitting the highlights” versus “circumambulation”, but that would only delay the tale further. She gave him the eye-roll instead.

“Yeah, I know. Of course you do. But do you remember
baseball
and Nine Eleven?”

Apparently, Danny was the strong, garrulous type—a combination she found both exasperating and endearing at once. He forked waffles onto two plates and drizzled hot syrup over hers until she held up her hand and said, “When.” Watching the amber liquid seep into the squares on the cakes, she said, “You were talking about waffles.”

“Right. But first I have to tell you about baseball.”

“For Pete’s sake.”

“September eleventh, 2001. Our country, like much of the world, was devastated. But then October rolled around and that meant—”

“The World Series.” The memory raised goose flesh on her arms. She wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with waffles, but she had a glimmer of understanding, almost a premonition, of where Danny was heading.

He nodded. “D’Backs versus the Yankees. The series had to be postponed, but when the president threw out the first pitch in Yankee Stadium, just seven weeks after the attacks on the World Trade Center, we were all mesmerized.”

“Because it gave us hope.” Her throat tightened so much, she barely got the words out.

“That’s right, and the promise of a return to normalcy—the conviction that even though we could never forget those we’d lost, though we could never again turn a blind eye to the evil in this world, we knew life would somehow go on.”

She hadn’t been to a baseball game since her father died, but like every Arizonian she’d followed that World Series closely on television. Danny was right, the familiarity of the October ritual had provided comfort for many people, including her. There was something she still didn’t get though. “What’s all this got to do with waffles?”

Levering his elbows on the table, Danny leaned forward; his brows knit earnestly together. “After one of the games, the announcer interviewed a little girl, one of the players’ kids. I think she must’ve been about six or seven. And the guy asked her, ‘Are you proud of your dad?’”

“Oh, I think I remember.” Sky had been touched by the child’s innocent answer. To that little girl her father’s fame meant nothing. He wasn’t a superstar, World Series’ hero at all. He was just
her
hero. He was just Dad.

“You remember what she said?”

Sky shook her head. “Not her exact words, no.”

“Well, I do. I’ll never forget them. She said, ‘Yes, I’m proud of my daddy because he makes the best waffles.’ Grace—my wife—was already gone by then. It was just Katie and me. I wanted to be a good father. I wanted Katie to know how much I loved her. I wanted to make Katie proud. Waffles seemed like as good a place to start as any.” Suddenly embarrassed by the extent of his revelation, he scrubbed his face with his hand and quickly added, “I love baseball.”

“Me too,” she whispered. Remembering the black lipstick scene she’d witnessed between Danny and Katie, all the defiant posturing against her father’s rules, she touched the back of his hand. “Katie’s proud of you, Danny. I know she is.”

He shrugged. “Hope you’re right about that.” His fingers tapped the table. “Can I ask you a professional question…about Katie?”

“I guess, but…”

“Must drive you nuts when people ask you medical advice outside the office.”

He’d misunderstood her hesitancy. She wasn’t annoyed by the question; it was only that Katie wasn’t under her care. She didn’t know anything about the girl’s medical history. “I don’t mind, honest. I was only thinking that Katie must have her own doctor. Maybe that’s who you should ask.”

“It’s about Bella. I figure you’d know more about that than Katie’s pediatrician.”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“How does the Bella vaccine work, exactly?”

Distilling things down as best she could, Sky took a stab at explaining her brother’s vaccine to Danny. “Well, the concept is straightforward, simple even. But the devil is in taking that simple concept and turning it into a working vaccine. Garth’s the only one who’s succeeded so far. But there are other scientists out there who are close, very close, to developing similar vaccines. Bella won’t be the only option available to women for long.”

“Stick to the highlights, will ya?” He grinned, and in her mind, she heard the little boy in him whisper:
Pick a card, any card. Is it the Ace of Spades
?

It
was
the Ace of Spades.

She’d been tricked.

Not that she doubted the veracity of Danny’s waffle story. She certainly remembered the announcer interviewing that little girl, and Danny’s body language had revealed emotion that would’ve been difficult to fake. But he’d deliberately drawn out the telling of his tale, because…because…well…damned if she knew why he’d done it.

“Aren’t you going to try my waffles?”

Oh
.

Reeling her in with his gift of gab, in much the same way he might bait and hook a slippery criminal, the skilled detective had gotten her to sit down with him at the table. And he wanted to keep her there a while. He wanted her to
eat
. The realization that she’d been manipulated triggered a rush of blood to her face.

“Do you really care how Bella works?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Studying his face, she was struck by the unfiltered kindness in Danny’s eyes, and it occurred to her that his innocent ruse was entirely different from the way her brother usually dealt with her. This was a far cry from slipping a valium into her cocoa in order to get her to sleep. Danny hadn’t really manipulated her at all. He’d merely distracted her from worry, shared a very real part of himself with her, and sought to prolong his time in her company. In short, he’d behaved like a friend. Least she could do was answer his questions about Katie and the vaccine.

“Are you wondering if Katie needs Bella?”

“Yes. She’s already been vaccinated against cervical cancer, so I thought maybe—”

“No. This is different. Bella only prevents one form of breast cancer—the kind associated with a specific gene mutation. It’s called BRCA.”

“How do you know who has the gene?”

“There’s a blood test. Anyway, the vaccine targets BRCA and uses special messenger RNA to repair the malfunction that leads to cancer. If a woman doesn’t have the gene, she doesn’t need Bella.”