A Righteous Kill (26 page)

Where was Hero?

“I gotta go.” Luca hung up on Vince’s reply. Heart slamming against his ribcage, he jogged down the short expanse of lawn, holding a hand up for Demetri to wait.

The visor went up, revealing dark, deep-set eyes.

“Where’s Hero?” Luca asked.

“I left her behind Rown, up on the stairs…” His words faded. “She was there a minute ago.”

Rown had seen them and also noted Hero’s absence. He excused himself from the conversation and made his way toward the bike.

“You check the chapel and offices,” Luca snarled to Rown across the lawn, a foreign, chill-laced panic threatening his calm. “I’ll look in the outbuildings.”

Demetri dismounted the bike.

“Don’t let anyone else leave,” Luca ordered, reaching inside his jacket for the comforting grip of his weapon. “And fucking pray we find her.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made

For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.”

~William Shakespeare, Richard III

Hero took the glass of red wine from Father Michael and held the bulb with both hands. She leaned her hip against the rectory’s kitchen sink and stared into the glass, unable to meet his intent scrutiny. This was the last room she’d been in before John the Baptist had taken her. She’d held wine much like this. Had a similar discussion. Seemed like a lifetime ago. Like it had been some other woman standing in this kitchen, drinking this wine.

“First of all, how are
you
holding up?” Father Michael also leaned against the counter, moving close and adopting her posture. He faintly smelled of candle wax, sandalwood, and clean linen.

Hero eyed the black cassock hanging off his body and suppressed a chill. “I thought you wanted to discuss Connor.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the wariness seeping into her voice.

“I do,” he murmured. “That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about you.”

She looked up at him. His soft brown eyes, once so open and mild, now seemed to be shadowed with secrets. With shame? She sought refuge in the wine, but stopped herself before taking a drink. Could it be poisoned? Drugged? Had she made a mistake in following Father Michael here? No.
No
, she trusted him. Didn’t she? She was out to prove he was the wrong suspect.

Still, she set the glass of wine on the counter. It suddenly smelled sour.

“I’m doing
great
.” She emphasized the word and forced a bright smile to give it more credibility. “No need to worry about me.”

“Impossible,” he said kindly. “After all you’ve been through? Are still going through. And a new relationship on top of it all. Do you think that’s wise?”

“Do you think that’s any of your business?” She closed her eyes and sighed when Father Michael recoiled as though she’d slapped him. That came out wrong. God, she hated who she was turning into. If she couldn’t even recognize herself, how could she recognize her killer?

“I thought… over the past few years we’d become more than priest and parishioner. I’ve considered us friends,” he said carefully. “Forgive me if I crossed a line.”

“No,” Hero amended, lifting a hand to her forehead and rubbing at the pressure gathering there. “No, it’s my fault, Father Michael. I feel like I’ve been on the defensive for so long. I’m questioning everything I’ve ever known. Everyone.”
Even you,
she added silently.

“I ask because I care, Hero.” He caught one of her hands in his, running a finger over the raised scar. His touch felt jarring, clammy, and the pressure on the damaged nerves of her hand was unpleasant. A thrill of unease burned up her arm. Was it his voice? Could the silky tones be lowered to the sing-song Latin she’d heard that night? “I care—probably more than I—”

“What the
hell
is this?”

Hero jerked her hand out of Father Michael’s grip and then regretted the guilty action. But Luca’s gun was out, trained on the priest and for a split second, she actually feared he might shoot.

He lowered it to the floor and flipped on the safety, but didn’t holster it. Instead he swung his chilling black eyes to her throat, his left hand curling into a tight fist.

“Jesus
fucking
Christ, Hero!” he managed between gritted teeth. At Father Michael’s gasp, he let out a sound of irritation. “Sorry, Father,” he mumbled, not sounding sorry in the least.

“It’s all right,” the priest said evenly.

“You can’t just disappear like that and not tell anyone where the
fuck
you are! Sorry, Father.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you
not
hear me say to stay with your brothers? You scared the fucking shit out of everyone! Sorry Father.”

“I understand.”

“You’re angry,” Hero tried to sound soothing. “I’m—”

“You haven’t
seen
me angry, goddammit!” he roared. Then he muttered again, “Sorry, Father.”

“It’s my fault, I’m afraid, Agent Ramirez,” Father Michael offered an amused and conciliatory smile. “I invited Hero to join me here.”

Luca turned his narrowed, glittering black gaze on the priest and Hero jumped in to save him from Luca’s considerable wrath. “He just asked me back here to discuss some concerns over Connor for a minute. We’re all so worried about him.”

“Oh, and if a stranger told you he had some candy for you in his van, would you just climb on inside?” he asked testily, though he’d stopped shouting and was opening his suit jacket to holster the gun.

“I hardly think the metaphor is applicable,” Father Michael sounded genuinely insulted.

Rown rounded the corner to the rectory kitchen and pulled up beside Luca, scowling at her in an almost identical way.

Did they teach a certain kind of disapproval frown at Quantico or something?

“Sorry about all this, Father Michael, but Hero’s not supposed to go anywhere without us and she
knows
that.” Rown was a bit out of breath, but nothing like Luca, who panted as though he’d run a marathon.

“I understand both of your concern for her welfare.” Father Michael put his glass of wine down with a shaky hand. “But I assure you she’s in no danger from me.”

Both agents ignored him.

“I thought you saw me wave to you that I was coming over here,” Hero said to her brother. “The door was open and you were in ear shot.” She gestured to the door of the rectory, which opened to the bottom of the hill from the cathedral, just barely out of sight from where Rown had stood at the chapel steps.

“You should have made sure,” Rown scolded.

“You should have stayed
put
,” Luca spat, dark gaze bouncing from her to the priest with barely-leashed hostility.

“I’m sorry, am I a suspect here?” Father Michael put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Because I’m trying to focus on what’s happening with Connor, that’s
it
.”

Hero’s gaze clashed with her brother’s and she saw the worry that had drawn her here mirrored in his expression. Something had to be done about Connor. Her oldest brother was falling apart in front of them and they’d all somehow missed it, dealing with the more imminent danger of her frightening situation. The guilt nearly choked her. And when Father Michael had approached her about discussing a solution, Hero had followed him, driven by the need to focus on someone else’s problems for once. To not feel so helpless and afraid. It had been a stupid decision, she knew that now.

Rown came to her rescue. “Ramirez, why don’t you drive Hero to the house? Send Demetri in here and we’ll stay and talk with Father Michael about Connor. Tell Mom and Pop that we’ll be there in time for dinner.”

Luca took a second to turn to his colleague. Hero held her breath. Even though Rown was the only other one in the family who’d inherited freckles, the defined, masculine angles of his face usually made them invisible. They stood out beneath the harsh florescent lighting of the kitchen, and Luca was staring at a particularly dark one by his mouth as though he thought it was a good place for his fist to go.

“You good, Ramirez?” Rown asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I’m good.” He
so
didn’t sound good.

“See you at the house?”

Luca nodded, then turned to grab Hero’s elbow. She let him steer her toward the door, not daring to offer any one of a thousand objections as to how these two agents had just man-handled her.

Luca turned and pointed his finger at Father Michael, who didn’t hide his involuntary flinch. “I’ll be back to talk to you.”
Talk
sounded like a euphemism for something infinitely more sinister.

Father Michael picked up his glass and took a fortifying drink of his wine. “I’ll be here.”

Hero had to give the priest credit, she thought, as they wordlessly made their way across the lawn, he was brave. But then, when you devote your life to God, maybe you’re not afraid of dying.

Demetri spotted them from where he was chatting with someone in a truck, holding up the short line of cars waiting to leave the parking lot. No one honked. People in Portland were too nice for that. He patted the door twice by way of farewell and sauntered toward them with his long, easy stride. But Hero knew her brother’s relaxed demeanor was deceptive. There was tension in the way he held his helmet in his left hand.

“The fuck, kid?” His dark, unhurried tone didn’t match his question, but then Demetri never raised his voice. He usually didn’t need to. “You scared us. Plus you made me look bad in front of your boyfriend.” He tapped Luca’s shoulder gently with his helmet, using his most disarming smile. “Like I need another cop up my ass.”

Luca’s mouth quirked a little, but he didn’t loosen his death-grip on her elbow.

“We’ve already established I’m in the wrong here.” Hero took up the role of defensive, impatient little sister. She knew this dance well, deflect and redirect. “Rown and Father Michael want to talk to you in the kitchen. It’s about Connor.”

“’Kay.” His dark features tightened and his leather jacket creaked as he expanded his wide chest with a troubled breath. “Tell Mom and Pop we’ll be a minute.”

Hero nodded.

“And
don’t
start eating without us,” he ordered over his retreating shoulder.

Luca resumed his silent, brutal march toward the car, eating up the grass with his incredibly long legs. Hero struggled to keep pace, fearing he’d just pick her up by the arm like a recalcitrant child if she didn’t keep up.

“Ya mind?” she finally said, uselessly tugging against his punishing grip.

He whirled to face her, pulling her up short and glaring down at her with the temerity of a junkyard Doberman at the end of his chain.

Hero opened her mouth, hoping to calm him down, but he moved before she could get a word in, and Luca’s tongue forcing its way past her lips made talking impossible. His body slammed against hers. Or rather, slammed her against him as arms the texture of tempered steel trapped her elbows to her ribs. He snarled a warning into her mouth, his lips pressing hers against her teeth.

Hero’s first instinct was to fight him. What was he, a freaking caveman? How dare he try to dominate her in this way? Her hands couldn’t lift very high, trapped as her arms were, but when she pressed them to his waist, she felt the violent tremors there. In fact, his entire torso trembled, quaking with waves of vibration that seemed to start at the base of his neck and shoot down his spine. There was desperation behind the threatening sounds his throat made, and Hero suddenly understood what was happening.

She gave up all thought of fighting him then, relaxing against his hard body and softening her mouth, opening to him with a gentle sound of submission.

It was what he’d needed. His arms became cradling instead of crushing. His strong fingers kneaded her shoulders, her back, and lower, as though he had to reassure himself by filling his hands with her flesh. He tasted sweet and sharp, like expensive whiskey and costly sex. As hard as the kiss was, his lips were too full to be firm. They pillowed her mouth, infusing her with his exotic brand of passion.

Hero tried, but she couldn’t stay passive in his arms for long. She strained to get closer to him, using the space his arms now afforded to reach into the heat of his jacket and feel the hard body that beckoned to her hungry fingers from beneath his thin dress shirt. She found the smooth leather of his shoulder holster and the cold steel of his gun. The wave of lust that followed her discovery nearly crippled her.

She wanted him to fuck her wearing that gun. She wanted him like
this
. On the edge of his control, wild and angry and afraid. She wanted him to pull out the erection pulsing against her stomach and slam it into her without even bothering to take his pants off. She wanted his belt to bite into her skin while she watched his wide shoulders to strain against the leather of his holster.

She wanted it right
now
.

With a ragged sound, Luca ripped his lips from hers as though fighting against a powerful adhesive. When he wasn’t bending to kiss her, his chin was just above her head. He lifted his face to the sky to suck in a few breaths. Hero watched the eye-level muscles of his throat strain and his Adam’s apple struggle against a few frantic gulps of air. The tremors quieted and his heartbeat seemed to be reined in like a runaway horse. He’d gathered his temper back into his glare when he bent his head to look at her again. She expected him to rip into her. To be profane and cutting. She kind of deserved it.

“You can’t do that to me.” The gentleness in his voice shocked then melted her. It sounded more like a plea than a command. “I’ll lose my shit, Hero. Understand?”

“I’m sorry.” She reached up and cupped the nape of his neck, pulling his forehead down to rest against hers. “Forgive me for being so thoughtless. You are right, you’ve been right all along. I need to be more careful. I’m sorry.”

Luca let out another shaky breath. “If he gets to you—”

“He won’t.”