Bullet to the Heart (12 page)

“I am many things, Mr. Beckett, and I have killed many people for less than what you just said to me.” Her tone rang with sincerity, but that flinch of her eyes betrayed her.

His only hope to get Joseph Bombardier lay within this woman. A killer.

“I’m sorry.” He questioned his sanity but not his gut. Even though she’d all but admitted to pulling the trigger on his wife and child, he somehow knew she hadn’t. Was she a murderer? Absolutely. Had she taken Lily and Anna from him?

No. The rightness of his internal response stunned him. He got up and walked to within inches of her. “He took so much from me. I’ve walked the line for so long now looking for Joseph, and then you appear and I’m that close,” he said as he snapped his fingers, “that quickly.” He breathed out, made the mistake of breathing in, and was lost.

Her gaze rose to meet his and he stepped forward, leaning in close. Her head fell back and her lips were right
there
. She licked them, her nerves making an appearance he’d not expected.

“I’m so close to having his throat under my hands. And even though I know you’ve killed, you pull at my mind. And I can’t stop wondering. . ." He hovered over her lips, her scent and sigh a taste on his tongue.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

Her eyes were bright and clear. He read his own desire in their depths, and it scared him.

He stepped away and her eyes closed. She swallowed hard and hung her head. He turned and sat back down at the table, hands shaking. “Sit back down and eat.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she struggled with herself for a minute. Then she tossed her head back, walked to the table, and sat down. She kept her gaze on her food, ate every last bite, and turned up the tea. She seemed suddenly ravenous. “Another, please?”

Rand got up and made her another sandwich, heavy on the meat. She was too fucking tiny to be wandering the great big world. He almost laughed at his own thoughts but cut it off before it saw the light of day. She’d survived three fucking hours in a freezing water pit. The woman had strength not many he’d ever known had.

He placed the sandwich in front of her and she ate it, meticulously chewing every bite and once again drinking every drop of the sweet tea he refilled.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t respond. He would feed her steak and potatoes the rest of her life, shower her with red wine until she bled it from her pores, if she gave him the information he needed to bring down Joseph.

“There will be a meeting of the high ranking members of The Collective in a month’s time in Arequipa, Peru.” Her words were stilted, and it was obvious she was having difficulty sharing.

“They meet every year in Arequipa,” he said calmly.

She looked out the kitchen window, out over mangled shrubs and thick trees. He tried to see it as she might and gave up. What the fuck did it matter that there was no color for her to see? Bullet didn’t matter here.

“They do,” she said. “But rarely are they all there at once. There is a need this year, you see. They have lost something incredibly valuable and are even now scampering to determine how to gain it back.”

Excitement rose in Rand. He pushed it down and tried to focus on what she was leaving unsaid. “What have they lost?”

She stayed quiet for what seemed an eternity. “Incredibly valuable things, four of them. But it isn’t the items themselves that hold the value. It is what the items can do to the members that make this meeting imperative.” She looked back at him, her eyes shadowed and a darker blue than he’d seen them.

“What are these items?” he asked again.

She shrugged, the action full of stubbornness. “You aren’t listening to me, Mr. Beckett. It isn’t the items, it is what they can do. The members of The Collective worldwide are even now mobilizing out of fear. All except for Joseph, I would imagine.” She stilled and quieted for a moment.

His mind traced back to every person he’d interrogated who’d had access to The Collective. There had never been any mention of any four items holding value to the group. The group itself was nothing more than a collection of men and women desperate for power. They’d formed loosely in the 1950s and solidified under Joseph Bombardier’s leadership during the Cold War. That’s when he’d begun to harvest assassins, train them, and— His glance flew to her face. She cocked her head.

“I can see your mind working. Your face would betray you in poker, I fear, Mr. Beckett,” she said with a small sigh.

“It isn’t items, is it? It isn’t things, it’s
people
you’re speaking of.” Exhilaration poured through his bloodstream, potent . . . so fucking close. Closer than he’d imagined. “I knew you had value to him. When those people were willing to shoot you in Washington, I knew then Joseph had no intention of letting you escape him.”

Her eyes hardened and her mouth drew down the tiniest fraction. He’d hit the nail on the head.

“They aren’t worried about things. They’re worried about
you
.”

“Why do you think she’s the reason behind this meeting?” Ken asked in a low voice.

Rand peered at the man he’d called brother for fifteen years now and wondered, not for the first time, at the other man’s reluctance to engage Joseph. He and Rand had created Trident Corporation out of deep-seated need to destroy the man who’d killed Lily and Anna. But Ken had never wanted Joseph with the passion Rand had. He’d wanted to destroy the entire group, smash it between the rocks of his rage until it was dust.

Rand understood that, agreed with it, but it was Joseph Bombardier himself that he wanted more than anything else.

Light blue eyes flashed through his mind. They mocked him. “She told me.”

Ken snorted. “And so now we’re in the business of believing killers just because they asked us to?” He downed a shot of whiskey and looked at Rand dead on. “I think there’s more to this than you’re willing to let me in on. I saw your face the other night, Rand. You’re beginning to feel something for this woman.”

Rand took Ken’s words and dismissed them, unwilling to dive too deeply into treacherous waters. His denial was immediate. Too immediate. “I could never feel anything for her, Ken. But she’s gift-wrapped herself for us. It’s everything we’ve been waiting for.”

“I want them all, Rand. Joseph is the ultimate goal, but I want all of their throats under my hand. I want to destroy them.”

Rand nodded, tossed back his whiskey neat, and glanced at Ken. “She’s growing stronger every day. I’ve never seen anything like her. She’s a fucking machine.”

“I know you watch her.” It was Ken’s only response, and again Rand wondered what was under the man’s saddle.

“What’s on your mind, Ken?”

Ken shot him a wide-eyed look. “You’re kidding me here, right? We’ve a fucking murderer under this roof—the same roof, mind you, that you built for my sister—and all you’re worried about is her.”

Fury tightened Rand’s muscles so hard that the glass in his hand shattered under his grip. Before he could draw another breath, he had Ken against the wall, his forearm pushing against the man’s throat. “I’m not worried about that bitch upstairs at all. She’s a means to an end, brother. I would never betray Lily with a killer.”

Ken’s face relaxed and he took a deep breath. “Get your fucking arm off my throat before I kill you.”

It was Rand’s turn to snort. “You could try.”

Ken straightened his coat. “I have to leave tonight. There’s something urgent drawing my attention in Shanghai. I should be back within the week.”

A week was a lifetime. Rand squeezed his eyes and tried to relax as the adrenaline flowed through his system. “Who’s going with you?”

“I don’t need anybody to go with me to handle business, Rand. You’re the only one who goes off half-cocked.”

“Be careful. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can feel all of this moving toward something,” Rand said quietly.

“I’ll call you if I need anything. It’s a simple location job, but Adam is having an issue he needs help on. I’ll keep you posted.” Ken turned and walked to the doorway, then turned back. “I meant what I said. You may be too close to this, Rand, to take a solid step when the time is right. She’s killed before and will not hesitate to kill again. The fact that she’s running free through this house worries me about your judgment, but this is the last thing I’ll say about it.”

Rand nodded, understanding his friend’s concern, but knowing instinctively it was the right move right now. She’d come to him. She definitely had an agenda. What he wouldn’t give to know what that agenda entailed.

Ken left, and Rand was alone with this thoughts.

“Your friend doesn’t trust me,” she said softly from the doorway.

She was so fucking quiet, so still in her space it was eerie. “
I
don’t trust you. Is that any surprise?”

She smiled and entered the room, steps loose, gait inherently seductive. Her small frame belied the punch she could pack with her walk. He sat down, but it was more to hide his body’s reaction than anything else. He’d had the last two days to beat himself up over the response to her presence. He hated it, but would never do anything about it. She was the enemy.

“Not a surprise, no. I have a need to practice. Where are your weapons?”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? I’ve seen you shoot, lady. You’ll never get a weapon from me.”

“There will come a time, I assure you, when you’ll need my services. Now, where are the weapons?”

He didn’t answer her, and she shifted from one foot to the other, impatience echoing in the mulish line of her chin. “If I’d wanted you dead, Mr. Beckett, your brain would be on the cement in Washington. I have been very accommodating with you. I came here out of, what I’m beginning to believe, was some misguided notion of righting a wrong to your family. Don’t make me regret this.”

The rage that cooled only moments ago with Ken was back tenfold. He got in her face in the space between one breath and the next. “Don’t you goddamn threaten me, Bullet. I could have killed you five times over by now, as well. Trust is a two-way street.”

His breath blew tiny wisps of hair from her face, and her eyes went wide. He noticed everything about her, the freckles bridging her nose, the black circles around her irises breaking the ocean blue of her orbs. Her breath was sweet.

“You’ve been drinking my tea,” he whispered, and for some reason the thought calmed him. But he didn’t back away from her.

“I have indeed, Mr. Beckett,” she said, and continued to stare up at him, cheeks flushed now, chest rising and falling so the tips of her breasts brushed his chest.

He was drawn to her in ways he’d never been drawn to anyone, even Lily. He touched her lips with a forefinger before he could check the action. Soft. Petal soft and plump. He rubbed lightly over the bruised place on the bottom one, and he brought his head even closer. She licked her lips, the action instinctive, born of her nervousness. Her pupils widened, and he noticed it all from a distance.

Rand was focused on one thing: her taste. He stroked his mouth over hers, the contact fleeting but so sharp, so pure, it took his breath. He moved in for more, wanted to go deeper into her, so he did. He closed his eyes and teased the seam of her lips with his tongue. She inhaled, and when her mouth opened, he took advantage. His tongue danced in her mouth, sought all the warm recesses. Her flavor exploded over his taste buds, sweet tea, mint, and something indefinable, something all her own.

He stroked over her neck to her shoulder, down her arm, finding her hand and twining his fingers with her. He grabbed her other one and did the same, lifting them up as he pushed her backward. Her back met the wall of books behind her, and before he could stop himself, he pushed her hands against the wall and pressed his pelvis against her stomach.

She was kissing him back now, her tongue darting and flicking over his, her mouth warm and inviting. She moaned and pressed back against him, her soft stomach cradling his hardness so fucking perfectly.

Rand released her hands, and they fell to his shoulder, fingers digging in. He held her face in his hands, stroked over her cheeks, but never allowed spaced between their lips. It was a perfect kiss, heated breaths exchanged and reason left behind. It went on until he found himself lifting her legs around his waist and then—

A sound at the door brought his head up.

“Excuse me, Mr. Beckett,” Cecilia, the housekeeper said quietly. He heard her steps retreating down the hall and took a deep breath.

Bullet dropped her hands from his shoulders, and for a second, he mourned the loss. What the fuck was he doing?

He stepped away from her and turned, running a hand through his hair.
Goddamn it.

She wasn’t making a sound, and it pissed him off. He was breathing like a freight train and way off his fucking rocker. He’d kissed her. What the—

“I’ve never been kissed before.”

It floored him. He turned and looked at her. Nothing could have prepared him for the body blow.

She was beautiful. The light from the late afternoon shone in, highlighting her against the bookshelves, red hair shining in long waves down to nearly her waist. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, blue eyes sparkling with a fever he’d created inside of her.

And he’d been the first one to do so? Something inside his chest cracked, and out flowed emotions he’d dammed up for seven long years. Lust, yearning, need, desire, it was all there. Damn her. He wanted to rage, tear into her for letting him kiss her, for allowing it.

“I can tell.”
That’s all you got, Rand? Really?

She laughed. Threw back her head, closed her eyes, and laughed out loud. Then the beautiful sound cut off and she glanced around, something insidious creeping into her eyes.

She straightened her shoulders and smiled nervously. “I’m sure you could.”

He couldn’t contain the grin that broke over his face. Underneath the killer was a woman. He’d been banking on that, though not quite to this extent. He hadn’t been prepared to notice said woman.

Who the hell was he kidding? He’d noticed her that first day. She’d taken his breath with that first glance, and even knowing her a killer, he’d been pulled into her gaze.