You Are Mine (5 page)

The Seven Devils.

Oh Christ.

Her phone rang, and she flinched at the sound. Jesus, she had to get it together. Grabbing it from her pocket she glanced down at the screen. Zac.

Getting her breathing under control with only marginal success, she hit the answer button. “What?”

“Have you checked your email?” Zac's smooth, dark voice held an unusual note of urgency.

Eva closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she said thickly.

And clearly he must have heard her fear in the word because he said, “They sent it to me as well.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “It doesn't mean anything. I don't even know—”

“There are some things we need to discuss, angel.” The note in his voice now was unyielding.

No. Please God, she didn't want to discuss anything right now. It felt like her safe little world had been pried apart and someone was looking in. Someone dangerous. She needed some time to think about this, hell, to at least check her system to see if it had been compromised somehow. “No,” she hoarsely. “I can't do it tonight.”

“I'm going to have to insist.”

She knew his voice. It could be hard as iron, dark and smooth as black velvet, thick and deep as mink fur. Now, though, it contained nothing but utter certainty, as if arguing with him was inconceivable.

To hell with that.

“No.” She tried to make herself sound even more certain than he did, but she knew she only came across as afraid. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. Not next week or next month or even next fucking year.” Her voice had risen, the hard plastic of her phone digging into her palm. “We will not be discussing ‘things' ever!”

And before he could respond, she hit the end button, cutting the call.

Great. That wasn't hysterical at all.

Eva swallowed. She put the phone back on her desk, stilling the tremble in her hand. For a long moment she stared at the computer monitor with the email on it. Then she shoved back her chair and got up, pacing restlessly over to the windows, pushing her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Of course she knew what things he wanted to discuss. The night he'd rescued her. What had happened to her. Everything she'd kept hidden for the past seven years.

Everything she couldn't tell another living soul. At least not without killing the last part of her, the part that had remained untouched.

The part that lived in the void, safe from the rest of the world.

Yeah, she had secrets. But they were hers. And she'd kept them protected for a long time. She didn't want to give them up. She didn't want to have anything else taken from her.

You have to tell them. You have to tell him.

No. No, she fucking well didn't.

To hell with that warning email. She'd continue with her investigations anyway, find the identity of that guy, track him down, and get Zac to protect her while she did so. He'd do it. He did pretty much whatever she told him to.

The thought calmed her. She remained in front of the windows, staring at her view of the city and its beautiful lights, waiting for her heartbeat to normalize and the fear to seep away. She knew she should probably go to bed, but sleep had always been difficult since she'd escaped the house, and it was going to be impossible now.

Perhaps she'd stay up, check over her system, then work on the information her Angel team had sent her, the small, private group that was part of Void Angel Technology and dedicated to investigating white slave trafficking. They'd sent her a file with some information about what was starting to look like a major international ring, specializing in the trafficking of women in particular.

The ever-present anger licked up inside her and she grabbed it, held onto it because anger had always been far easier to deal with than fear.

Fuckers. She couldn't wait to take them down. She'd break that ring apart, then crush the pieces under the heel of her Docs.

They wouldn't know what hit them.

And then something changed.

She didn't know quite what it was. It was like the quality of the air in her apartment was different, a subtle shift in density or texture, she wasn't sure which. And she could smell something familiar. A woody, warm scent, like cedar or sandalwood. Vaguely exotic and expensive. It was only faint, barely there, but it made her feel safe because she recognized it: the scent of Zac's aftershave.

Weird. Why would she be smelling Zac's aftershave in her apartment? She didn't have anything of his lying around and she hadn't noticed it when she first came in.

She blinked, staring at the massive window in front of her.

And in the black glass she saw something reflected back.

Zac. Standing behind her.

For the second time that night, shock froze her solid, forcing all the air from her lungs, and for a long, countless moment she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the man reflected in the glass.

It couldn't be him, not here. Not in her personal, private space where no one—
no one
—had ever been.

She whirled around as fear choked her. The wild, reflexive fear of a cornered animal.

Because he
was
here, standing in the middle of her lounge, a massive, dark figure that seemed to tower over everything. A tidal wave, smashing away her safety, her refuge.

A small, terrified sound escaped her and when icy cold hit her back, she knew she'd pressed herself against the windows as if she could push herself through them in an effort to get away.

You fucking idiot. This is Zac. Why are you so afraid?

The thought lingered in the back of her mind, but she could barely hear it over the noise of her own terror. The primitive warning that her home had been compromised and she was in danger.

He said nothing, merely stared at her, the look on his face utterly expressionless. Except for his eyes. They burned with that fierce, banked anger. An anger she'd never had turned on her.

Until now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she managed to force out, her voice thin and high.

“I told you we had things to discuss,” he said, unutterably calm. “And I'm here to discuss them.”

“I told you no.” Her palms were flat against the window, icy cold seeping into them. She could feel herself begin to tremble. “I told you I didn't want to discuss anything!”

He moved at last, reaching out to grab her chair, pulling it away from the desk and turning it to face her. Then he sat down in it with the smooth, predatory grace of a tiger.

She flinched at the movement, her heart beating like a desperate bird against the cage of her ribs.

“For seven years we've done what you want, angel.” He leaned back in the chair, put his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers. “Tonight, we're going to do what
I
want.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

He'd expected she'd be terrified when he turned up, and he was right.

That only served as more fuel to the fire of his anger.

Yes, he'd never turned up in her private space before—he knew she fiercely guarded it and had never invited anyone, including himself, into it.

And yes, not giving her any warning he was coming was shitty.

But her fear was a small price to pay for the information she was withholding. Information he had to get out of her one way or another. Besides, fear wasn't a bad thing. It didn't hurt you. It could be an aphrodisiac in certain situations, a test of strength in others. And he knew for goddamned certain that Eva was nothing if not strong.

Zac regarded her small, slight figure pressed against the window, the New York skyline in all its glory at her back.

For seven years he'd been putting her needs above everyone else, everything else. Including himself. And that had to stop.

More important things were at stake now. The lives of their friends. Her life too.

If someone could get through her insane firewalls and discover what she'd been investigating, then they could get to her. They could hurt her. And that he would not allow. So if it meant him scaring her, then Jesus, he'd scare the shit out of her if need be.

Slowly, Zac stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles and studying her over his steepled fingers. “Sit down,” he said, allowing the hard edge of authority to creep into his voice.

She ignored him, her palms pale and spread out like starfish on the window, her long, straight silver hair falling over her shoulders. Her gray eyes were wide, fear and anger glittering in the depths. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“I have a key.”

Her eyes widened ever further. “You have a key? To my freaking apartment? How dare you—”

“A key that I've had since I leased this apartment for you five years ago,” he interrupted in the same calm tone. “A key I've never used until tonight.”

Her mouth closed in a hard line. Her finely carved face was pale, yet there was an obstinate jut to her chin. And beneath her silvery bangs, her eyes—almost the same color—were full of sparks.

Christ, the woman was a bloody turn-on. A delicious combination of delicate fragility and iron strength, possessing such deep passions yet armoring herself with a tough shell that dared the world to crack it.

No wonder she'd always fascinated him. He'd found all other women boring in comparison. No one else had her will or her strength. Or her secrets. She was a challenge he'd been resisting for too long—to both their detriment probably.

“This is my private apartment, Zac,” she said shakily. “You've got no right to waltz right in here unannounced and just—”

“I don't care about your fucking apartment. What I care about is the information you've been withholding.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh yes you do. It's time for that discussion now, Eva.”

She said nothing, staring at him.

“Answer me.” This time he didn't bother hiding the order, injecting all his will into it.

“No.” The word burst from her as if she'd forced it out. Her chest heaved, the curve of her small, beautifully shaped breasts outlined against the tight cotton of her black T-shirt. As usual, she wore jeans and heavy boots in addition to the t-shirt.

All part of her armor. Nothing pretty or feminine allowed.

Yet she didn't need pretty or feminine. There was a reason he called her angel, and it wasn't only because that had been her hacker handle.

She reminded him of an angel. Beautiful and fragile. Ethereal and otherworldly. Untouchable. A fallen angel in black boots and skinny jeans.

“Do you think I'll hurt you? Is that what you think?”

She didn't move. “Get the hell out of my place, Zac.”

“Not happening. Like I told you, I have some things I want to discuss.”

“Oh, fuck, you can't expect to come in here and—”

“Seven years, Eva. Seven years I've done everything you wanted. I've kept my distance. Respected your boundaries. Been your friend and asked for nothing in return.” He met her gaze. “But now I've come to collect.”

Her jaw was tight and it was obvious she was struggling to contain her breathing. “Collect what? Jesus, since when did our friendship become a damn transaction to you?”

“Since the lives of our friends were put in danger.”

Color crept into her cheeks. “Yeah, okay. Look, I can find the identity of that guy no sweat. It won't take long.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “In fact, why don't you take me out to the island? You can protect me there while I investigate.”

Of course she'd go for that option. Of course she'd expect him to fall in line, like he always did. “What do you think I am? Your tame housecat? Do you think you can order me around to suit yourself?” He held her gaze, letting the mask of the gentleman slip a little. Letting her see the beast he was inside. “I'm not your fucking pet. And the sooner you understand that the better.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I'm not stupid, Zac. I know what you are.”

He watched her, studying the delicate architecture of her face. He'd been learning Eva King for years, and he knew all her expressions, all her moods, all her little gestures. “I'm not sure you do. You only see what I let you see. And I've been protecting you for a very long time.” He leaned forward, noting the almost imperceptible flinch she gave at the movement. “And I know you're not stupid. What you are is scared.”

“Bullshit.” That anger burned bright, as if he'd personally insulted her. Her fingers flexed on the glass as she pushed herself away from the windows. “I'm not scared.”

It was a low move because he knew she hated being told she was afraid. That she'd react to it. Nevertheless, it was true.

He put his elbows of his knees, linking his fingers loosely. ‘“Then if you're not scared, tell me what happened. Tell me how you know the man in that video. And why you'd get a personal email warning you off. We need the background, angel. We need to know those connections.” He paused. “Or are your friends' lives less important to you than your fear?” Another low blow, but he'd push her, stoke her anger. That was preferable to her being afraid.

The color in her cheeks deepened. “No, of course not.”

“So tell me. I won't ask again.”

“Oh Christ. You're not my damn father, Zac, so quit telling me what to do.”

She was stalling, that much was obvious. Which meant he was going to have to push her again and this time go further.

The time had come for him to stop protecting her from himself.

Slowly, he got up from the chair and rose to his full height.

Her head tipped back as she tracked the movement, and he caught the fleeting apprehension that crossed her face. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the expression vanished, her usual sarcastic, prickly mask firmly back in place.