Eleven

SHE TOOK ADVANTAGE OF HIS OPEN MOUTH AND PULLED HIS head down, taking his mouth like he’d taken hers when they’d made love. Like she owned it. Like she owned him. For a moment she pretended that she did. She teased him with her tongue, and when he groaned deeply, she felt heady with her own power. He stood perfectly still for a moment, letting her take the lead, then tightened his arms around her waist and pulled her harder against him.

His lips were warm and firm, and responded instantly as she probed inside the heated cavern of his mouth, challenging his tongue with hers. Her body did a slow, delicious burn as she did some slow exploring of her own.

His response was electrifying as he kissed her back, participating fully, his mouth hungry and hard, delicious. Her soft breasts snuggled against the solid plane of his chest, and her nipples ached for harder contact. Making a soft sound of need, Emily stood on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressed her body hard against his, wanting more. Threading her fingers through his hair, she grabbed fistfuls, kissing him with a loss of control that stunned her. The taste of him went straight to her head and made her dizzy with longing. And allowed her to forget, for just a few precious moments, what else had happened here.

He was crushing her against his body, his arms wrapped tightly around her, one hand on the back of her neck, the other pressing her hips against the ridge between them. Her heart slammed against her rib cage, and she kissed him back as if she’d die if she didn’t.

“Uh-oh.” Daklin came into the studio and skidded to a stop. “Sorry.”

Max lifted his head, but didn’t release her, although he shifted their bodies so her flaming face was shielded from his friend’s view. “What do you have?” The sound rumbled from his chest.

“Brill did work for Tillman as well. I found these in her office.”

Uncomfortable and suddenly aware of how exposed they’d been in a room made of glass, Emily dropped her arms and stepped back. Daklin handed Max a sheaf of papers that all carried a familiar letterhead. Max absently smoothed his hair down as he took them.

She’d done enough work for Tillman to know what his contracts read, pretty much verbatim. “Richard Tillman’s contract. I have similar ones in my files. He had us sign one for each painting to be copied. A date and time when the original would be delivered to the studio, and the date and time when each would be picked up. It also specified that he’d have extra security installed before the start of the project, and said security would belong to the artist after the work was completed.”

“That covers it,” Daklin told Max.

“Only one thing wrong with that,” Max pointed out. “There’s no security. All the equipment in the world doesn’t help if you don’t turn it on.”

“But don’t you think she had it on?”

“The sister and the EMTs got in.”

“Oh. Right.”

“FYI,” Daklin told them. “I called in and told the autopsy team to do a Western blotting test on Brill’s body. Also to take a serum sample to check for antibodies against Borrelia burgdorferi.”

Max looked up from the paper he was scanning. He frowned slightly. “Lyme disease? You’ve lost me.”

“Forestry workers in the area are known to contract Lyme borreliosis. Brill lived in a pine forest, and did a lot of cutting back there. Seemed she was doing some art project with the limbs and leaves. Nature crap.”

Emily glanced from Max to the other man. “I know this sounds insane, but I hope that’s what she died of.”

“It’s just a theory at this point,” Daklin admitted. “Still, we’ll cover every avenue until we find concrete evidence of COD.”

“Cause of death,” Max explained.

She’d figured that one out herself. “So it wasn’t murder? Please tell me this poor woman died of something easily explainable.” It wouldn’t make her death less awful, but at least it wouldn’t be part of the whole macabre pattern.

“I’m all for leaving no stone unturned. But there’s no doubt in my mind she was murdered,” Max said unequivocally. “The only questions remains how and why.”

Emily rubbed her arms. There was no doubt in her mind either. And she also wanted to know the how and why. Suddenly being in the woman’s home seemed disrespectful. And being in an all glass room made her feel ill at ease. Anyone could be hiding in the trees, looking in. Even with AJ in the tree and Max and the other man here with their guns, she felt far too exposed. “Can we leave now?”

“In a while,” Max nodded to Daklin, who took the papers, and left. “Look around the studio. See if anything is out of place. Anything doesn’t belong. Take your time.”

She took her time, but there didn’t seem to be a thing out of place. This much tidiness would make her crazy in about five minutes, but since everything was set precisely in its place, it was pretty easy to see nothing had been disturbed. Or nothing she could see.

She crouched down next to a bookcase to read the titles of some of Brill’s books on the bottom shelf. They had very similar reference and research materials, Emily noticed. “If I had a clue as to what I’m supposed to be looking for, it would make this a lot easier.”

“It’s like pornography, you’ll know it when you see it.”

No I won’t, Emily thought impatiently. “We’ve done this before. At your father’s studio. We didn’t find any—Max?”

“Yeah?”

It was impossible to breathe, let alone speak. “I found something.” Something casually hidden in plain sight among a collection of seaglass in a little boat on the bottom shelf.

Max came up behind her. “What?”

“An empty vial.” Her voice was thin, and she was frozen in a half crouch beside the extremely neat and tidy bookcase.

“Daklin?” He barely raised his voice, but the other man appeared in the doorway as if by magic. Max reached down and pulled Emily to her feet. “Get her to the car and stay with her.”

Her face was as still and pale as a mask, her eyes dark with fear. “Come wi—” She bit her lower lip, cutting herself off, clearly realizing that this was his job, then nodded. Her boot heels clicked on the stone floor as she walked away with Daklin. At the door she turned around. “Don’t touch it!”

“Go.”

She went. Crouching down, he used his pen to push the small glass vial away from the bits of smooth glass. There was no stopper, and of course, nothing inside. How the fucking hell had the team missed this in their earlier sweep? A tiny smudge of bright orange paint was smeared down the side. He took out the sat phone as he rose and walked over to look at Jacoba Brill’s last painting.

“Aries,” he identified himself to his Control as he left the studio to finish his call in the hallway. “Found another empty glass vial at this location. Studio in back, on the floor in the southeast corner of the room at the base of the bookcase. Send another hazmat team ASAP to Jacoba Brill’s home at Kruislaan 409. Yeah, Utrecht. Take the orange painting in for analysis as well. There’s a faint impression of the vial on the bottom left-hand corner. Let me know what the lab makes of it.” He paused to listen.

“No shit. I don’t have to be told twice.” He strode down the hall. “Anything else—Want to hang on? I have another call coming in. Okay. Keep me informed.”

Max switched to the other call as he walked through the house. “Aries.”

“Sir, this is asset Raymond Ackart. Wiesbaden.”

Max paused inside the front door. He could see the sun reflecting off the top of the waiting car at the bottom of the walkway, and knew Emily was safely inside, but the hair on the back of his neck rose. “And?”

“I was ordered to report to the safe house on Tempelhof Strasse. I just arrived, sir. Zampieri, Kurtz, Banther, and four unknowns are dead.”

Max bit off a curse. “Describe the scene.”

“Someone was pretty pissed off, sir. Our guys are all sliced and diced. They gave as good as they got before they went—but holy Mother of God, there’s a shitload of blood. It’s bad, really bad.”

“I have an idea,” Max said, picturing the scene in the Bozzato family kitchen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Have you called for the garbage detail?”

“Waited to talk to you first.” The guy sounded ready to puke.

“Call, then wait for further orders.” Max shoved the phone back in his pocket as he strode down the walkway, his attention not on the pale oval of Emily’s face behind the darkened window of the car, but the surrounding woods and trees. “God damn it.”

Wiesbaden was one safe house out of many, but who had known that Emily was supposed to be secreted there within hours? Only himself, Control, and Zampieri.

And someone else.

 

EMILY STACKED THE USED PLATES ON THE TRAY. THE AFT CABIN OF the jet looked like a high-end boardroom, and at the moment, smelled of strong coffee, tomato soup, and delicious, gooey grilled cheese sandwiches made with provolone. She was impressed. Not only had Max fixed the meal for everyone, he’d also brought it—on a tray no less—to them at the table. Emily, along with AJ, Keiko, and Max, had fallen on the food like starving animals.

When she complimented him, Max muttered that the soup was out of cans, and the cheese sandwiches were the only thing he knew how to cook. It was kind of endearing to realize that making a meal for three women didn’t diminish his masculinity in any way. Before he’d brought the tray in, AJ had told her that everyone on the team had to pull their own weight. Still, Emily was charmed by this culinary side of the man whom she imagined slept with his gun in one hand. If he slept at all.

The cabin was all mahogany paneled walls and high-tech electronic equipment, the beds tucked away behind the paneling. With the push of a button, a section slid back, revealing an enormous sleek video screen embedded in the wall behind Emily. The tiny red eye of a camera blinked in the left-hand corner.

Daklin and Navarro were on one half of the split screen, a man with a puckered scar across his face took up the other half. His name was Darius. Whether that was his first or last name, Emily had no idea. Maybe he was like Cher. One name. He had the build of a linebacker, and the well-modulated voice of a seasoned Rotarian. The scar, and a pair of dark glasses, effectively obscured his features, making them unreadable.

Max worked with some interesting people.

A picture flashed up on the monitor of an almost eerily striking woman, with long, improbable red hair, and crystalline green eyes. Barbie with red hair, Emily thought, not liking the woman’s eyes. They looked both cold and creepy.

“Sorry, wrong screen,” the man said apologetically, bringing up Navarro and Daklin again.

“That,” said AJ flatly to Emily, “was Catherine Seymour. If you ever run into her—run like hell. She’s vicious, untrustworthy, and lethal.”

“Emily and Savage wouldn’t ever come into contact,” Max told everyone, his voice cool and flat. “She’s under surveillance and won’t be making a damn move we don’t know about. Right, Darius?”

“Closing in as we speak.”

“As we should be. Let’s make that sooner than later. Okay, let’s get started, people.” Max took a swig of coffee. He seemed to survive and thrive on adrenaline and coffee. Other than a five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, and his hair pushed back off his forehead by running his fingers through it a time or two, he looked and sounded relaxed, fresh and as though he’d had eight hours’ sleep.

Emily bet she’d had three times as much rest as he had, and she was exhausted. Her adrenaline had come and gone, and come and gone again, leaving her limp and lethargic. AJ and Keiko also looked the worse for wear, although Keiko had managed to squeeze in a quick shower while Max was out in the galley. AJ shot Emily a sympathetic glance.

“This is a long flight,” Max said, speaking to the camera as he placed his empty mug back on the table. “I’m planning to use some of that time to catch some z’s. I’ve asked Emily to sit in on the briefing because she is, I believe, central to this op. Let me recap, then if anyone has questions or observations you can have at it when I’m through.”

He spent several minutes bringing everyone up to speed on the timeline of events, from his father’s murder to the death of Jacoba Brill. Emily had been present for most of what Max was recapping for the others. Still, when clumped all together in the retelling, it sounded exactly as bad and scary as she’d remembered it. Maybe more so because Max was giving the recap in a calm, matter-of-fact voice with no drama or fanfare.

He paused briefly to bite into his sandwich, chew, and swallow. “Point. One: Daniel Aries copied several of Richard Tillman’s masterpieces over a span of ten years. As did Emily, here. As did Brill. Two out of the three are dead—”

“Make that three out of four,” the man with the dark glasses inserted, not glancing up as his attention was snagged by a computer monitor on the table in front of him. “Just got intel. Alaire Drousé died in his home half an hour ago. Apparent heart attack.”

Keiko folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, her black eyes gleaming with suppressed excitement. “Another art restorer?”

Emily had noticed how quiet the older woman was; she seldom asked questions, but she was clearly always listening and learning. She was sure Keiko wasn’t happy to hear someone else had died, but she was clearly excited to be included in this briefing.

Emily knew of Drousé. “He’s an authenticator for the Louvre.”

Max’s glance touched hers briefly. “Know him?”

She rubbed her arms, feeling a chill that didn’t seem to want to leave her. “Only by reputation.”

“Get those toxicology reports back to us ASAP,” Max instructed. “And three attempts,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted by the report of a fourth death, “that we’re aware of, have been made on Emily’s life.”

Three close attempts, she wanted to point out, but she bit her lip and kept quiet instead. Her emotions were in turmoil with all of this. For Max and the others, this was business as usual. How in God’s name did they ever get used to so much violence? So much darkness?

“Two,” Max continued. “The man sent to Emily’s palazzo was a Black Rose asset. Whether he was working for BR, or freelancing, has yet to be ascertained.

“Three: An incendiary device was found in a painting’s frame at La Mezquita. That makes three paintings used as vehicles for bombs.” Max wiped his hands on a paper towel, crumpled it, and tossed it on his empty plate. “Four: That makes three bombings. Three paintings, and three places of worship.”

Emily got up to pour him another cup of coffee, and he shot her a grateful glance as she dropped in several cubes of sugar. She refilled her own mug, and AJ’s as well. Keiko hadn’t even picked up her still-full mug, she was too engrossed, and hanging on Max’s every word.

“Five,” he said, drinking his hot coffee, “according to the provenance papers we received from Father Antonio in Córdoba, the painting there leads us right back to Tillman.”

“I have one more piece to add.” Emily almost raised her hand before voicing a question as she’d been taught to do in boarding school.

“Can it wait?” Max asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice.

She shook her head. “Daniel did a copy of The Holy Family for Mr. Tillman about a year ago.” She’d realized on the way back to the air base that she could no longer keep that piece of information a secret.

While she knew she had to tell Max of his father’s involvement in the painting, there was no point, she’d decided, in telling Max that she’d done it instead of Daniel. Tillman had hired Daniel, and paid Daniel’s exorbitant prices. Not only would Tillman be furious if he found out that Daniel hadn’t done what he was contracted to do, he’d be pissed he’d paid him double what Emily would have charged him.

Not that that mattered since Daniel was dead and there was no reason to suppose that Max would divulge the information to him anyway. Still, what did matter was Daniel’s sterling reputation, which would be history if knowledge of his debilitating illness ever became public. Which was how and why this masquerade had started in the first place. The knowledge that Emily had done some of his work would put all of his work under intense scrutiny and debate. And that would ensure that his well-deserved reputation would be lost forever.

“From Tillman to your father, to Emily, to Black Rose, to a bombing? I’d be more convinced if the other two bombings carry the same signature. You two bozos on that?” Darius was, presumably, talking to Navarro and Daklin, because Daklin nodded and said, “Yeah.”

“Tillman in bed with Black Rose?” Navarro asked, his expression bland. There was a black marble pillar behind him, so Emily knew he and Daklin were back at La Mezquita.

“Yeah, that’s where I’ve gone, too,” Max told him, polishing off his second sandwich and picking up a third. “What better way to launder their money than through a suddenly philanthropic old man?”

AJ leaned her elbows on the table, her soup mug clasped between her hands. “I suppose it’s possible, but isn’t he like a hundred years old?”

Max half-smiled. “Mid-eighties. I’ve known octogenarians who are as sharp as tacks, so I don’t think his age would exclude him from consideration. I want a look at him soon.” He looked into the nearby camera mounted above the screen. “Dare. How soon can you get me that intel?”

The linebacker’s dark brows rose over the top of his shades. “Depends how deep you want me to dig.”

“Right down to pay dirt,” Max told him.

 

“WILL YOU BE ABLE TO SLEEP, OR DO YOU NEED SOMETHING?” MAX asked Emily as she came out of the forward cabin’s bathroom. The cabin was dim, with only the light over Max’s chair to illuminate her way. He’d offered the aft cabin with the beds to AJ and Keiko. She knew there were six beds back there, but he hadn’t offered to let her sleep with the other women.

He’d settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs in the middle of the cabin, and when she came out of the bathroom, he looked up from the papers he was reading. Even in the subdued lighting, and from this far away she saw the flare of heat in his eyes as she walked toward him, a towel around her shoulders.

She yawned as she padded toward him. AJ had given her a pair of shorts and a tank top—black, of course—to put on after her shower. Going commando was starting to grow on her, Emily thought as she moved barefoot down the thick carpet toward him.

“Believe me,” she told him softly as she blotted her wet hair on the towel and yawned again. “The second I close my eyes I’ll be out like a light.”

“Will you,” he murmured, putting out his hand to guide her into the seat between himself and the bulkhead. A pillow and a luxuriously soft red wool throw had been tossed on the footrest. Looked like bliss to her.

“Forget it, Aries,” she told him, seeing the glimmer of the devil in his dark green eyes as she sank into a seat as wide and soft as a cloud. Max leaned over the few inches separating them, and pressed a button on her armrest. The chair slowly reclined so she could stretch out full length. In thirty seconds she’d be fast asleep.

She got a good look at this man who made her pulse race, and her heart did somersaults. She wanted to take his image with her to dreamland. “The brain is willing,” she told him firmly, pulling up the blanket over her shoulders. “But the body is too tired to make its own decisions. I’m so tired I might fall asleep before I close my eyes.”

“I’ll hold you while you sleep,” he offered as angelically as a choirboy as she settled into the big leather chair beside him with a moan of pure pleasure. Bunching the pillow under her cheek, she curled on her side to look at him through sleepy eyes.

His rumpled dark hair indicated that he’d showered, too, and he was wearing black drawstring pants. He was bare chested and barefoot. Temptation personified. His skin was tanned and other than an assortment of scars, nicks, and dents, as hard and solid as polished bronze.

She found the crisp hair on his chest sexy as hell, and wanted to rub her face in it. Tamping down the pang of lust, she gave him a stern look. “There are two people back there, and two more people in the cockpit,” she mumbled, snugging the soft blanket around her throat as her lids fluttered. And if they weren’t there, I’d be sitting astride your lap right this second, with you deep inside me. The image of it was so clear in her mind’s eye she had to suppress a little groan of need.

“I know that.” His voice was a low rumble as he dimmed the lights from the control panel on the arm of his chair.

She smiled at his deep, low-pitched voice. She loved the sound of—Her eyes shot open as he hauled her, pillow, blanket and all, onto his chair beside him in a preemptive strike that left her breathless. “What are you doing?”

Pushing his chair back to lay flat, he wrapped her in his arms, tucking her against his naked chest, the soft blanket covering them both. His warm breath fanned her damp hair. “I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?”

And who’s going to protect me from you? “Where’s your gun?”

“Wanna touch it?”

She smacked him lightly on the chest. “What are you protecting me from? Bedbugs?” Kissing the steady beat of his heart, she tucked her arm around his waist under the blanket.

“I’d hate anything to hurt this beautiful bottom of yours.” Slipping his hand under the elastic waistband of her borrowed shorts, Max palmed one butt cheek, stroking it with his big warm hand. There was a devilish glint in his eyes. “My God, your skin is soft. I think there’s a broken spring in that chair. Very dangerous to sweet, tender asses. You’d better share mine.”

“Your sweet tender ass?” she mocked, huffing out a weak laugh. “I think there’s a spring loose in your head. You know we can’t…”

“Shhh,” he said softly, tilting her face up. “Close your eyes.” Gently he trailed his lips across her cheekbone, then brushed each eyelid with a tender kiss. “You have the prettiest eyes,” he murmured. “Big and brown, and far too damned trusting.” His lips drifted down to hers. “Your mouth could drive a man mad just looking at it. This little dip right here”—his teeth closed lightly on her upper lip, and the sensation of his teeth on her skin made Emily’s temperature rise, and her heart start beating a little faster—“is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Increasing the pressure of his mouth on hers, Max kissed her, long and slow and deep, until she melted in his arms and forgot that they were on a very small aircraft with four other people.

Warm and sleepy and turned on by his hand stroking her bottom and his mouth on hers, Emily let herself rise and fall with the tide of needs and eddies drifting through her body.

Eyes closed, she felt the delicate graze of the fingertips of his other hand brush her cheek as he kissed her slowly and thoroughly. His fingers trailed down her throat, pausing to feel the rapid beat there. His hand traveled to her breast, teasing her nipple through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and she arched into his hand.

The hand cupping her breast moved down her midriff, causing all sorts of sparks to wake up body parts that had thought they were ready to sleep. His hand felt cool on her hot skin as he slipped past the barrier of her shorts and traced lazy patterns on her belly.

“I’d dream about your little dolphins,” Max murmured thickly against her temple as he slid his fingers around her midriff and stroked the dolphins leaping over her belly button. She automatically drew up her knee to grant him better access. The movement made her exquisitely aware of the dampness between her thighs, and the rapid beat of her heart which she felt all over her body.

His nostrils flared, and she knew he scented her need. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep,” he said thickly as he continued to trail his fingers over her increasingly more sensitive skin. “I’d count these little guys over and over, imagining how many times I’d have to kiss each one before I’d drop off.” His fingers slid lower to tangle in the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. Her breath caught, and she shifted, spreading her knees a little. With a little moan of greed, she arched her hips as his fingers delved between the damp folds, stroking deeply. She shuddered with the sweet pleasure of his intimate touch and lifted her mouth to brush her lips over his slowly, tasting him with the tip of her tongue.

Gripping her hair in his clenched fists, he covered her mouth with his, tasting and touching her until she shuddered. She had to pull her lips away from his to bury her face against his neck as his thumb drove her to the very edge.

She contracted around his fingers pushing deep inside her. Her hips rocked as he withdrew, then thrust again, leaving her hanging on a sharp precipice of need. Every time she thought she’d tip right over for a free fall, Max paused, keeping her poised on a razor sharp edge of pleasure again and again, until she couldn’t catch her breath, and all her senses seemed amplified and sharpened.

She arched her hips off his lap, pressing her mons into his palm. “Max…”

The climax rolled through her body in an avalanche of pure pleasure. The moment seemed to go on forever, as Max’s clever fingers and kisses kept her riding the rush of sensations for what felt like an eternity.

A last wave crashed through her body making her shake and moan. He slid one hand up her back to cradle her head against his chest, while his fingers glided slowly out of her ultra sensitive folds, making her arch and shudder again.

“Christ, you’re responsive.”

“If I had my hand in a corresponding position on you, I guarantee, I’d have your undivided attention, too.” The hard length of his penis pushed against her hip as she sprawled beside him.

“I look forward to it, but I’m afraid you’d fall asleep mid-stroke.”

Sleep pulled at her, and her jaw popped as she yawned. “Rain check?”

In a few hours they’d say good-bye in front of his team members when they landed in Denver, and she might very well never see him again. Her chest felt tight. But she knew it was a good thing. She and Max had nothing in common but sexual attraction. A boatload of sexual attraction, but that wasn’t enough to build a future on. And then, she thought, as her brain started shutting down, there was his job.

Compatible in bed. It had to be good enough.

She felt as limp as overcooked spaghetti. Limp and satiated and bonelessly relaxed. Max played with her hair which relaxed her even more.

“Everytime I look at you,” he murmured. “I’m staggered by just how damn beautiful you are. I know you’ve got incredible talent, but did you ever think that you don’t have to work as hard as you do?” He gently massaged her scalp with the pads of his fingers. Which would’ve felt wonderful, if she’d been stone deaf.

“What you do, while amazing, is too solitary. You’re so beautiful, why do you choose to isolate yourself when you could surround yourself with people who adore you?”

A little sleep dissipated as he hit her Achilles’ heel. “Adore me? Adore what I look like, you mean. And of course, how it makes them look when they’re seen with me.” She wasn’t thinking about herself. She was thinking about her mother. “My appearance isn’t who I am, Max. It’s not a skill, or a talent.”

“Beautiful women tend to choose more public professions, that’s all,” he murmured, stroking her nape and causing goose bumps on her skin. “Hell, you could easily have done what your mother did—become a model.”

Become a crackhead junkie who’d spent most of the past twenty years in and out of rehab, and in between sleeping with anyone who told her she was beautiful?

She stiffened. “Exactly.”

Max had just done what every other man she’d gone out with had done. Made a big freaking deal about her appearance. As if a pretty face was all there was of her. Good, Emily thought, annoyed to find tears stinging her eyes. I’m glad that’s all he sees. Because he’s just put this whole sex thing back into perspective.

“I thought you were on your way to see your mother in Seattle. Don’t you two get along?” he asked lazily, stroking her back. “I imagine with two such beautiful women you must’ve had a complicated relationship.”

She laughed; it sounded rusty and hurt her chest. “You could say that. First of all there were three of us. My sister Susanna is nine months older than I am.”

She rested her head against the curve of his shoulder. A perfect fit. But she felt brittle, and somehow unprotected lying practically naked and vulnerable in his arms while she dragged out her family for show-and-tell.

“I love my mother. I do. But the line between parent and kid is pretty blurred with us. She was one of the first supermodels. The cameras loved her. And while they were on, she was happy. Unfortunately she’s an arid sponge when it comes to getting attention. It’s never enough. No matter that they called her ‘The Beauty.’ There was always someone younger, or prettier, or smarter. They always got more callbacks than she did. More jobs, better jobs. So she started to drink when she didn’t get the job. And then she started taking drugs here and there. And then she’d look and feel worse, so she’d take more.”

His fingers tangled in her hair as he listened, combing through the damp strands in a rhythmic caress that was as soothing as it was arousing. Emily was driven to reveal this part of herself to him, even if she wasn’t sure what underlying emotions caused her to do so. Usually she did her best not to bring up her family.

“Where was your father in all this?” His breath was warm on her forehead. Sensation and need rippled through her. So easy for him. So complex and foolish for her. She inhaled the familiar scent of his skin. No soap smell, just Max. Just the smell of his skin made her melt. Crazy. Stupid. Dangerous.

She rarely mentioned her family because it made her feel a little too exposed, a little too vulnerable. A little too defensive. She had no idea why she was telling Max of all people.

“Suz and I had different fathers. And to be honest, I’m not sure Mom knew who our fathers were. According to her, we were both mistakes. She did her best, God only knows. But by the ages of ten and eleven Suz and I were already cooking all the meals and trying to take care of each other while Mom was sleeping, or working, or dating. We were pretty much left to our own devices most of the time.”

She didn’t mention that they had been terrified that the authorities would realize that there was frequently no adult home with them for weeks at a time. They were always at school on time, made their own lunches, and wrote their own excuse notes. If nothing else, they’d both grown up independent women.

“Daniel was a godsend for me. He convinced my mother that I was seriously talented. And because, I think, they were sleeping together, she did whatever he suggested. So I stayed in Italy and went to boarding school, and she went back to Seattle. Daniel paid for my education, an amazingly generous thing to do considering his short-lived affair with my mother.”

Her mother’s finances at that time went from insanely high to crying because she couldn’t pay the rent, flat-out broke.

“Social services went and got Suz. She was almost thirteen by then. She went to live with a foster family who adored, and eventually adopted, her. She and my mother didn’t get on very well, and they don’t have much of a relationship. Suz is smart and ressourceful, and coincidentally, more beautiful than our mother, and boy, my mother does not like competition.”

“How’s your mother doing now?”

Emily shrugged. “She’s in and out of rehab. In, at the moment. At least she’s making an attempt to get clean and sober. Or that’s what I try to convince myself. But truthfully, I think she considers it a spa. When life gets too difficult she checks herself in. They make a fuss over her and stabilize her with meds, and for a few weeks she’s really happy.”

She rubbed her cheek on the crisp hair of Max’s chest, eyes closed. “I still feel guilty that I’ve made a life for myself far away from her. But it took several years of therapy to realize that I couldn’t fix her. Nor was it my job. It was hard, but eventually I had to let go. She sighed and shifted.

“So she’s in Seattle. My sister’s in Boston. Married, with a houseful of amazing children, and a husband who loves her. Not for her looks, but because she’s an incredible wife and mother. And I’m in Florence. End of story.”

“That’s a hell of a story. But my God, look at what you’ve accomplished by yourself.”

“Thanks in large part to your father.”

“He had nothing to do with your talent,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “Everything you accomplished, you pretty much did on your own. Look at you. You’re beautiful, talented, wealthy, and at the top of your career. Yet with all that you could easily have made your fortune the easy way. In front of a camera, instead of behind an easel.”

She pushed away from him and sat up. He’d missed the point. Although she was too damn tired to know what the point was herself. “I’d like to stretch out. I’ll be more comfortable over here.” She managed to switch seats with her dignity intact by hauling the blanket with her. She punched the pillow into shape and crammed it under her cheek.

He gave her a searching look. “Are you okay?”

Only a man over his head and unaware of his imminent demise could ask such a bloody stupid question. “Are you kidding? I’m relaxed and sexually satisfied and ready to sleep. Thanks, Max. That was better than any sleeping pill.” She rolled over because she could not look at him for one more second through the film of angry, stupid, stupid, stupid tears.

“I don’t want anything to hurt you, Emily. Anything or anyone.”

The vise around her chest pressed down on her aching heart. “You won’t hurt me,” she said, reading him loud and clear. And he wouldn’t. As long as he didn’t realize that she was falling a little more in love with him every hour they were together. She wrapped the blanket around her like armor.

“I didn’t mean—Yeah. I guess I did. I’m married to my work. T-FLAC is everything I want. Will always want. But God only knows you’ve thrown me a curveball. I like you. You’re funny and tough and damned courageous. Not to mention talented and beautiful. You’re the whole package….”

He liked her? She didn’t really register all of his words over the grinding of her teeth. Why did it always come down to the packaging? It took a while, but somehow she managed to fall asleep in the middle of Max trying to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug.

 

DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT WAS ONE OF THE THREE LARGEST airports in the world, and not even for T-FLAC would air traffic control change the flight patterns circling above their designated landing strip. The Bombardier Challenger just had to wait its turn, which meant circling fourteen thousand feet away from Tillman and his answers.

The plan was to make a pit stop to drop Max off in Denver, then his two operatives would accompany Emily to HQ in Montana. Even so, Max didn’t feel comfortable letting her out of his sight. But there was no logical reason to keep her with him when she’d be safer at T-FLAC’s secure underground facility.

Unfortunately, logic didn’t come into play when her safety was of utmost importance to him.

Utmost importance? No. But of prime importance, and a matter of international security, was getting to the bottom of Tillman’s involvement in all this. Emily’d gone from soft and malleable in his arms to prickly and unresponsive in a heartbeat. He had no idea what he’d said or done to turn her off like that. But it was for the best.

He’d never regretted giving a woman the “T-FLAC is my world” speech more than he’d regretted giving it to Emily. But he respected her too much to lie to her and make false promises. On the other hand, she’d gone from hot to cold before he made his point.

There was no future for them. No permanency. He loved the work he did for T-FLAC. It wasn’t a job. It was his life. It was who he was. T-FLAC took everything, leaving nothing behind for him to offer a woman.

No matter how strong the desire.

It just was.

Life vs. T-FLAC.

No contest.

Women. “Don’t take your eyes off her,” he told Keiko as he sat the two female operatives down for a final briefing in the aft cabin.

“I won’t,” Keiko assured him. She was so new, so intense, so eager it hurt his teeth.

He was depending on her. Cooper, he knew, had eyes in the back of her head. He was trusting these two women to keep Emily safe while he was thousands of miles away.

She was up front in the cockpit, fascinated by all the dials, and, Max bet, talking the pilot into letting her handle the controls for a while. Or grabbing a parachute and jumping to get away from him.

Hell if he knew.

She hadn’t spoken directly to him since she’d woken up this morning. “I don’t expect them to know about her Seattle connection, which is in our favor. And even if somehow it does occur to them, she has at least six hours’ head start. Unless—” He paused. “Unless they planned ahead and are waiting for her there. She wants to go and see her mother in rehab. Says an hour will do it.”

“We’ll be ready,” AJ assured him. “We always anticipate the worst.”

“Yeah, and we’re usually right,” Max muttered, rubbing a rough hand around the tension gripping the back of his neck. He pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket. “Aries.”

It was Darius with more fucking bad news. “The Blessed Virgin of Vladimir in Brisbane was hit three hours ago,” he said in his well-modulated, nothing-fazes-me tone. “Russian orthodox. Two hundred seventeen people dead. Hundred and eleven injured. A team from Sydney is already on the scene. I’m coordinating with Navarro and Daklin on this. Shit. Hold.”

Max switched his communication from his phone to the monitor so the two operatives in the room with him could see and hear Dare’s latest intel. “We seem to be in a permanent holding pattern,” he told the two women. The T-FLAC emblem blinked on the large black screen, waiting for Dare to finish his other call. “Might as well make yourselves comfortable.”

The coffee had been turned off in anticipation of landing, but he got up to pour himself a cup of lukewarm sludge anyway. He didn’t care if his caffeine fix was warm, hot, or cold. Caffeine was caffeine. He drained the mug and poured another while he waited.

The T-FLAC logo blinked out, and Dare’s face filled the screen. He had a face only a mother could love, and now he was sporting a long, angry scratch on the cheek opposite his scar. It was a tight shot of him, just head and shoulders, but from the little Max could see in the background Dare wasn’t in T-FLAC’s underground facility in Montana, he was somewhere else.

Christ. Was the poor bastard still on Paradise? It was a sore spot, so Max wasn’t going to ask. “Problems?” he asked instead.

“Problem—singular, but new intel, too. First, we received the autopsy results on your father. The bruising on his upper arms and chest indicated that he was grabbed from behind while he was in a seated position. The trajectory of the body, as you mentioned before, proves he was thrown. The tox screen shows he was on some high-powered cocktail of pharmaceuticals. But those had nothing to do with his death. Conclusion, he was literally picked up and tossed over the balcony.”

Nothing new there. “What else?”

“Another art restorer has turned up dead. An Elaine Ludwig of Bellevue, Washington. See what, if anything, Miss Greene can tell you about her.”

Max nodded to Keiko to go get Emily. The woman quickly pushed away from the table and strode off to the cockpit. “Do we have the body?”

“Affirmative. We also got someone else. The man who killed her. Ludwig’s husband’s a Marine. Just got back from Iraq. Literally. Came in the house unexpectedly in the early hours to discover the man leaving the bedroom. Didn’t ask any questions, just took him out with his Beretta 9mm.”

“Semper Fi,” Max said, pleased they had another lead to follow. Emily and Keiko came back into the room, and Emily shot Max an inquiring glance before looking at Darius on the monitor.

Dare’s eyes connected with Emily’s and her shoulders stiffened as if preparing for a blow.

“What do you know about Elaine—”

“Ludwig,” Emily finished dully. “I knew her well enough to say hello to. Is she dead?” At Dare’s nod she reached over and gripped Max’s hand. Her fingers were like ice. “This is insane.”

“Hmph,” Dare agreed. “Yeah. But we’ll get to the bottom of it. Stay with Max. Your plane will be next to land. I’ll keep you posted.”

“What’s the new intel?” Max wasn’t about to let Dare off the hook.

“The guy our Marine offed?” Darius said. “Black rose tattooed on his ass. And our Queensland bombing? Traced the Semtex to the Black Rose cell responsible for the bombing in New Zealand last September.” There was a tense pause.

“You’ve got yourself an authenticated Black Rose clusterfuck, here, my man.”