Midnight gamble, p.8
Midnight Gamble, page 8
"You said you like dangerous games,” he rumbled, no longer pretending to be a genial charmer. His eyes glittered. “Well, I'm ready to play."
His jacket went flying as he launched himself at her, only to meet an empty field of green. He blinked in surprised, wondering how Rica was suddenly standing several yards away. Had he been less inflamed by lust and hunger, he would have noticed there was nothing weak or vulnerable in her braced and balanced stance.
"Then let's play,” she coaxed, twirling a pool stick lazily in one hand the way her instructor Takeo had taught her with an Oriental bow.
The second he jumped forward, the cue stick cracked across Rudy's forehead, opening a gash that did surprisingly little bleeding.
It set him back hardly at all.
With a snarl, he swung a fist toward her face. But she was no longer standing in front of him. He staggered as the broken stick stung against his ear. Like an enraged bull, he let out a roar, grabbing the stick and the hand holding it within his own crushing grip. He squeezed until she let go, but he couldn't make her cry out. Annoyed by her rebellion, he flung her away from him with a tremendous force. She wobbled on her high-heeled shoes and went down hard upon her backside, her dress flipping up to expose her legs.
His stare glazed over with ugly intention.
Almost immediately she turned that submissive position into one of threat, jerking a thin stiletto blade from where it was strapped snug against her inner thigh. As he hauled back on his desires, she watched as he reconsidered the situation. He finally realized that she was no weak and easily manipulated flapper. Would that make a difference, or had they already gone too far?
"Still having fun? Or don't you like games unless you can win?"
Her taunt made his eyes go flat and lethal. There would be no going back now.
She started to get up, brandishing the knife between them. He made a quick feint and as she countered, one shoe slid on the tiled floor. That was all the opening he needed. She clutched at her numbed hand as his kick sent the blade flying. In a flash, he had her by the front of the gown, hauling her up to face the horror of his bared fangs. She struck him, once, twice, the sheer power of the blows enough to stun him. But it was her lack of fear that confused him long enough for her to squirm and whirl away.
Right into Darcy Edwards’ arms.
Chapter Seven
"Am I interrupting something here?"
Eduard spoke to Rudolph, but his attention focused upon the slight figure he caught against his chest. Breathing hard but not visibly worse for wear, Rica refused to meet his gaze. Had she been damaged, even slightly, Eduard would have broken a long-standing vow not to exact a brutal consequence upon his other guest. And that knowledge disturbed him as much as the scene he'd come upon.
"Nothing but a little fun,” Rudy panted in his own defense. His forehead was swelling from a nasty split and he rubbed at one abused ear. The injuries didn't look like the result of any fun Eduard could think of.
Eduard cupped his palm beneath Rica's dainty chin, lifting her face so he might see her expression. It was a lovely blank, closed down tight against any betraying emotion.
"And do you agree?” he asked gently.
Glittery green eyes canted toward the aggrieved Rudy. “He was enjoying himself much more than I. I thought we were going to enjoy gambling, not engage in more physical sport."
"But—but that's not true, Darcy,” Rudy sputtered. “She was the one—"
"She is my guest and should be above your crude overtures. This is not the first time you've been warned.” Eduard sighed regretfully. “Your welcome here has expired, Rudolph. Be gone quickly. Should I notice you again, it will be unfortunate for you."
The weight of that calm statement crushed the defiance from Rudy. His gaze went glassy, his jaw slack. “But where will I go?” If he'd hoped to gain sympathy from his host, he was mistaken.
"That is no longer my concern."
And he dismissed Rudy from sight and mind as he turned back to Rica. The brightness of her eyes and cheeks spoke against the cool demeanor she pretended. He thanked his timely return, fearing he would have come upon quite a different picture had he been moments later.
Peripherally, he heard Rudy slip from the room, and considering his own hot mood, thought of him as a man lucky to leave with his miserable existence intact. But enough thought wasted on Rudolph. Eduard drew a tender line down the side of Rica's flushed face with the edge of his forefinger, noting how her breath caught charmingly.
"Are you certain he did not hurt you?"
"I am not all that delicate, Darcy. I was holding my own. Not that I object to your intervention. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but it wasn't required.” Her chin firmed delightfully, as if to admit to weakness were some terrible sin.
"I thought you might have been afraid. He did appear rather frightening.” Had she seen his transformed face? Did she recognize their kind?
"I wasn't afraid. I was too busy trying to get away.” And she smiled ruefully, as if ashamed that her efforts had met with such little success. Apparently, she didn't like to play victim to his gallant rescuer.
"What were you doing in here with him? I would not have thought him your ... type.” Shades of meaning layered upon that simple statement. How could he come right out and ask her why she had gone from his own company to that of an inferior other?
Rica met his gaze and his question boldly. “I was upset to learn that you weren't here. I needed to speak to you. You see, I saw you leave last night with some other woman."
There was no accusation, no quivering emotion in her claim, just a quiet demand to hear the truth.
"Again, I apologize for cutting our time short last evening. My departure was unavoidable, and I assure you, all business.” He smiled as doubt pursed her lips. “The woman, Miss Palmer, is—was a newspaper reporter. She was following the development of a story on organized crime that her paper was doing. We had an appointment for the next night, tonight actually, but she'd learned my name was going to be mentioned in the morning edition and thought I should know about it right away, so I could prevent any future embarrassment to myself or on the part of the authorities."
"She was your spy.” No condemnation.
"Yes. A man in my position stays there by having his thumb on the pulse of the city, and upon those who might wish him harm. Such an article would have been more an annoyance than a catastrophe."
"I saw nothing in the paper to link you unfavorably to any wrongdoings, so your precaution must have paid off handsomely. Or at least, someone was paid off handsomely. So why kill Miss Palmer?"
He went completely still for a beat then asked, “Are you suggesting I killed her? For what purpose?"
"None that I can see at the moment, but you must admit it is odd. Women seem to die after being in your company. Why do you think that is?"
"A sad coincidence, perhaps. But that makes you very brave for being here tonight."
Frederica stared up at him, into velvet dark eyes, trying to see to the truth beyond. But the windows to his soul were carefully shuttered.
Could it be coincidence? Someone out to ruin his reputation? Or was Darcy Edwards more than a smooth entrepreneur being victimized because of his success? Was he a remorseless fiend who slaughtered for fun and to cover his reckless compulsions?
She could find out by getting closer to him.
An idea not half as unappealing as it had been when applied to Quinn or Rudolph.
Slowly, she ran her palms up the satin lapels of his dinner jacket. The polished feel reminded her of the man: slick, cool, inviting.
"Thank you for stepping in a moment ago. I don't want you to think I am not appreciative. Some men would not have involved themselves."
"I am not most men."
Her lips eased into a smile. “So I am beginning to understand."
That smile was more temptation than he could resist. He bent slowly, giving her time to draw back should that be her desire. She didn't. Instead, she leaned slightly forward to capture his kiss. Her eyes remained open and fixed upon his until the last possible moment. Then with the brush of silk over soft velvet, her lashes fluttered and drifted down, forming vulnerable crescents upon the curve of her cheeks.
She tasted of warmth and life and willingness. He sampled it fleetingly at first, then with more intensity. She greeted his inquiry, welcoming it with the part of her lips, answering with the teasing tango of her tongue about his.
A dangerous dance for one who'd not moved through those sensuous steps for centuries.
She hadn't melted into his kiss. That bothered him some but intrigued him more. They still stood separate, her palms resting open upon his shoulders, his hand spread wide at the back of her slender neck, not compelling or possessing, merely touching. From those neutral positions, they regarded each other for a long-seeking moment until both felt the presence of another.
"What is it, Vanko?” He spoke without ever leaving the lush green of her gaze.
"A moment, please."
He stepped away from Rica as if the distance didn't pull unfairly at his soul. Turning from the sight of her moist lips, tenderly parted, denied his every basic need. In just that all too brief encounter, he'd tasted a paradise he never thought to enter.
There was no mistaking Vanko's disapproval. It settled like storm clouds upon his heavy countenance, but he was too wise to speak it aloud.
"What is it?"
"A policeman is here with some questions for you about last night."
Rica was all attention.
Though she didn't turn, she felt his questioning gaze upon her as he murmured, “I'll give him a moment only."
She waited where she was, pretending to study the arty portrait of a woman walking two sleek hounds. Had she been other than what she was, the words they spoke in the hall would have been unintelligible to her. Only her keen senses made her privy to the conversation. So, she listened without reaction as her elegant host greeted a member of New York's finest.
Another of his carefully placed spies? she wondered, straining to hear.
"A pleasure to meet you, Officer ... Metz. You have some questions for me?"
"About Theresa Palmer."
"The woman who was killed last night. A tragedy to be sure."
The two of them exchanged the appropriate sounds of regret. Then the officer got to the purpose of his visit.
"She had an appointment on her calendar at work, a meeting with you for this evening to do an interview or something like that."
Rica suppressed an unexpected spike of relief. It had been a business meeting. He hadn't left her in the lurch for an intimate assignation. The rush of satisfaction made her wonder if her earlier anger had more to do with romantic slight than it did with professional injury. Not a comfortable notion. Then Darcy's reply slapped the contentment from her mood.
"Unfortunately, Miss Palmer was unable to keep her appointment with me. We were to discuss some city improvements I had planned for the dock area. We'd worked out the details some weeks ago, but she wanted to get some final quotes before finishing the piece. Sadly, I expect the paper will send someone else to do the story now."
Metz sounded uncomfortable with the continued questioning. “Here's the thing. Miss Palmer did come here last night. A cabby confirmed the address and time and the fare as Miss Palmer. If it wasn't to meet with you, do you know what she was doing here?"
"I've no idea. I was having dinner with Miss Lavoy. I had no other guests. Perhaps one of my staff spoke to her about another matter. Or perhaps she was gathering background for her story. We may never know. I will ask around."
"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Edwards."
"Did you need to speak to Miss Lavoy to confirm my ... what do you call it? My alibi?"
A laugh. “No, that's okay. Your word's fine by me. Maybe you don't remember, but it was my brother over in the Eighteenth who died last year breaking up a robbery on the next block. Your gift to his widow helped support his family through some rough times."
"That was supposed to be an anonymous donation, Officer Metz.” His tone reflected just the right amount of embarrassment.
Oh, he was good at emotional manipulation.
"We have ways of finding those things out,” Metz confided with a touch of pride and confidentiality. “I just never got the chance to thank you before."
"You don't need to thank me now. I was happy to do some small service in honor of a man who gave his life to protect us citizens from the dangerous elements of the city. Too bad someone like him wasn't there for poor Miss Palmer. Perhaps, she'd be alive today."
"I won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Edwards. Have a nice evening now."
"You, too, Officer."
When Eduard's hands capped Rica's shoulders, she fought to keep the stiffness from them. She turned toward him, a smile forcing the word ‘liar’ from her lips.
"Is your business all finished, or are you about to tell me you have to disappear again?"
"Only for a moment. I need to have a few words with my staff. Vanko will take you back to my private rooms to wait. There,” he vowed huskily, “we can be undisturbed for as long as you wish to stay."
"I may never wish to leave."
She purred that as more promise than threat, and Eduard responded with a smoldering look and a gruff comment of his own.
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
His hands circled her shoulders then stroked down her arms to capture her hands in his. The press of his fingers implied impatience. “I will join you in a moment."
Rica followed his gesture to the scowling Vanko, allowing the mammoth bodyguard to lead her from the room. None of her agitation displayed in expression or pace, but her thoughts churned with unpleasant alternatives.
Was he a wealthy man trying to protect himself from scandal? Or a ruthless killer covering up a crime ... with her unwitting help?
She would know which it was before morning.
* * * *
Eduard watched her walk away, enjoying the poetry of her movements. Compared to a ballerina's trained grace, hers were more akin to the natural ripple of wind through slender reeds. Such beauty, but was there danger as well? A snake in those grasses?
Vanko warned against her, sensing more to Miss Lavoy than pleasing intelligence and uncommon candor. What his second didn't know was that the danger to him was not external. It was from a threat within, to his guarded and untouched heart, the moment Frederica managed to provoke a faster beat. Danger, yes, but he wasn't concerned with the rumors Vanko brought to him. Someone was always eager to supply controversial gossip in exchange for personal or financial favor. He put less stock in unsubstantiated claims than he did in his own instincts.
There was nothing evil about Frederica Lavoy. He knew the face of evil well.
The rest was just supposition, brought him via Vanko's vast reach into the sometimes undesirable parts of the city. Dark, whispered rumors meant to alarm and warrant payment.
Frederica wasn't a trained assassin.
Nothing could make him believe that.
Until he happened to spy the flash of an unknown object discarded in a corner of the room. Curiously, he bent to retrieve a thin-bladed knife. Rubbing his thumb along the razor sharp edge, he smiled, ruefully, thoughtfully.
No wonder she hadn't been concerned about Rudolph.
His Miss Lavoy was resourceful. He applauded that. But what else was she?
He intended to enjoy that discovery.
* * * *
Darcy Edwards’ private quarters were all that was modern and sleek and visually stunning in appeal, taking into account the popularity of the Egyptian motif without the usual heavy-handedness. Low couches with rolled arms awaited. Carefully chosen statues celebrated the graceful female form, while vases boasted of clean angles and artful floral arrangements, all in accents of white, red and bronze.
As she glanced about, Rica realized she was seeing the man's taste but nothing of the man himself. There were no personal touches, no photographs, no familial articles or masculine accents. Just studied elegance. Attractive, stylish, and complete barren of warmth. Like the man? Or another affirmation of a man who liked his privacy?
She paced through the apartment, curious and oddly distressed by its remote inhospitality. She'd grown up in rooms rich with history and fond memories, rooms where one felt comfortable and at home. That was the problem, she realized. This was a dwelling, not a home. She'd seen monasteries and museums boast more vitality then these exquisitely impersonal walls.
Even in his bedroom, where one would expect to find intimate affects, the decor was pristine and showy without showing her anything. A man's toiletry set lined the bureau top, bold, masculine squares of pewter without a single dark hair caught in the bristles. A bottle of scent she'd never smelled upon him and a tray of perfectly arranged, plain yet expensive cuff links were the only other occupants.
His bed was a sweep of undisturbed white satin, like a blanket of fresh fallen snow beneath wispy curtain clouds of white. No impressions of his head or long form interrupted the smooth flow. And on the opposite wall, through partially opened mirrored doors, she could see his garments all neatly hung; black suit coats, black trousers, an occasional patterned vest ending in a stack of snowy white shirts. Beneath them, like soldiers lined at attention, were his shiny leather shoes. She smiled, thinking of Chloe's frivolous disarray. What havoc she could wreak upon these meticulously arranged quarters.
Her smile faded as a sense of melancholy seeped in uninvited.
What disturbed her the most was the accurate reflection of her own personal spaces. Her own room was equally devoid of life and living. Just function.
What did that say about the two of them?
Hearing a sound in the front room, Rica hurried from the bedchamber, pretending to emerge instead from the bath as if she'd been freshening up and not snooping. He gave her a brief smile and walked to the far wall which swung out to reveal a hidden bar. As he poured, she noticed both their reflections repeated in the mirror behind the glass shelves and mixing paraphernalia. His dark, inscrutable gaze met hers there for a long beat. Then he turned and brought her a cocktail. As she took it from his hand, his fingertips passed over the backs of hers in a slow sweep.
