Saint (30 page)

She swung, but her fists hit solid muscle
and bounced off. “Goddamn you, you unfeeling monster, she’s a person, not an
affordable casualty of war! She’s not dispensable!”

He pulled her onto the bed and pinned her
beneath him. No amount of bucking and twisting dislodged him. One of his big
hands held both her wrists above her head while the other gripped her jaw. “Stop
it,” he ordered. “You’re getting hysterical.”

“I’m not like you,” she spat. “I can’t calmly
sit by while Lolita walks into a deathtrap! She’s a sitting duck out there. By
cutting the phone line you cut her chances of survival and you don’t even care!
You don’t care about anything or anyone. You’re so fucking desensitized that
you can’t understand anything else.”

“I do understand, Ria. But I can’t let you
go off half-cocked. Listen to me. You are not out of the woods yet. If Juarez
has already gotten to Lolita, Francis and the boys will find out about it.
There are too many variables here, none of which are in our favor. He may have
found her and put a watch on her, hoping you’ll contact her. The phone at her
home and the bar where she works could be bugged. And as long as I’m breathing
he’s not going to get the chance to do to you what he did to Carolyn.” He blew
out a breath, threw himself to the other side of the bed. “Christ.”

She dragged in ragged breaths, forced
herself to concentrate on the logic of what he’d said. God, the horror he had
suffered because of the Juarez family. She reached out, touched his shoulder. “Seth—”

With lightning speed he jerked her on top
of him, his grip on her wrist bruising. “Leave it alone, Maria. It’s in the
past and there’s nothing I can do to change what happened. But I sure as hell
can keep the same thing from happening to you.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“If Juarez gets his hands on you, you’ll
doubt there’s a God. You’ll pray for freedom whatever way you can get it. And it’s
not over once you testify, Ria. Not by a long shot.” He rolled her beneath him,
shoving the T-shirt out of the way to nudge her thighs apart.

That was when she knew something had
changed. He’d called her Ria. It wasn’t moonlight and roses, and he didn’t like
it one bit that he was attracted to her despite the circumstances and his iron
control, but it was proof she mattered, just a little bit.

He was angry and aroused. Rough hands
streaked over her curves, kneading, squeezing, holding her hips so that she
couldn’t move away from him. Maybe he was afraid she’d change her mind. He came
into her urgently, hard and swift and hot. Nipped sharply at her shoulders, her
neck and encouraged her to do the same. The look in his eyes said he wanted no
gentleness from her, no soft caresses or tender words. No pity.

And he gave no quarter. Which was fine with
her, because now, here, she could finally let out all the angst and panic and
fear and hate she’d been struggling with for months. She strained against him, wrapped
her legs around his waist tightly, taking him deeper. The bed rocked wildly
against the wall as he slammed into her over and over. She groaned, buried her
fingers in his hair, raked his back with her nails.

And yet she could still feel the guilt
pressing down on her. “Carolyn wouldn’t have blamed you,” she said against his
mouth.

“Shut up and fuck me,” he growled,
thrusting his tongue inside her mouth savagely, grinding his lips against hers.
The kiss was carnal, purely gratuitous, leaving her breathless and very nearly
brainless. “Goddamn you,” he rasped before moving across her cheek, down the
side of her neck.

He palmed her jaw, immobilizing her head. His
turbulent eyes drilled into her. She felt so small in contrast to his large,
war-molded frame. Voice harsh and unforgiving, he said, “Don’t mistake this for
anything other than what it is. This is lust, pure and simple. It’s not
lovemaking, it’s fucking.”

She gasped as he slammed into her once more
and a thousand sensations spread out through her body. Her world was spinning,
tilting. He could call it what he liked, but she’d been in a few relationships
and this wasn’t like any experience she’d had before.

“I’m going to take what you give me, then
walk away,” he ground out. “It doesn’t mean anything. I can’t feel those
emotions anymore. I don’t care how many men you’ve had. I don’t care if you
have a thousand more. And no matter how things turn out, I’m going to send
Benito Juarez—and anyone else who gets in my way—to hell, where he can be with
his father.” He covered her mouth again, taking, pushing, refusing to let her
break the contact until she was clinging to him, unable to do anything but
weather the storm.

With a low snarl, he pumped into her for
the last time, cupping her hips to bring her more fully against him as he came.
And damn his cold blue eyes, he somehow managed to take her with him.

Immediately, he rolled off her and onto his
back, threw his arm over his eyes and let out an audible sigh that was tinged
with regret. “
Shit
.”

Goddamn him. Even now, revenge on Benito
Juarez meant more to him than this. Her. She thumped him square in the chest
with a closed fist. She was a convenient means to an end. “I don’t need a hero,
especially one who can’t tell the difference between justifiable homicide and
premeditated murder. You’re not going to commit murder on my account!”

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me,
baby. The die has been cast.”

Chapter Thirteen

Seth caught both her wrists in one hand. He
was tired of playing games. She might as well know what the score was. “Just
what the hell do you think I used to do? Huh? That’s what war is all about,
killing the enemy. That was my job. Men like me never run out of work, even in
peacetime. Because whether the public is aware of it or not, there’s always another
war somewhere, another mission to carry out, another dictator who needs taking
out, a government that needs to be toppled. And once a man’s trained to be a
killing machine, that’s what the government uses him for. They invested a lot
of time and money in me, and take my word for it, they got their money’s worth.”

She kicked at his leg, but he moved before
it made contact. “Then why don’t you just take your ass to L.A. and blow him up
now? Why go though the trouble to get the list?”

“I want him to be surprised.”

“Oooh!” She struggled against his hold,
kicking and writhing, trying to get her fists free. Jesus, Maria Carvania in a
fit was something altogether arousing. That dark mane of curls flung about her
delicate shoulders. Mahogany eyes burned with passion—for living, for
justice—as she came at him with teeth bared.

This, he could handle. This, he was good
at. A few prudent moves and he could keep his balls intact while letting her
vent her frustration. Because fucking her sure hadn’t cleared his brain any. What
he couldn’t handle was her pity, her caring. She knew they existed on entirely
different planes but didn’t want to see it. And as long as she didn’t admit to
herself what he and the others did on her behalf, she could live with it.

He couldn’t. Not anymore.

It was what it was and he was going to
enjoy wiping that piece of scum off the earth. If he burned in hell for it, so
be it. That was the big difference between her and him. He had no conscience
for what he knew had to be done. She wanted to be his conscience.

He’d like to accommodate her. He really
would. But if he didn’t completely destroy Juarez, Maria’s desperation would
cause her to do something rash. That, or he would spend the rest of his
miserable life wondering if she was safe, if she needed help, if Juarez had
caught up with her.

“You bastard,” she spat. “You were going to
kill him all along, weren’t you, just like Will wanted?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not all along.
But you made yourself an irresistible target and it snowballed into a problem
too big to ignore. You can’t turn yourself in now even if you wanted to.
Hocksteder’s waiting for you to surface and Juarez is beating every bush he can
find to flush you out. Where’s your brain for Christ’s sake?”

“Not in the same place yours is obviously,”
she snapped, but her anger was starting to flag. “You think guns solve
everything. They don’t.”

“You know better than that, Ria.”

She turned her head, stared at the window.
“All you’ve done since we met is tell me what I’m doing wrong. You think I hide
my ‘quest for revenge’—as you so neatly put it—beneath the mantle of implied
justice. You make a mockery of religious martyrs and angels and…and saints, for
God’s sake, so you can go around breaking the law when it suits your purpose.”

“Or yours?” he taunted lightly.

“They killed the men who were tracking us
over the mountain, didn’t they? Tortured them when they didn’t have to and—”

“You didn’t seem to mind a whole hell of a
lot when it was your ass on the line, honey. Wasn’t that you who said give me a
gun and I’ll help?”

He let her go and she scrambling away to
stand on the other side of the bed. “You all make such a joke of it—like it’s
just another day at the office. Well, I’m not like that. God.” She pressed
trembling fingertips to her forehead, massaging desolately. “I can’t do it your
way, Seth,” she groaned. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he said evenly. “What you can’t
do is keep on telling yourself this situation can be resolved any other way.
You can’t keep pretending we’re just a bunch of Boy Scouts trying to earn a
patch. We’re war veterans. Jaded, bleak men who have to take what peace and
tranquility we can find, anywhere we find it, because we can no longer function
normally in the real world.

“This is what we do, Ria.”

“Not true. You teach literature, Gabriel
owns an oil company and Joan—”

“We hide,” he cut her off, his voice quieter
now, but no less grim. “And the fact that we’re here, instead of trying to get
on with what we hope is a semi-normal life, proves it. Francis and Gabe and
Joan weren’t under any obligation to involve themselves with your problem. They
came because they need to be needed. Because they need to be a part of
something the outside world can’t offer them. They aren’t mercenaries, they’re
soldiers with no war to fight, no foreign land to invade and no cause to rally
around.”

“You control them.”

“No, I trust them. There’s a difference. I
don’t tell them how to do their jobs and I understand their weaknesses. The
government doesn’t.”

“You could have taught at one of the
military academies, or lectured around the country, or been a tactical
instructor even, but you chose to teach literature instead. You don’t have to
hide. You could’ve put your military background to use and carved out a niche
for yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s what the world needs.” He let
out a short laugh. “Another broken-down soldier teaching the new recruits how
to kill efficiently. No thanks.”

“You were a colonel. You could’ve probably
had your choice of assignments. I doubt Special Forces wanted to lose one of
its best-trained men.”

He’d been a man on the edge of madness and
destruction. “What do you want me to say, Ria? I am what I am.”

“I’m not trying to change what you are. I
just want you to feel something, anything other than this cursed indifference
you apply to everything around you. I’m not a mannequin, I do have some pride
you know.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked
when she rounded the end of the bed.

“To my own room.” The door slammed shut
behind her.

He could make her stay but for some stupid
reason he didn’t quite understand he let her go back to her room. Wasn’t like
she was going anywhere, it was going to be a long time before he could sleep.
He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out slowly into the
semi-darkness. Hadn’t he known bedding her would be a mistake?

He should have left her here with Joan and
gone after Hocksteder himself.

Another Juarez. Another woman. Another
mistake.

But last night, for the first time in six
years, he’d slept, actually
slept
without dreaming or jumping at every little sound. At least until
she’d sneaked out of bed to go downstairs. He hadn’t realized how much he’d
missed having someone there, next to him.

Ria had trusted him, some, before today.
Now she didn’t. Now he would have to fight her every step of the way.

* * * * *

Los Angeles

“Nice place,” Francis commented as Lolita
let them into the apartment.

“It beats the streets.” She tossed her keys
on the table and motioned for Joan, who was holding a sleeping Bethy, to follow
her to the back bedroom.

Once they were out of sight, Gabe turned on
Francis, hissing, “What the hell are we supposed to do now, genius?”

Francis answered calmly, “Just what we came
here to do. You’re going to give Juarez a fireworks show, Joan’s going to have
tea with Bethy and I’m going to take Lolita to the bank first thing in the
morning and get that list. Then we’re going back to Joan’s.”

“We are not dragging along a stripper and a
five-year-old kid back to Joan’s. Do you hear me?” It was all Gabe could do to
keep his voice down.