Blank Slate (21 page)

He reluctantly pulled away from her kiss. “Let’s go find Raven,” he said, his voice rough. That was really the last thing he wanted. What he would have liked to have said was, “Let’s get in the car and drive until no one knows or cares who we are.”

O’Connell nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Taking her hand, he led her to an iron circular staircase that went upstairs, guarded by another bouncer. He’d been watching earlier and that seemed to be a section for VIPs only. Erik bet that Raven was probably up there, if she was here at all.

The bouncer moved to block his path and Erik reached for his badge, but before he could flash it, the guy saw O’Connell. He gave a quick jerk of his head and moved aside for them to pass.

“You think he recognized me?” O’Connell hissed.

Erik nodded, then let her precede him up the stairs. He followed closely behind, preventing the dress she wore from giving too much of a view to anyone who might be watching. The possessiveness he’d felt earlier toward her had magnified tenfold after their interlude in the alcove. Erik didn’t like the way too many people, men and women, looked at O’Connell as she passed by.

The upstairs wasn’t as crowded as below, the music not as intense. Erik and O’Connell paused, taking in the room and its inhabitants.

“Over there,” Erik said, nodding in the direction of the corner. O’Connell turned to look.

A strikingly beautiful woman seemed to be holding court. She sat on an antique pink sofa and sipped from a martini glass. Her hair was jet black and hung nearly to her waist. She was dressed in a long black gossamer dress that was transparent, revealing a black corset underneath.

O’Connell gripped his hand tighter as she led them over. Erik’s palm itched to have his gun in his hand, but he had to settle for its reassuring presence in the small of his back. He wanted to get in front of O’Connell, to shield her in case things turned ugly, but it made more sense for her to go first. Raven would recognize her, not him.

Sure enough, when they were closer, Raven’s gaze fell on O’Connell.

“Darling! There you are! Where have you been?” Raven rose quickly to her feet. Her heels made her slightly taller than Erik. Hurrying forward, she grasped O’Connell’s hands, tugging her from Erik’s grip, and planted a kiss right on her mouth.

Erik froze, jaw agape. Raven stepped back, tugging O’Connell with her to the couch. With quick fluttering motions of her hands, she shooed away the other people nearby.

“Away with you,” she said. “A dear friend has finally returned.” She settled artfully back onto the couch, and O’Connell sat beside her.

If O’Connell was surprised or shocked by Raven’s manner of welcome, she didn’t show it. The woman had nerves of steel, Erik decided, breaking himself out of his immobility and following her to the couch.

“And who is this?” Raven asked, glancing at him as he settled into an antique Queen Anne chair. “Did you pick up a boy toy, Clarissa?” She winked. “He’s fantastic.”

O’Connell seemed to enjoy Erik’s dismay. “He is,” she agreed. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing him with me.”

Raven waved her hand. “Of course not. Having a man around is so handy sometimes. For eye candy, if nothing else.”

Erik wasn’t sure he enjoyed being talked about as though (a) he wasn’t there, and (b) like he was a stick of furniture. He frowned darkly at O’Connell, who merely smiled at him.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Raven asked him.

“Erik.”

“Ooooh, nice voice,” she purred, glancing back at O’Connell, then she seemed to dismiss Erik entirely. “So where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, you know. Did that geek boy I hooked you up with screw up the job? He came highly recommended, but you never know.”

“No, he was fine.” O’Connell hesitated, then said, “Raven, I need your help. I’ve run into some trouble—”

“No, don’t,” Erik interrupted. They knew next to nothing about Raven. O’Connell shouldn’t tell her anything.

“How are we supposed to get anywhere without telling her?” O’Connell retorted.

Raven watched them argue. Then she pointed her finger imperiously at Erik. “You,” she said. “Stop talking. Order Clarissa around again and I’ll have you thrown out, no matter how lovely you look.”

Erik pressed his lips together, eyeing the more serious-looking bouncers that hovered nearby, just out of earshot. They watched carefully for any sign from Raven.

“Clarissa, you know I’ll help you, if I can,” Raven said. “Just tell me what’s going on. Something went wrong with that last job, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

O’Connell hesitated. “Sort of,” she hedged. “To make a long story short, I need you to tell me everything you know…about me. I…can’t remember.”

Raven looked confused. “Can’t remember what?”

“Anything.”

Raven sat back on the couch, looking stunned.

“There was an accident,” O’Connell continued. “Erik was there and helped me. But I hit my head, and now I can’t remember.”

“You have amnesia?”

O’Connell nodded.

“Oh, darling,” Raven cooed, taking O’Connell’s hands again in hers. “Of course I will help you. What do you want to know?”

“Where do I live?”

“Outside the city, in a house I’ve tried to get you to sell for years,” Raven said. “But it’s over a hundred years old and you love it, though God knows how you stand to be out there in the wilderness.” She gave a delicate shudder.

“Who do I work for?” O’Connell asked.

Raven raised a perfectly arched brow. “Lately you’ve been working for that bastard, Solomon, not that you wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

Erik waited, holding his breath.

Raven looked sad as she spoke, as though she didn’t want to have to tell O’Connell the answer. “He’s blackmailing you. Has been for, what, nearly a year now?”

The relief Erik felt was nearly overwhelming. O’Connell had been forced to get involved with Solomon. Then relief was swiftly followed by rage. The bastard had put O’Connell in grave danger, from others, and now from him.

“Blackmailing me with what?” O’Connell asked. She looked relieved too.

“That no-good brother of yours, that’s what,” Raven said with a disgusted snort. “When he went to jail, Solomon said he could pull strings, get him out somehow, if you did some work for him.” She shook her head. “But you’ve done job after job and he’s done nothing to get Danny out. He’s been stringing you along for weeks.”

“Can you give me directions to my house?” O’Connell asked.

“Sure, sweetie.” Raven snapped her fingers and a nearby lackey hurried to do her bidding. When he returned, she jotted something down and handed it to O’Connell. “You know, you don’t have to go all the way out there. You’re always welcome to stay with me.” She glanced at Erik. “I bet the three of us would have a really good time.”

“Ah…thanks for the offer, but we’re good,” O’Connell said hurriedly. Was she blushing?

Raven laughed, a throaty sound designed to be enticing. “I see amnesia hasn’t changed your sensibilities,” she teased O’Connell. “I’ve been trying to entice her into my bed for years,” she said conspiratorially to Erik.

O’Connell jumped to her feet, and this time Erik was positive she was blushing, her cheeks a flaming red. “Thanks so much for your help, Raven,” she said. “Does anyone else know where I live?”

“I don’t think so. It took years before you told me.” Raven dropped all humor now as she stood and hugged O’Connell. “Be safe,” she said earnestly. “Solomon isn’t to be trifled with. Finish this and get out.”

O’Connell smiled tightly. “I’m trying.” She glanced at Erik and headed for the stairs.

Raven stopped Erik with a hand on his arm.

“Keep her safe,” she said, and now Erik could see the stark worry she’d kept hidden from O’Connell. “Solomon will kill her if she crosses him.”

“I will,” Erik promised.

He caught up with O’Connell at the bottom of the stairs. Erik didn’t put it past her to leave him behind again, but she was waiting for him. He paused, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment, then took her hand and led her out of the club and down the street to his car.

The quiet inside the SUV was a welcome respite from the noise outside, the streets even more crowded as the hour grew later.

“You all right?” Langston asked.

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m not sure,” Clarissa said, pushing a hand through her hair. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

“Which part?”

Clarissa gave a humorless laugh at the wry note in his voice. “Well, being kissed by another woman definitely took me off guard.” She glanced at him.

“Yeah, wasn’t a huge fan of that,” he said.

Clarissa frowned slightly. Was that jealousy she heard? Impossible.

“Then the news that apparently I’m being blackmailed to try and free my brother. Which obviously hasn’t worked out so well.”

“But you found out the truth,” Langston said. “You weren’t involved with Solomon of your own free will. He coerced you, using the one thing guaranteed to get you to cooperate. Your brother.”

“So why did I take a hundred million dollars from him?” Clarissa asked. “That certainly wasn’t going to help free Danny.”

“Unless you decided to turn the tables. He’s blackmailing you but refusing to deliver, so you blackmailed him. He gives you what you want, you give the money back.”

Clarissa stared at Langston, sure he was right. “The only problem is that I can’t give the money back. I don’t know how. And no one else can either, since I’m the only one who’s hacked SWIFT.”

Hopelessness assailed Clarissa. She leaned her head back against the seat with a sigh. She saw no way out of this. No way to escape.

“Hey.” Langston’s voice was soft. She turned her head toward him. He reached out to gently cup her cheek. “Don’t give up,” he said. “I’m not, so you damn well better not.”

Clarissa gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, for starters, we’ll go to your house. Andy said the program wasn’t on your laptop, so it has to be there. And maybe being there will help jog your memory.”

Clarissa brightened. Maybe he was right. Maybe seeing the house she supposedly loved would bring back her memories. God, she was glad to have Langston back. She managed a small smile, turning her head farther to nestle into his hand.

Langston gave one last caress to her cheek. His gaze dropped to her chest and lower before looking quickly away. He cleared his throat.

“You’re cold,” he said, turning on the car. “Let’s get going.”

“Wait,” she said. “I need you to drive me by my car first. I have some stuff I need to get.”

All her things were in there, including Langston’s jacket. He stowed her stuff in the back of the SUV, not saying anything about her taking his coat.

“So where is this place?” he asked.

Clarissa dug out the paper with the directions on it. “Take Interstate Ten east to the Slidell exit.”

Forty minutes later, Langston was driving on a tiny dirt road barely wide enough for the SUV. There were no streetlights, just empty darkness around them.

“Are you sure this is right?” he asked.

Clarissa double-checked the directions. “Pretty sure. Turn left up there.” She peered through the windshield as Langston turned into a drive being quickly overtaken by vegetation. “Wait — is that it?” She pointed.

A large shadow of a house loomed ahead of them, the windows darkened. Clarissa struggled to remember something about it but came up blank.

“Dammit!” She slammed a hand on the dash.

“What?” Langston asked, pulling to a stop. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t remember anything.” It was so frustrating. She’d been so hoping…

“Take it easy,” Langston said. “We just got here. I can’t even tell what it looks like. Give yourself a break.”

“You’re right.” Clarissa sighed. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Langston said. “You get to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

Clarissa smiled. That man could see the silver lining in anything.

“Alone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The look in Langston’s eyes changed, becoming more predatory. His mouth tipped up slightly at the corner. “Only if you want to be,” he said. The husky promise in his voice sent a jolt of heat through Clarissa.

Well now
that
was more like it.

Clarissa’s heels sank into the damp earth as they walked to the front door. Four steps led up to a wide porch with a hammock strung up on one side. Langston handed her a set of keys.

“Where did you—”

“They were in your bag,” he said. “Remember?”

Vaguely. It seemed like forever ago since she’d gone through her things in the Colorado cabin.

The third key she tried worked, and she stepped cautiously over the threshold, listening. All was quiet. The only thing she could hear was the hum of the refrigerator. But still…she held up her hand to halt Langston.

“Something’s not right,” she whispered. She didn’t know how she could tell, she could just feel it. Had someone been here in her absence? Her eyes strained to see into the dark room.

She moved blindly toward the wall. There had to be a light switch somewhere.

Her searching hand touched fabric stretched across warm skin. She jerked back with a sharp cry.

Someone was in there with them.

A
hand closed like a vise around Clarissa’s wrist, and she reacted instinctively, twisting her arm free as she lunged in close, her hands feeling for the vulnerable parts of the body. A hit to the intruder’s throat and he began choking. Clarissa moved fast, groping in the dark, and jabbed at his eye.

The man let out a strangled yell just as Clarissa grasped his shoulders and threw all her strength into kneeing him in the nuts. He collapsed at her feet, moaning.

Someone seized her from behind. Clarissa whipped her head back, cracking him in the face. He grunted and his hold on her loosened. She spun around, ready to give his family jewels the same honor she’d bestowed on the other asshole, when the lights suddenly came on.

“Move and he dies.”

Clarissa froze at the tableau in front of her. Two men held Langston, one sporting a busted and bleeding nose, while Mendes held a gun to Langston’s head. Langston’s mouth was bleeding.

“I have no use for him, so the choice is yours,” Mendes said with a careless shrug.

Well…fuck.

Clarissa held up her hands, and the guy that she’d cracked in the head grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back.

The guy Clarissa had nailed in the nuts regained his feet.

“Fucking bitch,” he spat at her.

“I’m surprised I could even find your balls, they’re so tiny,” Clarissa said sweetly.

“Don’t,” Mendes warned when the guy started for her with murder in his eyes. “I need her.”

The thug stopped, but it looked like a near thing.

“Xavier,” Clarissa said. “I’d lie and say it’s nice to see you again, but I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. New Year’s resolution and all.” She glanced at Langston and hissed, “Told you we should have killed him.”

“You’re picking
now
to say ‘I told you so’?” His tone was incredulous.

“I just want the record to show that I was right,” she retorted.

Langston rolled his eyes. “Fine. So I’m just supposed to let you kill someone whenever you want?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Enough!” Mendes interjected, his irritation at their bickering obvious. “The money, Clarissa. Where is it?”

Clarissa gave a derisive snort. “What? You think it’s here? Right, like I’d just walk around with it in my purse. Or do you think I hid it in my mattress?”

“Give it to me, or your boyfriend will pay the price.” Mendes was implacable.

Clarissa started to sweat. “I swear, I don’t have it.” She couldn’t give Mendes the accounts, not until she could figure out how to get the money back to Solomon. If he knew exactly how useless she was to him, he’d kill her immediately.

“Hurt him.”

“No!” Clarissa cried, but it was too late. One of the thugs holding Langston jerked his arm up and back.

Langston yelled, his face contorting at the pain, and his knees faltered. They’d dislocated his shoulder, but somehow he was still on his feet. His breathing was harsh, and sweat broke out on his face, now drained of color. He gritted his teeth and pressed his lips tightly together to keep from making another sound.

Fury consumed Clarissa. “I’m going to kill you for that,” she hissed at Mendes.

“You’re in no position to be making threats.” His smile was malicious. “Now where is it? Or should we have another demonstration?”

Before Clarissa could answer, Mendes had nodded toward the thugs.

“No — stop!” Clarissa struggled against her captor but was helpless to do anything but watch as the two men unleashed a brutal assault on Langston. “Please! I’ll tell you — just stop hurting him!”

Mendes gave a sharp whistle, and the two men paused. Langston was slumped on the floor now, and he coughed as he tried to push himself upright. Blood flowed freely from a nasty gash on his forehead. He grunted harshly when he slipped and crashed down onto the floor again, landing on his abused arm.

Langston’s form swam in Clarissa’s vision.
Oh God. Please.
He couldn’t die. Not now. Not after all this.

“I…I have it,” she stammered. “What you want. The accounts.”

“Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” Mendes sneered.

“But you have to let him go.”

His smirk disappeared. “Like I told you before, you’re not in a position to bargain.”

“Having the accounts will get you nowhere,” Clarissa said. “I’m the only one that can get the money back.” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “And if you hurt him again, I swear to God I’ll rot in hell before Solomon sees a dime of that money.”

“Clarissa, no. Don’t—”

Langston’s protest was cut off by a vicious kick in his side. He grunted again, and Clarissa flinched at the sound.

“Xavier — ” Clarissa warned, her gaze locked on Mendes.

“Enough,” Mendes ordered, his eyes studying her. “Take him into the swamp and dump him. Leave him alive.” He raised an eyebrow at Clarissa. “That’s the most I’ll do.”

It was better than the alternative. This would give him a chance at surviving, which was more than she could say for herself. Clarissa was under no illusions as to what would become of her when Mendes was through. She swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod. “Agreed.”

In moments, they had Langston on his feet. Clarissa cringed when they grabbed his arm. His face went white, and he gritted his teeth to keep from making a noise. It was nearly a physical pain to watch.

“Clarissa, dammit, no!” Erik struggled, the pain shooting through his arm pure torture. His logical side was lost in a haze of rage and fear. He couldn’t leave her. Mendes was going to kill her; he knew it. “Clarissa!”

They were dragging him toward the door. O’Connell wouldn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on Mendes. She looked so small and frail surrounded by the hulking men, but her face was an unreadable mask. If she was afraid of the near-certain death that loomed, she didn’t show it, calmly bargaining for his life with the only leverage she had.

Herself.

That was the last glimpse he had of her before they shoved him out the back door. An SUV was parked not far from the house. Erik knew they weren’t just going to let him go, no matter what Mendes has promised O’Connell, though it had been real sweet of her to try.

Sweat poured from Erik’s body despite the cold, the agony in his shoulder reminding him of how much he detested hand-to-hand combat. It always hurt like a sonofabitch. His arm hung useless at his side.

Well, that was certainly inconvenient, but he had to work with what he had. Now that it was two on one and not pitch-black like it had been when they’d first jumped him, it was time to take control of the situation.

Erik stumbled, going down on one knee just as they were near the car. His right hand slipped under the hem of his jeans as the guy nearest him went to grab his arm to pull him to his feet.

Erik leaped up, and the blade in his hand flashed. A moment later, the thug was clutching his neck, blood seeping through his fingers from the deep gash. His eyes were wide in shock. Erik had already turned to the other threat before the first guy even hit the ground.

His remaining captor went for his gun but was too late, the knife buried to the hilt between his ribs. He collapsed as well.

Erik’s gaze flashed back to the house, but there was no movement inside to indicate that anyone suspected what had just happened. Keeping an eye out, he searched and took the two guns off the men at his feet, retrieved his knife, then silently disappeared into the trees beyond the small clearing surrounding O’Connell’s home.

Time to fix his shoulder.

He found a solid tree with a thick trunk that looked like it could withstand a hit. Knowing he couldn’t make any noise, Erik grabbed a dry stick about as thick as his finger and bit down on it. Taking two deep breaths, he braced himself, then rammed his shoulder into the tree as hard as he could.

The pain was agonizing and his knees weakened, sending him flat on his ass on the ground. Black edged his vision.

No. There wasn’t time to pass out.

He spit out the stick and stuck his head between his knees, taking slow, deep breaths. The pain was passing, though the shoulder was sore and tender. He wouldn’t be getting his full use out of it for a few days.

At times like these, a desk job sounded like heaven on earth.

Shouts from the house had Erik jumping to his feet and melting into the dark shadows of the trees. Moving silently, he found a position where he could see one of the other guys examining the bodies on the ground.

He was too far away to shoot with the pistol Erik had, so he moved closer. But before he could get in range, the guy had disappeared back inside. Shit. Now they knew he wasn’t dead.

A strangled cry came from inside the house.

O’Connell.

Panic leaped in his veins, but Erik forced himself to calm. He’d be no use to her if he panicked.

Picking his path carefully, Erik approached the side of the house, sticking as much to the shadows as possible. Dawn was near, the sky lightening ever so slightly.

O’Connell’s house was of the Old South style, a wrap-around porch on the first floor, with a wraparound terrace gracing the second. Erik climbed up on the porch balustrade and grasped the floor of the terrace about his head. His shoulder muscles screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and pulled himself up until he stood, panting, on the second floor.

Using his knife, he jimmied the lock on the window, raised it soundlessly, and slipped into the house, landing in a crouch inside the darkened room.

Erik listened, straining to hear where the four people in the house were. He knew Mendes was probably with O’Connell, but what about the other two?

Knife in hand, Erik crept to the open doorway and peered around the edge.

There. At the end of the hallway near the stairs. The two men stood together, the one O’Connell had nailed in the nuts talking.

“You watch up here,” he ordered. “I’ll take downstairs. I want first crack at that bitch when Mendes is through with her.”

“He ain’t gonna wanna mess around,” the other guy said. “He’s gonna want her dead so we can get outta here.”

“There’ll be enough time to do what I gotta do.”

With that chill warning, he headed down the stairs. Erik listened carefully to his footfalls. There. A squeak on the seventh step down. Quiet the rest of the way.

The second guy gave a shrug and checked his ammunition clip before turning away to walk down the hall. Erik supposed he was going to check the rooms.

Silently, Erik crept after him. The guy paused, and Erik had a split second to jump inside an open doorway. He held his breath. Had he seen him? Erik’s grip on his knife tightened.

But there was nothing. He slowly exhaled.

Peering around the doorframe, he saw the guy go into the last room at the end of the hall. Hurrying as fast as he dared, Erik followed, ducked into the room next to it, and waited.

After a moment, the knob turned and Erik breathed, tensing. The guy stepped inside and past where Erik was hiding behind the door. Erik pounced, grabbing him by the hair and slicing his knife across the man’s throat. Blood spurted everywhere. He dropped to the ground.

Adrenaline was spiking hard, burning away the pain in Erik’s shoulder and from the beating. He didn’t like having to kill these men, but he didn’t see that he had a choice. Not if he wanted himself and O’Connell to get out of here alive. And she was right on one count — they’d kill him in an instant if they could.

Shouting from downstairs brought Erik’s head up. He crept to the stairs.

“You need me, Xavier!” O’Connell was shouting.

“I have everything I need,” he replied calmly. “You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth, Clarissa. And you and I both know it’s best to tie up loose ends. Finnegan, take care of her and call me when you’re through.”

“Xavier! You bastard!”

O’Connell’s furious shout was drowned by the slam of the front door. Not a moment later, O’Connell cried out in pain, and the sound of furniture breaking reached Erik’s ears. Sheathing his knife, he grabbed the gun from the small of his back and racked the slide.

More sounds of struggling downstairs; the man cursed viciously, then glass shattered.

Everything inside Erik was screaming for him to run, hurry, stop the bastard from hurting O’Connell. But he had to stay calm and think. If he got himself killed, O’Connell was dead.

But that was a lot easier said than done when he heard her scream.

“Fuck it,” he growled.

Clarissa moaned, clutching her stomach. She’d gotten a good hit in with the heavy bookend she’d grabbed off a shelf, but he’d retaliated, punching her in the stomach and throwing her. She’d screamed, the sound abruptly cut off when she landed on a glass-and-wood coffee table. The glass had shattered on impact. Now she lay facedown on the rug that covered the wood floor.

Hands closed around her ankles, jerking her backward. Clarissa struggled, her fingers scrabbling against the carpet. The rug burned against her skin, the tops of her thighs, her stomach, as the fabric of her dress bunched. She knew what was coming, and bile rose in her throat. Her fingers found a shard of glass just as she was flipped onto her back.

Clarissa surged upward, wielding the glass like a dagger. In a flash it was embedded in Finnegan’s chest, but it was too fragile and broke before going in very far.

He yelled and backhanded her. Pain exploded in Clarissa’s head at the impact, and she collapsed again to the floor.

A shot rang out.

Finnegan grunted in pain, then somehow stumbled to his feet. Clarissa managed to raise her head, then stared in shock.

Langston.

He stood at the bottom of the staircase, a smoking gun in his steady grip. His shirt was torn and stained with blood, which was also oozing from the gash on his forehead. His hair was matted with sweat. Bloodstains marred the hand that held the gun.

“We figured you’d run off,” Finnegan said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Decided to play the hero instead?”

“O’Connell, you all right?” Langston asked her. His eyes stayed locked on Finnegan.

Clarissa got painfully to her feet. Blood dripped lazily from her hand; the glass she’d used had cut her as well. The metallic taste of blood was also in her mouth, and she could already feel her cheek swelling. Her hands shook as she smoothed her dress back down.