Darkest Desire (11 page)

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Authors: Tawny Taylor

BOOK: Darkest Desire
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Lei reached up and cupped his cheek. Even when he was in horrific pain, he was strong and protective. She couldn't respect him more for what he was trying to do. And yet, she feared that protective instinct would get him hurt again ... or worse. “Please, Malek. You're going to hurt yourself. If something happens to you because of me—”
“Nothing is going to happen to me. I'm fine. It's just a little pain.” He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. And just like that, the pain left his face. It was weird. “When you touch me, I feel a little better.” He bent his arms, lowering himself onto his side. “Don't leave me and I'll be okay.”
If she didn't see it, she wouldn't have believed it. But it sure did appear that her touch was making him feel better.
It wasn't that she didn't believe in the power of touch. Many years ago, she'd studied Reiki, what was considered by many to be an alternative form of medicine. But her studies had been cut short, when her mother had sold her, and she hadn't even achieved the level of First Degree.
“O-okay.” She rolled onto her side to face him and stroked his cheek.
He sighed. “Damn, that's better than sex.”
She flinched.
“Sorry,” he snapped. “I didn't mean it like that.”
“I know,” she said, although she didn't really know anything. “It's okay.” She concentrated, trying to recall what she'd learned from her Reiki master. She started to sit up so she could actually focus.
Malek stopped her. “Do you remember what we talked about last night? Your promise?”
She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on sending healing energy, qi, through her palms and into Malek's body. “Sure, but we don't have to discuss that right now. It can wait.” She shifted positions as much as Malek would allow, so she could reach his stomach. Oh so gently, she placed her hand on his abdomen.
“I want to talk about it now.”
The doorbell rang.
Lei jumped, yanked her hands away, and started to sit up.
“The security guards will get the door,” Malek said, doing his best to keep her where she was. He failed.
“I thought you didn't trust them.” She scooted to the edge of the bed. From this position, she could reach him better.
“It's the nurse.”
A couple minutes later, a heavyset man came lumbering into the room, carrying a bag. He took a look at Malek, then the IV pole and frowned. “I'm sorry I'm late. I got a flat tire.”
“It's okay,” Malek said.
Figuring she'd give Malek and his nurse some privacy, Lei tried to leave. Malek stopped her by grabbing her hand in that iron grip and refusing to let go.
So she did her best to stay out of the way while the nurse went about his duties, checking Malek's heart rate, temperature, blood pressure, and bandages. He changed the IV bag, then handed over a couple more and showed Lei how to replace the old one once it was empty.
A half hour later, Malek was looking much more comfortable and the nurse was on his way out.
“This is insanity, Malek. What doctor would let a patient leave—”
“He didn't
let
me leave. Now, back to that conversation we started.” Malek pulled on her arm until she settled on the bed next to him. But to her relief, he didn't touch her. He simply insisted she lie with him.
“Can I just say, I am absolutely stunned that you heard me. You were unconscious. You were ...I don't think you were breathing.”
“Some people describe an out-of-body experience when they die,” he reasoned.
“Was that what you had? Did you see yourself? Were you hovering over your body, watching me?”
“You could say that.” He smirked.
Lei knew that smirk. He was lying.
But if he hadn't experienced some kind of out-of-body episode, how could he have heard ... ? “Wait a minute. Are there security cameras in this house?”
He laughed.
“When did you have time to watch the video footage?” She swung, as if she was going to smack him, but she intentionally missed.
A second later, a sickening thought zipped through her mind. A video tape. What else had he heard?
He caught her arm, pulled, and before she realized it, she was lying on top of him. “That was the first thing I did when I got home.” He grabbed her other arm and lifted them both over her head.
A blast of panic shot through her system and she froze.
“Breathe, baby,” he said, his voice low and soothing, smooth and rich and reassuring.
She sucked in a lungful of air and slowly released it.
“Yes, that's better. We're going to work on this little problem of yours. Because I like to touch you. I want to touch you.” He gathered both her wrists into one big fist and cupped her face with his free hand. “I have to touch you.”
He hadn't heard Holloway?
Ohthankgod!
“Malek, please. I can't be what you want. I can't be a wife to you. I'm too fucked up.”
“Shhhh. I won't let you say that. You're not ‘fucked up.' You're afraid. You're scarred. But isn't everyone? Doesn't everyone have their hang-ups? Their irrational fears and issues?”
“But—”
He pressed his index finger to her lips and her throat closed up. The words she'd been about to speak got lodged somewhere between her gut and her mouth. And she could do nothing but lie on top of him and feel his chest rise and fall beneath her. She felt his breath fan over her face. And she felt something else—a prominent, hard
something
poking her in the belly. If he was in pain from her lying on top of him—as he should be—it wasn't putting a stop to certain bodily functions.
“Why? Why are you doing this? Why wouldn't you just let me be, leave me to work out my problems with my therapist?”
“Lei, I could say that I'm just trying to be a good friend like I did before. But the cold hard facts are, I've never wanted a woman like I want you. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's the truth, and I'm not going to fucking lie or hide it or pretend I don't anymore. I want to touch you, stroke you, kiss you from head to toe. I want to make you ache for my touch when I'm not there.”
Lei sniffled. Tears were burning in her eyes. Malek meant every word he said. She could see it in his eyes. She was overwhelmed with emotion, so lost she didn't really know how she felt or what she wanted or what she should say. “It's the drugs,” she said.
“Kiss me, Lei.”
She couldn't remember the last time she'd kissed a man. It had been so long ago. In another life. Before she'd been taken from home and dragged to hell.
“Kiss me,” he demanded. Showing a little impatience, he hooked his hand behind her head and pulled until her mouth touched his. At the intimate contact, her breath left her lungs in a huff. Her body stiffened.
His lips were soft beneath hers. The kiss was a gentle, patient tease. A little brush this way and then another the opposite. It wasn't chaste. But neither was it a cruel possession.
His fingers tangled in her hair, massaged her scalp, as his lips slowly seduced her. Her initial shock and panic faded, and gradually a simmering heat gathered between her legs.
Seeming to sense her reaction, Malek pushed to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. And when she parted her lips to pull in a much-needed lungful of air, it slid inside, filling her mouth with an intoxicatingly sweet flavor.
She couldn't help but respond now. Her blood was warm, rushing through her system, pulsing and beating through her body in waves. She was getting breathless again, but not because she was petrified. No, she was becoming aroused for the first time in years. She wanted Malek's kiss. Was enjoying Malek's kiss. Could think of nothing but Malek's kiss and what it was doing to her body.
When the kiss ended, she gazed down into his eyes and whispered, “Wow. I didn't think... I honestly believed...”
“What, baby? That you'd never want a man again? That you'd never tremble in a man's arms, overwhelmed by need, rather than fear?”
“Yeah.”
“You can. You will. And when the time is right and you're ready, I'll make you forget you ever feared my touch.” He waved his hands, both of them.
She realized, belatedly, that he had released her sometime during the kiss. She'd lain there, kissing him, and enjoyed it.
Worried about what her weight might be doing to his wounds, she climbed off of him.
“You're going to keep your word, Lei. Regardless of how I heard what you said, a promise is a promise.”
“What does that mean, Malek?”
“It means you'll come to me every night, an hour before bedtime. You'll sleep with me. But that's all. Only sleep.”
She could do that. And there was more than one reason for it. “I think you're making a big mistake.”
“Let me worry about that. And there's one other part to our arrangement. During that hour before we go to sleep, you will do as I say, even if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She felt her body go cold. Do as he says? Did he realize how those words would strike her?
“Oh, hell. I didn't mean it like that.” Malek's eyes widened. “Don't shut down on me now, Lei. I'm not going to force you to fuck me. I'm not going to force you to do anything. What you do, you'll do with me, for me, you'll do because you want to.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Sure, Lei. You always have a choice. But you'll agree to this because you want it as much as I do.”
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “I need to get some things done.”
“Sure. Go ahead.” He smiled. It was a devious grin. Wicked. And sexy as hell. But in his eyes, she saw something else. A softness. Need. Hope. “You know where to find me later.”
11
“Y
ou got what you wanted, you bastard,” Lei snapped, her fingers clutching her phone so tightly it hurt. She was in her bathroom, crouched in the corner. She figured that was one place there shouldn't be a security camera. “I'll do it. Whatever you say.” The son of a bitch had made his point. He'd pushed her to the breaking point. And she was tired of fighting him. Tired of looking over her shoulder.
“I knew you'd do the right thing, given the right motivation,” the caller said.
She had nothing to say about that. “What do you want me to do?” she grumbled.
“Whatever it takes to find out where the Alexandre brothers are hiding a certain valuable artifact. It's going to be cylindrical in shape. Very old—”
“What makes you think he'll tell me, assuming they're actually hiding an artifact?”
“History tells me,” Holloway said, voice sharp. “Men are weak. A beautiful woman can own us, bring us to our knees just by spreading her legs.”
Spreading her legs.
No. Not that.
Her blood turned to ice. Here she thought she'd escaped from that hell, and now she was right back in it—being prostituted, basically. Only this time, the pimp had a badge.
“Don't tell me you've got a problem with that,” he said smoothly. “At least Malek Alexandre isn't a seventy-year-old man with arthritis, BO, a limp dick.”
No, he wasn't a nasty seventy-year-old man who grabbed and clawed at her like she was a hunk of meat. He was a man who'd laid his life on the line for her. And despite the whole
sleep with me
thing, he wasn't asking her to pay him back.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine having sex with him. At first, the image was not at all unpleasant. But it turned to a nightmare as she imagined the hurt of her betrayal shadowing his eyes when he eventually found out why she'd been fucking with him.
She couldn't do it. God help her, she just couldn't. Malek was the one human being, besides Rin, who hadn't used her in one way or another. She didn't want to betray him, even if it was some stupid, crusty old chunk of metal. Terrified, she said, “I can't. I . . . can't. Why don't you hire someone else? I'll help you find someone—”
“No.”
“But it's just a dumb old piece of junk. Anyone can do a job like that.”
“You'd think, but no. It's gotta be you.”
“Why? Why me?”
“You know the consequences,” his voice was cold, menacing. She knew all right. Dammit, she needed to find a way to protect Malek. And then she needed to locate Heather and Kate—if it wasn't too late already. “I'm done playing games, Lei.”
The call ended.
Lei tossed her phone on the counter and cranked the shower on full blast. She felt so fucking dirty. Her skin was crawling. Wearing her pajamas, she dashed in, hoping the almost scalding water would wash away the guilt. While she stood there, hot water pounding on her head, she closed her eyes and tried to come up with a plan. She knew she needed to protect Malek. That was her first priority. Next, she needed to find those girls and warn them.
How? So far, she'd accomplished absolutely nothing but nearly getting herself raped and killed, and Malek almost beaten to death.
Dammit, if only she had some help. If only she could tell Malek the truth.
Don't do that. Look what happened to him already. Tell him what's going on and God only knows what will happen to him next.
No, she needed the help of someone who was more objective. Who would want to help because it was the right thing to do but wouldn't want to get too involved.
The cop who'd driven her home from the hospital popped into her mind.
Trustworthy or not? How could she know? Was she able to even discern that? After all, she'd been so sure, not that long ago, that Holloway was trustworthy, and look how that had turned out.
Still undecided, she found his card, and with her heartbeat pounding in her head, she dialed the number. Her finger hovered over the red button, the one that would end the call, as she listened to the line ring. It rang eight times, then clicked over to another line.
“Ann Arbor Police Department, Sergeant Wallace speaking.”
“Hello, I'm trying to reach an officer named Vasquez.”
“Hold, please.”
Lei's finger lowered, resting on the red button. Cut off the call? Or not?
“Vasquez,” he said.
“H-hello. This is Lei Mitchell. You drove me home from the hospital.”
“Yes, Miss Mitchell. How can I help you?”
Once again, her eyes started burning and a sob bubbled up her throat, threatening to cut off her voice. She swallowed a few times, struggling to fight back the tears.
“Miss Mitchell?”
“I need help.”
“Are you in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At home.”
“Hang on, I'll get dispatch—”
“No, wait,” she cut him off. “I'm safe for the moment, but I need help. I need to meet with you.”
“Can you come down to the station?”
“No.” Her hand shook as she smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. “Can we meet somewhere else? I can't risk going there.” She imagined herself being cuffed and hauled to a jail cell. For all she knew, she was a person of interest in a murder case.
“What about the coffee shop on Fourth?”
“Too public.”
“You're not making this easy.”
“Sorry. I need somewhere safe, private. Where we won't be overheard, can't be followed.”
“Okay. The Hanford Inn in Plymouth. I'll call you with a room number in a bit.”
“Okay, bye.” She hit the button, tossed her phone into her purse, and dug out her car keys.
Twenty minutes later, she was dashing into the Hanford Inn, head in constant motion as she looked to see if she'd been followed. Inside, as she rode the elevator to the fourth floor, she suffered through one wave of doubt after another.
Could she trust this man?
What if he was working with Holloway? What if he didn't believe her?
What if he called Holloway and told him she'd reported him?
Oh, God, she felt sick.
By the time she reached room 402, she was about ready to say to hell with it and make a run for it.
She lifted her hand to knock.
Last chance. Trust this man or go back and tell Malek everything?
She knocked, and a split second later, the door swung open.
“Hello, Miss Mitchell,” he said, stepping to one side to let her pass.
Her legs literally wobbled as she shuffled into the room.
He shut them in and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. Do you want some coffee? Water?”
“No thanks,” she said, as she swallowed hard. She was pretty sure anything that went into her stomach would come right back up. She sat in one of the two chairs crowded around the small round table in the very back of the room. He sat opposite her, dropped a yellow legal pad on the table between them, and said, “Okay, what's going on?”
“Is there any chance you can keep this just between you and me?”
“It depends.”
In other words, she had to assume he couldn't.
“What would you say if I told you that the person who attacked me was...” Her throat closed up. She coughed. She swallowed.
Vasquez leaned forward. “Do you need some water?”
She shook her head, inhaled, exhaled. Again. Her gaze dropped to the yellow paper. “He's in the CIA,” she blurted.
“Who? The man who broke into your home?”
She nodded.
“What makes you think that?”
She told him, “He had a badge.”
“He showed it to you?”
She nodded. “This past summer, I was . . . working as a call girl. Agent Holloway was working undercover, pretended to hire me a couple of times. But we never . . . you know. He just kept asking me questions about my pimp, the other girls. I had no reason to believe he wasn't legit. He even helped me get some of the girls freed.”
“Okay.”
Lei couldn't tell from his expression whether he was believing her story or not.
“What happened next?” he asked.
“My sister had been searching for me for months, and she was able to . . . compensate my ‘employer' in exchange for my freedom,” she explained, making quotes in the air with her fingers. “I didn't hear from the agent again. Until recently. He called me, asking me to do something terrible, something illegal, and when I refused, one of the girls we had worked together to get freed was found dead.”
“You think he did it?”
“He pretty much admitted it when he called me shortly afterward. I refused to help him again, and not only did he threaten to have me framed for the girl's murder, but he told me if I continued to refuse, all the girls we helped would be killed.”
Vasquez shook his head. “Hmmm.”
“When I refused him a third time, that's when I was attacked.”
“Whose death is he supposedly framing you for?”
“Eve, Evelyn Barket. Have you heard anything about a person of interest who fits my description?”
“No, we get regular updates on the case. Haven't heard about a person of interest at all. I can check with the lead on the case, see if there's been any recent activity.”
For the first time in days, Lei actually felt like she could breathe freely. “That's a relief. I was so scared.”
Vasquez scrawled Eve's name on his paper. “What is it this guy, Holloway, wants you to do?”
“Steal something. From someone very close to me.”
The officer jotted down some notes. “This doesn't sound like the MO of a CIA agent. For one thing, the CIA wouldn't be involved in sex trades.”
“Not even human trafficking?”
“No, the CIA's focus is intelligence. I'm guessing he lied and the badge is a fake. But I'll see what I can do to find out for sure. In the meantime, if he's still threatening you, you should go stay somewhere safe. He knows where you live. Do you have any friends or family you could stay with for a while?”
“I don't know.” She motioned to his pen. And when he handed it to her, she wrote down the names of the two remaining girls. “I'm worried about these girls. If I don't agree to help him, they could be on tomorrow's six o'clock news. I've tried everything to track them down, but I can't find them. They should be warned.” Next she wrote down Gwen's name and address. “This person knows Kate, but I don't know if she's been in touch with her recently.”
“I'll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Feeling a shudder building deep inside, she wrapped her arms around her body. “It all sounds so crazy, I know.”
“I believe you.” He stood. “Do you have a phone number where I can reach you, in case I come up with anything on Holloway or the girls?”
“Sure.” She wrote her cell phone number on the top of the page. “I guess I'll get going.”
“Whether this guy's for real or not, he sounds dangerous. Don't take any chances.”
“I won't.” She dug her car keys out of her purse and stood.
He led her to the room's door. Before he opened it, he said, “I'll call you when I have something.”
“Thank you.”
Aware of everyone around her, she scurried out of the building and to her car. She raced home and spent the rest of the day alternating between preparing meals for Malek and researching the CIA, as well as digging around the Internet for information on Kate and Heather and Nate Holloway. She found absolutely nothing on the girls. But she did locate a couple of excellent sites on the CIA. Vasquez was right. It seemed human trafficking would be outside the scope of the CIA. If that was true, was he also right about Holloway being a fake? In one sense, that possibility almost made her feel better. If he wasn't an agent, he might not have access to the resources an agent would possess, like computer programs to track down her cell phone calls or credit card purchases. And he might not be able to make good on his threat to frame her for Eve's murder.
But if he wasn't a CIA agent, what was he? And why, exactly, would he be trying to get his hands on some mysterious artifact?

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