No One Left to Tell (30 page)

She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously, her defiance back. "The barricade would only work from the
inside,
Delacorte."

"Yeah, well. Just seeing if you were paying attention."

Her expression finally softened. He'd even coerced a soft chuckle from her. It gave him the courage to speak freely.

"Look. If it makes you feel any better, this is as awkward for me as it is for you. Contrary to what you might believe, I've never brought a woman here. Not here. This is my home. And I want to welcome you to it. Please relax. I want you to feel safe, especially from me."

Raven smiled. And as she stepped slowly toward him, he found himself holding his breath.

"On occasion, truth has come from those lips. And I do trust you, Christian. I keep asking myself why, but I do trust you," she teased, placing her hands on his chest, a finger circling a button.

He swallowed, hard. Already, his body reacted to her familiarity. With her standing so close, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, to feel her body next to his. But this was all about building trust between them. If anything more were to follow, it had to start on a foundation of trust. She'd have to make the first move. Having her here would be the combination punch of ecstasy and pure torture that only a woman inflicted upon a man. And he had the bruises to prove it.

With his past in question and his future an even bigger mystery, his truce with her would be difficult enough. He wasn't sure he had the strength to endure the sweet torment of Raven Mackenzie.

She cleared out of his bedroom long enough for him to move some toiletries to the guest bath, retrieve a change of clothes for the morning, and take a quick shower. As she wandered into the library, she heard the shower start. Perusing his book collection would not keep her from imagining his firm body under a hot stream of water, but it would have to do.

From the little she knew of him, his life focused on violence. He trained like a warrior, a result of his traumatic childhood. And armed men surrounded his home. All of it had comprised violence or his fear of it.

Yet in this library, in his home, his struggle for serenity was so apparent. Classical music and literature, books of poetry abounded, leaving her all the more confused by this enigmatic man. Her fingers lightly trailed along the book spines, maintained with great care, on polished cherrywood bookshelves. This had to be his favorite room. It was hers, too. She pictured him reading by a crackling fire or working at the computer on his desk. And yes, he'd fight the urge to gaze out the window at the picturesque grounds with only the measured beat of a clock to keep him company. The image was so vivid, lonely and comforting at the same time.

Christian was definitely a man of contradictions.

"I left towels for you on the bed." His low voice melded into her mind like an afterthought. "Sleep in tomorrow morning if you'd like."

She turned to find him standing barefoot by the study door. His dark waves still damp from the shower, he was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. A pale blue towel draped his neck. As she stepped closer, the faint scent of herbs mixed with the unique essence of his skin, teasing her senses. The color of the towel tinted his green eyes to a familiar deep azure, making it nearly impossible for her to walk by him.

But the cop in her took over, reminding her she was here for a reason. A killer was free. The bastard had nearly killed Tony and had invaded her home, forcing her from it.
Damn! Reality bites.

"Good night, Christian."

"Sleep well."

She resisted the urge to touch him as she walked by, clenching her fingers into a fist. But one urge she couldn't fight was the impulse to fill her lungs with his scent. Why did he have to smell so good?

It was a very long walk across the living room. Before she closed the bedroom doors, she looked for him one last time. He stood at the threshold of the library, his arms folded across his ample chest. And those eyes held her just as sure as if she were in his arms. Her breath wavered, catching in her throat.

Normally, a polite smile from her would have severed the connection between them, allowing her to carry on. But her attraction for him had been undeniable from the start. Now, the hunger was impossible to ignore. After shutting the doors behind her, she leaned against them and closed her eyes to capture the memory. Her whisper broke the spell.

"You've crossed the line, woman. You've leapt over it and thumbed your nose. There's no going back now."

Nicholas disapproved of the music selection off his home stereo system. This morning, the classical piece felt far too grim for his mood. But it was better than the alternative. Dead silence gave him too much time to think.

His fork scraped the gold-trimmed china as he cut into his last bite of pastry. The noise resounded hollowly across the formal dining room, competing with the crackle of a small fire in the hearth and the faint strains of an orchestra. The emptiness reminded him of the solitary nature of his life. His gaze dropped to the newsprint, scanning the morning headlines for any distraction. Nothing piqued his interest.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back in his chair. His gaze drifted to the crystal chandelier overhead. He found the rainbow prisms quite mesmerizing in this light. Then the crass noise of his cell phone drew him from his self-pity. He recognized the number.

"Good morning, sweet Mantis." He welcomed the intrusion. "Where are you, my dear?"

"I find myself a mere three blocks from the gates of hell. But rest assured, Nicky, I'm never so far from civilization that I cannot find a Starbucks."

A smile spread over his face as he pictured his bodyguard. Her propensity for understatement and dry wit was always a source of amusement. He had ordered her to follow Logan McBride, keeping track of his whereabouts. As he read the morning paper, catching up on the news of the world, Jasmine had called to bid him tidings from its seedy underbelly.

"Leave it to you to find the light at the end of the tunnel to be a mocha frappuccino. What word from our little zoo menagerie?"

"Our vicious hyena is curled in his lair, but as you expected, he did make another reconnaissance run early this morning ... and he wasn't alone this time. I think he had planned an unexpected party. Needless to say, he was not pleased to find the nest of the Raven abandoned."

"Abandoned? How so?"

"My resources were divided at the time. The uniforms were noticeably absent. But I will find out where the bird has flown if you order it."

He sipped his coffee, pondering his next move. "Yes, I'm curious. See what you can find out. But first, locate a suitable replacement and get some rest. I have a feeling our beast will soon be more frenzied in his hunt. What is your opinion, Mantis?"

"A very astute observation. I would agree. Should I put him out of his misery? You only have to give the command."

"This is developing into an interesting standoff. The timing could prove to be most. . . entertaining."

He stood, brushing off his dark gray suit with his linen napkin. Walking to a window, he gazed upon the drab day, a true reflection of his disposition.

"My contacts abroad have informed me that my recent trip to Paris had some effect. And if I had to guess, I'd say guilt will soon be winging her home."

Silence. It took Jasmine a moment to respond.

"Are you okay, Nicky?" The beautiful woman was most perceptive. "I can end it now; just give the word."

He considered her words, then responded, failing miserably to keep the melancholy from his voice.

"There is still time, Mantis. I'm not ready for such finality. As you've said before, it shall not be difficult to lay the blame at the feet of the dearly departed hyena."

"Not so dearly departed from my perspective. But I shall respect your wishes. I will see you shortly."

"And I will be waiting." He ended the call.

He knew Jasmine perceived a change in him whenever he talked about Paris. She allowed him to keep his distance on the subject of Fiona, even though he suspected his bodyguard knew more than she let on. He confided so much in her, but not about this. His pride and his disdain for vulnerability would not allow it.

After a quick breakfast, Raven set up a work area in the study, spreading the case files over a table near the fireplace. A steady flame burned atop a bed of white ash with orange embers glowing through the pyre. Finally looking up from her work, she gazed toward the windows. Through the sheers, the gray morning must have dispersed, leaving a sunny day, without much notice from her. The work had been tedious.

Burrowed into the corner of an oversized black leather sofa, she tucked the edge of a comforter under her legs, an ankle resting on Christian's thigh. Earlier, she had ventured the bold move, forgetting herself. Once she realized what she had done, the intimacy of the act sent chills across her skin. But he took it all in stride, only sharing a faint smile and a steamy glance from those bedroom eyes. Now he intently studied a file as he sipped from a coffee mug. She winced when she spotted the bruise on his lip, then fought to hide her smile at the memory of last night.

After a while, he broke the comfortable silence between them.

"So, if I'm reading this report correctly, the investigation on Fiona came to an end without any link found to the murder of her husband. According to this, her phone and bank records were clean." He thumbed through the last pages of a detective's findings, his eyes searching the details. "No indictment."

"At the time, yes. But I've started a new search on Mickey's past. We've already instigated a look into his phone records and banking information. We'll be looking for any frequently dialed phone numbers or deposits of any significant size. If there's a connection to Fiona, or anyone who might've given the order, it may still turn up."

She saw defeat in his eyes. "It's standard operating procedure for an investigator to look at the person who had the most to gain by the victim's death. I'm exploring all my options, that's all."

"I know. But Mickey could have worked for someone else, even if he was the shooter, right?"

"Yes. But keep in mind that he got his security job at Dunhill shortly
after
the killing. That's too much coincidence, Christian." She knew he would be grasping at straws, looking out for Fiona's interests. "I know this is difficult for you. We're gonna be opening up some very old wounds. Can you handle it?"

His eyes fixed upon her, letting the silence fill the void. Then in a soft voice, he began. "Fiona gave me a home when I had no one. I would have been a ward of the state if she hadn't intervened. To this day, I don't know why she did it."

"You were a young boy needing help, and she had the resources. Still, it was very generous of her. But why you, Christian? Did you have any other connection to
her?"

"No. She said she took pity on me from reading the story in the newspaper." He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "I was a real basket case. The fear, the anger—I fought her every step of the way, like it was all her fault. But she never backed away. She waited for me to reach out to her."