Out of Control (33 page)

She stood there, in an agony of doubt. He might hate her for touching him when he felt like that.

Hell with it. She couldn't tiptoe around the man forever.

She walked over to him, and draped herself over his broad back. She clasped her arms around his heaving chest, pressed her face to the velvety curve between his chest and shoulder. He could shake her off if he wanted to, but she damn well wasn't going to make it easy for him.

He didn't shake her off. After a few minutes, she felt like she'd melted right into his body.

He finally lifted his head. “You can relax,” he said dully. “I'm not going to lose it.”

She kissed his neck. “I am relaxed. And it wouldn't be the end of the world if you did.”

“Let's not discuss that, OK? It's a dead end topic.”

“Whatever.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, savoring the raw force of this feeling that vibrated inside her. Like the low, sweet hum of some deep musical instrument, throbbing with delicate pathos.

Davy twisted his head around, and rubbed his face against hers. Their lips met, and the fire flared up, hot and sudden. He grabbed her hand and pulled it down, pressing it against his bulging crotch.

But it was a gesture of silent pleading, not macho arrogance. She stepped around in front of him and sank to her knees again, craving the raw, hot male taste of him. Making love to him was the sweetest, most exquisitely perfect thing that would ever happen to her. Something to set in the scales against the bad stuff that had come before, the bad stuff that might possibly come later. Nothing would take it from her.

He pulled her to her feet before she could take him in her mouth, and slapped open the door that led to the connecting bedroom.

She landed, bouncing, on the bed in the dim room. Davy bent to unlace his boots, never taking his eyes off her. He'd drawn all the curtains when they arrived, but a narrow beam of sunlight sliced through the divide. Dust motes thrown up by landing on the bed glittered and danced in it wildly.

He climbed on top of her, pushing her legs wide. Last night's thoughtless insanity blazed through her mind. They still didn't have any condoms. She couldn't possibly compound her idiocy.

She jerked up onto her elbows. “Hey. Davy. We don't have—”

“Shh.” He shoved her back down, covering her with his big, hot naked body, and all that came out of her mouth was a shaky moan as he entered her—and low sobs, at each slow, heavy sliding stroke.

“Davy,” she said, breathless. “This is insane. You have to stop.”

“I don't want to,” he said. “You make me crazy. You melt my brain.” He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. The wild fey glow in his eyes almost frightened her. “Do you want a baby from me?”

Her mouth flapped, open and closed. “What?” she squeaked.

He kissed her lazily as he pulsed his hips in a slow, sensual grind against hers. “You heard me.”

“I…I…”

“It's a yes or no question.” He cupped her bottom in his hands, lifting her higher to meet his thrusts.

“That's not true.” She tried to control her shaking throat. “It's not a yes or no question. It's a have-you-lost-your-freaking-mind question.”

“Oh. Well, the answer to that is definitely yes,” he said. “I have now officially lost my mind. I'm completely out of control. I thought that was what you wanted. Well? Here I am, babe. Happy now?”

“Don't you dare twist what I say against me! That's mean!”

He cradled her bottom tenderly, angling her closer towards him so that he pressed deeply against her most sensitive points. “You told me if I lost it, that it wouldn't be the end of the world,” he murmured, kissing her jaw. “I've lost it, Margot. Is the world ending?”

Her arms circled him, clinging to his neck. “Yes.”

There was no stopping them. She was too far gone. There was nothing she loved better than going to that wild place with him, writhing and yelling as he churned her into a frenzy of emotion, of sensation. They exploded together, crying out in unison.

Only after many long, panting minutes did it unfurl again in her mind. What she had allowed to happen. Again.

He was still inside her, enjoying the last residual clutches of her orgasm milking him. They were glued together, sticky and wet with his semen. Her eyes fluttered open. He gazed straight back.

He knew exactly what he'd done. It had been deliberate.

She licked her dry lips. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.” His gaze was unblinking.

“That's not a good enough reason.”

He shrugged. “It's the only one I've got.” He pulled away, got up and disappeared into the connecting bathroom without looking at her.

Again. Unreal. That sadistic bastard. She stared at the closed door, her fury building while the shower hissed.

She was on her feet and ready for him the minute the door opened. “Goddamnit, Davy. Stop doing this to me. Stop it right now.”

“Doing what?” He toweled off his hair, his face impassive.

“You say these crazy, manipulative things, and get me all worked up, and then bam, you shut me out! I can't stand it anymore!”

“Yeah?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “And what do you call what you did yesterday? Deciding I was your stalker, stealing the car?”

She swallowed back a hot lump of tears. “You are such a prick,” she whispered. “You want to punish me
now?
After what you just did?”

He let the towel dangle from his hand. “I don't do it on purpose,” he said, in a hesitant voice. He fished his jeans off the floor and pulled them on. “It just happens. It's like an automatic door. It opens and shuts whenever the fuck it wants, and I don't have the remote.”

It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but at least he was telling her the truth. She could feel it.

“I have to go to this interview now,” he said, in a tight, measured voice. He sat down on the edge of the bed, began to tug on his boots. “It's work time. I need to be cool. Concentrated. Now is not the time for all this crazy emotional stuff.”

“It's not crazy stuff! It's basic stuff! Davy, I just want you to—”

“Let me finish,” he said. “I can't open up on command, and say and feel whatever it is that you want me to say and feel—”

“Then you'd better buy some goddamn condoms!”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

She covered her shaking face with her hands. After a moment, she felt his hand against her hair, stroking her. “I promise I'll come back, though.” His voice was delicately cautious. “You can bounce me around and scream and yell and make all the unreasonable emotional demands you want. I don't know what I'll do, or how I'll cope, but I'll be here. I won't disappear on you.”

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered sourly. “Don't do me any favors.”

He slid his fingers around the nape of her neck and squeezed gently with his warm hand. “I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't want to.”

She nodded. For Davy, that was as close to a declaration of love as he was willing or able to go.

“I need to stop at a mall before I go to Krell.” His voice took on a businesslike tone. “My pants are filthy and bloodstained. I'll pick up some clothes for you, too. What are you, size ten?”

“Eight, lately. Except for my unreasonable size twelve ass.”

“Let me see that unreasonable ass.” He turned her gently around, sliding his hands down the curve of her back. They fastened onto her hips, a warm, strong grip. He kissed the back of her neck.

“No more skin-tight jeans for you, babe,” he murmured. “Nobody but me needs to know how good your ass looks naked.”

“That's just the kind of confusing, irresponsible remark that's driving me nuts,” she snapped. “Get going, Davy. Stop torturing me.”

He lifted his hand off her body, and silently left the room.

She held her breath until she heard the cabin door shut behind him, and then dissolved into tears, shaking with terror and guilty hope.

Hope and fear, her two big bullies. Meanwhile, a gazillion tiny McCloud sperm were racing madly towards the finish line. God help her. The man literally threw a fit when she'd told him she loved him.

She could just imagine how he would react if she told him she was pregnant.

“D
o you realize what you've done, Faris?” Marcus struck his brother in the face. “You've failed me. We're out of time now, and the plan is ruined. You should have brought her to me immediately.”

Faris was tied to a chair, hands bound, eyes blindfolded. Having his eyes covered made his little brother more docile and amenable. Marcus had discovered that helpful fact when Faris was barely more than a toddler. He'd developed a wide array of management techniques for his brother over the years, both physical and psychological.

“I was going to! I was just questioning her!” Faris's voice was whining and babyish. “I wanted to get the mold and bring it to you, but McCloud burst in and startled me!”

Marcus was relieved to hear the childish tremor in his brother's voice. Faris was finally breaking out of the dangerously rebellious state of mind he'd been in since he'd fixated on the Callahan woman.

“But you didn't do it, Faris. You failed.” Marcus backhanded him again. Faris whimpered like a kicked puppy.

He was relieved to have Faris back under his physical control. He'd invested a great deal in his brother's unorthodox training. It was a lifetime's work, begun almost by accident after their mother left.

Faris had been a needy, clinging four-year-old, left entirely to his teenaged brother Marcus's tender mercies. Most sixteen-year-old boys would have found a whining brat of a little brother cramping their style, but Marcus had always been unusual. Quick to exploit the potential of any given situation. The helpless little Faris was a blank slate. It was an experiment in mind control. Their father was busy with Calix and his succession of subsequent wives. Worthington House had an unobtrusive domestic staff that didn't dare to interfere. No one was watching. No one had cared. It had been fascinating.

Stimulating, too.

“My instructions were to bring her to me immediately,” Marcus scolded. “You suited your own whims. You went on a killing spree, too, didn't you? I hope you were discreet, because I'm not covering for you.”

Faris's mouth turned down in a childish pout. “I'm not stupid.”

“No,” Marcus agreed. “But you are crazy. I'm the only one who knows what you really did to Constance. And to Titus, too. You know what would happen if I told. It would be back to the hospital for you, and given your talents, they would probably physically restrain you at all times. Or drug you into a drooling vegetable. Is that what you want?”

Mention of their father's third wife, Constance, had its predictable result. Faris began to sob. Marcus circled his brother's chair.

“You made me do it,” Faris whimpered, hiccupping.

“But you're the one who actually did the deed,” Marcus crooned. “And you liked it. That's what counts when the white coats come to take you away. Were you so impressed with Margaret Callahan because of her red hair? It never occurred to me till now, but she looks quite a bit like Constance. Did you have impure feelings for Constance, Faris?”

“She was a bitch.” Faris's voice was thick. “She was mean.”

His father's third wife Constance, younger than Marcus himself, had tried to exercise power over her stepsons. She had thus become the fourteen-year-old Faris's very first, improvised assignment.

The operation had gone with a smoothness beyond Marcus's wildest hopes. No one had suspected Faris. It was then that Marcus had begun to realize the potential of the situation. The power of a man who had mind control over a killer. It was dizzying. So it was that he'd begun to invest heavily in Faris's specialized training.

Faris had been in and out of institutions for much of his troubled adolescence, but no doctors or drugs had ever broken the invisible bonds his brother had instilled. Faris had never betrayed him.

Until now. For that problematic bitch, Margaret Callahan.

Perhaps he should have become a psychiatrist. Manipulating his brother's mind and psyche had been the most absorbing project of his life, more compelling by far than his spotty professional career. He would have been brilliant in that field, but he would also have been hampered by a tedious code of ethics.

For Marcus, private freedom was sweeter than public acclaim.

“If you'd obeyed me, I would have left Margaret undamaged,” Marcus said. “As it is, we'll just have to see. In any case, your women wear out fast, Faris. You're very hard on them, I've noticed.”

“Margaret will be different.” Faris's voice was unexpectely clear. “The others were weak. They broke. Margaret won't break.”

“Yes, she does strike me as resilient,” Marcus murmured.

So Faris was still rebellious, despite the bullet wound. Marcus circled the chair considering how best to quench this rebel spark.

His cell phone rang. The number on the display made his heart thud. He hit the talk button. “Yes?”

“Mr. Worthington?”

“Yes,” Marcus said. “How are things at Krell today? Do you have something for me, Miriam?”

“Um, maybe.” Miriam's voice was a whispered squeak. “I'm in the ladies' room. Calling on the cell LeRoy delivered the other day.”

“Of course,” Marcus said impatiently. “You would never have reached me otherwise. So? What have you heard?”

“This guy came in just now to talk to Kraus. He's just exactly like what LeRoy said to look out for. Real tall, dark blond, kind of military looking. Super good-looking. Scratches and bruises on his face.”

“What name did he give?”

“Michael Evan,” Miriam whispered.

“Hold the line, Miriam.” He hit the intercom. “Karel?”

“Yes, Mr. Worthington?”

“A man answering Davy McCloud's description is at Krell right now. Bring him here immediately. Prepare to drug him if necessary. He's very dangerous.”

“We're on it,” Karel replied.

Marcus put the cell phone back to his ear. “Thank you, my dear. You've done very well.”

“Um…does that mean that I—that you won't—”

“As always, it depends on you. You know what will happen if I am forced to tell your part in what happened to Craig Caruso and Mandi Whitlow. You were very helpful, keeping us abreast of all his social appointments. Such a talented little secretary.”

“But you never told me you were going to hurt them!”

“Don't whine,” Marcus said. “It's doubtful that the police would look favorably on you if the truth came out. Not after they monitor the electronic deposits into your bank account.”

“I can't stand this,” she whimpered.

“Continue as you have been, and everything will be fine. You'll find a nice gift in your checking account tomorrow. I'm sure that will brighten your mood. It always has before.” He broke the connection and punched in a code that would render the number Miriam had dialed obsolete.

He cupped Faris's face in his hands. “You're in luck, Faris. We may have found McCloud. Which means Margaret isn't far behind. Perhaps we can salvage the plan—if I get my hands on her today.”

“Don't hurt her,” Faris pleaded. “If you have to torture her, at least let me do it. I'm good. Better than you. I can use the needles.”

Marcus backhanded him. A thread of blood trickled out of his brother's nose. “Do not tell me what to do. You've failed me.”

“Let me kill him,” Faris whispered brokenly. “I can do it. I swear.”

“He beat you before,” Marcus pointed out mercilessly. “Twice.”

“It was a fluke,” Faris protested. “The first time I didn't expect him to be so accomplished. And the second time—”

“Excuses make me angry,” Marcus said. “Failure is unacceptable. I taught you that a long time ago. Don't you remember the lesson?”

“I remember.” Faris's mouth trembled. “Please. Let me kill him.”

“We'll see.” Marcus wiped away the bloody mucus rolling out of Faris's nose with his handkerchief. “You're too agitated, Faris.” He kissed the top of Faris's head, and caressed his face tenderly. “Try to relax.”

 

Davy was very smooth at social engineering after years as an investigator. In fact, his formidable skills at manipulating people into giving him information were one of the reasons he'd decided to get out of the business. He'd decided to develop more ethical talents.

Still, the skill was handy in a pinch. A few minutes of studying Krell's web site, a handful of memorized jargon, a dose of bullshit, and it wasn't hard to pose as a potential client for a massive, costly biometric security installation. Besides, Kraus talked so much, Davy hardly had a chance to inadvertently reveal his ignorance. The real challenge was in keeping an interested look on his face for the droning sales pitch.

Kraus paused at one point, focusing on Davy's face. “Excuse me for asking a personal question, but where'd you get those bruises?”

“Free-climbing up on Mt. Ranier,” Davy lied easily. “I got caught in a rock slide.”

“Free-climbing?” Kraus's eyes widened. “Daredevil type, huh?”

Davy lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Now and then. I've got a personal question for you, too, Mr. Kraus.” Davy drummed his fingers on Kraus's big, gleaming desk, and looked grave. “My employer has expressed some doubts about, uh…what happened last fall.”

Kraus's face darkened. “I wondered when you were going to get around to that. Look, the first thing I want to emphasize is that what happened to Caruso had nothing to do with Krell. It was a direct result of the sloppy way the guy ran his personal life.”

Davy gave him an encouraging nod, and waited.

“You have no idea the trouble we had because of him,” Kraus complained. “Our stocks fell. The press hinted at links with organized crime. His secretary Miriam, the girl out front on the phones, had a breakdown. All because the guy just couldn't keep his pants zipped.”

“Ah. So Caruso was a womanizer?”

Kraus snorted. “An alley cat. Don't get me wrong. I believe that a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, but he should be discreet about it. And he should have known better than to mess with Mag Callahan.”

“And Mag Callahan would be…?”

“The woman who murdered him. We hired her to do web design. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she was trouble. She was gorgeous, but I believe in staying clear of women who would rather die than give a guy a break, you know? Craig should have known better.”

“Hmm.” Davy kept his face carefully neutral. “I see.”

Kraus was warming to his topic. “I mean, I can understand the impulse. The body on that woman, whew. But I also understand him wanting to kick back with someone like Mandi. Mandi was less, I don't know. Challenging, you know?”

Kraus gave him a man-to-man smile. Davy couldn't bring himself to smile back, but fortunately, Kraus was too self-involved to notice.

“Turns out Mandi was more challenging than we knew. They found the guy strung up from the ceiling, naked. Mag walked in on them, and I guess she figured she had to one-up Mandi, so she emptied out her clip.” Kraus shook his head. “Women. You never know.”

“Hmm,” Davy murmured. “So the police didn't have any doubts?”

Kraus shrugged. “Who else? It was her gun. She's on the video going into the building. No one's seen her since. You do the math.”

Davy nodded. “What exactly did Caruso do for you?”

“Research and development. Mike Wainwright knew the guy from Stanford. Caruso was a hell of an innovator, I'll say that much. A lot of the features that make Krell so competitive for a small company are his ideas.” Kraus blew out a sigh. “But that's how it goes. So? What else can I do for you, Mr. Evan?”

Davy sighed inwardly. If someone at Krell was responsible for what happened to Caruso and Margot, Kraus didn't know shit about it, and the other guy Margot had mentioned was out of town. He would have to come back the following week.

Davy shook hands, promised to be in touch and headed out to reception. Caruso's ex-secretary Miriam was on the phone. He watched her discreetly. Young, blond, plump. Blandly pretty. Her eyes flicked up to Davy's as she talked into the headset. They froze wide open.

His neck crawled at the wave of fear he sensed from her.

“I'll have him call you, Mr. Tripp,” she said. “Yes, and you have a great day now, too. Bye-bye.” She looked up at him. “Can I help you?”

He put on his most charming smile. Her eyes slid away. No answering smile. “Mr. Kraus told me you used to work for Craig Caruso,” he said. “I wanted to ask you a few quick questions.”

The pink in her cheeks abruptly faded. “I worked for him, but I didn't exactly know him,” she said. “It was so awful, what happened.”

“Did you know Mandi Whitlow?” he asked.

“A little, but it's not like we were friends. She was a tech, and I reported to the office manager. So I can't tell you much of anything about them. Anything at all.” She blinked rapidly.