Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (15 page)

Startled, she peered and poked between her fingers, smiled, looked up at Lucifer, and mouthed,
Thank you.

Angling his chin in Linc's direction, Lucifer hooked a thumb at him.

Her bright smile vanished. A sullen pout held sway as her chin lifted.

A fucking Himalayan climb.

That turned out to be the understatement of the year.

She never uttered a word to Linc when he helped her out of the chopper, but thanked both Satan and Lucifer. Refused to respond to Linc’s explanation that he had to return to the squad until the fire had been contained. She maintained a stubborn silence on the short drive through Healy. Didn’t express a morsel of gratitude when he secured her a room at Motel Nord Haven, eight miles north of Healy.

Holding on to her pissed stance, she almost let him leave without a good-bye kiss, changed her mind when he opened the door, threw her arms around his waist, and declared, “Be careful out there.”

“We'll talk when I get back, okay?” Forefinger lifting her chin, he added, “It's not what you think. I'm overprotective by nature. The five sisters, remember?”

•●•

They lost control of the fire the minute the snow stopped falling. Arctic gusts swept the area. Denali's forests smoldered. The fire line bounced from east to west. Every single able-bodied resident of Healy was roped into the battle.

Barely having time to sleep between drops, Linc tried to keep track of Destiny, but after his third deployment, he couldn't locate her anywhere in town. The whole squad functioned on bare minimum levels; he hadn't had more than five minutes with any team member.

Three volunteer squads arrived two days later.

Linc carved five hours of free time.

Satan, the only recent civilian of the bunch, manned the communications from “De Bar,” which boasted the only all-reggae band in Alaska. Linc's cousin Shifty, the captain of the 2010 Jamaican bobsled team, owned the bar. The center of Healy, De Bar acted as a de facto one-stop gossip station.

Linc marched to the two-storied wooden structure, which looked more like a beach hut than an Alaskan cabin.

Shadowed and cozy, twenty tables scattered around a high dais, and large conch lamps flickered fake electrical flames. De Bar hid a fortune in communication equipment. Satan had set up shop above the restaurant when he retired from the forces. The plan was for the squad to regroup there on breaks.

“Sinner,” Shifty called out the minute Linc stepped foot through the swinging interior double doors. “You looking for your luscious woman?” He outlined an hourglass with his hands. “Man, sweet, sweet. Juicy tits and that ass. You one lucky man.”

“And you'll be a bruised man if you refer to her intimate parts once more in my presence.”

“Chill, bro, chill. I'm just admiring your property. Your woman done come and gone.” Shifty, born to Caucasian parents, reared in the UK and Oxford educated, held both English and Jamaican passports, but had opted to compete in the Olympics for the country of his birth. A dialect and speech expert, his Jamaican accent and slang was one of the many hundred or so in his repertoire.

“Destiny was here? How long ago?”

“She just left, man. On the way to Nadine's.”

Linc groaned. His worst nightmare had begun.

Destiny’s rental car was still at the cabin. “How'd she get there?”

“She rented another Focus. I offered her my Jeep, but she doesn't know how to drive a standard.” Shifty lit a stick of cardamom incense, and the spicy aroma swirled under a plantation-style ceiling fan. “She too cute, man. Gets all pink all the time.”

“What the fuck did you say to her to make her blush?”

“Told her she was too cute. Chill, bro. She's your woman, and I value my hide.”

“Remember that.” Linc pivoted and slammed the saloon doors open.

Thirty minutes later, he studied the four cars sitting in Nadine's circular driveway. Satan's Expedition, Nadine's Lexus, Destiny's rented Ford Focus, and a GM Sierra pickup emblazoned with the words National Forest Preserve
.

For long seconds, Linc hesitated. The fact that Destiny remained in Healy—was here at Nadine's—could only mean they were working on the book together and making some progress.

But why in fucking hell were Satan and O'Keefe here?

Girding his loins, Linc rode the steep incline leading to Nadine's sprawling mountainside retreat, which to the absolute twittering of the entire population of Healy, she'd named “Angel in Paradise,” a moniker riddled with pretension, since Nadine's deviant sexual proclivities were renowned. Every hair-raising instinct drove him to the back door.

In Healy, Alaska, population eight hundred seventy-five, no one locked their doors. People came and went, and you welcomed them. In many ways Alaska formed the last frontier, and behavior and tenets followed the dictums of the Wild West. Rebels and misfits ruled by a singular us-against-the-rest-of-the-world mentality composed the majority of the state's population. The diversity of the races residing in Alaskan frontier towns always surprised Linc.

He'd worn sneakers, not so much because he planned to surprise her but to allow his feet breathing space after so many hours in cramped boots, so no one heard his approach. Pages littered with comments scrawled in red ink dotted Nadine's living room. Destiny, chewing on the requisite red-tipped Sharpie, studied a page lying between her V-spread jeans-clad legs.

Nadine sat opposite her, back against a plump, tufted couch. No wonder the woman had chosen Angel as a pseudonym. She epitomized the word with her Nordic coloring, straight platinum hair, which fell to her waist, eyes the color of the North Sea, deep blue and startling against her peaches-and-cream complexion. Slender and topping five-ten, Angel had become the darling of the publishing industry.

Linc had heard the buzz emanating from the gossip shows, knew her writing name, but had never associated the name Angel Robinson with the downright vulgar and sexually avaricious Nadine.

“Why not make the attraction between Martin and Fiona obvious from the start?” Destiny asked. “Maybe they met the night before her brother sends him to fix her PC? In a bar in her neighborhood? What do you think?”

Destiny had dark circles under her eyes and wore an air of desperation like a funeral shroud, shoulders hunched together, one hand splayed on the Berber carpet, two fingers pulling a strand of the thick rug. Had she been here all this time?

“In a little town in the middle of nowhere? Get your fucking facts straight.” Nadine didn't even bother to look up, sifting loose pages from one hand to the other.

“Every small town has a bar. Look at Healy and De Bar. Shifty has live reggae bands every week, and he runs that wet T-shirt contest on Wednesdays. Even with the fire, the bar's packed at night. Cripes, I didn't know there were so many women in Alaska. Or men, for that matter.”

Linc leaned a shoulder on the fridge and forced himself to wait for Nadine's response, fighting the urge to barge in and carry Destiny to a remote, solitary cave in the mountains.

Face set, mouth tight, Nadine said in a tone redolent of ice cream, apple pie, and mom softness, “You really don't know fuck about sex, do you? I figured you and Kenny had been at least half as wild as that tape of Juanita and Kenny. Ten to one you've only done it missionary style.”

Coloring like a pack of crayons gone wild on steroids, Destiny stared at the carpet for a few minutes. “There's no sexual tension between Martin and Fiona, and if this book's going to be in the top ten, we have to fix that.”

Nadine's hair billowed when her head whipped up. “You're a fucking editor. Those who can't, teach, isn't that the saying? Fix the holes in my story. Don't fucking tell me how to write. Because you sure as shit can't string a sentence together that would captivate a reader, far less a fucking
New York Times
reviewer. Stick to what you do best, Destiny—correct grammar mistakes.”

Destiny had that gleam in her flashing black eyes, the one that preceded objects flying.

Linc took one step forward.

Destiny bounded to her feet, sheets of paper flying everywhere. She threw the Sharpie onto a nearby table. “That's it. I'm done. This book is pure crap. There is no sexual tension between the hero and the heroine. I had to force myself to finish

Chapter one. And I'm your goddamned editor, for crying out loud.”

“How fucking dare you?” Nadine sprang to her booted feet. “You're an assistant editor. I fucking rescued you. You think anyone else wants you fucking with their work?”

“Your last book was a flop.”

A hairbreadth separated the women's faces, Nadine topping Destiny by a good four inches.

Fists balled at his sides, Linc ground his teeth, his protective urges rearing and bucking for release.

“What's all the yelling about?” Satan ambled into the room, all lank shoulders and legs, features even, perfect, rugged, male, Armani handsome—the complete opposite of Linc. “You sweethearts having a disagreement?”

“Take her back to Healy,” Nadine demanded. “We're fucking done for today.”

“Aw, sweet darlin', you gotta fix that first chapter. You know Little Miss Editor here has to leave on the noon flight tomorrow.” Satan cupped Nadine's jaw, leaned down, and slanted his lips over hers. Even from the doorway, Linc could see when he did his famous tongue tickle. Nadine's bunched shoulders relaxed, and one hand climbed to Satan's nape.

Shit.

Linc almost spat the word aloud when Satan's eyes opened, even though he continued kissing Nadine, stared right at him, flicked to Destiny, and back to him again. Satan's arm curled around Nadine's slender back, and his pianist fingers flicked,
Get outta here.

Not in this lifetime.

Linc retreated to his former concealed position, shoulder jammed on the fridge, one foot crossed over the other.

Satan broke his Nadine lock-lip. “Fix the chapter, darlin'. This morning GMA announced that Juanita got five million for the movie rights to her book.”

“Five million? I bet she got a royalty cut too. That bitch never told me a word. Neither did her agent, who was mine from the first.” Nadine’s glance swept the paper litter on the floor. She crossed her arms and scowled at Destiny. “First, we fix the book. Then I ream both bitches.”

“You two okay for another hour or so? I have to go into town.” Satan shoved both hands into his front jeans pockets.

The women eyed each other.

Destiny chewed her bottom lip.

Nadine's chin tilted, her gaze fixed on Satan, fingers curved on her slender hips. Eyes half shuttered, she paused, then replied, “Bring back jerk pork.”

“Sure thing, darlin'. You in the mood for a bottle of Jack?” Satan paid attention to Nadine only, wisely ignoring Destiny.

Relaxing hitherto-unknowingly knotted deltoids, Linc cut Satan a thank-you glance.

Satan blinked, the silent communication not witnessed by the two women.

“Call me on my cell if you think of anything else for tonight.” Satan gave Nadine a quick buss on the lips. “Later.”

Both women watched Satan amble to the front door.

Lingering, wanting to ensure Nadine behaved with some level of decorum, Linc's gaze devoured every inch of Destiny's curvaceous body when she sank to the floor, sat yoga style, and picked up a sheet of paper.

Nadine resumed her position, back jammed into the sofa, legs straight in front of her, one boot propped on the other. “What page?”

“Three,” Destiny answered. “Fiona’s green, right? Into conserving the universe, so why not have them meet earlier at some sort of protest? But not refer to the actual meeting until she sees him when she opens the door? I love the phone dialogue before they meet. It's snappy and really sets the mood for the story.”

Nadine's fierce squint relaxed. “It does, doesn't it?” She wriggled her upper body against the sofa.

“And if she recognizes him, then it makes them going to bed right away more believable.”

“Hmm,” Nadine murmured. “That could work.”

Absorbed by her reading her own writing, Nadine never noticed Destiny's half-stifled sigh of relief, her deep inhale and exhale, but Linc did. He was fascinated by this professional side of his woman, prouder than a male peacock fanning his tail, wanting to beat his chest and draw attention to Destiny's mental toughness, to her grit and determination.