Sins of the Undead Patriot (14 page)

“The next officer, now, might not be as kind,” the man said.

The leather beneath Rowley’s fingers squealed. Yet he smiled. “Thank you.”

“Have a good evening, ma’am.” The officer tipped his hat and strode back into the darkness.

No way, what she thought had happened, just happened. It couldn’t be real. “What was that?”

“The type of incidents I intend to keep you away from.” He met her stare in the rearview mirror. “Understood?”

If she hadn’t been in the car, she wouldn’t have believed it. And why not, since she herself was pulled over in the same manner, without purpose or cause, by Barton? Did she think that these kinds of things only happened to guilty people? People who deserved it?

Frost crystallized on the window, mirroring the coldness she felt. As Rowley drove on, outside, the houses blurred.

Rowley pulled the car into the driveway behind hers, went around back and opened her door, hand held out. She placed her fingers in his palm, and he tugged her to her feet, into his body.

“I’m sorry you were put through that.” He closed the door and walked her to the house, hand in hand. “I’ll be more cautious with our future outings.”

Her head ached. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Borrow a vehicle so that when they run the plates my name doesn’t come up.” He slowed as they neared the door. “Not take you out the night before COTL has a mass protest march up to the White House. I’ll take extra precautions.”

“Okay.” She turned toward the door.

“You’re angry.” He placed his hand on her upper arm, turning her to face him.

Though her limbs felt numb, she backed into the door frame. “My mind has shut down. I’m not processing.”

He cupped her face and traced her jawline with his thumb, lowering his stare to her mouth. As his lips rushed over hers, he forced her back to the door. His breath misted over her skin. He licked her mouth, then his teeth grazed the tender flesh.

Heat flushed over her. Too much. Too soon. She pushed against his chest with her palms.

He leaned back.

“Good night, Rowley.” She unlocked the door, entered, and shut it. With a flick, she tossed her bag on the table and headed for the kitchen. No way could she sleep, feeling as she did. She kicked her boots to the side. Half a Valium should take the edge off.

Dark movement in the dining room forced her to retreat.

Barton sat at the table, arms crossed. “The pace at which you are moving, your involvement with both men is disappointing, to say the least.”

“How the fuck did you get in here?” With a hand on her chest over her leaping heartbeat, she advanced. The kitchen door’s chain was intact.

“Watch your language.” He stood up.

Best she mind her p’s and q’s around the agent. The last thing she wanted was another meticulous physical inspection.

“I don’t think you understood your assignment, Leera.” He leaned in the archway. His gaze simmered with interest. “You’re supposed to fuck them. Not be a cock tease.”

It didn’t take much for her to figure out what he was thinking. She shuddered. “If I move too quickly, Rowley will suspect something.” She couldn’t bear another humiliation session.

“No, that is how women think. Men don’t interpret sex. The only thing he’ll be focused on is getting off. And if you’re lucky, ensuring you do too.” He was a pig through and through.

“Take your coat off and turn around.” As he stepped closer, the light lit his face. Dark lashes framed his eyes and his sinister gaze.

No. She couldn’t do this again. “Is this necessary?”

“Seems you have a thing for resisting arrest.” He slid the coat off her shoulders and set the material on the counter next to her. The mechanism of the cuffs clanked as he confined one wrist. “You enjoy being roughed up, maybe?” He clutched her forearm and snapped the metal on her other wrist, squeezing her flesh. “Does it turn you on?”

She was powerless, just the way her father’s beatings had made her feel.

“Necessary? Depends on whose perspective you look at it from.”

A tug to her arm guided her backward, pressing her ass to his crotch.

He lowered her chest to the table. “Might seem like overkill, from your point of view, since only you know if you are carrying a weapon or a wire.” He descended behind her.

She waited with dread for when she would feel his hands.

“From my side of the coin, I’d be pretty stupid not to be diligent with you. You aren’t helping me out of the goodness of your heart.” He pressed his palm to her inner leg and moved up the seam.

Of course she wasn’t. She was helping Peter because he’d always protected her.

Barton tucked his fingers into the seat of her pants. Two pressed, gliding back and forth.

“You’re a very attractive woman, Leera,” he said, groaning, and fondled her other leg with excruciating slowness, then stood and lifted her upright. “I do miss hearing you come. Don’t be shy. No one has to know you enjoy an audience.”

Between the blinds, light from the street post streamed into her face.

The pins and needles sensation in her hands burned.

He patted her ass, searching up along her back. “I bet the thrill will make you come harder.” With a jerking motion, he turned her to face him.

From the top down he unbuttoned her shirt, lowered the straps of her bra.

“Do you know what’s intriguing about you, sexually?” he asked.

Whether she wanted to or not, he insisted on speaking of these things. “You’re really into anal. A man is lucky if a woman will do it occasionally. But you...” As he peeled the cups of her bra from her breasts, he exhaled heavily.

Wanting to be anywhere but here and see him touch her, she turned her face to the side.

“I’ve watched you do it with your toy.” He passed his tongue over his lips. “I’ve never come so hard jerking off as I did watching you do it. You’re a freak. Talking dirty while you do it too.” He touched her nipple with his thumb and index finger. “Anytime you want my help with that, say my name.” He brought his fingers to her chin and lifted her face. “Spread your legs further apart.”

The bastard wanted her to look at him. Unless he forced her, she wouldn’t do it. She glided her feet along the floor.

“Perfect.” He unlooped the button and yanked the side of her jeans, forcing the zipper down. “No panties?” He slipped his hand between her thighs, met her curls with his touch and one finger pressed her labia apart.

Jaw clenched, she endured him probing with his fingers, his breathing labored. “All clear.” He lifted his fingers to his mouth and tasted.

Gross. Just the thought of him made her skin crawl.

He leaned in and uncuffed her. “Have a seat.” He pointed at a chair.

Her fingers were numb, and she massaged her wrist to regain feeling. “May I cover up?”

“If you must.” He sighed.

She placed her breasts back into her bra and closed her shirt. “Why are you here? What if I brought Rowley in? Don’t you think he’d have a gazillion questions?”

“Possibly. However, the way things were going, I didn’t think you’d bring him in. If you had, I would have slipped out the back undetected.” He sat across from her. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to stop holding back when with them, do that. Do you understand me?”

If she only knew what the hell the feds wanted, she might be able to help by asking the right questions.

“I know that look. The less you know the better.” He wagged his index finger at her.

“You knew I had no experience in this area. Much less, in pursuing two men sexually and what the rules are.” She wasn’t some cunning federal recruit.

“There is your problem. There are no rules of engagement. Only pure instinct will get you through this. A dash of truth and whatever you need to say to move things along.”

She didn’t have it in her to get through this but she had to for Peter.

“Sunday, McKie will have a number of suspect characters at his place.” Barton opened the backdoor. “I want you to pay him an unexpected visit around one.”

After her reaction tonight, she couldn’t be sure Rowley would want to see her again.

Barton removed an overcoat from the back of the dining room table chair and put it on. “If you relax, you might even enjoy yourself, Leera.” The lock clicked as he left.

Chapter 13

Rowley turned from his guests toward Devin. Very few individuals were ever welcomed into his private residence. He used the gesture as an act of good faith when solidifying relationships into allies. Something about the familiar setting of a home brought out the unguarded side of people.

“If we pick a venue outside of the capital the risk of getting caught increases.” He crossed his arms and faced the living room.

With military checkpoints on all highways and interstates, movement around the country was restricted. Not to mention, that anywhere Rowley went, he was harassed by the authorities. Every point into DC had a CPD stop.

“How are we going to get what we need into the capital? Washington is a dog’s breakfast for paper work. Nothing in or out.” Clay leaned back in his seat.

Maybe it was time for Mr. DeGruis to prove his usefulness. Better Rowley’s allies not know about his arrangement with the Fed. Nothing made outlaws more skittish than Homeland Security.

“Let me worry about getting what we need into the city.” Rowley placed his hand on the back of the sofa. Armed guards stood posted at each entranceway. Clay had a hefty entourage.

“Are you holding back on us, McKie?” Wyatt rose, flipping back his greasy, dark blond hair.

“I’d be a fool not to.” He grinned.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Wyatt’s beady-eyed stare met Rowley’s gaze.

The floorboards behind Rowley squeaked. He lifted his hand, gesturing Devin to stand down. “You should be grateful that I’m taking the heat for us all.” Simpleminded fellow. “I don’t ask you for your sources. Extend me the same respect.”

Clay nodded.

Two of the hired guns at the window made eye contact for the second time. What caught their interest on the other side of the drapes?

“The International Network for Undead Rights’ ball on February fourteenth, it is.” Clay flashed teeth. “You in, Wyatt?”

“Like a nigger whore on a white dick.” He snorted.

Rowley pulled his two nine millimeters from their holsters. He shoved one at Wyatt’s temple and tucked the other under his hired gun’s jaw line. “Use that kind of language in my home again... I’ll do the world the favor your mother should have when you were in the womb.” Forcing the tip of his gun to the man’s mouth, he said, “Would you like to suck lead like a z-luv ho?”

Wyatt held his hands in the air. His dingy white suit needed dry-cleaning.

Devin cocked his guns.

Clay laughed. The robust tone of his glee carried. “You are one crazy mother fucker, McKie. And you are one dumb fuck, Wyatt. Apologize to the man.”

“For what?” He leaned away from the barrel.

Rowley itched to pull the trigger. The shit going on with Leera and this undead was enough to push him over the deep end.

The big muscular lad Clay brought with him leaned down and whispered to Clay, who nodded. “If you’d done your homework on the man,” Clay said, “you’d know McKie’s into the ethnic types.” He stood, strode to the window, and peeked out the curtains.

“Shit-t-t.” The weasel stuttered. “I had no idea. I’m sorry, man.”

Rowley retracted his firearms and tucked the guns back into their holsters. “Something of interest outside, gentlemen?”

“A hot, but upset-looking black woman in a blue Fit parked out front. This is the fourth time she’s gone around and stopped again. Lover’s quarrel?” the smaller goon asked.

Lee-lee... What could be going on with her? “Excuse me a moment.” Rowley opened the door as the car pulled away. The brisk wind blew through his dress shirt, chilling his skin. Where the hell was she headed? With an irregular thump, his heart pounded. He jogged to the street. The car reversed then stopped next to the curb. What the fuck?

The door didn’t open. She rested her face on the steering wheel. He marched to her door and pulled it open. Mascara coated her cheeks. She lifted her gaze. Her bottom lip trembled.

He kneeled in front of her. Cold from the asphalt bit into his flesh. “Talk to me, Lee-lee.”

As she shook her head, gasps raised her chest.

Tension coiled around his heart. He wiped the tears from the velvety textured skin with his thumbs, and pulled her into his arms. She sobbed, and her entire body quivered.

“Speak to me, please.” He grabbed her by the shoulders.

She reached back on the passenger seat and handed him a letter.

Unfolding the crumpled paper, he scanned the page. Her lawyer noted receiving a letter from an individual claiming to have been involved in the accident that killed Jean. The person wanted to meet with her to share with her Jean’s dying words. Rowley swallowed. Could Jean have known of his involvement? The last thing he needed right now was for some person with a guilty conscience to contact her with information that might incriminate him. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, clicked the door lock, and tucked them in his pocket with the paper.