Skin Tight (34 page)

He plucked the cell from the bedside table and checked the settings. Fortunately, it was clear what number he should dial; it showed up in the recently called list. Then he checked the e-mail. Beautiful. Travis was lazy rather than security conscious. His mail downloaded directly into his smartphone inbox. Søren had everything he needed now.

“I helped you. I
cooperated
. You can’t do this, it isn’t right.”

Oh, that was entirely the wrong thing to say. Raw fury became a bonfire within him. “Was it
right
for you to take my woman? Was it
right
for you to kill Kelly Clark? What about Noreen Daniels? What did you do to her that she wound up looking like that?”

Travis was shaking his head. “I don’t know names. I was just following orders. I don’t have a beef with you. Please, I can pay—”

“I have no need of your blood money, filth. Everything in the world I valued, you have taken. The only thing you can do for me now is die with dignity.”

He strangled Bruce Travis with cold determination. Once he was sure the bastard was dead, he checked his vitals and waited five minutes. There would be no errors here.

With silent amusement, he unbound the man’s hands and arranged him in the closet. With luck, the police would think he’d been indulging in autoerotic asphyxiation, badly gone awry. And if they carefully examined the forensics on a scum-bag like this, there still wouldn’t be anything to tie Søren to the crime. Travis didn’t deserve dignity in death.

Mia had liked Kelly Clark. Søren hadn’t known the woman personally, but he’d seen her in the halls at Micor.
She didn’t deserve to die alone, terrified and in agony.
Søren wished he could’ve inflicted more pain on Bruce Travis, but that would have required a different setup and more time than he could afford to devote to the endeavor.

Next, he dialed the number; his mimicry came in handy there. After arranging the meet, Søren pulled off his mask and pocketed his garrote. The last thing he needed was someone to spy him out of a window and start screaming.

The world was better off now, no question. Before stepping out of the motel room, he did the other guests a service and turned down the volume on the TV. As a final goodwill gesture, he searched the room from top to bottom and found a gray duffel bag full of money stashed in one of the ceiling panels. That, Søren took as well.

He made his movements slow and casual. Not those of a man fleeing the scene of a crime. Nobody saw him come down the stairs, and he avoided the cameras on the property. He had no ability to wipe them, unless he did so manually, so it was better to be cautious.

As he retraced his steps to the car, he passed a ramshackle church that doubled as a homeless shelter. Even with night coming on and a chill in the air, there were a few men loitering outside. There was a donation drop box, presumably for food and clothes, beside the cracked front stoop.

It was the right thing to do, he thought. Without hesitation, he shoved the bag down into the slot, forcing it through until he heard it hit bottom. Then he continued on his way. A light rain began to fall, making him glad of the gloves.

To the best of his knowledge, Mia had never sent that e-mail telling her friend what was happening. If Kyra didn’t hear something soon, she’d come barreling into the situation with all of the finesse of a Weedwacker, and more than likely, she’d have Reyes in tow. He couldn’t allow them to exacerbate the situation.

Søren drove to a better part of town before setting up the satellite on the roof of the vehicle. He could steal signal from one of the businesses nearby, but he didn’t want the IP to give away his location. Feeling vaguely guilty, he logged in using Mia’s account information, read some of their exchanges to get a feel for how Mia would communicate with Kyra, and then he typed:

He felt like an absolute shit hitting send, but the truth would scare Kyra to death. She and Reyes were good at what they did, but they weren’t subtle, and he wouldn’t risk Mia’s safety with wild cards in play. He could handle this. He would. Nothing had ever been so important.

Hesitating for a few seconds, hands over the keyboard, he typed the words in the search bar and soon he had an answer.
Jane Doe identified: Local woman Noreen Daniels has been claimed by next of kin and will be buried in two days.
He stopped reading then, fixating on her picture beside the article. Noreen had been young and pretty, dark-eyed and vivacious; he could tell by her broad, open smile. More interesting, she wore a large saint medallion, which had a border of leaves.

“That made the imprint on her hands,” he whispered.

Whatever they’d done to her, however they’d done it, she had died praying for mercy, praying for deliverance.
Oh, God, not Mia. Not. Mia.

Gathering his composure, he disassembled the rig on the roof and moved on. No need to attract police attention by loitering. He’d get a room now. The killer’s phone felt heavy in his pocket, his one link to saving Mia.

Now he just had to wait.

Things were falling
into place.

Rowan smiled in satisfaction as he read the e-mail from the liaison. It appeared that the idiot had come through a second time. He had the male accomplice in custody and wanted to turn him over for a bonus. Excellent. The liaison wondered if he would like to make use of the man, rather than wasting the parts.

Ordinarily, he would say no, but as “Smith” already knew, due to intelligence Rowan had provided, the male wasn’t Thomas Strong. Mia Sauter wasn’t the real threat; she was bait. When a lab tech pointed out a discrepancy in Strong’s medical records, Rowan took it upon himself to verify.

And indeed, Thomas Strong was not AB negative. Which meant the man
posing
as him—and working with Mia Sauter—had to be someone else. With that information in mind, it had been child’s play to pull a DNA sample from the HR office. Thank God for the slovenly cleaning service.

Rowan now knew that Thomas Strong was Søren Frost, a test subject who had eluded Foundation agents for years. And Rowan was about to scoop him up. The board of directors would be so pleased; too bad he no longer cared what they thought. He had moved beyond their petty concerns.

It was a pity he had no data on Frost or the man’s abilities, but he would find out soon enough. Frost couldn’t be very powerful if the hired muscle had managed to trap him. With a pleased smile, Rowan sent the information regarding the rendezvous.

At this point, his shift was almost over, and he had a decision to make. He only had time for one visit, but now he had
two
desirable females awaiting his company. It was a most diverting development. After hard consideration, he realized he must see Gillie. She would feel neglected if he didn’t show her how special she was to him. In the end, Mia’s presence changed nothing of his ultimate plans; he enjoyed her intellect, but her dark, sharp looks engendered little physiological response. No, for Jasper Rowan, it always had been—and always would be—Gillie.

He closed down his equipment and hurried down the hall to her quarters. Now that he considered, it seemed like a long time since he’d called on her. How could he have been so selfish? She must’ve been so lonely, longing to see him.

Like a gentleman, he knocked on the door before he entered. He didn’t want to distress her, should she be engaged in some less-than-ladylike activity. As always, her apartment was tidy, the magazines he approved for her enjoyment fanned neatly on the coffee table. His decorum was rewarded when she stepped out of the restroom.

Her eyes shone when she caught sight of him, and it was all he could do not to take her hands and kiss them. Rowan felt like a monster for having spent his free time playing chess with Mia Sauter. Was this what men who had affairs felt like? How disgusting.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

This was surely the moment to tell her. The news would make up for his recent neglect. “I have something important to share with you. Can we sit down?”

With lithe grace she moved to the kitchen table and took a seat. “Of course.”

“Soon, my dear Gillie, we’re going to leave here. I cannot bear to keep you locked up. The board doesn’t care about my work or your well-being. They only want the money.”

“So we’re going away?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes, darling. We’ll be together as we’ve always wanted.”

Her gasp excited him almost beyond all bearing. His penis stiffened, pressing against his zipper. Rowan imagined her lying in bed, all innocence and submission. She’d never been touched, never known desire. God, how he wanted her. He could teach her so much.

But not down here. He must restrain himself until she could give herself to him freely, no longer bound to the project. Instead, she would be with him for love, longing, and her great respect for his vision.

“When?” she asked finally, as if she couldn’t believe her good fortune.

“No more than a couple of weeks. I must tie up some loose ends and complete a couple of key negotiations first. You can be strong that long, can’t you?”

She nodded, a vision of angelic determination. “Certainly.”

It was beyond him to leave without some tangible display of his ardor. “Gillie, may I kiss you?”

Delicate color stained her cheeks. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to ask that question.”

Tacit permission, then. Of course she was too demure to be more demanding in her desires. He adored that about her.

Like a child, she closed her eyes and puckered her mouth. He found the pose incredibly erotic. Later he would taste her tongue and her seductive shock at his carnal daring. For now he could content himself with a taste of her sweet, virginal mouth.

When Gillie pressed her lips to his, he nearly came in his pants. Rowan took a deep breath and stepped back, lest he frighten her. “Thank you, my dear. You are the soul of refinement. Now, I’m afraid I have business to take care of. It’s not more important than you,” he hastened to add, “but it is paramount to the execution of our plans.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

Rowan hurried out before his base lust frightened her. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he had business. The meeting would take place before he went to sleep for the day.
Like a vampire,
he’d often thought with a touch of amusement.

He couldn’t wait to add Frost to his collection of test subjects. At this rate, the idiot they’d hired might even receive that bonus he wanted. Rowan laughed softly—well, probably not. He had his needles ready to dispose of the man. It just wouldn’t do to have contractors running around with too much knowledge about the facility. Though he was leaving the company, Rowan wouldn’t relax his standards while he was still on the job.

Leaving ate up precious minutes. The silo was pure genius, he thought. Who would ever search a grain storage unit on an apparently functioning farm for access to a secret underground facility? Nobody had ever found it, no matter how hard they looked or what they suspected. And then Micor silenced them for good.

Once again, the farmhouse was quiet. Though it was highly unusual, he found himself too aroused to focus on business. There was no help for it. He would have to take matters in hand, or he would horrify his sweet Gillie by coming to her like a beast.

Inside, the plainness of his home pleased him. No pictures on the walls, no knickknacks to gather dust. His penis rubbed uncomfortably against his pants as he went upstairs, but no tawdry, hasty moments in the bathroom would tarnish his angel’s worth.

Instead, he went into the bedroom, where the shades were already drawn against the morning light, his bed meticulously made. Rowan wished he had more time, but relief was vital. So he lay down and unfastened his pants, exhaling softly at the pleasure.

He brought his erection through the slit in his boxers and checked the side table. Yes, he had tissues. Good. It was time to begin.

Rowan closed his eyes and constructed Gillie’s face and then focused on the delicious innocence of her lips. His hand worked up and down as he relived that kiss. He had to take care of this, so he didn’t frighten her. Since he often sublimated his sex drive in his work, it didn’t take long.

He cleaned up the evidence, washed up, and zipped up. Endorphins left him buzzing pleasantly as he got into the car. There was one final detail to consider before he could begin his new life.

Open twenty-four hours, Janice’s Diner remained the perfect place for a meeting. He didn’t think Smith was stupid enough to drag a hostage inside; surely, he’d use the trunk of his car. Still, it paid to be prepared for anything. If he smelled trouble inside, he’d drive on, and collect Frost another time.

The parking lot was nearly deserted, a good sign. He didn’t recognize the cars, but if Smith was smart, he didn’t always drive the same one. The man hadn’t struck him as having two spare brain cells to rub together, but sometimes appearances could be deceiving. Rowan parked and stepped in through the front door.

He scanned the place and spotted his quarry near the back, as he’d expected. The man hunched like a Neanderthal. Stifling a sigh at having to see Smith again, despite the imminent reward, he made his way toward the back.

“Morning, Boss.” The nasal tones threatened to give him a headache.

“I trust you have the package in your vehicle.”

“Safe and sound.”

“We’ll have coffee and then go out together. You will precede me every step of the way. You have not forgotten that I am armed?”

“No, Boss.” Smith was more of an uncommunicative lump than usual today.

No matter. He pantomimed drinking the coffee—no telling what parasites might be in it. These yokels probably brewed from the tap. And then he signaled Smith to move.