Skye's Trail (17 page)

Chapter Eleven

The tape on Skye’s message machine was full. There were a couple of messages from Senator Weldon’s aide. Almost all of the rest were from Rico. The earlier ones were frustrated, angry, the later ones held fear.
Call me. Just call me and let me know you’re okay. Leave a message. Fuck, I can’t shake this feeling that something’s gone bad. Here are my numbers again. The cell phone is always on.

She picked up the phone and called his cell. “Where have you been?” he demanded as soon as he heard her voice.

“Out of commission.”

“I’m coming over.” He hung up before she could say anything.

She called Senator Weldon’s aide. Martin answered the phone promptly and immediately sailed into a rant.

“We haven’t had a single report from you! The Senator expects to be kept up to date!”

“As soon as I finish talking to you, I’m calling Amy’s mother. I need to talk to her—in person. If I can arrange it, it’ll happen tomorrow. You can tell the senator that.”

“Do you think his sister is alive?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll inform the senator. He’ll expect a progress report after you talk to his stepmother.”

Irritation slithered along Skye’s spine. “I’ll call when there’s something to report.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy with suspicion. “Getting this matter taken care of is a priority with the senator. I’ll fly in tonight in order to be on hand when you find Amy.”

Skye laughed silently at the thought of taking Weldon’s pompous aide on a hunt. “That’s a little premature.”

“I’ll be at the Tropicana, but I’m never without my cell. Call me when you find Amy.”

Patrice Weldon answered the phone herself and surprised Skye by saying, “My husband told me that someone had been hired to look for Amy. Of course I’ll see you. Do you have the address?”

“Yes.”

“When you know what flight you’re coming in on, let me know. I’ll have a driver waiting for you.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning,” Skye said, the knock on her door telling her that Rico had arrived.

As soon as she opened the door he pressed her against his body in a hug that threatened to re-break her ribs. “What happened?” he asked.

“One of my cases went a little sideways and I got hurt.”

He pulled back. “You’re okay now?”

Skye’s lips quirked up. Except for a few hidden compulsions that she probably needed to find and get rid of. “Yeah.”

“Let me see.” Rico didn’t wait for her to show him. He stripped the shirt from her body, his face a hard mask as soon as he saw the bruising. “You didn’t go to the hospital. I checked. That’s how crazy I got.”

“No, a friend took care of me.”

“What happened to the guy who did this to you?”

“Do you really want to know?” Her nipples tightened as Rico smoothed his hand over her body.

“You killed him?”

“No.”

There was a flash of relief in Rico’s eyes. He moved into her and trailed kisses along her eyelids, down her cheek. “Fuck, I was scared.” He gave a shaky laugh against her neck. “Cia and I were just getting ready to check out a place called Toppers when you called. I took off like a bat out of hell and left her standing next to my desk.”

“You’re on duty?”

He crushed her to his body once again, this time burying his face in the silk of her hair. His cock was throbbing, but he didn’t dare fuck her. If he started he’d never be able to stop. “I had to know that you were okay.”

Soft pleasure raced through Skye’s heart at his words, at the emotion behind them. She turned her head and covered his mouth with hers, teasing his lips open with a kiss meant to convey her own feelings. He cupped her face with his hands and drank in everything she had to offer.

When the kiss ended, he muttered, “If Rivera gets wind of this… Fuck…if it happens, I’ll deal with it. I can’t give this up.” Rico shuddered and once again pressed his face into her hair. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

Skye brushed her fingers along the front of his jeans, along the heavy ridge of his erection. “Let me ease you.”

He bucked into her hand and groaned. Without a word he opened his pants and freed his cock. It jutted upward—full and ready, proud.

She slid down his body and took the tip of his penis into her mouth, sucking as she explored the slit at its tip with her tongue. He arched and her hands joined in the torment, one circling and pumping his shaft while the other cupped and squeezed his balls.

“¡Carajo!”
The fierce need to come was already swamping him. His hands buried into her hair, holding her to him, unable to stop himself from thrusting, trying to get more of himself into her mouth.

Her hands tightened on his shaft, sending a wave of desire up his spine. His buttocks clenched. “Swallow me!”

She teased him for several seconds longer, then loosened her hand so that he could slide to the back of her throat. Even then, she didn’t do as he’d commanded until he was shaking with need, ready to beg. With a strangled cry, Rico came when the muscles in her throat clamped down on him as she swallowed.

He was panting and dizzy when she pulled back, first cleaning his cock with delicate swirls of her tongue then moving over and covering the mark she’d left on his inner thigh, biting down hard and sharp and sending a fresh wave of desire through him.

Rico closed his eyes, fighting to regain control of his body. Fighting the fantasy of her. As soon as the Armstrong case had cooled down, he was going to take some time off and do nothing but fuck her day after day.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he groaned, his body radiating reluctance as he tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped up.

She stood then and stepped away from him. “I’m going to LA tomorrow. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

Something tightened in his gut. “Alone?”

“Alone.”

Rico drew in a deep breath. Taking her to her knees and fucking her ass had opened a Pandora’s Box of curiosity. Once he would have been satisfied to ram a dildo into her cunt while he pumped in and out of her tight little back entrance. Now he wondered what it would be like to have another man fucking her at the same time, to feel her tighten and stretch, to hear her scream and see her submit as two hot cocks filled her.

Blood rushed to his penis at the images flooding his mind. He couldn’t stop the question from escaping. “What does he look like?”

“Gian? Dark, like you. But more…aquiline. Midnight eyes and hair that’s long enough to wear in a ponytail. Seductive. Powerful. Addictive. Like you.”

Rico’s nostrils flared at the description, at the picture of her blonde beauty pressed between two dark lovers. He clenched his jaw, wondering if she was seeing the fantasy playing out in his mind, wondering if she shared the fantasy.

She half-smiled and sent more blood racing to his cock. “Do you want to meet him?” she asked.

¡Carajo!
He wasn’t ready to answer that question, to consider all it implied.

* * * * *

Los Angeles.

Skye had never thought of it as home, even when she lived there.

It was a cesspool that only the strongest, the most ruthless, could climb out of. It was a battlefield where souls were destroyed long before the body was left for dead.

It was a world of metal detectors and armed guards at school entrances.

Of streets filled with voices and music at all hours of the night and day.

Of gang colors and gang wars.

Of hopelessness and savagery and ugliness.

That was Skye’s LA.

Amy’s world was far different. It was one of quiet luxury and privilege.

Skye was picked up at the airport by a limousine and driven to a house in Pacific Palisades. A maid in uniform showed her to a cozy, private room overlooking the ocean then left after saying, “Mrs. Weldon will be down shortly.”

The walls of the room were lined with shelves. Most contained books on the occult, but an entire section contained a collection of tarot cards.

An elegant woman entered. Her deep red hair was pulled back into a stylish bun. Behind her was an older woman. Something about the second woman caused Skye to still and reach out with her senses. A strong psychic presence surrounded the woman.

It gave Skye pause. She trusted herself completely, but never before had her senses touched upon psychic ability.

The elegant woman extended a hand. “I’m Patrice Weldon. Why don’t we have a seat?”

Skye shook the hand. It was warm, firm, the hand of a confident woman.

Caution flared in Skye even as Amy’s mother made the introductions. “This is High Priestess Duvier.”

There was only the briefest hesitation on Skye’s part, an instant where she allowed her instinct for self-preservation to rule, her psyche to recede into a protected space before accepting the Priestess’ hand.

The woman smiled with secret knowledge even as she said, “Your energy is strong. Powerful forces bind you to them.”

A fleeting image of Gian moved through Skye’s mind, but she offered no comment. Releasing the other woman’s hand, Skye sat down on one of the chairs.

Patrice and the woman took their places on the sofa. A beautiful mahogany coffee table separated them from Skye.

Silently the maid returned with coffee. “May I?” Patrice asked.

Skye nodded and watched as graceful hands poured coffee for each of them. When a cup was sitting in front of her, she helped herself to sugar and cream. Afterward her eyes strayed to the tarot decks on their tilted display shelves.

“Are you a believer in the Tarot?” Patrice asked.

“It depends on the practitioner.”

A small smile formed of Patrice’s lips. “That’s a cautious answer from someone who has unusual skills of their own.” When Skye didn’t rise to the bait, Amy’s mother continued. “Your reputation preceded you here. Is everything they say about you true?”

Skye smiled slightly. “I never listen to what they say.”

“Do you think my daughter is alive?” Patrice asked.

“Yes. I also believe that it’s possible there’s someone in Las Vegas that looks like her. What do you think?”

“Did you know that both my husband and my stepson have hired other detectives to try and find Amy?”

Skye shrugged. “I know other detectives have been involved. They reported that Amy attended black magic ceremonies and became obsessed with the notion of becoming a vampire.”

Patrice snorted inelegantly. “Skip and his father believe anything from the tarot to devil worship is the occult. They don’t make any distinction between spiritual enlightenment and good magic versus supernatural evil.”

“You do?”