Untraceable (31 page)

The other man looked from Jonathan’s
half dressed form, to me sitting there with a tear-streaked face as
I buttoned my blouse, and he smiled broadly. “So is that what you
call punishment?”

There were more angry Italian phrases,
and a little English to remind the man he wasn’t supposed to be
upstairs and then he followed the man out and slammed the
door.

I had a lot to consider. It was the
first time in a week that I felt there was a glimmer of hope. But,
Jonathan was a masterful liar, and it was possible that once again
he was playing me. Yet, somehow, it was just wild enough to be the
truth. I had a feeling Jonathan would make a move soon for us to
escape, but my problem would be how to escape from Jonathan once
that happened.

CHAPTER twenty-one

When the predawn glow filled the sky
the following morning, Micah was seated on the edge of the bed
sliding his muscled legs into his jeans. He flinched when she
touched his bare back.

“
You don’t have to rush
out of here,” Sharon replied, kissing his spine and trying to
cuddle against him. He rose so quickly she lost her balance and
nearly tumbled from the bed.

“
I’ve got a job to do,
remember?”

“
My God, you are
fabulous,” she sighed and pulled his pillow under her head, taking
his spot in the bed. “I knew you would be. Stay. I’ll fix you
something to eat.”

“
I’m not hungry,” he
growled as he pulled his tight, white cotton tank down over his
sculpted abs. He snatched his button-down shirt from the chair and
slipped it on.

“
Don’t pretend like you
didn’t enjoy last night, too,” she said, bordering on sounding
pouty. “It’s a little hard for a guy to fake an orgasm.”

He turned and stared at
her. He could see the bruises on her throat, upper body, and
thighs. He’d never been so rough without actually killing a woman.
The problem was that she loved every moment of the struggle,
begging him to choke her into a state of hypoxia. She refused to
allow him to stop when she realized he was holding back. She’d
orgasmed several times, but she wouldn’t allow her wicked game to
end until she was
certain
he physically caved and joined her.

She smiled as she rose from the bed
and attempted to straighten his collar. He gripped her hands to
stop her when she suddenly tried to kiss him.

“
NO,” he snapped, pushing
her down onto the bed.

She tipped her head back and laughed,
“We’ve done everything else—kiss me, you stubborn
bastard.”

“
You got what you demanded
last night, but I never agreed to kiss you.”

“
You liked it, Micah,” she
cooed. “Your eyes are stunning and they say volumes that you’ll
never voice. We
are
exactly alike and I think last night proved that to you. Stay
tonight and—”

“
If
you want your father dead, I have to leave.”

She honestly appeared to be
reconsidering his mission. He could see the wheels turning in her
devious little mind as if her head was made of clear glass. She
wanted to be the boss, but she had a sexual appetite that nearly
rivaled her thirst for family status and power.

“
Of course I want him
dead,” she finally admitted, “but I want you, too.”

“
Dead?” Micah
sarcastically mused.

She gave a wicked half
smile, “Oh, I wanted you dead for quite a while, but then I began
to see the potential in the type of man you are—there aren’t many…
I take that back. There aren’t
any
men I’ve met like you. From that fabulous body to
your beautiful face, and your exquisite sexual kinks to your
twisted lack of emotion when you clip someone, you are unique, I’ll
give you that. Our game isn’t over, darling. You do your first
assignment for me and then we celebrate—my way.”

He drew in an annoyed breath as he
pulled his shoulder harness on.

“
You’ll stay with me for a
little while and, when I’m satisfied, you take out Botachelli, and
I’ll have Giovanni let your wife go free.”

“
If he harms her in any
way, I’ll—”

“
Don’t be stupid, Micah.
Giovanni’s not. He may be a little hard to control, but trust me;
he is on a leash. He’ll do exactly as I say, but if you insist on
going after him when this is over, Caprizio will kill
you.”

He turned his back to her and walked
from the room heading for the front door. He could tell she was
right behind him. He had just placed his hand on the door knob when
she spoke.

“
I’ll call you and tell
you where to meet me after I hear the tragic news about
my wonderful Papa
,” she
stated icily.

“
It won’t be safe for us
to meet. At least not for a little while—unless you want them to
know you ordered the hit,” he said, never turning to look at her.
Her silence told him she was considering what he just
said.

“
No, I don’t want that
revealed, at least not until after the families converge,
but
,” she stressed,
“You
will not
make me wait. When I say, Micah,” she added, reminding him
that she was, at least for now, in control of him, “you will come
back to me.”

He walked out the door.

CHAPTER twenty-two

To call the Norfolk home of Vitale
Moretti a vacation home was a bit like calling the palace at
Versailles, Louie’s chill pad; the French influenced
twelve-thousand square foot home sat on five beautifully landscaped
acres directly on the Lafayette River.

Micah studied the home from every
possible angle. He had the gate and alarm codes, and he knew the
placement of the security cameras. He’d already made one late night
trip onto the lush premises to plant some tiny, wireless cameras.
The batteries would only last for about a week, but he wouldn’t
need that much time. There was a minimal staff on hand; a cook, a
housekeeper, and a grounds man, but they would never know that he
had even been there observing them as he went about his work. The
cook and the groundskeeper lived on the property in a small
cottage, and the housekeeper lived within the residence. He knew
the interior layout by heart. Sharon provided him with a set of
house plans the day he met her at the beach house.

Sleeping with her had left him
feeling, well, odd was the only way he could describe it. Women,
with the exception of his mother, had been unimportant in his life.
He used them to satisfy his physical needs, but never more. That
was one reason why he’d limited his prior female involvement to
prostitutes—emotional connections were unwanted and unnecessary
when it came to satisfying the baser side of human
needs.

Then Annalisa came into his life and,
for once, he wanted a woman for so much more than just a way to
achieve a physical release. His heart felt as if it literally had
begun to ache in his chest when he realized, if they survived this
mess, that he would have to tell her he’d been unfaithful. He knew
it would hurt her deeply. She would understand, at least he hoped
she would, and with that same hope he would ask her to forgive him.
Once again, he was certain she would, but the scar would remain in
her heart. Although she was beautiful and perfect to him, he felt
he had wounded her innocence too many times—and that hurt like
hell. He had taken a vow to belong to her physically, spiritually,
and mentally. He’d broken his vow, yet more troubling than that, he
allowed his body to enjoy it. Sharon wasn’t better in bed than
Leese, but she was different—different like him. At times he still
felt like an invader in Leese’s world, almost as if she was still
his prisoner. Sharon felt eerily natural. He didn’t like
that.

Neither he nor Sharon had ever cared,
truly cared for another person. People were to be used, at least
that had been his philosophy at one time. He thought that he had
put that man away when he gave Leese his heart. Sharon brought his
past clearly, hauntingly, and hurtfully back to reality. He never
thought about a man ever ending up a rape victim, especially not
someone like him. But he felt his night with her robbed him of
something Leese had been molding inside of him. He had been angry,
violent, and abusive with a woman, and in that act it felt as if
Sharon stole away everything Leese encouraged him to believe about
himself. She stole his speck of humanness, and violated his budding
sense of goodness. The only thing keeping him attached to being a
new person for his wife and son now was a different kind of
promise—a promise he never believed he could keep anyway. If he
wasn’t careful, his humanity would suffer the final blow and he’d
return to being the person he never thought he could escape; Micah
Gavareen, untouchable.

He gave a sigh and tried to close his
eyes and rest. Monday would set in motion his eventual invasion of
the Moretti home. It wouldn’t be quick. He had to observe them and
watch for patterns. Daily life patterns were a hitman’s best
weapon. If they had a routine for rising, daylight activities,
evening patterns for meals, entertainment, and or bedtime, Micah
would pick up on it quickly, and it would make his job just that
much easier. He was somewhat pleased to see that Vitale and his
mistress only brought two of his guards with them to Virginia. He
didn’t know much about the two men, but he’d never had a problem
with guards before. Guards have a different mentality from
soldiers. Guards are defense, soldiers are offense. Soldiers have
the benefit of planning the attack; guards—well—they were always
surprised. He would take care of them first, and then Vitale and
Darlene would be at his mercy.

By Wednesday, Micah knew their
routines. Vitale and Darlene rose by nine a.m., breakfast on the
patio was promptly at nine-thirty each morning. She would sun
herself by the pool for two hours while Vitale read the paper and
placed business calls. Lunch by one, and then they would go out on
the town and neighboring areas until six or seven p.m., dinner out,
home by ten p.m. and bedtime, at least for Vitale, was always
midnight after he watched the eleven o’clock news. Darlene was
usually in bed by the start of the news. Micah suspected it was an
effort to avoid sex with her aged companion. Vitale Moretti was
sixty-one; Darlene Kenney was the same age as Sharon, twenty-nine.
The guards were, at least in Micah’s opinion, foolishly preoccupied
with sports and playing cards until two or three in the morning
every evening. Then it was set the alarm and total lights out until
morning.

He would launch his attack around eleven p.m.,
Thursday, but before gathering all the items he would need, he had
to make a phone call. He didn’t like involving Ryan, but there was
no one else he could trust to do this. David was out of the
question.

CHAPTER twenty-three

When Friday morning came bustling into
a clear and cloudless Virginia sky, Abigale Hawkins, Vitale’s
housekeeper for the last three years, made her perfunctory trip to
the master suite. He liked to have her pull back the heavy, floor
to ceiling drapes that covered the enormous, northern wall of
windows so he could lie in bed and watch sunlight scatter across
the Lafayette river like diamonds scattering over granite. But this
morning, she wouldn’t enter the master suite. Matter-of-fact, she
wouldn’t go anywhere near the large, ornately carved door because
stabbed into the wood with a hunter’s knife was a bloody mass with
a note.

She felt faint, her knees immediately
giving way. She crumpled to the floor, but managed to stay
conscious as she covered her mute mouth and gagged. Her throat had
constricted beyond the ability to scream, but when the strength in
her legs returned, she ran, babbling and crying, to the guards’
room. No one was there. Panic overcame her so thoroughly that she
didn’t think to use the cell phone in her pocket to call Ike, the
groundskeeper, instead she ran out of the main house and all the
way to the cottage.

Police are rarely an option where
mafia matters are concerned, especially when the upper echelon is
involved. Hits, unless done publicly, are usually dealt with inside
of the organization. The gory disaster that had been the life of
Vitale Moretti would be handled without police
involvement.

When Sharon’s phone went off that
morning and she saw it was her father’s closest friend and his
Consigliere, Aldo, she knew Micah had done his job.

She smiled serenely as she touched the
screen, and then put the phone to her ear, “Good morning,
Aldo.”

“
Sh—Sharon,” he choked.
“I’m sorry; I have some terrible news.”

Her smile broadened, “Really? I can’t
imagine—”

“
Your father…” he stopped
sounding too emotional to continue.

Hmm, she wondered. Aldo
was a seasoned member of the mafia; the man
never
became emotional. Just what
had Micah done to cause this man such distress? “What about
Daddy?”

“
I don’t want to discuss
this over the phone. Can you get to Norfolk right away?”

“
Tell me now!” she
demanded, her unique brand of anger seething just below the
surface. “I don’t like playing games and you know that. What did he
do, have a heart attack?”