Wicked Intentions (21 page)

“Shakira…” Nathan’s concerned voice and knock pierced the door. “…are you okay.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she turned on the tap and the sound of rushing water filled the confined space. She cupped her palm under the tap, splashing some of the cold water over her face until its sting began to calm her shaky nerves. Finally when she was sure she could conduct a conversation without having a nervous breakdown she called Wayne.

“Of course, we’re filing charges!” Wayne shrieked after she’d briefed him on the most pertinent details. He sounded so angry, Shakira was half afraid he was going to hop on a plane from Boston right then and come give Gates his own brand of justice. “The bastard just bought his admission ticket to SingSing. I bet he’s the one who killed Charlie – so he could get his hands on the thumb drive.”

“You think so?” Shakira’s mind hadn’t even skipped that far head. But now that she thought about it…it was completely possible. Gates, Fenton and Charlie were probably in league in the match-fixing scam and the thumb-drive had some kind of evidence. She collapsed onto the toilet seat with the weight of her suppositions.

“Very likely,” Wayne said. “You need to get that thumb-drive to the cops.”

“I can’t. I need to know what’s on it first.”

“It’s too dangerous to hold on to it.”

“No. It’s too dangerous to hand it to the cops without having a back up copy. I mean Gates is a kind of a cop too and he’s got some connections in NYPD, right?”

“Riiiight.” Wayne sounded like he knew where she was going with this.

She persisted, “What if he uses his connections in there to make it disappear.”

“The members of the NYPD are upstanding citizens.” He sounded like he was reading that bullshit from some brochure. “They would never allow tampering with evidence.”

“I bet they say that about Gates and the FBI too.”

“Shakira.”

“Wayne,” Shakira wheedled. “Look, give me two days to try and break into it. If I haven’t figured out what’s on the thumb when you get back on Wednesday, I’ll bring it to your office and you can decide what we do with it.

There was silence as Wayne mulled over her offer. When she heard his deep sigh, Shakira smiled in victory.

After a little more grumbling, Wayne assented. “Fine, but we’ll need to find you a safe place to stay just in case Gates plans to jump you again.”

Damn! She hadn’t even thought of that. When she’d arrived at the building earlier, her plan had been to go book herself a room in a cheap motel with the little money she had. Right now, it didn’t sound like such a good idea unless she felt like getting murdered.

“Green, Green & Becket
has an account with
Neon City Hotel
. Why don’t you check in there? I can have security keep an eye on you and out on Gates.”

“You don’t have to do that, Wayne,” Shakira protested even though she didn’t have a better idea.

“I insist. This is my fault. If I had reported Gates the first time he wouldn’t be on the streets running wild.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Still.” There was a short pause. When he spoke again, there was a plea in his voice, “Please check in - for my peace of mind.”

She capitulated, “Okay, I will.”

“Get the cops to escort you to the hotel.”

“Okay.” Then before he could end the call, she rushed in a “Thank you, Wayne.”

“Anytime.”

Words were no match for the kind of gratitude she felt for Wayne. She didn’t know how she was going to show her gratitude but she would. The cops were all too willing to escort her and Jeanine to
Neon City Hell
after she’d salvaged her laptop, which wonder of wonders had survived, and a few clothes from the carnage that was her room. What she didn’t expect to see was Nathan handing his keys to the valet and handing his own overnight case to the porter.

“What are you doing here?”

“You really think I’m going to let you sleep anywhere alone?” he grated.

She really wanted to tell him that she didn’t want him anywhere near her but the truth was that she was glad he’d followed her. She didn’t want to be alone. Rolling her eyes, she turned on her heels and walked into the hotel.

“Good evening, Sir, Ma’am.” the perky receptionist greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to the
Neon City Hotel
.”

“Good evening. Your best room,” Nathan said as he extracted his credit card from his wallet then placed it on the desk.

Shakira pushed the credit card back to him with her fingers, her eyes on the receptionist. “I’m Shakira Dalton. Wayne Perkins of
Green, Green & Becket
booked me a room here.”

The receptionist’s eyes shifted nervously between the two of them before she said, “Give me a second.”

Shakira was aware of Nathan’s moody gaze on her as they took the plush carpeted elevator up, but he didn’t say a word which was a relief. She didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened today or tonight. She just wanted to curl up in sleep and forget it.

The room Wayne had gotten her was a lavish room with a living room, a separate bedroom and an en-suite bathroom. In the bedroom, they both undressed in silence but when Nathan made a move to get into the bed with her, Shakira glared at him wordlessly daring him to even try and sleep in the same bed with her.

He stood towering over the bed looking like he was going to get in anyway.
Let him try.
Shakira rolled over and closed her eyes. She could feel him looking at her, sense the waves of frustration and distress he was emitting. She ignored them. And finally he padded away from the bed.

CHAPTER 23

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The persistent sound peeled into Nathan’s consciousness like a fire-alarm. He winced as he rolled on the couch. Immediately muscles he didn’t know existed in his neck, back, butt and legs protested the movement, cramping painfully and sending stings all over his body. “Shit.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

It was coming from somewhere north of his head. Eyes still closed Nathan reached for the source of his irritation even as his forearm disapproved of the action with harsh spasms. His hand stumbled on the plastic receiver. Hauling it from the holder, he pressed it to his ear.

“Yes.” His voice sounded like it’d been dancing on nails.

A nauseatingly upbeat woman answered, “Good morning Mr. Hollis.” She paused as if awaiting a good morning. When she didn’t get one, she continued – though less enthusiastically, “There’s a London…” Her voice sounded skeptical as she finished, “…Pistol? There’s a London Pistol here to see Miss Dalton. I’ve told her you’re not to be disturbed, but she insists.”

He wanted nothing more than to say that they were not to be disturbed but he was already in Shakira’s black-book. He did not need more problems. “Send her up.”

The sting of early daylight bit into his vision as he pried his eyes open and then replaced the receiver on its holder. Shoving the silk sheet away, he stood. His body didn’t thank him for the effort. In fact it wailed bitterly, each muscle contracting with agony. Nathan could’ve sworn that even his hair was aching.

The white leather couch might’ve looked pretty but its hard, boxy cushions, slippery coverings and short length were not meant for sleeping on, especially not by a six-foot man. He didn’t know which was worse - the damned couch, Shakira’s silent accusing looks or the fact that he hadn’t been there to protect her last night. Randall had saved her from Gates, her lawyer had gotten her a secure place to sleep and what the hell had he done? Slept on the fucking couch!

Not only was his ego taking a thorough whipping, so was his conscience. If it wasn’t for him Shakira wouldn’t even have been at the apartment alone. If he’d listened to Danny and come clean, they could’ve talked, maybe even fought but she would’ve been safe. He’d chased her down in a cab but arrived just in time to see Randall carrying a limp Shakira to their building. Despite Nathan’s ire at the PI for being a double-agent, he couldn’t help the instinctual gratefulness.

If Randall hadn’t been there, who knew what would’ve happened to Shakira. Just the thought was enough to send a healthy dose of panic lancing through Nathan’s psyche.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Nathan grabbed his pants, gingerly inching his legs into each hole. The muscles in his arms stung excruciatingly as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He looked at his shoes, considered putting them on, then remembered that that would require some bending. Hell No!

Knock. Knock. Knock. The hammering was even harder this time.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Fuck,” Nathan muttered as he walked –or rather limped- towards the door. When he opened it, it was to find Shakira petite friend standing there tapping her feet and cutting her eyes at him. “Hello London.”

“Don’t hello me.” She shoved him aside, which was quite a fete in itself considering she was about half his size. “Where is she?”

“In the bedroom.”

Giving him a last disgusted look, London stomped her way to the bedroom. Without knocking, she pushed the door open shrieking, “Booboo.”

The door closed behind her. After that all Nathan heard were faint soundings punctuated by loud cusses like ‘bastard’, ‘asshole’ and ‘faker’ that he was sure London meant for him to hear. Well, it was obvious that Shakira was telling London about what he’d done.

Nathan hated when women did that. It was their business and Shakira should’ve talked to him first and allowed him to explain himself before blasting it out to everyone. His conscious pricked at him. Hadn’t he talked to his brothers about Shakira before he did with her?

That’s different.

No it isn’t.

Fuck it! He just wanted Shakira talking to him again. Maybe when they were talking again they could discuss ways of resolving their issues without bringing the whole world and their mother into it. Shakira and London stayed holed up in the bedroom for the longest time and finally Nathan’s stomach indicated that it was tired of waiting.

He knocked on the door tentatively. There was a brief moment of silence and then Shakira called out, “Yes?”

He pushed open the door. His gaze immediately flew to the bed where Shakira was seated with her back against the headboard next to London and her lower body tucked under the covers. She was a sight for sore eyes. It didn’t matter that she was still in her headscarf, wore no make-up and had on a modest tank-top; he still wanted to stride to the bed and take her into his arms.

Resisting the urge, he asked, “I was thinking of ordering breakfast. Do you ladies want something?”

London gave him the side-eye. “Get a notepad.”Apparently she had a black hole for a stomach. She kept rattling on foods seemingly in an attempt to include everything she could think of. She only stopped ordering when Shakira informed her that Wayne was paying not Nathan and changed her order to a muffin and some juice (she punctuated it with a muttered ‘cheap asshole’ that Nathan was sure was once again meant for him).

He went downstairs to order breakfast himself and in the process changed the bill to his card. He would be damned if another man bought his woman
anything
. Besides that he didn’t trust Wayne in the least. It could’ve been jealousy talking, but Nathan wasn’t comfortable with Shakira playing buddy-buddy with the man. What kind of man defended his so-called friend’s murderer – then tried to hit on her. Nathan was a man and he knew his kind. No man paid for hotel rooms for a woman who wasn’t his relative without ulterior motives.

Before going back upstairs, he spoke to security who said there’d been no sign of Gates. He also left them a photo of Kuthra Alim, just in case. When he came back into the room, the bedroom door was ajar and the sound of ladies talking floated through.

“ImaNathanindisguise,” London offered.

Shakira’s laughter chimed. “Charlie didn’t even know Nathan.”

“Rochellesboobsarefake.”

“You are not helping at all.” Shakira’s voice was both amused and exasperated. “Wayne’s coming back on Wednesday. I need to have figured out what’s on the thumb-drive before then.”

The thumb-drive.
Nathan’s heart hopped. It was probably the key to this whole thing. If they could reveal its contents they might be able to deflect Gates and resolve this whole thing. He sat in the living room, listening to the suggestion even as he mulled over possible passwords that Shakira mightn’t have tried.

Suddenly it hit him.

His pulse pitched in excited and he leapt to his feet. Both women turned when he appeared the doorway. Shakira stared at him expressionlessly. “Is breakfast here yet?”

“No, but it’s on its way.” Trying not to show his eagerness, he leaned against the doorjamb as he asked, “Have you tried baseball?”

“Baseball?” Shakira asked.

“For the password,” Nathan clarified. “Charlie was involved in a baseball match-fixing ring, right?”

“How do you know th-”Shakira paused, looked at him, then chuckled without amusement as she waved her hand. “Forget I asked.”

Shifting on his feet in discomfiture, he continued, “If the file has something to do with that, he might have also used baseball related terms to encode it.”

“That actually makes sense.” Shakira’s eyes lit up and her mouth turned up in a smile giving Nathan a nice ego boost. But her smile fell in the next moment. “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

“I do.” He took a tentative step into the room, then another. Shakira watched him make his way to the bed but didn’t tell him to back off. He sat on the edge of the bed then reached for her laptop. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Let’s start with famous players.” He started typing.
Simon Tilford, Joel McCormack, Gerald Ruxton, Adam Chappell…

Fifteen minutes later when a waiter brought their breakfast he was trying out the names of current stars and their teams’ standing in the league. He absentmindedly picked at the plate of food Shakira set beside him as he tried potential passwords and jotted the ones that didn’t work on a writing pad. He only paused to say good-bye to London, who at Shakira’s urging was on her way for another rehearsal for
Extreme Expressions
.

After calling Kasey to make sure he was holding down the fort, Nathan went back to work. Famous coaches:
Lee Martin,
Clark Shore, Jim Gajer, Fraser Portney…
He had to recess again when an agent from the FBI showed up at the door.

“Karyn,” the leggy red-head introduced herself with a firm handshake as she stepped into the room. “I heard what happened last night. Are you okay?”

“A friend got there in time,” Shakira said as she guided Karyn to the couch. “Have they found Gates yet?”

“No. Not yet.” Karyn shook her head and her eyes clouded in obvious frustration. “But I’d like to assure you that the FBI is doing everything in its ability to track him down. There’s an APB out on him and every law enforcement agency is on his heels. It won’t be long.”

“Is there any way we can help with the search?” Nathan asked.

“Actually you can.” Karyn paused for a moment, as if compiling her thoughts. “Do you have any idea what he was looking for?”

“No,” Shakira answered too fast and her mouth trembled. Anyone with eyes could tell she was lying.

Why? This was the person they should be confiding in not Wayne. But Nathan could understand Shakira’s reluctance; it was an FBI agent who’d burned her after all. He kept his peace.

Karyn noticed the obvious lie too. She let an awkward silenced persist before she began speaking again. “We raided his house early today morning and found surveillance of your apartment. It looks like that he hacked into your feed.” Her tone was low and calming but there was an unmistakable edge to it as she said, “Maybe if we know what he’s looking for we can have solid ground to start with.”

“My feed?” Shakira said, probably in an effort to divert Karyn. “I don’t have any cameras in my house.”

Rubbing the nape of his neck and avoiding Shakira’s gaze, Nathan confessed, “Actually, you do.”

Randall had informed him that on his mother’s orders, the cameras were still up - just that Edya was the one watching Shakira. There was silence as both women stared at him. He could almost hear the mental gymnastics going on in their minds as they added twelve and twelve, and came up with twenty-four. This was just not his day.

Breaking the awkward silence, Shakira said, “Maybe if I go through my room again I’ll be able to find something.”

“That’s a good idea.” The agent looked like she wanted to ask something else as her keen eyes scoured Shakira’s face. But finally she shrugged her slim shoulders. ”Okay, fair enough. Please let me know if you do find-” She riveted her gaze on Shakira as she added, “– or
remember
something.”

“I will. Thank you for coming by.” With a strained smile on her face, Shakira stood up in an apparent attempt to end the conversation.

“Please do,” Karyn urged before she left the room.

Shakira could see that Nathan was getting frustrated. He’d been working on the passwords practically the whole day and still hadn’t found a match. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped and back hunched as he worked, evidence that he was feeling defeated. She’d tried to take the laptop from him but he insisted that he just needed a few more tries.

“Dinner is here.” She handed him a plate of baked cod over a bed of rice and flunked by a colorful vegetable salad.

“Thank you.” He took the plate and set it on the side table. If lunch was anything to go by, that plate was going to sit there until the food went cold and room-service came for the plates.

“Uh uh.” She reached for the laptop. “You have to eat something. The thumb-drive isn’t going anywhere.”

There was a brief tag of war with the machine but finally Nathan released it with a tired sigh. Closing his eyes, he leant back against the coach.

Even though she was still angry at him, Shakira felt sorry for him. She didn’t know if this was his way of making up with her or repenting, but she didn’t want him keeling over on her behalf. Reaching across him, she picked up the plate again and set it on his lap. She urged, “Come on, eat something.”

For a while, the only sound in the room was the clinking of their forks against the plates. Unspoken words hovered above them, like a dark cloud threatening to break at any time. The tension was excruciating and finally Shakira gave in to it.

She set her half empty plate on the coffee table and turned to Nathan. “Was any of it real?”

His fork paused midair. The startled glance he threw her was sign enough that he knew what she was asking. Setting the fork back on the plate, and the plate on the table beside hers, then twisted to face her. “At first it wasn’t…”