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I wanted to issue a nasty retort, but I did what I could to remain calm. “Four days.”
“As I said, you didn’t know him.”
“So you killed him.” There was no reason for me to make the statement, but maybe I wanted him to feel guilt, remorse. That was crazy. He wasn’t that kind of man.
“I did what I had to do.”
“Murder. Is that the kind of man you want your children to grow up knowing?”
If I thought my impassioned plea would matter to the man, I was in a dream state. I gripped the dashboard, keeping my head straight while I scanned the street, trying to memorize every sign. While he wasn’t driving erratically, he wasn’t wasting any time taking me to another destination, the rumble of the engine keeping on edge.
“This is no world for children, Emily,” he said after a few minutes.
“No, at least we agree on something. I’m no longer certain it’s a world for anyone.” I heard the sadness in my voice and closed my eyes. As if the bastard cared. He was part of the problem, a man with a penchant for violence, his hunger for power superseding everything else. I only opened them when I realized he’d slowed down even more. The realization we were in a typical neighborhood, pretty little houses only a hundred yards from sidewalks on both sides of the street providing hope.
When he pulled into a driveway, my heart was in my throat as I peered out the passenger window. I couldn’t fathom that he lived in a normal house next to neighbors who likely had no idea he was a trained killer.
The moment he cut the engine, yanking the keys from the ignition, he jumped out of the vehicle. There was no use in attempting to get away at this point. He would only hunt me down. As he opened the door, his odd gesture of holding out his hand struck me badly. Did he really believe I wanted to touch him? I was repulsed at the thought.
“Take my hand, Emily.” His tone wasn’t threatening, yet I knew better than to ignore his demand.
When I placed my hand in his, the instant shot of electricity rattled my system. If he sensed it, I couldn’t tell, the darkness preventing me from clearly seeing anything. He yanked me to my feet, placing his other hand around my mouth as he led me into the shadows. He was a trained killer, but not easily riled, which meant even an act of revenge was calculated. I’d learned of men who had ice running through their veins, capable of the most heinous crimes. What my father had always told me was that they never acted on impulse, calculating every move. However, if they were forced into an unknown or unwanted situation, they would resort to their savage methods in order to stay alive.
I reminded myself of that as he pressed his fingers against a keypad. The house was equipped with high dollar security. Once inside, he immediately armed it again before turning on a light. What I saw terrified me even more. This was no normal house. There was little in the way of furniture, no televisions or comfy pillows, the windows covered in bars of steel. As he dragged me down the hallway, I was struck by the lack of smell. This wasn’t a place he slept and ate in, merely a control center for whatever missions he was required to complete.
He hadn’t killed my boss indiscriminately. Whether or not what he’d told me was true, he’d acted on a plan to eliminate him. The room at the end of the hall had a similar security system, only the scanner was a heat sensor, reading his fingerprints. As soon as he flicked on a light, I winced, sucking in my breath. The previous bedroom had been altered into a communications center, complete with several computers, printers, and other equipment I couldn’t identify.
He jerked out one of two hardback chairs, pushing me down then giving me a stern look.
“Do not move,” he instructed then moved to one of the cabinets.
I studied him intently, able to get a much better look with the array of ceiling lights. He was every bit as tall and muscular as I’d observed, his spectacular arm muscles bulging through the dark Henley shirt, his black jeans accentuating his sculpted legs. His olive skin emphasized his dangerous good looks, enough so it was difficult not to stare at him.
Obviously, he either had money or connections given the impressive computer terminals. They were all high dollar Macs, with printers capable of handling the size of blueprints. I slowly turned my head, realizing he also had scanning equipment. Jesus. What the hell was this man involved in?
After grabbing something from one of the drawers, he took three long strides in my direction, his eyes hooded as he studied me like a specimen. “Put your hand on the screen, Emily.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
Every word dripping out of his mouth was laced with utter domination, the husky tone continuing to filter into my eardrums. I did what he asked, realizing almost instantly he was fingerprinting me. No. No! That couldn’t happen. The moment I tried to jerk my arm away, he snapped his fingers around my wrist, leaning over.
“Is there something you need to tell me, Emily?”
“Stop saying my name. Just stop it.” Would it matter if he knew who I was? I had no doubt with his expensive equipment he could find out my lineage. It no longer mattered. I’d lost a portion of my family over a year before.
“What would you prefer I call you?”
“Just let me go,” I whispered, almost succumbing to the wretchedness of my fear.
He pressed my hand on the screen, the same wry smile on his face making me sick. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that,mi premio.”
Spanish. Now I was able to catch his accent, although the inflections were entirely different than others I knew who spoke the language. “I’m not your prize.” Everything I said seemed to amuse him, the sparkle in his eyes creating a wave of shivers. “Why don’t you tell me your name?”
After pulling the screen away, he finally let go of my hand, immediately pressing his index finger against the surface. Then he immediately pulled a cell phone from his pocket, hitting a single button then pulling it to his ear. Great. He had some other asshole on speed dial. Maybe they’d compare notes on how best to get rid of me.
Even though I’d taken Spanish all through high school, I couldn’t keep up with his clipped words, the guttural sound of his voice making every word drip with sensuality. He threw me a single look, indicating he was talking about me.
