A sickening image of Belinda Corazon's blood-spattered white carpet flashed through Victor's mind. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
“You know how well I'm willing to pay for my amusements, Victor,” Kurt added. “This would be worth a great deal to me. I might even be persuaded to part with that derringer that you so admired in San Diego last year. The murder weapon in the famous John F. Higgins murder-suicide in 1889, remember? I paid two hundred thousand, though it was worth twice the price. Think about it. And as to that other little matter... you'll hear from me soon.”
The phone clicked. The line went dead. Victor laid the phone down, shocked to feel the physiological signs of fear in his body. Cold sweat, tremors, abdominal discomfort, all of it. He had almost forgotten the feeling, it had been so long.
He had not been afraid for someone else for longer than he could remember. It alarmed him to realize that he actually cared about the girl. It was one thing to toy with Novak himself. He was a disappointed, bitter old man, bored with his life and his wealth, with nothing to lose.
It was quite another to expose his niece to Novak's poisonous regard Well and good to speak of toughening and tempering, but she was by no means ready to take on such a malicious opponent.
He was obscurely comforted by the fact that Mackey was so taken with the girl. He would make a formidable bulwark for her, if his primitive masculine instincts were aroused As they clearly were.
Noisy sex in the backseat of a sports utility vehicle, indeed. On a residential street. His mouth curved in an unwilling smile.
Naughty little minx. She was shaping up nicely.
“Well, well, well. Look who's finally decided to grace us with her exalted presence.” Harriet strode toward Raine's cubicle, heels clicking in a sharp, staccato rhythm.
Raine laid her purse on her desk and glanced at her watch. She was an hour late, but after what she'd been through lately, she simply didn't have the energy to be anxious about it. “Good morning, Harriet.”
Stefania appeared behind Harriet's shoulder. “Look, boys and girls,” she said with a sugary smile. “It's the flavor of the week. I hope you had a relaxing afternoon yesterday while we finished your work.”
Raine turned to face them as she unbuttoned her coat. A cool, detached part of her mind reflected that only two days ago, this situation would have made her want to throw up.
Now the two women seemed like mosquitoes, buzzing at her from afar. Annoying, but largely insignificant. “Do you ladies have a problem?” she asked quietly.
Harriet blinked. “You're late.”
“Yes,” Raine agreed. “It was unavoidable.”
Harriet quickly found her stride. “I'm not interested in excuses, Raine. I'm interested in—”
“Results, yes. Thank you, Harriet, I've heard that lecture more than once. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd be much more productive if you ail would let me get to work.”
Harriet's face darkened. “Perhaps you think you're quite special now that you evidently enjoy a private relationship with Mr. Lazar, but you should be aware that—”
“I don't think anything of the kind,” Raine said wearily. “I'm just not in the mood to be bullied.”
“Well!” Harriet's face flushed a deep, unpleasant red.
“Perhaps her majesty would be interested to know that she missed her ferry,” Stefania said. “We'll have to call Mr. Lazar and tell him you won't make it to Stone Island until the taxicab at the marina is free to run you over. He'll be without secretarial support for the entire morning. I can assure you he won't be pleased.”
“Ferry? What ferry?” Alarm pierced through her protective fog of weariness and indifference. It sank in like a knife.
Harriet felt it, and smiled a thin, triumphant smile. “Oh, yes. Your services have been requested at the island. Mr. Lazar often works from there. When he does, the support staff takes the ferry to Severin Bay, where they are met by his private boat and taken to Stone Island.”
“If you'd gotten to work on time, you could have caught the 8:20 with the others “ Stefania said “As it is, you'll have to wait for the taxicab. It'll still be quicker than driving up to Severin Bay.”
“So we'll be doing your work today as well,” Harriet snapped. “Don't bother taking off your coat. The car is waiting downstairs.”
A half-hour later she was at the marina, shivering in the cold wind that swept over the water. Trying to persuade herself that she was ready to face Stone Island, and with it, the swirling miasma of panic that surrounded it in her memories.
Her mother had lied when she insisted that they had been in Italy on the day of her father's death. She was sure of it. She closed her eyes and tried for the hundredth time to remember that day.
She must have hugged and kissed him good-bye when he'd climbed aboard his little sailboat. Probably she'd begged to be taken along, like always, but he almost never had. He liked his privacy, so he could daydream, gazing at the islands, taking nips from his little silver flask.
It hurt that she could not recall that final farewell. It should be indelibly stamped on her memory, but it seemed to have been scribbled over with heavy black ink instead. All she felt was anxiety, edging closer and closer to panic. It was going to be hard to fake being nonchalant and professional today. After years of stifling inaction, everything was happening at once. She was changing so quickly she barely knew herself from one moment to the next.
That made her think of Seth's early morning visit and her own wild, uninhibited response. Naked and sweating and straining beneath him in the backseat of his car. Screaming her pleasure right out loud. Oh, yes, she was changing, all right, at the speed of light. Heat suffused her face. She turned it to the icy cold breeze to cool it.
“Good morning,” someone said.
She spun, startled. A handsome, stylish blond man in his late thirties was looking her over with obvious masculine interest, his eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses. He smiled. Raine smiled back, wondering if she ought to recognize him from somewhere. He had deep dimples, a winsome, charming smile. She would surely have remembered him, if she had seen him before.
Seconds ticked past. Raine could think of absolutely nothing to say to him. He continued to stare, and his smile was objectively attractive; but he emanated a strange energy, like nothing so much as a sound shield of white noise in a psychiatrist's waiting room. She could barely hear herself think over the static.
The man moved closer to her, and for no reason, she thought of Medusa, the mythical snake-haired woman whose gaze turned men to stone. He was closer now. Too close. She could see her own reflection in the lenses of his glasses. Her eyes looked big and frightened.
The corners of his narrow, ascetic mouth tilted slightly up. She was intimidated, and be seemed to like it.
Anger flared inside her, but the interchange was too small and too subtle to protest. Without saying a word the hateful bastard had made her feel like prey. “Excuse me,” she murmured, backing away.
“Wait, please. Have we met?” His voice was friendly, the faint European cadence impossible to place.
She shook her head, frozen in place. “I don't think so.”
Idiot, she told herself, furious. Miss Nicey Nice just gave him an opening and made her sound doubtful and vulnerable. Cheep, cheep, cheep, said the fluffy baby bird, as the snake stretched open its jaws.
“You work for Lazar Import & Export, no?”
That, too, was an unpleasant shock. He knew too much already. “Yes,” she said. She backed away farther.
He followed her, undaunted. “That explains it. I have done business with your employer in the past. Surely I have seen you. Parties at the island. Or meetings, receptions.” He grinned. His teeth were white and straight. Unnaturally perfect, like a cartoon character's.