Текст книги "Circle of Bones"

Автор книги: Christine Kling

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Georgetown 

March 28, 2008

6:45 p.m.

The door must be made of two inches of solid oak, he thought. Dig had tried everything from knives to bullets to a big meat cleaver he had found in a wood block on the kitchen counter. The hole he had made was not yet big enough to reach his hand through, though, when he first heard the sirens. He tried enlarging the hole with a few more shots, but the sirens stopped in front of the house. It was time to leave.

He backtracked the way he had come, passing down the hall, through the day room and to the grand staircase. As he climbed the stairs, he heard the voices of the police officers assembled on the front porch, their radios crackling. He had disabled the alarm system, but Riley and the others must have called from a cell phone. He heard the front door open and the jangling of the gear the officers wore as they entered the house.

Earlier in the afternoon, it had taken him more than an hour to find the manhole covers where he could access the power transformer and phone lines. He had his driver cruise the street past the front of the house several times. Twice he caught a glimpse of the Kittridge woman with Thatcher. Even at such a distance, he could see her animal sexuality. It was common in her kind.

He found his way back to the master bedroom window, and he climbed back out through the broken shards of glass onto the branch of the big old elm tree just as the police were starting up the stairs. The DC Police were a hopeless lot of barbarians. They’d lost all standards through affirmative action. Dig wasn’t worried about them, he thought, as he dropped to the ground. He hurried across the neighbor’s yard, removing his cell from his pocket, and then slipped out the gate onto a side street. His car met him at the corner and picked him up.

“Circle the block a few times,” he told the driver.

In front of the Kittridge house, half a dozen police cars with flashing lights lined the street. The few passing cars slowed, the drivers gawking. A Pepco truck had already arrived and was at work on the power lines. As they drove past the front of the house, he slid down in the back seat and watched out the window. He looked for them in the crowds in front of the house, or through the windows. Once, he saw a small woman about Riley’s size, and he told his driver to slow, but it wasn’t her. He imagined them down in that cellar, cornered, waiting for the police to arrive and save them. If only he’d had a few more minutes.

Priorities, he told himself. Operation Magic. He had no idea what it was, but he knew it would be his ticket, his entree, his reservation for a seat at the table. That was what he must concentrate on now. He’d shot at Thatcher’s duffel to motivate him. Let the man think he was out to kill him. In fact, Dig wanted Thatcher back down in the islands as soon as possible to find that submarine.

He had seen the way Thatcher looked at Riley down on Dominica. It turned his stomach, but the fact was that he could put that to good use. Thatcher would do whatever Diggory wanted – hand over whatever he’d found, as long as he had Riley to motivate the man. Then later, when he had Operation Magic in his possession and Thatcher had been dealt with, Dig could take his sweet time with Riley.

Dig told his driver to return to his apartment, then settled back into the seat and removed his gloves. He would fly to Guadeloupe and charter a boat. He spread wide the fingers of his right hand stretching the aching muscles. Then he would check on the barbarians, he thought, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. He would find Thatcher and his submarine. After closing his eyes, he pictured Riley’s naked body, her pale skin and long neck, and he squeezed until his knuckles turned white.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Leesburg, Virginia

March 28, 2008

9:05 p.m.

By the time they passed through the electric gate onto the unplowed road, Riley was beyond worrying what part of her body landed on what part of Cole’s. Even though Hazel tried to speed whenever possible, attempting to leave the Washington area during the evening rush hour was a horror, and it had taken them more than two hours to travel about forty-five miles. But thinking about the man’s body beneath her had at least prevented her from reliving the events that had taken place earlier in the day.

During those first miles, she braced herself with one arm on the seat back and the other on the dash, her head bent to one side. But she was so tired from whatever medication Hazel had given her earlier, eventually, she leaned back against Cole’s chest and rested her head on his shoulder. She was beyond caring what he or anyone else thought, and she had to admit, though the old MG was a drafty wind tunnel, the heat they were generating between them was more than enough to keep her warm. She said, “Wake me when we get there.” It was the drugs, she told herself.

Of course, try as she might, she wasn’t able to go to sleep. Drowsy or not. She couldn’t shut off her mind. What was wrong with her? After what she had been through this day, men should be the last thing on her mind. But, there was something comforting about being cradled in his arms. He made her feel safe, and sometimes she opened her eyes in thin slits and watched the curve of his jaw line as it hardened when Hazel bumped over the reflectors in the road. Her weight must be crushing his legs, she thought.

The front left tire dropped into a pothole with a jarring lurch, and Riley’s butt dropped hard onto Cole’s lap. With no more feeling in her legs, she wasn’t even trying to make the bumps easier on him. She was pretty sure this had stopped being fun for him quite a while ago.

He slid his hands under her and cupped her buttocks. “Sorry, Magee,” he said. “I’m just going to adjust your position a little.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes open wide. She saw his white teeth shining in the glow from the headlights. “Hey,” she said. Maybe she was wrong about the amount of fun he was having.

“Well, I reckoned we were almost there, and if I was gonna cop a feel, it was now or never.”

Hazel laughed. “Riley, Sweetcheeks here’s a hoot. Stick with him and I won’t have to worry about you getting a cat.”

Cole said, “A cat? You mean like a boat cat?”

“Ignore her,” Riley said.

 “Well,” Hazel said, “your fella is right about us almost being there. The house is right up here.”

“He’s not my fella.” As she spoke the car went over a little rise and Riley saw the white columns of an enormous old antebellum mansion. “Jesus, Hazel, are you dating Rhett Butler?” she asked.

“No, darling, he’s an adorable Greek by the name of Niko Boulis and we’re not an item anymore, just good platonic friends.”

“He must be gay,” Cole said.

“You know those Greeks, darling. They always play for both teams – or at least they’re more honest about it than the rest of us.” Hazel chuckled. “His father’s in shipping and they have the nicest couple of yachts.” She pulled the car up in front of white steps and swung around to face them. “The Savannah Jane happens to be in Antigua at the moment, only a few miles from Guadeloupe.”

“Savannah Jane doesn’t sound Greek to me,” Riley said.

“Well, he’s got this sort of obsession with the Old South. Like this place. Looks historic, right? Nope.  It’s a reproduction – right down to the last detail.”

The front door swung open and a tall, dark haired man in a white linen suit came running down the steps. He opened Hazel’s door and offered her his hand to help her out of the low car. “Hazel, honey! How wonderful to see you!”

Riley could hear the smacks of the air kisses coming from that side of the car. She felt Cole’s hand moving along the outside of her hip, then the door swung open. He shifted his knees, and she slid right off his lap onto the hard packed snow.

“Wake up,” he said. “We’re here.” After he climbed out, he reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

She rolled onto her knees and made a wobbly ascent to her feet on her own. The pins and needles in her legs were killing her, but she wasn’t about to let it show.

In the porch light, she admired the shine on the big, black curls that clung to Niko’s head. Platonic, my ass, she thought.

He led them inside the house, and it looked to her like all the furniture pieces were museum-quality antiques. It was as though the plantation owner had just left and handed over the keys.

Their host led them upstairs and showed Riley and Cole to their rooms. “The bathroom is down the hall,” Niko said, “as it would have been in the 19th century.” Riley’s room had a four-poster bed with what looked like handmade lace fringing the canopy. Niko explained she should help herself to any clothes in the wardrobe and that his cook had prepared some food for them. They could eat downstairs once they had freshened up from the trip.

Hazel, who was holding Niko’s hand, whispered, “I know we’re safe here, but are you going to be okay?”

“I’m good. I just need sleep. You go have fun. But spare me the details.”

Hazel smiled at her. “See you in the morning.” She fluttered her fingers at Riley.

Riley leaned against the closed door. So much for Hazel and Niko’s “just friends” status. She flopped down backwards onto the bed and stared up at the canopy. As usual, her friend would be having hot sex with some deliciously sensuous man and here she was back in her Semper Fi Immaculate Heart Convent for Wayward Marines.

Riley closed her eyes and the image of Diggory Priest standing over her father flashed in her mind.

Her eyes snapped open.

Through the wall, she heard them usher Cole into the room next to hers. With everything that had happened over the last few hours, she hadn’t asked him what he was doing in DC. How did he come to be in her father’s house today? What made him leave his beloved submarine hunt and come up here?

Time to change the subject again, she told herself. She didn’t want to think about him so close on the other side of that wall. But thinking about him kept her from reliving the events of that afternoon.

She got up and explored the room. On a dressing table, she found a pitcher of cold water, soap and towels.  Just what she needed. She pulled her shirt off over her head and splashed her face and hands, then scrubbed her skin with the soap and washcloth. The cold water felt good on her hot skin.

As she dried herself, she looked at her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. Her eyes darted between staring at her scars and looking into her own eyes.

“Stop dreaming, sailor,” she said aloud. “Men aren’t interested in women who look like you.” She bent her shoulder forward to examine the red skin there again. “He might be attracted to you when you’re dressed, but once you take your clothes off?” She held her index finger up straight, then slowly let it droop down. She looked at the grim smile reflected in the mirror. “Better to laugh than to cry, right?” She had cried enough today, she thought as she pulled her T-shirt back over her head.

From the armoire, she selected a white, long-sleeved men’s shirt and draped it over a chair to put on before going to bed. She needed a good night’s sleep, she told herself.

When she found her way to the kitchen a few minutes later, Riley discovered Cole already standing next to an enormous stone fireplace. He was staring at the spread on a long rough-hewn wooden table. The surface was covered with bottles and dishes including Greek salad, quiche, various cheeses and meats, a bowl of large prawns nestled in crushed ice, warm French bread, and a selection of wines.

Cole looked up when she came in. “Can you believe this spread? Or this house? Not to mention Hazel’s house. I feel like I’ve been dropped into the reality TV show, ‘Who Wants to Visit the Millionaires?’”

Riley looked at the food and felt her stomach churn. “I’m not really hungry.”

“How about a glass of wine then?”

She nodded. As she wandered around the room exploring, Cole opened a bottle of pinot noir and poured them both glasses. He motioned her over to a pair of chairs set up before the big stone fireplace.

When they’d settled themselves, she said, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

He puffed out his cheeks and blew out air in a long sigh. “Well,” he said, “it’s kinda’ hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

 “Okay.” He reached into his pocket and drew out the green marble and brass calendar device. “After you left, Theo and I took Shadow Chaser back to the Saintes that same afternoon. En route, I kept going over the journals and thinking. Why this device? What is he trying to tell us? The only passage I could find that seems to refer to any sort of date is that weird nursery rhyme song where the old man refers to the End of Days. Then Theo reminded me about the Mayan calendar, so I decided to come to DC to do some research.”

Riley sighed. “It’s difficult to care about those games anymore.”

“It matters more than ever now.”

She shook her head. “Not to me. Not after today.” She set her glass down on the hearth and rubbed her eyes. “I’m not at all sure what matters anymore.”

“Riley, I don’t believe that.”

She felt the tears returning and she steeled herself against them by taking another big gulp of the wine.

“What about truth?” he said. “Does that matter? Or honor, duty, reason, freedom?”

She sighed. “Cole, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He stood up and crossed to the table and leaned on it with both his arms stretched out straight. Without turning, he said, “That’s the problem these days. Nobody wants to talk about the things that are most important.”

“Sometimes, it just hurts too much.”

 He spun around and walked back toward her. “It always has. But we’ve grown soft – too into comfort. We Americans have our fancy imported foods,” he said pointing to the display on the table before them. “We have our big cars and cheap fuels, all the shiny trinkets they’ve convinced us we can’t live without, and our ‘reality’ has become what appears on the screens we stare at 24/7.” As he spoke, he paced the room, his arms carving his points in the air. “Guys like Priest and the men he represents can get away with their crap because people don’t question things that are too good to be true – whether it’s a sub prime loan or the idea that we can keep services without paying taxes.”

“Jesus, Cole. Enough already.” She rubbed her forehead. The man was passionate, all right, but politics weren’t what she wanted to think about at the moment.

 “I mean, give me a break,” he continued.  “You mean to tell me we can find Saddam hiding in a hole, but after all these years our government still can’t find Bin Laden? Why should we? That would end all their profits! And the saddest part of all is that we can’t claim to be victims. We helped them to it,” he said as he pantomimed the motions of throwing something at her. “Too many Americans decided truth and honesty don’t matter. The end justifies the means, and it isn’t wrong unless you get caught.” He stopped and slapped his hand down on the table making the dishes jump. “Well, I’m gonna head back down there and make sure that sonofabitch gets caught – by finding whatever this Operation Magic is.”

“That’s quite a speech,” she said keeping her voice calm and even. “And I’m going, too, you know.”

“You? No, it’s better if you stay here with Hazel. It’s safer.”

She set down her glass, made an effort to smile, but her lips just stretched thin across her lips. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you, Thatcher?”

“Well, yeah. I know who the bad guys are and what I intend to do about them.”

She stood. “So it’s all black and white to you, eh? The big, tough guy goes back down to the islands to search for his submarine, while the little women stay home safe. How sweet.” She turned her back on him and walked away. At the kitchen door, she paused and turned to face him again. “You don’t get it. Your father did. I read in his journal where he talked about living in the world of the ‘tween where things aren’t black and white, right and wrong – where it’s hard to figure out who’s good and who’s bad. For the last 24 hours, I’ve been deep in that ‘tween world, Cole. I found out for certain, today, that they killed my brother – and that my father was one of them. I’m going, Cole Thatcher, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.” She headed for the stairs before he could say another word.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Leesburg, Virginia

March 29, 2008

12:15 a.m.

Cole leaned back on a pile of embroidered pillows on the big four-poster canopied bed still wearing his jeans, T-shirt and socks. It was after midnight. There were no lights on in the room, nor was there a fire in the big brick fireplace. The room was cold, and Cole wondered if the Greek guy took his authenticity kick to such an extreme that he had no heat in the rooms. No sense in getting undressed if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. His knees were bent, and one foot rested on the opposite knee. In his right hand, he held the marble and brass calendar paperweight. He tossed it into the air and snatched it on the downswing with his opposite hand. Then he repeated the motion.

Through a tall window opposite the door, the light from a slender moon lit the spindly dressing table covered in lace doilies. On it was a collection of antique perfume bottles and an engraved silver comb and brush. The wallpaper was covered with hundreds of little bouquets of flowers, and the dominant color in the room was a cross between purple and pink. On the wall opposite the bed was a portrait of a guy in a military-looking coat with a curl of brown hair falling across his forehead. The guy wore white pants that were so tight they might as well have been a dancer’s tights.

God, he thought, it was like trying to sleep in a fifteen-year-old girl’s bedroom. He couldn’t wait to get on that plane in the morning and get back to his own cabin on his boat. He looked at the paperweight in his hand and turned the brass face plate. He would do this on his own – no problem. He didn’t need anything else complicating his life. As if trying to find the Surcouf wasn’t enough complication already.

Shit, he thought, what the hell was he supposed to do? What did she expect from him, anyway? Some whack job is trying to kill her, and he wanted to see her safe. He was trying to be a nice guy. She could at least give him a little credit for that.

He threw the paperweight into the air again and snatched at it with his right hand. He sat up suddenly drawing his arm back, poised to throw it at the wall that separated his room from Riley’s. Why, he should go in there right now and —

Cole lowered his arm and fell back into the pile of pillows. No, that would be way too dangerous a thing to do: going into her room when all he could think about was how much he wanted to undress her and hold her naked body close, skin to skin? No, what was he thinking? He rested his forearm across his brow, hot in spite of the chill in the room. How the hell was he ever going to sleep? He closed his eyes and thought back to the long car ride, holding her on his lap, feeling drunk on her citrus scent. He’d wanted to bury his face in her hair, then, starting with her ears and that long curve of throat, he would kiss and nibble all the way down to —

“Stop it,” he said aloud. His jeans were starting to bind uncomfortably and this stranger’s house was no place to be dealing with that.

“Stop what?” a soft voice said.

He hadn’t heard the door open, but there she was, stepping into his room, the moonlight reflecting off the streaks of gold in her tousled hair.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice not so soft now. More demanding. “You’ve got some nerve, you know. I’d like to know where you get off telling me where and when I am allowed to go back down to the islands to my own boat.” She stood at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips the way she had stood on her boat that night with that fish oven mitt on her hand. Only this time, she was wearing a man’s dress shirt, the top three buttons open, her suntanned skin glowing in the V formed by the open neckline.

He rolled off the bed in one quick move, landing on his stockinged feet. She was barefoot, and the skin of her thighs showed beneath the dangling white shirttails. The outline of her hard nipples poked out beneath the thin cloth.

“You’re not the only one in the whole friggin’ world,” she continued, “who gives a damn about things like justice and liberty and honor. How dare you? If you think you’ve got the corner on that, I know a few Marines I’d like to introduce you to. You think you know how to keep me safe? You do realize that I am a highly trained United States Marine, and I am going back down to the islands in the morning, and there isn’t a goddamned thing you can do to stop me.”

“Okay,” Cole said as he rounded the bed, “but I guess there’s only one way to stop you from swearing like a sailor.” He scooped her up and engulfed her mouth in a long, firm kiss. Her words turned into a slow moan. The little struggle she gave at first, melted away as he tried to find his way back to the bed before his own legs buckled under him.

He could tell from the smooth feel of her body beneath the cotton cloth, that she wore nothing under the shirt. His desire for her threatened to overwhelm his willpower. He wanted to see her, all of her, to rip off her shirt and take her, to plunge himself into her. Already his breath rasped in his throat when he broke off the deep kiss to look into her gray eyes. But there, to his surprise, he saw fear.

He had to slow down. Resting one knee on the top of the bed, he set her down amidst the mountain of pillows. He stretched out next to her, his elbow resting on a pillow, his cheek against the palm of his hand so he could take her all in. After brushing a loose strand of hair across her cheek and behind her ear, he let his finger curl around her ear the way hers so often did. With a feathery touch, he explored the tiny shell-like opening. He saw the shiver run through her body as his finger traced down her neck toward the half visible swell of her breast, saw her nipples standing hard beneath the thin fabric.

“Riley,” he said, his voice already hoarse. “I’ve wanted you since that first time I saw you on your boat. But I need to know this is what you want, too.”

She rolled onto her side and propped up her head to mirror his. The ghost of a smile played across her mouth. “Does this answer your question?” With her free hand, she reached for the top button of his jeans and slipped her fingers inside, releasing the button that opened with a snap from the pressure within.

He bent his head back and groaned, then reached into the depths of that darkness to reassert control over his body. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Not so fast, Magee,” he said, rolling her onto her back and pinning her hand to the pillows next to her head. He looked down into her sea-gray eyes. “Give me a chance to do this right.”

Closing his mouth over hers, he explored the moist, soft flesh within, letting their tongues dance round one another, nipping at her lips, then brushing his mouth over her chin. He traced the curve of her jaw with his tongue. Her breath beat a hot rhythm on his face, and he heard it catch in her throat with little sighs of pleasure. He moved down the front of her neck, kissing, tasting, exploring and when he nuzzled aside her shirt and circled her nipple with his tongue, she dropped deeper into the pillows, arching her neck with a soft gasp.

Cole raised himself up on one arm and began to unbutton the last two buttons. “I want to see you – all of you,” he said.

“No.” She grabbed a fistful of white cloth over her injured shoulder and held it tight against her neck. “I’ll keep the shirt on.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

He waited nearly a minute, but it seemed like an hour before he spoke again. “I said all of you, Riley.” He bent his head down and kissed the white knuckles of her fist. One by one, he unfolded the fingers.

She turned her face away from him as he undid the last button and brushed the shirt aside to reveal her naked torso. In the light of the moon, he saw the pearl-colored skin of her high firm breasts and the shell-like pink where red angry flesh crept up and over her right shoulder. He knew burn scars when he saw them and so much about her suddenly made sense to him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said and he heard the soft wail that escaped from her lips. He began at her neck again, kissing the soft white skin. As he approached the edge of the scar, he felt her body stiffen. But when he did not slow, when he continued on across the pink ridges, he heard her gasp and he surprised himself with the electric, erotic jolt he felt from it. “So beautiful,” he whispered and he kissed her shoulder again. He felt the shudder course through her. His own fingers trembled as they traced the contour of the injured skin. The thrill he felt at pleasuring her in this way surprised him.

He trailed his tongue down and took her nipple between his teeth. She groaned and he released the firm bud. “And you taste like the sea,” he whispered. His fingers danced across her ribs, across the taut smooth skin of her belly and down to the soft shadows of her inner thighs. He traced feathery circles across her burning skin and waves of pleasure washed through him each time her breath ended with a little cry of delight. She shuddered and writhed as he explored every crevice and peak, and he reveled in bringing her right to the quivering edge, then retreating and exploring some as yet untouched part of her body.

Then her fingers wrapped around his wrist and she pulled his hand away and rolled him over, pinning his hand to the pillow next to his head. He saw the desire, the hunger in those gray eyes that were locked on his. When she released his wrist, she slid her hand up under his T-shirt circling his own nipples, sending shock waves to his groin. Then her fingers skimmed down across his belly until her hand cupped the bulging front of his jeans. He leaned his head back, mouth open and the noise that broke from deep in his throat sounded more like a growl. The pressure inside him, the enormity of his wanting was overpowering. Cole couldn’t wait any longer to press his bare skin to hers.

Fumbling at the zipper to his jeans, he at last got the pants loose enough to slide down his legs. He kicked the jeans off the bed, then tore the T-shirt over his head. He took her in his arms, pressing his chest to her breasts and he rolled atop her. Her body was hot and wet and welcoming, and as she wrapped her legs round his waist, he dove into her and lost himself.