Stolen Heat Part 29

"You bet your a.s.s she did. She's worried about you. So's Lisa. We all are, for that matter. Pete, man, what the f.u.c.k's going on?"

Pete rubbed his free hand over his eyes. Eyes that were dog tired and scratchy from lack of sleep. "Hailey told you about Kat's necklace, right?"

"Yeah. Said you were both on your way up to get it. And can I just say, holy h.e.l.l, is the woman really alive?"

That brought a reluctant chuckle from Pete. He'd told Rafe about Kat. Once. When he'd been drunk and p.i.s.sed and feeling sorry enough about himself to open his big fat mouth. Obviously, Rafe hadn't forgotten. "Yeah, she is. I gave Maria the pendant just before the auction. Just our luck, though, Maria doesn't have it anymore." He told Rafe about the break-in at the warehouse and his suspicions as to who'd been behind it.

"s.h.i.t. You can't keep running from these guys," Rafe said in all seriousness. "We're talking about whacked-out jihad extremists here. The kind who shoot people on sight and don't give a flying f.u.c.k who lives and who dies, even themselves."

"I know. Believe me, I've been over and around this every way there is. She's got to turn herself in to the Feds. It's the only chance she's got."

"Which means what?" Rafe asked.

Now it was Pete's turn to blow out a breath. "Which means I need a favor."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Pete. What do you need?"

Pete pursed his lips, then decided, f.u.c.k it. "I just faxed you what I want done." He heard footsteps again, like Rafe was going into his office, then the crinkle of papers, like he'd pulled them from the fax machine. Before his friend could utter a word, Pete added, "Don't try to talk me out of it. Jerry and I have already been over it. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"f.u.c.k. Me." The springs in what had to be Rafe's desk chair squeaked over the line. "Tell me this is a joke."

"No joke, Rafe. All of it goes to her. Jerry's transferring all my a.s.sets into accounts in her name. I already signed over the deed to Odyssey and faxed both you and Jerry a copy. Jerry a.s.sures me the Puerto Rico branch won't be affected because of the nature of our partnership agreement. You and Lisa own the building outright. Any link to the Miami gallery is in name only."

"Pete, s.h.i.t, listen-"

"Things are gonna get hot for me, but I don't want you to worry. Anything I might admit to being involved with happened long before you and I partnered up. And everything since then has pretty much been on the up-and-up. Nothing you ever did can be traced back to me or Odyssey. The Feds'll probably come sniffing around. I just want you to be warned. I'm not gonna turn over anything even remotely related to you. I wouldn't do that."

"I know you wouldn't. Christ. This is...isn't there another way?"

Pete braced his elbow on the shiny desk. "I wish to h.e.l.l there was, but I can't think of one. If Kat goes in alone, the Feds will rip her to shreds. She's already been through enough." Softer, he added, "I already made the deal with Slade, Rafe, so there's no sense trying to talk me out of it."

Silence. Then Rafe asked, "Is she worth it?"

"Yes."

"No hesitation."

"None."

"G.o.d, Pete. You could be looking at doing time."

Pete rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Yeah, I know."

"And s.h.i.t, with all this, when you get out you'll have nothing."

Pete knew that, too. His future was a vast array of emptiness. Everything he'd worked for, gone. He had no idea how long he'd be sent up, but he knew one thing for sure: he owed her. This was his one chance to make up for all the s.h.i.tty things he'd done before. If he hadn't screwed things up with her so bad, she wouldn't be in this mess to start with.

He shifted in his seat, hoping to help his friend understand. "Let me ask you something, Rafe. If it were Lisa on the line here? If she had to choose between running for the rest of her life or face being screwed by the government over something she didn't do, what would you do?"

Silence.

Finally Rafe sighed. "I'd do whatever it took to keep her safe. I'd give up everything I have to make sure of it. I'd even sacrifice my own freedom for her. No questions asked."

Pete closed his eyes and swallowed back the rush of emotions he felt. His life may have been for s.h.i.t up until this point, but there were two people who'd changed it for the better. One was upstairs asleep. The other was on the opposite end of this line.

"I have one other favor to ask." Pete pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut to keep from sounding like the pansy he was becoming. "I won't be around to make sure she doesn't get into trouble. And she tends to have a knack for it."

"I'll keep an eye on her. She could sell Odyssey," Rafe pointed out.

Pete dropped his hand. "It's hers to do with what she wants. If she wants to sell it, don't try to stop her. I don't care."

"Jesus, Pete. You've only been with her for two days."

Six years, six months and twenty-two days to be exact. Pete just wished he had the last two days to do over.

"You must really love her," Rafe said quietly when Pete didn't answer.

Pete looked toward the ceiling where he imagined Kat was sleeping. And his heart cinched tight. "You think that makes me a fool, don't you?"

"No. I think that makes you human."

To his credit, Rafe didn't try to talk Pete out of his decision again, and by the time they hung up a few minutes later, Pete knew his friend would do everything he'd asked. Even amid the turmoil of his own mother's illness, Rafe was the kind of friend a guy could count on. Even if he thought you were out of your frickin' mind.

It was well after two a.m. when Pete finally clicked off the light and headed for the stairs. With his decisions made, he had one last person he needed to talk to before morning hit and his deal with Slade became reality.

Hanif Busir looked up from where he was seated on the ratty couch and eyed Minyawi across the room. His nerves were shot to h.e.l.l and back from lack of sleep the past few days, too many road and plane trips and trying to outwit one inconsequential Egyptologist.

They were holed up in a dive motel somewhere in Newark, waiting for news from Kalim. The walls of the room were a dingy yellow, and the stale stench of cigarette smoke felt like it was seeping into Busir's pores. But that wasn't what had him on edge. No, it was the look of pure malevolence in Minyawi's coal black eyes as he stared at Lauren Kauffman on the floor in the corner of the room, gagged with her hands and feet bound, her slacks riding low on her lean hips, her blouse pulled taut over perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

There was rank hunger in Minyawi's eyes, coupled with the kind of rage that fueled rapists and serial killers. Busir had heard stories of what Minyawi had done to women and children who'd gotten in his way over the years. Graphic, disgusting accounts of how Minyawi seemed to take pleasure in the torture. He also knew the man had something equally as horrendous planned for Katherine Meyer. But as they waited, he seemed to be contemplating practicing those moves on the blonde model in the corner of the room. And that didn't sit well with Busir.

She'd come to a few times after the drugs had worn off but was now asleep again, her head tipped to the side, resting on the grimy wall. Her breaths were even and slow, lifting her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s and dropping them in rhythmic succession. There were fresh bruises on her face from where she'd fought back and ultimately lost, but that hadn't slowed her. The woman was a fighter.

Of course, she was nothing to Busir. Frankly, he didn't care if she lived or died, but Kalim had very clear instructions she be left alone. And Busir didn't want to do anything to screw up this. .h.i.t so they could finally end this f.u.c.king job. He certainly didn't want to watch as Minyawi used the girl for his own perverse deviances and then have to explain it all to Kalim later.

And he had a sinking suspicion if something didn't change soon, he'd have no other choice but to do both.

Minyawi stood from where he'd been seated on the opposite bed, staring at Lauren Kauffman, and moved forward. He crouched down close to her and ran his finger down her neck, across her collar bone, lower to the tip of her breast. Eyes closed and still half-drugged, the model moaned and tried to shift away from the hand that was groping her. Minyawi only chuckled.

Busir stood quickly. "Kifaaya! Don't touch her." Don't touch her."

Minyawi turned those soulless eyes Busir's way and tightened his jaw. "What did you say to me?"

"She's not to be harmed."

"I'm not going to harm her," Minyawi said in an icy voice, shifting his attention back to the model. "I'm just going to have a little fun with her." His hand slid down to the model's slacks, and he used his finger to pull the cotton lower on her hip, revealing her creamy skin.

Minyawi's laugh deepened. And Busir saw their chance to finally end this s.h.i.t a.s.signment slide right down the drain because of Minyawi's volatility and unpredictability. He moved in a rage with barely a thought, kicked Minyawi in the kidneys and readied himself for a good knock-down, drag-out fight. He'd had it with this guy and every lost chance they'd had up until this point.

Minyawi rounded on him fast, but what Busir hadn't calculated was the knife Minyawi kept strapped to his thigh. Metal flashed, just before the blade sliced through Busir's throat and a gush of liquid spilled from his body. He slumped to the mattress. Shocked. Immobilized. Eyes wide as he choked on his own blood.

Minyawi glared down at him and wiped the blade of the knife on his dirty camo pants. "No one tells me what to do."

Dimly, Busir heard a phone ring, and saw, though increasing darkness, Minyawi lift his cell to his ear.

"Yes," Minyawi said firmly, eyes still on Busir. "You're sure? They're alone in Dr. Gotsi's apartment?" A slow, victorious smile slid across his face as he nodded. "We will be there shortly. Busir? No. He's indisposed at the moment. Yes. It will be finished tonight. I guarantee it."

Busir opened his mouth to yell, just as his world went silent.

Okay, enough was enough.

Kat threw back the covers on the gigantic four-poster bed, clicked on the bedside lamp and scrambled out from between the sheets. The clock across the room read 2:10 a.m. as she dragged on her jeans and slid her feet into her shoes.

She'd been lying here for the past two hours, listening to the sounds of the rain pounding the city, waiting for G.o.d-only-knows-what. She was done waiting.

The dainty Victorian furnishings with their Queen Anne legs and that delicate rose wallpaper surrounding everything was making her head swim. And every time she looked up at the lace canopy above the monster bed she'd been laying in with its intricate carvings and wide posts, she wanted to puke because it made her think of Pete and what he was doing in another room in this enormous apartment right now.

She'd been stupid to think he would come to her. Obviously, what had happened between them in that motel room last night had been all about s.e.xual tension, time and place and leftover hormones from being at that strip club. And his following her to North Carolina? Not about her, but about watching his back.

It didn't even bother him that she was up here and he was down there, with that...piranha.

She turned for the door, not caring that it was pouring outside, or that she had no idea where she'd go from here, or that Minyawi and his goons could be out there waiting for her right this very minute. If she spent another second in this penthouse, she was pretty sure she was going to lose it.

Her chest grew tight, and useless, pathetic tears she had no right to shed clawed up her throat until simply breathing was a major feat. She wasn't going to cry, dammit. The thought of melting into a puddle only ticked her off more. She didn't want anything to get in the way of the truckload of p.i.s.sed-off that had dumped itself smack on top of her.

She grabbed her jacket, cursed the man who'd left her in this spot as she grabbed her backpack from the floor and yanked the bedroom door open. Then pulled up short when Pete's broad shoulders and handsome face filled her only means of escape.

Shock came first-that he was here instead of with that witch. Then anger that he would check up on her to make sure she sat tight while he had his fun.

"Get out of my way," she snapped.

He didn't move, just stood there with those insanely s.e.xy, completely emotionless, smoky gray eyes as he stared at her. He kept one hand braced on each side of the doorjamb, preventing her exit.

"I'm leaving," she said sharply in case he'd missed the hint. "I'd appreciate it if you'd step aside."

"You're not going anywhere."

"The h.e.l.l I'm not."

In response he dropped his hands and moved forward, his body filling the s.p.a.ce until all she saw was him. No more hall, no more door, nothing beyond the fresh, white dress shirt stretched across his strong chest.

With nowhere to go and her emotions almost at a breaking point, Kat stepped back. Then clenched her jaw to keep from lashing out at him. He closed the door at his back with one hand, never looking away from her face, and clicked the lock.

"You can't keep me here," she blurted. "I'm not your prisoner."

"You're not leaving, Kat." He took the backpack and jacket from her and tossed them onto a chair.

Who the h.e.l.l did he think he was? She glared at him with all she had, and still his expression didn't change from calm and totally collected. She was quickly going from p.i.s.sed off to irate, and he didn't even seem to care.

Those stupid-a.s.s tears bubbled up again. Her nose tingled. She whipped away from him so she wouldn't embarra.s.s herself more and blinked several time to keep from bawling like a baby. There were some things a woman shouldn't ever have to endure. Staying in this house, tonight, topped that list.

"Just go," she said in a voice that came out weak and stilted and not nearly as firm as she'd hoped. "I get it, okay? Just go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone."

"She's not my girlfriend." She didn't hear him move, but she felt him suddenly at her back, just a whisper of a touch as the air stirred near her. "If I wanted to be with her, I would be."

"So why aren't you?" she snapped.

"Because she's not you."

Those four little words were like a noose around Kat's heart.

"Something about your story's been bothering me," he said. "There's one part I can't wrap my mind around."

Her back went up. She pushed thoughts of their past out of her mind and focused on the present. And why the h.e.l.l he was bringing this up at two a.m. "I didn't lie about anything."

"No, but I think you purposely omitted something important."

She wanted to step away, but there was no place to go. In front of her was the bed, to her left the window. If she moved right, it would look like he was making her uncomfortable, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She crossed her arms over her chest again instead. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do. In fact, I think it's the whole reason you're here right now."

"You must be jet-lagged, Kauffman, or your brain's turned to mush from too much s.e.x because you're not making a lick of sense."

"The only s.e.x I've had was last night, and it wasn't nearly enough. Why were you at my auction, Kat?"

His revelation that he hadn't been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Maria downstairs was quickly overshadowed by a question that seemed to come out of left field. Puzzled, she turned her head slightly to the side and realized he was even closer than she'd originally thought. Mere millimeters from touching her. The warmth of his breath fanned across her cheek and sent electricity zinging along her nerve endings. Had he really not slept with that woman? "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Why now?" he asked. "Why was it so important you get that necklace back now?"

"I...you know why. I had to make sure you didn't sell it."

"Are you telling me you were never in Miami? That you never went to see for yourself that I still had it? Not once in six years?"

Her throat grew thick as she fished for an answer she didn't have. Of course she'd kept tabs on him and what he'd done with her pendant. She'd had to for security reasons. She'd even been in his gallery once when she'd known he was out of town. At the time, she'd been shocked by the sheer magnitude of what he'd built. But how did he know any of that?

He moved even closer, until she felt his chest brush her back and the warmth of his body pressing softly into hers. And that heart rate she'd tried so hard to contain shot straight through the roof. "You could have taken it whenever you wanted. You know I didn't have it locked up."

She swallowed. Thought about what she could say. He was right. She'd sneaked into his office that one time she'd gone to his gallery and seen the golden pharaoh sitting on a gla.s.s shelf across from his desk.

His fingertip brushed a stray hair at the nape of her neck. "You told me you stayed in hiding all this time to protect your family. If that's true, then why didn't you come for it after your mother died? Why did you wait so long?"

"It...it doesn't matter."

"It does to me. You could have cleared your name anytime. I think you stayed in hiding for a reason. In fact, I can only think of one reason why you wouldn't have come forward sooner."

Kat's heart thumped erratically against her ribs, and words lodged in her throat.

"No confession to make on that one?" he asked in an amused voice as he twirled his finger in a lazy circle against her arm.