McCabe Read online

  Turning the box, she let the silver heart and chain dangle. There was thickness to the pendant, and weight. The chain sparkled, the heart shone, and Rowena stared at them for a long time before sinking onto the bed to absorb the full meaning of the gift.

  She couldn’t be bought, but she didn’t think that was McCabe’s intention in any case. This was simply him being thoughtful. This was him knowing what needed to be done to take her mind off the fact that her son, though he might be safe, was still out of reach and would likely remain so for some time yet. This was him reminding her of the flames that had once raged white hot between them. As if her dream hadn’t already done that.

  “Once upon a time,” she murmured, still examining the pendant.

  It occurred to her that however many years ago it had been since they’d met, she’d worn a dress once very similar to this one. That was the night they’d walked along the Seine, the night they’d wound up making love both in and out of her tiny bed, after an exquisite candlelight dinner and a glass of wine at midnight in an outdoor bistro.

  In the hotel room in Carmina, the music on the radio changed from gentle Faith to rocking Reba. Grinning, Rowena picked up the larger box. The Nevada desert might be far away from the lights of Paris, but the moon and the stars were every bit as enchanting. And she had a lot of things to say to McCabe.

  She only hoped he’d have something to say back that she’d want to hear.

  …

  In the hotel kitchen, Dancer sat on the sturdy tiled table and drank a beer while McCabe regarded his phone.

  “Earth to McCabe,” he said after a noisy sip. “You want me here why exactly? I brought the food you asked for from the Santa Rosita Cafe, put it in the oven like you said, set up the dining room for a fancy dinner, and made sure there were candles and roses on the table. Shouldn’t you want me to vamoose?”

  “No, I want you to keep an eye on the hotel. Mockerie’s out there somewhere, and I need to know if he shows up here.” McCabe tapped keys, scrolled, and tapped some more. “Rowena needs a break. I don’t think it’s safe for us to leave, so I’m bringing Santa Rosita to her. Things will come to a head soon enough. I want a moment with Rowena where no one and nothing can touch us. Face it, we’re heading into hell here. I think she deserves a quick detour.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Dancer offered up his rat-like grin. “I think there’s more to it than that, but I’ll buy whatever you say since it doesn’t involve me beyond sticking around here watching the dust settle and listening to the Stones on my phone. I am so Keith Richards in my head.”

  “Make sure you stay alert enough to watch for any sign of Mockerie’s people, okay?”

  “Hey, I’m always on the lookout for them. Mind if I ask why you’re so obsessed with bringing him down?”

  “You can ask.” A smile ghosted around the corners of McCabe’s mouth. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  “But you do like his ma.”

  “She’s one of my favorite people.”

  “And the old lady who lives in the key.”

  “Same response.”

  “And Rowena.”

  Pushing away from the counter where he’d been leaning, McCabe pocketed his cell. “Take the room on two at the end of the south hallway. You can see everyone coming and going from there. Back door’s barricaded. Windows are double glazed and locked. You’ll hear any and all sounds of a break-in.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dancer drank again. “I expect a loaded pizza for this.”

  “Keep the volume down on the Stones,” McCabe warned. Then he grinned. “Anchovies?”

  “Hell no, but a pretty woman would be nice.” A canny brow rose. “Rowena’s way more than pretty, don’t you think?”

  “She’s beautiful, Dancer. And there are a million reasons why we’ll never be together, so you can drop the sly look right now. You’re not going to get the explanation you want. Or the reaction either for that matter. Rowena’s…”

  His tongue and brain simply stopped working. She strolled in wearing the stiletto heels and the scrap of a dress he’d bought for her, and every thought in his head turned to dust.

  “Ho-ly shit!” Dancer gaped. His jaw hung open, and the hand holding the beer froze in midair. “Are you fucking serious?”

  Somehow, McCabe recovered enough to say, “He means you look gorgeous. Off the charts.”

  “Hot, sexy, killer, wicked,” Dancer added. “Keep going, McCabe.”

  He couldn’t. She was a vision. No words could cover how exquisite she looked, or how every part of him had suddenly melted into a pool of uncontrolled adolescent lust.

  She regarded him with a combination of humor and guile. “I’m getting this works for you.”

  “If it doesn’t, he’s dead.” Dancer’s beer was still stalled halfway to his mouth. “I, uh, should probably go. Right?” He directed the question at McCabe, but his eyes remained on Rowena. “Room, windows, barricade, cold shower.” He slithered to the floor. “Not in that order. Bye.”

  McCabe didn’t see him leave, couldn’t see anything except Rowena’s long legs, her bare arms, the silky hair that framed her shoulders, and the silver heart that fell perfectly into place in the hollow of her cleavage.

  She walked toward him. “You’re not talking, McCabe. Why aren’t you talking? You drove somewhere and bought all this. You remembered the sizes I wear. You put a bow on the box. You’re wearing a dark suit. No tie, but still. I think you could at least say something that isn’t a translation of Dancer’s remarks. Which were incredibly flattering by the way.” Stopping a foot from him, she reached up a finger and slid it along his cheek to the side of his mouth. “But with whom I’m not planning to spend the evening.”

  “My brain’s on overload here, Ro. I need a minute or two to jumpstart it.”

  “Oh, well I can help you with that.” She replaced her finger with her lips, teasing the corners of his mouth before capturing it fully and sending the rest of his body into the same state of limbo as his mind.

  It didn’t last. Thank God, the paralysis broke. Heat flooded in, and with it a crushing hunger he’d forgotten he possessed.

  He took her face between his fingers and angled her head so he could feed on her, could invade and revel all the way.

  His tongue probed every corner of her mouth, every dip and hollow, every familiar place. Need drove him, racing neck and neck with greed, and something a hell of a lot stronger than mere lust.

  She responded to the assault on her senses, meeting his tongue and letting her hands slide over his ribs to the waistband of his pants.

  “Did I mention you dress up well?” she said when he came up for air. “Black pants and jacket, white shirt. Have you worn anything other than jeans and T-shirts since Paris?”

  “Yeah. No. What? Wait.”

  Her smile was knowing and totally female. “Not sure you can, McCabe.” Her hands slid lower and squeezed gently. “Not sure I want to.”

  He sure as hell didn’t. But he’d had a plan, and jumping into bed with her wasn’t the lead-off.

  He kissed her again and almost thought, Screw the plan. But he pulled back just far enough to grind his teeth and manage a rough, “You like romance. You deserve it.”

  She caught his lower lip between her own teeth as amusement danced up into her eyes. “I do, on both counts. But I don’t want it as a token.”

  “Nothing’s a token with you, Ro. I…” He couldn’t say it, didn’t dare, for her sake and her safety. “I want a night. I want you to have a night. What happens at the end of it is your choice. I won’t press.”

  She moved her hips against him, sliding her arms around his neck. “What if I want you to press?”

  He let a grin appear. “Let me know, and I’ll do my best to oblige.”

  “In that case.” With a last kiss that almost sent him over the edge, she whirled away, shook her hair into place, and smiled as she fingered the heart gleaming like a star between her breasts. “Let the seduction begin.�
�

  …

  Mockerie figured most of the Feds on his ass would continue to sniff around Martin Hood, at least for a few more months. It was all about false trails and red herrings in his world. Hood was perfect for the role. If he screwed up and got caught… Well, there were plenty more just like him out there. Hood had served his purpose as a watchdog. He’d alerted him to a possible danger posed by B. B. Beckett. Ah, but then, Beckett loved Mommy Dearest. And love was a weapon he could and would exploit. Had used already, many times over.

  He ran the short list in his mind. Hood loved his family, and Beckett loved Robbie. Mockerie didn’t love anyone, but he would prefer not to harm Amanda. She was the only person who’d ever stood up to him, both as a child and as a man. The only one who’d called a spade a spade to his face.

  The only one other than McCabe.

  As his great-aunt Amanda had one or two rights. McCabe had none. What McCabe did have at this moment was Rowena, who had absolutely no right whatsoever to be alive. Once he’d killed her for good and savored the experience, he’d turn his vengeance on McCabe.

  His mind fluctuated between them. Rowena’s face haunted him these days, just as much as McCabe’s did. The reason for it might make sense to a shrink. That and the burning need inside that compelled him to punish them both. That he torture and keep torturing them.

  Had he lusted after Rowena because he’d known she was McCabe’s lover? Or had what he’d felt for her been real? Difficult to say. Maybe one day he’d take the plunge and hire a shrink to explore the mystery.

  Seated in one of the security rooms high above the casino floor with his booted feet propped on a desk, he surveyed the action below. It pumped him up. All the color and the lights, the sounds and the scents, the smell of money being won and lost. The laughter would drive him insane if he listened to it for any length of time, but to any plus there was always a minus.

  A light tap on the door brought a scowl to his face. “What?” he demanded sharply when the door cracked opened.

  “Sir?” A young man stepped in to the room. Mockerie recognized him as the assistant manager of the hotel and had no idea what his name might be. “I— You wanted me to locate Carol Chambers for you.”

  “Yes, I did. Whatever. Is she here?”

  “No, sir, she isn’t. I can’t seem to reach her anywhere. I know she has a sister…”

  “Had a sister,” Mockerie interrupted. “The Irish Lady met with an unfortunate accident off the Florida Keys last night. I’m told there were no survivors.”

  “I see.”

  Mockerie offered a shark-like smile from under the brim of his hat. “I’m sure you don’t, but keep trying to reach her in any event. We have matters to discuss.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In the meantime, you’re in charge of the Lily Koi.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me.” Mockerie’s smile widened. With a nod, he indicated the seat across from him. “But do come and sit. Tell me all about yourself. Tell me all about your family.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They didn’t go far. In fact, they didn’t go anywhere except into the dining room of the hotel. It wasn’t the most beautiful place they’d ever been, but with Dancer watching out for them and the assurance this was the equivalent of a safe house, it was enough. They sat at a table by a wishing well with a red candle burning on the table between them and talked about life in small town America.

  They spoke words, well intended and comfortable enough, but none that held any real meaning. Rowena doubted she’d remember much about the conversation an hour from now. McCabe was with her, but he was pulling away again. Dammit, he’d set up a lovely romantic evening, then removed the most important part of himself from it.

  She ate the chicken in marinara sauce that was placed in front of her and drank two glasses of sparkling water. While she sipped a third, she leaned forward to capture his attention.

  It wasn’t difficult. He’d been eyeing her like a hungry wolf all night. Not mentioning it, but definitely noticing.

  “You’re a strange man, McCabe,” she remarked at length. “You buy a fuck-me dress and heels, stare like you want to gobble me up, then talk about a painting I purchased on the Left Bank and what its value might be in today’s art market. Am I missing something here? Getting my signals crossed. Or just reading this dress wrong? You mentioned the word ‘romance.’ This dinner’s lovely, but I wouldn’t call it romantic in the traditional sense of the word.”

  He topped her glass. “Paris was a romantic time for us, Ro. Our now’s a bit grittier. I thought you’d appreciate a trip down memory lane.”

  “What I’d appreciate is the truth. An explanation. Certainly some clarification of why you took off on me.” She held up a hand. “Yes I know we’ve been through this before and talking about it gets us absolutely nowhere, but at some point, McCabe, you’re going to have to come clean.”

  “That goes both ways, sweetheart. I left, yes, and there’s a reason for it. A damn good one that one day I might just explain. But come on, you got involved with James Mockerie. Of the two, I’d say that was the bigger shock.”

  Rowena thought for a moment. While she did, she regarded his face. It was a great face, all shadows and angles. His eyes were smoke dark and as mysterious as they were fascinating. Dammit, did he deserve the explanation he wanted more than she did? Was it fair of him to ask for one after he’d deserted her without a word? Or did fairness really apply here?

  “Oh, to hell with it.” Temper sparked. Reining it in, she swirled the contents of her glass. “If you won’t talk, then I will. Did I love James? I thought I did. Not the way I loved you, not even close. That was never going to happen again, in this lifetime. But there was something about him that drew me to him. Something dangerous, but not in a bad way. I believed he was a legitimate businessman.”

  “In many ways, he is. That’s part of why he’s so difficult to pin down. The scars didn’t put you off?”

  “No. You know I’m not very much about a person’s surface, and they’re not as bad as he thinks. Scars give character. Whether he knows it or not, accepts it or not, James is a very handsome man. A very sexy one from a female perspective.”

  “But sexy wasn’t what captivated you.”

  She tipped her head and regarded him. “He gave me a child. A beautiful baby. Whatever else he is, whatever else he’s done, he gave me that. Parker means everything to me, McCabe. I want him back and I want him safe.”

  He took her hand across the table. “We’re going to make that happen, Ro. I do have a plan. It’s not solid enough for me to share right now. This is how I work—in my head. Brainstorming only screws up my thought processes.”

  “Working in your head,” she repeated. “Sounds a bit like brooding to me.”

  McCabe frowned. “I don’t brood.”

  “Oh, get real.” A smile played on her lips. “You’re the champ in that area. You brood about everything. That includes feelings, good or bad. You get angry easily,” she added when his eyes glinted. “And you hate to be wrong. What you like and seem to need is to be in complete control.”

  “My job’s all about control…”

  She breathed out in a huff. “I’m not talking about your job. You, McCabe. I’m talking about you. Top to bottom, 24/7, you’re on and into everything. If I asked you, you’d probably insist you could have arranged my death much better than I did.” She tilted her head from side to side. “Although I do hate to admit it, I’ll grant you, you probably could have done better where Parker was concerned. In any case, it’s history. All of it, including us.”

  “And yet you’re here with me, wearing the fuck-me dress and heels I bought for you and the heart-shaped pendant that came with them.” His lips quirked ever so slightly. “Is that you still being drawn to danger?”

  She shrugged. “Probably. I’ve always been a sucker for the dark side. Ask me who I like better, Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader, and
you know where I’ll go.”

  “Vader was Luke’s father.”

  “And Robbie is James’s mother.” She tapped her glass against his. “It’s a funny old world, don’t you think?” Fixing her gaze on his, she said, “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you? About why you left so suddenly, I mean. And please, please don’t lie and say you were offered a job you couldn’t resist. No job demands a disappearing act like the one you performed.”

  “No,” he agreed, holding her stare. “The job I accepted didn’t demand that. There were reasons why I did what I did, but being a control freak, I can’t tell you what they are. Not yet.”

  “For ‘can’t,’ I’m reading ‘won’t.’”

  “Okay, won’t.” Reaching across the table, he captured her free hand and brought it to his lips. Kissed her knuckles and her palm and, damn it, created an exciting tingle of desire in her belly. “One day,” he promised, “when this is over, when you and Parker are safe and Mockerie can’t touch you, I’ll tell you everything. Why I left, why I stayed gone, why I’m kicking myself for even being here with you and wanting what I have no right to want.”

  “Seriously?” She couldn’t help laughing. “You have no right to want me? Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Must be my brooding nature slipping through.”

  “Mmm. Well, as long as you’re willing to admit that much, I guess I can wait until you are ready. I’ll fall back on the mystery you’ve always been and force myself not to push.” Humor sparkled in her eyes. “Not too much, anyway.”

  Rubbing the back of her fingers lightly with his thumb, McCabe offered her a vague half smile. “I know how much you love a mystery, Ro, so I’ll tell you this much. What I said to you on the plane about James not being completely controlled is true. He’s more volatile these days than he was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “I’m thinking before you left him. Betrayed him is how he’d have seen it. And absolutely before you died.”