McCabe Page 18

  Amanda’s features clouded. “Yes, Beckett,” she said quietly. Taking hold of his hand, she held on tight. “Nothing about us being here is good, Ryan. You and Rowena need to watch your backs very closely.”

  McCabe pictured Mockerie’s face, or at least as much as he’d seen of it in the elevator. He understood exactly what Amanda meant. Bert was McCabe’s go-to. At some point, likely sooner rather than later, he and Rowena would be facing off, not only with James Mockerie, but also with his shadowy undoubtedly vicious alter ego as well.

  …

  McCabe would have people all over him. Watching, skulking. Doing what they’d been ordered to do. But Mockerie knew how to lose a tail. Or ten as the case may be.

  He wound a convoluted path through Las Vegas, sent a trio of decoys out of Satyr’s old stomping grounds, then grabbed a fully stocked backpack and used the underground passageways to remove himself from the premises. He dressed like a city worker and emerged from the sewer a mile and a half from the aged casino.

  There was no one in the vicinity. Even so, he paused for a smoke. Then he hotwired an old Ford pickup and drove to a fleabag hotel where the whores were cheap and gaudy and the whiskey tasted like pure rotgut.

  Downstairs, men in hoodies and dirty jackets huddled around sticky tables. Two street rats, probably high on cocaine, played darts. The bartender fiddled with his phone, and three women in shorts, bra tops, and fishnet stockings shot whatever drinks had been bought for them by whoever had been eyeing them up.

  He didn’t want them. The one sitting alone in a booth in the back of the room, looking bored and stoned and playing with her hair, was his target.

  She smiled crookedly when he approached. He still wore his city worker gear and hard hat.

  “Hey there,” she purred. “You wanting to put in some overtime with a few of your tools?”

  Oh yeah. She was high as hell. She’d be perfect.

  The hard hat shielded his eyes and a portion of his face. “Got a lot of tools I haven’t used in a while. One in particular. You up for some fun?”

  Her smile widened when she spied the roll of cash he drew from his pocket. “Fun’s my middle name, honey,” she slurred. “What’s yours?”

  “John’s too dull.” A slow smile tugged on his lips. “Let’s go with McCabe.”

  Her thighs squeaked on the vinyl seat as she slid from the booth. The height and build, he noted, were almost dead on. Cupping her elbow, he steered her toward the rear entrance and his stolen truck. “I believe I’ll call you Rowena for tonight—if that’s okay with you.”

  “Honey lamb—sorry, McCabe,” she managed to say when he put pressure on her elbow. “You can call me whatever you like for as long as you want. I haven’t seen a wad of cash like yours since I started in this business.”

  “Money’s no problem for me—Rowena. Like I said earlier, the object of the game for me is fun. And we’re going to have a whole lot of that tonight.” Releasing her, he peeled off a pair of twenties. “Why don’t we start by you getting us a room. I’ve got a pack in my truck. There’s some mighty fine whiskey inside it—among other things.”

  “You got it, hon—McCabe. I’ll just stroll right out and get us that room.” She made a snake-like motion with her hand. “I have a feeling this is gonna be a night you’ll never forget.”

  “So do I, Rowena.” He chuckled and tried not to drool. “So do I.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I can see that clever mind of yours working from here,” Amanda said to Rowena. “And that’s saying something with my bad eyesight.”

  Assuming McCabe and Robbie were gone, Rowena pulled Robbie’s chair over to where Amanda sat at the vanity. Beckett had just dropped off a bottle of sangria and three platters of sandwiches. Amanda chose ham and cheese on whole wheat bread.

  “My teeth aren’t what they used to be, either,” she confessed as Beckett melted back into the third-floor hallway. “But then, little is at my age.” She looked at Rowena in the mirror. “I’m glad your back safe and sound from Las Vegas. I’m also glad you washed that black makeup from your face, my dear. You’re far too beautiful to wear such dreadful goop, even as a disguise. James wears a very different kind of disguise, as I’m sure you realize by now. In his defense, I’m going to say he comes by it honestly. Certain tendencies run in our family.”

  Rowena sampled the sangria. Not bad at all. Still, she knew better than to drink too much.

  “McCabe said something similar once.” Propping her elbow on the vanity, she studied Amanda’s careworn face. “Are we referring to your side of the family?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” The old woman bit into her sandwich again. “James’s father was a lovely man. I’m not even sure he had a temper. My brother, on the other hand, was a wild thing when riled. However, I repeat, it wasn’t entirely his fault. He was prone to mood swings, of course. It was the tip of the iceberg, but likely played into the overall problem. I believe the best analogy I can use here would be Jekyll and Hyde. Much, much more than a good actor, Edward—that was his name—could present himself as a kind and gentle man for days at a time. But we all soon learned that a very nasty person lurked inside.”

  “It sounds like you’re talking about a dissociative disorder. I think it used to be called a split personality.”

  “It was. In Edward’s case, each personality knew about the other. As I later discovered, that isn’t always the case.”

  Rowena considered the idea as she thought about Bert. “Are you suggesting that James has an alter ego?” Because that would change things quite dramatically. Whether for good or bad, she wasn’t sure, but it would make a very large difference to how she perceived him.

  Amanda saved her the trouble of delving into it, by waving the idea away with her sandwich. “James only has one personality, Rowena, and it’s ninety-nine percent bad. I’m one of his few weaknesses. You were probably another, for a time at any rate. Affection seldom endures with him. My son Nathan took after Edward. Or maybe I should say he inherited that same unpleasant strain. He enjoyed seeing others in pain. He told his therapist that it was infinitely preferable to sex.”

  Every word she uttered was a spike being driven into Rowena’s heart. Not that she’d known any of this, but if genetics came into play here and certain tendencies were indeed inherent, where did that leave Parker?

  Her own sandwich turned to sawdust in her mouth.

  “I know where your mind is going,” Amanda said gently. “However, bear in mind that many members of our family were, and are, as normal as anyone else. We have our idiosyncrasies, but they don’t involve torture, rape, or murder. Your son will be just fine.”

  “You can’t know that, Amanda.”

  “Certainly I can.” Amanda raised her glass. “You’re his mother, aren’t you? You’ll nip any adverse tendencies in the bud, I’m sure of it. Now, ask me the question that’s been playing on your mind since you returned from Las Vegas.”

  “I—” What was it again? “Oh, right, that. It seems so insignificant now. I thought the location of this place was supposed to be a secret. How did you know to come here? How did you know we’d be here?”

  “Ryan told us. Well, he told me. He’s a good boy. He understands that having a yacht sunk so close to my home would rattle me. Better for him and perhaps for you if we’d gone to another safe house, but I always feel more secure in Ryan’s company. He’s my rock.”

  “He seems to be everyone’s rock.” Restless, Rowena stood and circled the room. “It must be a burden to have so many people depending on you. I’m speaking for me and Parker, not you,” she added with a quick sideways look at the old woman. “You’re family. We’re not.”

  Amanda smiled. “You need to look into Ryan’s eyes when he’s near you, Rowena. You’re not a burden to him.” She held out a hand. When Rowena took hold of it, she found the old woman’s grip to be surprisingly strong. “You’re the women he wants but thinks he can never have.”

  “What?” G
enuinely surprised, Rowena stared at her. “Why would he think that?”

  “Ask him,” Amanda told her. She drew Rowena down and into a firm embrace. “If he gives you an answer you don’t like or understand, then my best advice would be this.” Setting her lips next to Rowena’s ear, she whispered, “Open your heart and find the answer for yourself.”

  …

  “James won’t hurt me. He won’t.”

  Robbie’s unshakeable belief in her son’s loyalty to his mother was like sandpaper scraping across McCabe’s nerves. She refused to entertain the possibility that her life might be danger, even though deep inside she had to know better. Still, he’d have been farther ahead, beating his head against the outside wall of the hotel, than trying to change her mind. Instead, he talked with her about the past, about her job in Washington, and about how she wanted to learn to cook delicious meals like Beckett.

  He was about to leave so she could prepare for bed when she looked in the mirror and offered a wistful, “I wish I’d been a better mother to James. I wasn’t there for him enough. Career focused instead of focused on him. You knew him better than I did. You saw what I missed, what Max and I both missed. You were a perceptive child, Ryan. And now you’re a perceptive man.”

  “Sometimes,” he agreed.

  “You should marry Rowena, take a job overseas, and help her raise James’s son.”

  Emotions and desires clashed violently inside him. “I can’t do that, Robbie. You know the reason why,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest. “Just accept that I know what I’m doing and concentrate on what you want for your life.”

  “I want peace,” she replied with a sigh. She used the mirror to appeal to him. “Do you think I’ll ever have it? Or will my life always be in a state of turmoil?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.” Because she looked unutterably sad, he came up behind her and kissed her temple.

  She clamped her hand onto his before he could withdraw. There was a desperate plea in her voice when she said, “Please don’t kill him. I think part of me would die if he were gone. I’m begging you, Ryan. Do whatever you have to do, but please don’t take James’s life.”

  What could he say to that? “I’ll do my best. For your sake and Amanda’s, I’ll do what I can to let him live.”

  Her eyes glimmered before she closed them and whispered a thankful, “That’s all I can ask.” Releasing his hand, she turned from the mirror and looked out the window. “I believe I could use a good stiff drink.”

  …

  He was ravenous when he came to her room and found Rowena pacing like a caged tiger. She wore a short white silk robe and no makeup at all. Her feet were bare, her hair was loose, and the expression on her face told him she was full to the brim with questions.

  “Not now,” was all he said, and catching her wrist, spun her into his arms. He went straight for her mouth, for the spike of heat and the flavor that was like a drug to his system.

  He could block out everything when he was with her, just forget it all and let sensation rule. Need fueled hunger and hunger sparked greed. He wanted more of her, all of her. He wanted to ditch the world and the myriad problems plaguing them. He wanted to lose himself in her.

  The scent of her skin and hair wound around him like velvet ropes. She let her head fall back so he could feast on the creamy soft column of her throat.

  Words simply failed him, though he knew he should probably say something.

  When she sighed, he swallowed the sound. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed.

  The room and the night and the fragrance that was unique to her swirled around him. He felt drunk with wanting her. Maybe it couldn’t be forever, but it could be for now. The two of them making love and one hell of wicked memory in this hotel room.

  “Did you lock the door?” she murmured as he laid her on the quilt and covered her with his body.

  “Always.” He practically tore the belt from her robe. His eyes sparkled at what he saw beneath the silk fabric. “Perfect,” he said, pausing for a moment to gaze at her body. “Everything about you is exactly right, Ro.”

  “Back at you,” she said and pushed at his jacket and shirt. “I see you’ve lost the bomb.”

  “Don’t need it.”

  It cost him, but he let her undress him. She didn’t do it gently and she sure as hell didn’t fumble.

  “I still have questions,” she told him as she unzipped his fly. Her gaze came up to meet his, and he saw the humor in her eyes. “But I’ll let them slide for now.”

  “Uh-huh.” He dived in again, unable to wait. Kicking off his jeans, he rolled over, then thought better of it, found them again and grabbed what he wanted from the back pocket.

  Her hand closed around him and she smiled. “Time and place, McCabe. Right now, I only need you.”

  It was a simple enough request. He gave himself to her. And God help him, he wanted her like a man consumed.

  It was Rowena who reversed their positions. Straddling his hips, she took him inside her.

  He felt the pulse of her body, the heat in her limbs. She kissed him, and her mouth burned like wildfire on his. She tasted like sangria. The wine blended with the shot of whiskey he’d knocked back a few minutes ago and made him drunk with desire.

  His hips pumped. She rocked back, letting him fill her. With her hair streaming over her shoulders she cried her release, then whispered it again.

  “McCabe…”

  Head spinning, he brought her back down on top of him. “Jesus! I am so done.”

  No way were any thoughts going to intrude. Not for quite some time. He wanted water, but that could wait. Right then, all he cared about was the feel of her heart beating against his. And knowing she was everything he’d ever wanted.

  …

  James returned to the Lily Koi, stoked and satisfied. The hooker had been exceptional in bed and quite open to taking a ride with him in his newly acquired truck. If she wondered why he wore black rubber gloves the whole time they were together, she never said a word. But then, why would she? He’d watched her do three lines of coke—purchased by him—and he’d been pulling bills from his roll of twenties every half hour and stuffing them in whatever place on her body would accommodate them.

  Inside his white office, which had both surprised and delighted her at first, he’d showed her some of his hidden niches. The tools might have puzzled her hazy mind a little, but then again, he was a city worker, wasn’t he?

  The fear had come when she’d begun to doubt, and that’s when he’d turned on his Jack Nicholson. Doubt had given way to apprehension and finally to fear. When he’d showed her his brand-new saw, she’d emitted a whimper of rising terror.

  He hadn’t drawn her death out for days as was his preference, but three hours had been much better than a quick kill.

  She’d screamed beautifully. Pitch perfect, as his mother used to say, even though she herself had always admitted to being tone deaf. She’d been deaf to a lot of things in his opinion. Amanda, not so much.

  Unwilling to let his mood be dampened, he ascended to his private security room. He could watch all the public areas of the hotel from here… And a few private ones if he felt like it.

  He started with the casino tonight and wondered if his new manager was up to the task. Carol Chambers had obviously not appreciated losing her sister to the ocean depths. He hadn’t seen her since the yacht had gone down.

  He’d deal with her later. McCabe and Rowena were the priorities. Before the rage began to build again, he needed to think about how best to eliminate them, one at a time, once and for all.

  His fingernails clicked as he tapped them on the desk in anticipation. Then stopped when a delightful thought occurred.

  He’d use Robbie.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rowena pushed her concerns for Parker’s future state of mental health to the back of her mind. She’d deal with any tendencies he might
have inherited from James and his other relatives if and when. For the moment, and as far as she could tell, he was a normal, healthy two-year-old.

  Of course, that could change at any time…

  “No. No!” Pressing on her temples, she let the thought go. “If and when,” she reminded herself.

  “If and when what?” McCabe asked. Immersed in his phone, he strolled into the hotel kitchen where she’d been enjoying some of Beckett’s excellent flapjacks and dark roast coffee.

  “What? Nothing. Other than I hope you have a plan to bring James down soon. Bert, too, I guess. Unless Amanda’s wrong and Bert is a second side of James’s personality.”

  McCabe didn’t appear surprised by her remark. In fact, he arched a brow at her after he poured himself a mug of coffee. “I see you had quite an involved chat with Amanda last night. How did it go?”

  “Do you mean am I worried for Parker’s sake? A little. Actually, a lot, but I’m trying not to think about it.” She regarded him over the rim of her cup. “Is it possible?”

  “That Bert’s a hidden part of Mockerie? In theory, yes. In reality, I’m going to say no. Mockerie doesn’t need a second persona to make himself nastier. He already has that quality in spades.”

  “Maybe he needs or wants someone to bolster him. You know, to ratify his decisions. I had an invisible friend when I was really young.”

  McCabe rested his forearms on the counter across from her. “You’re moving in the wrong direction here, Ro.”

  “But you’ve never met Bert, right? You don’t know what he looks like.”

  “I have ideas. But no, I’m not going to tell you what they are. That would be slanderous if I’m wrong, which I very well could be.”

  Her growl of annoyance brought a smile to his lips. “I’ll share when I’m sure. For now, let’s keep our combined attention on James. He’ll be in the middle of a plotting frenzy by now.” He averted his gaze to the window. “My people lost him last night.”