Dark Surrender, page 13
He straightened the painting and hoped Jillian would let her quest for the ring rest. As long as he held it, she would be out of danger, but that was only half the battle. He still had to keep her away from Jonathon and, ultimately, Lucifer.
Gabriel had been right.
She needed a Warrior.
***
“Don’t look so upset,” Smith said. “I promise it’ll be protected.”
Jillian wanted to scream. With the ring locked in his wall safe, she had no chance of getting it back. There was no combination. To open the safe, an electronic pad scanned his fingerprints. Her odds had just skyrocketed, going from difficult to nearly impossible.
Her plan wasn’t working out quite the way she’d hoped.
“Well, I guess I should be going.” Jillian watched the rain pouring down outside.
She had no reason to stay.
The ring was out of her reach.
“There’s no place to go.” Smith drifted over to her side of the desk and circled his arm about her waist, holding her snugly against his hard, warm body. “You should stay here, with me.”
“I can’t.”
He lowered his head and brought his lips to her ear. “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we were in this room together.”
His voice was low and smooth, insistent, and the heat of his breath tickled the rim of her ear. Her heart danced with excitement. Smith was relentless when it came to getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was her.
Was it just for sex, or did he feel something too?
Jillian wanted to believe he did. She hadn’t given up on the possibility of finding love but with an uncertain future ahead of her, as in she didn’t know if there would be one, love seemed out of her grasp.
Was lust so bad an option?
What had Smith said?
The world might be ending, take the chance to enjoy everything while you still can.
Did she want her ex to be the last lover she might ever have? This could be her only opportunity to experience a man she was so undeniably attracted to. What if she just let it all go? The control, the fear, everything.
Her thoughts clouded and an odd sort of haze came over her mind. She had a hard time concentrating.
Let go.
“I can’t.” She shook her head, trying to clear the hazy fog.
“You can.” Smith tightened his arm around her waist, holding her captive against his hard body.
It was hard to look at him, but she met his inscrutable blue gaze, and her desire for him overrode anything else. She pulled his head down to hers and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
Apparently that was all the invitation he needed, because he hoisted her up on top of the desk and took over the kiss. A sensual heat warmed her from within as he held her close and his hands explored her body. His scent surrounded her, spicy, musky, redolent of sandalwood, and she breathed him in like some heady drug.
What if this was all she needed?
A physical connection with another person.
Lust.
She grasped at his shoulders and pulled him down on her as she leaned back on the desk. He made a feast of her, kissing her face, her neck, her chest, his hands moving up and down, over the mounds of her breasts, then under her skirt to caress the skin of her inner thighs. Her heart raced, her blood was on fire, and she suddenly needed him more than she’d ever needed anything.
It would be easy to let go with him when every part of her yearned to feel his touch.
Yes.
All she had to say was… Yes.
His questing fingers found the soft flesh between her thighs and circled the bud of her arousal over her panties. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel more of him.
“Please,” she heard herself moan.
He increased the pressure of his fingers. “What do you want, beautiful?”
Hot streaks of pleasure mounted, one on top of the next, until she was desperate, ready and willing to surrender to his any whim.
But she couldn’t. She wanted to stop.
Slipping a finger inside her, he stroked the magnificent pleasure even higher, faster. He was so good, knowing just where to touch her, and how. She already hovered on the verge of a climax.
What was she doing?
“Please, stop,” she said.
She felt that subtle push into the edges of her mind, confusing her thoughts.
“That’s not what you want,” Smith said, thrusting his finger deeper.
It was what she wanted. She didn’t care what the voice in her head was trying to make her do. She could fight it.
He withdrew his finger, and the sound of his zipper sliding down revealed his intention.
Jillian tried to sit up on the desk, but his heavy body held her pinned down.
“Just relax,” he purred, his accent thick. “You want to make love to me.”
Again she felt that invasion into her mind, a small, persuasive voice telling her to open up and let him make love to her.
But it wasn’t her own voice. The forceful, arrogant tone belonged to Smith. She’d recognize it anywhere.
What was happening?
It seemed he had the power to break into her mind.
Or she was going crazy this time. Truly, one hundred percent, batshit crazy.
I don’t want this, she argued silently.
Yes you do, she felt him answer in reply.
Wasting no time, he positioned his hips in the cradle of her thighs.
This wasn’t right. He was controlling her thoughts, using her for his own sick pleasure, with absolutely no regard for her feelings.
Anger swept through her, torrid and hot, and she tried to push his heavy body away.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, placing a light kiss on the side of her temple. “Let me in.”
Like hell.
Jillian fought him, now familiar with the feel of him walking around in her mind.
“No, I won’t do this.” Jillian forced him off her and scrambled up from the desk.
“What’s wrong?” He looked shocked, surprised.
“How are you doing that?” she demanded. “Why can I feel you inside my head?”
He said nothing. A muscle clenched along his jaw as he stared harshly at her, a growing frown between his brows.
“You’re not denying it,” she accused.
“Why should I?”
Her mouth dropped open and she stood there, blank, amazed. The man was intimidating and arrogant, and way sexier than he had a right to be. Mad as she was, she wanted to climb back on top of that desk and let him finish what they’d started. His erotic touch still lingered on her body, the pleasure surging out from her center.
Fear kept her rooted in place. He could get inside her mind. How could this be? Did he see all of her thoughts? How did he make his thoughts feel so much like her own?
Maybe she shouldn’t worry about who he was, but rather what he was.
***
Kyriel tried to force his way into her mind once more.
Get back on the desk.
His persuasion wasn’t working. Somehow she’d caught on to his tricks. He walked the dangerous line, close to using his persuasion as sheer brute force, and he had to retreat. He couldn’t use the ugly side of his powers on Jillian, so he pulled back from her mind. Without the aid of his persuasion, he had a difficult road ahead.
“What are you?” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.
“I’m a man who wants to make love to you.”
Her brow shot up. “Is that all?”
“What more do you need?”
“I need someone who isn’t going to lie to me, or keep secrets from me.”
“You can trust me,” Kyriel implored, realizing how shallow the words sounded.
“About as much as I can trust a snake.”
“Jillian—”
“Give me back my ring.”
He clenched his jaw. That was one thing he couldn’t do. “No.”
“I mean it, I want it back.”
“Forget the ring.” He stepped towards her, reaching out to catch her by the wrist.
She quickly backed away. “Tell me why I should trust you.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Turning from him, she ran out of the library and into the gray, rainy afternoon. Kyriel let her go.
There was no way she would trust him now.
He wouldn’t trust him either.
Chapter 18
After an hour of driving in the rain, which Jillian hated to do, the fretful chatter of voices welcomed her home. She walked through the courtyard, headed to her apartment, where she saw the three ladies crowded in front of her door.
“How are you going to get that paint off, Maribel?”
“It looks like blood,” said the one in the middle.
“It’s not blood,” the third one argued. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
To have three of the nosiest old ladies in her building crowded in front of her apartment door—one of them being the landlord—was the last thing she needed after the kind of day she’d had.
Jillian hefted the paper bag of groceries higher on her hip and walked up behind the spying trio.
“Hello, ladies,” she mustered a cheerful tone. “How are you doing this evening?”
The three of them wheeled around, all wearing guilty looks. Maribel was the landlord, with short black hair long overdue for its monthly dye job with all the gray coming through. Carmen was her next door neighbor, and spent her retirement checks on yellow sundresses and Samba records. Rosa, who lived on the second floor, thought her gray hair was her most distinguishing feature and made it her business to be involved in everyone else’s business.
“Hello, Jillian.” Maribel pasted on a cheerful smile. “How nice to see you.”
Rosa and Carmen wore the same expressions, batting their eyes in an attempt to look innocent.
“What’s going on?” Jillian wanted to know. “Is something wrong?”
She tried to peer around the ladies, but they moved closer together, their shoulders touching.
“How are things at the museum?” Carmen asked, ignoring her question. “You’re always working so hard.”
Rosa nodded. “Yes, they should give you a raise.”
Jillian shifted the heavy weight of groceries on her hip. “Can I get into my apartment to put this down?” She got her keys ready in her hand.
“You shouldn’t go inside,” Maribel rushed out the warning. “It might not be safe.”
Fear trickled down her spine. There was only one reason they would think it wasn’t safe. Jillian forced her way through their little crowd, and gasped when she saw her front door.
Bitch.
Slut.
Whore.
Scrawled in bold red paint, the hateful words shook her to the very core. Then her fear became anger. Only one person would do something this underhanded.
Kevin.
How dare he invade and ruin her personal space. After all this time, couldn’t he just move on? Whenever she thought he was gone, that he’d finally given up on harassing her, he came back when she least expected the attack.
She hadn’t even lived in the apartment for a full year and already he’d destroyed any sense of comfort or safety she’d found there, along with her nice front door.
“Do you think we should call the police?” Maribel asked.
“Yes, I do,” Jillian said, shaking with a mix of boiling anger and unsettling fear. “I want to press charges on the asshole.”
Enough was enough.
She was done playing the nice game. Done with restraining orders, and changing her phone number, and straight out begging him to leave her alone. Obviously the message wasn’t being received.
Where could she find one of those thugs who would go after someone’s legs with a baseball bat for the right price?
“My nephew is a highway patrolman,” Carmen offered. “And he’s about your age.”
The three ladies smiled, brimming with hopeful anxiety. They were always trying to set her up with a nephew, or a grandson. Jillian wasn’t interested in suffering through any blind dates. Denise had already taken her down that road and she had no wish to travel the uncomfortable, awkward path again.
“Don’t worry, I know who to call.” She placed her bag of groceries on the ground and fished Detective O’Malley’s card out of her purse.
***
Dusk was the best time to catch a person unaware.
The evening was perfect for the time of year. It was the silence he couldn’t take. Almost ten minutes with no radio contact.
What could possibly be taking them so long?
These men were experts at breaking and entering. Two operatives on the team had gotten into the White House.
On more than one occasion.
Their orders were simple.
Get in. Find the target. Eliminate.
Suddenly, the air came to life.
“Security system down.” A man’s voice crackled over the two-way radio. “Entering the premises.”
Jonathon took it as a good omen when things went the easy way. He liked when things went the easy way and, this close to the alignment, he couldn’t afford any more obstacles.
Before long, there would be no obstacles.
Ever.
He pressed the button on the radio to reply. “Get me the ring.”
“Copy. Searching now, standby.”
He tossed the radio in the empty passenger seat while he waited in his black Mercedes, parked on the street in front of Mr. Smith’s enormous house. The car blended in with the lengthening shadows perfectly. He kept the motor running in the event he needed to make a quick exit, but the hum of the engine was quiet as a whisper. The plates and tags untraceable.
Jonathon was invisible.
“We’ve located a safe.” The voice over the radio informed him. “Opening it now.”
The job was progressing well. Right on schedule in fact. A shame Smith wasn’t at home. He would get to keep his life, unless he came looking for the ring. If he was smart he’d realize this was a battle he couldn’t win, and back off.
The longer Jonathon sat in his idling car the more it bothered him that the interfering man wasn’t at home. He didn’t like leaving loose ends and would have preferred that his men take care of him tonight. A well-placed bullet right between the eyes.
Clean. Smooth. Efficient.
Jonathon ran all of his operations with the strictest regard for protocol. He had no room for error. Not with the highly enlightened Order he belonged to. He’d seen first-hand the bloody horrors they were capable of when things didn’t get carried out according to plan.
Never deviate from the path. Stay focused on the goal.
The radio crackled. “The safe is giving us trouble. Wait two.”
“Copy,” Jonathon replied.
His nerves tensed, his thoughts racing.
What if they couldn’t get into the safe? What if they didn’t find the ring once they did?
There was a good possibility it wasn’t in the house but in a safety deposit box or some other secret hiding place. Would he be able to get Winston Smith to reveal the location?
Jonathon rolled back his shoulders and lifted his chin. He had confidence in his abilities. He could manage to get anyone’s secrets with the right amount of convincing.
He’d better do it fast.
Time was not a luxury on his side. The Autumnal Equinox was Sunday. The planets were aligning. He had two days to get the last ring, and Jillian. Everything had been going along as planned, until he came into the picture.
Jonathon wanted Winston Smith gone.
Permanently.
As far as tonight went, his main priority was getting the ring in time for his meeting with the Head of The Order. He didn’t dare show up unprepared. Without the rings, Lucifer would remain trapped in Hell, and the Supreme Vision would not be realized. The time for a global change had come and The Order was counting on Jonathon.
It was his one and only chance to prove his loyalty and finally gain admittance to the highest levels of The Order. Failure was not an option. Not unless he wanted to suffer an endless eternity of torture and torment.
Hellfire and Brimstone? Child’s play. Nothing so merciful awaited him in Hell if he failed to serve.
“We’ve opened the safe.” The radio squawked to life.
Jonathon grabbed the radio from the seat and pressed the transmit button. “Do you have the ring?”
“Affirmative.”
“And the owner?”
“No sign of the target, over.”
Jonathon had expected a setback. “Consider the mission accomplished.”
He’d take care of Winston Smith on his own.
“Copy, over and out.”
The radio went silent.
From where he was parked on the street Jonathon could see the front of the house through the black iron gates. It was an impressive home, even for this affluent neighborhood. A brick, two-story structure with white pillars and upstairs balconies looking out across the perfectly manicured lawn. The drive circled in front around a magnificent granite fountain. He hated finding the giant house empty.
Where are you, Winston Smith?
The loud rap of knuckles on his window caught him off guard. Jonathon turned his head to meet a face streaked with black camouflage paint. He hadn’t even seen the man approaching the car. At first he was angry that someone could sneak up on him so easily, but he had to remember he paid these men for their stealth.
He lowered the car window.
“Here it is, sir.” The man passed the ring through the open window.
Jonathon didn’t know if he wanted to laugh in triumph, or cry with relief as he took the ring between his fingers. The red stone was every bit as perfect as the emerald and the sapphire held by the Head of The Order and his second-in-command. Now that the search was finally over, Jonathon would join their elite group.
“Tell Mick the funds will be wired within the next two minutes.” Jonathon raised the window.
