Fractured, page 4
Pressure squeezed my head as if all the air in the room pressed against it while stealing my breath at the same time. Muffled silence. My blood throbbing in my ears. Heart in my throat.
Mama, breast cancer? I started to shake. No. God, no.
“Come now.” Mama’s words and her own light Irish accented words barely made it through my nearly deaf ears. She gave us her normal no-nonsense look, as if she was pushing away any emotion that might be inside her right now. “No sense in you all looking like it’s the end of the world.”
“Mama.” Rori flung herself from her chair to our mother. Her sobs were loud as she wrapped her arms around Mama’s neck and cried against her large bosoms.
I stared at those bosoms as voices started reverberating in my muffled head. She had cancer. There. Strange thoughts went through my mind as I sat in my chair. Her thick gray hair might be gone soon. Her breasts, too.
What if the cancer had progressed farther? What if—
I squeezed my fists on the checkered tablecloth. A strangled sound tried to come from my throat but didn’t make it out.
Everyone but Ryan and I had gone to Mama to hug her. Daddy must have told Ryan about the cancer to bring him home, to be with us when he told the rest of the family the gut-wrenching news.
My big, hulking brothers didn’t bother to hide the tears that trickled down their cheeks. I caught a glimpse of Rori’s blotched red face and swollen eyes.
And still I sat.
My skin numb. My face numb. My eyes as dry and painful to blink as my dry throat hurt to swallow.
Daddy gripped the spindles on the back of Mama’s chair, and his fingers were bloodless. He bent his head, his chin touching his chest, his eyes closed.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Mama’s voice wavered yet at the same time sounded strong and determined. She shooed everyone away. “Go on now. Sit down.”
Rori was the last to release Mama and force herself away, tears slipping down her blotchy face.
Still, I sat.
I couldn’t move. My muscles didn’t want to work. Didn’t want to obey me as I told myself I should go to my mother. Hug her. And let loose the tears that burned behind my eyes. Tears backed up from countless years of being unable to cry. Even now at the most important time of all.
Shame burned my cheeks as my brothers and sister returned to their chairs and sat. Mama met my gaze and smiled, like she knew what emotions were building inside me that wanted to spew like a volcano, my body shaking me with the force of it all. Her eyes said it was okay. Everything would be okay.
It wasn’t okay.
Mama turned her gaze to Daddy as she looked up at him and patted one of his hands gripping the chair spindle. When he raised his head, he was tight-lipped, his normally tanned face pale and drawn.
Daddy started to talk, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat then managed to speak. “The biopsy report showed the cancer is invasive.” The sound his throat made when he tried to clear it again was strangled.
Mama patted his hand and she said what he couldn’t. “The doctors started me on chemotherapy last week.” She spoke easily, as if this were a simple thing. “The cancer is far enough along that the doctors need to shrink it before they perform surgery.”
Her words didn’t seem real. None of what she and Daddy said felt real.
Ryan finally took his gaze from his plate and focused on our mother. His voice was rough, serious. “You’re too goddamned tough to let it win. Mama.” He looked around the table. “She’s going to beat it. She raised us, didn’t she?”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, child,” she said, as she always did if we strayed over that line.
She then moved her gaze to each of us, and there was strength and determination in her eyes as she spoke. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”
“Deuteronomy thirty-one, six,” I found myself saying in a whisper, the words coming to my mind automatically from my Irish Catholic upbringing. I had long ago turned away from the faith I had grown up with. But at that moment I found myself praying that there really was a God and that Mama’s faith in Him would eradicate every bit of cancer from her body.
I finally found that I had the ability to move my body. The chair legs scraped against the wood floor as I pushed my chair back. The ache in my legs was as if my muscles still wanted to refuse me, but I made it to Mama. The wood was hard beneath my knees as I knelt beside her chair and wrapped my arms around her waist. I pressed my cheek against her bosom and squeezed my eyes tight.
“I love you, Mama,” I said as I breathed in her scent, which reminded me of love and home and precious memories. “I love you.”
Her lips were soft against my head as she pressed her lips to my hair. “I know you do, child. Everything is going to be fine.”
I wanted to believe her, but I said nothing and just pressed myself closer to her and held her tight, as if that would anchor her to earth forever.
Chapter 4
Nick
* * *
Nick Donovan clenched his hand around his cell phone before he shoved it into the clip on his belt. He braced his forearm against the wall beside the window of the third-floor Manhattan apartment and stared at the Elite Gentleman’s Club through the gap in the dingy but thick gauze curtains. He, Steele, and Kerrison had gone over the Elite’s building schematics before they left so they knew the layout well.
The phone conversation he’d just had with Lexi played over in his mind. It wasn’t like her to let the smallest amount of personal pain into her voice. At one time she’d shared some of her dark past with him. In that moment he’d known that what she’d been through had hardened her to the point where she thought showing any kind of emotional weakness was a flaw.
Like his own past had hardened him. A past he couldn’t let die. Or wouldn’t.
In the background, Jensen and Weiss argued about the best surveillance tactics to use as they kept an eye on the Elite Gentleman’s Club on East Sixtieth Street, between First and Second Avenues.
Nick and Steele’s team were camped out above a camera shop. It hadn’t been easy renting the apartment and getting their gear in without attracting attention once the place was cleared.
Weiss had posed as a cable TV worker who was installing cable in the apartment Jensen had just rented with Smithe. She’d refused to room with Weiss. If it wasn’t for the fact Lexi’s behavior had set his gut to roiling, Nick would have found the memory of Weiss and Jensen’s last op during Cinderella amusing.
Getting the former occupants out of this apartment had been an even harder job, but Takamoto and Weiss had found the couple new digs and made sure they would keep their mouths shut.
A seasoned RED agent, Weiss had an uncanny ability to change into multiple personas, each distinct from the others—more so than any operative Nick had known. Weiss even looked damned brutal and deadly when he wanted, and no doubt he had scared the shit out of the couple in one way or another.
“Something up?” Kerrison said from behind Nick, her southern accent light.
Nick tried to relax his clenched his jaw as he thought about the slight tremor in Lexi’s voice while she’d told him her operational status.
“Steele just called in.” Donovan glanced away from the window to look at Kerrison. “She’ll arrive at JFK tomorrow instead of tonight.” That fact alone had been enough to send off alarm bells in his head. Lexi was never late on an op, much less not giving some kind of explanation for a change in plans. “You and Steele will move into your place in Brooklyn Tuesday instead of tomorrow afternoon.”
“Works for me.” Kerrison smirked as she inclined her head to Weiss and Jensen. “If those two can shut up long enough for us all to roll out our sleeping bags and get some rest tonight.”
Kerrison tilted her head and studied Nick. “Something’s definitely up with you.”
The new agent was too damned observant. Save it for the op.
“Just thinking about the setup,” Nick said.
Kerrison gave a slow nod before she left and walked toward the small apartment’s grungy kitchen. Nick couldn’t hear her, but she said something to Smithe, who hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and grinned at her.
Nick focused his attention on the window and stared at the Elite. His gut churned as the memory of his own sister being auctioned as a sex slave and the fucking hell she’d been put through. Even killing the sonofabitch who’d bought and sexually abused Kristin hadn’t given Nick one goddamned ounce of satisfaction.
Maybe bringing down Hagstedt, the man ultimately behind the auction ring that had emotionally devastated his sister, would.
Nick barely kept from ramming his fist into the wall.
Hagstedt was a dead man.
Nick’s thoughts turned back to Lexi. He didn’t know how it happened, but he’d started caring for her far more than he’d expected to. Hell, he wasn’t the relationship type. He had too much darkness in his past.
But then again, so did Lexi.
Now he knew what the expression meant when someone had “gotten under your skin,” because that was how he felt when he was around Lexi, or when he thought about her. Like she’d become a part of him that he couldn’t separate from himself.
“Shit.” Nick rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Way too deep, Donovan.” Not to mention dangerous territory. Letting Lexi Steele have that kind of effect on him was just asking for trouble. “Because that’s what the little shit is,” he mumbled under his breath. “Trouble.”
Chapter 5
Guinness and Pecan Sandies
* * *
Seeing Donovan when I walked into baggage claim shot heat through my chest. I almost came to a stop on the grungy terminal floor.
Donovan being there, waiting for me when I wasn’t expecting it, set me off balance—probably because I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Mama.
One feeling after another shot through me, including my sudden desire to be comforted in his strong arms. I’d never allowed myself to need any person except for my family. I needed them.
As much as I hated to admit it, right now I needed Donovan.
I managed to keep one foot moving in front of the other until I reached him. “You shouldn’t be here.” I barely kept from throwing myself against him. I tilted my head to meet his gaze. “It’s not a good idea to be seen in public together.”
Considering how different I’d look once I was undercover, that was a pretty lame statement, but I intended to stick with it.
“Tell me what happened, Steele.” Donovan’s blue eyes stared at me with such intensity I wanted to look away but didn’t. I wouldn’t. “Don’t give me any bullshit that everything’s okay with you. I know something’s wrong.”
For some reason I wanted anger. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, mind his own goddamned business, or tell him that nothing was wrong and I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
Instead, I couldn’t speak, and I closed my eyes without meaning to. Every bit of the pain centered in my chest wanted to explode. I wanted to scream, to shout, to let that pain echo throughout the entire terminal.
I don’t know how I ended up in Donovan’s arms, my face against his hard chest. His musky scent was usually sensual and sexual. Now it was just comforting.
“Tell me what happened.” His warm breath ruffled my hair as he spoke, and I tried not to tremble in his arms as I thought about Mama.
My eyes were still shut tight, aching, burning. I didn’t realize until then that I’d released the handle of my carry-on bag and wrapped my arms around his waist.
He moved his hand up and down my spine. “Don’t hold back.”
“Mama has breast cancer,” I said, so dazed the words came out before I realized I had spoken them.
Donovan held me tighter. “I’m sorry, Lex.” He pressed his cheek against the top of my head. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.” My voice was scratchy. “Mama is acting like it’s not a big deal, but it is. The cancer is advanced enough that it could spread through her entire body if the surgery doesn’t get it all after she goes through chemo.”
Donovan squeezed me tighter. I would have felt crushed from how tight he was holding me now if I didn’t need it so much.
“Let’s get your things,” he said after he’d held me for God knew how long. “Before someone makes off with them.”
I nodded, opened my eyes, and drew away as he released me. My eyes felt as if they were red and swollen even though I hadn't shed a tear. I turned away without looking at him and faced the baggage carousel. Three of the four pieces of red luggage that I’d purchased for this op were forlornly making the loop with no other suitcases left from other passengers.
Donovan headed toward the carousel before the luggage could complete the circuit and disappear behind the rubber flaps. For the first time since finding him waiting for me, I really looked at Donovan.
And swallowed at the sense of familiarity of every movement he made. His long legs were firm and muscular within his snug faded Levi’s. He wore a blue turtleneck beneath a loose shirt where he no doubt had holstered his Beretta.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up with only a hint of the turtleneck’s sleeves showing. His broad shoulders dipped when he grabbed the first suitcase off the carousel, and his forearm flexed as he picked up the piece of luggage and set it beside him.
He grasped the handle of the second suitcase, and an image of his hands on my body slipped through my mind. Hands that were capable of such incredible violence were so gentle and erotic on my skin when he caressed my body with his callused fingers. No matter how wild and rough our sex had been at times, he still managed to touch me in ways I didn’t think any other man ever could.
With a large red bag tucked under one arm and a big suitcase in each hand, Donovan returned to where I waited. He carried the bags as easily as if they were empty cases rather than stuffed with clothing, makeup, and other things I’d need as a madame for the Little Red op.
I like to travel light, but this op called for a hell of a lot of props, including the dozen pairs of stilettos that Georgina had been certain I needed to match each and every outfit. And then there were the six white-blonde genuine-hair wigs in different styles stashed in one of the cases. I’d never gone undercover as a blonde who could’ve been Norwegian. The wigs were so pale, they were almost silvery.
It seemed like ages since Georgina and I had gone on my “madame” shopping extravaganza the day before—before my brothers, sister, and I learned Mama’s news.
My gut churned again and my whole body hurt as I thought of my mother. I was going to make sure this op went smooth and fast. I had to get back to Boston before Mama’s surgery.
Without looking at Donovan, I bent and gripped the handle of the wheeled red carry-on before I stood and met his gaze.
“I didn’t bring one of the rental cars, so we’ll grab a taxi.” He waited for me to walk beside him and head through the sliding glass doors that led to the curb outside the terminal.
The icy November breeze caused me to shiver. Having been so preoccupied, I hadn’t thought to put on one of the sweaters in the suitcases. I only had my red button-up blouse, which let the wind through to my skin as if it were mesh instead of cotton. When I left Boston, the sky had been crystal blue, the weather fair in comparison with New York—unusual for Boston considering the season. Here the sky brooded with thick gray clouds that threatened rain.
Once the luggage was stowed in the trunk of a taxi and Donovan and I were in the backseat, my body slowly warmed. It was entirely due to the fact that he was sitting so close to me. It wasn’t just the heat of his body. No, it was the instant reaction I always had to him whenever he was close.
Donovan gave the driver an address. The man’s red-and-white-checked headcloth, bound by a black band, moved as he nodded. He glanced back, revealing more of his strong features and thick mustache. As soon as he pulled from the front of the cabs waiting for fares, his cell phone rang and he answered in an Arabic dialect that I was familiar with, but I didn’t attempt to listen to his conversation.
Actually, I didn’t really pay attention to much of anything. Normally little would have escaped my awareness, but right then I didn’t care. Instead, I stared out the window, barely registering the city decked out for the holidays. My thoughts traveled back to yesterday evening, and Daddy and Mama’s announcement.
Because of my current career, and especially because of my past—which included massive amounts of both wanted and unwanted training—I was usually on constant guard. Donovan’s presence and my complete confidence in him allowed me to let go while I tried to come to terms with Mama’s diagnosis.
Not that I really thought I would.
Donovan paid the driver and thanked him in Arabic before he led me up a set of stairs of a brownstone. My mind had cleared, and I’d gathered my wits enough to know we were on a really nice Boerum Hill street in Brooklyn.
The red-brick exterior of the building we were about to go into was brighter, cleaner looking than most brownstones I’d seen, as if someone had scrubbed it with a giant Brillo pad. Two medium-size pine trees grew in huge planters to either side of the shining brass-and-wood double doors leading into the brownstone. Hundreds of white Christmas lights twinkled on the branches of the trees. Big gold bows were tied to the end of every branch.
Donovan set a red suitcase on the landing and used a key to open one of the doors that led into the brownstone. He gave a nod for me to go in.
“You and Kerrison have the third-floor apartment. Two bedrooms, two baths.” The door latch clicked shut behind us. “Living in such nice digs will back up your story to Hagstedt’s men when you tell them you’ve had plenty of cash that you’ve kept in a Zurich bank from the cathouse you owned, then sold.”
