White Heat (11 page)

To watch over Emily? “Yeah.” And AJ Cooper was the best.

“Done.”

He’d trust Cooper to keep Emily safe while he was gone—a few days at most. The phone rang again. “What?”

“She’s gone inside,” Ragusa hesitated.

“And?”

“I don’t know if this means anything. But there’s an identical yellow Maserati parked right in front of hers.”

Max’s heart leapt. “You’d fucking better be as close to her as white on rice, Ragusa! Go. Go. Go!”

He was three minutes away. Might as well be on the fucking moon. The driver didn’t need to be told to put her foot flat on the gas. She did that on her own.

EMILY’S FINGERS GRIPPED THE DOOR FRAME ONCE SHE’D FINISHED
retching. Impossible to move. Impossible to breathe. There was so much blood, it looked like red paint. Blood pooling on the floor. Blood splattered on the walls. Even the ceiling had a confetti of red spray. She blinked, trying to assimilate what she was seeing.

They’d been interrupted at a meal. Dinner. They’d been eating an early dinner. She must’ve missed the killer by mere minutes.

Go,
her brain screamed.
Go. Go. Go.

She couldn’t move.

It was impossible to tell how many . . . Oh,
God—bodies
there were. Her hearing was muted as if she were underwater, but she felt the frantic beating of her heart in her ears as her brain tried to comprehend what kind of madman would do something like this.

Bile rose in the back of her throat again, and her knees felt weak. She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, and whipped her head around. A man was silently running across the living room, as if following the dark wet spots her footsteps had left on the Signora’s carpet. Dressed completely in black, his face covered, he was a terrifying sight. The big black gun was overkill. He shouted something she couldn’t comprehend, let alone separate the syllables into a language.

Caught between a Scylla and a Charybdis she had nowhere to run. Stuck with no choice, Emily pushed away from the doorjamb and propelled herself into the bloody kitchen. Her foot, covered in nothing more than a wet wool sock, slid in one of the large, sticky red puddles on the linoleum floor. Her arms cartwheeled for balance, and she screamed as she went down on one knee, her hand shooting out to brace herself.

She stared into Janna’s vacant eyes. Hyperventilating, terrified, Emily snatched her blood-soaked hand off Franco’s sister’s hip and scrambled to her feet, sliding on the gore on the slick floor.

The man in black was at the doorway, his gun pointing right at her. He couldn’t miss, she was only ten feet away. “Don’t! Please d—”

An arm wrapped around her throat, cutting off her words. She gagged, trying to drag in a breath. She hadn’t even seen the second man, he must’ve been hiding behind the door.

He jerked up his other hand, and she caught a brief glimpse of a knife, a gleam of silver, a blur of dark red. She recognized the knife instantly. It was Nonna Maria’s favorite boning knife. Flexible, and wickedly sharp. She never allowed anyone to use it, Emily thought numbly.

The hand, covered in tacky blood, started bringing the knife to her throat as in slow motion. The surgical steel blade glinted in the light.

Brain blank with abject terror, she saw that yet another shadowy figure had materialized in the doorway. Emily squeezed her eyes shut just as a loud explosion sounded, so close it seemed to suck all the air out of the room. The man behind her fell away. Ears ringing, she dropped to her knees as her vision spun and darkened.

Bull’s-eye, Max thought savagely and lowered his Glock as the now faceless assailant crumpled to the bloody floor behind Emily.

“You fucking shoot
before
the son of a bitch brings a knife to the hostage’s throat, Ragusa,” he said bitingly, not looking at the younger man who hadn’t discharged his weapon. Ragusa was still standing with the pistol raised, staring blankly at the spot the assailant had been seconds before.

Emily was crumpled on the floor. Jesus Mother of God. Had she been cut? There was so much blood on her Max couldn’t tell.

“I—I was waiting for a clear s—shot.”

Kicking the dead assailant out of the way, Max dropped to one knee, lifting Emily in his arms. She looked at him from wounded brown eyes, glassy with shock. He could tell she wasn’t seeing anything. Jesus.
“Make
a clear shot.”

Her arms went around his neck, and she gripped the back of his shirt in both hands as she pressed her face against his chest. She didn’t make a sound as he stood and walked swiftly through the kitchen.

“You and you.” he jerked his head at two more men standing nearby. “Search the place. Now.”

Emily was practically insubstantial in his arms as he strode out into the living room.
“Get the garbage detail in here,” he instructed as two of the security people followed after him at a trot. “I want this location swept and sanitized, and swept again. Impound both Maseratis. I want to know how they found this place and why.”

He was almost sorry he’d blown off the asshole’s face before asking him questions. Almost. He crossed to the car, which was double-parked and still running. Niigata sat behind the wheel. One of the men opened the back door and Max climbed in, still cradling Emily in his arms.

She clung to him, her arms wound tightly around his neck, her face pressed against his throat. She took a deep shuddering breath and her fingers clenched and unclenched on the back of his T-shirt before she lifted her head.

“I—Give me a m-minute, okay?”

He wasn’t a touchy-feely kinda guy. But he found himself strangely disappointed when she slid off his lap and moved across the seat. Pretty much as far away from him as possible.
She was holding it together, but her bloodstained face was pale and taut, her eyes glassy with shock. That’d wear off. But she wasn’t going to forget what she’d seen or experienced any time soon.

He shoved a foot against the door when the man tried to close it. “I want to know everything about that guy. Including where he went to kindergarten and what he had for lunch in fifth grade, got it? Every fucking detail.”

He slammed the door. “Airport. Fast.”

“Wait. Stop. Let me out first,” Emily said, cracking her door as Niigata brought the car to a sudden stop. “I have to call the police, then I’m going—” She blinked, looking around as if coming out of a fog. “Somewhere.”

Max leaned across her body and yanked the door shut. Emily’s breast brushed his cheek, and the subtle rose scent of her skin was intensified by the heat of her body. He was capable of blocking out the familiar stench of the blood saturating the shoulder of her sweater and splattered on her hair and face.

They were both covered in blood, he hoped to hell none of it hers. He reached over and turned her to face him. She tensed, resisting the hand cupping her jaw. “You’re in shock, sweetheart. Let me see if you were cut,” he told her calmly, holding her chin so he could inspect the smears and blotches of dried blood on her face and neck. This time she stayed passively in his hold.

“I wasn’t,” she responded tonelessly.

“Humor me.” As Max ran his fingers over her skin in thorough exploration, her eyes stared unblinkingly somewhere in the middle distance. Through the familiar metallic odor of blood was the tinny smell of her fear and horror. She shouldn’t have to live with the image of that bloodbath. No civilian should.

He could tell she wasn’t cut, but he wanted to touch her warm skin, needed to feel the steady beat of her pulse. She might not need the physical contact, but he sure as shit did.

“It’s going to be okay:’ he told her softly, running a finger across her silky cheek. Electricity seemed to spark at the contact point, making him keenly aware of the softness of her skin. Her eyes showed the measure of her guilt and remorse, but they also reflected her astounding inner strength. He sensed how hard she was working to keep herself together and his admiration for her jumped several notches.

She pushed his hand away.
“Merda,”
she said thickly, coming out of her fog. “How can what happened ever be
okay?”

“It can’t. But you will be.” It had been close. Too fucking close. A killer, a rookie operative, two more seconds and . . . “I’ll make damn sure of it.”

He changed his depth perception to stare out at the sparkling rain beaded on the windows and reflecting the streetlights. The old man’s murder, the break-in, the mysterious vial, now this? An entire family slaughtered. For no other reason than that someone had been driving the same car as Emily’s?

She
was the only common denominator.

What in God’s name could she have done, real or imagined, that would piss someone off enough to kill five people?

“Tell me exactly what happened when you got there.”

Not turning her head, she shuddered. “Not now I just want to go—”

“You’re not going anywhere:’ he told her flatly, not giving her time to finish.
Anywhere without
me,
God damn it.
“Not yet.”

She sucked in a breath, then shoved his shoulder to get him away from her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Max straightened, wiping a bloody hand—transfer from Emily’s jeans—onto his black pants. “Are we not moving for a good reason?” he demanded of Niigata. “I’m the man who just saved your ass from a knife-wielding killer:’ he told Emily succinctly as the car moved forward again.

“And God knows I appreciate it.” Stubborn little witch put one hand back on the door handle. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be joined at the hip.”

He wondered if she was even aware that she was arguing, or if it was second nature to want to take care of herself, and she thought, somewhere in her shocked brain, that this was a good time to exert her independence. It wasn’t. Telling her she wasn’t being rational right now was not a wise move. But he’d do whatever needed doing to keep her with him. \

She was struggling to keep her breathing slow and rhythmic, trying to control the hysteria he sensed was building inside her. With her free hand she bunched her hair off her face, looking bewildered. Max was amazed she still had the goods to argue with him. She looked ready to collapse.

Strands of her hair were sticky with her assailant’s blood. She was going to need a long shower to get rid of the remaining gore. He’d shot the fucker at close range. She had brain matter on her hair and clothing. If she saw herself right now she’d probably faint.

“I just want to go home.” Her eyes welled, and she dashed the tears away with her fingertips. “Seattle. I just want to see my m-mother. However stupid it sounds, I just want my mom. The irony is, I don’t th-think she’d even know or
care
that I was there. But I w—want my mom.”

Tears made white streaks through the redness on her skin. “I’m tired, and scared, and cold and c-confused. Not to mention overwhelmed with—with
guilt.
Tonight I lost people that I cared deeply about, and it was my fault. Janna—Janna bought the
exact
same bloody car as mine. Whoever did this was after
me.”

He lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and wiped her face. It smeared the blood, making her look worse, but it made him feel better to touch her. He desperately wanted to haul her back into his lap and wrap his arms around her tightly. He removed his hand from her face, but slid it soothingly down her arm, then picked up her hand in his.

It felt small, soft, and ice cold. After a second or two, her fingers curled around his tightly as if he were her lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. Her brows were drawn together, and her teeth showed white as she bit her lower lip. Her eyes were filled with the horror she’d just seen.

“This was not your fault.” He kept his voice quiet, and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Her fingers gripped his hard enough for her fingertips to turn white. “Not your fault. It was the fault of some sick fuck who took pleasure in slicing up innocent people. All the more reason why I want you with me.”

“It’s good to w-want things,” she said softly, fighting him for the door handle again. She tugged on her hand. “Damn it.” She turned a tortured face to him. “Let go. You can’t force me to go with you.”

Yeah. He could. Especially the condition she was in right now. But it would ease the way if she came willingly. “At least come with me to Córdoba until my people can figure out what’s going on.”

“No.” She looked around almost wildly. “I – No. Really and truly, Max. No. I’m not haring off to Spain in the middle of the night with you.” The throbbing pulse at the base of her throat showed him how agitated she was. She tugged to free her hand. He didn’t want to hurt her and reluctantly let go.

“I’m not stupid. I won’t go to my palazzo, I’ll go to Seattle, which is where I was supposed to b-be tonight any-anyway.” She shuddered, her face bloodstained and pale in the bright lights of an oncoming vehicle.

“I just want to go home,” she said again, sounding forlorn. “Clearly there’s some crazy person out there. And I just—” She waved a vague hand.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to gentle his voice. “There is a crazy out there. And the last thing you’re going to want is to lead him to your family in Seattle. Understand?”

Horror dawned on her. “Oh, God.” Emily hated the tremor in her voice. She couldn’t bear to think of her mother’s kitchen looking anything like the poor Bozzatos’. The graphic scene was fresh in her mind, the images so bright and vivid that she felt nauseated all over again. She swallowed, fighting the thick lump in her throat that indicated that tears—a torrent of them—were imminent.

Her skin felt cold and clammy. She wished Max would take her hand again. She glanced up to find him watching her. His mouth was a grim line as he reached up and brushed her hair off her face. “Hey.” Their gazes locked, making a connection that Emily couldn’t seem to break. His hazel eyes were dark with concern for her, and he cupped her jaw in one large, warm hand. “I’m sorry about your friends.” He skimmed his thumb across her lips. “But what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I—” She turned her head to look outside. God damn it, she would not cry in front of him. She bit her lip and stared unseeingly out of the window. The spurt of anger had only lasted a minute. She needed to hold onto that or lose her mind. Fighting with Max made her feel as though she was
doing
something. As ridiculous as that sounded even to her own mind.