Warrior Without Rules. Nancy Gideon
something just out of reach. Let me see that longing. Let me feel it. Great, baby. That’s it.”
He’d changed into a pair of dark slacks and a cabled sweater, but there was nothing casual about his stance or his ever moving gaze. Ten years had passed and he still made her heart beat with a crazy, out-of-sync rhythm. She’d seen better looking men, men with the features of an Adonis who had feet of clay. It wasn’t about perfection. That wasn’t what made Zachary Russell so compelling.
To a critical eye, he was average in appearance, average height, average looks, nothing, at least outwardly, to set him apart. He wore his brown hair buzzed nearly to the scalp, perhaps in defiance of a receding hairline or maybe in indifference to it. His nose was crooked, his mouth too thin except when he unleashed an occasional and always surprisingly wide and white smile. He had nice eyes, intelligent, kind, she’d thought at first, and changeable the way hazel eyes had a tendency to be. And he had a jaw like granite, stubborn, often stubbled, squared and fitting a face on Mount Rushmore.
No, there was nothing spectacular about his features, just a pleasant arrangement that was not unappealing. What set Zachary Russell apart, what made her pulse skip and leap like a child’s game of hopscotch, was the total package.
The man reeked of charisma. He had a way, with his direct gaze, of conveying an intensity, a strength, a confidence that both overwhelmed and reassured. His silky, accented voice held just the right amount of authority backed with reasonableness. His body language was all bold, male assertiveness with nothing to prove, no one to impress. But by heaven, he impressed her. Right from the start.
Ten years had passed. Time had been both kind and cruel. He still wore the same sleek air of sophistication the way he donned his expensive wardrobe. Casually, comfortably. There was still compassion in his gaze but also a ruthlessness that could suppress other more forgiving emotions. There was now a harshness in the angles of his face, making him more formidable than magnetic. And scars, she’d noticed, beneath his right eye and on his chin. To match the one he’d have on his hand. He’d been a consummate professional ten years ago. Whatever had transpired in that interim decade had made him into a deadly and decisive force. She wondered a bit guiltily how much of that change had been her fault. Now he was a man of narrow smiles that never reached his eyes, one of strict rules and unforgiving principles. One who’d allow no harmless flirtations.
The camera whirled, happily capturing her wistful expression. That look stiffened when she noticed Veta sizing up her security competition. Her friend crossed over to Russell, her movements contrived to seduce and conquer. Many a man had made the mistake of underestimating Veta Chavez. They saw only the lush body and alluring features and not the steel of the woman within. Zach gave her a brief glance, but true to his word, refused to be distracted. They spoke, whether of the job or of the past, Toni could only guess. All she knew was when Veta’s red-tipped finger drew a line down the center of Zach’s chest to gain his attention, she was drawing a different sort of battle boundary, one Toni couldn’t cross. She could compete with her older companion in realms of business and social situations, but when the stakes took a turn toward the intimate, Toni was quick to cash in and back out.
“Toni, you lost it there.”
Sensitivity to her moods was what made Bryce Tavish extraordinary behind the lens. He was temperamental but a genius at the same time, and Toni enjoyed working with him. They were friends as well as business professionals. “Shall we take a quick break? Rufus, there’s enough glare off her skin to give me a sunburn.”
While one of the makeup people touched up a shiny spot on her forehead, another one of the assistants approached with a flat mailer envelope. Without a second thought, she took it and tore open the end. Anything to distract her from the cozy conversation going on back in the shadows. There was a garment inside the envelope. A pullover top made of an electric blue spandex. Something from advertising, perhaps. But the sleeve was torn and there were rust stains on it. With a puzzled frown, she began to examine it more closely. Somehow, it looked familiar, like something she might have worn. There was a piece of paper tucked inside the neck line. She unfolded it and with the block printed words upon it, all else crumpled.
WHERE’S THE MONEY?
A sudden suffocating tightness closed about her throat. Her hands convulsed about the bright stretchy fabric.
She had worn it.
Those weren’t rust stains.
She tried to draw a breath. The sound strangled in her chest. Over the engulfing roar in her ears she heard Zach Russell’s harsh command.
“Get the bloody hell out of my way.”
She tried to swallow and felt herself choke as if something was wedged in her airway. The package fell from her hands, the note fluttering from numbed fingers. An odor of dank earth and the sensation of cold preceded a swelling blackness so complete, she never felt Zach catch her on her way to the floor.
Chapter 3
Antonia Castillo sat on the windswept terrace oblivious to the outward temperature as she watched the white-capped waves below. The elements paralleled her mood, cold, agitated and forbidding. She didn’t turn at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind. For a long moment, Veta stood at her side without speaking. Finally, she asked the expected.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure, fine, peachy. I need a cigarette.”
Veta passed over the contraband with a pack of matches and waited for Toni to struggle with the cutting wind to light it. After a deep draw, Toni stared in disgust at the shaky state of her hand. She wasn’t fine. Nowhere close.
“Do you want one of your pills?”
That was Veta. No time wasted on sympathy or sentiment. Right to the practical solution.
“No, I do not want a pill,” she snapped, denying the lure of that blanking peace of mind and spirit. “I need to be able to think. Where’s Russell?”
“Reading the staff the riot act, I believe. A little late for that now, don’t you think? Toni, we don’t need him here. We can handle this in house.”
That was her father talking. Don’t involve outsiders. Take out your own trash. Family business is family business. She took another drag on the cigarette, letting its harshness distract from the bitter taste of those edicts.
Her voice was low and strung with steel. “I need him here, Veta. I don’t expect you to understand or agree but I need to know that you’re with me, too.”
Veta was her strength. The role model she’d looked up to since she was a child, the savior who’d ended part of her nightmare with a single shot, the cooler head and constant support she’d needed to assume her mother’s place. She was more than an assistant, more than her security, more than a friend, more than her advisor. If Toni had pressed her to put a name to their relationship, she would say with typical brevity, family.
Veta bent to loop her arms about Toni’s shoulders in an uncharacteristic outward show of solidarity. The gesture wound about Toni’s heart with equal warmth. “You know I am. Just the way it’s always been. Whatever you want, Toni. I’ll play nice. It’s a big sandbox.”
That coaxed a smile. And released a huge pent-up load of anxiety. She was not alone. Toni patted her friend’s arm. “Thanks.”
“Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on Russell to make sure he’s doing his job. I can’t say that I’m impressed so far.”
Toni chuckled reluctantly. “Leave Russell to me. You watch my back.”
She straightened and stepped to an impersonal distance. “He’s all yours.”
From the sudden chill in Veta’s tone, Antonia guessed her companion’s nemesis had finished dressing down her entourage and was coming to lecture her on the facts of life as dictated by Zachary Russell. She took another puff from Veta’s imported cigarette and shot a fierce jet of smoke full steam ahead.
“So,