Demon Seed (20 page)

“Are you angry with me again?”

She twined her fingers together and sat up straight in that way she had when disturbed. Spine rigid, breathing stilled, the only sign of trepidation the way her nostrils flared ever so slightly.

Demon bowed his head, the move a time buyer, as he searched for something, anything, any win-win solution. He was a strategy expert, for Christ’s sake. If anyone could come up with a resolution, it was him—damn it.

“No, kitten. I’m not angry. You believe me about taking you to speak with Sister Helen?” He lifted her chin, and their gazes connected big-stomach-clenching-time. She was on the verge of crying, and he couldn’t let that happen.

She nodded.

“You’ll go to Manaus?” His SEAL training had kicked in, and he was slowly but surely breaking her resistance into separate compartments.

“Yes.”

“Is it New York you object to?” He held his breath, his lungs protested, and his scum-bucket stomach did a nosedive any kamikaze pilot would applaud.

“I will go back to the cloister. To take care of the elders.” She had never worn such a forlorn expression, features pinched, lips quivering, lids fluttering a mile a minute.

Not the time to press her. She was obstinate to the core and would fight him no matter what argument he presented. Demon choked back a curse and refocused.

“Tell me more about the cloister.”

She relaxed in an instant. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Tell me what a typical day was like. What time you woke up. What you did for the rest of the day. How you went to sleep.” He buried his nose in her hair. She smelled of grass and—he wrinkled his nose—manure?

They both needed a hot, steamy shower. He stank of hospital disinfectant and the sulfur cream they’d applied to his wound. Whatever blasted luck genie had sent Xavier his way deserved worshipping and then some. The man had been relentless, arguing with the hospital staff, refusing to leave Demon until he’d regained consciousness. And he’d let Demon use his international cell phone designed to work in the farthest reaches of the Amazon. Thank God he’d been able to contact Satan.

Demon had a twofold strategy for questioning her about the cloister—get her talking and calm, and use the info gathered to plan his strike.

“Every morning the bells ring for the first devotions, the matins after the Midnight Office, the last of the night prayers. After matins, Sister Concilli prepares the porridge and we eat. In silence, of course.”

“Why the silence?”

She blinked. “You give thanks to the Lord when you eat. Being thankful requires silence.”

Fuck that
. He made an instant decision. Meals on his lap with tons of conversation.

“After breakfast?” He raised a brow.

“Lauds, the dawn prayers, then chores until Prime prayer.”

“What kind of chores?”

“Feeding the doves and pigeons. Tending the gardens. Making bread. Sweeping and mopping the floors. Beating the rugs. Washing the linens.”

“You did all that?”

“No. Silly. We each had our assignments. I boiled the linens. Sister Helen was in charge of the gardens. Mother Superior fed her birds.”

“What’s Prime?”

“The early morning prayer. We gave thanks to the Lord for the dawn, the birth of a new day, and recounted the lives of saints who had been born on that day. I liked learning about the saints. Not all were holier-than-thou—você entende? I liked the feisty ones.”

He loved her more with each word and hated that she’d been so repressed. She was the epitome of the term
free spirit
. He choked back a clog-threatening swallow. “And after the Prime?”

“Terce. Truly there was not time enough between Prime and Terce prayers. So much to do. Often Mother Superior scolded me for my late arrival. I admit I lost much time in the day dreaming. I can go anywhere in my mind. Your New York. I imagine so much about New York. The delis—that is the right word, no?”

He’d damned well take her on a tour of every single New York deli. “After Terce?”

“Then Sext, the midday prayer. I liked that the best because Sister Helen and I could train after. I loved the knife throwing, the guns, the pistol practice, liked nothing better than hitting the target…”

“What?” He raised her dipped chin.

“I killed a man.”

“A man who fully intended to hurt you very badly before killing you.” He corralled her, held her tight and hard, sharing his heat and strength. “You did what you had to, Jacinta. Plain and simple.”

“I should like to ask you something.”

The sun crested the horizon, lending a peach-pink glow to the sky. A breeze ruffled the leaves and branches of the groves of trees lining the starboard bank. Demon checked the map and adjusted their direction. “What, honey?”

“Why did you call yourself Mr. Jones? Is it not rude to use a name that is a dick?”

Her command and interpretation of English would forever amuse him. He grinned. “Jones is a common last name in the States. Actually North America. The other connotation doesn’t really apply.”

“Truly, the minute I think my English is good, I am proved wrong. Are boner and woody common surnames as well?” She frowned.

He couldn’t stop laughing for a good five minutes.

“I love your three dimples. When you smile like you are right now, you are so handsome it hurts my heart.” She kissed him three times.

Crap
. She had the power to break his heart with one word. He had to get her to agree to go to New York. Had to find a win-win for them both.

Later.

Focus.

“This is our turnoff. According to Fredo’s notes, La Abatapo is about ten minutes north on this tributary. We’ll stay there tonight.”

“We do not leave for the cloister today?”

“No. Just how many prayers do you say every day at the cloister?”

“The prayers are called the Liturgy of the Hours. Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. And that does not include the masses. We pray every three hours. Why do you want to know?”

To plan his attack. “When are the masses said?”

“Depends. During Lent, every day. At this time of year, weekly. Right now everyone would be gathering for breakfast. Today is Thursday, so it would be porridge and we would have fish stew and cassava bread for lunch.” She sighed. “Sister Helen will be very upset and proud.”

“Upset?”

She met his stare. “Because I took a life.”

“Proud?”

“Because I took a life. Her training allowed me to defend myself.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Sister Helen had prepared Jacinta to live the life of a guerilla. The nun had known from day one that Pedro or Emilio would come after Jacinta. Where was the fuck-for-brains connection?

They sat in silence as the ship chugged along the tributary’s narrow, winding waters. Fetid, lazy breezes made unsuccessful attempts to cool the rising heat and humidity. A flock of yellow-chested parrots shrieked their irritation at the intrusive drumming of the boat’s engines.

Wildlife abounded. Every so often, he glimpsed creatures swinging from vines. Three times he spied the spotted hide of a cheetah. A half-dozen snakes, some bland and barely discernible from the bark they circled, others wearing bright yellow stripes, hissed and dropped into the river on a regular basis.

Rounding a hairpin bend brought a two-story, plantation-style house into view. Pristine white paint covered delicate latticework balconies, and lush emerald foliage twined graceful arcs around each one of the eight posts defining the structure. House and jungle merged effortlessly. Tendrils of green ivy caressed an open door frame in the center of the structure.

Demon spied Satan in the middle of a bunch of men, all dressed in combat gear, to the left of a long jetty.

Not good.

“It’s very beautiful. And so peaceful. I had no idea such places existed.”

“Want to get the rope ready? We’re docking here.”

“Okay. Where are we? Still in Venezuela?”

“Yep.” He didn’t want her to know how close they were to the cloister and so remained deliberately vague.

Jacinta hopped off his lap and strolled out of the engine room. She ducked back in right away, her features strained, hands balled into fists. “They are many, many men with guns. Soldiers.”

“It’s okay. These are my men. Nothing to worry about.”

“Your men?” She glanced back at the house and then to him. “You had this all planned?”

“I did.” He edged down the throttle and drew alongside the jetty. “Get the rope.”

She nodded, rushed to the bow, and grabbed the twisted jute. Jacinta leaped onto the pier and knotted the rope around the first post.

Demon joined her on the jetty. He caught her hand and squeezed. “Don’t be worried. Everything’s under control.”

“Who’s that man coming to us? He has the stalk and look of a panther. He raises all my neck bristles.” She hugged her arms.

“Bristles all your neck hair. Take another look. You know who he is.” He set his palm to her back and nudged her forward a couple of steps.

She shaded her eyes. “Lorcan, also known as Satan. I understand why he is called that now. He has such black hair and eyes.”

Satan halted about three feet away. He gave Jacinta the once-over and then raised a brow. “All the plans of mice and men, huh?”

“Couldn’t resist?” Demon growled. “Had to stick your neck in, didn’t you?”

“Someone has to watch your back.” Satan gave him a nod and once again studied Jacinta, who pressed closer to Demon.

“Jacinta, meet Lorcan McGillycuddy, also known as Satan. Lorcan, this is Jacinta.” Demon wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her close.

“How do you do?” Jacinta didn’t offer her hand, Demon noticed.

Satan’s lips twitched. “Very well. And you?”

“Very confused. Why do you speak of mice and men?” She twisted to meet Demon’s gaze. “Necks? Backs?”

“It’s a saying—the best-laid plans of mice and men go awry. Sticking your neck into someone else’s business. Being a good friend and watching someone’s exposed back.” Demon couldn’t suppress a grin. She tickled his funny bone big-time.

Throwing her hands in the air, she sputtered, “I give up. Never will the English make sense.”

“Jacinta, there should be a gift shop somewhere inside. Why don’t you go find it? Buy enough clothes to last you a week. Don’t argue with me. Just do it.”

“I have no money left.” She looked like an angry kitten and hissed the words at him.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about money, darlin’. I’m picking up the tab.” Satan jammed his palms on his hips. “I have a feeling Demon needs you to disappear for a good hour. He wants to tear a few pieces off my hide.”

“You are going to fight your friend?” She tugged Demon’s T-shirt. “Why?”

“Because he disobeyed my direct order.”

“I call the shots on this one, Demon. You’re too involved.”

“This is my fight, not yours. I made that plain before I left.”

“Simmer down, sonny. There are a few more barracuda in the sea than you know about.”

“I do not understand.” She shook her head. “Anything either of you is saying. Barracuda?”

Demon hugged her and dropped a kiss on her temple. “There’s nothing to worry about. But Satan’s right. He and I need to talk. Are we checked in?”

Satan rolled his eyes.

“Key card?”

“Key.” Satan pulled a brass key from his back pocket. “You two are in room 203.”

“Wait for me in our room, honey. Order room service. Watch TV. Get more condoms from the gift shop.” He kept his voice low, but Satan had superman hearing and snorted at his last order.

Jacinta pushed him away, and her gaze swept between the two men. She shook her head again. “I am going under much protest. And I am not your darlin’. My name is Jacinta.”

Satan flashed a tooth-dazzling grin. “A feisty one. I approve.”

“You will not injure each other. I forbid it.” She accepted the key from Satan and folded her arms.

“We won’t fight, Jacinta. Now go on in. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“I think you shall be doing a lot of explaining, Demon mina.” She flounced away, and Demon had a feeling they were about to have their first fight and first round of makeup sex. His dick approved. Big-time.

“Feisty little thing. Tasty too. Sweet ass.” Satan watched her walk away.

“You’re cruising. That ass is mine.” Demon dug an elbow into Satan’s ribs and waited until Jacinta was out of hearing. “What happened? Why the team? And why’re you here?”

“Nunez has Fredo and Lucia.”

Demon blinked. “How? Why? Ransom?”

They walked side by side to the resort’s main house.

“Information—I’m guessing. Fredo went after Hugo and Brio and got taken. Lucia’s Fredo’s weakness. Nunez had her picked up. His men are all over the Orinoco. Asking questions about one Jacinta Maria da Silva.”

“Fuck.” Demon dropped into the first available chair on the porch. “He knows she’s alive. I want her out of here pronto.”

“Not going to happen easily.” Satan took the opposite seat. “Her face is plastered everywhere. The Net, YouTube, Facebook. People are Tweeting about you and her rescuing the wedding party.”

“Shit.” Demon stared at the tweedy ceiling pattern.

“Has hit the proverbial fan. Are you nuts? Rescuing a wedding party and giving an interview?”

“Interview? I gave no fucking interview. Some hot-shot eager beaver did a piece for the San Carlos paper and snatched a pic I didn’t know about.”

“Interview. You and some guy in front of a medical center. Ring a bell?”

“Shit. I spoke with the doc who ran the center. Didn’t see any cameras. Any microphones.” He played back the conversation. Shook his head. “We talked about the injured. A totally innocuous discussion.”

“Someone got it on camera. It’s gone viral on YouTube. Shots of the bride and groom, and dozens of guests recounting your bravery.”

“Damn it. Can this get any worse?” Demon dragged his hands through his hair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on bunched thighs. “I arranged for the groom, Xavier, who’s a bush pilot, to meet me here this evening. Planned to send Jacinta to you in Trinidad.”

“There’s more. Governor Jose Genro called a press conference yesterday morning. His son Emilio’s gone missing. Last seen in the company of a wild teenager. Big up close photo of Jacinta with long hair and those turquoise eyes. Managed to get a hold of Xavier earlier, and he told me you were heading here. I chartered a plane.”