In Enemy Hands (5 page)

“If he’s armed, he needs to check his weapon here.”

“Waynie dumped it. I saw him.”

“I still need the gun,” Anderson said.

Rolling his eyes, Ronnie turned to Dante.

“I don’t have it,” he said. “Waynie took it.”

“Are you sure he’s not carrying another piece?” the guard asked. “Maybe I should search him again. No telling what Waynie missed.”

“No telling,” Nadia agreed. “I think maybe we should strip search him.”

Ronnie snorted. “Spare us your twisted fantasies.” Then he leaned out the window and whined, “C’mon, Anderson. Are you gonna open the gate or what? Mr. B’s probably going insane right now.”

The guard shook his head. “Sorry, not on my watch. I have to search him.”

Ronnie dropped his head against the wheel in exasperation, making the horn bleat like a sick lamb.

“It’s okay.” Dante said with a resigned smile. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He climbed out of the Humvee, spread his legs and laced his fingers behind his head.

“Hey!” Nadia said brightly. “You’re a natural. Have you done this before?”

Dante made a sour face. “Yeah, about five minutes ago.”

He jumped when Anderson got a little
too
thorough.

“Watch it, Chief,” he warned, and Nadia giggled. She rolled down the window and leaned halfway out the Humvee to watch.

Cupping a hand to her mouth, she called, “Hey, Anderson. You need any help, you just holler.”

Anderson yelped and seized the lower right pocket of Dante’s cargo pants.

“Phone. Don’t shoot, it’s only a phone,” Dante said quickly, earning another of Nadia’s throaty laughs.

Finally, Anderson seemed satisfied. He motioned Dante toward the Humvee, then buzzed the gate open after Dante climbed back inside. Glancing over his shoulder, Dante saw Waynie roll up behind them in his GTO. He chuckled when Anderson stepped in front of the car, preventing Waynie from passing through, and twisted around to watch the two men argue.

“Anderson is half bloodhound,” Nadia commented. “None of my college friends like to visit when he’s on duty, but he’s good at what he does. Anybody he doesn’t know would have to shoot him to get by him.”

Ronnie grunted. “It’s hard getting by that guy if he does know you. I’ve been tempted to shoot him myself a time or two.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and eased up the winding asphalt drive.

Dante spotted electronic surveillance cameras hanging at various intervals on the utility poles and gate. The place was locked down tight. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as simple as he thought.

He chatted with Ronnie, recalling what he could about the brother who resembled him so much while trying not to notice the heat from Nadia’s skin as her bare arm rested against his chest.

His first view of the Branson estate took his breath away. Dante definitely hadn’t expected to see digs like this in Tennessee. The sprawling estate sat atop a lush green hill. All around, the only breaks in the skyline were the hulking, blue-green outlines of the taller mountains. It looked like one of the expensive ski resorts he and his brother J.T. had always talked about going to but never had.

A mountain hideaway.

Built from rough-looking red cedar, the outside looked both rustic and inviting. The only sign of movement was the porch swing that swayed lazily in the afternoon breeze. Another expansive house—a long, single story made from the same red cedar—sat to the right.

Probably the men’s barracks.

“What were you expecting, house trailers and outhouses?” Nadia asked, watching his face. “You know, you really shouldn’t believe everything you see on television. We’re modern hillbillies, running water and everything.”

“I don’t really know what I was expecting, but … wow,” Dante said. “This place is incredible.”

When they pulled up to the main house, a small, dark-haired man in a charcoal suit exploded out the front door and leapt down the steps.

“Nadia!” he shouted, not seeming to notice the bare-chested stranger who caught her by the waist and helped her out of the vehicle.

He seized Nadia in his arms and she brushed a kiss on her stepfather’s cheek. “I’m okay, Nick.” With a wink at Dante, she said, “Except you’re squeezing too hard. Can’t … breathe.”

Branson released her and peered at her face. “Your head—” He groaned, and reached to examine the gash.

“-is fine,” she said. “Really, it’s only a bump. Ronnie will fix it right up for me.”

Dante was so busy watching them interact that he didn’t notice the woman who’d slipped up behind him. Her quiet voice startled him.

“Angie called, honey. She wanted to check on you and to let you know they’re all okay.”

Even though he’d expected it, Dante felt a jolt when he turned to stare into Maria Branson’s face. One side was perfect, flawless, an older version of Nadia’s, but the other … A striking green eye gazed at him from a wasteland of pink, ropy scars. She ducked her head, and covered most of the scars with a fan of dark hair. In what he was sure was an unconscious gesture, she tilted her chin to present him with the left side her face, the unmarred side.

“Your eyes,” he said breathlessly. “You and Nadia have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Pursing her lips, she raised her chin and stared at him as if putting forth a challenge. Dante didn’t look away. Then she smiled, and suddenly looked so much like Nadia that he didn’t see the scars.

“Thank you,” she said.

Nadia managed to untangle herself from Branson. “I’m glad she called. I had to leave them there and I was worried about them, even though Dante thought they were okay.”

“Dante,” her mother repeated. “I understand you helped Nadia out. We owe you our gratitude …” Her smile widened. “… and perhaps a new shirt.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Branson.” Dante took the hand she offered him.

“Please, call me Maria.”

“Yes, thank you for helping our daughter,” Nick Branson said.

Dante shrugged. “Nadia pretty much had everything under control. I only drove the getaway car.”

“I imagine you think our little family is … odd.” Branson smiled, revealing small, even teeth.

Odd isn’t the half of it, buddy
, Dante thought.

Nadia yelped, saving Dante from a reply.

“Ow! Take it easy there, Ronnie!”

“Be still.”

She slapped at the bodyguard’s hand as he examined her head. “Some of that’s still attached, you know.”

“You are such a crybaby,” Ronnie said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m surprised the police aren’t here already,” Dante said.

“There will be no police,” Branson said. “I have some contacts on the local level. We’ll handle this in-house.”

“But—the guy in the sedan—”

“He’ll be okay. He was knocked unconscious. Someone’s taking him to the doctor now.”

When Dante said nothing, Branson nodded. “Please, won’t you come in, Mr….?”

“Giovanni. Sure, I’d love to see the inside of this place. It’s beautiful.”

Dante blinked when he stepped inside. However rustic the outside looked, the inside was modern. Expensive modern. The first thing he noticed when he entered was the stairway. Back in high school, Dante had briefly entertained the notion of becoming an architect. Pieces like that stairway still made him sigh.

It was straight and wide, a masterpiece of gleaming mahogany rails and red carpeted steps. At the top of it, an oil portrait of a younger, unscarred Maria Branson smiled down at them from a small landing. The true beauty of the staircase lay in its graceful curves from the landing. The steps continued in a gentle slope both to the left and right.

Maria Branson’s heels clicked on the gray marble floor while she led them to a sunken den that was roughly half the size of Dante’s entire apartment back in New York.

Daylight rapidly faded through the bay window and Branson clicked on several lamps by remote control. The soft light reflected off the glossy surface of the mahogany furniture. Within minutes, Dante was seated in a soft leather chair with a glass of tea in one hand and another shirt in his lap. Maria and Nick Branson sat on one white couch, and Nadia and Ronnie piled onto a loveseat.

Nadia told her version of the story while Ronnie doctored her head. Dante watched the bodyguard rub something onto the cut and carefully shave around it. Ronnie had apparently done this sort of thing before.

“So then, here comes Dante and—dang, Ronnie! Leave me some, will you?” Nadia complained as several strands of black hair fell to the floor. She looked at him and winked. “I don’t want to end up looking like Dante over there.”

“Then I can call you Slick.” Dante smiled and took another sip of tea.

“So, where did you come in?” Branson asked him before Nadia could retort.

“Well, Nadia and I had talked a little at the restaurant. I saw these guys come in, dressed like farm workers, but their hands weren’t right. Too clean.”

Ronnie nodded. Dante figured he was the type to notice things too. Ronnie applied Dermabond to Nadia’s wound.

Branson studied Dante. “That was very observant of you.”

Dante caught the suspicion in his voice.

“I get paid to notice things, Mr. Branson.”

“Really? What is it that you do?”

“A little here and there. I’ve been a bouncer, a security guard, then I got into bounty hunting. If you don’t notice things in my line of work, you’re dead.”

Branson studied him with dark, wary eyes. “I see. So, what brings you to our little community? A case?”

“I just wrapped one up. Since I was so close, I thought I’d drive on up to Indiana to see my sister. Maybe take a few days off to go fishing with her old man.”

Branson nodded, seeming to accept his story, but Dante knew that before the hour was up, Branson’s men would be at work verifying everything he’d said.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” Ronnie said, and Nadia pressed her fingers gingerly around the bandage.

Seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t bald, she jumped to her feet and said, “Have you guys eaten yet? I’m starving!” She glanced at Dante and frowned. “But you already ate, didn’t you? I only had coffee back there at the diner. Lee Ann told me she was making chicken and dumplings tonight, so I didn’t want to ruin my appetite.” Nadia rubbed her flat stomach.

“I didn’t get a chance to finish,” Dante said. “And what’s a dumpling?”

“What planet are you from, and what the hell do they eat there?”

“Nadia!” her parents said in unison.

Nadia laughed and seized Dante’s hand. He let her drag him across the living room, a bit unnerved by the feel of her hand in his. It took him a moment to realize that he was still shirtless. He held up the shirt they’d given him and said, “Hey, can I use your restroom, clean up a little before we eat?”

She smiled patiently. “That’s where I’m taking you, you goof. I’m not exactly presentable myself. We’ll be right there!” she called over her shoulder to her parents.

They walked past the staircase and she pushed open a thick oak door to reveal a sparkling white half-bath. Dante stepped inside and was startled when she walked in behind him and shut the door.

“Relax.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to ravage you or anything. Well, at least not yet. I thought maybe we should put something on those scratches.”

The soft, worn fabric of her jeans strained against her backside when she leaned across the countertop to open a section of the mirrored vanity.

As if his hand moved of its own volition, Dante’s fingertips reached to brush the red letters of the tattoo visible over the low band of her pants.

“Wild child,” he said slowly.

Nadia froze, and Dante stared at himself in the mirror. Although he saw his reflection, saw the brown eyes that were almost black with desire, he scarcely knew himself. He never lost it like this.

Slowly, deliberately, Nadia raised her head and met his gaze in the glass. Something powerful, something consuming passed between them in that instant, a need so dark it rocked him to the core. Dante hooked his finger in the back loop of her pants and pulled her backward against him.

Nadia gasped when his erection stirred against her bottom, and he thought he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes before she leaned into him. Dante groaned, and she smiled at his reflection.

Unable to tear his gaze from the mirror, Dante gently shoved aside her hair to expose the sleek length of her neck. Finally, he looked down and pressed his lips to her thundering pulse. He lost himself in the sweet, salty taste of her skin. A shudder raced through her body and he held her tighter. A strangled moan rose in her throat.

Dante caressed her arms with his palms, feeling childishly pleased by the goose bumps he found there. The mirror drew his eyes back.

She leaned against him, her head tilted back against his chest. Dante watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest in the glass and then slipped his hands underneath her shirt. Nadia’s eyes flew open when he ran his fingers over the smooth, hard plane of her abdomen.

She groaned and shut her eyes again, rocking against him.

“Nadia,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

Her eyes opened to half slits, watching his hands move beneath her shirt. When he dipped his head to kiss her neck again, she whispered, “I can’t … I can’t do this.”

Instantly, Dante dropped his hands and took a step backward. Nadia swayed and stumbled to the door.

Shooting him an apologetic look, she said, “Not here. Not now. My parents …”

Swallowing hard, Dante nodded.

Nadia tugged at the hem of her shirt, then yanked the door open and propelled herself out of there.

A little stunned by what had just happened, Dante locked the door behind her and rested his back against it before sliding down to sit on the bathroom floor.

“Get it together,” he told himself roughly. “You’ve got a job to do.”

He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket, fished a business card out of his wallet and shakily dialed the number printed on back.

Raking a hand down his face, he said, “This is Giovanni. I’m here.”