Sweet Mercy (8 page)

“You’re an attractive man—a very attractive man—I’ll bet you have no trouble finding plenty of willing partners without taking on… complications. It’s not fair to involve you with someone as emotionally needy as I am, when you have no choice but to feel those needs.” Her manner grew hesitant. “I’ve never…”

“Never?”
Unexpected in this day and age
. All the more reason to stay tuned to her needs.

“No. The couple times I got close turned into disasters—”

That explained a lot. Before she could relive those disasters in memory, stirring up more doubts and fears, he scooped her into his arms and otherwise occupied her mouth. Feeling her reactions as powerfully as his own amazed him. As before, the kiss redoubled in pleasure as she reacted, galvanized, suddenly afire with sensation and the longing for more.

The moments seemed to stretch beyond time as he explored the nuances of her lips, danced with her clever tongue, possessed the primal cavern created by their joined mouths. He excited her, delighted her, urged on her desire to reach for him, to reach for all she wanted. Her hands roved his shoulders, his arms, embraced him as if she’d never let go. He felt that determination re-echoed in himself.

He moved from her mouth to drag his teeth along her throat. Yes. No need to wonder what pleased her. This, and this, more here, moving to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth. Her pleasure shot through him as he cupped her breasts, pressing them together, finding her nipples through the layers of her top and bra, rubbing lightly until they hardened into fierce knots beneath his thumbs.

If only he’d discovered her years ago. No fumbling, no doubt of what she felt. She squirmed, bringing them into closer contact, until she lay half under him, the heat of her thighs and belly apparent through clothing he knew frustrated her as much as it did him.

Her hands explored beneath his shirt. She felt daring to be so bold with him, pleased with herself.

“Go ahead.,” He gasped out the words. “Have your way with me.”

“I hardly know where to start.” She breathed into his ear and he bucked, stirred by the light touch of her lips. He felt her pleasure at knowing she could move him so easily. “Do you like that?” she asked. “This?” Her hands fumbled at his belt and she ran her fingers beneath it.

Her surprise and trepidation on encountering the solid length of his

erection amused him, especially as he caught the deep longing swiftly supplanting it.

“Yes, and yes,” he told her.

“I want you.” She used her teeth on his neck, as he’d done with her. “Inside me. All the way.”

Enough rational thought remained to raise questions. Was this right? Too fast? Too soon? But her need re-echoed in him. Her longing and his combined to sweep rational thought aside. Somehow they dragged off clothing, dragged on a condom. Flesh to flesh, they filled their hands and hearts with one another. She wanted him wanting her. Her pleasure was his, pleasing her. He’d nearly lost the capacity to distinguish where one left off and the other began.

Her hands helped him find his way to her core, pulled him all the closer, and urged him on and in. He responded to her urgency no differently than to his own, driving on into her embrace, into wild passion claiming him as he claimed her as his own, her own, into a light where all was one.

Four

Rachel woke alone between the sheets in a strange bed of enormous proportions
. Did they make beds bigger than king size? What was this? Imperial sized? Where did one shop for imperial sized sheets?
She sprawled out, stretching, taking in the sheer luxury. If not for an unaccustomed tenderness in generally ignored parts she might think she’d dreamed her whole encounter with Fluke… Fluke. Where had he gone?

She sat up, surveyed the room surrounding the bed. She couldn’t remember having made it as far as the bedroom. Had he carried her in here?

She threw aside the sheets and scooted to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over. Wow. She felt loose. This sex stuff was better than a yoga workout. And she couldn’t believe she’d just fallen asleep in Fluke’s arms like that. She never let her guard down so far with anyone but family, like David or Tamara.

Rachel’s stomach let out a muted roar. She was starving. How long had she been asleep? The window showed only night sky spangled with the lights of the complex. If Fluke had gone to get food she’d have to marry him.

As she rose, intending to start a serious search for him—and her clothes—she heard the strains of ‘Spirit in the Sky’ issuing faintly from a bureau beside the bed. Tamara’s ring tone.

She found her phone in the top drawer, along with her handbag and the clothes Fluke had virtually torn from her while she’d been finding her way through his. The memory brought back a thrill of lust, but she ignored it to grab up the phone. Tamara’s ID flashed onscreen.

“Tamara. Hi.”

“Hi. Is this an okay time to call? Can you talk?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“You said you had to lie low—something to do with Guardian business.”

“We’re not hiding from
you
.”

“Well I have an enormous favor to ask—and I know it’s kind of an awkward time…”

Rachel moved the phone from ear to ear as she worked her way back 
into her clothes. “Ask away,”

“I don’t want to impose, but I’m really worried about my mother in Ames. She was supposed to call me tonight and she still hasn’t. I tried her earlier, and I’ve been trying every hour since. It’s past one a.m.!”

“Oh, Tamara. Did you call 911 for Ames? Have them check on her?”

“I thought of that, but if she just turned off her phone and forgot about it, she’d kill me for getting the police involved…”

“How can I help?”

“You know a teleporter, right? Well enough to ask a favor? I’d certainly pay him something for his time and trouble if he’d just take me to Ames long enough to pop in and check on my mom.”

“Well…” Rachel hesitated. She couldn’t speak for Tom, but checking on a person in potential trouble did fall within the mission values of the Team.

“I’m asking too much. I’m imposing.” Tamara sounded distraught. “I’m sorry… I’ll go ahead and call 911.”

“No. No, no, Tamara. It’s totally okay to ask.” Rachel sat again, pulling on her sandals, which she’d found set neatly beside the bed. “I just have to check with Tom, the teleporter and see if he’s free. This is what we do. We help people.”

She could hear the relief in Tamara’s voice now. “Okay. I’ll just stay on the line then while you check with this guy.”

“Yeah. Hold on.” She’d found her specs with her other things and donned them, used the Team channels to contact Tom. In a matter of minutes she’d arranged to meet him on the roof of the hotel. His ‘buddy,’ Beth Talbot was catching a nap and he didn’t want to disturb her for this quick unofficial trip.

Fortunately, occupancy of the penthouse suite came with rooftop access—for those dignitaries who preferred to travel by helicopter. She found Tom waiting for her by the time she exited the fire door near the helipad.

“Hey,” he greeted her.

“Hey. Thanks for coming on such short notice—I know you’ve got a life outside the team.”

“Not as much of one since Jessie broke things off.” He sighed. “But, mission of mercy, right?”

“Right. You know my friend, Tamara? It should only take a few minutes to set her mind at ease about her mother, and I can keep an eye on things at the ashram while you’re gone.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in hiding?”

“That’s already a bust. The perp put a tail on us instead of coming himself, so he knows we’re at the casino. He won’t expect to find me at home—and I won’t be there long.”

“You got it. So let’s do this.” He scooped her into a hug, lifting her off her feet, only to set her down again immediately among the pots of

hibiscus and geraniums—on the front porch of the ashram.

“C’mon in.” Rachel quickly unlocked the door and ushered him in. Johnson wouldn’t expect her here, but why tempt fate by staying out in the open any longer than necessary? She called out, “Tamara, we’re here! You ready?” She approached the stairway leading up to the bedrooms, listening for a response.

“She’s in the office.” The strange voice behind her startled Rachel into whirling around to find Johnson standing there, one hand on Tom’s bare neck. Tom stood transfixed, staring blankly ahead. Tamara emerged from the office, carrying a coil of clothesline.

“Oh, hi! There you are.” Tamara greeted her as if everything were perfectly normal, coming around Johnson and Tom to approach Rachel. “I need to keep an eye on you now.”

“Tamara? What’s going on?” Rachel backed closer to the stairs.

“She’s got her instructions,” Johnson said, “and makes a very good puppet too. She’s so capable, and so strong. She really believed her mother might be in trouble—until I reprogrammed her to be your guard.”

Rachel whirled to run past the stairs and out through the kitchen entry—but she’d waited too long to realize her danger and make her move. Tamara caught her before she’d reached the kitchen door and the yoga instructor quickly overpowered her. Using a move she might have learned from watching TV crime shows, she threw Rachel flat on her stomach, sending her specs flying across the room, and then, with a knee on her back, trussed Rachel’s wrists behind her.

Johnson continued speaking. “Thanks for bringing me such an efficient means of transportation. We’re going to take you away and our friend Tamara is going to baby-sit you while our teleporter helps me take care of some very important business. And you’re going to cooperate in this because Tamara’s mind will freeze up like an overloaded computer if you do anything to keep her from fulfilling the instructions I’ve given her.”

Rachel struggled to turn her head toward Johnson—hard to do with her cheek pressed to the floor.

“You’re insane,” she told him. “Seriously. You think any of this will make your life the tiniest bit better or happier?”

The man’s bland façade cracked as he scowled furiously at her. “Hurt her,” he told Tamara, who immediately jerked back on Rachel’s bound arms. She gritted her teeth against the wrenching pain.

“This isn’t about happiness,” Johnson went on. “It’s about payback.”

~ * ~

Fluke returned to the penthouse suite accompanied by a small caravan of carts laden with a mini-buffet steered by hotel staff. It had taken him some time to arrange for the midnight snack with the hotel’s night chef. Amazing how a few hundred dollars in gratuities could overcome objections to going off menu. Rachel had been snoring lightly when he’d slipped out.

He hoped she hadn’t had time to wake and wonder where he’d gone.

He ushered his procession into the suite and left them to set up the array of dishes, beverages and flowers while he went to the bedroom to wake Rachel.

He found the rumpled bed empty and turned to check the bath with a rising sense of misgiving—he heard no sound of water running—and found that room empty too. He returned to the living room of the suite. The hotel’s crew had departed, leaving a fabulous buffet in place. Fluke dropped his specs over his eyes and opened a channel to call Rachel. Maybe she’d decided to explore on her own.

He got no response to the call, so he pinged the team’s night secretary. “Can you get a fix on Rachel Connolly’s location?”

“According to the logs, she’s with you.”

“Not at the moment.”

“Ah. Just got a new entry showing she pinged Tom Stanton for transport—some emergency involving her housemate. I’ve got a fix on her specs, showing her at her home address right now.”