Skin (17 page)

A
s she walked through the door of her town house Frankie stopped dead in her tracks. Shock registered. Fear flashed. Anger erupted.
Sonofabitch!

Her brand-new sofa lay on its back, the fabric slashed to ribbons, the stuffing strewn all around. Her
nona
Fazzio’s stained-glass Tiffany lamp lay broken and scattered across the shredded carpet. Paintings that had been in her family for years hung askew or were tossed on the floor along with the other carnage. Her hands shook. A deadly silence permeated her home.

Who did this? Who the hell broke into her house and violated everything she held sacred? Frankie dug her can of pepper spray out of her purse, wishing she had a gun instead.

Slowly she walked through the living room, glass and broken pottery crunching underfoot, to the equally destroyed dining room and then into the kitchen. Her china and crystal were shattered into millions of shards on the floor, the drawers pulled and dumped. The pantry door hung agape, the contents strewn everywhere.

Fury infused every cell of her body. Then Reese’s words resonated in her mind.
“It’s you they want.”

Even as the evidence lay before her, she still could not fathom why anyone, including Anthony, wanted her dead. For a long minute she stood silent, her gaze touching on the destruction, her eyes missing nothing. Every crevice, every corner, every layer was disturbed. Like someone was looking for something. What? Did someone think she had her father’s will?

She stepped over the ruin in the kitchen and made her way down the hallway to her home studio. Her anger swelled. Her equipment was broken and thrown, her computer in pieces on the floor. Putting the pepper spray back in her purse, she set it and the camera bag down next to the splintered wood that was once her copy table. She bent down to pick up her old Nikon, surprised it was still intact. The treasured camera was one of the few things her father had given her. Sadness rushed through her and she wished she’d had a much different relationship with the man responsible for her birth.

She had gingerly set the camera on the window ledge and pulled her cell phone from her purse to call Unk when she heard the soft crunch of glass underfoot in the kitchen. She froze, terrified. Friend or foe? Her eyes darted around the room, already knowing what her brain knew. No way out and no escape route without being seen. She was trapped. No place to hide. The door to the closet hung awkwardly from one hinge. Impulsively, she darted through the doorway and upstairs to her bedroom and the cavernous walk-in closet.

She made the sign of the cross as she breathed a quick breath of relief. The door was secure, though open. She slipped inside and pulled the door almost all the way shut, keeping it cracked just enough to peek through and see the person who was going to pay with his life for destroying everything she’d worked so hard for.

Her heart beat like a kettledrum in her ears as she listened to the footsteps methodically go from room to room, stopping and starting. Realizing she left her purse downstairs in the office, she choked.

“Please, don’t find it.”

The footsteps halted at the bottom of the stairway.

“Breathe,” she whispered to herself when she realized she was holding her breath, and then remembered the softball bat in the far corner of the closet. Slowly she backed up, feeling with her hand along the wall. She almost stumbled over a heap of clothes the shit disturber threw when he wrecked her closet. Squatting, she felt underneath the mounds of clothing. Just when she was about to cry in frustration, she touched the hard aluminum grip. Carefully she pulled it out from under the heavy mound of clothes. Her eyes adjusted in the darkness and she made out a blanket tangled around a pile of shoes. Setting the bat aside, she pulled the blanket up and draped it over the long hanger rung. Slipping behind it would offer small cover, but at least no one would open the closet door and see her standing there, a panicked mess.

Bat in one hand, Frankie tiptoed to the cracked door. Her gut lurched and she felt like she was going to throw up. The footsteps were entering her room. For a long minute there was no sound. She couldn’t make out the person standing in her doorway; only a long shadow gave him away as he viewed the ripped sheets and guts of her mattress strewn over the room like snow in Tahoe.

Gripping the bat with her right hand, she slapped her left hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. The footsteps moved closer to the closet door. Did he hear the loud beat of her heart? Did he smell her fear? The shadow fell across the floor in front of her.
Oh, Virgin Mother Mary, please don’t let me die. I promise to go to confession every Saturday.
Who was she kidding? Once a month.

The door opened, and light flooded the closet. Frankie screamed and swung the bat, pushing her way toward the hulk of a man in front of her. A dull grunt of pain as the bat hit solid flesh spurned her on.

She pulled back for another wallop; instead, the intruder tackled her low around the waist and pushed hard. Frankie screamed. In a flaying tangle of arms and legs, they landed on the guts of her mattress as she continued to whack him with the bat. Her hair caught around her face, obscuring her view, but her senses opened. Even blinded, she knew the strong woodsy scent of the man on top of her.

The bat halted midair. “Reese! You scared the hell out of me! Why didn’t you call out?”

“Because, Miss Know-it-all, I didn’t know one, if you were here, and two, if you were, whether someone had you at gunpoint. Now put that bat down.”

Immediately she opened her fingers and the bat rolled out of her hand. Reese didn’t seem in any hurry to remove his body from hers. Instead he leaned into her, smiled crookedly, and glanced around the room before settling those dark blue eyes of his back on her. “So, what is it you have hidden here?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I was as shocked as you when I walked in here.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I was shocked. Surprised, maybe. It looks like whoever is after you has changed tactics.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious the person or persons who did this were looking for something. It wasn’t a random scare tactic but a seek-and-destroy mission.”

“Who are you?”

“The guy who’s stuck with you and not liking it very much.”

She pushed his chest but he remained sprawled on her. “I thought you said you’d leave me alone.”

He pressed his hips against her. “Feel that?”

“I don’t feel anything except your hips.”

“Exactly.
I. Don’t. Do. Mafia. Princesses.”

His hand slid up her bare thigh and pulled down her short skirt. Her skin warmed in its wake. “Even when they throw themselves at me.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“You’re stubborn.”

Deep voices from the living room interrupted them. Frankie’s body went rigid in renewed fear. Whoever ruined her house must be back. Reese put his finger to her lips and stood, hauling her up with him. He pushed Frankie toward the closet, then grabbed the bat from the floor.

“I hung a blanket,” she whispered as Reese entered behind her and closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. The voices drew nearer.

In the darkness she felt his body heat. Gently he pushed her further back into the closet while he faced the door. She tripped over a mound of shoes and stifled a scream as he caught her, pulling her against him. She grabbed his arm for support and slid her other arm around his waist as he pulled her from the pile. The hard butt of a gun at his back surprised her more than his presence. A model with a gun? Who the hell was this guy?

The voices came closer, and she barely made out the words.

“Looks like someone had the same idea,” a low, gruff voice said.

“Lightweights,” an equally nasty voice responded.

“Whadya mean?” the first voice asked.

“You see a body?”

“Nah.”

“Exactly. They screwed up. Lightweights.”

“I didn’t see no car out front. She ain’t here. Looks like we won’t be bagging one ourselves.”

Reese slid his gun from his waist. Despite his quiet confidence and his gun pointed at the door, Frankie’s heart hummed like a buzz saw against her chest. She was sure they could hear it. She pressed against Reese’s back and wondered for the briefest of seconds if he felt it too.

She held her breath, straining hard to recognize at least one of the voices, but they were unfamiliar. Behind the blanket she could barely breathe, the closet was so warm. Frankie slipped her arms around Reese’s waist and pressed her body against his, to draw on his strength and still her jittery nerves. Her knees wobbled and she felt the resurgence of nausea. She smiled when he ran a comforting hand across hers before disengaging her hands from him.

Holding his gun with one hand, he wrapped his fingers around the back of her head and whispered against her lips, “Don’t make a sound.” She nodded and he released her.

“Wanna give it a once-over before we go?” the first thug asked.

“Nah. It’s the girl we wanted and she ain’t here. Let’s go.”

The sound of heavy footsteps retreating from her room was the sweetest sound Frankie had ever heard.

“Let’s head over to that magazine she runs.”

“But the boss said —” the second voice interrupted.

“I want this —” the first one started to explain, and the voices faded down the stairway.

Still silent, she listened as the men made their way downstairs, their muffled voices giving way to murmurs as space separated them.

“What do we do now?” Frankie whispered.

Reese pushed her back toward the wall. “We wait for them to leave.”

“Wait?” she hissed. “They’re going to my offices.”

“Yes, wait. And since you aren’t there, no one will get hurt.”

“You have a gun. Let’s follow them.”

Reese slid his weapon between his belt and back, then pulled her hard against his chest and kissed her. This time Frankie struggled. She pulled away from him. “I’m not going to stand in here while those thugs get away. Give me your gun.”

“Keep quiet.”

She moved past him and he grabbed her, spinning her around. She stumbled and he pushed her face first against the far corner of the closet. He was careful not to hurt her, but his patience had worn thin. He had a hankering to see the next sunrise. “As much as I’d like to go out there and play the Lone Ranger, there are two of them, one of you, and one of me. I happen to value my skin, and yours. So we wait.”

“Let go of me,” she said against the wall, the drywall muffling the percussion of it.

“You promise to be quiet?”

She pushed her ass against his swift-growing cock. He couldn’t help it. Her perfume, her skimpy skirt, her smooth skin in the dark, warm confines of the closet. Every one of his thermo receptors was on high alert, and he had a real good idea how to keep her quiet, at least until the danger passed. But this was not the time for that. They had to keep alert to stay safe. If one of those thugs decided to come back upstairs and so much as opened the closet door, they would be a permanent fixture splattered on the wall. And judging from the muted sounds coming from downstairs, Reese figured the two guys weren’t in any hurry to leave. They were no doubt looking for a few mementos they could pawn off for an extra buck.

The sudden trembling of Frankie’s body triggered an emotion in him he’d buried years ago. She was scared to death but trying to act tough. The sudden urge to protect her at all costs flared bright in his gut. It wasn’t, he realized, just a job anymore but his own personal quest. Someone wanted her dead, and he’d use whatever force was necessary to see that that didn’t happen.

He inhaled sharply as the emotions collided. Her sultry scent tangled with his senses. His blood quickened, and he grasped for control.

The tension built as they waited, the closet getting hotter, him getting harder, her breathing coming fast. The slam of the front door announcing the thugs’ departure made Frankie jerk against Reese. He jerked her back. Instead of releasing her, he held her closer, in no rush to go after them. He had something else entirely on his mind.

Frankie wiggled against him again and this time Reese groaned.

“You aren’t the boss of me,” Frankie said, her voice high, but with excitement, not fear. “Let’s at least follow them. See where they go.”

“No, it’s too risky. We wait.”

Frankie started to protest, but Reese had other plans. He sunk his teeth into the soft skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Frankie hissed in a breath that shot to her toes. His hands slid up to her breasts. “I’m your fantasy playing out, Frankie. A stranger, in a dark corner. Danger lurking just outside.” He felt her body shudder. Then she came undone in his hands. Her nipples hardened beneath his fingertips, the swell of the globes filling his hands.

She threw her head back, giving him open access to her throat. She tasted hot and spicy, a decadent blend of sex and sensuality. Her low moan encouraged him. While he kept one ear on the closet door, just in case their friends returned, every other sense was focused on the hot body writhing under his hands.

Determined not to trade any body fluids with her, Reese slid his hands down her waist to her thighs, rubbing her skin through the thin fabric of her skirt. He nipped at her throat, slipping his hands around and under her skirt to the voluptuous swell of her ass cheeks. He pressed his hard-on against her lower back. “Nice ass.”

She moaned a response and Reese knew if he wanted to break the agreement, she’d allow it. He smiled against her skin.

He ran a fingertip up along the thin strip of material that served as the ass part of her thong panties. Her fanny squirmed under the pressure. “I want to slide my fingers into you, Frankie, and make you take off like a rocket.”

She parted her thighs.

“You want that too?”

She didn’t answer. He slipped his fingers around to her mound and just barely tapped her there. She gasped and pushed against him. He pushed with her, running a fingertip up and down the outside of the lacy fabric barrier shielding her hardened clit from him. Each time he trailed his fingertip across her, he increased the pressure. He’d make her beg for it.