The Stone Warriors: Damian (16 page)

“Agent Lewis?” Espinoza prodded her.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I’m already thinking of our next steps. We retrieved an excellent image of the shooter, enough to move our investigation forward in a very positive way. Thank you for your cooperation, and for not making me get a warrant.” She gave him a we’re-in-this-together smile.

He responded with a dazzling smile of his own, and she realized for the first time that David Espinoza was a very good-looking man. Funny how she hadn’t noticed that when Damian was around.

“We’re always happy to help law enforcement here at the Lorenzo,” he was saying. And that made her wonder when the Lorenzo had dealt with the police before.

Fortunately, that wasn’t her problem. She produced one of the business cards Nick had provided for her and held it out. The card was very official, but it would send the caller to the office of Nick’s assistant, who had very specific instructions for how to deal with any queries that came in on that line. All of Nick’s hunters carried cards with the identical number.

Casey offered her hand and they shook. “Thank you again,” she said sincerely, and would have left it at that, but Espinoza held on a fraction longer than courtesy required.

“Will you be staying in town?” His brown eyes were warm and interested.

She blinked in surprise. What was the deal lately? She’d gone a year without so much as an idle flirtation and now suddenly, she had Damian in her bed, and Espinoza stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

“We won’t actually,” she said, emphasizing the
we.
“We’re leaving right away.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmured. “But if your investigation brings you back, I’d love to show you the city.”

“I’d enjoy that,” she lied, figuring that was the easiest way to extricate herself from what had become a very awkward situation. “I’ll call you.”

“Excellent,” he said, giving her another one of those dazzling smiles. She’d bet he slayed ’em left and right with that charm.

“Cassandra.” She spun in surprise at the sound of her name from a visibly unhappy Damian.

“Stephens?” She gave him a worried look, thinking something must have pulled him back into the building.

“We need to get going. The others are waiting for us.”

“Right,” she said. Confused, but not wanting to give anything away, she turned back to Espinoza. “Thank you again, David.”

“My pleasure,” Espinoza said, then aimed an arrogant smile over her head at Damian. “Stephens,” he said flatly.

Damian bared his teeth. “Espinoza,” he said in the exact same tone of voice.

Casey glanced between the two men, wondering what the hell was going on, but she took advantage of the stare-down between them to make her own escape, circling around Damian and heading for the door. He caught up with her and reached over her head to push open the heavy glass panel. Exquisitely aware of the many security cameras watching their every move, she waited until they were back in her Yukon and on their way out of the parking lot—with her driving—before looking over at Damian and saying, “What was all that?”

“All what?” he asked, giving her a bland look.

“At the end, you and Espinoza.”

“He’s attracted to you.”

“Uh huh, and—?”

“And he can’t be trusted. He would use you to gain inside information on our investigation.”

So it was “our” investigation now. Interesting. “I’ve been doing this a while, you know,” she told him. “I don’t exactly go around spilling my guts to every handsome man who shakes my hand.”

“So you think he’s handsome?”

Casey rolled her eyes. “You didn’t think so?” she asked innocently.

Damian was not amused, which both amused
her
and, at the same time, made her wonder why he cared. Did he care? Of course he didn’t care. She was simply the only person he knew in this time. Which was fine with her. She wasn’t exactly looking for a long-term commitment either. He was a gorgeous man and terrific in bed. Oh, yeah, and a great fighter. Good enough reasons to keep him around. For now.

She turned back to the road. Rush hour was in full swing, and she needed to pay attention to traffic. She took the ramp up onto the expressway, then gave him a quick wink. “Buckle up, cowboy. I like to drive fast.”

Chapter Five

THE SAFE HOUSE was big and comfortable, with the pool and hot tub that she’d promised Damian. It was good luck that there was a place so close to their target. Nick maintained several safe houses throughout the country, but it was impossible—or impossibly expensive—to have them in every city, even if only the major ones. This one, for example, served the entire Midwestern region, and it was one of the nicer places. It sat on an acre and a half of land, with mature trees all around, providing the privacy necessary to come and go without the neighbors seeing the occupants’ every move. Or noticing that the people who came and went weren’t always the same ones.

Casey parked and stepped out of the vehicle to admire the broad front porch. She loved porches like this. Because her father was in the armed forces, she and her brothers had grown up in military housing, which hadn’t concerned itself with design or style. At least, not for the non-commissioned officers like her father. Some of the big generals and their families had pretty, palatial homes, but she’d barely been permitted to walk through the front door of those places.

She stood for a moment longer, until Damian shifted impatiently. “Is there a problem?” he asked, searching the house with a warrior’s eye.

“No,” she said. “I was just admiring the porch.”

He looked at it and grunted wordlessly. She didn’t know if that meant he agreed with her, or thought she was wasting time. Frankly, she didn’t care.

She walked around to the back of the Yukon and opened the hatch. “Let’s get this stuff inside and I can get to work.”

Together, they gathered their personal duffels, laptops, and the several bags of groceries—Damian really did love to shop. He carried the bulk of it, and she tilted her head in consideration, watching him march up to the porch, laden with bags that he seemed to carry with no effort at all.
One of the advantages of having a god on your side,
she thought with a smile. At least until he turned and gave her an impatient look that asked,
“What the hell are you doing down there?”

She quickly grabbed the one bag he’d left her, then closed the cargo hatch and hurried up the stairs. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I had an idea.” That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

They dropped their duffels near the stairs to the second floor bedrooms, and carried the groceries into the kitchen. “I’ll make dinner tonight,” she said, then added, “but don’t get used to it.”

He shrugged. “I’m fully capable of preparing my own meals. Food is necessary to a warrior.”

“Good, you can cook tomorrow. There’s a grill outside.”

She looked up to find him watching her. His lips lifted in a tiny smile when he caught her eye, then he winked. “I’ll carry the bags upstairs.” The words were innocuous enough, but the way he said them. . . . They conjured images of sweaty bodies and tangled sheets, or maybe it was tangled bodies and sweaty sheets.

Either way, Casey suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She managed to nod in agreement, until he strode from the kitchen, and her lungs remembered how to function. She was getting in over her head when it came to him, and it couldn’t lead to anything good. Why? Well, hell, because he was one of Nick’s statues! An ancient warrior brought back to life with some sort of mysterious destiny. It was all tied up with Nick and his secrets, not to mention the other, equally mysterious, stone warriors, and she had a feeling she wasn’t part of that destiny. Which meant anything between her and Damian would end when the job was finished. Even if they succeeded in recovering the Talisman, which they would, she’d probably never see him again. She’d continue her work for Nick, roaming around the country, and Damian would either remain in Florida with Nick, or maybe travel the world searching out the other statues. It was all very logical.

So why did the thought make her heart feel as if someone had grabbed it in a fist and squeezed?

She looked up as he dropped their gear with a thump on the floor upstairs. A moment later, there was the sound of running water, and he called down to her.

“I’m taking a shower!”

“Okay,” she shouted back, then spent the next several minutes trying to get the image of a naked Damian out of her head—water running over his sleek skin, every muscle defined and toned, like a textbook of the human body on display just for her. She could go up there. Strip down and step into the shower with him. She remembered doing just that this morning. Sex in the shower. Damian pounding into her against the tile wall. “Damn it, Casey,” she hissed. “Get a grip.”

It was an effort, but she managed to turn her thoughts to something more practical. Like the dinner she’d promised to make. She’d already put away most of the groceries they’d bought, moving automatically while her thoughts had been focused on her urge to molest Damian in the shower. Going over to the fridge, she opened the door and surveyed the options. They were both hungry. Other than breakfast, they hadn’t had much more than snack food today, and she knew from living with her father and brothers that big men needed a lot more fuel than that.

“Steak it is,” she decided and grabbed the package of three filets. She’d be lucky to eat one, but she’d bet Damian would eat the other two, and probably want more. So . . . side dishes. She turned on the oven, then wrapped four potatoes in foil and popped them inside. Anything left over could be used for breakfast tomorrow. Next, salad. They’d bought a bunch of veggies, but she’d also picked up a prepared salad from the deli section, which would save her some chopping. A quick check told her she’d somehow managed to buy all the fixings they’d need for the potatoes, so she grabbed a dish, mixed up a quick marinade, and added the filets just as the shower went off upstairs.

Good. She could shower while the potatoes baked, and then the two of them would enjoy a nice, civilized meal together, after which she could get started on her research. That’s why they were there, after all. This wasn’t a private sexcapade getaway, she reminded herself. She marched up the stairs, determined to remember that this mission was serious. Lives depended on her.

There were four bedrooms on the second level. She found her things, along with Damian’s, in what would be the master suite, with a huge, king-sized four-poster bed that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, not the gritty safe house of some clandestine government operation. She briefly,
very
briefly, considered insisting on separate bedrooms, but immediately realized how stupid that would be. They’d been sleeping in the same room since she’d found him, having sex almost that long. Good sex. Fantastic sex.

Damian walked in from the bathroom, naked, of course. It was his default condition. He had a towel in one hand, rubbing it over his wet hair, and she couldn’t help smiling. The towel was snowy white, his skin golden brown, his body sculpted perfection. She met his eyes, and his smile was just for her. Was that just part of his charm? To make everyone feel as if they were special to him? She sighed. She wasn’t usually this insecure. Hell, she was
never
this insecure when she was doing her usual breaking and entering, stealing away treasures. Love had done this to her. Made her doubt everything about herself, made her question every word, every—

Wait, what? Love? She wasn’t in love. She
couldn’t
be in fucking love!

“Cassandra?”

She shook herself slightly. Of course she wasn’t in love. She’d simply gotten carried away at the sight of all that golden flesh. And who wouldn’t? She forced a smile.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about . . . you know. Anyway, I thought I’d wash up while the potatoes cook. How’s the shower?”

He stepped right into her space and stroked his callused fingers over her cheek. “Not as good as this morning’s. I missed you.”

She drew in his clean soap scent, could feel the heat of his skin, and, oh, my God, the press of his growing erection. “Damian,” she whispered.

He leaned over and kissed her. Gentle, sensual, thorough. The kind of kiss she read about in romance novels. She sighed against his mouth. “We’ll never get dinner,” she warned him, smiling.

He grinned back at her. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she said, intentionally rubbing against his hard shaft.

He grunted. “Cassandra.” Just her name, a warning. But then his stomach growled loudly, and they both laughed.

“There’s always dessert,” she said, crooking one eyebrow.

“And after-dinner drinks,” he agreed, biting her lower lip before smoothing his tongue over the small hurt.

“It’s a date. I’m going to shower now, and you’re going to put on some clothes.”

“Why?”

“The shower or—”

“The clothes. If I put them on now, you’ll only tear them off when you attack me later.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But that’s half the fun.”

He laughed and turned her toward the bathroom with a swat on her ass. “Don’t take too long, woman. I’m hungry.”

She rolled her eyes, but resisted the urge to punch him over the “woman” comment. They’d only end up in bed, and she really needed a shower. She also needed some distance from Damian. She couldn’t seem to think straight when he was so close. It made her start wanting things she couldn’t have.

Stopping at the walk-in closet, she stripped off everything, feeling more relaxed now that they were away from predator hotel bars and shooting gallery parking lots.

She walked into the master bath and stopped. It was like a mini-spa, with marble floors and a floating vanity. There was even a selection of bath products in a basket on the counter. What the hell was this? She’d used other safe houses, but they hadn’t been this elegant. It made her wonder what Nick used the place for when it wasn’t needed as a safe house. A venue for secret assignations, maybe? Did Nick have a lover no one knew about? Actually, if rumors were true, he had several. One in every city. Although that last part seemed a bit of an exaggeration.

She laughed softly, wondering why she was wasting time wondering about Nick’s love life, when she should be focused on her own. That thought sent her over to glance in one of the mirrors, and her laughter died. Good God, she looked awful. It was a miracle that Damian wanted to have sex with her at all. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin looked like it had never seen an ounce of moisturizer, and her hair . . . there were probably small animals nesting in there somewhere.

She shuddered at the thought, which jarred her injured shoulder beneath its voluminous bandage. It was the same bandage Damian had applied, and it was probably time for a change. She started tearing away the tape, wincing at the occasional tug on her skin, dreading what she was going to find. The bloody bandage went into the trash, and then she stood in front of the mirror with her eyes closed, steeling herself for what she was about to see.

She opened her eyes. Okay. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. It wasn’t pretty, but at least it wasn’t green. A part of her had feared finding a big, swollen, infected mass of green goo underneath the bandage. But no, Damian had done a good job of cleaning it out, and although her arm and shoulder were purple with bruising, the wound itself looked good. It was definitely going to leave a scar, though. She might even need to see a plastic surgeon to make sure the scar tissue didn’t limit her range of motion. But right now, tonight, she’d settle for cleaning it up and applying a new bandage.

“Cassandra.” Damian knocked on the door and entered without waiting. She whirled, catching up a towel to cover herself, which was pretty ridiculous. Her face heated with embarrassment, but it was too late.

“I thought you might need help with your shoulder.” His eyes were twinkling in amusement.

She swallowed. He was wearing a pair of unbuttoned jeans and nothing else. And she had only her towel. But then she caught her reflection and remembered. She looked awful. “I’ve got it,” she told him.

He held her gaze a moment longer. “If you need anything,” he said finally. “Call me.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He gave her a little smile, then backed out of the bathroom and closed the door.

Casey leaned weakly against the vanity, no longer sure she was up to this. She knew better than to get involved with a man like Damian.
But it’s just sex,
her brain reminded her. She wasn’t getting involved, they were just having sex. And that was something she hadn’t had nearly enough of in the last few years. She straightened, then marched over and turned on the hot water in the shower, filling the enclosure with steam. Just sex. She could do this. She
would
do this.

DAMIAN COULD SMELL something baking when he got downstairs after talking to Cassandra, and he found meat sitting in a glass dish, soaking in a liquid that smelled of oil and herbs. He didn’t have much to offer when it came to cooking in this modern era, but one thing remained constant through ages and worlds, and that was wine. It was one of the oldest alcoholic beverages in the history of man, and his samplings from room service over the past couple of days proved that the process had improved dramatically.

This house had been set up by Nico, and judging by its opulence, he knew that his friend stayed here himself on occasion. Which meant there had to be alcohol in the house somewhere. A quick perusal of the kitchen showed him a glass-fronted cabinet with several bottles of wine inside. Opening the door, he read the labels and made a selection. A wooden block of knives produced a blade suited to the task, and he soon had the cork out of the bottle. The room service waiter had used a clever device for the same purpose, but he saw no reason to change what didn’t need changing.

A search of the cabinets turned up a variety of glasses. He chose two and set them on the counter, then filled one with the rich, red vintage he’d chosen. He smiled at the bouquet of fruit and oak that wafted into the air as he poured. A quick taste gave him all of those flavors, along with just a touch of black pepper. His smile widened. Winemaking had indeed come a long way while he’d been imprisoned.

Carrying his glass, he walked over and opened the sliding glass door to the backyard, where a turquoise pool wafted steam into the cool air. The temperature was just on the edge of being too cold, which was perfect for him. But then, any fresh air felt good on his skin these days. He didn’t care if it was freezing cold, or steamy hot, or anything in between. He walked over and sat in one of the chairs, staring out into the moonlit night, seeing nothing but open space. . . .