Afterglow Read online

  No matter the visitor, a snifter of four-thousand- dollar-a-bottle whiskey was to be savored, enjoyed without haste. He took another sip, enjoying the expensive heat gliding down his throat as the other man waited.

  His simple cell, with its stone walls and floor, could be frigid in the winter months, and even now, when outside the sun blazed, Monk had a small heater running to stave off the chill. A two-thousand-year-old Chinese rug covered the floor, and heavy burgundy velvet drapes disguised the fact that there was no window. Simple articles brought by his followers to ease his simple life.

  He gave the man a small smile as he cradled the glass. Well satisfied, he had to force a mask of pleasantness to his features. He didn’t like emotion, and in fact, rarely felt any. This satisfaction was more a comfortable warmth. But then he got that in the same measure from a good bottle of scotch. “The buyer was pleased with the demonstration of Rapture at yesterday’s wedding, Szik. You did well.”

  The man puffed his chest and bowed his head. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Has Lucifer tempted you with too much pride, my son?”

  “No, Father. I want nothing more than to please you.”

  Sycophantic asshole. Last night’s display had netted Monk a sizable first order for the drug. Just the beginning. Production was already under way. There was just one player still missing, but that was soon remedied. Patience, as Monk well knew, was a virtue. He had nothing but time. The execution of the waiter early this morning had been a small bonus. One Monk hadn’t witnessed firsthand, although the video had been well shot and gratifyingly realistic. Too short, of course, but effective nevertheless.

  The buyer would prove to be a powerful ally. He already distributed an interesting selection of street drugs, and was ready to break into the European market. Rapture was going to net him billions, and for Monk, multibillions.

  The man was eager to buy the uncut product after seeing the quick results at the wedding reception the day before. Buyers always responded better when they saw the results and potential of a new drug. This buyer was willing to put two billion dollars on the line for a quick turnaround.

  Phase Two: a more powerful dose of Rapture had been leaked into the air-conditioning system inside a Spanish bank earlier today. That, too, had been a small but strategic display to whet the appetites of a different kind of potential buyer.

  The only fly in the ointment was that Rapture was unstable at high altitudes, which would be problematic in Phase Three. By the time he was ready for the third unveiling, his new chemists better have worked out that wrinkle. No terrorist would want to drive a gas of mass destruction around in a fucking truck. Rapture Three could be manufactured anywhere, but Monk wasn’t about to give away his closely guarded formula. If they wanted it, they would have to come crawling to his door, hats and money in hand. He was, and planned to remain, the sole manufacturer.

  “As you instructed, our salesmen were allowed to keep the money they stole from the bank in Barcelona.”

  The money had been stolen just to show the buyers that, with a small application of airborne Rapture, anything could be done, right under the noses of anyone in attendance. The pleasant rose fragrance was an enticement to breathe deeply. Everyone enjoyed a fragrance that reminded them of something beautiful. Monk had spent a fortune perfecting that fragrance, using only the best flowers from the Grasse region.

  “I’m afraid only one television station showed a small portion of footage of the customers five minutes after the gas was fed into the air-conditioner vents. The authorities shut them down. I hope the video our people took was sufficient inducement for our buyers?”

  They weren’t “our” buyers, Monk thought, mildly annoyed. They were his buyers. His invention. His blood, sweat, and faux tears. A lifetime of hard work and sacrifice was coming down to the next few weeks.

  “The footage was adequate,” he said dismissively. He had no interest in sex. Neither watching nor participating. He’d merely observed the activities as one would observe animals mating in the wild.

  “There are a few prospects,” Monk added. “We’ll know more as word gets around.” Word had spread like wildfire, and he already had more buyers for both applications. He’d have to see about hiring more chemists, more lab personnel. Bigger facilities … Monk sipped his whiskey. First, though, he had to keep Szik in his proper place.

  “Did you masturbate as you watched the video?”

  Szik hesitated, bowing his head, his tightly clasped hands a knot at his waist. “I did, Father. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Monk leaned back in his chair, cradling the glass. “We must contact Branah and Raimi. I’m ready for Phase Three. You must be punished for your lust and pride,” Monk said smoothly, with no transition between the thoughts, as he picked up from the table beside him a folded chamois, heavy with his favorite tools.

  He looked up to see Szik still standing there, and said quietly, “Remove your clothing, my son.”

  AFTER A LONG, COLD shower that left him even more frustrated and no less horny, Rand jogged twenty miles on the hotel treadmill, which was damned hard to do with an unrelenting boner. He lifted weights until his arms quivered and sweat ran off him in rivers. Hit the sauna, and his fist, several times, ran again. Showered in the coldest water they had. He prayed like he’d never prayed before that nobody joined him in the gym. He’d used all his self-control leaving Dakota—what fucking little self-control he could claim.

  During that first hour in the hotel gym, he would’ve fucked anyone or anything. For the first time in two days, luck seemed on his side. Nobody joined him. Nobody tempted him.

  He went back to his room, took another icy shower, and called room service for hot coffee. Lots of it.

  He’d been gone three hours. At least he could now do up his pants without causing himself irreparable damage. Dressed, and toweling his hair dry, he quietly opened the connecting door.

  Dakota, wearing only a towel, was curled on the bed, her wet hair a wild coppery tangle across the white pillow and down her bare back. He noticed a faint red line on her upper thigh, a scar, near the edge of the towel, and frowned. That hadn’t been there before. He looked more closely, his eyes traveling inexorably down her body.

  It was no drug coursing through his system that made him want to run his hands up the smooth, creamy skin of her thigh. Gritting his teeth, he took a tactical step back.

  “It’s a good thing I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Maguire,” Dakota said pointedly, opening her eyes. She rolled her head to give him the evil eye. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Gym.”

  “Still?” She sat up, exposing even more of her long pale legs and a tantalizing glimpse of the upper swell of her breasts as she spread her hand across her chest to hold the white towel in place.

  Rand’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The harder he tried not to imagine her pleasuring herself, the harder it was to breathe. “You seem to be okay,” he told her coolly, letting his eyes drift over her cinnamon-flecked skin. He wanted to lunge across the bed and take her. No preliminaries. Just nail her to the mattress. He gripped the doorjamb to anchor himself.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she shoved a long hank of wet hair over her shoulder. “It would’ve been easier if you’d stuck around.”

  His nails scored the woodwork. “Nice to know.”

  Now her lips curved in a way that made him shake. Her wet hair was like a dark red cape around her shoulders, reaching halfway down her back. He wanted to fist it and bring the strands to his nose. Maybe bury his face in the damp curve of her neck and slide his hand to where he’d bet his last dime she was wet and aching still. Wanting what he wanted.

  Her eyes were clear, light green, and dancing with amusement, as if she could read his mind. “I offered,” she pointed out mildly. “Why didn’t you accept? We would’ve had a better workout than you had in the gym.”

  “If we have sex again, it’ll have nothing to do with sniffing any aphr
odisiac, believe me.”

  She raised a copper eyebrow. “Maybe I won’t want to have sex with you if I haven’t been inhaling an aphrodisiac.”

  Always had to argue the other side, didn’t she? He pushed away from the doorjamb, his equilibrium restored. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” There was a knock on the outer door of his room. Saved by room service. “That’s coffee and food. Here or in my room?”

  “I’ll get dressed and meet you in there.”

  Too bad. “Good plan.” He really could have gone for a round two. Rand pulled the connecting door almost all the way closed, and went to let in the waiter.

  There was no reason that he should feel as though he’d just had a narrow escape.

  DAKOTA DRESSED IN THE bathroom—pale-blue skinny jeans and a white tank top—then ran a comb through her still wet hair. Drying it was a pain. It was so long and thick it took forever. Her hair was her one vanity, but most of the time, having it hanging in her face and all over her shoulders and chest was just a nuisance.

  Men liked her hair.

  Rand liked her hair. Still. She could tell.

  Not even glancing in the mirror, she pulled it up and off her face in a ponytail, tempted to take the band out and run her fingers through it before going into his room. Considering how inflammatory the situation was already, she decided against tormenting the man any more than she already had.

  She didn’t want to examine too closely her own behavior earlier. Even though there’d been no fragrance added to DL6-94 in the lab, she’d known almost instantly that she was inhaling Rapture at the bank. Known what would happen. And of course it had. In spades. Call her a fool, but she’d allowed herself to give in, allowed herself to give and receive the exquisite pleasure she’d found in Rand’s arms.

  Rapture had made their passion excusable and guiltfree.

  She was damned if she’d second guess herself.

  She was going with that.

  Barefoot, she grabbed her tote and a plastic shopping bag, and walked into his room.

  His bed was neatly made, so he hadn’t taken a nap as she had; all those orgasms had worn her out. She speculated briefly on how he’d managed that wicked erection he’d had. He was sitting at the small table near the window, texting into his phone.

  He glanced up and, with a small frown, waved his phone at her outfit. “You weren’t wearing that this morning.”

  “I went shopping.” She dropped the shopping bag in his lap. “I got a few things for you as well, like dry pants and clean underwear.” And a couple of T-shirts. And sneakers. “You can’t walk around in a tux and dress trousers, stained ones at that, without attracting notice.” Okay, that was mean. He wouldn’t like being reminded that he’d lost control.

  He ignored the bag as he ground his teeth. “Let me get this straight. We came here because it wasn’t safe for either of us to be in public under the influence of a powerful narcotic. And you went shopping ?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “That wore off after an hour; I didn’t get as much as you did. Don’t worry, I didn’t rape and pillage anyone on the streets. I did have to make a few stops to …” She paused deliberately. “… relieve myself, but after a while, I managed to tough it out. Now we have fresh clothes. I saved us some time. You can thank me later.” She dropped her tote on the floor and settled in the chair opposite him, pulling her feet up on the seat before taking the cup he extended with a stony face. She didn’t give a damn that he wasn’t pleased she’d gone shopping. She was a big girl. She didn’t need his permission to do what she liked.

  Including taking care of her needs if he wouldn’t.

  She breathed in the fragrant steam and hummed her appreciation, “Mmmm. Elixir of the gods.” She sipped with pleasure.

  “The guy’s at least four hours ahead of us. If you were fully recovered, we could’ve gotten back on the road.”

  She waved her mug at him. “When I looked in on you in the gym, you still … had issues. I went out.”

  “I’m sure there’s a boutique in the hotel,” he pointed out, taking the toothpick out of a sandwich layered with what looked like every cold meat they had in the hotel kitchen, then biting into it.

  Dakota’s stomach rumbled. She removed the top piece of bread from her sandwich and picked off a couple of slices of roast beef with her fingers. “With sky-high prices and no selection? I think this portion of the conversation is closed, don’t you?” She took a bite of the meat, spicy and delicious, then took another.

  There went that muscle of annoyance twitching in his cheek again. “We’re here to work, not go shopping.”

  “We’re here to follow a lead.” Dakota eased back more comfortably into the corner of her chair and scratched one bare foot with the other. “Not to get gassed with DL6-94, which was never its intended application, or to have to lock ourselves into our rooms waiting for it to wear off.” She couldn’t resist one more dig. “And we sure aren’t here in this luxury hotel to screw each other, despite appearances to the contrary. But this is where we are. So what’s next?”

  They could’ve spent the last three hours having memorable sex, but for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he’d declined her offer. Clearly, Rand’s hate for her was stronger than the pull of a powerful aphrodisiac.

  The realization was depressing. And irritating as hell.

  Not that she was complaining—much, or not so much anymore, Dakota thought.

  He rose from his chair and the shopping bag dropped unnoticed to the floor. Taking his coffee cup with him, he paced around the bed, then back again. He was the equivalent of a quickly tapping foot. An engine revving on idle. Coins jingling in a pocket. In other words, annoying and accomplishing nothing.

  “You’ll stay here,” he finally said. “Use this as a command post. We’ll keep in close contact via phone.”

  The coffee was hot and strong, just the way she liked it. Dakota held the cup between her palms and looked at him politely over the rim. “I don’t think so.”

  He gave her a cold look. “You want to go back to Monaco?”

  Cocking her head, she raised both eyebrows and opened her eyes wide. “Make me.”

  That muscle jerked in his jaw as it always did when he clenched his teeth. “Dozens of people died today because they breathed in your Machiavellian creation. I’m not dragging you all over hell and gone for no reason. Obviously, the shit that went down at the wedding wasn’t about blackmail. Two acts can no longer be considered random. The next time—and there will probably be a next time—we might not be as lucky.”

  “You need me,” she told him flatly. “It must be obvious to you now that my skill is one hundred percent accurate. I have to continue to use it if we have a hope in hell of preventing another attack.”

  She peeled a chunk of ham off the open face of her sandwich and held it between her fingers. “Don’t think of me as a woman, Maguire.” The way his eyes flared made it abundantly clear that’s exactly how he saw her. She gave him a small, I-know-exactly-what-you’re-thinking smile. “Just consider me a professional GPS.” Dropping the ham into her mouth, Dakota chewed with satisfaction. After swallowing, and allowing him time to digest that, she added, “I suggest you get over your snit, change your clothes, and let’s get going.”

  She drained the last of her coffee, put down her empty cup, wiped her hands, and picked up her tote from the floor beside her chair. As she plopped the heavy bag in the cradle of her crossed legs, she glanced up to see Rand just standing there, gazing at her with that inscrutable poker face he was so good at.

  “And just in case, I found these.” She took out another purchase and showed him the package label. He barely spared her score a glance. “Emergency masks. They’re really for use if your house is on fire, so you don’t get asphyxiated by the smoke. They’ll work on rose-scented happy gas in a pinch as well.”

  “I have to stop him,” Rand said tightly. He didn’t acknowledge what she thought was a halfway brilliant solution to the p
otential problem. He strolled over, and she braced for … what? A slap? A kiss?

  When none came, she replied, “So do I.”

  “Au contraire.” He picked up the shopping bag and tossed it on the neatly made bed, then undid his pants and yanked down the zipper. “Your part of the program was unleashing this crap on the world in the first place. Mine, apparently, is to stop it from spreading.”

  “The FDA prevented it from being unleashed,” Dakota informed him tightly, feeling the cold of his disdain all the way through her bones. He didn’t care about her. Not even after that manic bout of sex.

  They used to love each other. Love each other with a depth and breadth that had at times scared her with its intensity. She’d thought in the last two years that his apathy toward her was the worst event in her life. But his contempt was far, far worse.

  Especially on the heels of all those endorphins.

  Enjoy your last taste, Dakota. She knew she’d never have another.

  SIX

  Rand kicked off the tailored black pants. He wore a knife in a black sheath on his left ankle. That was pretty much all he wore, and it wasn’t the big knife Dakota was looking at. That was a minor detail. He was commando. His long legs curved into the tight curve of his ass and he was still almost fully erect.

  “Boxers in the bag.” Mouth dry and heart rate elevated, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

  The sight of him in nothing but a once-white dress shirt and an ankle knife almost sent her over the edge. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t completely recovered from the airborne Rapture after all. She looked at the sprinkler head in the ceiling until she got her brain back. “And I wasn’t the sole person working on that formula, I’d like to remind you. There were six teams, your father being the head of one of them.”

  “Why did you swear in an affidavit to the prosecutor that you weren’t the one who supplied him with the overdosed wafers?” He removed the price tags from his new clothes with his teeth.

  Dakota wasn’t looking at his strong legs or mourning that the shirt hung too low for her to get a glimpse of his ripped abs and lower. His words brought her out of the brief fantasy with a thud. She must still be breathing, although she couldn’t feel the movement of her lungs as she stared at him, dry-eyed and bereft of speech for an entirely different reason.