Sin and Sacrifice (6 page)

“
I can't stand tea, but
coffee sounds divine. I'll make it.” Evelyn, far from helpless,
wanted to be busy. Stepping behind the counter, she fished around
for supplies, taking care not to bump her hands. “And you can tell
me how you found me while I do it.”

“
We were staking out
another situation, actually, when my partner and I heard screaming
further along the parking lot,” he said, coming into the
kitchen.

“
So you were there by
accident?” She fumbled the box of instant coffee when he invaded
her personal space and plucked up one of her hands.

“
A stakeout isn't an
accident. We just weren't there for
you.”
He assessed the wounds to the
ends of her fingers like a field doctor. Clinical and
experienced.

“
If you were already in
the parking lot, then how did they get away with me?” She had to
set down the instant coffee and fill a mug all with her other hand.
“What are you doing?”

“
Well, since I didn't see
the whole thing, I can't answer that. What we saw from our vantage
was what looked like a kidnapping in progress, so we ran back to
get our car. I managed to get the numbers off the plates of the van
before we lost it. We tracked it down and discovered where they
were keeping you.” He let go and cupped her chin, turning it an
inch one way and an inch the other. Looking right at her
mouth.

Evelyn, disconcerted by the
warmth of his skin and his size, sloshed water onto the counter.
She managed to get the mug into the microwave and remove her chin
from his grip. “But if you knew they'd kidnapped me, then why
didn't you arrest them? We wouldn't be on the run right now—do you
mind? My lip is fine.”

“
Because, Miss Grant, we
didn't get the information until right before I grabbed you. I was
alone, we didn't know how many of them there were, or even
who
they were, or what
kind of weapons they might have. I heard shouting and didn't want
to wait to extract you. Might have been too late if we'd pulled
back and come in a few hours later, armed with warrants.” He spoke
matter-of-factly, and added, “It's bleeding.”

Evelyn didn't want to think
what shape she might be in if they'd waited. Her initial
disappointment in what she considered a flaw in their strategy
vanished. Desperate for information about her sisters, and to
distract him from his concern over her well being, she asked, “I'll
live. What about...the girl they killed?”

Rhett arched his brows. He
leaned against the counter right next to her and crossed his arms
over his chest. “We're trying to identify her. She didn't have any
identification at the scene, although we did find a small purse
that apparently belonged to you.”

Discussing Galiana's death
was surreal. Unbelievable. Painful. After adding a scoop of
hazelnut crystals, she stirred and took a cautious sip to steady
herself. “She was a friend of mine. Galiana Jenkins. We were
supposed to meet her there but she never showed up.” As an
afterthought, she added, “I'd really like my things
back.”

“
Sure, sure. You'll get
your belongings. Who is 'we'?”

“
My other friends and I.
We all met here to vacation together. I'm not sure what happened to
the other three.” Evelyn watched his expression to see if he knew
more than he was telling about the fate of her sisters. He looked
perplexed.

“
There weren't any other
bodies. Forensics hasn't come back with the results of the blood we
found yet, so we won't know if it's all Miss Jenkins or not. How
many of you were there?” Leaning up, he scratched at the vague
layer of whiskers on his jaw.

“
Four, not including
Galiana.” Evelyn watched his hand instead of his eyes.

“
I'll see what else I can
find out. Did they say what they wanted with you?”

“
Not really. They thought
I was someone else.”

“
Who?”

“
Someone with sisters. I
don't have any.” Evelyn tread carefully, sipping at the coffee
between answers to buy herself time to think.

“
Did they say any names,
specifically?”

“
No. He just kept saying
he knew who I was and that he wanted to know where my sisters
were.”

“
Do you think they planned
to kill you?”

The cup rattled against the
counter when she set it down. She couldn't meet his eyes. Most of
what she'd told him was truth, with a lot of other detail
omitted.

“
Yes. What do we do now? I
mean, what's the plan? Do you even have jurisdiction
here?”

“
I think we sit tight
until some results and information start rolling in. We're trying
to find out who they are. You can try calling your friends to see
if they're okay or whether we need to be looking for more missing
persons. Don't worry about jurisdiction—we have special clearance
to be working here.”

She wasn't used to leaning
on other people in times of crisis. Usually it was just she and her
sisters, dealing with the fallout. Evelyn didn't know whether to
walk out on Rhett Nichols or stay here until she knew what was
going on. The benefits of staying, for now, outweighed her going it
alone. He had weapons, seemed capable, and was trying to help her
find her siblings. Sometime soon, she was going to pass out from
sheer exhaustion whether she wanted to or not and the thought of
doing that with no one to watch over her unnerved her.

The very last thing she
wanted to do was wind up back in the hands of the
Templars.

“
Okay. Can I borrow your
phone? I'll try and get in touch with my friends.” She set down the
coffee when he dug the phone out of his pocket and offered it over.
Their hands brushed when she took it. Evelyn smiled her thanks and
stepped away toward the tall, broad windows. Being a government
agent, he could very easily have her calls traced, and giving him
access to her sister's phone numbers was dangerous. But she also
knew that he could find them just as easy with a simple search once
he had their names, and in her mind, it was more important to try
and make contact than not.

On every try, she got
answering machines. Genevieve, Minna, Alexandra. They could have
lost their phones, like she had. Alexandra didn't always carry it
with her when they went out. The ominous whisper in her ear that
something more sinister happened forced Evelyn to consider leaving
them messages even if she didn't want them contacting Rhett without
her knowledge. There were too many secrets to keep.

“
I'm not reaching any of
them. Do you think we can get our luggage from the hotel we were
staying at? I know one of them left her phone behind that night.”
Evelyn decided not to leave any voicemail. She laid his cell next
to his elbow and dumped the remains of the coffee in the sink, not
as thirsty for it as she'd thought. Her lip throbbed, exacerbated
every time she set the rim of the cup there. The steamy brew wasn't
worth irritating her wound.

“
Yeah, but I think you
should give me the information and let us retrieve it. Whoever
these people are, they might be watching your room. In fact, I'd
count on it.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, looking
thoughtful.

“
The sooner the better
then. At least I'll have my own clothes.” What she wanted was
Alexandra's netbook. If the girls were safe, they would leave
emails with a private account they had set up for this very
reason.

On the counter she found a
small pad and a pen. With quick strokes in slanting script, she
wrote down the pertinent details:
Aphrodite Hotel. Evelyn Grant. Room 220.

“
We'll have it by morning.
Maybe you should try and get some rest.”

“
I think I will.” Leaving
the pad on the counter, she straightened and made eye contact with
him. After a brief hesitation, she added, “Thanks for your help,
Mister Nichols.”

“
Just doing my job. You're
welcome.” He nodded once, never looking away from her
face.

His intensity made her skin
prickle.

Bone weary, Evelyn trudged
up the stairs. Entering the gloomy bedroom she'd chosen for her
own, she questioned again the wisdom of spending a night in a
strange house, in a strange bed, with a strange man playing
guardian below. What did she really know about Rhett Nichols
anyway, besides that he was a government agent who happened to be
in the right place at the right time?

Not much.

Not much at all.

Except that he
had
risked his life to
extricate her from that subterranean hell. Any normal person in her
position would likely cling to whatever kind of help they could
get. How suspicious would it seem if she kept trying to deflect
him? Probably suspicious enough to make him start digging
deeper.

Alexandra, talented in the
hacking department, could only cover their tracks so far. A
determined person, with the right access, would start to uncover
anomalies with enough research.

Ten minutes after
stretching out on the bed, fully clothed, she went out like a
light.

The firm pressure of a hand
over her mouth jerked Evelyn awake. A body loomed above her, so
close she could feel its breath on her cheek. Slow to adjust to the
pitch black state of the bedroom, Evelyn couldn't see who it was.
It didn't matter; she struck out with a fist and twisted under the
hulking shadow. The blow glanced off a muscled shoulder.

Somehow, the Templars had
found her. Fear licked sharp and hot along her spine.

“
Shhh.
Miss Grant. It's me.” Rhett used his body to pin her to the
mattress. Strong, firm, but not rough. He whispered, “Someone's in
the house.”

Sudden understanding
replaced the fight or flight instinct; he was there to help her.
She stilled, fingers gripping his arm so hard fresh pain shot up
her wrists and forearms. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw
him staring at her so they could communicate without speaking.
Intent, his eyes bored into hers, face tense. She
nodded.

He drew back with slow
precision, switched his hand from her mouth to her arm, and helped
her off the bed. Rhett moved like a predatory animal, sleek and
controlled, drawing her with him to the wall. He pressed his back
flush and gave her a look that expected her to do the same. She
needed no second bidding. Any remaining cobwebs of sleep were
seared away by terror, leaving her hyper-aware and
alert.

He stopped at the edge of
the door frame. Gun leveled upward at his side, he peered around
the corner into the hallway. When he rounded out of the bedroom,
Evelyn crept after him. Right on his heels. There were two doorways
they needed to pass before hitting the top of the staircase. Faint
illumination spilled forth from each, creating a rectangular glow.
Rhett paused before the first, listening.

Evelyn paused, too, and
held her breath. The house was deathly quiet. She understood his
signal to stay against the wall while he cleared the room. It
wasn't an optimal situation, staying in the hallway, but it was
riskier to bypass the room without checking and leave their backs
exposed. Even she knew that.

He swerved with the gun
raised and went in fast. Evelyn pressed her spine and palms flat
against the wall. Motion through the spindles on the banister
snapped her gaze to a black shadow creeping up the staircase.
Rising parallel to the hall, he didn't have a clear vantage of her
position.

Panic seized her. She
didn't know if she should scream, follow Rhett into the room, or
wait for him to return. The man stalked up another handful of
stairs. Any second he was going to hit the landing and see her.
Faced with a situation she couldn't control, forced to confront her
nemesis and her psychological fear, Evelyn fought down nausea while
gathering herself for action.

She could do
this.

A decorative vase filled
with Pampass grass sat on the floor five feet away. It was much
heavier than she thought when she crept over and picked it up. Pain
burned up her fingers, into her wrists. Adrenaline motivated her
and she hurled it over the railing with a war cry, aiming for the
assailant's head. She sought to catch the intruder off guard, with
any luck, before he took whatever small advantage she had away from
her.

The vase crashed off the
arm the man threw up to protect his head. He must have lost his
balance because she watched his gun go flying when he pitched
backwards, grasping for the banister. In the frozen second when
Evelyn wondered whether she had the guts to go for the gun, Rhett
swooped in, took stock of it all in a heartbeat, and hauled her
back into the room he'd just left with an arm around her waist.
With the back of a boot, he slammed the door closed. Without
wasting time on questions, he bulled a heavy dresser across the
floor and tipped it into the door, denting the wood.

“
The window!” he
whispered.

She hated how time seemed
to slow down, how her footsteps felt mired in sludge. The eleven
feet to the window might as well have been eleven miles. Shoving
the sheer curtains aside, she fumbled for the latch. The house, a
newer model, thankfully had an easy sash to lift. It slid up with a
hiss.