David Kent - The Triangle Conspiracy

“You like?” Daryn said softly.

“Very much. You have pretty good hands yourself.”

“Thank you. Shall we explore further? Come upstairs with me.”

Would he do it? Sean thought dimly. Would he actually have sex with this girl as part of this job?

Without breaking the hand contact, Daryn rose from the couch, lightly pulling Sean with her. She led him to the stairs, which opened just off the front door.

The lighting upstairs was more subdued, one bedside lamp and three votive candles. Sean smelled a hint of vanilla from one of them. Daryn sat on the edge of the full-size bed, but made no move to undress.

“You want to talk?” Daryn said. “My instinct tells me, Michael, that you haven’t been with a woman in a while and you’d just like to talk, for now.”

Jesus Christ, she could read him as easily as Faith could. Was he that transparent to all women?

Sean nodded. “Like I said, I’m new in town.” He cleared his throat.

They talked. More accurately, Sean talked and Daryn-as Kat-listened. He embellished his cover story, made up a fictional family on the fly, talked about how much he loved designing classic American furniture and building it with his own hands. That much, at least, was true.

Daryn listened, asking a question here and there, never giving up anything of herself. Sean let it go and didn’t pry. This was about him gaining her trust, and he had to dance very carefully with her or he might lose sight of who was leading and who was following.

Three-quarters of an hour passed. They gradually became a bit more physical. Daryn opened her shirt all the way. He felt her breasts. She rubbed his crotch through his pants. She kissed his neck a couple of times. Sean thought he would explode, but he kept it under control.

He was fondling her left breast-the one with the justice tattoo-and was moving his head toward it, as if being guided by an unseen hand. Daryn’s head was back, her arms gripping the headboard of the bed, her legs parted ever so slightly. The tension was almost unbearable, cracking in the air like prairie thunder. The world of street hookers like Monica and Britt was light-years away from the sensuality of this moment, of this woman.

His lips were inches from her breast when Sean heard a faint sound. He couldn’t quite place it-he thought it came from downstairs. Something familiar, an ordinary sound, but somehow out of place right here, right now.

A second later, the apartment door exploded inward.

Daryn screamed, pulling her shirt closed around her breasts. Sean rolled off the bed and came up in a crouch.

“Where the fuck is she?” a male voice growled from downstairs.

“Search the back,” said a second voice.

So there were at least two of them. Sean crawled toward the chair at the foot of the bed. He’d carefully draped his windbreaker over it when they came upstairs. His Glock was in it-he hadn’t anticipated trouble, at least not this kind, but he knew better than to walk into any kind of volatile situation unarmed. Seven years on the border had taught him that.

He raised his eyebrows at Daryn. She shook her head violently. I don’t know!

Shit!

They’d certainly heard Daryn’s scream, and it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that the sound had come from upstairs. The apartment wasn’t that large.

“Upstairs,” said the first voice.

Sean mimed blowing out the candles, which Daryn did, and she also turned off the lamp. The room went black.

Sean silently took his Glock from the pocket of the windbreaker. He looked over his shoulder. He could barely see Daryn, just the outline of the white shirt she wore. She was beside the bed, squatting on the balls of her feet. At least she hadn’t screamed again.

A host of possibilities ran through Sean’s mind. Who were they?

Maybe Tobias Owens and Senator McDermott had covered their bases in a different way. Maybe they’d had Sean followed, and all the talk about gaining her trust and convincing her to come home of her own accord was just that-talk. Let Sean find the girl, then send in the commandos.

Maybe they were political enemies, someone else who had been searching for Daryn McDermott because of her radical ideas. Maybe Sean had led them to her.

Maybe they were psycho former customers of the escort they knew as Kat Hall. Maybe they were common thieves.

Maybe, maybe…

Sean heard a heavy step turn toward the stairs. The other set of footsteps was still farther back in the apartment, perhaps in the living room or kitchen.

“It’s fuckin’ dark,” said the voice at the foot of the stairs. Then, louder: “You up there, girl? Come on now, you can’t hide.”

Daryn expelled a breath. Sean saw her move slightly in the darkness, and willed her to be still. He very carefully angled his body around so that he was facing the place where the stairs reached the bedroom.

The heavy steps started up the stairs. One stair, two, three…

Who were they?

Sean tried to remember how many steps there were. He’d been so consumed by Daryn’s touch that he hadn’t really noticed. Were there eleven, was that right? Or was it twelve?

Four steps up, five…

Weren’t all stairways built with an odd number of steps? Hadn’t he read that somewhere? Maybe it was eleven. Eleven steps up to the bedroom.

Six, seven, eight.

He couldn’t shoot up here, not in the dark. No one in their right mind got into a gun battle in the dark. Did they even have guns? He couldn’t tell, but they sure as hell weren’t friendly.

He put the Glock down, looking wildly around the darkened room. On some level it registered with him that there was still music playing, that flowing, soft acoustic guitar, and that the source of it was very near. An arm’s length from him was a wooden stand, just like the one downstairs by the door. On it sat a small portable CD player. Its tiny digital readout, the only light in the room, told him it was playing track number ten.

The intruder on the stairs took two more steps.

Sean moved. He swiveled and grabbed the little stereo, the cord ripping out of the wall socket. He angled back around as the man hit the eleventh step. Holding the stereo in one hand, like a baseball pitcher going into his windup, Sean drew back with all his strength and flung it around the corner.

“What the-” muttered the man on the stairs.

Sean really didn’t think the little stereo would hurt the man, but if he was lucky, it would make him lose his balance. Sean leaped to his feet and rounded the corner. The man, who was shorter and older than Sean, though with a muscular build, had taken the blow right in his knee. A perfect shot. He was teetering on the top step. Sean reached out with his long arms. He could smell the man’s breath, stale with cigarettes. He shoved him in the chest and the man tumbled backward down the stairs.

He watched as the man’s head thumped against the wood floor. “Let’s go!” he yelled at Daryn.

She obeyed him with no hesitation. He grabbed the Glock and they ran down the stairs. Their attacker was still dazed and Sean stepped over him easily, but Daryn, with her shorter legs, had to actually go around him, and his hand reached out and closed over her bare ankle.

“Michael!” she screamed.

Even though the man’s eyes were still closed, he had a firm hold on Daryn’s leg, shaking her, trying to make her lose her own balance, just as Sean had done to him. Her arms flailed.

Sean had the Glock out in an instant, turning it around, butt first, bringing it down with all his force on the man’s wrist. Sean heard a sick cracking sound and the man’s hand went limp, releasing Daryn’s leg.