Jeanne Stein - Chosen

Rolling lawns, lush gardens and views of the Santa Rosa Mountains as backdrop fade into insignificance at the sight of the “lake” that fronts the property. I don’t know if it’s man-made or natural, but the amount of water surrounding this desert oasis in drought-plagued Southern California is remarkable.

Underwood must be watching for me because he opens the door before I ring. He looks surprised to see me. Surprised and suspicious. But he cloaks those emotions quickly behind a façade of cordiality.

“Anna. What an unexpected pleasure.”

All the way over, I’ve braced myself for the onslaught of emotion I would likely experience when I once again face this monster. For he is a monster. If I hadn’t been convinced of it before, what he did to Lance proves it beyond any doubt. First the beating, then risking Lance’s life with the fire. His disregard for life churns the fury in my stomach like acid.

But it’s different this time. I was unprepared at the bar, ignorant of the pain he was capable of inflicting. Now I know. Now I’m filled with powerful emotions of my own—rage and the need for revenge.

I have to smother those feelings. Underwood can’t know what’s really behind this visit. There isn’t time.

Not now.

Underwood stands aside and motions me into his suite. His hair is loose today, falling to his shoulders in burnished waves of gold. He’s dressed in slacks and an open-neck shirt, Gucci loafers on his feet. In the confined space of a room, his cologne assaults my nose. It’s cloying with strong undertones of something flowery and bitter. Makes me want to stand as far away from him as possible.

“I heard there was some trouble at Lance’s.” He says it like one might comment on gossip heard about a stranger.

I nod. “A gas explosion. The water heater blew up.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Not seriously.”

“Good.” His smile is gratuitous, rehearsed. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

I ignore the platitude, look around. We’re standing in a living room with two sets of double doors leading out to a deck that fronts the lake. In front of the lake is a pool. More water. Around that pool lounge the five women who accompanied Underwood and his entourage to Melvyn’s. Bikinied, waxed, gorgeous. I wonder which one Lance had that night. My gut clenches at the image the thought triggers. The animal writhes with jealousy.

Swallow it down.

No time for this. Focus. I shift my concentration to the surroundings, the room, to clear my head. Simple furniture. A sofa covered in striped silk damask, a matching chair, an oak credenza. All in muted tones of cream and white. From where I stand, I can see two bedrooms flanking the living room.

“Nice digs.”

“Thank you. It’s my home away from home.”

“You have the whole resort to yourself?”

“I know the owner. We have an understanding.”

“I’ll bet you do.” I’ll bet Underwood gets anything he wants. One way or the other.

Like Williams.

He motions to the coffee table, set with two glasses and an open bottle of wine. “Would you join me in a glass of wine?”

Two glasses? I suspect the second wasn’t meant for me.

Is he in one of the bedrooms? I probe, discreetly, to see if I detect another vampire presence. But Williams is adept at shielding himself. I pull my thoughts back.

Focus.

I shake my head. “I can’t stay. I’m here to make you a deal.”

He steeples his fingers and tilts his head, a gesture of polite curiosity. But his expression is tinged with humor, too, as if he finds the thought that I’d come to offer him a deal absurd.

But it’s why I’m here. To protect Lance and Frey until I find out what they want. Knowledge . . . then revenge.

“Yes. Here it is. From this moment on, you will leave Lance alone. You will never bother him again. Nor will you go after anyone else I care about. Not my family. Not my partner David. Not the attendant at my car wash or the clerk who takes my dry cleaning or the cashier at my corner liquor store. If any one of them so much as breaks a nail, I will make you sorry. I will make you pay. Do we understand each other?”

Underwood’s smile is dark and dangerous. “And what do I get in return for agreeing to this deal ?”

I get in his face.

“What you wanted from the beginning. You get me.”

There’s a moment of silence. Underwood and I stare at each other, waiting for the other to blink first. Neither of us does. What breaks the stalemate is the sound of clapping.

We both turn.

And there in a bedroom door, like the wizard stepping out from behind the curtain, is Warren Williams.

Williams continues to clap as he joins us in the center of the room. “Well played, Anna,” he says. “Well played.”

I ignore his entrance, glance at my watch. I’ve been gone too long. I can’t waste time pretending to be shocked or surprised by his appearance. I expected the melodramatic bastard. I look from Underwood to Williams and back again. “Do we have a deal?”

Williams wants to drag this out. He’s enjoying the moment. I’m giving him what he’s always said he wanted, but he needs to keep me dangling. He looks tanned and relaxed and well fed, much better than the last time I saw him—skewered like a piece of meat on an iron bar. He sees the image in my head and a flash of white-hot anger blazes forth from his eyes.

You have to answer for Ortiz.

His words spark understanding. Lance. His death was to be your revenge for Ortiz, wasn’t it?

Underwood steps between us. Knock it off. There will be time for recrimination later. When we’ve accomplished what we must.

Williams takes a mental and physical step back. You’re right. He lets the tension drain from his shoulders, soften the lines around his mouth. He’s smiling again when he looks at me.

“Yes. We have a deal. If you are willing to accept your destiny. Let me guide you. Are you?”

It’s as painful as a gut wound, but I nod.

“When are you going back to San Diego?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch tomorrow afternoon. Expect my call.”

Underwood has been silent, his thoughts cloaked, his expression grim. He’s the one I’m most worried about. He’s the one who has the hold on Lance. Now he turns a frown on Williams. “I don’t trust her. We have her here now. How can you let her go?”

Williams lets the corners of his mouth tip up, more leer than smile. “She loses everything if she reneges. She knows that.”

Now it’s my turn. I jerk a thumb toward Underwood. “Can you control this asshole?” I feel Underwood tense at the slur. He sends a message to Williams that I’m not privy to, but Williams is still focusing on me. As long as you keep your part of the bargain, Underwood will not bother you or Lance again. You have my word.

I wish his oath inspired more confidence. But for now, it’s all I have.

The rental car is in the driveway.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Lance and Frey beat me back.

The front door flies opens as soon as I pull up. They pounce the moment my feet touch pavement.

Lance gets his shot in first. “Where the fuck did you go? Are you crazy? I told you to stay inside. Do you have any idea how worried we were when we got back and you weren’t here?”

He finally runs out of words but not anger. He grabs my shoulders and I brace myself; he looks like he wants to shake me until my teeth rattle. Instead, he crushes me to his chest and hugs me until I squeak in protest.

“Lance,” I’m finally able to gasp. “I’m all right.” I keep my thoughts carefully neutral. “Nothing happened.”