Born of Fire (The League #2)(7)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Then again, he had to admit he much preferred the sight of Shahara’s well-rounded ass greeting him.

She stood in all her nak*d glory, her pale skin glistening from tiny water droplets. Her mahogany hair clung to her body, dripping tiny beads of water onto the floor. And one particularly attractive, long strand was curled around her right breast.

Ooo damn . . .

Just as he’d suspected, her muscles were tight and well toned, and her br**sts were made just the right size for a man’s hand.

Of its own accord, his gaze dipped to the mahogany triangle at the juncture of her thighs and . . .

His tongue became terribly thick, and he hoped it wasn’t hanging on the floor.

Or worse, that he was drooling.

Shahara couldn’t move. Those dark, predatorial eyes hypnotized her like a snake’s. He stood so still that he could have been a statue.

Only he wasn’t.

He was a man, flesh and blood. And as she watched him, a slow appreciative smile spread across his face.

Her face flooding with fire, she found her voice. “Get out!” she screamed, snatching her battlesuit off the floor and holding it up to her. “How dare you! You bastard!” She rushed toward him, shoving him back into the front room. “Get out and stay out!”

Before Syn could fully recover himself, she slammed the door shut in his face.

And to think he’d assumed she was locked in his bedroom. Yeah . . . That’d teach him to assume anything.

Then again, that view had gone a long way in making up for the skin she’d clawed off him earlier. He smiled at the thought.

Until he remembered he still hadn’t retrieved his pack from the bathroom cabinet.

Ah, shit . . .

He rolled his eyes as he debated going back into the bathroom for it.

Nah, that would be a mistake. This time, she might kill him. “Better leave it alone and not worry about it.” Cause he had a feeling that if she saw him again right now after he’d embarrassed her, he’d be limping.

More.

Better to get out with all his body parts intact.

Not to mention what Caillen would do if he ever learned of the view he’d just received.

Yeah, he didn’t retreat often, but in this . . . There was no other option.

Shahara fumed as she heard Syn’s deep laughter through the door, making her burn for retaliation.

Her hands shaking, she fastened her battlesuit. Her cheeks stung with heat. How could she have been so foolish? He was a ruthless felon and a liar. She knew that. Why had she bathed in such a man’s home?

Thank goodness she’d been outside the shower when he found her. There was no telling what he might have done had she been trapped inside the shower cubicle.

Once dressed, she decided it was time to teach Syn a valuable lesson about how to treat a woman with proper respect. Throwing open the door, ready for battle, she paused.

The room was empty.

Frowning, she searched every corner with her gaze, but didn’t find a single trace of him.

Cautiously, she entered the room, expecting a trick of some kind.

A sweet, warm aroma greeted her. Something smelled incredible. Since she hadn’t eaten in two days, the delicious smell made her empty stomach ache. At first, she thought she was imagining it, but as she crossed the room, she saw three sacks on the counter.

Moving over to them, she opened the bag laying on its side and smiled at the boxed dinner tucked inside. Her stomach rumbled as she uncovered a steak, vegetables, and a roll. The wonderful aroma of gravy wafted up from the hot meal.

Closing her eyes, she savored the rush of excitement. It had been more years than she could count since she’d last eaten a meal like this. She looked inside the other two bags and saw juice, bread, cold meats, cheese, and a few snack foods.

What was it with this man?

She couldn’t believe a cold-blooded killer would be thoughtful enough to bring her food. Why was he doing this for her?

Too hungry to think about it right then, she reached for the boxed dinner and took it to the sofa. It didn’t take her long to power through the delicious meal and put the rest of the groceries away.

Man, that had been good. She hadn’t been full in so long that she’d forgotten the sensation of it.

Looking around his immaculate home, she frowned. “You are the strangest creature I’ve ever met.”

The hardwood floors beneath her feet were polished to a high sheen that she was sure took hours a week to maintain. Ornate, white and black, plushly woven carpets were set between the two black leather sofas and under the dining table and chairs. The dining suite was made of hand-carved ebony-wood—an expensive luxury very few people could afford.

He had four Chinergov paintings and, unless she was mistaken, they were the originals, not copies, as well as other expensive art pieces everywhere. But the most fascinating thing was the huge white piano set before the windows that looked out on a breathtaking view of the city below.

This was high end.

And next to it was an empty desk. Syn hadn’t been kidding. There wasn’t a computer of any kind here. How weird for such a renowned filch. They usually lived their lives hardwired into network systems.

He must have set it up somewhere outside his home. But even that seemed out of character for someone with his background.

He probably had a portable, then, that he kept on him.

She shook her head as she swept her gaze around his home again. What a great place to live. She’d only dreamed of an apartment like this and she’d never have imagined such a place as the home of someone with Syn’s brutal reputation. Most of the places she’d been to track down her targets had been grubby holes filled with rodents and stenches that defied belief.

This place looked like it belonged to an aristocrat. Nothing was out of order. She could understand why he remained adamant she not destroy anything. She’d take pride of ownership, too.

But then, she didn’t steal from others.

With that thought in mind, she went to search his bedroom, looking for her weapons. They had to be here somewhere.

At the end of the hour, she hadn’t found anything. Nothing under the ebony-wood bed, nothing in the closet he’d filled with exclusive, handmade clothes. Nothing.

Not even a friggin’ dust bunny.

Her gaze fell to the nightstand she had yet to open. Only because she knew he wouldn’t store anything in plain sight. That would be stupid and he was anything but.

He must have everything locked in his wall safe. If only it didn’t have a Grimson lock, she might have been able to breach the code. Or if she had her missing lockbox . . .

Yeah.

Shahara sighed in disgust and picked up Syn’s holy book and prayer cloth from the floor where he’d left them. Even though she didn’t respect his hypocrisy, she did respect the objects of his religion. She carefully wrapped the cloth around the book and moved to return them to their prayer box.

Only there wasn’t one.

Must be in the nightstand . . .

She headed for it and opened the drawer. There, inside, was a large backpack. Hope flared inside her that maybe it held a computer.

Placing the book and cloth on top of the stand, she pulled it out and opened it. But her relief was short-lived as she found nothing more than a change of clothes, toothbrush, and the missing prayer box.

Crap . . .

Sighing, she paused as she realized the significance of what she held. Escape supplies. It was packed up in case he had to evacuate in a hurry. So while he valued his home, he was ready to leave it all behind at a moment’s notice.

What a sad way to live.

Which is why I’m not a criminal. But still she ached at the thought of having to be so paranoid all the time. She couldn’t imagine existing like that. Shaking her head, she pulled the small, red prayer box out to return the book and cloth to it.

When she lifted back the lid, she froze. Inside the box were the first really private items she’d found about her captor.

Placing the book in her lap, she pulled out a handful of documents and photos. With a scowl, she glanced at the top picture. A much younger Syn sat in a studio photograph with an extremely attractive woman and a little boy no older than four in his arms.

It was a typical family shot that stunned her.

Could Syn possibly be married?

Have a child?

There had been no record of it in his posted file, but there was no denying what she was looking at.

The woman was absolutely beautiful and looked very upper crust and haughty. Syn . . . he looked sophisticated too, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eye that only came from those who’d been raised on the street.

And as she looked at the picture, some strange, foreign emotion constricted her throat.

Unwilling to examine the source of it, she looked at the next picture. It contained a dark-haired boy about the age of seven clutching a girl in her early teens. The girl had her arms wrapped protectively around the boy as if she would fight an army to defend him. Both of them were barefoot, filthy, and bruised, their clothes tattered and threadbare. And as she studied the large black eye and split lip on the boy’s face, she realized it was Syn as a child.

Her heart lurched at the sight of his battered face. How awful. Clenching her teeth to keep her tender emotions at bay, she reminded herself that poverty and abuse were no excuse for criminal behavior.

She’d risen above her childhood and become better. He could have, too.

As she put the pictures back in the box, she saw that there was writing on the one with him and his sister. Masculine and bold, the words were as disturbing as their condition.

Your beloved children miss you, dearest. Send money or I’ll send them for a visit to their mother and her family during your next high society soiree.

What in the universe did that mean? And how had Syn gotten the photo that must have been used to blackmail his mother?

Most of all, what kind of mother could be threatened by a visit from her own children? The mere thought revolted her.

Putting the photos away, she turned her attention to the carefully stacked documents that were also inside. The first one was a child’s birth certificate for Paden Belask with the father’s name listed as Sheridan Belask.

An alias?

Why hadn’t it been listed on his bounty page? But there hadn’t been a single alias there. Only C.I. Syn. It hadn’t even said what the C.I. stood for, which, while unusual, probably meant Syn had tampered with his records.

She studied the document more closely. By the birth date on the certificate, she knew Syn couldn’t be using it as an alias for himself. The boy listed would only be sixteen.

Retrieving the family picture, she held it beside the child’s birth certificate. The date of the fashions and the registration coincided. Paden must be the boy in the photo.

And Sheridan Belask must have been Syn’s name at some point, which would definitely make the child in the picture Syn’s son.

Where was the kid now?

Had he sent his wife and child into hiding to keep them safe from his enemies?

Were they dead?

Had Syn killed them? The thought chilled her.

Flipping through the documents, she didn’t see either a marriage registration or one for divorce.

What had happened to them?

She scanned through the rest of the documents more carefully. There was an advanced degree in chemistry from the Derridian University of Science also under the name Sheridan Belask—an impressive feat since only the smartest and brightest were allowed to attend. There were also four false IDs, and debit and credit cards with different names, as well as several school report sheets with the name Paden Belask on them.

How strange.

As she started to return the documents to the box, there was one more piece of paper she’d left in the bottom. Picking it up, she unfolded it. Shock jolting her, she scanned the paper twice just to make sure she’d read it correctly.

She had.

It was a doctor’s accreditation issued to Sheridan Belask to practice human, Kiati, and Andarion medicine throughout all of the Ichidian Universe.

And it held a surgeon’s seal . . .

No way.

“You’re a surgeon?” How was that possible? Why, if he’d had such a prestigious and high-paying career, would he have left it?

It had to be a forgery. Some scam he’d been working on. That made sense.

She examined the document carefully, trying to see if it was faked. If it was, it was the best one she’d ever seen. She held it up to the light. The orange and blue fibers intersected in a medical pattern. It was definitely real. But that didn’t make any sense.

Why would a surgeon with three specialties turn to murder and theft?

Why would he have to?

Stunned, Shahara placed the papers back inside the box, knowing she wouldn’t find an answer to her questions. Not that her answers mattered.

Regardless of the reasons Syn, or Sheridan Belask, or whatever his name, had turned into a criminal, it was her job to take him in to the authorities.

Tessa’s life hinged on her ability to complete this mission. And no amount of pity would stop her from doing what she must.

With that thought in mind, she returned the pack to the night stand, and opened the top drawer. She froze instantly. Inside was a stuffed lorina cat. The kind a child might have and, by the look of it, it’d been well loved by someone—one of its ears was even marked by a child having gnawed on it. And next to it was a photo frame. Turning it on, she scrolled through the photos of Syn and his wife and child. There were pictures from Paden’s birthday parties, pictures of the woman at home, and some of the boy that appeared fairly recent . . .