Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(12)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

"How’s your head?" His warm breath raked the hyperactive nerves along her neck and shoulders.

"Fine."

"Sorry. I had no better choice at the moment."

And he’d saved her life by jerking her away. "I don’t mind a few bruises, considering the alternative. Thank you, by the way."

"You’re welcome."

He held her in place, but kept his weight levied just close enough so he wasn’t smothering her or trying to intimidate her. She’d felt enough earlier, and with this contact now, to know this guy was ripped, dangerously so, but at the moment he seemed concerned for her comfort, protective. Even more disturbing was how she felt_totally at ease with his body hovering over hers.

Her breathing hitched, excited.

Good grief. Brady was right when he’d joked she needed to get laid. But not with a man she couldn’t even identify visually. A man she should fear, but didn’t.

She had good survival instincts and didn’t doubt them now. This guy had never threatened her. He always made sure she understood his intent. He seemed to be watching out for her. Like a masked guardian angel.

Regardless, she had to wrangle control back from him.

"If you want to talk, you’re going to have to share. This isn’t going to be much of a conversation if you answer my questions with more questions." She couldn’t believe she was becoming Christine to his Phantom of the Opera-like appearances. Hell, she didn’t even like the movie. And yet he was so intriguing in the strangest way and there was something almost erotic about being pinned to a bed by an unseen man who was fully clothed. How could that be?

She realized, why. He hadn’t put a move on her, no come-on line, no pretense. The only mystique was his hidden identity, a significant one, but no flirting games.

"Here’s the deal… I’ll share if you will."

Her ears perked up at that. She’d worked the street for the last couple of weeks trying to build contacts, find someone to cultivate as an informant, but her last snitch had died an ugly death. No one wanted to talk to her. This mystery guy knew things or he wouldn’t have been at the Drake house or the container.

Tonight had been a bust. If she didn’t produce information soon, her value with BAD would drop to zilch. She had to keep that job, needed their resources. Maybe if she walked away from this encounter with something worthwhile to take into the meeting with Carlos tomorrow she’d redeem herself a little.

"What’s it going to be?" he asked.

Did he have any other tone than surly?

"I’m game." Terri cringed over the breathless answer and shifted, then stilled. Her bottom felt exposed. The towel was basically just covering her back. How did she always end up in a compromising position with this guy? She moved her hand around, but her wrist bumped into his.

She felt a tug on the towel, then the edge moved over her bottom. Did he read minds? She had to ignore the situation and find a tie to this case. "Did you work with Nathan?"

"No. What do you know about the Drakes?" he asked.

What? Did he really think that was sharing?

But one of them had to make a move. Since he wasn’t willing, he’d better recognize a sincere gesture and share in return. "Here’s all I know. Nathan Drake’s mother died of cancer recently. Jamie Drake is in prison for running drugs and Nathan got capped at the docks the other night. When I last saw him he had a hole in his forehead, so cause of death should be a no-brainer. What about you? How do you know the family?"

He didn’t say a word. His chest moved against her back with several labored breaths. That wasn’t a tough question. Why the hesitation?

Short on patience, she started to read him the riot act when he said, "It’s personal."

Terri paused at the ragged sound of his voice. "Did you know Nathan well?"

"Better than most." He shifted an arm closer to her side, but didn’t touch her.

Terri held her breath, waiting to see if he moved again. He didn’t. She sighed at the heated direction of her thoughts and concentrated on shifting puzzle pieces around in her mind, trying to fit something together. Nothing. She fished for more.

"There’s a phantom or ghost of Nathan Drake going around harassing people. Know anything about that?"

He snorted. "Harassing people?"

"Actually, he’s been pressuring snitches and some of Anton Marseaux’s muscle. Are you pretending to be him?" She tried to turn quickly to get a look, but he was faster and lowered his body to stop her.

"No." Nathan gritted his teeth when she moved. He’d kept his lower torso off her for more reasons than not wanting to place too much weight on her. He was hard as a rock staring down at this practically nak*d woman, damp from a shower and with only a slip of material separating them.

She stilled the minute their bodies touched.

He sighed, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this predicament. "Don’t turn over and I won’t press against you, okay?"

She nodded, but remained silent.

Nathan bit down on a curse over the position they were both in. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her or make her uncomfortable, but he had to talk to her when she wouldn’t fight him. He lifted his lower half off her again.

"Do you know Jamie Drake?" she asked.

He flinched at Jamie mentioned in present tense. "Yes."

"What’s the connection between you and him?"

"Might say we’re close as brothers." He probably knew more about Marseaux than she did, which meant he should warn her off this case and get the hell out of here while he had a smidgeon of sanity left. "I came here to do more than talk about the Drakes. You’ve got to back away from this case. You’re in danger after tonight."

"I can’t back away."

"’Course you can. Take another assignment." He wanted to shake some sense into her.

"Can you back away from whatever you’re after?"

Not a chance. "No, but I have… strong reasons for continuing."

"I have my own reasons, too."

"Enough that you’re willing to die for them?"

She didn’t answer at first, then asked, "Are you?"

"Yes."

She took a deep breath before she spoke again, "I don’t plan on getting killed, but I accepted the risk when I signed on to this line of work."

He wanted to laugh at her naoveti_those words were so much easier said than done. "You don’t know what you’re dealing with." What she could be facing.

Nathan wasn’t even sure. The further he got into this, the bigger and deadlier the tangle. "That guy in the container tonight was a pro, not a drug mule or thug, I don’t know what he was after, but someone hired a highly trained operative for a specific purpose. You got lucky tonight. Real lucky. If you get in his way again, he won’t miss."

"Why do you care what I do?"

"I don’t want to see you get hurt." That came as no surprise since he didn’t want to see any woman hurt, but what did catch him off guard was how much he wanted her out of this and safe. "This is my fight, not yours."

"What makes you think you can claim my case as yours?" She muttered something under her breath about arrogant buttheads making asinine assumptions. He couldn’t catch the rest.

Nathan kept trying to ignore the sweep of her neck where damp curls lingered and the delicate curve of her shoulders. They were perfect. Smooth as satin and shapely. She was not some stick woman.

This one wouldn’t break if she had robust sex with a man.

And he wouldn’t last much longer if he kept thinking of sex while hovering so close to a body this tempting.

"Well?" she groused, impatiently waiting for him to answer.

He had to backtrack mentally to remember her last question about why he thought her case belonged to him.

"How long have you been on this case?" he asked.

"A month."

"What’s your objective?"

"I can’t share those details with you."

"Let me guess. You’re trying to nail Marseaux." He had a feeling she was up to much more than that but she wasn’t going to tell him.

"Maybe."

He admired her stubborn tenacity in light of the position he had her in. "In my case, this situation goes back to a long time ago, long before you got involved. Long before you probably heard his name the first time. I will find Marseaux and make him pay for what he’s done. You’ll just get in the way if you don’t back down and stay away."

You’ll just get in the way? Terri gripped the sheets as bitter memories tore through her. Why hadn’t he added "little missy" to the end of that condescending comment?

Aching pain bit her hard as she remembered her poor mother, who’d paid the ultimate price for being in the way…

This a**hole couldn’t have made her any madder had he tried. She didn’t have to play nice with this guy and she wasn’t about to. "I’m done with talking to you until you’re ready to talk to me face-to-face. In the meantime, get off me and stay away from me."

"You’ll be taking a huge risk to stay on this case and I may not be around to protect you the next time."

Like she needed his help? "I might ensure you aren’t around next time by shooting you now if you don’t get off me this minute." She kicked her feet a couple times. One day, she would get him back and be the one on top.

"You don’t want to shoot me."

She heard the smile in his voice. Hadn’t helped himself then at all.

"Oh, yes I do," she said from between gritted teeth.

"You’d regret it."

"Why?"

"Because." His body lowered closer. "I couldn’t do this."

She held her breath, wondering what he couldn’t do.

He didn’t move another muscle for a moment and the anticipation threatened to kill her. What was he waiting on?

Her. He waited to see if he’d frightened her. More curious than anything, Terri stayed perfectly still.

Then he kissed her shoulder and ran his lips along her skin, exploding heat missiles everywhere he touched her. A woman in her right mind would demand that he stop, right now, and leave, but she hadn’t been in her right mind since the first time they’d met.

He moved to her neck and she couldn’t will herself to do anything but lie there, indulging in this moment of pure pleasure.

If anyone from BAD found out about this she’d be toast.

His fingers brushed across her shoulders and she shivered. Heat coiled, twisted and churned low, wanting this man to do so much more than caress her neck.

He was truly a thief, stealing kisses in the dark and making her ache to feel him inside her. She hadn’t been with a man for… too long to recall.

A deep inhale of breath shuddered its way out of her lungs. Just when a lick of common sense was about to return so she could find the power to make him leave, he whispered in her ear, "You’re so beautiful."

In that case, she could suffer through another couple seconds.

He nuzzled her hair, kissed the bump on her head, then said, "Sorry."

Manners were nice. He apologized for being so forward.

His body lifted off her.

Terri started to rise and turn, but the towel around her jerked loose and floated down over her bottom.

"Hey!" she yelped, Terri grabbed for the terry cloth material, "What are you doing?"

"Ensuring you don’t move until I’m gone. Back off this case before you get hurt."

* * *

Nathan withdrew from the room into the dark hallway and lifted the hood over his head as he slipped down the hall. He was out of the house before she could have gotten off the bed and pulled the towel around her. As if he wasn’t hard enough from lying over her, he’d jerked the towel harder than he’d intended and exposed her entire backside.

Staying another minute after that would have killed him.

She’d let him kiss her skin. He didn’t know what had possessed him to take that liberty. She should have cursed him and threatened to use her gun on him again, not… purr.

He was on the road to losing his mind and wanting her would drive him mad that much quicker.

Nathan hugged the shadows until he passed another house. He moved to the sidewalk and casually strolled along, hands in pockets. The oversize hood kept his face as shrouded as the Grim Reaper’s.

At the first cross street, a disturbance on his left drew his attention. Some thug was talking to a little old woman and she didn’t look happy. She backed up a step.

Not just a thug, a mugger.

Nathan quietly moved in her direction.

* * *

A steady tapping disturbed Fra Bacchus from a most enjoyable nap where a female discipul had been serving him in a reverent position… upon her knees. He straightened up from where he’d fallen asleep, slumped over in his chair again.

Tap, tap, tap.

Who dared to interrupt his evening repast with his favorite glass of merlot? He missed the days of using a leather whip on those who crossed a fra.

Now he only used one for pleasure.

"What is it?" he snapped, brushing his fine hair into place with his hands.

The door opened a fraction. "Fra Bacchus?" Linette inquired in a voice created by angels.

"Yes, child." He smiled to himself over the reference. A twenty-six-year-old woman whose best assets filled a double-D cup bra was no child.

"Consul Vestavia says it’s important he meet with you." Her face was an Italian masterpiece of dark brown eyes, thick lashes and full lips, the smooth canvas framed by long black hair. A descendant of Roman bloodlines that ran all the way back to Constantine, she’d been trained from day one to serve a higher purpose with the Fratelli de il Sovrano_Brotherhood of the Sovereign, the rulers. Only the purest were chosen to serve his rank.

Bacchus had taken over her training when she’d been brought covertly to him at eighteen. She’d served him and the order well once he’d brought her to heel.

"Have him wait ten minutes, then bring him in," Bacchus said in an understanding tone. He was anything but at the moment.

He’d just finished removing everything of significance from his desk when Linette tapped again and opened the door. He smiled at her and nodded his approval to allow his visitor entrance.

Consul Vestavia entered with the arrogant swagger that had rubbed Fra Bacchus wrong from their first meeting. That this man had reached the level of consul showed the lack of intuitive ability of the other eleven fratelli ruling the North and South America province. Vestavia had proven himself worthy time and again_to others_but Bacchus didn’t trust the man.