Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels) Page 9

  I smiled. “A little something the US government developed using the toxin of the cone shell snail.”

  “Toxin?” He stared at me as if I’d changed colors. “You poisoned me?”

  “You aren’t going to die right away. It’s a slow-acting poison.”

  “Well, I guess that’s OK, then.” He shook his head. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Fear spiked his words, driving his voice higher, louder.

  Just the effect I was after. “Let me tell you a little about what you’re feeling.”

  “Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you besides think you’re hot?”

  I tried not to hear the last part. “You’re experiencing a tightening in your chest, aren’t you? Next your face and neck will flush. You’ll start sweating.”

  “That was how you made me feel before I found out you were some sort of sadistic maniac.”

  I continued. “Your skin will become blotchy, your fingers tingly. You’ll feel sharp heat, like a sunburn. And then your body will begin to shut down.”

  “So you’re killing me, why?”

  “I told you. We need to talk.”

  “And women wonder why men hate hearing those words.”

  I turned away from him and paced across the small room, buying a few seconds of time to compose myself. I’d observed different defense mechanisms from people I’d interrogated. None had unnerved me as much as Victor’s flirty humor. It had been his humor that had first drawn me to him in the chat room. It had kept me coming back for more in our Internet conversations since. But today, the way he still joked even while staring fear and death in the face?

  It was an unspeakable turn-on.

  There was no more powerful aphrodisiac than facing death, and after the day I’d had, I’d probably feel turned on by half the male population. But that didn’t excuse my ever-growing crush on this man. Wanting to fuck Victor didn’t make him easier to read.

  I moved to the window and looked out at the afternoon sun casting angles of light and shadow on the street below, taking a moment to harden my resolve and let the dose I’d administered catch up to him. With the amount I’d injected, it shouldn’t take long for him to feel all the symptoms I’d described. If the fear I sensed under his jokes was real, actually feeling the symptoms I’d described should make him eager to tell me everything I wanted to know.

  Red blotches started showing on his neck. His forehead carried a sheen of moisture, his blond hair sticking in dark fringes. His breathing grew faster, bordering on a pant.

  Finally I spoke. “How are you feeling, Victor?”

  “At the moment, I’m leaning toward scared shitless.”

  Just the effect I was after. I dipped a hand into my duffel and pulled the picture of the Russian hit man that I’d printed from his computer. I held it in front of his face.

  “Let me guess, you’re expecting me to know who this guy is.” He canted his gaze up to my face and looked directly into my eyes, unwavering. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Again, I wanted to believe him. Even though giving me a name would save his life, he hadn’t. Every test I’d given suggested he was telling the truth. But was I missing signs because I wanted him to be an EMT from Chicago and not a spy out to kill me? I had to be sure. I had to push him further. “Then why have you been in contact with him?”

  He stared at me, his lips open, breathing through his mouth. “What?”

  He hadn’t been in contact with the Russian. Not that I knew. But I hoped watching his reaction to the accusation would let me get an accurate read on him. Right now, I was reading genuine bafflement.

  Or an excellent actor.

  I decided to press it. “Your arms are burning, aren’t they? Like a bad sunburn. And I’ll bet your fingers and toes feel like they’re being stuck with needles. Does your chest feel tight?”

  His shallow breaths told me it did.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. Tell me, and I’ll say it.”

  “I want the truth.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  I held up the second syringe and spoke, this time in Russian.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re saying…”

  “Come on, Victor. If you want to live, you’d better quit fucking around.” I repeated my Russian statement, watching for some kind of acknowledgment in his eyes, some kind of reaction to my words.

  He stared at me with wide eyes, on the verge of panic. “I don’t know what you want from me. You’re insane.”

  This time I spoke in English. “You know that toxin I gave you?”

  “How could I forget?”

  I directed his attention to the second syringe with a shake of my hand. “This is the antidote. I’ll give it to you, but first, you have to help me. You have to give me the truth. Are you a spy?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Are you a spy?” I asked again and watched him closely.

  “Of course not. What the hell is going on, Carmen? Spies? Is this for real? Who talks about spies?”

  “I’m not giving you this shot until you come clean.”

  “And if I don’t tell you I’m a spy, I’ll die. I get it. But I’ve been honest. You’re not listening.” He gasped in a breath.

  If he were anyone else, someone I didn’t give a shit about, I might believe him. But I just wasn’t sure I could trust my own instincts. Not where he was concerned. Still, every objective test I’d given him had suggested Victor was on the up-and-up. And in light of that, I’d taken this interrogation as far as I was willing to go.

  At least for now.

  I set the syringe back on the table and picked up my razor. I crossed to him, knelt by his side, and sliced the zip tie binding his feet. I took a step back, pulled up the tail of my shirt, and flashed him my gun. “Get up.”

  It took some effort, but eventually he scrambled to his feet, his hands still bound behind him with the other zip tie. “Where are you taking me?” Judging from the tight line of his lips, he was expecting a firing squad or a wood chipper.

  “Over to the couch. Walk.”

  He hobbled across the floor in the gait of a man whose feet had gone too long without decent blood circulation. “What about the antidote?”

  “You won’t need that.”

  He reached the sofa and twisted to face me. “So that’s it? I can’t answer your questions because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, so you’re going to let me die? Or are you planning to shoot me and get it over with?”

  “Neither.” I circled back behind him and pulled out my razor. A couple of slashes and his hands were free. I drew my gun, just in case he tried something stupid, and motioned to the couch. “Sit.” I indicated the spot.

  He did as I ordered, rubbing the angry red lines ringing his wrists.

  I grabbed the handcuffs I’d taken off of Kaufmann from my back pocket and tossed them to Victor. “Put one of the cuffs on your right wrist.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I brought my weapon up and slid my finger to the trigger.

  “OK, not kidding. I should have known better.” He circled his wrist with one of the bracelets.

  I moved my index finger back alongside the trigger guard. “Now close the other cuff around the radiator.”

  He hooked the handcuffs over a rib of the radiator and locked it into place. Even though he was still showing fear, now that he was upright, he looked like the Victor who had opened the door to me a few hours before, the one who’d smiled and joked on the webcam earlier this morning. And for a moment, I couldn’t help acknowledging that little flutter up under my rib cage.

  “Now what happens?” Victor asked. “You watch me die?”

  “You’re not going to die.”

  He narrowed his eyes as if trying to figure me out. “You didn’t give me poison, did you? What was it? I feel like I’m burning up.”

  “Niacin.” I shrugged. “Vitamin B3. It’s water
soluble. The effects will wear off, and as a bonus you won’t have to worry about pellagra.” My turn at a joke, if a quip about a nasty skin, nervous system, and digestive disease caused by niacin deficiency could be considered joking.

  His lips flattened to something short of a smile. “And you did this…why?”

  “I needed to know if you were telling the truth.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You have some serious trust issues.”

  I couldn’t argue. I did. But only because I preferred to remain breathing. At least that’s what I liked to tell myself.

  Victor shifted on the cushion, the handcuffs clanking against the radiator. “Wouldn’t you know it,” he muttered under his breath.

  I raised my eyebrows in a silent question.

  “I always get turned on by the strange ones.”

  I almost smiled. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  He shrugged and leaned against the sofa’s arm. The move was a relaxed one, and I couldn’t help feeling relieved to see his fear fade and the Victor I’d known before take over. “Tell me something. After all our chats online, did you ever feel anything, or were you just looking for an apartment to use or a cheap stash of first aid supplies?”

  That was a question I shouldn’t answer. I didn’t regret what I’d done. Although I hadn’t been thinking of Victor in a tactical sense in the time I’d spent chatting with him online, once my cover identity had been blown, using him was an easy decision, one I wouldn’t hesitate to make again. I should walk away and let him curse me or hate me or whatever he pleased. It would be easier that way. But after putting him through all I had, I couldn’t do it.

  Or maybe, I just didn’t want to. “I felt something.”

  “Funny, you hide it well.” He tilted his chin down and looked up at me, a smile tilting one side of his lips. “Unless you’re just into handcuffs.”

  The warmth of that smile pulled at me, made me want to reciprocate, made me want things I shouldn’t. I’d just finished interrogating this man, telling him I’d poisoned him, leading him to believe he was going to die. How could he forgive me so suddenly? “Is that your way of trying to convince me to release you?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Not happening.”

  “So you are into handcuffs. Or are you just into control?”

  “Today I am.” I tilted my head, watching him. “You’re a little forward for what you just went through. You aren’t trying pull one over on me, are you Victor?”

  “You really do have trust issues, don’t you?”

  I didn’t see the need to answer.

  “So I’m that obvious?”

  “That depends on what you’re trying to do.”

  He laughed, a sound not harsh or even at my expense, but one of simple amusement. “I don’t know if you really did feel something in our chats online, Carmen, but I did. And I’ll forgive all that other stuff if I can just get what I’ve wanted from you all along. What I was hoping you wanted from me.”

  “Sex?”

  “A chance.”

  I forced myself to focus on my surroundings. The rumble of an El train passing outside of the apartment. Mozart pawing through kitty litter in the bathroom. The thrum of my pulse.

  I am ice.

  It didn’t work. I’d had a feeling about Victor since we’d first bantered in that chat room. That he was unlike the men I’d met online or in bars. That as different as our lives were, we operated on the same wavelength.

  That maybe, between us, there could be something real.

  I’d kept the feeling at bay, kept myself from hoping for something I could never have. I didn’t work in an office from nine to five. I wasn’t even something as normal as an EMT. In my profession, relationships weren’t an option.

  But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to be with a special man. That didn’t mean I didn’t dream of it at night when my subconscious broke free.

  Which was why I walked the hell out of there.

  My steps were shaky at first, but I made it out of the living room without turning around. I continued down the hall and checked on Kaufmann. He was sleeping fitfully. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  “Carmen? You’re not afraid of me, are you? I’m the one with the handcuffs on.”

  My stomach was in knots, but it wasn’t from hunger.

  Well, not that kind of hunger.

  I reminded myself that life-or-death situations often played hell with a person’s libido. That after coming close to death, nothing reaffirmed life more than sex.

  Perhaps Victor was feeling the same way right now.

  Or perhaps Victor was a spy who wanted me dead.

  Nothing looked good in the fridge. I slammed the door shut.

  “Can we at least talk about this? I’ll forget about you pretending to poison me. I’ll even forget about you hitting me and tying me up. But it would mean a lot for me if you came back here and we talked.”

  Shit shit shit.

  Despite my better judgment, my feet brought me back into the living room. I stood in front of him, my hands on my hips.

  “This is probably inappropriate,” Victor said, “and I can’t imagine the kind of day you had. But, damn, you really are one beautiful lady.”

  My heart gave a little jump in my chest. I took a step toward him, then another. I must be out of my mind. I most certainly was, but I didn’t care. After this day, I wanted to give that chance Victor had asked for and take one for myself. I wanted to know I was alive, to lose myself in a kiss, to feel the warm friction of skin on skin.

  I wanted to look at a man and have him look back at me the way Victor was now.

  I leaned over him and brought my lips down on his. The kiss was effortless, all hunger and heat. He tasted like he’d been drugged and unconscious for half the day, but I didn’t care. My senses, so trained, so honed, clamored and blended until I couldn’t tell one from another, like voices in a chanting crowd, like a symphony where all the instruments blended into one transcendent music. I wanted to get closer, to feel more, to lose myself in sensation.

  He brought his free hand up my cheek and buried his fingers in my hair. He cradled the side of my face, urging my mouth closer, my lips harder on his.

  Finally I ended the kiss and pulled the T-shirt over my head. My bra hit the floor next.

  I could feel Victor watching me, his gaze skimming over my breasts and down my belly, sexier than a caress. He cleared his throat. “Is it hot in here?”

  “That’s just the niacin talking.” I pushed the jeans down my legs.

  “And the old man?”

  “He’s sleeping.” I kicked off denim and slid my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and inched them down.

  “Who is he, anyway? I mean really? Your father?”

  His assumption made me hesitate, my panties halfway down my thighs. Earlier his questions had been easy to brush off. But things had changed. Even though I still had him cuffed to the radiator, I realized I’d crossed a threshold. I trusted Victor. And more than that, impossible or not, I wanted there to be more between us, more than I’d hoped with any man in a long time.

  But this question felt more intimate than the skin I’d revealed, more intimate than any sex act could.

  I thought about the gift Kaufmann had given me before the amobarbital had dragged him under. Except for my very different bond with Kaufmann, relationships with men had always been elusive for me. Thanks to Cory, I’d lost any semblance of naïveté about the subject of love before I was fifteen. But I’d never wanted sex to be all about scratching an itch. I’d always sensed there was more, beyond my grasp. I just hadn’t had the courage to reach for it.

  Not until now.

  I let my panties drop to the floor and stood naked in front of Victor. For a long time, I was still, letting him look at me, letting him see me. Finally I worked up the courage to step over the edge. “Yes. The man I brought here, he is my father. In every way that
counts.”

  Victor nodded, as if he understood, as if he sensed how much of myself I’d just exposed, the chance I’d just offered. He skimmed my body with his gaze, then focused on my face, and for the first time with any man, I felt like he was really seeing me. “Thank you.”

  My throat felt thick. “For what?”

  “Trusting me.”

  I had his pants around his ankles before he could say another word. He was miraculously quiet while I peeled his briefs over his hips and pulled them down his legs. He was half erect, and as I sized him up, his cock flexed toward me as if giving some kind of come hither.

  I leaned over him, kissing him again and using my knees to nudge open his thighs. I knelt between his splayed legs and took him in my mouth. He was hard with one stroke of my tongue up the underside of his shaft. Harder still when I encircled him with my lips and took him full into my mouth.

  He tasted lightly salty and smelled of Dial soap and Claiborne for Men and his own unique scent. The hair on his legs rasped against my breasts and teased my nipples. I opened my throat and made his whole body shake in a moan.

  I wanted him at my mercy, every nerve in his body focused on what I was doing to him, the sensations I was creating. I wanted him to turn himself inside out for me. With each lick, each nibble, each rasp of my teeth, I wanted to make him willing to do anything for me, be anything, anytime I needed him.

  I don’t know if I felt guilty for what I’d put him through, but I doubted that was it. I’d done worse things to men and had never felt the need to make it up to them afterward, even if they were still alive. With Victor, I wanted him to want me, to need me, to be loyal to me. I wanted the touch of my hands and mouth to sear him like a brand.

  His hand moved through my hair, over my cheek. “Let me loose.”

  I shook my head.

  “I hope you’ve figured out even if you let me loose, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Maybe I just have a thing for handcuffs.” I flicked him with my tongue and watched his forehead buckle with the effort to stay in control.

  “I want to use my hands on you. My mouth.”