All her life shed been told how brilliant she was, how extraordinary. She loved that word, extraordinary. Mostly because when she looked in the mirror she saw nothing but frizzy hair that gel didnt fix, too many freckles and a geeky smile. Where was her extraordinariness? Maybe it would come when she got boobs, but what if she never got any and, just like her Aunt Mel, had to buy them?
Her mom had said her extraordinariness came from her brain, which worked like a well-honed machine. Well, shed made good use of it then, regardless of the tangled web shed woven by gathering them both here. She wouldnt waste the effort.
All she had to do was get them to fall in love. Unfortunately, she knew little about that particular emotion. Desperate, shed just gotten off the phone with Mel, figuring since her aunt had a new boyfriend every other day, shed have lots of ideas. Emily had explained she was asking for a friend, but Mel had laughed and said she and her friends were too young for love.
Thanks, Aunt Mel.
Far below her in the living room, her father pushed her mothers wheelchair. His face, now that he thought no one was looking at him, had lost some of that easygoing, laid-back attitude that was so innately him, replaced by a tenseness that shook her.
What was the matter? Well, besides everything?
Her mothers expression, tight and angry, didnt surprise her in the least. Emily had some serious kissing up to do. Probably dishes for a month, maybe more. Shed probably lost TV privileges too. Losing her beloved reality shows and MTV seemed like a small price to pay if they fell in love again.
When they were gone from view, she slid down the firemans pole and dropped to the middle of the living room, trying to ignore that tingling of guilt in the pit of her belly. Because, darn it, if she was as special as everyone said, then she knew what was best for her parents. And what was best for them was to be together, on the same continent for a change. Thats why shed done it, blabbed about her mothers situation to her father. Told Aunt Mel that theyd hired a nurse. Let her mother think Mel had gotten them that nurse.
Because now that everyone had done what shed wanted, things could fall into place. All she had to do was make it happen.
MANUEL ASADA crawled through the Brazilian jungle for days upon days, and finally came out at his compound. Exhaustion and unaccustomed lack of even the most basic luxury had him weaving with weakness. Hed been on the move for too long, and could barely think, but the sight of his old fortress gave him a surge of energy.
Itd been searched and pillaged, of course, because thanks to Ben Asher, the authorities were hunting him down like an animal. Damn them all, his home was now barely a shell of what it had once been. Windows gone, inside gutted, dirtiedtrashed. Disgusting. Theyd pay for that, too.
That hed gotten here at all was a miracle. Hed made it by the skin of his teeth, bribing when hed had to, pulling from his dwindling stash of cash as it had been necessary. And it had been, several times. The entire experience-jail, the escape, being on the run-had sent him reeling with memories of his penniless, loveless, thankless childhood.
He could kill for that alone, that hed relived being a professional beggar by the time he was fourbut first things first.
His compound, once hopping with activity, mocked him with silence in the growing night, making him shudder. God, he really hated silent and dark.
Most of his minions had fled or been taken to jail, which left slim pickings. Two were still in the States, quaking in their boots, awaiting his further instructions after screwing up the murder of Rachel Wellers. Hed had some time to think about that now. By all accounts via his laptop, which hed plugged in at various villages when he could, the woman had suffered greatly and continued to do so. Asada liked that; he liked that a lot. He intended for them all to suffer even more. Soon as he got himself reorganized. Carlos, the place is filthy.
Yes, but youve been gone a long time. The mans voice wobbled with fear.
As it should. Everyone knew how Asada felt about dirt, how crazy it made him. Being treated like a parasite in a filthy jail cell hadnt helped. Nor had being on the run ever since.
They couldnt go inside; thered be men around, looking for him to do that very thing. But beneath the compound lay a secret underground bunker. Theyd once used it as a supply container but now it would become his home.
Carlos raced ahead of him as they made their way toward the hidden door that would lead to a set of stairs. Manuel waited while the trembling Carlos used his own shirt on the dusty door handle. They stepped inside but didnt turn on the light-they couldnt, not while he was still being hunted like a dog, and besides, there was no electricity. It was unthinkable that after all these years of building his empire, amassing fortune upon fortune, that this could happen. But it had.
He had been brought back to zero. Back to the old days, when hed begged for money, sold himself, whatever it took. With a deep breath, he strode inside the dark, damp cellar and lit a single small oil lantern. Then he very carefully pulled out his small laptop from his pack, blew a speck of dust off the top. He didnt turn it on, not yet. He wanted to conserve the gas in the generator. But hed go online later, to check on the progress of what was happening in the States.
Once upon a time, just above him had been the center of his universe. Now, on top of this Brazilian mountain, hunkered beneath his multimillion dollar compound that gave him his multimillion dollar view, and he didnt even dare go up there to survey his domain.
The fact that he couldnt so much as show his face anywhere without possible retribution filled him with an unholy fury for which he had no outlet. He stalked over to a box of office supplies and pulled out a sheet of stationery. Youre going to hike back into the city-preferably without getting yourself killed-and get this mailed, he told Carlos.
Sir, the others and I, we were wondering when we were going to get paid-
The others were a handful of equally pathetic, worthless minions who deserved to be hung for letting this happen to him, their savior. Go away until Im ready for you.
Yes, but-
Go away and dont come back until the entire cellar is spotless, not one speck of dust left.
Sí.
Alone again, Manuel begun to write. Dear Ben
CHAPTER FIVE
BEN PUSHED Rachels chair forward, then hesitated at the base of the spiral staircase in her living room. Wheres your bedroom?
Rachel hesitated, too. It just seemed too surreal, having him right here, behind her, his hands so close to touching her where they rested on the wheelchair grips by her shoulders. Plus, hed leaned down to hear her answer, which meant she could smell him, feel his heat, his strength
Rachel? Your bedroom?
How had this happened? How was he standing here, in control, in her house?
Because shed been outsmarted by her own child, thats how! All those years of successfully avoiding him, and here he was. Unbelievable. This is so not necessary.
Your bedroom, Rach. Or, if youd rather, I can take you to mine. He shifted her chair around to look at her, so that she couldnt avoid his dark eyes that had already managed to see past her carefully erected defenses.
She stared at the silver stud in his ear and did her best to ignore the blatant sexuality that rolled off him in waves. Mine will do, she said primly.
She stared at the silver stud in his ear and did her best to ignore the blatant sexuality that rolled off him in waves. Mine will do, she said primly.
His sigh brushed over the cap shed shoved back on her head. Then he straightened, his hands on his hips. His shirt pulled taut over his chest that she remembered being lean, almost too lean.
But hed filled out. He was still rangy, still tough, but his young body had grown into a mans.
Not that she was noticing.
Someone else could help me, she said desperately. Anyone else. It doesnt have to be you.
Where is your bedroom?
She sighed. Upstairs.
He eyed the firefighters pole, then the spiral staircase. I dont think the stairs are going to work.
The elevator.
You have an elevator. He let out a low whistle. Why am I not surprised?
Since hed walked in her front door, shed been holding herself tense, and it hurt. She wanted to be alone, to let go. The only way to do that was to appease him for now. The place is a renovated firehouse. It came with the elevator. I didnt add it.
You sound a little defensive.
She ground her back teeth into powder. Hell, yes, she was defensive. She was always defensive. Shed learned young to shut herself down, happily existing in an emotional vacuum. Until Ben had come along, that is. Without a dime to his name, hed done what no one else ever had-showed her all the things so missing from her own worldpassion, emotion. Life. Hed wanted her, not just physically, and had never failed to show her so.
The force of what hed felt back then, crashing into her cold, impersonal world, had terrified her. With good reason. Their fundamental differences had turned out to be a bridge impossible to cross.
Yet, youd crossed it, came the unwelcome thought. For six months you crossed it and thrived on it.
Ben pushed her into the elevator. They waited in agitated silence for the doors to slide shut, and once they did, Rachel wished they hadnt.
The space was small and lined with mirrors, which meant she could see herself, reduced and weak and defenseless in the damn chair. Worse, she could see him standing tall and strong behind her. This is ridiculous.
My being here? Ben locked his eyes on hers in the reflection of the mirrors. Get used to it.
That got a rough laugh from her, and a sharp pain shot through her ribs for the effort. It robbed her of breath, of all thought, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tensing up with a small cry.
Big hands settled on her thighs, surprisingly gentle for their size, as was his low, urgent voice. Relax. Let it go. Breathe, Rachel.
No, she wasnt going to breathe, that would hurt worse. She was never going to breathe or move again. Goaway.
Breathe, he repeated, running his fingers lightly over her thighs. Come on, slow and easy. In and out.
She did and, shockingly enough, it helped. So did his voice, talking to her softly, over and over, reminding her to relax, breathe. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see him kneeling in front of her. Thatwas your fault.