Die for Me

Chapter Thirteen

Tuesday, January 16, 9:55

P.M.

Is something wrong, Dr. J?”

Sophie looked up to see Marta walking across the parking lot behind the Whitman humanities building. “My bike won’t start.” She got off and huffed a weary sigh. “It was running just fine right before class. Now it tries to start and just sputters.”

“Bummer.” Marta bit her lip. “You do have gas in the tank, don’t you? The last time my car wouldn’t start I got all upset till I realized I’d forgotten to get gas.”

Sophie bit back her impatience. Marta was trying to help. “I filled up this morning.”

“What’s wrong?” Spandan had joined them, along with most of the other students in her Tuesday night graduate seminar. This semester she was teaching Fundamentals of the Dig to a packed classroom, and while she normally would have hung around to answer questions, she’d bolted right after class tonight. Vito was waiting for her at Peppi’s Pizza and all she’d been able to think about during class was that kiss.

“My bike won’t start and now I’m late.”

Marta looked interested. “For a date?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “If I don’t get there soon, no.”

The door behind them opened again and John came down the wheelchair ramp. “What’s wrong?”

“Dr. J’s bike’s busted and she’s late for her date,” Bruce said.

John steered his chair around the crowd and leaned forward to peer at her engine. “Sugar.” He tapped her gas tank with one gloved finger.

“What?” Sophie leaned forward to immediately see that he was right. A dusting of sugar crystals around the gas tank sparkled in the light of the street lamps. “Dammit,” she hissed. “I swear to God that woman’s going to pay this time.”

“You know who did this?” Marta asked, wide-eyed.

That the saboteur had been Amanda Brewster was almost certain. “I have an idea.”

Bruce had his cell phone in his hand. “I’m calling campus security.”

“Not now. I will report this. Don’t worry,” she added when Spandan tried to protest. She unbungeed her backpack from the seat. “But I’m not going to wait around for them to come right now. I’m really late. It’s a good fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant.”

“I’ll drive you.” John asked. “I’ve got my van.”

“Um…” Sophie shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.”

John’s chin went up. “It’s equipped with hand controls. I’m a good driver.”

She’d offended him. “It’s not that, John,” she said hastily. “It’s just… I’m your teacher. I don’t want to appear improper.”

He angled her a look up through his ever-shaggy hair. “It’s a ride, Dr. J. Not marriage.” One side of his mouth lifted. “Besides, you’re not my type.”

She laughed. “Okay. Thanks. I’m going to Peppi’s Pizza.” She waved to the others. “See you Sunday.” She walked alongside his chair until they came to the white van he drove. He opened her door, then activated the lift for his chair. Capably, he swung his body out of the chair and behind the driver’s seat.

He saw her watching and his jaw tightened. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

“How long have you been in the chair?”

“Since I was kid.” His tone was clipped. She’d offended him again. Saying no more, he pulled the van out of the parking lot.

Unsure of what to say next, Sophie went for something she hoped was more neutral. “You missed the first part of class tonight. I hope nothing was wrong.”

“I got tied up at the library. I was so late that I almost didn’t come at all, but I needed to ask you about something. I tried to catch you after class, but you rushed out.”

“So you had an ulterior motive for offering me a ride.” She smiled. “What’s up?”

He didn’t smile back, but then John rarely smiled. “I have a paper due tomorrow for another class. It’s almost done, but I was having trouble finding primary references for one piece of it.”

“What’s the topic?”

“Comparison of modern and medieval theories on crime and punishment.”

Sophie nodded. “You must be taking Dr. Jackson’s medieval law class. So what’s the question?”

“I wanted to include a comparison of the medieval practice of branding with contemporary use of sex offender registration. But I couldn’t find any consistent information on branding.”

“Interesting topic. I can think of a few references that might help.” She dug in her backpack for her notebook and started writing. “When is your paper due?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

She grimaced. “Then you’ll need to use the online references unless the librarians work later than they used to. I know some of these are available online. The others might only be available through old-fashioned books. Oh, Peppi’s is right around the corner.” She ripped out the page and handed it to him as he pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. “Thanks, John. Good luck on your paper.”

He took the sheet with a sober nod. “See you on Sunday.”

Sophie stood still as he drove away, then held her breath as she scanned the lot for Vito’s truck. Slowly she let the breath out. He was still here.

This was it. She’d walk into that restaurant and… change her life. And suddenly she was scared to death.

Tuesday, January 16, 10:00

P.M.

Daniel sat on the edge of his hotel bed, exhausted. He’d been to more than fifteen hotels since breakfast and he was no closer to finding his parents. His parents were creatures of habit, so he’d started with their favorite hotels, the expensive ones. He’d gone on to the big chains. No one had seen them, or remembered them if they had.

Wearily he toed off his shoes and fell back against the mat-tress. He was tired enough to fall asleep like this, his tie still knotted and his feet still on the floor. Maybe his parents hadn’t come to Philadelphia after all. Maybe this had been a wild goose chase. Maybe they were already dead.

He closed his eyes, trying to think past the pounding in his temples. Maybe he should call the local police and check the morgues.

Or the doctors. Perhaps they’d been to one of the oncologists on the list he’d printed from his father’s computer. But no doctor would tell him anything. Patient confidentiality, they’d say.

The ringing of his cell phone startled him out of a near doze. Susannah.

“Hello, Suze.”

“You haven’t found them.” It was more a statement than a question.

“No, and I’ve walked all over town today. I’m beginning to wonder if this is really where they came.”

“They were there,” Susannah said, little inflection in her tone. “The call from Mom’s cell phone to Grandma’s was placed from Philadelphia.”

Daniel sat up. “How do you know that?”

“I called in a marker, had it traced. I thought you should know. Call me if you find them. Otherwise, don’t. Good-bye, Daniel.”

She was going to hang up. “Suze, wait.”

He heard her sigh. “What?”

“I was wrong. Not to leave. I had to leave. But I was wrong not to tell you why.”

“And you’re going to tell me now?” Her voice was hard and it pricked his heart.

“No. Because you’re safer if you don’t know. That was my only reason for not telling you then… and now. Especially now.”

“Daniel, it’s late. You’re talking in riddles and I don’t want to listen.”

“Suze… You trusted me once.”

“Once.” The single word rang with finality.

“Then trust me again, please, just on this. If you knew, you’d be compromised. Your career would be compromised. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are for me to drag you down for the simple purpose of unloading my guilty conscience.”

She was quiet so long he had to check to see if they were still connected. They were. Finally she murmured. “I know what your son did. Do you know, Daniel?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to forgive you?”

“No. I don’t expect that. I don’t know what I want. Maybe to hear you call me Danny again.”

“You were my big brother, and I needed your protection then. But I learned how to take care of myself. I don’t need your protection now, Daniel, and I don’t need you. Call me if you find them.”

She hung up and Daniel sat on the edge of a strange hotel bed, staring at his phone and wondering how he’d allowed everything to become so completely fucked up.

Tuesday, January 16, 10:15

P.M.

“Honey, if you’re not going to order, you have to leave. Kitchen closes in fifteen.”

Vito checked his watch before looking up at the waitress. “How about a large with everything?” he said. “And just bring it in a box. I’ll take it with me.”

“She’s not coming, huh?” the waitress said sympathetically, taking his menu.

Sophie should have been there a half hour ago easily. “Doesn’t appear so.”

“Well, a man like you should have no trouble finding somebody better.” Clucking, she went back to the kitchen to place his order, and Vito leaned his head against the wall behind his booth and closed his eyes. Tried not to think about the fact that Sophie hadn’t come. Tried to focus on the things he could really change.

They’d identified four of the nine victims. Five more to go.

Roses. He smelled roses and felt the booth shake as someone slid into the other side. She’d come after all. But he stayed where he was, eyes closed.

“Excuse me,” she said and he opened his eyes. She was sitting across from him wearing her black leather jacket. Huge gold hoops hung from her ears and she’d pulled her hair over one shoulder. “I’m waiting for somebody, and I think you might be him.”

Vito chuckled. She’d taken them back to the moment they’d met. “That memory zapper works better than I thought. Maybe I should try it.”

She smiled at him and he felt some of his stress ease. “Hard day?” she asked.

“You could say that. But I don’t want to talk about my day. You came.”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s hard to resist movie swag. Thank you.”

Her hands were grasping each other so tightly that her knuckles were white. Taking a breath, he reached across the table and pulled her hands apart, then held each one. “It was hard for you to give his name, but you did it anyway, to help us.”

Her hands tensed as her eyes skittered away from his. “And all those mothers, wives, husbands, and sons. I didn’t want you to talk to Alan because I was ashamed. But I was more ashamed at not telling you.”

“I meant what I said in the note. Brewster is an ass. You should forget him.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t know he was married, Vito. I was young and very stupid.”

“Everything made sense when I met him. I think you knew it would.”

“Maybe.” She looked up, resolutely, he thought. “I brought you something.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Vito unfolded it and laughed. She’d drawn a four-by-four matrix. Across the top she’d written French, German, Greek, and Japanese. Down the side were damn, shit, hell, and fuck. In the boxes she’d filled in what he assumed were translations. “I like this four-by-four matrix a lot better than the one I’ve been staring at for two days.”

She was grinning at him and he felt even more weight roll from his shoulders. “I promised to teach you some new swear words. I wrote the phonetic spelling, too. I wouldn’t want you pronouncing them wrong. It spoils the effect.”

“It’s great. But you’re missing ‘ass.’ I got busted by my nephew for that one tonight.”

Brows lifted, she took the paper from his hands and pulled a pen from yet another pocket, then wrote the offending word and all its translations. She handed it back and he folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. “Thank you.” Then he took her hands in his again and was relieved to find her relaxed. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

“I had trouble with my bike. I had to catch a ride with one of my students.”

He frowned. “What kind of trouble with your bike?”

“It wouldn’t start. Somebody put sugar in my tank.”

“Who would do that?” His eyes narrowed when her lips pursed. “Who’s been bothering you, Sophie?”

“Oh, Brewster’s wife. She’s a nut case. Sent me a threatening… note. Kind of.”

“Sophie,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes. “She sent me a dead mouse, then called to tell me to keep my hands to myself. She must have heard Alan talking to Clint. The woman’s certifiably crazy. She thinks all the women are throwing themselves at Alan.”

“His current assistant probably is.” He sighed. “But I’m sorry she thinks you did.”

“It’s okay. Really. I’ve been tiptoeing about dealing with Alan for a long time, and this forced me to deal. It’s all good.” She scowled. “Except my bike. That pisses me off.”

It was an opening he couldn’t pass up. “I can take you home.”

His words came out deeper and more suggestive than he’d planned. Her cheeks heated and she looked down, but not before he saw her eyes darken with desire, sending a wave of lust singing through his system.

“I’d appreciate it,” she said quietly. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She tugged her hand free and pulled out another folded sheet from her pocket. “I got a little more information for you on that guy who died in Europe. Alberto Berretti.”

This sheet listed the names of Berretti’s children and their attorneys. It also listed names of the man’s household and business staff and his key debtors. It would be a very good start when he talked to Interpol the next day. “Where did you get this?”

“Etienne-you know, my old professor? He didn’t even know any more than Berretti’s name and the rumor. But my father’s old friend knows lots of rich people, and if not personally, he knows someone who does. I called him, and he got the information.”

Vito pushed back his irritation. “I thought you agreed not to call anyone else.”

“I didn’t call anyone I thought was dealing or buying.” She was irritated and didn’t bother pushing it back. “I’ve known Maurice since I was a little girl. He’s a fine man.”

“Sophie, I’m grateful. I just don’t want you hurt. If you know him, he should be fine.”

“He is,” she said stubbornly. But she didn’t pull the hand he held away and Vito saw that as a good sign. He took her free hand again and once again she relaxed.

“So… your father. Is he still alive?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, he died about two years ago.”

She’d liked her father, then. Unlike her mother. “It must have been hard on him, having you so far away in Europe for so long.”

“No, he lived in France. I was able to see him more at the end of his life than when I was growing up.” She looked at him sideways. “My father’s name was Alex Arnaud.”

Vito crunched his brows. “I know I’ve heard that name before. No, don’t tell me.”

She looked amused. “I’d be very surprised if you knew him.”

“I’ve seen his name fairly recently.” The memory clicked and he stared at her. “Your father was Alexandre Arnaud the actor?”

She blinked. “I’m impressed. Not many Americans know his name.”

“My brother-in-law is a film buff. Last time I was visiting them, he was on a French film kick and a few of them weren’t too bad. No offense.”

“None taken. So which one did you see?”

“Do I get a bonus prize for getting the movie title, too?” Again her cheeks heated, and he realized there was as much shyness as desire in her eyes. This was new for her, flirting, like this, and that was an even bigger turn-on than anything else. Almost anything, he amended. He knew what lay under the black jacket was more than enough of a turn-on on its own. “I’m glad I have a good memory,” he teased, then reluctantly released her hands when the waitress set the pizza on the table with a knowing grin.

“You still want this to go?” the waitress asked. “I can bring the box.”

“I’m starving,” Sophie confessed. “Are you closing soon?”

The waitress patted her hand and gave Vito a wink. “When you’re done, honey.”

Vito snapped his fingers. “Soft Rain,” he said. “Your father’s movie.”

Sophie stopped chewing, her eyes wide. “Wow. You’re good.”

Vito put a slice on his plate. “So what’s my bonus prize?”

Her eyes shifted, changed, nerves giving way to anticipation. He could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat as she caught that full bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know yet.”

Vito swallowed hard, his own pulse kicking into overdrive. He barely restrained the urge to drag her away from the table and bite her lip himself. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can think of something. Just do me a favor and eat fast, okay?”

Tuesday, January 16, 11:25

P.M.

It was good. Damn good. Not as good as Warren Dies, but still better than ninety-nine point nine percent of the drivel that made it into galleries.

He looked back at the stills, then at his own painting of the moment of Gregory Sanders’s death. There was something about Sanders’s face. Even in death it looked better on film than in reality. His lips quirked. The boy probably could have been a star.

Well, if he had anything to say about it, Gregory would. For now, he had a bit of cleaning up to do. He’d hose off the body in the studio below ground. His dungeon. Gregory had been suitably impressed. Suitably terrified.

As well he should have been. “Try to steal from me,” he muttered. The young man had begged forgiveness. For mercy. There had been none.

He’d be able to get several good scenes from the Gregory footage. Thievery had been a common crime in the Middle Ages, with a variety of punishments. It hadn’t been the torture he’d planned, but it had worked, all in all.

He’d head out to bury the body at first light, then get back here to work on the game. By morning he should have some responses to the e-mail he’d sent to the tall blonde from UCanModel before meeting Gregory this afternoon. He’d devise an end fit for a stately queen to please Van Zandt. Then he’d make the knight’s damn head explode. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d accomplish it, but he’d figure it out.

Tuesday, January 16, 11:30

P.M.

Sophie’s hands shook as she tried to get her key in the lock in Anna’s front door. They’d said nothing as he’d driven her home, save her clipped directions. Through it all he’d held her hand, at times so hard she nearly winced. But it was welcome pain, if there was such a thing. For the first time in a long time, Sophie felt alive. And clumsy. She cursed softly when the key bounced off the lock for the third time.

“Give me the keys,” he ordered quietly. He managed the door on the first try, bringing the dogs, barking shrilly. The look on his face would have been comical had she not been so impatient. He was staring down at Lotte and Birgit with mild horror.

“What the hell are those?”

“My grandmother’s dogs. My aunt Freya lets them out at noon, so they’re impatient by now. Come on, girls.”

“They’re… colored. Like your rainbow gloves.”

Sophie looked at the dogs with a wince. “It was an experiment. I need to let them out. I’ll be right back.” She took the dogs out through the kitchen and stood on the back porch, arms wrapped around herself, toes tapping, while they sniffed the grass and each other. “Hurry up,” she hissed at them. “Or you’re both getting dry dogfood for a month.”

The threat seemed to work, or maybe they just got cold, because they finally hurried. Sophie scooped them up and nuzzled each fuzzy head against her cheek before putting them down in the kitchen. She locked the deadbolt, then turned and sucked in a breath. Vito had materialized inches away, his eyes dark and reckless and her knees went weak. He’d shed his coat and gloves and made quick work of hers.

His gaze dropped to her breasts, still covered by layers of clothing. He lingered there for a few beats of her heart before lifting his eyes to hers and for a few more hard beats it was as if she couldn’t breathe. Her breasts were tight, her nipples almost painfully sensitive and the throbbing between her legs had her wishing he would hurry.

But he didn’t. With maddening care, he traced her lower lip with his fingertips until she shuddered. His lips curved, his smile sharp. Predatory. “I want you,” he whispered. “I’d be lying if I said anything different.”

She lifted her chin, wishing he’d touch her. Nervous that he didn’t. “Then don’t.”

His eyes flashed and for another long moment he stared, as if he waited for her to say something more. Then in a blur of motion his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers and she moaned because it felt so good. His kiss was reckless and hot and demanding and she wanted more of it. She wanted more of him.

She flattened her hands against his chest, feeling his rock-hard muscles through his shirt, nearly moaning again when those muscles flexed against her palms. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer. Needing to feel that hard chest pressed against her aching breasts. She wound her arms around his neck and lifted herself the few inches she needed to align their bodies, needing to feel his hardness all over.

He didn’t disappoint, and in seconds he’d pressed her back against the door, the hard ridge in his jeans thrusting where it felt the very best. The door against her back was ice cold, but Vito burned hot against her front as she strained against him. His hands finally took her breasts, his fingers plucking and teasing until she moaned again.

His hips and hands came to an abrupt halt and he ripped his mouth from hers.

“No.” It was a whimper, but she was too turned on to care.

“Sophie. Look at me.” She opened her eyes. He was so close she could see every eyelash. “I told you what I wanted. I need you to do the same. Tell me what you want.”

He would make her say it. “You.” The single syllable emerged rusty. “I want you.”

He shuddered out a breath. “It’s been a long time for me. I can’t go slow this time.”

This time. “Then don’t.”

He nodded slowly, then dropped his hands to the hem of her sweater and yanked, pulling it over her head. Then he laughed breathlessly when it got tangled in her hair. Together they freed her, and he sobered, staring at the wispy white lace of her bra.

He swallowed hard. “God, you’re pretty.” He skimmed his fingertips down the scalloped edges and under the fullness of her breasts, narrowly, but purposely missing her nipples which now strained against the lace. But his hands were shaking.

Her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. “Touch me, Vito. Please.”

Again his eyes flashed and in another blur of movement he’d dispensed with the lace by ripping the front clasp. She had only a moment to feel the cold air against her skin before he’d covered one breast with his warm palm, the other with his even warmer mouth. She threaded her fingers through his wavy dark hair and held him close, then closed her eyes and let herself feel. And it felt so good. So necessary.

Too soon he straightened. “Sophie, look at me.”

She opened her eyes. His mouth was wet, his eyes live coals. “Where’s your bed?”

Another shudder shook her and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Up.”

His grin was quick and wicked. “Up it is.” He leaned in to kiss her again and her fingers stumbled over the buttons on his shirt, his over the zipper on her slacks. They backed out of the kitchen, frantically dropping clothes as they made their way to the stairs. He stopped at the first step and pressed her into the wall. She was naked, but he still wore his boxers. His eyes took an appreciative ride from her face down her body. His chest rose and fell, as if he jerked each breath from his lungs. “You’re beautiful.”

She’d heard the words before. She so wanted to believe them now. But words were just that. Words. It was the action that counted. A little desperately she pulled his head down and kissed him hard. With a deep growl he took control of the kiss, deepening it, running his hands down her back. He kneaded her butt, pulling her against him. She felt his erection pulse against her and she gyrated her hips, rubbing closer, but she needed more. “Vito, please. Now.”

A shiver wracked his body, even though his skin burned against her hands and she knew he was as close as she was. He backed away and took her hand to lead her up the stairs but she slipped her hands beneath the elastic of his boxers and pushed them down his hips. Once again he did not disappoint and she wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, dragging a ragged groan from his lungs.

“Sophie, wait.”

“No. Here. Now.” She leaned against him and bit at his lip, her hand in the center of his chest, pushing at the rock hard wall of muscle. She held his gaze, on solid ground. This was sex. This she knew. “Now.”

She pushed him, straddling his hips as he sank to the steps.

“Sophie, not like-”

She cut off his words by covering his mouth with hers and lowered herself, taking him into her body. He was hot and hard and huge and she closed her eyes against the sensation of being filled. “You want me.”

“Yes.” His hands gripped her hips, his fingers dug deep.

“Then take me.” She arched her back, forcing him deeper, opening her eyes to watch his slowly close, his dark stubbled jaw clench, his beautiful body go completely rigid. Then she began to move, slowly at first, then hard and fast as she felt her own climax coming.

With a cry she came and slumped forward, catching her hands on the step above him. She kissed him hard and he groaned into her mouth as his hips jerked wildly. Then his back went rigid and he thrust with staccato beats of motion as he found his own peak.

Breathing like he’d run a race, he collapsed back against his elbows and let his head fall back against the stairs. For a few seconds neither of them said anything, then Sophie rolled away to sit on the step below him, feeling relaxed and… damn good. She lightly patted his thigh, but he stiffened, drawing away. Twisting to look at him, she found him staring at her, not with sated pleasure, but raw anger.

“What,” he said harshly, “the hell was that?”