Forbidden Touch

Chapter Fourteen

The maddening blankness coming from Alexander Quinn did nothing to soothe the fluttering in Iris's belly. He sat behind the wheel of the cab, his sandy hair covered by a brightly colored knit cap that made him look like an island native.

"You're a cold piece of work, aren't you?" she said aloud.

Quinn's green eyes met hers in the rear view minor. "Yes."

"Guess that's necessary for the job you do."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Some of the warmest, most personable people you'd ever want to meet work in the CIA. You've probably met several of them and didn't even know it."

"So you're the exception, then."

He didn't answer, but his gaze shifted a moment, and she felt a twinge of regret before it disappeared into the void she'd come to recognize as Alexander Quinn's soul.

They'd gone over the plan twice already on the way to the St. George. Quinn would create a diversion with one of the rolling carts the hotel staff used to move food in and out of the conference room. Someone would be slightly injured. Iris's cue to take charge and use her gift to ease the victim's pain. It wasn't a perfect plan-what if another empath beat her to it?-but it had the advantage of simplicity.

Quinn pulled the cab into the hotel entrance and stopped by the curb. "I'm going to dump the cab and come back on foot. Get settled in. I'll be there in time for the afternoon break."

Iris stepped from the cab and headed toward the hotel entrance, tamping down a feeling of apprehension purely her own. She managed to smile at the doorman and entered the lobby, shivering as cool air washed over her.

Sharon Phelps was at the reception table again when Iris entered the conference hall. She greeted Iris with a sad smile. "I guess you know about what happened to Celia Shore. We're just all so sad. I think Dr.Grinkov himself is going to be here for the late session to say something about it." Sharon's brown eyes sparkled with excitement. "It's a shame it's taken such a sad occasion to lure him out of his lab. But I'm really looking forward to hearing what he has to say."

"Have you ever met him?" Iris asked curiously.

"Just once, at the national conference a couple of years ago in Dallas." Sharon's cheeks went pink. "He made a point to talk to all the volunteers. He's so kind that way."

Poor Sharon. Iris thought as she found a seat near the center of the conference hall. Worst case of hero worship she'd seen in some time.

She half expected Maddox Heller to slide into the seat beside her, but it remained empty for a long time while the other conference goers settled in for the early afternoon session. Iris slipped her cell phone from her purse and sent a text message to Quinn. "Grinkov here after four."

A minute later came the response. "Okay."

"I wasn't sure you would be here."

Iris looked up at the sound of Tahir Mahmoud's low accent. "Why wouldn't I be here?" she countered as she slipped her phone back in her purse.

He sat next to her. "I missed you at the afternoon session yesterday. I thought perhaps you had lost interest."

She shook her head. "I had an appointment in the afternoon. I couldn't make the sessions. And, of course, this morning…" She let her words trail off, pushing aside the hum of emotions filtering in from the conference goers around her to concentrate on what Tahir Mahmoud was feeling.

"Sad news indeed." Mahmoud said with the appropriate amount of regret in his voice.

Iris even sensed a hint of sadness coming from him, but she wasn't sure she could trust it. If Mahmoud knew what she could do, he might be manufacturing the emotion as surely as Quinn had put on that nasty little terror show for her the evening before at Maddox Heller's house.

The thought of Maddox made her stomach twist into a hard, hot knot. She forced him out of her mind, needing all her energy focused on the plan she and Quinn would put into motion as soon as Dr.Grinkov arrived.

And as disconcerting as she found Tahir Mahmoud's attention, it was probably a good thing that he had decided to make himself her shadow. He'd be front and center for the show.

Poseidon's Courtyard was packed when Maddox arrived a little before two. On island time, the lunch hour could fall anywhere between noon and three. It had taken Maddox a little while to get used to the laid-back atmosphere of Mariposa after years of precision and discipline in the Marine Corps. He still missed the structure, sometimes, though no one would ever guess.

Nicholas Darcy sat at a table near the back reading a newspaper, one long leg crossed over the other. Despite the heat, he wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt and a dove-gray silk tie. He was alone.

Maddox waved at Moira as he crossed to Darcy's table and dropped into the chair across from him, "Where's the head of St. George security?"

Darcy put down the paper, "He hasn't yet arrived. Island time, you know."

Maddox narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, Island time."

Darcy met his gaze. "You sound skeptical."

"Why am l really here?"

Darcy tapped the menu in front of him, "Shall we order?"

"No, we shall not." Maddox leaned forward. "Quinn sent you to keep me busy, didn't he?"

Darcy's mouth curved, "I knew you'd see through it."

"So he wants me to do something, but he likes playing games too much to just come out and tell me." Maddox could tell by the look in Darcy's eyes that he was right. "So what's your role in this, then? Keeping me away from the St. George? No, that's too obvious."

"Sometimes a cigar is-"

"-a damning piece of evidence." Maddox finished for him. "Is the head of St.George security even going to be here?"

"Yes, he is" Darcy looked past him. "Hello, Moira."

"Hi there yourself, English." Moira looked at Maddox, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Your usual?"

"Yeah." Maddox said.

Darcy nodded his assent. Moira left to turn in their orders.

"So is the head of St. George security actually going to tell me anything when he gets here?" Maddox reached for his butter knife, placing it on the table in front of him. He gave the handle a soft thump, making the knife spin.

Darcy's gaze followed the rotating knife. "No. You're not authorized."

"So this really is to keep me out of Quinn's hair" Maddox's butter knife slowed to a stop, the rounded tip pointing straight at Darcy,

Darcy looked up, his gaze direct. "Yes."

Maddox tried to catch Moira's eye to cancel his order, but she was busy.

"I'll tell you what I know" Darcy said, drawing Maddox"s attention back to the table.

Maddox eyed him suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I know you have a stake in this."

Maddox wasn't sure if the RSO was talking about Kaziristan or Iris Browning. Maybe it didn't matter. "What do you know?"

"It was an inside job. We don't yet know who sabotaged the video surveillance equipment at the hotel, but they were able to get into areas that only authorized personnel can enter. Either the saboteurs were St. George employees, or they had contacts within the St.George security staff. The Sebastian police are following all leads."

"That's hardly news." Maddox said with a grimace.

"Did you know that the same company that provides security for the St.George also provides security for the Princeton?"

Maddox tried to hide his reaction, "Is there a point to this?"^I he asked, even as he searched his memory for every face he'd seen on his visits to both hotels, trying to make a match.

"I can't intervene in the police investigation. It might even have been unseemly of me to suggest private security to Ms. Browning." One of Darcy's dark eyebrows lifted.

Maddox nodded, the message received. He looked around the restaurant, quickly spotting Moira at a nearby table. This time, he caught her attention. She finished taking the order and returned to his table,

"I'm going to have to cancel my order, Moira. Put it on my tab if it's too late." He stood and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, already moving toward the exit.

He reached the Princeton in five minutes, parking the Jeep in the back lot among a scattering of employee vehicles. One of the benefits of being a go-to kind of guy was that he knew at least one person almost everywhere he went.

At the Princeton, that person was Shandra Clendon, a leggy brunette with eyes the same murky green as Mount Stanley on a rainy day. She worked the check-in counter, her musical Creole accent and ready smile an asset for dealing with demanding tourists.

She rolled her eyes at Maddox's approach, "What do you want now, Maddox?"

He leaned against the desk and grinned, making a point of looking her up and down. "Cupcake, that's a loaded question."

Shandra wasn't buying. "I'm busy. Maddox. Get to it."

"I met a woman last night and she gave me her room number and told me to come by. I thought I'd surprise her with room service." he said, using the story he'd come up with on the ride over from Poseidon's Courtyard to see just how easily he could gain access to Iris's room. "You know, a little champagne, some chocolate-covered strawberries-"

"Romantic dog." Shandra said with a smile. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you help me surprise her? She's at a conference at another hotel-the St.George. She should be back by six, and I just wanted to have everything ready and waiting for her. Can you help a fellow out?"

Shandra's milk chocolate forehead creased a moment, then went smooth again, giving Maddox a moment of hope. Then she reached under the counter.

"What room number did you say?"

Maddox's heart sank.

At a quarter to four, the early afternoon session came to a close, and hotel staffers entered the conference hall to set up an informal afternoon tea. Iris saw AlexanderQuinn enter the hall at the far end, near the speaker's dais. He didn't look her way, and she didn't let her gaze linger on him.

"In London, afternoon tea is still in vogue." Tahir Mahmoud murmured, leaning toward her as he watched a server approach. "I understand it's not a custom in the States."

"No, it's not." she agreed, trying not to think of who Quinn and Maddox thought Tahir really was. But her skin prickled where his sleeve brushed her arm, and she had to force herself not to recoil.

He motioned to the server, who gave a nod in response.

Tahir turned to Iris and smiled. "Since you missed yesterday's afternoon session, I will take it upon myself to inform you that the lemon petit fours are quite tasty, but avoid the scones at all costs"

She made herself chuckle in response, though every instinct screamed at her torn away. "I'll keep that in mind."

A loud clatter nearby plucked her taut nerves, making her jump. A sudden scalding pain raced up her left hand and arm, forcing a whimper of pain between her parted lips. She jerked her head toward the noise. The hotel server stood a few feet away, his hand tucked up against his chest and his face creased with pain. His teapot lay in pieces, hot tea spreading across the linen tray cover and spilling onto the floor.

"He's burned himself!" a woman nearby exclaimed. "Someone send for the hotel doctor!"

As the server made soft, mewling sounds of pain, the phantom pain in Iris's hand deepened and spread, forcing her to bite her lower lip to remain silent.

Tahir Mahmoud hurried to the man's side and led him to a nearby chair. "Someone get me some ice. Quickly!" He looked at Iris.

"Do you know anyone who can help him?"

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, she almost looked across the room for Quinn to see if she should do something or stay put. But the man's obvious distress wiped away any hesitation. She crossed to the injured man, leaned over him and put her hand on his upper arm, opening herself to his pain.

It raced up her arm and into her chest, setting fire to her nerve endings. She felt herself weaken almost immediately, her legs wobbling.

Mahmoud touched her shoulder to get her attention. She met his gaze, finding him staring at her with a mixture of fascination and cold calculation. He gestured to the chair he'd pulled up for her, and she sat down beside the server.

"How are you feeling?" she asked the man, hating the weak tremble in her voice.

"Better." the server admitted, his brow creasing with confusion, "What are you doing to me?'

"Just helping you stay calm." she answered softly. "Someone will be here with ice soon."

The server closed his eyes, a tremor shaking through him as shock from the burn, started to set in. The weakness transferred itself to Iris, making the simple act of keeping her hand on his shoulder almost more than she could manage.

A tall black man in a white coat threaded his way through the crowd toward them, his gaze focused on the injured man. He introduced himself as Dr.Seibling and crouched beside the server, "What do we have here?"

Iris let go of the server's arm and sat back, her whole body shaking with pain and shock. She didn't even have the energy to jump when Tahir touched her shoulder.

"Let me get you away from here." he said softly, his voice tinged with what sounded like real concern. But when Iris met his gaze, she saw the predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"I'll get you a drink" Tahir moved away, slipping into the milling crowd. She tried to keep an eye on him, but he was of average height and quickly disappeared from view.

She spotted Alexander Quinn as he came to help clean up the mess from the broken teapot. He glanced her way but gave no sign of recognition. But she didn't doubt for a moment that he'd seen everything that had happened.

The combination of pain and nerves made her head feel fuzzy. She leaned forward in her chair, dipping her head closer to her knees to fight off dizziness. Her whole body started to tingle as if her limbs were falling asleep, the feeling electric, disconcerting and invasive.

"Miss Browning?" An accented voice filtered through the white noise rushing through her head. She forced herself to sit up and open her eyes.

A tall, slender man in a gray tweed jacket stood before her, his ice-blue eyes fixed on her face. One eyelid twitched sporadically, the haphazard cadence mesmerizing. Strong Slavic features under a thatch of hay-colored hair hinted at his ancestry, and Iris knew, instinctively, she was looking at Dr.Boris Grinkov.

The view from the balcony of Iris Browning's room at the Princeton Hotel was hardly the stuff of picture postcards, Maddox thought. The street below was dusty and crowded with tourists emerging to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine. The faded storefronts were quaint and shabby, the sandstone facades crumbling in places. The store owners would get around to repairs when tourist season began to die down. Maybe.

He walked back into the room, closing the balcony doors behind him to shut out the street sounds. The silence closed around him like a shroud, making it hard to breathe as he sat on the edge of Iris's bed.

Getting into her room had been dishearteningly easy. The right story to a sympathetic ear was all it took. If Tahir Mahmoud hired a local with the right contacts to do his dirty work, Iris could easily be dead before anyone could stop it.

He closed his eyes. Images filled the darkness, painted in vivid colors across his memory. Teresa Miles, struggling against the black clad arm that held her prisoner. Her blue eyes staring right into Maddox's where he hid with the others under his guard, he was helpless to stop what happened next.

The flash of steel as the knife whipped up to Teresa's throat-

"What are you doing here?"

He snapped his eyes open, nausea writhing like snakes inside him. Iris stood in the door way, as pale as death.

He pushed himself up from the edge of her bed, his planned safety lecture forgotten. "Are you okay?"

She looked away from him, but her fingers tightened around the door frame. "I'm fine."

"No you're not." he realized.

He reached her side, lifting his hand to her cheek. She felt cold. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, and her lips were bloodless. She swayed into his touch, and he caught her before she fell. He lifted her into his arms, alarmed at how fragile she felt, and carried her to the bed. He laid her atop the comforter and sat next to her, pushing her tousled hair away from her forehead.

"Oh baby, what happened?"

She told him about the server's accident and what she'd done. "I got what I wanted. Grinkov's attention."

Maddox put his hand over her lips. "Shh. We can talk about this in a few minutes. You're about to pass out on me here. Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

A wry expression flitted over her face. "I never had breakfast, remember? You kicked me out before we ate."

Guilt burned a hole in his gut. He dialed the room service number posted by the phone and ordered an omelet and toast.

"I'm not hungry." she protested, struggling to a sitting position.

"Too bad, because you're eating something anyway." He cupped her chin in his palm, sliding his thumb over her bottom lip. "Still in pain?"

Her eyes fluttered closed, her lip trembling beneath his touch. She shook her head. Desire jolted through him, fierce and unbidden. He dropped his hand quickly and started to get up, but her hand closed around his arm, her grip stronger than he expected.

"Don't go." she said softly.

He met her gaze, his heart pounding. "Iris-"

"Stay with me." she said.

Resistance melting, he settled back on the bed, his hip against hers. He took her hand in his, 'What am I going to do with you, baby?"

"What do you want to do with me?" she asked, her gaze unflinching.

His heart rate ramped up to a gallop, "Sugar, you're in no condition for what I want to do with you."

Her lips curved, and she released a soft laugh. "Maybe after the omelet."

He laughed, surprised at the devilish gleam in her dark eyes. "You're full of surprises, sugar."

She twined her fingers through his. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on her knuckles, "It is."

"Do you want to hear about my meeting with Grinkov?"

A dark thread of anger weaved its way into him, but he tamped it down. "Yes, I do."

"Dr.Grinkov invited me to join the focus group"

Apprehension coiled in Maddox's belly. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning." she said.