Bond of Darkness Read online

  She obeyed immediately, too needy to do anything but agree. The cool air on the backs of her knees when he yanked her jeans down made her hesitate for a moment. But his eyes were green as emeralds, his face taut with lust looming over her shoulder in the mirror.

  Oh yeah.

  His hot tongue dived into her from behind and she slammed into her first climax, gripping the jutting porcelain like a life preserver, pleasure washing over and through her. She shrieked something wordless.

  Before sanity could return, he spread her hips wider, his hands oddly gentle.

  She moaned, aftershocks still vibrating through her.

  His cock slid into her, the broad head lifting her up onto her toes. She tightened herself around him, embracing him. She was wonderfully tight this way, making it easy to savor every distinctive shape and twist of his perfect cock.

  She moaned again and braced herself against the sink, using all the shoulder and arm muscles she’d built in the gym to steady herself, planting her booted feet firmly.

  He started to fuck her, long and hard, just the way she liked it. Shattering curtains of agonizing joy ripped through her again and again. And still Ethan rode her, delaying his own fulfillment and promising her more, until finally the tip of his thumb slipped inside her ass.

  Caught by that most intimate caress, Steve bucked hard, squeezing his cock and driving herself down on him. She came screaming, delight pummeling her body like a leap over Niagara Falls.

  Ethan growled in triumph and climaxed, filling her cunt with his seed and heat.

  She collapsed smiling, unconsciousness blurring her mind.

  Ethan settled Steve on the floor, hoping she’d stay asleep. Christ, his heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen her ride up. What the hell had happened to the Rangers’ informants, if they didn’t know Hot Peppers was one of the favorite meeting places for drug Mafiosi? At least Devol shouldn’t be anywhere around, God willing.

  He began to dress as quietly as possible.

  “D’you think they’re finished in there?” a man next door asked, his zipper’s closing sounding like a machine gun.

  “Must be. Good show.” Bastards must have jacked off while they listened.

  They chuckled companionably and he could hear liquor being poured.

  Ethan bared his fangs, fighting back the urge to simply grab his guns and slaughter the brutes now. God knows he’d occasionally fucked to gain an advantage before. But they’d heard Steve’s pleasure and for that, they would die before they could tell anyone else.

  “Boss will be here soon. Can we use the warehouse outside San Leandro for the drop?” one of them asked, the sounds of shuffling cards coming loud and clear to Ethan’s vampiro hearing.

  “The refrigerated one? No. We’ve already loaned it to El Gallinazo for some of his friends.”

  Ethan cocked his head, considering. His fingers caressed his knife. Could El Gallinazo be working with Beau and Devol, Madame Celeste’s two favorite killers? El Gallinazo represented a Mexican patrón, so those heathens could approach him openly. Plus, El Gallinazo had extensive smuggling connections in Texas. A refrigerated warehouse would be perfect for a vampiro to hide in, given its tight seals to hold scents in.

  Yes, the warehouse and drug lord were both definitely worth checking out.

  Ethan smiled, fangs pricking his jaw, and double-checked his Colts. Plenty of ammunition, too, to dispatch Garcia Herrera before he could discover Steve.

  Good Lord, she was beautiful after lovemaking, when her eyes turned gentle and her neck had a swan’s grace instead of being purely a support for that stubborn chin.

  He’d kill Fred, too, of course, once he had a chance to find the jerk. Bastard deserved a slow, painful death for having destroyed her bright faith in the future.

  As if summoned, she mumbled something and stretched, blinking. She studied him, proud and strong as always. Of course, he loved her like this, too—clever and sturdy enough to outwit a hurricane.

  But damn, how the hell could he make her stay here where she’d be safe? Even vampiro mind control tricks took time to break through her stubbornness, and he wasn’t about to destroy their relationship by forcing her to stay here. Maybe if they moved fast enough, he could get her to his truck before anybody noticed she was gone.

  His men were out there, keeping watch from a distance. But they wouldn’t move without a signal from him, something he’d be damn wary of doing now, lest he endanger Steve.

  “Come on, let’s try to get you out of here,” he whispered.

  She nodded silently, her thoughts blaring like a police radio. Call in the law right away and arrest Garcia Herrera whenever he showed up. Oh yeah, like that had worked well before.

  She was dressed within a minute and he guided her out of the restroom and down the hallway, moving as smoothly as if they were a trained SWAT team. Cónyuges flowed more gracefully together, not that he and Steve had any chance of achieving union. It took decades for two people to gain enough trust that they’d instinctively drop every barrier between themselves.

  A mechanical rumble shook the night and gravel splattered the fence posts. An enormous Mercedes G55 drove out of the darkness and pulled to a halt in the middle of the compound, gleaming like a silver cobra. Matching crystal and silver beads swung gently from the rearview mirror, casting shards of light into the uncaring black distance. Garcia Herrera’s signature vehicle, an enormously expensive SUV.

  Its headlights settled on Ethan and Steve, the neon sign’s gold and red pulsing over the darkness.

  Shit. Ice washed through Ethan’s bones and retreated, ready to spur him into action. His heart settled into a heavy, steady beat, even as his body stilled, looking for an opening.

  Garcia Herrera stepped out, escorted by two deadly-looking bodyguards in black. He was as short and squat as a Gila monster—and as gaudy and poisonous. The office door opened, and Ethan’s two acquaintances tumbled out. They instantly and enthusiastically greeted their master.

  He silenced his underlings with a single raised finger, his eyes on Steve, and sauntered forward.

  A growl rose in Ethan’s throat but he silenced it, rapidly summing up potential targets.

  “Hola, amigo!” Garcia Herrera purred. “Welcome to my family and thank you for the woman. You did not have to bribe me, of course—but I thank you for the Texas Ranger. I liked her better in the satin dress with flowers in her hair but that can be changed.”

  He reached for Steve, rings glittering on his fingers.

  “Garcia Herrera, you’re under arrest!” Steve snapped. If Ethan hadn’t been so pissed at her for moving too soon, he’d have admired her quick draw. She’d actually caught two of Garcia Herrera’s bodyguards off guard—but there were still two more, the ones going for their submachine guns.

  Ethan’s guns came into his hands before he thought, as they’d always answered his instincts. Fire and death blazed across the compound in a staccato roar, jerking the bodyguards into death, felling one beside the Mercedes and the other next to Garcia Herrera. Steve killed her two, sending them tumbling into the rosebushes by the front porch. Blood splattered the asphalt and the flowers, smearing the old porch and the famous criminal.

  Garcia Herrera had the cold-blooded nerve to laugh, a small pistol clutched efficiently in his hand. “Do you mean to kill me, too, Ranger?”

  Steve’s finger tightened on the trigger before easing off. “I’m taking you in. You’re going to answer to the law.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes and mentally counted the number of rounds he still had available for a fight. Why did cops always invoke “the law” as the answer to everything?

  “Three times I’ve faced your courts and walked out free.” Garcia Herrera snapped his fingers.

  “Not this time.” She glared back at him.

  “No court has ever held me. You’re a fool to think one can. Worse than that, you’re disturbing my business—which can be very bad for your health, Ranger.”

  Ethan’s
stomach dived out of the sky. His eyes narrowed, centering his world on a single man. The neon sign threw off a fresh array of sparks.

  “You won’t have a chance.” Her voice didn’t waver.

  “If I go to jail, you had best say your prayers.”

  Ethan killed him, dropping him with a single bullet to the head. He didn’t know how good a shot the fellow was and he didn’t care. Nobody who threatened Stephanie could be allowed to live an extra minute.

  Otherwise, he’d have accomplished his mission later, after he’d escorted her to someplace safe.

  Steve jolted and spun to stare at him incredulously. “How could you murder him, Ethan? You didn’t have to shoot him.”

  “He was going to have you assassinated.”

  “He was going to try.” She shrugged impatiently. “Even so, what does that matter compared to putting him behind bars?”

  “You’d never have gotten a conviction, Steve. You know that, if you’d just think about it.”

  Her jaw set stubbornly. “We’d have done it.”

  “He’d have the best lawyers and the best bribes. He’d have gotten out on bail, made witnesses disappear—you name it, he’d have done it. He’s been hauled up in court three times before—and walked away.” Christ, she was pissed. But he had to do it. It was the only way to protect Texas from a murdering, thieving thug like Garcia Herrera—and to save Steve’s life. He hunted for a gentler phrase. “Three strikes and you’re out, Steve. Time to let somebody else step up to the plate.”

  “But that doesn’t give you the right to shoot him!”

  “He was a demon who tormented Texas. How many people had he ordered killed or kidnapped? How much drugs had he brought in?”

  “You murdered him.” She started to aim her Sig at him and he held up his hand, reinforcing his will with an emphatic mental command. Stop.

  “Don’t shoot me, Steve.” Crap, I hope this works quickly for once. I don’t want to hurt her.

  “I’m bringing you in for murder.” Her pistol wavered, her stubborn mind fighting him, before her arm slowly sank to her side.

  Thank you, Lord.

  Her chin set mulishly.

  Dammit, she was an officer of the law, too. Why didn’t she understand?

  “Don’t be a damn fool. You’re not arresting me ever, even if I executed him—and saved your life.” Please, God, let her at least bow to superior force.

  “I don’t believe we have anything further to say to each other.” Her face was filled with great dark eyes, ice and shadows in their depths.

  He bowed formally, gritting his teeth. Dammit, if she walked out on him now, would she ever speak to him again?

  She made a violent gesture and turned away.

  Steve yanked hard on the last half hitch, making the brown suede bundle bulge far beyond the narrow ropes binding it. A quick whack of her knife sliced through the twisted nylon, ending any objections to its hard usage.

  Pity she couldn’t castrate Ethan the same way.

  She remembered how she’d shoved her hips back against him, begged so hard for him that her throat burned, ached to feel his cock until her cunt clamped down on him like he was the meaning of life itself!

  Yet a few moments later, he’d coolly killed a man she’d arrested and had the nerve to call it an execution. What did he think he was, the representative of an older, more feral code of law?

  Like hell!

  No sense of honor, nor of justice.

  She tossed the leather onto her shoulder and shoved her way out the door, barely pausing to pick up her purse and keys.

  The jacket, chaps, and boots, which Ethan said marked her as his woman, were going to hell. She’d found a commercial waste incinerator, which would reduce them to flakes of ash.

  And she’d forget all about how she’d thought he was the only man she could trust outside the office.

  Even the lowest worm didn’t deserve a death like the one Ethan had just dealt.

  ACAPULCO, THE SAME NIGHT

  Georges Devol folded his fingers around his brandy snifter, keeping his expression politely attentive. Much as he hated to admit it, even tequila would have tasted better than this overpriced Californian nonsense.

  And a dying prosaica would undoubtedly sound more interesting than this greedy fool’s demands for more money. Her blood and fear would definitely taste better than the brandy or the tequila.

  A warm tropical breeze crept through the palm fronds and bougainvillea, rich with salt air. The heavy chandelier overhead swayed gently, its flickering light and heat bringing to life their leather furniture’s soft scents.

  Georges smiled slowly and swirled the golden liqueur, allowing himself to anticipate his future reward. Soon, he could claim one of the foolish American tourists and teach her the true meaning of terror.

  Just as soon as he finished closing this deal for cher madame.

  El Gallinazo eyed him wearily and steepled his fingers. Where did he buy his wardrobe—Hollywood? “Two million dollars,” he pronounced.

  Georges raised an eyebrow at him. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with, a cachorro? That opening demand was so absurdly high as to be hardly worth responding to.

  “Per man,” the greedy pig added.

  A split second later, Georges’s fist was wrapped in the fool’s collar and the idiot’s face was turning an unbecoming shade of red.

  A bodyguard took a hasty step forward from the patio’s other end and found himself facing the business end of Georges’s Beretta. He held up his empty hands and retreated, eyes constantly reevaluating the situation. A very smart man and one worth recruiting.

  “One million—total,” Georges corrected El Gallinazo very gently.

  His captive made a series of noises which didn’t amount to words.

  Georges shook him. Hard. Mexico had obviously gone far too long without any competent patrones, if prosaicos had been allowed to grow this stupid.

  El Gallinazo’s head snapped back and forth, his eyes crossing like a child’s doll, before his eyelids veiled them.

  Georges waited patiently for the prosaico to speak. If he didn’t, his corpse would become an excellent incentive for his successor’s cooperation.

  Black eyes opened, filled with hate.

  “Agree?” Georges asked, totally unmoved by the other’s opinion.

  “Yes,” the fool rasped and was dropped back into his seat.

  Georges emptied his snifter into the shrubbery and sauntered over to the bar, ignoring the hoarse gasps and chokes behind him. As expected, the tequila collection was excellent, if small, and he returned with a splendid example.

  “One million total for transporting an unlimited number of my men into Texas,” Georges mused, sniffing the new golden liquid. Eh bien, he should have chosen his own drink all along.

  “The Texans will find and kill you.” El Gallinazo coughed.

  Georges was too pleased with his easy victory to take offense. “I have my own route through Texas. All you have to do is take me across the Rio Grande.”

  Black eyes narrowed into a quick reassessment and Georges concealed his smile.

  But if you try to follow my path, fool, watch out for snakes and scorpions.

  EIGHT

  Steve grabbed for her fraying temper and tugged it back under control. She’d had to run to catch Posada in the training academy’s parking lot, after spotting him from her office window, and the noontime heat wasn’t helping her mood.

  She set her duffel bag down on the scorching asphalt with exaggerated caution, determined to at least keep her beloved M4 carbine safe. She held on to the sealed pouch with the computer tapes, of course. She’d promised accounting she’d drop them off at a high-security off-site data-storage facility. Some of the vaults there were larger than she was.

  “What do you mean, you’re closing the investigation? I told you I saw a murder committed.” Her drawl was getting thicker, dammit. But who cared about those trifles now?

  “Reynol
ds.” Posada turned to face her, propping one foot on his truck’s running board. He spread his hands, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “You saw a half dozen criminals fight. Afterward, only one man was still alive.”

  “Sir, you’re skipping several important events.”

  “How much do you really expect me to do, Reynolds?” He blew out a breath. “Garcia Herrera was pure filth, who’d sold more children into more hell than I care to imagine. When his blood and brains were ID’d, do you know what the DA did?”

  She stiffened. “No, sir.”

  “He went to church and thanked God. Then he started making phone calls to victims so they could do the same. There are many candles being lit tonight across Texas and Oklahoma.”

  She fought against surging toward him. A dusty black pickup truck reminded her of the real killer’s getaway vehicle.

  “It doesn’t matter who was murdered, only that murder was done.” Her stomach clenched, as if it had its own ability to raise objections.

  Posada yanked off his sunglasses and stared at her, the crow’s-feet at his eyes deepening into bitter grooves. “Yeah, that’s right, Reynolds—and pigs fly every Halloween. You tell me you haven’t fantasized about shooting brutes like him who needed killing, but somehow walked away laughing from the courtroom.”

  Honesty wouldn’t let her say no.

  “He was executed in cold blood.” And she’d never forget the man who’d done it. The man she’d opened her bedroom door to for fifteen years, off and on.

  “So what? It worked. Frankly, I don’t have the resources to chase down this unknown criminal, especially when you can’t give me a name or an address.” He raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to complete her statement.

  She opened her mouth—and an unseen hand closed around her throat, throttling her. Damn Ethan!

  She forced the thought away, together with any possibility of answering Posada’s question. Not this time, not ever. Sweat trickled down her spine, settling into her skin along with the cold awareness she stood alone.