Skin Game

CHAPTER 14

Kyra darted into her room and then said through the adjoining door, “Take your shower first. Cold one, remember?”

“You have to be kidding.”

She stifled a laugh, sensing he wouldn’t appreciate her amusement. “I do not kid about cold showers.”

When she’d offered pizza and a movie, she’d meant only that, regardless of his intentions. He stomped off and if she pressed her ear to the door, she could hear the water running. Good enough. Kyra could use a quick one as well after driving all day. She didn’t intend to have sex with him tonight, but it wouldn’t hurt to tease him a little by smelling good.

He seemed to have a thing for layered scents. Somewhere along the way, she’d picked up a bath set steeply discounted, and it had matching gel, lotion, and shampoo, all basic coconut. Nobody had ever reacted to it like Rey, though.

A quick shower seemed to be in order, not a cold one, though. She made sure to apply the lotion everywhere and let it sink into her skin. Then she dressed in clean jeans and a fresh tank top. No bra. That was a delicious cruelty. Kyra pulled her wet hair back into a ponytail.

In fifteen minutes, he tapped on the adjoining door, scrupulously polite. “Can I come over now?”

“Sure.” She unlocked the door and he stepped through, black hair still damp. His black T-shirt clung to his chest, revealing muscles that made Kyra want to dig her fingers into them. His skin still carried that bronze glow, which she knew to be natural, now. He was unfairly delicious, a real test to her self-discipline.

He offered a lazy smile, a frisson of awareness sparking between them. “Do I pass inspection, sergeant?”

There was no point in being anything but honest. “You know you curl my toes. What do you want on your pizza?”

“I don’t usually eat it.”

That astonished her. “Really? How come?”

“When I was growing up, I rarely had a home-cooked meal,” he told her. “But I ate a lot of pizza. So whenever I can, I do my own cooking.”

Kyra pondered that, nonplussed. “What kind of stuff do you make?”

His obsidian gaze went to the tiny kitchenette at the far side of the room. She hadn’t particularly wanted to pay ten bucks extra for a kitchen, but the clerk claimed only the mini-suites came with connecting doors. And maybe that was true. This kind of room was probably good for families on vacation.

“I make a great chicken picatta. I also do salmon with red pepper sauce. Angus and bleu cheese salad—”

“Holy shit, that’s real food.” Her mouth watered. “If we went to the grocery store instead of ordering out, would you mind cooking? I can help,” she added, thinking he might take it wrong. “I’m sure I can chop stuff.” She’d never tried, mind. In her experience, food came two ways, delivery or takeout.

Before answering, Rey went to check out the kitchen, counting pots and pans or something. The kitchenette consisted of a tiny two-burner stove, sink, microwave, and half-size oven. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a fridge so small that wasn’t also half again as short like a dorm unit.

“I can work in here,” he said finally. “Chicken piccata would be easiest. The recipe doesn’t require a lot of sophisticated equipment.”

Kyra grinned, anticipating her first home-cooked meal in . . . well, she couldn’t remember, actually. Her dad didn’t cook. She’d never learned. It seemed pointless when she never stayed in the same place, certainly never had a kitchen for very long. In Vegas, she’d rented a place for the long con, but she never actually bought food or anything. From the moment she started the game, Serrano was always taking her out somewhere.

“Let’s go shopping.”

He smiled back. “Men all over the world just shuddered without knowing why.”

“Funny. C’mon.” She grabbed her bag and room key, then reached for his hand, towing him toward the door.

God, how weird it was to touch without an agenda. She’d grabbed his arm without even thinking about it. Rey might be the only person in the world with whom she could do it. With him, she could wrestle, tickle, snuggle, anything she wanted, and it didn’t have to be factored into her day’s work. Touching him didn’t create a gridlock in her brain that resulted in painful feedback. Once her ability kicked in, she’d stopped receiving even casual hugs from her dad; she hadn’t realized until this moment how much she missed it.

Rey went easily enough. He thought she didn’t notice him watching the lot from the balcony like a hawk, but she remembered his wariness about the biker. She hadn’t forgotten the guy, either. It was possible Serrano had sent someone after her. Kyra wasn’t sure how Mr. Kawasaki had tracked her down, but she’d bet on herself in a fight. All she needed was one point of contact, and then she’d turn whatever skill the guy had against him. She’d done it more times than she could count.

“Let me ask Maria about where we can find a market nearby,” Rey said as they climbed down the stairs.

He ducked into the office and Kyra watched them through the glass. The clerk leaned on the counter while talking to him, saying with her body language that she’d be open to any invitation Rey might offer. A jolt of pure rage startled her. She wanted to stomp into the building and drag him out of there, snarling all the while.

She shook her head to clear it. “Well, that was weird.”

“What was?” Rey asked, stepping outside.

“Nothing.”

“When a woman says nothing, she means everything.”

“I get grumpy when I’m hungry.” Kyra would be boiled in oil before she’d admit to a spurt of possessiveness. That feeling ran counter to everything she stood for.

“Then let’s get you fed.”

Everything that followed seemed very surreal. Rey drove them to an upscale little supermarket called Whole Foods, where he picked his ingredients with the utmost care. Sometimes it felt as if she didn’t know him at all, particularly when he spent five minutes examining the asparagus, which she’d never seen uncooked in bunches before. They looked like tiny spears.

“Organic, naturally produced,” she read aloud. “So you’re into healthy stuff.”

“When I can be. Whenever it makes sense.”

Well, that was a weird quality in a drifter. Maybe he was more like those hippie types who didn’t work and wanted to grow all their own food. That had always seemed like a contradiction to Kyra. If you didn’t work, how could you afford to buy the land to grow stuff on? But she’d met a few people in her travels who just planted gardens in vacant lots, regardless of who owned the property. She wouldn’t put Rey in that category, however. He wasn’t the idealistic type.

Finally, they had a cart full of exotic ingredients, like capers and heirloom tomatoes. She couldn’t believe he needed so much stuff to make one meal. The clerk at the register looked at the ingredients and said, “Somebody’s making chicken piccata.”

Damn, could everyone cook but her? She pondered that on the drive back. Kyra carried her half of the bags, eager to see how this worked. There wasn’t space for both of them so he dismissed her offer to help.

She watched in awe as he pounded the chicken thin and dipped it in flour. He made some sauce to pour over it and then he served it with grilled asparagus. She’d never eaten so well in her life, not even at any of the fancy restaurants Serrano took her.

Doing the dishes seemed like the least she could do, so she washed up in the tiny kitchenette. Afterward, Kyra moaned a little, rubbing her stomach. She unfastened the button on her jeans, which had to be the least sexy thing in the world.

“That was . . . amazing. Thank you.”

He watched her lounge against the headboard with hooded eyes. “I should be thanking you. I haven’t cooked for anyone that appreciated me in a long time.”

“You could get a job doing that. Seriously.”

“We already discussed how I don’t like working for someone else.”

She agreed, “So we did. Let’s see what’s on.”

It was much later than she’d realized, and the food made her sleepy. Rey found something to watch, not on pay-per-view, and settled down on the bed beside her. Cars chased each other and then exploded; gunshots rang out. Men cussed. By the time it ended, she was dozing.

“Kyra,” he whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to bed now, sweetheart. I . . . can’t stay here.”

Why couldn’t he? She could think of worse things than to snuggle up to him and sleep. It was a decent-sized bed.

She opened her eyes, bleary and confused. “You’re leaving?”

“Just going to my own room. You’re too much temptation. If I spend the night, you’ll be under me by morning.” His fingers felt exquisitely gentle as they brushed the hair from her face.

She gave a sleepy siren’s smile. “We can’t have that. G’night then.”

Kyra roused enough to shuck her jeans and slipped into bed in her tank top, leaving the lights burning as she always did. She heard the click of the door as he left, but he didn’t lock it. That felt reassuring rather than risky. If he’d intended to press her, he would’ve had his hands all over her while she catnapped. Rey must respect her. It was the only explanation that made sense, however little experience she had with such things.

She went to sleep smiling and woke with a heavy weight squeezing all the air out of her chest. An unfamiliar male voice growled, “Don’t scream.”

A strange sound popped Reyes from a sound sleep. He rolled out of bed, unconscious to battle-ready in three seconds. Listening, he couldn’t identify what had woken him. He didn’t hear anything now.

But something had definitely roused him. He hesitated, unwilling to wake Kyra over nothing. Then a lamp crashed to the floor and he spun into motion. Reyes came through the adjoining door like a hurricane, surprising the guy who had an arm around Kyra’s neck. It was definitely the bearded biker from this afternoon. Reyes didn’t know if the bastard meant to kill her or choke her out for easy transport.

Either way, it wasn’t happening.

“Put her down,” he said softly. “Or I will pull your head off with my bare hands.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

For half a second, he thought about saying, your worst nightmare. Instead he canted his head at Kyra. “She’s mine. This is your final warning.”

The guy still didn’t move, his loss. Reyes snagged the lamp from his side of the bed and whipped it at the guy’s head. It smashed against his skull; the asshole cried out, dropping Kyra, and Reyes bounced over the bed, cord in hand—too easy.

He whipped it around the target’s neck and choked him out. Red bled at the corners of his eyes. He wanted little more than to end the son of a bitch who’d dared lay hands on his woman. Reyes forced him to his knees, feeling his flesh yield.

“Please,” the guy begged.

Reason prevailed—he needed information—but it was a near thing. “Who sent you? Who do you work for?”

The cord cut into the man’s throat, so he eased it off to let him speak, but the sound still came out strangled. “Dwight. He’s had all the road warriors looking for you two since you blew up his place. He greenlit you two, and the Marquis is memorable. It’s a land-boat. I figured I’d take the girl and you’d come for her. Two-fer.”

So at least one of the meth dealers had survived the explosion. He didn’t know if he was glad or disappointed that Serrano wasn’t behind this attack. That way, his choice would be made for him. He wouldn’t have to decide to toss his reputation down the toilet over a woman, one he still wasn’t entirely sure he trusted, however much he wanted to.

He’d spotted the guy earlier on his shiny new bike, but then he’d disappeared. Reyes had thought perhaps his caution had crossed the line to paranoia. Now he wished he hadn’t left Kyra alone. This son of a bitch was going to suffer.

“What’s your name, asshole?” He tightened the electrical cord just a touch.

“Steve.”

“Get this, Steve. I know a thousand ways to kill you, and I’m only letting you live because I need a messenger, and you’re here. You ride on back to Dwight. Tell him to write the bar off and move on. All I wanted that day was a beer. He called the play by accusing me of being a cop.” Reyes let that sink in. “Do I look like a cop to you?”

“No, sir,” Steve gabbled.

“If he sends anyone else after me and mine, I go scorched earth on this. Not just Dwight, I’m talking his friends, his family, anybody who ever looked at him kindly.” Reyes bent, letting the other man look into his eyes for a full minute. “Are we clear?”

Whatever he’d seen, it made him shudder. “Crystal.”

“Get out.”

Steve scrambled out the door on hands and knees. The tool he’d used to pop the door lay forgotten on the floor, right beside Kyra. Goddammit, he hadn’t put the chain on for her when he went back to his room. Reyes did that first and then knelt beside her. She’d curled into the fetal position on her side, so tightly coiled that he was afraid she’d hurt herself. A soft little whine came from her throat, like that of a wounded animal.

Looking at her, he didn’t think she’d been injured enough to warrant this reaction. Something weird was going on, something really weird. He touched her shoulder lightly.

“Kyra, it’s over. He’s gone.”

Nothing. But she tucked her face farther, brought her knees up higher. Shudders ran through her in deep waves, almost like a convulsion. That scared the shit out of him.

“Did he drug you?”

With the lamps broken, he wouldn’t be able to see a tiny pinprick. Jesus, what if she was going into anaphylactic shock? Helplessness swamped him. He had no experience with rescuing people or helping in their time of need. The trick with the cord was more his forte.

“Come on, Kyra. Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“Bathroom,” he thought she whispered, but it was hard to tell through her chattering teeth.

Okay, that he could do. Reyes scooped her up, ran to the tiny lavatory, and flicked on the light. He started to put her in the tub, but she shook her head, eyes wide and wild. He’d never seen anything like her expression right now, blanched almost to bone and sick as death. Bewildered, he set her down and she fell to her knees beside the toilet. The dinner he’d cooked came up in a liquid rush.

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?” he asked.

“Get out!” she demanded, wiping her mouth. “Go!”

Then the next wave hit her. As she vomited, she sobbed. Since she’d gone to sleep in a ponytail she didn’t even need him to hold her hair back, and she clearly wanted him gone. So he grabbed the ice bucket and stepped outside. The balcony was clear. If he’d moved on the asshole when he’d noticed him earlier, this wouldn’t have happened, but he couldn’t go around killing people for potential offenses. He didn’t want to leave her even for a minute, but she might want cold water or ice chips when she finally recovered. If she did.

When he returned, he found her huddled beside the toilet, wracked with dry heaves. Her eyes were red with weeping, her nose running, and she smelled disgusting. Quietly, he wet a wash-cloth, added a touch of her coconut bath gel, and then began to wash her face. It warmed him when she didn’t pull away.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she said, gazing up at him with dull, wrecked eyes. “Why didn’t you kill him? I wish to God you had.”

That was the last thing he expected to hear, and it sent a shock of unease through him. Reyes was no stranger to taking human life; he did it for a living after all, but it was a job to him, not something that gave him pleasure. He’d started on the path inside, after he went down for raping a white girl, one with money, who liked it rough and then when she realized the enormity of what they’d done—and what it said about her particular tastes—recanted her consent.

They’d come at him hard, but after he killed the third inmate in as many months, a child-molester that time, they’d accorded him some respect. And it felt good, taking out some scumbag. At that point, he started wondering whether he could turn that rush into an entrepreneurial venture.

“Why?”

She didn’t seem to hear him, just mumbling into space. “It’s a funny thing, touch. Sometimes I get something good, other times, not so much. You know what he was best at? Rape. But when he touched me, he lost his wood. That’s why he was so pissed at me . . . he couldn’t do it to me like he planned when I had his mojo. But now . . . now, it’s what I’m good at.” And she began to cry, long lusty sobs that broke his heart, even though he had no idea in hell what she was talking about.

“Kyra . . . , sweetheart, you’re not making sense.”

But he couldn’t get anything else out of her; she just cried quietly, tears slipping down her face. Even though he didn’t like to risk staying the night here—let alone three nights like they’d planned—because Steve might have called in their location, he couldn’t just bundle her into the Marquis and take off. He didn’t know where they were going for one thing. Reyes was sure she had some destination in mind, however meandering their route had been thus far.

Morning light would have to be soon enough. He’d stay awake in case of trouble. Kyra let him brush her teeth and comb her hair. It wasn’t a shower, but he didn’t think she needed to be handled further in her condition. He’d never seen anything like it, except in women who survived the harshest battlefield conditions, and possibly . . . those who’d been raped.

But the bastard hadn’t done that. Reyes was sure he’d gotten there in time. Puzzled, he lifted her into his arms and took her back to the bedroom. This bed had been violated, though, so he carried her on through to the connecting room. He went back for her stuff and locked the door from his side. They wouldn’t be going back in there.

Kyra had a thing about being touched, he reasoned. Maybe having a strange man break into her bedroom and grab her had all the traumatic weight of a rape. Reyes settled against the headboard and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t fight him, just settled her head on his chest. His heart gave a queer squeeze.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong,” he finally whispered. “And I can’t help if I don’t understand. I feel like I’m missing something here. Can you explain?”

“You’d never believe me.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You always surprise me,” she admitted. She finally sounded close to coherent. “I’m sorry about your dinner. Sometimes I can’t help it. Touching the wrong people makes me sick.”

Reyes couldn’t believe she’d just apologized for puking. He waved that away, feeling like he was on the verge of figuring her out. She’d said, Now it’s what I’m best at, after the guy had touched her. Reyes had forgotten something key, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and it would be better if she confided in him.

“Tell me why.”