The memories gave her a crazy sense of double vision. Two realities, superimposed upon each other, one hardly more or less real than the other. The room was warm, but goosebumps prickled over her skin from the cold of that other room, in Titograd, sixteen years ago.
She’d sat on the sagging bed, the faded brocade counterpane cold against her bottom. Wearing only a whorish red silk chemise. All she needed, for his purposes, Stengl had said. She had nothing else to wear. No shoes, no coat. Her breath misted before her rhythmically. The frigid air froze the inside of her nose with each breath.
She wished she knew how to stop breathing. She had tried.
The window of the hotel room was wide open. She’d opened it herself. Snow blew in.
Seconds ticked by on the gold-plated travel clock by the bed. The room was locked, the windows covered by wrought iron bars she could not dislodge. Her fingertips were raw from trying. Snowflakes fluttered and swirled down onto the carpet. They did not melt. Tick, tick, tick.
She sat, and shuddered, waiting for Stengl to come back and want…what he always wanted.
Wondering if she’d have time to freeze to death first.
Tam pulled herself forcibly back into awareness of her present surroundings, shaking with remembered cold. Vaguely angry at herself for falling so deep into the bottomless pit of memory. Irresponsible and stupid, whether it was involuntary or not. She got up, padded over to the thermostat and turned it up. Fuck the cold.
Tam lay down and pulled the blanket over herself. She laid her hand on Rachel’s bony little back, feeling the soft rise and fall of breathing.
Comforted by the heat, the life vibrating from the little girl.
She was not looking forward to explaining to Rachel that she had to go away for a few days. Thank God for Erin, who had agreed to look after her, and Sveti, too, who had offered to stick around and help, bless her. But it was going to be a bad scene no matter what.
She was exhausted, but still buzzing. Probably the fallout from that drug.
Janos’s final offer had rattled her. How did he pull it off? Her most closely guarded, painful secrets, and hey, presto—he just plucked them right out of her head and dangled them in her face. So casually.
Scenes from the past had been playing in her head ever since Janos had pronounced Stengl’s name. Complete with full sensory detail.
She was fifteen again, a grief-stricken victim. A helpless toy for anyone who wanted to play with her. And they had. Oh, they had, back in the bad old days. Before she’d learned to turn the tables on them.
She’d had feelers out over the globe, searching for Stengl, that sociopathic son of a bitch, for years. She wanted to snag him before he reached the relative safe haven of the war crimes tribunal.
Oh, yes. She wanted to kill him herself, by hand, at close range. One last attempt to appease the restless ghosts that haunted her sleep.
Revenge. The one lure she absolutely could not resist.
She wondered where Janos was. She’d deliberately refrained from looking to the right or left as she left the ballroom. She didn’t want to risk catching his eye and start blushing like an idiot. Or worse yet, sobbing, or screaming. The messed-up hair, the wild stare, the smeared makeup, that was enough fuel for gossip among her friends as it was.
He had not left. Of that, she was sure. He was near, watching her.
On impulse, she slid out of bed and padded barefoot over to the door. She left her hand on the handle for minutes, trying to identify this bright, buzzing feeling. Fear…or anticipation.
She opened the door, and was unsurprised to see him there. A sorcerer like him could see right through the walls. He’d seen through the ones in her mind, after all. And they were thicker.
They stared at each other. She was incapable of speech.
He broke the silence. “It’s cold,” he said, glancing past her to the tiny lump Rachel made on the king sized bed. “Let me come in. You can close the door, to keep the room warm for the child. We must talk.”
Tam suppressed the impulse to say something cutting. She let him in, closed the door after him and positioned herself with her back to the narrow blade of light that came out the bathroom door to study his face and still remain an enigmatic silhouette herself.
The attempt was useless. She couldn’t read him. His face was a hard, chiseled mask highlighted by sharp-cut shadows.
She gestured for him to follow her into the bathroom. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “Rachel’s a light sleeper. She’s exhausted from staying up hours past her bedtime, but she’s capable of screaming for an hour if she wakes up. And I just can’t face it right now.”
He nodded, and followed her into the small, luxurious black marble bathroom. They stared at each other, immobile, but the energy between them was dynamic, swirling. Like the wary circling of duelers.
She could smell his scent. Feel his heat.
“You’ll go with me,” he said. It was not a question.
She shut her eyes, swallowed. “Congratulations, Janos,” she said. “You found the right string to yank. I’ll go on one condition, though.”
“Name it.”
“We take care of Stengl first,” she said.
She saw the no in his eyes, and shook her head. “This point is not negotiable, Janos. We do Stengl first, or you can try hauling me in to Novak to do the trade directly. I promise I’ll put up a good fight.”
He shook his head grimly. “No. We can hunt down Stengl at any time, but the timing is crucial for Imre. I am already desperate. Novak established a schedule for when he cuts off—”
“I’m very sorry for Imre, and for you, but that is not my problem.” Tam cut through him. Her voice was not loud, but crystal sharp. “My chances of dying in your crazy scheme are too high. I can face that if Stengl is dead. But I do not intend to leave this world before he does. No fucking way, and that is final. Understand?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. His nostrils flared as he let out a long, audible sigh. He muttered what sounded like an obscenity, in a language she didn’t know, and nodded. “Done.”
She turned and stared into the mirror, into his eyes. It was easier to meet their reflection than look into them directly. One tiny level of removal from his charisma. Just enough so she could breathe.
She thought of what had happened in the kitchen. The searing pleasure. He was powerful enough, intense enough to anchor her in the here and now, at least while he was fucking her. She could lose herself in him. She wouldn’t see that decaying hotel room, the shabby red chemise. Or Stengl leering down at her. Licking his lips.
Her stomach did a nasty, squirming roll. She squeezed her eyes shut, leaned on the sink. Splashed her face with icy water.
When she came up for air, her face numb with cold, he held out one of the fluffy hand towels for her. She patted her face dry, still leaving smears of mascara, despite how often she’d wiped the stuff off.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was ashen but for that hot blush branded across both cheekbones. He loomed behind her, unsmiling. Anger, frustration, desire pulsing off him in great waves.
He wanted her. The intensity of his dark gaze scorched her skin. She could feel the heat, the burn, the pull. That part, at least, was not feigned, no matter what else he wanted from her. The lust was real.
She was used to that vibe from men, but not from a man so completely in command of himself—and so unafraid of her.
His inner power was vast, unfathomable.