“Yes, of course.”
An hour later, he was unlocking the front door of the Ridge—keys in one hand and the small delivery box in the other. The sky had lightened to the point when he could feel a slight drain from the sun. But he didn’t pay much attention. Things were about to get much worse.
After changing into a T-shirt and shorts, he pulled a box cutter from the top drawer in the tiny kitchen. Carefully, he slit the tape around the cardboard and lifted out the red plastic box inside. Unsnapping the metal latch, he opened the lid. There, arranged in neat little rows, were two dozen vials of human blood. AB negative, his personal favorite. He stuffed three into the pocket of his shorts and refrigerated the rest. Although he was tempted to grab a fourth, he had enough to get by. Besides, he’d be desperate for the rest of them later.
With a glass of water in one hand and a small hand towel tucked under his arm, he climbed the narrow ladder in the living room and pushed open the trap door in the roof. Early-morning sunlight streamed into his eyes, burning his retinas. He pinched them shut to block out the sting then squinted and climbed the rest of the way through. Like water in a leaky bucket, energy began to trickle from his body. Slowly but surely, he became weaker and weaker.
A mattress covered in plastic lay between two iron stakes bolted to the roof. At least it wasn’t raining this time, he thought as he glanced at the sky.
An eagle soared high overhead and several smaller birds followed close behind. Dive-bombing and squawking, the weaker birds tried to chase the eagle away, but he didn’t alter his course. Strong and majestic, he kept circling until finally landing in the top of a nearby Douglas fir. He perched like a beacon and surveyed the terrain, unperturbed by the voices around him.
After setting the water glass on the roof next to the mattress, Santiago double-checked that the key was still hanging from a hook near the trap door. He knelt down, grabbed the chains and snapped the cuffs around his ankles. He pulled to make sure they were tight. Yep. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Then, as the sun rose higher in the sky, he lay back on the mattress, stretched out his arms and closed his eyes.
SOMETHING STRANGE IS going on with Santiago.
Even though she didn’t know him well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He seemed…different.
Earlier this week, he’d left for a few days and when he returned, Roxy noticed an odd intensity in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. Although he walked through the region offices as confidently as he always had, there was a numbness behind his eyes, a weariness, as if a tiny part of him had died.
When she’d mentioned it to Brenna, the woman shrugged and said he would get that way sometimes and they’d all learned to watch their step around him.
Was something bothering him? Roxy wondered.
Since she’d arrived, she’d done a good job of staying out of his way, but every time she did interact with him, he made her feel vulnerable, stripped bare. She didn’t let many people past her defenses, but there was something about him that weakened them, that demanded she let him in.
And she didn’t like it.
Now, in an empty exercise studio in the gym, she was doing a few yoga poses when something outside the window caught her attention. She looked up to see Santiago arriving via a seldom used outside entrance rather than the main lobby. He stopped, reached his hand in his pocket then stooped down. What was he doing?
She walked closer to the glass for a better look. With the lights off inside, he wouldn’t be able to see her.
His arm was stretched out and he had something in his hand. Was that a—
It looked like a peanut in a shell.
Just then a squirrel ran out from a nearby bush and stopped about three feet away from him. His lips moved as if he were talking to it. She wondered what he was saying. Though he wiggled the peanut, the animal didn’t advance any closer, so he tossed it. The squirrel quickly grabbed it with his little paws and ran away. Santiago mounded a few more peanuts near his feet then stood and entered the gym.
What was a man like that doing keeping treats in his pockets for the squirrels?
Twenty minutes later he was lifting weights, heavy ones, over and over like a machine, not making eye contact with the two other agents in the room. All traces of what she’d just witnessed—the gentleness, the kindness—were gone.
Who knew this fierce warrior had a soft spot in his heart for animals? She had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy to know she’d seen that. She thought about her own dog back home. Was Ginger missing her right now? Roxy sure missed her. As she continued her own workout in the privacy of the darkened studio, she found herself drawn to this powerful and fascinating man.
In between sets, he headed to the water fountain and opened up the cabinet underneath, searching for something. A towel? She glanced at hers sitting next to her water bottle. She’d taken the last one. Yeah, that must’ve been what he was looking for because, not finding one, he stripped off his collegiate gray T-shirt and mopped his forehead.
Good thing she was in an enclosed space because she almost lost her balance and most certainly gasped.
His chest and stomach rippled with corded muscle, the skin stretched tautly over them. To call them washboard abs wouldn’t have been accurate because that implied a flat plane. Twin ridges of muscles on his hips angled inward, drawing her attention down, down, down…to a thin line of dark hair on his lower belly that disappeared beneath his waistband. Even though she wasn’t into hot yoga, beads of sweat trickled between her breasts. She grabbed her towel and dabbed her chest then her forehead. Try as she might, she couldn’t wrench her gaze away.
She’d always wondered how far his tattoo went and now she had her answer. Well, almost. The strange barbed curlicues stretched from his hairline, along the left side of his neck, to his shoulder blade and heavily muscled back, then disappeared somewhere beneath those shorts.
Good God, he’d have been the perfect model for the original Grey’s Anatomy drawings. She shook her head. She didn’t need to be thinking this way. He was egotistical and insensitive and totally not her type. She turned up her music and resumed a different pose. One that wouldn’t allow her to watch him.
But little good that did. Soon, her attention was drawn to him again.
Facing away from her now, he straddled a bench and lifted two sets of huge dumbbells. The muscles in his back glistened and flexed with every movement. She found herself wondering if he’d be able to bench-press her. If she did a plank pose, how many reps would he be able to do? Would he lift her with ease? And what would it feel like to have his hands on her? She imagined how hard his magnificent, powerful body would feel beneath hers. He was strong, of course, but could he be gentle?
Then she remembered the squirrel.
CHAPTER FOUR
VENTRA CAPELLI KNEW that her days were numbered—not just as the Seattle area sector mistress, but in general. The Darkblood brass wasn’t pleased that one of their most profitable companies had been destroyed and that two sector masters had been killed because of her.
The man across the table from her lifted the wineglass, swirled the contents for a moment, then brought it to his lips. “I’m sure you can understand my position.”
“Yes, of course.” Ventra twisted one of her priceless sapphire earrings, a gift to herself when she’d been appointed sector mistress. It was a tangible reminder of her success.
The whole thing was not her fault and yet she was being blamed for it. Consequently, her superiors felt she was a weak and ineffective leader. And that pissed her off.
How