The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(71)

“I left you,” she whispered. “I didn’t meant to, but I did.”

“I left you, too.” He shook his head. “I’m at fault—”

“No, you were home a lot of days when I was at the clinic—”

“When was the last time you came in and I didn’t have a drink in my hand?”

Jane opened her mouth. Shut it.

“Exactly,” he said as he brushed her hair back. “I’ve been drinking every second I wasn’t in the field since my mahmen hit the road. And even before that, with the war cranking up and the shit with Xcor, I was constantly the one volunteering to be on deck. I’ve been getting eaten alive by work, too. That is not just on you.”

“How do we make sure this doesn’t happen again?”

V rolled his hips, his sex sliding in and out of her and making her moan. “We stay connected. That’s how.”

She had to laugh. “I can live with that…”

As he started moving again, entering and retreating, entering and retreating, she tightened her legs around his backside.

“I can live for that,” she amended as they both began to orgasm.





THIRTY-TWO


Vitoria woke up as the car’s velocity changed, the steady hum of sixty-eight mph dropping in volume as Streeter decelerated to get off at an exit that read IROQUOIS MOUNTAIN RESERVE. Talk about a change in landscape. Gone was the crowded sprawl of Caldwell; in its place, there was nothing but snow and mountains.

No lights of inhabitation, no cars or trucks, nothing but miles of frigid wilderness.

The isolation was unexpectedly intimidating, reminding her of some of the remote places in Colombia that she never wanted to visit. Whether arctic tundra or rain forest, she was not one to venture too far off the beaten path, as it were. If their car broke down out here, for example, who would help them?

Streeter looked over at her, and his expression was remote. “You’re awake.”

“We are here. Why didn’t you rouse me?”

“You’re up now,” he muttered.

“What is wrong with you?” If he was not hardy enough to drive them this far on short notice, he was not going to fare well as her primary support. “What.”

“I just got a text from a buddy of mine. He works security for the gallery during after-hour shows.”

What a nice reminder he could read. “You shouldn’t be texting and driving.”

“Margot Fortescue was found dead in her house by her boyfriend.”

Vitoria made a show of frowning. “She’s that one who thought she was running things. Rather rude awakening I gave her today. What a pity.”

“She used to fuck your brother. Did you know that?”

“Which one. And watch your language, would you.” She unzipped her coat. Her gun was in there. “I am a lady. My ears are delicate.”

“Eduardo. She used to be with him.” Streeter glanced across the seats again. “Did you kill her?”

Arching a brow, Vitoria feigned a recoil. “Me? Dear God, what are you thinking? Of course not. Why would I care whether she was alive or dead?”

“Margot knew things. That’s all. I just wondered whether that shit—er, stuff, came up when you was talkin’ to her or something.”

“Not at all. I will admit that she doesn’t like me—well, didn’t like me. But it appears as if that will no longer be a problem. Not that it was much of one to begin with.” Vitoria sat forward as a sign entered the illumination field of the headlights. “We are getting close. Four miles. Do you know which way is south?”

“It’s the direction we came from.”

As they continued on, she stared out at the mountain that was peaking high above the tree line off in the distance. “Tell me, what kinds of things did Margot know?”

“?’Bout this side of the business. She knew that there were other things being sold by your brothers. But I don’t think she knew deets.”

“And how did you find this out about her?”

“Two-Tone fucked her a couple of times. She made like she was on the inside track or some sh—stuff. He didn’t tell me no more than that.”

“What a paragon of virtue the woman was.” Vitoria pointed forward. “Slow down here.”

Streeter hit the brakes as they came up to an intersecting road marked by a large wooden sign that read IROQUOIS MOUNTAIN RESERVE.

“This way,” she ordered.

He hit the gas like the good little delegatee he was, but soon enough, forward motion was impossible. No more plowed passage. Whoever was responsible for snow removal stopped at the foot of the ascent.

“It’s impassable,” Streeter said. “We can’t go no more. This ain’t gonna work—”

“We proceed on foot.”

He turned to her. “What?”

By way of answer, she leaned across, put the engine in park, and extracted the keys from the ignition.

“We walk.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I have gear for us both.”

As she got out of the car, the cold was downright daunting, but that would be cured readily enough. The mountain, on the other hand? Craning her neck to look up to its snow-covered peak, she was far less confident of tackling its elevation.