Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(95)

Behind the gate, up a winding gravel road, is a house, perched at the top of a hill overlooking the crystal-blue Caribbean Sea.

No. House is the wrong word.

It’s a palace.

Glowing white in the setting sun, the estate sprawls over several acres of manicured grounds. Tiered stone fountains splash into pools. Scarlet bougainvillea cascades over marble balustrades. A peacock wanders past, regally spreading his plumage.

And in the middle of it all, at the main entrance of the main building, two huge dark oak doors sit open wide.

A man stands in the space between them.

When I step out of the cab, he steps out from the doorway and begins the walk down the long gravel drive.

He’s tall, lean, and deeply tanned. His dark hair is kissed bronze at the tips by the sun. Wearing an untucked white dress shirt rolled up his forearms, a pair of khaki shorts, and flip-flops, he moves closer.

As he does, he watches me with sharp hazel eyes I’d know anywhere on earth.

And of all the things I thought I might do or say at this moment, of all the curses I wanted to scream and the insults I wanted to hurl, the only thing I find myself actually doing is sinking to my knees and fighting for air.

When my knees touch the gravel, David breaks into a run.





40





Kage





I stand in the middle of the wreckage of Natalie’s demolished living room, thinking.

She’s not answering her phone.

Her purse and car are gone.

The dog is gone, too.

My first thought is that she went to Sloane’s, but Nat would know I’d go there. She’d head somewhere else if she wanted to avoid me.

I doubt she’d run to her parents, but it’s a possibility. I’m sure there are work friends, too, or maybe she’d just go to a hotel to hunker down.

Only one way to find out.

I take out my cell phone and open the GPS.

“The airport,” I mutter, looking at the little red dot on the screen.

Fuck.

I hope I can make it there before she gets on a flight, but even if I’m too late, the positioning signal from the cell phone I gave her will let me know her final destination.

In the meantime, I’ve got to figure out a way to kill an inmate inside a maximum security prison.

No matter what it costs me, even if the price is my own blood, Max is going down.

Nobody threatens my baby.





41





Nat





When I come to, I’m lying on my back on a leather sofa with a cold washcloth on my forehead. Some time has passed, because the sun has set and crickets are chirping outside.

The room is large and airy, decorated in a tropical Balinese style. The polished dark wood floor gleams. Ferns, orchids, and palms nestle beside carved teak tables and smiling stone buddhas. Sheer white linen curtains sway in the breeze from a pair of open French doors. I smell salt air and hear seagulls crying somewhere far off, and try to remember how I got here.

David sits on the sofa opposite mine, watching me.

His tanned legs are crossed. His feet are bare. His gaze is fixed on me with unblinking intensity.

When I sit up too abruptly, the washcloth drops to my lap and the room starts to spin.

“You have heat exhaustion,” he says quietly.

His voice. That low, rich voice I’ve heard so often over the past five years in my dreams and cherished memories…here it is.

Doing nothing for me.

A square wooden coffee table separates us. On it are artifacts from his life: travel books, a glass bowl of pretty seashells, a small bronze sculpture of a reclining nude.

I’m seized by the urge to bludgeon him with that sculpture.

I meet his gaze and spend several silent moments just looking at him, trying not to smash in his skull. He looks good. Healthy and well rested. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

The lying, cheating, scheming, son of a one-legged dog.

“Or maybe it’s the five years I spent mourning your death while you were living like a king on an island paradise that’s getting to me.”

He blinks, slowly, like he’s taking that in. A small smile curves his lips.

“I’ve missed that lethal sense of humor, tulip.”

“Call me that old nickname again and I’ll shove that bowl of shells straight up your ass.”

We stare at each other. He finally moves, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. He fixes me in his piercing gaze.

“What took you so long to get here?”

He says it gently, not like an accusation, but that’s what it feels like.

Like he thinks I failed.

“Gee, I don’t know. Could be the fact that I thought you were dead.”

“I sent you the key—”

“That stupid key got stuck in your outgoing mailbox. I only received it recently, after the owner of the Thornwood found it during renovations.”

His lips part. Then he closes his eyes and exhales.

“Yeah. Great plan, David. You know what would’ve been better? A phone call.”

He shakes his head, frowning. “I couldn’t take the risk of contacting you directly. The police were crawling all over you for months.”