The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(80)

In response he eased back into her, going deep once again. She fought to keep him where she needed him to be. But again he pulled back.

She gave a muffled moan of protest. Her nails became claws. She was gasping now, straining to take control of the rhythm and depth of each penetration, but he refused to let her set the pace. Again and again he sank himself into her, only to ease back out.

She was so tense, so tightly wound, so desperate for release she started to get frustrated.

“Damn it,” she said.

At that he let go of her right thigh. She was still trapped against the wall and she still had both legs chained around him. He reached down between them and found the taut, swollen bundle of over-stimulated nerve endings. He stroked gently.

It was too much. Too intense. She gave a muffled shriek and came undone. Her climax rippled through her in deep, heavy waves. She could not catch her breath.

He drove into her one last time, his own climax crashing through him, fierce and exultant.

When it was over he somehow got her to the bed. They collapsed together in a damp tangle.

“If we keep doing this,” Slater said after a while, “we really are going to set the bed on fire.”

Catalina smiled. “Fireworks and lightning.”

________

She came awake to the sound of loud knocking on the bedroom door. When she opened her eyes she saw that the fog was tinted with enough daylight to suggest that morning had arrived, just barely. The question about how she and Slater would manage to fit on the narrow bed had been settled at some point during the night. They had gone to sleep spoon fashion. She was still tucked into Slater’s heat. His arm was draped over her hips. She could feel the beginning of his morning erection pushing between her thighs.

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” Olivia said through the door, “but Victor Arganbright is here. He’s got some news about Nyla Trevelyan. Oh, and in case you’re interested, I’ve got coffee going.”

“Coffee sounds good,” Slater whispered into Catalina’s ear. He stroked her hip. “But I can think of better things to do first.”

“Forget it.” Catalina got up and reached for her robe. “You heard what Olivia said—your uncle is here with some news.”

“Victor has lousy timing,” Slater said.

“I think we can agree on that.”

Slater rolled out of bed and pulled on his trousers and a T-shirt. “No need for you to rush. I’ll go see what is so important that Victor felt he had to wake us up.”

He went out into the hall. Catalina took a few minutes to pull on a flannel shirt and jeans. She ran a brush through her hair and hurried out of the bedroom. She found Olivia, Slater and Victor gathered in the kitchen. Olivia was pouring coffee for them. The men looked grim-faced.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nyla Trevelyan is dead,” Victor said.

Stunned, Catalina turned to Slater. “That sedative in the auto-injector? Is this my fault?”

“No,” Victor said. “It wasn’t the sedative. We know because she woke up a few hours ago. She was having chest pains. She asked for her medication. The librarian said everyone in town knew she had a heart condition.”

“That’s true,” Catalina said.

“There was a bottle of prescription meds in her backpack,” Victor said. “I let her take a dose. She collapsed and died a short time later.”

“Maybe the shock of the failure of her scheme was just too much for her heart,” Catalina said.

“Maybe,” Victor said. “But I’m going to order an autopsy, and I’m also going to have the meds analyzed as soon as we get back to headquarters.”

Slater gave him a knowing look. “You think someone got to her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Victor said. “Whether or not she was successful, I don’t think she was supposed to survive this business.”

“But why murder her?” Catalina said.

“She obviously knew too much,” Victor said. “Now all we have to do is figure out what the hell she knew.”





CHAPTER 38


The Fogg Lake operation had ended in disaster. A complete fuckup.

Trey Danson’s fingers shook a little as he dropped the phone into his pocket. He wasn’t sure if it was rage or incipient panic that was rattling his senses. Probably both.

There was no point hoping that the information was wrong. The Vortex operative who had just texted him had made it clear that nothing could be salvaged from the project. The lost lab had been located, all right, but somehow the Foundation had gotten there first and was now in full control.

The Vortex operative had been quite clear. The recruitment offer had been rescinded. There would be no further contact. No second chances.

Trey Danson got up from behind his desk and went to stand at the window. From his office on the fortieth floor of a gleaming downtown tower he could see a storm coming in over Elliott Bay. It would strike soon.

He jacked up his senses and forced himself to consider the number one priority—his own safety. He was almost positive that Vortex would not make any move against him. The organization had no reason to take the risk of having him killed. The operative had been careful to remain in the shadows. Even if the Foundation arrived on his doorstep this afternoon and shot him full of some sort of truth serum, he could not give them any useful information about Vortex. They wouldn’t get anything from his phone, either. He was sure of that because he had tried to trace the Vortex connection himself. The messages had been placed using an anonymous cover provided by a Darknet service.