BLADE'S LADY Page 14

  Anna stared at Blade in dazed disbelief. He had said de Rocheford was his problem, too, but that was only because she had inflicted visions on him. Visions that he didn't like or want. Now he was giving orders as if he were reading a grocery list and expecting her to obey. She'd already guessed he'd been in the special forces. It didn't take any stretch of the imagination to see him as an officer.

  "You won't run anywhere ever again," he stated, as if she were dim-witted and needed to be told twice, that from now on, she would do everything he said.

  "I won't run," she snapped. Why would she, she thought acidly, when she'd already figured out all by her little self that it was time to stop de Rocheford in his tracks? "Now, if you're finished…" she muttered, turning on her heel.

  "I'm not." Blade cursed silently, his hand curling around her upper arm. He'd gone overboard, he knew it, but he'd been so furious that, even now, she was still trying to shut him out, trying to protect him. She had said she loved him. Her admission had taken him by surprise, knocked him off balance, and he was still reeling. De Rocheford had sent a hit man out to kill her, and she was worried about his safety.

  A long, tense moment passed before she even acknowledged his hold. She turned her head, glanced at his hand and lifted a brow. "I thought you were supposed to be the last of the great lovers? I hope you haven't been paying too much attention to your press."

  Blade jerked her towards him, at the same time stepping into her, so that she was off balance enough for him to slide his hands down the line of her back, over the firm curve of her bottom, then up beneath the shirt until his palms cupped naked flesh.

  He heard her rough intake of air, felt the soft impact of her breasts before she braced her hands on his chest and shoved back a few inches. Her glare had turned intriguingly molten, and he stared into her eyes, bemused.

  "What press?" he murmured, his heart pounding, every muscle in his body tightening in anticipation. He felt sharply alive and aroused, delighted by the fiery creature in his arms.

  "I'm beginning to wonder myself." She glanced at the bulge that strained the front of his jeans, shoved bluntly against her hip. "The press that says you're the last of the great lovers."

  Blade's delight smouldered into irritation. "Where in hell did you read that?"

  "There was a magazine in the bathroom. There's a photo of you with some blonde in a skimpy dress. At least, I think it was a dress. There were so many holes in it, it was hard to tell."

  He winced. Either his mother or his sister, Roma, would have left that the last time they visited. Or Aunt Sophie. Oh yeah, his money was definitely on Aunt Sophie. "I didn't touch her," he said bluntly.

  Her eyes narrowed, and Blade's delight shuddered back to life: she was jealous.

  "The article also said that you were the last of the great lovers," she continued in a clipped voice. "The tomcat to end all tomcats. Mothers should lock up their daughters, because no woman was safe from you. Maybe the blonde just slipped your mind."

  "She didn't slip my mind," he said from between gritted teeth.

  Anna pulled in a breath. She decided that for as long as she was with Blade, no other woman was getting within a mile of him. "You mean you remember them all?"

  He cocked his head to one side, his regard watchful. "There weren't that many. Besides, she wasn't a redhead."

  Anna wondered if she'd missed a vital piece of the conversation. "You only make love to redheads?"

  "When I had the time. I went searching among the redheads. Of course, a lot of women colour their hair red, so that made for some confusion, but I got by."

  According to the magazine article he'd done a lot more than just "get by." "Why redheads?"

  He removed a hand from her butt and wound a finger in her hair, dangling a lock of it in front of her face. Morning sunlight shot red fire off the strands. "Guess."

  A hot blush heated her cheeks, a shimmer of wonder threading the uncomfortable knowledge that other women had been this close to Blade, maybe even closer. And they'd probably known what they were doing in bed. She might not like his methods, but all those years when she'd thought she was alone, Blade had searched for her. "The dreams?"

  "The dreams," he said. Then his mouth came down on hers.

  When Blade finally came up for air, his head was spinning. It was only a few steps to the bed, but he was beginning to wonder if they were going to make it.

  Anna swayed in his arms. "Is it true what the magazine said? About how good you are in bed?"

  He swung her up into his arms. "I'll leave that for you to judge. You liked what I did to you before." He studied the curiosity in her eyes and felt the little shudder that ran through her. "There's more."

  Her arms slid around his neck; he felt her fingers tangling in his hair. She buried her face against his bare shoulder as he strode back into the bedroom.

  "How much more?"

  Her fingers were stroking his scalp now, moving in a rhythmic way that made him want to purr with pleasure. He was hard, aching, he could hardly wait, but this time he would let her dictate the pace. There was a lot more for her to learn, and plenty of time to learn it. He didn't want to scare her any more than he already had her first time out.

  "A lot more." He set her down on her feet beside the bed, shucked his jeans, then lay down, naked, on his back. He saw her blank look of surprise and grinned, propping his arms behind his head. "This time you get to be on top."

  Chapter 12

  Later that morning, Anna showered and dressed, slipping on her stained jeans with a grimace and tying the huge chambray shirt into a knot at her waist. When she walked out into the lounge, Blade was on the phone.

  He set the receiver down and looked at her assessingly. "We need to get you some more clothes. A business suit, for starters. I'll get you some things from the boutique in the lobby; then we'll start making some calls. First the police, then your solicitor. I've organised Lombards' legal counsel to be present at both interviews."

  He strolled over and kissed her, taking his time. "I've also organised a security guard for the door until I come back, but I shouldn't be more than a few minutes. Come and say hello to him before I leave. I've ordered breakfast. It should be up shortly."

  Blade introduced her to the guard, Danny, then pushed her back into the suite before telling her to lock up.

  She wandered restlessly around the flat, pulling out books and reading the back cover copy, while she waited for Blade to come back. She idly checked his selection of music, and picked up his family photos to look at them.

  The Lombards were a big family. There seemed to be a lot of children, a great many happy occasions, even though she knew they'd had their troubles.

  There was a knock at the door. She used the peephole, saw a waiter with a breakfast trolley, recognised the security guy's sports jacket, the tag on his pocket, and opened the door so the trolley could be wheeled in.

  The security man was different.

  Anna frowned as he stepped forward, and then she saw the gun in his hand. She glanced around wildly. The waiter also had a gun. He was short and stocky. Seber.

  "You've caused me a lot of trouble," he said.

  She heard the other man move behind her. An arm came around her neck, a cloth was pressed to her mouth and nose, then everything went black.

  *

  Even before Blade opened the door to the suite, he knew something was wrong. Danny wasn't on duty.

  His nostrils flared, testing the strange chemical scent on the air. "Anna!"

  Panic punched hard at his gut. He dropped the bags of clothes and shoes and searched the apartment.

  He found the security guard slumped unconscious on the floor in one of the bedrooms. He'd been hit on the head, but he was breathing, his pulse even. Anna's briefcase was sitting in her room where she'd left it, beside the bed.

  Seconds later, Blade found the note that had been left on the dining table.

  De Rocheford requested his presence for dinner toni
ght at his seaside estate, in order to discuss business. He had left a phone number.

  De Rocheford had Anna. Fear and fury roared through Blade. Henry's nasty little pet, Seber, had walked in here, knocked out the security guard and taken her. Blade didn't know how it could have happened. His security people were hand-picked. They were good. Somehow, he had slipped up; he had made a mistake when he absolutely could not afford to make a mistake.

  Blade went cold inside. He wasn't fooled into thinking de Rocheford was willing to negotiate. He knew how the game was played, probably better than de Rocheford did. Anna was alive, but only because she served a purpose – as bait. There was only one reason for this note. Henry, the optimistic son of a bitch, was planning to kill him as well.

  He called the infirmary and ordered the duty nurse up to check over the guard. Then he stabbed in the number on the scrap of paper. De Rocheford answered on the first ring.

  "Hurt her and I'll kill you," Blade said, low and cold, not bothering to identify himself.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Lombard," de Rocheford murmured. "I know you were in the military, but even so, that's very crude behaviour. Don't bother issuing any more threats, because they won't wash. My security is better than anything you bumbling military types are likely to come up with."

  Blade's hand tightened on the receiver, almost snapping it in two. De Rocheford was obviously trying not to incriminate himself over the phone, just in case Blade was taping the conversation – which he was. It was a matter of family security that all Lombard family private telephone conversations were taped. The tapes were, for the most part, never listened to, and were constantly erased and taped over, because the purpose of the tapes was only for dangerous situations like this.

  Henry's message was unmistakeable. He was armed, ready and waiting. "I'll be at your gate at eight o'clock," Blade bit out. "You'd better have Anna with you."

  "That would be impossible," he said smoothly, "since my stepdaughter has been missing, presumed dead, for seven years. And, Lombard…"

  Blade didn't answer, just waited.

  "Do come alone. The invitation is only for one. I'm sure you understand."

  Blade let the receiver click back into place before he lost his cool completely. He had wanted to reach down the phone, wrap his fingers around Henry's artificially tanned throat and strangle the little weasel. For a moment he entertained the vision, and then reality struck, almost sending him to his knees.

  Anna.

  He caught the back of a couch with both hands, head bowed, fingers sinking into supple leather, while he fought back a sickening whirl of panic and fear.

  Sweet Mother of God, he couldn't lose her.

  His head came up, nostrils flaring once more as he caught the faint chemical residue lingering in the air.

  The bastards had drugged her. His eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body locking tight on a flood of raw rage at what had been done to a woman who was so sensitive she could feel anger.

  A tap at the door snapped him back to the present. He let in the nurse, and the two burly members of the cleaning staff she'd commandeered to carry the stretcher. The security guard was examined, then removed to the infirmary for observation and examination by a doctor.

  Blade shut the door behind them. Minutes later, he found himself kneeling on his unmade bed, the pillow Anna had slept on in his hands. He couldn't remember getting there. He shook his head, dazed, his fingers tightening their hold. He wanted to hold Anna, to wrap her close and bury his face in her hair, breathe in her scent, to simply have her close.

  Images of the past night seared across his mind, along with other, older images, drenched with violence and fear. Every time Anna had been in trouble, she had called out to him. She hadn't been able to this time, because they had surprised her, drugged her.

  The pillow dropped from his fingers, forgotten, as a compulsion as familiar as the dreams and visions drew him out to the terrace, outside, beneath the endless expanse of the sky, where anything seemed possible. He gripped the railing, oblivious to the warm pleasure of the sunlight, the drifting breeze feathering his skin. When the drug wore off, Anna would call out to him, and he would find her.

  The psychic link was no longer an intrusion. He wanted it. The silent, uncanny communication was theirs, a link that had bound them together for more than half his life.

  In the meantime, he would make his own preparations.

  Anna was being held hostage. Getting her back would take all his skill, all his control and discipline. He was going to need help.

  As much as he would have liked to storm de Rocheford's bolt-hole and beat the living daylights out of him, he knew he wasn't going to get the chance and grimly accepted the loss. Anna would have to be snatched from beneath de Rocheford's nose, quickly and quietly. If Henry became suspicious at any point, he would simply have her killed.

  Blade walked back inside and once more picked up the phone.

  *

  Ben McCabe arrived first, followed half an hour later by Gabriel West and Carter Rawlings.

  When they were all assembled, Blade briefly surveyed the three tanned, muscular men sprawled like young lions on various chairs and couches. Ben and Carter were both fresh in from an overseas trip. Their jaws were darkly stubbled, hair grown to shaggy manes, Ben's as dark as Blade's own, Carter's light hair streaked a startling silver by a hot tropical sun. West had been living in Auckland for the past couple of months while he ran a sniper training course. He was quiet, as always, his deceptively sleepy amber gaze focused on Blade.

  Blade outlined the situation. "If you can't help me, I'll understand," he said quietly. "I don't plan to go through any official channels – there isn't time – and besides, de Rocheford has his sticky fingers in too many political pies. Even if we could get a police team in there, there's a big risk that he'll have some kind of advance warning. He said his security is good, and I believe him."

  Ben, who had taken up pacing with the kind of restless, coiled energy of someone still wired for combat, unable yet to fully adjust to the civilised confines of a city apartment, halted near the patio door and turned his intense blue gaze on Blade. "Who did you say this woman is?"

  "Anna Tarrant." Blade pulled the pile of newspaper clippings from Anna's briefcase and let them drop on the coffee table.

  Carter cleared his throat. West studied his boots for an inordinate period of time.

  Ben was very still. "The dead heiress?"

  "She's not dead."

  "You sure about that?"

  Blade reined in his temper. "Positive."

  Blade could feel the weight of their combined disbelief warring with their rock-steady trust in him. He had trained and fought with these men, served as their commanding officer. They were closer than friends – they were family. And he had never needed them more.

  Carter broke the silence. "Oh, jeez," he groaned. "You're sleeping with her."

  Carter's tacit acceptance of everything Blade had said eased the sudden thick tension; then Carter's words registered on Blade.

  "I am not sleeping with her," he got out from between clenched teeth, wondering what it was about him that made people instantly assume that if he spent time with a woman, he was sleeping with her. "She's not … casual."

  West crossed his arms over his chest. "He's in love with her."

  Blade cast him an annoyed glance. "I am not in love."

  In love was a weak, wimpy term to describe the violence of his emotions. Right now there was nothing soft or gentle in him. He wanted Anna back, and he wanted to kill de Rocheford.

  Carter's eyes narrowed speculatively on the newspaper clippings. "Pretty girl," he murmured, "but she's not your usual type. A bit on the thin side. So, when this is over you won't mind if I—"

  Blade snatched the clipping from Carter's hands. "What is this with 'my usual type'?" he growled softly. "Touch her, Rawlings, and you're a dead man."

  West picked up Anna's passport and studied th
e colour photo. "She's a redhead."

  Blade met West's knowing gaze. West never said much – he gave new meaning to the term "the strong, silent type" – but he tended to notice things that most people missed. Blade wondered what else he had noticed. He didn't have long to wait.

  "She's the one you've been looking for," West added softly.

  "I'm going to marry her," Blade stated, his flat certainty sending another minor shockwave through the room.

  Ben dropped back into his chair. He reached for one of the newspaper clippings. It showed Anna Tarrant as a child no older than Ben's daughter, Bunny, her dark hair tied in pigtails, eyes large and solemn in her little-girl face. "She's been missing for years. Where's she been all this time?"

  "Running."

  Ben replaced the cutting very gently. The blue of his eyes was fierce and cold. "Then let's get her away from the bastard. We need a plan, and we need equipment. De Rocheford isn't short of cash. He'll have sophisticated security and some major firepower backing him."

  "He's hired an out-of-work mercenary."

  Ben eyed him piercingly. "Who?"

  "Eric Seber. Gray sent a file on him this morning. Seber's been on the mercenary circuit for nearly five years. Before that he was a cop."

  Ben smiled grimly. "I've heard of him. He's a methodical bastard, but not top line. De Rocheford shouldn't have skimped. If he wanted to win, he should have paid for the best."

  Blade smiled coldly. "He probably thinks he did."

  Chapter 13

  A choking sensation jerked Anna from unconsciousness. Henry was leaning over her, a satisfied smirk on his face.

  Sunlight shafted into the room, the angle of it denoting late afternoon. She'd been out for most of the day, and she was still woozy and faintly nauseous from whatever drug they had used. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, the sensation that something small and hard was stuck in her throat.