Chapter 6 #2
Why not be just glad? Relieved? Better him than me, right?
What, was I jealous, or some twisted shit like that?
I got all huffy because who the hell did he think he was, having problems that were bigger, more important and more dangerous than mine?
I had my tragic backstory, and that was all I had.
I should be able to win that pissing contest with my hands tied, right?
Every time. Jeez, was I really that petty?
But speaking practically, if those bad guys were there for him, that also sucked for me.
I’d been hiding under a rock for fourteen years, and that represented a lot of sacrifice.
If Ethan Masters had real trouble, no matter who his antagonist was, and I got myself associated with it, then my profile would shoot up, the spotlights would flip on, and the Petruzzi clan would take notice.
Their army of goons would come at me like a runaway train, to punish me for getting Tony Jr. put in jail.
He was up for parole now, and still pissed.
Looking to slice me open, from my chin down to my lady-bits.
Tony would want to do it himself. He was just that kind of guy. Real personal.
For God’s sake, the problems I already had were more than enough to keep me occupied. I did not need anyone to pile on with more bad shit, no matter how handsome or rich or charismatic or intriguing Ethan was. No, thank you.
Tricky to get up on a high horse and hold that position while outnumbered by a mercenary army.
I was ridiculously under-armed, too. I always was when I did office temp jobs.
Many of the skyscrapers now had metal detectors.
Rumors that I packed heat to my temporary jobs would get me blackballed at every employment agency in the city.
These were deals I made with the devil. Going to my temp jobs unarmed, so I could make the money I needed to keep my classes at the school going. And to repair that water damage. And to get Charlotte those glasses.
But it only worked if I stayed out of sight, at least until I managed to kill every last decision-making member of the Petruzzi family.
Tony had gotten a reduced sentence because his lawyer had painted my murdered sister as a traitorous femme fatale, rather than the victim of vicious domestic abuse that she had been.
And as for Gabri’s death, and the bullet in my shoulder—they’d spun that as a tragic accident.
Tony didn’t mean to hurt us, the poor emotional guy. It was a crime of passion. Hah.
The helicopter banked, showing me a huge complex below with enormous terraces, and lots of glass, cantilevered out from the cliff, like some bad guy’s lair in a superhero movie.
The helipad was at the top of a luxury mountain fortress.
In one swift glance, I took in the gardens, the pool, the hot tubs.
Solar panels were everywhere, too. This place probably wasn’t even on the grid.
I was on a mountaintop. Cripes. How the hell was I supposed to get away?
I had things to do, bills to pay, promises to keep.
Rent on the school was due in three days, and I had classes to teach, and an appointment scheduled to have Charlotte’s eyes checked.
It drove me nuts, that a kid as sweet and bright as she was flunking out of school because of a stupid mechanical problem. Plus, Charlotte reminded me of Gabri.
Aw, hell. They all reminded me of Gabri. Raffi, too. That was why I’d started the school for them in the first place. That was why I got out of bed in the morning at all. I was fortunate to have something to do that made this much emotional sense to me.
Otherwise, I might as well just lie down in front of traffic.
Masters helped me out of the helicopter. The wind from the blades whipped wildly at my blouse, blowing it almost off my body, so many buttons were gone.
He led me down a wide stone staircase and onto a terrace paved with big, granite paving stones.
We descended into an area that was sheltered from the wind, with a breezeway between two buildings.
I glimpsed outdoor furniture, a firepit, a huge barbecue, a wood-burning oven.
My backyard consisted of a single lawn chair, a chain-link fence with a big hole in it, and an assortment of turds continually provided and replenished by the neighborhood dogs. Who were all my good buddies, even so.
Money. This place was huge, huge money. Which meant one of two things.
One, Ethan was the pampered heir to an obscenely large fortune, and fate had seen fit to shower him with looks and charm on top of it, and he got into trouble because he was restless and bored. For the entertainment value. In which case, fuck that guy.
Conversely, he was a career criminal. An insanely successful one. In which case, fuck that guy sideways, frontways, backward, and upside down. I’d already had my life destroyed by heartless, soulless dickheads like that. No more.
I pulled my arm from his grasp, and he let go without protest. Which surprised me. In my experience, those types always had something to prove, when it came to maintaining their grip.
I would have run if there had been anyplace to go to.
As it was, I just followed him, feeling scared and hating the feeling.
The corridor was as deluxe as the terrace.
Towering ceilings, huge wooden beams, beautiful wood paneling.
He gestured at a big carved door. “This is my library, if you should need it,” he said. “Feel free.”
Library? Library didn’t really say career criminal to me. Those guys weren’t big on cultural acquisition, as a general rule. Which tilted the scale back toward the pampered-heir scenario. “What is this place, anyway?” I asked.
“My house,” Ethan said. “Or one of them.”
“One of them,” I repeated, incredulous.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How many do you have?” I demanded.
“Let me think about it for a second.”
I laughed at him. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. I have townhouse in Seattle, a loft in Portland, a condo in San Francisco, a penthouse in New York, a beach place in Miami, a ski lodge in Montana, an apartment in London. I think that’s it.”
“Are you showing off?”
“I have nothing to prove. But as far as houses go, this one is my favorite. It’s the one where I feel the safest. Safe being a relative term.”
“Because it is so remote, you mean?”
“Yes, and fortified, and heavily guarded by a robust security staff.”
“Which brings me to the question I asked before,” I said. “Who are you?”
“I’ll give you the same answer I gave you before. I’m Ethan Masters. I am the owner and CEO of MasterTech. Among other companies.”
“Oh, my God,” I said blankly. “MasterTech? I use some of your products myself. Holy shit.”
There was a gleam of humor in his eyes. “Excellent,” he said. “That shows good judgment and taste on your part.”
“You mean, the MasterTech that does cybersecurity and encryption products, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, that explains you being so rich. But it doesn’t explain why people were shooting at you, or why you insisted on dragging me into a fucking helicopter.”
“There will be time to discuss all that later,” he said.
“Tear me to shreds over lunch. But first, come in here.” He opened a door, and ushered me into an enormous bedroom.
A wall of glass showed yet another stunning view.
A king-sized bed held a stack of fluffy silver towels, and a pile of neatly folded clothing.
“What is this?” I demanded. “Is this your bedroom?
“God, no. I asked my housekeeper to prepare this room for you. It has an attached bath, so you can freshen up at your leisure. There are first-aid supplies in the cabinet.” He paused. “Unless you’d prefer some help with that.”
I imagined Ethan Masters ministering to my bumps and bruises and it made my heart skip a beat. “Um. No. Thanks.”
A smile flicked across his lips. “I didn’t mean me,” he said. “My housekeeper, Angela, would be happy to help. She’s very competent.”
“I’m fine,” I assumed him. “I can handle it alone.”
“Good. I just thought you might like to clean up and change. Your blouse is missing a couple of buttons.”
I looked down at it, suddenly remembering that my cleavage was on full display. I was not a prudish person, but it took all my self-control not to clutch the flapping sides of my blouse closed with a squeal, like an outraged heroine in a melodrama.
“Take your time. Get a shower, or lie down. I’ve asked for lunch to be served at twelve, which gives you an hour. Any dietary issues my chef should be aware of?”
“Chef?” I echoed.
“Yes. My housekeeper, Angela, is also an extremely talented chef. Anything she should know? Allergies, intolerances? Are you vegetarian, vegan, anything like that? Angela’s very flex.”
“I eat whatever,” I said faintly.
“Great. Then take your time. The door locks from the inside, so you’ll have all the privacy you want. When you’re ready, come out, go to the left, go down to the living room, and I’ll make you a drink. After everything that happened today, I could really use one.”
“Got it,” I echoed. “Turn left. Living room. Drinks. Great.”
I wasn’t much of a drinker, but it wasn’t a moral position, more an economic one. Drinking was expensive, and I had house and school rent to pay, girls to train. If somebody poured me a glass of champagne or mixed me a mojito, I did not complain.
But alcohol offered by Ethan Masters, with that gorgeous, come-hither smile? Hoo, boy. That was uncharted ground.
I just had to focus on my fact-finding mission.
Figure out the dirt about Ethan Masters, and who wanted him dead, while at the same time figuring out how to get out of this place and back home.
Aside from all my responsibilities at the school, there were several feral cats who had come to expect the water and kitty crunchies I left under the shelter I had built for them outside my back door.
Plus, Ambrose, my friend Joanna’s cat, came to visit me every day. I didn’t want to let them down.
I looked over the clothes the housekeeper had left.
Stretchy, comfy lounge wear, meant to keep me warm and relaxed.
I wondered what this stuff was doing in Ethan Masters’ place.
I would understand if he had a stash of silky unmentionables from his past conquests, but athletic pants and thigh-length cashmere sweaters? Odd.
I took advantage of the shower, since I was sticky from blood and stress sweat.
It was stocked with luxurious perfumed soaps and shampoos and conditioners.
The pounding water felt wonderful on my sore spots.
My scrapes didn’t really need any bandages.
Most of the blood had been from my nose, and that had stopped during the helicopter ride.
I hoped I wouldn’t get two black eyes. I’d had many, in my martial arts career, but right now was absolutely not the time.
I pulled on the fresh clothes, since my blouse was trashed and had bloodstains, but I stayed with my own underwear and shoes.
I combed my wet hair back behind my ears, like always.
It was just long enough for a stubby, blunt ponytail, so I created one with a covered rubber band from my purse.
I was going for severe, sexless. The peeled-onion look. The frowning schoolmarm.
I laced up my shoes, and studied myself in the full-length mirror.
I looked excited. Face pink, eyes bright. And the cashmere I wore felt soft, warm. Touchable.
Damn it. This guy was dangerous to my peace of mind, and I had a limited supply of that.
I just had to keep my eyes straight ahead, my lips pursed, and my panties on.