Damn. The hotter he got, the angrier he felt. Not the cold, purposeful feeling that spurred him to avenge Jesse. This was restless and maddening, swirling in his brain like a red fog. This kind of anger was bad news. It altered judgment. It caused errors. It started fires.
He had to play it icy cold, and wait for the ideal revenge plot to reveal itself to him. Sooner or later he would get the perfect opportunity to destroy all three men responsible for Jesse's murder. Already it was an excellent sign that, out of the scant handful of qualified TSCM consulting firms that existed, Lazar had chosen him. Seth had been hoping for that, working towards it, but not counting on it.
He didn't know yet exactly what the perfect revenge would look like, but he would know it when he saw it. He was used to living in uncertainty. He'd grown up in it. Home territory.
He was grateful for the task of sneaking out to Stone Island. That would calm him down like nothing else could. The wall of security that surrounded the place was a refreshing challenge, even for him. It brought back memories of all those counterespionage missions back in his stint with the Army Rangers. Kearn, his business partner and number one techno-genius, had not yet completely solved the energy source problem for the long-range cams, so some lucky bastard always got to sneak into the sites for data retrieval. Seth didn't mind the task. In fact, he loved it. So much so that he was going to be genuinely sorry when Kearn invented the inevitable solution. Those moments sneaking around on the edge of disaster were the only real peace that he had; when past and future collapsed and he operated on pure instinct Utterly in the present moment, untroubled by painful memories or emotions. He craved those moments the way other people craved sleep.
In fact, he liked it way too much. He knew it Hank and Jesse had known it, too. They had tried to save him, but now they were both gone, and he was past saving.
He stared at the sleeping woman on the screen, jaw clenched. Get your beauty rest babe, he urged her silently. Tomorrow is going to be a day that you will never, ever forget.
He started gathering up the equipment he would need to make the electronic assault on Stone Island, but his eye kept straying back to the monitor. Her white shoulder was completely exposed now. The sheet had fallen down to the curve of her slender waist. He wanted to pull the sheet up and put a blanket over her.
She was going to get chilled, sleeping uncovered like that.
“One second, please,” Raine pleaded, typing desperately on the laptop. “If you're going to switch from French to German, I need to switch settings for a new set of diacritical markings. It'll take just a moment.”
Victor sighed as he leaned back against the plush seat of the limo, a faint look of annoyance flashing across his face. He sipped his drink, crossed his leg and tapped his Gucci-shod foot impatiently.
Raine clicked “German” in the languages list, called up a new document and poised her fingers over the keys, hoping Victor wouldn't notice the tremor in her hands. “Go ahead.”
But Victor did not resume dictating. He stared at her, his eyes sharp and penetrating. It took all of her dwindling nerve to meet his gaze. Forty minutes of close proximity with her charismatic uncle would be a challenge even if she weren't secretly plotting his downfall.
“It's rare for an American to be fluent in so many languages,” he commented.
Raine blinked. “I, uh, spent a lot of time in Europe when I was young,” she stammered.
“Ah, really? Where?”
She had prepared for this question, and had decided that there was no reason not to tell the truth whenever possible. “First in France, near Lyon. Then Nice for a while, and Holland, with lots of stops in between. We were in Florence for a couple of years, and then Switzerland. Then London.”
“Ah. Were your parents in the foreign service?”
Why the hell wouldn't he start dictating again? Why did he have to focus those piercing eyes on her now, when she was all alone with him? “Urn... no,” she faltered. “My mother really liked to travel.”
“And your father? Did he enjoy traveling as well?”
She took a deep, unsteady breath. Keep it simple, keep it true, she reminded herself. “My father died when I was very young.”
“Ah. I'm sorry.” She nodded a brief acknowledgment hoping to God that he would start dictating again and leave her be.
He did not. He examined her face with a dissatisfied frown. “Your spectacles. Are you capable of performing your duties without them?”
The non sequitur bewildered her. “I, uh, suppose so. I'm nearsighted, so I only really need them for long distance viewing—”
“Your vision problems are of absolutely no interest to me. Kindly do not wear those glasses in my presence again.”
Raine stared at him. “My... you don't like my glasses?”
“Just so. They are hideous. Contacts would be acceptable.” He smiled, pleasant and magnanimous.
She forced herself to close her mouth. Maybe this was a perverse psychological test No normal executive assistant would ever submit to such an inappropriate, invasive demand—unless she were a gutless creampuff, of course. But in Victor's world, there was no “normal.” He was like a black hole, bending the familiar world out of recognition.
He waited, tapping his foot, eyebrow raised.
She had stopped using her contacts and gotten these hideous glasses for the specific purpose of keeping Victor from noticing any resemblance to her mother. She took off the glasses and tucked them slowly into her purse. The world blurred and swam. The limo came to a stop, and her heart leaped into her throat.
She closed the computer and got out of the limo. She knew they were in the warehouse parking lot, but all she could see was a blur of hulking gray squares against a blinding white sky. The air smelled of petroleum and damp concrete.
She felt him before she saw him, as she had in the elevator and the kitchen, and her blurred vision intensified the shivering rush of awareness. Memories of last night's unhinged sexual fantasies spun through her mind. All her senses opened up like thirsty flowers.
The tell, dark figure moved towards them and coalesced into Seth Mackey, casually elegant in black jeans, a dark gray sweater, a black leather jacket. He was close enough now so she could see the loose waffle weave of his sweater, the beard shadow on his angular jaw. His eyes flicked over her dismissively, but she felt the strength of his interest like a hidden riptide.
The two men greeted each other, and he held out his hand to her. His face showed no trace of yesterday's teasing warmth, and his dark eyes were shadowed and grim. Probably just focused on business, she told herself. She ignored the apprehension that fluttered in her belly and pasted on a bright, generic smile.
The touch of his big, warm hand was a shock of hot recognition. It lasted no more than two seconds, and by the time he let go of her hand, her generic smile had undergone a massive meltdown and her heart was tripping madly over itself. The two men were striding towards the warehouse, and she scurried after them.
Victor turned around. “Wait here, Raine, if you please.” She blinked, and looked around at the vast, empty lot. “But I—”
“My conversation with Mr. Mackey is confidential,” he said gently.
“Then why did you bring me along?” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.