Page 20 of Black Sheep

One body. Not two. She’s not with him.

The breath I didn’t realize I held punches out of me, and I take a moment to ground myself.

He is prone and warm, and the steady beat of his heart is a bright outline on the screen attached to the gadget. It’s almost nauseatingly heady, the power I hold in my hand right now. Even if I lose my own life pursuing this, this moment alone will make it worth it.

But I don’t intend to die today. So I let myself in on silent feet, the doors he didn’t bother to lock opening soundlessly. In the near darkness, I pick out the leopard-skin rug laid before the yawning stone fireplace and the moose heads mounted on either side of the giant scroll-edged mirror above it.

Reflection from a security light outside penetrates the partially shut drapes and casts shadowed outlines in the room.

I move forward until I’m standing over him.

My father.

The last old-school mob boss standing after an unscrupulous eradication campaign that saw his opponents fall one by one. But power and prestige weren’t enough for Finnan Rutherford. Like all greedy men, the old dog always wanted more, whether more was available for the taking or not.

Unfortunately for him, he took it a step too far, and by drawing me into his thirst for power, he’s unwittingly handed me the tools to destroy him.

I flip the gadget to camera mode, and I record for exactly ten seconds. Any longer in this room and I risk being overwhelmed by memories I can’t adequately contain.

Even now, as I back away from the bed, the knife tucked into my sock burns against my skin. I ignore the sensation and set the camera down on top of the mantel where it’ll be in his direct eyeline. I retreat as silently as I came. I should leave, but my feet take me up another flight of stairs to the opposite end of the house.

I shouldn’t go in. I shouldn’t. But my fingers find Cleo’s door anyway. The cool wood does nothing to calm me.

Hell, it does the opposite. As I stand there like a motherfucking idiot, the useless organ in my chest dares to shake off its impending demise and flog itself back to life. Right along with my traitorous cock that twitches back to life. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn it and push. Nothing happens.

Relief that she’s barred to me, and therefore to him, quickly turns to disappointment. Both emotions fall away, and I’m left with the bitter taste of prey denied. Like the knife in my boot, the tools I used to break in burn a hole in my back pocket as I stand there, my hand on the door.

The effort it takes to pry my fingers off resonates like a long-forgotten pain inside me.

Almost on automatic, I reach for my tools. One minute later, I’m inside. Her perfume hits me first. Light and alluring, just like the one she used to wear. My breath stills when she sits up suddenly, her eyes searching the room. They zero in on me, and I smell her fear.

I deliberately step into the pool of soft light left by the illuminated vanity mirror in her bathroom. She sees me, and her eyes go wider. More shock, less fear. A little part of me breathes easier while the other part continues to question what the fuck I’m doing. Her gaze darts to the door, and mine narrows.

Before she can think about making a sound, I step toward the bed. “How this goes depends entirely on whether you do something stupid or not, sweetheart. So think carefully.”

Her gaze returns to me, her hands gripping the bedcover. “What do you want?” she asks.

The sweetly sexy voice I knew as a teenager has grown huskier, draped with a wealth of womanly knowledge. It whispers over me, and I clench my gut at the effect as I move closer. “What do I want? Since you people seem to have no qualms about invading my life, I thought I’d return the favor.”

“By breaking and entering?”

I allow myself a little smile. “That’s what you’re worried about? Not why I’m in your room? Not that I could be wondering what you’re wearing underneath those covers besides that flimsy piece of silk?”

Her fingers tighten on the cover, but a second later, her chin lifts a fraction, exposing more of her sleek throat. “What makes you think I’m worried? There are guards outside.”

“All of whom were too busy playing cards and watching porn to hear me when I waltzed in fifteen minutes ago. I guess standards around here aren’t what they once were.”

Something shifts on her face, a hard look she tries to hide as her eyelids descend. When I shift to close the bathroom door, her gaze flies back to me. I sense her renewed agitation. “Still afraid of the dark, sweetheart?”

“No,” she replies, but her voice echoes with the tiniest tremble.

The sick bastard in me revels in the sound. Perhaps I want a little payback for the weakness I succumbed to in my shower. Or perhaps I like finding her behind a locked door, the possible result of trouble in paradise owing to my machinations. Either way, that little notch of gratification intensifies as I walk toward her. Beams of light slant in through the open curtains, bathing the room and her body in moonlight.

The sheets rustle as she attempts to scramble away from me. “Stop. Stay the fuck still. If you make me come after you, you’ll regret it.”

She stops. I prowl closer, prop one knee on the bed, and slowly tug off my leather gloves. She watches my every move.

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