Before the Witches Read online

Katya kissed the women, said her farewells with tears thick in her throat, and returned to the van. Nigel watched silently, the set of his mouth unreadable.

  Katya was always so good at reading people. Nigel’s blank slate expressions unnerved her.

  “I will come soon to talk to you,” Nigel said in his cautious grasp of Russian.

  Elena looped her arms around Irina and Magda, her smile nothing short of maneating. “You are good man,” she replied in English. “But we will not be here.”

  Nigel hesitated. Then, jaw shifting, he nodded. “Take care of yourselves.”

  “Da.”

  “Do svidaniya!” Katya called in farewell. Junie stirred, but slept on. Hiking the girl’s lanky body higher into her arms, she touched her fingers to her mouth and blew them all a silent kiss.

  Her heart twisted as Nigel shut the door behind her.

  As he climbed back into the driver’s seat, his gaze touched on her face. Her swelling cheek. Something predatory banked. “Why did Ivan hit you?”

  She flinched before she could force herself not to. “Someone told him I’d been to the police.”

  He swore viciously, too under his breath to catch the specifics. But there was no misreading the leashed tension in his hands, the taut muscles of his arms as he held the steering wheel.

  She took a deep breath. “Was it you?” she demanded.

  “No. Hell, no,” he said tightly, his eyes hard on the traffic-choked road. “But I’m damn well going to find out who.”

  Truth. On both counts. He believed what he said.

  For the moment, it was enough.

  She leaned back against the door, once more running gentle fingers down Junie’s spine. Her lashes drifted closed, but even as she listened to radio, her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

  Ivan was dead. She’d killed him. Her. Katya Zhuvova. She’d never killed a man before in her life, but she’d pulled the trigger.

  And he’d fallen.

  The disgusting man was going to rape her. To teach her a lesson; well, she’d taught him, all right. With a frying pan and his own gun.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Hey.” He sounded so gentle. So damned reassuring.

  Was it a sign of weakness that she so badly wanted to be reassured?

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and for the first time since meeting him, she detected a lie. But that was all right. Reassurance usually came on the back of a white lie, didn’t it?

  It was almost enough to make her smile.

  “The world is going to hell,” she said without opening her eyes. “I really don’t think it’s going to be okay at all.”

  He fell silent. And then, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he said, “I hope you’re wrong.”

  Ah, her senses whispered. Truth.

  He was an optimist, this cop.

  It took far too long to get to the police station. Traffic backed up across the city, detours were installed around damaged bridges and overpasses. People milled in crowds, ambulances tore through roads shredded by fractures. By the time Nigel had escorted them to a small, clean office, Katya was worn to the bone. Strung out on faded adrenaline and, though she tried to keep from showing it, shaking from head to toe.

  An older man with a rumpled suit had tried to ask her questions, but Nigel had deflected him.

  He’d left, come back with clean clothes for both herself and Junie, and left again, shutting the office door behind him.

  The silhouette of a police man hovered behind the drawn shade.

  Katya was grateful. Junie sat on a worn green couch, wearing a too-large T-shirt and curled up into as small a ball as she could make herself.

  Katya sat on the floor, her fingers loosely linked around the girl’s gangly ankles. Her own borrowed shirt was gray, smelled like Nigel, and hung like a sack on her much shorter frame. “They’re going to ask us some questions,” she said, meeting Junie’s exhausted brown eyes. “When we tell them everything, we’ll be free.”

  Junie’s lip quivered. “Will we go back to Ivan?”

  Katya flinched. “No, sweetheart. You’ll never have to go back to Ivan.”

  The girl fell silent, her chin on her knees. Her lips worked for a while, as if framing a question.

  “What is it?” Katya asked gently.

  “That man.” Junie’s blond eyebrows knotted. “You said he wasn’t handsome.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “You lied.”

  Katya smothered a chuckle. “You think so?”

  “Yes.” Junie’s hand lowered. A single finger hooked into Katya’s hand. “Do you think he would take me?”

  The question, asked in all sincerity, slammed a hole into Katya’s heart. Fury pounded behind her eyes; fury that a child should be so conditioned to think that way, and sorrow that she didn’t know any other way to think.

  Katya closed her eyes, turning her hand palm up to lace her hand through Junie’s. “I think if you ask him, he will be your friend.”

  A light tap on the door had her standing before she knew she meant to.

  “Excuse me.” A handsome man in a police uniform leaned through the doorway, one hand on the doorknob. His blue eyes flickered; sympathy, Katya thought. Awareness. He noticed the way Katya stood in front of Junie, and by the twist in his mouth, it bothered him.

  Junie rose to her knees, her hand tight in Katya’s, and peeked around her.

  “My name is Officer Jake Leigh,” he offered. “I’m going to make sure you ladies have everything you need. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  Katya hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “Hungry, sweetheart?” she asked in Russian.

  Junie nodded.

  Officer Leigh tilted his head. “Is she all right to come with me? I can escort her to the cafeteria.”

  And Katya desperately wanted a nap.

  “This police man will take you to food,” she translated, searching Junie’s expression for any sign of fear. “His name is Jake Leigh. Do you want to go with him?”

  Junie’s gaze flicked to the officer.

  He sank to his haunches, draping his elbows on his thighs and somehow making himself look less threatening. “Less big. How do you say hello?” he asked.

  “Privet,” Katya offered. “Her name is Junie.”

  Junie ducked her head. Jake matched the gesture, tilting his face up to smile at her. “Privet, Junie. Will you come with me? I promise to keep you safe.”

  He offered one hand, his expression at ease. Infinitely patient.

  The door widened behind him, and Nigel stepped in, a folder in hand. He glanced at the officer crouched on the floor and then at the girl kneeling on the couch. Raising his eyebrows, he sidled around the officer to set his folder quietly on the desk.

  He said nothing.

  Katya looked at Junie, watched uncertainty meld into something cautiously optimistic. “Go on,” she murmured in Russian. “I’ll be right here.”

  Junie unfolded from the couch, framing something cautious and impossibly hopeful in Russian.

  Jake cocked his head at Katya.

  “She wants pancakes,” Nigel translated, his voice quiet and smoky.

  Jake’s smile widened. “Da,” he said in his flat American accent. “That’s yes, right?”

  “Da,” Katya confirmed.

  Junie cautiously slipped her hand into his.

  Katya folded her arms over her chest. “Do you have children, Officer Leigh?”

  His eyes warmed. “One,” he said. “And one on the way.”

  “All right,” Nigel said irritably. “Get out.”

  Jake shot him a look filled with laughter, shaking his head, and guided the young teenager out the door. It closed behind them, leaving Katya alone with the man who’d kissed her blind the first time she’d seen him.

  And rescued her friends the next.

  She blew out a slow, shaking breath, her arms tightening around her ribs.

  Nigel flicked on
a lamp, adding a little more light to the gray daylight peeking through the blinds. “There was an earthquake in California, too. They say we’re getting a series of aftershocks from both ends.”

  “Really,” she whispered.

  “It beats the end-of-days scenario every ragtag nutcase with a sign is preaching,” he said, his smile crooked.

  It faded when she didn’t answer. He half outstretched a hand, paused as if unsure whether to approach her or to let her be. “Katya.” She flinched. “Are you all right?”

  And there it was. That kindness.

  The crack.

  Her knees folded. Katya hit the floor, hunched over herself, and let her chin sink to her chest. Her breath came in shuddering gasps as the relief, the shock, finally set in. With a vengeance.

  He swore, crossing the office so quickly that he was suddenly kneeling beside her, an arm around her shoulders. One under her knees. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

  He lifted her with a smooth flex of power, transferred her to the sofa and hesitated as her fingers dug into his shirt. “Please,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes; damn it, she wasn’t supposed to cry.

  It was over. Junie was safe. Elena and the others were going to be free.

  Why was she crying?

  Nigel looked down at her shaking hands, his features conflicted. Then, as if afraid he might spook her farther, he sank into the sofa cushions beside her. Cautiously lifted her, settling her sideways on his lap as if she were just a child to be comforted.

  His body heat seeped into her legs. Her back.

  Her cheek as she tucked her face against his shoulder and shook violently.

  He stroked her hair with a callused hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured. His breath stirred against her temple, smelling like mint toothpaste and coffee. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe here.”

  “I kn-know,” she said, so tightly her teeth clattered together. “I know. It’s just . . . it’s . . . Damn it.”

  “Shhh.” His arms tightened around her. “There’s no shame in letting go.”

  She almost laughed. It came out on a dry sob.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to protect you both,” Nigel said. And in that gentleness, she heard a fierce promise. A tenacious aggression that did more to set her mind at ease than any empty reassurances.

  Truth, her mind whispered.

  “You’re witnesses to Mikoyan’s operation,” he continued, smoothing her hair back from her face as she looked up. His eyes gleamed, inches from her own, and his features were tense, but his touch gentle as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “We’ll get your stories, and we’ll have more to nail the bastard with when I bring it all down on his head.”

  She stared into his eyes. Realized she had already started shaking her head when they narrowed.

  “No?”

  “I just . . . I can’t put Junie through that,” she said, closing her eyes. “She’s just a baby.”

  “Condition of anonymity,” he replied. “As long as the facts are good, they’ll never have to know who she is. We’ll make them work.” He caught her jaw with one hand, long fingers framing her cheeks, and forced her to look at him. To meet his gaze again; see the determination. Drown in it. “You’re the bravest lady I know. You can do this.”

  Brave? She wasn’t brave.

  She was crazy.

  A tear slid from her lashes as she clenched her fists in his collar and pulled his mouth to hers.

  Surprise stiffened his body. Maybe it was a sense of propriety, of duty that kept him from kissing her back. Maybe he was thinking that he was a police detective, sworn to protect, and she was the wounded victim of a crime. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to taste Nigel Ferris’s kiss again.

  And the hoarse sound deep in his throat told her that he remembered hers.

  Chapter Five

  His lips softened. The arms pushing her way suddenly pulled her closer to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. Pulled her hip awkwardly against his groin, hard beneath his jeans.

  He groaned raggedly, the wordless confession welling from deep, deep inside his chest as he caught her face between his hands. As he had before, his thumbs dug in by her mouth. Tilted her face up, forced her lips to open, to surrender to the hot, wet, almost angry insistence of a kiss that rocked her down to her shaking soul.

  Her eyes clenched shut, blocking out the small office. The green sofa, the dreary Seattle light. The muted hum of the police station faded beneath the slam of her heartbeat; or was it his? There was only the rasp of his tongue as it slipped into her mouth, teasing hers. Daring hers to meet his fervor, match it.

  She inhaled through her nose, a shaky breath flavored with his scent. Sawdust and pine and coffee and, Jesus, sheer lust. She shifted, struggling to keep her lips fused to his. Breathed his breath and tilted her head, rising to her knees.

  His hands tightened around her face, and he wrenched his lips away on a low, hoarse word. It sounded like fuck.

  Smoothly, she hiked a leg over his thighs. Shifted her weight so that her knees framed his hips. His eyes blazed at her, glittered with barely contained need. Raw lust.

  “Katya, we can’t.” His breath hissed through his teeth as she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt at each shoulder and settled herself hard, firmly against his covered erection.

  The thick ridge fit exactly where her body craved it. She gasped, bit her lower lip.

  The small pain of the cut there wasn’t nearly enough to quell her need for his touch. His lips on hers, his fingers on her skin. His cock inside her. It was almost a compulsion.

  “Will you make me beg?” she whispered.

  He groaned tightly, his hands coming to clasp her waist.

  “Please.” She tilted her hips. The cleft of her body pulsed, wetter than she ever would have expected from something like this. From a man like him.

  From herself.

  “Please,” she said again. “If it’s . . . if it’s me you’re worried about, I’m healthy. We . . . they check us. Healthy is much more money—”

  “No,” he rasped, cutting her off with an angry sound. His fingers tightened at her hips. Held her when she would have moved again. “Don’t beg. Don’t ever beg . . . another man . . .” And then his fingers found the hem of her shirt. Hiked it above her breasts with almost savage need. “No other men,” he growled, and lowered his head to the cleavage lifted into place by her pink bra. His tongue tasted the upper swell of one breast and she gasped.

  No other men.

  It smacked of truth.

  Her head fell back as his fingers slid beneath the soft cups cradling her flesh. He pulled the bra down, freeing her breasts to his gaze. He stared at her, at her dusky nipples tightened to hard little buds of wanting.

  “Beautiful.”

  She’d heard it before.

  But as he lowered his mouth to one aching nipple, she nearly shot out of her skin with raw lust. That was new.

  He lapped at her skin, at her nipple, his other hand palming her other breast with rough, confident strength. She arched into him, crying out softly, just aware of their surroundings enough that she muffled what she could. “Please,” she panted, “oh, please.”

  He laughed, but it was as if it was ripped from him. Nigel pulled her shirt over her head, unclasped her bra until she was topless. The chilly air ghosted over her skin, causing gooseflesh to ripple down her arms. Over her chest.

  He seized her hands, held them away from her body. His eyes devoured every inch of her, from her softly rounded stomach to the heavy swell of her breasts. To her eyes. Katya dissolved into a pool of molten sensation as she read awe in his dark eyes.

  Admiration.

  She made a small sound, wrenched her hands away to tunnel them under his shirt. She wasted no time in tugging the cotton over his head, revealing the tanned, muscled skin of a man at the peak of physical perfection. Her mouth went dry at the ridged expanse of his abs, at the dark h
air on his chest and the way his own flat nipples tightened beneath her finger.

  His breath caught. “This is such a bad idea,” he said, half a laugh. Half a groan.

  “Maybe.” She met his eyes briefly. Her lips curved up. “Maybe it’s exactly the right idea.” She bent, licked a path up the center of his chest. Found the thin skin where his shoulder met his neck and bit. Hard.

  He almost shot off the couch. “Oh, fuck,” he growled, and entwined his fingers in her hair. Jerking her back, he fit his mouth to hers, slanted his lips over hers until she groaned from the friction between them. His lips. His cock, still locked away behind the thick layers of denim.

  She wrenched at her jeans. The buttons popped open, audibly loud in their feverish scrambling. His zipper hissed. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his light blue boxers, the front damp with the evidence of his own arousal, and pushed them down, revealing his erection. Paler than the rest of his suntanned skin, but flushed and thick and so tempting that her mouth fell open. She licked her lower lip, panting.

  Fire roiled inside her skin; a flush climbed from her core to her flesh, warming her beyond any furnace. Egging her on.

  His features were taut with wanting, his muscles pulling and flexing as he grabbed her weight and shifted her just enough that she could wriggle out of her jeans. Her underwear wasn’t made of enough material to bother. But instead of climbing up his lap, instead of impaling herself as badly as she wanted it, she turned. Slid off the sofa until her bare knees found the rough carpet and slammed a hand into the center of his chest as he moved.

  “Ne dvigat’sya,” she ordered, her voice heavy with wanting.

  He twitched, but held still.

  Her smile deepened to something wicked. Oh, God, she really was crazy.

  Her fingernails dug into his chest. He leaned back, every muscle vibrating with the control she read leashed in his eyes, his clenched teeth. Before he could talk, stop her—try—she bent over his lap. Closed her lips over the head of his rigid cock, and tasted him as thoroughly as if he were baklava fresh from home.

  His head snapped back, cords standing out in his throat as she took him in, deep into her mouth. Her throat. She was practiced, she had to be, but this wasn’t like those other times. This wasn’t anything like it.