Chapter Two
He woke slowly, his head thick and his thoughts confused. Javier hadn't drunk anything, but he felt hungover, as if he'd tied one on until he passed out. As his senses engaged and awareness returned, he smelled cum. That triggered a memory, and he cracked open one eye to find Cecily in his arms. He untangled himself and she rolled over, still asleep. Javier realized she possessed a beauty he'd failed to see last night. Her lips appeared puffy from vigorous kissing. A blend of cum and remnants of her perfume wafted toward him, and his cock twitched with interest.
Javier almost acted on it, considering waking her with passion and finesse, but instead, he climbed out of bed and hit the shower. He scrubbed his body with his favorite sage-scented bodywash and let the water pour over him, rousing and refreshing. After toweling off, he padded through the apartment naked, a usual habit, and made coffee. With a cup in hand, he returned to don simple shorts and a t-shirt. He had no plans to leave home, but he did remove the envelope of cash from his jacket. He shifted the Remington painting and put the bills into the safe behind it. Javier kept a substantial amount of money in the safe, but he also had a very healthy bank account. He would maneuver some of the cash to deposit without it being traced.
With that task out of the way, Javier pulled back the curtains and sipped coffee as he gazed across the East River. He liked his coffee hot, black, and strong. No need for sugar or cream. As he gazed at the Queensboro Bridge at Roosevelt Island, he pondered his dilemma. Maybe he should leave the city for a time, go elsewhere, and drag the woman along. Sooner or later, the heat would die down over the Wall Street guy's murder. Maybe with a little time and a lot of schmooze, he could count on Cecily's silence.
With his wealth, he could afford to go anywhere he wanted but if they traveled out of the United States, he would need a passport for the woman. Javier had one, for one of his aliases. Born Javier Jesus Morales, he often used Julio Luis Garcia. Most of his clients knew him only as Iceman. His reputation for cold, deliberate killing preceded him and prompted his nickname. He'd bought his apartment as Luis Hernandez. His passport was under Garcia so if he ever needed to flee, he could. He expected Cecily would have one, but he also wondered who she was and how high profile. She carried a small purse, but he hadn't searched it yet.
Javier pondered potential locations. Without a passport, there were many spots. He racked his brain. They could go to Maine, to some of the old summer retreats that still existed to hide. It would be off-season since autumn loomed. He considered Colorado, maybe a remote cabin in the Rockies, a place with a spectacular view and clean, cold, mountain air. For a few seconds, he thought about California. He could probably pass as an Angelo but rejected the notion. Javier wasn't into movie stars, sand, or sushi.
After refilling his cup, Javier settled into the corner of the leather sectional to think. These days, he had no family or friends in the city. Papi had died the summer before he started junior high and Mami moved to live near her sister in Miami after he joined the Army. His sister, Josefina, the one they had called Josie from birth, lived in Flagstaff with her husband and four kids. If any corner of his heart remained intact, it was the part he kept for his family. He loved his little sister, liked her husband, and adored his nieces and nephews. He showered them with gifts on impulse, had set up both college and trust funds for each. Javier wished he could go to Arizona. The Ponderosa Pines pleased him, and his spirit might rest easier there, but he rejected the notion. If he were there, he might draw danger and he wouldn't put Josie's family in the crosshairs.
Miami was out of consideration for the same reason. Mami lived there so he would stay clear. He saw her twice a year, on Mother's Day and Christmas. Although he had many scattered aunts, uncles, and cousins, none offered a viable possibility, no one except Jorge.
Growing up, the brothers were close, best friends and constant companions. Three years older, he'd followed Jorge into everything from pickup basketball and stickball games to street gangs. Jorge represented one of the reasons Javier cleaned up his act by high school because Jorge got arrested for stealing video games with other gang members. He'd done time in juvie for the crime, but the experience scared him straight. After his release, scoffing at Javier's decision to join the Army, Jorge moved across the country to Oklahoma. Javier never quite understood the appeal that the open plains of the Oklahoma Panhandle held for his brother. He'd visited twice but wasn't impressed. The small-town life that Jorge embraced seemed mundane to Javier. After the Bronx, he would admit it had a certain calm and quiet. It probably would be a good place to raise a family and Jorge had three boys, his pride and joy. Javier did the same for them as he had for Josie's kids.
Sitting on his couch on the Upper East Side, Javier realized Oklahoma might be his best option. Jorge thought Javier made a living as a security guard and never questioned the wealth he'd accumulated which was far beyond the earning potential of someone working security. He visited his brother's family on rare occasions and at Christmas saw them at Mami's.
Never one to make snap decisions, Javier decided he would mull over the possibility. He surfed the Internet long enough to research Cecily Randolph DeLauncy. Rich bitch, just like he figured. She had the air, the manners, and the expectation she'd get what she wanted. Daughter of Eddie Randolph, a Broadway star known for his skill to sing and dance, she'd grown up with luxury. Her mother had been a fashion model, then an actress, then a powerful force in New York society. Both died, however, in a boat explosion near Crete six years earlier. He skimmed the search engine results with interest, wise to know his enemy. The bitch had married Pierre DeLauncy, the French fashion designer. He had been eighty-five when they wed, and Cecily had been twenty-five. When he died last year from natural causes, his vast estate had been divided between his children from his first marriage, all more than old enough to be Cecily's parents or even grandparents, and her. Interesting, he noted. Born to privilege and a social climber as well. She had been an only child and apparently had few, if any, relatives.
Hunger rumbled in his belly, so he rose to fix an omelet. Cooking ranked among his secret skills, one he seldom admitted to anyone. Growing up with working parents, he soon learned to pitch in to make basic food. After the service, as he embarked on his new career, he dabbled in cooking. Javier had gathered pots, pans, and utensils, then taught himself to cook a few dishes.
Lost in thought, he failed to notice Cecily until she spoke, her voice low-pitched.
"Javier?"
The woman exited the bedroom, wrapped in one of his sheets, and startled him.
"Caramba!"
She glared at him. "I don't speak Spanish."
Javier laughed. "From the way you cussed me last night, I figured you knew every fucking language, Bitch Eyes. You shouldn't sneak up on me. I might have shot you."
Although not impossible, since he didn't have a weapon in hand, it wasn't happening now. He seldom armed himself in the sanctum of his home.
"I wasn't."
His eyes raked over her body, still luscious beneath the sheet. "Go get dressed. Put that sheet in the basket for the laundry."
Cecily bent and lifted the remains of her dress from the floor. She held it up.
"I don't have anything to wear. It's ruined."
He saw how he'd torn it. Even with a needle and thread, he doubted it could be repaired. Cecily tossed him the thong she'd worn but it was in tatters too. If he cussed, it wouldn't help matters, and he couldn't take her out of the apartment or anywhere without clothing.
"I'll get something sent you can wear."
"Then I can go home."
Although her lips remained puffy, he ached to kiss them. Javier wanted to strip away the sheet and take her again. To resist any attraction, he steeled himself against it. He didn't want to desire her, and he would not care about this silly woman. "No."
Her expression didn't change but a single tear rolled down her cheek. Javier stepped closer and wiped it away with one finger. He wondered if it was genuine or just fucking fine acting. After all, his nosy research indicated she came from a theater family, so she probably had a few skills.
"Don't fucking cry. I said I'll get you some clothes. Are you hungry? I'm about to make an omelet."
He barked the question in a brusque tone.
Cecily covered her face with both hands and the sheet dropped to the floor as she sobbed.
Javier resisted for a few moments, tried to ignore her anguish, but against his better judgement, he put his arms around her. Cecily didn't resist but leaned against him, weeping. She laid her head on his chest and her hands rested on his shoulders. He almost shoved her away, unhappy with the way his heart reacted. Javier stopped before he did and tried to conjure up comforting words. "Sh," he whispered. "Don't, Azúcar. Please stop crying."
So, she wasn't faking but that was worse than if she had been. He had never been able to handle female tears, not his sisters, not Mam, not any girlfriend he'd ever had. Women often wept when he walked away after a night of pounding sex, but it had never moved him before. Javier didn't know why he cared now, even a small bit, but he didn't want to feel anything. When she cried harder, he sighed, then picked her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. He cradled her on his lap, his cock rising with a nude woman in his arms. Javier kissed her but with soft, gentle lips. Ravishing her now might ease the ache in his cock but he doubted it would help Cecily. He wondered what had happened to the bold-talking, sassy woman. Right now, she seemed vulnerable.
Still, he might have taken her if she hadn't drawn up her knees and moaned.
"What's wrong?" he asked, wary. It might be a ruse to distract him. Or it might explain why she acted with less fire and sharp words.
"My stomach."
Javier put his hand over her abdomen and felt the muscles tighten, then release, then tighten again. "It's cramping."
"Yes," she muttered. "Hurts."
"What will help?"
"I don't know. Sometimes Imodium. It's from stress, it happens all the time."
"Then calm down."
Cecily scowled at him. "Like I can. I'm naked, in some killer guy's apartment, and he won't let me go home."
"You couldn't leave anyway, not without something to wear." He stated the obvious and she balled her fist, then hit his chest. It didn't hurt. She lacked the strength to make a punch count.
"Let me go!"
If he released her, she'd fall to the floor, so he didn't. One minute, she cuddled against him, the next she demanded to be freed. "How about you go take a shower and I find something you can wear till I can get some clothes delivered?"
Her eyes widened. "You would do that?"
"Si, Chica. I can't let you be naked, or I'll fuck you until you scream."
Despite her tummy issues, she almost smiled. "That might not be so bad, but I'd like a shower. And I want my purse if you haven't ransacked it. I need the Imodium in it for my stomach."
Javier led her to the bathroom, showed her how to work his complicated walk-in shower, and left her. He dug through his clothing and found an oversized t-shirt she could wear, although it would be much too large. He found some old sweatpants too but cinched the drawstring tighter. They would swim on Cecily but at least she'd be dressed. He left the garments on the bed where she would find them. After considering, he also put her purse there, but he kept the cell phone.
In the kitchen, he chopped onions, a green pepper, a few mushrooms, and a Roma tomato. He crumbled some precooked bacon and made a large omelet. By the time Cecily emerged, hair combed back into a wet ponytail, face bare of makeup, he had it cut in half and plated with some whole-wheat toast. Two plates sat on the dining table beside matching coffee mugs. He poured some orange juice too.
"I made breakfast," he told her. "If you want some."
Cecily walked barefooted across the room and sat down. "I didn't expect you to be a gracious host but shit happens. Thank you. I didn't think cooking would be your forte. My tummy's calmed down and I'm hungry."
He met her gaze without blinking. "I'm a man of many talents."
For a woman he had kept against her will, she ate well, finishing her omelet and polishing off two slices of toast.
"What happens now?" she asked after the meal. "I've never been kidnapped before so I'm not up on the protocol."
Damned if she didn't have a sarcastic edge he liked. Javier suspected she used it to cover her emotions but if it helped her cope, then he had no complaints. If he had to keep her close, it worked better for both if she wasn't totally hostile.
"First, I'll send for some clothing for you and order some groceries so I can cook dinner later. Then we lay low until I figure a few things out."
She digested his answer, then said, "Don't you have someone else to kill?"
He didn't. Javier liked to space his hits out and he had nothing scheduled. His customers knew where and how to locate him. There would be jobs, he had no doubt. If time passed till the next, he had more than enough money to survive. Truth was, he could never kill again, and it would be fine for a long, long time.
"Although that's none of your business, no, not right away. And I plan to fuck you again every which way I can. You're a good ride, Cecily Randolph DeLauncy."
"And you're a rat bastard." She didn't miss a beat or hesitate to reply, leaning her chin on one elbow. "But you fuck better than I expected. Do you always rape women or is it just me?"
Anger crowded out his complacency. "That wasn't rape. You yielded to me like a cat in heat or a slut on the prowl. Doesn't your husband satisfy you?"
That brought a reaction. She sat up straight and pursed her lips.
Javier held up one hand. "If you spit at me again, I'll slap you."
"My husband died. I'm a widow."
Javier knew, from his Internet search. "He was a rich old fucker, I know that. Why'd you marry someone that old? Hell, he could have been your grandfather, even great-grandfather. Was it the money?"
Cecily shook her head. "By the time I married Pierre, my parents were dead, killed on one of their many trips, the ones I never got to share. They left me everything. An only child has some perks."
Although he had money now, he'd grown up in a hardscrabble family. He earned his wealth as a hit man. Javier understood now, a little, what made her so flippant and sarcastic. No wonder she could be such a bitch. He ached to hold her, to kiss her to make up for the lack of love in her life, but he didn't. Javier couldn't afford to go soft.
"Poor little rich girl," he said with a sneer. "If not money, then why marry the old man?"
She crossed her legs, fidgeted, and then twisted her hands together. "You wouldn't understand, asshole. You'd have to have a heart for that."
At the moment, Javier wished he didn't because she'd gotten to him. He cared and didn't want to care about any woman. "Try me."
Cecily sighed and held up her empty wineglass. He refilled it, then she answered.
"I thought he really loved me, and I wanted that so much. Maybe I am totally stupid, but I've always wanted to find a man who would love me. I want that happily ever after shit. Besides, with Pierre, I thought I'd be part of a family. Pierre adored his kids and grandkids. I thought he'd treat me the same, but no, I was a trophy. When he didn't have any use for me, he stuck me on a shelf—not literally, you know—but he left me behind. And his family, well, they hated me, called me scum, and said I was after his money."
"But he did make you richer. Are you sure you're not a black widow?"
He intended that barb to sting.
Cecily's hands curved into claws, and he thought she might reach across the table to scratch him, but she didn't.
"He had one foot in the grave when I married him, but I didn't kill him. That's your area of expertise, not mine." Her face became a bland mask as if she didn't care but her eyes gave it away. They were darker with painful emotion.
Javier offered her a wicked grin. "So, your parents had no time for you. You married an old man, but it wasn't a fairy tale romance. His children don't like you, Chica. You have no family. What about friends? Or a lover? Someone waiting at home for you?"
She gave no answer, then demanded, "Where's my phone? Did you take my phone?"
"I have it. You're not calling anyone."
"I have friends who will wonder where I am, who will report me missing."
Pure bravado, he thought. In all the mentions he'd found online, Cecily appeared to be a loner. Maybe the true blue-bloods rejected her as the child of thespians or perhaps she was hated as a conniving gold digger. With her beauty, evident even without cosmetics or fancy garments, he would have thought she could have any lover she wanted.
"Do you? Name them."
Cecily put down her head after shooting a look his way that would have been fatal if looks could kill. "I can't. I have social friends but no besties. I remained faithful to Pierre, not because I wanted to but because he kept me practically under lock and key.
He'd called her bluff, but he wasn't proud or happy about it. "Then you should be used to this life. At least I'm not old and can get it up. Didn't you fuck the butler or the chauffeur or the chef?"
"They weren't attractive or maybe I would have.
"Am I?" he asked the question before he thought.
Her sigh echoed through the room as she nodded. "You know you are. I imagine you're one vain son of a bitch."
The words from Carly Simon's best-known hit floated through his mind and he laughed. He did know women found him handsome, but her admission delighted him. "Why not? I might as well admit what's obvious."
Her eyes rolled at that. "Then can I watch television? There doesn't seem to be anything else to do."
Fuck, he thought, there's always that.
"The remote should be on the shelf beneath it. Help yourself to any of the movies."
Javier kept one eye focused in her direction. He suspected she might try to bolt instead of watching some sit-com rerun or the news.
After loading the dishwasher with their plates, the pan he used, and their utensils, Javier got his laptop and sat at the table. He had ordered his own clothing and had it brought to him before, so he found the website.
"What's your size?" Once she provided it, he selected two pairs of jeans, six blouses, a pair of slacks, khakis, three casual dresses, socks, underwear and bras, simple loafers, and some athletic shoes. He chose a sweater, a light jacket, a nightgown, and a pair of pajamas. He didn't consult her for colors or shades, but he also picked out cosmetics and some of the perfume she wore.
Then Javier added a few things for himself and some luggage since it was certain they would travel. He just didn't know where.
It didn't take long but he paid the amount without caring how much it was. Across the room, feet tucked beneath her, Cecily watched some chick flick. For a woman in her situation, held hostage by a man she'd watched shoot someone else, he thought she appeared calm. I must have scratched her itch until she's satisfied.
Without warning, she came to her feet, glanced his way, and started toward the door. Aware that his locks would confuse her because they were far from simple, Javier watched. He said nothing until she touched the doorknob.
"Sit back down. You're not going anywhere."
"I could walk back to my place. I'm not afraid."
His eyes honed in on her bare feet. "Without shoes? Even you can't be dumb enough to try that."
Cecily glared at him, tried to twist the door open one more time, then sat back down.
With her half-hearted escape attempt thwarted, he changed websites, ordered two of the finest steaks, a couple of large baking potatoes, the fixings for a decent salad, and his favorite dressing from a grocery service he often utilized. He shut the laptop, stuck it back into the bag, and sat down beside her.
"The store will deliver some things for you by six this evening. I ordered some groceries, and they'll arrive long before that. I hope you like steak."
She shrugged. "I'll eat it if you don't burn it. I don't have many options, do I?"
Javier considered turning her over his knee like a misbehaving child and spanking her. The idea stiffened his dick, but he didn't do it. Once the first delivery arrived, though, he intended to haul her into the bedroom for another round of sex. The first had been awesome and he almost hoped it wasn't as good. The last thing he needed would be to get attached to this gold-digging woman. Although she had money, if she had any idea how much he had, she would want to marry him. That wasn't going to happen in this lifetime, not to him. Javier ignored the feelings she stirred in him. For a brief second, he imagined having her as his wife, then pushed the thought away.
To hush her, he kissed her. In his too-large-for-her garments, without makeup, and hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, she looked very young. Javier found her prettier that way. Despite her sharp wit and defense mode, Cecily returned the kiss. Her arms slid around his neck, and he shivered with anticipation. He liked sex and was fond of women, but he'd never had one who affected him this way. Last night he took her rough and hard, but she hadn't complained. Now Javier wanted to use a slow hand, to cherish her and to love her. He didn't want basic sex. He ached to make love. If he didn't stop now, he would take her again, but the grocery delivery would be here within the hour.
"I don't want any interruptions," he said when he pulled back. "We'll get back to this, I promise."
The moment the steaks and other items were put away, with a boner he couldn't deny pushing at the crotch of his pants, Javier turned off the TV and offered Cecily his hand. The unspoken invitation was obvious, especially when her gaze dropped to his erection.
"Come on, let's do it," Javier growled although his intention to be tender, not harsh, hadn't changed.
She grasped his hand and followed without protest as he led her back to the bedroom. With swift motions, he stripped out of his clothing, then removed her garments. Cecily touched his cock with a light hand, and he nearly came.
"Gracious, you do have a problem, don't you?" Her tone mocked but her expression didn't. "Let me help with that."
Cecily fisted her fingers around his dick and squeezed just enough to titillate.
Javier moaned and plucked her hand away. "We go slow this time, Azúcar, and savor the anticipation."
He inserted a finger into her pussy and found it wet. Javier grinned. Sometimes he had a woman who wasn't as ready as he was, and he savored the current conditions. He took her into his arms and let his hands roam over her luscious body, caressing and fondling as they moved. Javier kissed her, his lips gentle, taking his time as he brought them both to a burn.
Cecily proved to be a skilled kisser. She locked her lips onto his and remained, using her mouth to tempt him further. Still standing upright, with her in his embrace, Javier kissed her throat, but he didn't bite. Small purple bruises were prominent from last night, from her neck all the way down to her breasts and belly. He suckled and used his tongue.
As his desire increased, his ability to stand ebbed so he put her back onto the bed, oblivious of the tangled covers. Javier focused on her breasts, caressing them with easy fingers and a gentle touch, then suckled at her nipples like a newborn baby. Her pink buds hardened within his mouth and almost pushed him over the edge into orgasm.
"Roll over," he gasped. "On your knees, Cari?o, so I can take you from behind."
Cecily shifted position and raised up, tits dangling below her, butt jutted out so he could enter. Before he did, however, Javier traced the curves of her body, rubbed her back with an easy hand, and then, because if he didn't act now, he might die from wanting, he plunged into her doggy-style. He thrust his dick within her and bucked like a rodeo bull as intense waves of pleasure rocketed through him. Javier rested his hands on her lower back as he rode them, each one spiraling deeper with every move he made.
He'd meant to take his time, to be slow, but couldn't. When his need hit a fever pitch, he let go and let the orgasm rock his body. The powerful thrill sapped his strength, but Javier rejoiced that she rode the tide with him, gasping, panting, and at the last, shrieking. That signaled he had pleasured her, always a goal. He might be a sniper and paid hit man, but he liked his women to be satisfied.
Cecily lay facedown on the bed and he joined her. Javier pulled her against him, her bare back against his front, and held her. He couldn't linger, not when the department store delivery would arrive, but he ached to hold the moment as long as possible.
A sudden realization hit and he cringed from it. He should have worn a condom or asked if she had protection. No wonder fucking her felt so fine, so intense. No barrier existed between his dick and her pussy. He always wore a condom but now he hadn't even thought of it twice with this woman. If Cecily noticed or minded, she hadn't said but he resolved not to make the mistake again. Although he hadn't prayed since the worst moments when he had malaria, he offered up a silent plea that Cecily was free of disease and that she wouldn't catch a baby from him.
Javier had no room in his life for a companion, let alone a kid. He was a loner, not a lover.
Too comfortable and sated to move, he didn't until the doorbell chimed. A glance at Cecily confirmed she was asleep. He'd thought he had Cinderella when he first saw her on the roof, now he wondered what Disney princess he'd fucked. Was it Snow White? Naw, an apple put her out, he remembered. He had no apple and there was no curse to make this bitch sleep a hundred years like Sleeping Beauty. As far as he could tell, she hadn't lost a slipper, glass or otherwise, and he sure as shit was no prince. Guess she wasn't a princess, real or otherwise, after all.
Javier opened the door and found the delivery items stacked in the hallway and a woman waiting. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts, so the delivery person gaped at him, then asked him to sign. Considering the value of everything he had ordered, he would want a signature too and even in his posh-high rise, the risk of theft existed.
He hauled the goods inside, arranged the boxes and shopping bags on the dining table with the overflow on the floor. The new luggage rested beneath the windows.
Javier didn't want to start cooking until Cecily roused so he turned on the television. Since he no longer read a newspaper or listened to the radio, his sole source for news came from local TV. Most of the time, he wasn't interested enough to bother but he wondered if there might be any mention of the Wall Street financier's death.
He sat through several stories about local government, a national news piece on the president, and sat up straight when the anchor said, "Next up, we have a story on the tragic murder of Gideon Harrington, the well-known Wall Street maven. Stay tuned and we'll back after some brief commercial messages."
Javier muted the ads but upped the volume to hear the story.
"Early yesterday morning, on Monday, Harrington was shot while he gardened on the roof of his apartment building in Midtown. Local authorities suspect that a sniper took the shot from an adjacent building, most likely a nearby hotel. Although no eyewitnesses have come forward, several witnesses saw a man and woman exit a hotel just after the kill shot was fired. Lobby cameras failed to capture the pair from the front view, but the footage reveals the woman was in a designer cocktail dress, the man in dark clothing. They apparently escaped but NYPD urges the public to be on the lookout for the pair. The investigation into Harrington's death will continue."
A fluff piece on the dead man's career and his charitable work with the city's poor came next but Javier shut off the television, disturbed. He should have remembered the lobby security cameras but if he'd been alone as planned, he would have been unremarkable.
Cecily might not be his only problem.
It was time to make a plan.