Trust Game, Page 2

  Whatever he believed, she'd been telling the truth about Joey. Joey was a piece of shit. He'd hurt her in ways she couldn't ever talk about. Aside from the terror of finding a killer in her house, the immediate feeling she'd had when she'd seen Joey's corpse had been relief.

  It was the tiniest moment of freedom before becoming another man's prisoner. Maybe Angel would be a nicer jailer. Except for the bloody knife in his hand, he'd seemed in control of himself. Maybe a little sociopathic, but if that coldness didn't extend to her... if he hadn't been able to bring himself to hurt her... No. These thoughts were all crazy. She had to force herself to stop thinking them.

  “What did you do with the dogs?” It suddenly occurred to her that Milo and Frankie hadn't been barking when she'd walked in on him.

  “Sedated them. They're probably awake by now.”

  So he wouldn't even kill the dogs. That had to be a good sign, right?

  “All right. This is far enough out.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to her. Angel shut the boat off and turned on a light so he could see what he was doing. He lugged the wrapped body over to the edge. It looked like a macabre gift for the sea. Or a sacrifice.

  He looked back at her, as if trying to gauge her reaction to seeing her husband's dead body about to be dumped in the ocean.

  “Wait. Did you send that guy the picture?”

  Angel looked at her like she was crazy. The last thing she needed was for him to skip a step because he got thrown off and not get all his money then be mad at her. Joey had been bad about that. If he lost money and could find a way to blame her, he did. She had more than one scar to show for it. She didn't want a repeat of that with Angel.

  “I did it back at the car before I finished wrapping him up.”

  “I really did hate him. I would have done anything to get away. I thought about just never coming back from the convention but I knew he could find me and... it would just be worse. I-I was trapped.”

  Angel dumped the body into the ocean and dropped the phone in behind it. Then he stared at Astrid for a long time. “I want to believe you, but the price of being wrong just isn't worth it.”

  Was it that or did he just not want to let her go for his own reasons? Maybe he didn't need to kill, but he no doubt had other needs. Maybe someone like her warming his bed was one of them.

  He started the boat back up and turned it around to return them to the docks.

  ***

  Angel didn't know what to make of her. Maybe she was telling the truth about her feelings about her husband. Maybe it wasn't just some con to get him to set her free.

  They were back in the car, headed finally to his house which was still another half hour away.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. She must be. He was starving. All he could think about was the pizza in the fridge. The adrenalin dump after a kill always left him ravenous.

  “Yes.”

  He really should believe her. It wasn't as though it was hard to picture Callazaro hurting his wife. He hurt plenty of other women. Why should she be any different? She was probably just his cover to make him seem more respectable, to give him someone to take out in public so he could hide his guilt behind her innocence.

  And she acted abused. The way she seemed to always be calculating how Angel would react to things. The way she didn't push. Sure, she'd tried to negotiate, but she hadn't thrashed around or screamed or fought him or had any of the normal reactions that unbroken women had to things like this. This was a woman who'd learned not to do those things the hard way already.

  Callazaro had killed plenty of people in his time, but it was doubtful Astrid knew about any of that. In her eyes Angel might be the bigger danger to her safety, even if she knew he'd done her a favor.

  So yeah. Maybe he did believe her. And if he believed her, there was no reason in the world she would turn in the man who'd freed her from that life. So why was he taking her back to his house instead of her own?

  Did he need to play this game with himself? It wasn't as if he lived according to the rules set forth by society. However he justified it, he killed people for money without a ripple of guilt. So if he just wanted her, what stopped him from doing what he was doing? It would have been simpler to kill her even though she didn't deserve to die. Yet here he was, keeping her like a pet or something.

  And how was this all going to play out? How could it work? She'd always be afraid of or resent him. And could he blame her?

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “My house.”

  “Are you going to keep me locked in the basement?”

  “In my paranoid security fortress mansion? That won't be necessary. You'll have the run of the place and your own room. I have a pool and hot tub you're welcome to use.” He was trying to make it sound like a vacation because for some reason the conscience that didn't work when killing people, worked with her.

  “Too bad I don't have a swimsuit,” she quipped.

  “If you packed one, you have one. I put your luggage in the backseat.”

  “Oh.”

  It was two in the morning when they finally reached their destination. Angel's house was located in the middle of nowhere with a huge empty expanse of lawn surrounding the place–an intentional design feature so no one could sneak up on the property from any direction. Beyond that, the house was surrounded by thick rows of trees, keeping it well-hidden from the outside world.

  He had a security perimeter that extended to the trees so he'd get a very early warning if anyone set foot on the property, and there were cameras everywhere both indoors and out.

  It was a huge Tudor-style mansion that looked like a fairy-tale on performance-enhancing drugs.

  Angel parked the SUV and took Astrid's bags in the house. Then he returned for her, carrying her carefully inside. He set her on a chair beside the entryway, locked the door, and input the security code. He set the system so it wouldn't notify the outside world if it was tripped.

  He retrieved a knife from his pocket, and immediately she recoiled.

  “Oh, right. I'm such a psycho I want to cut you up. I could wait all night to do it but I can't manage to remove you from the front entry hall with the blond hardwood floor you could bleed all over and destroy.”

  When the sarcasm didn't seem to reassure her, he said: “I'm just cutting the ropes off.”

  She hesitated another moment, then held out her bound wrists.

  “I don't think so. I free your hands first then bend to get your feet and you clock me over the head with something. Feet first.”

  Angel cut her legs free, then started on the ropes around her wrists. He stared at the rough ropes wistfully as he cut through them. How he would love to have her bound in a more satisfying scenario, but he doubted Astrid got off on the same things he did.

  Then why is she even here?

  He thought men like Joey Callazaro deserved to die. And yet, what scenario was he setting up in his own home? It didn't spring from heroism. Nor was he truly afraid she'd talk to the police and compromise him.

  Was it somehow better that he wouldn't sell or share her? That he would give her pleasure and make her love everything he did to her? That he wouldn't harvest her organs after the fact? Yeah, a real hero.

  Angel shook those thoughts out of his head. No. Somehow she would come to him. He could introduce her slowly to the things he wanted. When he'd been chasing her down in her neighborhood a few short hours before, he'd convinced himself he just wanted to keep her quiet, tie up loose ends. Don't leave any witnesses.

  But the growing discomfort in his pants as he'd chased her told a different story. He'd never done something this impulsive and crazy. He still didn't know what the fuck he was doing or what he was prepared to do... to have her.

  The night had taken an odd turn. He needed time and space to think.

  He looked back to find her sitting where he'd left her, watching him warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Could she know the things in his mind?
Could she see the images that passed through his head of all the things he wanted to do to her... of all the things he wanted to make her beg him for?

  “If you open this door, sirens will blare. It won't notify any outside security company or authorities, but it will notify me. And as you know, I'm a strong runner. There are no landline phones on the premises, and my computers are all locked down with passwords. Basically there is no way for you to call the outside world for help. I keep a cell phone on me. Burner phones, that I change out with each job. My phone is always on me physically, and I'm a very light sleeper. I have no desire to harm you, but you aren't going anywhere until I decide. Do you understand all of this?”

  She was looking down at her hands now, staring at those lovely light pink rope burns. The ropes had been so rough that they'd chafed her skin even without a struggle.

  “Astrid?”

  “Yes,” she said meekly. He tried not to let this obvious sign of abuse affect him. The more time he spent with her the worse he knew things had been for her.

  “Good. Let's eat. I've got a whole leftover pizza. You like pizza?”

  “Yes.”

  He hated these tentative one-word answers. What do you expect? You kidnapped her! But really, how else was he supposed to meet someone? It's not like he could just 'date'. Too much of his life had to be kept secret. This girl already knew he was a killer. Wasn't that some sort of weird social progress?

  He was tired of paying strangers to meet his needs. As if Astrid would volunteer to do it for free.

  She might. He had killed her abusive husband. And the last time Angel had looked in the mirror, he wasn't all that hard to look at. He could give her all the time she needed. It wasn't as though he hadn't already waited years to find someone he could be with long term—someone he didn't have to hide from.

  Now that they were in the house, she seemed a lot more afraid of him. Of course she was. It was natural. They were locked inside his isolated secure property with no chance anyone would happen by to save her. He could do anything he wanted, and she didn't know what that might mean for her.

  I should let her go. But he just... couldn't. He wanted her too much. Out of all the things he'd done, was this finally the thing that would make him feel evil? He'd never felt fully human, not bothered by the same pangs of conscience that got to most people, but that same lack of guilt also made it impossible to see himself as a monster.

  Oh for fuck's sake, Angel. She's going to live in luxury for the rest of her life. And eventually she'll get to leave the property. Once she truly sees who she belongs to and accepts it.

  If possible, his internal pep talk was only making this worse.

  “I'll show you to your room, then we'll eat.”

  “Okay.”

  Angel took her luggage and led her out of the main entrance hall, up a flight of stairs, and down a long hallway. “This is my bedroom if you need something,” he said, gesturing as they passed it.

  He took her to the far end of the hall as far from his room as it was possible to get in this wing. He flipped on the light to illuminate a bedroom decorated in pale calming greens and blues with clean minimalist lines and thick white bedding. There were natural handwoven green and blue rugs on the blond hardwood. The furniture matched the floor with aged silver knobs on the various drawers. There was a dried lavender bouquet in a vase that still gave the room a light pleasant scent.

  He set her luggage down beside a table with a flat screen TV on it.

  “There's a walk-in closet and your own bathroom,” Angel said as if these amenities made up for the fact that he was now keeping a prisoner in his home—someone who definitely didn't deserve his brand of affection.

  He really was the most perfect opportunist.

  Angel pulled back the blinds on a sliding glass door and opened it to reveal a tiny balcony with a white table and a single chair. “It overlooks the pool, and there's a great view of the mountains in the distance. You can't see any of it well at night, but in the morning, you'll love it. You get the sunrise from this window. What do you think?”

  “It's very nice.”

  You have to let her go.

  “Let's eat,” he said, ignoring the voice of reason.

  ***

  Astrid followed him down to the kitchen. He had to know she wasn't a threat to him. But how could he? She could just as easily be lying. Maybe she should show him the scars to prove it. Then he might let her go. The whip lashes Joey had left on her back should make things clear enough, but she wasn't sure she wanted to set up a situation Angel might take as an invitation. Lifting her shirt enough to show him all those scars might be too intimate a thing to do if she wasn't sure she wanted him to touch her.

  She wasn't sure she didn't want him to touch her. Which was crazy. She definitely shouldn't want him to touch her. What was wrong with her that she kept being attracted to bad men?

  He hadn't stopped looking at her in that way. She kept waiting for him to... throw her down or something. Back in the bedroom she'd barely been able to breathe. Standing so close to him and a bed... when he looked at her like he did—like a wolf that wanted to eat her. And what if he hurt her? Joey liked it rough.

  There were a million reasons why she shouldn't be attracted to Angel starting with the casual way he could kill and dump a body.

  She should have learned these lessons the first time with Joey. But Angel seemed different. More in control of himself.

  Even in the beginning, Joey had been a loose cannon, someone whose swirling vortex of emotions seemed to drag him along and control his every move. It had seemed exciting in the beginning. And he could take care of her. It had been so easy to overlook the bad stuff until the bad stuff had made her bleed and left permanent marks.

  “Is ginger ale okay with your pizza? You probably don't want caffeine this late if you want to sleep.” Angel took a big box from a local pizza place out of the refrigerator.

  “That's fine.”

  “I'm going to pop this on a stone and heat it in the oven. It'll take a few more minutes, but it's better than microwaving.”

  He turned the oven on and put the pizza in, set the timer, and poured them some drinks then sat across from her at the table.

  “Look, I know you say he abused you, but did you know what he was into?”

  Astrid stared at the table, unable to meet those sharp blue eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And what was he into? I want to make sure you really do know,” Angel said.

  “H-he trafficked girls, and when they didn't bring as high a price anymore... h-he... o-or... one of his guys killed them and sold their organs.” It was even worse saying it out loud.

  She'd never said any of that out loud to anybody.

  “He didn't just threaten to kill you if you left, did he?”

  Astrid shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to somehow block out the memory.

  Finally she opened her eyes and immediately wish she'd left them closed. She was afraid of the darkness she saw in Angel's face. Somehow it didn't matter if that darkness had been directed toward killing Joey and not hurting her or innocent girls, it was still the same dark look—the look Joey got. It felt wild and dangerous. Like it could burn her alive.

  “So... see? You can let me go. I-I'm not going to say anything. A-and my work will miss me. Isn't it going to look weird with my car and Joey's car at the house, but both of us missing and never returning? And... the scene you left...” She remembered seeing things smashed up in the house before she'd dropped her stuff and ran.

  “I'm not letting you go.” There was a long pause, and then he added, “I don't want to.”

  Astrid felt everything inside her freeze. It was exactly what she suspected, the reason he hadn't killed her. That look.

  “W-what do you mean you don't want to?”

  “I just... don't want to,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said again.

  But every time he said it she became mo
re worried it was a lie. What if he was like Joey? And wasn't holding her hostage hurting her? By definition?

  “A-are you going to...” but she couldn't complete the thought.

  “Force myself on you like some animal? No, Astrid. I'm not.”

  What did that mean then? What did any of this mean? It was wrong that he'd taken her—especially when he knew she wasn't a threat. It could almost be understandable if he was just doing it to protect himself. Almost.

  She'd thought she'd never be free of Joey, and just when she'd thought maybe there was a chance for her, here she was in this fucked-up situation with someone people in the real world actually referred to as the Angel of death.

  “So what do you do for work?” he asked as if this were some sort of date.

  “I manage a restaurant.”

  “Do you like it?”

  As if it mattered. She clearly wasn't going back.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was a front business for Joey. After hours he used the place... for other business.”

  “I thought you were going to some kind of convention?”

  “I was. And it was a real convention for restaurant managers, but he just wanted to get me out of town for a while. He had another shipment coming in, and as the operation grew he was starting to get antsy I think about me knowing so much. He wanted me to deliver something to a friend of his at the convention, but other than that I think he just wanted me out of town for a few days.”

  The oven timer beeped and Angel got up and took the food out. He put a couple of slices on her plate and several on his own and brought them back to the table.

  “Why did you come back tonight?”

  “I missed my flight. I got the time wrong, and when I arrived they had already boarded and the plane was pulling away from the tarmac. I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I got the time wrong.”

  Angel stopped asking questions, and she stopped volunteering information. Instead, Astrid focused on her pizza. It was from one of the best pizza places in the area. Joey had taken her to Naples, once in the early days. The pizza there had been on a whole other level. This pizza was a very close second.