They would be on each other in a heartbeat. A literal heartbeat.
She still wore nothing under her white shirt and jeans. It would take seconds for her to be naked. Beck pictured her standing in front of him without clothes. Without guile. He felt his erection grow, adding an excruciating insistence.
He imagined the feel of her bronze, flawlessly smooth skin. Even smoother and softer over her breasts. He had stared at them long enough when she was clothed to be able to imagine them uncovered. Full, perfect teardrops. Perfect. The thought of cupping those beautiful breasts, feeling them, running his hands around to her back and down to her ass, around her hips, in between her legs; feeling for the wetness made him clench his jaws, but he didn’t back off from the fantasy.
That was the thing. The intriguing thing about her body. Full breasts and rear, but long limbs with fine wrists and ankles. And the skin, that amazing skin. And her mesmerizing eyes. And a mouth he wanted to feel against his. Passion he wanted to experience as he slid into her. Feeling the silky tightness. Hearing her gasp. He was actually sweating slightly under the sexual tension. The offer of sex, the contest of power and control, the temptation to say fuck it to everything to experience her—he was in a battle of wills he was losing.
Christ, Christ, stop it, he told himself. What a fucking disaster.
He swallowed hard. He forced a mantle of deception over himself. He continued to look into her eyes, intent on preventing her from deriving any satisfaction from making him look away. He leaned forward in the chair, using the force of his larger physical presence to impose on her.
The moment passed. The power of her seduction, her intensity, were diverted into a part of Beck that nobody could touch. A part that had emerged in the hard, cold hell of his incarceration. Something that he shared with Ivan Kolenka, and Gregor Stepanovich, and Manny and Ciro and Demarco. A part that even the power of Olivia Sanchez couldn’t penetrate.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He reached out and took hold of her forearms, firmly, with purpose. He slowly pulled her arms away from him.
He stood and lifted her to her feet. Holding her forearms, controlling her, he pivoted quickly, like a boxer who had been maneuvered into the corner of the ring, slips a punch and twists away, exchanging the cramped, tight area of confinement for the open space that allows maneuvering.
He let go of her and sidestepped deftly to the other side of the room, leaving her alone near the end of the bed. But he had done it with such agility and quickness that she couldn’t pretend he was fleeing from her. He had achieved a separation from her completely on his terms.
Just then, his cell phone rang.
At one o’clock in the morning, Beck knew there was very little chance this would be good news.
He answered quickly. “Beck.”
It was Nydia. “Yo, I was you I’d get the fuck out of that room. Hard guys on their way, man. Two coming at you, two down here covering both ends of the elevator bank.”
“Fuck! Do what you can to help when we get to the lobby.”
Beck shoved the phone in his pocket. Olivia had heard him. It immobilized her.
“Quick, Olivia—we have to get out of here.”
For just a beat, perhaps two seconds, Olivia didn’t move, trapped in fear and confusion. And then she reacted with surprising speed. She didn’t say a word, no questions, no comments. She moved fast toward the head of the bed, picked up her bag from the floor, ran to the bathroom without hesitating, and pulled her underwear off the shower curtain rod.
She was at the doorway grabbing her coat from the closet before Beck had on his own coat.
He opened the door. Checked the corridor. Motioned her out of the room. She followed with her bag over her shoulder and her black underwear clutched in her hand.
He moved cautiously out into the hall, peering around, standing in front of Olivia until he saw that the hallway was empty. He quickly tried to locate the stairs, but gave up on the idea. He didn’t want to set off any alarms, or be trapped in a stairwell.
He hurried toward the elevators, sensing more than seeing Olivia behind him.
He pulled out his Browning Hi-Power, racked a bullet into the chamber and released the safety, holding the automatic pointed down next to his right leg.
Beck thumbed both the up and the down elevator buttons. Whatever elevator came first, they were getting on it. Hopefully, not the one bearing the hard men coming for them.
40
Nydia Lopez had returned from a quick meal of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee eaten at the counter of a diner down the street near Lexington. But when she had left the hotel for the diner, she’d made sure to stop and speak to the doorman on duty.
The fact that he was Hispanic helped. The fact that underneath the tattoos and rough clothes Nydia Lopez had a killer body and sharp, attractive features helped more.
“Yo, homes,” she had said. “What up?”
For a moment, the doorman hesitated, as if he were deciding whether or not to acknowledge being referred to as somebody’s homeboy while on duty at the prestigious Four Seasons Hotel. But then Nydia flashed a smile accompanied by a sly wink that said volumes.
The doorman, Caesar Gascon, melted. He smiled back.
“What’s up with you?” he said, posturing a little, his macho side coming out.
Nydia shrugged. “Not much. I’m taking care of a white lady up on the fortieth floor.”
“Taking care how?” asked Caesar.
Nydia pulled back her jacket and turned just enough so that Caesar could see the butt of the Smith & Wesson tucked in at the small of her back.
“You know,” said Nydia, as if she didn’t need to explain it to him, making Caesar a coconspirator.
“I didn’t see that,” said Caesar.
“No doubt,” said Nydia. “But you see anything, you know, like any nefarious types hanging around, you let me know, huh?”
“Yeah, sure. Where you going?”
“Got to eat. My partner is upstairs covering until I get back. Watch things for me for a few, okay?”