Chapter 12
On the way down the stairs, Shanna's thoughts centered on Roman. Thank God he was alive! The question now was should she stay under his protection or make other arrangements with Bob Mendoza? It was very tempting to stay with Roman. She'd never felt so attracted to a man. Or so intrigued.
She sauntered into the kitchen and found Connor at the sink, rinsing out bottles and setting them in the dishwasher.
"Are ye all right, lass?"
"Sure." She noticed a box of Band-Aids that was sitting on the counter. "Did you cut yourself?"
"Nay. I thought ye might be needing one." He peered closely at her neck. "Och, a silver chain. That'll protect you."
"Roman gave it to me." Shanna admired the antique crucifix.
"Aye, he's a good man." Connor swept the box of Band-Aids into a drawer. "I shouldna have doubted him."
Shanna opened a cabinet. "Where do you keep your glasses?"
"Here." Connor opened a different cabinet and retrieved a glass. "What would ye like to drink?"
"Some water." Shanna motioned to the dispenser in the refrigerator door. "I can get it myself."
Connor reluctantly handed over the glass, then followed her to the refrigerator.
"I'm not helpless, you know." She put in some ice and smiled at the Highlander who was leaning against the refrigerator door. "You guys are too sweet. You're going to spoil me rotten." She filled the glass with water.
Connor blushed.
She sat at the table and peered inside the box of brownies. "Yum." She took one out. "Do you think you could find some dental instruments for me? I need to tighten the splint in Roman's mouth."
Connor sat across from her. "Aye. We can take care of that."
"Thanks." Shanna pinched off a corner of the brownie. "Is there anything to do around here?"
"We have a well-stocked library across from the parlor. And there should be a telly in yer bedchamber."
Bedchamber? Shanna loved how archaic the Highlanders could sound. She finished her brownie, then hunted down the library. Wow. Three whole walls were lined with books from the floor to the ceiling. Some looked very old. Some were in languages she didn't recognize.
A wide window, covered with thick draperies, stretched across the fourth wall. She peeked out and saw the dimly lit street with cars parked along each side. It seemed so quiet and peaceful. Hard to believe there were people out there who wanted her dead.
She heard voices in the foyer. Female voices. She moved toward the door. She had to admit, she was curious about these mysterious ladies who watched television in Roman's parlor. She peeked around the doorjamb.
There were two beautiful women approaching the parlor. The first one, dressed in a black spandex catsuit, looked like a model and moved like an anorexic panther. Her hair was long, black, and loose down her back. Sparkling rhinestones studded the black belt around her tiny waist. Black polish gleamed on her long fingernails, and each nail boasted another rhinestone.
The second woman was petite, with her black hair cut into a bob. She wore a tight black sweater to show off her generous cleavage and a black mini-skirt to reveal her pencil legs encased in black fishnet stockings. She was cute and tiny, but her clunky black shoes made her walk like a water buffalo.
The woman in the catsuit was gesturing angrily, her fingernails glittering under the foyer chandelier. "How can he treat me like zis? Does he not know I am a celebrity?"
"He's very busy, Simone," Miss Clunky Shoes replied. "He has a million things to do with the conference starting tomorrow."
Simone flipped her black silky hair over her shoulder. "But I came early so I could see him, zat rat!"
Shanna winced at the way the French catwoman pronounced her r's. It sounded like she had phlegm stuck in her throat and was trying to cough it up.
Simone huffed. "He is so h-rude!"
Shanna gritted her teeth. Definitely something in her throat. Probably a furball.
Simone flung open the double doors to the parlor. The room was filled with women lounging about on the three maroon couches. They were drinking something from crystal wineglasses.
"Good evening, Simone, Maggie," the ladies greeted the two women in the foyer.
"Has our show started yet?" Maggie clunked into the room in her enormous black shoes.
"No," one of the ladies replied. She was sitting on the middle sofa, so Shanna could see only the back of her head. Her short, spiky hair was dyed such a dark red, it was more like purple. "The news is still on."
Shanna took note of the widescreen TV. An ordinary-looking male newscaster was on the air, mouthing words. In the corner of the screen a red mute sign glowed. Obviously, these ladies didn't concern themselves with current events. Beneath the mute sign, the black bat logo was displayed. They were watching DVN.
Shanna counted a total of eleven women, who all appeared to be in their twenties. Well, what the heck. If she was going to pursue a relationship with Roman, she needed to know why these women were here. She stepped into the foyer.
Simone filled a wineglass from a crystal decanter on the coffee table. "Has anyone seen ze master zis evening?" She perched in the far corner of the sofa on the left.
The purple-haired woman was admiring her long, purple fingernails. "I heard he's seeing another woman."
"What?" Simone's eyes flashed. Leaning forward, she plunked her glass down on the table. "You are lying, Vanda. He could not possibly want anozher woman when he could have moi."
Vanda shrugged. "I'm not lying. Phil told me about it."
"The daytime guard?" Maggie sat beside Simone.
Vanda stood. She was also wearing a black catsuit, but her belt was made of braided leather strips. She shoved a hand through her purple spiky hair. "Phil has a crush on me. He tells me everything I want to know."
Simone sank back into the couch, her gaunt body in danger of being swallowed up entirely. "Zen it is true? Zere is anozher woman?"
"Yes." Vanda turned her head and sniffed. "What is that?" She spotted Shanna in the foyer. "Well, speak of the devil."
All eleven women stared at Shanna.
She smiled and stepped into the room. "Good evening." Shanna looked the women over. Black clothing was normal for New York City, but still, some of these outfits seemed a bit odd. One of the ladies was wearing a gown that looked medieval. Another gown looked Victorian. Was that a hoop skirt?
The one called Vanda circled the coffee table and struck a dramatic pose by the television. Whoa. The neckline of her catsuit plunged all the way to her waist. Shanna was seeing a lot more of Vanda than she really wanted to.
"My name is Shanna Whelan. I'm a dentist."
Vanda narrowed her eyes. "Our teeth are perfect."
"Okay." Shanna wondered what she had done to make these women glare at her. Though there was one, sitting apart from the others, who was giving her a friendly smile. She had blond hair and modern clothes.
The one in the Victorian dress spoke, her accent making her sound like a Southern belle. "A lady dentist? I do declare, I don't know why the master would invite her here."
The one in the medieval gown agreed. "She does not belong here. She should leave."
The friendly blond spoke up. "Hey, it's your master's house. He can invite the pope if he wants."
The other women shot the blond a vicious look.
Vanda shook her head. "Don't make them mad at you, Darcy. They'll make your life miserable."
"Some life." Darcy rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm so afraid. What could they possibly do to me? Kill me?"
The medieval one lifted her chin. "Do not tempt us. You do not belong here, either."
What a strange group. Shanna retreated a step.
The Southern belle glowered at Shanna. "Is it true, then? You're the master's new lady friend?"
Shanna shook her head. "I don't know who this master is."
The ladies chuckled. Darcy winced.
"Bon." Simone curled up like a contented cat in her corner of the couch. "You will leave him alone, zen. I came all ze way from Paris to be wiz him."
Maggie leaned close to Simone and whispered in her ear.
'Wow" Simone's eyes widened. "Zut alors! He did not tell her?" She huffed. "And he is ignoring me. To zink I wanted to have sex wiz him, zat bastard!"
Maggie sighed. "He never has sex with us anymore. I miss the old days."
"Me, too," Vanda said, and all the ladies nodded in agreement.
Jeez. Shanna grimaced. This master character had had sex with all of these women? He was downright creepy.
"He will have sex wiz me," Simone declared. "No man can resist me." She eyed Shanna with disdain. "Why would he want zis woman? She must be size fourteen."
"Excusez-moi? " Shanna glared at the rude Frenchwoman.
"Oh, look!" Maggie pointed at the TV. "The news is over. It's time for our soap."
The ladies forgot about Shanna as they turned to watch the television. Maggie punched the mute button on the remote control to restore the sound. There was a commercial on with a woman praising the yummy, rich flavor of a drink called Chocolood.
Vanda slinked around the couches and headed for Shanna. Upon closer inspection, Shanna realized Vanda's belt was actually a whip. And on the inside curve of one breast, Vanda was sporting a tattoo of a bat. Purple, of course.
Shanna crossed her arms, refusing to be intimidated.
Vanda stopped beside her. "I heard the master fell asleep in someone else's bed."
"No!" The other ladies forgot about the television. They turned to stare at Vanda.
Vanda smiled, enjoying all the attention. She patted her spiky purple hair. "That's what Phil told me."
"Whose bed?" Simone demanded. "I will scratch her eyes out."
Vanda looked at Shanna. The other women stared at her.
Shanna raised her hands. "Look, guys, you've got the wrong bed. I don't know this creepy master of yours."
Vanda chuckled. "Not very smart, is she?"
That was it. "Okay, lady. I'm smart enough not to dye my hair purple. Or to share a man with ten other women."
The ladies reacted - some laughing, some offended.
"Phil told me there was a man in your bed," Vanda sneered. "You woke up and thought he was dead."
The ladies giggled.
Shanna frowned. "That was Roman Draganesti."
Vanda smiled slowly. "Roman is the master."
Shanna's mouth dropped open. Could it be true? Could Roman have eleven live-in girlfriends? "No." She shook her head.
The ladies watched her with smug looks. Vanda leaned against the doorjamb, her smile triumphant.
A chill crept across Shanna's skin. No, it wasn't true. These women just wanted to hurt her. "Roman is a good man."
"He is a bastard," Simone declared.
Shanna's head reeled. Roman is a good man. She had felt it down to her soul. He wanted to protect her, not hurt her. "I don't believe you. Roman cares about me. He gave me this." The crucifix had slid to the side beneath her blazer. She pulled it out.
The women cringed.
Vanda stiffened with a hiss. "We are his women. You do not belong here."
Shanna gulped. Could Roman really have eleven lovers?
How could he kiss her when he already had so many women? Oh God. She pressed the cross against her chest. "I don't believe you."
"Zen you are a fool," Simone said. "We should not have to share Roman wiz someone like you. It is insulting."
Shanna stared at the women. They had to be lying, but why would they? The only logical explanation for their anger was that she was actually seeing their master. Roman.
How could he do this to her? Make her feel so special when he had a house full of women. What a fool she'd been, thinking he wanted to protect her from the bad guys. He only wanted her here so he could add her to his collection and make a full dozen. Simone was right. He was a bastard! Eleven women at his beck and call, and that wasn't enough for him. What a pig!
She ran from the room and hurried up the stairs. By the time Shanna reached the fourth floor, she was seething. No way was she staying here. She didn't care how safe it was from the Russians. She never wanted to see Roman again. She could take care of herself.
What would she need? A few clothes, her purse? She recalled seeing her Marilyn Monroe purse in Roman's office. Roman, the bastard pig's office.
She ran up the last flight of stairs. A Highlander was guarding the fifth floor and moved toward her. "Did ye need something, lass?"
"Just my purse." She motioned toward the office door. "I left it inside."
"Verra well." The guard opened the door for her.
She slipped inside and spotted her purse on the floor next to the velvet chaise. She checked the contents. Her wallet, checkbook, and Beretta were still there. Thank God.
She remembered pointing the gun at Roman the night before. Why had she decided to trust him? The minute she had climbed into a car with him, she had trusted him with her life.
She looked sadly at the velvet chaise. Last night, while lying there, she had let him hypnotize her. She had trusted him again, that time with her career, her dreams, and her fears. And then, over by the door, they had shared their first kiss. One hell of a kiss. And she had trusted him with her heart.
A tear rolled down her cheek. Dammit, no! She wiped her eyes. No tears for that bastard. She was halfway to the door when she stopped.
She wanted him to know. She wanted him to know that she was rejecting him. No one treated her like that. She marched back to the desk, pulled off the crucifix, and dropped it on his desk. There. That was a message he would understand.
When she exited the office, she found the guard hovering by the door. Oh, jeez. How was she going to leave the house? There were guards everywhere. She walked down the stairs to the fourth floor, deep in thought. Earlier, when she had met Roman's women, there had been a Highlander at the front door, one she'd never met. Connor would be at the back door. No way could she get past him. She'd have to give the front door a try. She had no ID card, didn't know the code for the keypad. So she'd have to convince the guard to open the door for her.
Back in her room, she paced back and forth, making her plans. It irked her to accept anything from Roman, King of Pigs, but she was in the midst of a struggle to survive, and she would have to be practical. She grabbed the largest shopping bag and filled it with some clothing and essentials.
Radinka hadn't bought anything black. Darn. She needed black stuff for her plan to work. Aha! The pants she had on last night were black. She put her old clothes back on and packed the new ones into the shopping bag. Then she put on her old white Nikes. They were best for walking.
With her purse and one shopping bag, she headed for the stairs. The guard on the fourth floor nodded at her.
She smiled. "You know, I was going to try these clothes on with.. Darcy." She lifted the shopping bag to show the guard. "But she forgot to tell me which room is hers."
"Och, the pretty lass with the blond hair." The Highlander smiled. "All the harem sleeps on the second floor."
Shanna's smile froze. Harem? Is that what they called them? She gritted her teeth. "Thank you."
She stomped down the stairs. That damned Roman. Master and his harem. How sick! On the second floor, she picked a door and went inside. There were two double beds, both slightly rumpled. It looked like Roman's harem girls had to share rooms. What a pity.
She looked in the closet. Catsuits? She couldn't fit into one of those. There! A black fishnet tunic. She slipped it over her pink T-shirt. No doubt Vanda would wear nothing under it.
She spotted a black beret and stuffed her brown hair into it. Was she disguised enough? She scanned the room. No mirrors. That was hard to believe. How could those women survive without a mirror?
In the bathroom, she located some dark red lipstick. Using a compact mirror from her purse, she put it on. She applied red eye shadow. There, she looked as creepy as they did. She picked up her shopping bag and purse and headed down the stairs.
As she reached the ground floor, she noted the parlor doors were shut. Good. The harem was closed up inside. Not that they would try to stop her from leaving. Then she spotted Connor coming from the kitchen. He'd stop her for sure.
She ran behind the grand staircase, looking for a place to hide, then noticed a narrow flight of stairs going down. The basement. Maybe there was another way out of the building from there. She reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a furnace, a washer and dryer, and a door. She opened it.
It was a large room with a pool table in the middle. A stained glass lamp hung over the pool table, its dim light illuminating the room. Exercise equipment was scattered about. Banners decorated the walls, made of plaid material with embroidered mottoes. Between the banners, swords and axes were on display. Against another wall was a leather sofa, flanked by two armchairs upholstered in red and green plaid. This had to be where the Highlanders hung out when they weren't on duty.
Shanna heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Shoot. If she left the room, they would see her. The couch was pushed against the wall - no hiding behind it. She spotted another door.
The footsteps approached. More than one person. Shanna ran for the door and slipped inside. Total darkness enveloped her. Was this a closet? She set her bag and purse on the floor by her feet. She reached out her hands but felt nothing around her.
She leaned against the door. She heard voices in the guardroom, then laughter. Finally the voices faded away. She inched open the door. The guardroom was empty, but they had turned the lights on full blast.
She picked up her bags and tiptoed from her hiding place. She glanced back to close the door and gasped. Light from the guardroom had made her hiding place slightly visible.
It couldn't be. She dropped her bags on the floor, leaned into the other room, and fumbled along the wall for a light switch. Click.
She gasped again. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh. The narrow room resembled a ghoulish dormitory with two long rows. But the rows weren't made up of beds. Oh no. These were coffins. More than a dozen coffins. All open. All empty, except for the tartan pillows and blankets inside each one.
She turned the light off and pulled the door shut. My God! It was sick! She grabbed her bags and stumbled from the guardroom. Her stomach churned. This was too much. First Roman's betrayal with those psycho women; and now coffins'? Did the Highlanders actually sleep in them? A wave of nausea surged up her throat. She swallowed hard. No, no! She would not give in to fear. Or horror. Her paradise had suddenly turned into hell, but it would not defeat her.
She was outta here.
On the ground floor, she spotted the guard at the front door. Okay, show time. She took a deep breath to calm her shaky nerves. Don't think about the coffins now. Be tough.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Bonsoir." She marched toward the front door with her bags in hand. She poured on a thick French accent. "I must go out and buy ze hair color. Simone wants ze highlights for her hair."
The guard gave her a confused look.
"You know, ze blond highlights. It is all ze h-rage!"
He frowned. "Who are you?"
"I am Simone's personal hair styliste. I am Angelique of Paris. You have heard of me, n'est-ce pas?"
He shook his head.
"Merde!" Sometimes her knowledge of foreign curses was a positive boon. And three years of French at her boarding school was a great help, too. "If I do not return wiz ze hair color, Simone will be furieuse"
The Scotsman blanched. He must have witnessed Simone throwing a hissy fit before. "I suppose ye can go out for a while. Ye know the way back, lass?"
Shanna huffed. "Do I look like an idiote?"
The Highlander ran his ID card through the machine at the door. The green light came on. He opened the door and surveyed the surroundings. "It looks fine to me, lass. When ye come back, push the button on the intercom so I can let ye back in."
"Merci bien." Shanna stepped outside and waited for the Scotsman to close the door. Whew! She waited for her heart to stop racing. She'd done it! She looked right and left. The street was quiet. A few people were strolling down the sidewalk. She hurried down the steps and took a right toward Central Park.
Behind her, a car engine started. Her heart leaped in her chest, but she kept walking. Don't look back. It's nothing.
The street lit up when the car behind her turned on its headlights. Sweat popped out on her brow. Don't look back.
She couldn't take it. She had to know.
She glanced over her shoulder. A black sedan was pulling away from the curb.
Shit! She jerked her head forward. It looked just like one of the cars the Russians had parked in front of the clinic. Don't panic. There were a jillion black cars in the city.
Suddenly she was struck in the face by the glare of headlights. A car that was parked facing her had just turned on its lights. She squinted. It was a black SUV with dark-tinted windows.
Behind her, the sedan revved its engine. The SUV swerved into the street. It headed straight for her, then screeched to a halt, spinning sideways to block the entire street. The black sedan was trapped. The driver jumped out, shouting curses.
Curses in Russian.
Shanna ran. She reached the end of the block, hooked a left, and ran some more. Her heart pounded. Her skin grew sticky with sweat. Still she ran. She reached Central Park and slowed to a walk. She glanced around to make sure no one was following her.
Good God, she had narrowly escaped the Russians. Her skin chilled from her cooling sweat. She shuddered. If it hadn't been for that SUV, she'd probably be a corpse by now. The thought of dead bodies brought back the memory of coffins in the basement. Her stomach twinged.
She stopped and took deep breaths. Relax. She couldn't afford to get sick now. Don't think about the coffins. Unfortunately, her next thought was just as unnerving.
Who the hell was in the SUV?