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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?”
