Reckless: a book tied to the Cotton Creek Saga (Shattered 1) Page 9

  Victor quickly examined the facts, gleaning the necessary information to fit the pieces together.

  “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke, Carlo?”

  “Uh, Italian.”

  “You fool!” Victor erupted from his chair.

  Carlo had time only to flinch before Victor was upon him. He grabbed the young man's hair on the back of his head and wrenched his neck back painfully. “You are in America, you imbecile. Here you smoke American cigarettes. Did you think the woman a complete idiot?”

  With that, he shoved the young man away from him. The power of his thrust sent Carlo toppling to the floor. Victor turned his back on the fallen man. “Juro!”

  A short Asian man rose from a chair across the room and walked quickly to Carlo. He pulled Carlo into a standing position with one fluid move. As soon as Carlo gained his balance, Juro stepped behind him. Carlo's eyes followed Juro’s movement, his head turned to watch, but his gaze didn't rise to meet Juro's black, unblinking eyes.

  Victor ignored Carlo and everyone else in the room. He walked over to the massive window that overlooked the manicured lawn of his estate. At the moment, Victor was utterly unconcerned with Carlo or anyone else in the room. He would deal with them when it suited him. Right now, his attention was elsewhere.

  He went back over the information regarding the incident with his men and Morgan. She had clearly outmaneuvered them. I have underestimated her. Unexpected pleasure brought a sly smile onto this face. So much the better.

  He pictured Morgan in his mind, beautiful, seductive, yet dynamic and bold. And the beloved of his enemy. Yes, she would be his. Taking her would hurt his enemy and provide him with a temporary pleasure as he broke her.

  With no thought to those around him or their state of mind, Victor allowed his mind to carry him back in time, to the moment it all started.

  He arrived late to a party given by Juan Ramirez in celebration of his partnership in a new company, Alexander Enterprises. Victor had considered declining the invitation. He had offered to back the new venture for the lion’s share of the stock. He would supply all the working capital needed and in exchange, he would be the majority partner.

  Juan had been eager to accept the deal, but Cord Alexander had categorically refused. He wouldn’t consider the idea, no matter what the stock split. He made it plain that they didn’t need Victor’s money and sure as hell weren’t going to work for him.

  That angered Victor, and he warned Juan that he had the power to ruin the new company if he chose. Juan told Cord and Cord laughed. He told Juan to tell Victor to do his best and that just because Victor was a legend in his own mind, it didn’t mean the rest of the world saw it that way.

  A legend in his own mind. Victor hated that and hated that in the months to come Cord Alexander would tell anyone who asked that he had turned down the chance to go into partnership with Vincon. He had rejected Victor Vinsetti. Juan, however, had not, and Victor achieved what he’d wanted all along without Cord Alexander’s permission.

  Nonetheless, the anger Cord’s dismissal of him provoked, festered into hatred which grew and the need for revenge was born. Victor attended the party to prove to the world that Cord Alexander and his little company meant nothing. He was as far above that small enterprise as the sun above the earth.

  Juan and a couple with whom Victor was not acquainted, met him at the door. He spent a few minutes in conversation then motioned Juan away from the others.

  “Congratulations,” Victor said as they made their way into the large sunken living room where the rest of the guests were assembled.

  “Thank you,” Juan stopped and faced Victor. “Without your help—”

  “Let us not speak of such things tonight.” Victor interrupted with a wave of his hand. He would collect his due from Juan when it was required. His eyes scanned the people in the room and came to a halt upon a small raven-haired woman. A man with black hair had one arm draped over her shoulders. Her arm was wrapped around the man's waist to support him.

  Victor forgot about Juan and started across the room. The raven-haired woman looked in his direction. Their eyes met and held. Abruptly, she frowned, looked away and steered the man she supported in the direction of the stairs.

  Victor watched the woman's tantalizing shape as she ascended the stairs. Juan stepped up beside Victor with a nervous chuckle. “That's Cord and his wife, Morgan. Believe it or not, she’s a large animal vet and runs their ranch. Cord's not much of a drinker, and he kind of overdid it tonight, so she's putting him to bed.”

  Juan fell silent. Victor ignored him. His eyes followed Morgan until she disappeared at the top of the stairs. Morgan Alexander. Yes, of course, the woman he loves. It could not be more perfect.

  Even now, that image of her was burned indelibly into his mind. Heat spread through him at the remembrance. Satisfied at the excitement such thoughts provided, he returned to the business at hand.

  “Carlo.” His voice split the silence. “Which hand did you use?”

  “Hand?”

  “Yes, which hand did you use to offer her a cigarette?”

  “Uh, my left, I think.” Carlo stammered.

  “You are sure you used your left hand?”

  “Yes, I think so. No – no, wait, it was my right. Yes, it was definitely my right hand. I was driving, and when she asked for a smoke my cigarettes were in my left shirt pocket, so I took my right hand off the wheel and pulled the pack out of my shirt.”

  Carlo’s hair was saturated from the sweat running down his neck. Dark patches marred the white collar of his shirt.

  “Your right hand. Yes, of course.”

  Carlo stared at Victor in silence. Victor smiled then turned his back on Carlo and strolled over to a large desk. On the wall behind the desk were mounted two swords, one short and one long. Victor took the long sword from its support and unsheathed it slowly. Within the heavy silence, the almost imperceptible whisper it made sounded strangely amplified.

  A vision of both beauty and dismay, the katana was of extraordinary workmanship. Forged long ago by a legendary sword maker, the sword was fabled to hold the spirits of all those it had killed trapped within its gleaming, razor-sharp blade. The hilt was wrapped tightly in supple black leather. Small metal studs protruded from one side, barely visible between the large callused fingers of Victor's hands. The blade curved up slightly to its tip, measuring forty–two inches from handguard to end.

  Victor advanced slowly. He held the sword straight up before him in the position known as Kongo no kamae. His hands gripped the hilt held at chest height with the blade extended up vertically and its glistening edge turned outward.

  “What faith are you Carlo?” He asked, at the same time angling the blade outward slightly, slowly twisting the sword in his hand. Shafts of light reflected off the edge of the blade like small sparks of electricity.

  “Faith, sir?” Carlo falteringly answered. “Well, I guess I'm a Catholic. I mean, I haven't been in a church for a long time, but as a kid I was raised a Catholic.”

  “Yes, of course, a Catholic. Do you remember the book of St. Matthew in the Bible?”

  “I'm not sure, sir. I remember the name, but not what was written, if you know what I mean. Like I said, it's been a long time.”

  “Then let me refresh your memory.” Victor moved quickly and pressed the point of the sword into the soft flesh under Carlo's right eye. A slight increase in pressure and the tip pierced the thin skin. Blood welled up around the point of the blade.

  Victor smiled as he watched the blood build up in a fat globule. “In the book of Matthew, it is written, 'if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee.’”

  Carlo trembled violently, so much that he nearly caused the cut to deepen. Victor withdrew the blade and waved it back and forth in the air before the face of his victim. He circled Carlo, watching the younger man suddenly gasp for breath, oxygen–deprived from holding his breath for so long in an effort not to move. Just as Victor
began to speak, Carlo reached up to the side of his face. His fingertips touched the blood on his face.

  Victor continued speaking in a soft voice. “And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee.”

  No sooner had the last word passed from Victor's lips, Carlo lowered his right hand and looked at the blood that stained his fingertips. Almost simultaneously, in a flash of light, the blade swept down, slicing the air with a sharp breath. In the blink of an eye, the blade struck home, severing Carlo's right hand from his arm.

  A geyser of blood shot from the severed appendage, covering Carlo and splattering on many of those who watched in horrified attendance. Carlo opened his mouth as if to scream, but the sound didn’t have time to emerge before he slumped unconscious to the floor, his bright blood spreading in a growing pool on the white wool carpet.

  Victor watched in silence, savoring the moment. “Let this serve as a reminder,” he said in a calm, cold voice, “I do not tolerate failure.” Then he stepped over the still figure of Carlo, nodded once to Juro and left the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Washington, D.C.

  Morgan seized Cord in a tight embrace. “I was beginning to think I wasn't going to find you.” She looked up into his eyes and saw the same worry mirrored within their depths.

  “I love you.” They both said in unison.

  It was several hours before they were released. Cord promised Tom that he’d keep in constant touch about the alleged problems with the system and then he and Morgan caught the first flight to Texas.

  They spent the trip home filling one another in on what had happened in Washington. Once home they headed straight for the bed and collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

  Throughout the night Cord's mind raced, at times the bedlam roused him from slumber. By the time the clock read six in the morning, he'd had all he could stand. Careful not to wake Morgan, he went into his office and sat down in front of his computer.

  Cord called up a map of the United States and pulled in his overlay showing the locations of the nuclear power plants and storage facilities. He compared the image on the screen with the mental image in his mind of the photo he had seen at the CIA. To the best of his recollection, the two paralleled except for the one faint smudge he’d noticed on the CIA photo that showed up in Texas.

  He positioned the cursor to the approximate location on the map displayed on his screen and zoomed in on the area. "Pine Springs," he read the name of the small Texas town located in the foothills of the Guadalupe Mountains.

  Cord pressed the print key to create a PDF file that would be shared among his various electronic devices, sat back in his chair and mulled things over. After a few minutes, he straightened and accessed one of the preprogrammed numbers on his office phone. Cord's fingers tapped impatiently on the desk as he waited to be put through.

  “Tom.” He started in as soon as Tom answered. “I need to get onto the system in Andrews County.”

  “Why?” Tom's normal distrustful tone came back to him. “Before I can arrange clearance, I'll need to know why.”

  “I just need to check some of the programs. I don't have anything concrete, just a couple of things I want to check out.” Cord didn't want to get into a lengthy discussion.

  “I’ll consider it with the understanding if you find anything, and I mean anything−”

  “You'd be the first to know,” Cord cut in. “Thanks, Tom, and let me know.”

  He terminated the connection and turned his mind to the next task. He needed to get up with Trevor. Just then, Morgan walked into the office, attired only in one of his shirts, buttoned one time about halfway down. As she walked toward him, the unbuttoned tail of the shirt parted with the movement of her legs, exposing her.

  Cord smiled and thickened with desire as she stretched her arms above her. The shirt rose to expose her nudity beneath it. “I'm going to get some coffee. Can I bring you anything?”

  “Sure. I'll take a kiss.”

  She walked over to the desk, swung her left leg over his, positioned herself astride his erection and kissed him lustily. Cord cupped her firm bottom in his hands and rose from his chair.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her across the room to the couch. He lowered her to the wide upholstered sofa, unfastened the single closed button and parted the shirt. The sight of her intensified his already inflamed appetite.

  He kissed the satiny skin of her breast, letting his mouth roam over its well–rounded form. His lips worked upward to her exquisite nipple. A moan burst from her as his mouth reached its destination. She entangled her hands in his hair and pulled him down firmly.

  Cord pulled away and looked at her. Excitement glistened in her partially veiled eyes. This time when he bent his head over her, his lips began a journey down the length of her body. Her eyes closed completely as he reached her slightly parted legs. A heartbeat later, he was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure. Cord took his time and let her excitement fuel his own.

  *****

  “What you got?” Mark Samuels asked as he climbed into the surveillance van.

  “Sounds like they're doing the wild thing.” The young agent grinned as he listened into the earphones.

  “We're not here to gather information on their mating habits. Unless you have something worthwhile to report, you can go.”

  The young man's face reddened as he reached for his log sheet. He passed the log to Samuels, removed his headset, and vacated his seat.

  Samuels sat in the vacant chair and glanced down at the log sheet. “Hmm, looks like our friend is headed for Andrews County. Okay, why don't you take off? I've got it from here.”

  Samuels watched as his partner left, and then snatched up the headphones. He settled them over his ears, leaned back and smiled. The smile didn't last. After listening to their lovemaking for over an hour, he disliked Cord even more.

  “Jesus! The man's forty-something years old, for Christ's sakes. Doesn't he ever wear out?”

  Once again, Cord had bested Samuels in a contest he didn't even know he had entered.

  *****

  Cord waited until he'd showered and dressed before telling Morgan he was trying to talk Tom into sending him to Andrews County. “I still need to talk to Trevor. You know, I still don't believe Juan has anything to do with the missing waste. I don't suppose you've heard from him?”

  Morgan merely pressed her lips tightly together, frowned, and shook her head from side to side.

  “No? Well, do you think you can get up with Trevor?”

  “How is missing waste related to getting in touch with Trevor? And if you want to talk to him, you can pick up your phone as easily as I can.”

  “I just thought you might want to talk to him and when you did you –”

  “Whoa. That horse won't gallop. What's this really all about? And on the subject of children, what about Cable? Aren't you in the least concerned that the government was asking so many questions about Juan and Maria? What if she and Juan are messed up in something we never realized? Oh, my God.”

  The look of alarm on her face made him uncomfortable. “What is it?”

  “You said they questioned you about how you and Juan became partners and you told them about Vincon.”

  “So?”

  “So how much exactly did you tell them?”

  It hit him like a mule kick to the head. “Nothing. Not really.”

  “So, you didn't mention speaking with Russell or Richard Walker?”

  “No.”

  “You're certain?”

  “Yes. I didn't mention them. Do you think I should have?”

  “No. I'm glad you didn't. We don't want them involved in this mess.”

  “Well, it's not like we've done anything wrong.”

  “I know that, and you know that but if Juan has done something that's not on the up and up...”

  Cord was glad she left the sentence unfinished. He was starting to feel very ill at ease. When he and Juan received t
he offer from Vincon, Cord used a connection that had been established by Morgan, to ask the Walkers for advice.

  Richard Walker was a United States Senator, and Russell, his brother, ran one of the largest ranches in the United States with holdings in at least seven states. They knew a lot of people and when asked, Richard admitting to knowing of Vincon and advised Cord in the strongest terms to stay far away from Vincon and its owner. Word was the company had ties to organized crime in the US and around the globe.

  Cord heeded the advice but hadn’t given it any thought since then. “Do you think Juan is into something illegal?”

  Morgan shook her head. “I don't know. All I know is it's better for all of us if you focus on what needs your attention. Like your family.”

  “Look, I get what you're saying, but this is my business.”

  The look that came into Morgan's eyes and the set of her chin at his last remark had him quickly speaking again in an effort to placate her. “But, if it'll make you feel better, I'll call Cable before I leave and tell her to come home.”

  “Leave? Where do you think you're going?”

  Cord took a deep breath. “I've got to go to the Andrews site.”

  “Oh? And why do you have to go?” Her acid tone could have eaten through titanium.

  “Yeah, that's what I'd like to know,” Samuels said as he listened in on their conversation from the surveillance van.

  “Because the system didn't trigger an automatic alarm and close down the site when there was a variance in the amount of waste stored there. I have to find out why.”

  “And what does Trevor have to do with all that? He doesn't know the first thing about radioactive waste, so why do you need him?”