Unfair Advantage

CHAPTER SIX





Mayan occupied the pink suite in the huge, four-story, east Sixty-third Street historic mansion owned by her benefactor and friend, Julia Draper-Hillington. Mayan sat in the cushioned seat of the big bay window, the century-old panels open to the late September breeze.



A knock at the door made her call, "Come in."



"My beautiful sunflower." Three decades in the US softened her Russian accent. As far as anyone but the late Abraham Lincoln Hillington X and her very close friends knew, Julia came from a respectable Tidewater farming family with political ties. In truth, she\'d defected while performing in New York with the Russian ballet. Her beauty enthralled her late husband enough to create her history and hire a dialect coach to make her pass inspection.



Mayan Laroux - then Melissa Lake - had met Julia eight years ago as an instructor. Mayan\'s dreams of becoming a prima slowly dwindled amid injuries and cutthroat competition. By then Julia had begun a secret project with her deceased husband’s considerable estate. She referred to it as a ‘sponsorship’.



Since moving into the house as the third sponsored girl, Mayan had seen their number grow to fifteen. For every girl, Julia had a special pet name.



Mayan smiled at Julia\'s pet name for her. "I don\'t feel so sunny."



"What will you do about this man?"



"I don\'t even know his name." She watched a white Excalibur cruise past. A low-slung, sleek shark of an automobile.



Julia slipped bare slender arms around Mayan’s shoulders. "I know him only by Mr. Brand. And his cash."



"He wants exclusive rights. But how could we even negotiate a price? There\'s no telling when I might have had a Japanese business man.” Her emotions war with her determination to gain financial power. “Or that guy from Tahoe who pays double for his quirks."



Julia hugged her, then moved to sit beside. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."



Mayan looked at her. "That doesn\'t answer my question."



"Sunflower, this man thinks I own you. He thinks this because he is driven to own. He has no concept of the friendship and love all of us share. How we work together for common goals." She touched Mayan’s chin. "That works in our favor. I’d rather not risk deceiving a customer. Yet, if the chance to make a small fortune arrives, we could manage an agreement."



"I\'ve made a critical mistake."



Julia smiled. "I know you love him. Perhaps it doesn\'t have to be disastrous. Let\'s hire someone to find out who he is. Knowledge is power. We aren\'t in this business to remain powerless."







Brand logged onto his site, checked his recording system to insure members had not attempted to enter the private area without their camera active. His equipment recorded the footage from each session. Checking it always provided a laborious task. However, for the protection this provided, he’d continue.



Three hours later, he’d finished the review, moved onto the bidding sector. So far the black boy had the most votes and financial backing, followed closely by the muscular blonde.



Brand found himself distracted as he reviewed various portions of his site. He kept thinking about the footage of Mayan. The tape remained in the camera. Footage of a woman like that, gloriously beautiful and uninhibited, would bring great revenue. He could have his way with her and pay for the pleasure from profit.



He finished working about three hours later, hit his home gym for a long workout.



The tape stayed in the camera.









Roarke took his kayak out on Hudson Bay for a long workout, then spent almost an hour with his weight bench. Dinner he ordered from his favorite sports bar. Mack’s famous double cheeseburger with fries. During all this, his mind remained on one thing.



Dani Richards.



What he’d seen today topped everything. While he and a shaky Fielding watched her carry on a conversation with - Christ - Michael Allen’s ghost, Roarke’s skin had pulled so tight with chills he thought it would split.



Sitting in his chair, Roarke faced a choir of demons. Doubt about the supernatural, anger at accepting it, his recent realization about his familial withdrawal. Not to mention his potent attraction to Dani.



Tomorrow Fielding had to attend a sensitivity training class that he’d rescheduled twice. That meant Fielding had to go. Roarke thought, “What a time to face duty on my own.”



Roarke heard his discordant door bell ring. Went to answer.







Dani slept little. Before four, she decided to take advantage of the gym. After two hours at varied inclines on the tread mill, she showered, sat in the sauna. Her mind swirled in a lazy eddy that mimicked the steam. She closed her eyes. Something quickened deep within her. In her relaxed, almost dozing state, she felt disconnected from her body. Connected to something else.



It frightened her.



Dani jerked to full alert, sat up straight. No way did she want to unlock another door.



Pandora’s Box had already opened.







Roarke knocked on the suite door. The exercise, cheeseburger and two beers knocked him out last night. He’d slept sound. Ready for round two.



She opened the door, stood back-framed by the big windows across the room. “Good morning, Detective Larkin.”



“Roarke,” he reminded.



She stepped back. “Yes. Come in.”



“If you aren’t ready, I could wait downstairs.”



She smoothed her matching vest and skirt. “I’ll get my bag.”



Roarke stood in the hall, eyes averted as she moved around, then emerged and locked the suite behind. As they entered the elevator, Roarke felt compelled to speak. “Did you sleep well?”



“Polite answer or truth?”



He noted the descent indicator. They approached lobby level. “You pick.”



“I tried to relax, have a glass of wine. Instead I kept seeing those horrible photos of the boys.”



“Know the feeling.”



When he’d closed the passenger side sedan door behind her, slid behind the wheel and pulled into traffic, Roarke said, “I didn’t mean to be rude upstairs.”



“I know.” She adjusted her seatbelt. “We can’t afford any taint on the case.”



He continued to wrestle with himself, the new reality he dealt with. “If you’re up to it, I’d like to take you to where Michael Allen was abducted.”



“Fine.”



He concentrated on driving, doing his job. Roarke parallel parked at the curb. He had to flash his red dashboard light twice to get someone to give him the ten seconds it took. Switching off the ignition, he said, “Just do what you can. Let me know if you feel faint. Need help of any kind.”



She opened her door before he could come around to help. Roarke looked at Dani as she stepped between two young, sidewalk-planted maples. A shaft of sunlight lit her hair. Caramel and gold. Then she turned. Her profile became a soft silhouette.



The face that launched a thousand ships.



Roarke hadn’t given much thought to the story before. It seemed inconceivable. Someone must have used an errant wife as excuse for war. Right now, he found himself seeing the possibility. A face too elegant for trendy ideals, so perfect in proportion and angles. The image that refused to leave a man’s mind.



He gave himself a combination mental ass kick and reality check.







Dani stood listening to the sounds. Traffic, distant church bells, muted roar of a subway train, people yelling and laughing, a dog barking. The sun warmed her cheeks. A breeze stirred wisps of her upswept hair. She closed her eyes, pictured Michael. Suddenly, the sharp tang of rain as it first pelts the asphalt and steel of a city assailed her nose. She heard a woman’s voice, thickly accented with Latino heritage.



“Michael? Michael, come back this instant!”



Tingling made her palms and feet prickle as if they began to fall asleep. Only stronger. Her heart began to thud heavily and she felt quite cold. Dani concentrated, saw an unsteady stream of images.



A small woman in a nun’s habit holding a black umbrella above her head and that of another child. She stood on the sidewalk, glancing about as huge drops of rain pelted down. The nun stopped a man on the street, asked him to call 911. Then Dani saw police swarming the area, between buildings, through them and up to the roofs. A hysterical, weeping Sharon Allen broke away from the officer holding her. She ran down the alley screaming her son’s name.



Dani’s breath locked in her throat and she forced her eyes open. She saw Michael, unconscious in the back of a sleek black car as water shimmered in sheets over the tinted windows.



“Miss Richards?”



She heard the detective from a great distance. Tried to blink and clear the images of the past. They remained. Sharp, real. The car door opened. A man reached in with a long inky coat to cover the boy. Her stomach churned in apprehension. Despite knowing his fate. The door closed and for an instant, a man’s upper body and head reflected in the watery glass. Facial features undulated in the wavy mirror created by the dark pane.



Dani shook her head. Aside from that, she couldn’t move. She forced herself away from the scene, back to the present. Sounds from her surroundings returned. Tingling faded. She stared up into Larkin’s face. Concern marked his handsome features. Swift ache pierced her temples.



His eyes searched hers. “Back with me?”



By degrees she felt his arms holding upright, her body flush to his. Dani nodded. The sunshine seemed a harsh spotlight, noises shards of sound that sliced her. “Please. I want to go.”



He picked her up and carried her the short distance to the car, bent to catch the handle and open the door. Nudging it wide with his knee, Larkin placed her in the seat, closed the door. She shivered. Seconds later he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.



Dani hugged herself, strove to cope with the drain on her body heat and energy. She felt hollow. Spent.



“Can you talk about it?” Keen interest and a sort of reverence mingled in his deep voice.



The world roared at her, sight, sound and scent. Icy tendrils continued to sink through flesh and bone. Clenching her teeth to prevent chattering, she replied, “I have to hide.”







Roarke made record time to Madison then Fifty-seventh. He rolled down the cruiser window, flat-out bullied other cars to let him over, cut straight to the Plaza’s drive-up. Two limousines sat, doors wide as awestruck tourists streamed out brandishing cameras and camcorders.



“Dani, I know you’re hit hard. But, I can’t carry you upstairs with this audience.”



She closed her eyes, nodded. “I don’t know if I can make it to the elevator.”



Roarke stopped the car. He rolled down the window, hailed a valet and showed his shield. “Get me the manager, Francois.”



A few minutes later the trim man hurried out to the patrol car. “How may I assist you, sir?”



“I need a back way. Some place to get her inside and up to her suite without spectators.”



He nodded. “Drive around to the rear. There’s a service access. I will call ahead to have it unlocked. When you enter, take the first door on your left. You’ll see the elevator.”



“Thanks.”



“Is Miss Richards in need of a physician?”



“No.”



“Very good. I shall send something up to her rooms.”



“Thank you.”



Roarke pulled around the building. Beside several doors crowned with awnings stood a smaller more discreet one. He parked the car, hurried around to lift her out. As he approached, the entrance opened from within. He nodded to the small woman he saw as he rushed through. The first door on the left pushed wide on silent hinges. He pressed the ‘up’ on the narrow elevator’s call buttons. The door slid to admit them and he stepped inside.



When the small chamber isolated them, Roarke became keenly aware of her trembling. She clung to him, slim arms tight around his neck. He had no idea what to say or do for her. So he held her tighter, willed the elevator to hurry.



After what seemed ages, he stopped at the suite door.



Dani let go with one arm, reached into the purse suspended from a thin strap over her shoulder, withdrew the key card. Roarke ran it through the magnetic latch and the lock freed. He closed the door behind them, carried her to the couch. Instinct made him then pull the curtains.



As he returned to kneel beside the couch, she curled into a childish knot, knees close to her chest. A sharp spear of some potent unknown emotion shot through his chest.



His voice emerged thick with it. “What can I do?”



“Hide me.”



Her whispered plea made his gut pull taut. She’d said that before. About having to hide. Roarke realized that was what she did living so far from other people. She hid.



He leaned over her, wrapped his arms around her, shielding her with his body from whatever haunted her.



Roarke enforced the law, lived by rules and rigid principle. So he recognized immediately he’d crossed a line.