Chapter Four
Who is he? she wondered while watching his entrance into the crowded dance club. Tall, dark, extremely handsome; these were all adjectives that applied to the gorgeous stranger. Immediately, she worried she would not interest him and one hand nervously smoothed the side of the long, slinky emerald green number she wore. The other hand went to the thin spaghetti strap at her shoulder before moving to the wispy tendrils that escaped the elegant sweep of her hair.
As if sensing her interest, his eyes locked onto hers from across the distance. A shiver of expectation ran up her spine and she took a step closer. Her inner voice whispered that he was familiar to her and she should be afraid, but she stepped closer still. Her knees weakened when a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. Her temperature soared when she slipped her small hand into his outstretched one. In amazement, she watched as hers disappeared completely when his folded around it.
Strong arms pulled her into his loose embrace as he slowly whirled her onto the dance floor. In his arms, she felt sexy, alluring, the envy of all females present. None could deny that he filled out the dark blue silk shirt and black leather pants he wore to perfection. Wide, strong shoulders began the tour of a well put together body, and her desire flared with each twirl that brought her back up against his firm muscles.
She threw her head back in laughter at some nonsensical remark he made just before entering her into a slow backward dip. He leaned over her, his lips so close to discovering the sensitive area at the hollow of her throat, but all too soon he brought her upright and she was looking up into the fathomless coffee color of his dark eyes. Her gaze drifted over his high cheek bones, and then down the length of his straight nose. Not completely straight, she thought, noting the slight inward hook at the end. But her attention focused mostly on his lips – full, with the bottom a bit larger, only adding to her curiosity of how they would feel enveloping her own.
Panic rose within her when she sensed something displaced within the music. The sound was so subtle that no one else in the club seemed to notice – no one except him. Her eyes widened when he suddenly brought a hand up in front of her face. Momentarily, she was distracted by the length and elegance of his fingers, but was brought back to reality when he mashed his hand over her mouth to silence her screams.
Riane's eyes flew open, focusing quickly in the darkness. The hand was there, the hand from her dreams, and panic raced through her veins when she saw the face that hovered above hers. Him. The beautiful stranger from her dream; the same man from the bar. Loathing mixed with her fear when his hand clamped down onto her mouth while he held her firmly to the mattress, his hand and body weighing her down. Hate filled her as she realized how vulnerable she was, but terror soon took over when the sound of his icy, heartless voice filled her ears.
"Do as you're told and you'll live," he said menacingly. "Scream and you won't see the light of day."
Everything within her urged her to rage against the attack, yet fear held her paralyzed. She could try to bite him, push him off, and run for another room. Her eyes flicked back and forth, desperate to form a plan of action, but all thoughts fled when he suddenly shoved the barrel of an automatic weapon in her face. He pushed back as though intending to stand.
"I'm taking my hand away," he sternly informed her. "You scream, and it will be the last sound you ever make."
Nodding her understanding, she gasped in air when he lifted his hand away. Clutching the sheet to her breast, she sat up slowly, never taking her eyes off the intruder. Normally, she hated when Lindy was away for any length of time, but now she was grateful it was her vacation time with her grandmother. "What...do you want?" she asked nervously.
Carlos tilted his head slightly to one side while he looked her over, gauging her state of mind. Frightened, but alert; ready to strike out at the first opportunity. He wouldn't be letting his guard down with this one. "Right now," he began, straightening to his full height and taking a few steps away from the bed. "To talk."
Riane looked at him in disbelief. No one breaks into another's home in the middle of the night and waves a gun in their face just to talk. Her fingers wrapped around the sheet even tighter. She felt even more vulnerable sitting before him naked, with only the thin layer of a sheet as her protection.
He wasn't stupid or blind, and he could easily tell she was most fearful that he was there to abuse her physically. No, what he had in mind was far worse than forcing himself on her bodily. What he wanted was her cooperation, cooperation that might lead to the ultimate sacrifice. Her life.
He moved to the foot of the bed and eyed the bathrobe that lay there. He snatched it up and tossed it to her in one fluid motion. "Cover yourself," he ordered gruffly.
Clearly surprised, Riane could only manage to stare at him.
"Move it, Kincaid!" he barked. "We don't have much time."
Riane jumped. "I...don't understand," she admitted, turning her back to him while she slipped into the robe. When he backed away from the bed, she moved to the edge and stood. Her gaze never faltered from him while she tied the sash on the robe as tightly as she could. "What do you want?"
Her frustration mounted when he stood motionless and unresponsive, ignoring her question. Instead, he pushed a button on what she assumed was his watch and spoke into it. "Move out," he ordered.
Confused, she unthinkingly flipped on the small lamp on the nightstand. Neither she nor her assailant was prepared for the sudden brightness, each squinting their eyes against the harsh glare.
"Did I tell you you could move?" he growled, grabbing her by the arm.
"Nah..no," she responded anxiously, the pain of his grip instant and severe. Then her eyes came into focus and suddenly her nagging inner voice was no longer whispering; it was screaming. "You...I know you," she accused.
"Yes, from the bar," he acknowledged, releasing her.
"No!" she spat. "You're him. That perverted menace that made all those horrible accusations about what happened at Raccoon City."
Carlos watched as loathing replaced the fear in her eyes. Recollection had finally dawned.
"You sicken me."
"Of course I do. And, be that as it may, I could use a cup of coffee," he announced suddenly, running a hand through his hair. He almost chuckled at the look of annoyance that flashed in her eyes. How dare he attack her and then demand her to make him coffee? "Look, if you cooperate, things will be just fine."
"Cooperate...how?"
"I'll explain it over coffee," he insisted, motioning toward the door with his gun. "Let's go."
444
"Make a large pot," he ordered, watching her while she filled the coffee pot with water.
"You that thirsty?" she asked in annoyance.
"No, but you're expecting company," he explained elusively.
Sighing, she added more water to make a full pot and dumped it into the machine. After adding the filter and coffee, she switched the machine on and turned to face him. "Tell me what you want," she demanded.
He had to admire her spunk. She wasn't whining or near fainting. No, she stood proud and strong, even through her fear. He looked her square in the eye and told her the truth. "I want you to remove the T-virus' anti-virus from the lab and bring it to me."
Riane nearly choked on her own saliva. "And why would I do this moronic task for you?"
Carlos heard the garage door open. "Give me the keys to your car."
Nodding her head toward the door, she said, "They're on the wall." After he had grabbed them from the peg she asked, "You're taking my car?"
"No."
He wrenched open the door that led into the garage and tossed the keys into space without taking his gaze from her. She heard the engine of her car roar to life and the gear engage when it was put into reverse. After her car had been moved, she heard two other vehicles enter the garage and then the overhead door closed.
"Coffee's ready," he announced in response to her curious gaze.
Hostility dripped from her every movement while she poured two cups of coffee. Whoever else was about to arrive could get their own; she was done playing hostess to this hoodlum.
"There's nothing you can say to convince me to help you."
He nodded. Her response was not unexpected. His weapon remained trained on her while he took a sip of the hot liquid. "You'll do it. Yours is not the only life you should be concerned about."
Riane froze. He had calmly set the cup on the table and removed something from his pocket. He turned the item slowly to reveal to her the card he was playing.
"Lindy," she whispered fearfully. It was one of her favorite photos of the child. Her light blonde hair flew behind her while she swung on the swing set at her now demolished home in Raccoon City. Lindy was all that was left of the brother who had meant the world to Riane.
It was easy to see and hear she was on the verge of tears, and doing her best to hold them back. "Several of my best men are holding her," he explained coldly. "If you refuse to cooperate, your niece will not live to see her next birthday."
"You're good with the threats, Mister Olivera," she snarled. "But I don't believe you have Lindy."
She remembered who he was, right down to his name. Yes, if given the chance, she would turn him over to Umbrella and smile like a Cheshire cat while doing it. Of course, he wasn't doing anything to persuade her he wasn't the scum Umbrella was making him out to be.
"Why is that, Kincaid? Because she's visiting your mother? Because she's one city over, residing at 5892 Treasure Cove, Pecan Park, area code six nine two three eight four one two two one?"
"That means nothing!" she cried, but deep down inside she didn't believe her own words. Dear God, Lindy...Mom...what should I do? She had to prove to herself that her family was safe. She lunged for the phone and began dialing.
Carlos grunted as he skirted the table and grabbed the phone from her, pressing the gun's barrel against her cheekbone. "You're trying my patience, Kincaid."
"Fuck you," she spat and jerked away from him.
"Tsk tsk," he admonished mockingly. He glanced at the number dialed and was relieved to see it was her mother's number and not Umbrella's. This he could handle. He held the handset up to her ear and allowed her to hear the rapid beeping that indicated the line was out of service.
"Communications will be restored when I have the anti-virus."
"You bastard," she cried hatefully. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"
He stepped away, fearful she might hear the guilty hammering of his heart. The pain in her voice tore at his very soul, much like the screams of a terrified child in the midst of a nightmare that there was no escape from.
"It has to be this way," he said evenly. "It's ultimately your choice, Kincaid. Think about the cost of your answer." He shoved the photograph of Lindy into her hand. "Make your decision. You have five minutes."
...to be continued...