The Lady and the Lion Read Online Free Page A

seem to control it.
    Keith left the hotel earlier than usual and went to the marina, becoming that other man because he was untroubled by a sweet voice on a dark balcony, by unfamiliar feelings and troubling thoughts. The man who called himself Duncan wore his expensive silk suits, diamond rings, and Rolex with careless assurance and laughed often, though his eyes remained hard and enigmatic. Duncan owned a boat named Ladama and a Lear jet, both with Colombian registry. Almost every night he threw a party on his boat, one glittering affair after another where only the best food and wine were served.
    But no drugs. Duncan had told Guy Wellman, a wealthy and powerful businessman who'd attended last night's party, that it wasn't wise for a man such as himself to let it be known he had access to drugs. Not wise at all. There was no need to advertise the fact and invite inconvenient attention from the law, he'd said with a laugh.
    On this evening, at a small, rented apartment halfway between his hotel and the boat, Keith became Duncan, slipping into the skin of his alter ego with the ease of nightly practice, and thoroughly submerging his own personality. He moved among his guests when they arrived at the boat, expertly nursing one drink while giving the appearance of drinking a great deal, talking to everyone without saying anything of importance, his reckless laugh heard often. As the night wore on he became, outwardly, even more careless, betting and losing ten thousand dollars on a single throw of a pair of undoubtedly loaded dice one of his guests produced, and paying his losses blithely.
    No one could have guessed he was playing a carefully constructed role, and certainly no one could have looked beneath that glittering shell to the fury, bitterness, and grief that had marked its creation.
    It was near midnight when Guy Wellman arrived at the boat, bringing with him a man "Duncan" had requested to meet. The party was incredibly noisy by then, the introduction almost shouted, but Keith heard it clearly. Offering his hand to Vincent Arturo, he cordially greeted the man who had destroyed his family.
    At four A.M. Keith let himself into the silent hotel suite. Guided only by the faint bedside lamp, he made his way through the sitting room to his bedroom, where he undressed. He took a long, hot shower, washing away the remains of that skin he wore nightly and its taint of smoke and corruption. When he at last felt reasonably clean, he donned a robe and went out into the dark sitting room.
    He found a bottle of juice in the suite's wet bar, drinking from it as he sat down in a chair and tried to unwind. His gaze strayed to the closed balcony doors, but he was so tired, so utterly bone weary that he couldn't even swear at himself.
    And there was, besides, something else. During this long, tense night, he had realized just how fragile his hold on sanity was. He had politely greeted a man he wanted to strangle with his bare hands, and in that moment he had known how terribly easy it would be to give in to the rage. It wasn't the way he wanted his justice, not with blood on his hands. The urge to release his savage emotions had shaken him badly.
    He'd been so close to killing in fury with his own hands that, even now, he wasn't sure what had stopped him. He was even less sure that whatever it had been would stop him next time.
    Keith stared at the balcony doors, seeing what he didn't want to see and understanding. He needed an anchor, something to hold him centered when all the wild emotions yanked at him. He hadn't planned for it, hadn't realized it would be necessary. But it was , he saw now. Too much alone in this, too disconnected, he needed a reminder of sanity to keep him from making the all-too-easy step over the edge.
    It wouldn't take much to pull him back, he thought. Not much. A sweet voice in the darkness talking of sane things, a soft laugh, the whisper of silk. A distraction, yes, but one this side of madness, to keep him