“Then tell me,” he insisted. “If you want me to believe that you’re not just some gang-banger looking to settle a score, I need more information than you’re providing.”
She wanted to tell him that her past was none of his fucking business, but she held her tongue, too interested in soliciting his help than in shutting down his questions. She’d been a kid then—barely old enough to know anything except that the gang life had lost its shine real quick. “Listen, doc, I won’t deny that I was once a hard-ass bitch. And maybe I haven’t changed so much deep down, but this time, I’m trying to help someone I love. One day, we’ll sit down to some café con leche and I’ll tell you my whole sob story, but right now, I’ve got a pregnant woman to find. If you hear anything that could help, I’d be forever grateful if you’d call, even if it’s after you’ve notified the police.”
She hadn’t wanted that concession, but she knew do-gooders well enough to know he wouldn’t help her any other way. If Dr. McHottie caught wind of a gunshot wound victim in this or any other local ER, she needed to know about it.
She programmed her name and cell number into his phone, then returned it.
He glanced at her entry, then at her. “You swear that this isn’t gang-related?”
She stared straight into his eyes. “This,” she said, holding up her wrist, “is old news. I’m not putting my neck on the line, or yours, for stupid kids trying to score street cred. This is life and death.”
She reached out her hand to seal their tentative trust. He eyed her skeptically, then pulled a second cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, plugging in her info into the second phone.
“Most hospital workers carry two cells—one for personal calls, one for business. If I hear anything and if I decide to call you—which I’m not promising I will—I won’t be doing it from my official phone.”
Marisela couldn’t help but grin as she programmed her number into his second phone. How could she resist a good-looking man who was smart and thought ahead? Too bad he was married. Her personal code of behavior wasn’t extensive, but it had always included a ban on messing around with another woman’s man.
When he took her palm in his, forcing her to yet again note the warmth and softness of his skin and the intense blueness of his eyes, she wondered if she could stick to it.
“Your wife is one lucky woman.”
He tugged her close so that his aquamarine twinkle nearly blinded her. “You have no idea.”
She allowed herself three seconds to inhale the crisp scent of aftershave clinging beneath the odors of sweat, blood and disinfectant, then made her way out of the ER. She hopped the fence and slid into the passenger seat of Frankie’s retooled GTO, parked just out of range of the streetlamp. Two hours had passed since the explosion and she wasn’t any closer to locating her sister, but at least now, she had somewhere to go—something to do, even if it meant breaking and entering.
“Find out anything?” Frankie asked as she clicked her seatbelt.
“The truck was a new buy,” she said as he turned south out of the lot, heading back to her office. “But if Lia’s mother talked to the police after I left, which I’m betting she did, they’re going to be waiting for me. Let’s hit that Ford dealership on Dale Mabry—the one closest to the airport. Lia saw their sticker on the SUV that took Belinda.”
Frankie turned down a side road, driving slowly because of the overflow of cars parked in the street rather than in the narrow driveways that led to one-car garages. She took a second to drink in the lazy quiet of the neighborhood before she leaned into the back seat and retrieved her bag. Inside, she’d stuffed her go-to goodies—extra ammo, burner cell, lock-picking tools, black, soft-soled shoes, dark jeans and a turtleneck. She whipped off the scrub shirt and punched her fists into the sleeves of the knit top, her stomach flipping a little at Frankie’s guttural growl at the sight of her favorite bra.
“Do we have time for a…diversion?”
“Que desea,” she taunted, though admittedly, she wished they had time to pull over to the side of the road for a quick distraction. “Just drive.”
“I take it we’re staging a break-in?” he asked, trying to cover the lusty tone in his voice by turning up the radio.
She wiggled a little more than was strictly necessary as she pulled the snug sweater over her curves. “The bastards either bought or stole their vehicle. I’m going to find out which one.”
Though Dale Mabry highway was the busiest thoroughfare in Tampa, the eight-lane highway was mostly deserted when they did a quick recon around the dealership, noting the security measures with a combination of previous knowledge and equipment Frankie kept in the trunk of his car. Fifteen minutes after he pulled in to the bankrupt electronics box store next door, he disabled the security cameras in the back lot right before Marisela breached the interior office without triggering the alarms.
In the sales office, she discovered that of all the SUVs sold in the past two days, only two had been black. One was a new model transferred to a specialty department for detailing and the second was a former rental, sold used and paid for with cash. Though she guessed the information on the paperwork was mostly bogus, she jacked it anyway. She had to start somewhere.
When she jumped back into Frankie’s car at the pre-arranged rendezvous, he was disconnecting a call.
“How’s your mom?” she teased.
He snorted. “I bet the whole house smells like garlic and roast pork. I could be swiping spoonfuls of flan out of her fridge right now, but instead, I’m helping you commit petty larceny.”
“The pettiest of petty,” she said, waving the file folder at him. “I was tempted to replace my gorgeous new Camaro with one of those Mustangs, just sitting there, all alone, begging to be someone’s Christmas present.”
Frankie flicked on his headlights only after they were back on the road. “I’m glad you settled for the paperwork. What did you find?”
“I don’t know yet. The buyer’s name. An address. Chances are all the information they provided was bogus and whoever they were paid in cash.”
“No luck with the security cameras at the airport, either,” he said.
She turned to face him. “How’d you get into airport security?”
“I didn’t,” Frankie answered. “I told you I had a contact in the police department. Since the cops didn’t find anything useful on the tapes, sharing that fact wasn’t a breach of national or even local security. The license tag on the SUV seen leaving the garage shortly after the explosion was, like Lia said, a temp. The driver’s face was in shadow. The police interviewed the toll attendant and he didn’t notice anything unusual.”
“He didn’t notice a pregnant woman?” Marisela asked.
“He remembered seeing a woman and another man in the backseat. He only remembered that because the man seemed to be in pain, but the woman didn’t seem concerned, so he thought they were playing. And a car had just blown up. The guy was probably distracted.”
She understood. As much as she loved the adrenaline still shooting through her system after the dealership break-in, she couldn’t help think the operation had been a waste. Though she did have the name of the salesman who’d sold the car. Maybe she could do something with that—or maybe she was deluding herself rather than face full-on the impact on her life if anything happened to Belinda and her baby.
Some Christmas this was turning out to be.
“We need to rethink this,” Marisela said, determined not to think about the possibility of facing the holiday with her family torn into pieces. “For all we know, the bastards have left town. They wanted Belinda. They have her. It’s dangerous for them to stay.”
“When they first suspected terrorism, the police put up roadblocks. The alerts looking for the SUV are still out there. If the kidnappers are smart, which you already believe they are, they’ll lay low, especially since one of them has a bullet hole in his shoulder. Unless
you killed him, in which case his body will get dumped in the bay.”
“He’s alive,” she grumbled. “Unless I nicked an artery and he bled out. I can only hope.”
“Then we wait to hear from the hospital or check out those twenty-four hour clinics. Maybe see if we can locate a back alley doctor who will treat gunshot wounds without asking too many questions.”
“Been a long time since I’ve needed one of those,” she said.
“Y yo tambíen,” Frankie agreed, “but we both still know people who know people.”
“You still know those people?” she questioned.
Before he returned to Tampa to open his own security firm, Frankie hadn’t been home in over ten years. He’d gone to Miami and then to prison. He’d been recruited by Titan while in jail working as an informant for the DEA. Frankie had been known to fracture laws on a regular basis, but because of an older brother’s struggle with addiction, he’d never had patience for pendejos who dealt in drugs.
“I might have to make a few calls,” he admitted.
She grinned, then pushed aside their moment of solidarity to remind him of what had brought them back together in the first place. “I want my sister back before sunrise, Frankie. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get her.”
He narrowed his sexy, dark eyes, stirring a hunger in her that was always just below the surface of her skin.
“Whatever it takes?” he challenged.
She scooted closer to him and slid her hand across his lap so that she could cup his balls through the snug denim of his jeans. “You know me better than anyone in the whole wide world, ¿verdad? Can you think of a single thing I wouldn’t do to get what I want?”
His deep-throated chuckle pitched to a squeal when she squeezed with more pressure.
“Got me by the balls again,” he said when she loosened her grip and then proceeded to massage away the pain she’d inflicted to make her point.
“I’m sure you’ll return the favor at the first opportunity,” she said, nipping a kiss on his neck before she settled back into her own seat. “And as long as you help me first, you can do whatever you want to me.”
If that didn’t motivate him to pull out all the stops, she didn’t know what would.
Chapter Nine
As expected, a black and white police cruiser was parked across the street from Marisela’s office. Since her parents’ new house was only a couple of blocks away, they drove by to check things out, but luckily, spotted no cops or surveillance. Marisela said a silent prayer that no one from law enforcement—or Lia’s mom—had attempted to contact Aida or Ernesto, though she figured if her parents had any clue about what was going on, her own cell phone wouldn’t have been so deathly still and silent.
“Now where?” Frankie asked.
“Your place?” she suggested, eager to finally get a chance to check out his new digs.
Frankie didn’t argue. An illicit thrill sizzled through her system. Since he’d quit Titan to work in private security, she and Frankie hadn’t seen each other much. When she wasn’t off training or on a covert op, he was working a case that required him to stay on the down-low. But after only six months on his own, he’d moved from the spare room above his father’s garage into a condo on the edge between West and South Tampa—a place she’d yet to see.
When they did hook up for the occasional booty call, they did it on her turf. She’d hinted once or twice that she wanted to see his place, but he’d been elusive. And since the only relationship she was interested in right now was a sexual one, she hadn’t pushed. Now she was getting her wish to enter his inner sanctum when she was least likely to appreciate it.
Karma was, for sure, una puta grande.
He turned into the lower level parking lot of his building, a plain, boxy design made modern by the jutting slashes of sculpted metal above the multitude of windows. She’d moved into a renovated cigar factory a couple of blocks away from her parents. Frankie, on the other hand, had gone chic. Just proved yet again that despite the fact that she could trust him with her life, his heart and hers were beating in entirely different places.
Practically different planets.
A security gate slid in place behind them. Finally, she’d gained access to his forbidden sanctuary.
Oh, who was she kidding? If she’d really wanted to see his place, she would have by now. Thing was, the physical distance of not knowing where or how he spent his private time helped her keep a crucial emotional space between them. She and Frankie fell together like white rice and black beans. Comforting. Hot. Spiced or spicy, depending on their mood. But ultimately, not good for anyone in too big or too frequent portions.
“You’re quiet,” he said, turning off the engine.
“I’m tired.”
“Maybe you should catch a couple of hours. Start fresh in the morning.”
She spared him an indignant glance. “Do you really think I can sleep while someone has my sister?”
“Someone who cares enough about her to make sure she has her prenatal vitamins.”
“Someone who cares enough about her baby to make sure she has her prenatal vitamins. For all we know, she’s nothing more than an incubator to them. Those stories about women having their babies ripped out of the stomachs and left for dead aren’t urban myths. It happens.”
“Ever seen it happen?” he asked.
“No,” she snapped. “And I’d rather not. Especially not to my sister.”
“The sister you haven’t seen in over five years,” he pointed out.
She launched herself out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t need Frankie or anyone else to throw that in her face. So what if she and her sister weren’t close? She was family and Marisela was going to do whatever it took to get her back in one piece.
When Frankie opened the driver side door, she opened her mouth to make sure he understood how serious she was, but he had his hands up in surrender.
“Cálmarte, vidita. I’m not criticizing. God knows I haven’t been brother of the god-damned year, either. I’m just saying you don’t know what your sister might be into. What might have brought this shit down on her from across the ocean.”
“Then it’s time we found out.”
Headlights from a car entering behind them sparkled against Marisela’s deep-set brown eyes. Frank waited for the sports car to come to a halt in a spot closer to the elevator, then broached the topic he’d been trying to avoid all night. “You’re sure this has nothing to do with Titan?
“Not one-hundred percent,” she admitted. “But my gut says it doesn’t. I haven’t worked on anything dangerous since Boston and that mess was cleaned up a long time ago.”
The driver of the sports car got out and jogged around to open the door for his date. Frank recognized him as the portfolio manager who owned a condo on the top floor—and the woman was most definitely not the girlfriend he’d seen hanging out with him by the pool.
“Are you sure they picked up every crumb?” he challenged, tearing his attention away from the super-short skirt, shapely legs and nearly exposed tetas of the guy’s new squeeze. Or probably, his latest conquest. She was a hot piece of ass, but Marisela was exhausted, emotional and armed. She’d already shot one guy tonight—and if he looked a little too long, she might manage an encore. “What if someone got wind of…how you handled that situation…and decided to take revenge by snatching Belinda?”
The couple toddled to the elevator, all hungry hands and sloppy wet lips until the bell on the elevator dinged and they practically tumbled inside. When Marisela turned her attention back to him, he could have sworn he spied a glint of jealousy. He couldn’t blame her. He’d much rather be having hot, heavy, drunk sex rather than discussing the case that had ended his career at Titan—and sent hers into a meteoric rise.
“Ian put his best people into making sure no one ever finds out what I did,” she said.
“You seem awfully confident in…Ian,” Frank spat. He hated how her r
elationship with his former employer had shifted since Boston. When Marisela had first met the slimy Boston-based Brit, she’d hated him on sight, an emotion that had grown when he’d used Frank, bleeding out from a gunshot wound, as leverage against her while working a case against an arms dealer in Puerto Rico. But she’d turned the tables on the master manipulator and in the end, beat him at his own game.
But then rich, entitled Ian Blake had faced a crisis of conscience, thanks to a rogue assassin who’d stirred up pain from his tragic childhood. And instead of treating Marisela with his usual disdain, he’d confided in her, trusted her—and more importantly, cleaned up after her when she’d taken the law into her own hands.
Since then, she’d had nothing negative to say about the guy, when she said anything at all. And she’d stayed on with Titan despite Frank’s invitation for her to join him in his private venture, which said everything he’d needed to hear.
“I could sure as hell use Ian’s help now in finding my sister,” she snapped. “What kind of life did she live in London? She didn’t scream or fight once they had her in the SUV. She must have known the kidnappers. Trusted them.”
She’d changed the subject without much finesse—but she’d changed it all the same.
“Maybe they threatened to kill you if she resisted.”
“They killed my car and nearly blinded my best friend.” She marched to the elevator and punched the up-arrow button. “They anticipated that I’d be an obstacle. That means they knew I was picking her up and that it would take explosives to keep me from kicking their asses.”
She punched the button again, cursing when she realized that the lift stopped between the fifth and sixth floor.
Frank was surprised his neighbor had gotten that far.
“They couldn’t take her inside the airport,” he said, leaning against the tiled wall, attempting to fill the silence with useful information. “Too much security.”
She shoved him to the left and matched his pose—back to the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “They couldn’t risk me getting her home, either, because the minute she walked through my parent’s door, she’d be surrounded by people twenty-four, seven. Their only chance for minimum collateral damage was to grab her in the parking lot.”
Holiday Heat Page 18
