by Dianna Love
Celina took everything he gave and wanted more. She bucked and pushed and grabbed and met every thrust with equal enthusiasm.
Her release came swiftly. She cried his name into the dark apartment, burying her fingernails into his shoulders as she arched against him. Three strokes later, Cooper’s own release hit him like a tsunami, knocking his equilibrium into a tailspin, his breath from his chest. He held her against the door for long moments, legs shaking from the exertion.
In the aftermath, they left the lights off and their clothes on the floor, climbing into Celina’s bed. She snuggled against him, her smile now one of contentment.
Cooper fell asleep, only to awake a short while later to Celina’s lips on his chest working their way downward. As she slid a trail of kisses down his stomach and, ahh, God, made contact under the covers, Cooper buried his hands in her hair and watched the snow falling soundlessly outside the window.
Chapter Eight
Celina felt like she’d just closed her eyes when her cell phone on the nightstand rang. Her body, deeply satiated and tired, was rolling onto its side and reaching for it before her brain caught up. The apartment was still dark; her eyes automatically scanned the red numbers of her alarm clock; 5:35.
This can’t be good.
She interrupted the phone’s second ring, rubbing her eyes, and dropping her head back on the pillow. “Hello?” she said, only then realizing Cooper wasn’t beside her.
Where was he? Her fingers felt the pillow, still indented from his head. It was cold. Her eyes went to the bathroom, noted the door was open and there was no light on. The voice in her ear spoke in a low, quiet tone. “Sleeping well?”
Celina blinked and raised herself up on one elbow, goose bumps rising on her arms. Her brain absently noted Cooper’s clothes were gone from the floor. Gun, jacket. Everything.
The voice came again. “Do you ever dream about me, Celina?”
Her brain engaged, her breath stopping in her chest. She sat straight up, any residue of sleep gone with the thudding of her heart. She knew the voice on the phone as well as her own.
“Why are you calling me?” A whisper that gave away her surprise. Her eyes flew to the red numbers again, double-checking the time. What prisoner had phone privileges at that time in the morning? “How did you get my number?”
“Did you think you were safe from me in Iowa? Did you think I wouldn’t find you if you ran?”
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Celina was up and moving—no direction at first, but moving all the same thanks to a sudden rush of adrenaline. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and reached for her yoga pants. The clothes she’d worn the previous night were lying neatly folded on the couch. Her gun rested on top of the pile.
She slipped a T-shirt over her head, wanting to hang up—to sever the hold Emilio suddenly had on her through the phone line—but stopped herself. She grabbed the gun out of its holster and paced to the picture window to look out. The snow had stopped and the traffic lights below blinked their colors over empty streets packed white. Several cars parked along the street curbs were running, exhaust floating in the icy air in clouds as their owners brushed snow and scraped ice.
Taking a quiet breath, Celina forced herself to stay calm. Emilio Londano was not outside. He was four hundred miles away in a maximum security penitentiary. And apparently, he’d bribed a guard for a ten minute call.
But where was Cooper?
“I don’t dream about you, Emilio.” Her voice sounded strong. He has no hold on me.
Moving around her small apartment, she double checked locks and looked for the note she was sure Cooper—the lousy rat—had left her. “And I didn’t run from California,” she added, knowing that Emilio loved to play intimidation games. He wanted to scare her, but she knew he couldn’t hurt her.
Cooper, on the other hand … Celina shut down the sudden pain in her chest. “The Bureau transferred me to Des Moines. A job transfer, that’s all. It had nothing, nothing,” she emphasized the word again, “to do with you.”
Emilio chuckled. “Ah, Celina. The consummate liar. You’re very good at it. Do they teach you that in the FBI?”
Her reply was curt. “Among other things.”
There was a sound on Emilio’s end, like a match striking. She heard him inhale, wondering where this conversation was going, wondering when he took up smoking cigarettes. For him it had always been cigars, Cuban. Cigarettes were another hazard of prison life, she supposed.
“So they teach you how to carry an alias and lie,” he said on the exhale. “How to hold a gun to a man’s heart after you’ve fucked him over. But what do they teach you about fear?”
She leaned her back against the wall, a path of sweat icing her spine. This time she gave him the truth. “They teach you to face it. Overcome it. Use it.”
“Is that what you’re doing right now?” Another inhale. “Pacing around your apartment, checking locks. Are you facing your fear of me, Celina?”
Her breath stopped in her chest as her brain fired a clear warning to her body. How would he know I’m pacing and checking locks? Pushing off the wall, she took the safety off her gun. “Where are you?”
Emilio made a noise in his throat, a guarded laugh. “Does the FBI teach you about revenge?” His voice was soft again but no less dangerous. “Do they teach you how to avoid falling into the hands of the criminal you sent to prison? The man who is now so close he can smell you?”
Every cell in Celina’s body froze. This had to be a game. “What do you want?”
Emilio’s next words caught her off balance, almost sent her to her knees. “Your boyfriend is outside shoveling snow. I’m going to slice his throat and then,” the low laugh again. “I’m coming for you. You, I’ll take more time with.”
Forcing her knees to hold her up, Celina raised her gun and pointed it at the door, already moving to open it. “Goddamn it, Emilio, where are you?”
The only answer she got as she opened the door was the faint smell of cigarette smoke as the line went dead.
Tripping down the stairs, Celina hit the front door at full speed, gun raised. The sun was clearing the horizon, clouds dimming its light. It was cold, damn cold, but Celina only felt the cold inside her, fingers of dread closing around her heart. Cooper’s black SUV was still parked halfway down the block where he’d left it last night behind her Civic.
“Cooper!” she screamed as her bare feet sunk in six inches of white fluff. She turned in circles scanning the sidewalk, the street, the rooftops of the buildings, the gun following her gaze. “Cooper!”
A motor was running a few yards away. Linda was vigorously scraping ice off the windshield, but stopped when she saw Celina running toward her. “What are you doing out here in your pj’s?”
“Linda, get in the building. Now.”
Snow sailed through the air into the street and then Cooper’s head appeared on the other side of Linda’s car. His eyes took in her face and her drawn weapon. “What’s wrong?”
There was a man walking down the sidewalk, covered from head to toe in Carhartt coveralls, a red knit cap, and a scarf wound around his face. The only thing Celina could see were his eyes, slit against the cold and watching her intently. He slowed his pace and eyed her gun. His hands were buried in his pockets.
“Stop,” Celina commanded, training the gun on him.
He jumped back, hands going up in the air. “What the hell?”
Cooper pushed Linda in front of him toward the apartment. His gun replaced the shovel in his hand as he moved next to Celina. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Emilio.” But the man in front of her was taller than Cooper. Even in the coveralls, she could tell he was heavier too. She leaned in and looked at his eyes.
His eyes weren’t Emilio’s. Celina slid her gun off to the side. “Sorry,” she said, waving him on.
He took off at a jog, looking back over his shoulder at her as he ran away.
There was
not even a hint of sunlight to reflect on metal today. No sign of anyone in the windows across the street. Celina turned in circles. “He’s here, watching you.”
Cooper followed her motions, tracked what she tracked. “Emilio’s in prison.”
She didn’t take her eyes off her surroundings. “No. He’s here. He just called me.” She chanced a glance at Cooper. “He knew you were out shoveling snow.”
Cooper’s eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, and then his hand was on her elbow, propelling her toward the apartment building’s entrance. “Get inside,” he demanded. “Now.”
Chapter Nine
Celina was shaking so hard that, even after he’d bundled her in layer upon layer of her clothes, Cooper wished they were alone so he could peel those clothes back off, throw her naked into the shower and warm her up.
But they weren’t alone. Far from it.
And he was never, ever, going to see her naked again.
“So you spent the night here with Special Agent Davenport?” Chief Forester looked up from the notebook he was writing things down in. “That right, Agent Harris?”
Who would know? Celina’s words echoed again in Cooper’s head and he thought of his father’s favorite saying that no good deed went unpunished. He was sure every agent in the land knew at this moment that he’d slept with The New Face of the FBI. Who would know? Huh.
Mitch, one of Cooper’s men on the Jagger bust, shot him a way to go, boss grin. Thomas looked up from his laptop and gave him the geek-squad version of the same.
Dominic Quarters stared Cooper down.
No biggie, there.
The world of federal law enforcement was territorial, but close-knit all the same. A threat to one of their members tightened the threads. Five minutes after Cooper called in the report to the locals, Dyer, pulling his usual all-nighter in his San Diego condo by the beach, had called Cooper’s cell phone. He’d beaten Cooper’s unit chief and Director Dupé in getting the scoop. Thomas, Mitch, and the third man of Cooper’s squad, Nelson Sanchez, had showed up ten minutes later. The news was spreading like a fire out of control even though no one could believe it.
Emilio Paloma-Londano had escaped prison.
And he was coming after the agent who put him there.
He was going to have to go through Cooper first. If, that was, Cooper could survive the grilling Forester was handing out.
“He’s already answered that question,” Celina said through gritted teeth. Cooper couldn’t tell if she was gritting them out of impatience with Forester or to stop them from chattering. “Move off the dime. That has nothing to do with Londano.”
Every light in the apartment was on, even though the sun was pouring through the picture window facing the street. The apartment was one large room and Cooper now took a moment to really look at it. A smattering of furniture, the big bed in one corner with the covers still messed up, sitting like the pink elephant in the room.
What they’d done in that bed, Jesus. Even in the midst of the fan-hitting shit flying around the room, he could barely look at that bed without getting a woody.
A desk with a computer and the usual peripheries sat nearby. The bathroom was off to the left. Another table was scattered with cameras and piles of photos. More photos on the floor. Celina’s hobby was paying off.
Back to him, she stood at the picture window looking out over the street. Feet planted, arms crossed over her chest made larger from the extra layers of clothes. Her backside very plainly sported her gun today. Not the agency-issued Glock, but a sleek Beretta.
Her partner, the other female agent in Forester’s group, Ronni, was standing next to her. At the breakfast bar sat Forester, much too happy to turn the screw he had Cooper pinned with between swigs of his coffee. “Davenport, Punto, get away from the goddamned window. I’m not going to waste manpower if you’re going to make yourselves sitting targets.”
Celina’s voice came out clear, no hint of fear, just continued irritation. “He’s not going to shoot me, Chief. He likes things more personal.”
Cooper exchanged a look with Thomas. Forester shook his head, threw up his hands, and swiveled on the barstool. Out in the hall, Nelson was accompanying several uniforms who were knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen anything. Cooper knew it was a lost cause. He and Linda had been right outside the apartment’s front entrance digging her van out of the snow, and had seen nothing. The owner of the cigarette came through a back door, but still no one had seen anything. The rest of the building’s tenants had been sleeping or, if awake, watching the early morning news reports to find out about the weather conditions. The security camera over the back door had been ripped off its holder.
Forester set his coffee on the bar. Quarters continued to shoot bullets from his eyes. “You know what I hate about the DEA, Harris?”
Cooper knew what was coming, but forced a polite response. “No, sir.”
Celina and Ronni turned from the window in unison. The frown between Celina’s eyebrows grew deeper, but Cooper sent her a small shake of his head, signaling her to stay quiet.
“You believe your own hype.” Quarters slapped one hand on the bar, challenge radiating from him. “You guys run around acting like Miami Vice and all the time it’s guys like mine, FBI operatives, who keep this nation safe.”
Cooper met the man’s challenge with his own. “Yeah, Robert Hanssen. There’s a role model.”
Celina uncrossed her arms. “Stop it,” she said, hands going to her hips.
Quarters ignored her, started to ream Cooper again, but before he could say anything, Ronni walked into the kitchen area and grabbed a pot of coffee off the Krups coffee maker. “Let’s heat that coffee up, Chief Forester.” Her cheerful tone was a little too forced. She winked at Cooper as she topped off his cup too. “It’s Cuban, from Celina’s grandmother. Great stuff. Blows your head right off.”
Cooper was ten hours short on sleep and a quart low on caffeine, and was about to go another round with Forester and Quarters. “Thanks, Ronni.”
“I do the Dew,” Thomas said from the other end of the bar. “Got any of that?”
Ronni pointed at the refrigerator. “Check the fridge, sweetie. Might get lucky in there. Celina’s a Dew fan herself.” Thomas gave Cooper a sideways look, but Cooper ignored him. He had enough on his hands right now without trying to figure out Ronni Punto.
Forester decided to give up on Cooper and faced Celina. “You sure it was him?”
She nodded and Forester made her recite her conversation with Londano again. Thomas sidled up next to Cooper with his soda and listened carefully.
Cooper could see Thomas and Forester thought it was a slim to nothing chance that Emilio had been outside the apartment door smoking a cigarette. “But you didn’t see him or anyone else?” Quarters drilled Celina again.
No longer shaking, but still gritting her teeth, Celina glared at him. “No. I didn’t see him. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”
Thomas screwed off the lid of the Dew and put into words what Cooper had been thinking from the start. “Londano probably just paid someone to freak you.”
Celina’s body stiffened. “It was him.”
Forester eyed Cooper. “Security cameras?”
“The one we need was disabled.”
“Linda barely makes enough on rent to keep this apartment building in decent shape,” Celina said. “Jacob’s medical bills are bankrupting her. She can’t afford to fix everything.”
Cooper’s cell phone rang. It was Victor Dupé, a Bureau man who’d headed up the Southern California Violent Crimes division. A man Cooper had worked with for years. A man he respected. “Emilio is at breakfast with the rest of the inmates in Block B.” As always, Dupé’s tone was steady, no-nonsense. “The warden checked on him and confirmed it. Londano’s last logged phone call was six days ago when he called his lawyer.”
“Thanks, sir,” Cooper said. He moved the phone from his mouth and repeated the information to Celina.
She shook her head in disbelief. “He called me. He was here.”
Dupé spoke, calling Cooper’s attention back to him. “When is your return flight?”
“Flights are delayed because of the snow and ice.” He snapped his fingers at Mitch who was pretending to read news off the internet. “What are they saying about departing flights?”
“Two-hour delay,” Mitch said without moving a muscle, “so figure at least four.”
Resuming his conversation with Dupé, Cooper paced, all the while conscious of Celina’s accusatory eyes following him. He wasn’t sure what she was accusing him of. Did she really believe their world would stop? That he wouldn’t go back to California today?
As Cooper disconnected the call, Forester waved a beefy hand through the air to dismiss Celina as he headed for the door. “No way was it this Londano, but since I don’t know who it was or why the hell he’d harass you, I’ll leave a man here for the day, in case your caller tries anything else.” He stopped in the doorway and gestured at Ronni. “Keep her too.”
“I’m not sitting in this apartment all day,” Celina said, her tone of voice signaling her battle stance was ready.
“Then I’ll escort you to headquarters,” Quarters said, staring her down. “Your choice.”
“We’ll stay here.” Ronni smiled at the two men. “I’ll check in with you throughout the day.”
Forester grunted, turned, and gave Cooper another glare. “Delay or no delay, don’t miss your plane ride home, Harris.”
Up yours, Cooper thought, but he raised the cup of strong brew in his hand as if in acknowledgment. Quarters gave him one more glare before he, too, walked out.
When the door closed, Celina’s eyes searched his in appeal. “Emilio was outside that door, Cooper. He knew I was pacing the floor and checking the locks.”
A natural assumption, Cooper thought, for anyone harassing her. Thomas had commandeered his laptop from Mitch. Cooper leaned over his shoulder. “Anything buzzing in the underground?”
