Tempted Into Danger

by Melissa Cutler

  She became well-acquainted with that backside while he’d thrashed a path for them through the jungle. Without it in front of her to focus her energy on instead of her screaming muscles and burning lungs, she would’ve never had the strength to make it.

  And right now, she was straddling his backside with spread legs, her thighs only scant inches away. The hot, needy center of her open and empty. She had to touch him.

  She set the tip of her finger on his spine and traced the path of warm, wet skin to the gray elastic band of the briefs peeking out from his low-slung cargo pants. He sat up straighter, his muscles tensing, and maybe she should’ve apologized, but she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

  “Are we done?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  She fisted her hand and pressed it into her side. No, that wasn’t nearly enough. “Back here, yes. You have a few more spots on the front of your neck.”

  Tweezers in hand, she scooted the bin away and rose, careful not to brush against him as he rotated on the bin to cast the front of his torso into the light of the lantern. It was all she could do not to gape at the sight of his chest and abs. She’d thought his back was ripped, but it had nothing on his front. He was so carved of steel that it made it completely impossible to imagine him as a kid.

  A sprawling black-and-red tattoo covered his left pectoral. The New York City Fire Department cross, a firefighter hat and a date—9-11-01.

  Residual drops of water sprinkled over his chest and tattoo. She watched the trickle of a solitary drop curve around his hardened nipple, over his abs and lower, collecting in the dusting of hair surrounding his belly button. She pursed her lips against the ragged exhale working its way up from her lungs and forced her gaze to his tattoo.

  His hands were clasped loosely between his spread, sprawling legs and when he figured out what had caught her attention, he tapped his thumbs together. “You want to ask about my tattoo, don’t you?”

  “Crossed my mind.”

  His gaze lowered to his hands. “My older brother was FDNY, died in the towers.” His tone was flat, emotionless. Exactly the opposite of the deep, scarring pain that would drive a person to ink a memorial to a loved one directly over his heart.

  She stared a long time and he let her without moving or saying any more. The urge to cover the image with her palm, cover his heart with her hand and connect with this vulnerable part of him, glowed inside her. But given the way he tensed every time she touched him, she thought better of it.

  “What was his name?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  She gave her head a small shake, blinking in surprise. “Why not?”

  “The less you know about me, the safer we both are.”

  “But you already told me your name.”

  His eyes, as intense and dark as ever, rolled up to meet hers. “You thought Diego Santero was my given name?”

  In her stomach, she felt a yank. The rug being pulled out from under her. All the intimacy she thought they shared, the connection they’d forged in the eye of danger, it meant nothing to him. He was on the job and she was the asset. Diego Santero wasn’t even his name.

  “Pardon me for being gullible. I’m not used to all this black ops underworld stuff.” Swallowing the bitterness in her mouth, she added quietly, “Was anything you told me real?”

  Mashing his lips together in a tight scowl, he rubbed his hands over his quads. When he looked at her again, his gaze had morphed to one of challenge. “Look, here it is. I’m from a huge Puerto Rican family in New Jersey. My older brother died in the 9/11 attack, so when the Department of Homeland Security came sniffing around my SEAL team recruiting for a black ops unit to monitor U.S. security in the global theater, I was the first man in line to sign up. When I did, I changed my name to Diego Santero to protect my family.

  “And, since you asked earlier, I’ll tell you—when I went home and told my family about my choice, my younger brother broke my nose. He was scared because we lost one brother already and none of them understood that this was what I had to do. That’s a lot of personal information, okay? A hell of a lot more than most people know about me, in fact. If that’s not good enough for you, then forget about it.”

  His Jersey accent had gotten more pronounced with every word, belying the rush of feeling behind his admission. He was telling her the truth—as much truth as he was at liberty to share. The affection that had blossomed in the car at his reaction to her tears came back in full force.

  So what if his name wasn’t Diego? She was beginning to learn who he really was. He was someone whose voice glowed with love when he talked about his family and who tattooed a memorial to his brother over his heart. The person who’d killed to protect her and couldn’t stand the idea of her crying.

  She ran her fingers along his chin, then angled his face toward hers. The flickering, shadowy light of the lamp and flashlight highlighted the set of his jaw and turned his eyes to onyx. “That’s good enough for me. Thank you for saving my life.”

  Bringing his right hand across his body, he tentatively cupped the side of her knee. “No need to thank me.” His voice was little more than a low rattle. “It’s my job.”

  There he went again, pushing away from intimate conversation, though his hand told a different story.

  Right then and there, she made her choice. He’d sacrificed his safety and his identity to protect the country. The least she could do was help in her own small way, using her algorithm to put away criminals that threatened her homeland, even though it risked her life anew.

  “I’m going to help you, help ICE, any way I can to stop the bulk cash scam and catch the Chiara brothers.”

  His hold on her leg stiffened. “No. Not a good idea. Something big and bad is going down with this operation. What you need to do is disappear. If you’re not interested in WitSec, then I’ll help you start over somewhere in the world with a new identity. I’ve got connections. You never have to put yourself in danger again, you hear me?”

  She outlined the FDNY symbol with her finger. His already taut nipple beaded so tightly, the color leached from it. “I think this is all happening for a reason—finding the number patterns in the accounts, the kidnapping attempt, being here with you.” She spread her hand flat on his skin. “I’ve never done anything that mattered before. I want to do what I can to stop the submarine sale. Let me help you.”

  His other hand found her forearm. His thumb stroked her. “I’m not letting you anywhere near the bank again, but if you think you can use that zip drive of customer data to pinpoint the account, we can make that happen at a remote location.”

  “I copied enough files onto the disk that if there’s a lead to be found in the data, I’ll be able to parse it out.”

  “Okay, but remember that my offer stands. You change your mind at any time or decide this isn’t what you want for yourself, that the risks are too much, say the word. I’ll get you out of Panama safely. I know how to make people disappear. That’s my promise to you, understand?”

  She leaned into the hand on her leg, coaxing him to strengthen his grip. When he did, wrapping his fingers around the sensitive hollow behind her knee, a charge of reckless desire lighted through her system.

  It was that recklessness that goaded her to slide the hand on his jaw toward his ear, losing her fingertips in his thick hair. He closed his eyes but didn’t stop her or tense at her touch like he had before. His hand moved higher, leaving her knee for the tender flesh of her thigh.

  Just like that, she knew unequivocally that if they kissed, if their clothes came off, they’d burn the jungle down with the heat of it.

  She lowered her head to his.

  Chapter 8

  With her forehead resting on Diego’s and their mouths inches away from contact, she rubbed a fingertip over his lower lip.

  “Th
ank you,” she whispered.

  His eyes still firmly closed, his hand moved from her arm to curve around her waist, pulling her closer until her legs straddled his thigh. “Like I said, it’s my job.”

  Sure it is, tough guy.

  Affection bloomed inside her with such force that her heart ached from it. She stroked his cheek. When he still wouldn’t open his eyes, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

  Stupid question, because she knew he’d never tell her, as guarded as he was.

  After drawing a slow breath that filled his lungs, his eyelids cracked open. The look he leveled on her was so potent with hunger and need it made her toes curl. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Their eyes locked, their hands froze on each other’s bodies. A bead of perspiration slithered between her breasts, a cruel tickle that made her imagine Diego’s mouth on her there.

  She was pushing him too hard, coming on too strong. She knew she was. It was written all over his strained features, in his tight eyes and stiff hold on her. That was her self-defeating mode of operation when it came to men she was attracted to. Over the years, she and Jordan had analyzed and debated that truth ad nauseam, but knowing her problem and changing her behavior were two entirely different beasts.

  She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man as potently as she wanted Diego. But she’d learned the hard way that the more desperately she clutched at people, the faster they left. This time, though, there was more than her pride and her heart at stake. Her very life was in Diego’s hands. It was a sobering realization.

  Despite the wild temptation to straddle his lap and devour his lips, she eased her hand from his face and straightened. She adjusted her grip on the tweezers and shifted her gaze to his neck wounds.

  Taking the hint, he dropped his hands, clasping them between his legs once more. His gaze returned to the wall. “Let’s get this over with so I can radio my crew.”

  * * *

  After getting Vanessa comfortable with a self-heating MRE of chicken with pasta and changing into a set of dry clothes, Diego opened a new untraceable satellite cell phone and called in to the voice mail line he and his crew used as a base of connection when they were separated. ICE wasn’t aware of its existence, as Diego paid for it out-of-pocket, along with a second voice mail line he and his family used to exchange messages.

  The family line he checked every Sunday if his work allowed. Invariably, there was a message from his mother, rattling on about the things the grandkids—his nieces and nephews—had done that week, the tinkering projects his dad was busy with around the house and how her garden was growing. He always left her a message in reply, telling her he loved her and that he was safe. Never where he was, never what he was up to. It was hard enough for her to know that every day of every year her oldest living son risked his life without him rubbing it in her face with unnecessary details.

  Two messages had been left on the crew’s voice mail line. Ryan and Rory. Both had reached their Leroys safely, and both left contact numbers. Like Diego, they probably kept untraceable, disposable cell phones on hand for situations like this. He scribbled their numbers with a pen onto his hand, then pressed buttons until he’d cued the voice mail up to record his message. He read the phone number off the cell phone’s packaging and requested that Alicia and John phone him immediately upon hearing his message.

  The first call he made was to Ryan.

  “You safe?” Diego asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Leroy was the right call. Panama’s army descended on the safe house like a swarm. Nothing we could do to help without getting in the way, so we bailed. I connected with Dreyer tonight. No lives lost on our side, but the bad news is that no one knows who leaked the operation.”

  A glance in Vanessa’s direction told him she was listening to every word he said, though trying hard not to show it. Her eyes shifted fast between the plastic rations bowl on her knees and Diego, and she actually tipped her ear toward him, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  His lips twitched into a smile. Real subtle, Vanessa.

  Thank God she’d never been pushed to act as an insider at RioBank. If some big shot from the bank was on the Chiara brothers’ payroll, she would’ve been fingered as a spy immediately. And Diego wouldn’t have been around to make sure no one laid a finger on her.

  “Shouldn’t be that tough to figure out,” he said to Ryan. “Only so many people knew what was happening today.”

  “You’ve been around Montgomery and Dreyer more than the rest of us. You think either one of them is the rat?”

  “I’ve been playing it over in my head all night, and I don’t think so.” He’d bet if he typed “straitlaced federal stiff” into an internet search engine, Dreyer’s headshot would pop up. A former marine turned lifetime bureaucrat, the man might be humorless to the point that Diego often wondered if he plugged into an electrical outlet at night to recharge, but he never struck Diego as anything but a sworn patriot.

  Montgomery was new to ICE this past year, transferring from his gig as a state park ranger. “Only time I’ve been around Montgomery was last year in Mexico.”

  “That was a fast, fun job.”

  “Yeah, but I’m thinking about how crazy scared Montgomery got because his woman’s life was in danger. Remember that?”

  “Definitely.”

  “If that broad’s still in the picture, there’s no way Montgomery would do anything to risk her safety, like jumping in bed with the Chiaras would do.” Hard to forget the looks those two gave each other on the chopper ride after Montgomery and Diego’s crew rescued the woman. Like no one or nothing else in the world mattered. He hadn’t exactly been jealous, but more like fascinated. Wasn’t something that came up all that often throughout his life.

  His parents loved each other but never got all that intense about it, and they were the only example he could think of that came close. His sister Marisol’s husband was a major jerk, and none of Diego’s other siblings were married. Neither were any of his crew members.

  “I’m with you on that,” Ryan said. “Speaking of chicks, how’s the asset?”

  “Unharmed. She thinks we still have a shot at using her algorithm to track the Chiara brothers and stop the sub sale. Most of the computer work she can do remotely. So all we need is a safe house where Alicia can hook her up with the internet. Once we have the Chiara account pinpointed, we can pass that information to Dreyer to deal with while we escort Vanessa into protective custody.”

  Ryan’s pause was too long. “That might not fly because Dreyer wants us to deliver her to a new safe house ASAP. He said the operation’s back on for Monday, and he still wants to send her into RioBank to dissolve the account.”

  “Like the bank people aren’t going to notice that her apartment blew up? I bet it’s all over the news by now.”

  “I brought that up,” Ryan said. “Get this. ICE wants her so bad they pulled strings at the hospital and with the police, faking that Vanessa’s apartment went up in a freak gas explosion. The official line is that she was admitted to the hospital overnight under observation for a concussion, but her docs expect her to be back at work on Monday.”

  A burn akin to rage sparked to life in his lungs and throat. What a bunch of greedy suits, willing to risk her life all over again, like she was some worthless commodity. Over his dead body would that ever happen. “If you talk to Dreyer again, you tell him— Never mind. Let him stew for a while, then I’ll call him myself after you pick us up.”

  “Roger that. When and where are we rendezvousing?”

  “We had a small transportation issue getting to my Leroy.” The explanation gave new meaning to the word understatement, but even though Ryan was the man Diego trusted most in the world, he still didn’t feel right handing out details of his Leroy plan. Just wasn’t done. “The pl
ace we are, it’s going to take us two days hiking to reach the first road. If you and the rest of the crew want to meet up sooner, then pick us up as a unit, that’d be best.”

  “Name the place.”

  He gave directions to a mile marker along the unnamed one-lane road that skirted the edge of Nobu territory, then ended the call and repeated the pickup information to Rory.

  Rory and John had come to his crew as a Green Beret sniper team five years earlier. Friends for life the same way Ryan and Diego were, they’d replaced Diego’s last solo sniper. The job seemed to burn snipers out faster than the rest of them.

  Something about the detachment of a calculated kill that the shooter couldn’t see with the naked eye because he was so far away from the target beat even the most solid men into the ground after a while. He’d chosen a pair of guys this time, hoping their camaraderie kept them focused and stable for a longer stint.

  After the call, he hauled the bin with bedding out from the corner and set it near the cot while Vanessa looked on. “You should get some sleep. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us the next two days.”

  “When are you going to sleep?”

  “I don’t need sleep.”

  She wrinkled her forehead in disbelief. “Everybody needs sleep.”

  He shrugged into his shoulder holster and grabbed his utility belt, struggling for the right words to help her understand. “You know how you can look at a page of numbers and know immediately what they mean? Equations no one else can do in their head, you can. Tell me how that’s possible.”

  “Because that’s what I do. It’s how my mind works.”

  “Exactly. And this is how mine works. I’ve trained since I joined the U.S. Navy at eighteen for nights like this. I’m telling you, I don’t need to sleep.”