“She sounds like a very wise lady.”
Brennan stopped massaging her temples for a moment, remembering. Bits and pieces of his favorite memories came to him. His mother had died almost ten years ago and he still caught himself missing her fiercely at times. How much harder was it for his father? he couldn’t help wondering.
“She was,” he answered. And then he shook off the somber mood that threatened to envelop him and thought of the way his mother laughed. The sound was infectious. No one could ever keep a straight face when his mother laughed.
“You kind of remind me a little of her,” he told Tiana. “She was just as stubborn as you are.”
Was. He was using the past tense, she realized. So he didn’t have a mother, either. That gave them one small thing in common, Tiana thought. Don’t get carried away. Lots of people don’t have mothers. This doesn’t mean anything.
“I’m not stubborn,” she protested, trying to look stern. “I just don’t back down when I’m right—which I am most of the time,” she added.
“Uh-huh,” he said, humoring her.
He’d been massaging her temples for a while now and she could feel all the tension leaving her body. Very slowly, Brennan withdrew his fingers.
She felt the lack instantly. “Don’t stop.” It was as close to begging as she’d allow herself to get.
“If your headache is still there, I think we should see about getting you to the E.R. They’ve got to be able to give you something to help manage the pain,” he told her. He waited for some sort of a response from her, but she didn’t say a word. “Well?” he pressed.
Tiana turned in slow motion to look at him, an expression of sheer wonder on her face. It struck him at that moment that he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. The next moment, he forced himself to snap out of it, to focus on what was important, not beautiful. He had a mission to see through. What he was feeling right now had no part in it. If he lost sight of that, he was dead. They both were.
“It’s gone,” she whispered in complete wonder. The next moment, she repeated the words, this time more audibly. “It’s gone.” The increase in volume didn’t make her wince. Unbelievable, she thought. “How did you do that?”
Before he could answer her, she’d reacted strictly out of relief and gratitude and thrown her arms around his neck. Overjoyed that the pain didn’t return, she kissed him.
The next second, she realized what she’d done and began to pull back. But it was already too late. Because in that tiny space of time, Brennan had reacted and deepened the kiss that had begun so fleetingly. Once he did, she found herself being drawn to him. Strongly drawn. And the kiss that had begun as an automatic show of thanks flowered into something that was teeming with emotions, a passion she had been keeping under wraps for most of her life.
He wondered if she knew just how sweet her mouth was and how even this simple contact between them was causing all sorts of havoc to happen inside him. His line of work didn’t leave any time for relationships. On the job they would have been formed in lies—not to mention that his last assignment had him posing as a homeless man who attracted flies more than women.
As for a relationship outside his line of work, what woman would have been satisfied with just crumbs tossed in her direction, with seeing him for snatches of time whenever he could safely get away?
He wasn’t celibate. There’d been a few hookups, but none of those extended past a weekend. Two at most. He made sure of it.
This, however, didn’t fall into that category.
This, he told himself, wasn’t going to fall into any category, because he’d just slipped up, nothing more. What he was experiencing right at this moment couldn’t go anywhere. They were working together, and that was the only part that mattered.
Drawing away from her, he continued as if nothing had happened, although it was far from easy. “That’s something I picked up from this woman I dated. The massaging-your-temples thing,” he clarified when she looked at him with a dazed, puzzled expression. “She was into holistic medicine.”
For a second, when he said he’d “picked this up” from a woman he’d dated, Tiana thought he was referring to kissing her. God, but he had practically caused her to incinerate right on the spot. She was going to have to watch herself. Another man would have taken complete advantage of the situation and of her. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that there was something about her that made him choose not to continue or let things progress naturally.
She cleared her throat and pretended to be completely unaffected by what had just happened. “Nice to know you’re always trying to further your education.”
“You’re never too old to keep learning,” he replied. His voice sounded just the slightest bit off to his own ear.
Before she could say anything in response, or comment further on his unique method of furthering his education, Brennan’s phone began to buzz insistently. He picked it up and looked at the screen.
“I’ve got to take this,” he told her, turning away. “It’s Roland.”
Chapter 11
Brennan walked across the room before he took the call. Since he had his back to her, Tiana couldn’t hear any of the words, but she tried to gauge whether the call contained good news—by their standards—or bad by watching the set of Brennan’s shoulders as he spoke to the man. She couldn’t reach a conclusion.
The call was brief.
The second he ended it, Tiana hurried across the room to him immediately. “Was that actually Roland, or one of his henchmen?” she asked.
“It was Roland. How fast can you get ready?” Brennan asked her.
“Fast enough,” she said, then gave him his due and added, “Thanks to you,” referring to the fact that he had made her headache disappear and she didn’t have to worry about every little movement bringing waves of pain with it.
Taking the suitcase that Brennan had brought up with them last night, she headed to the bathroom. She really would have loved to take a shower, but she sensed that there wasn’t time for that. She settled for a change of clothes and splashing water in her face before freshening her makeup.
Through it all, she kept the door partially open so that she could talk to him.
“What’s up?” she called out to him as she discarded what she was wearing and hurried into a fresh two-piece outfit, a formfitting, light blue-gray skirt and top that gave the illusion of a dress once on.
He knew by the sounds she was making that she was getting dressed. Brennan was tempted to draw closer to the bathroom to look in, or at least position himself so that he could see her reflected in the bathroom mirror. But with effort, he got his curiosity—and the temptation to satisfy it—sufficiently under control and gave her the space she needed to get ready.
However, his imagination was having a field day. Try as he might, there was nothing he could do to rein that in.
Answering her, he addressed his comments to the air between them.
“The timetable’s been moved up. Roland had his men move the girls again to a new undisclosed location even though, rumor has it, they’re supposed to be uprooting everyone in less than a week. He hinted that he’s not averse to making money on the side by selling off some of his—as he put it—‘inventory’ before the rest of that ‘inventory’ is shipped to an undisclosed location—most likely out of the country.”
Dressed, she came out, deftly twisting her hair behind her so that she could secure it up.
“So he’ll let us see them?” Tiana asked eagerly, pushing the last pin in.
Brennan shook his head. “Not yet. He’ll let us see the photographs.”
Even if Janie was one of the girls in the photographs, that still wasn’t good enough. Tiana needed to know where Janie was being held and if she was currently all right. “And if we insis
t on seeing the girls in the flesh?”
If they pushed too hard, that might backfire on them, Brennan thought. They needed to display just the right mixture of persuasion and pressure. And what accomplished that faster than anything else was cold, hard cash.
“That might depend on the amount of money we flash in front of him,” Brennan responded, still looking off into space. “But it’s certainly worth a shot.”
“You can stop being noble, I’m dressed,” she told him, circling around so that she was right in front of him. “All done,” she announced.
He looked at her in surprise. She appeared ready to go. That had to be some sort of a female record as far as he knew. “That fast?” he asked, surprised.
“I was changing my clothes, not fighting my way out of a cocoon so I could ‘magically’ transform into a butterfly,” she pointed out.
He shrugged indifferently at her explanation, only half hearing her. Even without makeup and under less than ideal conditions, she was beautiful. “It’s just that the women I know take longer to brush their teeth than you just took to get ready.”
“Maybe I just have smaller teeth,” she quipped, the corners of her mouth curving appealingly.
“How’s the headache?” he asked, pausing to do a quick check of his weapon before they left.
Brennan made certain his gun was in prime condition because there was a lot riding on how quickly he might have to fire it. He had to go through the motions of checking it at the door with Roland’s gatekeeper, but as long as it was somewhere in the vicinity, he wanted it primed and ready to fire.
“Completely gone, thanks to you.” She still found that rather awesome. “You know, if this gig with the police department doesn’t work out for you, you can always fall back on giving massages. I’m sure that a lot of people would be willing to have you name your own price if you could help them as quickly as you helped me.”
“As flattering as that sounds, I’m pretty certain I can make this gig work,” he told her, humor curving his rather generous mouth. “You want to stop to get a bite?” he suggested as they walked out of the room together. He paused a second to test the door, making sure that it was locked.
“We can get it to go,” she suggested. “Can’t keep the boss man or his ego waiting.”
There was no arguing with that, but even so, Brennan caught her arm just as she began to walk to the nearest bank of elevators. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked.
She would never have pegged him for a mother hen, she thought. “I told you, thanks to you, the headache’s gone, like it never even existed.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the headache.”
Tiana frowned. She didn’t understand. “Then what?” she asked.
They were heading into very emotional territory. He had to know if she could keep her feelings from registering on her face. They couldn’t afford to arouse any suspicions as to their real purpose in all this. She might act like some tough, stubborn little cookie, but he was certain that Roland had ways of breaking people. And if he was the slightest bit doubtful that she—or he—weren’t who they said they were, this could all go down very badly very quickly.
“Are you sure you can handle seeing a photograph of your sister?” he asked. “Or worse, not seeing a photograph of your sister?”
She knew the implication in the latter scenario was that her sister either was dead or had already been shipped out. She’d already entertained that scenario and was prepared for it even as she fervently hoped it wouldn’t come to pass.
“Look, I’m not some civilian off the street,” she reminded him patiently. “I’m a crime scene investigator who’s been at this for a few years now. Yes, I’m emotionally involved, but I also know what happens if that emotion is detected or, worse, gets the better of me. I’m here to rescue Janie and as many other girls as I can. I’m not here to wring my hands, break down sobbing and expect other people to do my job for me. Are we clear?” she asked.
For one moment, it seemed to him that she was behaving as if their roles were reversed. That probably wasn’t her intention. She wasn’t here to make any points or further her career. She wasn’t even trying to successfully conclude an assignment, the way he was. This woman was here for exactly the reason she had just said: to rescue her sister. And she was singularly focused on her goal.
He wasn’t giving the woman her due, Brennan thought, wasn’t treating her like the professional she was—just as much of a professional as he was, he judged. Her commitment just came wrapped in a more identifiable package.
He nodded in response to her statement. “Okay, then, let’s go.” The elevator opened its doors almost the moment he pushed the down button. He gestured for her to enter.
So he wasn’t going to try to argue her out of coming with him, Tiana thought in relief. “Good, because after all you’ve done for me, I would hate to have to knock you out and leave you behind because you’re determined to make me wait this dance out.”
Brennan laughed. He had a feeling that she was deadly serious. “Another thing my mother did—she didn’t raise any stupid children.”
Her smile was warm and genuine and just for a moment, she let her guard down as she told Brennan, “I’d say that your mother is beginning to sound like one hell of a lady.”
“She was,” he agreed. He felt an all too familiar wave of sorrow washing over him as the memory of his mother echoed through him. “And she would have liked you a lot.”
“Okay, then let’s both do her proud and catch this flesh peddling SOB.”
“And the man he takes orders from,” he reminded her just as they reached the ground floor.
Damn, she’d just about forgotten about that, Tiana thought as they got out and made their way through the hotel lobby. This was another large bump in the road. Large enough to prove to be an obstacle.
She couldn’t think about it now. They’d tackle that problem when the time came, she promised herself.
At this particular moment, there was nothing else she could do.
* * *
As before, both he and Tiana passed beneath the watchful eyes of Roland’s behemoth of a security guard and his two hulking bodyguards.
“They give me the creeps,” Tiana told Brennan in a low voice.
“They’re supposed to,” he guessed.
“Well, then they’re doing a bang-up job,” she confided.
And then they were ushered in for an audience with the highest man in the organization they were allowed to deal with—for the time being.
Isaac Roland looked as if he was studying to become a world-class dictator, Tiana thought. She preferred the bodyguards who appeared more honest in what they were all about. Their job was to protect this poor excuse for a human being, and one look at them told her they intended to do whatever it took to accomplish that goal. She also saw that they didn’t like the man, but then, they weren’t being paid to like him. They were being paid to protect him, which they were honor-bound to do.
And for his part, she had a feeling that Roland would have had them cut down in a minute if it suited his purpose. Tiana could just feel that in her gut.
The would-be-kingpin assessed them, his green eyes cold and unfathomable even though he had a smile on his thin lips. “I trust you both spent a good night and that it only sharpened your appetites for what I have to offer.”
“We initially came here wanting what you had to offer,” Brennan patiently reminded the man, speaking to him with the professed affection that someone might demonstrate to an eccentric but favored uncle.
“Yes, but waiting always heightens the anticipation, don’t you think?”
No doubt, it wasn’t a question he expected an answer to. Instead, Roland snapped his fingers at one of his two bodyguards, indicating that he wanted the man to fetch
something.
The man, already informed as to what he was to bring, inclined his head and all but left the room walking backward.
Tiana had a hunch that the man’s obsequious behavior had to do with the bodyguard sensing that he was going to be out of a job soon as far as the higher levels were concerned. That meant that he needed to ingratiate himself to Roland before it was too late and he was turned out on the street.
Within a minute, if not less, the hulking bodyguard returned with a rather large bound portfolio. The item turned out to be filled to capacity and then some with photographs of the girls Roland currently had in his possession.
Roland indicated that the bodyguard should hand the portfolio to Brennan, which he did. The reed-thin man gestured toward the pristine white sofa.
“Sit, look, decide,” he urged them both in a magnanimous tone befitting a benefactor rather than a man who dealt with the sale of human flesh.
Tiana pretended to glance at the first photograph in the collection. She looked at it just long enough to ascertain that it wasn’t Janie.
“It’s easy to retouch photographs,” she told Roland. “I’d have to see the girls in person before I paid any money for them, especially the top dollar you’re charging.” Her eyes met his when he raised them. Tapping into inner resolve, she refused to look away. If she did, then he would have won.
He still might, Tiana warned herself. The man was like a dangerous copperhead. You just never looked away, thinking yourself safe. That was when the snake struck, delivering a deadly bite.
“I have only the best quality to offer,” Roland countered. “These girls are worth every penny I charge for them,” he insisted, his smile never wavering. It also never reached his eyes. “They are young enough to fulfill anyone’s fantasy and old enough to be experienced at what they’re doing.”
She wanted to call him a liar, because her sister was supposedly in that group he was parading around for prospective buyers and she was so innocent and so inexperienced, the horror of what she was expected to do—what she had to do in order to survive—would either push Janie off the deep end—or wind up killing her one way or another.
Cavanaugh Undercover Page 13
