by Katie Reus
For all he knew the guy was a piece of crap, but he could be in danger and he might shed some light on what the hell Westwood had to do with Mullen’s murder. Not to mention that they all wanted to minimize any more collateral damage.
Even with the information he’d gained on the two known Latvian terrorists—who were unfortunately very educated and resourceful—he didn’t know what their ties were to either men. If any.
But his gut told him Levi’s information was good. Levi had no reason to lie to him, and while the former agent might have gone off the reservation, he still had a soul. All those innocent people killed at the Westwood mansion . . . Even after all Wesley had seen and done, it was still difficult to digest that yet another massive act of terror had happened on American soil. It didn’t matter that the last one was over a decade ago. He hadn’t forgotten.
Not to mention that Mihails and Oto were in the United States, which put them at the top of his suspect list until he had absolute confirmation one way or another. They’d entered through Canada using aliases, but once Wesley had ordered a search for them in every online system imaginable, their faces had shown up in multiple facial-recognition software programs.
He knew they’d entered Florida a couple of months ago, but since then, the two men and whoever they were working with had been like ghosts. If they’d been here for months, it meant they’d had a lot of time to plan. Which explained how they’d been able to destroy the Westwood place with such efficiency.
So now he was standing in Clay Ervin’s living room while Ervin sat on the edge of his love seat looking nervous and just plain guilty of something. The guy had shifty dark eyes that put Wesley on edge.
The man tightened his forest green robe around himself and crossed his arms over his chest. “I already told you, I didn’t know Scott very well. We were members of the same yacht club, but that’s it.”
Information Wesley already knew thanks to his capable analysts. He also knew Ervin was lying. The way he said Mullen’s first name was too damn familiar. It was a small thing, but that was how people tripped up. “You were part of the same club for almost five years.”
“Yeah, so?” the man snapped, the tension from him almost palpable. “There are a ton of members I don’t know personally. It’s a big club.”
Something had this guy spooked. Something more than an early-morning visit from the NSA. His financials were complete shit. The man was up to his eyeballs in debt, upside down on his mortgage, and would likely lose his house in a few months. Forgoing all that info, Wesley could tell the man was scared. He could see it in his eyes.
That raw kind of fear was toxic and it had been rolling off Ervin since they mentioned Mullen’s murder. Considering the sick pictures they’d found at Mullen’s house, Wesley wondered if the women were the tie between the two men.
Clearing his throat, Wesley looked at Captain Nieto. Normally Wesley preferred working with members of his own team, but he really liked Nieto. The Miami PD was lucky to have someone like him working for them.
The man’s dark eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he read Wesley’s mind. Then his lips curved up into an almost wicked smile as he pulled a slim manila folder from the inside of his jacket. “So, your buddy Mullen wasn’t just killed. He was tortured. Gruesome too.”
Ervin had started to argue that he barely knew Mullen when Nieto placed a picture of Mullen’s bloodied corpse on the glass coffee table. It was a shock tactic and one Wesley approved of.
Ervin’s face paled a shade as he stared in horror. “Who did that to him?” he rasped out.
Wesley stepped up now, taking over. “Not sure yet. But it’s connected to Westwood and it’s connected to this.” He pulled out half a dozen of the Polaroids they’d found in Mullen’s home from an envelope he’d been carrying and tossed them onto the table next to Mullen’s picture.
Normally Wesley didn’t go for the hard push in an interrogation so soon—and this was definitely an interrogation of sorts—but with more innocent lives at stake, he’d do anything to figure out what the hell was going on. If it turned out he was wrong and Ervin wasn’t connected to any of this, he’d apologize. But national security was more important than this guy’s feelings.
Ervin blinked as he took in the photographs, his face turning even more ashen. But there was also recognition in his eyes as he saw the caged women. “I don’t know who they are,” he snarled.
“Huh,” Nieto started, leaning back in his seat as he looked up at Wesley. “I believe him. And it’s a good thing he doesn’t know Mullen or have any connection to those women, because the way I see it, whoever killed Mullen did it out of revenge. That crime scene . . .” The big man mock-shuddered as he stood. “We’re sorry to have wasted your time, sir, but since you don’t know anything, we’ll pull our security detail from the house.”
Wesley shrugged and started gathering the photos. There was no way they’d pull the guy’s detail—though it sure as hell wasn’t for Ervin’s security. They wanted to trap whoever was after him. Up until this point Wesley had wondered how or if the guy was even involved. But the man knew something. He was neck deep in this shit.
“You can’t do that!” Ervin shouted, shaking as he stood up.
“Do what, exactly?”
He swallowed hard, looking back and forth between Wesley and Nieto. “You think Mullen was killed out of revenge? Because of those . . . pictures?” He couldn’t even say women, or girls.
Something Wesley found very telling. His team of analysts and the team Nieto had working on this case were all circling around the idea that the naked, caged women were at the center of this. Somehow they had to be. Revenge was the only thing that made sense. Hell, wars had been started for less. And revenge was one of the most powerful motivators for someone angry enough. The “guilty” word scrawled on the wall and the other phrase carved into Mullen’s skin were there for a reason. “It’s possible.”
He licked his lips. “Then I need protection.”
“Why? You barely knew the guy.” Nieto shrugged and had already started walking toward the foyer, as if ready to leave.
“Wait! I’ll tell you everything I know, but first I need to speak to my lawyer.”
Finally they were getting somewhere. Wesley inwardly smiled but kept his face a mask as he pinned Ervin with a hard glare. “Call him now and tell him to meet you at the police station.” This guy was obviously a piece of shit—anyone involved with hurting women was—and Wesley planned to get everything he could out of him before making sure the guy paid for whatever crimes he’d committed.
• • •
Cade shifted against the sheets, trying to ease his painful erection. He was going against every protocol there was. Sleeping in the same bed as the woman in his protective custody? Genius plan. It would be one thing if he was simply trying to comfort her, to make her feel at ease. Yeah, it would still be breaking some rules, but he was intensely attracted to her. Had been from the moment they met all those years ago.
It had been easier to ignore the attraction then because she’d been younger and he’d been in the Corps. He’d known there was no possible way for them to have a relationship. Especially not when Maria had been the little sister of his best friend. That was a code he hadn’t been willing to break.
Then she’d started e-mailing him. All those letters had been his lifeline on really dark nights. Overseas he’d had more than his share of them too. Hell, all his friends had. It was just the nature of war. He’d never hidden the fact that he’d been in contact with her, and surprisingly Riel hadn’t cared. He’d seemed almost glad Cade and Maria were friends. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.
Then things had started to change between them in their e-mails and letters. Slowly at first, their relationship building into something more as the days passed. He’d opened up to her in a way he never had with anyone else. Then his life had gon
e to shit and he’d pushed her out of his in an effort to simply fucking survive. He’d known if he’d told her the truth about what happened to her brother that she’d hate him and kick him out of her life anyway. He wouldn’t have survived that. Not after losing so many damn people in his life. So he knew he shouldn’t be lying here with her in his arms. The guilt over his secret was eating him up alive, but hell, the feel of her in his arms threatened to override any guilt. This was Maria, the woman he’d fantasized about for almost a decade. In his arms.
He shifted again and tried to pull his hips back, but Maria snuggled tighter against him, hooking one leg over his hip.
Fuck.
Yeah, he had to get out of here. It was still dark outside, so maybe he could salvage a few hours and get some rest in his own bed. She’d just asked him to stay until she fell asleep. Which he’d done. Now it was time to relocate.
Slowly he reached back and lightly grasped her wrist, moving her hand so that she wasn’t wrapping her arm around him. Next, he tried to do the same with her leg. Grasping her silky-smooth thigh, he froze when she let out a tiny moan in her sleep. And when she practically ground against him, he groaned.
Couldn’t help it. She felt so good the sound just escaped—and woke her up.
Even though it was too dark to see how vibrant her amber eyes were, he could see the confusion in her gaze. Blinking, she looked at him, then down at their practically intertwined bodies. The sheet was tangled between them and he still had his boxers on, but it didn’t do much to hide his arousal. Or cover her exposed breasts.
He didn’t want to notice them, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking. As if drawn by a magnet, he zeroed in on them. They weren’t overly large, but full and round and just enough for him to cup in his hands. Perfection.
Her breathing grew erratic and he forced himself to look at her face. Desire and hunger were there, so palpable it floored him. He might not be willing to have sex with her—even if he’d never wanted anything more in his life, he just couldn’t take advantage of her. Not now. Not after she’d lost so much. And not when he’d never deserve someone like her. Not after what he’d done.
But he could bring her pleasure. Hell, he wanted to. The thought of seeing her expression as she climaxed, and because of him no less, was something he’d fantasized about on more than one occasion. It was primitive, possessive, and yeah, he fucking cared about this woman. He’d never been able to bury his feelings for her no matter how many years had passed. She’d been so sweet and caring to him when he’d been in some of the shittiest places on earth. She’d been his reminder that there were still good things in the world, that people like her were the reason he did what he did. If he could make her feel relief for just a little bit, he was doing it.
Before he had time to argue with himself and leave her room in an attempt to regain his sanity, he covered her mouth with his. She didn’t resist for even a moment.
She molded to him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hard nipples rubbing against him as her tongue met his stroke for stroke in a hungry frenzy. As her hands roamed up his chest, he turned her onto her back so that he was covering her body with his.
He loved the feel of her petite, luscious body underneath him. She rolled her hips against his and he reached between them, tugging the sheet away.
Nipping his bottom lip, she rolled her hips again, her intent clear. He could practically feel her heat, their clothing offering almost no barrier between their bodies.
As her fingers dug into his shoulders, he slid his hand down her flat belly and dipped beneath her barely there panties. He wanted to pleasure her, to taste every part of her. To slowly savor her. He cupped her mound, the silky thatch of her hair soft against his palm. When he felt how wet she already was, he shuddered. But he didn’t penetrate. Not yet. First he wanted to work her up to it. Get her so hot and ready she could barely stand it.
Pulling back, he tore his mouth from hers. Her fingers clenched around his shoulders and she made a protesting sound until he started kissing her jaw. She let out a shudder as he worked his way down the elegant column of her neck, teasing and nipping as he went.
When he reached her breasts, he shuddered. “I’ve fantasized about this. Us,” he said, unable to stop the admission. Had he ever. What he’d imagined didn’t live up to the reality of her compact yet lush body. The woman was pure sex appeal. And right now she was his. It wasn’t real or long-term; he knew that. Not because he didn’t want that, but because he didn’t deserve her. But for tonight, he was going to give her what she needed.
“Me too.” Her voice was still thick from sleep, the raspy quality sexy as hell.
It was as hot as her admission. He was glad he wasn’t the only one so affected. His cock pulsed between his legs. What he wouldn’t give to sink deep inside her. To thrust until both of them were sated and exhausted.
Slowly, he circled her light brown nipple with his tongue. The tight bud was hard and aroused and the moment his tongue made contact she arched her back, pushing it farther into his mouth. Oh yeah, the woman was reactive. And he wanted to see how far he could push her, to stake a claim she wouldn’t soon forget.
As he alternated between her breasts, stroking each nipple until she was moaning and rubbing herself against his hand, he finally penetrated her slick folds and slowly stroked inside her tight sheath.
“Oh . . . yes. Faster.” It was a barely audible demand. One he would happily oblige.
He drew his finger out, then pushed two in with his next stroke. She nearly vaulted off the bed and he increased his thrusting. He barely grazed her clit with his thumb as he stroked into her.
He doubted the pressure was enough, considering the frustrated pants she made, so he blazed a trail of kisses down the rest of her body until he settled between her thighs. Keeping up the rhythm of his fingers, he pressed gentle kisses over her mound and on her inner thighs.
Her legs shook each time he kissed, then licked the soft skin, but he held back from her clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves was swollen and begging for his kiss.
“You’re a tease.” Her voice was strained, her inner walls tightening around his fingers with each push, telling him how close she was.
What he wouldn’t give to feel her clenching around his cock. Though he wanted to drag this out longer, to keep teasing her body, he knew she needed sleep. And an orgasm was the best way for her to get it.
Without any more buildup, he swiped his tongue over her clit, exerting more pressure with each stroke until she was trembling under him.
She slid her hands to his head, running her fingers over his skull trim and gripping him as if she was afraid he’d stop. Then she shattered, her climax ripping through her as she shouted his name. On her lips it sounded like a damn prayer, so fucking reverent it humbled him. Her inner walls continued to clench around him, her gasps and moans incoherent until finally she pushed at his head with trembling fingers.
“No more . . . too sensitive,” she gasped.
Though he loved tasting her, he stopped and slowly withdrew his fingers. Crawling up the bed so that he was covering her, he kept his gaze on her face as he slid his fingers into his mouth.
Though it was dark, he could almost swear she blushed as she raptly watched him. God, her taste. It was almost enough for him to forget his good intentions. But he hadn’t lost his head that much. Yet.
Leaning down, he leisurely kissed her, gently cupping her face as he enjoyed her sweet body beneath him. But when she reached between them and went to stroke his cock, he grasped her wrist and moved off her.
“You need sleep, Maria,” he murmured, pulling the covers up to cover her chest even though it pained him to hide all that beauty.
It was almost as painful as the ache between his legs.
She frowned, a flash of hurt in those beautiful eyes. “But—”
He dropped a ch
aste kiss on her lips. “Sleep now. This was about you, not me. I wanted to do that for you. And I want a hell of a lot more, but . . . you’ve got a long day ahead of you.” Before she could respond, he slid out of bed and strode from the room. Once he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall and rubbed a hand over his face.
Restraint. He had it. Right? He gritted his teeth and headed for his room. His control was at its breaking point. He was going to take care of himself in the shower and try to ignore the fact that a beautiful, willing woman was waiting for him. Because he wouldn’t take advantage of her like that. No matter how much he wanted her. Which was why he couldn’t stay with her. He was only human and if he was in that bed any longer, he was going to be inside her.
• • •
Date: November 6, 2006
To: Maria Cervantes
From: Cade O’Reilly
Subject: Hey
I’m still getting requests for those cookies your mom sent. Please make sure you tell her and your aunt thanks for me. It’s getting colder here and of course they’re running low on our supplies (not the Army’s, though). I always thought I’d be a lifer, but some days I think I’d like to do something else. Just don’t know what.
Got your handwritten letters. About ten came in one bundle. It’s probably weird to say, but they smell like you, kinda reminded me of the ocean and Miami. Makes me look forward to leave more than ever. Fucking mail is slow here, so I’m glad we’re e-mailing too. Seeing your name on my screen makes my day.
Got a mission tomorrow and I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so if you don’t hear from me for a couple weeks don’t worry. Miss you.
Cade
Chapter 10
Bombing: to attack, damage, or destroy with the use of explosive weapons; a tactic frequently used by terrorists.
“She has to know something,” Oto said quietly, for Mihails’s ears alone, as they strode across the marble floor of the posh hotel lobby. The “she” who he referred to was clear. Maria Cervantes.
