by Cindy Dees
Lord, that sounded tempting. “I need to walk the fence line while your father’s out. Gunter will relax while the boss is away. He’ll take care of administrative stuff he can’t do when your old man’s around and he’s stuck on bodyguard duty.”
Cari looked disappointed but said cheerfully enough, “I guess I’ll take a shower, then.”
He pushed away from the counter and couldn’t resist planting a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for modifying my phone. You’re a peach,” he murmured.
She laughed aloud. “A fruit, am I? I’ll have to work on my image, I see.”
He stepped closer again but refrained from touching her. He said roughly, “Don’t knock it. I adore peaches.”
Then he spun around and left the room. He dared not stay in close proximity any longer or he would be in grave danger of showing her just how much he loved the sweet, juicy fruit.
With Eduardo gone and Gunter occupied somewhere inside the house, checking out the fence was a piece of cake. Joe stumbled across a path running along the inside of the fence line—no doubt made by security guards walking perimeter patrols. He didn’t find any new security measures he wasn’t already aware of.
Of course, the stuff he knew about was impressive enough— heat sensors, motion detectors, cameras, and infrared beams, not to mention the fact that the fence itself was twelve-feet tall, made of heavy cast iron and topped with numerous pointed spikes that were undoubtedly electrified. And he was sure the code to the gate leading out to the beach had been changed since Cari had blasted through it the night they’d met. Hopping the fence wasn’t going to be an option for him and Cari, then. Maybe a little C-4 to blow a hole through it. They weren’t likely to be able to sneak all the way out of this place undiscovered, so they might as well leave in a blaze of glory.
After his hike around the estate, which encompassed nearly five acres, he headed for the swimming pool. Might as well get a little exercise while he waited for Eduardo to come home so the two of them could talk.
He swam for a solid hour, losing count of how many laps he’d done. It helped burn off a little of his immediate sexual frustration, but it didn’t touch the overall tension thrumming through him at the thought of getting Cari in his arms again.
When he finally climbed out, he was pleased to see that Cari had come out to the pool, wearing a fire engine red bikini that was an absolute knockout. He flopped down on a chaise lounge next to her and let the sun warm his skin.
He felt a presence approaching and lifted his head lazily. Rico. The thug who’d gotten so mad at finding him and Cari skinny-dipping in the pool last night. He didn’t look much happier today. The set of his meaty shoulders was distinctly aggressive.
Joe pegged him as a guy looking to increase his status within the organization and jonesing to find someone to rough up a little. Joe sighed. Rico stopped at the foot of Joe’s lounge chair and stared down at him.
Joe gazed back impassively. “Can I do something for you?” he asked evenly.
“Yeah. Quit flaunting the fact that you’re sleeping with the boss’s daughter,” Rico growled.
Joe smiled easily. “I don’t have to flaunt it. I have a piece of paper that says I can sleep with her whenever I feel like it.”
“Yeah, well, who the hell are you? You waltz in here and steal her right out from under her father’s nose and think you can get away with it?”
Joe shrugged. “I didn’t steal her. Eduardo knew we were seeing each other. And I’m sure he knew we were getting serious. Besides, he gave our marriage his blessing.”
What was this guy’s angle? He was acting acutely jealous. Like a big brother. Or a jilted lover? Joe eyed Rico afresh. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, in a linebacker sort of way. Was this beefcake Cari’s type? She must think he was a scrawny little wimp, then.
He glanced over at Cari. She was frowning uncertainly at Rico, but she didn’t look guilty or irritated, like she might if an old flame stirred up trouble with her new husband.
Hell, he was her husband. He had the right to ask the question. “Baby, were you and this guy ever an item?”
That was genuine surprise on her face. Hallelujah. “Good Lord, no!” As Rico scowled darkly, she added hastily, “I was never allowed to date my father’s men.”
Hmm. She, too, sensed something dangerous in Rico’s manner. Not good. Should he stay sprawled out on his back on the assumption that Rico wouldn’t attack a man in no position to defend himself, or should he be moseying to his feet?
Getting up won out. He wanted to move far enough away from Cari so if Rico did something stupid there was no chance she would get caught in the fray and get hurt.
Joe sat up, wiping the sweat off his face in a leisurely fashion with a towel. He eyed the bulge under the guy’s left armpit beneath the light jacket he wore unzipped. A gun, no doubt. Right-handed, then. Probably wouldn’t pull it, though because Gunter and the other guards would have to respond aggressively to a brandished weapon. It could get Rico in trouble or fired or, around here, worse.
The look in Rico’s eyes said he didn’t just want to bloody Joe; he wanted to kill him. The guy wouldn’t come in unarmed using only his fists. A knife, then.
Rico’s hands flexed into a fist. Opened. Oh, yeah. Going to reach for a weapon any second.
“Look, man,” Joe said calmly. “I don’t want any trouble. Why don’t we go inside and get a drink. Sit down and talk about what’s on your mind. I’m willing to listen to what you have to say.”
Rico bared his teeth. Definitely not interested in talking.
Joe spoke quietly. With the calm assurance of a man speaking the truth. “I’ve got to warn you, Rico. I can handle myself in a fight. This isn’t going to go down easy the way you think it will. You’re going to come out of this with mud on your face. Cari’s going to be furious that you attacked me. This is not going to win you any points with her. She’s going to demand that you be fired, and Eduardo might very well kill you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cari open her mouth to speak, but he made a subtle cutting gesture with his hand, ordering her to be silent. She caught the signal and subsided, frowning. Thank God. He needed to keep all of Rico’s attention on him and away from doing something stupid like grabbing Cari and putting a knife to her neck or a gun to her head.
“Think, Rico. There’s nothing but downside potential to this scenario. Walk away from it now. No harm, no foul.”
“I don’t think so,” the big man snarled. “You think you’re so fucking smart and can talk circles around me. But you’re a pissant punk in need of a lesson on the way things run around here. You can’t just stroll in and take over the joint.”
“I have no interest in taking over the joint,” Joe replied flatly, and hopefully loud enough for any surveillance cameras to pick up. He would love for Eduardo to hear that declaration out of him. He continued, “I’m telling you again. Turn around and walk away from this. You’ve got nothing to gain and everything to lose.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, pretty boy shithead. The boss rewards initiative. He wants to be rid of you. And the guy who steps up to the plate and takes care of the problem is going to be rewarded richly.”
If that was Rico’s reasoning, there was going to be no way around dropping this guy by force. Several movements behind the windows caught Joe’s eye. They’d already collected an audience inside the house. Now there was no way whatsoever that Rico would back down.
Joe spoke to Cari without taking his eyes off the bigger man. “Princess, is there some sort of first aid kit around here? A crash kit, maybe?”
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice vibrating with desperation. Lord, he hoped he could spare her the violence to come, but his gut said Rico wasn’t going to be that considerate. He did the next best thing. He tried to get her out of here.
“A crash kit is an extensive first aid kit,” he explained over his shoulder. “It usually comes in a good-size canvas bag or backpack, or mayb
e a box the size of a small trunk.”
She replied in dawning understanding, “Yes, of course. We’re a long way from the nearest hospital. We have all kinds of medical supplies.”
“I need you to go inside, sweetheart. Tell the first person you see to have Gunter fetch the crash kit and bring it out here. I’m going to need it to patch this numskull back together when I’m done with him.” Joe’s eyes narrowed. “That is, assuming he doesn’t piss me off enough that I decide to just kill him and be done with it.”
It was never good to go into a fight with the opponent sure that you wouldn’t kill them. Fear worked on a man’s mind. Ate at it. And Rico needed to taste fear today. A lot of it. Enough to scare the ever loving shit out of him. Or else, someday soon, he’d be back for more of the same.
Cari eased up out of her chaise and sidled away from the pool. When she was several yards away, she turned and ran for the house. Thank God. She was clear of the danger zone. And if he was really lucky, she wouldn’t have to witness what he was about to do.
He turned back to Rico. “Okay, Einstein. Let’s get this over with. Show me what you’ve got.”
Chapter Fourteen
Joe eyed Rico carefully. His opponent would most certainly underestimate him, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake. Rico hesitated, seemingly unsure as to how to begin.
“C’mon, buddy,” Joe said conversationally. “Let’s get this show on the road. I don’t want to fight in front of Cari, and she’ll be back soon with the med kit. Drop your knife out of that wrist sheath and bring it already.”
Joe wrapped a towel around his left forearm, casually tucking the two ends of it in tightly. The fluffy terry cloth made a great impromptu gauntlet.
Rico’s eyes narrowed. Without further ado, he jumped forward. A wink of metal flashed in his right palm. All right, then. The show was on. The thug held the knife reversed, the blade lying back along his forearm with the tip pointing toward his elbow. Ol’ Rico had a little experience fighting with a knife, did he?
“Let’s dance, shall we?” Joe invited lightly. He circled to his right, forcing Rico to follow him in an arc to bring the knife into play.
Normally, he wouldn’t talk much in a fight. The necessary breathing rhythms of speaking telegraphed too much to an experienced fighter. But today wasn’t only about taking Rico down; it was also about minimizing the desire of anyone else in the Ferrare household to tangle with him. Hence, a certain amount of verbal psychological warfare was necessary.
He had no doubt that all of Eduardo’s office windows were open and that the light breeze was carrying every word he said to the ears of the avid crowd that were practically pressing their noses against the giant glass wall.
Rico growled, “You think you’re going talk your way out of this, pretty boy?”
Joe shrugged. “I’d rather not have to go through with this stupidity, but it was your call. I gave you ample opportunity to reconsider. But now you’ve ticked me off and I am going to kick your ass.”
“Hah.”
“Already out of brilliant repartee, are you?” Joe taunted gently. “Maybe you should stick to fighting, then. Speaking of which, you can give it your best shot any day now. I’m getting bored.” Joe’s message was clear. He wasn’t going to start this fight, but he was damn well going to finish it.
Rico finally leaped forward, swinging viciously with his right arm. Joe ducked the wild blow easily, coming up with a hard fist to the guy’s solar plexus before he danced back lightly on the balls of his feet.
Rico gasped for air, eyeing Joe in surprise. No more talk. Time to get to business. Now that Rico had taken the first shot, Joe went on the offensive, pursuing Rico aggressively. The thug eyed Joe’s right hand warily. Didn’t like that gut shot, eh? There was more of that where the first punch came from.
Joe waited until all of Rico’s weight was on his left foot and then swept his right leg forward, kicking the weight-bearing leg out from under Rico before the guy had any idea what hit him. The big man went down on the concrete with a heavy thud.
Joe took a step back and grinned down at his opponent. “Don’t go taking a nap on me, dude! Get up and get busy before you embarrass yourself.”
Rico climbed to his feet in a not-particularly-nimble fashion. His face was red now, his eyes slits of rage. He would do something wild next, a big offensive move designed to overpower Joe since pure skill wasn’t looking promising against the American.
Joe balanced lightly, waiting for the big move. Sure enough, Rico lowered his right shoulder and made a charge worthy of a bull in a matador’s ring. Joe waited till the last moment and stepped out of the way, his movement blindingly fast and smooth as silk. As Rico barged past, Joe planted a hand in the middle of the big man’s back and gave him a solid shove. Down he went again, on his face this time.
Rico rolled onto his back—a colossally stupid move in a legitimate knife fight.
Joe commented, in his best instructor’s voice, “You shouldn’t roll over like that when you’re getting up. You’re exposing your vital organs to me while you’re down and defenseless. You’d be better off pushing up to your hands and knees and then jumping to your feet. That way, all you ever give me is your back. If I had a knife, I’d have a hard time killing you through all that backbone and muscle.”
Rico was already halfway to his feet but actually paused as if he might roll back over and get up the right way. But then he hitched back into motion and finished standing, scowling. He charged again. And again. And each time, Joe slipped out of the way, landing a punishing blow somewhere on Rico’s body as he slammed past.
By now, it had to be patently evident to even the most casual observer that Joe was a) toying with Rico and b) a vastly more skilled fighter.
After one particularly ugly pass, Rico stood with his head hanging down, blood dripping from his split lip, panting hard.
“Give it up, Rico. Just walk away. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
“Fuck you,” Rico snarled. He charged again and, this time, Joe didn’t sidestep him. He stepped into Rico, slamming his fist into Rico’s sternum. The thug doubled over and slammed, chin first, into Joe’s other fist. The guy’s teeth clacked together loud enough to be heard across the yard.
Joe followed up with a vicious blow to the guy’s nose and felt the bone give way with a grinding sensation beneath his knuckles.
Rico surprised him by reversing his grip on the knife and lunging at Joe, knife point first. In a reflex move honed over years of combat training, Joe crowded in fast and hard, grabbing Rico’s wrist and twisting it violently. The knife dropped out of useless fingers as both wrist bones gave way with an audible crack that sounded like a rib of celery snapping in two.
Joe bent to scoop up the knife. But desperation made Rico fast and the thug’s fist met his at the knife. Rico got his fingers around the handle and shoved up with all his remaining strength, which was formidable, and Joe had no choice. He had to deflect the blow into Rico’s gut. The blade buried itself in Rico’s abdomen with a sickening slide of slippery guts giving way before hard, cold steel.
Thankfully, the thug knew when to give up. He fell to his knees, his hands clutched around the hilt of the knife sticking out of his belly.
Joe stepped back and took a couple of deep breaths. He didn’t take his eyes off Rico, though. More than one good man had had a fight won, only to take his eyes off the downed opponent and die from a sneak attack from the ground.
“You finished?” Joe demanded.
“Yeah,” Rico grunted.
“You ready to let me treat that wound and keep you from dying?”
Rico glanced up in surprise. Blood was starting to seep between his fingers. A lot of it. The whole front of his shirt was turning red quickly. “For real?” he panted.
“Yes. Lie down. The way you’re bleeding, I might’ve nicked an artery.”
“That ain’t good, is it?” Rico grunted.
“No, it isn’t,” J
oe snapped. This idiot could bleed out in a matter of minutes if that artery wasn’t found and clamped off.
While Rico rolled clumsily onto his side and then his back, Joe glanced up, looking around for Cari and that med kit. There she was, standing over by the dining room door. Gunter was standing beside her and had her upper arm in a firm grip. Good man. The last thing he’d needed would have been Cari diving into the middle of the fight.
“Bring me the first aid kit,” Joe called sharply. “And call an ambulance if you have them in this godforsaken country.”
Gunter grabbed the heavy canvas pack and ran over to Joe. The German dropped the kit on the ground. “What can I do?”
“Open that up and get out a scalpel and a big wad of gauze pads,” Joe answered. “And surgical gloves, if you’ve got any.”
He glanced up at Cari. “Put on a pair of gloves, then place your hand here and press down as hard as you can.” He placed her gloved hand on the towel he’d unwrapped from his wrist and used as a makeshift pressure bandage.
She complied and he grabbed the gloves Gunter held out, snapping them over his wrists with the speed of long experience.
“Gunter, grab the knife hilt, and, when I tell you, pull it out. Lean it back against the non-sharpened side. We don’t need to slice him up even more on the way out.”
Gunter nodded and put his hand on the knife protruding from Rico’s belly.
Joe pushed his fingers into the top of the wound on either side of the blade, preparatory to prying the wound open to have a look for that artery. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be buried deep. Rico groaned. No time to sedate the guy, assuming this kit even had the right drugs to knock him out.
“Do it,” Joe ordered.
Gunter eased the knife out and a gush of blood flowed over Joe’s fingers. Working by feel, he wedged his fingertips into the wound and held it open. Rico cried out in pain.
“Cari, use that wad of gauze to mop up the blood. I’ve got to see where the blood’s coming from. Gunter, get me a locking clamp. It’s the one that looks like a cross between scissors and pliers.”
