The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

“10 o’clock, Major O’Donnell. See you then.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek then turned and left her standing in the doorway watching him stride to his truck.

  ~~~

  When she returned from meeting with Raoul, Trey met Jesse at the door. After answering a barrage of anxious questions, she managed to convince him that she was fine. She showed him her bandages and admitted in answer to his question that, yes, Police Chief Macarios had seen to her injuries.

  As Jesse began to prepare dinner, Trey brought in a large box with a Neiman Marcus label.

  “This came when you were out, Mom.”

  Jesse frowned. “Hmm, I didn’t know Albuquerque had a Neiman Marcus. And I certainly didn’t order anything.”

  She opened the box and saw to her shock, not one but two pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes. One was a replacement for the pair that had been ruined. The second was an extraordinary pair of red five-inch high-heeled sandals. She’d lusted over them for months but never considered buying them. They were outrageously expensive even by Jimmy Choo standards. She felt her cheeks heat when she read the handwritten note.

  Since you threw out my previous peace offering, thought I’d give these a try.

  Given your chosen profession, you might need a backup pair. D.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse paced across the conference room staring blindly into the parking lot ringed with official vehicles. In a reserved spot she recognized Dameon’s black Ford Tundra. She closed her eyes to shut out the memory of the man who had kept her awake for two nights in a row. She couldn’t think about him now, not after the way she acted yesterday. She had never had such a raw emotional reaction to any man. It was unsettling to say the least. She reminded herself, he was an antagonist. At least this morning he was. She snorted at the peremptory way he’d ordered her to appear. She’d thought about ignoring his order. But by zero-nine hundred hours she was dressed and out the door.

  Glancing around the empty room she scoffed. Naturally she was the only one on time. Well, admit it: as usual she was early. It was a life-long habit ingrained by her Sergeant Major father. She’d absorbed this dictum like so many others the fierce banty rooster of a redheaded terror had drilled into his serious daughter—from the time she was eight years old. Professional soldiers were never late; always on time and if they wanted to make an impression they were early. And here she was. Fifteen minutes early and not a person had joined her. Maybe it was this sleepy town; it seemed to run on Mexican time.

  She focused on the empty chairs that would soon be occupied by two of the most extraordinary men she’d known—Raoul Morales and Dameon Macarios. Jesse forced herself to consider the upcoming inquisition. Because she was certain that’s what it would be.

  Her lunch meeting with Raoul was anything but. In fact it was a celebration. Combined with her exhaustion and relief, she had lowered her guard somewhat and given into the charm of her host. Who, to her great relief, turned out to be her very appreciative client. And God, Raoul was charming. He regaled her with one amusing story after another from a life filled with intrigue and danger. Knowing that most of the activities he described happened under the auspices of his family’s cartel made his recounting all the more interesting. Hell, who wouldn’t want to listen to a black-eyed soft-toned charmer recount tales that would make for a year-long television crime series?

  The stunning conclusion to his repartee was his assertion that she had saved his life and he was forever in her debt. He’d said solemnly that in his culture her actions constituted a blood oath. Jesse wasn’t sure she wanted to consider the full implications of that pledge but for the moment it came wrapped in an irresistible package. By the time they had finished their three hour lunch, Raoul had described in detail five important men that he was certain would become her clients. Jesse left buoyed by unusual optimism and refused to let her elation face the probability of who those clients might be. She knew without asking that the Police Chief would not be pleased.

  The image of Dameon surfaced. She couldn’t avoid thinking about him. After all it had been at least ten minutes since she’s allowed herself to focus on the man who had taken over her brain—and she admitted, her body. Damn. What the hell was wrong with her? It must be this dry mountain air that had her hormones raging. The Police Chief was an enigma. She’d never met anyone like him. On the one hand he was the consummate cop and Army Ranger, the kind of man she’d known all her life. All man, only he was more so in every dimension.

  But then there was the unexpected part of him, the part that had her flustered, uncertain and embarrassed. She’d literally thrown a temper tantrum yesterday over a pair of goddamned shoes! Yes, they were special shoes but couldn’t she have thrown them at the wall instead of wailing her pain at her broken toys in front of the fucking Police Chief? She was horrified remembering her behavior. She never let down like that, ever. You don’t show your weakness. You deal with it. Another maxim from her father. But she had let down, big time. In response, Dameon had been kind, understanding. He had tried to comfort her, to relate to her pain. And what had she done in response? Thrown his peace offering in the sink like a spoiled teenager and shrieked at him.

  The unlucky latte brought to mind the image of his latest peace offering. They were the most beautiful shoes she’d ever seen. Of course, she would have to give them back. There was no way she could accept a gift like that from a man she barely knew. It was inconceivable. But even as she said it, she knew she would never return them. If she had to develop an installment plan to repay him for them, she would. No, by God those red sirens were in her closet and except when they were on her feet that’s where they were going to stay.

  The door opened and a young woman in a police officer’s uniform walked in. Jesse gave a sigh of relief. It was still five minutes until the meeting was due to start but it was good to know that there would be someone else here when the others arrived. At least she wouldn’t look like she was eager—or something.

  The lovely Latina woman introduced herself with a soft smile.

  “Good morning. I’m Officer Sofia Renaldo. I am Chief Macarios’s deputy. Lt. Rockford and I will be taking your statement and Mr. Morales’s.”

  Jesse nodded, squelching the crushing disappointment she felt hearing that Dameon wouldn’t be in the meeting. And to think she’d spent three hours this morning trying to decide what to wear…. Ugh! Oh well, at least Raoul would be impressed. Her short dark grey pencil skirt hovered high enough above her knees to give her access to her cleverly designed thigh holster. Her crisp white linen blouse with the high starched collar and fitted bodice showed off her voluptuous body by showcasing it not flaunting it. She’d piled her unruly curls up on the top of her head knowing that some of the curls would manage to spring free. She’d learned long ago that her hair had a mind of its own and for the most part, she let it be the boss.

  She fingered the silver pendant that hung on a chain, resting on her cleavage. Not even the sharpest eye would know that the outrageous pendant was a stylized replica of a penis. It was her treasured going away gift from her special ops unit. The guys had told her to wear it whenever she felt insecure, to remind her of the bunch of badboy dicks who loved and admired her. Jesse swallowed. If ever a ‘dick’ could come in handy, it was likely in this particular meeting.

  At that moment Lt. Rockford entered followed by a young officer carrying a transcription machine. The Lieutenant’s ruddy cheeks bloomed more when he saw her.

  He nervously cleared his throat as he approached.

  “Good morning, Major O’Donnell… or would you prefer that I call you—”

  Jesse broke in. “Please. Call me Ms. O’Donnell. Or Jesse if you prefer.”

  She extended her hand and showered him with a smile.

  “I owe you my thanks, Lieutenant. You got the brunt of my outrage the other night. I’m sorry that you were the target. My apologies. Can I assume that part of this meeting today will be handing me a bill for the various equipment
that got mangled in our encounter.”

  Rockford’s face flushed to the roots of his greying temples.

  “Please, Major, I mean Ms. O’Donnell—Jesse. I’m the one that owes you an apology. I’m just glad to see you looking well. Wolf—I mean, Chief Macarios—told me that you were hurt. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

  Jesse gave a dismissive wave. “Please, it was nothing.”

  Their exchange was cut short by the commotion in the outside hallway. A rapid-fire exchange in Spanish sprinkled with girlish laughter and a hearty male response signaled the arrival of her client. Raoul burst into the room making his usual dramatic entrance. He was followed by his bodyguard, Tomas Sanchez, and a starry eyed clerk carrying a pile of manila folders.

  Raoul was dressed in black. A collarless black silk shirt, black dress pants and a black linen sport coat made for a dashing ensemble. An extraordinary turquoise and silver belt buckle on his leather belt and black cowboy boots completed the rakish outfit. His flashing eyes, ubiquitous grin and garrulous chatter made him the star attraction. He strolled around the conference table greeting each of the participants personally. Jesse marveled that he had a specific comment for each person, giving the impression that he was among a group of old friends. Given that this was an interrogation at the police station, Jesse thought if one was being less charitable you could assume he’d spent a lot of time being interviewed for suspect activities. Jesse didn’t know whether to laugh or to be horrified that this accomplished rascal was her client. She decided she would find him charming as apparently everyone else did, women and men.

  Officer Renaldo began the questioning. She started with Raoul, asking a series of expected questions as though rotely completing a standard questionnaire. When she’d finished the formulaic inquiry she repeated the process with Jesse. In addition to her name, address, etc. she asked Jesse to describe her company. It was the first time that Jesse was able to put in words her vision for her private security firm. Just describing it made it real. Jesse felt a small involuntary surge of pride, and Raoul’s encouraging smile helped.

  Lt. Rockford then asked them about the event in question. His questions were general—essentially why they were there, when they arrived, and so on. When the Lieutenant asked Raoul why he attended, Raoul said simply because he was a financial supporter of the Hernandez campaign. When he asked Jesse the same question, she was as succinct, replying ‘because Raoul had invited her.’

  After several more specific questions to Raoul, Lt. Rockford closed his notebook and looked to Officer Renaldo who indicated with a brief nod that she was finished. Jesse was taken aback. She had expected questions about why she and Raoul had left, and obviously had thought they would question her about discharging her weapon. But neither officer raised additional questions. Why became clear when there was the sound of voices in the hallway and Dameon strode into the room. All conversation stopped at his entrance.

  Chapter 8

  Whereas Raoul had entered with a splash captivating the group with his exuberant personality, Dameon wordlessly captured the room with his powerful presence. Jesse had felt it the first time she saw the man they called “Wolf.” He commanded, owned whatever space he was in. Moving to the head of the table, he pulled out the chair and sat down, nodding to each of the participants.

  Like Raoul, Dameon was dressed primarily in black. He wore black dress trousers and a dark patterned dress shirt that hugged his impressive torso. The shirt was open at the collar and he wasn’t wearing a jacket. But the shield at his waist and bulge at his ankle belied his casual appearance. Catching a glimpse of dark curly hair at the top of his shirt, Jesse quickly looked away, praying that the heat scorching her cheeks wasn’t visible. Dear God, what was wrong with her? She’d seen all types of men in every state of undress, consistent with living in tents and makeshift barracks. She’d learned to ignore them. Modesty, both hers and the men she worked with, was in short supply in the middle of the battlefield. But now the whisper of black hair on Dameon’s chest had her heart racing. God, what would she do if he ever took off his shirt?

  Dameon’s voice was as cool and confident as his appearance.

  “Lt. Rockford, I don’t know if you’ve requested that our guests remove any weapons they are carrying. While all of them no doubt have the required permits, in discussions of this nature, I prefer that my officers and I are the only armed participants.”

  Lt. Rockford flushed. “Sorry, Wolf. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Dameon gave a dismissive flick of his wrist and turned to his deputy.

  “Officer Renaldo, will you please collect the weapons from our guests and place them on the counter.”

  He fastened his gaze on Tomas Sanchez, Raoul’s bodyguard, who was eyeing him with open contempt.

  “Tomas, if you are uncomfortable relinquishing your weapons, you are free to leave.”

  The dark-skinned man scowled and looked to Raoul for support.

  Raoul’s dismissive gesture mimicked Dameon’s. With a muffled curse, the burly guard reached inside his jacket and jerked out a police regulation Glock and tossed it on the table with a clatter.

  Dameon’s lip curled.

  “Don’t forget the one in your boot, Tomas. Be a good guy. Watch how nicely your boss removes all three of his weapons.”

  Raoul laughed out loud as he systematically removed the pistols in his shoulder and back holsters, and with a flourish yanked a Sig from his boot.

  “Damn, Dameon, can’t put a fucking thing over on you, can I, dude?”

  Dameon smiled. “You never could, Raoul.”

  The Chief turned to Jesse and gazed at her through narrowed eyes, a twitch at the corner of his eye betraying the twinkle.

  “Major?”

  Jesse tossed her head.

  “Does that include knives?”

  Dameon surveyed her fitted blouse that was tucked into the waistband of her slim skirt.

  “Depends where you have it.”

  She sniffed. “Right next to my gun.”

  Jesse stood and lifted her skirt enough to release the catch on her thigh-high holster. She dropped the small but powerful Walther onto the table. Ignoring the wide-eyed response from virtually every man at the table, she lifted the other side of her skirt and removed a Balisong knife. She casually flicked the latch on the vicious weapon and placed the now ten-inch blade next to her gun.

  Raoul whistled. “Damn, Chiquita! That may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Dameon and his prick agreed. With an effort, he managed to keep from leaping across the table and punching his randy pal in the face.

  He recovered enough to issue a dry remark. “I won’t ask what else you have hidden there, Major.”

  As Officer Renaldo was collecting the small armory of weapons, Raoul tossed the Chief a challenging grin.

  “I must be going up in the world. I don’t usually attract the attention of the Big Guy. Usually Rocky has to deal with me. What brings you to this auspicious gathering, Chief Macarios? Don’t tell me I’m more important than I realized.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Dameon’s mouth. He threw a quick glance at Jesse.

  “That presumes I’m here because of you, Señor Morales.”

  Raoul looked from the Chief to Jesse and his eyes flashed with understanding.

  “Ah, yes. I see. Perhaps I am not the attraction, si?”

  Turning his attention to Jesse, Raoul said with a mischievous glance at the Chief, “Jesse, you’d never know that this upstanding Police Chief grew up two doors down from me in the toughest barrio this side of Mexico City. And now look at him. Fuck, Dameon. I hear they’re even grooming you to be Senator someday.”

  Dameon smiled. “Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear, my friend. Those sound like rumors from people who would prefer a more amenable Chief sitting in this chair. As for our boyhood haunts? I treasure those days, Raoul. They made me tough enough to take on the haji’s and tangos in the Middle East. And if you t
hink a few Latino wannabe badasses are tough you ought to see what a group of tangos can do. Ask the Major. I’m confident she’s had her share of skirmishes with guys a hell of a lot tougher than second-rate gangsters.”

  Leaving Raoul to sort through the insults to his family of origin, Dameon flawlessly changed direction. His shift caught Jesse off balance. From the surprise registered on Raoul’s face, Dameon had snookered his pal as well.

  “Speaking of second-rate mobsters, Raoul. Who were the men who crashed our party the other night? And who sent them?”

  He flipped open one of the manila folders and spread three photographs in front of himself but facing Raoul.

  With a flick of his wrist, he amplified. “The gentleman on the left is dead, courtesy of my bullet. The guy in the middle is still unconscious due to an amazing shot from Major O’Donnell’s silver tooled Walther, and the man on the end is still recovering from the ministrations of Sergeant Munk Stephens, our three-hundred-pound ‘closer.’ The shooter apparently fears whoever sent him to kill you more than he does a life in prison. You could save us hours of interrogation by simply telling us who they are and who wanted you killed in such an auspicious setting. A setting certain to send shockwaves throughout the, shall we say, underground economy?”

  Dameon sat back in his chair and fastened his gaze on his nemesis’s face.

  Raoul glanced from photo to photo. Anger sparked in his eyes.

  “Thanks, Dameon. Due to Jesse taking me down as fast as she took out that dude,” he said, pointing to the man in the middle, “this is the first time I’ve seen the thugs that shot up Councilman Hernandez’s coming out party.

  “As for who they are and why they attended the party, I can’t help you, bro. Your better odds are to talk with the councilman. If I were a betting man,” he winked, tacitly acknowledging the three semi-legitimate gambling houses he ran, “I’d say your best bet is that these assholes were out for the councilman. As you know, Chief Macarios, there are a lot of people in these parts who aren’t anxious for a beaner to become our United States Senator.”