One Kiss More

by Mandy Baxter

  The only problem with that scenario was that Landon wasn’t entirely convinced that Javier would be safe whether Emma went to jail or not. “Thanks for the heads-up.” What else could he say at this point? Thanks for fucking up my investigation? Morgan was simply doing his job. “Let me know if you get anything from the wiretaps.”

  “Will do.”

  Landon turned back to his computer, staring blindly at the swirling animation of the screen saver. Emma had a solid alibi that covered her on the day of Javier’s escape. The man was on chemo. Weak and sick. Yet he’d single-handedly managed to enlist outside help and plan an escape that had allowed him to disappear into thin air?

  Yeah, right.

  No fucking way.

  The gears in Landon’s mind cranked as he tried to make sense of the situation. He was more convinced that it wasn’t an escape they were dealing with. He racked his brain as he replayed every conversation he’d had with Emma since arriving in Seattle. She’d kept her cool, remained detached, and let very little slip. But Landon had always known that Emma was too smart for her own good. Despite her levelheadedness, she’d been spooked this morning. The phone call she hadn’t wanted to answer in Landon’s presence was perhaps the most damning piece of evidence that she’d gotten herself into trouble. Who had she been expecting a call from? The banger from last night? And why had there been so much fear in her deep brown eyes?

  The possibility seemed so out of left field that Landon wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t shake the notion that Javier Ruiz hadn’t planned any escape at all. With or without Emma’s help. What if someone had abducted him instead? And what the fuck information did he have that would warrant a kidnapping? Landon’s stomach twisted into a nervous knot as he pushed the chair out from his desk and grabbed his jacket. He checked the magazine of his Glock, slammed it back into place, and settled the firearm into his shoulder holster before heading out of the office. Emma had declared that she knew her father was innocent. And if she had proof of his innocence, maybe someone wanted to make sure she and her father kept that information to themselves.

  Now, if Landon could convince the entirety of the northwest divisions of the U.S. Marshals Service to get on board with that theory, he’d be golden. He just needed Emma to cooperate.

  Piece of cake, right?

  Climbing Everest might be a less daunting feat.

  Emma stared at the Web page displayed on her iPad proclaiming her bank account balance to be ten million, two hundred thousand dollars and some change. At first, this had been about getting one up on the men who’d ruined her—and her father’s—life. Showing them that they weren’t the omnipotent figures they thought they were. It was a game. Something that had spurred Emma’s competitive edge as she set about proving she was the more skilled opponent. Win at all costs. Decimate the other team. It had driven her past reason until she crossed the finish line, victorious. If only she’d thought it through before she’d acted, weighed the consequences of her actions. Now it was too late and she was in too deep to do anything but play their game. Emma hadn’t crossed any finish line. She’d lost. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the tablet aside, disgusted, and walked to the large picture window in her living room that overlooked the city.

  The sun had set hours ago and through the dark panes of glass, she stared out at the twinkling artificial light dotting the skyline like its own solar system. Seattle might as well be a universe, vast and dark, making Emma feel small and insignificant. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed moments later by the distant rumble of thunder. The first raindrops tapped at the large picture window in slow succession, building to a roar that almost drowned out the sound of her television. Maybe the rain would send the marshals back to their holes for the night. Without a doubt, they were down there on the street, watching her. Waiting for her to leave, to meet someone. To slip up. To hand her father over to them on a silver platter.

  At this point, she almost hoped they’d get it over with and arrest her.

  Emma’s ears perked up as a low tap, tap, tap registered under the sounds of the rain and her TV. Almost too quiet to hear at all. She paused. Tilted her head toward the sound. Tap, tap, tap.

  With slow, quiet steps, she crossed the room. Her heart rate jacked up to about five hundred beats per minute as she made her way to the door. How could she live alone in the city and not even have a can of pepper spray handy? Good Lord. Up until now, she’d existed under the false sense of comfort that came from living in a building with great security. But in the course of a few weeks, not only had the U.S. Marshals barged in without anything more than a heads-up from security, but Cesar had wandered up to the twenty-first floor like he owned the place. Emma grabbed the first heavy object she could find and finished her trek to the door, decorative vase in hand. It might not do a lot of damage, but if push came to shove, she might be able to immobilize an attacker.

  The fear that crept up her spine made her want to cringe away from herself in revulsion. She couldn’t afford to be afraid.

  She took one last calming breath before rising up on her tiptoes to look through the peephole in the door. Landon McCabe stood on the other side, one arm braced against the door, his head hung between his shoulders. Jeez, he looked as tense as she felt. She placed the vase back on the end table and went back to open the door. So, Cesar wasn’t here to finish her off, but it looked as if she was about to be taken into custody. She should have felt relief. The way her hands shook when she turned the doorknob, though, told a different story.

  McCabe pushed his way in and placed his palm over Emma’s mouth, gently shutting the door behind him. Emma tried to back away and struggled against his iron grip, but he wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Her hands came up between them to push against his chest and his warmth soaked into her skin, jacking Emma’s pulse in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Damn him. She was trying to be outraged.

  “Is there anyone else here?” Chills danced over Emma’s skin as the warmth of his breath brushed her ear. She shook her head in response, and he said, “I’m going to let you go now. Don’t say a word, do you understand?”

  What in the hell was going on? She pulled back so she could look into his face and the hand that was wrapped around her waist moved to cup the back of her neck. He leaned in and his lips brushed her cheek when he said, “Not. A. Word. Nod your head, Emma.”

  Bossy.

  But she obliged him anyway, giving a sharp nod of acknowledgment. McCabe let her go, and Emma almost melted into the floor without his firm grip to keep her upright. She followed him into the living room, bemused at his strange behavior. As if she thought her situation couldn’t get any weirder. By all rights he should have barged in flashing his badge and gun, being seven different kinds of cocky while he tried to intimidate her into cooperating.

  Was she in the Twilight Zone?

  No, seriously.

  McCabe grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and turned up the volume until it was a notch below annoyingly loud. He crossed back to Emma and again, leaned in so close that their bodies touched. “Your apartment, phone, and cell are tapped and you’re going to be arrested tomorrow for conspiracy, aiding and abetting, and a handful of additional charges. Since we can’t find Javier, you’re going to be the scapegoat, Emma. I know you didn’t do this alone. Tell me what’s going on so I can stop this arrest. Let me help you.”

  The conviction in his words didn’t go unnoticed. Nor did the way his body tensed when his hand brushed her hip. Electric energy charged the narrow space between them, and Emma’s breath sped in her chest. “I can’t.” She felt as though she were being torn in two. The pressure Cesar put on her was too much. Landon’s urging was too much. She was breaking under the strain. “Please, McCabe, go. Or arrest me right now.” Would he? Could he simply slap the cuffs on her right here and now and haul her out into the rain? At least then the situation would be out of her hands.

  He to
ok a step back. His eyes drifted shut as he held a breath in his lungs. On the exhale, he raked his fingers through his hair and when his eyes finally opened, there was an unmistakable fire burning in his gaze. “For once, can you please not behave like a spoiled child? You’re going to go to federal prison, Emma. You think the gossips are up your ass now? They’ll have a field day once you’re taken into custody!”

  Wow. Flag on the play! Personal foul. For someone keeping his voice to a seething whisper, McCabe sure projected his insult well. Did he think this was easy for her? Some kind of game? Let’s see how far the spoiled Emma Ruiz can push the U.S. Marshals before they crack?

  “Do you think any of that matters to me?” McCabe wasn’t the only one who could pack a punch while talking like a girl at a slumber party after lights out. She poked a finger into his chest to accentuate her words. “You don’t have any idea what I’m dealing with! And don’t you dare call me spoiled. You know nothing about me.”

  With the last poke at his broad chest, McCabe caught her wrist in his grip, firm but not tight enough to hurt her. He hauled her against him, and she bucked her chin in the air, meeting him glare for angry glare. “I’m putting my job on the line for you, Emma. If anyone finds out I’m here, alerting you to the fact that you’re about to be arrested, I could be fired.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that. Go. Away.”

  McCabe had no idea the sort of people Emma was dealing with. Cesar would kill them both and not even bat a lash. The only thing keeping her alive at this point was the information she’d gathered over the past six years and the money she’d stolen a few weeks ago. Once Cesar and his boss got their hands on it, she was as good as dead. Didn’t it count for something that she was trying to keep McCabe out of this mess? But if he refused to butt out, there wasn’t much she could do to protect him.

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

  There was no escaping McCabe’s tenacity. She had no doubt that he’d park his ass on her couch until the sun rose and his buddies showed up to take her away. And likewise, Emma was no shrinking violet. No way was he going to coerce information out of her. So if she couldn’t get rid of him without coming clean, maybe she could misdirect him. Just long enough for her to put his information to good use and get the hell out of there before the marshals screwed everything up.

  But what could she tell him that he’d believe? This was why she was way over her head. Emma wasn’t a good liar, and aside from the few pranks she’d played on the marshals when she was younger, she didn’t exactly do underhanded like a boss. “If I tell you what you want to hear, will you get the hell out of here and leave me alone?” Truth be told, his presence was a safety net she didn’t want to let go of, but Emma refused to put anyone else in danger. Even bossypants McCabe.

  “If you tell me what I want to hear, I’m going to assume it’s a lie,” he remarked. The way his blue eyes bored into her, she swore he could see right into her soul. “So whatever you tell me, you’d better make it good.”

  “Then what in the hell do you expect from me, McCabe?” The man was exasperating. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to sock him in the face or kiss him. “Because at this point, I really don’t know.”

  “What I want is for you to quit playing games. What I want is for you to grow up and take this situation seriously.” With every second, he grew more agitated, every word forced from between clenched teeth. “What I want is for you to stop looking at me like that because if you don’t, I’m going to flush my career down the toilet and kiss you again. And I won’t stop there, Emma. You can believe that.”

  Talk about a yo-yo. Emma couldn’t keep up with the constant ups and downs of McCabe’s moods. Just this morning, he’d thrown their intimate moment in her face, all but mocking her for it. Now . . . well, he’d pretty much said point-blank that he was thinking long and hard about getting them both good and naked.

  “How am I looking at you?” She knew she was pressing her luck, but she didn’t care. She might be dead by tomorrow afternoon, or worse. Why not live a little?

  McCabe took a step closer. So close that Emma had to tilt her head up to look at him. “Like you’re dying for me to kiss you. Touch you. Maybe even fuck you.” Fire burned in his gaze and his brows drew sharply over his eyes. He reached up and his fingers dove into the hair at her temple. Emma’s eyes drifted shut.

  Pop! Pop!

  The loud burst of sound confused her, and Emma opened her eyes in time for McCabe to tackle her to the floor. She landed with a whoof ! as all of the air left her lungs in a mad rush. McCabe threw himself on top of her, his arms shielding her head as he tucked his body into hers. The picture window shattered into a million pieces, raining down pebbles of glass that bounced over the surface of the hardwood floor.

  “Stay low, and head for the door,” McCabe barked. “I’m right behind you, Emma. Don’t look back.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he shouted. “Just move!”

  Chapter Nine

  What. The. Fuck.

  Emma didn’t exactly live on the ground floor, which meant someone with a high-powered sniper rifle had them in its crosshairs. It was a miracle they both were still alive, but if they didn’t get the hell out of her building in the next five minutes, that status might change.

  Landon did a quick assessment of their situation as Emma scrambled to her feet. She wasn’t exactly in good shape, running out the door in her bare feet, but at this point, they couldn’t afford to stop for her to grab a pair of shoes.

  “Where is it coming from?” Emma’s voice shook with panic, but she didn’t turn around as she raced down the hallway toward the elevators.

  A moment of indecision caused Landon’s step to falter. The elevator wasn’t the safest escape route, but at this point neither was the stairs. As far as he knew, the sniper fire was a tactic to flush them out of the building to make them easier prey. The stairs left them more exposed. But a well-trained assassin could easily ambush them in the elevator. Fuck it.

  He followed her into the elevator and chambered a round in his Glock. “Hit the fourth floor,” he said. “We’ll take the stairs from there.”

  The parking garage could be staked out. And likewise, whoever was after Emma might assume they’d come out through the lobby. Odds were good that Morgan or one of his guys was parked out on the street and even better that, with the wiretap in her apartment, they’d be on their way up to investigate. He should call Morgan and form a plan to get Emma safely out of the building. Damn it, he should. But all the guy would do was take Emma into custody, and that really wasn’t going to work for Landon.

  “What am I going to do? Oh my God, what am I going to do?” Emma spoke the words under her breath like a mantra, obviously not intending for Landon to offer up a suggestion. “I mean, I’m barefoot. Barefoot! Can you say Britney Spears?”

  “Hey.” Landon felt an epic meltdown coming on and he needed Emma to keep a level head. “Listen to me. You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She laughed. A loud, manic, disbelieving chuckle that solidified to a cold lump in Landon’s gut. Yup, definitely on the verge of freaking out. “You can’t protect me, McCabe. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” A strangled sob worked its way up her throat. “And if they’re trying to kill me, it means my dad is probably already dead, too.”

  If he’d known a few stray bullets would loosen up her lips, he would have shot at her a couple of days ago. This was progress. He didn’t like the direction they were headed, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He’d take what he could get. The elevator came to a stop at the fourth floor, and Landon threw an arm out, guiding Emma away from the door and out of sight. He held up a finger to his lips and brought his gun up, ready to fire at the first son of a bitch who crossed his path as he checked the hallway.

  “Okay, we’re clear,” he said. “Don’t run, don’t act as though anything out of the ordinary is go
ing on. Just head for the stairs.”

  “Sure, it’s easy for you to act ordinary,” Emma remarked. “You’re wearing shoes.”

  Well, at least she wasn’t freaking out and muttering about Britney Spears anymore. But the comment did raise a question Landon hadn’t thought to address. It was one thing to slip out of the building by himself, but Emma had a posse of camera-wielding fanatics camped outside of her building waiting to memorialize her every move. Really, the Marshals Service should take a cue from the paparazzi. They knew how to track someone down. Landon grabbed Emma’s hand and kept her close by his side as they made their way to the door marked EXIT, which led to the stairwell. “Okay, Emma, it’s time to level with me. I need to know what we’re dealing with before we hit the street. I can’t protect you if you’re not honest with me.”

  Silence answered him. Great, they were back to this.... “Emma, someone tried to kill you. You can’t keep secrets any longer.” He pulled open the door to the stairwell and paused. “Are you hearing me?”

  Behind her veiled expression, storm clouds of doubt gathered in the dark depths of her eyes. She still didn’t trust him. Considered him the enemy. For a minute, he thought about grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her, but he knew it wouldn’t do much good. He’d never met anyone as stubborn as Emma Ruiz in his entire life.

  “Can you get me out of here, McCabe?” Her tone hinted at defeat, but Landon wasn’t about to get his hopes up. “And then, we’ll talk.”

  Either Emma wasn’t sure what they were up against, or she didn’t want Landon to know. Both options left him screwed and he was seriously beginning to doubt his own sanity at trying to get her out of the building without any backup. “Okay, first things first. We’ve got to ditch our phones.” Emma’s was being monitored; his relayed his GPS coordinates to anyone with the Marshals Service who wanted a look. They might as well be running around with a big red light flashing above their heads.