by Mandy Baxter
Emma nodded, but he knew none of what he’d said had registered. Damn it. He strode to the bed and sat down on the edge, catching her by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “This isn’t the time to lose focus. I know that this turned out to be a hell of a lot more difficult than you imagined, but this isn’t only about clearing your dad’s name anymore. This is about saving his life and yours as well. This is about making sure that the Special Operations Group can do their job and stop this asshole from getting his hands on that dirty bomb. We have the opportunity to do something good here. Let’s not waste it.”
“I can do this.” Her dark eyes were fathomless as she looked at him. And dead serious. Landon respected her resolve and the fact that when it was gut-check time, Emma could step up and do what needed to be done. “I’m okay, Landon, really. It’s just been . . . a lot to take in so quickly. I won’t disappoint you. Or anyone else. I’m ready.”
“Okay. Good.” He gave her a reassuring smile and pushed himself off the bed. “Now, get in the shower and get ready to go. Cesar could call any time.”
Emma propelled herself off the bed without another word, snatching up the bag of clothes Crawford’s guys had bought her the night before, and headed for the bathroom. Landon powered on his phone while trying to distract himself from the thought that Emma was right on the other side of the door, taking off her clothes. He’d known guys who worked undercover who had to undergo extensive therapy after an assignment. The lines between reality and fantasy blurred to the point that it became tough to leave that contrived life behind and return to the real world.
After spending time close to Emma, pretending that there was so much more to their relationship than there really was, would he be able to put the fantasy back on the shelf where it belonged when it was all said and done? Somehow, Landon didn’t think it would be any small feat to walk away from Emma Ruiz.
Landon heard the spray of the shower come on in the bathroom and he dialed Galen. He needed Emma to be confident and he couldn’t let her see—or hear—him express his own worries. After a few rings, Galen answered. “Before you say anything, you better know you’ve reached your quota for favors for the rest of the year.”
Oh, he was well aware of it. In fact, Landon had a feeling he’d be paying Galen back for the rest of his natural life.
“You trained for undercover ops with SOG, right?”
Galen was a part of the U.S. Marshals’ elite team of specially trained marshals. They handled high-profile and dangerous cases and had to be ready to move sometimes at a moment’s notice. He’d always given Galen shit for his glory-hound ways, but now Landon was wishing he’d applied for the program as well. At any rate, he’d be more prepared for the situation he’d thrown himself into.
“Sure,” Galen replied. “We had to undergo all of this psych-eval bullshit to make sure we could handle it.”
“Got any pointers you’d care to offer?” Landon couldn’t do much about his rueful tone. It rankled him to think that he needed advice at all. He should’ve been able to handle the situation on his own.
“What’s the story?”
So far, Galen had asked very few questions and Landon liked it that way. But there wasn’t anything about him that Galen didn’t know, so there was no point in holding back now. “In a nutshell? Emma Ruiz stole several million from a nasty arms dealer who is now holding her dad hostage to get it back. The SOG is working with DHS and the FBI to take the bad guys down, and they need her to give all of the money back so they can bust the asshole in the process of trying to buy a dirty bomb. I’m playing the part of her greedy, crooked-cop boyfriend until we can wrap this up.”
Galen was silent for a moment before busting out into a round of laughter that made Landon wish his friend were here so he could pop him in the nose. “Is that all?” Galen’s facetious tone was doing little for Landon’s mood. “Jesus Christ, Landon. You sure stepped in it.”
“Fuck off,” he growled into the receiver. “Like you’ve never gotten in over your head.”
“True,” Galen conceded. “But after today you’re not allowed to give me a single ounce of shit about Harper.”
Giving Galen shit about his relationship with Harper was the least of Landon’s concerns right now. “How did you keep it separate?” he asked. “How did you keep your head on straight when you were with her so you could focus on the job?” It wasn’t like he had anything to worry about opening up to Galen. They were closer than brothers. But it was hard for him to admit—even to himself—that his feelings for Emma might be a little more than just professional.
“I didn’t, obviously,” Galen said with a snort. “You’ve got this weird, hostile history with Emma that’s gotta be complicating the shit out of things. But, ultimately, you’re going to do your job because you’re a professional and damned good at it. Just remember, with undercover the trick is to keep the lie believable. Don’t go over the top because they’ll know you’re full of shit. Don’t downplay anything either because that’ll throw up a red flag, too.”
Landon gave a rueful laugh. If only a shared hostility was all he and Emma had between them. “So basically what you’re saying is I’m screwed either way.”
“The catch with working undercover is that you have to believe the story you’re selling. That’s more important than anything. If you buy it, they’ll buy it.”
“I guess I know what I need to work on, then. In the meantime, can you do some recon on the down low? I don’t want to have to rely on Crawford for all of my intel. I’m pretty sure I’m on a need-to-know basis at this point.”
“What do you need?” Landon asked.
“See what you can dig up on a guy named Cesar Molina. Also, his boss, Teyo Sousa. And between you and me, I’m pretty sure there are some guards over at the federal prison in Sheridan on their payroll. I want to take those bastards down.”
“I’ll get something going on my end, but we’ll keep it quiet until you’re out of there. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can dig up on your guys. You want me to call you if I find anything?”
“No. Leave a message at the hotel. I’ll call you when I can talk.”
“Got it,” Galen said. “Take care of yourself, man.”
“Please.” Landon refused to let the moment get too heavy. “I’ve got this locked down. I’ll be the one doing TV interviews when it’s all done.”
“And I’ll gladly let you,” Galen replied. “That shit is exhausting. Later.”
“Later.” Landon ended the call and his gaze wandered to the closed bathroom door. All he had to do was believe the lie that he was in love with Emma Ruiz.
Emma lingered in the shower longer than she should have. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, plagued by dreams that glazed her skin with a sheen of sweat and caused her body to ache with want. It was stupid to lust after someone who couldn’t make up his damned mind. Who knew McCabe was so fickle? He’d turned her on and off so many times over the past couple of days, Emma was beginning to feel a little like a light switch. And now, not only was she going to have to get cozy with him, she was being forced to pretend that she and Landon were sleeping together.
Talk about torture . . .
When she’d set her plan to clear her father’s name in motion, she’d had no idea whom—or what—she was up against. It was foolish to think she’d ever had the upper hand. And now that she knew what sorts of criminals Cesar and his boss were, it made her more nervous than ever to think about what she had to do. If she’d known they were arms dealers and terrorists, Emma never would have behaved so flippantly.
Too late now, though. Her bed was made. Time to lie in it.
Though it pained her to leave the warmth of the shower behind, Emma toweled off and dug through the bag of clothes Crawford’s men had supplied her with. Those elite marshals must’ve had a personal shopper on the payroll, because she doubted any of the guys she’d met could have picked out the clothes in the bag. Black, skinny slacks, a ye
llow tunic-style shirt with a deep V-neck, and a pair of black stilettos. Granted, Emma would rather wear a pair of ballet flats than heels, but she assumed that Crawford wanted her to look well put together. Dress to impress and all that. At the bottom of the bag she found a tube of mascara, eye shadow, and dark red lipstick. Well, she’d put the shadow and mascara to use, but that lipstick was staying in the bag. She looked in the mirror, still a little foggy with steam, and assessed her dripping hair. No way would the tiny blow-dryer affixed to the wall have the power to tackle her unruly, heavy curls and without a flat iron, she’d be left with a frizzy curltastrophy. Then again, since she was officially dead, she’d better play it safe and wear the atrocious blond wig when they met Cesar. In which case, Emma had one more reason to dread leaving the hotel today.
Yay.
Despite the setbacks, she tried to focus on what really mattered: getting her dad back. She tried to remain detached, refused to think about what they might be doing to him or what sort of shape he was in. If she worried about those things, she’d crack for sure, and everyone, including Landon, deserved to have her operating at one hundred percent.
She felt a little more human now that she was showered, but truth be told, she would have rather stayed in her leggings and T-shirt. The best part of working out of her home was the fact that she didn’t have to get dressed up and spend an hour to make herself presentable before going in to the office. She just rolled out of bed and into her desk chair.
Even when she was a teenager, Emma had found the whole girl routine a bit daunting. And the fact of the matter was women wore makeup for the benefit of other women. Guys didn’t care about makeup, and most of the ones she hung out with hated it when the women they dated wore too much of it. Makeup was little more than armor women wore as they rode into battle. Emma’s was a mask of protection, of confidence, something she could hide behind so people wouldn’t see the vulnerability underneath. She painted it on for the picture takers, the onlookers, for the people who thought they knew her. But the truth was that there were very few people Emma trusted. And even fewer who got a glimpse behind the mask, those who really, truly knew her. She wondered, as she hung her towel up on a hook to dry, if she could trust Landon or if he was someone she’d need to protect herself from. She didn’t think she would survive it if she allowed him to hurt her. She’d take loneliness over heartbreak any day.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Landon was dressed and ready to go. Emma bit down on her bottom lip, more to keep her jaw from hanging open than anything. Damn, could that man wear a pair of jeans. Apparently, someone didn’t need any help in the wardrobe department. Outfitted in designer everything from head to toe, Emma had to assume that three-quarters of McCabe’s salary went to this clothes budget. Not that she was complaining. He looked good enough to eat. Like a gourmet meal that had to be savored to be truly appreciated.
Pretending to be his girlfriend was going to be the hardest thing she ever had to do and not because the idea was unbearable. On the contrary, Emma worried that she’d become too involved in the game they were playing. It was all too easy to remember how good it felt to be in his arms. The way his mouth slanted across hers, hungry and demanding.
“Looks like Crawford’s boys did okay in the shopping department.”
Emma shook herself from her thoughts to find Landon staring at her with a hungry expression that turned her insides to mush. Once again, he’d managed to flip her like a switch with no effort whatsoever. How could she be expected to walk a straight line, let alone stand on her own two feet, when his gaze devoured her like that?
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she remarked as she retrieved her cell from the bed and checked her e-mail. Not that a dead woman would be able to respond to any of the messages. She just needed a distraction so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare. “Do we look like a couple of amateur criminals? Because it sort of looks like we’re dressed for a night on the town.”
Emma bit back a smile as she imagined going out with Landon on a real, honest-to-God date. Where would he take her? What would they talk about? And if she suggested they go back to her place at the end of the night, would he accept her invitation or let her down gently like he’d tried to do last night? Ugh. Snap out of it, you idiot! Acting like a doe-eyed little girl with a crush wasn’t going to help her remain detached. If she was going to go forward with this ruse—and she was—she needed to guard her heart first and foremost.
“We’ve got to dress the part, Emma. Sousa is going to assume that we want more than only your dad’s release. You know things about him and his organization now. Things that could cause you both a lot of problems down the road. This won’t be a simple exchange—money for your dad. There’ll be negotiations, a back-and-forth that might take more than a couple of days to arrange. I need you to be prepared for that and ready to bring your A game.”
“We’re going to need an insurance policy.” She’d never considered it—another knock against her—but Landon was right. Cesar wouldn’t simply hand over her dad in exchange for a funds transfer and call it a day. Once his boss got what he wanted they were all as good as dead unless she could give them a reason to reconsider burying them all in unmarked graves. “Otherwise, there’s no reason for them not to kill us once Sousa gets his money back.”
“Pretty much,” Landon agreed. “I’ve been mulling it over, and blackmail seems too easy. They’ll expect it. I think our best bet at this point is to make them believe that you could be an asset to their organization. That we both could be.”
“Are you suggesting I ask them for a job?” That was the last thing she would have expected. “Landon, negotiating those sorts of terms could drag this out for a week or longer.”
His expression changed when she said his name and she couldn’t help but remember the intensity in his voice when he’d demanded that she call him by his first name. Her stomach kicked up into her throat before floating down on a blissful cloud that sent pleasant shivers over her skin. Detach, damn it. Do not think about last night.
“It can’t take a week because Sousa doesn’t have that kind of time. Crawford said the buy is going down within a week. Suggesting they bring you into their fold is the best play at this point. Sorry, Emma, but you’re going to have to give up the reins and have a little faith on this one.”
“But what reason would I have to work for them? I mean, my God, I was trying to put them all in jail two weeks ago.”
Landon canted his head to the side and said, “Money. Money is your one and only reason. Money to pay for your dad’s medical expenses. Money to keep you both comfortable. Guys like this, they’ll understand that sort of logic, Emma. Money is power and they worship that above all else. They’ll respect you more for your greed than your selflessness.”
Nothing like lowering yourself to the level of pond scum . . . “Okay. I can do that.” Emma had spent enough time in the company of a few entitled rich assholes to know how to behave like one. Or rather, like she wanted to be one. Her phone rang and she looked at the caller ID—Cesar—before lifting her gaze up to meet Landon’s.
He flashed her a reassuring smile and said. “Show time. Let’s do this.”
Emma swiped her finger across the screen and brought the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”
“You sound pretty good for a dead girl, chica,” Cesar crooned. “My employer wants to meet you. Listen closely and follow my directions to the letter. Otherwise, I gut your padre like a fish. Understand?”
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Emma swallowed down the lump of fear that rose in her throat, steeling herself for what had to be done. “I understand. Tell me what to do.”
Chapter Fifteen
This was the part of the job that Landon lived for. The high.
Anticipation coiled in his stomach like a snake about to strike and a pleasant rush of adrenaline trickled into his system the closer they got to their destination. Riding in the backseat of one of Sousa’s tricked-ou
t Range Rovers didn’t even faze him, despite the fact he’d been patted down and relieved of his Glock. He knew what to expect and only an idiot would have let him ride to their destination armed. Likewise, they would have been suspicious if he hadn’t come with at least one weapon strapped to his body. Landon relaxed into the plush leather seat as though this were nothing more than a pleasant drive through the country and rested his palm high on Emma’s left thigh. No time like the present to establish proof of intimacy for their hosts. A tingle of electricity sparked from the contact, traveling the length of his arm, intensifying the rush he already felt.
Don’t get distracted. Focus on the job.
Focus was usually the one thing Landon had a good grip on. Laser precise, his colleagues at the Portland office joked that he was unshakable when he set his mind on a task. If any of them could see him now, barely able to restrain himself in Emma’s presence, his reputation might take a hit. He gently squeezed her cotton-clad thigh, an action that he hoped came across as reassuring. All it did for him, however, was invoke fantasies of tearing her damned pants off so he could feel her naked flesh as he massaged her in his palm.
So professional.
Emma stiffened beside him—definitely not reassured—and he reached over, tucking a finger beneath her chin and guiding her face until she turned to look at him. He leaned in toward her, and she mirrored his action until his mouth hovered near her ear as though he were simply kissing her cheek. “I’ve got you, Emma,” he murmured low so none of Sousa’s lackeys could hear. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
