by Mandy Baxter
She put her hand over his and squeezed. Landon reveled in that warmth, the skin-on-skin contact. “I won’t be a liability,” she whispered back. “I can do this, Landon.” She pulled back and their eyes met. A corner of her mouth hinted at a smile before she closed the distance between them and put her lips to his.
An easy, slow kiss. Petal-soft and warm. Landon’s brain buzzed and his body flooded with heat, better than tossing back a couple of shots of top-shelf tequila. When she pulled away, her dark brown eyes were heavily lidded and a lazy, satisfied smile curved her full lips. He swore if those goons weren’t in the front seat right now, there wouldn’t be anything stopping him from getting her naked and on his cock by the next stoplight. So much for his vow to keep this professional. Jesus Christ, she tied him into knots.
And it felt damned good.
Though it would have been better to err on the side of caution, Landon captured her mouth for one more kiss. Screw the job—the adrenaline rush he got from kissing her was supercharged, racing through his veins like quicksilver. He was hopelessly addicted, and if Landon thought that this mindless want of her would go away simply because he had a job to do, he was kidding himself. Nothing short of a lobotomy was going to get Emma out of his head any time soon.
The sound of snickering from the front seat caused Emma to pull away, and she averted her gaze, turning toward the window as though embarrassed. Though PDA was sort of necessary to sell the hot-’n’-heavy lovers angle, Landon supposed a full-on peep show wasn’t what Emma had in mind. He looked up to find the driver smirking at him through the rearview mirror and Landon promised himself that if shit went sour, that son of a bitch was going to be the first man down. Let’s see your expression when I break your femur, you smug fucker.
Rather than heading out of downtown as he’d expected, they turned toward the city proper. Did the arms dealer rent an office in a swanky skyscraper or some shit?
“Hey, I don’t suppose you’d mind telling us where we’re headed?”
“As a matter of fact, I do mind,” the driver quipped. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re damned lucky to be alive right now. Other than that . . . you don’t know shit, so shut your fucking mouth and sit there.”
Oh yeah, that asshole was going to be the first one to get his face smashed into the next available sidewalk. Landon hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Emma that guys like these respected ruthlessness. And though it was a dangerous tightrope to walk, he knew that he’d have to play the part of a dirty cop and push his luck as far as it would go.
But pushing his luck only went so far with Emma sitting right beside him.
No need to invite any undue wrath quite yet. These guys were nothing more than low-level henchmen. Expendable. He suspected that Sousa wouldn’t bat a lash if Landon took one of them out. The most important thing at this point was to get Emma a meet with the head honcho himself. After that, he could form a more solid game plan.
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Emma leaned in to whisper the words and Landon brushed his thumb across her jaw. He loved the way her eyes became hooded every time he touched her. As though even the slightest contact had a deep, resonant impact.
“They won’t be dragging us off to some remote location or empty warehouse quite yet.” Though he meant it playfully, Emma’s brow creased and her dark eyes shimmered with concern. “It’ll be okay, Emma,” he reassured her. “I just mean that you’re an asset to Sousa and his organization right now. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize your safety.”
“Right,” she said on an exhale. “Okay, good.”
Emma settled back into her seat, but she reached out and threaded her fingers with Landon’s as she did. It felt so natural to sit here like this, her hand resting in his. And why did that scare him more than the guys in the front seat armed to the teeth and ready to put a bullet in his head the second he stepped out of line?
The rest of the drive was quiet and Emma turned away to stare out the window at the traffic clogging the downtown streets. Landon forced his focus from the woman sitting next to him, instead listening carefully to the words of the men speaking Spanish in hushed tones from the front seats. Which did him little good since the minimal grasp of Spanish that Landon possessed was barely enough to order a burrito. He probably shouldn’t have mocked Galen so much for his fancy French talk. It might’ve been a good idea to learn a foreign language or three in case he wound up in a situation like this.
“Get out.”
Landon looked up to find they’d pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Grill. Wow, when he’d assured Emma they’d more than likely meet Sousa in a public place, he never would have assumed they’d be sitting down for a quiet lunch. Especially now that Emma was assumed dead. Totally ballsy. Thank God they’d dressed the part, because it would have been embarrassing as hell for Emma to show up in her curve-hugging workout pants. Not that Landon would have minded . . .
Emma turned, apprehension pinching the delicate lines of her face. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said with a nod.
Once inside, the hostess took them to their seats, sans armed escort. Maybe none of Sousa’s goons were housebroken yet. Not that it mattered. Landon had enough on his mind as he surveyed their surroundings, making note of exits, obstacles, and anything that could be used as a potential weapon. A butter knife wasn’t exactly deadly, but it’d do in a pinch.
Emma’s grip on his hand tightened the closer they got to the table, and Landon noticed the guy from the club—whom he now knew as Cesar Molina—sitting next to his boss. Cesar was Sousa’s right-hand man, it would seem. Landon thought of how he’d grabbed Emma’s arm roughly that night and practically pushed her to the rear of the club. Anger burned a path from his gut all the way up his throat, so hot that Landon thought he might breathe fire and burn the asshole to a crisp.
That would be awesome.
“Emma, please have a seat.” Teyo Sousa’s familiarity with her did little to cool Landon’s jets. Rather, it put him even more on edge until he felt uncomfortable in his own skin, itching for a fight. He fixed a pleasant smile on his face and tried to keep his teeth from grinding right down to the gums. Play it cool, man. Just settle your ass down.
“You too, Deputy.” The invite came across as an afterthought, and the insult wasn’t lost on Landon. He was an unfortunate complication that would need to be dealt with. And wasn’t that too damned bad.
Instead of sitting down, Landon pulled out Emma’s chair. He waited for her to sit and then scooted her closer to the table, planting a kiss right below her ear as he did so. Sousa’s dark, fathomless eyes settled on him and the other man’s lips quirked into a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The obvious size-up didn’t intimidate Landon in the slightest. Bring it on, asshole.
After Landon took his seat, Emma placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her fingertips as she regarded the man who’d kidnapped her father. Landon had to give her credit—she was cold as ice, and totally in control of her emotions. Steel. “All right,” she said. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business.”
On the outside, Emma projected serenity. On the inside, fear gnawed at her stomach and clawed at her mind, urging her to bolt, and yet she was angry enough to scream at the same time. She fiddled with her wig—her head was sweating like she’d recently run a marathon—and kept her face tilted downward, careful not to make direct eye contact with any of the patrons. It was a long shot that anyone would recognize her, but her luck hadn’t been stellar up to this point and she wasn’t taking any chances. Rather than worry about her appearance, Emma tried to focus on the man she’d been brought to meet—the once childhood friend of her dad—and not the fact that Teyo Sousa had taken him right out of that prison van as though it were nothing, just so he could use a sick old man as leverage. Then again, wasn’t Emma using his money in the exact same way? Maybe they were more alik
e than she wanted to admit.
Sitting across from her was a man who wasn’t a stranger to decadence. Sousa was the healthy, vibrant middle-aged man her father should have been. He didn’t give off an arms dealer vibe, but rather blended in perfectly with the high-brow crowd eating lunch around them. His tailored suit had likely cost more than most people made in a month, and he held himself with a certain regality that told Emma a lot about how he thought of himself. A king among paupers who possessed the power to decimate his enemies with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. Power-player. Charismatic. Egomaniac. And presumably a few eggs short of a dozen. Wouldn’t you have to be to peddle weapons of mass destruction without even a twinge of conscience?
Beside her, Landon leaned back in his chair, the epitome of calm. She wondered if he felt even a little rattled, but then, he probably threw himself into dangerous situations like this on a daily basis. Which made her even more determined than ever to put on a good show. No way would she let Landon upstage her. She wanted him to know that, despite the fact that none of this had gone according to her plan, she was still capable of getting herself—and her father—out of this mess.
Emma didn’t need anyone to come to her rescue.
“I have to say, you’re not quite what I expected,” Sousa addressed her head-on as though Landon weren’t even there. “Though you do have your father’s stubborn streak. Even as a boy, he was like a badger. Once he sunk his teeth into something, he wouldn’t let go. Had you been anyone else, I would have simply killed your father and then come after you. But we have a history, your father and I. And even thieving little putas like you can be afforded leniency.”
Did he kiss his mother with that mouth? Landon’s body went rigid beside her, and Emma sensed the angry tension rolling off of him in waves. No matter what the language barrier between them, Landon must have sensed the innuendo in Sousa’s tone. He might have looked civilized and respectable, but the arms dealer was nothing more than an animal. And though it warmed her to think that Landon was enraged on her behalf, she needed him to keep a level head. Not that Emma was happy with being called a bitch.
She leaned in as if sharing a secret and let her gaze wander leisurely from Cesar to his boss. “I can appreciate the fact that you might be a little upset over being played by a . . . little puta like me. But don’t you think your anger is a bit misplaced? I mean, sure, I stole your money, but aren’t you even a little interested in how I managed to circumvent your security? I mean, your tech, whoever he is, must not be very good at his job because it took me less than a minute to get through your protocols and take that money right out from under your nose.”
Sousa sat back and folded his arms across his chest as he regarded her. A long moment of silence stretched out between them, and Emma fought the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny. She just had to keep it together.
“So you’re clever. So what? There’s always a bigger fish waiting in the shadows to eat the smaller ones. You’re not the biggest fish in the ocean, pequeña. I’m sure I could find one to swallow you up.”
“Maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “But I’m not as small as you think I am. You can go fishing all you’d like, Señor Sousa. That still isn’t going to change the fact that I have your money and you don’t.”
“Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the Metropolitan Grill.” A tight smile settled on Sousa’s face as a perky waitress filled their water glasses. “My name is Janelle and I’ll be your server today. Our specials include a fresh artichoke appetizer that’s tossed in olive oil and lemon juice and grilled over live mesquite. We also have a chicken Waldorf salad, and our soup of the day is a seafood stew that, I have to tell you, is my absolute favorite menu item. Would anyone be interested in—”
“We’ll let you know,” Cesar cut her off with one of his trademark scowls and Emma was surprised their waitress didn’t melt from the heat in his glare. “Now get the fuck out of here and don’t come back unless we call you over. This is a private conversation.”
“Cesar,” Sousa snapped. What followed was a string of angry Spanish that made Emma’s ears burn. A slew of threats and curses and a brief chastisement on social graces that shut Cesar up in a heartbeat. He might have been a lowlife criminal, but keeping up appearances was apparently important to Teyo Sousa.
“You’ll have to excuse my associate’s bad manners,” Sousa said to Janelle. “Perhaps you’ll give us a few more minutes while we conduct our business?” He motioned for her to come closer, and when she rounded the table to stand by his side, he slipped a folded-up bill into the pocket of her apron. “My apologies.”
Emma wanted to gag at his mock show of gallantry. To shoot up out of her chair and scream, “He’s an arms dealer and human trafficker for Christ’s sake! He probably trips grandmas and steals candy from babies in his free time, too!” But no. She had to sit there and watch as Janelle flashed him a smile brighter than the sun before heading back to wherever she’d come from as though Cesar hadn’t snapped at her like a rabid pit bull.
“Now, before we’re interrupted again, let’s get back to business. I want my money. You want your father returned to you. If you can guarantee that my funds will be safely deposited into the account from which you stole them, I can guarantee that you and your father will be reunited by tomorrow.”
Emma knew he was lying through his teeth, but that didn’t do much to quell the hope that swelled in her chest. She wanted to agree right then and there, give him whatever the hell he wanted. Landon cleared his throat beside her, as though gently urging her to use caution. Emma reminded herself who Sousa was and what they were here for. The only way she’d be reunited with her dad that way was in the morgue.
“It could be that easy,” Emma mused. “But I doubt it. First of all, who’s to say my father is even still alive? The last proof I received was a picture that, to be honest, didn’t exactly elevate my hopes that you were taking decent care of him. And secondly, do you think I’m so foolish, Señor Sousa”—she addressed him with respect despite her disrespectful tone—“that I’d just give you your money back and trust that you’ll deliver my dad to me, safe and sound?”
Emma looked askance at Cesar, and he gave her an arrogant smirk. What a jerk. He slung one arm over the back of his chair and chuckled before turning his attention to his employer. “Told you.”
Told him what? That she was a raging pain in the ass? Stubborn? Arrogant? Difficult and not a team player? “You can think whatever you want, but you’re the one who started this. Not me. If you hadn’t threatened and blackmailed my father and sent him to prison, you wouldn’t have to be dealing with me right now.”
Sousa ignored her words and shifted his focus to Landon instead. “And how do you fit into all of this, Deputy? It’s not often that I entertain federal law enforcement, but I have to admit you’ve piqued my curiosity. We did a little checking into your history with the Marshals Service. You’ve managed to rack up quite the list of allegations, haven’t you?”
Emma glanced at Landon from the corner of her eye. He answered Sousa with an arrogant smirk and a casual shrug of one shoulder. “Allegations, yes,” he said. “But nothing that’ll stick.”
“Tell me, what does your agency believe about our dear Emma’s death?”
“Whatever I tell them,” Landon remarked. “We loaded her up into an ambulance, took her to the hospital, and as far as they know, she died en route. Don’t you watch the news? They held a press conference and everything.”
“I saw it,” Sousa said. “But don’t think for a second that your sitting with me here now is indicative of trust. Your greed”—his eyes slid to Emma—“in addition to other things, might be motivating your actions, but I won’t hesitate to have one of my men take care of you the second you walk out this door if I feel like you’re a threat to the business I’m trying to conduct.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” Landon replied in a cool tone that gave Emma chills. “As long as she trusts me. Emma’
s in charge here, not me. I’m here to protect my own interests and to make sure nothing happens to her.”
“Your own interests?” Sousa muttered. “Such as lining your own pockets if the occasion arises?”
Another casual hike of his shoulder.
Sousa said something to Cesar in Spanish, a derogatory comment that suggested Landon might be a little “pussy whipped,” and they both had a nice little chuckle at the aside. Landon’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. Emma doubted he spoke a word of Spanish, but you didn’t have to know the language to pick up on the innuendo.
“You said that I’m a small fish in a big pond.” Emma reached over and cupped the back of Landon’s neck, massaging gently before passing her palm across one tense, heavily muscled shoulder and down his right forearm. He relaxed into her caress and the nervous butterflies in Emma’s stomach swirled in a riot. Touching Landon affected her more intensely than sitting face-to-face with a terrorist. She didn’t know if that should make her feel brave or just plain foolish. “Who’s to say the CIA or DOJ doesn’t have a bigger fish than me?”
“What are you getting at?”
Cesar looked as though he might throttle her, and it gave Emma a perverse sense of satisfaction to have rattled his chain. He was quite the guard dog, wasn’t he? Looking out for his master like that. “I’m suggesting that maybe you have the wrong people on your payroll.”
Sousa burst out into a round of raucous laughter that drew the attention of the diners around them. “And you think you’re the right person?”
Emma shrugged. “I might be.”
“And what would you be interested in getting out of a business relationship with me, Emma?”
“Money,” Emma said. “What else would I want? You managed to get my dad out of jail and I don’t plan on sending him back there once you let him go. He’s sick and needs taking care of. When this is all said and done, I’ll need to get him—as well as myself and Landon—out of the country as soon as possible. I’m offering you a trade. Our services for your help. I have skills you can use. Landon, for the time being, can make sure that federal law enforcement steers clear of your operation while you conduct business. You have the cash and connections to set us up. I think that’s a reasonable offer, don’t you?”
