Crazed: A Blood Money Novel

by Edie Harris

  Her tongue darted out to flick his lower lip. “Only because I want a taste of you, Casí.”

  He dug deep for patience, for common sense, for some sort of self-preservation...and found none. Breathing in her scent—floral, light, sweet and fresh—Casey let loose a growl, unashamedly predatory. “You want a taste, Ilda? Because once I give it to you, you’re gonna need to keep coming back for more.” The hand on her chest shifted, lifting to circle her delicate throat. “You’re gonna need me.”

  She gripped the front of his T-shirt in both hands. “That’s what I’m banking on.” Tugging hard, she brought his mouth to hers in a searing kiss.

  God, why couldn’t he wake up?

  He glanced in the Escalade’s rearview mirror, seeing not the traffic on the road but the woman in the back seat. “You’re quiet tonight.”

  Ilda kept her face turned to the window, expression pensive. “I’m sorry.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s on your mind.” He paused. “No one’s listening.”

  “I don’t care if anyone is listening, Casí!” The words exploded from her, anger in every syllable, and he heard her move restlessly in her seat. “I want to tell Pipe about us.”

  “That would be a mistake.” On so many levels would that be a mistake. Signaling, he made a right turn into the underground garage beneath Ilda’s luxury condo building in El Poblado.

  “I already told Théa.”

  Worry seized him as he pulled into one of the reserved parking spaces for her unit. If Théa knew, it was only a matter of time until Pipe found out, and the consequences of his secret relationship with Ilda would finally manifest. Likely involving some sort of pain for Casey. Killing the ignition, he hopped out of the driver’s seat, opened the door to the back and climbed in beside her, slamming the door behind him. Without a word, he cupped her lovely face in his hands and stole the kiss he’d been aching for all night as he stood guard over the rehearsal dinner. He’d been forced to witness Pipe’s groomsmen hit on her, though Pipe never permitted his men to go a step too far; being his future sister-in-law at the very least provided Ilda with a degree of protection.

  She was beautiful tonight, but she was always beautiful. A silk gown in forest green draped her petite frame in what he thought might be a Grecian style, pounded gold metal accents at the single shoulder and beneath the bust. Her curls were gathered in an intricate twist just off-center from her nape, and gold links dangled from her ears. A goddess with a siren’s voice, yet she was more than that, as he’d come to learn over the last few weeks.

  Ilda was sly and pushy and generous, constantly seeking the next moment that would lead to laughter and happiness. A bright ball of sunshine, if that sunshine had an attitude and a sex drive that threatened to bring a man to his knees.

  Casey feared he might have been on his knees since day one with her. His lips parted hers, tongue sweeping in to get at the sweet taste of her. He’d had his mouth on every inch of her body in their stolen moments together, no part of her ignored or untested. During those interludes, she was a grenade in his arms, exploding with a violence he craved to his bones.

  “I love you,” he breathed in between kisses. The words escaped before he had time to second-guess the wisdom of saying what had taken root in his heart. His thumbs stroked over her cheekbones, a caress that had become familiar in the short time they’d had together. “I love you, Ilda.”

  “What?” She pushed against his chest, gasping for air and putting space between them as she searched his face. “Casí, do you really?” Her dark eyes gleamed wetly in the dim light of the underground garage. “Don’t lie to me about this.”

  “I’m not lying.” Yet he was lying to her about so many other things. Such as who the hell he was. He smoothed the few escaped curls back from her temples. “I wouldn’t lie about loving you.”

  Her breath hitched audibly. “Then stay with me tonight.” She reached up to run a fingertip along the line of his nose before tracing the shape of his lips, her touch as light and soft as a cloud. “You never stay.”

  With good reason. It didn’t matter if he was off duty or on patrol, there was no such thing as privacy in the cartel. One night away from the hacienda would raise notice, which was why he’d never risked spending the night with Ilda. No matter how much he needed to know what it was like to sleep with her in his arms until he woke up with her at dawn. Needed to kiss and pet her from slumber as sunlight filtered through the windows.

  So he broke the rules. Again. Perhaps it was time he recognized there were no longer any rules when it came to Ilda Almeida. “I’m staying.”

  He couldn’t breathe, his lungs bruised against his rib cage.

  The black birdcage veil did little to conceal the shock in her big brown eyes, or the pain. The long-sleeved black linen dress was the most conservative he’d ever seen on her, worn like armor to protect a fragile heart. She had needed that armor when she’d stood at the front of the church that morning and lifted her tear-roughened voice in song. That she hadn’t broken once during the mournful hymn was a testament to her strength.

  Casey had never been prouder of anyone in his life than he had been of Ilda Almeida singing her sister’s soul into heaven. His phoenix, her wings dusted in the ashes of grief, dappled in the kaleidoscope light from the stained-glass window of the Madonna and Child overhead.

  He’d made his decision in that moment, and now it was time to act. Straightening his shoulders, he approached her where she stood at the balcony rail on the second floor of the main house, staring sightlessly out at the southern courtyard. They’d returned to the hacienda following Théa’s burial, and shortly thereafter, he’d seen Ilda slip away from the subdued guests gathered downstairs, so he had followed her. It wasn’t smart, to pursue her so publicly, but fuck, they’d laid her sister to rest today. She shouldn’t have to bear the weight of that armor alone. “Ilda.”

  Her hand lifted from the rail as if to ward him off. “I can’t handle your half-truths right now, Casí. Leave me be.”

  His chest ached but he ignored her hand, and her words. “I’m not leaving you. You need me.”

  Her sharp laugh was entirely without humor. “You’re right, I do,” she confessed, like it was no big deal to admit her feelings for him, though her blunt words staggered him. “But I need to be alone more.”

  Stepping behind her, he looped his arm over her chest, urging her to lean against him. After a tense moment, she did, the breath leaving her in a shaking sigh. His palm curved around her upper arm, squeezing comfortingly. “I disagree, baby.”

  A little gasping whimper escaped before she could stifle the sound, and her head tipped back on his shoulder. The veil shivered as she gripped his forearm, not tugging him away but simply holding on for dear life. “I always knew cartel violence would touch us someday. For some reason, though, I thought... I don’t know. I thought being so close to Pipe might protect Théa from the worst of it. Naive of me.”

  Casey pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It should have protected her, you’re right.” But the feud between the Orras and Marin cartels was epically bloody, and eventually violence against the lords’ families was bound to occur, though to target a loved one was a declaration of war. Casey refused to let Ilda be caught in the crossfire. “Marry me.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He wrapped his other arm around her waist, and now he held her, tight and secure. “Is it because of my secrets?”

  “It’s because I’m in mourning, you ass.” Her words lacked heat but not conviction. “And somehow I doubt you’re willing to wait a year, not with all those secrets of yours.”

  “You’re right, I can’t wait.” Again, he kissed her crown, breathing in the scent he knew now was gardenia. It made the knots inside him loosen, ever so slightly. “But I need to get you out of this hell, and you can’t tell me Théa wouldn’t want me to.” Not after this.

  Ilda heaved a watery sigh. “Are you propos
ing because you want to save me?”

  His jaw clenched. “I want to save you because I love you.” He loved her so much he couldn’t breathe without thinking of her, without needing to seek her out and coax her into taking him inside her body, where his heart lived. He loved her so much that he...he trusted her. “I’m leaving here in a matter of days,” he whispered. “I have to, I don’t have a choice, and once I’m gone, I can’t return.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Do you see that the only way we can be together is if you come home with me, as my wife?” He wasn’t playing fair here, but he was a desperate man. “I know you’re in mourning, and I understand tradition, but damn it, Ilda. I can’t leave you here.”

  “Then don’t leave.”

  Stubborn. She was so fucking stubborn, and even when her heart was breaking, her attitude had teeth. He breathed through his frustration, reaching for a well of patience he was pretty sure he didn’t possess. “You keep asking me to stay, and this time, if I do, it’s a fucking death warrant.”

  She sucked in a breath. “What did you do, Casí?”

  Too much and yet not enough, because Ilda had lost her best friend and older sister. Instead of answering her, he tightened his hold. “Do you love me?” She hadn’t ever said it back to him, but he knew. He knew.

  “Casí...”

  “Do you love me?”

  A tense silence grew between them until her quiet, husky voice broke it. Blessedly. “I do.”

  Euphoria blasted through him at her confirmation. “Enough to tie your life to mine?”

  Her answer came much quicker this time. “Yes.”

  “Then tie it, and let me love you for the rest of our days.”

  Yes.

  He lurched to a halt behind the tree line, staring in horror at the smoldering chapel, smoke and ash thick in the air as orange flames continued to lick along the devoured framework. The walls had collapsed, the doors and windows exploded outward, the roof invisible in the heavy black haze. People, neighbors, hauled water and dragged hoses, while actual firefighters attempted to dampen and control the damage.

  The sun barely peeked over the horizon, much of the sky over the hills still purple in the pre-dawn light. Stars winked out one by one to the north as smoke wisped its gray way into the atmosphere, stinging his eyes. Fuck, his eyes stung.

  “Casey, bro. What’re we doin’?” Gavin’s voice beside him yanked him from his reverie, his drawl clipped as he took in the destruction. Hearing English again, speaking it, felt weird after his half-year immersion, and it jarred him into action.

  He lunged for the edge of the trees, knowing in the pit of his stomach that Ilda was in there. With the fire. Ilda. Even his beautiful phoenix couldn’t survive those flames.

  Strong arms caught him around his middle. “Dude, stop.” A grunt, as Casey’s elbow inadvertently connected with Gavin’s ribs. “Seriously, man. You’re dead, remember? We just left your shit on some bastard’s body for a goddamn reason, and if you pull a Houdini and show up where you’re not supposed to be right now, you’re going to ruin the entire op.”

  “But she’s in there.” It didn’t matter that Gavin had no idea who she was. “She’s in there, waiting for me.” His voice cracked, broke, and he scrambled in his pocket for his cell, punching in her number from memory. She wouldn’t recognize the US country code, but if she was trapped...surely she would pick up.

  The other end of the line rang. And rang. And rang.

  With a hoarse curse, he hung up and redialed, hoping against hope to be sent to voicemail. Maybe she’d left the chapel against his instructions. Or maybe...maybe she was in the woods, hiding, waiting for him to find her. He pocketed the phone. “Search the trees for a young woman in a white dress,” he commanded Gavin. “Five-one, hundred or so pounds, curly light-brown hair.” Without wasting another second, he retreated deeper into the surrounding forest, eyes peeled for a flash of white cotton in the dirt or stuck to a branch. For twenty minutes, he tromped across every meter, until the foliage grew too thick and the sun rose higher, shedding dangerous light on his position.

  “She’s not here, bro.” Gavin, again, this time gripping his shoulder, and it was then that Casey realized he’d stopped moving and was staring at the chapel through the veil of tall tree trunks. “Was she—?”

  “Inside. She was inside.” He covered his mouth with his forearm, biting down hard to keep from shouting, eyes blind with sudden tears that he let fall, uncaring that Gavin watched him with more than a little apprehension.

  “Casey, we have to go...”

  Casey woke with a gasp, eyes stinging, naked torso damp with sweat. The woven blades of the ceiling fan moved the air over the bed, but did little to cool his body tangled in the sheets. Blinking, he patted his chest blindly until he found what he was looking for, and his fingers curled around the chain he rarely took off. The chain carrying his dog tags...and Ilda’s moonstone ring, which she had given him on their wedding day in place of the band she hadn’t had time to purchase.

  The dreams—memories—hadn’t been this vivid in years. No doubt being back in Medellín brought them all rushing to the surface. Okumura had flown him in-country early that morning, and Casey had made his way to the crappy hotel where he’d checked in under the name Casímiro Cortez. The DEA informant embedded within Pipe’s organization was supposed to make contact with him this afternoon, so he’d used the time to get his head on straight.

  The plane ride ought to have been enough, but instead he’d spent it cleaning his weapons and reviewing his cover. And avoiding thinking of those too-short weeks in the arms of his now-dead wife. Too bad in sleep he couldn’t hide from that on which his mind wished to dwell.

  He pushed himself from the bed, leaving his khaki cargos unbuttoned and riding low on his hips. The dwelling had gotten worse, even before arriving in Colombia, pushing its way into his daily consciousness. The demons were no more than dark, heavy clouds, fueled by futile anger and massive self-recrimination, but they were persistent motherfuckers, dragging at him with claws and teeth.

  But here, in Medellín where the nightmares had happened, the claws were poison and the teeth were serrated.

  Prowling to the window, he flicked aside the sheer curtain to glance out at the street below. Kids rode by on bicycles, shouting and laughing, and young teens played a pick-up soccer game at the end of the block. Shopkeepers sat under colorful awnings, while music drifted from the upstairs windows of the building across the way, a cheerful dance number accompanied by the off-key singing of whomever lived in the flat. All in all, a normal afternoon on a mostly residential street bordering the Parque Periodista neighborhood. Money from the Marin cartel had funded a huge revitalization effort in the neighborhood over the past decade, working to drive out local drug dealers and modernize the urban landscape. Young people were beginning to feel safe in starting their families in the area, but trouble plagued the residents after nightfall nonetheless.

  Casey had chosen the small hotel because it sat safely within Pipe’s territory, though only those with intimate knowledge of the cartel would be aware of that. Casey possessed such knowledge, and staying here sent a very distinct message, should the DEA contact fall through.

  He didn’t fear the cartel. Probably made him an idiot, but he didn’t. Pipe Marin was a terrifying bastard when he needed to be, no two ways about it, but Casey had been under with the organization for several months. Respect functioned as the core tenet of Pipe’s leadership style, and with the exception of his dalliance with Ilda, Casey had never done a thing to lose Pipe’s respect. If nothing else, that history ought to ease his transition back into the cartel.

  Stepping away from the window, he moved to the mini-fridge humming in the corner and snagged a water bottle, relishing the cold drink as he struggled to shove aside the remnants of his dreams. “Fuckin’ hate this country,” he muttered, swiping at his eyes to rid them of sweat and...other wetness. Being back here was like immersion therapy
, if immersion therapy made one feel like shit on a Humvee tread.

  He thought it probably did. Perhaps this stint would finally get the demons off his back, and he could move on with his life.

  That was what he was supposed to do, right? Move on and find a good woman. Another good woman, that is. Maybe when he was stateside again, he should give Sara a call, and a real chance this time. They’d had fun, and if he’d suffered a spate of guilt afterward, that was his issue, not hers.

  It wasn’t cheating if his wife was dead, regardless if his heart said otherwise.

  Jesus, he hated this fucking country.

  A sharp knock sounded on the door to his hotel room. Setting aside the water bottle, he yanked off his tags, shoving them in his pocket before he grabbed the handgun off the desk, checked the safety. “Quién es?” he called, standing to the side of the door on the off-chance the person out in the hallway decided to start shooting.

  “Busco niño del miercoles.” The code phrase was delivered softly, and correctly. “Es un Faraday ahi?”

  His ears...they had to be playing tricks on him, because he couldn’t breathe. No, wait, he was breathing. Too fast, too hard, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted a mile instead of just standing frozen in place. A sudden chill cooled the sweat beading his skin, and the hand gripping the gun trembled lightly.

  Making quick work of the safety chain, he threw back the dead bolt and yanked open the door. Oxygen left him in a rush, his stomach abruptly knotted with rusty iron chains. “You can’t be real.” His voice shook as he stared, wild-eyed, at the DEA contact. “You died.”

  “No,” said his wife, her face draining of all color as she stumbled back from the doorway. “You died.”

  Chapter Four

  When Ilda Almeida had woken up that morning, it had been with a smile on her face. Even the text message waiting from her handler hadn’t worried her overmuch, not enough to dim her good mood. She’d eaten a hearty breakfast, gone to mass and returned home to run a few kilometers on the treadmill. Hours later, her escort had dropped her at the club and gone about his business, while she’d slipped out the back and jogged the few blocks to the hotel where she was supposed to meet an American named Faraday.