* * *
Sam grimaced at the sound of the phone vibrating on the end table next to the chair he occupied in his den.
“Call you later, Pow,” he said, having checked the faceplate and finding his brother’s name there. He turned the phone off completely, tossed it aside and indulged in another swallow of bourbon while studying the mural on the opposite wall.
The piece was actually a replica from an old photo of his dad and friends. The painting never failed to relax Sam. The promise and excitement on his dad’s young face, when he was in the early days of his success, instilled both happiness and pride.
Samson’s study of the portrait dimmed some of the easiness illuminating his face then. He couldn’t help but think of all that his dad had to endure on his quest for success. Sam had always drawn strength from the knowledge of that fact.
Now, the man who gave him his strength was giving him cause for concern. He hadn’t been able to get Avra Ross off his mind since the day before.
She’s always on your mind, a voice told him and he promptly—silently—told it to shut up. This time, it wasn’t the woman herself but the news she’d shared. The fact that the murder victims had all shared the same address was too eerie to be coincidence. Still, that didn’t concern him half as much as the fact that the address couldn’t be located.
Groaning, Sam drained his glass and then let his head fall back on the chair.
* * *
“Thank you, Avra.” Avra’s sarcastic stab at politeness was directed toward her brother when she’d hunted down the chopsticks and passed them his way.
“Are you sure it can’t be found?” Khouri asked. He’d been preoccupied for most of the lunch. He and Avra shared Chinese takeout while she told him about the address mystery and its connection to the Melendez workers.
Shaking her head, Avra spoke around a mouthful of lo mein. “Even checked it myself… Couldn’t find a damn thing.” She swallowed. “Now why do you think they’d lie about an address?”
“Maybe somebody told ’em to.” Khouri drew tea through a straw until only ice remained in the cup he held.
“Told to?”
“Come on, Av. It’s no secret that Dan Melendez doesn’t play by the rules. Who’s to say that all or most of his employees are here illegally?”
Avra picked through the carton of noodles. “You think he’d exploit his own people that way?”
“When’d you get so naive? Hell, he wouldn’t be the first.” Khouri laughed.
“Anyway—” Avra threw up a flip wave “—this is the father of the woman you’re in love with, remember?”
Khouri almost choked on the mound of sesame chicken he’d scooped into his mouth.
“Don’t try to deny it.” Avra selected a plump morsel of shrimp and savored the taste. “She’s a knockout.”
“You really think I’m that shallow?” He rocked his desk chair back and forth. “To fall for a woman because she looks good?”
“Yep,” she replied without hesitation. “But it might be about more than that this time. I think you’re intrigued more with her.”
“Some kind of hero complex, or somethin’?”
“Well, given the way you met her, that’d make sense but it’s not the reason, either.”
“Hell, Av.” Khouri ran his palm across his jaw. “Are you just in the mood for confusin’ the devil out of me today?”
“Hmph.” Avra’s dark face was a picture of confidence. “You’re intrigued because with all the danger this girl is in the midst of, she’s not hiding behind her three big brothers and waiting like some helpless damsel for them to figure it all out and save her. She’s gonna be involved and cut down anybody who tries to stand in her way.” She stood to plop the half-empty lo mein container into the bag the takeout had arrived in.
“Face it, Khouri, the only ‘difficult’ women you’ve had to deal with have been the three of us.” Avra referred then to herself and younger sisters Raquel and Fiona. “You’ve made it a point in your life to surround yourself with dimwits who’ve been happy to let the gorgeous, know-it-all Khouri Ross have his way.”
She propped a slender hip to the bar where she’d eaten her lunch. “You never saw Miss Melendez comin’ and she’s got you turned around like a dog chasin’ its tail.”
Khouri rolled his eyes and helped himself to more of the chicken and sautéed vegetables he’d ordered.
“Well?” Avra spread her hands anticipating some form of a compliment. “Am I right?”
“No. She’s stupid not to involve her brothers in this.”
Smiling then, Avra wondered if her brother realized he had no argument save that one. Poor thing, she thought.
“You know she’d never forgive you if you brought them in on this behind her back?”
Khouri accepted his sister’s warning with a gruff snort. “I know that.”
“And she’s not dumb for wanting to be a part of this. I can understand where she’s comin’ from.”
“Hmph.” Khouri leaned back to roll his sleeves a bit higher above his forearms. “I know that, too—it’s exactly the type of dumb crap you’d try to pull. Correction—you have pulled it.”
“My point exactly.” She slapped the corner of the shellacked bar top. “One overprotective brother—older or younger—can be hell on earth and that poor girl’s had to deal with three of ’em all her life. Cut her some slack for bein’ smart and independent, will you?”
Khouri muttered his next obscenity in a softer octave. “As usual you equate independence and intelligence with strength and invincibility.”
“Ah…strength and invincibility—those impressive traits that men possess exclusively, huh?”
“I don’t know why I bother talkin’ to you.” He wolfed down the rest of his meal.
“You talk to me ’cause every now and then you need to be told how foolish you’re bein’.”
Khouri didn’t try to suppress his laughter over the comment. Avra joined in soon after.
* * *
Martino Viejo smiled as he often did while preparing for another day of work. Just stepping into his closet alone was enough to instill the deepest sense of happiness. He came into the United States wearing the clothes on his back with nothing in his pocket save a card that held the address to his salvation.
At least, that’s what he thought it was and it had been…eventually.
Martino shook his head, sending sleek tendrils of black into his eyes. Now was not the time for a trip down that particular lane of his memory. He knew, though, that such things could not be avoided especially since the killings began.
He wouldn’t buy into the fact that there were too many coincidences—too many things he had in common with the other victims. Could it mean nothing? Or could it mean everything? So far, he hadn’t been questioned or approached about any sort of protection.
He smirked. Protection? For him? Sure, he’d come a long way and was finally beginning to make a name for himself at Melendez. He certainly hadn’t garnered any status that would merit him protection from the monster who was not only targeting U.S. emigrants, but U.S. emigrants who worked for Melendez—emigrants who had also been specially selected for other reasons.
Losing focus again, Martino left off selecting his outfit for the next day. He ventured deeper into his closet, where he retrieved a shoe box from the farthermost corner of the area. Removing the cover, he slowly fingered the contents of the box—memories of his earliest days in the States. They were days that, as yet, weren’t tucked far enough away into the recesses of his memory.
Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. He recalled the phrase “never forget where you came from” else you could wind up back there. He always tacked that on. The remnants of that box were his way of never forgetting.
Wiping the back o
f his hands across suddenly moist eyes, Martino shoved the box back into the closet and returned to choosing his suit for the next day.
* * *
Khouri arrived at Setha’s early that morning to find her home once again occupied by men. At least, this was a group he knew. Parking his truck, he crossed the front lawn and approached the head of Fillmore Securities.
“What’s goin’ on, RJ?” he called.
Rafe Fillmore, Jr. greeted his old friend with a handshake and hug. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Getting an early start, huh?” Khouri noted, observing members of the Fillmore team at various places along the front of the house as they made notes regarding security concerns and solutions.
Rafe tugged the cap—emblazoned with his company’s logo—off his head and scratched at his receding hairline. “Earlier the better. I know better than to play with a Texas sun in the middle of the day.”
“I hear ya.” Khouri chuckled and squinted up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. “So where’s the lady of the house?”
“Man…” Rafe seemed to cringe. “That’s one angry lil gal. I’d rather be in a scuffle with one of her brothers than her.”
Khouri’s chuckles deepened. “Guess she’s not too happy about y’all being here.”
“That’s puttin’ it way too mild, K, my man.”
Khouri eased his keys into a side pocket on his carpenter’s jeans and looked around the yard. “Where is she?”
“Off fussin’ with her pistols.” Rafe appeared to shudder.
Laughing fully then, Khouri clapped RJ’s back and went to look for Setha. He found her far off across the massive expanse of her back lawn. She’d put away her pistols and was then firing a double-barreled shotgun at what looked to be a row of cans set along a wooden fence which stood at an impressive distance.
Smiling, he strolled toward her. He could easily figure what she was angry about. For a second, he reconsidered walking up to her. His thoughts carried him back to what Avra had said about his usual taste in women.
While he hadn’t exactly sought her out, he knew he would have, based on her looks alone. But what of the rest? He’d had her sexually several times and in varied positions since they had met. He could walk away. She was already pissed with him. They were on a good track with the ad campaign—others could take over from there. He knew none of that would make a difference though. The woman had him completely and thoroughly wrapped around her fingers. What’s more, he knew she did. While he’d do everything he could to maintain some aspects of control, he knew he didn’t mind it a bit.
Khouri whistled just as she let off another shot. It missed the cans. In fact, it looked as though she had yet to knock one from the fence.
“RJ said you were one angry lil gal,” he teased.
Setha’s smile was grim. “I’m just likin’ that man more ’n’ more.” She let off another shot.
Khouri leaned down a little to speak directly into her ear. “Is it my face you’re seeing on those cans?”
“Hmm…” Another thunderous shot ran out from the gun and hit a can dead center. “Thanks for the tip.”
Khouri smiled and shook his head. “Sugar, can’t you understand this is all for—”
“My own protection. Got it.” She hit another can. “Get your hand off my ass,” she grumbled at his touch.
He adored her stubbornness but didn’t remove his hand. “I can think of you tellin’ me it was mine more than once.”
Lashes fluttering, Setha tightened her grip on the gun. “Funny, isn’t it? The idiotic things that come out of a woman’s mouth when somethin’s goin’ on between her legs.”
Khouri only moved in closer. His fingers disappeared beneath the frayed hem of the denim cutoffs she wore with a wash-worn short-waist blouse. Squeezing a bare cheek, he nuzzled her ear. “I hope you enjoyed what was going on then?”
Calmly, Setha replaced her gun in its casing and secured the lock. She sent Khouri a scathing look and then stomped off.
Still encouraged, Khouri pulled off his sunglasses and watched her. “Yep, that’s one angry lil gal.”
Chapter 13
Setha’s mind was set on getting to her bedroom where she planned to spend the rest of the day—or at least until Khouri and that blasted security team were gone. She rolled her eyes while moving with purpose up the stairway.
She cursed herself for acting like a spoiled princess or, as RJ had so aptly labeled her, an “angry lil gal.” Despite the fact that he’d grown up around three women, Khouri still didn’t get it. Her home was the one place where she called the shots. Her father and her brothers’ opinions took a backseat to what she thought was best.
The fact that Khouri Ross had waltzed in and rearranged things to his satisfaction wasn’t what frustrated her most. Knowing she’d let him do it, with little-to-no argument, was the stinger.
“Dammit,” she whispered, feeling the dull throb of arousal over the memory of his hands on her body. She remembered the deep, sweet octave of his voice so close to her ear….
“Get your mind out of your panties, Setha…” She pushed open the bedroom door and felt her upper arm being gripped shortly after.
“Please don’t do that,” Khouri urged while escorting her inside the room. His mouth was on hers before the door shut with her pressed against it.
Setha was a happy participant, smoothing her hands up and across the broad plane of his chest. Then, she remembered that she was angry with him.
Ignoring the subtle shoves to his torso, Khouri expertly unfastened her shorts and insinuated his hand down in front. He broke the kiss when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the denim cutoffs.
“Stop… I’m mad at you,” she moaned and then moaned again when his fingers were inside her and thrusting high.
She gasped in the midst of battling his tongue with her own. “I have a houseful of people.”
Khouri hooked his free hand about her thigh and tugged, increasing the play space for his lunging and rotating fingers. “I guess you better keep your voice down.” The advice came seconds before his tongue eased past her lips again.
To hell with it. Setha gave in to what she wanted. Languidly, she moved in response to his thrusts and wavering cries escaped her throat.
Boldly, she moved in to undo the loose-fitting carpenter’s jeans, but he stopped her before she could unzip him. He wanted more time to play, knowing once he was out of his pants, the only place he’d want to be was inside her.
He continued to fondle her intimately, but let go of her thigh preferring to cup her breast beneath the wrinkled lilac blouse. Setha went back to undoing his pants only to have her hands slapped. She happily settled for raking her nails over the muscular forearms that were visible thanks to the short-sleeved shirt he wore. Her hands went weak though, once her shorts were gone, her blouse was undone and his hands covered her bare breasts. She hadn’t even felt him take off her bra.
Awkwardly, she moved against the dual caress he plied to her neck and collarbone. “Khouri…” She tugged his waistband insistently.
“But you’ve got a houseful of—”
“Shut up.” Setha moved from the door, forcing him back while she nudged his chest with hers. At her bed, she wasted no time pushing him down to the center and then went about the task of relieving him of his shirt.
Khouri let her have her way and felt his heart stop in his chest when she looked at him. Emotion stirred deep and devastating.
“I don’t feel comfortable doing this,” he teased to dispel the emotion and the questions it roused.
Setha grinned, her wavy locks framing her dark face like a storm cloud. Grinning more devilishly, she freed the erection straining behind his button fly. She bit her lip in a naughty manner while her nails grazed every rigid caramel-covered inch of his se
x.
“You’ll survive,” she promised and then began her assault, dropping soft kisses down his beautifully cut torso moving with devastating purpose below his waist.
“But I don’t think you’ll last very long,” she predicted at the sound of his sharp intake of breath when she stroked him with her tongue.
Khouri savored the caress, wanting as much as she elected to give. He knew what she said was right—he wouldn’t survive long if he indulged as he wanted. Reasserting his strength, he drew her up to kiss him deeply.
Setha nudged her bare sex against his until she felt the rough edges of the condom packet he’d pressed into her palm. A split second after she had it in place, he took her waist and settled her beautifully. Again, Setha bit her lip while winding and raising herself along his very appealing endowment. She luxuriated in the sensation of his hands roaming over every part of her.
“Hush up…” Khouri ordered when her pleasure affected the volume of her cries.
Setha bit down on her lip yet again. Her eyes were shut tight and she moaned without shame while working herself up and down his shaft as she introduced him to his own special place inside her.
Khouri studied every change in her expression as she took him rigorously. He couldn’t help but be affected by the ecstasy claiming her lovely face. His own satisfaction heightened then sharply and he clutched her arching hips a tad tighter.
Setha didn’t collapse onto him until sometime after. She released and clenched him inside her walls until the groans he uttered were a cross between pleasure and pain. She melted, dropping lazy kisses to his pecs as they flexed beneath her lips.
* * *
Located along the Texas Coastal Bend on Galveston Bay, the city of Kemah was home to an elaborate boardwalk hailed for fine restaurants, shops and hotels. Named for the Indian word meaning “wind in my face,” the area possessed an elegant beauty like no other. Having a breathtaking view overlooking the bay didn’t hurt things, either.
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