by Aliyah Burke
She hugged him tight and thanked him. After a brief hug with Serefina, she stood on the porch with Cort while Taber and Serefina left in his truck. Must be something about these boys and big trucks. Taber has one just like Cort. Wonder if Pete has one too.
“It was nice of you to offer them a room for the night,” Cort said, wrapping his arms around her.
“Given what they’ve done, it seemed the least I could do.”
“Well, they have the info we do so it’s time to wait.”
“I know. I just want him home.”
He sighed and tightened his hold on her. “I know you do, Zémire. I know you do.”
She moved away when his phone rang.
“Kysenzki,” he said, trailing a hand down the side of her face.
Entering her brother’s house, she walked over to the mantlepiece and picked up a framed shot of her and BB. Her college graduation. “Come home safe, BB,” she whispered, touching his likeness. She refused to give in to the tears that threatened.
Zémire had curled up on the couch and was reading a Kurt Austin novel by Clive Cussler when the door slammed, alerting her to Cort’s return. Finger in the book to mark her place, she looked up. He had a solemn expression on his face.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
She leant forwards, heart thumping wildly. “BB?”
“No, sweetheart. Not him. I have to go. I’ve been called back to DC.”
Disappointment filled her. “Oh, of course you do. You have your own job to do.” She stole a final glance at her page number and set the book down on the cushion. “Thank you for everything, Cort,” she said, gaining her feet.
“Would you stop thanking me, Zémire,” he growled.
Silence stretched between them for a bit. He raked a hand through his hair and she swallowed a few times.
“I don’t know what else to say,” she mumbled.
“Tell me you’re going to miss me,” he commanded, advancing on her and again reminding her of a predator.
I’m going to miss you. She didn’t say it. “Let’s not make more of this than there is.”
His beautiful eyes narrowed. Before she could blink her chin was captured in his strong fingers.
“Zémire. Are you saying this was a momentary thing?”
“Yes. I’m not fooling myself, Cort. This is just left over from BB’s birthday. I don’t do good with long distance relationships. My life is in France. Not here, which even if it was, you are in DC.” She pried off his fingers and moved away. His scent intoxicated her and she needed to keep a clear head.
“So, I walk out the door and it’s done?” Anger laced his tone.
“This isn’t an ultimatum, Cort. I’m stating a fact. I’m an emotional wreck right now and I don’t know how to handle these feelings for you I’m developing.”
His gaze on her changed, how she wasn’t sure, but suddenly there was in his eyes a softness. A softness that made her entertain the notion of a happily ever after with him. Giving herself a strong mental shake, she shoved that ridiculous idea to the back of her mind.
Rubbing her hands on her sweats, she took a deep breath then continued, “I don’t want to do anything out of gratitude. I don’t like knowing if feelings are real or because of a situation. I just don’t—”
His mouth covered hers and broke off her sentence. Just like that, she forgot what she’d been about to say and found herself so ready to sink into him. Digging deep, she found the power to resist him and removed herself from the heaven being in his arms gave her. She didn’t get far before he stopped her, his hand on her elbow.
“Listen to me, Zémire, and listen well.” She stared at him. “Are you listening?”
When she nodded he said, “Good. This thing between us, Zémire, started two months ago. This is straight up attraction that changed…evolved into something more. Not because you’re worried about your brother but because we have a magnetic pull between us. There’s something there. Something serious. We can figure it out once BB returns but I’ll be damned if I let you ignore it.”
She didn’t know what to say, Cort sounded so sure of himself, so confident. His touch turned tantalising and she jerked back, eyes wide. A warning glint crept into his expression.
“I don’t need an overbearing alpha male in my life, Cort. You’re standing there already assuming you have a right or a say in what I do or who I do it with. Maybe I don’t want to figure it out.”
A tic appeared in his jaw. “Why are you deliberately trying to make me mad?”
“I’m not. I’m stating fact.” She rubbed her eyes. “Go, Cort. You have to get to DC.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Keep me posted on BB.”
He kissed her. Swept through her mouth with a ferocity that stole any remaining breath she may have had. Lightheaded, she could only watch as he strode to the door with his god-given swagger and swiped his keys along with his hat, only to disappear out of the door, with one last statement.
“I will come back for you, Zémire.”
When the sound of his diesel reached her, Zémire sank to the couch with a tremble. Her hands shook and her heart careened wildly out of control. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear he’d just laid a claim on me.
Slightly rattled, she pushed to her feet and began leafing through the papers she’d brought in from the barn, desperate for a glimmer of anything she could find to help get her brother home.
Three weeks later, her nerves were close to breaking point. Every time the phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Cort had called her twice since he left. Both times in the first week of his departure. For one day she freaked about it, then realised it may be for the best. A break. After convincing herself his parting statement had merely been spoken in the heat of the moment, she began to let it go. Still, at night, if she brought herself to release, it was Cort’s name that left her lips.
Eating a grilled cheese sandwich, Zémire started when the doorbell pealed through the country house. She wiped her mouth and left her remaining sandwich in the kitchen then hastened to the door.
“Yes?” she said, peering through the screen. The man there was familiar.
“Ms. Gibson, do you remember me? Agent Allan Michaels.”
Her heart clenched, nearly paralysing her with fear. “I remember you. Do you have news of my brother?”
He barely blinked. “Can you accompany me to Dallas?”
Well, crap. He doesn’t want to tell me here. “Umm, sure. Can you give me five minutes to get my things?”
His green eyes stared at her without a single shred of emotion. “Of course.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She closed the door and rested her head against it for a moment, struggling to slow the erratic beating of her heart. On the way to her room, she grabbed her cell and called Cort, not realising what she’d done until his deep Texas voice said to leave a message. She didn’t. Instead she hung up and called Taber.
“Kysenzki.” The voice, so similar to Cort’s, made her pause. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Rubbing her forehead, she rolled her eyes at her lack of concentration. “Taber, it’s me…Zémire.”
“Hey, darlin’. Everything okay? News on your brother?”
“No, no news. I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you’d heard from Cort. I tried to get in touch with him but there was no answer.”
A brief moment of silence. “Did you try his cabin?”
She frowned. “Cabin?”
“Yeah. He has property up in the Cascades.”
She’d had no clue about that. “Oh.”
“You want the number?”
Yes! “No. I was just going to ask him what he found out about Agent Michaels since I know he would have checked up on him.”
Noises filtered in from the background. “Who’s Michaels?”
She shrugged out of her shorts and drew on a pair of black slacks. It was obvious Taber’s attention was not to
tally upon her, for Michaels had been mentioned the night both Taber and Serefina had stopped by. “An FBI agent from Dallas. He’d stopped by…he’s the one who asked me about the EPR and GEA.”
“Right, I remember now. And now you’re going to Dallas with him?”
“Yep. He’s waiting on the porch.” She shoved her feet into denim canvas slip-ons and grabbed her purse. “Look, I’m sorry for bothering you, I know you’re busy. I…I…don’t know what I was thinking.” She paused by the bedroom door. “Thanks, Taber.” Hanging up before he could say another word, she stashed her phone in her front pocket and headed to the door. The vibrations of her phone caught her by surprise but she ignored it after looking at the ID screen. It was Taber.
“Sorry about that,” she said, stepping out and shutting the door behind her then locking it.
Agent Michaels stared at her, scanning her from head to toe and back up. “No problem. Let’s go.”
She followed him to a black SUV where she climbed in the passenger side. “Can you tell me what this is about?” she queried, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
So not words to inspire me to be calm. Shifting on the leather seat, she merely said, “Oh.”
He changed lanes and increased speed before he shot her a glance. “Look, I don’t mean to sound severe, I’m just following orders.”
“Okay.” Damn it, why do I sound like a mouse?
After riding in silence where her unease grew by leaps and bounds, he spoke again—his voice much less business-like.
“Are you hungry? We can stop up here and grab a quick bite.”
His question reminded her she’d left her partially eaten grilled cheese sandwich on the kitchen counter and she was still hungry.
“That would be nice.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took them off the interstate and into the dirt parking lot of an older diner. They entered with him holding the door then following behind. The place was devoid of patrons except for the staff and two large men in the back.
Zémire slid into a booth and Allan sat opposite her. A waitress appeared with coffee and two mugs, which she set down and filled without a word. The menus followed suit. Who would drink hot coffee on a day like this?
Allan immediately took a drink and gave the woman a slight smile. Ahh, a federal agent.
“I’ll give y’all a few minutes to look over the menu.” Then she left as quietly as she’d arrived.
She and Allan ate in relative silence. No one else came in but she could see he was keeping an eye out. Like he expected something. Or someone.
Swivelling the straw from her chocolate shake in her hand, she sought and held his gaze. “Something wrong?”
“No,” he answered, putting his fork down on the empty plate that had held his lemon meringue pie. “Just habit for me to look around.”
There really were no words for her to say to that, so she curved her lips around the straw and occupied herself with another drink. She noticed the two men in the back paying them more and more attention. They made her nervous. But then, lately, pretty much everything did.
Allen picked up the check and stood. “Let’s go.”
She watched him pay and noticed that he exposed his gun and badge while searching for his wallet, intentionally she was certain. He’s more conniving than I gave him credit for.
He met her gaze and winked. She knew what he’d done. Alerted the two men in the back he was law and packing.
“Shall we?”
Her smile came much easier this time. “Let’s.”
Chapter Six
Cort stared at the woman before him. She was stunning; there was no denying that. Raven locks cascaded down over peach-tinged skin, skin that covered a figure many women would kill for. Oh yeah, and she was naked. Naked as a jaybird, as the saying went. A woman men would trip over themselves to have. Other men. Not him.
“Ilsa, put some damn clothes on. We’ve gone over this, it’s not going to happen.” He shook his head and focussed back on the book in his hand. He was trying to learn French and decided being at a safe house with a witness would be the opportune time. Unfortunately, Ilsa had other ideas on how to pass the time. Ideas that ended up with these kinds of confrontations. Her naked and him telling her to get dressed.
“But why, Cort?” she pouted, and when he looked at her ran her hands over small, pert breasts.
“Because I’m trying to keep you safe. We’re not here for a rendezvous. Oh yeah, and you’re married.”
She made a moue of discontent. “He has his women. I know zis.”
Cort stood and walked to the door of the kitchen. “I’m more than willing to talk to you, Ilsa, but you need to be dressed.” With a groan of frustration he went to the living room and had just taken a seat on the couch when his cell rang.
“Yeah?” he answered, not bothering to say his name for there was only one place that had this number.
“Got a call for you, Cort,” Sarah, his boss’ assistant said.
With a swift glance down the hall, he was pleased to see Ilsa’s form disappearing into her room. “From who?”
“DEA SA Kysenzki.”
He frowned. Taber? Why would he be calling me? “Patch him through.”
“Right away.”
Seconds later, he heard his brother’s voice. “Cort?”
“What’s up, Tabby?”
“Sorry to intrude, bro, but Zémire called me looking for you. Said the FBI guy…Michaels showed up at her door wanting to take her to Dallas. She was wondering what you’d found out about him.”
Different emotions flooded him. He had looked up the agent, which was no surprise to his brother who didn’t even ask why. He knew. Everyone in his family knew how important Zémire was to him now. And they knew when it came to her, there were no gloves on.
“Good agent, nothing that stood out.” Except he’s an unmarried man and he’s somewhere with my Zémire. “Did she sound okay?”
“How long since you last talked to her?” Taber asked with a thread of concern.
Right then, Cort realised just how Serefina LeBenoit had smoothed out the edges and tamed the beast in his brother. Before her, Taber would have been mocking him for ‘girly’ feelings with that question.
“Almost three weeks. Two days after I got back to DC, Morrioe and I got sent off to watch this witness.”
“She sounded defeated, Cort. I know she put on a front but I could see through it.”
He ground his back teeth at Taber’s statement and shoved a hand through his hair, completely frustrated. He couldn’t call her. Or could he? “I’ll check in with her.”
Taber grunted in obvious approval. “Take care, Cort.”
“Bye, Tabby.” He closed the phone and slumped back against the worn sofa. A raw chuckle emerged before he sat up, elbows on his quads and buried his face in his hands. This woman, Zémire Foy Gibson, was making him break protocol. And that wasn’t his MO. With a groan, he flipped his phone back open and called Morrioe.
“Morrioe.”
“Hey, Trent. I need you to do me a favour.”
The creak of a leather chair crossed the line. “Sure, but can’t you get Sarah to do it?”
“This isn’t anything they can know about.”
Trent cleared his throat and Cort thought he would hem and haw. He hoped he was right about his partner, but there was the chance he was wrong. His fears were quickly assuaged.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Scramble a secure line from your phone and—”
“Say no more. Give me a few minutes. I’ll send you a page then you’ll know it’s set.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Trent.”
“Everything okay out there?”
Cort glanced at the door leading to Ilsa’s room. “Yes. She’s a handful though.”
A hearty laugh reached him. “That’s why you’re there. The one of us who’d not break the rules
and succumb to her wiles.”
He almost snorted. “That’s me. By the book. Thanks, Morrioe.” By the book except when it came to Zémire.
“Anytime.”
The call over, he sat back and mulled over what he was about to do. Until he received the page, he paced and continually flipped his phone. Open and shut. When it came, he sent a silent thanks to his nerdy computer geek of a partner.
He cast a final peek back to where Ilsa would be, then dialled the memorised number. One. Two. Three. And four rings passed. Come on, sweetheart. Pick up the phone.
“Hello?”
A smiled filled his heart at the mere sound of her voice. “Zémire.”
“Bonjour, Cort.”
Was it him or did her voice seem somewhat distant?
“What’s going on? Taber said you called him.”
“I did call him.” Her words were without inflection. “I tried to call you but I didn’t get an answer.”
“So he said.” His fingers itched to hold her. The fact she called him first pleased him. “Why did Michaels show up at your door? What’d he want?”
“Not sure yet, we’re not to Dallas.”
He frowned and resumed his pacing. The mere image of Zémire—his woman—with this man… “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay. A bit nervous, but Allan has done a great job of calming my fears.”
Allan? They were on a first name basis? It began at the bottom of his feet only to rise swiftly through him. Rage. Pure, raw, predatory rage. He paused at the kitchen counter and gripped the edge. Unpleasant pictures of just how Allan Michaels calmed her flashed like rapid fire.
“Allan?” he ground out, anger deepening his timbre even more.
“Yes. Agent Michaels, his first name is Allan. We’re actually just on our way back to the car. He got me dinner.”
Did I say pissed? He knew his first name, he knew basically all there was to about the man. “That’s nice.” Even he could hear the fury in his tone. “So you left with a man you called me about?” he snapped, losing control.
A staccato of French flew across the line, and although he couldn’t translate, he did get the gist. Zémire was less than pleased.
