by Aliyah Burke
“Looks like it,” she ground out.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and willed himself calm. It didn’t work. Try a different approach, his brain advised.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before now, Zémire.”
“I assumed something had your attention. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I sat by the phone and waited for your calls.”
There was steel in her words and he knew she lied. Something had his attention all right, and had since he’d spotted her all alone by the window in BB’s house. “I’m…I’ve just been really busy.”
“That’s fine, Cort. Look, we’re about to go, so umm, thanks for calling to check on me.”
That was Zémire, polite to a fault. “Zémire, wait,” he began, only to look up and see Ilsa sashaying across the living room towards him. Wearing nothing more than a come-hither smile.
“Cort,” she purred, her accent thick with desire. “I’m here, waiting naked in the room. Why are you in here instead of there?”
He nearly snarled. “Goddamn it, Ilsa!” he snapped, at the end of his rope with her. “You have plenty of clothes, there’s no need to walk around naked. Put some on. I’m on the phone.”
Ilsa huffed and pouted, her lower lip poking out. He gestured with a finger and faced away. Rolling his eyes in frustration, he put the phone back to his ear. Only to be met by the steady beeping of a disconnected call. He groaned and swore words that would have his mom cutting a switch and tanning his ass.
She heard it. Zémire heard him tell another woman to put on her clothes.
“Fuck!” he bit off, smacking the sand coloured countertop with the palm of his hand.
“Something wrong?” Ilsa asked. Her normally throaty voice held a smidge of fear.
He turned to her, glad she’d at least covered up. Tight clothes. Revealing clothes meant to entice and seduce. But at least she wore some.
“Yes,” he said, hooking the phone back on his belt. “This has to stop, Ilsa. This childish behaviour and ridiculous act you’re doing. Especially when I’m on the phone.”
He raked a hand through his hair and moved towards her. She batted her eyes and pouted again, an act he was sure had worked for her in the past. He, however, crossed his arms and glared disapprovingly at her. He didn’t understand her motives but damn it, he wasn’t her shrink.
“Don’t ever pull this shit with me again. Keep your ass covered or I’ll tape your clothes to you.”
Her blue eyes snapped with fire and he got to see the cold, heartless side of her that he’d heard about but until now hadn’t seen. The grin, which curved up her lips, set him on edge.
“I could make your life miserable.”
Swiping his tongue along his top teeth, he dropped his arms and closed the distance, towering over her. “You can’t do a thing to me so don’t even try.”
Her smile turned coy and one hand moved to his chest, her red nails bright against her pale skin. He refused to step back, just held her gaze, a dare in his. Her fingers hovered scant millimetres away from his chest, but with a small sniff she lowered her arm and walked away without a word or a look back.
Cort remained immobile until she vanished from view.
Some days this job really gets on my nerves.
He knew it was his fault; he was the one who had called Zémire while holed up with this crazy woman. And yet, the feelings evoked by the woman he was charged with keeping safe didn’t make a blip on his radar. Zémire did. Ilsa was nothing but business. Zémire his business and pleasure.
“Mine,” he uttered, going to the door and peering through the curtains. There was no change from when he had peeked out earlier.
He and Ilsa were finishing dinner—she’d been subdued for once—when his phone rang. For a brief second he hoped—wished—it was Zémire. By the time his phone resided in his hand, he’d given up on that notion.
“Yeah?”
“Bring her in,” his boss’ voice stated with brisk efficiency.
“On our way.”
“See you in a few days.” Gene Wills hung up.
A few days. It would take them two to drive back. Then…then he’d go back to Zémire. And then what, jackass? His brain taunted. What can you offer her?
“Let’s go, Ilsa. Time to get you home. Get your stuff, we leave in thirty.” She glared again but didn’t argue.
What can I offer, Zémire? The thought sobered him. He knew very little about her, a fact he would soon rectify.
* * * *
Zémire stood by the SUV and stared at her phone. Tears threatened but she refused to let them fall. Bastard couldn’t call me because something else had his attention all night. I guess a naked woman would distract me as well. She hated that she felt the sting of betrayal. Hated it. But she realised she’d merely been harbouring a fantasy involving her and Cort.
“What was I thinking?” she berated herself while she yanked open the door to the SUV.
Allan tipped his head and peered over the rims of his aviator glasses. “What were you thinking about what?”
She lifted her shoulders in a curt motion. “Nothing, just muttering out loud.” Once buckled in, they were soon heading the final miles to Dallas. She rested her head against the window and stared at the passing landscape. Although no longer in the dead heat of summer, it was still stifling outside, and she was glad to be in air conditioning.
With each mile that rolled under the wheels, dragging her beyond the endless dirt, she found her spirits sinking even lower. Her missing brother. Cort spending time with another woman. A naked one at that. And she was far away from her home.
Eyes forward, she stared at the looming Dallas skyline, her belly making her wish she hadn’t eaten anything. It heaved and rolled more the closer they got. When they pulled up before a large brick and glass building, she felt ready to hurl like she’d been on a two-week binge drinking fest. Her hand quivered when she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.
She waited in the oppressive air by the side of the vehicle for Allan; then she fell into step with him. While they walked, she observed the man at her side. Allan had a fit body, which moved with easy grace. Not feminine, no. He was definitely all man.
Brown hair he kept cropped close to his head highlighted the chiselled features. She knew behind the sunglasses his eyes were green like the sea. There was something about him—she wasn’t entirely sure what—that continually drew her eyes to him. Almost an understated magnetism. He was attractive but she wasn’t attracted to him.
He led her through a throng of desks, people and querying stares. Allan smiled and nodded to a few people but never stopped. Not until they reached the door to a room that could overlook the mass of desks, if the blinds had been lifted.
“Wait here,” he ordered. Gently, but it was still an order.
He knocked then entered, closing her out. Regardless of the numerous people around, she still felt alone. Allan returned shortly and held the door for her.
“Go on in.”
Fingers clutched her purse strap before she could bring herself to move. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked, when Allan didn’t follow.
“Nope, you’ll be fine.”
He gave her a smile followed by a wink as he had in the diner. And like there, it set her more at ease. She didn’t move until he closed the door, then she stared around the room. Very impersonal. Not even a plant adorned the stark area.
“Ms. Gibson.” The male voice drew her gaze from the trip it took around the office.
Behind the desk sat an older man. Black hair, silvered at the temples, cropped close to his head, similar to Allan’s, but here it gave this man an aura of authority. His skin was tanned and even with the scar along his left jaw he was handsome. Dropping her eyes to the desk, she noticed the nameplate. Alejo Jimenez.
He pushed to his feet and stepped around the desk. “Ms. Gibson,” he said again. “I’m Alejo Jimenez, director in this office.”
“Nice to meet you. Can you
tell me what I’m doing here?” She held his dark stare and assessed him as he did the same to her.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to a black chair before his desk. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?”
She shook her head and shoved her hands in her pockets. “I’m fine. Please just get to the point.”
For a moment she thought he would argue. Instead he stroked his moustache, moved back to his chair, and lowered his frame into it. After he sat, she perched on the edge of the seat offered to her.
“Agent Michaels tells me you’ve been staying at your brother’s house.”
She bristled slightly before reining herself in under control. Holding his gaze, she waited in silence.
“Well?” he asked.
Zémire arched a cool brow. “Well, what?”
“The answer.”
She blinked. “You made a statement, you didn’t ask a question.” She’d made her point—she wasn’t going to be a pushover. “I have things to do, Agent Jimenez, so if you could hurry this along I would appreciate it.”
“Do you know any more? Any contact?”
Disbelief filled her. “I had to come all the way out here to answer those questions as opposed to doing it over the phone?”
“I’m just trying to see if you’ve learned anymore.”
“Agent Jimenez,” she began, striving to remain calm, “I have Agent Michaels’ contact info. I’ve given y’all all I know. The fact you would drag me here to ask me a question like this as opposed to calling is…wrong.” She clenched her hands and took a few deep breaths. “My brother is all I have left and I’m beyond insulted you would think I would keep anything from you that could result in a delay in finding him and bringing him home.”
Jimenez lifted his hands as if he were trying to placate her. It didn’t work and he knew it. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gibson. That was poorly done. I know you want him home safely and as soon as possible. I wanted to know if you knew men by the names of Raul Gomez or Juan Salinas.”
She shook her head even while she tried to dredge up those names from her memory banks. “No, never heard of them. Why?”
He countered her question with his. “What about Trent Morrioe?”
That didn’t sound familiar at all either. “Nope, sorry. Why? What do these people have to do with my brother?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do you know Cortland Kysenzki?”
She struggled not to give any serious reaction to his name. With way more calm than she felt, Zémire nodded. “Yes.”
“How well do you know him?”
Well, he’s had his head burrowed between my thighs as he ate me out. And I returned the favour, on my knees before him, sucking on the most delicious cock I’ve ever known. Then he also knows me in the biblical sense. He’s had his cock buried so deep inside me I didn’t know where I ended and he began. I know him very well in one sense. Can’t say that aloud.
She smoothed a hand along her leg. “Not all that well. He and BB were in the same grade in school. Our families hung out on occasion.” Great, now I’m lying to a federal agent.
“But you’ve seen him recently.” A short pause. “Haven’t you?”
There came a slight urge to smile when he added on the question. She ignored it. “Yes. I last saw him about three weeks ago. Why?” I’m getting really tired of only answering questions and not having any answered.
Alejo stroked his moustache. “And you both returned from France together.” One hand waved in the air. “I know, it’s not a question but I didn’t need it to be. Same flight. Same row. Right next to one another.”
Her gaze narrowed in warning. “If you have a point to make, make it. If you have a question, ask it. I’m getting really tired of this. Tell me. Why. Am. I. Here.” The words flowed from her mouth concealed in an ice cap and brought the room’s entire temperature down.
“We don’t need any Marshalls getting in the way.”
She lost it. The thin thread holding her together snapped. “Goddamn you,” she hissed, shoving to her feet, the chair careening to the floor behind her. “This is over some dick-measuring contest between the Marshalls and the FBI?” Anger surged rampant throughout her entire body, tingling in her jaw and raising the hair on her skin. “I promise you, if your fucking pissing match costs me my brother…” she trailed off, unable to complete the thought. She glared at the man watching her with deadpan eyes.
I really hate this man. With a strength she didn’t know she had, Zémire turned and headed for the door, righting the fallen chair and grabbing her purse along the way. Despite her anger, she closed it quietly behind her.
Searching the area, she caught sight of Allan sitting at a desk working on something. She made her way over to him and said when he looked up at her, “I’d really like to go home now.”
Understanding crept into his gaze and he stood immediately. “Ms. Gibson?”
His concern was almost her undoing. All she could do was stare at him. The words just wouldn’t come. He positioned himself at her side and guided her to another room, away from prying eyes. She didn’t hesitate when he guided her to sit on a burgundy sofa. At war with the tears, she finally lost and they began to stream down her face. Tears of anger, frustration, and fear of never seeing her brother again, all combined to roll together. No argument came either when he wrapped his arms around her.
Zémire eventually regained control and drew back when she realised that while the man who held her smelt comforting and a little bit yummy, it wasn’t Cort. Allan instantly allowed her to gain distance from him. His eyes were kind when she found the courage to meet them.
“Excusez-moi,” she murmured. “I…shouldn’t have done that. I should have been stronger.”
“Aucun problème, Ms. Gibson. We’re all human. Parfois, nous fait mal.”
Sometimes we hurt. A very apt statement. She appreciated his words and laid a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “My mom is French.”
“Can you take me home?” she asked softly in French.
He seemed to weigh his choices before he awarded her a nod. “Come on.”
Hollow. Empty. Desolate. Zémire felt all that and more as she wiped at her face, doing her damndest to eradicate any and all evidence of her breakdown. She patted her hair in order to not rub her palms along her thighs.
She preceded Michaels out of the door and detected his hand when it settled lightly against the small of her back. Following his gentle pressure, she soon found herself in a small outdoor area. There were a few picnic tables and some benches placed on the small patch of grass. He guided her to one of the iron and wood benches. Unsure of why they were here, she sat on the edge and hooked her ankles, back ramrod straight, waiting.
“I know you’re frustrated and dealing with Jimenez doesn’t always make things easier,” he stated, still speaking French.
“Yes,” she replied in the same tongue.
“He doesn’t deal much with other people, tending to stay in the back and let the agents under him handle stuff of that nature.”
“He’s rude. And to imply what he did…”
Allan nodded. “He’s a very gruff man.”
“I just don’t know why I had to come here. He could have called me to ask those questions.”
Green eyes stared at her before they disappeared behind the mirrored surfaces of his aviator shades. “He wanted to see your reactions to his questions. You can lie over the phone easier than you can with a person staring at you, gauging you. Expressions can give a lot away.”
Even if she didn’t want to admit it, Allan made a slight bit of sense. She sat back and crossed her legs Indian-style on the seat. “Those names he mentioned, who are they?”
“We don’t know but they were asking about the groups and your brother.”
Unable to see his eyes anymore, she was certain he stared at her, doing just what he said Alejo wanted, observ
ing a pure and honest reaction to any statements. She licked her lips and sighed. In the back of her mind she wondered if they were Serefina or Taber’s contacts.
“I’ve never heard of those names.” It still galled her that it spoke of a pissing contest between the groups. “I just…” she trailed off when her phone vibrated against her side. Withdrawing it, she glanced at the caller ID. Taber. She ignored it. “I just want him home.”
“I know. But right now, I promised to take you home.”
For a brief moment, she allowed his accent to allow her to believe she was back home. In France, where things were right in the world. A fantasy that ended when he clasped her elbow. They spoke in French on the way to the waiting SUV, black paint agleam in the waning light of day.
Allan had unlocked and opened the door for her when his phone rang. She slid in while he switched to English and took his call. She’d just buckled her belt when he yanked open her door.
“Let’s go!”
Her eyes widened as he reached across her, his shoulder brushing her breasts, and undid her belt.
“What? What’s going on?”
“He’s been found.” She didn’t move. “Your brother’s been found.”
Elated and shocked, she bolted out and ran towards the door, Allan hot on her heels. They found him. The words ran as a mantra through her mind and yet she still seemed unable to totally grasp it. Heart pounding out a serious cadence, she began rubbing her hands along the sides of her hips as they slowed to a walk inside.
Agent Jimenez joined them, his sharp features closed, in a conference room. Working hard to calm her nerves, she trailed her fingers along the spotless mahogany oval table. When the door clicked shut, she speared Alejo with her gaze.
“Tell me everything. Where is he?” she demanded in a low tone.
“Sit down, Ms. Gibson,” Alejo said.
“No! Tell me for God’s sake.”
“We’ve found your brother.” Her knees weakened and she had to grip the table edge so she didn’t fall. Even though Allan had already said it, hearing it again made everything all the more real.
