by Aliyah Burke
Ignoring the lust pounding out a tattoo in her, she arched a brow. “What?”
“See you tomorrow?” He spun his black Stetson in his hands, his gaze direct upon her.
“Sure,” she said with considerably more nonchalance than she experienced.
Those incredible blue eyes pierced her. It’s like he can read my mind. With flawless motion he pushed away from the bench table and flowed towards her. All man, each step vibrating with power and sensuality, effortless ripples of muscle propelling him closer until she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact in the barn’s light.
“Wonderful,” he replied in a velvet murmur. “Sweet dreams, Zémire Foy Gibson. Dream of me.” Cort kissed her fast and hard.
When it ended, he swung smoothly into the saddle only to ride off, leaving her shaking from yet another orgasm and frustrated.
“Like my dreams will be of anyone else,” she muttered, stomping over to the remaining pie and grabbing it before heading to the house. “Damn man, can’t he even look back once?”
Despite her frustration, she was quiet when she entered the house. BB slept on the couch and she covered him with an afghan before shutting off the television and seeking her own bed.
Sleep, while it came, couldn’t remotely be called restful. She still experienced achiness, and as she paced to the kitchen in the morning to begin breakfast, she pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes, seeking respite from the weariness burning them.
She had just set down the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice when a male voice broke the silence of the room.
“Mmm, your famous waffles, you must be leaving.”
Zémire swivelled slowly, easing into a smile. BB stood there in a pair of lounge pants and a sleeveless tee. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’, sis,” he said, stepping close and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “When are you leaving?”
“Late tonight. I can see if I can get more time off if you need me to stay.” They sat down and began to eat the large breakfast.
“No,” he said after a bite of scrambled eggs. “You can’t keep putting your life on hold for me.”
“I’m not,” she insisted, pointing her knife at him. “You are my brother, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
“I know.” His tone an attempt to placate her. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, Zémire. You never gave up on me. You were here when I came home. And stayed while they kept me in the hospital. Go home, it’s okay.”
She didn’t want to leave him. “Come with me.”
His single eye sparkled, reminding her of the old BB. “No, I have to get back on my feet, sis. I know there will be rough days ahead but I have to do this. I can’t run from what happened and I think it’s past time I stop letting it keep me from moving onward with my life. I have to live again.”
“But it just happened!” She longed to stomp her foot in anger.
He licked his lips as if weighing his next words carefully. “To you, Zémire, to you. I was in a hospital in México for a while before I got home. My anger isn’t as fresh.”
Hers was. Fresh and strong. Enough for both of them. Her expression must have betrayed it for he held up one hand and shook his head. A move perfected by their father when he was done with a discussion. She nodded in acquiescence.
For the remainder of breakfast the chitchat was light-hearted. She cleaned up while BB made a grocery list for her to fill before she left. On her way, she detoured around to the Kysenzki Ranch and walked to the door, belly clenching with amassed nerves, then pressed the bell.
“Yes?” Thalia Kysenzki asked, drawing open the heavy oak door. Her expression softened, adding to the look of timeless beauty she had. “Zémire, hello dear. Why did you ring the bell instead of just coming on in?” She pushed out the screen door. “Come on in, child. What brings you by?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I only stopped by to return this. I’m on a grocery run.” She handed Thalia the freshly washed container and fork. “Thank you so much, the pie was delicious.”
Thalia stared at her with observant eyes. “I understand. Really glad you enjoyed it.” She took the blue box.
Fighting the urge to squirm under the intense scrutiny, Zémire rubbed her hands along her thighs before she caught herself doing it and stopped. “I did, thank you. I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll get back to my errands.”
Chicken shit! Her brain taunted. You don’t want her analysing what you did with her son when he brought the pie to you last night.
Truer words had never been spoken.
“Do stop by anytime. We’ll have dinner.”
“Yes ma’am.” She smiled and jogged down the five steps. With a final wave over her shoulder, she climbed into the Ridgeline and drove away, wondering where Cort was and if he was thinking about her. Missing her?
“Christ, Zémire,” she scolded herself. “Get a freakin’ grip. It doesn’t matter. He’s your past.”
Still it would have been nice to see him one last time. “Good bye, Cort,” she said in a weak whisper.
Chapter Ten
Cort stood before his boss, fury almost choking him. At 1630, while out on the range with his father, he’d received a call from Sarah who directed him to a waiting Cessna for a return trip to DC. There went his plans of seeing Zémire that evening. With the inclement weather they hit, he didn’t get in until after midnight. So now it was 1100 and he thought about what to say in regards to this situation, which totally baffled him and had caught him off guard.
“Do you believe it?” he demanded of his boss. “Do you believe the accusations?”
Gene didn’t meet his gaze or answer right away. When he finally looked up from where he sat behind his desk, Cort arched a brow and shook his head in disgust.
“Never mind, I have my answer.”
“I believe you, Cort. It’s just that you are a flirt.”
“I flirt yes, but never with a witness. Ilsa is a liar. She came on to me, repeatedly. Don’t insult either of us by acting like you don’t know that. Her reputation is also well known. She’s just pissed because it didn’t work, which, if I recall, was exactly the reason you sent me, fully aware her ploys wouldn’t work with me.” He ground his jaw. “I disclosed everything up front. If I came on to her, why would I have put her behaviour in my report?” He sat down in a leather chair.
Gene rubbed a hand over his mouth and pressed the button linking him to Sarah.
“Sir?” she asked in a crisp voice.
“Bring me the Clarkton file.” Gene moved on to rub his temples. “You know we have to investigate the claim, right?”
He knew. Hell, he was well aware of that. A memory of the look of betrayal on his sister-in-law Sidra’s face when she recanted how she’d been tossed to the wolves, so to speak, by her boss, floated through his mind. He understood much better now the anger and disbelief. That they could trust you for so long then not back you when something unorthodox occurred made his stomach churn with disgust.
And what had she done? He sighed as he ran the answer over and over in his mind.
Sarah walked in and dropped the file on Gene’s desk without a single word. Her expression said it all. Hostile eyes shot flames at her boss only to soften when she looked in his direction. She knew about the claim against him and from her set jaw and glowering gaze, she wasn’t pleased with Gene not backing him.
“How ‘bout some coffee, Sarah.”
Her blue gaze nearly singed him as she swung it to Gene. “I’m on break.” With that, she left.
Silence descended in the room after the door clicked shut. Gene tapped his pencil on the folder she’d brought him then expelled a sharp breath. “Go on, Kysenzki. Go home. Take vacation, sick leave, whatever. Just stay away from the office. And from Ilsa.”
“With pleasure,” he uttered, a sharp chill on the edge of those two words.
He rose fluidly from the chair and pushed his hands into his pockets. One final sc
athing glance at Gene and he walked out, not even bothering to close the door. Sarah had vanished and so he continued on, making a brief stop at his desk before exiting the building with steady, purposeful strides.
The sound of his cell reached him as he neared his vehicle. Without slowing, he withdrew it, flipped it open and answered.
“Kysenzki.”
“Durgan’s in a hour.” Click. The caller hung up.
Not that it mattered—he knew Morrioe’s voice. Stepping into his rental, he drove to the bar and sat in their usual booth. The fact he was early didn’t faze him, he just ordered a platter of appetisers and a beer.
Morrioe showed up as he finished eating a buffalo hot wing. “Hey, man,” he said, sliding in across from him in the booth.
“What’s up?” Cort asked.
“Let me first say it’s bull how Wills is doing you. I don’t know why he’s not backing you.” Trent reached for a loaded potato skin and ate it.
“Thanks, man.”
“But that’s not why I called you here.” Licking bleu cheese dressing off his thumb, Cort waited for his partner to continue. “I brought someone for you to talk to.”
His curiosity became piqued. Morrioe gazed past him and beckoned to someone. Agent Jimenez stepped forward.
“You?”
“He flew out here to apologise to you,” Morrioe said without preamble.
The man looked like he’d sucked on a dozen lemons from the way his expression was pinched. When he remained silent, Morrioe cleared his throat and gestured with his hand.
“What is he apologising for?” Cort asked Trent, ignoring the scowling man.
“His poor handling of BB Gibson’s case and the subsequent interactions with Zémire Gibson.”
Zémire. Just her name alone had the effect of hardening him to a nigh uncomfortable state.
“Okay.” He faced Agent Jimenez and waited while dipping another hot wing.
“Sorry,” he grumbled.
“Try again,” Morrioe barked.
“I’m sorry my looking into your name has affected your current status at work.”
He dropped the wing in shock. “Wait. He’s why…you’re why Gene won’t back me?” Cort questioned incredulous.
“Yes. I guess having the feds investigate you doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”
“Why were you investigating me?”
Jimenez pulled up a chair and sat at the edge of the booth. He left the food alone, however. “I wanted the collar on the man who had sold out BB. I had tunnel vision to get it, with no regard to who may be hurt in the process, including BB.”
He didn’t follow. “Sold out BB? What are you talking about?”
The two other men shared a look before Jimenez continued. “BB works for a group…a group that is similar to Interpol in that they operate all over the world, only secretly.”
Cort couldn’t believe it. BB? “Surely you’re mistaken.”
“Nope,” Morrioe said.
“So…what does that have to do with me? Why look into me?”
“Because of me,” Trent supplied.
“You? You two have a history?”
Trent ate another skin. “Alejo here is my brother…step-brother. We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
Cort lounged casually against the back of the booth, despite the furious racing his mind was engaged in. Morrioe and Jimenez were step-brothers. BB was some kind of secret agent. Holy crap.
“Does Zémire know about her brother?”
“No signs point to it,” Jimenez said.
Reaching for his beer, Cort took a long swallow. “So what happens now?”
Jimenez lifted a shoulder and reached for a wing, apparently feeling he’d earned the right to partake of the food before him. “I can talk to your boss if you want, maybe smooth over the fact we were looking into your file.”
The urge to say yes hit him hard, but when he opened his mouth that wasn’t what came out. “If I say no, will you leave Zémire alone?”
Two pairs of contemplative eyes swung to him. Trent’s mouth curved up in a smile while Alejo’s thinned.
“I’m not pressing charges against her,” Jimenez assured him.
“Then we’ll call it even.”
“What’s this about?” Morrioe queried.
Cort filled him in and by the end of the tale, Trent howled with laughter—even Alejo could find some humour in it. When the tray of food had vanished, the beers been downed, Cort felt much better than he had in Gene’s office learning they were investigating a claim of sexual misconduct by Ilsa.
He withdrew some money and tossed it down. “Well, can’t say this wasn’t fun, but I’m heading home.”
“Apartment home, or Texas home?”
He laughed richly before meeting Trent’s amused stare. For him, Texas would always be his home. “Texas, my friend. High time I take care of some things.”
Trent looked at Alejo. “Take him with you.”
“What? I can’t have—”
“Can it, brother, you are both federal agents. Do it as a courtesy. It’s not like you need all those empty seats on the plane.”
Jimenez sighed. “Fine. We’re wheels up in two hours.” He stood. “Trent, I’ll see you at the reunion.” He walked away without another word.
Cort stared at his partner for a short moment. Trent held it, then as one they grinned.
“I take it you’re the elder.”
Trent nodded with an unrepentant sparkle in his eyes. Cort understood—he loved ordering his siblings around too.
“You should get going,” Trent said, jotting something down on his business card. Then he flicked it across the table to him.
Airport and hangar.
“Thanks,” he said with the utmost sincerity.
Trent clasped him in a brief hug. “It’s what partners are for. Good luck getting your woman.”
They parted at the door and Cort headed to the rental place, returned the car, got a cab, and had it take him to his place. While it waited, he packed a duffel and locked up. Once the cabby had directions, he rested his head on the back of the seat and ran over the past twenty-four hours.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled through to the name he sought. With his thumb he pressed call and waited. Zémire’s voice floated to him and even though the message was in French, he still felt better merely having heard her voice.
“Hi, Zémire. Just trying to reach you. Call me back.” He hung up.
An hour later he settled into the seat on the Gulf Stream across the aisle from Alejo. No words were exchanged as they waited to take off. Once they finally managed to lift off and reach cruising altitude, he put in his MP3 and let music keep him occupied. He enjoyed the flight with mental images of Zémire and strands of country music interspaced with more thoughts on what he now knew about BB Gibson.
It was early evening when his father, who’d come to pick him up, drove up to the house. His mom had dinner ready and although he longed to go to BB’s and have a face to face with Zémire—she had this amazing way of calming him down, just by being in his presence—he had to stay. There were other family members at the house he’d not seen in a while. Aunts, uncles, and cousins. As he got out of another hug, his dad shot him an apologetic smile.
They stayed up late and when he finally crawled into bed there had still been no call from Zémire. Punching his pillow in frustration, he flopped over with a groan and lay on his back, waiting for sleep to arrive.
When morning chased away the dark, Cort had already been up for a while. Unfortunately, so were the guests. And they wanted to visit more. By three in the afternoon he strode, freshly shaved, up the steps to BB’s house and knocked.
He wiped his hands off on his pants, suddenly a bit unsure of what to say to Zémire. I feel like a teen going out on the first date.
The door opened and he found himself face to face with BB. His friend had a towel around his neck and a pair of sweats on.
“Cort, what brings you
here?” BB waved him in. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” Once inside the country home, he scanned for Zémire, disappointed when he didn’t catch a glimpse of her.
“She’s not here.”
He turned to see BB tug a shirt on over his head, movement still a bit slow. “What?”
Arms crossed and a knowing look on his face, his friend said, “Zémire. You’re here for her and I’m telling you, she’s not here.”
Cort ran his tongue along his teeth. “She run to town?”
“Nope.” He rolled his shoulders. “She went home. I’m surprised you’re even here. For a moment, I thought you’d come to see me, but the way you scanned for her, I realised I was wrong.”
“Home?” He acknowledged he sounded like a parrot but two things struck him. BB thought he knew, and she was gone. Zémire. His Zémire had gone home.
“Yep. Thought your mom would have mentioned it.”
He frowned. “Why?”
BB shrugged. “She dropped her off. I’m still iffy to drive at night.” He pointed at his eye.
His mom had taken Zémire to the airport? She’d not said a word to him. Truth be told, he wasn’t so sure how he felt about it either. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “You’re okay with this, right, BB?”
“This? This what?”
He knew BB was fully aware of what he was talking about and had asked solely to make him squirm. “Me and your sister.”
BB rolled his eye and walked to the kitchen where he grabbed two beers and tossed him one. The man was damn near stoic as he took a long pull on his drink.
“I’ve known about you two since my birthday party. I thought my not planting a fist in your face was my giving approval.” He stared at the bottle in his hand for a moment. “Just remember I will make the rest of your days horrific if you hurt her. And while those days will be numbered and few, you’ll think it was an eternity in hell.”
Cort swallowed. He wasn’t a man who scared easily but to have BB make that statement as calmly as if he’d spoken about the weather, gave him pause. The room shimmered with an undercurrent of deadly danger.
