The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  For that, he’d pay.

  She handed him the paper.

  “This is from the recently probated will of Russell Barton, Elise’s rich daddy,” she explained. “Yes, he left his one and only daughter a shitload of money that should have kept her swimming in diamonds and furs for the rest of her life. But you’ll notice in paragraph four,” Marisela said, tapping her fingernail on the appropriate part of the page, “that Russell also willed a couple of billion dollars to various charities and foundations—money he would have given to his granddaughter, had she not been removed from Elise’s care. This codicil also states in paragraph five that should Jessica return to the family fold before her eighteenth birthday, she’d inherit those billions instead of the charities—and every last cent would be administered by her mother until she turned thirty.”

  Because Marisela was standing so close to him, she noticed how Ian’s lips tightened as he read, his eyes scanning quickly back and forth. The conclusion was simple—Elise Barton-Ryce had not hired Titan to reclaim her daughter because she loved her or missed her as she’d claimed. She’d arranged this operation out of pure, unadulterated greed.

  Ian handed the paper over his shoulder and Max quickly retrieved it. “This changes nothing. Mrs. Barton-Ryce owes us no explanation of her motives.”

  Marisela shoved her hands in her pockets and nodded her head. “I can understand how you might see it that way, but you are not picking up the—oh, damn, what’s the word, Max?”

  “The nuance?”

  Marisela pointed at him and then gave him a thumbs-up gesture for helping her out. “That’s it. The nuance. You see, this proves Elise Barton-Ryce to be a greedy, lying bitch. I wanted to know who’d paid those Miami thugs to kidnap Jessica at the store and to try again at the church. Had one of those attacks succeeded, Perez would have had me and Frankie to blame. I’m guessing she hired cheap labor to beat us to the punch. Why pay Titan millions when she could buy amateurs for chump change and achieve the same results? Me and Frankie were just a smoke screen—a way to get information about Jessica and then exploit it.”

  “That’s ludicrous. You have no proof!” Elise shouted.

  “Don’t I?”

  Out of her back pocket, she retrieved the final nail in Elise’s coffin. Ian Blake had been right about one thing—Max was top-of-the-line. Send him in the right direction and he could work miracles.

  “This is from the very confidential, very private financial records of the attorney who transferred Elise’s first payment to you, Mr. Blake. Seems he also authorized the release of a generous sum of money to a courier who then traveled to Miami. That money was laundered through a strip club in Liberty City.” Marisela turned, piercing Elise’s furious gaze with her own steady brand of steel. “Elise set us up. She’d hoped to retrieve her daughter herself and use Frankie and me as the scapegoats—and possibly, default on her final payment to Titan, which is no small chunk of change.”

  Ian turned to Max.

  “Employing the Toscas’ accountant was a brilliant move on your part, Mr. Blake,” Max confirmed. “He proved incredibly useful to me when you authorized my looking more deeply into Mrs. Barton-Ryce’s financial dealings.”

  When Ian turned, all the anger he’d leveled at Marisela now shot directly at Elise.

  Marisela figured her smile as she delivered the last part of the story could have lit the whole goddamned room. “When the operation a few days ago didn’t work, Elise arranged a second payment to the thugs in Miami, one Max was able to watch appear and disappear into the strip club’s accounts. Elise knew the time and location of our meeting at the church. She might have even made it clear that if Javier died in the process, she wouldn’t have been too sad. We’ll find out soon enough. Not all of the assailants died when that SUV crashed. One is in surgery now, very heavily guarded by the Puerto Rican police and Javier Perez, who intends to find out who attacked him and his daughter. This witness has a relatively good prognosis for recovery, too. I’m betting your former lover will be very interested to hear what the injured man has to say about you, don’t you agree?”

  Marisela licked her lips, loving how Elise had started to shake.

  “Jessica is mine. The courts will protect us.”

  “Are you sure? You’re so busted. I don’t think even a greedy son of a bitch like Mr. Blake will let you take Jessica now.”

  Marisela glanced in Ian’s direction, certain that even if she’d read the man entirely wrong, she had a gun tucked into the back of her jeans that would ensure Jessica didn’t go anywhere with her duplicitous mother. Luckily, Max’s assurances that Ian wouldn’t allow an injustice to go unpunished were not empty.

  Fury drew Ian’s lips into a thin, red line.

  “Max, escort Mrs. Barton-Ryce to the plane that is waiting at the airport.”

  Elise’s arm shot out and ensnared Jessica just above the elbow. “I’m not going anywhere without my daughter.”

  Marisela moved to break the hold the woman had on Jessica, but even her quick reflexes proved too slow. Jessica twisted out of her mother’s grip and then slapped the bitch soundly across the face.

  “You’re not my mother. You never have been.” Jessica stepped forward, straightening her spine until she was eye-to-eye with the woman who had given birth to her, had abandoned her, had tried to steal her back for money, and had almost gotten her killed in the process. “If you ever come near me again, I swear, I’ll let him kill you. I’ll even ask to watch.”

  Elise recoiled and only for a split second did she allow pain to mar her expression. Seconds later, she recovered, twirled on her expensive heels and marched out of the room.

  Marisela was there to catch Jessica the minute the door slammed behind Elise. The girl crumbled into her arms and sobbed. Marisela could think of nothing more to say, except to whisper, “Mija, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” until Jessica recovered enough to accept a handkerchief from Ian.

  “I’ll arrange for you to be returned to your father immediately.”

  He turned to Max, who was already halfway out the door to make the arrangements, then faced Jessica again. Ian stood there, so cold, so stoic and waited for…what? A thank-you?

  “What do you want from her, Blake?”

  He looked askance. “Nothing, of course. Why don’t you escort her into the adjoining suite. She can freshen up before we return her to her father.”

  Marisela seethed, but she did as Ian asked, then told Jessica to stay put until she came to fetch her. Which she would do, once she cleared up a few things with her so-called boss.

  Ian was pouring himself a brandy when Marisela slipped back into the room.

  “You drink too much.”

  Ian sniffed the fine liqueur, then took a worshipful sip. “Care to join me?”

  “I don’t drink with double-crossing pendejos.

  “You use that word quite a bit. It must be incredibly insulting.”

  “Try Berlitz. You have a lot to learn.”

  He crossed the room, slowing momentarily as he broke into her personal space. She was angry enough, finally, to have erected a wall against the powerful pull of attraction that had plagued her until now. He was still undeniably the most suave, sophisticated, and seductive man she’d ever met—but she said no with her eyes in a way that caused him to back away.

  “You’re angry.”

  “You bargained with Frankie’s life. You think I’m just going to forget?”

  He shrugged. “I did what I had to do after one of my agents allowed her emotions to interfere in a mission. You can’t blame me for using those same emotions to achieve my objective.”

  “You think I can’t? Watch me. I warned you not to manipulate me.”

  He stepped closer and challenged her eye-to-eye. “And I warned you to do as you were told. I run Titan, Ms. Morales. My agents do as I say. I could fire you right here on the spot.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I dare you.”

  He tilted his head back and l
aughed. “Fine then. I needed you for this case and this case only. You have outlived your usefulness. You’re fired.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  The door had swung open and in walked the leggiest redhead Marisela had ever seen. She wore a slim, pencil skirt, roach-killer pumps, and a silk blouse that draped lovingly over a bustline even Marisela envied for a few seconds before reminding herself that her own girls were nothing to sneeze at. With pure warmth in her cool, emerald gaze—one that matched Ian’s with utter exactness except for the color—the woman extended her hand in greeting.

  “Brynn Blake,” she greeted. “I’m honored to meet you, Marisela.”

  Ian had stepped forward, seething. “This is not your operation, Brynn. You have no right to be here.”

  Marisela accepted the woman’s hand and wasn’t surprised to find a firm grip underneath her silky skin.

  Ian was so screwed.

  “No right? That’s exactly the kind of misconception I came to clear up, brother, dear. Let’s start with the idea that you run Titan. Technically, you are in charge of North American operations, but I don’t need to remind you about who runs the rest, now do I?”

  “You assured me you wouldn’t interfere.”

  “So long as you had a firm grip, yes. But I received a call from Ms. Morales earlier today that made me doubt your leadership abilities. Seems I’ve arrived just in time to keep you from dismissing our most promising new agent.”

  Marisela had taken a risk in contacting Ian’s twin shortly after Frankie had gone into the operating room for a six-hour surgery, but she’d been so furious at the way Ian had toyed with Frankie’s life, she’d decided to deliver one parting shot before she quit or he fired her. Either way, she knew that her days at Titan had been numbered. She’d never imagined the woman would travel halfway around the world to save her job.

  Things hadn’t worked out as planned in any way, shape, or form. Marisela figured that on the surface, she’d actually failed in her first case. The objective had not been met, but the truth had come to light. Wasn’t what she’d been paid to do, but hey, she’d take it.

  “You can’t interfere, Brynn. You have no idea how contrary Marisela is.”

  Brynn dramatically placed her hands onto her slim hips and sighed with exasperation. “I know! A woman with her own mind! How dare she think for herself.”

  He jabbed a finger at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Brynn turned her benevolent gaze toward Marisela, strode forward, and took her hand again, this time giving her a gentle pat. “My dear, you’re probably a damned gorgeous babe when you’ve gotten some sleep, but right now you look like hell.”

  Marisela shook her head wearily. “I’m too tired to take that as an insult.”

  “Good, because when I want you to be insulted,” Brynn replied, “I’ll be entirely more clever. Take Jessica home. Go see Frank. Once Ian and I have settled our business, we’ll get more acquainted, yes?”

  Marisela would have loved to be a fly on the wall of the hotel suite, but she didn’t have the energy. The most she could manage was a private smile as she crossed over the threshold into the hall. All in all, this hadn’t turned out to be such a bad day. Sure, she’d blown the mission all to hell, had likely pissed off one of the most powerful arms dealers in the Western hemisphere, and had no idea what she was going to do about her ex now that she knew he’d live, but she’d kept her job.

  For her, not a bad day at all.

  Dirty Little Secrets: Epilogue

  The pain in his gut was searing, but Frankie forced his eyes open, pushed the button on the edge of his hospital bed that released another dose of morphine into his system, and waited for his eyesight to clear. When the shadows and light stopped doing a sickening dance around the room, he focused on the woman sitting in the lounge chair by the window, her attention entirely engaged in a book.

  “You read?”

  Marisela looked up, her bright brown eyes filled with something he’d like to hope was relief. Maybe a little caring, too. He couldn’t ask for her to love him, not now, but damn, having such an intimate showdown with death made him realize that he wanted something more from Marisela than an occasional roll in the hay. Though he wouldn’t turn one down if she made the suggestion.

  But not today.

  “Smart ass,” she quipped, closing the book and sweeping over to his bedside with that sultry, swinging walk that made his body ache in places that luckily hadn’t been blown apart by a bullet or sliced open by a surgeon’s scalpel. “I’ve been waiting for you to return to the world of the living.”

  He inhaled, bracing himself against the pain of forming words in his brain and actually speaking them with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

  “Long wait?”

  “Two days. Not so bad. Gave me a chance to study up on my mythology. I’ve got to pick a code name.”

  The sickening rock in his stomach plummeted another few feet into his sutured intestines. Dios mio, she wanted to work for Titan permanently?

  “You’re staying?”

  “Of course! Okay, so our mission failed and we nearly got killed. Twice. But man,” she said, sitting on the bed so hard and heavy that Frankie had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing, “what a rush! We were good together, too, don’t you think? I mean,” she said slyly, leaning forward and swiping her tongue over his parched lips. “In more ways than one.”

  Frankie cleared his throat. The thought of working for Ian Blake again rivaled the pain of moving in the bed after two days flat on his back, but the thought of leaving Marisela to work with Blake and him not around to run interference stung even worse. “He wants us back?”

  Marisela shrugged and glanced aside, obviously withholding information. “Well, let’s just say our jobs are available if we want them.”

  She propped the book back into her lap and flipped through the pages. “I got a list from Max. Unfortunately for you, Adonis and Atlas are already taken. However, I was thinking something dark and mysterious. Hades, maybe. He’s the God of the Dead. Or maybe Hephe…Hepheas…oh, forget it. If I can’t pronounce it, no one can.”

  With all the energy he could muster, Frankie reached out and took the book away from her. “Vidita, you’re making my head hurt.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the nose, her gaze dipping downward. “Which one?”

  “Calienta polla.”

  “I killed the last man who called me that,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe, but you saved my life. I’m going to have to pay you back for that, you know?”

  A tiny but wicked smile crossed her lips and she crawled nearer. “You’ve made that promise before, Francisco Vega. This time, I’m going to have to make sure you collect.”

  The scent of her perfume overpowered the medicinal smells of the hospital room. For an instant, he could almost imagine he was somewhere in paradise.

  “Por favor, don’t torture me, Marisela. I’m an injured man.”

  “Yes, but you’re alive—and that’s what matters most.”

  Silence hung there for a moment, a quiet that Frankie knew should be filled with some sort of private words between them, something to help classify what they were to each other. They were more than friends, but even lovers didn’t seem to cut it. But he was too groggy to say more than, “Marisela.”

  The longing in his voice must have given him away, because instantly, she placed her soft fingers over his lips. “Don’t, Frankie.”

  “Don’t what?”

  Tell me how much you care about me? Say that from now on, we should decide our futures together? Admit that being lovers after all we’ve been through is no longer enough?

  She leaned back and popped open the book. “Don’t call me Marisela. I’ve got a new code name, now.”

  Frankie groaned. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to hear.

  “What is it?”

  “Aphrodite, of course. The Goddess of Love.”
She strung out the last syllable, laughing at her own cleverness in a way that made Frankie’s body, for an instant, pain-free.

  “Mighty Aphrodite,” came a voice from the doorway. “The world will never be the same!”

  Marisela snickered, waving Max into the room. He strolled inside, a hint of reluctance in his colorless eyes.

  “Good to see you awake,” he said to Frankie.

  “Good to be awake.” Frankie shifted in the bed and though he’d never admit it, Marisela could see the price he paid for moving around. The skin around his lips had paled and his eyelids drooped heavy over bloodshot eyes. The doctors warned her that he’d be back to his old bad-ass self in no time, but what Marisela didn’t know was if she’d be there to help him through. All depended on Brynn Blake and whatever deal she offered.

  “Marisela, you ready?” Max asked.

  She grabbed the worn paperback Max had lent her and tried to stuff it into her back pocket. Her jeans, of course, were too right. She tossed him back the mythology primer.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said.

  “Ready for what?” Frankie asked.

  Marisela brushed a quick kiss across Frankie’s lips, and then bounded to the door without looking back. Frankie didn’t ask again and if she wasn’t imagining things, she could have sworn she heard him curse softly when she pulled shut his door. He was alive. She’d deal with him. Later.

  Max gestured toward the elevator.

  She followed, releasing a wide-mouthed yawn she’d been harnessing for hours. “You did good,” she said to Max, realizing she hadn’t had a chance to thank him for coming through with the information on Elise.

  “So did you.”

  She shrugged, leaning her shoulder against the wall. “I broke the rules.”