by Sharon Sala
With that, he turned around, closing the door behind him as he left. Kelly didn’t know whether to be relieved or more nervous than ever.
Close his eyes?
That was rich. It was clear that he’d already seen everything. However, she appreciated the fact that he had failed to mention it. She sat without moving, staring at the door, ready at any time to bolt if the need arose. But the doorknob didn’t turn, and except for the sound of a television being turned on in the next room, she might have thought she was alone. Satisfied that he meant her no harm, she slowly sank into the warm, steamy depths and closed her eyes.
* * *
More than thirty minutes passed before Quinn heard water running out of the tub. He tried not to think of what was going on behind the door and concentrated on the television program instead. It was a rerun of Walker, Texas Ranger, and he frowned as he watched, doubting that Chuck Norris ever had this much trouble helping a damsel in distress. Before he knew it, the door was open. He glanced up, swallowing past the knot in his throat, and pointed toward the T-shirt and boxer shorts on the back of a chair.
“Dry clothes,” he muttered. “Doubt they’ll fit as good as what you’re wearing, but they’re clean.”
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. He had just alluded to the fact that, except for a rather skimpy towel, she was still naked. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, so she grabbed the clothing and slipped back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she was back, this time girded for battle.
But when she came out, the television was off, and the man was sitting on the side of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the toes of his tennis shoes. When she opened the door, he looked up.
“My name is Quinn McCord.”
Kelly flinched. He certainly wasn’t a man to waste words. “I’m…uh…Kelly Sloan.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He stood, and as he did, Kelly took a protective step back.
“Well, you didn’t sound so sure. Is that a made-up name, or are you just forgetful?”
She frowned; then, remembering what she’d endured the past few days, she lifted her chin and pushed past him.
“It’s mine,” she said, and sat down on the side of the bed, then reached for the phone. She started to dial a number, then remembered she didn’t know how much she could trust this stranger who called himself Quinn McCord. “I need to make a phone call. Do you mind?”
Her high-handed attitude rubbed him the wrong way. Instead of exiting the room, as she expected him to do, he took the phone out of her hand, replaced it on the cradle, then stood in her space.
“Actually, yes, I do mind,” he said. “This is my room, which makes this my business. This goes no further until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Look,” Kelly said. “My name is Kelly Sloan. I’m a cop. Actually, DEA, okay? And the call I need to make is private.”
A cop? All Quinn could think was halla-freakin’-lujah. He started to grin. “I don’t suppose you have any ID to back that up?”
She glared. “Did you see any ID when you carried me out of the bay?”
His grin widened. “I guess I saw everything but ID.”
Kelly’s glare intensified. “You’re certainly no gentleman.”
“You’re right about that,” Quinn said, then sat down beside her. “So you’re DEA?”
She nodded. “Yes. Now back off, smart-ass. I don’t have time to play your little games.”
Quinn’s grin disappeared as he got up and walked to the table and opened his duffel bag. A few seconds later, he turned around and tossed something onto the bed beside her.
Kelly stared at the silver star in disbelief.
“You’re a Ranger?”
“Yes, ma’am, that I am.”
“What are you doing in Galveston?”
“I was fishing. Caught a mermaid instead.”
She fingered the badge. “Is this for real?”
“At least you can see mine. I’m taking your story on faith.”
Her shoulders slumped with relief; then she winced as the motion caused her some pain.
“You need to see a doctor,” Quinn said.
“Can’t take the chance,” Kelly said. “They’ve got to think I’m dead.”
“Who’s they?”
“Ever hear of Dominic Ortega?”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “That’s who you’re running from?”
“Not him specifically…at least, not anymore. Before I got off the boat, I left a ten-inch knife in the middle of his chest.”
Quinn stared at her, judging the wounds that she had against the strength of mind it must have taken to get away from someone that powerful and that bad.
“What happened?”
“My cover was blown. He spent a few days trying to find out what I knew and who I’d told it to.”
Without thinking, Quinn touched the bruise on her face, then the cuts on her legs.
“How did you manage to stay alive?”
Kelly shrugged. “For the first three days, I kept throwing up on him. It was only today, when the seas calmed, that I knew he was through playing around. Never thought I’d be happy to say I suffer from motion sickness, but it’s for certain that I won’t complain about it again.”
Quinn laughed, and the sound curled Kelly’s toes.
“They need to think I drowned,” Kelly said. “But I also need to contact my boss at the DEA. He’s helping coordinate a federal case against Ortega’s brother-in-law, Ponce Gruber. The Feds made a deal with Gruber in exchange for the information it took to get me inside Ortega’s organization. Only I think Gruber double-crossed both of us, and it almost cost me my life.”
“How so?”
“A man showed up at Ortega’s place down in Mexico. I arrested him three years ago and watched him go to prison. I knew he and Gruber were in the same prison, but what I didn’t know was that Garza was going to get early release. I’m guessing Gruber told him to reconnect with Ortega and hope that he would recognize whoever the DEA had sent undercover. That way Gruber was off the hook both ways. He’d made his deal with the Feds. It wouldn’t be his fault if it didn’t work out. And he’d pointed Jose Garza in my direction, knowing if the undercover agent was someone Garza knew, then Ortega would have him or her killed. Either way, Gruber was going to be a winner. And if I don’t show up to tell them what he did, then Gruber misses the death penalty he deserves.”
“What about Ortega? Are you sure he’s dead?”
Kelly sighed. “No. Only that I hurt him bad. If he is alive, I have enough evidence linking the two to put both of them beneath six feet of Mother Earth. And if Ortega is alive and he finds out that I didn’t drown, he will do everything in his power to make sure I don’t get to Washington, D.C., alive.”
“What are you going to do?”
“May I use your phone?”
Quinn sighed. “Be my guest.”
Kelly picked up the receiver and made the call. Her fingers were shaking as she punched in the numbers. She hated being weak. Then Quinn McCord moved into her line of vision as he sat down in the chair across from the bed. He’d seen her weak and naked. How much worse could this get?
“Michael Forest speaking.”
The male voice in her ear made her jump. She’d been so busy thinking about the Ranger that she’d almost forgotten she’d made the call.
“Captain Forest, it’s Kelly.”
There was a soft gasp on the other end of the line; then Kelly heard the delight in her boss’s voice.
“Kelly! Thank God! We had intelligence leading us to believe you were dead.”
Kelly sighed. “You weren’t so far off the truth.”
“Are you all right? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. As for where I am, let’s just say I’m no longer in deep water. I called to let you know that I’ll be in D.C. on July 15 as planned.”
“Fantastic. What about Ortega?”
/>
“I might have killed him.”
There was a moment of silence; then Michael Forest spoke, but this time the elation was gone from his voice.
“What did he do to you?”
“I’m in one piece. Leave it at that.”
Reluctance was heavy in his voice. “Okay, but—”
“There’s something else you need to know,” Kelly said. “I think Gruber double-crossed us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he incarcerated in the same prison as a man named Jose Garza?”
“I don’t know. I can find out. Why?”
“I helped put a man named Jose Garza in prison about three years ago. He had a five-year sentence, but apparently they turned him out after three. He was one of Ortega’s men. The first place he went when he got out was back to the fold, so to speak.”
“Son of a—”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction,” Kelly said.
“How did you find out?”
“Garza showed up at Ortega’s, recognized me, of course, and that was pretty much it.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Kelly. We didn’t know.”
“Just make sure that Gruber knows his deal is screwed. I want him to think about how many ways there are to die while he’s waiting for his trial.”
Forest sighed. “If I tell him that, then he’s going to know that you’re alive…and that you’re going to testify against him.”
“I know.”
“I’m not going to do it, so get over the notion. Please, Kelly. Let me send some men to bring you in. We’ll put you in a safe house until the trial.”
Kelly looked up, eyeing the long-legged Texan with the stubborn jut to his chin, and stifled a smile.
“I’m in a safe house already. Just look for me at the trial.”
She hung up as Michael Forest continued to argue.
Quinn leaned forward without taking his gaze from her face.
Kelly stared back, judging the man without finding him wanting.
Quinn was silently pleased that Kelly considered herself safe with him. He didn’t stop to think about why that mattered, only that it satisfied something inside him to know there was, at the least, trust between them now.
“Your head is still bleeding,” Quinn said.
Kelly lifted a hand to her forehead, frowning as her fingers came away sticky with blood.
“You also need your cuts tended, but all I have is some antibiotic cream and a bottle of alcohol.”
Kelly hesitated. If she was going to trust him, then that meant all the way.
“So do what you can,” she said, and pulled the T-shirt over her head, then held it in front of her like a shield.
Quinn tried to hide his surprise, but without success. The knot in his belly tightened. Didn’t she have any idea what the sight of a beautiful, naked woman did to a man?
She sat, watching him without moving.
He sighed. Obviously not.
“I’ll just get the stuff,” he muttered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Yeah, well…lucky for you, lady. Personally, I’m going out of my mind.
Wisely, Quinn kept his thoughts to himself as he began to clean her wounds.
“Are you in Galveston on a case?”
Quinn frowned and thrust a dry washcloth into her hands. “Sit still,” he said. “You’ll make me get alcohol in your eyes.”
She held the washcloth near her hairline, trying not to squeal as he poured the antiseptic liquid onto the cut in her scalp. Damn, but it burned.
“Well…are you?” she persisted.
“I told you, I was fishing,” Quinn said.
She waited, sensing there was more.
Quinn surprised himself by telling her the rest, from the moment of his partner’s death to his boss telling him to take a vacation or he would fire his ass.
She sighed. That was the hell of working with someone day in and day out for years.
“Survivor’s guilt,” she said.
Quinn paused in the act of dabbing antibiotic ointment on some cuts on her back. “What?”
“You’re alive and he’s not. Survivor’s guilt.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Quinn snapped.
“You said you’d called him to meet you at the bar, right?”
The hair on the back of Quinn’s arms suddenly crawled. He put the cap back on the ointment, then sat down on the side of the bed—too stunned to speak.
Kelly laid a hand on Quinn’s knee.
“If you hadn’t called him, he wouldn’t have been shot, right?”
Quinn started to shake. He couldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t look at her. Damn the woman. How had she known something this personal…something he had yet to face?
“It’s what you think. It’s what you believe, isn’t it, Quinn?”
He looked down at the floor. There was a thin spot in the carpet near the foot of the bed. It reminded him of the bald spot on the back of Frank’s head. Frank had been using some of that hair regeneration stuff, trying to grow it back.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.
Kelly sighed. “Yes, I do. May I remind you that you’re not the only cop who’s ever lost a partner?”
He looked up at her then, unaware there were tears in his eyes.
“You too?”
“My fifth year on the job. I still dream about it sometimes. It doesn’t go away, but I know now it wasn’t my fault. It’s part of the job, McCord. Your partner knew it, and you know it, too.” Then she stood, a little shaky, but determined. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything in this place to eat? I haven’t eaten in almost three days.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Holy hell, woman. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
She almost smiled. “I guess I was too busy defending my naked self from your lecherous gaze.”
Indignation shifted within Quinn, driving the grief into a darker part of his mind.
“I did not lech at you.”
“Then turn around while I put this back on,” Kelly said. As soon as he turned around, she pulled the T-shirt back over her head.
His anger felt good. At least now his focus was on her and not the brutality of his partner’s passing.
“So, is there anything to eat or not?” she asked.
Quinn turned, and as he did, the anger he was feeling suddenly faded. She’d done that on purpose. Without thinking, he reached out and cupped the side of her face.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Kelly allowed herself the luxury of his hand against her face long enough to nod; then she moved away. There was no sense in going all gooey on a man like McCord.
“You’re welcome. Now, about that food?”
“I’ve got a friend in town. His name is Daryl Connelly. He’s a retired Texas Ranger and I’d trust him with my life. If you’ll let me give him a call, we can have food within the hour.”
Kelly’s stomach growled as her knees went weak. She sank back onto the bed, too shaky to stand.
“Make the call,” she said. “And tell him to hurry.”
* * *
Dominic Ortega was alive.
It had taken less than thirty minutes for his men to get another boat, then get him to a waiting chopper. They’d transported him to a private clinic run by a man who’d done business with them before.
The doctor had removed the knife from his chest in the operating room, repaired the damage, then dosed Ortega with enough painkillers to drop a horse to its knees. Ortega was breathing on his own and feeling no pain. The men standing guard outside his room made no attempt to hide their weapons. It was to the doctor’s advantage that Ortega did not die in his facility.
And so the wait began. Just before midnight, a nurse noticed movement beneath his eyelids and called for the doctor, who came on the run. Moments later, Dominic Ortega came to, muttering the same name over and over again.
“Kelly… Kelly Sloan… Ke
lly Sloan.”
The doctor looked to one of Ortega’s men for an explanation.
“Is she family? Is she someone we should call?” he asked.
Ortega inhaled. “No. She is someone we should kill.” Then he moaned as pain shattered his concentration.
* * *
Daryl Connelly watched the leggy brunette tip the cup of soup sideways, trying to spoon out the last bit of liquid, then grinned when she gave up in disgust and drank it instead.
“Quinn didn’t tell me how much you enjoyed your food or I would have brought more.”
Kelly eyed the pile of empty throwaway containers from the Hungry Wok as she seriously considered his offer, then shook her head.
“Better not,” she said. “I don’t want to overdo.”
“Uh…yeah…right,” Daryl said, and looked to Quinn for reassurance that he’d done the right thing.
Quinn grinned at the rangy, gray-haired ex-Ranger. It was time to explain.
“She hasn’t eaten for three days,” he said.
Daryl frowned. “You hadn’t oughta go on any diet, missy. You look just fine the way you are.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said, as she cracked open a fortune cookie. “Hmm…says here I’ll meet the man of my dreams.” She waved the tiny slip of paper in the air and grinned at Daryl. “I always did favor an older man.”
Daryl turned red.
Quinn laughed.
Kelly ate the fortune cookie in one bite.
“She’s not dieting, Daryl. She’s DEA. Let’s just say that a case she was working went sour, okay?”
Daryl eyed her with new respect. “Is that true?”
Kelly frowned. The fewer people who knew the truth about her, the better she would feel.
“Yes, but keep it to yourself, okay? I would really like them to think I drowned.”
This time it was Quinn who caught the brunt of Daryl’s gaze.
“You gonna get mixed up in this, too?” he asked.
Quinn shrugged. “I already am.”
“No, you’re not,” Kelly said. “And trust me when I say neither one of you wants to be a part of this.”
Quinn’s expression hardened. “I’m gonna excuse you for the insult on the grounds that you don’t know me, but I’m telling you now—and for the last time—you’re wrong. I am a part of this already. I became part of it when I pulled you out of the water, then took you away from the scene before the guys in that boat had a chance to see you.”
