by Kaylea Cross
Her brave front faltered as they neared the elevator doors. From the location and biometric scanners outside it, this wasn’t an ordinary elevator. They were taking her to somewhere ultra secure, maybe a holding cell, and once they put her in it she might never get out again.
The ability to mask her fear crumbled. “No,” she shouted, twisting in their grip. She started babbling, didn’t even realize she’d slipped into frantic Spanish until Lockhart stepped in front of her and halted the other agents.
Piercing, pale blue eyes locked on hers. “Calm down.”
Normally anyone saying that to her would make her bristle, but his tone was so calm it snapped her out of her momentary panic. And, if she was honest, he wasn’t hard to look at with those angular features and sculpted muscles stretching his T-shirt.
Not that she intended for him ever to know that she found him attractive. The man had been as cold as ice to her so far. She stared back at him now, still wary but willing to listen to him, because he had been tasked with her safety, and he didn’t strike her as a man who would take his job lightly.
“We’re taking you upstairs for questioning. Your mother is being questioned as well. When you’re both finished, you’ll see her. So the sooner you settle down and cooperate, the sooner you’ll see her.”
He could be lying. But she considered herself to be a good judge of people’s character—except when it came to her father, who she now realized she’d never actually known—and Lockhart seemed sincere. Her gut said she could trust him, at least in this.
Relaxing slightly, she nodded once. “All right.”
Rowan was coming. She would be able to fix this whole mess.
The agents took her into an isolated room at the end of a guarded hallway. The windows were frosted so she couldn’t see out.
Her heart thudded erratically and her palms were clammy as she sat in the chair indicated. They left her alone except for Lockhart, who stood guard next to the door to her left, his arms folded across his chest, feet braced apart. Even though he didn’t say anything, she took comfort in his presence. If he stayed with her, they wouldn’t hurt her. Instinctively she knew he would protect her from harm, no matter what his personal feelings toward her were.
A few minutes later two people came in, a man and a woman, both wearing business suits. They sat opposite her, opened a folder and began the questions. Or rather, the interrogation. That’s what it felt like. Back and forth they went, firing question after question at her, trying to trip her up, get her to falter on her story. Where she’d gotten the phone. Who she’d been in contact with. What she’d told her former bodyguard. Where Arturo might be now.
Oceane stayed firm on her version of events, because it was the truth. Their tech people were analyzing the phone right now. Even with its encryption, it was only a matter of time before they cracked it. They would be able to trace every call from the device, and where each originated from. Now that they knew about the phone and her contact with Arturo, she had nothing more to hide.
The truth shall set you free. That was the saying in English.
In this case, a version that was close to the truth would do the same. That way she could protect her mother and still come across as truthful. Yet another useful lesson she’d been taught at a young age.
Finally the agents paused, both of them watching her, expecting her to sweat. She was far calmer inside now than she had been when they’d brought her here. They weren’t going to torture or starve her. But she was afraid of what they might threaten her mother with if Oceane didn’t cooperate fully. So she gave as much information as she dared, as close to the truth as she could.
A knock on the door interrupted the staring contest. Oceane glanced over as it opened and Rowan strode in. Her posture was rigid, her expression the furthest thing from friendly as she turned her gaze on Oceane.
“You’re up to speed?” the male agent asked her.
“I heard everything,” Rowan said, the chill in her voice sending a thread of warning winding through Oceane. Rowan stepped behind the two agents and faced her, that deep blue gaze penetrating. “You know what happened last night?”
Oceane glanced between her and the agents in confusion, then shook her head. “No, what?”
Rowan’s eyes turned cold. “Someone planted a bomb in my car while I was working.”
Cold fingers wrapped around Oceane’s stomach and squeezed. “Oh…”
“My brother was nearly killed in the explosion. He underwent emergency surgery last night and is in the intensive care unit right now.”
Oceane blanched, even as her heart beat faster. “I’m so sorry.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched and she drew a deep breath, never breaking eye contact. “You told your bodyguard about me.”
Because she trusted Arturo more than anyone here. “Well, yes—”
“He found out where my office was.”
“I—”
“And then funny enough, my car gets bombed.”
Oceane shook her head slowly, a fresh wave of anxiety building inside her. They thought she was behind it. That she had helped set this up. “I knew nothing about this. And it wasn’t Arturo.”
“And why are you so sure of that?” the male agent demanded.
Oceane met his gaze. “Because he would never harm an innocent, and he wants to protect me. He would never do anything that might jeopardize my safety.” He wasn’t stupid. And he was as loyal to her as she was him.
“But you said he used to work for your father,” the man pointed out.
“Yes, but that was years ago. He’s been with me since I was fifteen. He wouldn’t risk my safety here by doing something like that.”
“Not even with the amount of money your father was privately paying him?”
“No. Never.”
The agents and Rowan looked unconvinced. She risked a glance over at Lockhart, still posted beside the door. He was watching her too, but his expression was thoughtful instead of cold.
“The FBI and DEA are going to find out who planted that bomb,” Rowan said, drawing Oceane’s attention back to her. “And if they find out you were involved, any deals made with you and your mother are null and void.”
“Do you understand what that means?” the female agent asked.
Oceane flushed. She may have an accent, but her English was excellent, and she was far smarter than anyone here appeared to think. “Yes.”
“Not only that,” Rowan continued, “you’ll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. If convicted, you’ll do hard time in a Federal prison. The same goes for your mother.”
Oceane’s chest constricted. They wouldn’t find any evidence linking her or Arturo to the bombing. But her mother? She didn’t know. Since that awful night of the attack she’d seen a whole new person emerge in place of her mother’s laid-back, affectionate self. Could she have done this? Leaked information to someone within the cartel or even contacted Oceane’s father? Because from what she’d learned in the past few days, he was certainly capable of ordering the assassination of a federal attorney.
“It could have been Ruiz,” she protested.
“He’s been locked up tight in a federal penitentiary for months now,” the male agent said.
“If he’s still alive, then he can still get orders out.”
None of the others argued the point. Because everyone knew a man like Ruiz was still dangerous, even behind bars.
“Our agents are exploring all avenues,” the male agent told her.
“Is there anything you’d like to add to your statements?” the woman asked.
“No. When can I see my mother?”
“When we decide neither one of you were involved in the bombing.”
A heavy weight pressed down on her chest, slowly compressing her ribs. She’d run here to save herself and her mother, in the hope of starting a new life. Instead she’d run into a trap that was closing in on her with every passing hour.
Chapter Fourteen
&n
bsp; “So do you believe her? That she wasn’t involved with the bombing?” Malcolm asked Rowan as he drove them back to his place. The first thing he’d said to her since leaving DEA headquarters ten minutes ago.
Glad that the stony silence was broken, she answered honestly. “At this point I don’t know what to think.”
Every time she thought of Oceane or Anya being part of this nightmare, a fresh rush of fury shot through her veins. But as far as Rowan could tell, Oceane’s reaction to the question of involvement had been real, and so had her surprise about the bombing. Either that, or she was the best damn actress Rowan had ever seen. The FBI was going to polygraph her and her mother, so if either of them was lying, they’d find out soon enough.
But someone had tipped off the Veneno cartel that Oceane and her mother had been meeting with Rowan and her boss. If not Oceane or her mother, then who?
Adding to her irritation, Malcolm remained polite but remote, acting like they were mere acquaintances forced to spend time together, when last night he’d practically set her on fire with his kisses. Part of her was too exhausted and overwhelmed with everything else to attempt to break through the wall he’d put up between them. But another, larger part was desperate for him to let her in.
“We’ll get some answers soon,” he said.
“Not soon enough for my liking.” She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye as he drove. His left hand was on the steering wheel, his right forearm on the center armrest between them. If she reached for his hand, would he yank it away? She couldn’t take that kind of blatant rejection right now.
Where did she stand with him? He wanted her physically, but that was all? She couldn’t believe that. Not after all he’d done for her the past few days, the way he’d stepped up and volunteered to keep her safe. If it had only been physical for him, he could easily have brushed her off. So it had to run deeper than that.
She wracked her brain for the rest of the drive, trying to figure out where to go from here.
He opened the door for her and she walked inside, kicking her heels off and heading straight for the hallway, intending to go to her room and shut herself away for some privacy until she decided what to do about her and Malcolm.
The door locked behind her. Her stride faltered.
No.
The word reverberated in her head, so loud and clear it startled her, stopping her there at the start of the hallway.
Her entire body was on edge, all her emotions a chaotic, roiling mass in her chest. Seeing Kevin today, battered and far worse for wear but deeply in love with his partner despite their father’s obvious disapproval, had solidified something for her. For too long she’d lived her life towing the nearly unattainable line to gain his approval. His love.
That wasn’t love; it was a form of hostage situation.
For years she’d focused solely on school, then work, all in a pathetic and misguided attempt to make him love her. In the process she’d given up everything else, barely making time for her family, hardly ever seeing her friends, and had no one to come home to at night.
Now, outside of work, she really had no life. And when a good man like Malcolm had come along, what had she done? Shoved him away because she hadn’t known what to do with him and panicked like a frightened child. Worse, she hadn’t even recognized it for what it truly was until Malcolm had forced her to confront the truth last night.
She was no coward. And she was sick and tired of living a half-life, denying herself the chance of happiness when the only man she wanted was right behind her. Literally standing there behind her, and he not only was still attracted to her, he must still care about her on some level or he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.
Heart pounding, Rowan screwed up her courage and spun around to face him. Malcolm froze in the act of shrugging out of his shoulder holster, his body preternaturally still as he met her stare. Watching her warily, correctly reading her intent.
Just the sight of him set her pulse racing. And God it was sexy, knowing that he’d willingly placed himself between her and any danger to her safety.
Her bare feet were almost silent on the hardwood floor as she walked toward him, her steps slow, measured. Without breaking eye contact he slowly set his holster on the kitchen counter. His posture was tense, his expression unreadable as he watched her.
She walked right up to him, ignoring the quiver of uncertainty in her gut. It was time to be bold, take what she wanted, and go from there.
“Rowan…” he began in a warning tone.
She ignored that too, reaching up to curl a hand around his nape as she lifted on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, the need to restore their connection obliterating everything else. His lips were smooth and firm beneath hers, the shape of them so familiar as she poured her feelings into the kiss.
Malcolm resisted for a second, then made a deep, dark sound and plunged his hands into her hair, his mouth slanting over hers as he took control of the kiss.
Rowan moaned in combined pleasure and relief, letting the sensations cascade through her. At least he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
The kiss was all heat and hunger, his tongue stroking hers with urgent need. He was hot and hard all over, the unmistakable ridge of his erection stretching the front of his jeans. No more waiting. She was finally going to do all the things she’d fantasized about him over the past year. Explore the kind of intimacy she’d craved but had been too afraid to risk.
Her free hand curled around the sculpted contour of his muscled shoulder, the coiled strength beneath her fingers making her dizzy with arousal. She’d meant to turn him, flip their positions and press him back against the island to take control back, but her brain short-circuited the moment he fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, his wicked mouth sliding over the sensitive skin at the side of her neck.
Before she could gather a single coherent thought, he locked an arm around her hips and popped her off her feet, carrying her a few steps to the nearest wall where he pinned her with the strength and weight of his body.
A shaky, startled moan bubbled out of her at the raw show of dominance. Before, he’d kept this side of him tempered, hiding it beneath a hot tenderness that she’d enjoyed, but ultimately had left her frustrated. This was what she’d sensed beneath the surface. This forceful and passionate side of him was what she’d been craving all along.
Now she couldn’t get close enough. Rowan grabbed hold of his wide shoulders for balance, frustrated by her snug skirt as she fought to wind her legs around his hips.
Malcolm captured her jaw in one hand, bringing her eyes to his. His burned with a primal light that made her shiver. “I didn’t want to want you anymore,” he rasped out, his jaw taut with residual anger or resentment.
Her heart stuttered, the fear of rejection rising sharply, but then immediately covered her mouth with his, his tongue plunging between her lips in a claiming that sent a hot bolt of arousal through her. The fear receded.
She met him stroke for stroke, arching into his body, every nerve ending fizzing like champagne. She was already wet, aching for him, her breasts swollen and sensitive, rubbing her hips against him to ease the ache between her thighs.
Breathing hard, Malcolm lifted his head a moment later to stare down at her with molten chocolate eyes. “But I can’t keep my hands off you,” he half-growled, his voice laced with accusation.
“Good.” It was a start. Something she could use to crack through his defenses. He stilled, his body going rigid as she slid one hand down his chest, over his clenched abdomen, watching his eyes. Then lower, to the thick bulge in his jeans. She had to reach him, had to touch his heart, and if this was the only way he’d allow it to happen, then she would take it.
He sucked in a sharp breath that sounded almost tortured. “Fuck. Rowan.” He dropped his head to the side of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin. Fighting his need.
She wouldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t allow him to shut
her out or turn away now.
Unwinding her legs, she let her feet slide to the floor to give her more room, her mouth busy nipping at the edge of his taut jaw, the pulse hammering in his throat. A low, warning growl rumbled up from his chest when she slid the button at the top of his fly undone. But he made no move to stop her.
Emboldened, she slid her hand beneath the denim, inside the cotton of his underwear to grasp his hard, thick length. He was hot in her hand, swollen to bursting.
His breath halted, his hips surging forward when she squeezed him, dragging a helpless moan from somewhere deep in his chest. She’d imagined this moment so many times, couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, filling her, taking away the empty feeling and replacing it with pleasure.
The sound of their quickened breathing filled the air. He pulsed in her grip, triggering an answering empty ache between her legs. She continued kissing his neck, dragging her tongue up the side as she stroked him with her fist, remembering how he liked it. They’d done this before, a long time ago in a heated rush in the front seat of his truck, but there were so many other things she’d wanted to do to him and never gotten the chance. Tonight, she wasn’t stopping until she had all of him.
Malcolm stood stock still before her, his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath while she worked him, her other hand shoving his T-shirt up so that her mouth could slide over the flexed power of his pecs. She paused to dart her tongue across one tight nipple, dragging another groan out of him, sucked lightly before trailing down, down, sinking to her knees in front of him, her back and hips bolstered by the wall.
Nipping at the tense muscles in his abdomen, she glanced up at his face. He stared down at her with an expression of pure masculine hunger, his flexed forearms braced on the wall, hands knotted into fists.
He wanted this. So badly that he couldn’t pull away now. Clearly fighting the need to shove his pants down, grab her head and bring her mouth to him. She didn’t want him to fight it.
Her heart thundered against her ribs as she held his gaze and reached up to grasp his left arm, pulling it down. When it was level with her head she turned her face into his hand and nuzzled him, rubbing her hot cheek against his palm.
