by Mia Zachary
9
EMELIO’S HAND WAS REACHING under the pillow for his gun even before he’d come fully awake. The persistent buzzing noise had roused him from a fitful sleep. His heart thundered in his chest as he rolled off the bed into darkness, crouching below the level of the windows.
He had to move. In about thirty seconds, that buzzing would change to a high-pitched shriek of sound when the security alarm fully engaged. He had to get Stevie out of the house before whoever was breaking in found her.
At the end of the bed, his pulse shuddered as he bumped into another body. The smell of her sleep-warmed skin was the only thing that kept Stevie from getting knocked on her ass. She was crouched down, as well, and he could barely hear her whisper when she spoke.
“We’ve got visitors, Emelio.”
“Stay down. They may have nightscopes.”
He felt her tense beside him, but she remained low to the floor. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to do a quick recon, determine which way they’re coming in. Then I’ll get you out of here.”
“I’ll get myself out. You don’t know how many there are.”
“Stephanie—”
The buzzing ceased abruptly. The wires had been cut. It was the only way to deactivate the system from outside.
Emelio’s heart pounded as adrenaline poured into his system. Should he uphold his honor or follow his instincts? He was torn between wanting to head off Braga’s minions and needing to keep Stevie safe.
Honor be damned, just once. This was his chance to get back in the game. “Stay here.”
Her hiss of protest was immediate. “No way!”
The backup alarm would go off any second now, flooding the grounds with light and alerting the intruders they’d been caught. He grabbed her arm, whispering harshly. “I mean it, Stevie. I don’t want to shoot you in the dark.”
“Damn it, Emelio. I can do my job! I’ve been trained—”
He gave her a gentle push, knocking her on her ass after all. “You can tell me about your Hostile Infiltration classes later. Right now, I have to know you’ll be safe. Stay here.”
Gripping the .45 caliber tightly, he jogged barefoot out of the bedroom and along the gloomy hallway. Listening carefully, he cursed the light color of his sleep pants—the pale fabric would easily be seen in the darkness.
There. Emelio jerked his head in the direction of a slight scraping noise. They had gotten through the pool enclosure and were now trying to gain entrance to the house itself. He flicked the safety off the Ruger and headed for the back door, praying his footsteps weren’t as loud as they sounded in his mind.
The intruders probably thought the alarm system was already disabled, not realizing that as soon as the wire was tripped a call went out to the local authorities. He just hoped he got to them before the cops came. He was spoiling for a fight and he needed whatever information he could either overhear or beat out of someone.
Suddenly, the backup alarm screamed to life and floodlights turned the night into high noon. He took advantage of the intruder’s surprise-induced paralysis and flung the door open. In the moment they stood face-to-face, Emelio determined that the guy was alone at this entrance, he wasn’t one of Braga’s regular henchmen, and that he was under the influence.
The intruder spun around and dashed across the lanai. Moment over. Emelio was hard on his heels when the guy caught his leg against one of the lounge chairs. It was all Emelio needed to get hold of a fistful of black turtleneck and yank the guy off his feet.
“Where are the others?”
“There’s nobody—”
He rapped the intruder’s jaw with the barrel of the gun to ensure his undivided attention. Judging by how dilated the guy’s pupils were, Emelio had to be certain he was getting through.
“Answer me! Where are they?”
“I came alone, I swear! There’s no one else.”
Screeech. A terra-cotta planter scraped against the patio tile. His breath caught as he automatically turned toward the sound. He was an open target, standing here under the lights in his pajamas. Scanning the perimeter, Emelio damned his inability to see past the floodlights.
Shards of glass rained onto the lanai when he shot out the halogen bulbs above the pool. A second later, the darkness exploded into a thousand stars of pain when the intruder’s knee connected with his groin. Emelio fought the nausea as he cupped himself and staggered back a step. His attacker gave him a hard shove then took off again, flying through the propped-open door to the pool enclosure.
Every fiber of Emelio’s being urged him to follow the guy onto the beach. But both his injury and his concern for Stevie made him hesitate. He shouldn’t have left her unprotected. As he turned to go back inside the cottage, however, a pale blur of motion caught his eye.
Madre de Dios. None of Braga’s men had short blond hair or long, shapely legs or wore his pajama shirt to bed. He hobbled after Stevie, cursing savagely. He was going to kill her if those guys didn’t do it first. She was running flat out along the dunes…toward the intruder.
Despite the fear stabbing his gut, he also felt a surge of pride because damned if she wasn’t gaining on the guy. With a leap right out of an action movie, she made a flying tackle and finally brought him down. The two of them were wrestling on the ground when the intruder suddenly delivered a blow to Stevie’s solar plexus. As she sank to her knees, the guy got up and sprinted toward the surf.
Rage added fuel to his stride as Emelio raced over the sand. She was hurt. That bastard had punched her and, in doing so, made the worst mistake of his life. He lost precious seconds while he checked on Stevie, who was gasping like a fish out of water. Knowing from experience that she’d be fine in a minute, he tore ass after her assailant.
The wail of sirens carried on the night air. Time was running out. It was a one-in-a-hundred shot, given the fifteen yards between them, but Emelio took it. The report was still echoing when the intruder stumbled, grabbing his leg where the slug ripped through his left thigh.
Emelio closed the distance and stood over the guy, the Ruger trained for a second shot if necessary. He swiftly checked the surroundings again. Either this guy really is alone or the others had gotten in the wind. Fixing his gaze on the wounded man, he called over to Stevie.
“You have to get up.” A quick glance told him she hadn’t moved. Or that she couldn’t. “Get up, Jayne! I know it hurts, but you’ve got to go and stall the cops.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her finally raise her head and look in his direction. She struggled to her feet, bracing her palms on her hips and still gasping for air. She only managed a single word.
“Why?”
“I need answers and the Collier County sheriff isn’t going to like how I get them.”
IT LOOKED SO MUCH EASIER in the James Bond movies.
Standing at the living-room window, watching the ambulance and police cruisers pull out of the driveway, Stevie gingerly rubbed the aching bruise on her abdomen.
After emerging through the French doors from the bedroom, she’d dashed around the hot tub and across the patio. The terra-cotta planter was heavier than it looked, but she’d finally moved it and vaulted the brick wall.
She’d been so proud of herself when she caught the bad guy on the beach behind the house. Then he’d knocked the breath out of her and all of her training fled. The blow had brought memories as well as pain.
Doubled over on the sand, she’d felt completely vulnerable. Again. And that had sent her temper soaring. After insisting to Emelio that she could handle herself, the first chance to put theory into practice had been a dismal failure.
At least the other guy looked worse. Their midnight visitor was sporting a blackened eye, a busted lip and a bullet in the leg. Despite all of that, the intruder kept denying any connection to Braga.
After finding night-vision goggles and burglar’s tools in the prowler’s backpack, the sheriff’s deputies had also located a dinghy hidden in
the tall grass near the shore. Since there had been a rash of break-ins around Naples over the past few months, the sheriff chose to believe the most obvious explanation. Case closed.
Emelio wasn’t buying it, though. She felt the anger and frustration radiating off him in hot waves. “Get packed, Stevie. We’re out of here.”
“Where are we—?”
“Virgen de la Caridad!” His eyebrows slammed together in a scowl. “Could you just once follow instructions?”
She’d never seen him like this—he’d never directed real anger toward her before. Stevie hated to admit that her first instinct was a rush of fear and the urge to recoil. It lasted less than a second, but that gut reaction, after working so hard to outrun her past, was enough to set her temper off again.
“Kiss my ass, Emelio. If I had followed instructions, we never would have caught that guy.”
Oh, had she hit a raw target. The color drained from his face even as fire lit his amber-green eyes, but he visibly struggled to rein in his own temper. That show of self-control completely dissolved any lingering fear and gave her the green light to get right in his face.
“Never split up the team when you have no idea what you’re up against. That’s the first thing we learned in my Urban First Response class. Lucky for us he was just a burglar!”
“You and your goddamn classes. You can take paramilitary international super-spy courses from now until you die, but they’ll never replace common sense or instincts honed from years of experience.”
“How am I supposed to gain any experience with you constantly trying to shut me in a cushioned box?”
“You could start by taking advice, orders and directions.”
She knew she’d screwed up tonight and that she was damn lucky that guy didn’t work for Braga. The bruises would be painful reminders over the next few days. But she still resented the fact that he didn’t consider her a real partner.
“You know what your problem is? You always have to be the hero. You’re not happy unless the weight of the world is on your oh-so-responsible shoulders. It just kills you not to be in control!”
“Look who’s talking!” The closed-off expression on Emelio’s face told her he was still struggling with his temper. “No, Stephanie, what killed me was seeing you get hurt. How do you think I felt watching that guy punch you, knowing it could have been avoided if you had stayed in the bedroom…”
His gaze dropped to where her hand still soothed the bruises. Then the anger drained from his expression and he closed his eyes briefly. “It wouldn’t have happened if I’d done my job.”
Her own defensiveness faded, as well, and she reached out to touch his arm. “What is this really about?”
“I should have protected you.” Emelio brushed his fingers along her cheek. “With the exception of some phone calls and a little Internet searching, I haven’t been able to do much on this case. So tonight, when given the chance to find out the extent of Braga’s threat, I made the wrong choice.”
She dropped her chin, tilting her face to the palm of his hand. “You’re not the only one who made a wrong choice. As usual, I followed my impulses. I wanted so badly to prove myself, to show you I could do the job, that I put myself in danger. It’s my own fault that I got hurt.”
Emelio opened his arms and she moved gratefully into his embrace. She laid her cheek against his bare chest, felt the heat of his body melt away the tension.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’ve been worse. But I think I’m going to have to turn in my secret-agent decoder ring.” It had been an emotionally draining day and all she really wanted was to go back to sleep. But they had several hours of driving ahead.
“So, where are we going, chér?”
“Back to Miami. We’re going to hide in plain sight.”
THEY’D TAKEN THE INTERSTATE highway this time, but Emelio still wouldn’t let her drive. So Stevie had slept for the past two hours, waking up as they exited I-95 South and turned onto Seventh Street.
“Where are we?”
“Little Havana. I keep a place here.”
She shook her head and brushed at the wrinkles in the leaf-green skirt she’d grabbed off the bedroom floor before they left. “Let me get this straight. You keep a ‘cottage’ in Naples. And now I find out that you also keep ‘a place’ in Little Havana. Even though you already have a home in Coral Gables.”
“Don’t worry, the lease isn’t under my name. It’s like a safe house. We use the apartment to meet with informants or to baby-sit witnesses before they testify.”
She rubbed an ache in her neck, the result of sleeping with her head against the Jeep’s passenger window. “You know, most people keep pets, not real estate.”
“Real estate doesn’t chew up the furniture.”
As they drove along, Stevie caught glimpses of crowded sidewalks and still-lit storefronts from between concrete buildings painted in colors like turquoise, lime and white. “Is it always this lively at two o’clock in the morning?”
“Last night was viernes culturales. On the last Friday of every month, Calle Ocho, Southwest Eighth Street, hosts a street festival with dancing, art displays and sidewalk vendors.”
Music seemed to surround her. Heavy bass beats erupted from passing cars while fiery merengue melodies beckoned from nightclubs. Street signs announced their location in English and en Español. The air smelled of unfamiliar spices and excitement. It wasn’t so much like driving into another part of Miami as entering a different world.
A few minutes and several turns later, Emelio parked in front of a coral-orange building. On the corner was a small grocer, what he called una bodega. He promised to get café Cubano and guava pastries when the store opened in a few hours. Stevie followed him up the narrow stairs to a clean but musty third-floor apartment.
She looked around at the cramped living room, tiny kitchen and short hallway leading to a single bedroom. The layout wasn’t much different from her own apartment, but the bare walls and sparse furnishings made it clear no one really lived here.
“Make yourself at home, such as it is.”
“Oh, I don’t know, chér. With a few plants, a good dusting and some cheap travel posters, this place would perk right up.”
Emelio put her suitcase and the duffel bag he’d packed near the lumpy-looking sofa and set his laptop computer on the small desk. While he unstrapped his shoulder holster, she went over to open the terrace door and let in some fresh air.
Stevie stood on the narrow wrought-iron balcony, looking down on the darkened street and listening to the rhythmic percussion of numerous drums and the fainter strumming of guitars. She cocked her head when she sensed Emelio behind her.
“What is that music?”
“That’s a rumba, a Cuban jam-session party. Delgado’s is just over on Sixth.” He draped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “The band is just warming up. Some nights they play until dawn.”
“Now that sounds like a great idea.” Stevie turned to wrap her arms behind his neck, gently rubbing her pelvis across his.
A slight smile of amused interest pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Dawn isn’t for another five hours.”
“That’s plenty of time for black-lace letter number seven.”
In my fantasy, my body is covered with nothing but the elements and you. A sultry summer night’s breeze is all that comes between us as we make love on the lawn. My heartbeat quickens with the thrill of getting caught….
“Sorry, Stephanie. It’s a little chilly out here and there’s no grass—”
“Spoilsport.”
Emelio moved forward, trapping her between the hard metal rail and the hard heat inside his jeans. He bent his head to nibble the side of her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’ll take you right here on the balcony, right now.”
A gasp of surprise and excitement escaped her. It was just a fantasy—she never thought he’
d actually be willing. But if Emelio wanted to try it… She moaned as he cupped her breast.
“Turn around, Stephanie. I’ll lean you over the railing, lift your skirt and pull your panties to one side. Then I’ll push myself inside you, taking you hard and fast and deep, until you scream your orgasm into the night.”
Stevie felt dampness flood the apex of her thighs as her pulse thundered along her veins. Her body was on fire from wanting him, vibrating with lust. She clasped the sides of his face and gave him a kiss that branded his taste onto her lips.
When she finally came up for air, he looked at her with desire and something more in his expression. Fatigue. She couldn’t ignore how tired she was, either, and so she offered him a conciliatory smile. “Number seven can wait for another time. Maybe you’d rather go inside and be comfortable on the bed.”
“Hmm. There’s a lot to be said for the comfortable approach. I can undress you completely, then take my time kissing every single inch of your beautiful body. I’ll make love to you slowly, thoroughly, until you come apart in my arms.”
Emelio took Stevie’s hand and led her through the apartment, stopping only to grab a condom from his duffel bag. In the small bedroom, they stripped quickly and kissed slowly. He brushed his lips over hers, savoring their velvet warmth. She pressed closer, opening to the gentle invasion of his tongue.
Unlike their last encounter, when fulfilling her fantasy in black-lace letter number six had damn near drowned them both in the cottage pool, Emelio took his time seducing her. The heat between them built gradually, a warm glow as opposed to a raging fire, the heat of tenderness as well as desire.
He eased her onto the bed then joined her on the thin cotton quilt. Stevie reached for him in the muted light filtering through the heavy curtains. She whispered encouragement as his body covered hers and she arched her hips to meet him. He entered her in one smooth motion, merging their bodies in the darkness.
Emelio supported his weight on his elbows, watching her face as he flexed inside her. Even in the dim light, he could see the emotion in her gaze. Stevie’s hands caressed his naked back, her touch telling him all he needed to know. Together they found their unique rhythm, urging each other to greater depths of desire.
