by Mia Zachary
“It should have, but things are never simply black-and-white.” He massaged his temples with an unsteady hand, his voice shaking with self-disgust.
Emelio sat back down on the arm of the sofa. Old guilt and new combined to open a wound that had never really healed. What he’d done was unprofessional, unforgivable, and Lina had paid the ultimate price for his mistake.
“I confided in Alex, told him how it had all gone wrong. He put Lina under twenty-four-hour surveillance, but she still managed to contact her cousin.”
Stevie stopped in front of him. “Her cousin?”
“Braga.”
Her expression reflected utter disbelief then she glared at him. Both hands curled into fists. Her voice rose in accusation as she gave him a hard shove. “Damn you, Emelio. Damn you for lying to me!”
“What are you talking about?” He caught himself before he rolled backward off the sofa arm.
“You’ve known all along why Braga targeted me!”
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I didn’t know anything about the meeting—”
Stevie stabbed her index finger toward him. “Oh, come on! It never occurred to you that all of this was because of what you did?”
“Of course I thought Braga was trying to get back at me.” He pushed himself off the couch and got to his feet. “I got inside the cartel, helped to seize millions in assets and disrupt their business. But there’s no way I could have known he would come after you.”
“You knew Lina was Braga’s cousin. You slept with her and then turned her into an informant against him—”
“He’s the one who set her up with the laundering business in the first place. How could that possibly be related to you?” His thoughts were drifting like fog through his brain. Extreme fatigue was preventing him from making sense of things.
Stevie shook her head, as if he was missing some important point. She clasped her fingers together, visibly trying to maintain control. “I’m an intelligent woman. I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices and decisions. Yet you don’t trust me at all, do you?”
“That’s not it, Stephanie.” He reached for her, but she jerked her arm away. Though he understood, her rejection still hurt. “Lina accused me of using her, just like Braga did, and she was right. I was responsible for her, both personally and professionally. But she lost her life and my career at Justice was finished.”
He’d been carrying a deep sense of failure and the heavy burden of responsibility ever since. Guilt made him unsure of himself, made him second-guess his decisions. He wanted so badly to regain his honor, but wasn’t certain it was even possible after what he’d done.
Stevie’s eyes were the color of the deepest part of a cresting wave, where dark blue riptides build. “This is your chance to make things right. Not just for Lina, but for your sake as well. Weston is weak. We’ll confront him with the videotape and get him to help us get Braga.”
Emelio rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the dull headache pounding behind them. She hadn’t heard a word he said. Not about the danger or about her safety, not about his determination to protect her. None of it.
“We’re not confronting anybody. We have got to take this slowly and do a thorough investigation. I want to make sure that Braga can’t get off this time. That we take Weston down with him. And I want to make sure you live through it.”
Stevie cursed softly under her breath, frustration igniting her temper again. Why wouldn’t he understand that she couldn’t sit around wringing her hands? This wasn’t just a matter of control; it was a matter of survival.
“Just how long am I supposed to hide? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running. If Braga found us once, he can find us again. Let’s turn the tables and go after him.”
Emelio shook his head emphatically. “No, I can’t let you—”
“Why won’t you believe that I can handle this?”
“Your idea of handling this is right out of one of your movies. You’re strong, you’re smart. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. But you’ve still got a lot to learn. Rules and procedures ensure convictions. You can’t break or ignore them when someone’s life is at stake. I learned that the hard way, but you don’t have to.”
Though his words were without malice, they still cut. She turned away to avoid his eyes. He was questioning her ability again and, after getting hurt last night, she supposed he had every right to. All along she’d been bragging about her classes, but when she had the chance to put theory into practice… Embarrassment burned color onto her cheeks while an old, too familiar sense of inadequacy tightened her chest.
“I promised to keep you safe, Stephanie. That means keeping you as far away from Braga as possible. He’s ruthless enough to embroil an innocent young girl in his business, to put her in the line of fire. What do you think he’ll do to someone who can connect him with the State’s Attorney’s Office?”
Stevie didn’t answer, her attention caught by the television screen. The current news story was about the White Orchid Affair, a charity ball being held this evening. After the station went to commercial, she snapped off the set and focused on him.
“I’m sorry, Emelio. I know you’re trying to do what you think is right. I just feel so helpless and I hate that.”
He sighed and the tension between them eased. “I’m sorry too, but it has to be this way. No one outside of the SOD knows about this apartment so we should be safe for a while longer.” Emelio yawned hugely. “Listen, I’m not sharp enough right now. Give me an hour, will you? Then wake me up and I’ll arrange a search for that videotape.”
He would arrange to get the video. Which meant they weren’t going after it themselves. It had been hard enough being stuck in the cottage in Naples. She’d go crazy in this tiny apartment.
Her reluctance must have shown on her face because he held out his hand in invitation and in truce.
“I know you think I’m being unreasonable, Stephanie. But, now that we’ve found each other, I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know that. I feel the same way and I understand.”
She returned his embrace, felt the heat of his body and the beating of his heart against her cheek. Sadly, she really did understand. Emelio was trying so hard not to repeat the past that he was making yet another mistake. But she wasn’t going to argue with him anymore.
When she stepped back, Stevie saw that he was beyond tired. His eyes were dull and his face looked gaunt. Despite the resentment still simmering just below the surface, she was concerned about him. “You don’t look like you can go another five minutes without sleep.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty beat.” He readily accepted the arm she slid around his waist as she walked with him to the bedroom.
“Get some rest, chér. Things will look a lot different when you wake up.” She was careful not to make him suspicious, but something about that last news brief had sparked a memory and she planned to follow up on it without his interference.
Emelio didn’t bother removing his clothes before flopping facedown on the bed. Stevie lay down beside him, one hand soothing his back. His head no more than touched the pillow before he fell into an exhausted slumber. She waited a few minutes just to be sure he didn’t rouse.
She’d trusted him with her secrets and her heart. Yet Emelio had kept vital information from her all along. He’d mentioned an informant and a relationship, but hadn’t told her the connection. Men could be so dense about emotional matters. Braga’s need to avenge Lina was blatantly obvious to her.
The gleam on Emelio’s silver armor had been tarnished in her eyes. She was all for zealously working a case, but sleeping with an informant crossed the line. It was childish of her to feel as if he’d somehow let her down, but there it was.
Last night on the beach had been a less than stellar display of her skills, but she had the means to put Braga and Weston behind bars and she fully intended to do so. Damned if she’d spend the rest of her life looking ove
r one shoulder.
As Emelio snored softly into the pillow, she eased off the bed and found her shoes. A sense of loss settled heavily in her chest as she gazed at his sleeping features. Their newfound relationship would end once he realized she’d gone. Controlling men never liked it when a woman stood up for herself, especially not controlling men with good intentions.
Stevie loved him so much. But perhaps that love had been doomed from the start. She was too independent and Emelio was too protective. Going after Braga was something she had to do—it was the only way to protect the future. Someday Emelio might be a part of it again, but she didn’t think so.
Out in the living room, she hunted for his keys. After a couple of minutes, though, she gave up. They must still be in the pocket of his jeans. She’d have to do it the hard way.
Stevie grabbed her cell phone off the desk, dropping it into her purse. As she started to close it, the picture in the side pocket caught her eye. It was the photo from the movie set, the one Tiffnee had grabbed… Oh, no. Tiffnee had taken the picture before Emelio ever saw it.
She looked in the direction of the bedroom, uncertain of what to do. Emelio hadn’t lied to her. He didn’t know what Braga had seen in the picture, what the expression on his face revealed. Stevie huffed out a breath, shaking her head at this further complication. Maybe she should stay, wait for him to wake up and apologize.
But if she stayed, she’d lose precious time. She needed to act now, while Braga still thought he had them cornered. The White Orchid Ball was tonight and she had a lot to do before then. She pulled the photograph from her purse, torturing herself with the image of Emelio’s smoldering gaze.
That picture represented all that might have been possible. She left it on the sofa for him to find later. Then she walked out of the apartment, scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks as she stumbled down the stairs. She had to make the right choice for both of them. That meant making Braga pay for everything he’d done.
Stevie looked both ways on the sidewalk to make sure no one was watching. Grateful the Jeep window was partially open, she reached inside to pop the door lock and slide into the driver’s seat. After making sure the gearshift was in neutral, she casually reached beneath the steering column. Then she grabbed the pair of red wires and crossed them, just as Emelio had taught her.
The Jeep rumbled to life and she started to pull away from the curb when something occurred to her. Stevie got out and crouched down to feel under the passenger-side wheel well, just as Emelio had back in the parking garage in Miami. There, as she suspected, was a magnetic box with a spare set of keys. Good thing. She hadn’t looked forward to hot-wiring a stolen vehicle at the next gas station.
There was an awful grinding noise when she tried to shove the shifter into first gear. She’d confused the clutch and the brake. Finally, she got the hang of a manual transmission and, after a couple of wrong turns, found her way back to I-95. Once on the interstate, she settled in for the seventy-mile drive to the Stockton estate.
11
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Stevie turned onto Southern Boulevard and drove across Lake Worth onto the island of Palm Beach. Cruising along scenic South Ocean Boulevard, a low seawall separated the road from the champagne-colored sand on her right. On the left, palm trees and fifteen-foot hedges shielded the opulent estates from gaping tourists like her.
She pulled up to the gates of the Stockton compound, a European-style mansion with Italianate towers silhouetted against the pale blue sky. After a brief wait, a male, British-accented voice came over the intercom. “Yes? May I help you?”
“It’s Stephanie Madison from January Investigations. I’m here to check on a problem with the security cameras.”
“So sorry, but the Stocktons have flown to Bermuda for the weekend.”
Stevie grinned. This was going to be easier than she thought. She injected a note of outrage into her voice and pretended not to remember the good-looking, twentysomething Englishman. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The young Brit sputtered for a few seconds then responded with a little indignation of his own. “I am Maxwell, the Stockton’s butler and personal chef.”
“Not for long, Max. You’ve breached the safety measures by telling me your employers’ whereabouts. What if I were a thief casing the joint so I could rob it later? The Stocktons won’t be happy to find out how free you are with their information.”
An almost tangibly embarrassed silence followed. Stevie drummed her fingers on the Jeep’s door frame and frowned. Was he going for it or not?
“Listen, Max. We met back in December when I installed the new security cameras. I got a call saying there was some kind of malfunction so I need to do a systems check. On a beautiful Saturday afternoon, no less. So how about letting me in?”
Still he hesitated. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you not to inform my employers about all of this?”
She considered it for a second. If she promised to stay quiet, the butler might be more cooperative. But she couldn’t do it. She took her job and her clients’ safety too seriously to overlook the situation. “Sorry. There’s no way.”
A heavy sigh sounded over the intercom. “Just as well, really. I’d been thinking of giving notice.”
“Don’t worry, Max. Who wouldn’t want a personal chef? I could use some lunch myself.”
One hour and one hundred videotapes later, Stevie sat in the basement-level control room nibbling on the spinach-and-wild-mushroom ravioli Maxwell had whipped up for her.
Each of the cameras she’d installed had motion sensors and therefore only recorded when someone entered the room. It was a tedious process to check the actual contents against the label. The videos had been marked with the name of the room, but not any specific dates. At the moment she was reviewing footage from one of the upstairs bedrooms, namely the maid going in to take care of the room and then of Mr. Stockton going in to take care of the maid.
There it was! Stevie dropped her fork and jerked forward. She finally saw what she was looking for— Jack Weston walking in just ahead of Rogelio Braga. And the hidden camera’s microphone had picked up their conversation.
“I’m sorry, Señor Braga, but it’s not that easy. I’m taking a considerable risk—”
“No me vengas con tus pendejadas.” Braga’s tone was sharp and menacing.
“Um, excuse me?”
“I said, do not bother me with your bloody stupid problems. You are well aware I am not a man who easily forgives a debt.”
Weston seemed to pale as he shifted from one foot to the other. Stevie thought she heard him swallow hard on the audio recording. Then Braga spoke again.
“Your habit of betting on the wrong horses at Hialeah Park cannot be overlooked. Nor would the authorities ignore your other habit of accepting bribes to cover your losses.”
Weston bowed his head, his mouth drawn into the kind of frown worn by men who know they’re trapped.
“If you wish to clear your obligation to me, these two matters must be handled immediately. Failure will have unfortunate consequences.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.” Weston reluctantly offered his hand. Braga reached for it and, by the look on the Assistant State’s Attorney’s face, squeezed too hard. The door to the room swung wide just as Braga said, “Until the White Orchid then.”
Then Stevie saw herself in the drab-looking guard uniform she’d been forced to wear that night. She listened to her own voice saying, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but the upstairs of the house is off-limits to guests,” before stopping the tape.
She had them!
Or did she? Stevie replayed the segment of the tape, concentrating on the exact words. Weston obviously owed Braga, but there was no way to know how he was paying off the debt. Shit. It wasn’t enough.
The video certainly implicated Weston in illegal conduct; these two men had no rational excuse for being seen together. But Braga hadn’t said anything specific that could be used against
him. She’d have to gamble that she was right about where they would be tonight.
Stevie found a blank tape and prepared a copy of the video segment while she came up with a plan of action.
IT WAS AMAZING how quickly rage could wake a person up.
Emelio had slept longer than he’d intended, giving Stevie at least two hours head start. He had woken up with a sense that something was wrong. Alerted by the silence in the apartment, he’d wandered out to the living room to find Stevie long gone.
Damn good thing. He would never in his life strike a woman, but right now he might seriously consider throttling one.
She’d been so caring, so concerned while she helped him to bed. Hell, she’d even rubbed his back. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the tender warmth of her touch. Stupid! He’d fallen under her spell when all the while she’d set him up.
Had she even waited for him to fall asleep before stealing the Jeep and stranding him in Little Havana? The utter shock of it had burned away any residual fatigue, leaving him pissed off and edgy and alone in the empty apartment.
Maybe that was what he resented most. Here he was supposed to be the professional and yet he’d let an amateur fool him into letting down his guard. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he should have seen it coming. Stevie never gave in without a hell of a fight.
And that worried him more than anything else. Emelio pressed a hand against the glass pane of the balcony door, resting his forehead on his wrist. Tight knots formed in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Where could Stevie have gone? He turned away from the door and suddenly focused on a photograph lying on the couch.
He walked over to pick it up and his heart constricted in his chest. Madre de Dios. His legs gave out and he sank onto the cushion. The close angle had perfectly captured Stevie’s beautiful smile. Her slate-blue eyes glowed with amusement as she looked at something in the distance. He saw himself in the picture, as well, his gaze oblivious to anything but her.
His expression was openly admiring, unguarded and in love. Everything was right there on his face and he saw what Braga must have—the raw evidence of his feelings for Stevie. Emelio sank back against the couch, his left hand covering his eyes.
