by Mia Zachary
Though she directed her question to Emelio, hoping to connect, hoping to breach the weighted silence, it was Alex who answered. “This is David Heintz of the FBI and Oscar Solis from the DEA. We worked together in the SOD.”
“Hi. I’m GTMY.” Stevie nodded to each man. A faint blush colored her cheeks when they all stared at her, confused. “Um, glad to meet you. I was just trying to fit in.”
When the chuckles died away, Oscar Solis cleared his throat and settled into one of the wing chairs. “Just so we’re all crystal clear about the situation, the Justice Department is taking charge. Once Ms. Madison tells us what she knows, we’ll run with the ball.”
“Wait a minute. I thought—”
Solis cut her off. “For years, Braga has managed to stay just out of reach. If we don’t get solid evidence that he’s screwed with the court system, our three-year joint effort will be for nothing.”
“Besides,” Alex said quietly, “as private investigators, we don’t have arrest authority.”
Her eyebrows creased in displeasure. All of these guys had worked on some aspect of the Ramos case, leaving her the unwanted girl in the old boys’ club. They didn’t come here to help her. They came to take over, just as she’d suspected. Her temper flared and she glanced at Emelio.
He finally looked at her and she found herself wishing he hadn’t. She practically melted from the heat radiating across the ten feet that separated them, but she met his scowl with both apology and defiance.
Emelio’s voice was carefully neutral while he suggested the team go over the hotel blueprints and break out the equipment they’d brought with them. Then he looked at Stevie and cocked his head to one side. “I need to speak with you a moment.”
He moved across the room before she could blink. His arm was like a steel band behind her back as he “escorted” her away from the others. Once in the bedroom, Emelio slammed the French doors, cutting off her escape.
Tension rolled off him in waves, and, despite his effort to keep control, his eyes were no longer cold. Emotions flashed across his features too quickly for her to name, but there was no doubt he was upset.
Stevie wrapped her arms over her waist and shifted from one foot to the other. This was going to be rough and she braced herself for a nasty argument. He remained silent, however, simply looking her up and down with an unfathomable gaze. She cleared her throat, hoping to head off the explosion.
“I know you’re angry, Emelio, and I’m sorry for ditching you like—”
She flinched when he grabbed her by the shoulders. Then he dropped his head and his lips prevented any more words. He slanted his mouth over hers hungrily, ravishing her. How in heaven’s name was it possible for a kiss to be punishing and tender at the same time?
Stevie stopped wondering and simply lost herself in his embrace. His tongue designed sensual patterns in the warmth of her mouth while his hands, his hands were everywhere at once. His touch was soft yet possessive as his fingers stroked her cheek, her bare shoulders, her back.
It was all there, every emotion he’d hidden in front of the team was right there in that kiss. The sense of connection returned, hot and insistent, with the power to erase the past, if only for a moment. The rush of longing and need hit her so hard she was shaking as Emelio devoured her lips in a kiss that should have set them both aflame.
Then he cupped her face between his palms and gently pulled back. She held him tightly, inhaling the citrus spice of his aftershave. They stood, foreheads touching, breathing rushed, until she felt him move away. Stevie raised her lashes to look at him.
No longer turbulent, his eyes were instead filled with heartbreaking tenderness. Her heart rejoiced. They would get through this, they would take Braga down and then see what the future held for them. Every time she looked at him, the love she felt intensified. Especially now, when he had every right to castigate her for going off alone, but instead kissed her as if his life depended on it.
Maybe now wasn’t the best time to tell him how she felt, not with a criminal to catch and a handful of agents in the next room, but the declaration was on the tip of her tongue. That is, until he moved toward the dresser and reached for a tissue. He wiped her kiss from his lips, and, when he turned back to face her, Mr. Calm, Cool and Controlled had returned.
“I need to know exactly everything you’ve done since flying off on your own so I can assess the damage to this operation.” He tossed the lipstick-stained tissue into the trash can.
Emelio may as well have slapped her.
“The case? You want to talk about the case. Right now?”
Stevie stared at him in disbelief. He had turned her into a quivering mass of hormones and then shut himself off like a switch. She was so stunned she couldn’t even identify her emotions—too many of them were vying for precedence. “What the hell was that?”
“Your call to Weston may have blown this investigation—”
“Was that kiss some kind of demonstration? Show the little woman who’s boss? What the hell was that?”
Emelio finally met her gaze. His eyes glowed with sparks of golden fire, rocking her to the core and adding to her confusion. “That was me, damn glad to see you’re all right.”
Sincerity was evident in the timbre of his voice, in the expression on his face. She fought to make sense of the contradictory feelings arcing between them as desire warred with aggravation.
“You’re making me nuts, you know that?”
“Join the club, lady. I’ve been going crazy with worry about you.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said an investigation has to take priority.” She wasn’t quite ready to declare a truce. “I followed my instincts about that videotape. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do what I thought was right.”
Emelio rubbed his forehead, the epitome of exasperation. “Neither can I, Stephanie. You’re my responsibility. It’s my job to keep you safe—”
“I don’t want to be a responsibility, Emelio. I want to be…something more.” Stevie twisted her fingers together, suddenly unsure she wanted to voice her true wish.
“You already are, believe me. And when all of this is over, we have unfinished business.” He slipped his hand inside the lapel of his jacket and showed her black-lace letter number nine. “We have a lot to talk about, you and I. But, right now, we need to get back to the team and figure out how we’re going to salvage the investigation.”
Stevie turned and went to the wall safe. After disengaging the lock, she pulled out the Stockton tape.
Emelio frowned at the videocassette. “This should have been handled according to specific procedure. I told you, we have to do things by the book in order to ensure a conviction.”
“Sometimes you have to throw out the rule book, Emelio. You guys wouldn’t be here right now if not for the way I got things done.” She stalked over to the French doors, yanking them open.
Jason blanched, pretending he hadn’t been listening at the door and Stevie pretended not to notice. The other men looked up from the equipment and settled into chairs as Special Agent Solis turned to her expectantly.
“So, Stevie. Alex here gave us an overview, but we need you to fill in the specifics of your little chat with Weston.”
She briefly explained how she’d connected Braga to the White Orchid through the news brief and then confirmed it with the videotape. Then she told them about her conversation with Weston. Alex and Solis glanced at each other while the other men shuffled in their seats, making her feel embarrassed and defensive.
She propped the videotape on her hip and frowned at them. “What?”
Agent Heintz spoke up. “Does the term ‘entrapment’ mean anything to you? A good lawyer will get anything Weston said thrown out of court.”
“You know as well as I do, a private citizen can’t entrap a criminal unless they’re working for the government. I was investigating an agency case, not helping the Justice Department.”
“Coercion is still not an acceptabl
e method of evidence gathering, Ms. Madison.”
“I didn’t coerce him. I simply furnished him with the opportunity to commit a crime. Weston is the one who first mentioned a payoff, so that’s all the proof we need to show that he’s predisposed to criminal activity. A good lawyer will get our evidence right back in.”
Stevie paused when she noticed Emelio’s bemused expression. “I forgot to tell you. One of my classes was Introduction to Criminal Law.”
Special Agent Solis cleared his throat. “All the same, Stevie—”
Alex held up both palms in a bid for peace. “Let’s work the problem, and leave the rest for the courts.”
“You want Braga. You’re going to get him.” Stevie walked over to the entertainment center and switched on the television set. The room fell silent as they all watched Braga and Weston on the screen.
“If you wish to clear your obligation to me, these two matters must be handled immediately.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”
“Until the White Orchid then.”
Stevie clicked the remote control to stop the tape. “I think you’ll agree that the ends justify the means.”
Solis nodded in approval, his only acknowledgment of her success. “All right, gentlemen. Here’s how we’re going to proceed.”
“Wait a minute,” Alex interrupted. “Do we have confirmation that Weston is actually here?”
She tried to answer. “If we check—”
Jason jumped in with a question. “What about the money issue? He knows Stevie is coming, so he’ll be suspicious if she tries to nail him on the bribe.”
“And what about a warrant?” Rick asked.
Heintz replied, “We can make a warrantless arrest since we’ve got more than reasonable grounds to believe Weston committed a felony.”
“But we’re going to need one to actually record from the transmitters we brought,” Alex pointed out.
Solis agreed. “Okay. I’ll find a judge who’s willing to accommodate us on a Saturday night. Let me take the video with me as proof.”
“That’s fine,” Stevie began. “I left the original—”
Heintz cut her off again. “We got the cooperation of hotel management for Emelio, Jason and Rick to pose as staff. Four more agents are en route…”
She might as well not even be here. As the men continued to discuss strategies and make plans, Stevie wandered over to the balcony. Old hurt and insecurities churned in her belly. She’d been shut out, despite the major contribution she’d made to the case, leaving her feeling condescended to and insignificant. She had no problem identifying her emotions right now—disappointed, frustrated and resentful.
Behind her, Rick clapped his hands together once. “Okay, what’s our next move?”
Emelio’s voice rose above the others. “That’s for Stevie to decide.”
She swung around to look at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. Did she hear him correctly? The faces staring at Emelio mirrored her reaction. But his adamant expression dared anyone to question his decision.
“Stevie made the connection that’s going to blow this investigation wide open. Let her run this part of the operation. She’s earned the chance.”
She felt a warm glow spread through her body. Her lashes fluttered down to hide the effect his support had on her. She couldn’t show her feelings in front of the men, but, inside, her heart swelled with elation. Despite the screwup on the beach and the way she’d left Little Havana, Emelio trusted her.
He trusted her.
Special Agent Solis reluctantly agreed to the idea. “All right, Ms. Madison. You’ve got your shot.”
Emelio looked at her and in his eyes she saw that he understood all the things she couldn’t say. The corners of his wide mouth tipped into a slight smile. “So, just how are you planning to get into this invitation-only, white-tie party?”
Excitement bubbled along her nerves and Stevie grinned mischievously. “I’m going to walk right through the front door.”
FRANKIE RAMOS WAS DEAD. Long live Rogelio Braga.
It had not been easy to discover where Ramos was hiding and even more difficult to get his assassin into the room. But it had been well worth the money and the risk. The cartel was now completely under his command.
One problem had been eliminated and the other was about to be delivered to him like a saint’s day gift. This Stevie Madison thought, correctly, that Weston was soft, and that he would pay for her silence. But Braga had something else in mind for Sanchez’s woman.
Although Weston insisted that she had to be working alone because Sanchez always operated inside of the law, Braga knew otherwise. He might not break a law, but Sanchez had no compunction about bending the rules. After forcing Carolína into his bed, he’d terrorized her, promising to send her to jail as an accessory or deport her if she didn’t betray her family.
Braga closed his eyes against the pain brought on by memory. Carolína, his sweet lovely Carolína… Tonight, he would set another trap, using the Madison woman as bait to lure Sanchez out of hiding.
And this time, Braga would make sure there was no escape.
“MAY I SEE YOUR INVITATION, ma’am?”
A registration table had been set up in the foyer just off the main lobby of the hotel. All around Stevie, the cream of society mixed with the current political top bananas, making for a very elite charity dessert. It was hard to believe that a man like Braga could circulate among such a crowd without them ever guessing the true nature of his business.
A twinge of apprehension danced along her spine. She was about to con her way into “the” social event of the Miami season. She’d been given the chance to do real undercover work and she wanted to prove she was equal to the task. She wanted to make Emelio proud.
Emelio.
She pictured him sitting in the hotel manager’s office, listening to the sound of her breathing through the hidden microphones in the earrings she’d bought at High-Tech Hardware. He was counting on her and she couldn’t let him down. She ignored the twinge of uncertainty that tried to surface. She could do this.
The registrar was still waiting for her reply. He eyed her expectantly from behind wire-rimmed glasses. She gave him a haughty look in return, tilting her head just enough to peer down her nose at his receding hairline.
“I don’t have my invitation.”
“In that case, I’m afraid—”
“I am, however, on the guest list.” She leaned one hand on the desk and thrust her chest out, drawing his attention to the revealing neckline of her gown.
His puppy-brown eyes gave her cleavage an appreciative glance before he pasted on a politely dismissive expression. “Without an invitation, ma’am—”
“Check the guest list for Bill and Sigourney Madison. My husband wasn’t able to attend at the last minute.”
The registrar still looked skeptical, so she tried her mother’s infamous “servant stare.” It worked every time, especially on Stevie. She shoved the thought aside and said a prayer for her gamble. Every year, her parents paid a thousand dollars per ticket, whether they actually attended or not. She just hoped that this time they’d taken the tax write-off and stayed in New Orleans.
She heard Emelio’s voice through the subvocal transceiver in her ear. “If there’s a problem, walk away. Don’t call any more attention to yourself. We’ll find another way to get you inside.”
There was no better way. She’d planned it out carefully and he would just have to give her more time. While the registrar ran a long, bony finger along the master list, she turned to the couple behind her. She didn’t have to fake her annoyance when she spoke.
“Really, I must say something to Garnett Easley about this. It’s a charity ball, for God’s sake, not a summit meeting.”
The patrician couple didn’t reply, apparently not wanting to waste their breath on someone who was about to get thrown out of the White Orchid Affair on her Armani clad butt.
The anxiety returned.
Even when she’d been part of this kind of crowd, she’d never belonged, never fit in. The uncomfortable reminder of her past made her long for a chilled chardonnay… She swallowed hard, dismayed by how easily she’d fallen toward her old crutch.
Stevie clenched her fingers a little tighter around her handbag. She had a job to do and a career to jump-start. If she was going to play, she might as well play it over the top. “Oh, look, there’s Kryssie and Og. I didn’t realize they were an item again after— Well, after what happened.”
The couple shifted their attention from Her Royal Highness Maria Krystina of Greece and Baron Ogden von Erklentz back to Stevie with renewed interest. Her mother’s addiction to society gossip paid off. After all, everybody who was anybody knew what had happened.
The registrar cleared his throat contritely. “My apologies, Mrs. Madison. Of course you’re on the guest list. Please enjoy your evening.”
“Good work, Jayne. You did it.” Emelio’s tone was somehow intimate, even though the whole SOD team was listening. The sound of his lightly accented voice sent warm ripples of pleasure along her nerves, calming her.
Pzzzt. Shhhh. His words were followed by a burst of static and Stevie tried not to wince. She brushed her hair forward on the right side and nodded regally, both acknowledging the registrar’s apology and making sure the earpiece remained hidden. Then she strode along the corridor toward the entrance to the Grand Ballroom.
Beneath enormous crystal chandeliers, tables set with white linen, polished silver and glowing candelabra had been arranged along the gilded silk walls. A cool Atlantic breeze drifted in through the open doors, gently rustling the pure white butterfly orchids and Casablanca lilies in their towering vases.
The murmur and hum of countless conversations echoed off the peach marble floor, almost drowning out the music. This year the theme of the ball was Winterfest in Petrograd. The concerto orchestra smoothly segued from Tchaikovsky to a lovely piece by Rachmaninoff.
Pausing just inside the doorway, Stevie discreetly opened her evening bag to once again check the contents. Keys and lipstick. Compact mirror with miniature digital camera. Tiny transmitter pack disguised as a cigarette case. Cell phone and ballpoint penshaped voice recorder.
