Chuy glanced at Armando. “Did you carve something for him?”
“Un burro.”
“You are a shady bastard,” he agreed, seeming amused.
Armando spat blood again, not denying it. Other than a minor scrape on his cheek, he looked no worse for the wear. Ian wasn’t so lucky. His shirt was torn down the front, his knuckles were scraped, and his left eye was swelling fast.
He’d gotten his ass kicked.
Chuy reached out, helping Ian to his feet. “Next time he’ll carve your face,” he said, squeezing Ian’s bruised hand hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. “Now get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back until Tuesday.”
Ian didn’t have to be told twice. He limped away with a pocketful of dope and a heap of new troubles, feeling more alive than he had in weeks.
Kari watched Adam out of the corner of her eye while they painted the brick wall.
Over the past few days he’d become even more attractive to her. Maybe because she knew he liked her, or because she couldn’t have him. He was nice, but not too nice. Confident, but not self-important. It seemed impossible that a man so good-looking could have an equally appealing personality.
He was wearing casual clothes again, jeans and an old T-shirt. His skin was bronzed, his hair a shiny coal black. The grain of stubble along his jaw invited her to touch. She liked his lean muscles, his strong white teeth, and the way his jeans fit. Every time he lifted the paint roller, his biceps flexed, and her heart twittered.
His T-shirt got damp at the center of his back; he was working hard for her. He smelled like clean sweat and spicy soap.
Kari wiped the perspiration from her own forehead, trying to concentrate on painting her section of the wall. It was blazing hot out, at least 90 degrees in the direct sunlight. She felt like turning the hose on herself.
God. This was torture.
He wasn’t making much conversation, which was fine. She appreciated the fact that his offer to help her came with no particular agenda, no specific expectations. He didn’t seem to care if she never went out with him. His ego could handle it.
Adam’s relaxed attitude made him harder to resist, ironically. His quiet assurance, that hint of mystery—all very sexy.
“So … fighting terrorism is your main objective?” she said, picking up the thread of their last conversation.
“Most of our day-to-day efforts involve drug smuggling prevention and detection,” he explained. “But yes, terrorism is our top priority. And sometimes the two are related.”
“How so?”
“Drug smugglers and terrorists use the same technology, the same weapons, the same methods of entering the country. Terrorists have been known to work with the cartels. Their activities are funded by selling drugs to U.S. citizens.”
Kari tried to smother another wave of guilt and anxiety. On Tuesday she’d be doing her part to fund terrorism. Hooray. “What about immigration?”
“What about it?”
She glanced at him, wondering if she should drop the subject. Surely their opinions would diverge on this topic. “Do you ever feel bad for the people you catch? The ones who don’t make it?”
“No,” he said. “I hate seeing kids get hurt, but I don’t have any sympathy for the coyotes who put them in danger, or the parents who cram them into tiny, airless spaces. What they’re doing is criminal.”
Kari cringed, thinking about the box Maria had crossed the border in. “Okay, but I have a hard time judging anyone for wanting a better life. I mean, I’m an immigrant myself. My family did the same thing.”
“Legally, I assume.”
“I wouldn’t tell you otherwise,” she said, only half joking.
“You know who I feel bad for? The legal immigrants, who still get treated like second-class Americans. I feel bad for the ones who do their paperwork, play by the rules, and wait at the back of the line.” He finished painting, dropping his roller into the empty bucket. “You know, some asshole spit on my mother once at an anti-immigration rally. She was there to stick up for Mexican American citizens. Because the drug smugglers, gang members, and violent criminals give the rest of us a bad name.”
Kari couldn’t imagine the rage she’d feel if a man spat on her mother. So she could sympathize with him, even though he was wrong. “Why is the immigration debate always about dark-skinned people? No one seems to think that Canadian and European immigrants are ruining our country.”
“The overwhelming majority of illegal immigrants come from Latin America. It’s not a race issue.”
“Of course it’s a race issue,” she countered. “It’s also a humanitarian issue. We have a responsibility to be good neighbors, and to help those in need—”
“What do you suggest to solve the problem, open borders? Could your store survive the economic crisis that would result?”
She sighed, shaking her head. He had her there.
“I suppose you think we should legalize drugs, too.”
“No,” she said, frowning. Despite her current predicament, she didn’t want street drugs to be more accessible. Immigration had made this country great; illegal substances were destroying it, little by little. Kari hated drugs, and what they’d done to her sister, with a passion. “I’d never support that cause.”
“Really? You look like a medical marijuana lover to me.”
It took her a second to realize he was teasing. They’d just had a heated discussion, but he wasn’t bothered by their differing opinions. He’d treated her respectfully and was enough of a gentleman to want to lighten the mood.
When he set his paint roller down in an empty tray, Kari grabbed a wet sponge from her bucket and threw it at him. It hit the back of his head with a splash.
That wiped the smile off his face. He straightened, staring at her in amazement.
She started giggling, as surprised by the impulsive action as he was. When he picked up the sponge to retaliate, she let out a little shriek, backing away from him. “I was going for your shoulder,” she said, covering her head with her arms.
“You have bad aim.”
“I’m sorry!”
He caught her before she could run around the corner, trapping her against the wall while he squeezed the sponge over her head. It was clean, cold water, wetting her hair and shoulders. She put up a token resistance, sputtering with laughter.
Trying not to get paint on her clothes, she stumbled sideways and almost tripped over the curb. Still laughing, she reached out to steady herself, grabbing his arm. Before she found her balance, the edge of her foot was pierced by a stabbing pain. When she’d swept up the shards of glass, she must have missed one.
She gasped, lifting her injured foot off the ground.
Adam stopped soaking her with the sponge and looked down at her foot, which was already bleeding. “Shit,” he said, chagrined. In the next instant he’d tossed the sponge aside and picked her up, carrying her toward the storage room.
Kari marveled at how easily he handled her weight. The wound was minor, not warranting this level of chivalry, but she made no protest. While blood dripped from her toes, she clung to his shoulders, enjoying the ride.
“Where are the first aid supplies?”
“Bathroom,” she said, pointing.
He sat her down on the edge of the counter and she put her foot in the sink, studying the gash as water rushed over it. She didn’t think it needed stitches. He dried her foot with a clean towel, patting it gingerly. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. The piece of glass did.”
“Well, I feel bad.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”
He found supplies in the medicine cabinet and bandaged her foot carefully. She started giggling again, picturing the look on his face when she’d thrown the sponge. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and his gaze traveled along her bare legs, taking the scenic route.
She r
ealized that she was sitting on the counter, one knee bent, with her dress hiked up to the tops of her thighs. He hadn’t averted his eyes, either. “Are you trying to look up my skirt, Officer Cortez?”
“It’s Adam,” he reminded her. “And yes.”
She drew in a sharp breath. Although the door was open, the space in the bathroom was cramped and she couldn’t straighten her knee without brushing it against the front of his jeans. She was very aware of her body in relation to his. Sensuality hummed between them. Her hair was damp from the dousing he’d given her, tendrils clinging to her neck. The front of her dress was wet, too. Her nipples tightened against the cups of her bra.
For modesty’s sake, she should rearrange her skirt or cross her arms over her chest. But she didn’t want to. She had a shocking urge to lift her dress up higher, to pull him closer. She wanted his hands on her skin, his eyes on her breasts. She longed to feel the buttons of his fly against the cleft of her sex.
Anticipating his taste, she moistened her lips.
His eyes locked on her mouth, and he wrapped his hand around her ankle, taking her foot off the top of the sink. Letting her leg slide down the outside of his, he skimmed his fingertips along her calf, hooking his hand behind her knee. She shivered, tingling at the contact. He moved between her splayed thighs, right where she wanted him. She twined her arms around his neck and tilted her head back, giddy with excitement.
Just before his lips touched hers, she caught a flash of movement in the storeroom.
Maria.
She gasped, shying away from his mouth.
“What are you doing?” Maria asked, sounding shocked.
Adam was just as startled by the interruption, and twice as annoyed. He stepped back, cursing under his breath.
Kari hopped down from the counter and left the bathroom in a hurry, trying not to rub against him on the way out. She could feel heat and tension coming off him in waves. “I cut my foot and he was … helping me.”
Adam didn’t corroborate the story. He was obviously aroused and hadn’t recovered enough to turn around yet.
Maria frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” Kari said, her cheeks hot. “There was a lot of blood to wash up.”
“Washing up,” Adam muttered, slamming the bathroom door.
Kari hobbled toward Maria, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Why are you here?”
“I took a lunch break,” she said. “What happened?”
“My store got vandalized last night.”
Maria’s eyes widened with dismay. “Was it bad?”
“Not too bad. We just painted over the graffiti.”
When Adam came out of the bathroom a moment later, Kari didn’t know what to say. It was incredibly awkward, juggling her would-be lovers. Maria draped her arm around Kari in a possessive manner, glaring at Adam. “I’m so sorry, mi amor,” she said, stroking her damp hair. “I will kiss it better.”
Kari almost died from embarrassment. Maria’s breath fanned her cheek and their bodies were plastered together, full length. But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Adam. He stared back at her, looking somewhere between jealous and intrigued. Like he didn’t know if he wanted to pull them apart or watch them go at it.
“I have to leave,” he said, shaking his head in regret.
“Thanks for helping me,” Kari said.
“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if trying to recapture their almost-kiss. “See you later.”
Maria stopped petting her as soon as he was gone. “Was that okay? I didn’t know how much gay to be.”
Kari sank into a chair and buried her head in her arms.
“I don’t think this is working. He still likes you. What were you doing with him in the bathroom?”
“We were this close to kissing,” she said, her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“You are not a good lesbian,” Maria informed her.
“I know,” Kari groaned.
“Are you mad at me for interrupting?”
“No,” she said, smoothing her disheveled hair. “I’m glad you came. For all I know, he’s investigating me, or snooping for Moreno. And even if he’s not, I can’t get involved with a police officer right now.” She glanced at Maria, feeling dazed. “This is madness.”
“He will not give up,” Maria said.
“What makes you say that?”
“The way he looked at you. At us. He wanted me to disappear!”
Kari flushed, picturing the scene they’d made. She wasn’t sure that Adam wanted Maria to disappear. He probably would have been amenable to letting her stay. “I’ll have to do a better job at discouraging him.”
Maria took the seat across from her. “Something happened at the hotel.”
Her stomach tightened with unease. She’d been too wrapped up in her own drama to notice that Maria appeared shaken. Her baseball cap was missing, her long black hair hanging down her back. “What?”
“Chuy warned me,” she said. “If you talk to your sister again, they will do bad things. To your store, your house … you.”
Kari swallowed dryly, feeling ill. After seeing the vandalism she’d known they meant business, but she hadn’t stopped to consider Maria’s welfare. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she said, looking away.
“Where’s your hat?”
She lifted her hand to her head. “I don’t know. I will try to find for you.”
“I don’t care about the hat, Maria. You shouldn’t go back there.”
“Today is payday,” she said, stubborn.
“If he touched you—”
“He didn’t get the chance. The man from la migra was there, and he started a fight with Armando. I got away.”
“Who’s Armando?”
“Chuy’s partner.”
“What about next time?”
“Next time I will not get caught. Chuy was angry with me for … como se dice? Trying to listen to them.”
Kari gaped at her, incredulous. “You were eavesdropping?”
“Yes. I heard them say something about Tuesday. New drugs coming in.”
“That’s the day I go to Mexico,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. “What am I going to do?”
Maria’s expression softened with sympathy. Instead of giving Kari answers, she offered her support, putting an arm around her trembling shoulders and murmuring words of comfort while she cried.
Adam came home from work in the wee hours of Saturday morning, dead tired.
He still didn’t know what to think about Kari. If she was a drug smuggler, she was doing a damned fine job of fooling him. And an even better job of appealing to him on every level. There was something about her, a sweetness he couldn’t resist. He’d anticipated a sexual attraction, but he hadn’t expected to like her.
As he pulled into the garage, he noticed a strange presence at his doorstep, a figure slumped over in the dark. Ian. Adam wondered what had brought his friend back again so soon. It was unusual for him to visit while he was on assignment. They went weeks, sometimes months, without seeing each other.
Adam locked his car and left the garage, approaching the lump on his doorstep with caution. Ian was leaning against the side of the house, dozing. Always a light sleeper, he startled awake before Adam reached out to nudge him. The hood of his jacket slipped down, revealing his misshapen face, grotesque in the moonlight.
Adam swore under his breath. “What happened?”
Ian lumbered to his feet, with help from Adam. His left eye was swollen shut and dark with bruises. But he just shrugged, playing it cool.
“Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Come on,” Adam muttered, unlocking the front door and watching him limp inside. He went straight to the refrigerator, grabbing a bag of frozen peas. “The DEA can’t afford ice packs?”
Ian accepted the bag with a wry smile. “I had one. It melted.”
“You need painkille
rs?”
He put the peas over his eye. “Yeah.”
Adam went to the medicine cabinet and shook out a few tablets, over-the-counter stuff. He’d offer something stronger, but he knew Ian wouldn’t take it. He handed him the pills and a glass of water, grimacing. “What’s the damage?”
Ian took the bag away from his face long enough to swallow the painkillers. “I think I have some cuts on my back.”
Adam gestured toward the bathroom, resigned to playing doctor again. Only Ian wasn’t half as pretty a patient as Kari. When he pulled his T-shirt over his head, Adam’s gut clenched in sympathy. “Jesus, man.”
Ian turned, trying to check out his back in the mirror. There were a couple of shallow lacerations and some serious bruises. “Am I that fucked up?”
“Nah,” Adam said, finding the antiseptic. “You look like shit, though.”
Ian smoothed a hand over his stomach, which was washboard flat. He had always been lanky, and now he really fit the description of an addict. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. “I could use a plate of your sister’s enchiladas,” he admitted.
Adam dabbed at Ian’s scratches with a soaked cloth. “Yeah, well. Maybe you should have married her.”
Ian tensed, either from the sore subject or from his stinging wounds. They rarely discussed his fling with Raquel—it was ancient history. Adam didn’t know why he’d brought it up. Frowning, he finished tending to Ian’s back and gave him a clean T-shirt.
“Thanks,” Ian said.
They went back to the kitchen, where Ian sat down and Adam heated up some soup. “What are you doing here?” he asked, studying Ian’s puffy eye. He wouldn’t have shown up like this unless he was in trouble.
Ian took a few spoonfuls of soup and pushed the bowl aside. “I got in a scrape with a target,” he said, rubbing his bruised jaw. “I’d rather not make a big deal of it.”
“You mean you’d rather not report it?”
After a brief hesitation, he nodded.
“Why?”
“There was a girl …”
Adam took a seat at the table, cursing silently. He already knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it.
Caught in the Act Page 8
