* * *
“Merde!” Swearing vehemently, Arturo braced himself as he watched in horror as Ashworth made another dangerous turn. As they sped past, he caught a glimpse of Mari’s pale frightened face.
While hanging half out of the passenger window, he’d missed his shot to take out his associate back in the parking lot, missing by a hair when Ashworth had ducked at the last second. Other weapons had discharged behind him, trying to disable and stop the car from leaving the lot.
“Be careful for Christ’s sake,” he’d yelled over the thunderous noise. “Marilee is in there.”
As Ashworth’s vehicle sped away, Cap lowered his weapon and swung back behind the wheel. “Aiming at the tires, bud. Let’s go.” The last was unnecessary, Arturo having already pulled his shoulders back in through the window.
Before he had settled, Cap gunned the engine and the Expedition was in pursuit, as were Jonas and Lil T, in the SUV behind them, Dex and Sean, who rounded the building on the other side, trailing in another.
Now, as Cap maneuvered around the stopped cars in the middle of the busy street, the drivers stunned by Ashworth’s erratic driving, Arturo watched as Mari, trapped inside with a traitorous murderer, pulled further away.
“Hurry, we’re going to lose him.”
Cap accelerated, swerved around two minivans, drove onto the sidewalk, bypassing a stopped motorcycle, and was in the clear, punching the engine as he pursued them past the shopping center they’d just left and onto the freeway ramp Ray had just taken. “What the fuck is he doing?” Cap growled. “He’s blown after last night.”
It was more like this morning. That was the first opportunity Arturo had to listen to the audio from the evening before. Adriana had nixed his plan to do that immediately when she’d come flying out of the house and raced out of the driveway, driving like a woman possessed toward downtown.
Her reckless urgency, and a gut feeling from both he and Cap had them tailing her all night. Including going back to her house, dragging her husband out of bed—so said his mussed hair and mismatched clothes—and onto several other stops before ending up at the meeting at the downtown warehouse. They both made calls for backup—Cap to Rossi and Arturo to the feds—when they watched six Middle Eastern-looking men arrive shortly after her, heavily armed. When Ray hadn’t shown up as they’d expected, Arturo’s probing of Adri for his identity was to make sure that he hadn’t been mistaken. No one had a clue they’d be dealing with two completely unrelated crimes.
As they followed closely behind Ray who was still driving erratically, zipping in and around traffic at a high rate of speed, and scaring the shit out of him for Mari’s sake, he looked around and immediately got his bearings. Their route—northbound 610—would take them to Oak Forest.
“He’s going to her house,” Arturo predicted.
Cap immediately got on the horn to Brock. “Any sign of the other two from last night?”
“Negative. There’s been no action at all since last night.”
“Get inside,” he ordered, “and call the feds. Tell them our ETA is eight minutes.”
“Have you got a plan?” Arturo asked.
“Not yet.”
“I do. Keep her fucking alive at all costs.”
“That, my friend, goes without saying.”
* * *
The mad Brit agent gone rogue came to a squealing halt half on the grass and half on her flower bed at her front door, decimating her beautifully manicured zinnias and butter daisies, the asshole. He was out the door the next second, pulling her by the hair behind him. Eyes flooding with tears as her scalp burned like fire, she couldn’t see, but heard the vehicles skidding to a stop behind them—Arturo and the Rossi cavalry, she prayed to God.
The muzzle of his gun pressed against her temple as he backed them to her front door, using her to shield his body. As he did, he released the torturous hold on her hair and slipped an arm, as unyielding as a steel band around her waist. She blinked to clear her vision in time to see six doors fly open almost simultaneously and as many armed men train their guns on her captor.
“Let her go, Ray,” Arturo called insistently, his voice cold and angry. “You’ve got no way out of this.”
“You’re wrong. She’s going to give me what I’m after and then I’m leaving with her on a plane that you arrange for me.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Then she’s dead.”
“That’s not happening either.” He stepped around the end of his door, raising his hands, palms out, gun loose in his hand. “Take me instead and let her go.”
“Arturo, no!” Mari called, her voice rough with fear for him.
“Soft,” Ray scoffed, as he turned the gun from her head and took point-blank aim at Arturo’s chest. “Fuckin’ soft,” he yelled louder. “Like the rest of them. You don’t deserve to be MI6.”
Mari saw his finger begin to flex on the trigger and reacted. Screaming, she threw herself backward, head-butting him in the jaw as she pushed up with both hands on his gun arm. Arturo charged, diving and taking her down to the ground, his body weight robbing her of breath. Above them dozens of rounds exploded, make thumping sounds as one after another found home in Ray Ashworth’s body. Beside them he fell with a loud thud.
Reflexively, she turned her head, but Arturo caught her chin in his hand, preventing her. “No, minou. Look at me.”
Her eyes lifted to him, and his image wavered, watery from tears that once again filled her eyes, but for a different reason. She sobbed as the fear and panic of the last twenty minutes overwhelmed her. He rolled them, lifting her above him as he took the hardness of the brick pavers against his own body. Curling upright, he gathered her into his lap the whole time keeping her face averted from the dead man lying beside them.
“Are you hurt?” he asked softly, his voice soothing, gentling her as though she were a scared kitten backed into a corner.
“I’m f-fine,” she managed through a hitching breath.
“I doubt that, but I’ll accept it for now.”
“Adri?”
“Under arrest.”
“Then it’s over?”
“Yes, and you’re safe.”
Relief swept through her and she broke down, curling into him as she clung to him like a lifeline.
“He’s covered, Arturo.” It sounded like Cap, but she couldn’t tell over her crying.
“Let’s get you away from here,” he murmured, as he lifted her and carried her inside. She buried her face in his neck, ignoring the male voices, the sirens, and slamming doors as more vehicles arrived. He didn’t slow down, climbing the stairs steadily and taking her straight through to her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him with his heel.
He eased her onto the bed and lay down beside her, wrapping his arms and legs around her as he got as close as he could. Then he held her, whispering softly in both French and English as his hands moved in long sweeping strokes up and down her back.
Something occurred to her and she blurted it out. “I got a ticket in your Porsche.”
He didn’t move, only said, “It’s okay.”
“I was doing 100 mph, but the trooper, who wasn’t very nice at all, still knocked it down to 95, so no points on my record.”
Still he didn’t flinch.
“I think I burned up your clutch. I didn’t lie. I do know how to drive a stick, or I did, twenty-two years ago, but I think I got the hang of it by the time I got to the shop.”
“Mari...”
She didn’t stop, her words coming out in a rush. “And I went to the club solely to push your buttons. You were ignoring me, well, not really ignoring, but I felt like your sister—pecks on the cheek and my forehead—what was that? You were driving me mad. I wanted to tick you off so you’d take back control, spank me, fuck me, or at least somehow show that you still wanted me.” He made a choking noise but she didn’t stop. “And I was never going to dance with Seth Benson. I was doing that to make you jealous
. And all those times I said we were over or through, or that I never wanted to see you again. I was mad, hurt, and it was all a bluff. And—”
“Mari!” As he called her name this time, he squeezed her and cut off her rant. His head came back and he angled his chin down to look into her upturned face. “What are you doing?”
“Coming clean. I want to be honest with you, Arturo, always.” She blinked at the tears that hadn’t stopped flowing. “And I want you to know that I’ve loved you since I saw you whipping a complete stranger in the club. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. I fought it; you saw me try to do it, but I couldn’t get you out of my head. I don’t want to keep anything from you because life is short and I could lose you—”
“You won’t lose me.”
“You can’t keep that promise. After Derek, I realize that. No one can. Still, I don’t want to live alone and afraid anymore, so frightened to love again that I shut down and hide my heart.” She shook her head. “I want to love again, Arturo, that’s what’s in my heart for you.”
“Ah, chérie, you don’t have to be afraid. I have you, I love you, and I don’t ever plan to let you taste fear or loneliness again.”
She blinked up at him, wanting to believe.
“You belong to me, and I take care of what is mine.”
She froze, peering up at him, wanting to be his, but not like she’d been with Derek. She didn’t want that kind of obsessive, controlling love again, where she lost herself.
“I’m not like him.” Reading her so easily. “I want to help you grow as my submissive, and very soon, my wife.”
“Arturo,” she breathed in surprise.
His lips stopped hers with a kiss. “Not now, but soon. And I want you to live your life with me, not for me. You’ll have your shop, friends, your kids, and all the things that make life worth living. I want you to be happy, which will, in turn, make me happy.”
“What about submission?”
“I want that too, but in the bedroom, and the club, and within whatever additional boundaries we set together. We’ll discover those in time. What I don’t want is a 24/7 slave. I want you, the free spirit that is coming out of a twenty-year cocoon. You’re a beautiful sight to see, butterfly. Not that I don’t want the masochist who happily lets me beat on her from time to time as part of her very contented new life.”
She beamed up at him. “I can live with that.”
“As can I, chérie, and very happily ever after.”
Then like the ending to a fairy tale—okay, maybe a naughty fairy tale—he wrapped her up in his arms, and with his fingers entwined in her hair, took her mouth passionately, with lots of tongue, in a very steamy, very French kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sitting in the hard, molded plastic chair, she stared through the thick, yellowed partition at the woman Mari had thought was her friend, who had taken her husband, her dignity, and with all her manipulations, lies, and deceit had turned her world on its end. Arturo’s hand on her shoulder squeezed, communicating his love and support as he stood silently behind her, giving her his strength, and though she appreciated it, she realized she didn’t need it. She wanted it, yes, but thanks to him and indirectly thanks to Adri, she had grown enough through her ordeal to find an inner strength all her own. With Arturo, she was better, more fulfilled, happier; he didn’t diminish her, instead, built her up and because of that, she could face anything—even an enemy’s scorn.
He hadn’t wanted her to come, said she could find out everything she needed to know at the trial, but she didn’t want to wait that long to get an answer to her one burning question. And though he worried it could get ugly, and wind up with more hurt feelings on her end, he had supported her, driven up with her, and was even now, standing behind her, had her back, in more ways than one.
“Why, Adri?” Mari asked with real curiosity.
“Because Derek was an idiot, even so, you were worse. You didn’t deserve him, or anything he gave you. You’re pathetic, weak, clingy. You disgust me, Marilee, and aren’t worthy of my time or my breath.”
She felt the tension and anger like a wave of emotion coming at her, from Arturo. His hand tightened, but he remained quiet for now, letting her handle Adri.
“If I’m so unworthy, why did you agree to meet with me?”
Adri’s smug smile said it all. “To gloat,” Mari said, answering her own question. Yet she wasn’t upset or offended at all by her words. Surprised, yes, and mildly amused at the irony. That Adri, sitting on the inmate side of the plexiglass in a numbered jumpsuit, no makeup, and with her roots showing, somehow thought she still had something on her. Suddenly tickled, Mari laughed, the sound flowing through the receiver and from the look of anger contorting her features, stabbing directly into Adri’s heart, if she had one.
“What are you laughing at?” she snapped.
“You. That you still think you’re better than me, despite being behind bars for fifteen to twenty years. That in your arrogance, you believe you have a leg up over the eight figure balance in my bank account even after the feds seized Derek’s ill-gotten gains, or in spite of the fact that when I walk out of here, the gorgeous man standing at my back will be going with me, and will be there for me, loving me, very well might I add, while you’re rotting in your lonely cell every night, wearing gaudy orange. Oh, and by the way, your roots are showing, as is that annoying mustache you’ve been waxing for years.”
Adri yelped in outrage, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh, but don’t worry, Bertha and Big Alice won’t mind, I’m sure, indeed, they might be into that kind of thing.” She then hung up the phone, cutting off Adri’s spluttering and cursing, and rose from her chair. She stepped into Arturo’s side, relaxing as his arm encircled her shoulders and they moved to the exit, his deep chuckle warming her after the coldness of the confrontation.
“I got catty, which wasn’t my intention, but it felt freakin’ awesome.”
“I certainly enjoyed it. I’m proud of you, chérie.”
She angled her face up at him and grinned. “I’m rather proud of me too.”
They walked down the long corridor through two sets of security gates before they got to the guard doors that lead to the public area and the parking lot beyond. Mari savored the fresh air after the staleness of the jail where Adri was in holding, awaiting trial.
“Sadly, it’s not over for you quite yet.”
“Yeah, testifying won’t be pleasant, but I’m ready for it. I’m not going to let her or anyone judge me anymore or drag me down. That’s in the past.”
“Good for you,” he said, bringing her against him, his presence and support surrounding her with as much warmth as his arms.
“Thank you for arranging this for me.”
“I admit I was doubtful at first, thinking it would be counterproductive, but you were wise to confront her here before the trial, my brave girl, and I know it was freeing for you.” His words of praise, sent spirals of happiness racing through her, yet not nearly as much as his last words said softly against her lips. “Je t’aime, Mari.”
“No matter how many times I hear you say it, in French it makes it extra special. Is that silly?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
He cocked his head in question.
“Thank you for bringing me back to life, Arturo. Je t’adore.”
“That’s perfect, petite, and you breathed air into my life too.”
“Are you sure you won’t miss that action and intrigue of being an international spy? After traveling the world, relocating from London to Houston may be rather anticlimactic and dull. Talk about culture shock.”
“I’ve had my fill of action and intrigue. As for getting bored, Tony gives me plenty of freelance work and is thinking of opening a satellite office here in town. The weather is great, the beach is a short drive, my beautiful fiancée is here, we have friends, a club that we enjoy nearby—”
<
br /> “Three hours away.”
“Which gives us time to talk, unwind, get focused.”
“Are you always so optimistic?”
“Lately? Absolutely.”
She grinned up at him and his perfect smile flashed back.
“Let’s say we celebrate with an early dinner before heading to the club.”
“Perfect. How about if we take your Porsche? I’ll even drive and let you unwind.” She was only half teasing.
His smile dimmed immediately. “I think not,” he replied as he opened the passenger side door.
“But, why? I returned it to you in one piece the last time.”
“You burned up the clutch, Mari. Get in.”
She slipped into her seat while grumbling. “It all came back to me by the time I hit town. How will I keep in practice if you don’t let me drive?”
“You don’t need practice if I’m driving.” He leaned in and clicked her seat belt in place, a habit that she loved, making her feel cared for more than words ever could. When she was buckled in, his hand came to her chin and he angled her face up until their eyes met. “You stretched the truth into what you Yanks call a whopper.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And cost me a thousand dollars in repairs.”
“Which I offered to pay for.”
“Got read the riot act by my mechanic.”
She glared at that one. “He’s a misogynist who would prefer all women ride in the back seat or take the bus.”
“You got a ticket, reckless driving to be precise.”
“They knocked it down to speeding after I took that class.”
“That doesn’t alter the fact that you were going close to 100 mph, in an unfamiliar car.”
“I wanted to see what it could do. Why do they make the speedometer go so high if you aren’t supposed to test it?”
“It registers 190 mph, that doesn’t mean you can or should go half that fast on a public interstate.”
French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) Page 24
