by Cherry Adair
“The fifteen million bounty?”
He shook his head. “I told you. It isn’t about the money.” He ran his hand in frustration through his hair, pulling out the band. How could he explain to her why he was a hit man when he had never given voice to his mission before? “Shit, Mia. I’m struggling to find the right words here.”
“How about you find the truth.”
He took a step closer to her and stopped when she looked like she was about to pick up the gun again. “Mia. I’ve never spoken the truth about this to anyone before.” He sucked in a breath, needing air to clear his head. “I’ve never killed anyone who hasn’t deserved it. Never. I do my reseach dillegently. Which was why I couldn’t kill you. I knew something was off.”
“My clothes,” she said dryly. “If I hadn’t hauled you into the house and told you not to say anything, would you have killed me that night? Or were you just thinking the fuck was a bonus?”
He stared at her until she shifted impatiently, hanging on, waiting for his answer. “Yes,” he said honestly, “it was exactly that. It was nothing but a fortuitous fuck that first night. I’ll give you that. But I knew almost instantly that you weren’t the person I was told you were.”
“And why was that?”
“You didn’t come across as an amoral, sadistic bitch who imprisoned children in your Chinese factories, who had a secret sex ring online.”
Mia pressed her fingertips to her temples and half closed her eyes. “I told you Blush doesn’t have business interests in China—” Her eyes opened wide and she snapped her fingers. “Ah, that was what all those Chinese hints were about. You couldn’t possibly have believed that—”
He put up a hand, stopping her right there. “These people are good. They had evidence—pictures, property records, news articles. A private detective followed you for a year, Mia. Yet something told me within minutes of meeting you that you weren’t the person in the dossier given to me.
“So, I started trying to disprove, or prove, what they were telling me. I also knew that if I didn’t do the job I was paid to do, they’d send someone else.” He paused, knowing he had to tell her everything. “Which they did, several times. They wanted you dead by tomorrow morning. That was my deadline. And clearly the deadline for the others, too. If one didn’t kill you, another would. When you gave Davis and Kent the mailbox address, you also gave someone the opportunity to wait for you and follow us back here. I’ve been trying to figure out who hired me.”
“And all the others,” Mia said bitterly. “Whoever hired all of you is pretty damned determined to kill me. There were how many tonight?”
“Four.”
“Five, with you. At least five people paid a fortune to kill me. Who’s to say there aren’t another half dozen hit men lurking in the damned bushes? Who the hell has that kind of money and hatred for me?”
“They might be lurking, but it isn’t gonna happen.”
She raised a brow.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Mia. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe. Think, sweetheart. Think. You should know, somewhere in here”—he touched his head—“and in here”—he touched his heart— “you have to know that you can trust me. That you can trust my word.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. Not that she’d let them fall, he knew. She was too angry. Worse, too hurt to allow him to see her vulnerable. He rubbed his fist over the ache in the middle of his chest.
She swigged the rest of her wine and put the glass back on the counter with utmost care before meeting his gaze.
“Your word isn’t worth a damn thing. You’re a criminal. A killer. Hell, for all I know, you’re lulling me into trusting you again and you’ll kill me if I let down my guard.”
“You’ve turned your back on me more times than I can count and you’re still here. I told you, you have my word.”
“The word of a killer?” The tone was cutting, but he understood why. Trust was a hard commodity to come by in both his profession and hers.
“The word of the man who’s come to know and care about you.”
“You care for me? How noble. People care for plants. They care for what they’re going to have for dinner. Do they walk away from seven and a half million dollars for things that they care about? I don’t think so.”
She was right, but he couldn’t say the words that he’d never said to anyone before. He was already saying things that he’d never admitted to before. He more than cared for her.
In his pause, she continued, “What if the police figure out who you are? Wait. Who are you, anyway? Is your name even Cruz Barcelona?”
He shook his head but still didn’t give her the truth of his identity. “Nobody knows who I am or what I look like. All transations go through an email account I have routed all over the world.”
“You idiot! I saw your face that first night. I can identify you!”
“You, yes. But none of my marks has ever been in a position to give my description to the authorities.”
“I’m leaving tonight. Are you going to try to stop me?”
“You can’t go anywhere on your own. You know that. Not until we asertain wh—”
“There is no damned we. If you’re not going to kill me right now, leave.”
Maybe he was hedging his bet to negotiate with whoever hired him to get paid all of the other assassins’ money too.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to believe that was true. She wanted to believe what he said, but hadn’t he told her not to trust anyone? She couldn’t even trust her own heart that was crying out for him to hold her. Him. The man who would’ve killed her if he hadn’t banged her first. But as warped as it all was, what he said kind of all made sense. If Cruz, or whatever his real name was, believed he was doing the right thing, it did ring true. Could he really have this steadfast code of honor that ran deep into his core, causing him to kill to carry out his own brand of justice.
Mia looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time since they had met, seeing him for who he was, not as the handyman or even as her lover. She saw him and heard all that he had told her in their time together. And she remembered how he had acted, responded, and desired her. The pieces clicked into place.
She knew this man. She knew who he was.
“You keep killing your father,” she said quietly, emotion keeping her from speaking any louder. She felt hollow, emptied out. “Is that it, Cruz?”
He gave her a startled look. “I never said I killed my father.”
“You said there was a hit.”
“I never said I was the one who did it.” His eyes were bright. Wide. Perspiration started to bead on his brow.
“You didn’t have to.” She took a step closer. “I know you.” She took another step. “You avenged your mother’s death. You found something you were good at.” She stopped with four feet between them.
Everything in her wanted to hold him, but she stood her ground. She was ready to meet him halfway. But he wasn’t budging. Either physically or emotionally. Close the gap. Come to me. Show me I’m more than a way to scratch an itch. More than a job on your scorecard. “You said you only killed people who were evil to the bone. You protected their victims. They were people who preyed on the small and weak. People like you were as a child. Am I right?”
Cruz plowed his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Mia—”
“I’m right, aren’t I? Your instincts told you I wasn’t who I was painted to be. And you couldn’t kill me. You couldn’t do it now if you tried.”
He groaned and shut his eyes tight for a moment before locking his gaze on her. “I have feelings for you.”
“I was falling in love with you.”
For several minutes she thought he’d turn tail and leave. But he stood there. Features tight, but blank and unreadable. Strong emotion held his body rigid before he spoke. “This is new territory for me. I never go into a new territory without surveilling and researching every angle. Yet, here
I am.”
Not enough. And not a damn answer. Disappointment made her chest feel heavy, and she folded her arms around her waist, hugging herself when what she needed were Cruz’s arms around her. “While you figure that out,” she said coolly, unwrapping her arms and moving across to straighten some papers on the center island, “I have more immediate problems.”
Instantly the cool, calculating killer was back, his eyes sharpened, his body tightened. Emotions clearly weren’t his strength. “Stay here. I’ll find out who’s behind the hit and shut them down.”
“That’s not in your job description, is it? And you weren’t paid to protect me. My safety or lack thereof isn’t your concern. And frankly, I’m damned if I’m going to stay here and wait for you or anyone else to solve my problems. I’ve got a life to live, Cruz. I’m going home to finish my business at Blush. I’ll go through legal channels and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law everyone involved in this. Then I’ll go back to what I was doing with my life before this, and you, came into it.”
“I’ll be your bodyguard,” he said a little desperately.
“I’m not stupid enough to go into this unprotected. Not now, when I’m aware of the reality of these attempts.” She’d hired Black Raven to accompany her back home. They’d be on her jet when it arrived in New Orleans, and with her every moment until the people responsible were exposed and caught. “I neither need nor want your services. You’ve proven to be a security risk, and unreliable. I don’t trust you. I won’t ever trust you.” Come over here. Grab me, kiss me, and tell me you love me. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.
“You can’t be so stupid as to—”
“Not stupid. I run a multibillion-dollar company,” she told him, jaw tight. “I control every aspect of my life with efficiency and purpose. Not you or anyone else. I haven’t reached this level of success by trusting every—hell, any—good-looking guy capable of giving me a decent orgasm.”
“I care about you. I don’t want you hurt.”
Was that enough for him not to wake up in the middle of the night one night, and for him to decide he’d like to have the other 7.5 mil?
“How you feel is immaterial to me. I want you to leave now.”
She’d never see him again once they went their separate ways.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her up close to him until there was full body contact, as if that would keep her next to him. “For God’s sake, Mia, this isn’t a fucking business merger. This is life and death. You can’t go back to San Francisco.”
Anger welled up. Anger and hurt and yearning, all mixed up in one huge fucked-up nightmare of a tangle. And there was only one thing she could do to unwind it “Tie things up? Then what? You don’t give me permission for anything, Cruz. It’ll take time to resolve a multitude of critical issues and time to unravel who was responsible for hiring you and your cohorts.”
He winced, clearly not liking her to compare him to the other assassins in the cemetery.
“You aren’t the only one who wants retribution and justice. I want it, too. And I’m going to make damn sure I get it, no matter who’s responsible.”
But they both knew what would happen after their goodbyes had been said.
His fingers tightened on her upper arms. “What about us?”
“There’s an ‘us’?” She kept her tone insouciant as she stepped away, the feel of his fingers burning like ten individual brands. Instead of rubbing the sensation away, she braced her hands on the counter behind her. His gaze dropped from her mouth to her breasts, making her heart leap in response. No, not this. He wanted her physically. But Mia was greedy. She wanted it all.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, because I didn’t get that from what you said. I said I loved you. You said you cared for me. That doesn’t add up to an ‘us’. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’d ever believe that you’re capable of giving or receiving love. Does someone who kills for a living feel love? Do you even feel anger or hate, Cruz?”
“Damn it. You know we have something.”
“What’s the definition of that something, Cruz? Maybe I’m obtuse. Spell it out for me.”
“I care about you,” he repeated, eyes black and unreadable, tension in every line of his body.
“Hmm.”
She walked back to the table and the piles of papers she’d haphazardly returned to the surface. Brushing off a sparkle of glass, she found a business card and a pen. Turning over the card, she scribbled on it, then handed it to him between two fingers—almost a challenge. “I wrote the number to my direct line on the back. Maybe I’ll want to talk to you in three or four months. Maybe not.”
She took a last look at his face, even though looking and not touching ripped out her heart.
It was better this way. She couldn’t not love him, despite who and what he was. And he was incapable of loving her the way she wanted and deserved.
She walked past him, close enough to smell his pheromones and near enough to observe the muscles under his eyes flinch as she kept going. At the door to the kitchen, Mia picked up her carry-on bag, then straightened and made herself turn to face him. “Goodbye, Cruz.”
• • •
After following a convoluted flight plan through five different cities so that no one would be able to follow her, Mia arrived in San Francisco with the security detail of four men sent by Black Raven. The first thing on her list was food. She planned to hole up and get these matters resolved once and for all. And the fewer people who knew she was back in town, the better.
It was one in the morning, three days after she’d left Cruz. She hit a twenty-four-hour market that was empty other than herself and her security team, and a gum-chewing guy who talked on his cell phone as he rang up her purchases. He was more interested in the men with her than in Mia herself.
She was taking a risk returning to the city. Probably a big risk. But she had to see this through to its conclusion, and returning was her only option. And at this point she didn’t trust anyone other than the heavily armed men accompanying her. Two carried her groceries; the others kept their eyes moving as they walked into the empty lobby of the Blush building. She was made to wait while one of the men distracted the security guard so that she could enter the elevator undetected. Within minutes they were in her pied-à-terre on the top floor.
Mia felt as though she’d been gone for years instead of months. She was home, but she wasn’t taking any chances of things going south. She had things to do; the security company’s sole job here was to make sure she was safe and unharmed and able to do what she needed to do. Their counterparts in Denver were still doing intense background checks on everyone she could think of.
After unpacking the groceries, she made herself a cup of tea and carried it into the study, leaving the men to their own devices. The small study-library would be her war room. She needed answers, and she wouldn’t stop until she had them.
Starting a new list brought her a strange sort of peace.
While she sorted through the most likely suspects who wanted her dead, she’d stay in, prep her own food, and not trust a soul. Five men had been hired to kill her. Ludicrous. It was overkill. But if someone had hired five hit men, they were desperate, and therefore dangerous. For all she knew there might be more hit men lurking where she least expected them to be.
Now hyperaware, she was taking no chances. First thing on her agenda was taking a meeting via Skype with the investment firm. She’d set that up for first thing the following morning.
At 9:00 a.m., two of her personal lawyers, Chris Deacon and Roslynn Carpenter, plus her CPA, Claire Fine, were included in the conference Skype call. They made damn sure she had the highest bid, and that the bidding was officially closed.
Blush was hers.
She crossed the successful leveraged buyout off her list as if it were butter on a grocery list.
A billion-dollar tub of butter.
The security people wanted to stay with her until
they ascertained who had hired the hit men. Yes, the buyout was a done deal, but anyone that strongly motivated might have another agenda. They’d stay until they figured out the who and why.
They were there, but unobtrusive.
There was no time to think about Cruz, although her body had muscle memory and she ached for him. She was on full-speed, hyper-CEO mode. Things had to be resolved systematically, and once and for all, before she could think of the future without the man she loved.
She was trying damn hard to get over him.
The police, waiting for word from her, closed in at the investment company to investigate where the illegal leak had come from and to establish who made up the black pool. From that black pool would come whoever had put out the hit on her, Amelia was certain.
It took her three days, and dozens of phone calls, before she was ready to go down to the executive floor. The news of her return spread to the other thirty-nine floors, and to the press, like wildfire. Within an hour, practically everyone who was anyone knew she was back.
Returning to Blush headquarters turned out to be anticlimactic. People told her she looked well rested after her vacation. Some said she’d been missed. She had a long list of things she wanted to accomplish in the first week, and in typical Amelia Wellington-Wentworth style, she got right down to it.
Mia had more agents from the private security company come into Blush to “work closely” with her own people. They were there to observe and report. She was done with this shit of jumping at her own shadow and sleeping with one eye open. Having that many killers after her did that to a girl.
Security was doubled while she, Black Raven Security contractors, and the police closed in on who had hired the hit men. Black Raven was taking a much harder look at some of the players. So far there was no definitive proof, but they assured her they’d have something solid for her in a few days. The police, too, were looking at the same information Amelia had given them the day after arriving back in San Francisco.
