Vasquez’s brown eyes narrowed and his back became ramrod straight. ‘What are you complaining about? I got the job done.’
‘If I can find you, so can the cops.’ The thick fingers of the man’s left hand, the nails chewed down to the quick, kept time with the beat of the salsa playing on the radio.
‘Everyone in Little Havana knows that if they snitch on me, I’ll kill them, and that it will be a slow, painful death.’
‘Tell me what the attorney said.’
Vasquez licked his lips and smiled. ‘He thought he was a big man, but a few punches and he was screaming for his mama.’
‘I didn’t ask for the details. I just want to know what he said.’
Despite the impatience in the other man’s voice, Vasquez forced himself to stay calm. ‘The woman you asked about—the widow—she’s gone to the island. She, and the man who accompanied her, paid a visit to the First Apopka bank before they left.’
‘Did the attorney know why?’
‘He said something about her transferring money.’ Vasquez tapped the ash from the end of his cigar and studied the man. His face was pockmarked, and his hair cropped close, so close to his skull that Vasquez wondered if he wasn’t bald, and it was actually a tattoo. He looked in his fifties, yet his body remained muscular, and he carried himself with sheer macho confidence that made lesser men slink away into the shadows.
‘The man with her, did the attorney know who he was?’
‘West, Jack West. He said she introduced him as a family friend, but he thought he looked like a cop.’
The stranger took the half-smoked cigarette from his lips and ground the stub out on the table.
‘A cop? Are you sure?’
‘That’s what he said. I can ask around if you want, see if anyone on the street has heard of him.’
‘That won’t be necessary. And the attorney’s car?’
‘A burnt out wreck.’
He nodded his head. ‘You’ve done well. I have another job for you.’ An envelope appeared on the table.
‘The same fee as usual?’
‘There’s an extra five thousand for expenses. You’ll be out of town for a couple of days.’
Vasquez’s face twisted into what passed for a smile. He thought about his retirement plans, the house in the Cayman Islands was becoming a real possibility.
‘You want me to take out West and the woman? I got my own gun.’
‘Not yet. The details are inside.’ The man tapped the envelope. ‘This has to look like an accident, you understand?’
‘Hey, I’m not stupid. I finished school.’
The envelope slid across the table. ‘The balance will be transferred to your account when I read about this tragedy in the Miami Herald.’ The man’s chair scraped back. He settled his glasses more firmly on his nose, gathered up his jacket and left the bar.
Vasquez pocketed the envelope. He downed the last of his beer, then picked up the other glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jack wasn’t a mathematician, but he knew the trick to breaking any code was finding the key. He pulled the notebook across the desk and stared at the combination of letters and numbers. Instinct told him they were somehow connected to the amounts deposited in Elliott’s bank account, but it could be a shopping list for all he knew. What’s more, there seemed to be no discernable pattern.
He compared the numbers on the slip of paper Grace had found with the passport to those in the notebook. None of them matched. He stretched and sighed, then settled deeper into his chair. He could ask the tech guys to run the entries through code breaking software or email it to one of Bureau’s experts. And he still would if he couldn’t decipher it.
Among the board games on the bookshelf was a box of Scrabble. He picked it up, and carried it back to the desk and emptied out the contents. He tried forming words by shifting the tiles around, but they made even less sense than the entries in the notebook.
Grace placed a mug of rich, dark coffee under his nose.
‘If you study that much longer, your eyes will cross.’
‘What do you mean will?’ Jack said. He lifted his head and looked down at the tip of his nose.
‘Ha, ha, very funny.’
He grinned. ‘Just trying to lighten the mood.’
‘Well, you’ve succeeded.’ She indicated the Scrabble tiles with a nod of her head. ‘Think you can put them aside for half an hour?’
‘What did you have in mind?’
Grace smiled. ‘After the events of last night, I don’t think a walk on the beach is a good idea. But I can’t stay cooped up in this house all day. I’ll go mad. How about we take advantage of the pool?’
Jack took a sip from his mug and weighed up the risk. It would be dark soon and with Anderson and Kennedy taking turns watching the perimeter, and the coastguard cutter patrolling just offshore, the threat to Grace would be minimal.
He pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. ‘Okay. I don’t see why not.’
Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘I’ll go change and see you by the pool.’ She turned and left the room as silently as she’d entered.
Jack looked at his watch. He figured seven hours sleep was enough for any agent. He picked up his cell phone and keyed in Anderson’s number. ‘Get your ass out of bed. I need you and Kennedy to make a sweep of the garden and beach.’
‘Why? What are you gonna do?’
‘Cool off in the pool.’ He cut the connection with Anderson’s muffled curse ringing in his ears and went to change.
By the time Grace emerged from the house, he’d checked in with Kennedy once more to ensure no one was loitering in the vicinity of the house. He left his gun under a towel within easy reach of the pool.
When she slipped out of her robe, he sucked in a breath. The one-piece jade suit she wore clung to her like a second skin, accentuating her full breasts and narrow waist. Unlike the local women, her skin was pale, almost alabaster white. His pulse quickened, as his gaze roamed over her face to her shoulders, then settled on her long and shapely legs.
Miami beaches were full of women who wore less, yet none, not even Rosa, stirred his blood the way Grace did. He watched her balance on her toes, dive in, and swim a length underwater. She surfaced, slicked back her hair, and offered him a broad smile.
‘Are you going to stand there all afternoon, or are you going to join me? The water’s warm.’
A rivulet of water ran down her neck to the triangle of skin revealed by her suit. Jack wondered what her reaction would be if he were to haul her out of the water and lick the droplets off one by one. Six months of hearing her voice in his dreams, imagining what it would be like to feel her naked body beneath his had been bad enough, but sleeping in the same room and being this close to her, was exquisite torture.
With a silent curse he looked away. Giving into temptation was a real bad idea and the only thing he could do was wrap the investigation up as soon as possible, then get her back on a plane to England and out of his life. He dove into the turquoise water and swam the length of the pool, not once, but three times, finally surfacing next to her.
Grace wasn’t accustomed to seeing half naked men and couldn’t help staring at Jack in nothing more than a pair of hip-hugging black Speedos. Powerful, tanned, well muscled, with a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, he moved with ease. He was so compelling, his magnetism so potent, that her pulses suddenly leapt with excitement. A rush of pink stained her cheeks and she hoped he didn’t notice.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. The sudden intensity in his eyes made her feel alive and sent heat chasing through her body. Goosebumps crawled over her skin—they had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
Powerless to stop, she rested one hand on his shoulder, felt her thigh brush his, the gentle massage sending currents of desire through her.
Without thinking, she brushed her lips over his. The tension that had been building be
tween them tumbled over into raw sexual desire. Jack’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her hard against him, moulding her soft curves to the contours of his lean body. She felt her knees weaken as his lips met hers. Their kiss went from tentative to something primitive and demanding in the space of a heartbeat.
Her breath hitched. With a soft moan, she buried her hands in his hair and kissed him with a passion she didn’t know she possessed. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him sink into her softness until she forgot where she was and why she was here. Long forgotten sensations rippled through her until she was trembling and whispering his name with every broken breath.
Jack dragged his mouth from hers.
‘Grace, stop it,’ he said breathlessly. He lowered his forehead to hers. ‘Go and get dressed before I throw my good intentions out of the pool and do something both of us will regret.’
The roughness in his voice almost broke her heart. Her face burning, she blew out a breath, too stunned to say anything. Dear God, what have I done?
Humiliated, she turned and swam away, lest he see the tears in her eyes. By the time she reached the other end of the pool, he’d climbed out and disappeared inside the house.
She floated on her back and stared at the cloudless, blue sky. Her relationship with Daniel had been easy. He’d been more like a friend than a lover. Her relationship with Jack, if she could call it that, was anything but. She felt confused, one minute he was giving her sultry looks, the next he was pushing her away. Yet that one kiss stirred more emotion, more passion, than ten years of marriage to Daniel ever had.
The look in Jack’s eyes had reminded her of the night she’d told him she was married. Disappointment, or was it hatred? At the time, she hadn’t been able to decide which emotion she’d seen. But what she’d witnessed just now was something far more disturbing. He’d physically responded, but it was clear he didn’t share her passion. From now on, she promised herself, she’d guard her heart until they uncovered the truth. Then she would turn away from him, close the wound, and think of him no more.
At least she would try.
Unsettled by the pulse beating in the pit of her stomach, she tried to relax. When her body refused, she set off in a fast crawl, determined to keep swimming until she forgot the ache and sexual hunger flooding her veins.
****
Upstairs, Jack stripped off his trunks and stepped into the shower. He reached for the faucet, turning it to its coldest setting. The desire he’d fought so hard to contain all those months ago simmered and bubbled inside until the physical need had outweighed reason. He leaned against the tile and allowed the water to stream over his neck and back.
Grace’s kiss had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t thought of her as being impetuous, the one to take the lead in the sexual two-step. She’d always resisted him, kept her distance, but today it seemed as though she’d finally acknowledged the bond between them. His response had been so strong that he’d wanted to strip her naked and bury himself inside her until the sexual heat and need sent them both spiralling over the edge. His feelings for her went deeper than simple lust.
He knew it.
They both knew it.
The pain in her eyes had almost been his undoing. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but it was the only way he could think of to stop from following through on her invitation. But it didn’t prevent him from feeling like a first class heel.
He turned the faucet to hot. He’d waited six months to taste her lips, to hold her close. He could wait another six or however long it took him to sort things out with Rosa. One thing was certain—he couldn’t leave Emilia in Rosa’s care, knowing that she cared so little for the child. He’d fight for sole custody, and hope that Grace would accept that he and Emilia came as a package, and that she’d help him raise his daughter.
But raising another woman’s child was a big undertaking. What if Grace wasn’t willing to take on a ready-made family? What would he do? He couldn’t abandon his daughter. He closed his eyes, and pushed away the pain. He was an idiot for allowing his thoughts to race ahead like this.
He needed to sit down and talk to Grace, explain about Emilia.
But not yet.
He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He wasn’t a rookie. He’d worked with confidential informants before and knew the rules. Returning Grace’s kiss was downright stupid. But leaving her with another agent, someone she would have to learn to trust would be insane and far more dangerous than the situation she was in right now.
Through telling himself he was a fool for letting things get out of hand, he dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, the agent once more in control. His priority was to find Daniel’s killer, and keep Grace safe, not get her hot and have her come apart in his arms.
He strode out onto the veranda and looked down at the pool below. It was empty. His heart slammed into his ribs. Where the hell was she?
He drew his gun and crept out of the bedroom. He was halfway down the stairs when the door to the kitchen swung open and Grace walked into the hall. He took a deep breath and holstered the weapon. He’d been so wrapped up in his own emotions he’d not given a thought to her whereabouts.
With an impatient curse at his own stupidity, he waited until she climbed the stairs. He looked at her. Her face was drawn and pinched, her lips pressed tight together, as if she was fighting pain. Pain he’d caused.
‘Grace, I—’
She straightened her shoulders and gripped the edge of the towel. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Jack.’
‘But—’
She marched passed him into the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her.
He flinched, then continued downstairs to the kitchen and set about making dinner. A stack of CDs stood on the counter next to a compact stereo. It seemed that Daniel preferred opera to pop, but amongst the pile was a solitary jazz album. He popped into the player and turned up the volume. The mellow sound of a tenor saxophone filled the air.
He was busy mixing a marinade for the two twelve ounce steaks he’d already tenderized, when Grace joined him twenty minutes later. She carried the notepad and Scrabble tiles from the office.
‘I thought we’d eat here,’ he said.
‘Fine, whatever.’
He slammed his fist down on the counter. He got enough of the cold shoulder treatment from Rosa without putting up with it from Grace too. He stormed across the room and pulled her chair round to face him.
‘Look, Grace. There’s no point denying what happened out there. I’ll admit I handled things badly and I’m sorry if I offended you. But don’t you see, we can’t allow it to get in the way of uncovering the truth.’
His blunt words made her wince. She pushed him away, her blue eyes cold as ice. ‘Don’t worry, Jack. I know this is only a job to you. I promise it won’t happen again. As soon as this investigation is over, I’ll be out of your life, for good!’
‘Damn it, Grace, do you have to be so—’
‘So human? And stupid?’
‘That’s not what I was going to say. I’ve already told you my life is complicated. Let’s not make it any more so. We have to work together. If you don’t think you can do that, then I’ll ask Mike to replace me with another agent. Is that what you want?’
Grace looked away. When she finally answered her voice was bleak.
‘I…No.’
‘In that case, see if you can make any sense of that notebook, while I cook dinner.’ He opened the microwave and put two potatoes into bake, then set about preparing a salad. He cast a glance over his shoulder at her. She sat slumped over the table with her head in her hands. Pain, anger, compassion and love all fought for supremacy. Only common sense won out. If he went to her now all he could offer was a night spent in a hot tangle of sheets, rather than the lifetime of love he craved.
He closed his eyes, but it didn’t make his agony less. He’d pushed her away once before and never thought to see her again. This time he knew he’d lost her for good
. He lit the gas grill and slapped the steaks down on top. He was an agent. He was required to be cold and emotionally unavailable. That was part of his job. And he’d always thought the words described him perfectly.
He flipped the steaks and checked on the potatoes, then uncorked the bottle of red wine he’d found in the garage. He placed a glass in front of Grace and tried to ignore the sadness in her eyes.
‘Having any luck?’
‘Some. The single letter that precedes each entry,’ she tapped the page. ‘What if you write it out as a number—‘A’ is one, ‘B’ be is two and so on. Do you think it could represent another bank account?’
Without thinking, Jack rested his hand on her shoulder while he counted the letters. Nine. ‘It could be, or it may be the number the ABA—the American Banking Association, gives to financial institutions over here. If it is, then we can find out which bank it is, but we’d still need a name for the account holder or the account number. The steaks should be done by now. I’ll ask Mike to check it out and see if you’re right.’
Ring of Lies Page 14
