“You feel responsible?”
She bent the blade of grass in two. “Yes. We didn’t see each other much after that. I moved into my own apartment and did my own thing. A few years later, he drove his Ferrari off the side of a cliff. Drunk and stoned.”
He didn’t ask if she felt responsible for that, as well. Perhaps it was obvious. “Were you angry?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised by his intuition, “but I couldn’t find a way to express it. Everyone spoke highly of him at the funeral, as if he was some kind of god. He’d touched so many people’s lives, but never bothered to be a part of mine.”
“His mistake.”
She blinked the tears from her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don’t remember much of the following year. I was a mess. You’d think his death would have scared me straight, but no. I masked the pain with pills and parties.”
He waited for her to continue, his attention rapt.
“My mom tried to help me, but I refused to see her,” she said, dusting the grass bits from her hands. She wanted to stop there, but the words tumbled forth, spilling from her lips. “That’s when I met Jaime. Manuel Carranza’s son.” As the head of La Familia, Carranza was infamous. Brandon knew she was sharing a dangerous tale, and he understood the consequences of hearing it.
“Go on,” he said, ready for the rest of the story.
“I didn’t know who his father was at the time. I just thought he was a handsome rich boy with a lot of dope. We hooked up one night and went back to my apartment. I’m not sure what we did there, besides more drugs.”
“Did he try to hurt you?” Brandon asked.
“No,” she said, swallowing a nervous laugh. “God no. We were too high to function. He’d never been interested in me, sexually. When I woke up the next day he was dead beside me, and my bottle of pills was empty.”
“You gave them to him?”
“I have no idea. I panicked, grabbed everything I could think of. His stuff, my stuff. And then I just left. Drove across the border, looking for another escape. Later, I saw a news report about his family connections.”
“Why did you say you owed money to the cartel?”
“Because I took Jaime’s kit with me. It was full of cash, and drugs. I went through both in less than a month.”
He shook his head. “Wow.”
“Yeah. When I ran out, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t use my credit cards or go to the bank. I had no resources, no survival skills, no friends to speak of.”
At one point, she’d tried to get a modeling job, although she was terrified of being recognized. The talent agent said she was too thin, by Mexico’s standards. Too thin to model. “I ended up at the Red Light district.”
He flinched at the admission, uncomfortable. She felt a tiny pinprick of satisfaction, along with a wave of shame. At last, she’d managed to shock him. He might not blame her for being an addict, but he found fault with her whoring.
“I got picked up right away.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Of course you did.” “The guy was handsome, wealthy and about my father’s age. He took me to a nice hotel, and he was very kind.” “I don’t want to hear this.”
But she had to say it. The memory was like a black stain on her heart, eating it from the inside out. Maybe if she told him the ugly truth, she could feel clean again. “When he asked me to undress, I burst into tears. I think he felt sorry for me, because he didn’t force anything. He left some money and his business card, saying he could set me up in an apartment. He knew I didn’t belong on the street.”
Brandon raked a hand through his hair, swearing. “I stayed in the hotel, staring at the money crumpled in my fist. There was a pharmacy around the corner where I could buy pills. I thought about it for a long time.”
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“Because you’re here with me, instead of in some rich asshole’s apartment.”
She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, making herself small. “There was a radio in the hotel room. He’d turned it on to calm me down, I guess. They get San Diego stations in Tijuana. It was 91X, I think. This song by Everclear came on. ‘Father of Mine.’ Do you know that one?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I’d heard it before but never paid much attention to the lyrics. For some reason, I stopped and listened. It’s about a man thinking back on his childhood, wondering why his father abandoned him. It’s an angry song. Emotional.”
“Right.”
Her throat tightened and the tears built behind her eyes, demanding release. “I hadn’t really been sober since the funeral, so I hadn’t grieved. All of these feelings came to the surface when I heard the song. I must have cried for hours, but it wasn’t for him. It was for me.” She brought a fist to the center of her chest, where she ached. “He didn’t deserve my love. He was a bad father, and it was okay for me to be angry.”
Brandon put his arm around her, drawing her close. For a few minutes, he stroked her hair while she pressed her face to his shirt.
“I left the hotel and got clean, all on my own. I started surfing again. The incident with my mom happened soon after.” She choked out the next words, tears seeping from her eyes. “I have so many regrets, but the worst of them is pushing her away before I left. And my biggest fear is that I’ll never see her again.”
“Shh,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You’ll see her.”
His calm assurance comforted her like nothing else ever had. She wanted to believe him, to trust in him. She’d also figured out what she had to do as soon as they crossed the border into Guatemala, and coming to the decision wasn’t easy.
It would be a shame to leave him without ever having had him. She tilted her face up to his, wishing for something to remember him by. He cupped her cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb. Pulse racing, she moistened her trembling lips.
They were alone on the hillside, protected by shade, away from prying eyes. His gaze swept the immediate area and returned to her mouth, darkening with desire. She could feel his heart beating against hers, strong and sure.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he said, and bent his head to kiss her.
Chapter 11
Brandon couldn’t help himself.
He knew it was wrong for him to take advantage of a vulnerable woman, but she was just so lovely like this. Her eyelashes were wet with tears, her mouth soft and uncertain. She’d just told him her darkest secret, her deepest shame and biggest fear. The least he could do was comfort her. Kiss it better.
But the instant his lips touched hers, she shied away from him. “It bothered you, the idea of me … selling myself?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “Then you should know that there have been other men, other hotel rooms. Not all of them were like Jaime.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some were more than friends. And I didn’t always say no.”
“Did they always listen when you did?” She nodded.
His shoulders, which had tensed at her words, relaxed. “I’ve been in my share of hotel rooms, Isabel. And I’ve had plenty of casual girlfriends.”
“Why don’t you have one now?”
He stretched out on his back again, letting her snuggle into the crook of his arm. “I don’t know. I travel a lot.”
“Do you have a different woman in every city?”
“No,” he said, swallowing a laugh. He could see that she’d posed the question seriously, as if she thought he was that type of guy. Maybe he used to be. “I just haven’t dated anyone lately. Right before my buddy was killed in Iraq, another friend of mine went through a difficult divorce. He’d married young and hadn’t really played the field. I guess he felt like living it up. He started drinking heavily, going out to clubs.”
She toyed with a button on his shirt. “Did you go with him?”
&nbs
p; “Once or twice. But I didn’t enjoy myself.” “Why not?”
He shrugged, trying to pinpoint a reason. “I think I’d outgrown it. I’d had enough drunken hookups in college. There was also something sleazy about my friend’s attitude, like he wanted to sleep with as many women as possible to get back at his ex.”
Her gaze rose from his shirtfront. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. You?”
“Twenty-three.”
He knew that already, of course, and regretted having to pretend otherwise.
“So you haven’t dated since your friend died,” she said, studying him. “And you lost interest in casual relationships.”
Heat crept up his neck, as if she’d accused him of losing interest in sex. That was hardly the case, as evidenced by his body’s constant state of arousal in her presence. “I didn’t want to waste my time unless I met someone special.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Not because she wasn’t special—she was—but because encouraging this level of intimacy would make his betrayal cut even deeper.
Too late. Her eyes rounded with understanding, then darkened with desire. She lifted her head from his bicep, flattening her palm on his chest. He tried to ignore the feel of her slender fingers through the thin fabric, the sultry heat in her expression. But when she slid her thigh along his and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, he couldn’t control his reaction. The blood rushed from his head to his groin, swelling him to a painful fullness. She licked him like a kitten, lapping at a cord in his neck.
With a strangled growl, he grasped one of her braids and pulled her head up, aligning her mouth to his. She parted her lips eagerly, threading her fingers through his short hair. He tasted the salt of his skin on her tongue.
Because she was half-sprawled over him, her knee dangerously close to his erection, Brandon couldn’t control the kiss. She clutched his hair and squirmed against him, encouraging him to fill her mouth. He plunged his tongue deep, giving her what she asked for, wanting to give her a whole lot more. Fighting the urge to roll her onto her back, he moved his hands down to her lush little bottom, cupping her soft flesh. She wasn’t wearing panties. Groaning, he moved beneath the drawstring waistline, palming her bare backside.
Her skin felt like hot silk.
She gasped and shifted her weight on him, fitting his straining erection against the apex of her thighs. When she released her grip on his hair and started fumbling with the buttons at his shirtfront, he knew he was in trouble.
Soon, she’d be nibbling her way down his chest.
Hoping to distract her, he took his hands out of her pants and put them inside her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but he’d known that already. Her nipples were clearly defined beneath the Spanish-style blouse, striking a sharp contrast between demure and erotic. He covered her sleek curves with his hands, reverent.
She sat up to give him easier access, straddling his hips. Watching her face intently, he brushed his thumb over one pouty nipple, then the other. Her eyes glittered with arousal and her cheeks were passion-flushed.
“I want to see you,” he said, moistening his lips.
She glanced around the deserted hillside, making sure they were alone. After a brief hesitation, she pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her breasts. They were small and exquisite, topped with dusky little nipples.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a hoarse voice, skimming her slender rib cage, framing her breasts with his hands. He pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, applying gentle pressure. She groaned, rubbing her hot cleft against his swollen erection. He was painfully hard.
She whimpered, moving faster. He undid the drawstring at her waist and watched her pants settle lower on her hips. She looked so sexy on top of him, her stomach bare and her breasts free. He wanted to make her come. Sliding the flat of his hand down her belly, he found her slick center. She was hot, slippery, delicious. Entranced, he brought his mouth to her nipple, flicking his tongue over the tight bead. At the same time, he stroked the taut nub at the crest of her sex, strumming his fingertips back and forth.
Then her body stiffened, and not with pleasure. “Oh!” she exclaimed, scrambling off him.
He had his gun out of his backpack before he rolled over. In the next instant, he was aiming at a flash of movement along the path. The stray goat looked as startled as they were. It burst into a fast trot, disappearing over the hill.
Brandon glanced at Isabel, whose shoulders were shaking with mirth. He engaged the safety and put his gun away, feeling foolish. She righted her clothes and curled up next to him on the blanket, covering her face with her hands.
“Is public sex frowned on in Mexico?” he asked. She dissolved in giggles.
“I guess we’re lucky that goat didn’t have an owner with him.”
“Yes,” she said, wiping her eyes.
The sensual interlude was over, but desire still hummed between them like an electric undercurrent. “After we cross the border, will you come to the U.S. embassy with me? Maybe we can talk to the police, get some information about your case.”
Her smile faded, replaced by fear and tension. She looked away, uncertain.
“I’m worried about you,” he said, cupping her chin. “I’m afraid you’ll disappear and I’ll never see you again.”
She met his gaze, her face quiet, full of sorrow.
Again, he was taking a huge professional risk. Encouraging a target to surrender was so far out-of-bounds that he almost couldn’t believe he was doing it. But, if she went willingly into custody, she might escape with a lighter punishment.
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” she said.
His heart swelled with hope. Stupid, horny, inappropriate hope. He squelched it, knowing there was no future for them. They only had this time, this place. And he wasn’t strong enough to deny himself the pleasure of her body in the interim.
Leaning forward, he kissed the corner of her mouth. “I want to touch you,” he said, moving his lips close to her ear. “Back at the cabin, where you can take off your clothes. I want to taste you.” He couldn’t enter her without a condom, but he’d love to satisfy her with his hands and mouth. Excited by the thought, he drew her earlobe into his mouth and sucked gently, worrying the tender flesh with his tongue.
She inhaled a ragged breath and he released her with a low groan. The minute they got behind closed doors, he was going to throw her down on that squeaky bed, strip her naked and lick every inch of that sweet little body.
Dwelling on that fantasy would make walking difficult, so he drove it from his mind, helping her fold the quilt they’d been picnicking on. They hadn’t eaten much, but he wasn’t hungry for food. As they descended the hillside, he tried to focus on the story she’d told him. Every detail was important to her case.
The death investigation for Jaime Carranza had been kept open for several reasons. Toxicology results revealed he’d overdosed on a dangerous mixture of pills, alcohol and street drugs. Normally, that wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but his family had a lot of enemies, increasing the chances of foul play. Isabel had also fled the scene, taking the evidence, and Jaime’s belongings, with her. Brandon knew that the strongest pills had come from her prescription bottle; several stray capsules had been found in his mouth. Jaime had either lost consciousness in the process of swallowing, or someone had force-fed the pills to him. He doubted Isabel was responsible.
Robbery was a common motive in drug-related homicide, and the fact that Isabel left a dead body in her home without calling police was problematic. Even if she hadn’t meant to hurt him, which Brandon firmly believed, she could face a stiff punishment. And after he turned her in, her fate was out of his hands.
If she came to harm he’d never forgive himself.
Frowning at the thought, he considered another troublesome inconsistency. Jaime had been a ladies’ man. He was rarely seen without female company and often enter
tained an entourage of party girls. But, according to Isabel, they were just friends and he’d never made a pass. That struck Brandon as odd. Had drugs obliterated Jaime’s libido so much that he wasn’t interested in sex?
Brandon couldn’t imagine a man not wanting Isabel in his bed.
They made their way toward the hacienda, his mind in turmoil. Maybe he should be helping Isabel escape, rather than plotting her capture. What if she’d be better off in Central America than the U.S.? He pictured them living in a quaint cottage on the beach, surfing all day, enjoying a life of idyllic perfection. Isabel would wear flowers in her hair. He’d grow a beard. They’d watch the sunset together.
He shook his head, dispelling the dreamy images. If he stayed with Isabel, he’d never see his parents again. There was nothing idyllic about being on the run. And he certainly wasn’t ready to retire.
As they traversed the final stretch of path, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled with unease. Something was amiss. “Wait,” he murmured, gesturing for Isabel to crouch with him behind the stone well. Cursing, he drew his weapon.
They’d been found.
Isabel followed his gaze, seeing the fresh tire tracks in front of the house.
The vehicle appeared to have backed out and turned around. The telltale grooves veered into a copse of trees a few hundred yards down the road. A black SUV was parked in the shade, almost hidden.
She gasped, ducking down lower. “Have they spotted us?”
“I can’t tell,” he answered.
The SUV was lying in ambush, as if its inhabitants expected them to come out of the cabin. Carranza’s men might not have noticed their approach. It was late afternoon now, and long shadows cloaked the hillside.
“Maybe they’ll go away.”
“No. They’ll wait.”
Knowing this was true, she clenched her hand into a tight fist. The clothesline she’d put up made it obvious that they planned to return. She shouldn’t have left any hint of their presence. “I’m sorry.”
The Doctor's Guardian & Tempted By His Target Page 28
