by Em Petrova
“I don’t know about blackmail…”
He stared at her. “You’re fooling yourself if you believe otherwise. He wants you on his side and if you’re not, then you don’t get what you need for your clinic. It’s emotional blackmail in exchange for goods.”
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again. She twisted to stare at the items on the table.
God, he hated being right, but he wasn’t one to sugarcoat or blow smoke up asses. He was trained to walk in, assess a situation and say it plain. Or act. He planned to do both.
He touched her shoulder. “What is all this stuff?” He gestured to the goods, including a brass candleholder, some squash and a half dozen brown eggs in a tattered cardboard box.
“Payment,” she said softly.
God, these people had regressed hundreds of years. They’d resorted to paying for services with whatever they could spare.
And Carissa was good enough to accept it.
She gathered up the eggs and turned. “Might as well cook lunch before someone comes in with a dislocated shoulder or some other injury. Are you hungry?”
Hell yeah, but not for what she was holding. He dipped his gaze to her breasts. When he glanced back up at her face, her warm tan skin bore a deeper hue on her cheeks and throat. Damn if he didn’t want to kiss every bit of her.
He managed to control himself and resisted pinning her to the nearest wall. He even managed to hold open the door for her to pass through. Once again, his mind went straight to the security of this place.
Not only was she known by a gang and whatever unsavory people Hernan associated with, but she was sitting on a goldmine of narcotics. The flimsy walls of her clinic could easily be kicked in, the locks smashed off the storage cupboards. So why hadn’t those things happened yet?
He wondered if Carissa had become an off-limits zone. He’d seen it in war—where a medic was spared because of the people he needed to save. Maybe that was the case with Carissa, but even so, Roades needed to up the security measures.
If Hernan had visited her, he’d also probably heard that Roades was in town. And he’d be avoiding Roades like the plague. Which meant Roades would need to be out of the house a lot, combing the dark alleys and abandoned spaces for the kid and leaving Carissa unprotected.
As soon as she stepped foot in the house, he moved ahead of her, circling the rooms, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making sure it’s safe for you.”
She eyed him. “But not for you?”
He shrugged, a cocky grin hitting his lips. “I can handle myself.”
She set down the eggs on a counter next to the sink and faced him. “Isn’t it time to tell me what you do?”
He arched a brow. “What I do? That could span a lot of territory. Lately, I fish a lot. You might recall how much I love catfishin’.”
She folded her arms and nodded, but he knew she was only prompting him for more information faster. Her pose said get to the point but her rosebud lips remained sealed into a perfect line.
“I did some work around the house for my parents recently.”
“I suppose that packed a lot of muscle on you.”
“Sure.”
“Roades.” Warnings sounded in her voice.
“Are you askin’ how I got the physique you see before you now?” He ran a hand up his abs, his shirt moving up to expose his six-pack to her.
Her gaze dropped to his waist and she wet her lips before looking back into his eyes. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes.”
Damn, the little beauty was playing hard to get now. Pretending she wasn’t aching for him to get her into bed and her panties weren’t already wet.
“I can’t tell you what I do.”
Her expression went from gleaming interest to lights-out in a blink. “Does that mean you’re involved in criminal activity?”
He actually threw back his head and laughed for a long minute. When he looked back at her, she’d folded her arms more tightly and her posture was as closed as could be. But he knew one word, one step toward her, would have her right where he wanted her.
Unraveling for him.
“Carissa.”
Her chest heaved. For a second, he thought he had her, but she stiffened again.
Whirling to the sink, she placed the eggs in the bottom and poured water from a jug over them, washing the shells. Her movements were jerky enough that he read her anger loud and clear.
She let out a string of Spanish under her breath. His language skills were impeccable but he couldn’t make out everything she whispered.
He leaned against the counter next to her. “What was that about a dog’s ass, mon coeur?”
She slanted a look at him. “I said you’re as bright as one but you think you’re smarter,” she said, boldly meeting his stare.
He laughed again. Damn, he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. His job was stressful, and it was even more stressful to be away from it. Though the Knight Ops could deal with the homegrown terrorist bullshit right now—Roades was happy where he was.
“Will you please drop this act and tell me what you do? It’s clear that you’re aware of danger and know how to handle it. Don’t you think I deserve to know who I’m dealing with?”
He cocked his head. “Who you’re dealing with? You know damn well who I am.”
“No, I don’t. The young man I knew didn’t wear frown lines between his eyebrows. He didn’t look like he could kill someone with a jab of his pinky finger. And he wouldn’t hide things from me.”
That got him right by the heartstrings.
She was right that he’d been throwing up barricades between them. He had no fucking choice. He’d leave soon and return to his world, leaving her to…
He looked around.
This.
This house that seemed to lean to one side, probably shifted on its foundation by the storm’s winds. And he’d be leaving her to defend herself. What if someone finally decided she wasn’t off-limits and stole everything from her? She could lose it all.
She could lose her life.
He swallowed the burning ember of fear in his throat and watched as she put a cast iron skillet on the circa 1950s range. That she still had gas to run the stove was a wonder to him. There wasn’t even electricity in the house.
She lit the burner and slammed the pan over it. Then she reached for a dish of butter and dropped a fat dollop in. It melted and sizzled. She cracked in the eggs—all six of them.
The scents made his stomach cramp with hunger, but he couldn’t stop eyeing the arch of her throat, too aware of all the sensitive spots that would make her writhe for him and gasp out his name.
“Carissa.”
She tossed him a look over her shoulder but went back to adding salt and pepper to the eggs along with a bit of pepper flakes for the heat he remembered in Puerto Rican cooking. She’d probably also set out a jar of homemade hot sauce to douse the eggs in.
God, this place held so many memories for him. Good ones too. He’d lived an entire lifetime in that month spent here, and it had taken every year since to try to forget the love they’d shared.
“I work for the government.”
She froze, the spatula she held dangling over the pan.
“For homeland security in a special ops force. That’s all I can say on that front. But before that, I was a Marine, served a year in Afghanistan.”
She whipped around to look at him, as if expecting to see a lie written over his face. When she saw it was the truth, she said, “Well, that accounts for the muscle.”
He leaned close, his lips near her ear. “Does the muscle bother you? I thought yesterday that you approved. Liked it, even.”
A shiver rolled through her, but she didn’t turn into his arms as he hoped. Stubborn, beautiful woman.
“You liked seeing me undressed. Touching my body,” he went on in a whisper.
She flipped
two eggs at once and broke both. The yellow yolks seeped into the pan. She kept her profile to him but he didn’t see her blink or even draw a breath.
“I loved touching yours. I’d like to taste you next time, mon coeur.”
Her breath hitched and escaped in a rush. “Roades, I told you—”
He cut her off. “I know what your mouth said. But I can look into your eyes and see the truth there, Carissa. The desire.”
She swallowed hard, her delicate throat working with the action. “Get me two plates off the shelf.”
Satisfied that she wasn’t as hardened to him as he feared, he reached up to pull down two plates, handmade pottery with swirls of color in the centers. She flipped the eggs onto the plates, two for herself and four for him, giving him both the broken ones. Which only amused him more. God, he’d missed her.
They sat at the table and she gave him some fresh water from the jug, though it was warm, and some crusty bread with a thick coating of butter to eat with the eggs.
Seated across the small table with her gave his heart a pang. If they’d continued together, gotten married… would this have taken place every single morning? Banter and sexual foreplay, a plate of eggs and a sassy Puerto Rican woman?
He was seriously beginning to reevaluate his life.
She used her fork to cut into an egg and place a section on the bread. He watched her take a bite and chew.
“If you’re waiting for me to react to what you’ve told me, you will wait for a long time,” she said.
“Why is that?” He took a bite of eggs. The freshness of everything was so much better than the crap he usually ate on the road with Knight Ops. His maman’s Cajun homecookin’ was another story. The sun rose and set on her jambalaya.
“I know your brothers were in the military back when we were together. I always wondered if that’s why you left—to join up.”
He paused mid-bite, fork in the air. “You think I left you to join the Marines?”
She lifted a slender shoulder in a half-shrug. “Makes sense. You were young. I was younger. I can’t blame you for making choices that would mean the rest of your life.”
He dropped his fork. It clattered to the plate and he leaned across the table. “Carissa, you meant the goddamn world to me.”
She stared at him.
“Don’t look at me that way, like you don’t buy it. It’s true.” He picked up his fork again and ate an egg whole, not even tasting it.
“You always said you wouldn’t follow in their footsteps, but I knew you were lying to me. Or yourself. Or both of us.” She chewed a bite of bread, delicate jaw working.
He growled out his frustration. “I know I said that. I was young, Carissa. You were too. Let me ask this—would you have become a nurse if we’d gone and gotten married? Or would you just have become my wife and the mother of my children?”
She took a moment to think on it then nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’re both better off now, and we serve our people in better ways than we would have together.”
Ouch. Fucking hell, she knew how to gouge him in the soft spots.
They finished the meal in silence and then he stood and carried his plate to the sink. “Thank you for lunch. I’m going back out. Don’t expect me back, and make sure you lock up.”
She rose to a stand, deep brown eyes burning with something he couldn’t understand. But he’d give anything to see her look at him the way she had when he laid her down on her bed the previous day.
She nodded. “Take care of yourself, Roades.”
He made it to the door before he turned around. She was all soft curves and big eyes as he stomped back. Taking her face in between his hands, he crushed his mouth over hers. She didn’t push him away or fight him off, only parted her lips for him to glide his tongue in—once.
He released her and went back to the door. “Don’t think less of me because I can protect you like I always should have been able to.” He opened the door and slammed it behind him.
* * * * *
Roades’ Spanish was getting a workout. While he was fluent, he used more Cajun than anything, though it hadn’t taken him long to think in the language as he searched for Hernan.
It crossed his mind that he hadn’t asked Carissa if she knew where her brother had gone or the haunts he kept. Then again, he wouldn’t have told Carissa anyway. Roades would have more luck finding him and when he did, well… that little punk better start saying his rosary now.
In Afghanistan, he’d walked the streets and spoken to the people. Doing so now felt familiar, and he felt his energy being boosted with each step he took. He stopped to tease a young mother juggling a baby and several bags, bringing a smile to her face. Then he stood on a corner shooting the breeze with a couple old men. Stooped, worn thin by the conditions they were living in but willing to joke about the things Roades touched on.
He saw a young woman coming out from between two buildings with a bundle tucked close to her chest. She threw a look over her shoulder before rushing up the street.
Roades zeroed in on the girl and then the alley. She was no older than Carissa and if he had his guess, she wasn’t carrying her laundry.
She was no concern of his. He headed for the buildings.
There were a lot of places for Hernan to hide but if he was extorting money for goods, that meant he couldn’t go too deeply underground. He needed access to people and they needed to find him without asking too many questions.
He jogged across the street and took a second to watch the pedestrians. If anyone made a move for the alley, he’d stop and interrogate him. He leaned against the building as if he was just soaking up the sun’s rays and waited.
When a young boy popped out from between the buildings with a bundle similar to the girl’s, Roades called out to him.
The kid froze. No more than ten, he shouldn’t be sent on such errands. Then again, these kids weren’t the pampered kids he knew, sitting on their couches playing video games.
“What is between those buildings, son?” he asked the boy in his language.
The kid looked skeptical about telling him, but Hernan and people like him would be moving around to keep the authorities off their trail—word of mouth was the only way to locate them.
“Una puerta,” the child answered.
A door. Just as Roades suspected.
“Where does the door lead?”
The boy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Then he stepped closer and parted the cloth of the bundle. Roades leaned in to peek, confirming his suspicions. A bottle of water, a packet of food and some pills in a small baggie.
“Who are the pills for? Not for you?” Some of them were opioids and if he found out this child was taking them…
He shook his head, dark hair flopping around his ears. “No, señor. Mi padre.”
Roades looked into his eyes. He’d seen addiction and the havoc it wreaked in families. And yes, the kid had shadows in his big brown eyes.
His very first commander’s words came back to him. You can’t save the whole goddamn world.
So following the boy back to his house and roughing up his father was out of the question.
He sighed. Guess he had to settle for stopping the opioid deals at the root.
He offered the boy a smile and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of hard candies and taffy. Good thing he had a sweet tooth. “These are for you. Best run on home quickly, boy.”
The child’s face lit and he opened the bundle to allow Roades to drop the candies in. Then he took off down the street quickly, heels kicking high.
“Fuck,” Roades muttered and took off into the alley.
He was prepared for anything, willing to kill if he must. Knight Ops wasn’t all running in and shooting ‘em up. They calmed hostage situations and had even taken down a religious compound with a nut-job at the wheel. God, what a fucking mess that ended in. Body bags all over the damn place…
Parts of the building had been torn away,
but not by winds. It looked as if someone had removed pieces to use someplace else. The door was about halfway down on the left, and he didn’t stop to perform some secret knock if there was one.
He whipped it open, hand on his weapon.
Sweet Jesus, the room was stacked high with boxes. Like the last hidey-hole he’d raided times ten. His gaze landed on one of the crates he’d seen in Carissa’s locked storage area, and anger hit him again. She shouldn’t have to live this way, and the only thing that had kept him from confiscating all of her crates was the knowledge that she was using them for good. Wrong or not, she had made a choice and saving people’s lives was it.
For a minute, nobody inside the space moved. Expecting him to say what he could give them for the things he needed, they didn’t view him as a threat.
Until he pulled his weapon from behind his back.
Two men reacted by whipping their automatic weapons up and shouting for him to stand down. Roades nearly laughed—they probably believed him just a common thug out to steal from the big thieves. But they were fucking wrong.
He ran at them, catching them off guard. One squeezed off a round, and Roades slid under the spray, kicking the man’s legs out from under him and snapping an ankle in the process. While the attacker writhed on the terra cotta tile, Roades grabbed his weapon and turned to the second man, who was bearing down on him so Roades stared up the barrel of his weapon.
He gave the guy, nineteen at most if Roades was to guess, a grin. “I’m looking for Hernan.”
“Hernan’s not here,” he spat back.
“But he’s in charge here.” Roades was slowly moving his pistol hand forward, lining up with the man’s foot as he used conversation to distract. It was his experience that most men couldn’t think and fight, and he was confident this dead-behind-the-eyes man wouldn’t prove him wrong.
“Who are you coming here asking questions? Fucking extranjero.” The word meaning outsider didn’t faze Roades.
He took the shot. The shock on the man’s face as his foot exploded into several pieces was mild compared to his determined rage. He went to shoot Roades, but Roades was bigger, stronger and readier. He leaped up, elbowing the man square in the nose. A satisfying crunching sound as well as the shots had other men running into the room.
