Breaking Daylight

by M. J. Fredrick

  “In the restroom.”

  She nodded and slid her eyes toward the wall, where clearly she expected him to wait. He dropped against it with a thunk, but kept his gaze on her as she opened the restroom door. Every instinct wanted to shove her out of the way, give the room a once-over and make sure she was safe.

  Who had she seen in there?

  His body was on high alert, and he tightened up each time someone came down the hall.

  Which was often, because of where the hall led.

  Just when he’d had enough, she came out, smiling over her shoulder at someone. When she turned to Alex, she had a hint of the smile left, but it faded quickly. Why was she so pissed at him again? Something about him protecting her?

  “We missed a step.” She motioned him to follow her down the tunnel, away from the noise.

  What the hell? But he followed, hating the disconnected feeling. When had he started feeling connected?

  “What made us think Santiago would come here under his own name?” she asked, her words quick in her excitement. “Of course he wouldn’t. I never even thought of that.”

  Alex had thought of that, as had the DEA, but he let her continue.

  “I saw the waitress from last night.”

  As if that answered everything. “In the restroom?”

  “Yeah, and I asked her about Santiago. Only he’s not going by that name.”

  Okay. Just maybe Isabella had stumbled onto something they didn’t know. He glanced back toward the bathroom.

  “You ready to go then?”

  She turned her gaze back toward the club and bit the inside of her lower lip. “Yeah, I guess there’s nothing else we can do here,” she said with a sigh.

  “You have that waitress’s name?”

  She turned back to him with a frown. “Of course.”

  He nodded toward the door, dropping his hand to her waist, glad to be in control of the situation again. “Let’s go, then.”

  They slipped out the door—dozens of people were queued up to get in—and headed for his truck. All the time he kept one eye on her and another on the crowd. Isabella made a beeline for the passenger door, but he caught her hand, pulling her against him while he scanned the area to see if anyone was behind them.

  She scowled. “I wonder if you’ll ever do that because you want to.”

  She broke away, but he’d had enough time to be satisfied they weren’t followed.

  That was the only thing he was satisfied about.

  “What name did you get?” he asked, once they were safely on the road back to the hotel, tail free.

  “Guillermo Morales. Georgia said he used a credit card with that name.”

  He could hear the excitement, the sense of accomplishment in her voice. “She’s sure it’s the same guy? Doesn’t seem to me he’d be dumb enough to use a credit card, you know?”

  “I thought so too, but she was very clear about his description. Late forties, heavy accent, light eyes.”

  Alex shook his head. “Seems that could apply to a lot of guys in this city. What was the name again?” He fished his phone out of his front pocket as he maneuvered through traffic, flipped it open and dialed with his thumb. He glanced over at her as he lifted the phone to his ear. “She was sure?”

  She nodded and reached down to slide off her shoes.

  “Yeah, it’s Shepard,” he said when Agent O’Malley answered. “We need to know if Guillermo Morales is one of Saldana’s aliases.”

  “Where did you get that name?” O’Malley asked.

  “We went back to the nightclub to see if Isabella could see him again, maybe draw him out.”

  “You got this name how?”

  Alex told him, heard typing through the phone.

  “No.” Surprise laced O’Malley’s voice. “We don’t have that as an alias. This waitress, she seemed dependable?”

  “Isabella said she was.” He glanced over at Isabella, who was watching, ready to jump out of her skin. “Her name was Georgia…” He trailed off, motioning for Isabella to supply the rest of the name.

  “Brady.”

  He repeated the name into the phone.

  “We’ll pick her up, run this guy’s cards, see where he’s been,” O’Malley said, but no excitement infused his voice. He wasn’t expecting much to come of this, Alex could tell. That, he wouldn’t pass on to Isabella.

  “You’ll let us know what you find out.”

  “Yeah, I mean, if you check back in, we’ll tell you what we found.”

  Alex ended the call. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

  They got back to the hotel room in silence. Once they walked in, Isabella kicked off her shoes and pulled off her blouse as she headed into the bathroom.

  Alex stared at the curve of her breast. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m hot. I’m going to shower.”

  “Then wait till you’re in the bathroom to get undressed,” he snapped.

  She turned to face him fully. Her scent, damp, sexy, forbidden, washed over him. He forced himself to look into her eyes.

  “Why does it bother you?” she demanded, then stepped closer, sliding her fingers over the fly of his pants. “Does it make you want me?”

  He choked as his erection jumped against her touch. He took a step toward her, hoping to intimidate as he leaned against her, pressing her to the wall, propping his arm over her head. Her gaze didn’t falter—he was small potatoes compared to what she’d endured.

  “I always want you.”

  She took a deep breath so that her breasts lifted and brushed against his chest. Her fingers closed around his erection through his pants and he ground his teeth to stop himself from grabbing her hips, pushing up that skirt—

  “Then have me,” she said in that throaty voice, her eyes dark, unreadable.

  All the blood rushed from his head. “It can’t happen.”

  Her eyes flashed, just a moment, before icing over. “Because I’m a whore.”

  That wasn’t it. He didn’t really want her thinking that was the reason, but he seized onto it anyway. He pushed away from the wall, hating the loss of her touch, the look in her eyes. But he didn’t think she’d buy the idea that he believed she deserved more, that she deserved a man who could love her, could treat her right. Not a man who wasn’t above using her.

  She needed to know what love, what lovemaking, was. He wasn’t the man to show her.

  “Why do you stay here with me, then? Get another room.”

  She was pissed, her teeth bared, her eyes bright, her breasts jiggling. Man, what a sight.

  “I already told you I can’t. There isn’t another room on this floor, and anything else is too far away if Saldana decides to come find you.”

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “You’re here to protect me? Or to lie in wait for Santiago? Am I just bait to you?”

  “I’m here to protect you.” He was amazed at the calmness of his own voice.

  “I told you in Honduras I didn’t want your protection. I don’t want it now.”

  “I don’t give a damn. If I’m not here, you’re going to do something stupid to get that kid back and end up getting yourself killed or under Saldana’s thumb again. So, no, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I hate you,” she said, turning to the bathroom.

  “Good.”

  When she slammed the door, he dropped to the chair and covered his face with his hands. Sure, he was here to keep her from doing something stupid, but who was going to stop him?

  Isabella stood under the shower spray, trying not to sob. The damned man would probably hear her and think she was crying over him. He’d be right.

  She didn’t have the greatest track record with men. She’d lost her virginity at fourteen to a senior who never spoke to her again. When she recovered from that humiliation, she dipped her toe into the casual-sex scene, but the act always left a bad taste in her mouth, sometimes literally. She’d
gone to Honduras with a boy she’d thought she could like, but he’d left her, high and dry, before she found a job as a stripper.

  Then she’d met Santiago, and look how that had turned out.

  But while she was at his compound, she’d met Eric Reyes. Alex called him Cortez, but in Santiago’s house, he’d been Reyes. He’d smiled at her when others ignored her. He’d talked to her, touched her without wanting to screw her. Well, maybe he had, but he hadn’t groped, hadn’t stared. He’d spoken to her in that soft voice, calling her Bella as Alex sometimes did. She’d felt safe with him and started seeking him out, especially when Santiago was away.

  Because of her need to be something more than a whore to a man, he’d died a terrible death.

  She’d thought he’d be able to stand up to Santiago’s wrath. He had been strong. That just hadn’t been enough.

  Was Alex? Alex made her feel safe. She thought maybe he could see her as Eric had. But if he only saw her as a whore, as a job—why convince herself otherwise?

  She shut off the water, toweled off, realized she hadn’t brought her pajamas in here. With a toss of her head, she opened the door and strode out.

  Alex was on his side of the bed, watching the news of the upcoming shuttle launch. She walked right in front of the TV, opened the drawer and bent over unnecessarily to retrieve her pajamas.

  “You done in there?” he asked, his voice unaffected by the sight of her damp, nude body, and he rolled off the bed in the direction of the bathroom. He stopped at the door, turned to her. “Don’t stay up too late. I have a plan for tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nine

  Alex hoped Danes had sent them on the right path when he’d told him Saldana’s cousin, the one who laundered his money in Florida, the one whose security guard Bella had tried to seduce, also owned a place in the strip-club district.

  Alex offered Isabella a donut as they sat in her little rental car in front of PT’s Club. He’d picked up a half dozen on the way. He loved donuts and could easily eat a dozen, but Isabella hadn’t eaten anything since—well, he couldn’t remember. She hadn’t even eaten the chocolate bar he’d brought her last night. He could see the strain on her face, the lost weight. A far cry from the starving woman in the jungle.

  “You need to eat something.”

  She made a face at the donuts. “No thanks.”

  “You want me to go get breakfast tacos? Sausage biscuits?”

  “We might miss something,” she said softly, her eyes trained on the building.

  “You’re not going to be any good to me if you get sick.”

  “If I eat that, I’ll get sick.” She nodded toward the sticky box.

  “Suit yourself.” He sat back, plucked a donut from the box and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, then washed it down with lukewarm coffee. “Could be a long day. I don’t think these guys exactly keep bankers’ hours.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she shot him a look.

  “Do not say anything nice to me. I never know who you are when you say something nice to me.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender, then licked the glaze off his fingers. “You got it. Kid’s gone, you’re never going to see him again, all your fault.”

  “Alex.”

  “That’s what you wanted me to say, right? Feed your guilt?” He leveled a hard glare at her. “Show you what kind of rotten person you are, confirm what you already know.”

  She shook her head and turned back to the building, her shoulders slumped.

  “You’re just a stripper, you’re not smart enough to do this, no man will ever see past your body, no man will ever know how strong you are. Should I keep going?” he asked when she glanced at him warily, her eyes huge, her face pale.

  “I’m not strong.”

  “I said you weren’t. Because no one as weak as you could have made it out of that jungle. Oh, right, I brought you out. You needed me. You need me now. If Santiago finds you before you find him, you would be dead. He won’t appreciate you being smart enough to figure out where he is and what he’s doing.”

  “I’m not smart enough,” she murmured, turning away again.

  “He’s hiding, Bella. However he’s getting his drugs into this country, he doesn’t want to be found.”

  “How did things come to us? The supplies he ordered?” she asked.

  “Near as we can figure, air drops.”

  “Less likely to happen here,” she mused.

  “We’re looking at ships, which seems most probable, so we have people watching docks.”

  “Just in Miami?”

  He looked at her sharply. “All over Florida.”

  “Just Florida?”

  “What do you know?”

  “Nothing. I mean, whatever Eric—Agent Cortez was investigating, do you think it was limited to here? It seems to me it would be easier to get into Texas, across the border, than to come off a ship, unless they were being smuggled. But I’d think ships were more closely watched. The Texas border is long and for the most part unmanned. That’s how I would do it,” she continued when he just stared. “But I’m just a dumb stripper.”

  Isabella reached over without looking and took a donut. She started humming something that sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “What’s that song? Something you heard last night?”

  She smiled, that damn mysterious smile. “A song I used to sing with Hector.”

  She sang some more, something about colors, in English and Spanish, but the tune still niggled. God knew his mother hadn’t sung to him.

  “Pretty catchy for a kid’s song.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t know a lot of kid songs, you know, I never thought I’d have a baby this young. I couldn’t exactly order Disney DVDs. So I made up songs from ones I knew. That one’s from the Black Eyed Peas.”

  Damn, he wanted to see her with that kid, wanted to see what kind of mother she was. Before he could give it more thought, a car pulled up alongside of the building, long and shiny. Three men got out. Two scanned the area as the third straightened his suit jacket and shades.

  “That’s got to be him,” Alex said. “Now what?”

  She cinched her top and brushed donut glaze from her lap. “I have an idea.”

  “No.” His tone was sharp, and for the first time, he took his eyes off the sedan. “You’re not going in there on off hours. I can’t keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m just going to apply for a job.”

  He shook his head, jaw set. “I say we wait.”

  “Trust me, Alex.” She shoved open the door. Straightening, she hitched her jeans down just a little and rolled her hips as she approached the men standing at the door.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs as she went over what she would say in her mind. She considered and discarded half a dozen scenarios in the time it took to walk from the car to where the men now stood waiting for her.

  “Jorge Medellin?” she asked the man in the middle, the smallest, flanked by two muscular men. Santiago had always kept the company of big men so he could step between them if the going got rough.

  “Who’s asking?” one of the bodyguards demanded.

  “I’m Isabella.” She didn’t take her eyes from Jorge, but he betrayed no reaction. “I’m looking for Santiago.”

  Jorge stepped back and gestured toward the door, for her to precede him. She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder, to get Alex’s approval, before she nodded, ducked her head and walked into the darkness.

  The scent of stale alcohol, sex and sickness assaulted her the minute she walked in the door. Though the bar and the three stages, all with poles, were familiar. There was something about this place that made her feel filthy, beyond the three silent men watching her.

  She put her hands on her hips, though she wanted to wrap them around herself to hide herself from these men. She tossed her hair and looked up at Jorge.

  “Where i
s he?”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “He told me to come here, told me you’d help me hook up with him,” she said, thinking on the fly. “I need to find him. I’m running out of money.”

  “What did you say your name was again?” Jorge leaned against a barstool and looked her over.

  She swallowed. She’d told them her real name. What if Santiago had spoken to Jorge about her, for real? What if he dragged her back to Honduras without her son?

  “Isabella,” she said, not as confidently this time. She hoped using her own name wasn’t a mistake. But she was getting desperate now, and perhaps if Santiago knew she was looking for him, he’d show himself.

  He reached out to curl her hair around his finger. “What would you want with an old man like Santiago?”

  She stumbled mentally. She didn’t think of Santiago as old—late forties, maybe. Jorge was definitely not younger, or as well groomed. “I told you, I’m running out of money.”

  Jorge inclined his head toward the pole on the center stage. “I think I know how a girl like you can earn some cash. You can show us what you have. It’s a much easier way to make a living than by answering Santiago’s beck and call. I pay very well.”

  What she wanted, but she needed barriers. She was alone in here with these strangers who made their living off women’s bodies. She scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not dressed for it, and I’d really much prefer finding Santiago.”

  Jorge studied her critically. “Come back tonight.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Come back tonight and dance for me. If I like it, I’ll tell you what I know about Santiago.”

  She gritted her teeth, wanting to demand that he tell her now, that every moment counted. But if Jorge was like his cousin, he would never respond to the threats of a woman. Maybe Alex could force him, but could she risk Jorge clamming up because she sicced a Ranger on him?

  Could she risk that he was telling her the truth now? That he would tell her something if she stripped for him?

  That he even knew anything to tell?

  She had to take the chance. “What time do you want me?”

  She’d been in there a long time, too long. Alex shoved open the car door and reached for the clutch piece at his ankle. Hell, the minute she’d disappeared behind that door, his skin had started crawling. He didn’t want her out of his sight. He definitely didn’t want her with that scumbag. What had she been thinking, going behind the door with that man? She would end up back in her Honduran prison.