She crawled across the pavement. Glass bit into her palms and through the denim of her jeans. She followed the muffled sound of Lia’s cries, finally touching hot flesh.
Hot, sticky flesh.
“Dios mio, Lia. Por favor. Don’t be hurt. Please, don’t be hurt.”
She patted her friend’s body, found her arms and dragged her away from the heat. Every inch was a victory. Then bright lights, blue and red and gold like the lights on her parents’ oversized Christmas tree, twirled around in her altered vision.
Then came the noise. Piercing and painful. She drew her hands to her ears, silently screaming until the wails stopped. When thick hands grabbed her shoulders, she instantly curled onto her elbows and knees, then swept out what she hoped was an effective round-house kick before the motion spun her helplessly to the ground, the back of her head cracking against the shattered pavement.
“Crap. It’s okay. You’re safe,” the voice, male and gruff and unfamiliar, reassured. “You’re not hurt, just dazed. But your friend…”
The voice trailed off and his silence—or else, the lack of words, because silence was no longer possible in the hysteria of sound—told her Lia’s injuries were not superficial. The smell of gunpowder singed the inside of her nostrils, turning them into raw wounds that burned from the chemical stench of the fire extinguishers.
Her vision cleared enough for her to make sense of the scene. The police had descended, along with paramedics, though there was no ambulance in sight. Her car was smoking, the windshield shattered.
She moved to stand, but her knees buckled. When she fell, someone caught her. “Whoa, there. You gotta stay put.”
“My sister—”
Her sister…what? Was kidnapped? Taken by masked men in a dark SUV from which she’d gotten neither license plates nor make and model?
“She’ll be fine,” the cop reassured. “She’s hurt, but breathing on her own. The ambulance can’t navigate the parking structure, but the EMTs will take her down in the elevator and take her to St. Joe’s. It’s the closest emergency room. You, too.”
“No,” Marisela shouted, the reverberations of her own voice sending her into a spiral of dizziness, even though her ass was still firmly planted on the ground. “No hospitals.”
Especially not St. Joe’s. Never St. Joe’s. She’d been born there, but she’d nearly died there, too. Unless she was unconscious and strapped to a gurney, she’d never step into those sterile hallways ever again.
“You’re hurt—”
“Check me out here. That was my car those assholes blew up. I’m not leaving until you catch them.”
Marisela’s vision cleared enough for her to stumble over to Lia, lying on a wheeled stretcher. Two paramedics worked on her. While one gently laid her head back after swirling clean gauze around her eyes, the other tapped an IV line into her arm.
Still, she managed to gesticulate wildly as she answered the questions posed by a female detective in a crisp, navy suit.
Italians. The only way to shut them up was to tie down their hands.
“And then the car just exploded! Where’s Marisela? I need to see her. Oh, God. Can I see her?”
Marisela shouldered her way close and grabbed Lia’s hand. “You’re going to see me after they take care of you, entiendes? Calm down.”
“Where’s—”
“Shhh,” Marisela said, trying to keep her voice soothing even as she attempted to keep Lia from mentioning Belinda. “I’m okay. I’ve got this. Just let them help you.”
The female paramedic, a pretty blonde with kind blue eyes, shot what Marisela assumed was a sedative into the IV. Once Lia settled down, Marisela asked, “Is she going to be all right?”
Before the paramedic could answer, her partner wrapped his hand around Marisela’s upper arm. “We need to examine you next.”
She tugged free. “You need to answer my question.”
“Marisela?” Lia said, tugging aside the oxygen mask tied loosely on her face. “Mija, don’t give the fireman a hard time. Es muy guapo, si? Muy, muy guapo.”
The paramedic grimaced. “She’s on serious pain killers and her eyes are wrapped.”
“Maybe,” Marisela said, sensing she’d get more information out of the medic if she ran with Lia’s flirtatious lead. Her gut ached with worry for Belinda, but before she set off to recover her sister—which she would do—she had to make sure Lia was going to be okay. “But you are easy on the eyes. Question is, are you just another pretty face on the annual hunk calendar or do you really know about medicine and…stuff?”
Her vision was still shaky, but she could have sworn the man blushed. “She’s got something lodged in her eye, but it’s fairly large from what we can see and it’s clear of the pupil. The surgeons should be able to fix her up.”
Marisela moved back, but lost her fight with gravity and stumbled. The paramedic caught her, waved away the detective who wanted to question her, then sat her on the step near the elevators and ordered her to stay put until one of his colleagues could take care of her.
She had no intention of sticking around long enough for an examination or police questioning. Whatever damage she’d suffered would be nothing compared to the pain Belinda’s kidnappers would feel once she got her hands on them.
Unfortunately, without a car, she wasn’t going anywhere.
From her perch on the sidewalk, she eyed the elevators. Cops stood sentry at all doors, even across the lot at the second bank on the other side, far from the blast site. Blast site. Now that her vision was returning to normal, she avoided looking in the direction of her beloved new car. The fact that the kidnappers had destroyed her ride to make sure she didn’t follow them was the least of their worries. They’d taken her sister—and for that, they were going to pay in large, unmarked chunks of flesh.
But first, she had to get out of here.
She heard a uniformed officer call for the detective. He held Marisela’s gun, retrieved from under a sedan. It must have flown from her hand after the explosion. She cursed. Now, she was going to have to answer even more questions—unless she could get the hell out of here.
Thrilled to find her cell phone was still in her pocket, she pulled it out and unlocked the screen. She was in a shitload of trouble. No one from Titan was available to help. Max was out of touch. Brynn and Ian were on the other side of the world. The closest operatives were hours away. With Lia injured and her parents peacefully in the dark, she had only one person to call—the one person who would always be there for her, no matter how many times she let him down.
And to prove her point, he answered on the first ring.
Five
“Frankie, I need you.”
She’d had to rip the words out of her throat as if they were sick, pussed tonsils, but she’d said them and wouldn’t take them back. Not until she found Belinda and made sure the pendejos who took her paid with their balls—or their lives, if they’d hurt her or the baby.
“Come on, vidita. It’s almost Christmas. Can’t you wait for a booty call until after the new year?”
His chuckle warmed her heart, then shot the heat lower before her bloodstream reacted with an icy blast of cold. She didn’t have time to fuck around with him, literally or figuratively.
“Cállate la voca, Frankie. The only kind of booty I’m interested in is the kind I kick. I’m at the airport. I was picking up Belinda to surprise my parents for Christmas and—”
“—and somehow, you’re involved in the explosion on the top of the parking garage.”
“How did you know?”
“Police scanner. Shit, Marisela. What the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything except try to save my sister from being snatched by some brutes in an SUV. And I failed. She’s gone. She wasn’t here for five minutes. And Lia’s hurt. I need a ride. The cops are going to start asking questions and…”
“Go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine—” she insisted.
&nbs
p; Frankie cut her off. “You want to keep the cops from getting all up in your business, then fake a fucking migraine or pass out or something. I’ll meet you at the emergency room.”
Frankie disconnected her call, which had the added effect of pissing her off. Her ex had a way of getting on her last nerve, even when he was doing something to help.
But she took his advice, understanding that while she was under medical care, the police wouldn’t grill her. Just as she slipped her phone back into her pocket, the six-foot Amazon detective in the navy suit, gold blouse and killer knock-off heels started toward her with Marisela’s Smith & Wesson dangling inside an evidence bag. Marisela figured this was as good a time as any to let her eyeballs roll back in her head and pass out.
* * *
“Open your eyes, Ms. Morales.”
Marisela must have dozed off. After remaining in a prone state for over thirty minutes, she almost obeyed. Luckily, the training Titan had put her through over the last year held and she remained still, her breathing slow but steady, her senses locked so that she would not react to any unexpected poke or prod. The voice was male, which meant it probably didn’t belong to the detective who’d been headed her way at the airport, but she couldn’t be sure. Police might mean to help, but they certainly meant delays.
And with Marisela’s history, they’d likely do everything they could—including arresting her—to keep her from running off, vigilante-style, to find her sister—something she would do as soon as someone left her alone.
“Ms. Morales, my name is Doctor McClarren. I’m your doctor, which means you’re protected by doctor and patient privilege. I know you’re awake, but to be on the safe side, I really need you to open your eyes so I can make sure you’ve suffered only a couple of scrapes and bruises. It’s sort of my job.”
Marisela peeked one eye open. Standing above her in standard blue scrubs that did magical things to his turquoise eyes, was a floppy-haired blond who she wouldn’t mind giving her a very close examination.
Though preferably not in a hospital.
“Cops?” she asked, gagging as the antiseptic smells of industrial strength cleaners that seeped into her nostrils.
He immediately flashed a tiny pen light in her eyes. “Detective Flores came in to check on you, but since you were impressively faking unconsciousness, I sent her away. Threw the nurses out, too. Thought I’d get a better shot at truly assessing your injuries if you didn’t have an audience.”
Marisela glanced down at her shirt, which had been torn open so that the buttons were no longer attached. “Or maybe you just wanted a sneak peek at my rack?”
“Do you have any idea how many breasts I see while on the job? No offense, but in this lighting, tits are nothing but obstacles to a heartbeat.”
“You must be a ton of fun in bed,” she quipped.
He leaned over her, his long hair swinging over those catch-your-breath eyes. “The lighting is infinitely better in my bedroom. You can ask my wife.”
Under any other circumstances, Marisela might have socked him for flirting with her when he was married and unavailable, but she didn’t have the strength. She’d been prone and still for over a half an hour. Any quick movement could set off a cascade of pain she’d rather not experience.
“Who are you again?” she asked.
“Annoyed that you’re wasting my time.”
“It’s for a good cause,” she assured him. “Where’s the detective now?”
He shrugged. “No idea, but I don’t think she believed you were hurt.”
“I’m not,” she said, grunting as she pulled up onto her elbows and yanked the saline solution tube from the IV imbedded in her hand.
He cursed as he rushed around to the other side of the gurney to do the rest of the job himself. His hands were soft. Ridiculously soft. The kind of soft a girl could get used to, when she wasn’t about to run off and hunt down the men who’d kidnapped her sister.
“I’m impressed you could remain so still while they put in a line,” he said, covering her stinging wound with an adhesive bandage.
“You’d be surprised at what I can do when I’m perfectly still.” She waggled her eyebrows and the doctor’s suntanned cheeks pinkened.
“Did I mention how much of my time you’re wasting?”
He tried to look stern, but it was hard for him to pull off with those baby blues.
“How’s my friend?”
“In surgery,” he said, “but she’s going to be fine. The ophthalmologist was on site for another case, so he took her right back. You were both lucky. Her family is here if you want to see them.”
Marisela snagged her jacket from the floor. She was grateful Lia was going to recover, but wasn’t anxious to wait around while she did so—especially not with her family. Ever since elementary school, Lia’s parents and brothers had worried about Marisela’s influence. They’d never out-and-out banned them from hanging out together—well, not until Marisela had started running around with Las Reinas—but they’d voiced their displeasure over Marisela’s less-than-legal activities with impressive Italian verve and volume.
They loved her, but hated the way she lived. After the beat-out from the gang that had left Marisela nearly dead in this exact hospital, Lia had insisted on remaining by her side twenty-four, seven. Only then had Lia’s family realized that the bond between the two different personalities would bend, but would never break.
Still, they hadn’t been happy when Lia had given up her job with the mayor to run the Titan office with her reckless best friend. Despite Marisela’s assurances that she’d protect Lia at all costs, she’d failed. On an innocent trip to the airport, she’d nearly gotten her blown up.
“Has anyone else come looking for me?”
Dr. McFuego grinned. He had a dimple, not unlike the man she was waiting to get her out of this house of horror.
“A man. Dark skin, dark hair, scar under his lip. Skillfully avoided catching the attention of the police, I noticed.”
Marisela tried to temper her smile, but the observant doctor wasn’t fooled.
“Boyfriend?” he asked, having the manners to sound disappointed.
“Not exactly.”
“Sounds like an interesting story. I half-wish you were going to stick around and tell me all about it.”
Marisela raised her eyebrows. “Trust me, it’s a sad story and you probably get your fill of those around this place. Think you can get me clear of having to answer uncomfortable questions?”
The doctor’s mouth bent into a frown, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you do anything illegal?”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m the victim here.”
“Do you know who blew up your car?”
She shook her head. “No, but if you help me slip away, I’ll probably find out long before any cops do.”
“And then what?”
She slinked across the room to where he blocked the door—her one and only way out. “I won’t take the law into my own hands if that’s what you’re worried about,” she lied, sliding her hand up his chest and twisting her fingers around his stethoscope.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
She feigned surprise. “Do I look dangerous?”
“Very.”
She dropped the innocent act and patted him forcefully on the chest. “You’re a smart man. But I’m dangerous not only by birth, but by trade. I’m a security specialist. I work for one of the best firms in the country. Let me find out who tried to kill me and my best friend, okay? I won’t avoid the police forever.”
Though she would certainly try.
The doctor thought hard for a minute, then held up his hand to tell her to stay put. He pushed on the swinging doors, took a long look out and around, then waved her over.
“Last time I saw him, your swarthy friend was flirting with the nurses at admitting.” He pointed. “If you head that way, you should run into him.”
“And the Amazonian detective?�
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He smirked. “I’m a doctor, not a lookout.”
Marisela quirked an eyebrow. “You’re also a red-blooded, heterosexual male. Which way did she go?”
After grinding his teeth, he admitted, “She hit the elevators right before you miraculously woke up.”
Marisela lightly slapped his cheek. “Gracias.”
After double checking for any signs of police, either uniformed or standing tall in platform pumps, Marisela tugged her jacket closed and slipped from the exam room.
Not surprisingly, there were two uniforms standing sentry by the main exit. She ducked into the women’s bathroom and texted Frankie her location.
A minute later, voices in the waiting room outside rose from a steady hum to shrieks and shouts. Pushing the door open a sliver, she watched the crowd charging the admissions desk, fists and arms raised high. Frankie sure as hell knew how to stir up a distraction. The police stationed beside the exit waded into the fray, their hands on their guns, ordering people to disperse.
For once, Marisela followed their instructions. She dashed out of the double glass doors, then spun into the shadows, into the arms of the man who’d yet again saved her ass.
“You work fast,” she complimented.
Frankie ran his hands over the small of her back and then down to her ass. His hazel eyes glinted with his relentless machismo, and for once, she was thankful beyond words.
“When I need to work fast, I work fast. But I much prefer to go real, real, slow, verdad?”
For one stolen moment, Marisela allowed Frankie’s spiced, musky scent to erase the medicinal odors clinging to her clothes like a terrified child. His warmth eased her aches and pains, but his kiss, one stolen swipe across her lips, popped her awake.
“They took her, Frankie,” she said, hating how her voice cracked. “They stole my sister right from under my nose.”
“But they didn’t take her far.”
“She could be in another country by now.”
“No, she can’t.”
He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a slim, navy blue packet, which she tore open to the first page. Belinda’s face reflected back at her, looking entirely bored with the process of sitting for her passport photo.
Marisela Morales 03 - Dirty Little Christmas - Julie Leto Page 3
