by Em Petrova
She must be so transparent to a man like him. “I’d like you to explain things better to me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“This.” She waved at the room. “That.” The other room. “Why was my brother’s college information on the screen?”
“Because we have his hard drive and are analyzing it.”
She blinked. That little box that looked like it was hooked up to life support, with wires and cables projecting from it, had belonged to her brother’s computer?
“You told the Texas Rangers who visited you that you’d seen something questionable,” he said.
She nodded. “I didn’t understand what. I still don’t. Have you found something that you believe to be important?”
“I can’t share any information with you. All I can say is that we are working on it.”
“We.”
“My team and I.”
“What kind of team? Military?”
“Special ops. We are a division of Homeland Security but while here for another purpose, I spotted something.”
“Something.” Her heart tripled its beat.
“Someone.”
Her jaw dropped, and dizziness swept her. She swayed and clutched onto the nearby chair even as Sullivan reached out for her. His big hand closed around her upper arm, and then he drew her solidly before him, planting his other hand on her shoulder to keep her upright.
“Look, I can’t let you hear this on an empty stomach. You’re liable to pass out. We’ll put this conversation on hold, okay? Here, sit.”
He drew her to the chair, which was hard and uncomfy but solid beneath her.
She pressed her fingertips between her eyes, kneading at a headache forming there. “Can I get some water please?”
He nodded and moved to the corner where a mini fridge purred. She hadn’t noticed it before, and she was a little disappointed there were drinks right at their fingertips, because she’d hoped for a moment alone.
To think over what he’d just said.
Someone.
Who could that someone be?
Who in the universe could be spotted to tip off a special ops unit to go searching into her brother’s disappearance? Only one name came to mind, and it was too much to even hope for, even though her heart was bouncing around in her chest like it was a trampoline.
He handed her a bottle with the cap already twisted off for her. Then a knock sounded on the door, and he moved swiftly to it, hand hovering around his hip, making her wonder what kind of heat he was packing and where he hid such weapons. He was bulked out with muscle, so it wouldn’t surprise her if he pulled out a half dozen deadly weapons.
To distract herself, she raised the bottle to her lips and sipped the cool liquid. Sullivan opened the door, spoke quietly to someone and accepted a bag. He twisted no less than three of the deadbolts before turning to Nevaeh.
The scent of fresh tamales reached her, and her mouth watered. Suddenly, she realized just how hungry she was and wet her lips.
Sullivan tracked the action before raising his gaze to hers. “I hope you like tamales. They’re fresh.”
Her stomach cramped with hunger, and she nodded. “Love them.”
A trace of a smile passed over his lips and vanished so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. Then he took the other chair and set the bag on a low table between them. “Help yourself.”
She did, reaching for a tamale that was wrapped in paper. When she unrolled it, pure heaven struck her senses, and she moaned. “My grandmother made homemade tamales, and I haven’t had one in ages.” She quickly peeled back the paper and took a bite. Flavors hit her tongue, so rich that she moaned again.
She took another bite before she realized Sullivan hadn’t taken any. “Should I have prayed first or something?”
He chuckled.
The man actually laughed.
She stared at him while he reached into the bag and pulled out a tamale that seemed dwarfed by his sizable hand.
“You can pray if you want. I take it they’re good?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She took another bite, and he watched her chew as he unwrapped his own. When he bit into it, he gave her a simple nod that didn’t tell her what he thought of the flavors of garlic and chiles. They ate in silence a moment. When she’d polished off hers, she reached for another.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“There’re plenty.”
“What about the other two men?”
He looked at her. “There are six of us, and they can handle themselves. Eat what you want.”
“These are almost as good as my grandmother’s. She died not knowing what happened to him, you know. I can’t let that happen to my parents.” Her appetite sank a bit, but she took a bite of the fresh tamale anyway.
“Maybe you can help us.”
Nevaeh sat up straighter. “Anything. Just tell me what and I’ll do it.”
His stare was heavy. “Be careful what you agree to, Miss Vincent. You have no idea what we’re asking.”
Chapter Four
Nevaeh stared at the paper that was as blank as her mind. Captain Sullivan had told her they were trying to figure out a certain coded password string to get into one section of a program on Antonio’s hard drive. The captain had left her with a pen and paper and the instructions to write down all she could think of, important or not.
What to write?
She pressed the point of the pen into the sheet but couldn’t come up with a single word. She gave up and went to the window. Lifting the dark blind, she peered out at the city. People milled everywhere, and laughter reached her, a faint sound carried on the breeze.
Being here was like a dream, but not of the good variety. Visiting as a tourist, she could only imagine how excited her brother had been.
A knock on the door had her crossing the room.
“It’s me. Open up.”
She did, standing back farther this time, giving the big captain all the room he needed. He crowded in with her backpack and set it down.
“You’ll be staying here from now on, so we can keep you protected.” He glanced at the abandoned paper and pen, and his brows crinkled when he saw it was blank.
“I don’t know what to write down,” she said, biting her lip.
His dark eyes followed the movement, latching onto her lip for a split second before darting back up to her eyes. “Anything you can think of about his life. Hiking, friends’ names, college hangouts, the birthday of a girlfriend.”
She stared at him, still blank.
“Anything might help us, Nevaeh. I mean, Miss Vincent.”
“You can call me by my name.”
He nodded but did not offer for her to address him by his. Nash. When she looked at him, the name fit him like a pair of worn leather boots. A little bit country, a lot manly. She wondered how he’d gotten into this position. But another question pushed at the forefront of her brain.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.” His voice was no-nonsense. Yeah, he definitely didn’t like her much.
“You said you saw someone.” She bit her lip again. “My brother?”
“The resemblance was there, yes. But it’s been ten years since that photo was taken.”
“But you were certain enough to call a team together to investigate it.”
He paused a heartbeat before nodding.
Nevaeh’s knees weakened, and she moved to sit down. When she leaned forward with her head in her hands, Nash came over too.
Then something happened that hadn’t in years—her tears were right there, at the rims of her eyes.
Without lifting her head, she asked, “Can you describe him to me?”
He didn’t move, just stood there and didn’t speak either.
She looked up.
The man pressed his lips into a hard line before sitting. “Same build. Maybe a bit slumped now. Wearing cargo pants and a black ball cap.”
“Yo
u didn’t see his hair?”
“No.”
“Antonio was known for his curly hair. Girls loved to run their fingers through it, and my father would always make fun of him for it.”
Nash watched her but didn’t say a word.
She made a sound in her throat. “And his face?”
“I saw him full on. He was about to step off a curb and was looking my direction for traffic.”
She blinked rapidly, finding her eyes wet. There was no stopping the tears now. They began to flow down her cheeks.
“Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up. It could still be a mistaken identity. That’s what we’re here to find out.”
“But you have enough evidence to warrant being here,” she pressed.
His stare was a heavy weight on hers. “We do.”
“Then I’d better do my part, as I said I would.” She picked up the pen but had to dash her tears away with her fingertips in order to see the paper clearly. Leaning forward on the chair, she began to form words. Simple things, starting with Antonio’s nickname on the baseball team, his favorite teddy bear’s name and so on. When she looked up at Nash, she’d filled half a sheet in a long column of writing.
“Keep going,” he said, standing. His big body unfolded with so much grace for his size. “I’ll be back to check on you.”
“Wait.”
He paused, nearly to the door after only two strides.
“Can I open the blind please? It feels so closed off in here.”
His gaze flashed to the window and then back to her. It traveled down over her body and slowly back up, leaving her with a tingling awareness.
Men looked at her often, but she ignored them all, having little place in her life for dating or even flirting. But of course Nash wasn’t looking at her body that way—he was probably assessing her likelihood of escaping through the window or some similar tactical maneuver.
She waited.
His gaze slid to the bed and then back to her. A warmth crawled over her skin, spreading over her breasts and puckering her nipples from a mere look. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep him from seeing her reaction, and his eyes hardened again.
Finally, he gave a nod. “Just make sure the blind’s closed if you undress.”
Her eyes widened, but he was already turning for the door. He disappeared and closed it behind himself. It took her a stunned moment to move forward and twist the locks into place again. She didn’t hear him move away from the door this time either.
What the…? Why in the world would he care if she undressed with the blinds cracked? As if anybody could even see through the thin slats when she was on the second story. Besides, on the street were plenty of beautiful women, half-dressed in the tropical climate in shorts and crop tops or short barely-there slip dresses.
Nobody would be looking at her. And why would Nash care in the first place?
The mystery was about as unsolvable as her brother’s had been for the past decade. Nevaeh sat again and began writing down everything that popped into her head.
It wasn’t until the room grew dark with evening light that she realized she’d forgotten to crack the blind at all. Feeling too worn out and stressed to care at this point, she lay curled on her side on the bed.
Her mind formulated the image Nash had relayed to her. Her brother with slightly slumped shoulders, from the wear and tear of his life, in cargo pants and a black ball cap, all that beautiful curly hair hidden away from anybody who might recognize it.
But that hadn’t stopped Nash. The man had still put two and two together, and now here they were, searching for Antonio.
Her hopes had never been high, even in the first few hours after they’d learned her brother had gone missing. Something told her that they’d never find him. And now… she was actually feeling the first stirrings of what could only be called hope.
Looking at the computer setup in the other room, at the two men she’d seen who made up the special ops unit and Nash himself… Well, she was as close to hope as she could be.
If anyone could find Antonio, it was them. Hopefully, something she’d written down would aid their efforts and she would finally feel less helpless. After so many years, she hardly remembered anything else.
* * * * *
Nash looked around at the busy streets of Coahuila. He’d never been much for traveling or crowds. Born and raised a Texas boy, having grown up between his granddad’s ranch and his uncle’s, he was more at peace with cattle than anything else. But in law enforcement, he worked with the public on a daily basis.
He’d also spent a long time working on his temper. Early on in his career, he’d had some run-ins with various criminals that had gotten him reprimands on toning it down. But he couldn’t help it—he’d been raised in black and white. To him, there weren’t shades of gray. You were either on the right side of the law or wrong. Go far enough onto the wrong side, and he was gonna let you know.
Patience, Lang preached into his mind. His buddy had done more for helping him find that grip on control than even his own momma had. The way Lang put it, it had taken Nash years to become a Texas Ranger in the first place, and that meant he had the patience it took—he just had to tap into it.
It was true, he’d spent years qualifying for and working as a Texas State Trooper as the first requirement, as well as many physical and mental examinations. He’d gone through countless yearly trainings with specialists and even Army Rangers.
He was fit to subdue this crowd of tourists all milling around in the town’s square, but damn if he wasn’t itching to get out of the throng.
Dressed in cargo pants and a shirt with palm trees on it, he fit right in. Except he was rigged with his comms unit, had his weapon tucked against his spine and a lethal knife in his hiking boot.
“You should open some of those shirt buttons, Nash. Some pretty girls are eyein’ you.” Woody’s voice filled his ear.
Nash grunted, not bothering to look around at any pretty girls. He could argue that he was on the job and not here for pussy, but fact was, he couldn’t imagine a single one of them was more beautiful than the woman who was being guarded back in the hostel.
“Keep an eye out for any drug deals, guys who might be cartel or mafia.”
“I know,” he ground out at Woody’s words.
“All right, all right. Just sayin’. Don’t get your thong in a twist.”
“You’re an asshole. Shut up for a while, will ya?” Nash bit back a smile as he scanned the crowded street.
“I’m no more of an asshole than you are, Sully. Wait. You’re coming up on a person of interest.” Woody had positioned himself in a high building and had eyes on everything, with the help of binoculars.
Nash felt a muscle tense all the way down his spine. He fixed his gaze on a man ahead of him.
“The navy shirt?”
“That’s the one.”
“Moving closer.” Casually, he wandered around a group of people to draw up behind the man. Right off, Nash saw he was packing. The way he moved as if the weapon was digging into his hip was obvious. But carrying a concealed weapon wasn’t a crime in itself, no matter the laws down here. It didn’t necessarily make the man a threat—just cautious.
Still, something about him had stuck out to Woody, and Nash had to investigate.
The man veered off across the street, and Nash hung back a bit to survey him. As he reached a group of rough men, the guy held out a hand to clasp one of the other’s in greeting. They spoke in rapid-fire Spanish.
“Hope you’re as fluent as I’ve heard you are,” Woody said.
“I am,” he responded, listening closely to their talk.
To keep from being noticed, Nash slowed his pace, letting people bump into him from all sides as he held up the flow of traffic. The air was rich with food from vendors, and live music played down the street.
Suddenly, a man stepped up beside Nash and didn’t move.
Instantly on guard, he threw a glance
sideways.
“Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath. If anybody could fly under his radar, it was this man. “What the fuck’re you doin’ here?”
His brother Penn.
Kicked out of the Rangers for a misstep and now out for hire, doing his own vigilante crime fighting.
Penn shot him a cocky grin and then tipped his jaw toward the men Nash was monitoring. “Sure you know what you’re doing, bro?”
Only separated by a year in age, they were always rivals.
Without moving his stare off the men, and with his ear still cocked their way to drink in every word they exchanged, he drawled out, “Maybe not. Maybe I should have followed in your footsteps, went beyond protocol to get information to put a case to bed and ended up tossed out for it.”
Penn only grinned. Fucker.
An odd affection rose up in Nash, mingled with a healthy amount of irritation. “Stop with your shit and go away or help.”
“I’ll help.”
“Good. Dickhead.”
Penn reached out and they bro-hugged. In Nash’s ear, Woody chuckled. “Tell him to come up to the room for some margaritas later.”
Nash didn’t respond to that, because the suspects were on the move. He took off at a slow pace, meandering behind and hiding himself in the crowd so he wasn’t obvious.
The guys walked several blocks and entered a building. Nash took note of the address and surroundings. It wasn’t residential or office space, and with no puca-shell necklaces, colorful hats or flip-flops, nothing about the front of the place invited tourists.
“Boarded up windows seems like a red flag to me,” Penn muttered.
“Thinking the same.”
“You gonna follow them in?”
“Get off my dick, would ya? No, I’m not. Woody, you got eyes on this?”
“Not eyes, but I know your coordinates, Sully. Jess is doing a workup now in the system.”
Nash and Penn moved down the street a bit, and Nash pretended to look at his phone while Penn took out a cigarette that he didn’t light.
“Building is owned by a Sofia Aricelli. Used to serve as a general store back in the eighties. Now it stands empty.” Woody grunted in Nash’s ear. “Maybe those guys are starting a business again.”
