by Zoe Dawson
Mak headed back to her room and took a shower. With her towel wrapped around her, she sat on the edge of her bed and combed out her hair, her insides still trembling. She felt as if there were something hard pressing on her lungs.
Okay, Kai was right, she did think Pitbull was hot, but there was so much more to him than that. What had put that look in his eyes? She took a fortifying breath. God, she was dying to know. She was unraveling after two years of being wound so tight she could barely breathe.
Part of her was enjoying the relief and the other was freaking out.
She pulled up her knees and rested her cheek on them and watched the curtains move in the invisible swirl of the air conditioner.
Was she ready for a change, acknowledging the paradox of life, allowing the emotional entanglement of Pitbull to derail two years of shoring up her defenses? She felt closer to him in the short time she’d known him than she had with her own husband. Pitbull made her feel things, made her want things, made her ache inside, and she saw his loneliness and it only fueled her own.
Lifting her head, she sighed. She would have to face him over the briefing table and work with him closely on this mission. He was providing security for her and Kai, and there was no escaping him or what was happening between them.
But maybe if she worked hard at it, she could get back to her empty place.
She wasn’t interested in food. She headed to the command center with her stomach jumping and feeling edgy like she could, for a good solid hour, rock the punching bag Kai was hitting. There was still fifteen minutes before the scheduled time for everyone to assemble. There was something that was nagging her about that dead man.
It wasn’t that he was familiar, but there was something gnawing at her. Something she would find only in her own case files.
She entered the dual rooms, went to the closest computer, and signed into the NCIS database. She searched for the term “crossed slit throat.” The dead man’s throat had been slashed across, then slashed in a downward motion as well. It was a signature for… The database symbol for processing whirled until it yielded the results.
A double murder of an NCIS agent and DEA agent. The case came back to her, one that involved a drug trafficking ring tied in with sailors.
The people responsible were Victor and Vincent Cortez, twin brothers who were currently serving out their life terms in federal prison. Her gut dropped. Paige and Chris had both been on this case…and so had Mak. All three of them had worked together to bring the Cortez brothers to justice. Could it be that this was personal?
She delved deeper into the file and discovered that the twin brothers had two older brothers, Vero and Valero. One was suspected of being a drug lord and the other was an arms dealer.
If this was personal, could her colleagues already be dead?
Was she already too late to save them?
9
Mak worked feverishly for the rest of the time she had before the briefing to put together a workup of the four brothers, the case all of them had worked on, and their signature method to do away with snitches.
By the time everyone started to file in, she was almost ready.
Pitbull gave her a quizzical look, picking up on her excitement and adrenaline. She nodded to him and smiled. He smiled back. He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was dazzling—a quick curve of white teeth with that twinkle filling those usually intensely focused eyes.
Those gray, fog-shrouded eyes that spoke of secrets concealed in the mist, like the night sky was hidden behind them, and when he grinned, she felt like she could see all of it, all the way through the veil to the cosmos.
She shivered and tried to shake it off, but she couldn’t. There was going to be a reckoning with Pitbull…soon.
But at this moment, she felt him at her back. He was here, by her, with her, and she was safe. She let out her breath on a soft, easy sigh with the knowledge he was close in more ways than one.
Everyone sat down, and Fast Lane cleared his throat. “Hemingway, tell us what happened from beginning to end with your informant.”
Hemingway looked much better than he had an hour ago. With food, water, and a shower, he cleaned up well. He had dark blond hair streaked with gold, cut short on the sides and tousled on top. He had the same unwavering eyes as the rest of the battle-hardened men in the room, but there was a deep calmness about him. That calmness had served him well when he’d been dealing with the in-your-face-anger from Fast Lane. He was tall, lanky, and lean with compact muscles, his face strong and powerful, like granite or the Matterhorn, craggy and rugged for his obvious youth. He had to be in his early twenties. He had the kind of face you could trust.
He stood, which she thought was smart. Take a position of power to offset the testosterone in the room. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his worn, tight-fitting jeans, his stance relaxed and comfortable. He was a natural speaker. She bet he’d done debate in school.
“The dark web can be tricky, but when it comes to trying to find someone who’s missing, the low-lifes of this world always know something.” He shrugged. “I took a shot. When I got an answer, I was surprised.” He frowned. “He didn’t identify himself…no one does on the dark web, but he told me in the message that he had knowledge about the two NCIS agents who had been snatched in Foz do Iguaçu. I didn’t mention the city or that Agent Vargas was part of the abduction. It’s how I knew he was legit.”
“How did you know he wasn’t one of us trawling for information?” Saint asked.
“I didn’t. I took the chance that he had the information I needed. If I could figure out who took them, then I could figure out where they might have taken my sister and Agent Vargas. It was a long shot.”
“That paid off,” Pitbull said.
“It did. We set up the meet for that warehouse. I was five minutes late because of a mix-up with the street name. When I got there, he was already dead, and I heard the front door open. That’s when I hid, thinking the tangos might be looking for the guy he was here to meet.” He shifted his eyes to look at her. “I had no idea you were the good guys. I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there while you were preoccupied with the body.”
“So, with our informant dead, we’re no closer to finding out where the two agents are or who has them,” Max said.
“Not exactly.” That was Mak’s cue to present her information. She rose and walked to the front of the room and picked up the remote clicker. She depressed it and four photos filled the screen. It was clear the men were related. It was in their eyes—all brown, all steely with no mercy—and the shape of their jaws. All had dark hair in different styles. Kai made a soft distressed sound, swore under her breath, and everything got tense in the room as all eyes moved between her and the screen.
“These are the Cortez brothers. The top two are identical twins Vincent and Victor, and they are currently in federal prison for charges I’ll go over in a moment. The bottom two are their older brothers. Vero and Valero. Val is a documented arms dealer and has been on the ATF’s list for some time. The other one, the oldest, is a suspected drug lord and the mastermind behind the twins. He disappeared several years ago in a probe to try to discover if he had any role to play in the deaths of two federal agents.” She clicked to a second screen with two different photos. “The agent on the right is John Romano with the DEA, and the agent to the left is Rick Seneca with NCIS. They were working together to break up a drug ring involving U.S. sailors. The Cortez twins killed them, but they were caught and sentenced to life in prison.”
“How is this significant to this case?” Fast Lane asked.
“Chris, Kai, Paige, and I all worked these murders. We were the ones who arrested them.”
“So you think this might be personal,” Dodger asked. “Like payback?”
“That would explain why we haven’t received a ransom request from the kidnappers,” 2-Stroke said, his expression grim.
“I am only speculating because the manner in w
hich the informant was murdered is a signature of how they kill their victims.” She pulled up the gruesome crime scene photos of Romano and Seneca. “They had their throats cut the same way, across and down like in a cross. It’s a mark for each of them.”
“But the Cortez brothers are still locked up, aren’t they?” Kai asked.
“Yes, I checked. They are currently incarcerated. But the two older brothers are still at large. There has been a rumor that Vero was in the market for a plantation here in the Triple Frontier near Ciudad del Este in Paraguay. The DEA suspects he’s angling to get into the legit marijuana market in the States as a licensed distributor.”
“We can’t be sure it’s them,” Kai said, her voice subdued.
Mak knew that tone. Kai was upset and trying with all her might to hide it. She was a consummate professional.
“How can we go full force into looking for Vero and Val when we can’t be sure? Chris and Paige”—her voice broke—“have been missing for four days with no word. If we make one misstep, it could be over for them.”
Mak shared her colleague’s concern and uncertainty. She had wrestled with it for the time it took to put this package together. “I understand your concern, Kai, but the way the informant was killed points directly to them. They’re mocking us.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Or someone is messing with us and pointing us in the wrong direction.”
“It’s a chance we have to take. My tracking gut says I’m on the right path.” If she was wrong, and she was sure she wasn’t, she would have to deal with the failure then. “Let’s not buy tragedy, Kai.”
She nodded. “Excuse me,” she said, and turned and walked out of the room, the door closing softly after her.
“We’ll leave it to you to do the research,” Fast Lane said as the meeting broke up. “Shooting range,” Fast Lane said, and Pitbull sent her a look full of support that silently told her to hang in there.
Kat approached her. “I’ve got to get back to San Diego,” she said reluctantly. “I have no choice. But I will work my contacts for you regarding the Cortez brothers, and if I come up with something concrete, I’ll be in touch. Good luck. We’re all rooting for you.”
“Thank you for your help so far. It was invaluable.”
Kat nodded, turning to go. After the SEALs left, Mak went in search of Kai. She found her back up on the balcony, but this time she was just standing at the rail and looking out over the city.
“They’re out there somewhere,” Kai said, not turning around. “I hate not knowing for sure we have the right people.”
“I know,” Mak said, coming up and standing next to her. “It’s all we have to go on, and I’m banking on my gut, which has never steered me wrong. This is them mocking us. They have an agenda that we can’t know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do our best to find them. I want Chris and Paige back safe and sound just as much as you do. We can’t waver in our resolve to find them. They’re depending on us.”
“They’re as tough as they come,” Kai said. “They’ll hold out until we come for them. I have faith in them, and I have faith in us, Mak.”
“But…”
She turned toward Mak and sighed, “I’m fucking scared as hell, and I hate admitting that, but I am, especially in light of this information. The Cortez brothers are brutal, uncaring monsters.”
Mak broke another one of her rules. She opened her arms and they hugged, hanging onto each other and the hope they would find the answers they needed to save their friends.
For the rest of the day, she worked closely with COT commandos on trying to find someone who would be willing to talk to them about the Cortez brothers. Most of the time she was simply frustrated, as with each raid, the person they needed was either killed or slipped away. Tomorrow was another day.
Wearily, she left command and started for her room. For the last half hour, Pitbull had been heavily on her mind, and it had nothing to do with anything except the physical. She tried to quell the cravings, but without much luck.
As she came around the corner, she bumped into a hard body. When she looked up, she met Pitbull’s eyes.
“Hi. I was thinking about you.” It popped out of her mouth without her consent. There was that smile again, the one that lit up the whole world.
“I like the sound of that.” He tilted his head and said, “You look like hell.”
She shoved him. “Gee, thanks.”
“I just meant you look worse for wear.”
“Wow, the compliments keep coming.”
He sighed, shifting his weight. “Oh, fuck. You are beautiful and you know it.”
“Okay, that was marginally better. Makes me sound like an egotistical bitch, but I like the beautiful part.”
He rubbed his face. “Obviously I’m not very good at this.”
She set her hands on her hips, having a hell of a lot of fun giving him a hard time. “Try harder and I’ll invite you into my room for a good stiff drink.”
“You are the sexiest, most drop-dead gorgeous woman I have ever met.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve had a running hard on since you kissed me.”
“Oh,” she said, breathless now. “I think you might deserve two drinks.”
“Hoo-fuck-yah!”
She went inside, and he soon followed, but it looked like he was warring with himself. She didn’t blame him. This was bigger than both of them, and she was tired of fighting herself. She went to the small desk in the room and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, grabbed two glasses, and walked to the bed. She set everything on the nightstand as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. He looked all alpha male gorgeous, his biceps bulging over his thick, wide chest that tapered into a lean waist then flared out at his muscular hips and thighs.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Is that your ‘we need to talk’ stance?” She poured herself a shot and threw it back, enjoying the burn all the way down until there was an afterglow in her throat and stomach. “Because it’s not very conducive to talking. You look like you want to lecture me.” She leaned back on her elbow on the bed and said, “I’m not much in the mood for a lecture.”
“Talking does involve a two-way communication.” His darkened gaze shuttered.
She nodded and sighed.
He sighed back and uncrossed his arms, letting them hang loosely at his sides.
“Now you look like you’re ready to get into a ring and go a few rounds with me.” She made a face. “I would kick your ass.”
That got a laugh and a release of tension in him. “Damn, woman.”
“Oh, so you know, I fight dirty.”
“You are a ball-buster.”
A rush of adrenaline shot through her veins, and a heady mixture of awareness and delicious anticipation curled low in her belly. Unable to help messing with him, she licked her bottom lip.
“Yes…yes, I am.”
Her eyes went over him. She couldn’t help it. It had been building to this for a while. There was no mistaking the desire that flared to life in his striking eyes, and she reveled in that delicious response. They’d spent most of this assignment skirting the electric chemistry between them, but she’d seen more than enough proof lately to confirm that he was far from immune to her and their attraction.
Now it was just a matter of finally doing something about all that potent sexual tension that had them both so on edge around one another.
She poured him a drink, rising from the bed and holding it out to him. His gaze never wavered from hers, except to briefly slide his eyes down her body. In response, her nipples tightened into tingling, sensitive points against her plain bra. It amazed her how Pitbull didn’t even have to physically touch her to coax a sensual reaction out of her body. And he was the only man she’d ever known who possessed that impressive talent.
She had loved her husband, but they weren’t…didn’t have this kind of connection, this…passion.
He pushed off the wall, giving off
the vibes she was looking for. It was evident when a man wanted a woman. It was in his eyes and in the electric shocks he was throwing off that had started to heat the air around them.
He halted directly in front of her and took the shot, throwing it back, mirroring her. He set the glass down, invading her personal space. “Is this better for talking?” he asked.
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “No, but it’s much better for this.” She brushed her mouth across his, and the surge of raw sexual energy was like being struck by lightning.
Hoarsely whispering her name, Pitbull crushed her in a hard, fierce embrace, his hand roughly tangling in her loose hair.
He wanted to talk, but right now it was overrated. Taking and giving and taking some more was what she wanted and needed. Like a man pushed to the edge, he took the plunge with her, giving her all that raw, powerful masculinity that came with being an elite warrior. With a rough growl, he encircled his other arm around her waist and hauled her up against his body as his mouth came down on hers with a demanding need.
There wasn’t anything soft in this man, including his kiss, but slow and romantic wasn’t what she’d initiated here. This all-consuming kiss was the hard, hot reality she wanted right now. The introduction to passion was simply a freaking amazing bonus.
His hand moved to her nape and tightened, trapping her against him with the insistent press of his thighs and legs against hers. The solid length of his erection branded her with a need so raw, she wanted him driving all that male aggression deep inside her.
He slanted his mouth across hers and deepened the kiss into something erotic, his tongue stroking hers as one palm glided down over the curve of her waist and around to her bottom and the other hand skimmed beneath the tails of her shirt. His thumb caressed the skin of her stomach, and she trembled in anticipation. Unrelenting fingers swept upward until he covered her breast in his big, calloused hand and squeezed her aching flesh.
