by Zoe Dawson
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I think you’re amazing.”
For a moment she stared at him as if he’d just caught her off guard. She leaned toward him like she couldn’t help herself, and he knew exactly how that felt. “I can take care of myself, Derrick. You don’t have to worry about that. If I thought you were crossing a line with me, I would make sure you tripped over it, hard.”
“I don’t have any doubt about it.”
“Then let me decide if you’re taking advantage of me. I’m not weak. I’ve never been weak.”
He captured her gaze and made sure she heard every word. “I didn’t say you were weak. I said you were vulnerable. It’s not the same. I don’t want to mess up here. I want to be honest with you about how I feel. I’ve kept way too much to myself when it mattered. I’m not going to do that with you. If it pisses you off, too damn bad. We’ll hash it out.” She blinked a couple of times and then looked away as if she was trying to regain her composure. He leaned over. “I really wish I could kiss you right now.”
She took a quick breath and let it out. “You really are something else, Derrick.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure, but you’re never boring.”
“And for all your gentleness, you have a surprisingly direct way of dealing with people.”
“Some respond to gentle. People, at least those in my line of work, tend to respond better to direct and to the point.”
“Even more important, given the gender inequity in your line of work, I would imagine.” If his sensitivity to her plight surprised her, she didn’t show it. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Emma. I’m not sorry for what I said. I’d like to shout it to the rooftops that we’re together, but it will put us at a disadvantage here. You do see that. Especially with the cartel and the Ortegas.”
“I still don’t see the need for it, but I will defer to you.”
She’d said it calmly enough, but he noticed, in his peripheral vision, that she was fidgeting a bit as if unable to get comfortable.
“You can do anything you want to me in private,” he said huskily and that stopped the fidgeting completely.
His direct answer, coupled with his very direct gaze, seemed to catch her off guard. He wasn’t flirting now. And she knew it.
“I don’t know what to do with that or what to do with you.”
“That’s okay, babe. I have enough ideas for both of us,” he replied, a hint of the teasing smile coming back, but still keeping his gaze focused tightly on her.
She took a breath and let it go. “Now I want to kiss you.”
“Keep that thought. We’ve got four hours before we touch down.”
“What are your plans for when we get there?”
“I’m going to see if anyone in the area knows the teen. We may be ahead of him unless he had the same idea and got on a plane. He may have already delivered Matty to the Ortegas. We don’t know for sure, but if we can get a bead on the guy who kidnapped him, we might have a case to question the father and son on not only the murders, but more important, on Matty’s abduction. Maybe we can get some negotiations going.”
“I would certainly prefer to get Matty back without violence.”
“We’ll do what it takes to get him back.” Within or without the letter of the law. They were dealing with lawless thugs here, and Derrick wasn’t about to play by the rules when he was certain Gilberto and Arturo had no intention of doing so.
When the plane landed it was early evening. They stopped for a bite to eat at a cantina and the two Mexican officials drove them to a compound.
“This once belonged to the Medianoche Cartel. Los Equis took them out, so the local police took over as a fortified place to have their base of operations.” Reyes said. “This is where you’ll be staying. You can use it as your base of operations. The Ortegas don’t often bother the residents of Caliche. Their beef is with two other cartels in the area and their focus is on them. But we can talk about that in the morning.”
They drove up to a metal gate, which swung open after Reyes talked to someone. They entered a large yard with a fresh-cut lawn, more palm trees and a circular pool in the middle.
Derrick liked the idea they were in a fortified area. But agreed with Reyes that any information would be better absorbed in the morning. He nodded. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
The house itself was a two-story dwelling, also painted in bright yellow with white accents and double-paned windows with arched tops and a red tile roof.
In any large American city, this house would be a suburban, upper-middle-class home—but in this city in the area of Michoacán, it seemed much grander, certainly in stark contrast to the adobe houses next door.
The entrance opened into a decorative foyer and into a hallway that connected to the living area with a large sofa and coffee table, and a fully operating kitchen. “There are four bedrooms upstairs. We brief down here. It’s been a long day. We can meet you down here tomorrow morning at eight. There will be guards at the gate twenty-four/seven. So sleep easy.”
Derrick never slept easy, except for the two nights in Emma’s arms. But here, they would have to be more careful and much more discreet. He grabbed his bag and carried her suitcase up the stairs. Emma followed. He opened one of the doors to find an opulent bedroom. Going inside, he set her case on the bed.
“I’ll be right next door if you need me.” She nodded, looking weary. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her against him. “I wish I could stay.”
“I know. I wish you could, too. But I’ve got to check in on my sister, and I’m sure you want to touch base with your team.”
He tugged her mouth close and kissed her. “We’re both full of crap,” he whispered, catching the door with his foot and nudging it closed.
She laughed a bit breathlessly as he pinned her against the wall. His grin felt lazy, and he knew his gaze was just a touch more than a little proprietary as he stroked the side of her face, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I’ll be taking a very long, very lonely cold shower one room over.”
“Brr,” she said with a mock shiver.
He laughed. “I’ve survived worse.”
“You are my hero.”
“Yeah, I am,” he said, his voice gruff.
She smiled up into his eyes. “I have no business getting sidetracked by you, you know, much less letting you get sidetracked by me.”
“I know. It’s sidetrack city where you’re concerned.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay?” She grinned without a hint of remorse.
“You’re killing me here, Emma.”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’m getting that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her snug between his legs. “And I’m enjoying this.”
She swatted at him, but she wasn’t making any move whatsoever to disengage his tight hold. Which only had him drawing her closer still. “I do want you, Emma.” He moved his hips. “Hard to deny that one. But I’ll want more than just that.”
“Maybe if you only wanted me for my body, this would be easier.”
“Ha, not likely. Nothing is easy with you.”
She smiled. “Wear your heart on your sleeve, do you?”
“Typically, never. With you? It’s fast becoming something of a struggle.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck. “Geez, you smell good.”
“Emma—” She moved her head and tugged his face down to hers and kissed him. Then she broke the kiss. When he tried to resume it, she pressed her fingers across his mouth and stopped him. “I want to. That much is obvious but—”
He moved his mouth a little and nibbled on the end of her fingers.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Unrepentantly.”
She slipped from his hold and reached out her hand. When he took hold of it, she pulled him over to the door. “I won’t sleep if you stay. We’re both almost giddy w
ith exhaustion. I think maybe we’d best get at least a little rest. We’re in a war zone now.”
He wanted to argue, but clearly, as she was yawning, she had a point.
“We are in a war zone,” he said with a sigh.
She laughed. “Go before I change my mind.”
He stepped out of the room and paused at her open door. “Good night, babe.”
“Good night, Derrick.” She paused, looked up at him. “Thank you for what you said about me not being weak. That means a lot to me.”
He nodded. “I meant it.”
She smiled. He stood there, long after she’d closed the door. He listened to the creak of the floorboards as she readied herself for bed. Stood there while she checked in with the hospital and until the creaking stopped and the light splintering through the door went out.
“Good night,” he murmured, and walked to the room next door, opening the door and going inside. Getting involved with this woman had a profound influence on his life. On him.
He wondered, really wondered, if a leopard could change his spots…wondered if he could really acclimate himself, or was he doomed to be alone forever?
She was making him think and feel differently about everything. Especially about getting her nephew back, making him think about his own kid, and even though he wasn't in the boy's life, he felt protective of him just as much as Emma was feeling protective of her nephew. He’d promised that he would work with her, but he vowed he’d break that promise if he had to—all tied up in knots about his own son. He couldn’t imagine Emma and her sister Lily having to go through what he was going through. His son was also in a war zone, and if he could get him out of it, he would in a heartbeat. His hands were tied there, but not with Emma’s nephew. He would never leave that innocent boy to the Ortegas. It was inconceivable.
He really meant it. He’d get the boy back no matter what it took.
With or without her.
Promise or no promise.
Chapter Eleven
Somewhere near Caliche, Mexico
Luis drove through the compound gates. It had been the worse trip he’d ever driven in his life. With the crying baby, stopping for changes, feeding and administering the medication prescribed by the doctor in Santa Ana, he was frazzled. Being only sixteen, he wasn’t used to handling a baby. Yet Jefe had sent him, and it made him proud that his boss trusted him with this job. He only wished he’d done better, killed the baby’s mother like he’d been instructed and neutralized the American threat to them back in Santa Ana.
He pulled up outside the kitchen in the back where he’d been instructed to go. He’d had to duck several roadblocks by the local cops. Word must have gotten out, since the Americans had escaped their execution in the desert outside Santa Ana. Formidable opponents in this battle for the baby boy.
The back door opened, and a small, heavyset woman peered out. Luis opened his door and stepped out of the car. He went to the back and clicked the latch to remove the car seat from its base and transform it into a carrier.
The boy didn’t stir as Luis had just fed him half an hour ago. He was so tiny, so unaware of his plight. But if Gilberto wanted him, Luis was sure he would treat him well. After all, what would he want with a baby anyway? He grabbed up the infant’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. The woman held the door wide as he entered the house, her dark eyes troubled. She touched his arm, but he shrugged her off. Luis didn’t question what he was asked to do. He did it, but deep down he couldn’t be sorry the boy’s mother hadn’t died.
“Follow me,” she said, her voice quiet.
“The medicine must go into the refrigerator,” he said, holding out the plastic bag to her. She took the bottle of pink liquid from the portable cooler Luis had purchased at the pharmacy and the light from the fridge flashed in the dimness, then winked out as the door closed. She walked back and they ascended the stairs and entered a fully furnished and stocked nursery.
“How is the baby?” she whispered.
“He is well. Much less fussy since he has received several doses of the amoxicillin. I fed him, changed him and he should be fine.” She unbuckled the straps that held the boy inside, and with the ease of a mother, lifted him out of the seat. For a moment she stared down into his little face, the fat cheeks, the downy hair, his pink, pursed lips. He reached out and nudged her. “It must be done. We don’t have a choice in that matter. You know that.” She set him in the crib on his back and covered him with a blanket. Even though the night was warm, the air-conditioning kept the house chilled. He stirred and made soft noises but settled down again into slumber. Luis breathed a sigh of relief. This was finally over.
They left the room and went back downstairs. “He will see you in the study. Please be careful, my boy.”
“Ah, Mama, you know I do this for you.”
She wiped at her eyes with her apron. “This is wrong and we both know it. What you have had to do in his employ is…monstrous. What we both have had to do has marked our souls.”
“We survive, Mama. That is what we do. You’ve worked for him for most of your life. I was practically raised here. He’s provided everything for us. He is our jefe and it must be done.”
He left and walked through the house and knocked at the carved wooden door.
“Enter.”
Luis pushed open the door to an opulent study done in dark green and gold, an expensive rug under his feet, covering the wooden floor of the same dark oak as the big desk. He moved forward and was soon in front of Gilberto Ortega, who reclined in a tall leather chair, the fruity smell of smoke from the Cuban cigar he was fond of scenting the air.
“He is here?” Gilberto’s voice was melodious and deep. He took a drag on the cigar and breathed out smoke.
“Yes, Mr. Ortega. Upstairs. Safe and sound. He has an ear infection, but I’ve given him the medicine as I was instructed.” Luis’s gut was tied up in knots. If Gilberto wasn’t pleased, he’d never leave this estate alive.
“You have performed…adequately. The Americans are in Caliche. That is unfortunate they have discovered the connection between the baby’s mother and us. But they have no proof. No concrete evidence. So, it’s of no matter. If they get bothersome, I will neutralize the threat. The boy is now mine. It would have complicated matters for the American government if their agents had gone missing. I’m displeased about that turn of events.”
“One is an NCIS agent and the other one, the woman, is a private investigator.”
“NCIS?”
“Naval Criminal Investigative Service. They are involved because the boy’s mother was in the Navy.”
Gilberto huffed out a laugh. “Not even the FBI. Ha, these people are of no consequence.”
“Our contacts in Santa Ana took heavy damages. They would like the two Americans’ heads.”
“Hmmm, good to know. I’ll keep that under advisement.” He took a drag of the cigar and blew out the fragrant smoke. “The mother still lives.”
He nodded, wiping his palms on his pant legs. “She is in a coma. That is true. But she fought me, and she fell down the stairs. I’m sorry I didn’t finish her off, but I didn’t want to attract undue attention, and getting the boy out was my number one concern.” He swallowed. Mr. Ortega sounded calm and cool. But Luis knew that wasn’t an indication of the man’s state of mind. He gave nothing away when he was pleased, when he was sad and when he was homicidal.
Mr. Ortega leaned forward and tapped his cigar against a beautiful marble ashtray. “Get something to eat, then lay low. The authorities don’t know who you are, and that is good. Let’s keep it that way. For your sake and my competent and resourceful Gabriela, your mama, I will send someone to handle the situation you botched.”
“Yes, sir,” Luis said, his heart pounding. It was a subtle threat. Mr. Ortega would kill his mother without a second thought. But not today, it seemed.
“Send in Mr. Flores.”
That was his dismissal and Luis backed toward the door. “Thank yo
u, Mr. Ortega.” He ducked outside and found Mr. Ortega’s right-hand man cleaning his fingernails with the tip of the knife he carried. It was slim and wicked looking, the kind of weapon that killed quietly before the victim even knew it was coming. Luis should know; Francisco had taught him everything he knew.
If Mr. Ortega was threatening in a neutral way, Francisco Flores was an overt, stone-cold blunt instrument. It was in his dead black eyes, in the square jaw and the big, but surprisingly elegant, hands. Violence was etched into every line in his face.
Francisco didn’t look up even when Luis called his name, then cleared his throat. When Luis went to reach out to shake him, he exploded out of the chair, knocking it back against the wall. The sharp knife was against Luis’s throat before he could take his next breath. “Don’t ever touch me,” he rasped out as the razor-sharp knife nicked him.
“No, sir.” Luis’s words wobbled. “Mr. Ortega would like to see you. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Flores smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “Does he? Probably to clean up your damn mess.” He removed the knife, spun it in his hand and sheathed it in a leather case on his belt. “Get the hell out of here.”
The moment the Montoya boy left, Gilberto’s mind started to spin. It was true the Americans might have a clue that Gilberto and his son Arturo had been on the same cruise as Lily St. John, but there was no proof that either he or his son had harmed her or taken the baby. All he had to do was tie up any loose ends and put his plan into motion. When Francisco walked into the room, Gilberto said, “Close the door. We have much to discuss.”
Caliche, Mexico
Emma woke up, and in that place between waking and sleeping, she felt as if something important was missing. She opened her eyes to the unfamiliar room, then recollection flooded back to her. Derrick. She was missing his warmth. She was in Caliche, one step closer to Matty. She could almost feel the little boy’s presence. Could Gilberto have brought him someplace nearby?
She slipped out of bed and took a shower, then got dressed. It was early, but Emma was ready to take the next steps to get Matty back.
