A Covert Affair

by Katie Reus

  The paramedic turned at the sound of Sinclair’s voice and gave him a friendly nod and greeting before telling them he’d give them a couple of minutes.

  “Hey, how’d you know about what happened?”

  “Heard about it on the radio. Your name’s red-flagged right now anyway.”

  She blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “Just that if there’s a mention of you I get a call. I’m worried about you. More after today.” He sat on the back deck of the ambulance next to her. “You get a look at who did this?”

  “No.” She’d already told the responding officers all this and didn’t want to hash it out again. “Everything happened so fast, it was terrifying.”

  “You think it’s the same guy who came after you Friday night?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I kinda hope so, though, because if there are two people out there who want to hurt me this badly . . .” She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself. A shiver snaked through her and damn it if stupid tears didn’t sting her eyes. Way too much had happened and she was pretty much at her breaking point. It didn’t help that things between her and Nathan were all sorts of screwed up. She blinked the tears back, but they spilled over anyway.

  “Aw, hell. Don’t cry.” Sinclair wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close.

  She’d thought she could get through this without crying. She’d just wanted to finish making her statement, deal with the tow truck company, talk to her employees, then go home. That was the plan.

  She liked having order in her life, and right now it seemed as if everything was all messed up. Her emotions were out of control, one of her employees was missing, and numerous women had been kidnapped for God knew what. And someone was apparently determined to kill her or at least hurt her really bad. “Sorry,” she muttered, turning her face into his shirt.

  “Don’t apologize. You’ve dealt with a lot this past week. Hell, I—”

  “Amelia.”

  Sinclair stopped talking and she looked up to find Nathan right in front of them, his arms over his chest.

  He looked fierce and too sexy for his—or her—own good. He wore a dark suit that had to be custom-made for his gorgeous body. A mix of emotions played over his face, one of them most definitely annoyance, possibly jealousy—for Sinclair, who still hadn’t dropped his arm from Amelia’s shoulders.

  And it didn’t seem he planned to. Sinclair’s grip tightened.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted, then felt stupid for it. And a little hopeful. The only reason he should have come was for her, unless he thought her attack was part of his case.

  Nathan flicked a glance at Sinclair before focusing on her. “I heard you were in an accident. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His arms dropped and he took a small step forward, one of his hands slightly lifting as if he wanted to reach for her. But he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Disappointment flared inside her, bright and scorching. She wanted to feel the warmth of his touch right now. “I’m okay. Just a little sore, mainly from the airbag.” She nudged Sinclair with her elbow, but he didn’t move. Just sat next to her, arm securely around her. She knew he didn’t have a thing for her—she was pretty sure he thought of her as a sister—so he must be feeling overprotective to act like this.

  “What did the paramedics say?”

  “They want me to go to the hospital to get checked out further.”

  Nathan nodded, the tightness in his shoulders loosening. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah, it’s not happening.” She wasn’t going anywhere but home. After she took care of a few things.

  “You could have a concussion or—”

  “Sinclair!” a male voice called out, making all of them glance over.

  Next to the half-crumpled bus stop, Captain Nieto stood with a man who looked about the same age as him, early to mid-fifties. He wore light-colored slacks and a button-down green shirt and was clearly in good shape. Since he had on sunglasses it was impossible to read him, but it seemed as if he was looking at her. But she was probably imagining that. Something about him was familiar, though.

  Sinclair stood, but he leaned in as if hugging her and whispered, “Ask your friend who he really works for,” before standing and kissing her gently on the forehead.

  Surprise flickered through her. Sinclair had confirmed that Nathan worked for the FBI. That wasn’t true? Then who did he work for and why would he lie to her? He couldn’t be a criminal if Sinclair was working with him. As Sinclair strode over to his captain, she turned to Nathan, ready to ask him just that, but the words died in her throat at the dark look in his eyes. “What?”

  “I don’t like that fucker touching you.” His words were raw and not a little jealous.

  The hostility lacing his statement took her off guard. He was the one who’d taken off last night; he didn’t have a right to feel jealous. She wasn’t even going to go there right now. She also wasn’t going to question him about who he worked for. Not now. She didn’t want to give away that Sinclair had put the idea in her head to ask, and more to the point, she was freaking done for the day.

  Done with everything.

  Her body hurt, her brain hurt, and she was going home as soon as humanly possible.

  Nathan moved lightning quick, sitting next to her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  The concern in his voice pierced her. At least he actually cared. That knowledge broke something inside her. Without warning, the dam she’d been holding back burst free. To her horror, the waterworks started. Full-on, ugly crying. She managed to keep the sobbing noises to a minimum, but her body trembled from the onslaught of her emotions.

  Before she could feel embarrassed, she found herself being tugged into Nathan’s strong hold, didn’t fight him as he led her . . . somewhere.

  To a vehicle. When he opened the back door to an SUV, she started to protest. “My purse and Jeep—”

  He held up her purse and said, “Jeep’s being towed. I’ll get all the info. Come on.” His voice was gentle as he helped her into it and slid in after her. That was when it registered someone else was in the driver’s seat.

  Nathan gave him her address and they left, just like that. She wasn’t even sure she should have gone. She needed to talk to her employees, and the police might still need to talk to her. But . . . screw it. She’d wanted to go home and now she was getting her wish.

  Even though things were strained between them, and she wondered if they’d ever get past the divide, she still leaned against Nathan. Without pause he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, stroking a hand down her back as she curled against him.

  Amelia jerked awake with a start as Nathan shifted next to her. Moving away from him, she saw that the SUV had stopped in her driveway.

  Home.

  “I’ll call when I need a pickup,” Nathan murmured to the driver before sliding out.

  Even though she didn’t need the help, Amelia savored the way his strong arm slid around her and held her close as he walked her to the front door. She didn’t have to do anything as he pulled the keys from her purse and let them in. Inside he disarmed the alarm and reset it to stay mode.

  His movements were precise and economical. It was weird to let someone else take over, but she was grateful to have him with her now. She couldn’t believe she’d practically had a meltdown at the crash site. She usually held up in stressful situations but not today.

  “You want hot tea?” He stood almost awkwardly in her foyer, watching her carefully.

  She shook her head, touched by the question. His abuela had always made either of them hot tea whenever they’d felt under the weather or just had a bad day. “I’m okay. I think I just want to crash. You can call your friend or whoever that was to pick you up. Thank you for bringing me home, really, but you don’t have to stay.” She didn’t want to be an obligation to him. Nathan had such an honorable streak, and she wasn’t going to use that.

  He just g
runted what could have meant any number or responses before bending down and scooping her into his arms.

  She yelped, looping her arm around his neck as he strode for the stairs with determined strides. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking care of you.”

  She appreciated it, but even so . . . “I can walk.”

  He did that grunt thing again, refusing to look at her as he hurried up the stairs. Once they were in her bedroom, he set her down at the foot of her bed while he pulled back the covers. Sunlight streamed in from the open blinds, bathing the gold-and-blue duvet and the oversize canvas of the Miami skyline that hung above her bed.

  Too many emotions flooded her. Despite what had gone down with them, despite the fact that things were potentially beyond repair between them, he was still taking care of her. When he picked up the short pajama set she’d tossed onto her chaise, she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Nathan, you really don’t need to stick around.” It was almost harder with him here, being so damn nice that she just wanted to cry all over again. She understood why he’d taken off last night, but she was also a little resentful. She’d never kept the truth from him to hurt him or because she hadn’t trusted him. She’d done it because she’d hated herself, had been drowning in ridiculous guilt. It had never been about him.

  “I do.” There was no room for argument in those two words. “Change. You’ll feel better.” Then, taking her totally by surprise, he stripped off his jacket, shirt, and shoes. He left his pants on, though, making it clear that he wasn’t trying for more from her.

  Instead of using the bathroom for privacy, she undressed by the chaise, leaving her clothes in a heap, even though she normally only left her pajamas out. She didn’t have the energy to put them in the hamper.

  Nathan stood rigid by her bed, not even pretending to look away as she changed clothes. Hunger simmered in his gaze, nearly scorching her. She felt her body flare to life, knowing that all that need was for her. But he didn’t make a move for her as she approached the bed and collapsed onto it. Instead he rounded it and slid into the other side.

  It depressed under his weight, but Amelia couldn’t make herself turn around to face him. Why the hell was he here? She couldn’t tell if this was obligation or maybe he was offering an olive branch between them. She hoped it was the latter, but that dark, bitchy voice in her head told her it wasn’t.

  She was just an obligation, a duty. Now her sheets and bed would smell like him. She craved him even as she silently ordered him to leave, to get the hell out of her home. The longer she was around him, the harder it was going to be to move on when he disappeared from her life.

  When his solid arm slid around her waist, tugging her close, she couldn’t even fight his hold. Didn’t want to. She settled against him, soaking up all his strength.

  “I know I said it, but . . .” She cleared her throat, her voice seeming overpronounced in the quiet room. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’m so sorry, Nathan. If you can’t forgive me, I’ll understand, though.”

  He sighed, his grip tightening as his chin settled on top of her head. His masculine scent enveloped her. “It’s not about forgiveness. I do forgive you. You were fucking seventeen and hurting. I’d have to be a monster not to be able to let that go. It just kills me that you didn’t trust me. I would have done anything for you. Still would.” He murmured the last part so low she almost didn’t hear him.

  Her throat tightened at his words. He forgave her, but it didn’t sound as though that was enough. Had she ruined everything with her fearful decision twelve years ago? She was too afraid to ask if they had a chance at a future. Hell, maybe she didn’t deserve one. More tears threatened, but this time she managed to rein them in. She would not cry again. At least not until she was alone.

  “I need to ask you something.” She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Nathan’s voice cut through the silence.

  “Okay,” she whispered, feeling lethargic and beyond exhausted by now.

  “We need you to get inside Mercado’s house again. One more date and Elliott should be able to get what he needs. He was damn close last time.” The steady cadence of his voice was normally soothing.

  She went rigid in his hold. His words pissed her off. Maybe that was why he was still being decent to her. They still needed her. She almost let out a bitter laugh but held herself in check. A deal was a deal. Her jaw tightened. “I’ll do it.”

  She figured after he’d gotten what he needed from her, then things would truly be over between them. Then she could move on for good.

  Chapter 15

  Babysitter: a bodyguard.

  Sid paced in front of the faux fireplace in his condo. A fireplace in Florida was stupid, but it added to the ambience of his high-rise. At least that was what his bitch of a real estate agent had said. She hadn’t even liked him, but she’d still fucked him right in front of the damn fireplace after he closed on the condo. He’d bought it free and clear, so she’d known he had money. Maybe she’d thought she’d get gifts or jewelry out of him. People were always like that, wanting to take, take, take.

  Agitated, he shook his head. He had to think about the present, about what was important. Almost against his will his gaze strayed back to the muted television screen above the mantel. He unmuted it.

  The same story was still playing. He needed to figure out what to do. He picked up the cold beer on his coffee table, took a swig.

  Sitting behind the news desk on-screen, the brunette anchor stared at the camera, her expression sincere. “For those who are just tuning in, it’s a shocking night in Miami. The remains of almost forty women have been found. The police haven’t released the location or the causes of death, but it looks as if there could be a serial killer . . .”

  Sid tuned her out and collapsed onto the couch. What he’d thought was a sleek and modern piece of furniture when he bought it now felt stiff and uncomfortable to sit on. Or maybe it was because he knew the FBI could be onto him now. Onto their whole operation.

  What the hell was he going to do? He tugged his cell phone from his pocket and looked at the screen just in case he’d missed a call. Nothing. His boss had to have seen the news. The police had found one of his dumping sites. That place had been perfect too.

  Private, owned by someone who lived out of state or something and didn’t plan to return to Florida any time soon.

  “We were careful, though,” he muttered to himself. They’d sterilized each body before he dumped it. So there wouldn’t be any evidence linking any of them. Well, the women were evidence, but it wasn’t as if the police would be smart enough to tie the women to the babies they’d sold to rich people with more money than sense. No, things would be okay. They’d probably just figure a serial killer was on the loose. But still, they’d be digging into this case hard-core now. What if they caught him on a traffic cam and somehow figured out he was the one who’d dumped the bodies?

  A chiming sound made him jump and he nearly spilled his beer. The downstairs security should have informed him he had visitors before anyone showed up here. Out of habit, he checked the weapon at the back of his pants and stood up. His heartbeat was erratic, so he took a deep, calming breath.

  At his front door he turned on the video screen above the security keypad so he could see who was outside. Damn it, it was the doctor. He didn’t see anyone with the doc, so maybe the people he worked with didn’t want him dead.

  Sid thought about ignoring it, but whatever the doc wanted, he needed to hear him out. If he had to kill the guy, so be it. He withdrew his weapon and opened the door. He didn’t point it at the man just yet, but kept his finger on the trigger.

  Dr. Phil Davis looked at his weapon with disdain. “A gun, really?” Without waiting for a response, Phil strode inside, his steps brisk. “I take it you’ve seen the news?” he continued.

  “Yep. That lake is fucking secure! I don’t know how—”

  Phil held up a hand, his expre
ssion arrogant as usual. Something Sid found ironic, considering what a fuckup the guy was. He’d been fired from the hospital he worked at for too many malpractice suits. But the real kicker had been when he let a judge’s daughter die on the operating table. The board had let him go almost immediately and he’d paid out the nose in a civil suit. “No one cares about the discovery. The police won’t find any evidence on us. We were all careful.” Phil looked at him pointedly, as if in question.

  Sid nodded. “I’m always careful.”

  “Good. You need to get focused because you have three more jobs this week.” He pulled a thin file folder from inside his jacket, handed it to Sid. “And burn this shit when you’re done. We all need to be careful, now more than ever. No digital trail, nothing to link us to this.”

  Three? Sid blinked. “You want me to take more targets? Now?” No way. That was just asking for trouble. There had been a brief mention of a federal agency getting involved by that reporter, but nothing more. He was pretty sure the FBI got involved with serial killers. Maybe not every time, but often enough. Or that was what he’d seen on television. For all he knew the feds or even the locals knew about his other dump sites. The thought made a cold sweat spread through him.

  Phil nodded, his expression hard. “You will do as you’re told. We want the new acquisitions as quickly as possible. After we acquire them we won’t be taking any more for a while. The media have caused a problem for us, but we can still make a nice profit if we bring in four more.”

  Sid frowned. “I thought you said three.”

  “I did. Boss will be taking one alone.”

  He started to ask why, but cut himself off. Whatever. One less job for Sid to worry about.

  But he must have read the question in Sid’s eyes because the doctor just shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care why.” He turned and yanked open the front door. As he stepped halfway out, he turned and looked over his shoulder, his eyes shrewd—as if he knew what Sid was thinking. “If you think about doing anything stupid, you know what will happen to you.” The warning note in his voice was clear.