Dark Nights Dangerous Men

by Elisabeth Naughton, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright, Joan Swan

“Sure, but wait.”

  “What?” Rio braced for more bad news.

  “Have you gotten laid yet?” The humorous, excited edge in Tomás’s voice abraded Rio’s nerves. “Is she as good as she looks?”

  “Shut the hell up,” Rio muttered on his way back to the table.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Tomás drawled.

  “You’re on speaker now.” Rio pushed a button and set the phone down. “How does Alvarado look?”

  “Messed up,” Tomás said. “He’s done time in three different prisons. El Salvador, Peru, and here in Mexico.”

  “For what?” Rio asked.

  “You name it—drugs, weapons, assault, murder.”

  A slow throb ached at the center of Rio’s head, and he massaged his temples.

  “He’s known for packing half a dozen weapons on him at all times,” Tomás said. “And he’s not afraid to use them. He’s a shit-stirrer and a big guy. Stands six four, weighs in at two-fifty, and he likes to be top dog.”

  “We’ll find someone else.” Rio exhaled heavily. “Why don’t you talk to—”

  “No, he’s perfect.” Saul waved away Rio’s order with a thoughtful look of distraction. “Just the type we need.”

  “We need competent,” Rio said, “not volatile independents.”

  “I agree. We need competent for our inner circle. But it’s always good to have a few bad boys out there on the fringes. They’re useful scapegoats when trouble closes in. His record and reputation will draw attention, deflecting it from me, from us. In the event of discovery, he will be the one authorities go after first.”

  “Saul—”

  “I said,” Saul repeated slowly, deliberately, “he starts tomorrow. And add him to the list for security Saturday night.”

  Rio shut his mouth and shoved his hands into his pockets. The only positive thing emerging from this whole asinine assignment was the intelligence on the terrorists, their contacts and training. Rio had to focus on that. He was determined to see something meaningful emerge from this situation. Hardly compensation for the loss of Alejandra and Santos, but all he could do for now. Aside from keeping Cassie safe, which had become priority number one.

  And it was beginning to look like that would require sleeping with her, because scaring her pushed her away, threatening her made her rebel, and simply watching her didn’t hinder her in any way. He certainly couldn’t debrief her, and Kollman refused to pull her out. But truly seducing her meant putting himself at much higher risk—personally. As if he needed any more risk.

  And he wasn’t just looking at simple sex either, he realized. He was looking at good sex. Great sex. The toe-curling, back-arching, multi-orgasmic sex she’d spoken of on the phone with her friend, because, if not, he wouldn’t be distracting her from this mission she’d launched.

  Uncharacteristic nerves fluttered low in his gut. Could he be that good? Of course he could. He chewed on the inside of his lower lip, stuffed his hands into his pockets and thought back to the last fling he’d picked up out of town. But that had been months ago. He honestly couldn’t remember much. He didn’t do names. Didn’t do numbers. Didn’t meet the same woman twice. So…really…how did he know if he was capable of being good enough to keep Cassie distracted? He hadn’t tried to be any better than it took to get through a couple of hours of uncomplicated, impersonal physical satisfaction for…years.

  He wiped a hand over his face. He either needed to stop drinking or needed to drink a hell of a lot more.

  “Thanks, Tomás.” Rio closed his phone and straightened, facing Saul. “Are we done here?”

  “One more thing,” Saul said. “I’m sending Tomás and Pedro out of town to collect women. There is too much talk locally about the accident, and they’re taking too much time to recruit. Normally, I’d have them pick them up off the street, but that will draw attention from the Muertos.”

  Rio’s mind veered to calculate this new angle. He didn’t like the idea of having Tomás out of reach, but it wouldn’t be bad to have Pedro out of town. It didn’t seem to matter what Rio thought of the idea anyway; Saul didn’t ask.

  “Remember what I said, Rio,” Saul finished. “I’m done playing Cassandra’s games. You deal with her, or I will.”

  Rio should have followed Cassie’s lead and skipped dinner. He hadn’t eaten much, but between the few bites he’d forced down and that wine, his guts felt both tight and tumultuous as he stood staring at the door of Alejandra’s suite.

  He had no idea what condition he’d find Cassie in—pissed, pitying, passed out. She’d had two full glasses of wine on an empty stomach, and who knew what had become of the still-half-full bottle she’d swiped. Maybe if she was drunk, he’d actually have a chance at getting past all her frustrating defenses.

  He cracked the door and peered in without knocking. Cassie stood with one hand on a newel of her mother’s hand-carved four-poster bed, the other slipping off one heel as she bent at the waist. The bodice of her shimmering sleeveless dress strained with the fullness of her breasts, and the supple flesh rounded beautifully over the edge. Rio’s sloppy brain prayed that fabric would give and those luscious breasts would win out, falling free of the restraint. And as Rio’s gaze roamed Cassie’s deep cleavage, his dick thumped against its own limitations, responding to an electrifying fantasy of being nestled between those full, soft breasts.

  She slipped off her other shoe, left them to melt into the plush carpeting, and turned toward the closet. Her fingers gripped the bedpost until they paled; then she pushed off and disappeared into the closet.

  Rio stepped into the huge master suite. It was decorated in the estate’s trademark earth tones and accented with turquoise to draw in the ocean’s tranquility. Everything about the estate followed Alejandra’s grand theme, even the name Villas Terra del Mar, village of the earth and sea.

  He followed Cassie into the closet, a room nearly the size of Rio’s entire casita, and found her wrapped in one of Alejandra’s favorite silk shawls, a corner held against her face, eyes closed. A bundle of fierce and complicated emotions knotted beneath Rio’s ribs.

  Shake it off.

  He managed to harness enough frustration to keep his voice level, if not congenial. “Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  She didn’t jump. Either he hadn’t been as quiet as he usually was, or she’d expected him. She turned with a ready glare. “Does it matter?”

  “Hell, yes, it matters.”

  She flinched.

  Crap. He hadn’t meant to bark, but seriously? “Is that what you think of me? That I’d hit on anyone, regardless?”

  “So you were hitting on me? Is that what you call it?” Her eyes narrowed. And something dark came over her features, something Rio had never seen in all her distress and anger. “Interesting choice of words. Are you one of those guys, Rio? Do you hit women?”

  “Wha…?” His mouth dropped open, his mind scrambling to follow hers. But she made no sense, and her insinuation hit him in a low, vulnerable place. “What the hell? That is totally out of line.”

  “Is it?” She dropped the sleeve she’d been fingering and turned to fully face him. “I consistently expect more from you, and you consistently disappoint me. Why not disappoint me here too?”

  Pain snapped in his chest, a hot whip. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t about him, this was about her and Saul and something else. But it still hurt.

  “I disappoint you? Beautiful, I’m not the one running around on my lover.”

  Fire erupted in her eyes. “I’m not—” She pressed her lips together, then sucked in another breath and tilted her chin, gaze as dark as mocha. “So…what?” she taunted. “Does that warrant a beating? Would you hit a woman if she cheated on you?”

  “What. The. Hell?” Frustration and confusion and hurt blended into a fury so dark, he saw her through a haze. “I’ve never hit a woman. Ever. I’ve never even come close. How dare you accuse me— How dare you judge me. How dare you lump me in with th
e animals that killed my sis—”

  Dammit, he didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to say these things. The darkness pushed in from the edges of his mind like ink, and he fought to keep his head clear. “I have never hurt a woman.” The girls from the truck accident flashed in his head. He gripped both sides of the doorframe. Squeezed until his fingers went numb. “I have four sisters, six nieces, and a mother still living. I would never intentionally hurt a woman.”

  Rio pushed off the doorframe, pivoted, and exited the closet.

  “Rio?”

  He ignored the plea and apology in her voice. The part of his brain that was still functioning focused on his path to the bedroom door.

  “Rio, wait.” She appeared in front of him, her hands flat on his chest. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

  He pulled to a stop. Rubbed his face hard. When his head cleared, he looked down at her.

  “What the hell was that?” His voice came out as a growl. “Were you trying to get me to hit you? Do you like that or something? God.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, then sidestepped her for the door. “No way, Cass. I’m not into that. Not even for you.”

  Rio escaped down the hallway leading to Saul’s office and out a side door. Outside, he pressed his back to the wall and dug his hands into his hair as the dark night slipped around him.

  “Shit.” He stared up at the indigo sky dotted with pure, vibrant, white stars. Tried to slow his breathing. His heart rate. “I am so out of control.”

  He’d royally screwed that up. So much for keeping his cool. Staying in charge. This situation had turned into a speeding freight train carrying a load of dynamite.

  He made his way across the grounds toward his casita, replaying that scene in his head. It was his fault. He’d started it by attacking her as soon as he’d walked in. But that hitting women shit—that was… Out of the blue, completely unrelated, from left field.

  The crisp ocean air, the rhythm of the sea, pulled at him. A swim. He so badly needed to swim out this frustration. But he needed answers even more.

  In his casita, he pulled off his clothes and stood under a hot shower to ease the tension in his muscles. When his mind stopped rounding the same thoughts relentlessly, he pulled on cargo shorts and a T-shirt and snatched his laptop from the dinette table. He dropped to the sofa and tapped into his secure ICE account.

  “Come on, come on,” he whispered, watching the hourglass spin. “Be there.” He so needed this background on Cassie before her whole Do you hit women, Rio? question ate a hole right through his stomach.

  The Department of Homeland Security ICE logo came up on the secondary login screen, and Rio had to pass through two more secure areas to reach his files. He scanned for new additions.

  Christo appeared at the top of the list.

  With a mix of anxiety and relief, he opened the main file to several subfiles: education, family, medical, associates, career, legal. Shit, where to start? He decided to start at the beginning and opened her family folder.

  Cassie had been born in San Diego to a wealthy, older Caucasian father, Samuel Christo, and Alejandra, his housekeeper, whom he never married but to whom he left his fortune. He also gave Cassie his name. Alejandra returned to Baja to rejoin her family after Samuel died of cancer when Cassie was two.

  The subject held little interest for Rio, since he’d gotten most of Cassie’s background from Alejandra herself in idle conversation. He clicked into the education section of Cassie’s folder. She’d left the estate at eighteen for college at UCSD. Graduated with honors in Psychology and stayed for medical school.

  He enlarged a thumbnail photo. By the dates on her school records, she’d have been twenty-three in the graduation picture. Pretty but not beautiful. The woman in that photo wouldn’t have gotten more than a semi-interested glance from Rio. The beauty she’d become, the woman he knew now, could fascinate him for a lifetime.

  He turned his attention to her medical studies. Another photo, two years later, deepened his frown. He brought them up side by side, and the contrast tightened his chest. The later image showed an entirely different person from the first—stern, serious, cold. Empty. In the second photo, her laughing eyes were dark, her sweet, almost innocent smile had transformed into a serious, flat line. The first photo showed a bright, happy, glowing college girl. The second showed… He couldn’t quite characterize the look. Withdrawal? Detachment? Hostility?

  With dread tightening his muscles, he clicked into her medical history. He skimmed the contents, pausing on a hospital report of injury. His gaze drifted to the cause—attempted rape—and his lungs froze. His fingers gripped the edge of his computer.

  “No.” He stared at the report, numb. Shaken. “No, no, no,” he mumbled, frantically clicking through the report pages in an attempt to disprove the written words, yet in the back of his mind, it made sense. A sick sort of sense.

  He halted on a gallery of thumbnail photos. Photos taken at a hospital emergency room. He brought the first up to full size. A light blue hospital gown showed around Cassie’s shoulders. Her hair had been tied back, multiple, graphic images taken of massive bruising, lacerations, swelling. The damage was so extensive she would have been difficult to recognize if she hadn’t already been identified.

  God almighty. The violence unleashed on that beautiful face poisoned his blood.

  From the photo, Cassie stared at him, one eye swollen shut, the other dark and flat. A tremor shivered down his arms.

  Unable to look at those beautiful lips cut and bloodstained, he clicked through the rest of the images and grimaced at more photographs of individual body parts—bruises and abrasions to her arms, legs, stomach, back. Knife cuts to her shoulder, her jaw, her ribs. Her throat.

  She had fought back. Like a wildcat.

  He turned his face up to the ceiling. Everything came together at once. His head felt full, his heart so heavy. It all made sense—her need for security within her own house, her timidity hidden by false confidence, her tendency to startle, her discomfort around men, her deep suspicion, her automatic distrust, her hatred of Saul’s manipulation.

  Saul’s mention of boyfriends at the dinner table, or maybe that specific boyfriend, had triggered something for her. And when she’d lashed out, Rio had lost his mind like an asylum escapee.

  “Shit.”

  He clicked into her associations file. Recognized the name Natalie, the woman she’d been talking to on the phone. Not only was she an attorney, but her husband was a cop. A detective with the San Diego police in Special Investigations.

  “Good Lord,” he muttered.

  At least he wasn’t in Criminal Intelligence, where the detectives were in constant contact with Mexican officials regarding hot criminal activity within Mexico. While most cops deeply respected the confidentiality restrictions around current operations and undercover personnel, they were human. And cops did favors for other cops. And family. And friends.

  Luckily, no information Mike got through Special Crimes would hurt Rio.

  He skimmed names of coworkers, college roommates, club members, and friends until he reached relationships. The most recent listed a Blake Sharpe. A three-week relationship…three years prior?

  Rio scrolled up and down the page looking for more information. It couldn’t be right. She was just too beautiful, too smart, too magnetic, too the-whole-awesome-package to have been uninvolved for three years. Though, there was that mouthy side…

  “Or…Blake. I think that was it.”

  Saul’s words at the dinner table drifted through his mind. The hair on the back of Rio’s neck prickled. Then, his mind shot back to his conversation with Saul in his office just before dinner.

  “Had things gone the way I’d planned…”

  Pieces slid together in Rio’s mind. Gooseflesh rose across his arms and chest.

  “Jesus Christ.” Rio clicked on Sharpe’s name, which brought up his basic information. And in block red print beneath his name read: INCARCERATED.


  He clapped a hand to his forehead, sickness bottoming out in his stomach. “Shit.”

  His eyes flicked to the words PAROLE DENIED below, with a date—just days before—stamped next to it. The same date Cassie had shown up at the estate. He clicked on the link and read over the California Department of Corrections report.

  Cassie had appeared before the parole board the same day. She’d contested his release.

  Which could only mean…

  He checked Cassie’s legal file, maneuvered to the police report related to her attempted rape, scanned frantically, and found Suspect: Blake James Sharpe.

  Rio’s muscles released all their ratcheted tension, and he sank into the sofa while rage burned a slow path through his body until he was shaking.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cassie’s heart tapped an annoying rhythm against her breastbone as she stood outside Rio’s door. One low light burned in the corner of his small living room, and she had no doubt he was still awake. And still pissed.

  She felt so embarrassed. So ashamed. So damn foolish.

  And frightened. Scared she’d finally done it; finally chased Rio off. Just like she chased off every man who had a spark of possibility over the last few years. Oh, sure, she flirted. Even dated. But it never went further. The minute a man wanted more, she’d immediately cut ties, unable to find not only trust but interest.

  For the first time, she didn’t want to close off. She didn’t want to put up a wall between herself and Rio. But it might already be too late. And if it was, she wouldn’t blame him. Her cheeks burned at the memory of her irrational behavior. Her heart filled with his love for his family, yet ached for the tragic loss of his sister. If she hadn’t heard it from Caesar first, if she hadn’t seen so much real grief in the emergency room and recognized it on Rio’s face tonight, she would have assumed it another attempt to manipulate her.

  That realization had been a wakeup call.

  She knew she was jaded; it came with the territory—her job, her life with Saul, the attack. But so jaded she could never trust again? Could never love again? She’d never thought so, until tonight. And she refused to let Sharpe and Saul take those pleasures away from her. She was better than that. Stronger than that.