by Elisabeth Naughton, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright, Joan Swan
Chapter Seventeen
Rio had moved the Jeep to a spot at the curb several houses down to appear less conspicuous, but remained standing outside the vehicle with his arms crossed, weapon mostly concealed, staring at Desi’s rotten bungalow to create a presence for anyone even thinking about making a move on Cassie now.
He was trying like hell to focus on anything and everything other than the ache beneath his ribs. Waking up and finding her gone had been bad enough, but he could have gotten over that. He could even understand giving her a little breathing room. Last night had been pretty heavy—at least it would have been if she’d been emotionally involved rather than only physically.
But he didn’t know what the hell to make of her reaction to him this morning. Only knew that it felt a whole lot like flat-out rejection. Which was a major problem for him, both personally and professionally. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
So he turned his mind back to worrying about what Lorena could divulge to Cassie to make this situation just that much worse. The former housekeeper held quite a bit of information—some she knew was damning, some she believed held no significance. She also had a lot to lose if she talked.
He sent another glance up the street, then down. Two familiar faces appeared from the car that had cruised past and parked at the far corner. Men Rio had seen Tomás hanging with on occasion. At least if his partner couldn’t be here, Tomás could still get information and pull in favors from hundreds of miles away.
Rio relaxed a little. These guys might not be cops, but right now, Rio welcomed those who knew exactly how to deal with the likes of the men milling around the porch several houses down. Diablos members more than a little displeased to see Rio on their streets.
The neighborhood remained quiet except for some boys playing soccer, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for that to change. He glanced at his watch, unsure how much more time he could give Cassie. No telling how long it would take for word to spread that she was here.
His cell rang, and Rio jerked at the sound, then swore, grabbed it off his belt, and jabbed the answer button. “You find him?”
“Desi’s not at the docks,” Tomás said.
“Shit.” He scanned the street again. “Where is he?”
“The boss said they let everyone off early. A ship changed course or something. Isn’t coming in as expected. Says Desi and a couple other guys hit Amigos for a liquid lunch.”
“I need to know when he’s coming back. I don’t want Cassie within a mile of him. Especially not if he’s shit-faced.”
“I sent a couple of guys.”
“Yeah, they’re here.”
“I told them to take care of the perimeter. Desi’ll probably stay at Amigos ’til closing.”
“We can only hope—”
A tan truck turned the corner with screeching tires and floored it in Rio’s direction. The boys playing ball in the street yelled and scattered, seeking refuge on the sidewalk behind parked cars.
“Uh, no. Not ’til closing.” Rio pushed off the Jeep, held the weapon behind him, and started toward Desi’s house. “Fantastic time for you to be out of town.”
“He carries a nine millimeter in his pants and a knife in his boot.”
“You so owe me, you bastard.” Rio hung up and muttered, “Just beautiful.”
Desi pulled into the driveway, continued onto the lawn, and parked diagonally, then almost fell out the driver’s door. He hauled himself up by the open window ledge and headed straight for the house.
“Hey, Desi!” Rio called, pushing into a jog. “Desi, amigo. I need to talk to you.”
Desi didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back. He took the front steps toward his porch two at a time. Even if Rio sprinted, there was no way to head him off. He was still half a block away.
Rio ran toward impending disaster while an argument broke out behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and found the men who’d been loitering confronted by Rio’s allies.
Inside, Desi’s voice carried to Rio, still yards away. “What the fuck you doing here? Your family’s caused us enough trouble.”
Heart pumping against ribs, Rio pressed his back to the wood siding and eased up the concrete steps.
“I’m going to make it right for her, Desi,” Cassie said, her voice pitched higher than normal.
“Bull shhhit,” Desi slurred. “What the hell you let her in for, Mamà? You know Flores has snitches all over town. What did you tell her?”
Rio peered around the edge of the screen doorframe just as Desi took a threatening step toward the women, both standing near the sofa. Cassie shifted in front of Lorena. She looked pale, making the shadows beneath her eyes stand out.
“Desi,” Cassie said. “Saul doesn’t have anything to say about me visiting Lorena.”
“The hell he doesn’t.” He poked a rigid finger toward her, advancing. Rio’s chest hitched. “You’re not going to come in here and take what little Mamà got from that asshole.”
Lorena cut a hand through the air. “That’s enough. You’re drunk again, Desmond. Get out of this house, and don’t come back until you’re sober. Your daughters don’t need to see you like this.”
“She’s leaving first,” Desi said, pointing at Cassie.
“I don’t want to take anything from your mother, Desi. I want to—”
“Bullshit!”
Cassie flinched and fell back a step. The pasty look of her skin, the panic in her eyes moved something very deep and very elemental inside Rio. He needed to get to her. Needed to take Desi out. But he also needed to think clearly. And a frantic protective instinct edged him toward impulse, toward storming in, taking Desi to the floor and beating him unconscious.
Control. He had to control himself before he could control the situation. Before he could help Cassie.
Rio pushed his gun into the back of his jeans, opened the screen door, and stepped inside. Desi swung around, arms dangling wide, and almost toppled. His drunken state could be a benefit or a detriment; Rio couldn’t tell which yet.
The other man’s face twisted into a belligerent grimace. “I told you to stay the hell away from my house and my mother.”
Rio looked past the drunk and focused on Cassie. She swallowed and closed her eyes a brief second, then opened them to give him a thank-God-you’re-here look that lifted his heart and made him feel like he’d finally done something right today.
“Ready to go?” he asked. She cast a worried look at Lorena, and Rio read her mind. “Maybe Lorena would like to see the clinic.”
“Oh, yes.” Cassie’s words came out on a relieved puff of air. “That’s a great idea. Nana, why don’t you—”
“Don’t act like I’m not here.” Desi took two threatening steps toward Rio.
Watching Desi from the corner of his eye, Rio held Cassie’s gaze and tilted his head toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I’m talking to you, asshole.” The drunk closed the distance and knocked a fist against Rio’s shoulder.
Expecting the taunt, Rio stood his ground and met Desi’s challenging, red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Des.”
Desi’s lips thinned, and one hand came out and around in a wide shot to Rio’s head. He blocked the punch and shoved Desi back. “Come on, man. Let me take the women out of your hair. That’s what you want, right?”
But Desi was intent now—on Rio’s heinous murder, if the fury hardening his already twisted expression was an accurate indication of Desi’s emotions. He whipped a knife from his back pocket and flipped open the blade.
Rio’s body came alive on an adrenaline surge. So much for that knife in the boot. And that was one long-ass blade.
“Desi, what are you doing?” Lorena screamed. “Put that down!”
Rio drew his weapon, took a double-fisted grip that felt as natural as breathing, and aimed at Desi’s chest. “Listen to your mother, Des. Put the knife down.”
He sounded amazingly co
ol, considering the way his heart thundered in his head. Des was way the hell too close to Cassie. She stood just five feet behind him, pressed into a corner of the small living room, her gaze pinned to the knife in his hand.
Desi stared at the gun as if the possibility that Rio might carry one never crossed his mind.
“Desi,” Rio said louder. “Drop the knife.”
His wild eyes rose to Rio’s just before he lunged backward, grabbed Cassie’s arm, and jerked her forward. With Cassie covering half Desi’s body, he pushed the knife up against her throat.
Rio’s blood stormed through his body. The small part of his brain not drenched in fear or rage recognized how abnormally severe the situation appeared to him under these circumstances. He’d been in many similar positions during his years in law enforcement. There were always risk-versus-gain scenarios to consider. But with Cassie as the one beneath the blade, any risk was too high.
He could easily shoot Desi. Might have already if Desi was threatening anyone other than Cassie. But it was Cassie, which screwed with Rio’s mind. With his heart. His mission. All his training.
“Lose the gun,” Desi said, his mouth now curved in a daring grin. “Let’s see how big your cojones are then.”
Shoot or give up his weapon? He chanced a glance at Cassie. Her eyes were closed, skin pale, body stiff as concrete.
“Lose it!” Desi’s yell made Cassie flinch and turn her head away from Desi. Her skin touched the knife, and a tendon in her neck jumped.
Rio dragged his gaze away from the sight of that blade at her throat and slowly released his double-handed grip, brought his hands out to his sides. “Fine.” He used a cool but firm voice. “I’m putting it down. Just move the knife away from her.”
Keeping a steady grip on the gun, he crouched slowly, relieved as the knife wobbled away from Cassie’s throat. Letting the gun hover over the concrete, he said, “Let go of her hand, Desi. Let her move away from you.”
“Not ’til the gun’s ’cross the room.” He was swaying now. His words slurring together. “Then it’s you an’ me.”
Hand-to-hand with a drunk and a knife. His day was just getting better and better. But if it would draw Desi away from Cassie and Lorena, that was what he’d do.
He set the gun down and stood slowly.
“Kick it ’hind you,” Desi said.
“Not until you let her go.”
Desi threw down Cassie’s arm. “Kick it.”
Rio put his foot on the weapon and slid it backward—far enough to satisfy the drunk, not as far as he could have.
Lorena’s frightened weeping and pleading had long since blurred into background noise for Rio. It was Cassie’s silence that seemed to scream in his head. She was still trapped in the corner, though she was coming out of her shock.
“Good,” he said to Desi. “That’s good. Look, we both want the same things, amigo.” Rio used his best hostage-negotiator voice. “Let me take the women out of here, give you some peace and quiet. Nobody gets hurt; everyone’s happy.”
“Pussy,” Desi jeered with a snide lift of his lip. He wandered a few feet away from Cassie and wiggled the fingers of his free hand at Rio in a challenging gesture. “Come on, hijo de puto. Come get me.”
Intent on Desi’s every move, the hold of the knife in his hand, the position of his feet, Rio only saw Cassie’s movement from the corner of his eye. The twist of her body, the half swing of her arm. He did, however, see her elbow land a solid blow to the side of Desi’s head. He yowled and pitched sideways. Stumbled. But held on to that knife.
Cassie skirted past Desi, grabbed Lorena by the arm, and dragged her to the opposite side of the room, putting a side chair between them and Desi. With the benefit of alcohol-induced anesthesia, Desi recovered quickly. With the benefit of alcohol-induced short-term memory loss, he didn’t remember who hit him and turned all his fury on Rio.
Desi lunged and stabbed. Rio slid out of the way and turned. His shoulder hit a wall. Dammit. He didn’t have enough room to defend against a knife; didn’t want to risk leaving the women to go for the gun. A trapped sensation spiraled through his chest.
“You don’t want to go back to jail.” Rio shifted as Desi did, trying to lure him away from the door. “Put the knife down, and we can forget all about this. If someone gets hurt, the policìa are going to get involved. You don’t want that.”
“Chupa mi verga.”
Rio twisted his mouth in mock consideration of Desi’s profane suggestion. “No, thanks. But I heard that about you, Des. Heard you go both ways.”
Desi growled and lunged again. Rio sidestepped and grabbed Desi’s forearm with both hands. The guy was strong, and he kept slashing that knife as Rio fought for control. He used Desi’s lousy balance to gain leverage, twisted his arm, shoved him up against the wall.
Desi let out a furious grunt and jerked against Rio’s hold. Managed to slip from his grip. Swung out. Rio ducked and fisted Desi’s shirt sleeve, got hold of his arm again. Bent Desi’s hand back, pushed it up between his shoulder blades and, with all the built-up frustration and fear now peaked, gripped a handful of Desi’s stringy hair and rammed his head against the nearest wall.
Rio pinned the drunk there with his body and put tension on Desi’s wrist. “Drop it,” he growled. “Drop the knife. Do it, man. Do it now.”
Just as Rio opened his mouth to order Cassie and Lorena from the house, the knife fell from Desi’s hand and clattered on the concrete. His body dragged toward the floor, unconscious.
Rio dropped Desi’s dead weight and immediately turned for Cassie. When his gaze landed on her where she still stood across the room, frozen behind the chair, his chest went cold. She’d grown waxy white and stiff. The vacant haze in her big, dark eyes made her look corpselike.
“Cassie.” He started toward her. She stepped back so quickly she bumped the arm of the sofa and stumbled without taking that terrified gaze off him. Rio halted. Tried to catch his breath and reassess an approach. “Honey, it’s just me. It’s Rio.”
One of Cassie’s hands reached for the chipped brick fireplace mantel to steady herself; the other coiled into a bloodless fist at her thigh.
Rio tried to shake an intense pain from his left arm, but the muscles wouldn’t cooperate. And, shit, it ached to the bone. Since Cassie didn’t look like she’d be letting him get near her any time soon, Rio scooped up the knife from the concrete. Still breathing hard, sweating, shaking on an adrenaline surge, he pushed aside Desi’s shirt and tugged the Smith and Wesson from his waistband, then retrieved his own weapon.
A sick knot added to the nausea already washing his stomach. This could have turned out so much worse, and the possibilities scared the shit out of him. He was way too close to Cassie. This whole seduction thing had been the worst idea ever.
What if he hadn’t reached the Jeep in time and Cassie had come here on her own? What if the gang had gotten a hold of her before even Desi? The possibilities turned his guts to ice.
He turned back to Cassie, his stomach shredded. She focused on the weapons in his hand, and he suddenly felt as guilty as a ten-year-old caught shoplifting. He set them on the ledge of a bookshelf and reached up to rub at his arm.
Wet, warm liquid met his hand. Pain rocketed through his arm and into his shoulder. He grimaced, pulled his hand back, and stared at the blood covering his palm. His head went light. A buzz filled his ears. “Damn.”
“Cassie.” Lorena’s voice sounded muffled and distant. “Cassie, he’s bleeding. Do something!”
Shit, no. He couldn’t break now. But the room dimmed. His legs melted. He reached out for the wall but found air.
“Hold on.” Cassie’s voice came with her supporting arms at his waist. He hadn’t seen her move. Hadn’t believed her capable of moving, given the look on her face.
Rio opened his eyes to hers, but he barely saw them through the haze.
“Rio.” She repeated his name, calling him back. Irritated? Scared? “Rio, look at me. Come o
n, stay with me.”
Now that sounded good. That brought him back. “I’m…fine.”
“Good, ’cause I feel like shit.” Her voice sounded strained, filled with emotion on the verge of spilling over. He struggled to clear his head, see her. Really see her. When he did, he wished he hadn’t. She looked haunted. “You might have to catch me.”
Rio’s arm seemed to throb more by the mile as Cassie drove back toward the clinic, and he couldn’t read her. She hadn’t said a word since the policía had arrived to arrest Desi. They’d been satisfied with Rio’s statement and released him and Cassie to seek medical care.
Her face had regained its color. But too much color for Rio’s liking. Her skin reddened along her cheekbones and forehead, and her jaw worked hard as if it took all the power there to keep her mouth clamped shut.
The Jeep lurched and jerked hard. The seat belt snapped on Rio’s shoulder and forced the air from his chest in one hard whoosh. Pain gripped and pulled on his arm.
“Dammit, Christo. Where the hell did you learn to drive?”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Here.”
“Well, that explains it. Take it easy, will you? Once you’ve drugged me up, you can be as rough as you want.”
“Who said you’re getting drugs?”
Pain ebbed from his wound through his arm and into his shoulder. Nausea pinched his stomach. “Shit. What did I do to deserve this?”
“I’d ask you to tell me, but you’d just lie. Like you’ve lied about everything else so far.”
He looked down at the towel covering his arm, readjusting it for something to do. Blood soaked every inch of the white terrycloth but for a few corners. His stomach squeezed, but it was better than risk having her see the guilt or deceit on his face now that his defenses were too low to hide it well. And he didn’t know how she was picking up on it when hardly anyone else ever had in all his years of undercover.
“Again with this lying bullshit,” he said. “What is your deal with that?”
Only half a mile from the clinic, she pulled out of traffic abruptly and stopped at the curb.