Deadly Intent (I-Team Book 8)

by Pamela Clare

  The expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

  “My source didn’t show.” She dropped her handbag on her desk. “I’ve called, but she isn’t answering her phone.”

  Joaquin went on talking with Syd as if he hadn’t heard this, while Alex and Matt coached Cate on ways to handle that situation.

  “Maybe something held her up,” Matt said. “Maybe she got cold feet. That happens. Try calling later.”

  “You might have to do some hand-holding, reassure her you won’t give her identity away,” Alex suggested.

  Joaquin walked back to his desk, gaze on his notepad.

  “How did it go in Brighton?” Matt asked him.

  “I got some good shots.” Joaquin gestured toward Anna. “She did a great interview with a woman whose apartment was basically trashed. It’s her first day on the I-Team, and she’s on the front page.”

  “Way to go, Hughes,” Alex said.

  Joaquin grabbed his camera bag. “I’m going to get some lunch and then head to LoDo to shoot an entertainment feature.”

  “Grungy guys in T-shirts and jeans in front of a brick wall?” Matt joked.

  “God, I hope not.” That described every band photo ever. “See you later.”

  As he left the newsroom, Joaquin noticed Cate watching him.

  “I’m taking her out the north gate,” Michael said into his hand mic.

  The sun had just set, streetlights casting their glow over pavement and asphalt. Mia stayed alert, watching for movement in the shadows.

  The whole thing felt surreal—hurrying to her car flanked by an armed security guard, her hand inside her handbag, ready to draw her SIG—but the only people they encountered were other staff members.

  Mia clicked her fob, unlocking her car door. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Michael opened the door for her. “This asshole attacked his two victims in their homes. Be careful.”

  The same thought had occurred to Mia. “I will. Thanks.”

  She headed home through rush-hour traffic, thinking through her condo from a security perspective. It had lots of windows, a sliding glass door that led to her deck, and a wide-open floor plan. The tub was plastic, so it wouldn’t offer protection from bullets.

  Of course, she had no idea what kind of firearm the attacker was using. A .45-caliber round could penetrate a door or wall. She’d seen AK rounds go through concrete.

  God, how Mia hated this! She hated feeling afraid to go home. No one had the right to put this kind of fear in another person.

  Well then, damn it, she wouldn’t be afraid. Jason and Andy had most likely been taken by surprise. She wouldn’t let that happen. She would be ready.

  Big words.

  She drove home, the dark windows of her condo somehow forbidding. She hadn’t turned her front light on, so the porch was dark—a great place for someone to hide.

  Weapon drawn, she headed up her front steps, her pulse thrumming. She cleared the porch, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, locking out the night. She let out a relieved breath, saw a shadow on the wall, and jumped.

  It was just her ficus tree.

  Damn it!

  It wouldn’t hurt anything if she stayed at Joaquin’s place one more night, would it? The police would have another 24 hours to catch the bad guy, and she could rest a little easier.

  She hurried to her bedroom and threw together an overnight bag, an idea half-formed in her mind about making dinner for Joaquin to thank him for all he’d done. She drew out her cell phone.

  What time will you be home?

  Am stuck on I-25 coming back from Aurora.

  That gave her some time. She texted back.

  See you at your place. I’m making dinner.

  She walked out to her car, senses trained on the darkness, carrying her overnight bag in one hand and her SIG in the other. This time she left her porch light on. She drove to the grocery store, grabbed one of the small carts, and made a mental list of the things she needed to make her Chicken Breasts Diane. Chicken breasts. Lemons. Parsley. Scallions. Butter. Chicken broth. A salad to go with it, maybe some pasta.

  She wasn’t doing this just because she was afraid to be home alone. That’s what she told herself, anyway. No, she was doing this because Joaquin had been so kind to her—okay, and because he was incredibly sexy and smart and talented and danced like a sex god and had said that he cared about her.

  Don’t get your hopes up.

  He could have meant anything by that. For all Mia knew, his interest in her didn’t go beyond casual friendship.

  Way to talk yourself into feeling disappointed.

  She went through the self-checkout lane and carried her bags to her car, her gaze moving over the parking lot. There were lots of people, but no one wearing a hoodie. Once her car door was shut and locked, she let out a sigh of relief and headed northwest to RiNo and Joaquin’s place.

  She parked in one of the guest spots, grabbed her groceries and overnight bag, and let herself through the security door with his key. This was another reason Joaquin’s apartment was safer. Cameras. A security door.

  A few minutes later, she stood in his kitchen, feeling a lot safer—and just a little excited. She was going to spend an evening with Joaquin that wouldn’t involve homicides or police interrogations.

  Joaquin smelled something delicious the moment he stepped out of the elevator. Usually, that meant the couple down the hallway had just been to the Farmers Market. But tonight, someone was making him dinner. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone besides his mother had done that.

  He unlocked his door, his mouth watering at the mingled scents.

  “Hey.” Mia stood at the stove, wearing his barbeque apron over jeans and a white blouse.

  “That smells so good.” He walked over to her, resisting the urge to come up behind her and rest his hands on her hips.

  She was sautéing something—chicken breasts and scallions. “Chicken Breasts Diane and pasta. I made a salad, too. It should all be done in about five minutes—if the pasta cooperates. I brought a bottle of white wine.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Joaquin got busy setting the table, complete with wine glasses and candles. “How did it go today? Did you get the permit?”

  “Yes. Your friends had already faxed over the documentation, so it went quickly.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Darcangelo and Hunter had never once let Joaquin down.

  “My boss let me return to work, too.” She told him how security was keeping her inside in non-public areas. “I spent the day sorting through internship applications and repotting orchids for our big orchid sale.”

  “I’m glad your security guys are on top of it.”

  While she got dinner on the table, Joaquin started some music—his contemporary piano playlist with Clara Ponty—poured the wine, and lit the candles. By the time they sat down together, he was as nervous as if this were their first date.

  “Thanks for this.” He looked into her eyes, saw that she was nervous, too.

  “Thank you—for everything.” She raised her glass, so he raised his.

  They clinked, sipped.

  “How was your day?” she asked—just as he took his first bite.

  “Mmm.” He moaned, chewed, swallowed. “That’s good.”

  She smiled, picked up her fork. “It’s the only fancy thing I know how to make.”

  “You make it well.” Then he remembered her question. “Today was okay. I sat through the I-Team meeting, shot a few news photos, spent a lot of time in traffic. I took advantage of the traffic jam to check in with my parents and grandmother. My abuelita gets grouchy if I don’t call her at least once a week.”

  He decided to wait until later to tell her what had happened with Cate and the leak at the DPD. It seemed wrong to ruin her cheerful mood and the dinner she’d worked hard to make for the two of them. The situation was under control, so it wasn’t urgent anyway. Darcangelo had called him while he’d bee
n stuck in traffic to thank him. Irving had caught his administrative assistant red-handed making copies of the files and had fired her on the spot, threatening her with charges, too.

  Yes, Mia needed to know, but the news could wait.

  “Is that a typical day for you?”

  “Yeah—except for the days when I pry into people’s private tragedies or get up in their grill with my lens.” He couldn’t help it.

  She smiled sheepishly. “I take that back.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t want to talk about himself or his job, not when there were so many things he wanted to know about Mia. “Why did you join the Army?”

  “I wanted to go to college. It was really that simple.”

  Joaquin listened while Mia told him how she’d had automatic admission to the state schools here in Colorado because of her high GPA, but couldn’t afford tuition. The candlelight played over her face as she spoke, made her features seem even more delicate, her blue eyes darker. It hit him that this was the most relaxed he’d ever seen her.

  “I got an ROTC scholarship, and, four years later, I had a degree in biology and was a second lieutenant.”

  “Your parents must have been very proud.”

  She gave a little laugh. “They didn’t understand any of it—why I’d wanted to go to college, why I’d gone into ROTC. Their plan for me was to marry some guy from their church, stay home, and have kids. There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what a woman wants to do, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I love learning. I wanted an education, a career. My dad still says that I’m too smart for my own good. He says men don’t like smart women.”

  “That might be true for stupid men, but it’s not true for the rest of us. Your dad sounds seriously retrograde on gender stuff.”

  “Oh, you have no idea. When I told him I was learning to service our fleet of vehicles, he said, ‘Don’t they have any men where you’re posted?’”

  “You know how to service vehicles?” Joaquin was impressed.

  Mia nodded. “Officers who don’t get their hands dirty or who act helpless lose the respect of their soldiers, so if there’s anything you don’t know how to operate or repair, you’d better learn right away.”

  That made sense to Joaquin. “But your dad stood behind you, right? When all that shit was going down with your CO, he stood behind you.”

  Her gaze dropped to the table. “When I was going through the sexual harassment stuff with Powell, my parents told me that women serving in male-dominated fields should expect to be harassed.”

  ¡Ay, carajo!

  This pissed Joaquin off. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

  Something in her half-hearted nod told Joaquin that her mind knew it, but her heart wasn’t so sure. He reached out, took her hand, her fingers so small compared to his. “You didn’t deserve what Powell did to you, Mia. No woman deserves that.”

  11

  Mia felt more relaxed than she had since all of this began. The wine had something to do with that, but so did the man who sat beside her on the sofa, his body turned toward hers, his dark eyes watching her. She’d never met a man like Joaquin, a man who wanted to know her thoughts and who listened when she spoke rather than using her answers as a springboard to talk about himself.

  She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to run her hands over those muscles she’d seen this morning. She wanted him to want her.

  Sadly, she’d never had that kind of luck with men.

  “You know all their scientific names?” he asked.

  “Most of them. Sometimes I forget something or get mixed up, but if you want to talk about plants as a horticulturalist, you have to use scientific names. Did you know that there are more than two hundred common names for the Nymphaea alba, the European white lily?”

  “Seriously? I had no idea plant names were so complicated.”

  “They vary region to region, country to country. If I use one of those common names, people in another part of the country wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “That makes sense.” Those lips of his curved in a slow smile.

  “What?”

  “You’re amazing. You’re smart, brave, beautiful…”

  Heat rushed into her face. “Oh, stop.”

  His brows drew together. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

  “I’m pretty average. My mom says I have my dad’s square jaw. Elena is feminine and gorgeous. I’m not.”

  Joaquin said nothing for a moment then pointed to the walls around them. “Which of those photographs is beautiful?”

  She glanced around the room. “I think they’re all beautiful.”

  “How can they all be beautiful? They’re all different. If the columbines are pretty, how can the eagle be pretty? If the mountains are beautiful, how can the ocean be beautiful, too?”

  She saw where he was going with this. “Okay. All right. I get what you’re saying, but objectively speaking, some women are a lot more beautiful than others.”

  Joaquin shook his head. “Yes, Elena is pretty. She’s curvy and sexy and has that sweet little face. But you’re beautiful, too.”

  She shook her head. “Pretty maybe, but…”

  “Your features are delicate and every bit as feminine as anything Elena has going on. These cheekbones.” He reached over, ran his thumb over her cheek, leaving a trail of fire where he’d touched her. “That adorable nose. Those big blue eyes. Those full lips.

  Mia didn’t know what to say, this kind of intimate perusal unlike anything she’d experienced before, in part because she didn’t feel threatened by him.

  He went on. “If I had to describe the two of you in plant terms—”

  “Plants?” She laughed.

  “Plants are your special language, right? If I had to describe the two of you as plants, I’d say Elena is a rose, but you’re like that columbine on my wall. Delicate. Graceful. Beautiful.”

  Mia couldn’t look at the photo. She could only stare at Joaquin.

  Did he mean what he was saying?

  He leaned in until his face was inches from hers. “I don’t want to rush you, Mia. I don’t want to push you into doing something you don’t want to do. But right now, all I want to do is kiss you.”

  Mia’s pulse spiked. “Yes.”

  Before she could blink, he’d drawn her into his arms, one hand sliding into her hair to angle her head. He looked into her eyes, suddenly serious. “Mia.”

  Some part of Mia couldn’t believe this was really happening.

  Then he ducked down, brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, three times. It was the softest caress, like the touch of petals, but the heat of it burned through her, made her heart pound. Then his mouth closed over hers.

  Mia forgot to breathe, stunned by the intensity of it. This is how she’d always wanted to be kissed, how she’d dreamed of being kissed. She pressed herself against him, one strong arm drawing her closer, his body hard against hers.

  Where had he learned to kiss like this?

  He chuckled. “You gotta breathe, hermosa, or you’re going to pass out.”

  She exhaled, drew in a deep breath. “I might pass out anyway.”

  “Did you like that?”

  Was he seriously asking her that question?

  “God, yes. Kiss me again.”

  Once more he started slowly, feather-light kisses that made her lips tingle. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, kissed the indentation above her upper lip, traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue. Then, with a moan, he took her mouth with his once more, crushing her against the hardness of his chest.

  She yielded to him, parting her lips for him as his tongue sought hers. She’d never been kissed like this, and at first all she could do was savor it. But at that first, velvet touch—his tongue to hers—something ignited inside her. She began to kiss him back, challenging him for control, her fingers curling in his hair. He took up the challenge, the heat of his response making her only too glad
to yield once more. She arched against him, her head falling back to offer him her throat.

  He took what she offered, pressing his lips against her pulse, nipping the sensitive skin beneath her ear with his teeth, teasing her with flicks of his tongue. She felt herself sliding down the cushions, his weight coming with her, until he lay on top of her, his lips tracing fire over her skin, his erection pressing against her hip.

  His mouth found her clavicle and followed it until he was pressing kisses against the base of her throat. Then he raised his head up and pressed his forehead to hers, his heart thrumming against hers. His pupils were so dilated that his irises seemed almost black, the lust on his face mirroring what she felt.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” He kissed her forehead. “I don’t want to risk whatever this is between us by having sex too soon. When we cross that line, I want us both to be ready for it, to want it. I want it to mean something.”

  His answer left her speechless. No man had ever talked to her about sex like that before. Not that she’d had many partners, but still…

  “I hope that settles that question,” he said after a moment’s silence.

  “What question?” Mia couldn’t remember any questions.

  “Whether or not I truly think you’re beautiful, because, Mia, I do.”

  “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

  Joaquin sat up, drew Mia with him, his heart still pounding, his cock threatening to split his jeans. The last time a kiss had affected him like this was … Yeah, he had nothing. “That was as much you as it was me.”

  She gave a little shake of her head.

  “I just paid attention to what you seemed to like.” Was that so different from the men she’d been with before?

  God, he hoped not.

  “Have you been with a lot of women?” Her eyes went wide as if she hadn’t meant to ask him that. “Sorry. It’s one hundred percent not my business.”

  He brushed a strand of red hair from her cheek. “You can ask me anything you like. How would you define ‘a lot’?”