Winning Moves

by Lisa Renee Jones

  This was new territory, and Nicole didn’t even know how to react.

  Constantine eased her clothes back into place and then smoothed her hair down, his touch gentle, his expression unreadable. Maybe even a bit dark. He drew a deep breath, and then squeezed his eyes shut. One second. Two.

  His lashes lifted. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked, confused.

  “I have to go,” he said, and without another word, he popped out of the seat and left.

  Nicole stared after him, stunned.

  Had he really just gotten up and left? Simply given her an orgasm and then said goodbye?

  * * *

  CONSTANTINE STRADDLED HIS motorcycle and kick-started the engine, beyond ready to feel the bike’s speed beneath him. He’d been a fool to take things so far with Nicole, not walking away the minute he’d ruled out foul play from her agenda. But no. He’d stayed. Drawn into her presence, into his attraction to the woman, he’d stayed.

  For some crazy reason, he couldn’t help himself. Seeing her so hot for him, so eager to be pleased, had driven him to the edge.

  “Chingado,” he cursed, and added a few other Spanish adjectives under his breath.

  He’d done what he had to, Constantine told himself, trying to feel better about his actions. Survival demanded desperate moves. Surely, she’d understand. Nicole had studied the Alvarez case. She knew how vicious, even poisonous, the man could be.

  Shaking his head, Constantine laughed, but without humor. Who was he fooling? He’d stayed because he’d wanted Nicole. Wanted her damn bad.

  Even now, he could halfway convince himself to go back inside that hotel, get a room and fuck her all night long. Why not? The damage was done. She’d hate him when she found out he was her new star witness against Alvarez.

  He muttered again, and revved his engine, forcing himself to drive away. Hating what this job had turned him into, and vowing to walk away when this was over.

  Nobody could gamble as much as he had without it catching up with him and he knew it.

  3

  “YOU HAVE TO USE his testimony. This man, this agent, has spent three years of his life undercover for this. He gave up everything to see Alvarez fall.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” Nicole insisted, flattening her palms on her desk, and leveling Agent Flores with a stare. “It’s two days before the trial, and you’re telling me I can’t even meet this witness before he goes on the stand. That’s insane.” She leaned back in her well-worn chair, the overused metal base squeaking. “I’m a lot of things, Agent Flores, but crazy isn’t one of them.” Unless you count how I acted in that bar over the past weekend, she added silently.

  He eased to the edge of his chair, where he sat directly across from her. They’d been arguing a good fifteen minutes. He’d been on his feet and back down again more times than a pogo stick.

  “I told you,” he said, through gritted teeth, “it has been a delicate operation and though I am the lead on this, everyone on the task force agreed we should wait until the last minute. The longer Agent Vega is inside, the less time he’s a target, and the more time we have to gather evidence.”

  His explanation didn’t please her and sarcasm laced her reply. “Glad you and your task force are in agreement. Might have been nice if you’d included our office.”

  His cell phone rang, and he reached into his suit jacket and withdrew it. “I need to take this.”

  Nicole nodded in understanding, glad for a momentary reprieve. Agent Flores seemed determined, pressing her hard on this witness. A tiny spot of concern flared at his absolute insistence. She’d been given second chair on this case, but her boss, Dean, the U.S. Attorney over Western Texas, had a wife with cancer, and he had all but handed her the first-chair duty. He was counting on her not to screw up, and she didn’t want to let him down. And though she knew dismissing a material witness with critical information was a bad idea, she couldn’t feel good about blindly trusting a person’s credibility.

  Easing back in her chair, used by numerous others before her time, she glanced around the room, taking in the corkboard bulletin board and steel file cabinets.

  Her office wasn’t fancy. Her job wasn’t, either. Lousy pay. Long hours. Lots of yelling when things went wrong. Nicole wouldn’t change a thing. She’d seen the other side of things, the money and power. And she’d paid the price.

  Agent Flores, thankfully, put away his phone. Nicole was ready to end this conversation. “You can’t bring a witness in from nowhere and expect me to be okay with it.” She held up a staying finger to stop the argument she knew he’d offer. “We are talking about putting the biggest drug lord in the known world behind bars. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize that. I haven’t even met your witness.”

  “The agent is your ticket to conviction. If you can’t see that, maybe the U.S. Attorney can.”

  That flared her temper. She didn’t want Dean bothered with this. He had enough to deal with right now. “Don’t even go there, because I promise, you won’t like the results. Dean doesn’t like it when his people are crossed. He’ll back me and shut you down. The bottom line is this—we won’t put a witness on the stand who we can’t meet before the trial. Either give me a meeting with your agent or this discussion is over.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” he said, his lips tight, his words terse.

  “Dangerous is going into court blind,” she said, pushing to her feet, a strand of blond hair slipping from her neat bun to fall into her eyes. Swiping at it, she started gathering her things for court and shoving them into her briefcase. She wasn’t foolish enough to walk away from a witness that could help her case; she just needed to validate his worth, which meant playing hardball. “I have to go.”

  He stared at her, silent a little too long. “You need him, Nicole.” His voice was low. Intense.

  She knew Agent Flores quite well. He rarely used her first name, and she didn’t miss the plea being issued. Nicole felt torn about her decision, questioning her own judgment when she normally would not. She imagined she had her weekend adventure in that bar to thank for that.

  She hadn’t used her head then. And she didn’t want to let Alvarez slip away by refusing a witness. Still, gambling on an erotic encounter with a stranger was one thing. This case was too important to roll the dice and take unnecessary risks. Her resolve thickened. Putting a witness on the stand under these circumstances would be reckless, and she had no doubt that her boss would agree.

  “I can’t give in on this,” she repeated. “There’s simply too much at stake.”

  “Fine,” he said, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. “You can meet him.”

  She rearranged some of the things on her desk. “I’m listening.”

  “I have to talk to Vega, but he won’t come here, I know that much. You’ll have to go to him.”

  That didn’t sound good, but neither did missing out on a chance to ensure a conviction. “Where?”

  “I’ll call you with the details,” he said. “But tonight. I’ll make it happen. For you alone, though. No one else. Vega is going to be pissed as it is.”

  “You won’t be able to reach me. I won’t be out of court until around six.”

  He nodded. “Call me when you’re leaving. I’ll have everything arranged by then. And don’t tell anyone else about this. It’s too dangerous. Any leak could get him killed.”

  “I know the way it works,” she said, but a feeling of unease danced along her nerve endings. Nicole grabbed her briefcase and purse and headed for the door, but not before fixing him with a hard stare. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  * * *

  NICOLE SAT IN the passenger’s side of a government-issued, unmarked Buick sedan with an unfriendly U.S. Marshal driving. She stared out of the window, noting the sun shrinking beyond the horizon as a rainbow of color filled the sky. She’d been required to stop at three pay phones and then leave her own vehicle behind. Why she had allowed herse
lf to be talked into coming out to the middle of nowhere, she didn’t know. As soon as she asked the question, though, she knew the answer.

  Alvarez.

  He was as bad as they came, linked directly and indirectly to getting a lot of kids hooked on drugs. To Nicole, the kids mattered in a big way. She’d grown up in Padre, ten minutes from Brownsville, a city on the border of Mexico. A city that sucked teens into drugs, both using and dealing. She’d seen them destroy too many people.

  She was about to ask how much farther they had to go, when she spotted a small house tucked away in a cluster of trees, nearly invisible but for the moonlight.

  As they drew nearer, she could see it was more a cabin than a house. Vehicles parked in front were further confirmation she was at the right place. Rather old, the cabin had a rusty tin roof and boards hanging off the porch.

  The marshal pulled up next to a truck and killed the ignition. She started to reach for her briefcase, but before she could turn, the door was jerked open.

  Shocked, she whirled toward the door to find a stranger there, another marshal she assumed. “What—” Her words were cut off by the harsh look on the man’s face.

  “Get out.”

  One glance at the driver’s seat told of the other marshal’s exit. She eyed the gruff man at her door. “I just need to gather my things.” Nicole paused. “My briefcase and purse.” Something made her hesitate, waiting for a reply.

  Perhaps his size. The man was a monster. Bigger than big, with linebacker-wide shoulders, he had a menacing edge to his presence. A jagged-edged scar decorated his right cheek, making him seem even more sinister. She couldn’t help but wonder how he got it.

  “First, you meet Vega.” It was an order. “If he trusts you, then I’ll get your stuff.”

  If he trusted her? Hello? She was the one here to decide if she trusted him. She opened her mouth to say so, but then quickly shut it. Something about this guy said, don’t argue.

  “Let’s go,” he said, sounding like a guard talking to his prisoner. He reached for her as if he might grab her arm.

  Appalled, she jerked her shoulder away and glared. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  Defiance flashed in his eyes, but for only a mere second, before it disappeared behind an indecipherable mask. Taking a step backward, he gave her a gallant wave forward. “Ladies first.”

  Mumbling a few, barely audible, choice words, she stepped out of the car. Tossing her hair over her shoulder with an angry flip of the wrist, she marched ahead, wishing she’d left it pulled back. Her nerves were frazzled and her professional armor, which included her normal hairdo, would be welcome right about now.

  Two men stood outside the door of the cabin, guarding the entryway, and blocking her passage forward. She glanced at the man on the left, noting his sunbaked skin and short brown hair. His counterpart to the right was his exact opposite in appearance. Fair hair and skin, and shoulder-length, tangled hair, which gave him a wild look. Neither looked friendly.

  They both seemed as cranky as the man on her heels. “Great,” she mumbled, as she started up the porch steps. “They come in threes.”

  As she stepped toward the men, neither moved. She’d changed into sensible dress pants and boots, but she still sported heels. Man, would she like to dig one of them into a foot to get a reaction. She’d never been treated this way before, and she planned to vocalize as much later.

  Apparently, she had the green light to enter the house by herself. She looked from one man to the other. “You mean I don’t need my hand held?”

  The sunbaked guard dog answered. “He knows you’re here.”

  She didn’t ask how. Didn’t want to know. She just wanted to get this entire affair over with.

  Without another word, Nicole reached for the doorknob. The hinges creaked as she pushed it open, almost as if it were issuing a warning to the occupant of the house.

  “Hello?” she called out as she continued through a narrow entranceway.

  No answer.

  Inside, she found herself in what appeared to be a living room. She took in her surroundings quickly, noting the rustic, sparse furnishings. A couch, a chair and one table were the extent of the decor. There were no pictures, no knickknacks that people collect and display as they go through life. Nothing.

  Either no one actually lived in the house, or the inhabitants cared little for life, in general. Probably, no one lived here. After all, it was some sort of safe house.

  As her inspection continued, her gaze moved to a huge rock fireplace, the centerpiece of the room. A weird feeling made her stomach flutter. Her gaze shifted, as if instinctively, to a corner window.

  That’s when she saw him. This man called Vega. She could hardly believe she hadn’t noticed him before. It wasn’t as if the room were huge or the man small. Somehow, he blended or hid or something, whatever it was, to make himself invisible. He was so still, so utterly unmoving, that it was as if he were a part of the room.

  His back was to her, but she knew with complete certainty that he was one hundred percent aware of her every move. He faced the window, seeming to survey the view beyond the glass.

  Her stomach flip-flopped as the feeling that had drawn her gaze seemed to intensify. A carnal awareness slid through her body, her skin heating, her heart thumping like a drum in her chest.

  She knew him.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  She swallowed, finding it hard to process mentally what her physical self was telling her. How could the stranger from the bar be here?

  But it was him. She knew it with every fiber of her being.

  If he were here now, and he had also been at the bar… A sick flutter went through her stomach as the possibilities flew through her mind. A combination of anger and embarrassment began to churn in her gut, and she shoved the worthless emotions aside as premature. Maybe it wasn’t him, the man from the bar. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She studied the man from behind, hoping it wasn’t Constantine. Praying she’d not been betrayed, sucked into a trap by someone using her desire as a weapon. The very thing that had destroyed her life once before.

  Then, as if answering her silent question, he turned, giving her a view of the true man. Their eyes locked and held. Recognition came to her mind, confirming what her body and senses already knew. This was the man from the bar.

  Images of Friday night, of how he’d touched her, played in her mind. She saw it in his eyes, too. The memories. Maybe a flash of guilt. The knowledge that he’d taken from her without being honest.

  He gave her a quick nod. “Hello, Nicole.”

  The way he said her name, with that sexy Spanish accent, sent a shiver down her spine. And she hated him for having that impact on her. No. She hated herself for allowing this stranger to deceive her. For being weak enough to become prey to a man with an agenda.

  “That’s my name,” she said, stiffening. “What’s yours? Constantine? Vega? Where do the lies start and stop?”

  He leaned against the wall, crossing one booted foot over the other. Soft denim hugged his muscular thighs, drawing her gaze and making her remember touching him.

  Being touched by him.

  Though he made no effort to close the distance between them on a physical level, his eyes seemed to touch her more intimately.

  Her fists balled at her sides as she fought the urge to launch herself at him and smack his face, to make him pay for what he’d taken from her—her control, her self-respect.

  She drew in a slow breath, cautiously concealing her discomfort behind an unreadable mask reserved for prosecuting in a courtroom. This man had only gotten where he had with her because she’d let him. He wouldn’t get past her guard again.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He studied her for several seconds, his gaze far too probing for Nicole’s comfort. She felt as if he knew her secrets, and she wondered if he did. Just how much of her life had he investigated before he’d seduced her?

 
“Constantine,” he then said, confirming his name. At least one thing about that night had been true. “Agent Constantine Vega.” He paused as if giving her time to digest his words. “I can give you the conviction you seek, Ms. Ward.”

  A conviction and an orgasm, she thought bitterly. How perfectly efficient of him. And devious. He’d been after something. What? Her eyes narrowed on him, suspicion replacing her anger. Agent Flores had given no indication that he knew she’d met Agent Vega before today. If he didn’t know, then Vega had been acting on his own. Agent Flores trusted this man, which lent some support to his credibility. Still…could either or both of them be working for Alvarez? Had she been seduced by the enemy?

  “You know what,” Nicole said, starting to back away. “This was a bad idea.” She turned and headed for the door. She managed all of three steps when she found herself whirled around, pulled tight against a long, hard body. Her breath lodged in her throat, fear and arousal merging together, radiating through her limbs. Her hands pressed against his chest, her legs and hips aligned with his.

  “Let me go,” she whispered hoarsely, wishing like hell she didn’t still want him, wondering why she did when he’d used her in such a way, and when she knew she couldn’t believe whatever he said.

  “Not until you hear me out,” he countered in a low, dangerous voice. “I’m no angel, but I’m not the enemy. I had no option but to check you out before I came forward. I trust my instincts, not a file folder with your name and stats inside. Until I knew I had a sense of who you are, I wasn’t going to come forward.” That pissed her off and some of her fear slid away.

  “How exactly did sticking your hand up my skirt convince you I could be trusted?” An icy tone chilled her words.

  “What happened between us wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t plan to want you, nor did I plan for you to want me. Am I sorry? I should be, but I’m not. My only regret is walking away before we’d finished what we started. But this moment was destined to come anyway.”