Son of a Gun

by Joanna Wayne

  Damien rejoined her at the railing with two icy-cold beers.

  “So what else have you learned about Caudillo?” she asked.

  “This is more about you.”

  “About me? You’re investigating me now?”

  “I did a basic internet search on my computer over at ranch headquarters. I haven’t put you at any risk.”

  “What am I supposed to have done now?”

  “You were never reported as missing.”

  “You have to be wrong about that. Even from the islands, I was texting my friend Dorothy every day. And then I just dropped off the face of the earth. There’s no way she wouldn’t have reported me missing.”

  “Unless she got word you’d gotten married.”

  “No, especially not then. She’d know I wouldn’t do something like that without talking to her about it. She’d have gone straight to the police when she couldn’t get in touch with me, or at least within the first few days.

  “And even if a catastrophe had befallen Dorothy, like a freak accident of some kind, I had a job that I never went back to. I had an apartment full of clothes. Surely someone would have gone to the cops and reported that I’d gone missing while vacationing in the Caribbean. The news media usually has a field day with something like that.”

  “And they didn’t,” Damien said. “I couldn’t find one mention of your disappearance, not even in your hometown paper.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “For some reason, people must have thought you stayed away by choice.”

  “Well, I didn’t, and I can’t imagine why they’d think that, unless…”

  She slapped her hands hard against the railing. “It’s Caudillo. Somehow he’s behind all of this. I don’t know how, but I know he is. Let me use your phone again, Damien. I’m calling Dorothy right now.”

  Her fingers shook as she punched in the familiar number. The phone rang three times and then a woman answered.

  “Is Dorothy there?”

  “No, you must have the wrong number.”

  “Then this isn’t Dorothy Paul’s phone?”

  “No. I’ve had this number since last March, but Dorothy must have had it before us. You’re not the first person who’s asked for her.”

  Emma felt the air leave her lungs as she thanked the woman and broke the connection. She should be crying. Or screaming. Instead she felt numb.

  “Dorothy’s dead. Caudillo killed her, Damien. I know he did.”

  “Did the person on the phone tell you that?”

  “No. She said I had the wrong number, but I didn’t. The woman said she’d had that number since last March.”

  “Then you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “But knowing Caudillo as I do, it makes sense. Caudillo probably checked my phone and knew I’d texted her about meeting him. Then he killed her before she could say anything to the police.”

  “That’s a big jump from a disconnected number, Emma.”

  “Not when you know Caudillo the way I do.”

  “Is there someone else you can call to find out about Dorothy?”

  “I could contact someone at ATF.”

  “Let’s hold off on that. I’ll get someone on this first thing in the morning, but in the meantime, you need to try and keep a positive spin on this. Caudillo surely didn’t kill everyone who knew you to keep them from reporting you missing. Something else is going on here. And there’s no evidence that Dorothy is not alive and well with a new phone number.”

  “Dorothy did have a habit of changing her phone number when she dumped a boyfriend.”

  “I’ll call my buddy and see if he can track down a number for Dorothy Paul in Nashville. So back to your disappearance going unreported. What about your parents or other members of your family? Have you contacted any of them since your escape?”

  “I have no family.”

  “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “Only once we’ve exhausted every other topic in the world. Next question.”

  “Whose idea was it to go to the Caribbean on your vacation?”

  “Dorothy’s. I wanted to go to Italy and then she convinced me we’d have more fun island-hopping. She’d hooked up with some beach bum she’d met in a chat room. The Skype affair died long before the trip.”

  “Did she say what happened?”

  “No, she just stopped talking about him. That was typical of her chat-room boyfriends. They came and went as quickly as her real-live hookups. But don’t get the wrong idea about her. She was smart and competitive and a super friend.” Her voice broke again. She had to get a grip and hold on to it. Her emotions were so far out of sync, she’d need to get better to have a nervous breakdown.

  “I think we’ve covered enough for now,” Damien said. “How about dinner?”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Then come to the restaurant with me and keep me company while I have dinner.”

  “Do I have time to shower first?”

  “All the time you want.”

  She gathered the empty bottles and leftovers and piled them just outside the hotel door for pickup. When she turned around, Damien was standing in a doorway that opened to an adjoining room.

  “Which room do you want? They’re a little different, but both have ocean views.”

  So the question of sleeping in his arms or scooting to the far edge of the bed in her cotton pajamas had never really been an option.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to sleep in his arms. So why did it bother her that the decision had been made for her?

  Because Damien didn’t need her the way she needed him, that’s why. His emotions were fine. He hadn’t lived ten months with a madman.

  She picked up her bag. “I’ll take the other room.”

  And she’d keep the door shut. Not to keep him out, but to keep her in.

  * * *

  CAUDILLO WALKED INTO THE restaurant and was immediately swamped with attention. Ordinarily he loved the waitresses fawning over him like he was a rock star. Tonight, he really wanted to be left in peace to drink his wine alone. But it was important to keep up appearances, so he played the game.

  “It is good to have you back. We haven’t seen you in so long, Mr. Caudillo.”

  “Too long. I missed you and that delicious sweet fungi soup. I trust it’s on the menu tonight.”

  “It’s always on the menu. If not, I would have gone in the kitchen and made it for you myself.”

  The island beauty making the offer bent over so that he had a long, satisfying look at her perky breasts and the nipples that were barely covered by the bikini top of her uniform.

  He’d see she was rewarded well tonight for her thoughtfulness. Unlike Emma, he didn’t make her sick. But then Emma hadn’t reacted to him that way at first. She’d played him. Slightly aloof. Coy. Classy. But the attraction had been more than evident in her eyes and in her smile.

  Another of the beauties hurried out with a plate of tiny codfish cakes.

  “Are the codfish fresh?” he asked.

  “This morning they were swimming in the sea. And Alioto dipped them in her special mix of onions, peppers, flour and annatto oil, just the way you like them.”

  She moved in close as she set them on the table in front of him, swaying her hips so that her firm buttocks were even more pronounced. Yes, he’d been away from Misterioso much too long.

  The young ladies continued their efforts to please him, knowing they’d reap ample compensation for their pampering. But even as they stimulated him, they didn’t flush Emma from his mind.

  They’d sat at this very table the night he’d met her. She’d thought it was by chance that they’d met that night, but Caudillo trusted little to chance.

  He’d spotted her from the deck of his yacht even before it was anchored. He’d kept his binoculars directed at her for at least an hour.

  He’d seen her fingers loosen the clasp of her bikini top when she was sunning. Had watched her rub the smoot
h, oily concoction on every inch of her exposed skin. Had been excited by the way the water shimmered on her flesh when she’d come out of the surf after a swim.

  And even that hadn’t been by chance. He’d come to the island that day just for her, and she hadn’t disappointed—at least not then.

  It wasn’t her failure to provide him with ATF secrets that brought him the supreme regret. It was the humiliation and rejection. His touch had made her sick. Vomit from her stomach had slapped him in the face, even rolled into his nose and eyes and between his lips like a fetid kiss.

  He could never bring himself to make love to her after that, could never trust her not to debase him with the revolting poison of her stomach’s contents.

  She should have been fed to the sharks then. But he couldn’t bear to lose her. She haunted his mind when he was away from the island, and he couldn’t wait to get back to her.

  That was over now.

  The plans were in place. Even if she were crazy enough to go to the FBI and accuse him of kidnapping her, no one would believe her. And if she lied about their marriage and accused him of kidnapping her, who’d believe her lies about his dealing in illegal arms?

  He’d have to play it carefully for a while, but he could use a vacation anyway. Rio was nice this time of year. But first he had business in America.

  He’d effectively neutralized Emma’s threat to him. Having her killed would offer him no real satisfaction.

  That’s why he would take care of the job himself. He’d look her in the eyes while he tortured her the way he’d killed the others. He’d be standing next to her, perhaps even holding her hand when she begged for death.

  And then he’d mercifully give her what she pleaded for.

  * * *

  THE CANDLELIT RESTAURANT where they’d had dinner had been romantically intimate with a breathtaking view of the breaking surf in the moonlight. The perfect setting for lovers. A painfully awkward setting for her and Damien.

  The predinner conversation had set the tone for the evening. The disturbing new questions without answers created a medley of gloom and doom that couldn’t be infiltrated by the setting or the food.

  She’d picked at her meal of broiled fish, baked potato and salad. Damien had devoured his surf and turf. Now they were back at the hotel, and she had a trip to Enmascarado Island to look forward to in the morning.

  “We could take a midnight stroll if you’d like,” Damien offered as he closed the door behind them and turned the deadlock.

  “Not tonight. I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

  “I’m thinking the same. I’d like to check out of the hotel by seven in the morning, if that’s okay with you. We’ll grab some breakfast on the way to the airport.”

  “How can you possibly think of food after all you just ate?”

  “Cowboys have a rough life. We need nourishment.”

  “You do see yourself as a cowboy, don’t you?”

  His eyebrows arched. “What do you see me as? Or dare I ask?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to answer that question.”

  “That’s not true,” Damien said. “You haven’t known me long, but you know me well. We’ve had more deep conversations than I’ve had with some women I dated for months.”

  “Okay.” She might as well be honest. “I see you as a wealthy rancher who jets around the country at the spur of a moment. A man used to being in charge who makes a few phone calls and has everyone jumping to do his bidding. A successful entrepreneur who walks into a mall and buys what he fancies without looking at prices.”

  “Wow. If that’s all you see in me, I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  “Can we jump ahead to some of the good stuff—if there is any good stuff?”

  “None of that is bad, Damien. It’s how it is. I also see you as a man with scruples and values and the determination to do what’s right no matter the risk. I see you as a man who loves his family, his home, his land and his livestock. I see you as a man who keeps his promises. A man who protects people who need protecting.”

  “And now you’ve just described what it is to be a cowboy. Well, except you left out that we’re smart enough to know not to squat with our spurs on.”

  “I also failed to mention that you always know how to defuse a situation and make me smile.”

  He stepped closer and trailed a finger down her cheek and all the way to her collarbone. “Did I mention how great you look in that dress?”

  “Not more than a half-dozen times.”

  His cell phone rang. He ignored it.

  “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” she asked.

  “So that’s why I’m hearing bells. If we wait a minute it will stop ringing.”

  “You can’t do that. It might be your mother. It might be something to do with Belle.”

  He put his hands up in surrender and then checked the ID. “It’s Tague. I’d better take it.”

  “You should. And we both should get some sleep. Good night, Damien.”

  She hurried away before he could protest and before something got started that would backfire on them. She went to the adjoining room, opened the curtains and stared out the glass doors at the star-studded sky.

  In March she’d gone to paradise and found hell. Now she’d gone to Texas and found Damien. The first had ruined her life and left her an emotional wreck. The second was likely going to break her heart.

  She was not what the cowboy needed, and he’d realize that as soon as he was through saving her.

  She unzipped her travel case and pulled out the Nordstrom bag she’d tucked inside it while they were still on the plane. She retrieved the pajamas and tossed them onto the bed.

  Unable to help herself, she reached back inside and tangled her fingers in the silky chemise. She picked it up and held the sexy nightie in front of her as she approached the full-length mirror on her closet door.

  She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. No wonder the chemise had tempted her. It was nothing like the slutty evening wear that Caudillo had made her wear for him.

  Instead she saw the Emma she used to be. A woman not afraid of looking smokin’ hot on occasion. A woman who’d been bucking for a promotion with the ATF. A woman who’d gone on vacation alone rather than lose the money she’d already invested.

  A woman who’d stupidly boarded a luxurious yacht with a mysterious stranger.

  Unexpected tears pooled in her eyes. Now she was a woman afraid to live, because if she did, Caudillo would find her again.

  Damien knocked once on the door she’d left ajar. “How about a nightcap to help you sleep?”

  She looked up and saw Damien’s face reflected in the mirror, though he was still standing near the door.

  She dropped the chemise and it pooled on the floor, leaving her feeling incredibly exposed even though she was still wearing the black dress.

  A second later Damien’s arms wrapped around her from behind.

  She turned, and with tears she could neither explain nor stop streaming down her face, she lifted her mouth to his and melted in his kiss.

  Chapter Ten

  Damien only meant to hold Emma, but the second their lips touched, the pent-up frustration and desire erupted inside him. He’d ached to kiss her practically since the moment they’d met.

  The thrill of her touch ripped through him, making him rock hard, the passion so hot it felt as if it were singeing his brain. When he came up for air, he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her earlobe, the soft, sensual column of her neck.

  His hands splayed her back, pulling her closer. When she moaned, he lifted her from the floor and held his breath as he let her ride down the length of his erection. His hands found the zipper of her dress and tugged it low enough that her breasts spilled out of the bodice.

  “Oh, Emma…”

  And then somehow a tiny measure of sense reached his crazed brain. He pulled away, though the need i
nside him was still ravaging his body.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Me, coming at you like an animal.”

  “Is that what that was, just animal magnetism?”

  The hurt in her voice was like a fist to the gut. “It’s not all it was, not even close. But I had no right, not after what you’ve been through, not when your emotions are still all over the place. You’re just too damn vulnerable.”

  “You’re right, Damien. You’re always right, and that’s starting to annoy me. I am trying to move on. I escaped the monster, but he’s in my head, and the horrors pop up when I least need them to be there.”

  “I know. But you’ll get there, Emma. You’re the most determined woman I’ve ever met. And you definitely have the most spunk.”

  “For the record, I wasn’t thinking about Caudillo when we were kissing. I wasn’t thinking at all.”

  “And I want to kiss you again, Emma. I want to make love with you so bad it’s killing me. But when we make love, I want to be certain you have no regrets. I want you to be as ready for that step as I am.”

  “I’ve never had anyone not make love to me so sweetly, Damien.”

  “I’ll tell myself that all the way through the cold shower I’m about to take. But do me a favor, Emma.”

  “Anything.”

  “Keep that hot-pink negligee with you at all times, so when the time is right, that’s what you’ll be wearing when we start.”

  “That, Damien Lambert, is a promise I will gladly keep.”

  He turned and left quickly, not daring to kiss her good-night. He left the door between them ajar just in case she had a nightmare and needed him during the night.

  Tonight he could come to her rescue. Tomorrow morning, he’d be flying her back to the war zone.

  He wasn’t at all sure that was in the cowboy code.

  * * *

  EMMA WAS IN THE COCKPIT with Damien when Enmascarado first came into view. She braced herself for an attack of nerves or paralyzing dread and prepared to run in case she got sick. The last thing they needed was for her to throw up all over the controls.