by Hope Anika
Tony only snorted. “You don’t believe it, either.”
“No.” Isabel stared down at the dossier. “If he’s guilty, he’ll want her dead.”
Tony ignored the falling sensation in his belly. This was not news. “We need to find Dragovitch.”
Isabel gave him a look. “Good luck with that.”
“We can’t just fucking sit here,” he snarled.
“No, we can’t just chase rainbows,” she retorted calmly. “What we can do is look for evidence.”
“We found evidence,” he said, staring at her, daring her to argue.
“We found something that could be construed as evidence,” she corrected. “Something which was obtained illegally and which could be interpreted a thousand different ways, depending on the translator.”
“We both know what the fuck it is,” he growled. “That SOB is guilty.”
Isabel only shook her head.
“You know it,” Tony countered and reached out, wrapping his hand around hers, trapping her in his hold. She stilled. “I know it. How the hell do we prove it?”
Isabel blinked at him, motionless, the pulse in the hollow of her throat fluttering like wings. “We find definitive evidence.”
He squeezed her hand, painfully aware of her heat, her scent, the delicacy of her bones. Her skin was like silk against his rough palm, and the feel of it awoke every nerve ending in his body. Awareness flared between them, and for a moment he allowed it, awash in temptation, his attention wrenched from the matter at hand to the desire and need that only continued to grow with every moment spent in her presence. Dangerous and seductive; far too distracting. And she was not immune. He could see her response: the color that touched her cheeks, the faint dilation of her pupils, that delicate beat pulsing wildly in the slender column of her throat. In his hold, her hand trembled.
“Let me go,” she said, very quietly.
But he didn’t, every part of him rebelling.
“Help me,” he murmured and stroked his thumb along the soft skin of her wrist, unable to resist.
She jerked from his hold, and in her dark gaze he saw her own conflict. She wanted him right back. But it was not something she would pursue; like him, she would fight. And for the first time, Tony felt the bite of regret. Because neither of them had the luxury of indulging themselves; too many lives depended on them doing their jobs.
Nothing else could exist.
“I think we should start here,” she said and glowered at him, a hint of the spark he’d seen earlier. She thrust a different file at him. “Cruz owns a residence two hours south of the city. It’s been very well hidden, titled in an LLC that is a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary, and so on. Looking at the map, it’s in the middle of nowhere. If there’s any evidence of Mr. Cruz’s…activities, I think it might be there.”
Tony looked in the file, his heart suddenly thumping; adrenaline surged like a rocket firing. He stood. “Let’s go.”
Isabel shook her head. “It’s nine-thirty at night, Detective. What do you expect to find in the dark?”
“I don’t need a lecture,” he told her, disappointed. He slid on his suit coat. “Come or don’t. But don’t lecture me.”
“Tony,” she said, and he halted, because it was the first time she’d said his name. “We need to be smart about this. We need to have a plan. Do you really think Cruz’s top rate security won’t extend to this property—one so extensively hidden, its very existence makes it suspect? Do you really think barging in is a good idea, when it will only tip our hand and alert Cruz to our suspicions?”
He stared at her, hating that she was right. “I can’t do nothing.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said, clearly exasperated. “I’m saying we don’t act rashly. That we use our brains—not our hearts. And we work together, not against each other.”
“I can’t go home and go to bed,” he muttered. “So don’t tell me to. I can’t stop with this. Not until it’s over.”
For a long moment, she just watched him, her eyes dark and glinting and impossible to read. Then she gathered the pile of files into the sleek leather bag beside her and stood.
“Fine,” she said. “Lead the way. But we are not going inside. We are doing reconnaissance only.”
Tony almost smiled. Her reluctance and consternation were written all over her gorgeous face, but she was coming anyway. In spite of herself. And while he couldn’t let himself forget that she carried a federal badge, and that she couldn’t be trusted, he was glad.
“No B and E,” he said. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’m holding you to that,” she told him seriously. “And if you break your word, I’m going to handcuff you to your steering wheel.”
Tony was pretty sure she meant that as a threat. Too bad his libido thought of it as foreplay.
“Done,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
“What are you doing? Sending smoke signals?”
A growl welled in Lucia’s throat, but she ignored Alexander’s derisive and unhelpful observation. The rain had finally stopped, and she was attempting to start a fire—which they desperately needed—but in spite of the fact that she’d managed to gather what she thought was dry wood, her small stack of kindling refused to catch flame. So far, all she had was a whole lot of stinky smoke. Thick, white, billowing smoke; Alexander was not off point.
“You might as well draw a map,” he added, scowling down at her.
“Your concern is noted,” she snarled.
“The wood’s too wet.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
“Everything is soaked,” he continued. “Including us.”
Yes, and that was dangerous. Ben seemed okay, all bundled up with Daisy, but Alexander was shaking, whether or not he would admit it, and Lucia’s hands were so cold they hurt. They’d headed north for almost two hours utilizing the winding Forest Service trails that led into the Sawtooth National Forest. When the slow, steady drizzle had ended, Lucia had stopped, and they’d found a nice spot next to a winding stream to set up their camp, protected on one side by a ridge of pine trees. Across the stream, a wall of hard gray granite stretched toward the sky.
The wilderness. Not a place she’d envisioned them utilizing in their escape, and not a place she knew at all. These mountains were nothing like the jungles of her childhood, nor the desert she’d spent the last decade in. She felt unprepared and ignorant, and the lead weight in her chest only grew heavier with every moment that passed.
Putting up the tent had been simple—it was not a very big tent—and collecting water in the water bottles she’d brought was easy enough. But building a fire with wet wood was proving problematic. Almost impossible.
And that could not be. They had to have a fire. Fire was survival.
She thought of Sam—who would have undoubtedly had no trouble starting a fire—and then gave herself a brisk mental smack. It was far better that they’d left him behind, no matter the dangers they now faced. The cold, the rain; bears and wolves. Lightning. She’d assumed that Ivan the Terrible would be the biggest threat they encountered.
She’d been wrong. So very much stupid.
“Mierda.” She blew fervently on the tiny coal she’d managed to ignite, and it glowed brighter, but flame was elusive. Smoke continued to waft into the air around her, as thick and opaque as the clouds hitting the mountains around them.
Water suddenly cascaded down from above. Alexander stood over her, emptying one of the water bottles onto the fire, which only made the smoke worse, and Lucia fell back and landed on her butt in the wet grass, her eyes burning.
“We have to put it out,” he announced decisively. “That’s too much smoke.”
She pushed herself to her feet, ready to strangle him, but before she could act a voice came from the darkness and said, “He’s right. I could see you for miles.”
Sam.
Her heart stopped, and a wave of butterflies took flight in her belly. Ben jumped to his fee
t with a delighted cry and ran to the man who was striding into their camp, his face dark, a bundle of wood in one hand, his backpack in the other.
“Son of a bitch,” Alexander said.
“Sam!” Ben cried and threw himself against Sam’s legs. “I missed you so much! Did you know I got a dog? Her name’s Daisy. You wanna pet her?”
The sight of Ben’s small hands wound in the denim of Sam’s jeans made Lucia’s head start to hurt. When had that happened?
“He’s not your friend, Ben,” Alexander said in a hard voice. “Come here.”
Ben only held up a hand to Sam, indicating his desire to be held, and Lucia took a step toward them, anxiety suddenly surging through her. “Benjamin.”
But Sam set aside the wood, bent down and lifted both boy and dog, and carried them over to where she stood, shivering, her eyes watering from the smoke that continued to flood the camp. Sam stared down at her, his face cold, his gaze glinting with anger, and a tremor moved through her, because she was tired and hungry and freezing her butt off, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was that look.
Blasted, willful man.
“You need to leave,” Alexander growled at him.
Sam only ignored that and stared at Lucia, the line of his jaw like stone. “You didn’t have to run.”
Guilt flickered, followed by consternation. “You didn’t have to follow.”
“I should just watch you disappear into the wilderness?” His tone made the fine hair at her nape bristle in sudden, prickling awareness. “And do nothing?”
He wasn’t just mad; he was furious.
“Yes,” she told him honestly.
“Because you have it all so well in hand.” He swept their smoky camp with a narrow, derisive gaze; a muscle ticked in his cheek.
“You need to go,” Alexander said, louder. “Now.”
“No,” Ben argued and clutched at Sam’s coat. Lucia watched him settle his head on Sam’s broad shoulder and felt what little remained in her control fall entirely out of reach.
“Haven’t I proven myself?” Sam’s voice was low, and in his eyes Lucia saw a churning darkness she couldn’t read. Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. “What the fuck does it take?”
A stranger, nothing more. You owe him no explanations.
And yet…he’d helped them. Saved them. Didn’t he deserve something for that?
Yes. But the point was moot, because she had nothing to give. Shared experiences did not bind them, no matter how extreme. They were not connected. And leaving him behind had been necessary; there was no choice in that. It protected him.
Even if he didn’t realize it.
Why had he followed them?
“We are not your responsibility,” she told him.
He took another step closer. “You are.”
She shook her head, baffled by his presumption. “Why would you believe such a thing?”
“It’s fact.”
Lucia stared at him. Was he insane? Was that the problem? “We do not need your help.”
“Yes, you do.”
He sounded so certain, panic bloomed, thorned and ugly.
“Without my help,” he continued, his voice hard, “you’d be dead.”
An arguable point, even if he was likely correct. And one which underscored every mistake she’d made. Damn him.
“Why do you care?” she wanted to know, because his sudden presence, the depth of his anger—it made no sense to her. Why had he followed them? What did he want? And then—did he know? How could he know?—and her blood turned to ice.
“You need me,” he said shortly. “Whether you like it or not.”
“We need no one,” she told him, angry that he might—possibly—be correct.
“Pride’s expensive. You want to pay, that’s fine. But what about them?”
Lucia stared at him, her heart beating so hard she nearly vibrated. “What do you want?”
“I’m here to help. You need to let me.”
“Just leave us alone,” Alexander interceded and moved to stand beside Lucia. He glared up at Sam. “We don’t need you.”
“The hell you don’t,” Sam told him. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing. You built your fire next to your tent, which is a bad idea unless you want to start it on fire. It’s also too close to the water, which is rising. Those water bottles next to the creek indicate you filled them with runoff, which means by morning, you’ll be sick as dogs. That food over there needs to be hung from a tree; that’s called bear bait. And unless you get a flame started soon, you’re all going to get hypothermic. A nice, slow, painful death in otherwise fair conditions. Why not just jump off a cliff? It would be quicker.”
His mockery was a hot blade that sliced Lucia’s tenuous control to ribbons, and her fear faded beneath the overwhelming swell of her temper. “I was going to boil the water,” she bit out. “I am not an idiot.”
“Good luck without fire.” Sam watched her, his eyes glittering and hard. “You’re going to get them killed.”
A direct blow, one she felt. Anger simmered across her skin, and she was painfully aware of the heat climbing into her throat, her rising blood pressure, the infuriating mixture of guilt and relief she felt at his sudden appearance.
“No one asked for your opinion,” she told him and reached for Ben. “Come here, monkey.”
Ben shook his head stubbornly against Sam’s shoulder.
“Benjamin,” she said sternly.
“I’ve got him,” Sam said. “He’s fine.”
But Lucia didn’t think anything was fine. “Give him to me.”
“You’re in over your head,” Sam said flatly, ignoring her. “It’s time to admit that.”
When pigs fly. Even if he was right. “You have no place here,” she snarled, trying not to yell. “You need to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
She growled at him. “We do not want you here.”
“I do,” Ben protested.
Sam’s brows arched—See?—and Lucia counted to ten because strangling him while he held Ben would be bad for everyone involved. “You must go, Sam. Now. Please.”
“No.”
“Yes. You must.”
He only stared at her, unmoving, as obstinate as any mule, and Lucia glared at him for a long moment, her pulse a violent throb in her skull. She didn’t understand. Not any of it. Why had he come? Why did he believe they were his responsibility? Why was Ben clinging to him? And she fought the desire to scream at him, because she couldn’t let her temper get the best of her. She couldn’t rant and rave and curse everything: the past, the present, herself.
Stupid destiny.
She couldn’t vent until she felt hollow and spent, until there was nothing left but silence.
No. Not an option. Because Sam knew nothing of them, and that’s how she must keep it, no matter how tempting a target he made. Silence was safe. Regardless of the words damming in her chest, and the vein throbbing in her neck. No matter the cold, inflexible look on his face. That pigheaded look she was coming to despise—no. Silence. She could do it. She was not an animal—
“You stupid, stubborn son of a goat!” she cried in Spanish. “Get out of our camp!”
“You move the tent,” Sam said, ignoring the outburst. “I’ll start the fire.”
“You cannot stay with us,” she enunciated sharply. “You are not welcome here.”
“Yes, he is,” Ben said in a small voice. “He’s my friend, Lu.”
A sudden, unexpected glint of humor shimmered across Sam’s gaze, and Lucia found herself contemplating violence. There was nothing humorous in this; there was only eminent disaster. For them all.
“It is not safe,” she cried. “You must listen to me.”
“Safe for whom?” Sam took another step toward her, until he was close enough she could feel the immense heat he emanated. “Because the only danger here is you.”
She was trying to save this stupid, intract
able, arrogant man. From being arrested—at best. At best.
Why would he not listen?
“You,” he added softly, “and your ignorance.”
And that was it. Lucia blew.
Spanish expletives burst from her like a spray of bullets: every colorful obscenity her grandmother had taught her, every ugly profanity, every curse word and vulgar invective she’d ever learned, all spat at him like automatic gunfire. When he only blinked beneath the onslaught, Lucia gripped the slippery material of his coat in her fists and shook him angrily. “You will leave right now, cabrón,” she hissed. “Or you will regret it.”
“Will I?”
Something in his tone made a bolt of powerful, visceral awareness arrow through her. He was unmoving in her hold, and the intensity of him slapped against her, a physical force that only made her angrier. “Sí, you will!”
“Fine,” he said, and she blinked. His gaze traveled over her face, lingered on her mouth, and she felt something disarming and inappropriate slam into her. “I’ll just call the Forest Service on my way out to let them know you’re here.”
Panic and terror sheared through her anger. She stared at him, her heartbeat almost deafening. Her fingers flexed around the material of his coat; his chest was hard and warm and unyielding beneath her fists. The butterflies in her belly circled furiously.
“No,” she said.
“No?” he repeated. His eyes caressed her; something flickered there, and nerves crawled up her throat, and they weren’t solely because of his threat. “Why’s that?”
“Because we are being hunted, you fool!” she snarled in Spanish and shook him again. “Will you make me shoot you?”
The sudden slash of his smile, and the flash of white, even teeth that gave life to a crease in his left cheek made her go still. Dread speared through her. Surely he didn’t—
“You could try,” he replied in perfectly accented Spanish. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Mierda! He’d understood her, and he’d said nothing. “You—”
“Temper, temper,” he tsked softly. “Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll only take so much.”
Lucia blinked up at him, a frisson moving through her at the warning she heard, a serious admonition, no matter the humor glinting in his gaze. Muy estupido! What did you tell him? What did you do?