by Hope Anika
“Isabel.”
Tony was looking at her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. Handsome bastard. Charismatic, smart, funny. And loyal. It was an intoxicating mix, but one Isabel didn’t trust, and one in which she would not be indulging. Even if the curious mixture he stirred within her was unusual, and the idea of seeking its conclusion was far more tempting than she would have imagined. Even if he made her feel…alive in a way that made her wonder how long she’d been dead.
“Detective,” she replied calmly and ignored the small smile that curved his mouth.
“What are the odds your source can identify the security system in this joint?”
Ah, yes. Her source. The one Tony assumed was on the federal dime, when in reality, Aequitas was on the federal list. The Most Wanted list. And while utilizing the contact was dangerous—the Bureau would not take kindly to her making use of their most wanted—it was necessary, because there simply was no one better. The faceless, genderless Aequitas was an endless font of information—any and all information, regardless of source—and had turned into an invaluable ally in the war Isabel waged.
The informant/hacker/cyber criminal had contacted her three years ago during her work on a case involving child trafficking out of Thailand. One morning she’d turned on her computer and discovered a message from AequitasOne, and when she’d opened it, bios on every member of the trafficking ring she was investigating—and every document even minutely pertinent to them—had opened on her screen. Photographs, correspondence, phone records, medical records, business records, links to websites they utilized to advertise and sell the human beings they collected like errant cattle. There had been family trees and social connections, Instagrams and Facebook posts. But best of all, there’d been a detailed, lengthy list of their clientele.
An avalanche of evidence, one Isabel had utilized to put down every single one of them—including the men and women to whom they’d sold those human beings. The few who’d been protected—those sheltered by their governments and their wealth—had all mysteriously disappeared, something Isabel chose not to dwell upon. After all, there was a reason Aequitas was on the List. Still, she couldn’t find it within herself to give a damn.
Someone had to police the monsters, and she would take all the help she could get. She’d never understood how or why Aequitas had chosen her, but truth be told, she didn’t care.
“Fifty-fifty,” she replied finally, although she had no doubt Aequitas could easily provide whatever she needed. Still, that wasn’t something she was comfortable sharing, especially with a man who would utilize anything—and anyone—in search of his goal.
Because even though she’d accompanied him on this wild goose chase, Isabel was not certain she and the Detective had the same goal. She wasn’t particularly interested in saving Lucia Sanchez—regardless of Tony’s connection to the woman, Isabel had made no determinations of Lucia’s guilt or lack thereof, and in the end, the truth would either free the woman or damn her—no, it was the Cruz boys Isabel cared about. Their well-being, their future. Tony was only concerned with exonerating his friend; to him, the boys were secondary. But to Isabel, they were everything.
A chasm which could not be bridged. Still, he was her sole ally at the moment, and he could make whatever foolish assumptions he chose. She knew and understood her task.
“Find out,” Tony ordered, his impatience a tangible force. “Sooner is better than later.”
Isabel arched a brow at him. “Are you asking or telling?”
He leaned toward her; heat and the scent of sandalwood surrounded her. She almost stepped back, unnerved by ripple of awareness that licked across her skin. The bizarre urge to test him, to test herself.
No doubt about it, her hormonal response to the man was unusual. And distracting.
But it would not be a problem.
“Pretty please with sugar on top?” He ducked his head down toward her. She sensed his deep inhalation, and her heart stuttered in her chest when she realized he was breathing in her scent. She froze.
“Inappropriate,” she muttered.
He grinned, a slash of white in the darkness, and inhaled again. “You shouldn’t smell so good.”
“No, I shouldn’t have to forgo a shower in order to be treated like your equal,” she told him, her tone cutting.
But Tony’s smile faded, and although he didn’t step back, the look he gave her was grave.
“Never doubt that I consider you my equal,” he said seriously, and damn it, her heart jumped again. “No matter our differences or disagreements.”
Isabel stared at him, her pulse a furious drumbeat, her blood a sudden, ludicrous rush in her veins. His scent swirled around her, and the desire to step back morphed into the desire to step toward.
Foolish and destructive. And far more intoxicating than she’d realized. Not something to be ignored; something to be actively fought.
Something which could derail everything.
Tony stared down at her, waiting for a response, so close she could feel his breath touch her skin. Isabel did the only thing she could: she stepped away and pulled out her phone.
She tapped in a brief message to Aequitas and hit send.
“Now what?” Tony asked, and Isabel got the uneasy feeling he was asking about far more than her contact, but she chose to ignore that feeling and take his words at face value.
“Now,” she said. “We wait.”
Chapter Fifteen
“We need to talk.”
Lucia looked up to find Sam walking toward her, and the chaotic mixture of fury and fear that had been welling within her for the last several hours threatened to burst like an ugly boil.
The boys were tucked into their sleeping bags in the tent, along with Daisy, for whom Sam had somehow secured a short length of rope to use as a leash, and, amazingly, food. It was as good a time as any for them to speak, but Lucia no desire to do so. She was furious. With him, for following them, for his stubborn refusal to leave, for being such a veritable encyclopedia of outdoor knowledge and skill that she wanted to punch him in the face. But mostly she was furious with herself, for allowing this ridiculous situation to ever come into being.
Her fault. Entirely. Even if he was difficult, arrogant and autocratic. This was not his fault, no matter how irritated he made her, and she could not blame him for anything that was happening.
No matter how much she wanted to.
“I have nothing to say,” she informed him, standing before the blazing fire he’d built. He’d made it look easy—no surge of thick white smoke, no stinging eyes and burning lungs—just flame, pure and hot and lifesaving.
The jerk.
“I do,” he replied, his tone hard. He circled the fire toward her, and she began to circle it as well, walking in the opposite direction, away from him. She glared across the flames, her heart beating hard.
Ready to rumble. Which was foolish and stupid; they had no time for such things. But this man…he made her crazy. He was too strong. Too presumptuous. He believed she would simply lie down and allow him to take control. He would decide. He would lead.
But Lucia wasn’t a follower. She never had been, never would be, and although her current path was dark and twisted and strewn with mortars, it was hers. She would not let him take it from her.
“Stop it,” he growled, circling toward her.
“You stop it,” she retorted, pacing him.
“This is childish,” he snarled.
“Chasing me is childish,” she replied.
He halted, staring at her, and something ominous bled across his face. Lucia stilled, and her skin prickled, and fear fluttered suddenly in her chest, because she did not know this man, and she could see the darkness washing over him, the tension that slid through his veins and turned him to stone. It scared the hell out of her.
She watched him carefully and told herself that running was not an option. There is nowhere to go. And he would only catch her, a thought that sent a powerful
, unexpected bolt of heat through her.
Something she did not appreciate. Yet one more thing to work against me. Because she needed her hormones added to the list.
“What?” she demanded finally, uneasy with his stare—so hard and cold and angry.
“Tony sent me,” he said flatly.
For a long moment, she only stared at him. Tony?
The police detective, the man who’d become of the boy she’d once known. A man she’d forced herself to reach out to, to trust in effort to help Alexander, only to have him betray her—again. Tony, who was as spineless and selfish as everyone else, the same as he’d always been. A man whose badge and gun were nothing more than accessories.
Badge and gun.
Terror surged through her, followed by blinding fury, and she turned to head straight for the tent. She got all of two steps before Sam lifted her from her feet.
“Goddamn it,” he snapped, his arms wrapping her waist, plucking her from her path as though she were a child. “Just fucking stop and listen.”
“Liar!” she hissed, twisting in his hold, cursing his strength and her own stupidity. Chivalry—bah. “Deceptive bastard! Asshole! Son of a—”
“I warned you to be careful,” he grated in a tone that made another rush of that primal awareness suddenly wash over her, and then he was swinging her away from the tent, back toward the fire.
Lucia fought, kicking at him with her heels, pounding with her fists, snarling threats in a disjointed mixture of English and Spanish. She wanted to scream at him, but the knowledge that the children were only a handful of feet away stayed her. She didn’t want them waking to her cries of fury, no matter how justified they were. The need to utilize every defensive and offensive skill she’d been taught burned in her blood, but Sam was too damn strong, and she didn’t even have her feet—
She elbowed him, and he swore, and she felt an intense, brief moment of satisfaction until he pushed her against one of the trees that ringed their campfire, captured her hands behind her back in one of his and held her in place with the immense weight of his body. The tree bark bit into her cheek; the scent of pine sap filled her nostrils, and the strong, corded forearm wrapped around her middle was like a steel band.
“You about done?” His breath was warm and moist in her ear. Lucia shivered and bucked against him, but it was no use. The man had no give. She might as well fight gravity.
A thought which only infuriated her more.
“Now?” he wanted to know, and she trembled against him, so furious she could barely speak.
“I should have shot you,” she growled.
“Settle,” he said, and his beard rasped against her cheek. Her skin rippled in response, and the primal awareness he’d sparked morphed into something darker, more visceral, a flash of white heat and clenching need.
Unexpected and unwanted.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice low, trembling.
“Not until you hear me.”
“This is why you stopped to help us.” Not because he was a decent human being. No. That was her own idiotic assumption. She should have known better, should have seen through his ruse and—
“Liar,” she said again, part of her heartbroken at the realization.
“No. I never lied to you.”
“A lie by omission is still a lie.”
“Takes one to know one,” he told her grimly.
Color rushed into her cheeks. She bucked again. “Get off me.”
“I’ve got all night, sweetheart.” Another brush of that prickly beard, like the rasp of a rough tongue against her neck. His voice was deep. “However long it takes.”
Lucia shivered. He’d completely immobilized her, and the hard length of him pressed against her back like a second skin. Too big and too strong for her to ever win a confrontation.
She forced a deep breath, then another. “Will you arrest me?”
His mouth touched her ear. “No.”
She shivered. Her heartbeat hard at the back of her throat. “Then why have you come?”
“I’m here to help.” That prickly beard stroked her jaw. “And you sure aren’t making it easy.”
She fought another shiver. He was astoundingly warm against her, and his hold seemed too intimate: her hands clasped in his, his mouth at her ear, that damn beard rubbing over her like an affectionate cat. His weight pressed against her, his size and strength utilized as a weapon to intimidate her.
Bend her to his will.
“You are law enforcement,” she said, certain.
“Sam Steele, Deputy U.S. Marshal.”
She froze. A Deputy Marshal. A fugitive hunter. No wonder Tony had sent him.
“Damn you,” she whispered, torn between terror and fury, a growing awareness of him she didn’t want. His scent, his voice, the press of his body against hers.
She wanted to run. To grab the children and the dog and hightail it into the wilderness as fast as she could, but he wouldn’t let her go, and if she fought him—really fought him—she would lose. She knew that.
So you must be calm. You must be smart, no matter the betrayal.
“Tony believes you,” Sam continued softly, his tone gentle, as if she was a bird poised for flight. Or a woman on a ledge.
“Now he believes me?” A bitter laugh escaped her. Who cared what Tony Malone believed? She’d given him a second chance, and he’d crushed it into dust. So what if he suddenly had a change of heart?
Fat lot of good it did her now.
“He can go to the devil,” she hissed. “And you can go with him.”
“Maybe someday.” Sam rubbed his jaw against her cheek. “But not today.”
She tugged against his grip on her hands, but he refused to release her.
“If you have not come to arrest me, then why are you here?” she demanded, deeply disturbed by the response he was drawing from her, as if enticing awake a part of her that had long slumbered. But she didn’t want to awaken—not now, and not with him.
“To help you,” he repeated.
“This is you helping me?”
“You want a fight, sweetheart, I’ll give you one.”
The bark was abrasive against her skin, the trunk of the tree unyielding. A position of weakness. Which wasn’t doing her any good at all. That Tony had sent a Deputy U.S. Marshal after her was not a surprise; his treachery had been predictable. But Sam…who’d appeared almost…chivalrous—when no one was chivalrous, not anymore—and who she’d begun—moronically—to trust. Who she’d felt guilt over abandoning. A man who had—for the first time in her life—made her question what it might be like to feel safe.
But she wasn’t safe. No one was ever safe.
“Tell me about Alexander,” he said.
Lucia was silent, painfully aware that the small, fragile trust growing between them had been nothing more than her own wishful thinking. Tony’s foot soldier. Nothing more. And she realized too late how foolish she’d been, to be tempted to believe in anyone.
“You have to talk to me, sweetheart,” Sam murmured. “So I can do my job.”
“Your job,” she repeated, her voice tight with the wedge of anger and pain lodged in her throat. “To deceive me.”
He bit her, nipping her earlobe with sharp teeth, and Lucia started violently. “My job. To keep you safe until Tony can nail Cruz’s ass to the wall.”
“Forever is a long time,” she retorted and yanked at her hands, desperate to free them. Her ear stung, and the intimacy of the act crossed any lines she might have thought in place.
Dangerous. For any number of reasons.
His hold on her tightened. “You have to trust one of us.”
But he was wrong. She didn’t have to trust anyone.
Why would he voluntarily involve himself in this mess if not to apprehend them? Why would he help them?
And then the memory of him gathering them to him in the storm drain suddenly flashed through her; the strength and warmth and sheer determination that h
ad held them secure even as the wind raged and the flesh was stripped from his back. His comfort, given freely to a dying old man. His words to Alexander.
You don’t abandon someone who needs help. If you sacrifice them to save yourself, you’re already lost.
Did he believe that? Was that the man he was, or simply a convenient façade, easily donned when necessary?
“Lucia.”
Her name on his lips made a strange sensation flutter deep within her. Something anxious and painful. Something she didn’t trust. Anger, she told herself, or fear. But she didn’t really believe it.
“I can help you,” he said. “But only if you trust me.”
A stalemate. Because Lucia had no doubt he could—and would—lean on her until she broke. But that did not mean she had to trust him.
He could have the truth, but nothing more.
She’d given countless people the truth, for all the good it had done. The truth, which should have been the most powerful weapon in her arsenal, but did little good when no one was brave enough to engage. And he would be no different. No one was any different. She would tell him, and he would run—as they all had—and that would be the final, crushing blow.
But this was not about her, or her fury, or her angry heartbreak. This was about Alexander and Benjamin, and they needed someone like this man on their side, because there was no guarantee she would be around to fight for them. Donavan Cruz would not stop until he had her head on a pike, and Ivan was coming. He would have to be dealt with. If she turned Sam aside—for any reason—she stole from Alexander and Benjamin the potential for a powerful ally.
It didn’t matter what she felt, only what she did.
“Let go of me,” she said quietly. “And I will tell you what it is you wish to know.”
Sam’s breath filled her ear. “Promise?”
Her teeth ground together. “Sí.”
The grip on her hands released. The arm around her waist dropped, and he stepped back.
She turned to face him and forced herself to meet that intent, waiting gaze. He was far too close; he’d barely moved at all. And when she took a step back and smacked into the tree again, he followed and erased her gain. The fire outlined him where he stood before her, and he seemed even bigger painted in shadow. Her superstitious grandmother would have seen significance in the golden aura the flames cast around him, but Lucia was not a believer in such things.