by Mandy Baxter
“I’ve got eyes,” he said after a moment. “She’s in the VIP lounge.”
After the initial excitement of her appearance subsided, Landon finally had an unobstructed view of the subject. It was easier to think of her as simply another suspect, rather than focus on her shapely legs, showcased by the short black skirt she wore, or the plunging neckline of her top that bared one shoulder and left little to the imagination. The way her skin glowed like oiled bronze in the low light of the club, flawless and smooth made his fingers itch to touch her. Jesus. Landon gave himself a mental slap to the face. Snap out of it, you dumb son of a bitch. The last thing you need right now is to be obsessing over someone who’s a person of freaking interest! He might be a smart-ass, but Landon prided himself on his professionalism. And fantasizing about touching Emma Ruiz was less than upstanding job performance.
“We got word our wiretap was approved. I have a team heading over to the Aspira to do the install. What’s up on your end?”
Damn. The boys in Seattle moved fast. Which was good for Landon, because he needed to get this shit wrapped up so he could get his ass home and as far from Emma as possible. “Not much. I’ll let you know when she’s on the move. So far, looks like she’s just out to be out.”
“Ah, well,” Morgan responded. “Even if tonight doesn’t produce anything, at least we got the wiretap.”
Landon shifted so that a trio of girls blocked him from Emma’s line of sight. “Yup. It’s a win.”
The hip-hop and top-forty crap the DJ was spinning did little for Landon’s deteriorating mood. As he watched a guy who was pushing seven feet tall bend over Emma and kiss her on the cheek, he could damned near hear the enamel of his molars grinding together. And when she squealed with surprise and threw her arms around him, Landon was pretty sure his jaw permanently locked. Who the hell was he? And why did it cause his chest to burn and his muscles to contract at the thought that this guy meant something to Emma?
He sipped from a glass of ginger ale, not even bothering to hide the scowl that had settled on his face. Emma and the tall bastard hanging on her every word seemed to be enjoying themselves. He could tell from her easy expression that she was comfortable with this guy. Enjoyed his company. Her smile was bright and genuine, and it caused something in Landon’s chest to crack. He imagined what it would feel like to have her look at him with that same expression, so honest and happy. Totally and completely at ease. She sipped from a wineglass as they talked and laughed, virtually ignoring everyone around them. Tall, dark, and annoying put one large hand on Emma’s bare shoulder, and Landon shot to his feet, anger burning in his gut at the intimate contact.
As if you have any right to be jealous, you dumb asshole.
From the corner of his eye, Landon caught a man making his way toward the VIP room. This one made his hackles rise as years of training triggered his intuition. No way was this guy here to party, and the way he sauntered through the crowd, his left arm tucked tight against his body, made Landon think that he might have a piece holstered under his shoulder. Crafty bastard too, to get a weapon past the bouncers frisking people at the door. It might have been a good idea to alert Morgan of a potential problem, but Landon held back. He watched as the man pushed through the crowd, clubbers moving away from him as though spurred by some warning instinct. This guy was no stranger to intimidation. He wielded it as sure as the weapon he had stashed under his jacket.
Landon brought his phone up as though he were reading something on the screen and snapped off a few shots with the camera. Odds were they wouldn’t turn out. It was too dark and the zoom feature sucked balls. But maybe they could enhance the image back at the office and get it clear enough for the facial recognition software to pick something up. Their techs were wizards with that shit.
Landon worked his way closer to the VIP lounge, all the while committing every detail of the guy headed for Emma to memory. Hispanic male, mid-thirties, dressed like he had the cash to back up his swagger, buzzed hair tight to his skull, five-eight or so, a buck eighty at the most, with a scar below his left eye and a nondescript tattoo on his left forearm. Maybe gang-related? His lip seemed to be upturned in a permanent sneer, and his dark eyes were narrowed with suspicion. He shouldered his way past the tall, possible pro athlete Emma had been hugging and grabbed her by the arm.
A burst of adrenaline shot through Landon’s system as a protective urge spurred him forward. She did a good job of masking her panic, and there was recognition in her eyes. Emma knew the guy, but it was obvious they weren’t friends. The maybe-athlete was elevated in Landon’s opinion when he stepped in to help. Actually, he could have been more interested in asserting himself as the alpha after being shoved over, as the guy disregarded Emma’s well-being entirely for a real manly chest-bumping session. What was it with guys like that? They thought invading each other’s space was a show of dominance. Landon didn’t bother with trivialities. He threw punches first and asked questions later.
The look of alarm on Emma’s face commanded Landon’s attention as she stepped into the fray. As though she needed to diffuse what was about to become a very dangerous situation, she placed her hand on the chest of the athlete, careful to avoid touching the would-be gangster.
Interesting.
What in the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Emma?
Emma had agreed to meet Cesar here because it creeped her out to be alone in her condo with him. She didn’t expect to be accosted by a crowd since it was a weeknight, nor did she think Jeremy would show up since he was supposed to be out of town doing a press junket for the line of athletic wear he was getting ready to launch before the Seahawks’ preseason began. Could the night get any worse?
Don’t tempt fate by asking, Em.
“It’s okay, Jeremy. I know him.” Cesar wasn’t doing a very good job of not drawing attention. And why the hostility? It wasn’t like she was avoiding him. It had been her idea to meet him here. There was no need for him to manhandle her. Though she doubted he knew of any other way. What a jerk.
“Yeah, well, someone needs to teach him how to treat a woman.” Jeremy’s deep voice rumbled in her ear. The tension in his muscles told her that he wasn’t ready to back down, and she reached up, guiding his gaze to hers.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just give me a minute?”
“Alone? Not a good idea, Em. Especially with everything that’s going on with your dad right now. Who is he?”
The problem with good friends was that they could occasionally be overprotective as well as nosy. And there was no way she was going to open up and share. “I’m a big girl, Jer. I can take care of myself.” He flashed her a swoon-worthy smile that would have crumbled the resolve of any number of girls. “Don’t you dare try to charm me with that trademark grin. I’m not one of your groupies. Order us a couple of drinks and snag a table. I’ll be back in a few.”
“All right, but hurry.” He pointed an accusing finger, and Emma marveled at how Cesar wasn’t intimidated by Jeremy’s sheer size. The guy could have broken Cesar over his knee as though he were a twig. “I’ma come after you if don’t get your ass back here.”
Thank God the music was too loud for him to hear the nerves in her laughter. If she didn’t tell Cesar what he wanted to hear, the odds were good she wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. “Let’s go,” she said as she guided Cesar out of the VIP lounge and toward the rear exit.
“You’re quite the actress, chica,” Cesar said in that low, sinister voice that caused chills to freeze her very bone marrow. “Did the marshals get a dose of that skill today?”
The fact that he even had to ask was enough for Emma to doubt his intelligence. “I did what you told me to do.”
“Don’t get lippy with me, niña,” Cesar said from between clenched teeth. “The trouble you’re in is your own doing. I wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t tried to shake down mi patrón.” He dragged her along, his fingers biting into her flesh.
Such a gentlem
an. Cesar’s mama must have been so proud of her son, handling a woman like that. What an ass. “I know why I’m in this situation. As well as what’s at stake if I don’t play ball. I didn’t say anything at my interview today. And as far as I can tell, the marshals don’t have any leads either.”
“That’s good,” Cesar replied. His jacket gaped away, and Emma caught sight of a gun resting in a holster under his arm. The sound of her pulse in her ears echoed the frantic beating of her heart, and she swallowed down the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. “Keep doing what you’re told and we won’t have any problems. Stay away from those puto marshals. I’ll be watching you, chica. And I’ll be contacting you again soon.”
Cesar turned to leave and Emma shouted, “What about my father?” How much longer was this to go on? Because at this rate, she wouldn’t last the week. He promised her they’d make the exchange after tonight. “You told me—”
“I told you I’ll be contacting you soon.” Cesar rounded on her with a snarl, his nose inches from hers. He smelled like bourbon and cigars, and Emma’s stomach convulsed. “You don’t ask me anything, entender ? I make the rules, not you. You do nothing but sit and wait for my call.”
He turned and strode away, shoving anyone in his path to the side. Yes, she understood Cesar perfectly. She’d screwed up and he was going to make her suffer for it. Emma slumped against the wall, her limbs shaking as her breath sped in her chest. There was no use fighting the undercurrent that was slowly pulling her away from the shore of her composure. It would only be a matter of time before the tide of her actions swallowed her completely. Already she felt as though she were drowning.
She couldn’t go back to Jeremy and act as though nothing were wrong. Not while she was still so worked up. He’d see right through the act. Emma pushed herself away from the wall, and rather than head for the exit, she made her way down the employees-only hallway. Most patrons didn’t know about the back stairs that led to the roof, but Emma had been coming here for years and the manager let her use the roof access when she needed a little air. Or perspective. And right now, she was desperate for both.
As she walked out onto the roof, the early summer air cooled by the recent rain was a balm on Emma’s heated skin. She drew a breath into her lungs and held it, enjoying the cold bite. God, how she’d wanted to come clean to McCabe today in the interview room. She experienced a pleasant rush of excitement at the memory of his intense gaze. His blue eyes seemed to see into the most secret part of her, but obviously that wasn’t true, was it? Otherwise he would have forced the truth out of her. Instead, she’d snowed him exactly like she had his clueless partners. They didn’t deserve her honesty. If the U.S. Marshals had done their job right the first time around, none of them would be in the positions they were in now.
Emma took in the city sounds as she strolled across the roof to the edge of the building. The white noise helped to quiet her tumultuous thoughts, along with the breeze that whooshed over her ears. Her upper arm still ached where Cesar had grabbed her, and she rubbed at her skin, wishing that the gentle wind could banish the memory of his hands on her. He was corrupt, heartless, and soulless, and it made her feel dirty having shared the same air as that son of a bitch. Without thinking, Emma stepped up onto the ledge of the building to look down at the street below. Only a couple of stories up, it still felt like miles from the ground and she swayed on her feet as the heel of her stiletto caught in a crack on the ledge.
“Jesus Christ, Emma!”
Before she could make sense of what was happening, strong arms wrapped around her waist and the ledge fell out from beneath her feet as she was ripped from her perch. The world spun in a blur, hauled against a wall of muscle before being deposited back on her feet.
“What in the hell were you doing?” McCabe’s incredulous voice was warm in her ear. He held her tight against him, and Emma’s head swam with his scent, clean and masculine with a hint of expensive cologne. She trembled in his arms, but whether from fear or excitement, she had no idea. Wait a sec. . . . What in the hell was she doing . . . ?
“What in the hell are you doing, McCabe?” Emma pushed at Landon’s chest, stumbling backward. “Why are you here? Are you following me?” Panic flooded her at the realization. What if Cesar had noticed? Oh, God. Dad . . .
“I’m saving your ass, that’s what I’m doing!” McCabe said as though Emma had lost her mind. As if. She wasn’t the one grabbing people and tossing them around. “Do you want to explain what in God’s name you were doing on that ledge?”
Had he actually thought she was about to jump? His eyes were alight with blue fire and his forehead creased right above the bridge of his nose where his brows were drawn tight. Despite the fact that she’d pushed him away, he closed the space between them, giving Emma nowhere to go but backward. Her back pressed against the cold brick of a tall air vent, and she shivered from the cold. Damn it. It was pretty tough to be enraged with McCabe when his anger made him look so freaking good.
“It’s none of your damned business what I do, McCabe.” Emma infused her voice with as much indignation as she could muster. No way would she give him any clue how his proximity affected her. Already, she found it hard to take a deep breath. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no right to follow me. Stay out of my life!” The last words left her mouth in a strangled shout. If he didn’t back off, he’d ruin everything she was working to fix.
“Who is he, Emma?” Landon demanded, wrapping his hands around her upper arms.
She bucked her chin in the air. “Who?”
His grip tightened, but not with the same painful bite of Cesar’s grip. Rather, he was careful to keep his strength in check, restraining her while not hurting her. His touch set Emma’s skin on fire, every nerve ending awakened to the sensation. Little pants of breath sped in her chest and she averted her eyes from the intensity of his stare. “Don’t play games with me,” he said, low. “Tell me who he is.”
With the building at her back and Landon’s chest a wall of unyielding muscle in front of her, Emma was effectively trapped. She couldn’t deny that she found her helpless state—being at McCabe’s mercy—a little exciting, but this wasn’t a game she could afford to play with him. Too much was at stake. “Go to hell, McCabe.”
One strong arm came up to rest on the wall behind her. Emma was caged in, pinned by his accusing stare and the sheer size of him. A muscle twitched at his jaw and his nostrils flared. “Are you in trouble, Emma? I can help you, but you’ve got to stop being so goddamned stubborn and trust me.”
Trust him? He was the enemy. The man who’d put her father in prison without even blinking an eye. How could she possibly trust him? Still, her resolve crumbled under the sincerity of his tone. The words cut through her like a blade, and the guilt of her actions was a bitter gall Emma forced herself to swallow down. If she let him continue to press her, she’d confess everything, including the time she’d shoplifted a tube of lipstick when she was fifteen. Damn him.
Without thinking, Emma pressed her body tight against his chest and put her lips to his. It seemed the best way to silence his persistent questions, and she knew of no better way to throw a man off track.
Dios mio! Her brain went fuzzy as his mouth moved over hers, his lips firm and demanding. She hadn’t expected him to answer to her kiss, but holy crap, he wasn’t holding anything back. He shifted his weight against her, pushing her flush against the wall. His free hand wound around the back of her neck, his mouth parted, and his tongue flicked out at her bottom lip. Talk about the mother of all backfires.
Emma was officially thrown.
Chapter Five
“McCabe? We’ve lost audio. McCabe? Do you copy?”
Morgan’s voice in his ear was doing nothing for Landon’s state of mind. He pushed his free arm from the wall and reached for the battery pack secured to his belt, double-checking to make sure the receiver for his mic was still off.
What in hell are you doing? As he’d emerged
from the stairwell to find Emma standing on that ledge, he’d flipped off the mic for no good reason. When she’d slipped, it had stolen the air from his lungs, and all Landon had known was that he had to act. Career suicide hadn’t been on his agenda today, but here he was, delivering the deathblow with his own two . . . uh . . . lips. But holy hell, how could he even think about pulling away when she felt so damned good in his arms? Her lips were silky soft against his, her mouth sweet with just a hint of red wine. Emma arched into him, and through the thin fabric of her dress, the tight points of her nipples rubbed against his chest. Landon couldn’t help the groan that worked its way up his throat, and when she reached up and guided his hand to the swell of her breast, his composure took a nosedive.
Kissing Emma was a free fall from six hundred feet. An unparalleled rush. Adrenaline coursed through his body, the high so intense all he could think was, More. He wanted as much of her as he could get. His mouth slanted across hers as he deepened the kiss and she responded, her tongue sliding against his as she threaded her fingers through his hair and dragged her nails across his scalp.
The way she held him tight against her was maddening; the thin fabric of her dress with no bra underneath allowed him to feel her as though she had nothing on at all. His hand wandered to cup her breast through the silk and she moaned into his mouth. When his thumb flicked over one pearled peak, she shuddered against him. “Oh, God, McCabe, do that again,” she gasped as she broke their kiss, her head rolling back on her shoulders.
Something inside Landon’s chest tightened when she called him McCabe and not by his first name. As if the moment was totally impersonal to her and he was nothing more than a body filling up the empty space in her arms. His teeth gnashed together as he tested the tight peak again and a low, sensual moan escaped her lips. The thrill of a challenge spurred him as he tasted the flesh beneath her ear and downward to where her shoulder met her neck. The same deliciously delicate column of skin she’d taunted him with earlier today. By the time he was through with her she’d never call him “McCabe” again.