She'd fallen asleep in the bath again. That was all.
Nothing was wrong.
But as even her equally naked eyes squinted to see past the indistinct pile of mint green cotton that she'd left in a heap atop the darker, murkier bathroom rug to reach the base of the door, the unease flared back in and mutated to full-blown suspicion.
She might have taken her contacts out before she'd climbed into the tub to give her eyes and aching head a break, but she could make out that cheap, whitewashed door well enough to tell that it was closed.
She'd left it open. She always did.
She'd stayed in this particular undercover apartment enough times to know that the lousy wireless sound system in the living room beyond had zero chance of penetrating the bathroom and bedroom doors if even one door was shut.
Damn it. Calm down.
The air-conditioning had probably kicked on. It wouldn't be the first time the resulting pressure had forced the door to close.
Unless someone had broken in…
Eddie?
No way. She'd yet to give the tech her cover phone number, let alone this address. And he definitely hadn't tailed her "home".
Worsening migraine or not, she'd made certain of it.
Tess stood silently anyway, ignoring the skimpy suds sluicing down her waterlogged abdomen and legs as she snagged the oversized towel off the mat. She wrapped the cotton bath sheet around her body and tucked the trailing corner firmly down between her breasts as she reached the bathroom door.
Pushing aside the damp strands of hair that had escaped from the knot atop her head, she sealed her right ear to the panel of whitewashed, faux wood.
She caught the hint of a muffled thud amid—
Silence.
Either the speaker system had dropped its Bluetooth connection again, or someone was out there, because it had been working fine when she'd nodded off. Tess eased the bathroom door open and peered into the bedroom, quickly squinting her crappy gaze past the fuzzy, queen-sized wrought-iron bed with its indistinct puddle of rumpled blue, but definitely empty, sheets.
She moved all the way into the bedroom and swung to her left, squinting at the next whitewashed door.
It, too, was sealed shut.
At least, she was fairly certain. Her contacts were in their case back at the sink. Not only did she not have time to retrieve them, much less pop the lenses into place, but her emergency glasses were in the closest, buried deep inside the suitcase she'd yet to unpack. Though she did remember which side of the case she'd put them.
She was about to swing around to the closet when another soft muffled sound came from somewhere outside the room, instantly cleaving her choices down to one.
She had to keep moving forward. Now. While she held the advantage of surprise.
Seconds later, she was in front of the dresser, reaching for the bag she'd dumped on top and unzipping the compartment at the side, praying the bag—and especially its contents—had gone unnoticed by whoever had violated her space.
Both had.
Because in went her right hand, and out came her Glock.
Like nearly every other agent and cop out there, she kept a round at the ready. But she still took the time to swipe a quick, reassuring finger down the loaded-chamber indicator as she crept up to the second sealed door that she'd definitely left open.
Tess quietly breached the doorway and crept down the short hall. A quick turn to her left, and she was squinting straight into the kitchen at her intruder.
Or rather, his back.
Lousy vision or not, she could tell it wasn't Eddie's.
For one thing, this man's hair was a bit longer, the dark, fuzzy waves tapering off just above the collar of an equally fuzzy, albeit much lighter T-shirt. The guy was taller than Eddie too, the span of those fuzzy shoulders and that daunting back noticeably broader as well.
Her intruder's arrogance definitely surpassed the tech's, however, because this particular jerk appeared to be calmly and methodically rifling through the refrigerator.
Maybe he was looking for hidden valuables, maybe not.
She didn't care.
Tess clamped down on her breath and advanced.
Ten silent paces later, she was twenty-four inches from the ass of her intruder's jeans, the muzzle of her 9mm planted firmly against the base of his skull.
The man stiffened.
His right hand came slowly up, but the intruder wasn't brandishing a weapon of his own. He was holding the carton of milk she'd bought from the corner gas station shortly before her impromptu bath and nap.
"On my honor, I fully intended to use a glass."
"Joe?"
"That would depend." She could hear the amusement brimming in his husky, lilting voice. "Have you yet forgiven me for our argument?"
Tess squinted at the muzzle of her Glock—at the short silky waves wisping around the pistol's forward, radioactive sight—and blinked.
Joe?
Apparently she'd taken too long, because he sighed. "Teresa, if you have decided not to shoot me, perhaps you would consider lowering your weapon?"
She jerked the gun from his head as she stumbled back, wincing as the Glock smacked the edge of the kitchen counter, missing the carton of eggs he'd already placed there by inches.
"Gracias." He turned and smiled.
She just looked—at him.
Or rather, his hair. His body had shifted closer as he'd turned. He was within range of her stunted vision now. But she should be confronting a mass of long, inky strands. Strands that had always fallen well below the man's shoulders.
Where the hell were they?
Once again, she must have taken too long.
His smile faltered. "You…do not like it?"
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He frowned. "You do not."
"N-no. I mean, it's just…ah…um—" She swallowed, hoping to irrigate the desert that'd taken up residence in her throat. "Different." She forced another swallow.
He nodded warily.
Different? That was one hell of an understatement.
But at least he'd bought it. Because she couldn't seem to add to it. All she could do was gape. At his face. Eighteen inches of thick, black hair were simply gone.
She barely recognized the man.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Those brooding brows were familiar. But not the bangs falling into them. The shorn silk framed the dusky planes of his face, making his cheeks seem more prominent. His nose appeared prouder as well. His jaw was definitely harder, more squared off and…arrogant. Hell, even that mouth had changed. His lips were still full, but they seemed firmer now, almost hewn.
She swallowed yet again as her gaze slid lower, down his naked throat, coming to rest at the chiseled muscle beneath.
It didn't help. The desert returned.
Had his T-shirts always been this snug? Or had Joe merely lost yet another battle in his ongoing war with his washer and dryer? If so, she found herself hoping the rest of his shirts were destined to become casualties as well.
Wait a minute—what was she thinking?
Apparently, Joe had begun to wonder that too, because he shifted from one worn leather boot to the next. He cleared his throat as well, shoving the new fringe from his forehead as she pulled her gaze back to his. At least that was the same.
And yet…not.
It wasn't his lashes. They'd always been that full, that long. It was his eyes. Something odd had entered those dark brown pools. Something she'd never seen before. At least, not in him. Was it even possible?
No way.
But the longer she looked, the more certain she became.
Joe was nervous. No, anxious. Good Lord, Mr. Confidence Incarnate was actually afraid she didn't like his hair cut. The relief crashing in nearly overwhelmed her. There was something left of their friendship after all. There had to be.
What's more, he was still wearing the earring. The tiny emerald stud she'd given
him the day they'd graduated from the DEA academy. She couldn't help it—despite the pain and confusion of the last six weeks, she smiled.
"I like it."
That's all it took. In an instant, the legendary Cortez grin returned, twin dimples and all. She caught the brunt of it smack in her gut and the force of it nearly clipped her to the floor. She shifted her gaze away, staring anywhere but at him while she worked to slow her suddenly thundering pulse.
What the heck was wrong with her?
This was Joe. He was her friend. Her buddy, her pal.
But when she finally scraped up enough nerve to push her gaze back to that smile—she felt the punch again. This time all the way to her toes.
She locked her knees against the blow.
Damn it, this was just Joe.
She pulled a slow, desperately needed breath deep into her lungs, grateful she could. "Mind if I ask why you cut it?"
Once again, his smile faltered.
And then, his gaze faltered.
Yet another splinter of pain shafted through her as his eyes abandoned her altogether, shifting down to study the carton of milk in his right hand. So much for things returning to normal. She smiled, hoping it would help ease the ache.
It didn't.
She stepped forward and reached well around his right biceps, determined to ignore the hurt—and him—as she shoved the refrigerator door shut. "S'okay. None of my business."
"Tessa—"
She jerked back as he spoke.
Unfortunately, in her haste, the corner of her towel pulled free. They both reached out, but he snagged the corner of the cotton with his free hand before she could. His fingers burned into her flesh, evaporating the air from her lungs as he tucked the tail firmly into place. It was all she could do to just stand there as he withdrew his fingers from the precise spot the pharmacy tech's had been twelve hours before.
Except Eddie's fingers had not felt like that. Nor had she.
Nor should she.
She was still standing there, her toes rooted to the floor, trying to absorb the shock as Joe turned to set the carton of milk onto the counter beside the dozen eggs and her Glock.
The case, damn it. The case.
She purged her breath. "So, how'd it go? Did Eddie buy your cover, too?"
He nodded. "Sí. I called Hernández as you and I agreed. We met late this afternoon. He outlined the same request for a driver as he described to you. However, he had changed his mind since he made his initial appeal to you. He was no longer anxious for me to make the trip, but hoped I might provide a referral instead. In fact, he did not budge on his wish until I made it clear that he must deal with me." Last night's ire returned to Joe's gaze as he paused—only today, it was smoldering. "You know why."
She did.
No matter how desperate Eddie was, the tech had decided that he'd rather not deal directly with Joe, since he also had designs on Joe's wife. Though the creep's usual sexual victims tended to be depressed and estranged from their respective husbands by the time he forced them into an unwanted relationship, it was equally obvious the tech also preferred not to take chances. Especially after meeting her faux husband in the flesh—or rather muscle—and realizing that this husband would be more than a match if she and Joe reconciled in time to thwart his plans.
Paying for a referral would allow Eddie to distance himself from Joe so that he could have his proverbial cake and eat it too.
The rationale was sound.
As near as she could determine from her discreet investigation into Eddie's past, she'd learned of no fewer than four nurses who'd been forced into sex with the sleaze. The two she'd managed to question still believed they'd somehow led the man on and were ultimately responsible for their own date rapes—despite the fact that both had clearly said no. As far as she was concerned, Eddie Hernández more than deserved what was coming. And if Joe thought she was backing down, he had another think coming.
She sighed. "Let's not get into this again, shall we?"
"Teresa—"
She jerked back a split second before his fingers reached her bare arms.
Uh-uh. She did not need him touching her. Not now. Not with this odd queasiness still roiling around in her belly. She took a second step backward, stopping only when that enticing view was safely trapped in the fuzzy range. "I mean it, Joe. I'm the agent in charge on this case. That means I get to pick the method of approach, not you, and you damned well know it. If you want out, you'd better say so now."
Even this far away, she could tell his mouth had tightened.
"Well?"
"I do not."
"Good." She took a deep breath. "Now, what happened?"
The stony silence dragged out for a good ten seconds before he sighed. "I make the run tonight. He was most specific. I am to arrive at the Hotel de las Margaritas in Tijuana at precisely eleven o'clock. There, I will find a 1987 silver van parked outside room twenty-four, keys inside—as well as a family of six. A mother, a father, four children. He claims their paperwork is already approved and that it is legal."
"What do you think?"
His fuzzy frown said it all.
Annoyed by the fuzz, she moved in close again. She needed to see Joe's expressions clearly for this conversation. She'd just have to ignore her bizarre reaction to the body beneath. "I agree. They've got to be faked. Why else are they having you meet them that late? By the time you make it through the border crossing, it'll be close to midnight."
Shift change. Clogged booths, tired guards.
He nodded.
"Drugs?"
A shrug. "I did not ask; he did not say."
"How'd you play it—us?" Their supposed marriage.
Again, Joe's expression said it all, but this time with that slow, telling grin of his.
Oh no, not the little woman. Not this time. "Please, tell me you didn't—"
His grin deepened.
The snake.
"Señor Hernández was most sympathetic."
She'd just bet he was. Latino machismo. Lord help her. Not to mention she knew Joe well enough to know he was hoping his "she's my woman" slant would sabotage her own approach with Eddie.
She should be furious.
But she wasn't.
Not after that pharmacy visit this morning. Especially in light of her firsthand evidence that, unlike Joe, Eddie definitely believed in poaching. In fact, it might even make the creep more eager to poach. She smiled. "Fine. Go ahead and have your fun. I'll walk two steps behind you in front of the jerk—but the moment Eddie's back is turned, consider yourself forewarned…husband."
If anything, Joe's grin dipped in that much deeper.
She shifted her attention to avoid the resulting, unwelcomed punch. "How much is he shelling out?"
"Ten grand."
Ten thousand dollars for a border run? For just the driver?
Tess let out a low whistle. She'd bet both their badges there was something dirty going on. And it was a heck of a lot bigger than sterile syringes, the odd vial of morphine and a handful of Valium and Percocet tablets.
Joe nodded. "Also, Hernández intimated that, if there were no…glitches tonight, we might perhaps do business again."
That definitely killed Eddie's friends-of-the-family spiel.
"We may be in this marriage for the long haul."
"Agreed."
Tess dug her fingers into her hair, rubbing them beneath the clip that was holding it all up as she sighed. "Guess this means I won't get to take the vacation I put in for."
Thank God.
She leaned back against the kitchen counter, trying to dredge up some modicum of guilt over the loss of downtime, if only an ounce.
She couldn't. All she felt was relief.
Not even the anticipation of one of her sister's epic tantrums succeeded in staunching it—or their mother's fury. It didn't matter that neither her sister nor their mom would understand, let alone forgive her absence. Despite the fact that this would be her
sister's third wedding in five years. Then again, maybe Kelli would wise up on her own—this time before the ceremony—and then Tess would be off the hook entirely. It was possible. After all, Kelli's marriage to prospective groom number three already showed signs of suffering the same fate as numbers one and two.
Her sister routinely accused her of being a skeptic. She preferred to think of herself as a realist. One who'd experienced the current pending groom's distinctively non-brother-in-law-ish interest firsthand two months ago when she'd made a beeline from the bathroom to her mother's guest room at two a.m. on Easter morning.
Naturally, Alec had claimed the touch was accidental.
Accident her ass.
Come to think of it, it had been her ass—and his hand. And so shocking an accident had it been that it had taken her accidentally planting her knee in Alec's groin before he'd managed to loosen that same hand. Oddly enough, the jerk had found something better to clutch. Immediately.
Yeah, she was definitely looking forward to standing up before God and parish for that particular union. That she'd be wasting vacation time to do it would only add to the joy. Tess sighed as she glanced at Joe.
As for him, according to their secretary, Joe had asked for time off, too. He just hadn't told her.
Not that she was surprised. The subject was just one more thing he seemed to have left out of their dwindling conversations of late. For six years, they'd taken their vacations together, always right about now, too.
But this year? Nothing but silence.
Ask him.
Why not? Better to know, right? Than to keep wondering.
She cleared her throat. "So…how 'bout you? Got any plans this case might mess up?"
Joe froze as Teresa blinked up at him, clearly attempting to maintain her focus. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.
Did she know?
Impossible. How could she? Even if she was searching for a trail to follow—and he refused to believe this woman would do that to him—she would not find one.
He had been careful. Painstakingly so.
And yet, this was Teresa.
She was very good at what she did. The best. He studied those soft green eyes, eyes he had known were devoid of their corrective lenses the moment he had turned around in this kitchen earlier. Even had she been wearing them, she would not have been able to see clearly and deeply enough to discover the truth.
Just Beyond Reach Page 3