Dangerous Liaisons

by Tarah Scott

  “After you ran out on me in New York, I dug deeper and found out about the endowment fund,” Cole said.

  Jesse jerked her head around before halting the reaction.

  “Easy, Jess,” he warned. “Let’s not attract attention.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He was giving her tips on how to stay inconspicuous? Mr. Apple Pie, All American? He stood out like a bulldog on a greyhound racetrack.

  Cole gave her an approving look. “A six million dollar endowment fund buried under four corporations. No trite offshore banks, but right there under the noses of anyone who knew where to look. Very nice.”

  Jesse’s mind raced. He had found the endowment fund, which meant he was the one who found Amanda’s trust fund. She should have realized that when he admitted knowing about the transfer from the Caymen account into the Philips and Rothman fund. He hadn’t lied. Cole had led Lanton to her, and her money and—she stared.

  “You found my safe deposit box.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Surprise flickered across his face. “What box?”

  Jesse narrowed her eyes. “My safety deposit box.”

  “I didn’t know anything about a safety deposit box.”

  The denial sounded genuine, but he’d fooled her more than once.

  “You’re good, Jess,” he said.

  “Not good enough?” she muttered, now wishing they weren’t in the tavern so she could beat the snot out of him.

  “The two hundred thousand could have been a single installment,” he said, “but the bribe didn’t fit with a woman who used every penny of her father’s life insurance to set up a six million dollar endowment to fund research for autistic kids and a four million dollar trust fund for her sister.”

  Desperation bubbled up at the thought of the research fund going dry. Until a cure was found for autism, they needed funding.

  Cole ran a finger along her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jess?”

  She blurted, “Tell you what?” then glanced around the tavern before pinning Cole with a glare meant to burn him to ash. “I don’t know you. You’re butting into business that you have no right—”

  “No one knowing this could believe you’re a mercenary. Then there’s the incident in the alley. You thought I was some hick who couldn’t take care of himself. You could have left me to fend for myself. You didn’t.”

  Jesse stared.

  His gaze locked with hers. “Let’s not forget Lancelot. To you, he could have been just a dog, Jess.”

  “Not just a dog. He was—” She broke off.

  “He was what?” A corner of Cole’s mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “I know what you thought of Lance.”

  “What planet are you from? This isn’t Mayberry, and—” she faltered. The guy was unreal. “No one gives a damn how altruistic I am. Plenty of do-gooders are dirty.” Her mind jumbled. “I’ve got to think about this.” She hated the weakness her indecision revealed.

  Cole’s arm tightened around her. “You’re not running out on me again. Try, and I’ll handcuff you to me.”

  The threat was delivered in a voice devoid of threat. Jesse remembered the alley, and how Cole had reacted like a man with little or no fighting experience. She had thought he was some big country bumpkin too inexperienced to take care of himself. Yet, he had taken her down in the doctor’s yard, then again in the hotel. The description of his Colombian experiences didn’t jive with his behavior in the alley or the soft-spoken man sitting beside her. Did it really take murder and a Colombian jungle to get him riled?

  “Look, Cole, I told you before—”

  “Don’t fuck with you,” he interjected.

  Jesse blinked. He made the phrase sound about as dangerous as an ice cream social. She felt like she’d stepped through the looking glass.

  “I’m telling you, you’re not running out on me,” he insisted just as quietly.

  Jesse studied him. “Where are your men now?”

  “Around.”

  Apprehension turned to dread. A man with brains was far more dangerous than one who could fight. Jesse had a vision of the brown-toothed clerk at her motel spilling his guts to a tall American about a woman staying in room number twelve. Shaking Cole wouldn’t be so easy this time.

  Cole loosened his grip, but didn’t remove his arm as he took a swig of beer. He set the bottle back on the table and asked, “What are we doing?”

  “I told you I have—”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  He abruptly pulled her close and kissed her. His lips were soft and moist, just as she’d imagined. His tongue brushed lightly at her lips. Jesse broke the kiss, working hard to ignore the furious beat of her heart. Ernesta was right; she needed a man—only not this man. He was good, too good. But unlike him, she didn't buy that an altruistic act like him allowing her to have his bribe money made him innocent.

  “You’re taking our cover just a little too far, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Not far enough,” he replied.

  Jesse jerked her gaze to his, but read only the same impassive look she’d grown accustomed to seeing. Who waited for him back home? She reached for her beer, but he surprised her with another kiss, this one quick and hard. He pulled back and stared into her eyes.

  What would happen if she took him over to the seedy motel right now and slowly stripped him naked, then climbed on top of him? You’d fall so deep you’d never find your way out, that’s what, her mind responded, but the picture of straddling his waist and lowering herself onto his erection made her wonder if she gave a damn. Everyone had to go sometime. Emma Peel would agree. Cole had nearly died in the Colombian jungle. Jesse’s breath caught. Just how guilty was she feeling over what had happened to him? What about his team? How far was she willing to go to redeem herself in his eyes?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jesse saw the shadow of the approaching man a second before the bartender appeared beside the table.

  “Que pasa?” he said.

  Cole nodded.

  “Cuanto?” the bartender asked, nodding at Jesse.

  Jesse frowned, then understanding dawned and she almost laughed. She would definitely have to talk to Ernesta. Apparently, all peasant girls in Colombia had a price, or maybe it was her B-cup breasts in a white t-shirt minus the cups.

  Cole laughed good-naturedly and said in English, “You have the wrong idea, friend.”

  The Colombian’s eyes narrowed. Jesse tensed. He reached for her, but Cole pulled her close. The bartender gave him an appraising look. Jesse slid her hand along the table and grasped the beer bottle. Cole squeezed her arm gently as if in warning. He had to be kidding.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” he said to the bartender

  The man laughed. “Prostituta?” He grabbed Jesse’s arm with an iron grip.

  “Hombre!” a man shouted from the bar.

  The bartender whirled. Jesse pushed off from the bench, but Cole yanked her back. She looked sharply at him, and he responded with a slight shake of his head. She jerked her attention to the man who had shouted at the bartender. He slid from a stool and rose to his full six foot six height.

  “My friend said he didn’t want any trouble,” he said in perfect American English.

  Jesse looked closer at him. She ran down the list of Cole’s men in her mind. Caruthers, Fletcher, Young, and Roush. Not a South American name in the bunch. This man spoke like an American, but looked as Colombian as any of the others in the room.

  “Americano,” the bartender sneered.

  The American leaned against the bar. “That’s right.”

  The bartender took a step toward him, and Cole motioned for Jesse to move. She kept her grip on the beer bottle as she started to slide from the bench. Cole grabbed the neck of the bottle and wrenched it from her grasp. He slid it to the far end of the table, then shoved her hip with his, forcing her from the booth. The bartender crouched and the American lunged. The bartender sidestepped as two
of his companions launched themselves at the American with shouts of bloodlust.

  Jesse dove across the table for the beer bottle. Cole seized her arm, but this time she was prepared. She grabbed his wrist and twisted. His hold on her loosened. Before she could take the offensive, she caught the glint of a bottle flying their way. She shoved Cole to the right and dove left. The bottle whizzed between them and smashed against the wall, spraying beer and glass.

  A meaty hand closed around her arm. Jesse twisted, kicking high, and slammed her feet into her attacker’s midsection. He crashed into the wall like a sack of old potatoes.

  “Cabron,” a man cried, yanking her attention onto him.

  He slowly backed away from her, his wide-eyed gaze shifted from the man she had kicked to her. Jesse glanced at her attacker and understood his reaction. Her attacker outweighed the King Kong bartender by at least twenty pounds. She leaped to her feet and narrowed her eyes on the man. He spun and raced for the door.

  Another patron threw a punch at Cole. The bartender had joined the attack on the American, and two other patrons were shouting encouragement. Jesse dashed for the exit.

  She reached the doors, pushed through them into early dusk, then her feet snagged on something and she fell flat on her face. She started to roll away from whoever had tripped her, but was pounced upon while still on her belly. A knee dug into the middle of her back. Her cheek scraped the sidewalk. She wheezed for breath as her attacker yanked an arm behind her back. The click of handcuffs met her ears even as the cool metal registered around her wrist and in her brain.

  “Doggone it, Jess,” Cole said from the door.

  A crash sounded inside the bar.

  Cole’s cowboy boots came into view beside her. She craned her neck to look up at him. The last rays of golden sunlight lit the champagne strands in his sandy blond hair.

  He squatted beside her. “I told you not to run.”

  He gripped her wrist, shifted it from her back, then snapped the dangling handcuff to his left wrist. She was too stunned to do more than stare at their handcuffed wrist.

  “All right, Caruthers,” Cole said.

  The man got off her back. Cole’s firm grip on her arm, and the handcuffed wrist, prevented her from rolling over and kicking him in the face as he pulled her to her feet. When she looked around, Caruthers was gone, the doors to the cantina just slapping shut.

  Cole’s fingers intertwined with the fingers of her hand. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Jesse suddenly realized the brawl in the tavern had intensified. She shoved her handcuffed wrist in Cole’s face. “We can’t stay like this.”

  “We won’t have to,” he replied.

  “You’ve made your point,” she said. “Unlock them.”

  He shook his head. “Not until I’m sure you understand how much you need me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jesse glanced over her shoulder as Cole pushed through the door of the Dan Carlton hotel, pulling her with him. She turned into the blast of cool air. No sign of a tail. Not that she had expected any. Lanton’s men had no need to tail her as long as she and Cole remained handcuffed.

  Cole shifted his handcuffed hand behind his back, drawing Jesse closer. She started to jerk free, then caught sight of the concierges’ desk ahead on the right. She forced a smile and wrapped her free hand around Cole’s arm. Walking down Bogata’s promenade handcuffed to one another had drawn stares, but Cole had grinned at the one American couple bold enough to stare outright, and said, “Practical joke.”

  She would definitely kick his ass for this stunt. She’d tried talking him into going to her hotel—that would have brought the ass kicking on quicker and assuaged her frustration—but he’d shaken his head and said, “You shouldn’t be staying in a dump like that.”

  Cole stopped in front of the elevator. He reached to push the button with his handcuffed hand.

  “Hmph.” She stumbled into his arm, then jerked back.

  He looked down at her and rubbed the spot on her forehead that had struck his shoulder. “Sorry.”

  Jesse pulled away as the elevator doors opened.

  Cole took her hand in his. “Ready?”

  You’d better ask yourself that, Tex, she thought, but only nodded.

  Two minutes later, he slipped a key card into the door of his hotel room and they stepped inside. Jesse bit back the demand for the handcuff key and followed Cole to the queen sized bed. He sat down and she followed suit.

  “You’ve been running for over two months,” he said. “It’s time to stop. I’ve got a stake in this. My men gave their lives for that mission, and the people they loved weren’t given any explanations for why they died.”

  Jesse stared. She’d run a dozen scenarios through her head between the cantina and the hotel, had even wondered if Lanton had nerve to be at the hotel when they arrived, but none of the possibilities had included this. Cole gave her a soft smile and anger bubbled to the top when her insides gelled.

  “You’re the only one who can make their sacrifice matter,” he added.

  So this was how he planned on getting to her. Play on her sense of justice: Make sure the team’s sacrifice mattered. She wondered how many psychiatrists Lanton had consulted to get her profile down pat—she also wondered how she was going to get past the idea they were right.

  Jesse stared into Cole’s blue eyes. Careful, she warned herself. You could end up dead in some South American hotel room or alley where no one knows—or cares—what happens to Amanda.

  Cole shifted, his arm brushing hers, and she started as if singed.

  “Talk to me, Jess,” he said.

  She regarded him. “Sure, as soon as you unlock these cuffs.”

  He reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out the key. She grimaced inwardly. So close. He inserted the key into the lock and turned. The cuffs clicked open.

  Jesse freed her hand, then scooted to the foot of the bed and leveled her gaze on him as she rubbed her wrist. “What do you want from me? You find me, decide I’m innocent, say you want to work together, then take me prisoner.”

  Cole shook his head. “I’m not taking you prisoner. I’m just not letting you run off, guns blazing, getting yourself killed in the process.”

  “I don’t run anywhere, guns blazing,” she retorted. “I’ve been doing this a long time and I’m still alive.”

  “I know. But this time you’re running scared, and you think you’re alone.” He grasped her hand. His fingers were strong and warm, and she didn’t register the squeeze he gave until he said, “You’re not.”

  Jesse yanked free. “You don’t know me.”

  But he knew her better than she wanted to admit, knew she needed to know if she could have done more for his men…and Maria. She’d seen it before. A team member is lost and someone invariably takes on the responsibility for whatever went wrong. A child crosses the street and the parent is consumed with believing they should have somehow known better than to let their child go out that day. No doubt Cole had seen it too, and recognized the symptoms in her.

  He gave her a patient look. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you take a shower?”

  She blinked at the sudden change in subject. Her gaze caught on his broad shoulders. She did need a long shower, along with a jet to whisk her to another continent, and a good bottle of tequila.

  *****

  Twenty minutes later, Jesse stood in the bathroom wrapped in a towel, examining the wounds on her leg. Shower water had softened the scabs to a pliable blemish. If she worked her cards right, Cole wouldn’t notice the scar. The time had come to change tactics. Lanton was using Cole to get to her. What prevented her from using herself to get to Cole? Her wet hair hung in thick locks across her shoulders. She tugged the towel down a fraction of an inch. Thank God for thick hair and perky breasts. She’d never had to use her body in her work—not the way she was about to—but there was a first time for everything.

  She opened the bathroom do
or. “Cole,” Jesse called as she rounded the corner of the little hallway into the bedroom. She halted at finding the room empty.

  Jesse whirled toward the door. A thrill raced through her. She was alone. She started for the bathroom where her clothes still lay on the floor, then faltered. Was this a trick? Was Cole hoping she’d get sloppy and lead them to…to what?

  “What do you want?” she shouted at the empty room, hands fisted.

  What did Lanton want? Jesse’s mind snapped clear. What did Cole want? If he and Lanton were in Perez’s pocket, why not just kill her? They were in Colombia. No one would know. She had to get out. If she didn’t get out now, she didn’t have a chance. She bolted for the bathroom.

  The door clicked open and Jesse stopped at sight of Cole in the doorway. He froze, a package in hand, and she remembered she wore only a towel. Her heart rate jumped to a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

  “I brought you some clothes.” Cole lifted the package an inch.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  For the hundredth time, the spaghetti strap on the yellow sundress Cole had purchased slipped down Jesse’s shoulder. The dress was a size too small and the straps were too long. The wound in her shoulder ached, she was cranky, and the scent of Cole’s shaving cream, wafting across the hotel room’s little table, wasn’t helping her concentration. He remained absorbed in reading the list of supplies she’d compiled. He hadn’t combed his hair, only run his fingers through it after showering twenty minutes ago. She wondered how many of those college girls’ fingers had tightened in his hair when he’d brought then to climax.

  Cole’s eyes shifted to her. “What’s the judge’s name?” he asked. Jesse remained silent and he frowned. “All this cloak and dagger stuff isn’t necessary.”

  She nearly choked. “It’s our business.”

  He gave his head a single determined shake. “We’re on the same side.”

  She wished she could be sure of that. She wished they were sitting on a beach in Santa Marta, drinking mai tai’s and flirting in anticipation of making love in their hotel room later on. She wished she knew who to trust.