by Calista Fox
Garcia pulled into a dirt parking lot in front of what appeared to be a sprawling Mexican village—in the middle of the Virginia hills. Well, cleverly tucked away in said hills.
Nikki basically fell out of the car and stared up at the gorgeous stone buildings with vines crawling up the walls and verdant bougainvillea lining the perimeters, all dusted with snow. There were numerous open archways and courtyards and fountains that likely shot up spectacularly in warmer months.
Garcia said, “My great-grandparents bought this land decades ago and built this homage to their village in Mexico on it. We call it Little Tijuana—though I have no idea why. They were from Todos Santos, outside of Cabo San Lucas. Whatever.” She gave a shrug.
Nikki passed under an archway, one that opened up into the main courtyard. It was abuzz with activity and the decadent, spicy aroma that wrapped around her senses, caressing them, and which nearly danced on her taste buds, made her say, “Oh, my God. You totally brought me to the right place.”
37
The courtyard was decorated in festive holiday fashion. There was a twenty- or thirty-foot-tall tree in the center, vibrantly lit. Strands of Christmas lights were also draped from the corners of one two-story building to the other, crisscrossed, and glowing in multiple colors.
Everywhere Nikki looked, there were gorgeous stone picnic tables—round tables with sparkling mosaic-tile insets and curved seats—and piñatas strewn from the trees. People milled about and too-many-to-count grills, smokers and cooking stations were set up. Precisely where all the heavenly scents came from.
A stage off to one side featured a mariachi band and there were formal dancers in their beautiful, full skirts, performing traditional dances. The children were mimicking their own variations thereof, in a comical way.
Garcia led Nikki to a plush outdoor sofa in front of one of the many fireplaces with a roaring blaze in the hearth and said, “Sit. Prop your feet up.” She indicated the rattan-and-glass coffee table. “Give me a minute.”
Nikki settled in and…oh, sweet Lord, it was incredibly comfy. She could easily curl up and drift off to sleep. Except…the entertainment was fabulous and the promise of food was too enticing to pass up.
True to her word, Garcia was back in a flash and handed Nikki a heavy-duty plastic plate piled high with enchiladas, rice and beans.
“I could orgasm right this very second,” she muttered.
“I swear I won’t tell Castillo.”
Nikki laughed. And it felt good.
“You have a very quirky sense of humor,” she told the agent.
“He’s amusing to tease,” Garcia said. “Well… Challenging, at any rate. He never seems to respond.”
“You have to pick your battles and your moments appropriately with that man.”
“Without doubt.”
They both dug in. Garcia respected Nikki’s need to devour in peace. And every bite was more incredible than the next.
She was more than halfway through her meal when she finally asked, “Who are these people? And how many Mexican restaurants do they own?”
“Several,” Garcia said. “And they’re all mi familia.”
Nikki’s eyes popped. “Wow. That’s, uh… One hell of a big family.” There had to be over a hundred people gathered here.
“These are just the ones who could make it for tamale-making night. That’s what’s going on right now. We come together to make tamales for Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition.”
“And, of course, no tamale-assembling event is complete without a live band, dancers, decorations and more food than we can all eat. I mean… There is more, right?”
Garcia laughed. “Plenty more. This is, like, your first course and there are at least six others to follow.”
“Now, I truly am in heaven.”
Nikki continued to eat. Garcia disappeared again for a few minutes, then returned with three large red Solo cups in her hands.
And a bottle of tequila tucked under her arm.
She set everything out on the coffee table in front of Nikki. Two cups were full of beer. The third had limes in it and stacked shot glasses.
“You game?” Garcia asked.
Nikki hedged. “Isn’t my life sort of…you know. Still in danger?”
“Technically, no,” Garcia said with a shake of her head. “Otherwise, Castillo never would have let you off the campus and out of his sight. The terrorists are tracking your computer, not you. The beacon is in your laptop, Dr. Kane. Not on your person.”
“Nikki…remember?”
“Nikki.” Garcia poured a shot for each of them. They clinked rims, slammed, sucked on limes. Then Garcia added, “Check it. Over my left shoulder are my two cousins, Manuel and Jose. Both with the FBI. Over my right shoulder is Juan—CIA. With him is Pedro, who’s with Virginia PD. Now… Behind you, I have six cousins who are former military. One’s a Navy SEAL. Two uncles are with the FBI. Manning one of the smokers is my youngest brother Joey, who can’t decide between the FBI, the DIA or the CIA, though each are heavily recruiting him. Oh, and there are a couple of firefighters here, as well. In the event that’s your jam. Though, I’m guessing Castillo is still your—”
“I get your point.” Nikki sipped her beer. “Lots of gun-toting, highly trained and specialized peeps on your team.”
“So they’re going to be particularly hard on me when I’m fired. But here’s the thing, Nikki. As much as I hate how this has all affected you—and I truly, truly do hate it. I hope you believe in that. But the thing is… I’d do it all over again. I’d put that device in your laptop if given a second, a third, a fourth chance. Because I knew, in my soul, it would end up in Castillo’s hands. And that’s the absolute most critical outcome. I had to see the job through. No matter the cost. Ugh… That is… So fucked. I’m so sorry.”
While Nikki gaped, Garcia threw back another shot.
Then she told Nikki, “I feel horrible about all of this. No question there. I won’t ever get over it and I’ll accept every ounce of grief because I’ll never get over it—you’ll never get over it. I just… I had a job to do. I had terrorists to stop. I infiltrated their group, I got my hands on their information and I… I had to place it in the correct hands, Nikki. Those hands are Damen’s.”
“Come on, Garcia,” Nikki moaned as tears filled her eyes. “You don’t get to yank on my heartstrings like that.”
“I’m not—not intentionally. I’m telling you straight-up why I did what I did. And I’m confessing that I’d do it again. I’m sorry for that, I am. I have no reason to want to hurt you, and it fucking sucks. But… You were there, Nikki. In Mexico City. You were part of the explosions so you know why I had to do what I did. You know…you were there and—”
“Please, stop talking.” Now, Nikki was nauseous. Yet…still starving. “I need more food.” She made to get up, but Garcia was quick to leap to her feet.
“Just sit tight. The fajitas are ready.”
“Oh, my God… Did you say fajitas?” Nikki had discovered heaven and paradise rolled into one.
And it just so happened to be well-armed.
So she reached for her beer and took a long drink.
Hoping to completely blank out what was currently happening with her computer.
Also hoping to blank out how tormented Damen likely was at this very moment…
Knowing neither was possible.
Especially as her cell began to ring.
Her eyes squeezed shut for several moments.
Now what?
38
It was Kate on the other end of the line, thankfully.
Nikki snatched her cell while Garcia was off loading up another plate for her, making Nikki feel slightly ill-at-ease that all of Garcia’s guilty feelings pretty much put the agent at Nikki’s beck and call.
Convoluted, but it was what it was.
“Hey,” Kate said when Nikki connected the call. “You can’t keep going radio-silent on me! I’m only getting snippets of wha
t the hell is going on, I have no idea where you are from one minute to the next, and I’m not saying I’m entitled to know or you absolutely should be letting me know—though I’m damn close to asking Jude to figure out how to GPS your ass—and speaking of Jude, I’m driving him crazy over worrying about you and that’s making him worry about you, too, and so… Do we need to come back to the States?”
Nikki laughed, despite the concern in her friend’s voice—and knowing Kate had every right to be spun up. Nikki had only really been giving her the big picture related to her current nightmare. Sure, she’d shared some golden nuggets with Kate, which had appropriately alarmed her best friend, but Nikki hadn’t divulged the latest news—her feelings for Damen, her struggle over her feelings for Damen and…oh, yeah…the potential for her computer to be blown to bits on some secret-ops campus in the middle of Virginia!
Nikki jumped to her feet and started to pace before the fireplace, wondering where to start with Kate.
Who said, “Are those mariachis I hear in the background? Are you at a party?”
“Yes, yes and no.”
“I’m sorry… I only asked two questions, girlfriend.”
“Yes, they’re mariachis,” Nikki said, “yes, it’s a party—a Mexican fiesta, rather. But no…it’s not really a party. Not for me. I’m just here for the food.”
“Your stomach does tend to pave the way for you,” Kate quipped, thankfully able to jest, so that meant she wasn’t too hellaciously spun up. Likely because she’d discerned Nikki was somewhere lively and upbeat—and that had to be a good sign, right?
Truthfully, it was infinitely helpful to Nikki’s psyche, she couldn’t deny. The vibrancy of the atmosphere and animated conversations were fantastic mood elevators, so that she wasn’t wallowing in sorrow or curled up on the sofa in the fetal position, crying her eyes out.
“So give me the 411,” Kate insisted. “I’m dying of curiosity and dread over here. You clearly haven’t made it to Switzerland.”
Something about that phrase, which was uttered at the exact same time Nikki caught sight of Garcia—what the hell was that woman’s first name?—assisting some of the elderly ladies with their plates by arranging fajitas on them and adding whatever toppings they specified, then delivering the plates to the tables where the trio sat before turning to a toddler who was all bundled up and helping him to get settled had a peculiar thought lodging in Nikki’s brain.
Garcia then checked on a few other people, ensuring everyone had what they needed—before getting back into line to collect plates for her and Nikki.
“Have you disappeared on me again?” Kate asked with exasperation.
“No,” she absently said. “I was just thinking… You know how I have a sixth sense about people in the disaster-relief field? How I can spot someone who has a gift to contribute to the cause?”
“Jude and I—”
“I know,” Nikki was quick to say. “You’ve been doing everything you can from Mexico City, and still helping whomever needs it in that area, while having your hands full with adopting Sophie. I’m not making mention of all you’ve got going on that precludes you from physically being in Switzerland, Kate.”
“I do wish I could provide more assistance, other than via telemedicine.”
“That’s amazingly helpful, and you know it. And I’m grateful you’re still so committed to my network. But I’m thinking more in terms of a physical presence of someone who’s really good at looking out for others, quick on her feet and pretty much fearless. Not a psychiatrist, but…”
Someone who was about to lose her job. Someone who might be looking to repurpose her skills. Someone who might be looking for a different calling. Someone like—
“So, about you,” Kate interjected.
“I’m currently fine. In Virginia/D.C. With Damen. My laptop is likely about to be obliterated, but there’s something new that’s cropped up that might take my mind off that for at least an hour.”
“Nikki! What the hell! Your laptop is—”
“Gotta go, Kate.”
Garcia was heading her way with two plates of sizzling fajitas and not only did Nikki’s stomach flip, but her brain suddenly churned with some very intriguing thoughts.
“Know that I’m perfectly fine for now,” Nikki assured Kate. “I’m with a special ops agent and surrounded by the FBI and former military and other people who are all packing, so… I’m locked down tight. No worries.”
“Oh, my God,” Kate murmured. “How did this get so bad?”
“How, indeed?” But what could Nikki do other than keep playing the cards she was dealt? “I’ll call you a little later, I promise. We’ll really catch up. I could use a little Kate-time.”
“I miss you, too. Just—please, please—be safe.”
“You, too. Talk to you soon.”
Nikki hung up as Garcia approached and laid out a lovely spread on the coffee table.
“Those smell like they’re on the spicy side,” Nikki commented as she inhaled deeply.
“I’m guessing you can handle it.”
“The spicier the better,” Nikki averred.
“I knew I liked you.”
They returned to the sofa, brushing off the fresh dusting of powder that had covered the cushions while they’d been away.
Garcia had brought more forks and knives with her so Nikki could eat with her gloves on, but that seemed like sacrilege when the aroma from the fajitas, and the sight of them, was so extraordinary.
She whipped them off and stuffed them in her pocket. Garcia’s brow jumped. She was clearly impressed.
Once again, the agent let Nikki devour the food. Seriously, she could eat her way through the courtyard at this point. Primarily because she was famished, but also because her emotions were running high.
Trying not to focus on that, she swallowed down a bite that was a true flavor explosion—so much so, she savored it for several moments, then asked Garcia, “What’s your first name?”
“Fiora.”
“That’s beautiful,” Nikki said around another bite. “And…fierce.”
Apropos, she thought. Garcia had already proven herself to be a badass.
“Ironic you should say that,” Garcia said. “It means, fair or flower, in Latin. I liked the connotation when I was younger. Then…” She crooked a brow.
Nikki snickered. “Then you decided it was a great contradiction to your personality and that made you feel as though you had a little secret you were keeping from the rest of the world.”
She whistled under her breath. “Damn, you’re good, Dr. Kane.”
“A lot of people thrive on having an alter-ego. Even if you’re using the same name, it can have a light side and a dark side attached to it. It might mean flower in the general sense, but when you’re dodging bullets and putting a would-be assassin’s car into a tree trunk, it screams fierce.”
“I’m just glad we all made it out alive,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Me, too.”
Nikki enjoyed more food and another shot or two of tequila. A couple hours later, she was finally sated, totally wiped out, and actually did curl up on the sofa, her coat wrapped around her. The snow had stopped falling and the fire was blazing bright, so while Garcia was off talking to her family, Nikki drifted off.
Until a deep, intimate and resonant tone crept around the fringes of her subconscious, taunting her to wake up.
She wasn’t ready for reality to invade her peaceful thoughts, though…and she fought off the voice that whispered, “Let me take you somewhere warmer…more comfortable…”
39
She was bundled up in her thick, full-length coat, gloves and scarf, and there was a roaring fire emitting some serious heat. Still, Damen said, “Aren’t you freezing?”
“With all this tequila in my veins?” Nikki murmured in a sexy, sleepy voice. “Hardly.” Though she did snuggle closer to him as he carried her out of the courtyard.
Maybe it wasn’t because she wa
s cold.
Maybe she liked being that cozy with him.
As he thought of this, she inhaled deeply, as though drawing in his scent, his very essence.
Then she sort of purred and his groin tightened and…
Fuck.
He was back to agonizing over how she clearly wanted him, but was currently furious with him.
How she trusted him, but, again… She was hurt and angry.
Furthermore, Damen had to admit another truth. One he loathed facing: He didn’t think Nikki Kane needed him.
For anything.
Certainly not for the preservation of her computer and personal files.
Not anymore.
Likely his retrieval of her—and taking her back to his place to let her collect her suitcase—was the beginning of the end for them.
On their way out of the courtyard, he gave a curt head nod to Garcia to acknowledge her and to silently thank her for bringing Nikki here and for texting him to let him know she was safe and sound. Fortunately, not frozen to the core. Though the temps hadn’t dipped too low during the day. Just enough for a very light snowfall and then the sun had broken through the clouds.
He settled Nikki in the back of his Town Car and she instantly curled into him again.
“I could sleep for a week,” she muttered.
“Tension, danger and several plates of food will do that to you,” he lightly quipped.
“Let us not forget the tequila.” She let out a soft groan. “I might have gone a little overboard.”
“You can sleep it off. In my bed.” He didn’t even pose it as a suggestion or a question. He wanted her to spend one more night with him. And she was evidently too wiped out, perhaps even still too tipsy, to argue with him or disagree in the slightest.
In fact, she was asleep again minutes later. He listened to her steady, easy breathing…and tried to breathe a bit easier himself.