by Misty Evans
“In your dreams.” Or an alternate universe.
Which, unfortunately, they did not live in.
She tossed the key to the cuffs on her dresser, yanked on her long skirt, and skipped the stockings she’d laid out. Although it was November, this was Mexico and it was unseasonably warm, a pressure system building in the Pacific farther south.
Or maybe the sweat running down her back was due to being in this small apartment with the dangerous and very badass Nelson Cruz, still laid out on her bed.
Either way, she needed air and lots of it. “I changed my mind.”
He didn’t need the Savages biker jacket with its skull and bones motif, or his recent black eye, to look menacing. “You didn’t change your mind. You’re screwing with me on purpose.”
The damning tone of his voice stung. The challenge in his eyes said he was remembering their shared past. She’d known all along he was an undercover immigration officer. He’d thought she was an illegal and she’d done nothing to dispose him of that idea.
Until the morning after, when she’d seduced him and pumped him for information to help her with her sting. That’s when she’d realized she’d gone too far.
Sometimes the harder you tried to keep people from seeing the real you, the clearer the view they got. “I work alone,” she said. “You know that.”
He shifted as well as he could, holding onto the cuff still securing his left wrist and using it to leverage himself up to face her. “Your life is in danger.”
Just like last time. The words hung between them.
His was in danger, too, if he kept looking so damn sexy. “Guido Ruiz is not a threat to me.” It was mostly true. “I will not leave until I’ve wrapped up this operation.”
Laundering money for the Morales Cartel was a full-time job and required a bevy of skills. Skills she had. Plus, Rodrigo liked her petite stature and substantial curves.
She’d always thought of herself as plain, a weird mix of Hispanic and white that didn’t quite fit in either world, not in East L.A., not in Tijuana, both places she’d grown up.
But during agent training, she’d figured out how to handle criminals as well as enhance what she did have in the sexy department, working it for maximum advantage. Push-up bras and lots of spandex were main staples of her wardrobe. “I’m quite safe here inside the Morales compound.”
“I snuck in.” The tone of Nelson’s voice had that know-it-all edge that drove her nuts. “Right past the guards and the cameras.”
Taking a white lace shawl from the hook next to the door, she wrapped it around her shoulders and checked her lipstick in the nearby mirror. Rodrigo kept his study cool and he gave her goose bumps even in ninety-degree weather. “Need I remind you, you got caught?”
She opened the door, but Nelson’s voice stopped her, the clang of the handcuffs echoing in the room as his anger finally got the best of him. “We had a deal, Sophia.”
They had a deal, all right. One she was about to bust to smithereens, just like Nelson had done to her heart. Chica Bonita had nearly ruined her, emotionally and professionally. She wasn’t making that mistake again.
She closed the door behind her, heard him raging against the single cuff still restraining him. Quickly, she ran down the stairs to the first floor and stepped out into the evening.
Her heart drummed to match the throb in her temples as she stopped on the covered patio to draw a breath. The aftereffects of the vision were going to be a bitch if her head and heart were already pounding.
The sun was sinking, thick humidity weighting the air and leaving her nearly panting. Or maybe it was the anxiety catching up with her from seeing Nelson being beaten on the floor of the pit. If she hadn’t gotten there in time, he’d be dead.
A flowering bush climbed the trellis next to her, its small, pink flowers attracting bees. Low grasses and aloe encircled a birdbath in the center of the garden. From here, she could see the west wing of the main house and the tall windows of Rodrigo’s office on the top floor.
Casa Morales was a mansion. Ten thousand square feet with seven bedrooms, nine baths, an in-ground swimming pool, and a staff house. The guesthouse where Sophie stayed was a miniature version on the outside, and while nice on the inside, it still lacked the luxurious furnishings of the main house.
The sinking sun reflected in the third floor windows, creating the illusion that they were the eyes of a giant. Rodrigo Morales stood there sometimes, the position giving him a birds-eye view of the entire compound.
Of her.
A sickly tightness threatened to shut off her windpipe. She closed her eyes, slowly drew air in through her nose and held it for a count of three. Then she exhaled all at once, like Little Gran had taught her, to clear her thoughts and her lungs.
A few more controlled breaths and her heartbeat slowed. The tightness in her throat eased. Even her temples stopped pulsing so hard. When she opened her eyes, a peacock had wandered into the garden. It ignored her, preening near the birdbath.
She’d been summoned half an hour ago. Rodrigo wanted an answer as to why Nelson was here. She could play it one of two ways. Go in easy and try to smooth things over, or go in bitch-on-wheels and put her cartel boss on the defensive from the get-go.
Like many men, Rodrigo liked his women hot-blooded and fiery. No problem there. Sophie tended toward both. The women in her family had always been passionate and emotional, sometimes too much.
Bitch-on-wheels it is. If she went in full of indignation and hit him with guns blazing, she might escape his probing into her past about her relationship with Nelson. She’d give the same excuse as she had given to James Chavez. Nelson was her lover—a misguided ex-lover looking for her. He’d be on his way as soon as she doctored the poor man back to health. Her game plan was clear:
Cut Morales off at the pass.
Rail against Chavez and his men to keep the focus on the injustice of beating up Nelson.
Reassure all that Nelson is harmless.
Harmless. No one would believe that, but maybe if she assured Rodrigo that Nelson was leaving and nothing like this would ever happen again, this would blow over quickly and she could get back to work.
The end was in sight. She couldn’t let Nels or anyone else blow this mission after she’d suffered through all these months of hell.
Following in his father’s footsteps, Rodrigo didn’t like anyone to rock the boat. She’d played the part of the loyal and extremely valuable money launderer for him all this time, but one little slip could endanger everything.
Hiking the shawl higher on her shoulders, she had just started toward the main house when she heard the apartment door above her bang open.
Nelson stood there, looking down at her with a sneer on his lips, cuffs hanging off his wrists, the one eye still swollen to beat the band. The ice bag dangled from one hand.
Unbelievable. “How the hell did you manage to get free?”
“Are you kidding?” he said. “Child’s play.”
To him, it probably was. She needed to get zip ties. No keys, just hard plastic.
He could probably chew through those.
Or break them with his powerful muscles.
The image, combined with her frustration, almost made her swear out loud. “I need to talk to Rodrigo. Please stay here until I get back.”
He jogged down the steps and came to stand in front of her, totally invading her space. “You’re not going any where without me.”
His gaze was hard, unrelenting. Bullheaded didn’t begin to describe his stubbornness.
She lowered her voice. “If you blow my op, I will string you up and pour hot grease over your balls.”
“Kinky.”
“I’m not kidding, Nels.”
His flinch reminded her how he hated that nickname. “It’s Nico Raines for this op,” he said.
“And what op is that exactly? You weren’t very specific earlier.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. That you don’t need to know.”
He didn’t trust her. That road ran both ways. She drew farther back under the patio awning and out of sight of the west wing, lowering her voice. “Running with the Savages along the border means you’re going after some part of the Morales cartel. One of the smaller businesses, I assume. But I’m going after the entire organization. I’m not just going to shut down the cocaine or meth distribution. I’m bringing the Morales Mexican-American Cartel to its knees.”
He grabbed her elbow and got in her face. “Not if you’re dead.”
Pulling her arm free, she shoved at his chest to make him back up. Stubborn was one thing, but she’d never seen him so adamant except that day two years ago at Chica Bonita.
Too bad he hadn’t felt quite so protective of her after he discovered she was a Fed and not some wayward nineteen-year-old. “I need forty-eight hours. Tops.”
“For what?”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” she mimicked. “That you don’t need to know.”
“Sophie, they pulled me off my op to bring you in. The brass is worried about you. Hell, I’m worried about you. You’re in deep, I get that, but you’re also in more danger than you’ve ever been in before.”
“I’m not leaving.”
A muscle in his unshaven jaw jumped. “Then I’m staying.”
There was so much he didn’t know. So many secrets she was keeping. “I don’t need your protection.”
She started to walk away. He grabbed her and hauled her back against the cool stone wall. “You do need my help. Shut up and take it.”
“Stop manhandling me.”
“Manhandling? You handcuffed me to your bed!”
His face was close to hers. Those full, seductive lips a breath away. Don’t do it, Sophie. Sexual attraction is not love.
She glared at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Like being handcuffed to my bed is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“My assignment is to bring you back to San Diego. If you won’t let me stay and help you, then I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here caveman-style.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She met his eyes, her brain scrambling for a more solid argument. He was as hot-blooded as she was, their brief relationship intense and physical. “Try it. You’ll never get me out of here. Rodrigo keeps a very close eye on me.”
“I bet he does.”
His tone suggested she’d crossed a line with her criminal boss. She didn’t appreciate the insinuation. “I can handle Morales and my job. In fact, I can do your job, whatever operation you’re working on, and take down the cartel at the same time.”
“That so?” he said in an aggravatingly thoughtful tone.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
His glare turned more serious. He hesitated before giving a big sigh. “Chica Bonita.”
The air stuck in her lungs. “What?”
He glanced over his shoulder, double-checking they were hidden and still alone. “After the Southern California Violent Crimes taskforce took down the Londano cartel, it left an open field for human traffickers. Morales may have stepped up to the plate. The taskforce believes he plans to rejuvenate his father’s operation and that he has the Savages picking up girls. Human trafficking, sex slaves, he could be putting his toes in all of it.”
The evening air burned in her lungs. Her younger sister’s face flashed in front of her.
Don’t go there. Not now. There was something going on with Chica Bonita but not what he thought. “That’s not possible. I see the books, all of them. He’s started dealing with a European investor for his exotic snake collection, but that’s all he’s got going besides the drug running. He’s kept the details of that to himself, which is the last piece to wrapping up my operation. There’s something going on with transporting those snakes and I need the ledger he keeps to figure it out. He’s not resurrecting Chica Bonita or his father’s sex slave business. I would have seen the exchange of money.”
“He’s not dealing in money. We believe he’s bartering girls. The only thing we’re not sure of is what he’s getting in exchange.”
A frosty chill swept down her spine. Sex slaves. Bile rose in her throat. Had Angelique been one of the CB girls?
Steeling her emotions, she knew she had to get Nelson off the Chica Bonita train. If he discovered her secret, it would ruin her career—and her career was all she had. “I would know if there was any type of exchange.”
Nelson placed a hand on the wall behind her, the metal cuff knocking into the old brick. He dropped his head. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but…”
“But what?”
“The Savages aren’t just patrolling the border for Morales. They’re transporting shipments across it. Girls with backpacks coming up from the south. The girls have to be funneled through a central checkpoint somewhere around here. We believe Morales is using the Chica Bonita camp. They’re coming through Tijuana and into San Diego. That’s why the SCVC Taskforce is on it.”
“Those girls aren’t sex slaves. They’re mules for the drugs.”
“And possibly more. There’s a strong history of human trafficking with this cartel and I’m undercover trying to find out if Chica Bonita is back in business.”
Sophie felt like throwing up. Human trafficking was getting worse despite the new laws and concentrated efforts of the United States government to shut it down.
Angel, I’m so sorry. “I should have burned that camp to the ground when I had the chance.”
“We both should have. Wouldn’t have stopped anything.”
Might have saved my sister.
But now, Sophie knew it wasn’t being used for human trafficking. Smuggling, maybe. A different side of the same coin, but she couldn’t let Nelson find out what was really happening there. “If Rodrigo is selling girls like his father did, and I take down the cartel—which I’m about to do—it will shut down Chica Bonita. Like I said, I can do your job and mine if you let me. I only need a couple more days.”
Nelson lowered his face so they were nose-to-nose. His other hand went to the wall next to her head, effectively trapping her. “When Guido figures out I didn’t kill you, he’ll send someone else. You won’t last twenty-four hours without me watching your back.”
Infuriating. She touched his swollen eye in mock concern. “Stop worrying your pretty little head. Guido won’t touch me.”
His eyes flared and he started to say something, clamped his lips together, and then out of nowhere, he lowered his face the final few centimeters and kissed her.
No warning, no warm-up. Just bam. His lips touched hers, hard, then soft, then hard again. As if he needed her. Wanted her.
No.
She wanted to push him away, even raised her hands to his shoulders to do so. Instead, she found herself cupping those hard, muscled shoulders and tugging him closer. Parting her lips, and…
The peacock squawked, a man cleared his throat.
All of the lust drained right through her toes. Fear shocked her back to reality.
She broke away from Nelson’s lips and forced her eyes to open. Sure enough, the man of her nightmares was standing at the entrance to the patio staring at her with one dark, bushy brow raised in question.
“Rodrigo,” she said, trying to shove Nelson aside. The ICE agent-turned-biker was a brick wall, refusing to move other than to glance over his shoulder. “I was just coming to see you.”
Rodrigo was a tad short and thin. He was barely older than her—twenty-eight—but his hairline was receding from its widow’s peak. He compensated by growing the rest long. The black strands were perfectly straight and hung around his pointed chin. His cold eyes and narrow nose completed the look.
The perfect vampire in some teen movie, Sophie thought.
“I became concerned,” the cartel leader said, speaking in perfect English thanks to his European schooling.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Nelson.
Nelson stille
d pinned her between his arms. She smiled at Rodrigo over one bulging bicep and pinched Nelson in his side.
“Ouch!”
At least he moved, jumping back enough she could duck around him. “My friend was moments away from leaving,” she told her boss. “We were saying goodbye.”
Nelson snorted. “More like a long-overdue hello.”
Rodrigo’s glare went from Nelson to Sophie and back. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”
“Nico Raines.” Nelson stepped forward offering Morales his hand. The cuff danged from his wrist. “I’m one of the Savages.”
Rodrigo ignored his outstretched hand. “One of my Savages?”
“I’ve been with the Savages now for nearly three months.”
“And you’re a special friend to Miss Ramirez, or did I misunderstand?”
Sophie elbowed Nelson. Maria-Sophia Ramirez was her undercover identity.
The ICE agent didn’t need the nudge. Seamlessly, he nodded and produced the key Sophie had left on the kitchen table, uncuffing his wrist as he answered. “Miss Ramirez and I go way back.”
Rodrigo’s cold gaze bored into her. “Is that so?”
Sophie swallowed. During her interview nine months ago, he’d asked her if she had any close relatives or a boyfriend. She’d answered no—it was the truth.
“A very brief affair a long time ago was all it was.” It could’ve been so much more. “Nico has been overly protective ever since. He heard about Guido putting a hit out on me and thought he would come to my rescue.”
She gave her cartel boss her brightest smile. “I was telling him to go back to the Savages and not worry about me. We already knew about Guido’s childishness and I’m perfectly safe here.” In my prison.
That prison was a godsend, however. Since Rodrigo insisted she live inside his compound, she had access to things. Not just the luxurious accommodations, but things that helped her case. Gossiping house staff, the comings and goings of other nefarious criminals, access to Rodrigo’s study when he was out. Not that he kept a lot of evidence causally lying around, but she had become an expert at picking the lock on the door and had documented everything, knowing that innocent-looking papers or photographs could contain some bit of evidence that would tie her case shut and lock it up tight.