by Misty Evans
“What does Morales want with SAMs?”
“He already has ’em. That’s what Kronos is trading the diamonds for. He has buyers in Iran and Venz.”
“Shit. How did Morales score them?” And why hadn’t Sophie caught wind of this?
The sound of a fridge opening and ice clanking in a glass came through the line. “His father was close friends with certain members of the Mexican Army back in the day. One of those men is a founder of the Syrian company. The Agency believes Morales has a tidy stockpile hidden near his compound.”
“So the CIA’s going to swoop in and steal our operation?”
“Bureau offered a deal so they get Morales and the CIA gets Kronos and the weapons.”
Nelson heard the shower shut off. “Morales doesn’t deal in diamonds. He deals in drugs.”
“But unmarked stones are small, easy to transport. He studied gemology, right? K9 sniffers can’t normally detect the stones, nor are they trained to do so. And diamonds will buy anything.”
Snakes, diamonds, SAMs. Crazy motherfucker. “So the FBI isn’t coming until Sunday?”
“Correct. Justice Department wants this one bad, on orders from the Prez. Capturing those weapons and taking out a major cartel leader will boost his approval rating by twenty points, easy. CIA wants Kronos. In the end, everyone gets what they want.”
But will Sophie? “If I pull Sophie out before Sunday, the deal could go sideways.”
“The deal will go sideways. You and Agent Diaz are to stay put and maintain your covers until further notice, clear?”
The bathroom door creaked open. “Clear.”
“Stay in touch.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nelson disconnected, a dozen more questions racing through his mind. No time to ask them, however, with Sophie bearing down on him. She was toweling her hair dry. “Who was that?”
“Security team by the gate.” Nelson stood, pocketed the phone, and headed for the door. There was one building on the grounds besides the pit. He’d check it for missiles and mentally sort through this change in plans. Darkness and the rain would provide the cover he needed to do a little digging unnoticed by the night guards. “I need to check the backup generator in case we lose power during the storm. Don’t wait up,” he said.
What is he up to?
Sophie stared at the closed door, exhausted, and ready for sleep.
But instead of going to bed, she sighed deeply, tossed the towel on a chair, and threw on a fresh set of clothes.
Wherever Nelson Cruz was going, she was about to follow.
Chapter Eleven
Slipping her compact handgun into a specially modified sling attached to her right leg, Sophie fluffed her skirt—soon to be soaked—and drew on a rain slicker. She closed the door of her apartment quietly behind her and stood still for a moment on the landing, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
She took the stairs down and paused at the patio, listening and sniffing the air for a hint of Nelson’s clean, tangy soap smell.
All she heard was the rain and wind. The only smells were wet mud and humid night air.
Sticking to the shadows was easy once her eyes adjusted, a fingernail moon peeking through the clouds. Reading Nelson’s mind, on the other hand, was impossible. Was he really headed to the generator shed or was that an excuse for something else?
The building was a shack compared to the house, but it held an assortment of tools and ground maintenance equipment. Sophie opened the door, flinching as it squeaked and she faced almost utter darkness.
With only a single window and the cloudy sky, the light filtering through was minimal. Her fingers skimmed the wall next to her and stopped on the light switch. If Nelson were here checking on the generator, why hadn’t he turned it on?
Because he didn’t want to be seen.
Which meant it wasn’t the generator he cared about.
A slick coolness licked down her spine. She told herself it was because of the rain, not the ominous feeling in her stomach.
I should go back and get some sleep. Leave him to whatever foolishness he’s up to.
But as usual, curiosity got the best of her. What had that phone call been about to send him out into the rainy night?
Flipping on the overhead light might attract unwanted attention from the main house or the guards on duty. How would she explain being inside the generator building? Leaving the light switch alone, she pulled a penlight from her pocket and turned it on, keeping the beam pointed at the dirty floor. Her ears picked up the sound of the rain, but nothing else, and she swept the skinny ray of light past the generator in the center of the floor and around the perimeter.
Landscaping equipment was parked along the south end. Gardening tools hung on the walls. Gas cans, a work bench, various boxes, and several shelves rounded out the inventory.
Again, Sophie wondered why Nelson cared about this shed. Or was he really headed somewhere else? She stepped farther in, walking slowly around the generator that was nearly as tall as she was. A wheelbarrow with a machete and shovel blocked her way to the tool bench. Dirt covered the end of the shovel as if someone had been digging. An almost black substance also lined the machete’s blade.
Sophie leaned closer, eyeing the shovel, and trying to remember if she’d seen the gardener lately. Unless he’d come today while she was in town, it had been at least a week.
She shined her light on the machete and her stomach dropped. The dark substance was nearly as black as wet dirt.
Blood.
She felt a presence behind her right before a hand went around her mouth and she was jerked backwards, slamming her into a rock-hard body. The flashlight flew out of her hand, ricocheting off a wheelbarrow handle. It hit the floor and went into a spin, the beam throwing a flickering kaleidoscope of light around the room.
“What are you doing here?” a low and dangerous voice said in her ear.
A deluge of relief swamped her as Nelson took his hand from her mouth so she could answer. “Looking for you, asshole.” She stomped on the top of this foot for scaring her.
“Ow!” He jumped back. “Dammit woman, stop hurting me.”
She whirled to face him. The flashlight stopped spinning, the beam reflecting off the metal of the generator and throwing a weird shadow up under Nelson’s face. “You’re lucky I didn’t elbow you in your bruised ribs or kick you in the knee and cripple you.”
She bent down and picked up the penlight. “You’re not checking out the generator. What are you doing?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing, huh?”
He sighed. “Looking for weapons.”
In the shed? “Rodrigo’s gun safe is inside the house. Why would he store anything out here?”
“Not guns. SAMs. A special prototype the U.S. wants to keep out of the wrong hands.”
“Surface-to-air missiles? He doesn’t deal in weapons. He deals in drugs.”
“Possibly a leftover from his father.”
Rain slid down the single window. Gusts of wind blew enough through the open door to form random puddles. “First of all, how did you get this information, and secondly, why would he store SAMs here at the compound?”
Nelson ignored her first question. “Where else would he store them? He mentioned a warehouse outside of town. He said it was for drug repackaging, but could he be storing SAMs there too?”
“Doubtful, but I guess it’s possible.”
“You’ve never been there?”
“I only handle the money. I have no reason to visit the drug storehouse.”
Thunder rumbled overhead. A flash of lightning followed a moment later, throwing a strobe of light through the tiny window. In the brief flash, Sophie saw the tight set of Nelson’s jaw.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked. “Why are finding these missiles suddenly so important?”
“The European operation you mentioned. Is that legit? The ledger we’re after contains information about it?�
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“Yes, it’s legit. Why?”
Since they were standing close in order to hear each other over the storm, she saw him nod. “The deal going down on Sunday is most likely a trade of the missiles for diamonds.”
“No, it’s not. He’s getting a new snake.”
“Not according to my source.”
“What source?”
“My boss. What I can’t figure out is why he wants you there on Sunday for the exchange.”
“He told me to prepare thirty-five thousand dollars for Sunday. That’s why he wants me there, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll be out of here by then.”
He didn’t reply and she had a moment of stolen hope. “Did you manage to get me more than twenty-four hours?”
He blew air through his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re to stay put until the deal goes down on Sunday.”
The one-eighty gave her a moment of whiplash. “On whose orders? I thought the Bureau was ready to swoop in with warrants?”
“According to Cooper, my boss, word came down that the man Morales is meeting with on Sunday is an international criminal named Kronos. The Agency’s been after him for years. They believe this is their chance to snag him and get their hands on the SAMs.”
Quick as the flash of lightening a moment ago, anger raced through her blood. “The CIA? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Why hadn’t Agent Blue, her partner in crime, warned her? “They can’t just waltz in here after all the work I’ve done and snatch Morales out from under me!”
Of course, they could. It would be just like that bastard Blue to steal her thunder.
“They want Kronos,” Nelson said, “not Morales.”
Blue wanted Morales. He’d made that clear as a bell since the moment he’d revealed himself to Sophie and tried to blackmail her. “Oh, please. The Agency will take credit for both. You know that.”
She turned and kicked the generator. “Dammit all to hell!”
Without warning, Nelson grabbed her, his hand once again covering her mouth as he wheeled her around behind the generator, her backside to his front. “Shh,” he whispered. His lips brushed her ear. “We have company.”
He released her mouth but one arm stayed wrapped around her waist. Carefully he lowered them both into a crouch.
Heart hammering, Sophie listened intently. She heard nothing except the rain on the roof, maybe because the drum in her chest was drowning out everything else.
But then a sweep of a flashlight flooded the shed, spilling light on the walls, the tool bench, the lawn mower. The generator blocked it from falling on them.
A man’s voice called out in Spanish, “Who’s there?”
A night guard had seen the open door when he’d canvassed the grounds. Had to be. Why hadn’t she shut it?
Nelson’s hand on her stomach was warm through her clothes. His face was close to the back of her head, his breath sliding down her neck, calming her. They could explain this if they had to, right? He could say he’d been checking on the generator and she could claim she’d followed him, concerned when he hadn’t returned.
Close enough to the truth.
Footsteps entered the shed. She and Nelson held perfectly still. He stopped breathing—his warm breath replaced with cool, damp air—and Sophie followed suit.
Another sweep of the flashlight, the guard pausing for a long, tense moment, as though he sensed their presence. Then the footsteps retreated.
Sophie heard the door to the shed close and she let out the breath she was holding.
And then she heard the clank of metal.
The guard had locked the door.
She started to rise, but Nelson held her in place a moment longer. “Wait,” he breathed against her hair.
She did, heart still hammering. She heard the guard say something. The words were too muffled to understand, but then she heard the squawk of a handheld radio. He was checking in with the security team, hopefully giving the all clear.
A rainy silence fell, and she could almost sense the moment he walked away.
Nelson, arm still around her waist, helped her to a standing position. “We should get back to the apartment,” he murmured.
She turned to face him, found herself bumping into his chest. She stepped back, ran into the generator, and bounced sideways into the wheelbarrow.
Nelson grabbed her arm, keeping her from falling.
She tugged her arm from his grip. “He just locked us in.”
In the dark shadows, Nelson’s grin looked extra menacing. He brushed wet hair from her neck. “I would think you’ve known me long enough to know there is no lock I can’t pick.”
“Good, because I have no intention of spending the night in this gross shed with you while the CIA is waiting in the wings to ruin my operation.”
His finger moved to her cheek, caressing it. “Don’t worry, Soph. I’ve got it under control. I promise, you’ll get your man if you work with me on this and follow my orders. We’ll find these ledgers and bring down Morales, and let the CIA bag their guy. Your reputation at the Bureau as a ballbuster will remain intact.”
For a heartbeat, maybe two, she let herself believe him. Let herself believe in the Nelson Cruz myth—that he never gave up and no matter the circumstances, he always came out on top.
It was easy to let his reassurances cajole her into believing that nine months of undercover work wasn’t about to be handed over to the CIA on a golden platter and her part in this sting reduced to nothing but a footnote on a report.
The two of them would find the ledgers and one of them would lead her to her sister. And to add to the dream, her sister was alive and well somewhere, just waiting for Sophie to find her.
Maybe if she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared into Nelson’s eyes a little longer, she might even believe he’d help her find a way to save Lexie. That he wouldn’t hate her for helping young women get across the border illegally to start a new life in America.
Pipedreams, Sophie. Lots of wishful thinking.
But they were her pipedreams.
Well, hell, as long as she was dreaming, why not wish for a happily-ever-after for herself and Nelson?
Leaning in, she licked her lips, wrapped her arms around his neck, and did just that.
Chapter Twelve
Nelson was ready for her. But then, again, he was probably used to women throwing themselves at him. As Sophie pressed her lips to his, she heard another grumble of thunder.
Only it wasn’t thunder. The low growl was coming from Nelson.
Like the man himself, his response to her kiss was insouciant, smooth, and demanding. He parted her lips with expertise, backing her up against the old generator, and teasing her tongue with his.
He smelled of heat and rain and male sweat. The scruff on his jaw scratched her skin as he dropped kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids, her temples. He dipped his head and trailed his tongue up the side of her neck and behind her earlobe. “Partners?” he murmured in her ear.
Her head felt light, like a boat bobbing in water without an anchor. Her body, under his touch, felt unmoored too, as if she could close her eyes and float away on the pleasure. “If I say no?”
“You can’t beat the system alone.” He brushed a thumb over her lower lip, raised his eyes to meet hers. “The CIA will grab Kronos and snag Morales too. They’ll take credit for bringing down the cartel along with nailing their European smuggler. Sweeping a single FBI agent under the rug will be a piece of cake.”
She couldn’t let them do that, but… “And how do you think you—an immigration officer—can keep that from happening?”
His hands skimmed a trail from her ribs to the top of her thighs and back up. His thumbs brushed against her breasts under the fabric of her jacket and shirt. “I have the entire SCVC Taskforce to back me up. My boss can cut a deal with the Agency. No Kronos if we don’t get Morales.”
“And if they won’t deal? Are you willing to blow the CIA’s chance at arresting Kronos?
”
“For you, yes.”
His response surprised her. “Tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth. You’ve already got Morales. If they want us to draw things out until Sunday, they’ll have to agree to the deal.”
If she didn’t have her arms around his neck already, she would have thrown them there now.
Too bad old habits and past conditioning were so damn hard to break. “Being anyone’s partner isn’t my cup of tea.”
His lips went to her chin, trailed up her jaw. His hands softly cupped her breasts. “We both have a job to do.”
Screw the job. Like his earlier response, the thought caught her by surprise. He was doing it to her again. She couldn’t think straight with his teeth nibbling her earlobe and his hands teasing the sides of her breasts.
“Stop,” she said, but it was weak. Too weak. The rain slanting down on the window drowned her out.
“You’re stuck with me, Sophie. Might as well put me to good use.”
Oh, she had uses for him. More than she could count. She slid her hands down to his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead she kneaded his hard pecs and sighed into his mouth. “Do I have a choice?”
His grin was dirty, nasty as could be. “Do you really want one?”
No, she didn’t. Not at this moment. “This isn’t only about arresting Rodrigo. I need to find out what happened to my sister.”
“I know,” he said, and he kissed her long and deep and passionately. He was breathing hard when he broke away. “Agree to work with me and I’ll do everything in my power to help you find her.”
“We’re already working together. Sort of.”
“You’re holding out on me. If we’re going to do this—if you want my help making sure the CIA doesn’t steal your op—I want full cooperation and honesty.”
Because she’d screwed him over last time. “There are some things you don’t need to know.”