by Misty Evans
Like the fact I’m infatuated with you.
“You’re wrong,” he said, kneeing her legs apart and pressing his hard length into her body. “I want—need—to know everything about you.”
His mouth came down on hers, his hands cupping her breasts. Everything inside her gave a cry of joy.
She kissed him back, knowing that sadness would follow, just like it always did.
The rain eased, the worst of the storm moving north, as Nelson kept himself and Sophie tucked in the shadows of the house. Making their way back to her apartment without being seen wasn’t easy, but then he never liked easy.
He’d had her skirt up around her waist, his fingers finding her hidden gun but moving on to more interesting territory. He’d liked reliving what it felt like to caress the warm, slick folds between her legs when she’d finally shoved him away.
“I can’t,” she’d said, her breath coming in short gasps. “Not here.”
He’d always prided himself on his self-control. Tonight, with his cock straining for release, it had been difficult to find. He was still gritting his teeth at the constrictive tightness in his jeans as he walked softly through the night.
“Did you see Chavez leave the compound when you took over his job?” Sophie murmured as she tiptoed behind him.
As per normal, she couldn’t focus on anything other than the op. “I escorted him out myself. Why?”
“The machete in the shed. Did you notice the blood on the blade?”
The wind gusted, blowing a sheet of water off a nearby palm and smacking him in the face. He tugged her closer behind him, making sure they stuck to the shadows and stayed out of the camera angles. “Yeah, so?”
“That’s what they use to cut up body parts to feed to the snakes and the piranhas. I just wondered if Chavez was the latest victim.”
“Piranhas, too?”
“There’s an underground tank of them. They literally swim under the floor of the pit. Each interrogation room has a grate they can open to send the blood, flesh and any leftover body parts into the piranha tank. The goons wash down the walls and the floors with a high pressured hose and it all runs into that tank.”
Nothing surprised him anymore, but it still made him wonder about humankind. “Easy cleanup, I suppose.”
Sophie fell silent. How many people had disappeared into that place and never come out? Guilt at not saving them, whether they deserved saving or not, had to be eating at her.
“Nels?”
God, he hated that nickname. “Yeah?”
“What if she’s dead?”
“Who?”
“Angelique.”
A platitude was on his tongue quick as lightning. Sophie wanted hope, but she wouldn’t buy empty assurances any more than he would. “What if she’s not?”
It was the best he could give her. The hope that Angelique was alive somewhere. The probability was remote, but a possibility did exist. “If she’s alive, we’ll find her,” he added.
“What if we do and she wants nothing to do with me?”
“Come on, Sophie. She’s your little sister and she’s been through hell. She’ll be amazed that you came for her and forever grateful that you found her.”
“I screwed up, left her with Mama. Angel longed to go to America, to become a citizen. I should have tried harder to get her there.”
He didn’t know the full story about Sophie’s past. He doubted anyone but Sophie did.
A sound ahead of them made him freeze. He raised his fist, signaling for her to be quiet. She stopped, her body pressing into his backside. Her hands rested on his waist.
A guard appeared, MK-4 in his hands, scanning the area as he made his rounds. Sophie’s fingers on him tightened. He held motionless, willing her to do the same.
The guard moved on without breaking stride.
Once he was clearly out of earshot, Nelson took Sophie’s hand once more and guided her around the end of the house. “They need night-vision goggles,” he said under his breath.
“Good idea. Then they can see us when we’re sneaking around and shoot us on sight.”
Better than being chopped to bits and fed to the snakes and piranhas.
When they at last reached the garden surrounding the apartment, Nelson double-checked the area to make sure no one had seen them, no one was following them. Only a highly-trained SEAL should have been able to, but he didn’t put it past the guards to accidentally stumble upon them.
Sophie climbed the stairs, lost in thought and not waiting for him. He stayed silent, listening to the croak of frogs and the buzz and hum of nocturnal insects. A light on the upper floor of the main house came on and Nelson watched from the shadows as a figure moved to the window.
Tall, dark hair. Morales. He was backlit, but it didn’t take Nelson long to notice two things.
Morales had something draped around his neck. Something that moved and slithered.
Snake.
The second thing Nelson noticed was that Rodrigo Morales was looking right at Sophie’s apartment.
Chapter Thirteen
A thin, high-pitched whining invaded Sophie’s dreams, shooting adrenaline straight to her heart. She woke with a start, sat up in bed, and had a moment of vertigo. The dark room seemed to whirl dizzily around her and she stuck out both hands to anchor herself.
Her hands sank into the jumbled, messed up sheets. Instinctively, she felt her way to the left, searching for Nelson. He wasn’t there.
For some reason, her heart skipped a beat. Where was he? Had he finally gotten the hint that he wasn’t welcome in her bed?
Another skip.
Sophie rubbed the spot over her heart. Don’t be stupid, Sophia.
The whining continued, rising and falling, a new sound joining it—pouring, gushing rain.
Blinking away the dizziness—God, she was tired—she tossed her legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
The vertigo immediately lessened and she took a deep breath, wiggling her toes on the bare floor. The air was cool and thick with the scent of the rain. What she wouldn’t give to crawl back under the covers—preferably with Nelson, if she were honest—and go back to sleep.
But sleep didn’t seem to be in the cards for her, a soft banging now accompanying the wailing noise. She tiptoed out to the living room.
A dark shadow stood resolutely next to the window overlooking the grounds. The window wasn’t open, but it also wasn’t locked, the wind slipping into the crack and causing the eerie noises. It clapped shut as the wind disappeared.
Nelson had constructed a bed on the floor with couch cushions and pillows. He was dressed only in his boxers. A soft glow emanated from his cell phone on the coffee table, showing her the time was slightly after 4 a.m. The screen was a mass of Doppler greens, yellows, and reds shifting in halting movements from left to right. The glow illuminated Nelson’s left side.
The female inside Sophie took a few seconds to admire the length of him, all smooth skin and muscle working in synergy to create a beautiful, untamed creature.
She noticed a scar on his left thigh, another on his lower back. She hadn’t seen either during their one night together two years ago.
“Nels?”
He didn’t move, didn’t even glance back at her. “Go back to sleep.”
“Is someone out there?”
“Not in this storm.”
The rainy season in Mexico combined with an approaching tropical storm. Sophie had liked the rainy season during her younger years here. The worst of the summer’s heat was over, the hurricane season nearly done. It was a time to hole up inside with her books and her imagination and dream of the life she wanted to live one day back in America.
She’d made it back, but things hadn’t quite turned out the way she’d planned. So she’d learned to plan better, down to the last detail. Contingencies had to be accounted for. Various outcomes anticipated. She couldn’t control every factor in her job or in life, but she could strategize and devise a res
ponse to most, no matter the situation.
So far, her formula had worked.
Except for Chica Bonita.
Except for Nelson.
He still hadn’t moved, his gaze locked on the courtyard below. What was he seeing? Not the storm, she’d bet, and not even the grounds. He was lost in his own world, or maybe he was worried about their upcoming job. Sophia, herself, had spent many nights looking out that same window, planning her exit strategy in case her operation became jeopardized. No way she was ending up in the pit.
A gust of wind lifted the edge of the window again, the force creating another howl of resistance from the framework. Sophie shivered and moved closer to Nelson. She knew the answer but asked anyway, hoping to gain his attention. “Why didn’t Guido come after me today?”
Without preamble, he answered, as if he’d already given the subject some thought. “Either he hasn’t found out about me taking over Chavez’s spot, or he has, and figures I’m undercover, waiting until I can get close enough to kill you.”
“Surely Chavez ran right to him and told him you usurped his position.”
“Or the blood you saw on the machete in the shed was actually his.”
Another shiver ran up her spine. “You said you escorted Chavez off the grounds yourself.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t end up piranha food.”
Sophie’s stomach did a flip. She’d never liked Chavez, but no one deserved that type of death. “Why not go after Lexie? She’s the only family Rodrigo has left. If Guido really wanted to hurt his arch enemy, wouldn’t Lexie be the ultimate way of doing that?”
Again, Nelson has a ready answer. “Morales and I discussed exactly that. I don’t think Guido knows Lexie’s here. Few people do. Hurting or killing her wouldn’t cripple the business the way taking you out would. Morales could get another bookkeeper, but it would take months to trust her and train her with everything.
“Striking at Lexie would start a true war between the two cartels,” he continued. “Guido doesn’t have that kind of manpower. He’d rather keep taking potshots at Morales, guerilla-warfare style, while he looks for vulnerabilities and builds up his own troops. That’s one of the reasons Morales insists I stay here with you when he and Lexie go to their beach house.”
“You think Guido will come here and try to get me when Morales leaves?”
“Both of us, if he thinks I turned traitor.”
Guido wouldn’t show up. Not even if he’d figured out who Nelson really was. Still, it was good to keep Nelson talking. “So while we search for the ledger, we also have to watch out for Guido.”
“Guido and,”—Nelson grabbed the window handle and pulled it in, locking it tight and shutting out the wind—“this storm system.”
Reaching out, Sophie took his hand, winding her fingers through his. “It’s just the remnants of the tropical storm out in the South Pacific. A little rain, a little wind. I’ve been through them before. The worst will be over in a day or two.”
“They revised the forecast,” he said. “The tropical storm has been upgraded to a Cat 3 hurricane.”
“Oh, no.”
He finally turned his face toward her and she saw the concern etched in the creases of his eyes. He squeezed her hand in his and his gaze dropped to her lips as if he longed to kiss her again.
“Sophie, the storm is headed right for us.”
Chapter Fourteen
San Diego
0930 hours
Cooper dialed Cruz’s number, copies of the Morales warrants lying on the table in front of him, courtesy of Sarah Rios. The FBI fugitive recovery agent stood in the corner, talking to one of her bosses on her phone about the chance that the Bureau, and hence the taskforce, would be moving in on Morales soon, regardless of what the CIA wanted.
Three rings, hang up, one more ring and done. Three and one was their code.
Within thirty seconds, his caller ID lit up with Nelson’s call sign. “Yo, boss.” Nelson said when Cooper answered. “What’s up?”
“You sound like hell.” Cooper sipped coffee from his mug. His gut was already rebelling from his recent diet of coffee, coffee, and more coffee. “Agent Diaz making things difficult for you?”
“We’re laying low. Waiting for our opportunity to find the ledgers and look for the missiles. Don’t want Morales to suspect anything before the deal goes down on Sunday.”
Maybe the connection was bad. Cruz sounded off, his voice tight, even more controlled than usual. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Never better.”
Right. “Storm’s moving in.” He hated ending an op before they had what they needed, but being in a foreign country during a hurricane jeopardized Cruz and Diaz’s lives in ways Cooper couldn’t justify. “We may have to move up the timeline and have you pull out early anyway.”
Rios ended her call and strolled over to the table, listening to Cooper’s phone call.
“If we leave,” Cruz said, “it will ruin the chance to catch Kronos.”
“Cruz, if the hurricane hits land anywhere near you, the meeting will be postponed. Dupé and I both want you out and on this side of the border if that thing is going to get anywhere near Tijuana.”
There was a pause. “I’ve got no desire to ride out a hurricane, Coop, but they’re saying it won’t do much here. We should be okay.”
Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. Rios signaled him and shook her head. The CIA was not ready to call it quits on the op. “Not an option. Dupé says you have twelve hours, that’s it. He wants you and Diaz on a bus back to the States by nightfall. You feel me?”
A heavy sigh. “I’m getting tired of being jerked around by everyone not actually working this op. First you won’t give me the time I ask for, then you tell me to stay put. Now you’re ready to pull the plug again before I’ve got what we need. It’d be nice if you had some faith in me.”
The line went dead.
“He’s not pulling out, is he?” Thomas said from across the table where he was doing paperwork with Mitch Holton, showing him the ropes on Project Bliss.
“Hell, no,” Cooper said, pinching his nose again. “Bullheaded son-of-a-bitch.”
Ronni, on Cooper’s left, lifted her gaze from her phone where she was mapping out their next “bath salt” supplier. She was still wearing her pharmacy coat from her undercover job. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”
Not if Hurricane Olympia got hold of his shorts. But the damn storm would have to beat Cooper to the punch.
Thomas waved off Ronni’s concern. “He’s in more danger from Agent Diaz than Mother Nature.”
He and Holton shared a chuckle. Cooper didn’t think it was funny. His phone buzzed with a call. Dupé. “Yes, sir,” he answered.
The man sounded tired…and in a hurry. “Chica Bonita. Did Cruz get any info for us?”
“We pulled him off before he had a chance.”
“I’ve got an informant who claims girls are coming through there again. With papers. They look official, but aren’t. They’re forged. I want to know who is providing them and how.” Dupé went on to give him the few details he had. “Jump on this ASAP, but don’t pull Cruz off Diaz, got it?”
Which only left…him to find the forger. Great. Nothing like heading into a hurricane and a cartel business. “You got it, sir.”
Standing, he disconnected and grabbed the copies of the warrants. “Rios? You’re with me.”
“Where are you going?” Thomas said, sitting back in his chair.
“To get my agent and look into a new complication with Chica Bonita.” Cooper went for his jacket and started texting Celina, his live-in girlfriend, to let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner. “And, no, you’re not going. You, Holton, and Punto stay on Bliss.”
They all started talking at the same time. He ignored their arguments, heading out the door, Rios on his heels.
In the parking lot, he jumped into his SUV, checked that he had all of his ID’s and paperwork, and fired up the Exp
lorer. Rios climbed into the passenger seat.
“This is a delicate situation,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “We don’t want to blow their covers or scare Morales away.”
“Cruz doesn’t seem to comprehend the risk he’s taking by staying down there. Meantime, I can’t pull him off Diaz to find the source for some legit looking paperwork some illegals are crossing the border with.”
“I think he does understand the risks. Maybe you should give him a little while to think it through and call him back. Maybe he and Diaz can investigate this paperwork trail.”
Cooper eyed Rios. “Are you insinuating I’m not handling this situation correctly?”
Her smile was as soft as her voice. “No, sir. I’ve read up on Agent Cruz, however, and I do believe he’s quite capable of determining his risk accurately and deciding when it’s time to clear out. I also know if illegals are getting official-looking paperwork, an immigration officer with as many commendations in his folder like Agent Cruz will have a nose for finding the source.”
Cooper put the SUV in drive, but kept his foot on the brake. “He’s a bullheaded SOB and I can’t afford to lose him. I’m going to Tijuana, Agent Rios, in case he needs my help or I have to drag his ass back to the States so he doesn’t end up dead. And while I’m at it, I’ll track down the source of the forged paperwork. I’d like you to back me up, but if you don’t like the assignment, you’re free to return to your regular day job.”
She raised her hands in an act of surrender. “I wasn’t questioning the assignment, sir. I’m happy to accompany you and be on hand to arrest Morales if the opportunity presents itself.”
Better. He liked an agent who spoke her mind, but knew when to shut up and get the job done.
“Good.” Cooper took his foot off the brake. It was his turn to soften a little. “Glad you’re on board. Dupé appreciates your joining the taskforce again to help us out, and so do I. I never got the chance to properly thank you for helping save Celina’s life last year. You ever need anything, holler, okay?”