by Misty Evans
Breathless, she whispered. “I might let you tag along.”
He took his mouth to her, lips sucking, tongue stroking. Throwing her head back, she moaned, and in response, she heard a low, guttural growl come from his throat. It vibrated past his lips, registering deep inside her.
Moving rhythmically against his mouth, she loved the bite of his hands locked onto her hips, urging her on. Loved the way his tongue flicked at the top of her sex, then plunged deep, only to return to lick up and down again.
Over and over, he tortured her until his dominating lips and tongue did the trick. The kitchen titled on its axis again, but this time, she didn’t fight it. The hot rush of orgasm tore through her body, nearly lifting her out of the chair.
Mindless on the wave of desire, she let go, let Nelson ease her back so the chair supported her once more. Floating, floating, floating. Only here, in the aftereffects of his lovemaking, was she free.
Bliss. There was no other word for it. She didn’t want it to end.
As if reading her mind, and eager to please, his hands lifted her blouse, his wet mouth trailing kisses over her stomach, up to her breasts. “Let’s get this off,” he murmured against her skin as he tugged the blouse gently over her arms and head.
The next thing she knew, he was lifting her, turning her to bend her over the table. Her bra and panties went the way of the blouse, and only the skirt, shoved up around her waist, remained on her body.
Her breasts swung free as she braced her hands on the table and looked back. He’d ditched his pants, his erection proudly jutting toward her. His hands ran over her shoulder blades, around her sides, up to her breasts. Cupping each of them, he kissed the back of her neck, nibbling at the tendon running from neck to shoulder. A shudder ran down her spine.
He used his knee to spread her legs wider, whispering in her ear. “Just how much risk are you willing to take, Sophia? I want more than tonight. More than a dozen nights with you. Can you stand the heat?”
“God, yes,” she panted, dizzy with lust. “I can take anything you dish out, Agent Cruz.”
He entered her fast, making her cry out. Pumping into her, he made the table scoot forward on its legs—screech, screech, screeching across the floor. The bottles fell over, the plates scattered, the remnants of their dinner went flying.
Bracing against the onslaught, she pushed back, their bodies slapping together in perfect rhythm. Deeper, harder, faster, until her arms trembled from the weight of him, from the sheer mass of him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the corded muscles of his upper arms, the veins in his neck standing out. Saw his hair falling over his face as he watched himself pump into her.
The second orgasm hit with the ferocity of the Santa Anna winds, making her grip the edges of the table and shout his name. Her arms finally gave up the fight, succumbing to the force known as Nelson Cruz, and she slumped forward as he continued to punch into her, once, twice, three times, before he threw his head back, his nails digging into the flesh at her hips, and she felt him explode inside her.
The table stopped screeching. The world fell away once more, her vision going soft and fuzzy. Her hearing tuned out the sound of everything but Nelson’s breathing as he slumped over on top of her, his chest solid and warm against her back. She closed her eyes and smiled, her sweaty body stuck against the laminate, Nelson’s hard weight pinning her down.
In essence, Nelson had fed her, made love to her, and made sure the little girl she was desperate to save had a fighting chance tomorrow. What more could she ask?
She was about to drift off on that thought when the man in question pulled out of her, and carefully, gently, lifted her off the table and carried her to bed.
Chapter Twenty-three
Staring up at the night sky, Nelson listened to the sounds of nocturnal insects softly echoing through the trees. In the distance he heard an owl hoot. The image of Sophie, lying in the bed fast asleep after another round of lovemaking, had imprinted itself on his brain. He would never forget it. Never forget her.
No matter what happened tomorrow, she had ruined him for all other women.
Didn’t that thought make his sack tuck up.
It also made him smile, the feeling so deep, so absolute, it went all the way to the marrow in his bones. His cells vibrated at a higher, more alive frequency.
If his sister were here, she’d tell him not to screw it up, and two seconds later, she’d be hauling his ass to a jeweler to make him pick out a ring.
Damn, he was so gone.
He could imagine it though, this domestic life shit with Sophie. If things were different, if their careers were normal ones, they could make it work. Her cooking for him; him laying her out on the kitchen table like he’d done after dinner. Her wanting kids; him ready to take care of a big family.
The night was clear but another dousing of torrential rain was predicted. He leaned on the black SUV, savoring a few moments of twinkling stars and thoughts of engagement rings while waiting for that motherfucker Morales.
This had become the man’s game…making Nelson wait for him. As if he were passive-aggressively punishing Nelson for leaving Sophie alone and allowing Guido—Agent Blue—access to his compound.
Nelson didn’t need the punishment. He was still mentally beating himself up over his failure to find the cloning device as well as for leaving Sophie without his protection. If he could have physically beat himself up, he would have.
And he wouldn’t have blamed Morales if he’d taken a pot shot at him. Wouldn’t have stopped him. Might have even welcomed the pain.
But Rodrigo wasn’t a fighter. He’d probably never struck another man in his life. Even if he had been one to use his fists, he instinctively knew that initiating three rounds with Nelson would have ended badly for him, and Morales was all about protecting himself.
Nelson had learned in his lifetime that there were men who weren’t afraid to get in your face with their fists and there were men who preferred to keep things less personal, so they used guns or other men to take you down. He preferred the first; any man who came at him with fists would at least get a fair fight. He had no trouble going one-on-one.
Morales wasn’t that kind of man. He had no issue with killing you, but he preferred not to get his hands dirty.
Blue on the other hand… The awful bruise on Sophie’s face made Nelson want to hunt the CIA operative down tonight for real, and maybe he would. Give the man a taste of his own medicine. Nobody touches Sophie.
It was a ridiculous thought, but his heart and mind were in agreement. Yes, she was a trained federal agent with the capability of taking care of herself, but that didn’t matter. Underneath that tough exterior, she was a wounded woman who needed care and love. Not more of this shit.
How many more hours did he have left with her? He felt hope that she’d agreed to see him after the op was over, but she’d been talking out of lust, not commitment.
The thought wiped away his light mood. He’d always wanted more of her. Even after she’d stabbed him in the back. He’d tried with other women, tried to wipe her from his memories, but it hadn’t worked. One-night stands and relationships were both out because he compared every woman he hooked up with to her. She’d given him the ultimate screwing over—literally and figuratively—and sick bastard that he was, he only wanted more.
With her track record of changing her mind, he figured he had the rest of tonight and that was it. One last night, and here he was, spending it with a fucking cartel leader.
The man in question exited the side door of the mansion and made his way to the SUV. The driver was already inside and Nelson opened the door for Morales.
They drove off the grounds and towards town. Much of the night sky disappeared as the high rises of the city blotted it out.
“You have a plan, si?” Morales said from the backseat.
“Yes, sir. I’ll notify you as soon as I have any progress to report.”
Morales didn’t speak to him again as
the driver, who apparently was familiar with the poker night run, dropped Nelson off at a corner bar and drove off with Morales in tow.
The street corner smelled of stale beer and fried food. Women in tight spandex and ridiculous heels eyed him to see if he were hitting up.
The place was a hangout for Guido’s men. Nelson thought about going inside and seeing if he spotted the bastard, but before his fists led the way, a nearby vehicle flashed its lights at him.
Nelson strolled down the sidewalk, saw the passenger side window roll down. “Get in,” Agent Rios said.
He did, loading himself into the backseat.
Harris was driving. “Agent Diaz okay?”
“Except for the bruise on her face courtesy of Agent Blue.”
Harris pulled the black Ford away from the curb and started driving. “What happened?”
Nelson gave them the rundown. Rios had no expression that he could see when he told her and Harris he’d outed the CIA operative in order to throw suspicion off himself and Sophie.
“Your ass is going to be in deep shit, amigo,” Harris said. “Deeper than it already was.”
Fuck that. The CIA didn’t scare him. “There was only one way to keep our cover from being blown and that was it. Besides, Sophie says Blue wants the ledgers. That’s all he cares about. He would have gladly sacrificed her, and any other operative involved, to get them.”
“Speaking of,” Rios handed him the one she still had in her possession. A piece of paper was rubber banded to the front. “I cracked the code. It’s one the Russians used during the Cold War. The template is on that paper.”
“No shit?”
Her slight smile in the dashboard’s light was self-deprecating. “The CIA is definitely going to want to get their hands on those ledgers. But so is the Bureau, DEA, NSA, probably even the Department of Defense.”
Nelson felt like saying ‘no shit’ again. “Important intel I take it?”
“The Department of Justice will have a field day with the amount of detail, not just about the Morales cartel, but about every cartel and international drug dealer, terrorist, and human trafficker that Ciro Morales ever had contact with. He may have built an incredible drug empire, but he brokered just about every illegal commodity you can name at one time or another. He had ties with Russia, China, Cuba, you name it.”
“Was there anything about the girls who went through Chica Bonita in or around the summer of 2005?”
“I didn’t see anything about the CB operation in this ledger. Maybe it’s one of the others. Do you still have them?”
“Had to put ’em back. After Blue crashed the party, Morales told Sophie he wanted out. She was afraid he’d go to retrieve them and find them missing. That’s why I wanted you to bring this one to me so I could replace it. Luckily, Morales decided to hang around to have me take out Guido tonight.”
She scoffed. “Bad call on his part. Sneaking out in the middle of the night might have saved him a lot of prison time.”
“He’s one mixed up dude. Doesn’t want anything to do with the business, but seems to have stayed out of honor to his family. He’s planning to take his sister and head to Europe for a do-over.”
Harris made a right turn. The city lights zoomed by. “Too late. He only ran the cartel for a short time, but he’s the one who’s going to pay the price for everything his father did.”
“Any progress on keeping his little sister out of the goatfuck?”
“I’ve made some calls, but it takes time. Lot of hoops to jump through getting her into the US legally and into a supportive home.”
Time was the one thing he didn’t have. “I’ve got two, maybe three hours max before I need to report something to Morales. Where are we going?”
Rios turned to look at him over her shoulder again. “The bingo hall was a bust today, but I have another lead. A woman who claims she knows something about the underground railroad. I’m going to meet her now.”
“We’ll hang back,” Harris said. “Maybe canvas the Savages bar for a while. Most of them know you.” He glanced in the rearview at Nelson. “You can feel them out about Chica Bonita.”
He’d rather be home with his own chica bonita.
Just then, Harris’s cell phone buzzed. He answered while driving and pinned the thing between his ear and his beefy shoulder. “Yeah? Whatcha got?…Tonight? You’re sure.” A lengthy pause. “Shit, all right. We’ll check it out.”
He disconnected, slowed to stop behind a red Camaro at a stoplight and tossed the phone on top of the dash.
“What is it?” Nelson asked.
Harris looked over his shoulder and checked his mirrors before cranking the wheel right. “It’s show time.”
They were boxed in by cars. He wheeled into a parking lane and took the first turn, a couple horns blaring at him when he merged quite rudely into oncoming traffic. “The underground railroad is moving someone. Tonight.”
The loud ring of a phone woke Sophie from a sound sleep. She fumbled her hand around on the nightstand but couldn’t find it, slanted one eye open and saw it wasn’t there.
Rolling over, she noted Nelson was gone—poker night—and that the phone was nowhere in sight.
Brrrring.
Where was her damn phone?
Living room.
Scrambling, she fought the tangle of bed sheets around her body. Nelson had done a good job of tying her up, emotionally and physically, with his lovemaking. He’d been sweet and gentle the second time around.
Almost as if it were their last time.
Maybe it had been.
Sophie’s heart gave a lurch on top of the pounding it was doing thanks to being so rudely awaken. This is not the last time, she told herself. This is just the beginning for us.
She hoped.
Brrrring.
Her feet hit the floor and she pushed off the bed. What if it was Nelson? What if it was Wanda saying she’d found Lexie’s aunt?
The sheet was still wrapped around one ankle and as soon as she started to sprint, she went tumbling. “Oof!”
Her hands smacked the hardwood floor, knees following. She was naked, everything jiggling and giving a cry of alarm at the rough treatment. “Damn it!”
Quickly, she kicked off the sheet, gained her feet, and sprinted for the living room. Another ring split the air and the phone vibrated on the coffee table. She scooped it up without reading the ID and tapped the accept button. “Hello?”
“Tonight’s package refuses to go,” a woman said.
Yolanda.
Sophie rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Why?”
“She lost her amulets para suerte. Claims she’s not going without them.”
Another curse issued from Sophie’s lips. Rosalie and her damn lucky charms. “She has to go tonight.”
“I told her that. She refuses. What do you want me to do?”
Rosalie wasn’t a young girl. She wasn’t particularly in need of a new life in America. Yet, Sophie wanted her to have a chance. The chance her mother never had. “Is she there? Put her on the phone.”
“She left. Said to forget it.”
Crap. “Was she going back to her place?” Her place being a tent on the edge of town. Sophie had followed her there once, and that had been the thing to convince her to approach Rosalie and offer her a way out.
“No idea,” Yolanda said. “I have to go. There have been people asking around. A woman. I’m worried it is la policia. Time to lay low until you get back.”
“No, we have to find Rosalie and get her into the system tonight.”
Yolanda had a fierce determination to save young girls from a life on the streets, but part of her was scared of ending up there herself, or in prison. “I’m sorry. I cannot risk the whole operation for one person.”
Then what are we fighting for?
Sophie couldn’t blame her, though. Rosalie wasn’t their normal rescue and if she didn’t want to cooperate—would give up a life in America over a foolish lucky cha
rm—then they couldn’t force her to head north. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. You may have to continue the operation without me.”
A stunned silence followed. Then, “How will we get the papers?”
Sophie didn’t have an answer. Without Agent Blue, there were no papers for the lost girls.
There was no goodbye, no good luck, or take care. Yolanda simply sighed and disconnected.
The fact that Yolanda felt Sophie was abandoning her was all too clear.
Maybe I am.
Too many maybes.
Who was asking around about the underground railroad? Had to be Nelson’s boss.
How could she get Rosalie to cooperate? Sophie set down the phone and chewed a nail. Time was up. She’d take one shot at getting Rosalie to the handler tonight. If she refused, there was nothing else Sophie could do for her.
That thought stuck in her chest, pinching it. In her mind, she saw herself standing on that street corner, waiting for Angelique all those years ago. Waiting for her sister to show up so she could take her across the border and bring her to America to live with her.
Angelique hadn’t shown up. So typical of her, trying to show Sophie she was independent and didn’t need her.
Sophie had waited an hour. Called her repeatedly and got no answer. She’d worried obsessively for the next few days, checking with the police, combing the local hospitals, asking around the places Angelique had mentioned in her letters. No one had seen her.
And then Rosalie had found her. Without a word, the woman had handed Sophie a simple woven bracelet, the threads broken as if it had been ripped off Angel’s arm. Rosalie had told Sophie she’d seen Angelique outside the bingo hall, two men—two Savages—accosting her. Later, when Rosalie left the hall, she found the bracelet lying in the gutter.
She wouldn’t say more than that, but Sophie had followed the trail, going toe-to-toe with a few less-than-savory characters connected to the Savages who told her about Chica Bonita. About the Morales cartel. Sophie had done her best to track Angelique, but her trail was cold and Sophie wasn’t an agent yet. She was still at Berkeley on a full-ride scholarship with no family and no resources to fight a cartel.