Santerra's Sin: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Donna Kauffman

  For the first time in his life he felt a twinge of conscience. He never wasted energy on doubt. Never wasted time on wondering. That enabled him to have the necessary focus to complete the high-risk missions he undertook. He’d never questioned any assignment Del had given him. And while the nature of his business allowed a great deal of latitude in how he got the job done, he also never questioned the occasional parameters he was given.

  Until now.

  It felt wrong. Deep down wrong that both of these people he admired and respected were being deprived of ever knowing each other. Wrong that Blue wouldn’t have the chance to know her father, even to know he was alive.

  A pretty damn odd thing to feel, for a man who’d never known a single thing about any member of his family, dead or alive.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said finally, then let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “God knows it’s not like I haven’t misjudged people in the past.”

  She swung back around to Tiny. “Mind if I bum your trailer from you? I had a flat out by Stone Mesa.”

  Tiny sighed deeply and shook his head.

  Blue lifted her hand. “No more lectures today, okay? Just let me use the trailer. Dinner is on the house tonight.”

  He smiled. “Beer too?”

  Now Blue sighed, but she was smiling too. “You’re so loyal, Tiny. With friends like you—”

  “You get to keep your precious hog from getting sandblasted sitting out in the desert all night,” Tiny finished.

  She laughed. “True, true. For that alone I ought to offer you free meals for a week.” She eyed his belly. “But I won’t.”

  Tiny laughed and wrapped a big, meaty arm around Blue’s shoulder. Diego watched them stroll over to the trailer, absently rubbing his palm over his midriff.

  The situation had been defused better than he could have hoped for. Especially considering how big the potential for disaster had been.

  He had to get Blue back to the cantina, then get on the horn for an update. Jacounda had very definitely located Blue. It was only a matter of time before he sent in another team. He would never know how his team had been taken out or, more importantly, by whom. But he’d know now that Del was actively protecting Blue. The next team wouldn’t come in cocky and bold.

  Diego’s mind began to spin out the various possible scenarios and the corresponding actions he would have to take.

  The familiar process did nothing to ease the sudden ache in his chest.

  His palm shifted higher, absently seeking out the source of the pain. He looked at Blue, focused on her. The twinge sharpened.

  His whole life had been spent walking the perimeter around which others lived. Existing on the fringe was both mandatory to his occupation and a personal choice.

  So why did he suddenly feel left out?

  Blue dragged out a barstool and slumped onto it, leaning her elbows on the counter and resting her head on her fists. She was exhausted both in body and in mind. Her spirit, however, was strangely energized.

  She heard the clanging noises of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, where Diego was still cleaning up after an extraordinarily busy day and night.

  The source of her energy. She’d given up denying her fascination with her new cook. Of course, it wasn’t every day she found herself attracted to a man who might be trying to kill her.

  Her heart said no. Her head said maybe. She’d lost big the last time she’d followed her heart.

  She sighed, then took a long pull on the icy beer she’d grabbed from behind the bar. Again and again she’d gone over the day’s events, and all that had led up to them. At the time it had all made sense to her. No matter what her instincts told her, it was tough to believe she was in danger when things seemed normal.

  On the one hand, it was possible that Diego was somehow involved in whatever was going on. On the other hand, he might be just what he claimed. A cook.

  Besides, she didn’t even really know if anything was “going on.” She only had Leroy’s word on that.

  That and two men in a dark sedan. Another in a pickup truck.

  And then there was the knife. Or lack of one.

  She took another sip, then stilled suddenly, the beer still sitting on her tongue. Very slowly, casually, she straightened her spine and let the beer slide down her throat. She didn’t have to look in the mirror behind the bar to know she was no longer alone.

  Lord, but the man moved quietly. Yes, but that doesn’t make him a killer. Oh, shut up already! She wanted to put her hands over her ears and hum. Instead she met his gaze in the mirror. He stood about ten feet behind her. She lifted her bottle. “Beer?”

  The impact she felt in just looking at him had only increased, even with all her mental gymnastics. There was nothing overt about him, or how he looked at her. But when he made eye contact with her, it never failed to strike a chord deep within her.

  Eye contact was a tool few people understood or used. Blue had always known just how effective it could be. Her father had been a master at it. She’d been trying since she was five to copy it, and though she’d never matched him, she prided herself on her skill.

  But it had never been used on her. Not like this. She had no idea what he was after, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But she doubted he’d intended to elicit the response in her that he did.

  And he did. Did he ever.

  She had no idea how to react to that. How to protect herself. Yet she had no doubt that protection was necessary.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “You about done out here?”

  Blue almost smiled. She liked his quiet brand of concern. Not that he’d ever intimated that she needed it. Quite the opposite. He’d certainly never displayed any macho urges around her. Of any kind.

  She stifled the odd sting that brought, chiding herself for letting pride and ego get tangled up in an already too tangled web. Besides, she’d made that mistake already. And mistakes were fine, everyone made them. But she’d thought she was at least smart enough not to repeat them.

  She looked at him and knew she wasn’t going to be smart.

  She liked his checking on her. She liked his quiet voice. She liked the way he looked into her instead of at her.

  She liked having him in her personal space. She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

  “Oh, come on,” she said easily, almost too easily. The zing of risk only made her push harder. “Just one. You busted your rear tonight and I know how hot it gets back there.” He didn’t so much as move a muscle, yet she sensed his sudden edginess. She smiled. Maybe she affected him a teeny tiny bit after all.

  No, not smart at all. There was risk here.

  And fun. How long had it been since she’d taken any chances? Since she’d done anything the least bit dangerous?

  Since she’d had any fun?

  She caught his gaze and held on to it. He met her challenge easily. Another thrill raced down her spine. “On the house. Boss’s orders.”

  He paused for another endless moment, but she was in no hurry. She felt alive and aware. Had she ever been this much of either?

  He dipped his chin in a brief nod. It was all she could do not to let out a sigh of relief. He was staying. It wasn’t over yet. She got to continue to ride this wild new wave.

  She started to get up, but he motioned her down.

  “I can get it. You sit.” At her raised brow, he added, “I wasn’t the only one on my feet all night.”

  He’d already taken off his apron. He used his T-shirt to open the tall brown bottle. He stayed on the other side of the bar and leaned back against the register, crossing his ankles and resting his free arm across his stomach.

  Blue’s own stomach muscles tightened at the sexy picture he made. She avoided his gaze and looked back at her beer bottle. Then, rejecting the self-protective move, she looked at him.

  Empty, she decided. If eyes were truly windows to the soul … then this man had none.

  She tensed against the chill
that raced over her skin.

  Ignoring the sudden resurgence of her instincts, almost in defiance of them, she smiled at him. “Thank you for getting my bike.”

  He shrugged. The simple movement of shoulders made her pulse skip. How could she shiver and feel uncomfortably hot all at the same time? She traced the cool beads of moisture running down her beer bottle, and continued to look at him.

  “Tiny said you could pick it up tomorrow morning anytime.”

  She nodded. “Good, then I can get in my practice session.”

  “Practice?”

  “Pistol, rifle, shotgun. Up on Red Rock Mesa.”

  Had she said it on purpose? She didn’t know. Didn’t care. She watched him, wondering what she was offering. Wondering if he would take it.

  “Why?”

  Her fingers paused on the cold, wet glass. “Because there are natural targets up there and it doesn’t seem to disturb anything.” She didn’t know what she’d expected him to ask, but that one-word question was far more complicated than it seemed.

  “Why do you shoot at all?”

  He wasn’t going to let it go. “I was taught as a child, by my father. I seem to have a talent for it. And I enjoy it. The focus it requires helps me clear my head.” She laughed. “When I was young I even dreamed about being a biathlete. But I grew up in southern New Mexico. The skiing part was a bit tough to work on down there.”

  “There are other shooting sports.”

  Her smile faltered. Biathlete. Police detective. Her dreams had never been taken seriously. At best they’d been seen as unfeminine and unattainable; at worst, too foolish or dangerous. She didn’t share her dreams anymore, past or present. Until today.

  Only her father had listened and understood. Her father … and now Diego Santerra.

  “Yes, there are. But I was sparked by the challenge of the racing combined with the sharpshooting. I don’t discount the skill required for stationary target shooting, it just didn’t call to me.”

  Like you do. The words echoed in her brain so loudly, she spent a panicked second wondering if she’d voiced them out loud.

  He watched her steadily, his expression never changing.

  She wanted to sigh in relief, but there was none. The tension between them grew, tightening around her muscles, winding through her body until she had to work not to squirm with it.

  “Why didn’t you follow through?” he asked. “Skiing isn’t that far away, if you’d wanted it badly enough.” If he sensed her discomfort, he didn’t show it.

  She responded to the quiet challenge in his voice, even as she wondered if he’d done it purposely. “My parents divorced when I was seven. I didn’t see my father again until I was fifteen. We had only a brief time together, but we shared everything. He was killed shortly after that. Both my parents were.” He didn’t so much as blink, but she felt his focus on her as if it were a physical jab. Her voice faltered, then dropped to a whisper. “I sort of lost my drive for it after he was gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Blue.” His eyes were so empty, but his words caressed her.

  “Did you have a childhood dream you had to give up?” she asked, suddenly needing to know him. “Or one that you gave up on?”

  He slowly tilted the bottle to his lips and finished the beer in one long swallow. She watched his throat muscles work, intensely drawn to each minute movement.

  Finished, he straightened and set the bottle gently on the counter between them. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he continued to look at her.

  “I didn’t have a childhood,” he said. “I was never a child.”

  While she searched for the words to say to him, he moved out from behind the bar and went to the front door. What could she say to that?

  She watched mutely as he checked the locks on the front door and closed the blinds on the windows. He crossed behind the bar and picked up his bottle. “You done?”

  She stared dumbly at her beer for a second, still stunned by his bald declaration, then nodded. He took it by the rim, his fingers touching the glass her lips had dampened only seconds ago. Blue rubbed her hands along her biceps and forearms.

  “Lock up behind me.” He was at the door to the hallway when she found her voice.

  “Diego.”

  He stopped, but it was a moment before he turned to face her. “Yes?”

  There were simply no words for what she wanted to say to him, for the feelings he evoked in her. “You want to come shoot with me in the morning?”

  She’d surprised him.

  “Think about it,” she said quickly, not wanting an outright rejection. Not yet. “Tejo can get me to Tiny’s in the morning. I’ll probably leave from there around eight.”

  There was another brief silence. “I’ll take you to Tiny’s. But we can take the Jeep to the mesa.”

  “Taking the bike is half the fun. You can follow me if you want.” Her smile grew. “If you think you can.”

  “I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty,” was all he said. But it was enough. He nodded toward the door. “Follow me back so you can lock up behind me.”

  He paused by the kitchen to put the bottles in the out crate, then flicked off the light, pitching them in almost total darkness. The light from the bar area cast the hall in deep shadow.

  He turned to her at the door, his tall sturdy frame filling the space around them. This was the closest she’d been to him without a bar, desk, or gearshift between them.

  “Do you plan on working tonight?” He nodded at her partially open office door.

  Blue sighed in disgust. “I should. I’d planned on doing that this morning. But then Gerraro called, and well, you know the story from there. So much for making plans. I really should bag tomorrow morning and do it then, but …”

  “I know. You have to get out of here, have some time that is all yours. Clear your head.”

  “Exactly. Today’s excursion didn’t exactly accomplish that.” She smiled. “I need to shoot at something.”

  “I know that feeling.”

  Blue heard more than typical compassion in his tone. She hadn’t forgotten her suspicions, she just couldn’t make herself believe them.

  Couldn’t … or didn’t want to.

  “You sure you want me there?” he said. “I don’t want you to bring your business with you.”

  Suspicion dulled as excitement thrummed inside her. “I won’t be. I’d like you to come.”

  He didn’t move, yet it seemed as if he were closer somehow. He lifted his hand, and her entire body tightened at the expectation of his touch.

  But it never came.

  Had she just imagined it because she wanted so desperately to feel his touch? She was acutely aware of every inch of him. She felt his breath against her face.

  “I’d better get out of here and let you get some sleep then,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sleep. Bed. Diego. Until morning. Blue could no more stop the images that filtered into her brain than fly to the moon. “Yeah,” she finally managed, glad she got the word out at all.

  “You going to be okay? Did Gerraro say he’d keep an eye on the place tonight?”

  She almost laughed. He’d misread her reaction as fear. There was fear in her, but not of Leroy and his threats. She was afraid she was about to take a step that would take her outside of the closed circle she’d drawn around herself.

  “Yes, he did.” She took a step, almost closing the spare distance between them. “I’ll be just fine,” she said quietly. “I always am.”

  He didn’t say anything, and lifted his hand again. It was inches away from her face when he pulled back. She almost whimpered in frustration.

  “Good night, Blue.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, wishing she had the nerve to touch him first. “Night.”

  Diego pulled his Jeep into Blue’s parking lot the following morning and drove around back. He scanned the area, pausing briefly on the small mesa behind the cantina that had served as hi
s bed the night before. John had helped him keep surveillance, trading perimeter checks off and on during the night. Jacounda wouldn’t wait long before sending in another team. The trial had begun and Del was scheduled to testify within the week.

  He slid out of the truck just as the back door opened. Blue walked out looking like a female Rambo. She had a soft leather gun case slung over her shoulder, a hard rifle case in one hand, and a smaller pistol attaché in her other. Her hair was tied back in a long single braid, her eyes shaded with dark Ray • Bans. She had a webbed vest on over her army-tan T-shirt, several pockets bulging with shotgun shells and rifle ammo.

  “You carry all that on the bike?”

  She smiled. “Good morning to you too. And yes, I do.”

  “I bet you make quite a sight.” The understatement of the century. And more than he should have said. He’d agreed to accompany her because it made his job easier. The offer had come at precisely the right time. A gift he wouldn’t refuse. Couldn’t. Not with things tightening down. Going with her was a hell of a lot easier than tracking her unseen through the wide-open desert.

  None of which explained why he’d had to curl his fingers into fists to keep from touching her in that dark hallway the night before. Raging hormones didn’t fill in the blank either, though they were certainly all present and accounted for.

  This deep-centered need to protect her, to take her into his arms and shield her from any and all harm, that he hadn’t explained either.

  “I guess I do.” Her shrug made it clear she didn’t really care what she looked like or what anyone thought of her unusual hobby. “They strap on the back of the bike. I had Tiny make a special rack and bungee webbing.”

  “I’ll follow in the Jeep,” was all Diego allowed himself to say.

  She stowed her gear in the back of the Jeep, then turned to him and lowered her sunglasses halfway down her nose. “What, you don’t trust women drivers?”

  He felt blinded. Sunstruck. Her flash of white teeth was as bright as a high-noon sun, her voice velvety and soft like a dark desert night, her eyes blazing hot as the sands.

  “Not enough room.” Not nearly enough, he thought. Squeezing his body behind hers, wrapping himself around her … No, not smart. Definitely not smart.