by Debra Webb
He moaned, drawing her attention to his lips as he withdrew the chocolate-smeared spoon from his mouth. “You should rethink that strategy. The latest philosophy on the art of eating is that having dessert first is better.”
“Maybe for a guy who’s solid muscle.” She opened the glass door of the double fridge. “Not for a girl who has to watch every ounce of fat she eats settle on her hips and thighs.”
The salad fixings in the crisper drawer would work. She gathered the bag of greens, a basket of tomatoes and the vinaigrette dressing. She pushed the door closed with her hip.
“I don’t see anything wrong with your hips or your thighs.”
Eva looked from him to her lower anatomy. “I’ve come to appreciate how scrubs can cover a multitude of sins.”
“Somehow I doubt there are any sins to hide.” He shoveled another spoonful of chocolate-covered ice cream into his mouth. Chocolate dripped down his chin.
Looking away, she plopped her load on the counter and searched for a plate. As hard as she tried to focus on preparing her salad and ignoring him, her gaze kept shifting over to see if he’d swiped that chocolate from his chin.
Finally, when she couldn’t take it any longer, she grabbed a napkin and walked over to him, then held it out. “You have chocolate...on your chin.”
Rather than take the napkin he grabbed her hand—the one clasping the napkin—and swiped at his chin. The stubble there tickled her fingers and made her breath hitch.
“Did I get it?”
She drew her hand from the clutch of his long fingers. “Yes.”
Leaving the napkin on the counter in front of him, she walked back to her salad.
“I’m telling you—” she glanced back at him as he spoke “—I don’t see anything that’s not exactly right with those hips.”
She flashed a fake smile. “Thanks.”
Determined to pretend his words, his voice—his mere presence—were not turning her inside out, she placed the grape tomatoes atop the bed of Italian mixed greens and then added the dressing. As she twisted the top back on the bottle, she realized she needed something crunchy. Crackers, croutons. Something.
A bag of croutons landed on the counter next to her plate. Todd grinned. “You always liked some crunch with your salads.”
“Thanks.” Evidently they both remembered plenty about each other. But there was one thing she could not afford to forget. Todd Christian had stolen her heart and then he’d left it shattered on the doorstep when he walked away.
She had every confidence she could trust him completely with her life...but he could not be trusted in any capacity with her heart.
Chapter Six
7:30 p.m.
Eva pushed to her limit. The grinding whir of the treadmill was the only sound in the room. She’d explored the entire house and decided a walk outside would do her good. Except Todd had insisted on accompanying her if she was setting one foot outside the house.
She’d wanted to shake him and inform him that her goal was to get as far away from him as possible. But that attitude wouldn’t be conducive to cooperation.
A quick call to her friend Kim Levy had confirmed that they were shorthanded in the ER. Eva would use that as her first negotiating tactic. She doubted that particular tactic would carry much weight with her bodyguard, but it was a starting place. Then she had gone online and done extensive research on the True Disciples. She raised the incline on the treadmill and forced her exhausted body to comply. This well-equipped exercise room wasn’t the only amenity in the Colby safe house. There was an office with three computers and the fastest internet access speed she had ever encountered, making her search all the easier.
She had discovered that Miguel Robles had been arrested no less than a dozen times but not once had the police been able to make it stick. He and his followers were thought to be involved in drug trafficking and gun smuggling across the northern border. Numerous murders were attributed to their ranks. Occasionally one or more of the followers would end up with a rap they couldn’t escape. In each instance the gang member accepted his fate and never said a word. Deal after deal had been offered to lure in the “big fish” and not one of Robles’s followers had accepted.
The elder Robles was more than the average thug. He was smart and he surrounded himself with above-average intelligence when it came to the highest level within or affiliated with his organization. Everyone from his CPA and his personal physician to the lawyers who represented him were from the city’s most esteemed ranks. Just went to show what even an intelligent person with reasonable ethical standards would do for money.
Bottom line, she needed a better-than-average plan. An ordinary person like her couldn’t hope to win a battle against Miguel Robles unless she had something extraordinary to offer.
Like the woman responsible for the death of his only brother.
She slowed the track speed and lowered the incline. Five miles was plenty to clock, particularly since she hadn’t managed even a mile since last Friday. A few more minutes at a comfortable walk and her respiration was back to normal and she was ready to hit Stop. Eva grabbed her hand towel, patted her damp face and neck and headed for a shower. Maybe she would find an opening at dinner to discuss her concerns regarding her responsibilities at work. Other than her sister, her career was all she had. Though Dr. Pierce was onboard with her current dilemma, she doubted he would feel that way a month from now. He certainly wouldn’t want to bankroll her situation forever.
Dragging out the inevitable wasn’t going to alleviate this situation.
In the hall, she ran headlong into her bodyguard. She stumbled back in surprise, her fatigued muscles instantly reacting to the hard contours of his. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat to buy time to steady herself. “I was lost in thought.”
A bone-melting smile stretched across his lips. “Looks like you showed that treadmill who’s boss.”
“Ha, ha.” She dabbed at her forehead.
His gaze slid down her body, lingering on her legs before returning to her face. The fitted running leggings were a little too well fitted, but there hadn’t been anything else suitable for her workout in the provided wardrobe. The tank wasn’t much better. Far tinier and tighter than she felt comfortable wearing with him around. The running shoes were high-end, and her size, and inordinately comfortable. As long as she was stuck here with him, she intended to spend as much time in the gym as possible. Alone, preferably.
Yet, deep down she understood that all the workouts in the world would not stop this inevitability either if she remained holed up with him for too long.
If she was lucky she would be able to talk him into going along with her plan sooner rather than later.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“You made dinner?” She didn’t know why she was surprised. He made dinner for her often...before. She’d assumed that was only because he had his own apartment and she lived in the dorm. Preparing dinner at home for a date was certainly cheaper than taking her to a restaurant. All that aside, he’d been a decent cook.
“Don’t get excited,” he warned. “It’s only spaghetti.”
“As long as there’s a salad I’ll be in heaven.” At home and at work she popped more spaghetti dinners in the microwave than she would want to admit. It was the one surefire frozen entrée she could count on.
“Take your shower. I’ll put together a salad and some garlic bread and track down a bottle of wine.”
He flashed another of those charming smiles and goose bumps spread over her skin. She nodded and hurried to the stairs, putting distance between them as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. After finding Mrs. Cackowski murdered, the wine sounded like the best part of dinner. She could definitely use a glass to help her relax. But she had no desire to make herself even more vulnerable to Todd—especially alone with him.
Be
tween the hard run and the luxuriously long shower, she felt immensely better. It never ceased to amaze her how much working out helped adjust her outlook. Hopefully, that good, confident outlook would help with what she had to do next.
Todd was heaping sauce onto a bed of noodles on a plate when she walked into the kitchen. He glanced up. “Have a seat. I’ll serve.”
A memory flashed through her mind, making her step falter. The image of her naked on his dining table, warm spaghetti sauce slipping down her skin, over her breasts...followed by his tongue lapping up the spicy sauce. He’d come to the living room to drag her to the kitchen to eat. She’d been waiting for him—naked and ready for more than just dinner. Together they’d removed his clothes on the way back into the kitchen. They’d had sex and eaten and had sex again...and snacked off each other’s skin. He’d poured wine into her belly button and lapped it up, including the streams that slid well below her belly button.
Eva blinked away the memory and pressed onward to the table. This was not that table. This was not that house. Here and now was not who they once were.
He placed the loaded plate in front of her, then reached the wine bottle toward her glass and started to pour. “Say when.”
She snapped out of her haze and held up a hand. “That’s more than enough.”
When he’d moved away, she reached for the fork and the small salad bowl he’d left by her plate. She picked at the one thing on the menu that didn’t remind her of sex with Todd.
“Do you remember that time—”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze snapped to his.
He laughed as he filled his wine glass. “I haven’t told you which time I meant.”
She poked a forkful of greens into her mouth.
“We stood in line at that Italian restaurant in the pouring rain.” He laughed. “It had just opened and everyone said it was the best in the country.”
A laugh bubbled into her throat before she could stop it. She swallowed to prevent choking, then washed it down with a long gulp of wine. “I remember. I told you if it wasn’t the best bigoli pasta I’d ever eaten I was going to make you regret that forty-five-minute, soaked-to-the-bone wait.”
They both laughed for a minute but when their gazes locked, the laughter died. Their clothes had dripped onto the wood floor of the restaurant as they’d eaten. They’d laughed and stared directly into each other’s eyes through the entire meal and then they’d hurried home to make love. Eva exiled the memories and reached for her glass again. A long gulp of wine later, she told herself to slow down. She picked at her salad a little longer before moving on to the spaghetti. It certainly did not help that images from their previous spaghetti-eating escapes kept flashing in her head.
“Did you discover anything interesting about Miguel Robles?”
Her head came up at his question. How did he know? “You monitored my online activities?”
He ducked his head. “It’s my job. What kind of bodyguard would I be if I didn’t pay attention to what you’re doing?”
She wanted to be angry but couldn’t muster up the wherewithal. “I learned more than I wanted to know,” she confessed. She might as well say what was on her mind. “The police haven’t been able to stop him or even come close to trapping him. Whenever they close in on some charge, someone else always takes the fall—if there’s even a fall involved.”
“Robles is no fool.” Todd picked up his glass of water and downed a swallow.
Eva hadn’t noticed until then that he had scarcely touched his wine, reaching for the water goblet more often than not. She felt a little woozy. Clearly that was what she should have done. She’d intended to keep a clear head...but those damned memories had taken her by surprise and dragged her down a too-familiar path.
“So,” she set her fork aside, “what’s the plan from here? If the police don’t get him, and they haven’t shown any sign of success so far, what do we do?”
“We’ve got people working on finding a weak link.”
Eva wanted to believe that was good news but honestly she didn’t see how. “I’m thinking he’s the kind of man who either wins or he dies. No in between.”
* * *
TODD STARED AT her and this time he reached for his wine. He knew better than to have even one glass when he was on duty, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She’d wanted some distance—that part had been clear. So he’d left her alone and watched over her shoulder via the sophisticated camera system in the house. He’d watched her search the web for information about Robles. He’d watched the worry on her face, the way she gnawed on her bottom lip as she read the stories that all—every damned one—ended badly.
Then she’d decided on a workout. He’d almost lost his mind watching her supple body move in that formfitting outfit. Finding something to occupy his mind and his hands had been necessary. Somewhere in the back of his brain some neuron misfire had sent him down memory lane with an Italian menu. It wasn’t until she walked into the kitchen that he’d remembered dripping that sauce on her bare skin and licking it off. Sitting at this table for the past half hour and remembering what they had done on his table had driven him out of his mind. He was so damned hard that at the moment he might not be able to stand without embarrassing himself.
He shrugged in response to her statement. “He’s smart.”
“We’ve established that he’s smart,” she sniped. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?” She finished off her wine. “I can’t live like this forever. I have a career. I’m needed at the ER. They’re shorthanded today because I’m not there. And what about Lena? She’ll be coming home in a few days. How do we protect her from this insane man?”
“I see where you’re going with this.” He stood and grabbed his plate. He’d lost his appetite as well as his raging erection.
By the time he reached the sink she was right behind him with her own plate in hand. “Then you know there’s no other option. The police won’t be able to stop him. You can’t take down a bad guy without evidence. Their hands are tied. He’ll just allow some low man in the gang hierarchy to take the fall for Mrs. Cackowski’s murder—assuming his people can be tied to the scene. My sister, my friends—no one around me—will be safe until he is stopped. Mrs. Cackowski deserves justice.”
He took her plate from her hand and put it in the sink with his own, then strode back to the table. His frustration level was way out of control. “What makes you think the Colby Agency can do anything—besides provide protection—more than the police are already doing? More important, what is it you believe you can do?”
“That’s easy. The police want to charge him with one or more of his crimes. They want to prosecute him and see that he goes away for the rest of his life. We can help make that happen.”
Todd’s hands stilled on the bowl of sauce and the platter of pasta he’d intended to put away. His eyes fixed on hers. “You want to put yourself at risk.”
She nodded, the move stilted. “Whatever it takes.”
“Christ, Eva. You know we can’t do that.” He plopped the food back onto the table and set his hands on his hips. She was talking about sacrificing herself—sending a sheep to slaughter. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk that way again.”
“This is a war,” she reasoned. “In wartime a soldier does whatever necessary to stop the enemy, right? This is the same thing. We have to draw him out or he’ll just lay low and keep getting away with all manner of heinous crimes.”
He shook his head. “Even in wartime there are rules of engagement, and protecting every single soldier in the field is priority one.”
“If he isn’t stopped, he’ll just keep killing people. He won’t stop until someone kills him. Since we can’t exactly do that, we can at least help take him down.” He opened his mouth to argue and she held up a hand. “I will not sit back and risk my sister’s life or those of
my friends. If that’s what you expect—for me to do nothing and wait—then you can just take me home right now.”
Rather than argue with her, he picked up the food again and headed for the counter. Maybe the wine had gone to her head. She damned sure hadn’t eaten much today. He busied himself with putting the leftovers away and loading the dishwasher.
The problem was she was right. Miguel Robles would not stop until he’d accomplished his goal. That was his MO. He wasn’t the sort of man to walk away. Too much was riding on his ability to maintain a show of strength and power. The first sniff of weakness and his loyal disciples would eat him alive.
Eva watched him, her arms crossed over her chest, anger sparking in those green eyes of hers. “You know I’m right. All the police need is a decent opportunity to get to him. I can help make that happen. For Mrs. Cackowski.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
“Let me think about it.” The delay tactic likely wouldn’t buy him much time, but it was the best he could do at the moment. He hadn’t expected her to come out of the corner she found herself in wanting to dive into battle—at least not this early in the war.
Maybe she’d been right when she told him she wasn’t the same naive girl she’d been ten years ago. He sighed. Which only made him want her more.
Idiot.
“You have until morning,” she warned as she backed away from him. “FYI—tomorrow I’m going back to work. Hiding isn’t the answer.”
Chapter Seven
The Edge
Thursday, May 10, 10:00 a.m.
“Heart rate is 119. Respiration 39. BP is 90 over 60,” Eva reported, her voice carrying above the sound of the gurney’s wheels rolling as the EMT and paramedic pushed the patient through the emergency entry doors.
Dr. Arnold Reagan met them just inside. “Trauma room one,” he ordered.
Another nurse, Kim Levy, as well as a respiratory tech joined Eva in trauma room one, taking over the patient from the two paramedics who’d delivered the young girl via ambulance. Kim checked the patient’s airway and began the insertion of a trach tube.