Eddie’s headache intensified, swelling against his skull. His cognizance threatened desertion. He closed his eyes and remained still, willing away the stinging sensation.
“LaCall?” Rio shook him with a gentle nudge. “LaCall, can you hear me?” Her words breathed out with a forlorn sigh.
Mischievousness curled Eddie’s mouth into a playful grin. He opened one eye. “What? No mouth-to-mouth?”
“Damn it, LaCall.” She dropped to the pavement, as if he’d called her a speck of nothing. A used spec of nothing. “I thought you were dead.”
Not exactly the response or reaction he’d expect from an ice queen, the label she’d acquired from their coworkers. Perhaps unfairly.
“Dead? Not quite. Thanks to you.”
Still immersed in a hazy state of cobwebbed consciousness, getting up was harder than Eddie expected. A sitting position was as far as he got before the pain thumping against his skull yanked his concentration elsewhere.
He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, as if skewing his mouth could stop the agony from escaping. His fingers slid through the sticky, wet substance trickling along the side of his head and he knew he’d been hit.
Rio’s fingertips skimmed over his injury. “You okay?” she asked. “Maybe you should go to the hospital.”
Hospital? Was it that bad? No, it couldn’t be. He was conscious and he was sitting up. Not well, but he was sitting.
Eddie rejected the idea with a dismissive nod. To prove himself, he pushed up from the ground. His mind wavered and his body followed. He settled back onto the sidewalk and cradled his head in one hand.
“That’s it.” She reached inside her tank top and pulled a cell phone from her cleavage. “You’re going to the hospital.”
“Come on, Laraquette, I’m telling you...all I need is a little mouth-to-mouth.” He let his quarrelsome laughter work its magic. With any luck, he’d ensnare her effortlessly. It would make his job so much easier in the long run. So long as he remembered it was all for the sake of his mission.
* * *
Eddie awakened in a hospital room that looked like it’d been decorated to resemble a hotel room. Spring green walls, flowery paintings and matching curtains failed to live up to the disguise’s potential. Machines and hospital gadgets still stuck out like a penny waiting for change.
Why am I still here? Wrapping his head around that was like trying to grab hold of a butterfly. Every time he got close, it flew away.
He let the thought go, in favor of, why was Rio camped out at his bedside. Her feet were propped up on the bed, and she was fully engrossed in a crosswords magazine. The puzzle on the page facing him was finished.
Finished. That meant she’d been at his side a long time. But why? Why was she playing the role of the dutiful partner? They’d only known each other a week. Everybody had an angle. He doubted Rio Laraquette was an exception.
She nibbled the pen’s cap, her green-eyed gaze glued to the magazine. Her face brightened with a smile. She tapped the pen against the page twice and propped the magazine on her thigh and began filling in the puzzle boxes.
He should let her know he’d awakened, but he didn’t want to startle her. Charming the girl was more conducive than frightening her. He could always clear his throat, but where was the fun in that? Teasing her seemed like a lot more fun. And it drove her nuts.
“I don’t trust anyone who does crosswords in ink.” He tried to pump humor into his voice.
She peered over the top of the magazine. “What’s your trouble with inkers?”
“They’re too sure of themselves.”
Rio’s feet slammed against the floor. “Well, it’s about time, LaCall.” An arched eyebrow indicated her amusement. “If you think you’re pawning off those Bellmore reports on me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Eddie chuckled. “This is definitely where I pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously, how’s your head?” Her words changed with her tone, growing softer. Consoling. “Not too much pain, I hope. Doc says you’re going to be fine.”
Again, not the actions of an ice queen. Eddie was nearing to the conclusion his colleagues were wrong about his new partner.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” he said. “Of course I’m going to be okay.” Obliging gratitude sedated his mood. “Thanks.”
“For...?”
“For kicking Bellmore’s ass.” He gave her props for single-handedly bringing the guy to his knees. And just in time, too. Otherwise, Eddie could be having a conversation with a totally different kind of being.
She tilted her head, as if shrugging off the importance of her actions. “All in a day’s work.”
“Well, if that’s routine, I definitely want us to remain partners.” He settled his gaze on her. “You know Dalton better than I do. Any chance he’ll make our assignment permanent?” A continued partnership with Rio couldn’t be as bad as everybody was saying.
“I’d say there’s a fair chance of that happening.” She leaned back in the chair and laid the crosswords magazine across her chest, folding her arms over it. She was good at evasiveness. “How do you like Vegas so far?” Her soft voice held all the innuendo he imagined.
He couldn’t resist. “Oh, I like Vegas a lot.”
A faint, sensual light passed between them. He felt it. By the look on her face, awkward reticence, she had too. She glanced away shyly, dragging her fingers through her hair. He wouldn’t mind tangling those red curls—
Eddie evicted that notion right away. Flirting with her, charming her into divulging information was one thing. But getting involved with her was not smart. Not even on a lustful level. Thinking about it probably wouldn’t hurt, but he couldn’t afford the distraction.
“What made you decide to leave Phoenix, anyway?” she asked, dragging his mind in another direction.
She’s good at diversion. A fine quality for a cop. Now, if he could only direct her away from her present line of questioning.
“I just needed a change of scenery.” He spoke the words, vague and illusive. He didn’t know any other way to explain his presence in Vegas. Somehow, he’d always known he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for in Phoenix.
“Well, I’ve got to run.” She stood and draped her hand over his in a wistful gesture. “I’ve got to get our reports done.” She backed away with a devastating, irresistible grin and moved toward the door.
He wished she wouldn’t tease him but since she had, two could play this game. “Mouth to mouth, Laraquette.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “If you look on the chart, I’m sure it’s there.”
“You’re so bad.” She giggled and pushed the door open with her backside. Tilting her head, she glanced at him with dreamy eyes.
“Yes, but you like it.”
She disappeared into the hallway and he continued to stare at the door. Thoughts of Rio Laraquette, his undisclosed mission, and how close he’d come to dying swirled together, tangling inside his head. Damned if it wasn’t enough to give a guy a headache.
He pushed the near-death experience out of his mind, preferring the other two, more pleasant, musings remain front and center.
Rio had earned her place, fondly and rightfully so, in his book of respect. After what she’d done for him, he hoped she wasn’t his target.
The door opened, pulling his ramblings away from the mission. Temporarily.
His coworker Chris Bradley stepped inside the room, and Eddie checked his surprise before it had the chance to crease his brow.
Bradley greeted him with a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you awake and alert. How are you feeling?”
“Restless,” Eddie said. Bradley backed into the same chair Rio had used. “My injury was nothing more than a flesh wound. I don’t know why I’m still here.”
“I’m sure you’ll get released in due time.” Settling into the chair, Bradley folded his arms across his chest. “Melody was released. Want me to find her
? Unofficially of course.”
“Melody?”
“The hooker that got you shot.”
“Nah, let’s put Melody on the backburner for now.” Eddie could think of a hundred different reasons to let the hooker think she was safe. She might prove useful later.
Right now, he was more troubled by Bradley’s presence at the hospital and his so-called concern. They weren’t friends. Eddie wasn’t friends with anybody here. Hell, he’d only been in town ten days. Nobody makes friends that fast.
Nevertheless, whatever Bradley was up to, Eddie would find out. In the meantime, he’d jump on the guy’s hook and reel him in close. “Did you see what Laraquette did?”
Bradley’s head jerked toward him. “What’d she do?” He was way too interested to suit Eddie.
“From out of nowhere, Bellmore had a gun in my face and she kicked his ass.” He relayed what inevitably sounded like a tall tale. “If she’d hesitated one second, he would’ve blown my head off.”
A smile, distant and lonely, crossed Bradley’s face and he relaxed. “Well, that’s Laraquette. She thinks quick on her feet.”
“Tell me about it.” Thoughts of what might have happened had she not reacted so swiftly knocked at Eddie’s mind. Again, he didn’t understand why nobody wanted to work with her. Hell, she was his hero. “It’s amazing how she did that. The whole thing was remarkable, surreal but remarkable.”
“Incredibility and Laraquette seem to go hand in hand these days.”
“How so?” Eddie gave him a lead in, always curious to know more about his new partner, the ever-elusive Rio Laraquette.
“She’d been investigating Turner Atkins for well over two years, relentlessly. Never gave up.” Bradley’s disdain for the Las Vegas mob boss seeped out in his voice, his gaze, his demeanor. “When she finally got inside his organization, he sent her up to Carson City to be part of some con he had going on. She ended up taking a bullet for one of his marks—” Bradley’s cell phone chimed, drawing his attention away from the story. He glanced at the device, studied it, then turned back to Eddie. “Duty calls. I’ve got to run.” He rose and extended his hand to Eddie. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Eddie didn’t pay much attention to Bradley’s departure. Instead, he let his thoughts wrap back around Rio Laraquette.
Law enforcement officials professed to uphold the “protect and serve” motto, but how many of them really meant it? Very few, as he was coming to learn. She actually proved it, and that elevated her in his eyes.
Every day it was something new. Either she delivered some awe-inspiring deed, or he’d hear some incredible story about her past exploits. He had to admit, he found Rio Laraquette utterly fascinating and puzzling and too good to be true.
* * *
Mission Impossible jingled on Eddie’s cell phone, pulling him out of a light slumber.
He’d fallen asleep. When did that happen?
The meds, he thought, waking. That’s why he’d fought against taking them. He didn’t like losing control to anything or anyone.
He reached for the phone on the nearby stand. A text message. He flipped up the phone and punched a couple of buttons to bring the message up on the screen.
That bitch is dead!
CHAPTER 2
A CREEPY air oozed through the back corridors of the Federal Building. Rio quickened her pace, hurrying through the empty halls toward the FVC offices, a division of the Treasury Department whose sole purpose was to investigate financial and violent crimes. The unit was often referred to as the FBI’s obstinate cousin and Rio Laraquette was the best operative in the unruly pack.
Sometimes she wished the unit was unofficial, off the record. That way she could elude the monotonous tasks of reports and paperwork—the part of the job she hated most.
Damn reports. If her new partner hadn’t gotten himself shot, she could’ve pawned them off on him. Damn Eddie LaCall. And damn her boss, Gabriel Dalton, for forcing her into this partnership farce.
She paused in the doorway. Making it to her desk meant facing mounds of paperwork. Hoping to postpone the inevitable, she scanned the office and considered several scenarios involving discussions with Chris Bradley or Paul Rivera. None of them stuck.
Attempting delay was useless, not to mention pointless. She was running out of excuses and should probably stop looking, substantiated by lunch at Red’s Grill. The food hadn’t set well, and left her with a heavy, weighted feeling. She forced the unpleasant experience out of her mind and plotted a mental course through the maze of desks. The quicker she got to hers, the sooner she could wrap up those reports.
The sight of Blake Switzer obstructing her path made her regroup and choose another route. Ever since she’d rejected his invitation to dinner a few weeks back, she’d felt uncomfortable in his presence. She’d told him she didn’t date anyone from work. A brilliant excuse, until Eddie LaCall entered the picture.
Damn. She was going to have to make a new rule. Or find a way to squelch the attraction to her new partner. The fact that she looked so much like her ancestor Maggie and Eddie looked so much like Maggie’s husband Tajan had to mean something—she just didn’t know what.
Rio’s longtime friend, Chris Bradley, approached with one of those looks he reserved for torturous teasing. She’d witnessed his banter before, but it had never been aimed in her direction. Until now. Did Chris know of her secret attraction to Eddie?
“Laraquette, it’s nice of you to join us.” That snarky smile suggested he did.
Rio felt a mortifying heat burning her cheeks.
The lump in her throat didn’t go down easily. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin, determined not to let Chris make her the butt of his joke.
She looked around for Switzer, hoping he hadn’t followed her. He hadn’t. Good.
Her elected path to her desk seemed farther away than ever. In her peripheral vision, Chris disappeared through the double doors. A fleeting interest in where he was going flittered through her mind. Dismissing it, she maneuvered toward her desk in the back left corner.
Rio gave Chris a brief inconsequential thought as she settled into her chair. Player that he was, he was probably off to seduce his next unsuspecting conquest. She’d been his target once, but had never seriously entertained the notion of them. He was cute and all, but she wasn’t going to be a notch on anybody’s belt.
Picking up the file labeled Bellmore Case, her brain veered off on a winding path toward her new partner. She snuck a casual peek at his empty desk.
His talent for organization annoyed her. When he’d waltzed into the department a couple of weeks ago, it must have taken him all of ten minutes to transfer the contents from a single box to the desk he’d been assigned, directly across from hers.
Rio laid down the Bellmore folder, scooped up a pencil and began tapping it on the desk. She wondered where Eddie was from originally, and why he looked so much like her ancestor. She doubted he was Washoe. The tribe was mainly contained to Northern Nevada. Then again, her mother had ventured away from the area. Someone in his lineage could’ve, too. She pushed aside the mystery of his heritage. It wasn’t really the issue.
The issue was her strong attraction to Eddie, and the fact that he looked way too much like her third-great-grandfather.
Eddie LaCall wasn’t exactly GQ material—then again, neither was Tajan. Even so, there was a fascinating quality about both of them. Eddie, like Tajan, was handsome in a rough, rugged, off-limits sort of way. The difference was, Eddie was alive and kicking. That in itself was a huge plus. Eddie’s long dark hair, which Rio had yet to see outside a ponytail, added to his allure. All he needed was a leather jacket and she’d proclaim him a bonafide ‘bad boy’. The epitome of a man a girl like her should never become involved with because it would only lead to heartbreak.
For a wild moment she envisioned what it might be like to take a guy like Eddie LaCall home to meet her father. Disaster. No other way to put it, total disaster.
&
nbsp; Don’t lose your cool, girl. Warning signals, soft as a whisper, breezed off her thoughts and cautioned her to keep a safe distance. “Lose your cool—” She coached herself out loud. “—and you’ll lose your head.” Or your heart. She’d do well to find a diversion to channel her attention.
Rio grabbed the stack of mail in her in-bin and began sifting through it. She paused, studying a standard white envelope. The lack of a return address aroused her curiosity. Although nothing out of the ordinary, something about it raised a red flag in her suspicious and authoritative mind.
Various scenarios fueled her imagination. She finally pushed them aside and opened the envelope, but nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside.
The anonymous letter looked like it had come straight out of some scandalous mystery novel, painstakingly cut and pasted from the pages of newspapers and magazines. It stated clearly and to the point: I’ve seen the crap you’re trying to pull. You need to be aware that you’re fighting a losing battle. Do yourself a favor and back off.
Panic rioted against her insides—for about half a millisecond. This had to be someone’s idea of a bad joke. Chris and Paul were always pranking somebody, but targeting Rio was gutsy. Everybody knew what a hothead she was, everybody except maybe Eddie LaCall.
She crumpled the paper, whipped the bottom desk drawer open and tossed it inside.
Diligence and newfound determination compelled her to open the Bellmore file and begin perusing the documents. Reeling in the gun runner had been easy. She hoped it would eventually lead to another solid connection to Turner Atkins.
But he was one slippery mobster, and the FVC Unit wasn’t taking any chances. Their objective was to assemble as much evidence as possible before Atkins’s trial, tentatively set for the end of summer.
“Rio.” Gabriel Dalton’s voice carried across the bullpen.
She looked up. Her boss—a compact, hard-bitten man—was leaning against the opened doorway to his office. He dipped his head, summoning her.
A quick confirming nod and she moved around the desk, tugging at her blouse. She closed the gap on the twenty or so feet between them.
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