by Tawny Weber
“They manipulated me. My business, my emotions, my life. What’s wrong with not wanting to be manipulated and pushed around?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live your own life and make your own choices. But, Mia, everyone manipulates. Everyone. Parents. Politicians. Even you.”
Her back stiff with insult, Mia opened her mouth, but before she could argue, her uncle waved his hand toward the villa.
“You coordinate events focused on romancing the wealthy, on tugging heartstrings and manipulating donations. Boiled down to the very basics, your entire job is based on manipulation.”
Mia started to argue, but then realized she couldn’t deny those very basics.
“It’s not the same,” she finally murmured. “I’m raising money for good causes. My oh-so-perfect family is always interfering because they think I’m not good enough, or my job isn’t big enough or that my choices aren’t right enough.”
“Mia, sweetheart, you’re so afraid of not measuring up to this imagined standard, you’re using this as an excuse to run away.”
“I am not.”
“But you are. You’re so determined to stand on your own that you push away anyone you perceive as strong enough to be your match, and you see efforts made on your behalf as manipulation instead of simple concern.” He gave her the same brow-arching stare her mother did. “Which, if this situation with Spence was just sex, is fine. But if it was more, if you cared for the man, those are sad reasons to throw away a shot at happiness.”
It wasn’t until he handed her his handkerchief that she realized she was crying.
“You need a drink of water,” her uncle murmured, giving her shoulder another pat before looking around. “It’ll just take me a moment to get it from the bar on the other patio.”
Since her throat was on fire, Mia nodded. As the sound of her uncle’s footsteps faded on tiles, she drew in a shaky breath, attempting to calm herself down.
“God, you’re pathetic.”
Mia peered through swollen eyes toward the night-drenched arch at the far end of the patio. She could barely make out a shadowed figure.
“Jessica?”
“I knew you had issues, Mia. But I had no clue just how many,” Jessica said, moving through the archway and into the light. “That’s a bummer, since I could have used them, too.”
“What?” Mia shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Before Jessica could explain, Uncle Luis’s bodyguard left his position next to the archway. Mia cringed, embarrassment washing over her. She’d been so involved in her meltdown, she’d forgotten that he was still there.
“You’ll need to go inside, ma’am,” Michelson said, crossing to Jessica’s side and gesturing her forward. “I’ll escort you.”
“No, thanks,” Jessica said, all friendly good cheer as she reached into the folds of her evening dress and pulled out a gun. Still smiling, she aimed it directly at Michelson’s head.
“How about you move instead?” she suggested, gesturing the man closer to the archway with her gun.
Hands raised in a gesture of peace and his eyes locked on the weapon, Michelson took two steps backward. As he did, a shadow moved in the dark.
Before Mia could yell a warning, the shadow swung a large object.
Michelson crumbled to the ground, a huge rock crashing on the tile next to him. As it shattered, Mia realized it wasn’t a rock; it was the head of one of the lion statues.
“Mia?”
Mia sucked in air but before she could yell to her uncle to stay away, Jessica swung the gun barrel toward her.
“Stop right there,” Jessica warned Luis when he stepped through the archway, a glass of water in hand.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” her uncle said, one hand in the air as he slowly set the glass on a table. “Ms. Alexander, is it? What seems to be the problem here? Did Mia raise your share of the rent?”
* * *
“One peep and I’ll shoot,” the blonde promised, including Uncle Luis in her smile.
Why hadn’t she listened to Spence? As furious with herself as she was terrified, Mia wanted to shriek.
“Why?” she asked instead, the words a barely discernible whisper.
“Why what? Why that?” Jessica gestured with the gun toward the man bleeding on the ground. “I’m leaving town tonight and really wanted to tell you a few things before I went. He was trying to stop me, so I stopped him.”
She glanced over her shoulder and gave a little laugh. “Or maybe I should say my lover stopped him.”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Oh, you know, just a few little things. Like how much I hate you. Little Miss Perfect, do-gooder and homecoming queen.”
“This is about high school?” Mia asked, more shocked by that than the gun.
“You ruined my streak. Three years running, I won every single award, every damned prize. Then you come along—all cutesy and quiet and perky—and screwed me over.” Jessica kept the rant going, accusing Mia of everything from cheating on her SATs to screwing the principal for the homecoming crown. While she bitched and whined and complained, Mia tried to sidle closer to the bushes while her uncle, one hand still in the air, checked Michelson’s pulse.
“Remember when you said that you wanted to meet my lover. Well, here he is,” Jessica purred as her rant wound down. She gestured toward the arch with glee. “Roberto Alcosta, this is my dear old friend, Mia Cade, and our special guest this evening, Senator Penz. Shoot them.”
Shoot them?
Oh, God.
Mia gave a silent moan as the man stepped out of the shadows, another gun at the ready and aimed directly at her uncle.
“Alcosta? You’re related to Santiago?”
“Ahh, you know my uncle.”
“You’re crazy. You won’t get away with this,” Luis claimed. “This place is crawling with security.”
“They’re a little busy at the moment,” Roberto said, his smile making Mia’s skin crawl. “The security personnel, they just received the blackmail notice explaining that this lovely party would go up in flames if the good senator didn’t transfer three million US dollars to a numbered account traceable to my uncle.”
“He really is blackmailing Uncle Luis?”
“You are so damned gullible.” Jessica’s laugh was razor sharp. “How are we supposed to blackmail a man who is lily white?”
“You set your own uncle up,” Uncle Luis realized, “You created a fake threat in order to distract my security team so you could get me alone?”
“You and Mia,” Jessica confirmed.
“Si,” Roberto agreed. “By the time those security fools finish dealing with Tío Santiago, I’ll be finished, too.”
Finished? Mia shivered. That sounded horribly ominous.
* * *
Spence watched Bertram instruct his team to man the exits, his expression a study of determination as he strode across the ballroom to where Alcosta held court with his crowd of rich friends.
“Is it wise to haul this guy out of his own benefit?” Spence shook his head. “The fallout is going to be a PR nightmare.”
To say nothing of what it was going to do to Mia.
“Nightmare or a grandstanding platform?” Adrian muttered, shaking his head. Spence figured that’s about as close as Lucas Adrian got to sneering.
While Alcosta shook off Bertram’s hand, Spence watched the man’s face. Shock and confusion were clear under the indignation. After a few moments of argument, he shoved his way through the avid and ever-growing crowd, Bertram hot on his heels. Since Alcosta headed for what he probably figured was a relatively private corner, there was clearly no concern about an escape attempt.
“It’s not him,” he murmured to Adrian. When the other man arched a brow,
he shook his head. “A tidy note with an easily traced account number delivered here? Now? It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Not even a little right,” Adrian agreed. But instead of taking charge, the man stood back and watched Spence with an eagle eye.
Fine.
Figuring the moves were his own, Spence strode across the room to get between Bertram and Alcosta. While the real-estate tycoon ranted at his back, he kept his voice low while addressing the chief of staff.
“Where’s Penz?” When Bertram hesitated, he shoved his face into the other man’s and asked louder this time, “Where is Penz?”
“It’d be easier to control the narrative if he wasn’t present when this went down, so I suggested he join his niece. Michelson said they’re talking on the east terrace,” Bertram finally said, resentment clear in his voice.
Sonuova bitch.
Shoving people out of his way, Spence ran through the terrace doors and into the dark. He flew down the path, through the night and toward the remote terrace. Halfway there, he heard voices and poured on more speed. His lungs burned as he aimed for the light. His brain registered the occupants, his mind noting two guns, both aimed at Mia. Both were on the far side of the patio, the patio between him and them.
“I think it’ll bother your uncle more to watch you bleed out, so you’ll go first. Time to say goodbye, señorita.”
Charged with terror-fueled adrenaline, Spence dove across the patio, aiming for Mia instead of the shooter. He had to protect her.
He heard the snick of the silencer, imagined he could see the trajectory of the bullet shimmer its way across the patio. Beat the shimmer, he ordered himself. Get there first.
Save Mia.
She gasped when he hit her body. Wrapping her in the protective shield of his arms, he curled himself around her and took them both to the ground.
Through the roaring in his head, he heard a loud crash.
The senator’s yell and Adrian’s calm words washed over the top of someone cussing in Spanish.
Spence ignored them.
“Mia,” he gasped, running frantic hands over her body, looking and feeling for the injury. Those velvet eyes were wide with shock, her breath coming in gasps. But he couldn’t find an injury.
But there was blood.
There was so much blood.
She was alive.
She’d be okay.
She had to be.
Mia still in his arms, he straightened into a sitting position. He shifted to pull her into his lap, determined to hold her tightly until he was sure the scene was secure.
But as he tried to lift her, his head did a fast 360, sending fire shooting through his veins to explode in his side.
He looked down.
Damn.
All that blood was his.
Mia paled when she saw his side. She sucked in a breath as if to scream, and then her gaze met his. He watched as, with that strength he loved so much, she chained down the hysteria, blew her breath back out and pressed a gentle hand against his shoulder.
“Lie back,” she murmured, gathering a few yards of her filmy skirt into a bundle. She bit her lip and then, with another deep breath, pressed the evening gown against his side.
“Harder,” he murmured. Things were going to get iffy if he lost much more blood. Her lips closed so tightly, they went white, and she pressed harder. As much to distract her as because he needed to know, Spence asked, “Is the scene secured?”
“Aegis is here,” Mia told him, her terrified gaze not leaving his face. “They’ve got it handled.”
Good. Spence tried to nod, but couldn’t move his head. Everything went hazy except Mia’s face.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, those huge eyes begging. Her breath wafted over his cheek, offering the only warmth he could feel. “Everything is going to be okay. Just stay with me.”
She continued talking, murmuring encouragement and nonsense until her words all blended together. Spence stopped trying to understand them and just drew comfort.
It might have been seconds, or maybe it was years, before someone besides Mia dropped down beside him. Spence tensed, forcing his eyes open. Despite Mia’s assurance, he had to make sure they were safe. Seeing the head of Aegis’s calm expression, he knew he could let go.
“Get an ambulance here, fast,” Adrian ordered, replacing Mia’s skirt with his wadded-up jacket to stanch the flow of blood. “Hang in there, Lloyd. We’ve got you.”
He didn’t know how long he lay there, the tiles turning to ice beneath him. He was dimly aware of voices, but the only one that registered was Mia’s.
“Lift,” two voices said in unison.
Then the world tilted.
He bit back a scream when a hideously vicious pain ripped through him.
The ground rattled like he was being dragged over gravel.
As the sky faded in and out, stars spinning in the distance, Spence heard someone say, “The man’s a freaking hero. He took that bullet for Senator Penz. Saved his life.”
Spence wasn’t sure if he said it or thought it, but his only response was, “Didn’t do it for Penz.”
Chapter 13
“Why is it taking so long? When will they let us know something?”
Something. Anything. Mia was desperate enough not to care which. In borrowed scrubs and her favorite Giuseppe Zanotti stilettos, she paced the ER’s worn linoleum, her soles sticky from wading in blood.
Spence’s blood.
Mia’s breath shuddered, lodging like shattered glass in her chest. She clenched her fists and then stared at her open palms, remembering the feel of Spence’s life pouring over them.
Because he’d saved her life.
He’d warned her. He’d been so sure an attack was imminent. She should have listened to him. But she’d been too busy wallowing in her own issues.
Now he was paying the price for her immaturity.
“Mia, sit,” her uncle urged, watching her with concerned eyes from the waiting area. “You’re going to wear yourself out.”
“I can’t sit.” She couldn’t stay still. She knew it was ridiculous, but she was sure that Spence wouldn’t be okay unless she kept moving. So she continued to pace.
She knew the others were there. She was dimly aware of them talking on the phone, of texting or conversing. Words like media frenzy, arrest and interviews filtered through the haze but didn’t slow her steps.
Every person in scrubs did, though.
But none of them stopped.
When Michelson joined them, his head bandaged and his expression sheepish, Mia offered a hug and sympathy, then went right back to her pacing.
After an hour, she was desperate to know something. Anything.
Edgy and tearfully desperate.
“Uncle Luis,” she pleaded, still pacing.
Instantly understanding, he rose and, stopping only to pat Mia on the shoulder, strode to the nurse’s station. A few minutes later, the surgery doors swung open. A woman so young that her scrubs looked like a Halloween costume on her stepped out, wearily lowering her mask while she spoke to the senator.
Mia wanted to run over, to hear what was going on for herself. But her legs froze. All she could do was stare, terror whispering in her ear, until her uncle returned. “They’re still operating. He lost a great deal of blood, and while there is damage to several internal organs, they are relatively confident the bullet missed the spinal cord,” he said, taking both of her hands in his, gripping tighter when she swayed. Looking into her eyes with his patented confidence and encouragement, he continued, “They are guardedly optimistic. He’s young, strong and because of his military training, he has a powerful constitution. He was brought in quickly, and he’s with an excellent surgeon.”
Guardedly optimistic? Damaged organs? That was it? Mia searched her u
ncle’s face for hints that there was more, but she could see he’d told her everything.
The weight of the night hit her with a resounding crash, sending little black dots spinning in front of her eyes and buckling her knees.
Moving fast, her uncle grabbed her around the waist before she went down.
“Sit, sweetheart.” He called for cold water as he led her to the row of chairs. Cheeks on fire, eyes burning, Mia let him guide her into the seat, then curled into a ball with her arms around her legs so she could rest her face on her knees.
She couldn’t stop the tears.
“Drink this so you don’t dehydrate.”
Not bothering to lift her head, she simply shifted it to one side. A large hand held out a bottle of water that was so chilled, she could see condensation beading the sides. It was only the rough scratchiness of her throat that motivated her to dig deep enough for the energy to straighten and take the bottle.
She studied the man next to her as she gulped down water. Like her, Lucas had arrived at the hospital splattered with blood. Apparently he’d actually found real clothes, though, since his shirt was once again a pristine white and his jeans spotless.
“He’s going to be fine,” Lucas said, once she’d lowered the bottle. “The wound will slow him down, but I know men like Lloyd. Nothing will stop him for long.”
Mia tried a smile. It wobbled at the edges, but it was the best she could do.
“Did you serve with Spence when you were a SEAL?”
“We didn’t serve together, but I know him by reputation. He’s a good man. One I’d be proud to work with.”
It seemed like there was some significance in those words, but before Mia could ask, the far doors were flung open with hurricane force. Orderlies and nurses scattered, getting out of the way of the man rolling into the ER.
Six-four with a burly build and a steel-gray hair, he looked like he could face down a storm and win. His creased features and overpowering personality said he made a habit of it.
In uniform or out, Admiral Theodore Cade made an impression.
“Daddy,” she cried, leaping to her feet to rush so fast across the room that she almost fell into his arms.