Renegade with a Badge

by Claire King

  But it was more than an unwillingness to cause her any more physical pain that kept him from insisting she turn the boat south, to Cabo San Lucas. Rafe had fumed and seethed and paced, but he’d seen the perfect wisdom of her plan. She knew this coastline better than anyone he knew, Mexican or American, and the places she didn’t know from experience she could read in an instant.

  She ducked them into coves Rafe wouldn’t have noticed if he’d been looking right at them. When any other craft got too close, she maneuvered the little fishing boat behind rock outcroppings or into water Rafe thought far too shallow, or on the other side of sandspits, so that anyone who wanted to get too close would be beached. Rafe was wildly, annoyingly impressed.

  All the while she faced the wind and water with her chin up, muttering to herself, her bandaged arm forgotten. Rafe watched her like an overwrought brood hen for signs of fatigue, of pain, but as the hours ticked by and she outsmarted or outran every other boat on the water, she seemed to grow stronger, more confident. The color in her cheeks rose, and her eyes shone and danced.

  God, he was in love with her. Passionately, madly in love with her—with the emphasis on madly. How he could fall in love in three days when he’d never fallen in love once in nearly thirty years was a mystery he’d spend the rest of his life trying to figure out. But he loved her. His heart ached just looking at her, standing at the helm of the crappy little fishing boat as confidently and happily as if it were the Queen Mary and she were the monarch it was named after.

  He closed his eyes against the shot of misery that analogy invoked.

  She was royalty, in every way that counted. Born to better things than he could even imagine.

  She thought she was attracted to him, but he knew that was ridiculous. It was the danger and the excitement she’d responded to back in Cervantes’s bedroom and in the little sand cave—not the man. And no wonder; she’d probably been coddled all her life, kept carefully safe from men like him. Dangerous men, poor and beneath her. The first chance she had to go slumming, to experience that adrenaline burst of risk with a man entirely unsuitable, she didn’t even recognize it for what it was. She thought it was chemistry because chemistry was the only thing a scientist like her could conjure up to excuse her own reckless behavior.

  She didn’t know the difference.

  But he did.

  He loved her. He’d probably go through his life loving her. He’d marry some girl from the neighborhood and have a couple of kids and live out his life wondering every day where she was in the world, if she was happy and safe. If she loved someone else, someone appropriate. The thought of it made his throat close.

  Dusk fell, and Olivia had Manny pull out the spotlight used for night fishing and hook it to the boat’s battery. She didn’t like being this close to the coastline at night, but there was a risk on the open water, as well. It would be much easier for Cervantes to run them down on open water. Their small boat had more gumption than she would have guessed, she thought proudly, patting the steering wheel with some affection, but it could never outrun anything bigger than an inflatable with a good outboard motor. Better they take their chances with a spotlight and her memory of this part of the gulf’s rugged coast, where there were a thousand places a small boat could hide.

  Rafe was watching her, she could feel it. He’d been watching her all afternoon. She struggled not to rub at her eyes or stretch her back or yawn, knowing he’d take the first sign of fatigue as an excuse to make her stop. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to get as close to Pico Cupula tonight as possible. They could get fuel at the little village there in the morning, and then motor up to Aldea Viejo by Tuesday morning.

  She hoped.

  Olivia knew boats better than she knew almost anything else, and though this one was sound enough now, anything could happen before Tuesday, particularly if she continued to push it this hard. Which, obviously, she would.

  She had to get Rafael and Bobby to their rendezvous with that drug shipment on Tuesday. She had to.

  It had come to her sometime between the instant when she’d turned on the dock to see Ernesto Cervantes—a man who’d kissed her!—leveling that lethal-looking pistol at her, and the instant when she’d instinctively turned to Rafael to see that, as usual, he was hurtling himself to her rescue.

  She and Rafael had something together. Something strange and uncomfortable and risky, but something. More than she’d ever had with anyone else. And if putting Cervantes behind bars was the only thing standing in the way of figuring out what that “something” was, well, then, she’d use her considerable intellect and her significant skills to make sure that happened.

  Olivia tilted her chin to the bow of the boat, filled her lungs with sea air.

  “Come on, princesa,” Rafe said, coming up behind her. “That’s far enough. Find someplace to park this frigate for the night.”

  “I wanted to get a little closer to Pico Cupula tonight,” she argued.

  “You’ll miss it completely if you don’t wait for morning. We’ll end up in Rosarito.”

  Olivia laughed.

  Rafe shook his head ruefully. “Okay, now I know you’re tired. Pack it in. You’re laughing at my jokes.”

  She leaned back so their bodies touched, smiled when he stepped forward and pressed himself against her, covering her hands on the wheel with his.

  “That’s not so strange,” she murmured. “You’re a naturally happy person. I guess it’s rubbed off on my dour personality.”

  He rested his chin on her head. Couldn’t resist. “How’s your arm?”

  “Hurts. How’re your ribs?”

  “Sore.”

  “You shouldn’t have flopped down on top of me like a flounder. Probably cracked them again.”

  He nuzzled her neck. Couldn’t resist. “A flounder? I was saving your life, ingrate.”

  Olivia dropped her head back and closed her eyes. She rubbed her hair against him, catlike, loosening more strands of hair from her long braid. “Mmm. You’ve spent a lot of time doing that the past few days.”

  “And for my trouble you call me a flounder.”

  “Well, you said I had fat arms.”

  He lifted his head, looked at her pretty profile. “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did. You said that bullet went through my fat arms.”

  Rafe put his face back into the hollow of her throat. Simply could not resist. “You’re crazy. I would never say something like that. Even if it were true. I have three sisters. They beat that kind of honesty out of me by the time I was fifteen.”

  “You have three sisters?”

  “Yes.” He peered past her shoulder. “Are we turning?”

  “Just into a cove ahead. We can anchor there tonight. It’s inaccessible except by foot over the Sierra de la Gigantas. I don’t think Cervantes is up to forced march over the mountains, even if he knew we were here. Where do your sisters live?”

  “One’s married and lives in El Cajon, California. The other two are still at home.”

  “Home?”

  “In San Diego.”

  “I thought you and Bobby were Americans,” Olivia confirmed softly. “He uses more American slang than I do. You ought to talk to him about that. It’s bad for your cover.”

  Rafe stayed snuggled against her. Her skin was cool in the sea air, and he wanted to warm her. Warm himself.

  “We work for the Drug Enforcement Agency out of San Diego.”

  “A hometown boy,” Olivia mused. “What’s your last name? Maybe I know your family.”

  “It’s Camayo, but I don’t think you’d know my family. And you and I are not from the same hometown, Olivia,” Rafe said mildly, then added suddenly, “Do you see that—?”

  Olivia had known the rock was there, pushing out of the ocean like a whale snout, long before Manuel had spotlighted it. “Yes. That’s our mooring for tonight. The boat’s small enough that we’ll be almost completely hidden. We just have to get around it—” She pulled her lower
lip between her teeth in concentration. “Bobby, get the anchor, will you? We can’t tie off. I don’t want to scrape Manuel’s nice boat.”

  Bobby saluted her briskly and readied the anchor.

  “Okay. Drop it.”

  Olivia killed the engine and turned in Rafe’s arms. “We’ll need fuel first thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you have enough money?”

  He smiled. “You worry a lot about my finances, you know that?”

  “When I thought you were a drug dealer, I was worried about spending your ill-gotten gains. I do have my karma to think about, you know.”

  Rafe raised one dark brow. “Your karma?”

  “I subscribe to the idea of karmic debt.”

  “I’m sure two hundred years’ worth of your Catholic ancestors are rolling over in their graves right now.”

  She kissed him, grinning. “Maybe. You know, you have permanent frown lines in your forehead.”

  “I do? I didn’t three days ago. Olivia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does the fact that you’re letting me touch you mean you forgive me for lying to you? Because if this is a trap and you’re just luring me close so you can get a good shot at me, I should probably let you know you should try and stay away from the ribs. They need a couple days before anyone pounds on them again.”

  “No, I haven’t forgiven you. You haven’t even said you were sorry, as a matter of fact,” she pointed out. She rubbed her nose against his shirtfront. “I just can’t seem to resist you,” she admitted.

  “You know,” he said, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  “I’m tired of fighting it. I’ve been miserable. I don’t want to be miserable anymore.”

  Rafe took a deep breath. Apologizing was not something he did well. Not something he did often. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel ashamed of…what went on between us.”

  “I know.” She ignored the rustling of their other two shipmates as they scrambled below deck—looking through the galley for something to eat, she suspected. “I know you were just trying to keep Cervantes from finding out about your operation.”

  “It wasn’t only that. I knew if you got involved, it would be dangerous for you.”

  “That’s a pretty lame excuse, Rafael. I’ve been involved from the first minute I set eyes on you.”

  He pulled her close, taking care with her bandaged arm. “And I still don’t understand that,” he said softly.

  She snuggled closer. “Me, either. You’re surly and you sneer at me and I’m not usually attracted to men just because they’re good-looking.”

  Rafe grinned slowly, terribly pleased. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “And egotistical.”

  Rafe laughed. “I’m Latino, woman. Ego comes in the blood.”

  “I know. I have brothers. They think they’re gods.”

  Brothers. Rafe sobered instantly at the mention of her family. It was all well and good to stand with his arms wrapped around this woman in the sea air and the heavy darkness, but there was no use pretending for even a minute that she was anything other than what she was. A woman of family, a woman he could never win.

  He leaned back, looked into her eyes. “Olivia—”

  Olivia didn’t know what had put that solemn look on his handsome face, and she didn’t care. Not right now.

  “You know what?” she said, interrupting him abruptly. “Don’t say anything.” She went back into his arms, rested her cheek against his broad chest. “You’re just going to hurt my feelings again.”

  His hand went to her hair automatically, holding her to him. “I don’t hurt your feelings, do I?” he asked, surprised.

  Olivia laughed. “Well, I am getting used to princesa. I just tell myself it’s an endearment.”

  Rafe closed his eyes. “It is an endearment,” he whispered, knowing full well the peril to his vulnerable heart of such an admission.

  She looked up. “I know.”

  He shouldn’t have kissed her, he knew better than to do that. She’d go back to her life in a few days, back to a life that could never include him. Every kiss he took now would make it harder for him to live without her when she was gone.

  But her eyes shone and the boat rocked gently under them and he was so tired of battling against her. So he lowered his head ever so slowly and took her mouth.

  The kiss started out wonderfully soft. Really, just nothing more than a press of lips. Her mouth tasted slightly of sea spray, and he rubbed his against it to collect the salt. For minutes he did just that, content with just that. Pathetically grateful for no more than the feel of her tough little body in his arms and the beat of her heart against his chest.

  Then, to torment him, she angled her head so that her lips slid sensuously against his, opening fractionally, letting him in by increments. Her tongue came out after that slow opening, and licked at him. He felt dazed by the touch of that small tongue, drowsy with the slow, saturating lust that seeped into his cells. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel the nerve-stretching, low-level disquiet of being hunted by a criminal. He didn’t feel the anxiety of protecting the woman he loved. He didn’t feel consumed by the investigation or worried about tomorrow or even the ache of his bruised ribs.

  He just felt Olivia. In every pore and every muscle and every bone. She’d come in through his mouth and permeated his body. And he couldn’t even find the will anymore to remember how she would rip his heart out while she was in there.

  “I thought I’d imagined my initial reaction to your mouth,” she said against him. “It couldn’t have been this amazing.” She dove in for more.

  “Olivia, wait, Bobby and Manny—” he began, almost desperately.

  —were coming up on deck.

  Olivia and Rafe separated, jumping apart like randy teenagers caught groping by their parents.

  Olivia almost laughed. She was nearly thirty years old, a woman with a PhD and a position with the best oceanography institute in the world. She’d been chased, shoved headfirst into a scorpion cave and very recently shot at.

  She was damn well going to kiss anyone she pleased, she thought. She moved back toward Rafael.

  But then she caught sight of Manny carrying an armful of food, and she decided she’d damn well kiss any man she pleased after she ate something.

  “What did you find down there?” she asked, incredulous. She hadn’t been below deck since she got on this tug, but she wouldn’t have bet the boat that there was much more on board than old bait.

  “Dinner,” Manuel said proudly. “Crackers, olives and two cans of tuna.”

  “Wow,” Olivia said. “Tuna?”

  “Maybe the guys who own this boat aren’t very good fishermen,” Bobby commented, using his pocketknife to pry open the cans.

  “Did you find any tackle?” Rafe asked.

  “There’s some in the hold,” Manny said.

  “I think I’ll see if I can’t catch something a little fresher than that for dinner,” Rafe said. He went below.

  “But there’s no stove,” Manny shouted down to him. “Where’re you going to cook it?”

  Rafe came back up a moment later, a surf pole in his hand. He eased his gun from the waistband of his jeans and laid it next to Bobby. “Watch out,” he said. He looked toward the beach, then at Olivia. “How’s your arm?”

  Olivia smiled. “Pretty good.”

  He grinned back at her. “Then start swimming, princesa. You’ll have to schlep for wood while I fish.”

  Olivia burst out laughing as Rafe dived, fishing rod and all, overboard into the warm gulf waters. “Schlep?” she called after him. “Schlep?” She jumped overboard after him. She was still laughing as she surfaced. “Rafael Camayo, you watch too much American television.”

  Chapter 11

  The swim did them both good. It allowed Rafe’s arousal to subside sufficiently that he could
walk upright again, he thought wryly. And it got Olivia’s dress soaking wet, so that he could see the outline of her panties and the press of her nipples, rucked and stiff from the water, as she emerged from the surf.

  It was a petty little pleasure, as grown men went, he supposed. But he took full advantage of it, sneaking glances at her as he fumbled with the fishing rod.

  “Cold?” he asked, as she wrung out her hair.

  “A little,” she said, trying to ignore the terrible sting of saltwater through the bandage. “I’ll get some wood.” She walked up the beach a little ways, then stopped. “Oh, how are we going to start a fire without matches?”

  Rafe studiously chose a lure from the small box he’d tucked into his pocket. “Have a little faith. Smugglers are very resourceful.”

  Olivia frowned briefly at him, then wandered into the brush that rimmed the beach. In a short time, she’d gathered an armful of dead sagebrush and ironwood pieces. She dropped them next to Rafael, who was already slitting open the belly of a small fish on the sand.

  “I’m hungrier than that,” she commented.

  “You know, sometimes you have no common sense,” Rafe mumbled absently, scooping out fish guts with his thumb. “It’s like you see the bear, and you know the bear can eat you, but you antagonize it, anyway.”

  “Eat me?” Olivia asked innocently. “Is the bear going to eat me?”

  Rafe looked up, then, chuckling, shook his head. “There’s just something about being on a beach for you, isn’t there?”

  Olivia leaned over and hugged his neck. “There’s something about being on a beach with you,” she corrected rather rashly. She didn’t care. She was feeling rash. She was feeling relieved and rash and optimistic. She hadn’t kissed a criminal. Well, she had, but not the one that mattered. “So, what do you think about more kissing? Or are we going to cook that puny little fish, first?”

  “Actually, I’m going to start a fire first, then catch another puny little fish for your highness, then look at your arm.”

  “Then we can fool around?”

  Rafe laughed again. “Maybe,” he said, heaving the fish guts into the surf. “It depends on your arm.”