A Dangerous Engagement

by Candace Irvin

  "More comfortable for whom? You?"

  He shrugged. "And you."

  Her smooth brow notched in the flickering light. "Perhaps. But there's more to a room than comfort. There's also belonging. Sometimes the latter can outweigh the benefits of the former."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning I may not be comfortable, but I belong here."

  The hell she did. She might have been raised in this dreary room, but she didn't belong here. She was in a class by herself. He suspected she always had been. She was also off tonight and it wasn't just the cryptic comments. It was her mood. It was almost…melancholy. His first instinct had been to chalk it up to the pills. Unfortunately, he couldn't verify it from this far away. Not in candlelight. But there was something else, too. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Eve Paris? Had Anna's meeting with her friend shifted an unwanted magnifying glass over her own troubles? Or was she still in mourning? They had to have discussed the friend who'd died in the crash. He shoved the compassion aside and forced himself to concentrate on his mission.

  The rifle. That's what he needed to focus on.

  "So…where's Pepe?"

  That helped.

  "Last time I checked? Sleeping."

  "What did you do to him?" This time she didn't even bother disguising her pique or her worry as she straightened, though he did note she was careful to keep a hand on the wall.

  Disappointment seared in.

  "Relax." He shrugged. "The ape stepped on a banana peel, that's all. He'll be up and pounding his chest by morning. Couple days at the outside." As soon as his eardrums healed. As for the gorilla's hearing? That was between Pepe and his doctor. "Why the worry? Unless you're sweet on him, too?"

  "My relationship with Pepe is none of your business."

  Ouch. The lady had a temper when high. She'd also revealed an unexpected weakness. Interesting. "It is if I'm reading the vibes in this room correctly." He paused to let the dig sink in, then pushed off the wall. He took a step into the room and caught her subtle but corresponding shift away from him. She'd all but sealed herself to the wall. "I am, aren't I?" Silence. Why not? Might as well get it out into the open now. "You know darn well I followed you today. I admit, you had me stumped for a while. Reservations for two in the city's premiere honeymoon suite? Lucky for you there was a cancellation. Did you arrange that, too—or did Luis?"

  "Luis."

  "Ah, the devoted primo. I wonder what your cousin would think if he knew—"

  She stiffened. "He gave me the crate of rifles. The pilot's name. Do you really think I could have pulled off today without him?"

  No. But the confirmation was nice. Not that it raised the bastard in his estimation at all. Not when he knew what Luis had demanded from this woman in return. Tonight. Tom forced his bile down. "Pretty high price to pay, wouldn't you say? Even for an old college chum?"

  "She has no one else."

  That stark statement revealed more than she intended. It also confirmed his suspicions. Anna truly believed she also had no one else. Given her cousin's warped "devotion," it wasn't hard to figure out why. Compassion bit in again. Only this time, something else came with it. Rage. The source of which was something he didn't want to acknowledge, much less feel. He shoved it and the fury aside and forced himself to stick to the plan. He had to. Much as it turned his stomach, he'd have to force her hand. Now, or tomorrow.

  It was up to her.

  She beat him to it. "So now what? Is this where you threaten to interfere with the plans I've set into motion, knowing Luis would turn on you if you did? And what about Captain Bishop? Don't pretend you don't know him. You were there, remember? You saw me dine with him. And I saw him when he saw you. You were both SF. I've heard that's thicker than blood or marriage. You'd violate that?"

  "Why not? You think you're the only one who can sell someone out—for whatever reason? As for Bishop? Yeah, I know him. Even worked with him a few years back. The man's a complete ass, not to mention he's got the morals of a priest. We used to call him the Pope behind his back. Hell, he's still so trusting he actually confirmed your plans in the alley. I figure Bishop deserves whatever he's got coming." He forged a grin and nailed it to his lips. "So do I. We both know I need the money. I'm sure I could interest the Córdobans in your plans. I imagine they'd pay a lot more than Luis."

  "You won't."

  He laughed at that. "You really think you've got me pegged, don't you?"

  "No. But I do know you're desperate to keep your hooks into Luis. Even if it means putting up with me." Her assessment didn't surprise him, but her candor did. As did the brief glimpse of self-loathing woven inside it. In fact, that she'd let that slip surprised him more. It also verified his suspicions. He no longer needed a clear shot of her pupils to know she'd taken a fresh hit before he'd arrived. The second fissure in her ever-vigilant guard confirmed it. It pissed him off to know she'd needed a fix to contemplate sex with him.

  It also stung like hell. It shouldn't have, but it did.

  He shifted his jacket against his shoulder, cursing the shadows between them. "Are you honestly willing to trade yourself?"

  "Do you honestly even care?"

  Yes. He forced a shrug. "Perhaps. But what about you? What would you get in return for this…"

  "Dessert?"

  "Gift."

  He'd surprised her. Maybe even stunned her. With the shadows and that regal facade now working overtime, he couldn't be sure how much. It didn't matter. She wasn't dessert. And she sure as hell wasn't like the woman she'd sent over. No matter what her cousin thought. From the slim number of relationships he'd been able to pin down in her past, it wasn't how she saw herself either. Not when she was away from here. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get her out of here. He slung his jacket over his arm and held out a hand as he stepped closer. "Let's go."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because the game's over."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Don't you get it? Or did you take one too many of those pills? I'm not playing anymore." He couldn't. Not here. If she wasn't leaving, fine. He'd go without her. He'd wait and call her bluff in the morning if he had to. But he was not doing this. He spun around and stalked to the door.

  "Seventy-two hours."

  He froze. Turned.

  She nodded. "You asked what I wanted in return. Seventy-two hours." She was serious.

  He knew why. Seventy-two hours would take them into late Saturday, early Sunday. Long enough for Bishop and her sorority sister to return to the crash site, photograph every inch of it and get back out. Unfortunately, seventy-two hours would also take them past the Carnaval coronation. "No."

  "Fine."

  He stared through the flickering light, certain he'd misheard. "That's it? Fine?"

  She crossed her arms. For a moment he suspected the motion had caused her to become dizzy, but then it was gone. Probably because she propped her spine back against the wall. There was no hint of wavering now, in her stance or in her voice. "Why not? I'll just tell Luis. I'll ask him to hold you until they get out. Trust me, he will. If he doesn't remove your windpipe and drop what's left of you in the Canal first. And don't even bother renewing your threats from this morning. You can't prove anything. You don't have the rifle and you don't have the vial of pills. I do. But I can guarantee you, I won't have either one of them by the time you see Luis."

  He had to admit he was impressed. The tactic might have worked too. If he hadn't anticipated it.

  He took his time, carefully shaking out his suit jacket before he slipped his hand inside the inner pocket. He withdrew the stack of three-by-fives he'd printed in Juju's office at the Iguana before heading over, and held them out.

  "What's that?"

  It was dim. "Them. I guess I forgot to mention I had a camera with me this morning. I confess, I wanted to make sure they came out. I'm happy to report, they did." Not enough for him to use the pictures against her cousin, but enough for him to use them against her. H
e'd take his bitter victory where he could. When she refused to step forward and take the photos, he flipped through the stack for her. "Now, due to the angle I was shooting from, I did have a hard time getting the rifle's stock in. But I got several excellent shots of you and the barrel as you secured it to the spare. Oh, and here's a great shot of the license plate on your Blazer."

  "Damn you."

  "Oh no, honey, you did that all by yourself. I'm just the guy making you live with the consequences. My original promise stands. You have until oh-seven-hundred tomorrow to show up at my hotel with the rifle and the pills. Or I hand over the pictures to Luis. Your choice."

  Silence.

  He really hadn't expected a response. He tucked the photos back into his inner jacket pocket and slung the coat over his right shoulder as he turned to finish doing what he should have done a while ago. Leave.

  "Mr. Wild—Tom."

  He froze. And it wasn't because he'd heard his name on her lips for the first time, low and husky, exactly how it had sounded during the fantasy that had invaded his power nap that afternoon. As well as his dreams the night before. It was the zip. The one at the back of her dress. She drew it down slowly, so slowly he swore he could hear each and every tiny, plastic tooth scrape against his ears, feel each individual rasp as the ensuing vibrations took up residence in his belly before quivering straight down into his groin. He closed his eyes against the whispered invitation and held firm.

  Don't do it, buddy. Don't turn around.

  He just might have made it, might have held firm, had it not been for the delicate sigh of sliding silk and the soft plop that followed as her dress settled on the floor. He had to know. He turned…and damned near died at the sight that greeted him. Sweet Mother in paradise. Within seconds, his brain had fogged. His mouth actually watered.

  His entire body begged.

  It was everything he could do to keep his feet welded to the floor and not vault across the ten feet of cold concrete separating them. Because that concrete was the only thing in his entire world that wasn't on fire. The icy veneer he'd come to dread had shattered. In its place stood a living, breathing, glistening vision of sultry, candlelit perfection. The owner of those understated linen dresses that had been flitting through his dreams these past few nights was now clothed in nothing more than a set of two-inch leather heels, a pair of barely there black lace panties and a matching, mesmerizing, damned near see-through bra that all but strained against the bounty inside it.

  And what bounty it was.

  Every toned, dusky inch shimmered in the flickering light. Calling to him, pleading with him to reach out and touch. To linger, savor. Heaven help him, he wanted to. He wanted to tease his fingertips over the honeyed swells spilling up from the top of her bra, to smooth his palms down the satiny expanse of her belly, to dip his tongue into the slight pucker in the center and taste. His arms damned near ached to envelop her; his legs clamored to step out so that he could step back into the fiery blaze that had consumed the two of them in that darkened alcove outside the Iguana—

  Until she swayed.

  She didn't sway by much. Just enough for the rest to pierce his haze. He watched her limbs begin to tremble as she struggled to maintain her poise without the wall pressing against her back, supporting her. He caught the palpable distance that entered her eyes as she focused not on him but somewhere far beyond him. Somewhere he'd never been and never wanted to be. And then the glaze set in. That selfish, placid I don't care, so why should you? glaze. The one he hated more than all the pills on the planet combined. Reality crashed in, leaving him colder than he'd been in years.

  Somehow, he managed to smile.

  Even nod. Speak. "Thanks, but I'll pass. Not only don't I pay for it, I make a point never to sleep with a woman who won't remember what happened the next morning."

  She swayed again, this time noticeably.

  She also nodded. "That's probably good…because I think I'm going to be sick." When she swayed a third time, he knew she was going down for the count. Tom shot across the room, catching her as she collapsed. He pulled her into his arms, dragging her across his lap as his knees hit the cement. He didn't think, he simply reacted, instinctively racing through the mental checklist that had been engraved inside his brain since he was nine years old. Body temp? Cold, clammy. Breathing? Definitely depressed. He shoved the cloud of hair from her cheeks with one hand as he seized the closest candle with the other, praying as he hauled it closer to shine the flame beside her eyes.

  Just dilated. Please, God, just dilated.

  Her pupils were constricted. And she'd passed out.

  Oh, Jesus. No! He pressed his fingers into her carotid artery and willed his thundering heart to slow so he could gage her pulse. By some miracle it did—until he got a read on hers—and then his shot clear off the scale. While he'd been busy ogling her, the bulk of the pills she'd taken had been slamming into her bloodstream. He forced the panic down and slapped her cheeks, relief searing in as the third sting brought her around. "Anna, talk to me! How many did you take?"

  "Don't. Tired. So…tired."

  He shook her as her eyelids drifted back down—hard. "Don't you dare leave me, woman! Answer me! How many?"

  Nothing.

  No! All the times he'd raced into his apartment growing up only to find his mother passed out, stoned out of her gourd, crashed in. His mother's coffin locked in next. Then Gayle's—the one he hadn't even tried to prevent. He grabbed Anna by the shoulders and shook her again, violently. "Dammit, Anna, answer me! How many pills did you take?" Her sleepy protest managed to pierce his panic long enough to kick his checklist into high gear. Tom hauled her to her feet, pulling her along with him as he grabbed the encrypted cell phone from his trouser waistband. He punched out the only number he could risk dialing, half dragging, half shoving her into a sleepy, stumbling walk as he paced through the first two rings.

  Juju picked up on the third.

  "I think she's OD'd on me, man."

  "What? Who—Anna?"

  "Yes, Anna! Who else would I be calling about?"

  "Calm down, amigo. Calm down. Take it slow."

  That was just it, he couldn't. For the first time in his life, he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even slow his own ragged breaths long enough to double-check her excruciatingly shallow puffs. "Hold on." He shifted the phone to his left ear and bent down to yank off her heels. She protested again as he forced her to rely on more of her flagging strength during the next trek across the room. "Come on, baby. Keep moving. You've got to keep moving." It was the only way to keep the blood pumping through her limbs and excrete the drugs from her system.

  "What's her respiration?"

  "Twelve. Her pulse is forty."

  "Good."

  He swung them around as they reached the end of the room, glaring into the taunting, flickering light from those stupid candles. Light so poor he hadn't had a clue when Anna had stripped that she had no idea what she'd been doing. She'd been too far gone. "That's not good, that's bad."

  "I know. But she hasn't bottomed out yet, has she? And that is very good. Where are you?"

  "Curundú. I took a cab. So did she."

  "Okay. I have connections. I can get an ambulance—"

  "No. No ambulance." Ambulances meant hospitals. The same hospitals her cousin had been in and out of growing up due to diabetes. "She could be recognized. Come get us."

  "You can't take her home."

  "I know." He was scared to death, not stupid. But he couldn't take her to his hotel either. He'd seen the look that had passed between the doorman and Pepe when he'd got out of the limo that morning. Curse Luis and his spies. There was a couch in Juju's office. Privacy. "Can I come to the club?"

  "Absolutely. I'm on my way."

  "Thanks. I'll need a stethoscope, a vial of Narcan and a syringe to inject it, just in case."

  "Already gotcha covered, amigo. I'll bring 'em with."

  He did not want to know. Tom severed the call, sho
ving the phone in his pocket as he reached Anna's crumpled dress. Her purse lay beside it. The vial. It had to be in there.

  She protested as he propped her up against the wall.

  "Just a sec, honey. I've got to get your pills."

  "No."

  He knocked her flailing hands away. "Dammit, this is serious. I've got to find out how many you took." He grabbed her purse and dumped out her wallet, her keys and her own cell phone as he searched for the latch on the hidden compartment he'd stumbled across the night before. There. He shoved his hand past the compact three-inch switchblade he'd noted the night before, relief blistering in as his fingers closed around the vial. To his shock, her fingers closed over his as he jerked the bottle of pills from her purse.

  "I took…three. No, four. I th-think."

  "Which is it?" As if he could even trust her memory at this point. Not with her speech beginning to slur.

  "Four. D-definitely four. Two on time…then…two more."

  "Why?" Why had she kicked up her dose at all? But he knew. "Because of me?"

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. He didn't believe her. He'd pushed her too far. Too damned hard. The implied threat against her friend that deliberately showing himself in the restaurant had sent? Leaving her to stew in this dump while he stopped to pick up the photographic nails for yet another coffin? The rifle, the pills. It had all combined to send her over the edge. He'd sent her over, all right. Of all people, he should have known better. He popped the child-proof top on the pills and shook them out in his hand.

  What the heck was that?

  He stuffed the ring in his pocket and counted out the remaining tablets, swallowing the knot of tears burning in his throat as he reached the last tablet. Thank you, God. He shoved the bottle and pills in his pocket and closed his eyes, drawing Anna with him as he slumped back into the wall, not even caring that his own arms and legs were quaking. She was telling the truth. If she was off, it couldn't be by more than a pill or two. She was going to have a blistering hangover in the morning, but unless she had a hidden medical condition her last yearly Navy physical had missed, she should be fine. But it would be a hell of a ride until then. Damn her.