"I'm c-cold."
She was shaking, too. In a Panamanian oven.
As pissed as he was with her, he couldn't leave her stripped down to her underwear. Not with Juju on his way. Nor did he want to examine why. He braced her against the wall with one hand while he snagged the crumpled fabric off the floor with his other. Ironically, she was too out of it by now to realize why she was even cold, much less able to help him. He pulled the dress over her head for her and worked around her fiery protests, in Spanish no less, to get her arms through the sleeves. "Anna, please. Stop fighting me."
That brought her back to English. And exhaustion.
Her head fell to the wall. "Go away. I want to sleep."
"Sorry, not an option." He didn't care if Luis himself crawled through that door ahead of Juju, he was not leaving. Not this time. He yanked the dress down over her thighs and tugged her forward, pressing her head into his chest so he could zip up the back. The light flickered up from their feet, highlighting her mesmerizing features as she settled back against the wall, right down to that tiny scar as he tipped her chin and smoothed the tangles from her cheeks.
Tears welled up in her eyes. He knew they weren't for him. At the rate she was fading on him, she'd be lucky if she remembered his name by now.
"You hate me." Then again, maybe she was hanging on.
He shook his head at the irony of that statement from this woman. Especially now. He opened his mouth to confirm it, but somehow the truth came out instead. "I don't hate you, honey." He wanted to. He should. But he didn't. Hell, he had no idea what he felt for this woman. Whatever it was, it was intense—more intense than anything he'd ever felt for another woman, Gayle included—but it wasn't based in hate.
And that scared him most of all.
He held his breath as she sighed. But before she could respond, her eyes glazed over again. He wasn't surprised. With roughly twenty milligrams of oxycodone pulsing through her veins, he was lucky she was conscious. God only knows how much she'd remember by morning. Especially since she was slurring half her words now. Exercise. He had to keep her walking until Juju arrived. Work that crap out of her system. Fortunately, she didn't argue as he pulled her into his arms to lead her into another faltering lap across the room. To his surprise she captured his stare as they reached the opposite wall.
"He hates me, too."
Don't do it, buddy. Don't ask. While no one could predict what part of tonight would still be with her come tomorrow, he could all but guarantee that if he started grilling her about her cousin that would be the part she did remember. Dammit, it was worth the risk. It had to be. "Who? Luis?"
She nodded. "Hmm."
He rewarded her for her answer by letting her pause for a moment and lean into the wall. Maybe the rest would encourage more without him sticking his neck out on the chopping block.
It did.
She sighed as her head tipped back. "But that's okay. I hate him, too. And Mike." She spat that last.
Mike? Who the heck was Mike?
She wasn't wrong, he had done his homework. She'd had two steady relationships in college, three since, but none of the men had been named Mike. He turned her around as they reached the wall—as it hit him. "Mike Foster?"
Her head wobbled, but that was definitely a nod. "It's all his fault. He's a bastard."
Disappointment seared in. Stoned or not, she wasn't about to impart secrets. This was just another good old-fashioned pity-fest, compliments of the garbage she'd taken. If he encouraged her, she'd come up with a thousand reasons as to why everyone else was to blame for her problems but her. Just like his mom. If your dad didn't leave, I wouldn't have to take them. Yeah, right. Anna had hit the nail on the head outside the Iguana. His mom had been too strung out on valium and booze to figure out dear old dad kept volunteering for mission after mission because she couldn't stay clean long enough to stand up and welcome him home. His dad couldn't sit around and watch her kill herself. That had been left up to Tom.
He tugged her away from the wall with more force than he'd intended, cursing as she lost her balance. He steadied her, then nudged her legs back into motion.
"You lied. You said you didn't hate me."
"I don't." But he winced. Even high, she had to have caught his tone. Where the devil was Juju? "Keep moving."
"Yup, you're mad."
"Okay, I am mad. No, I'm downright pissed."
"Why?" She blinked up at him through that artificial haze. Maybe that's what did it, what finally caused him to snap. Or maybe he was just sick of her. Of the waste. He couldn't be sure. All he knew for certain was that, before he realized what he'd done, he pushed her up against the wall, sealing her spine to decades of stale grease as he unleashed the fruitlessness of the past three weeks, more importantly, the past three days into that glassy, vacant stare.
"So the man's a bastard, so what? You're the one who won't own up to the muck in your life long enough to crawl out. You're the one who sold out. You caused the deaths of three men. You and your obsession with those pills. What I want to know is why? You kicked it before. Why did you even start up again? Dammit, Anna, you'd beaten it all. Luis, your aunt, your father." He jerked his head toward the room. "This place. You had so much going for you. A career, professional respect. You're smart, beautiful as hell and—when you're not stoned out of your mind—you've got a wicked sense of humor that would put a straight edge to shame. More importantly, you had friends. From what I saw tonight, good ones. Why did you give it all up? Why?" His fury expended, he finally shut up.
Stared. Waited.
He wasn't surprised as he watched the tears well up in her eyes and finally spill over. But never in a million years could he have anticipated the hoarse confession that came with them. "I didn't betray those men. Foster did."
Chapter 10
Where in God's name was she?
Anna clamped down on the panic surging through her and forced her eyes to reopen. She studied the darkened room for the hundredth time, dread locking in as she noted the worn leather couch beneath her cheek, the weathered paneling on the walls, the paper-cluttered desk across the tiny room along with a matching set of metal filing cabinets beneath a shuttered window and, finally, the closed door beyond the arm of the couch and her legs. The entire pass had yielded no more clues than the previous ninety-nine. But this time humiliation blistered in, supplanting the pounding in her head along with the throb in her chest as she finally acknowledged the bitter truth. She had no idea where she was, let alone how she'd gotten there, or with whom.
Was Tom right after all? Was she hooked?
No! No matter what that man said, she was not addicted. Yes, she wanted the damned things. More than she should. That she'd admit, to herself or even Sam. But she hadn't gone overboard. Not even when it had become obvious her prescribed dose wasn't keeping up with the pain. If she was hooked, she'd have doubled her dose by now. She had before. But until last night—
Last night. Oh, God. How many had she taken?
The memory of that iron elbow slammed back in. The agony that had followed. The look on that unfortunate man's face as he spotted her necklace and realized whose sick talisman and even sicker protection she carried. She remembered trying to soothe the man's terror and refusing his and his friend's prostrated offers of help. She even remembered stumbling on to her childhood home under her own power. But after? Everything else was a haze with only bits and pieces burning through long enough for her to grasp them. She remembered waiting in the old room she'd shared with her mother and then her aunt. The room where her entire life had changed, desperately trying not to give in to the past, much less the siren in her purse. But the pain in her breast had been excruciating. She'd started to fashion a compress, until she remembered there was no running water. She couldn't raise Pepe on her cell phone and she couldn't leave. Not with Tom on his way and Eve and Captain Bishop still hours from—
She shot up on the couch, only to fall right back over as the dizziness cr
ashed in.
"Easy."
Anna stiffened as a pair of muscular arms encircled her before she hit the cushions, smoothly righting her. The arms weren't tanned but naturally dusky like her own, with black hair sprinkled liberally along his forearms, not dark blond. Long black hair spilled down, shielding her eyes from the glare of that neon-pink Hawaiian shirt. Not her hair and definitely not Tom Wild's.
Juju. "I didn't mean to startle you."
She shook off the man's apology, and then his hands. "You didn't." She hadn't even heard the door open, a door she now realized must lead from the man's office to the rest of his bar. She'd been too busy trying to find a—"What time is it?"
"Almost nine."
Nine? Which nine? Morning or evening? The window above the file cabinets was shuttered too tight to be of help. She was dying to ask. She had to know. But, good Lord, this was humiliating. She could feel the heat scalding her neck. By the time it reached her cheeks, she figured she was past scarlet. Still, she couldn't get her mouth to open.
Evidently, this happened a lot around Juju, because he simply shrugged and filled her in. "Nine in the morning. Thursday morning. You've been in and out most of the night. Mostly out."
She closed her eyes as relief blistered through the fog in her brain, easing her panic. Eve and Rick were already inside Córdoba. They were safe. At least from Tom.
Tom. Again Juju picked up on her thoughts.
Granted, it couldn't have been difficult. Not with her wits lying shredded and scattered about her feet. "You just missed him. He left for the hotel to shower and change. He was here all night, awake, stethoscope and guilt in hand. Wouldn't leave your side. Frankly, I was surprised."
She had no idea how to respond to that one, much less that dark, expectant stare. Juju might have survived awkward morning-after scenes like this before, but she hadn't. She settled for smoothing the rumpled fabric of her dress over her knees, then stared down at her folded hands. For some odd reason, that simple act helped to focus her thoughts. For the first time since she'd woken, she realized her feet were bare. She looked around discreetly.
Nothing. No black leather heels, no purse. And no pills.
"Coffee?"
Juju must have brought it with him, because he held the steaming mug out.
"No, thank you."
He nodded and walked over to what she assumed was his desk. He set the mug atop the paper clutter and withdrew a slim yellow box from his shirt pocket as he turned. The crick in her neck eased as he hooked his thighs to the edge of the desk and lowered his frame, but not by much. He still loomed over her as he held out the box.
"Jujube?"
Her stomach turned at the mere thought. "No, thanks."
"Something…stronger, perhaps?"
She truly wished. "No."
He shrugged and slipped the box back inside his pocket.
Now what?
She took a stab at reclaiming the remaining threads of her dignity. "Where are my…ah—" she lost them again as his brow shot up "—things?"
"Your shoes are beside the couch."
"And my purse? I had it with me in my—" She swallowed the surging bile as the scents of her past slammed in. "Last night."
"I don't have it. Nor did Tom when I arrived."
She couldn't help it, she jerked her head up. "You were there? In Curundú?"
Juju nodded. "He called. Frantic as only a man who's lived through last night more times than he can remember, can be. Before he was forced to see it through to the bitter end."
Meaning whoever Tom loved had OD'd.
And she'd just forced him to relive it.
Shame swamped her, settling into her gut to churn in amid the lingering nausea. Given the mood she'd been in before Tom had arrived last night, her fury over their AK-47 stalemate, not to mention her terror over Eve and Bishop, she'd probably put him through the wringer before she'd passed out. He could have walked away. He'd probably wanted to. But he hadn't. Thug or not, he'd stayed by her side and quite possibly saved her life. She shouldn't ask. She had no business intruding on Tom Wild's private pain any more than she already had. But she needed to know, and not because of Foster.
Because of herself. "W-who was it?"
"Which one?"
She blinked. There was more than one? Her breath bled out as the depth of her cruelty struck home. She'd never know how she managed to force the whisper past her lips. "How many has he lost?"
"His mother from the pills just after high school graduation. Valium and Scotch, if I remember correctly." They both knew he did. "Seems his mom couldn't take the fact that he was finally getting the hell out of Dodge—or rather, the outskirts of Chicago—and leaving her for West Point. And then there was a woman he was…close to. A couple years after commissioning. I think she preferred her booze straight up. You want more, ask him." But the message was clear.
If you're smart, you won't. Not with her habit.
So she asked Juju instead. "How do you two…do this?"
"Remain friends?"
She nodded.
He shrugged. "I wonder myself. Old friendships, mutual respect—who knows? Perhaps we simply understand that different paths can be walked in different ways, yet end up in the same place." That made no sense at all.
She also knew he wasn't going to elaborate. She'd gotten as much as she was going to get. It was time to go.
Without knowing what had happened to Pepe, she'd have to call a cab. As for Luis? Her rumpled dress would more than make up for missing breakfast. Luis was bound to assume she'd spent the night in Tom's hotel room. If she was lucky, Luis would leave her alone so she could get cleaned up and head over for real. What would happen after was anyone's guess. Most of all, hers. She had no idea what she and Tom had settled last night, if anything. But since it was now two hours past the deadline he'd issued at the hacienda gates the morning before, it was also past time to find out.
When Juju stood and crossed the room to reach down and retrieve her shoes, Anna realized her thoughts had shown again. She wasn't surprised. She didn't have the energy to even try and conceal them let alone the pounding in her head as Juju held out her shoes. "Thank you." She slipped the heels on, hoping the dizziness would remain at bay long enough for her to stand and make it to the front of the bar without humiliating herself more than she already had. "Would you mind calling a cab?"
"Not at all. But first—" The man tucked an oversize paw beneath the hem of his Hawaiian shirt as she stood. "Tom left something for you." Even before Juju shoved his hand down into his front denim pocket, she knew what Tom had left.
The vial. Good Lord. The ring. Had Tom seen it? Had Juju? Her dizziness returned, this time with a vengeance, as the opaque container surfaced. Juju held it out. Unlike the heels, she couldn't seem to take it. Her heart pounded as the silence stretched out. Her chest throbbed. She shoved the panic down. "Is it…was it…empty?" To her eternal shame, she didn't know which she was more worried about.
The ring or the pills.
Juju shook his head. "He left the ring inside it. Some sorority thing. I presume it's yours?" He knew damned well it wasn't. He'd read the engraving. Samantha's name, date of commissioning and branch. It was in his eyes. That meant Tom knew, too. What conclusions had he drawn?
That, Juju's face didn't reveal.
There was no way she could ask. So she lied. "Yes, it's mine."
He nodded. "Then I guess you'd like it back."
"Please."
But instead of handing the vial over, Juju placed it at the corner of his desk, between a battered pencil cup and a small Hotei Buddha. The figurine's belly had long since been rubbed to a lucky sheen. She ignored the taunting laughter in the Buddha's tiny, squinting eyes as she reached for the vial.
"I took the liberty of refilling it."
She flinched. She stood there a moment, then pulled her hand back and faced him. "Why?"
His gaze met hers again. This time, he held it. "We both know if you want th
em, you'll find a way to get them. No matter how your cousin feels about this issue. In fact, Tom seems to think you'd already been working on it. In deference to our friendship, I'd prefer to know it was done safely."
"He'll hate you."
"He won't know." The message came through loud and clear.
The threat.
She pulled herself together and matched the pointed arch in his brow. "And what you do get in return, Juju?"
"A promise."
She waited.
"I want your word you won't overdo it. At least, not until what's between you and my friend runs its course."
She stiffened. "There's nothing—"
His hand snapped out, locked over hers. But it wasn't the barely restrained strength she could feel in his hand that put the fear of God into her; it was the low growl that followed. "Your word. Now." In that moment, she knew Juju had truly screwed up his calling in life. He never should have snorted coke, because he was a natural on the battlefield.
She surrendered. "You have it."
She didn't bother adding that she had no plans to "overdo" anything anyway. He wouldn't have believed her. But then, neither would Tom, would he? Fortunately, that wouldn't matter. As much as she hated admitting it, Tom Wild was a thug. A thug with a conscience and a painful past, but still a thug. They had no future. Despite their attraction, one Juju had obviously picked up on, they didn't even have a present. She resisted the temptation to step back as Juju released her.
He did it for her, turning to cross the room. He stopped at the door. "I'll call your cab, but feel free to take your time. Tom said he'd make your excuses and explain for you."
"What?"
"You don't remember?" She gaped at Juju. He shook his head. "Not last night. Yesterday morning. Tom seemed to think he'd be welcomed at breakfast today. Said he had something to discuss with Luis. It sounded like he had an ultimatum for your cousin."
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