Amber stayed another couple of minutes before standing up and moving to push the down call button. As she waited, she shook her head to resemble disbelief at what she was reading.
Once inside the elevator, she breathed a sigh of relief. Halfway done.
The Hispanic woman with the blue and pink papers was waiting for her when the elevator doors opened onto the first-floor lobby. Amber strolled out, still acting engrossed in the pamphlet.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I have some information for you,” the woman said in English with a heavy accent.
Amber looked up, then glanced around as though she thought the woman was speaking to someone else. When her gaze came back, she tapped her chest and asked, “Who? Me?”
“Yes. This is information about surrogate mother services.”
She blinked in faux surprise. “How… how…?”
A pink paper was shoved into her hands.
“Read this. Other clinics charge too much money. We help you for much less. Call us with questions or for a no-obligation appointment.” Done with her sales spiel, she turned and hurried away. Maybe she wasn’t trained to answer questions.
Clutching the precious paper, Amber left the building and almost ran to her car in the parking lot a few blocks away. Once inside, she read the information greedily.
The clinic’s name: Dream Makers. Its slogan: We make your dreams of a baby come true. The promise: to save you tens of thousands of dollars.
“Oh my God.”
The Dream Makers flyer listed a downtown address and a phone number as well as the names of five doctors. The clinic was open on Saturdays. The next step in Amber’s plan came into focus.
She removed the brunette wig, pulled on a curly auburn one, and wiped off most of the makeup with moist wipes she kept in the glove compartment. After pulling jeans on over the yoga pants, she buttoned on a bulky sweater. The nerdy glasses were dropped into the console and replaced with outlandish sunglasses.
A glance in the vanity mirror confirmed she no longer resembled the nurse who’d arrived this morning or the potential client who’d just left the SDSA clinic. The transformation seemed clever unless someone realized her quick-change skills had been borne of necessity. Escaping from a stalker often required not looking like the woman he knew.
When she talked to her boss, Jeremy Nelson would be the explanation for her disguises today. Hopefully, her boss wouldn’t think she sounded like a crazy person.
* * *
“Go home,” SSA Rex Kelley ordered late Thursday afternoon.
“But, Boss—” Ben began.
“No buts. You’ve been putting in eighteen-hour days. If you were hot on a trail, it’d be different. You’ve done good work shutting down some of H’s goddamn whorehouses, but you don’t have a single lead on the five missing women. Take a break.”
“We still need to reconnoiter the Fallbrook and San Ysidro locations tonight.”
“ICE is handling it. Quit arguing and go home.”
As Ben drove across the Coronado Bridge thirty minutes later, he admitted to himself that Rex was right. He needed a break. Not just from the long hours, but also from the frustration of the operation. And he knew exactly what he needed to lessen the pressure.
He stopped at a florist and bought a dozen pink roses. The salesclerk suggested the color after inquiring about the recipient and the occasion. Hopefully, the flowers would send the right message.
After changing out of his suit and into jeans and a black T-shirt, he crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs to Amber’s apartment. He rang the doorbell twice, but she didn’t answer.
He had just raised his hand to knock when someone said, “Ben?”
A woman with curly, red hair stood at the bottom of the stairs. Huge mirrored sunglasses covered half her face. She wore jeans and a sweater, and for the life of him, Ben didn’t recognize her. He did his best not to remember the women in the complex who were always hounding him, but this one didn’t ring any bells at all. Only a curly, redheaded little girl from some musical came to mind, and that didn’t help.
“Hey,” he said nonchalantly, hoping she’d leave without trying to make conversation.
She cocked her head and seemed to peer at the flowers, but he really couldn’t tell with the outrageous glasses.
“You lookin’ for Amber?” she asked in a rich Southern drawl.
Now that strong an accent he definitely would’ve remembered. His antennae went up. “Yeah. You know her?”
“Shor do.”
The woman started up the stairs. Ben studied the sway of her hips, the set of her shoulders, the shape of her lips covered in garish neon-pink lipstick.
“So, why’re ya lookin’ for Amber? As if I didn’t know,” she muttered under her breath.
“Of course, you know. But since she’s not home, you’ll do.”
He dropped the flowers and yanked her into his arms before she could respond. His mouth came down hard on hers. Her little squeal of surprise parted her lips, and his tongue plunged inside. Grinning to himself, he prepared for her to push him away or slam her knee into his junk. To his amazement, she did neither.
Instead, she melted into him with a soft moan. Her duffel bag landed with a thud, freeing her fingers to weave into his hair. She pressed against him, rubbing in all the strategic spots. Bolts of desire shot along his nerves to his groin. Lust flared like he hadn’t felt in a long time. He shifted her higher against the ridge of his hardening erection.
“Amber,” he groaned when he paused for oxygen.
Tearing herself from his embrace, she jumped back. “You jerk. You knew it was me?”
Ben’s brain needed a second to recover from lust overload before he could answer. He cleared his throat and grinned. “Damn right. You think I’d kiss a complete stranger like that?”
Chapter 7
Oh my God. Amber couldn’t catch her breath after a simple kiss. Well, actually, it wasn’t so simple. Ben had set a lot of parts in motion: heart, lungs, stomach, nipples, and a really sweet spot. She’d definitely been without a man too long. Her body had no other excuse for its reaction. But if that’s all it was, why had her response been totally opposite when Gary had originally hit on her Friday night? Even before she realized he was a violent jerk.
Ben bent to pick up her duffel and the flowers. “These are for you, obviously.” He handed her the bouquet and shouldered the bag. “Care to move this inside where it’s more private?”
“I… uh…”
“Hey, don’t stress. All I want is an explanation of why you pretended not to be you.” He shrugged. “If we survive that, I’ll ask you out to dinner.”
“Okay, fine.” Without thinking, she followed her routine of putting her ear to the door and inspecting for break-in marks. When she realized what she’d done, she glanced over her shoulder and connected with a pair of intense blue eyes. Oh crap.
“We really need to talk,” Ben said.
After she stepped inside, he put his foot in the way so she couldn’t close the door in his face. Not that she was going to, but he probably didn’t trust her.
Standing in her living room, he did a not-so-subtle inspection. Maybe it was an FBI agent thing, but he seemed to be analyzing the surroundings, not just noticing the blah décor. Why though?
“Where’s your weapon?” he asked.
She blinked. “Weapon?”
“Not the one in your purse. Yeah, I saw you gripping it Monday night.” He opened the drawer in the table by the door and withdrew the can of pepper spray. “This is good, but you also need something there by the hallway and the entrance to the kitchen.”
“I have huge knives in the kitchen.”
“No good. Unless you’ve learned how to throw them accurately, you’d have to get too close to use them. Better to have a fire extinguisher or a defensive spray so you can hit an intruder in the face from several feet away. That might be best for the hallway too.” He did another survey of the space. “No panic butt
ons?”
“I can’t wire a security system in a rental.”
“Ever heard of wireless?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve only lived here two months.”
“I could install one for you. Think about it.” His gaze made another sweep of the room. This time it stopped at the two cardboard boxes instead of passing over them. “Unpacking… or packing?”
Those incredible eyes darted back to her. Damn, he noticed everything. She sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet.”
He studied her for a long moment and then turned toward the hallway. “Let’s see what you can do in the bedroom.”
She stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“Self-defense, sweetheart, not sex.” He marched down the hall.
Who does he think he is evaluating me like this? She hurried after him. “Now wait just a minute.”
By the time she caught up, he was looking out her bedroom window. “The extra bedroom door lock is good. Where’s your escape ladder?”
“In the closet.”
“Still in the box?”
“Yeah. So?”
He shook his head as he turned. “Have you ever timed how long it takes to get it out of the box and deploy even if it isn’t snagged on itself?”
“No, I haven’t timed it, but I know how to use it.”
“If you’re escaping—a fire or an intruder—time is your biggest enemy. Get the ladder out of the box, inspect it, and keep it right under the window or the nearest piece of furniture.”
Suddenly, her resentment fell away. Without even knowing the source of her paranoia, Ben was trying to help. In a serious, knowledgeable way. He barely knew her. Why would he care?
He really was a good guy. A truly rare commodity. A twinge of regret hit her square in the chest. No, no, no. Don’t let emotions get involved. She couldn’t put her heart at risk. A purely physical, sexual fling held much less danger. She blinked. When had she decided a fling with Ben was okay? She cleared her throat. “You’re right. I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“Where do you keep your gun when you’re sleeping?”
“Under my pillow.”
“Hmmm.”
As he stared at her neatly made bed, images of them, naked under rumpled sheets, flashed across her mental video screen. When his gaze shifted to her, his eyes had darkened as though he’d pictured the same thing. Her belly did a backflip.
“You should experiment with it under the other pillow and beside you beneath the covers. Imagine opening your eyes to some asshole peering down at you. If you sleep on your back, it’s damn hard to get that weapon out from under your own pillow quickly.” He did a final scan of the room. “And you should put the dresser on this wall so a good shove would block the door with it.”
“Thanks. Those are great ideas.”
“We can talk more over dinner.” He grinned for the first time since entering her apartment. “I’m starving. Do you like seafood?”
“Love it.”
He nodded his approval. “I know a great place near the beach. Bring a sweater or jacket in case we feel like a walk afterward.”
* * *
Ben had a hard time keeping his mind on the conversation as he sat across the table from this enigmatic woman. What the hell had happened to make her so afraid? He admired women who were smart enough to protect themselves against the bastards of the world, but Amber’s behavior signaled a more specific threat. A more imminent threat.
During a pause after their discussion of musical preferences, he jumped in with both feet. “I meant it when I said we really need to talk.” When she looked up from her plate, he pinned her with a no-nonsense glare. “What’s going on?”
She dropped her gaze back to her food. “Nothing. I just believe in being careful.”
“You’re at least ten notches above ‘careful.’”
“You think I’m paranoid?” she asked defensively.
“Didn’t say that.” But he’d thought it. Briefly. Before knowing how normal she seemed otherwise.
She put her fork down and straightened in the chair. “Well, I’m not… paranoid. But it’s really none of your business.”
That went well. Great job, Alfren. “Look, I don’t want to butt into your business, but I’d like to help.”
“I don’t need your help. I have everything under control, thank you very much.”
She pressed her lips together in a tight line. But they were still the full, sensuous ones he’d kissed about an hour ago. He recalled the soft texture of her lips and the warm wetness of her mouth. Was he ruining his chances of tasting her again later on the beach?
He exhaled his frustration. “Have it your way. Just remember, I’m here if you need me.”
Through the rest of dinner, he accepted her shuttered responses as understandable and expected the evening to end on a cold note. So when Amber agreed to a walk on the beach, he was pleasantly surprised. They left their shoes in the car, grabbed their jackets, and hit the sand.
Stars sparkled in the night sky, but the marine layer hovered like a menace a few miles offshore. The salty sea breeze was cool and whipped Amber’s hair around her face. As they ambled along the water’s edge, she shivered.
Stepping closer, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “If you’re cold, we can go back.”
“No. This is… this is really nice.” She leaned into him as they walked.
“Yeah, but what we did earlier was even nicer.” He stopped and turned her toward him. He checked her expression for any signs of objection. To the contrary, she moved against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. All right. Burrowing his fingers into her silky hair, he kissed her, gently at first, then firmer, probing with his tongue until she opened for him.
She moaned when he plunged inside, pressed into him until he could feel her firm nipples. His dick responded, and he groaned while she rubbed against the rigid line. The kiss grew frenzied until they both came up for air.
“My place?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
They started immediately to retrace the path to the car. Laughing, they broke into a jog.
When they reached the Beemer, Ben’s phone rang. Recognizing the specific ringtone, he cursed under his breath. He opened Amber’s door while he pulled the cell from his pants pocket. The screen confirmed the caller. “Sorry. Work. I gotta take this.”
An hour later, he parked in a deserted parking lot next to an abandoned warehouse. The location in the shadow of the building hid the car from most angles. But Manuel knew he was there. Just as Ben knew the Mexican informant was out there, somewhere in the darkness, watching to be sure he hadn’t been followed by anyone from the Hermosillo cartel and to confirm his FBI contact had come alone. Snitching on Enrique Hermosillo could easily get a person killed if he wasn’t careful, so Ben didn’t begrudge the man’s caution.
He was, however, plenty pissed that Manuel had chosen this particular night to contact him. He’d been forced to drive Amber back to the apartment complex, escort her to her door, and claim a quick, but scorching, kiss before racing all the way to San Ysidro. The evening with her had been a bit of a roller coaster, but things had definitely been heating up when Ben’s phone had rung. Talk about a buzzkill.
Now that he had time to analyze that buzz or lust or interest—whatever it should be labeled—he was puzzled. He hadn’t felt anything like it in the two years since Marissa broke up with him. Perhaps their recent conversation in DC really had healed the wounds. Good to know, but it didn’t mean he was ready to jump into another serious relationship. No way. If anything, his heart knew to be more careful from now on. Wounds left scars even after they healed.
Movement on the opposite side of the parking lot pulled him from his thoughts of Marissa. Instinctively, his hand went to the gun in his shoulder holster. A man stepped from the shadows and held up his hand in acknowledgment. Manuel. A second later, he disappeared again as he wove his way around the edges of the exposed space to the car. Be
n narrowed his eyes as he kept track of the Mexican’s progress and watched for signs of danger. Informants weren’t the sharpest or most trustworthy types.
When Manuel appeared outside the passenger window, Ben popped the lock, and the man slid inside.
“Hola.”
“Hola. What’ve you got?” Ben asked, continuing to keep one eye on their surroundings.
“Where is my dinero?”
Every damn time. “You know you don’t get paid until I determine if your information is… useful.” He gave the guy a don’t-screw-with-me glare.
“Okay, okay. They hired me to do a delivery today. From Otay Mesa warehouse to a downtown dealer.”
A drug delivery, no doubt. Ben nodded his understanding.
“It was lunchtime. So I hang at the warehouse. Listen to the talk while I eat. I can be invisible when I want,” he bragged.
“Yeah, yeah, go on.”
“Two men who work with the coyotes make jokes about the business. A funny new one.”
Ben straightened in the seat.
“Sí, this what you want. Pay me mucho dinero.” His laugh sounded like a hyena.
“I haven’t heard anything worth a peso yet.”
“You are a tough customer.”
“Manuel, I’m bored. Get to the point.” He glanced at his watch. Was the man stalling because he didn’t really have any actionable intel?
“Okay, amigo, I give it to you straight.”
“About time.”
Manuel snorted. “The cartel is selling babies.”
* * *
Amber tossed and turned in bed. Hot and bothered didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling. What was it about Ben Alfren—apartment complex hottie, FBI agent, and non-creep—that got to her? Sure, no doubt he was hot. He could practically melt her with those damn blue eyes of his. And Ben’s intensity made her think he was actually listening to her, instead of thinking about the Padres game or a stock tip or getting laid. Damn him. He acted like he cared. About her.
How dare he be so many good things all rolled into one man? A very manly man.
She groaned. If Ben hadn’t gotten that damn call, they’d be having sex right now.
Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) Page 6