Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1)

by Marissa Garner

  “Okay, you win. But I insist it not be on the floor.”

  He set her down on the bed. Squatting in front of her, he looked her straight in the eyes. “You’re okay with this, right?”

  “Yes. No strings. Nothing serious. A fling. Casual. Whatever you want to call it.”

  He cupped her chin. “I’m asking about you. Is this what you want? I don’t go any further until you tell me.”

  The bulge in his cargo shorts was the only sign he suffered from any urgency. Otherwise, he appeared calm and composed. As though he could wait all night or pass altogether. This was her call. She had total control.

  She framed his face with her hands, sank into the fathomless blue of his eyes. “Yes, I want you, Ben.” The word forever flitted through her mind, but thankfully, it didn’t escape her lips. “Make love to me, please.”

  He answered with a growl and a kiss. His hands slipped under her blouse, and he rolled her already puckered nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. She dropped her head back and moaned as the sensations raced to her groin.

  After lifting the blouse over her head, he sucked the hypersensitive tips beneath the silky bra. One hand molded to her crotch.

  Time to hurry this along before she melted into a puddle on the bed. She unzipped his fly and reached inside. Her fingers traced his engorged dick under his boxer briefs and then wrapped around his balls. He came up for air with a groan.

  And he got the message. While she fondled him, he undid her zipper and pulled down her shorts. Then he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. He gently lifted her hands from his groin before he removed his pants and underwear.

  Her breath caught at the dark-haired, blue-eyed god standing naked in front of her. Her gaze traveled from his feet up his long legs, past his package, over his six-pack abs, across the sprinkling of hair on his chest, up his strong neck to his face. The desire burning in his eyes ignited the same in her.

  He leaned down and nipped at her ear while unfastening her bra. She scooted back on the bed so he could slide off her panties. He snagged his shorts, found his wallet, and retrieved a condom. After rolling it on, he studied her with obvious admiration.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

  Her whole body heated even more with the compliment. She spread her legs in welcome.

  He crawled up her body, nipping, licking, tasting. She coiled tighter with each touch.

  “Please, Ben,” she said, writhing with pleasure, “now.”

  “Patience. Anticipation is everything.” He hovered over her.

  She raised her hips to touch her hot, wet entrance to the head of his dick. “Not everything.”

  “You vixen,” he growled.

  He thrust inside, stretching her, filling her. He pulled out, pushed into her again, deeper. Her muscles clenched around him. He pumped slowly and deliberately at first, but increased the speed and intensity with each thrust. Changing his angle slightly, he lit her fuse.

  “I… I’m… gonna…”

  “Come, baby, come. This is for you.”

  Unbearable pressure built. She gripped the sheets. Minutes later, a mind-blowing climax engulfed her.

  “That’s it, baby.” He thrust a few more times and groaned with his own release.

  * * *

  The ringtone didn’t register through the sexual haze for several seconds. When it did, Ben bolted upright.

  “My boss,” he blurted out in explanation.

  “It’s almost midnight,” Amber said.

  “Twenty-four seven.” He found his shorts on the floor and grabbed the cell from a pocket. “Yeah, Boss.” Running a hand through his tangled hair, Ben glanced down at his naked body and rolled his eyes.

  “Pedro attempted suicide,” Rex said without greeting.

  “Shit! You said, ‘attempted,’ right? He’s okay?”

  “‘Okay’ is overly optimistic. He’s not dead, if that’s what you mean.”

  Ben dropped onto the bed. “When I spoke to him this morning, he was disappointed, but he took the news about the Friday night raids as well as could be expected. What the hell happened after that?”

  “One of the ICE agents informed him and the other four that there would be no more raids.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Down, Alfren. The agent said it in the context of the guys getting another week’s reprieve from deportation even though the raids were discontinued. He wasn’t being a prick.”

  “Where is Pedro now?”

  Rex gave him the name and address of the hospital.

  “Tell me they have him on suicide watch.”

  “Obviously.”

  “All right.” Ben glanced at Amber’s alarm clock. “I’ll be there ASAP.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “It is to me.”

  After disconnecting, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Dammit, he should’ve anticipated Pedro’s reaction. The kid was crazy in love with Maria, and losing her had shattered his world. Ben could relate a little. When Marissa broke up with him, he’d been devastated also. In fact, he’d had those feelings until recently.

  He slid a glance to the blond-haired beauty waiting for him to come back to bed. Yeah, he’d definitely recovered.

  Ben sighed. He hated to do this to her. “I have to go.”

  “I gathered that,” Amber said.

  “I promise to make it up to you. Somehow.”

  Chapter 11

  When he opened the door to the hospital room just before one a.m., guilt gripped Ben’s chest like a vise. The guard looked up from the magazine in his lap, but Pedro didn’t blink, didn’t even glance toward the door. He simply stared at the opposite wall as if in a trance.

  “Take a break,” Ben said to the guard after flashing his ID.

  Once the man left, Ben approached the bed. The kid’s wrists were wrapped in heavy bandages. A hospital gown hung from his slumping shoulders while he slouched against the pillows. Bruises discolored his left cheek and upper arms, likely collateral injuries from the guards rescuing him from himself.

  “Hola, Pedro. Lo siento mucho.”

  The apology prompted no reaction.

  Ben exhaled. He yanked a chair to the side of the bed and dropped onto it. For several minutes, he just stared at the young man. Hopelessness screamed from the kid’s body language.

  “We aren’t giving up, Pedro, and you shouldn’t either.”

  No response.

  “I know you’re disappointed we stopped the raids, but they weren’t helping us find Maria. The good news is they seem to confirm she isn’t part of this prostitution operation.”

  Pedro’s head whipped around. His lips curled in a sneer. “You think I am stupid, huh, gringo?” he shouted. “I know they take our women to be whores all over your damn country. You fucking gringos cannot get enough of our women or our drugs.”

  Ben stared him down. “Sad, but true.”

  Pedro’s head jerked back in surprise. Obviously, not the answer he’d expected.

  “You do not care what happens to my Maria.”

  “Not true.”

  “Liar. You quit looking for her,” he snarled.

  “We stopped the raids. We haven’t stopped looking.”

  “No difference!” he yelled.

  “The raids weren’t working. Why waste our time with more? The coyote, Loco, can tell us where they took Maria. I want to focus on finding him.”

  The Mexican glared at Ben in stony silence, but his expression morphed from rage to wariness.

  “Help me find Loco.”

  A muscle twitched in Pedro’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “I told you. I not know where the bastard is.”

  “If we could find the house where they kept you, we could set a trap for him.”

  Pedro shrugged his thin shoulders and shook his head. “I cannot remember. None of us do.”

  “Let’s try again. What color was it?”

  The kid pushed back into the pillows, scowling in defiance. “
No sé.”

  “What kind of roof did it have?”

  “No comprendo.”

  “Shit!” He slammed his fist on the bed.

  “¡Mierda!” Pedro pounded his fist next to Ben’s.

  Ben snorted, then chuckled. “Sí, mierda.”

  Pedro managed a faint grin. “Try again?”

  “Wait a minute. I have an idea.” He dug out his cell and dialed.

  “Benja, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” his ex-girlfriend answered with her nickname for him.

  He smiled. Long ago, she’d concluded Benjamin was too formal, and Ben, too harsh. No one else ever had the nerve to call him Benja.

  “I’m fine, but a lot’s wrong, Gypsy. I need your help.” A flash of memories came with the use of his endearment for her.

  “Just a minute.” Sheets rustled, and then he heard her mutter to her live-in boyfriend, “Yes, Ian, I know what time it is.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry, Marissa. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Getting up at four will not kill me. How can I help?”

  He rattled off an abridged version of the situation. Because she was also an FBI agent, he didn’t have to withhold information on the operation itself; but the help he sought was more for Pedro personally than for the investigation. Since Marissa spoke five languages—including Spanish—he knew speaking to Pedro would be easy for her.

  “I hope that talking with you in his native language will trigger something in his memory since the words will come more naturally.”

  She was silent for several moments. “It’s a good idea, but is that all you are hoping for?”

  Her tone told him she had guessed his ulterior motive. He stood up and moved to the far corner of the room. “You know me too well. Yeah, it crossed my mind that you might ‘see’ something if you knew about the situation,” he said in a quiet voice so Pedro couldn’t hear.

  “You know my premonitions don’t work that way. I don’t conjure them up at will.”

  “Yeah, I know. But most of the warnings involve something that’s on your mind: a case, a person, an event. It’s worth a shot.”

  She hesitated. “You won’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work?”

  “Sure I will, but I won’t blame you.”

  “You can’t blame Pedro either… for not remembering.”

  “I’m not blaming him, Marissa. I’m trying to help him.”

  “Okay, I will talk to him.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Ben turned back, Pedro was watching him.

  “Who you talking to?” he asked, suspicion taking over.

  “A friend and fellow agent.” He returned to the chair, put the cell on speakerphone, and made the introductions. “Marissa is going to try to jog your memory. With her Spanish, it might be easier.”

  Pedro gave him a skeptical look and shrugged.

  “He’s ready. Go ahead, Marissa.”

  At the sound of perfectly spoken, rapid-fire Spanish coming from the phone, Pedro’s eyes widened. When she stopped and he didn’t answer, Ben jumped in.

  “Hey, buddy, did she ask you a question?”

  “Sí.” The kid blinked, and then his mouth opened and words spilled out, more than Ben had ever heard him say at one time.

  The exchange continued for thirty minutes without another pause of more than a few seconds. Sometimes, Pedro would lean his head back and close his eyes while responding as if trying to picture something in his mind. The pair talked so fast that Ben could only catch a word here and there, but he was confident Marissa was doing a masterful job of digging into Pedro’s memory. She was not only a talented agent but also a caring person.

  His mind wandered to their time together while he blocked out the conversation he couldn’t understand anyway. Memories without pain, what a relief.

  He looked up when Pedro laughed.

  “You deaf? The woman is calling you.”

  “Benja, are you there?”

  “Sorry, Marissa, I spaced out. Are you done?”

  “Yes. Pedro remembered a lot for you.”

  “Great. Let me bring up the Notes app so I can get this down on my phone. Shoot.”

  “The house is single-story, light brown stucco, no shutters, one-car garage, flat roof. He thought there were small rocks on top.”

  “Probably built in the fifties or sixties.”

  “No house number.”

  “Street name?” Ben asked, tapping frantically on the phone screen.

  “Dirt road. He doesn’t remember any street signs. He noticed only three other houses in the area.”

  “Isolated. That’s why there haven’t been any complaints from neighbors about unusual activity. Any identifying details?”

  “Thankfully, yes. But at a nearby house, not at the one where they were held. One yard was filled with at least three dozen plastic decorations: windmills, flamingos, gnomes, ducks, frogs, cottages, those sorts of things. Really ugly, he said.”

  “Sounds like it. What else?”

  “Another property had at least six broken-down cars in the front yard. Like a junkyard maybe.”

  “Did he have any reference as to location?”

  “It didn’t take long to get from the house to the freeway, maybe five minutes. The van turned right onto the entrance ramp, so that would have to be west to be heading toward San Diego.”

  “And the freeway would be I-8.”

  “Yes, he saw those signs. He also remembered billboards advertising a casino. Viejas, he thought it was called.”

  “Okay, that puts him east of Alpine. Did he recall how long it took the van to get to the house after leaving the semi?”

  “He was unconscious part of the time, but the other men told him the trip took about an hour.”

  “Which means the women and men were separated approximately sixty to seventy miles farther east than the house. There’s a lot of nothing along that stretch of I-8 from El Centro to Alpine. It would be easy to do the switch without attracting attention, especially before dawn. The key will be finding the damn house.”

  “That’s all the info Pedro could remember. Is it enough?” she asked.

  “I think it’ll be worth a look. Thanks, Gypsy.” He cleared his throat. “Apologize to Ian for me.”

  “Of course, Benja. Good night.”

  He disconnected the call and turned to Pedro. “Get some sleep. We’re taking a helicopter ride tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Amber woke up with sunshine in her face. When was the last time she’d slept so late? She sighed. Her body felt limp and relaxed. Amazing what half a night of mind-blowing sex could do for a person. Imagine what a whole night with Ben would be like.

  She squinted through the glare at the window blinds. Odd, she must’ve forgotten to close them after Ben left.

  She gasped and shot out of bed. Racing to the living room, she remembered listening to him close the front door and allowing herself a minute before getting up to go lock it.

  But she’d never gotten up. She’d never locked the door. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. She rounded the corner and froze.

  A piece of paper lay on the floor.

  How had it gotten there? Who had put it there?

  Her gaze darted to the door. The doorknob lock was engaged—thank you, Ben—but the dead bolt and her extra lock were not. She gulped. She knew from personal experience that cheap knob locks could be opened with a simple credit card.

  Her eyes snapped back to the white paper on the beige carpet. The side facing up was blank. It taunted her. What’s on the other side? One of Jeremy’s favorite sayings: I’ve found you, I’m watching you, or I’ll get you.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She willed her legs to move, but they refused. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She started to hyperventilate. Slapping her hand over her mouth, she held her breath until forced to draw in a long, deep inhale. In. Out. Slow. In. Out. Slow.

  Finally, the panic attack passed. Her heart and lungs functioned at a more
normal pace while Amber surveyed the rest of the living room and dining area. Nothing else looked out of place.

  She took one halting step and then another until she reached the paper. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered her courage before bending to pick it up. She flipped it over and stared at the handwriting—not the words.

  Air whooshed out of her lungs. It was not Jeremy’s overly slanted printing.

  Her hand dropped to her side. Her face turned heavenward. She stood still for a moment before stumbling to the couch and collapsing.

  Eventually, she pulled the paper into view and frowned at the chicken-scratch cursive, specifically the name at the bottom: Gary. With a sigh of relief, she deciphered the rest of the note. Hi, Amber. I don’t have your number, and I doubt you’ll open the door to me, so I plan to slip this under the door. I apologize for my behavior the other night. I hope we can still be friends. Gary

  “Not a chance, dude,” she murmured, but without much malice, before scrunching up the paper and hurling it across the room.

  Amber leaned back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. The vicious cycle was beginning again. How close is Jeremy now? She glanced at the packed moving boxes. Should I leave today?

  Lost in her thoughts, she was startled by the doorbell, but she shook off the instant anxiety. After grabbing the pepper spray, she put her eye to the peephole. An exhausted-looking Ben Alfren smiled back.

  Holding the can behind her back, she opened the door. “Hey.”

  His disheveled hair appeared finger-combed, and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them.

  “I’m just home long enough to shower and change, but I wanted to stop by and apologize for last night.”

  “No apology necessary.”

  “Well, I was disappointed even if you weren’t.”

  She shrugged. “Want to come in?”

  “Just for a minute.” As soon as she shut the door behind him, Ben pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. Then he rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “I needed that.”

  “There’s more. Would you like to come over later?”

  Chapter 12

  The chopper followed Interstate 8 eastward until it passed the Viejas Casino in Alpine. Then it dropped to a lower altitude and angled slightly north of the freeway.