by Odell, Terry
Which, he figured, was appropriate for a man who’d been concerned for the safety of his fiancé. He stepped closer, bent down, and kissed her cheek. She smelled of the same soap he’d used in the shower—but better—with a magical addition of essence of Elle. He found himself responding and hoped his reaction wouldn’t be obvious in his lightweight slacks. But then, she was his fiancé, and it would be natural to respond.
“You okay?” he whispered in her ear.
He felt the tiniest nod of her head against his cheek. She patted the broad arm of the chair, inviting him to sit.
He parked a hip on the leather. “You’re looking good,” he said. Which she was. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, reflecting highlights from the fire. Thank the good Lord, she was wearing a modest coral-colored sundress and matching low-heeled sandals. Modest or not, the sundress was made of a thin fabric, and there was a hint of nipple showing through. A reaction to him, or to the sub-zero temperature?
He took her hand, and she squeezed his. Her eyes sent a message loud and clear. Play along. In response, he returned the squeeze.
Seconds later a woman entered. Aside from being years younger, she could have been Maria’s twin. The man, whom Jinx assumed was the patrón, didn’t acknowledge her presence, but merely said, “Pour our new guest a glass of the Rioja.” He nodded briefly in Jinx’s direction. “The vintage is very bold. Not unlike yourself, I think.”
Jinx waited patiently—or tried to appear he was waiting patiently—until the woman brought him a balloon glass so delicate he was afraid it would break merely from his touch. He accepted it, swirled the deep violet liquid and sniffed. He’d been to enough nice restaurants with his big brother, knew the routine, but was clueless as to what it meant. He took a small sip and let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. He gave what he hoped was an appreciative, knowing nod, because he had no idea what you said when presented with something that undoubtedly cost a hell of a lot more than fifteen dollars a bottle, which was Jinx’s ceiling for what he considered a good bottle of wine. “Yes. Bold indeed.”
The way the man’s eyes scrutinized Elle turned Jinx’s stomach. He managed another sip. “Sir,” Jinx said. “I think we’ve been more than patient. I think it’s time you explained what we’re doing here.”
Elle wondered if Steve could feel her heart pounding. She was afraid Mr. Aguilar could hear it from where he sat. Working a sting in the worst part of town never had her nerves strung this tight. She wasn’t sure she could sit here and be civil while she waited for Aguilar to reveal his plan, or if he would. When she’d been brought to the room, she’d tested his limits with questions of her fiancé. He shrugged them off, saying he was fine and should be down momentarily. When she’d asked why she was here, all he’d said was, “We shall discuss this after we have eaten.” As if she could eat anything.
He’d offered her food, insisted she eat. She’d picked a few items from the table, nibbled. When he’d pressed, she blamed the after-effects of the drug. He didn’t respond. No apology, no sympathy, no nothing. She’d accepted the glass of port, but it, too, she’d hardly touched.
To listen to the man, you’d hardly peg him as a drug lord. Polite, soft-spoken. A loving grandfather. But then she’d met his eyes, and there was a coldness there. Reptilian. Eyes that said, mess with me and you’ll not live long enough to regret it.
She yearned to ask him more than why she was here. Were all the rooms in this mansion filled with hostages? Was Trish behind one of those closed doors she’d passed on the way to hers? Aguilar had said dinner would be served later. The bounty of food spread on the table and sideboard offered more than a respectable buffet for a small crowd, not hors d’oeuvres for three. Would she be meeting more houseguests?
All she could think of was Hansel and Gretel being fattened by the witch. She knew Aguilar wasn’t going to eat her, but her flesh crawled nevertheless. What he had in mind was probably worse.
And then Steve had walked in. Tall, lean, and looking like he was ready to spit nails. But politely. Justifiably upset at being abducted, but wise enough to play it cool. As if he knew this was not the time or place for either anger or the sense of humor she’d already begun to appreciate.
When he sat beside her, his warmth, his simple presence, settled her. Although he was as vulnerable as she was, he made her feel safer than half a dozen cops backing her up on a bust. The cops might have guns, but Steve had… damn, she didn’t know what he had, and she had to stop thinking he could save her. Even if it turned out he worked for Blackthorne, what good was a private investigator? They were detectives. P.I.s found people, ferreted out clues and evidence, but they didn’t rush into the fray, weapons blazing. They rarely carried guns. They let the cops handle the messy stuff. And she was a cop.
Which, she could only pray, Aguilar didn’t know. If they’d found her purse, it would have her false ID, one she used on stings, in case the johns got snoopy or demanding. And Aguilar had been calling her Miss Grisham, which was the name on her ID. He could be stringing her along, but for now, she’d assume they wouldn’t find her badge case until someone cleaned out the room.
But Trish’s meds. Elle wracked her brain, trying to remember if she’d put them back in her purse or left them on the couch. Her memories were sharper as the drug wore off. She envisioned herself in the hotel room. After offering the vial to Steve, she’d set it beside her on the sofa. The cushions were loose-fitting. Could the meds have slipped between them? Might they still be at the resort? Elle wouldn’t say anything unless Aguilar brought it up. She would not give him something to hold over her.
“Is the port not to your liking, Miss Grisham?” Aguilar said.
Elle kept her expression neutral but gripped Steve’s hand, sending him mental signals not to react to her name. She almost jumped from the chair and hurried to the table, hoping Aguilar would be following her with his gaze, giving Steve time to compose himself.
“Oh, no, it’s very good,” she said. “I thought it went so well with this cheese that I wanted more.”
“Yes, the Stilton. They do complement each other,” Aguilar said.
She braved a glance at Steve, who was also following her with his eyes. He set his glass down and crossed to the table. “What would you recommend for mine?” he asked Aguilar.
“Ah, an excellent question.” Aguilar hoisted himself from his chair and came to the table. He pointed to a circle of cheese with a fancy crisscrossed rind. “Allow me.” He cut a wedge and set it on a plate, along with several crackers, and offered it to Steve. “This is a cured Majorero, a goat cheese from the Canary Islands. Enjoy.”
So much for a second alone to make sure Steve understood her cover name. But since he seemed to be playing along, she breathed a little easier.
Steve accepted the plate from Aguilar with a nod. He slipped his arm around Elle’s waist and drew her close. Aguilar gave them a knowing smile and returned to his chair by the fire.
Steve brought his face close to hers, nuzzling her neck. “Grisham?” he murmured.
She brought her lips close to his. “For now.”
They ambled to the chair, projecting what she hoped was the image of a couple in love—so much in love they’d put being captive second to being together. She hesitated, letting Steve sit first, then joined him. The chair was smaller than a loveseat, but larger than an ordinary chair. As she snuggled alongside Steve, she dovetailed her fingers with his, surprised at the tingle that filled her breasts and snaked down to her belly.
Survival, she thought. They’d come through a life-threatening situation and it was a common physiological reaction. But even a harrowing bust gone south had never felt like this.
Steve’s other hand, draped over her shoulder, intensified the feeling. Damn, the thin fabric of the dress Aguilar had provided did nothing to hide the way her nipples had gone taut. She lifted her plate of cheese in an attempt to hide her reaction.
When she thought about what her captors had said—s
he was to be Aguilar’s… companion… until he tired of her, she shuddered.
“It is too cold in here for you, perhaps?” Aguilar said, apparently misinterpreting the reason for her shiver. “I do so enjoy a fire, and even in November it is too hot. This room is for my private winter.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Steve said. “I’ll keep her warm.” He tightened his hold, drawing her closer.
She smiled up at him. “And you do such a good job.”
The way Aguilar stared at them, his eyes reptilian in their coldness, sent another shudder down her spine.
At a knock on the door, Aguilar set down the port he’d been sipping. “Enter.” His tone was calm, contradicting the flash of annoyance that crossed his face. A Latino, dressed in black slacks and a white tuxedo shirt peeked into the room.
“What is it?” Aguilar said.
“Patrón, I am sorry for the disturbance.” He walked, head bowed, to Aguilar’s chair and extended a folded piece of paper. The man said something in Spanish, backed halfway across the room before turning and scurrying out the door.
Aguilar unfolded the paper, stared at the contents. Cold fury passed across his features. He smashed his cigar into the marble ashtray on the end table beside his chair. The reaction was short-lived, and he returned to being the polite host. “You will excuse me,” he said. “Enjoy the wine and food. I will return shortly.”
His booted feet clomped across the tiles. Fists clenched at his sides, Aguilar stormed out of the room.
Chapter 11
Jinx watched Aguilar leave. Did the note have anything to do with Fozzie’s plan? He hoped so. All this waiting and pretending was driving him nuts. It would at least be good to know he was in the right place. Elle wriggled in the chair, moving away from him. He ran his fingertip down her bare arm.
“I’m sure he’s got surveillance everywhere, so let’s stay in character.” He cupped her face, gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he whispered, “I called you Elle. Did I blow it?”
“No. The name I used at the resort is Elspeth. Elle works.”
He tilted away, capturing her eyes with his. “Elspeth. Nice. Has an old-fashioned ring to it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We need to talk.”
“We are talking.” Jinx kneaded Elle’s neck, leaning over so his lips were behind her ear. Damn, she smelled good.
“I mean real talking. We need to have a plan. You think they’ll lock us in our rooms?”
He kept his face near hers, his voice low. “Probably. But it’s not out of character for us to try to sneak around so we can be alone together.”
Footfalls clicked on the tiles outside the room. Elle’s eyes widened. She wrapped her hands behind his neck and pulled him to her. Pressed her lips to his. His mouth opened in surprise. Damn, she tasted as good as she smelled.
It’s a charade, he reminded himself.
Tell that to another part of his anatomy. Charade or not, his arousal was real.
The footfalls clicked past, growing more quiet as they continued down the hall. Jinx would have kept up the pretense, but Elle pulled away.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t ever apologize for doing what has to be done. You made a smart move.” He stroked her cheek. “It was a struggle, but I think we pulled it off. To reinforce the image—” He pulled her head into his chest and nuzzled her hair. “Did you find out anything?”
She spoke against his shirt. “Nothing other than this guy’s elevator stops short of the penthouse. Did you see his eyes? All sophisticated manners, but he’s a snake, ready to strike.”
More footfalls, not the clickety-clack sort. Aguilar returning? If so, he was calmer than when he’d stormed out of the room. Jinx lifted his eyebrows, and Elle shrugged. He captured her mouth with his.
Did the field agents in the ops teams ever pretend to be lovers on the job?
The reality that his team—his friends—could be injured or trapped somewhere, living off the land instead of this lap of luxury, splashed over him like a bucket of ice water. He needed to keep his head in the game.
The door opened, and Jinx broke the clinch, pretending to be embarrassed at being caught. Elle ducked her head, smoothed her hair.
But the man who stood in the doorway wasn’t Aguilar. Nor the man who’d brought the message.
“Please come with me,” the man said. “Patrón says dinner is early for you, for your customs.”
He, like Aguilar, spoke politely, but the tone left no room for objecting. Jinx kissed Elle’s forehead and took her hand. “Shall we?”
Once again, they were shepherded through the mansion, this time into a modest dining room that surprised Jinx with its rustic simplicity. And with its comfortable temperature. A small rough-hewn table was set for two. No tablecloth, just a brightly colored runner and placemats. The colorful tableware reminded him of Mexican restaurants in San Francisco.
“Please. Be seated,” their escort said. He pulled a chair out for Elle and placed the napkin onto her lap. Was his gaze lingering there? He straightened. “I shall bring your meal.”
Jinx yanked out the chair at the second place setting, grabbed the napkin, flapped it open, and shoved it onto his lap. The guy had pushed his buttons. So much for keeping his head in the game. He reached across the table for a blue glass pitcher, which appeared to be filled with water.
You’re in Mexico. Isn’t the first rule don’t drink the water?
As if reading his mind, Escort Man—or was he Waiter Man? said, “The water is bottled, señor. Until you adjust.” He ducked his head a fraction of an inch and retreated through a door at the other end of the room.
Until he adjusted? That didn’t bode well for a short stay.
“Guess we’re dining alone,” Elle said. Her gaze flitted around the room, as if she was doing the same thing he was. Seeking hidden cameras or listening devices. Which, if this Aguilar was as good as he appeared to be, would be undetectable without electronics.
“I’m sure our host wouldn’t abandon us.” Jinx scratched his ear and gave his head a tiny shake, assuming Elle would understand they shouldn’t think they had any privacy. “Would you like some water? The man said it was safe to drink.”
She passed him her glass. He filled it, but she didn’t drink. Not a very trusting sort. Not that he blamed her. Nerves had his mouth desert dry. He filled his own glass and braved a small sip. Wouldn’t do to offend their gracious host.
Elle’s eyes darted to and from the door. Of course. He kept thinking of her as a woman, forgetting she was a cop, and probably a thousand times better at this than he was.
Waiter Man came through the door wheeling a cart holding a large covered tureen and two earthenware bowls. Jinx had a quick flashback to the resort and another waiter wheeling a cart. He kept his gaze focused on the waiter, who merely wheeled the cart tableside, opened the tureen, and ladled delicious smelling soup into two bowls.
Jinx’s mouth watered and his stomach growled. He really hoped there was nothing funky about the soup, because he was starving. The waiter reached to a lower shelf on the cart, and Jinx tensed. The man brought up two smaller bowls, one filled with skinny tortilla chips, and the other holding three small avocados. He reached below again and came up with a knife.
Jinx gripped the edge of the table. Waiter Man deftly halved an avocado, popped out the pit, and cut the flesh into small cubes. He sprinkled tortilla strips and avocado bits atop each bowl of soup. Smiling, he placed one in front of Elle, then served Jinx. “Please enjoy.”
With another tiny nod, he wheeled the cart out through the door.
Elle picked up her spoon and tasted her soup. She smiled, then spoke softly. “I’m hungry. If he wanted us dead, he’d have thrown us out of the plane. I can’t see any reason to dress us up, bring us down here, and feed us gourmet food if all he wanted to do was drug us again.”
“Excellent logic, because this sure smells good.”
“It is,” she said. “It’s on the spicy side. Chipotle, I think.”
“I can handle a little spice.” Jinx spooned up a mouthful, swallowed, and his tongue was set ablaze. Tears streamed from his eyes, he coughed, and his nose ran. He reached for his water glass, but Elle stayed his hand.
“Not water.” She pushed the sugar bowl across the table. “Eat a spoon of that.”
He wasn’t going to argue. He scooped a spoonful of sugar and did as Elle recommended. The sweet crystals dissolved in his mouth, and did quench some of the fire.
He coughed again, wiped his nose and eyes with his napkin. “Where did you learn that trick?”
“My brother. He competes in chili cook-offs. It’s a survival trick. Dairy is best, but there’s no milk or ice cream on the table.”
“Maybe we’ll get ice cream for dessert.”
Jinx eased a piece of avocado from the top of the bowl. He’d seen that come straight out of its skin, so it shouldn’t burn his taste buds. The creaminess worked to absorb more of the heat. He was hungry enough to brave another small taste of the soup. Beneath the heat, he discovered the underlying flavors of the broth. “It’s good. Took me by surprise is all.”
Elle covered her mouth with her napkin, as if she were struggling not to laugh.
“Hey, my mother’s family originated in Germany. They don’t do spicy,” he said.
A glimpse of motion captured his attention. Aguilar approached the table, his expression unreadable. He pulled out an empty chair and sat. Not acknowledging Elle, Aguilar’s cold, brown eyes fixed on Jinx. “Mr. Brand. I believe we have business to discuss.”
Bingo!
Jinx took a sip of water while he ran through everything he was supposed to know about being Stephen Brand. He positioned the glass precisely at the tip of his knife and raised his eyes to Aguilar. “Sir?”
“It is very simple. I understand you are out of work. It so happens I am in need of someone with your talents.”