by Karen Anders
He turned to look at her, the soft yellow fabric of her blouse clinging to her, making him think of a long, slender flower. “I have taken several high-profile cases, especially the release of Arthur Maddox, the CEO of TechCom, when he was kidnapped by extortionists in Mexico City. His family was terrified and felt the FBI wasn’t doing all they could. They hired me and I worked with the Bureau. I have contacts there, too, if you ever need them.”
Her smug tone made him chuckle. “Touché.”
She met his gaze, her eyes steady. “We started off on the wrong foot. I went off the grid and investigated on my own when I should have contacted you.” Her voice got softer. “I was worried and scared. I apologize for that.”
It wasn’t the danger he was worried about or the backup. He just didn’t want to be in close proximity to this woman for weeks. He worried that her personal connection to the case would be what compromised her and...him.
“Apology accepted. I apologize for arresting you, but I was trying to prove a point.”
“In a jerk move.”
“Yeah, I’ll admit. It was a jerk move,” he said. He’d been pissed she had gone behind his back, seemingly hell-bent on her own agenda.
She heaved a sigh. “I know you don’t want me on this trip, but I’m extremely competent in what I do. I hope that you don’t feel I can’t handle any situation that crops up.”
He pulled out of the parking spot and drove out, turning right, heading toward Camp Pendleton North. “As I said, I feel you’re too close to the situation. When the time comes, it may take a cool head and nerves of steel to get your nephew back.”
“His name is Matthew.”
“I’m aware.”
“But you haven’t used his name. Is that your way of staying detached?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. When it comes to children and babies, I, like most law enforcement, find it a very difficult case.”
She nodded and said in a subdued voice, “I could tell you horror stories about the homicides that involve children, especially in the LA area. Gruesome stuff.”
“I’ll pass.” They were silent as he pulled up to the marine corps mess. He put the car in Park and glanced at her. “Is that why you left LAPD?”
“Yes. I was burned out, and I couldn’t sleep at night anymore. The job was all-consuming. Also, Lily was here in San Diego and she wasn’t doing well. Her love life was a complete mess. I wanted to be closer to her. So I opened a branch office here.”
“It’s pretty clear you don’t get along with your grandmother. That must be pretty tough.”
“It was. I’m sorry you had to witness that. It was embarrassing, but she pushes my buttons. Normally I can handle her, but with Lily hurt and in a coma, and Matty gone, I just lost my temper.”
“It must be difficult for you to leave Lily and go on this trip.”
“Yes, immensely. I’ve been battling my guilt, but it’s necessary to get Matty back.” She turned a hard gaze toward him. “We’ve got to get him back.”
“We will.” He exited the car and opened her door for her. She gave him a wan smile and stepped out.
Inside the mess, it was very busy, many uniforms milling about. It was a cafeteria-style venue and they each grabbed trays.
Derrick chose the spaghetti and meatballs and Emma opted for the veggie primavera with cream of broccoli soup. They settled down at a table.
“What is your best guess for the direction he headed?” Derrick said.
“There are several routes, but since we are almost certain it was either Arturo or Gilberto who took Matty, I would say we can rule out Routes One, Three and Five. They lead to a touristy peninsula. My guess is he will take Route Two to Route Fifteen. It runs into Route Fifteen-D, which is a toll road and goes all the way to Mexico City. It’s better than the secondary roads that are filled with people, livestock crossings and topes, which are these horrible speed bumps that don’t have signs and can ruin the undercarriage of your car. I would guess that Matty put up quite a ruckus with his ear infection, so that murdering thug would have had to stop.” She looked at the map, then pointed, tapping a place south. “Santa Ana. It’s a good-size town and would have doctors along with the cartel’s network. He’d feel safe there. It is also a junction for Route Fifteen and is about a seven-to eight-hour trip.”
Derrick nodded. “You do know Mexico.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“No, but I’ve been to some of the worst places you can imagine on this earth, with hostile environments and people. I know how to work and survive there.”
“You have?” Her eyes went speculative and her head tilted, the copper ponytail brushing her shoulder. “Military?”
“No.”
She studied him for a moment. “Not a mercenary, that’s for sure. You’re too much of a hero for that.” His heart jumped at what she said. Hero? He couldn’t exactly agree. “And, I would say, not a contractor, either. Leaves only one possibility.”
He took a bite of his spaghetti. No way was he confirming or denying anything. It was second nature.
“Spook.”
He just kept eating. He expected her to get irritated with his nonanswer, but instead, her face softened. “You were a spy and that must have been a very lonely existence.” She reached out and folded up the map and tucked it back into her purse. She set her forearms on the table; her soup had been barely touched and her pasta had only a few bites out of it. She silently met his eyes. Derrick was never one to flinch or give a thing away when people tried to find out what he had done before he’d joined NCIS. His upbringing had taught him about deception, lies, outright manipulation and living in the shadows, pretending to be something he wasn’t. The strain of being interested in destroying what others had built took its toll. Derrick had lived the lie, knowing the moment he got control, he’d be the one to dismantle his adopted father’s empire.
He’d been a CIA officer, a field agent, the kind that used lies and deception to his benefit. He was most definitely a master at manipulation and he lived in the shadows, often doing what was necessary to protect his country. He never batted an eyelash and had no remorse for anything he’d done to keep America safe.
“You are very good.” She leaned forward, her beautiful blue eyes latched on to his. The noise of the room diminished, but his awareness of her blossomed, expanding his physical and mental knowledge of her. Appreciation, honed to a keen edge, sizzled along his nerve endings as Emma’s eyes caressed his face, her eyes penetrating, mesmerizing. He instinctively knew she would have been a master in the spy game. Her marks wouldn’t even know what had hit them. So he’d underestimated her, her competence masked by her emotional turmoil over her sister and nephew, but she was in hunter mode just like him, and in the crystalline depths he glimpsed the will of a predator.
Everything in him rose to that knowledge, a need to delve deeper into this woman and discover if she could actually understand him.
She let out a measured breath. “Many spies are not very heroic.”
He stiffened and opened his mouth, but she was still talking. He wasn’t sure what he would say. He had never admitted to another soul that he was a spy.
“The informants, assets or agents who do clandestine work are self-serving, money or the excitement driving them. Visions of James Bond dancing in their heads or the sense of being powerful, playing a dramatic role in historical events. Some just want revenge.” Her voice dropped and Derrick found himself leaning toward her as she went on. “But heroic spies—entirely different people. They are set apart from those unheroic spies, not by the tradecraft they use, something completely general, but by their fundamental principles. They aren’t self-serving individuals. The risks of espionage in the environment they chose to work in are too high to draw in selfish people. Add in the cost of secrecy and you get a solitary, lonely person. The detachm
ent and isolation are keen where relationships are false, the real person buried under layers of deception. Maintaining cover is paramount, no matter the test.”
He didn’t give a thing away, but she was already seeing what he was so good at hiding.
“You have my admiration and gratitude, Derrick. The physical and psychological toll aside, heroic spies lie and manipulate, pretend to be what they’re not, and they face terrible fates if unmasked. They carry out the most dangerous missions amongst the worst humanity has to offer and they do it without any public acknowledgement. Nothing but a star on the wall when fate turns against them. You saved anonymous lives, people who will never know they were saved, let alone who saved them. All of this in the shadows.”
In all his life, he’d never ever had anyone describe him like this. He was working for his country and his government; never considered heroism at all. He wanted to find someplace private and...kiss the hell out of her, connect with that mouth, that brain, that freaking body that tantalized him even more now. She assaulted his senses, his mind. Hell, what part of him didn’t she affect? She did things to him that no woman, not even Afsana, had done because he’d loved her deeply. But he’d given her up for his country, for his job, for his sanity, for the protection of her and of a son he would never get to know or be involved in his life, like a dad should. He lived with all of that alone, in the darkness with only one regret. He’d left the family he had craved his whole life behind in Afghanistan.
The biggest sacrifice he’d ever made in his life. He told her it was for her safety and for the boy’s, but that had been a lie. The US wanted the intel she could provide and being compromised by an American CIA officer wasn’t in their plans. He’d given up everything for his country and the mission that would save countless American lives.
There were weak moments when he wondered what it would have been like to be a dad, part terror and part pride to nurture someone. With his upbringing, he imagined he didn’t know the first thing about it, but now he knew differently. If he’d been given the chance, it would have changed his life. It made everything real and put into perspective what love, real, unconditional love, was all about.
He hadn’t gotten to hold him, be there when he woke up in the middle of the night, talk about his fears or the satisfaction of being there just for the random, everyday stuff. He knew he loved the kid, even if he wasn’t in his life.
She reached out and covered his hand, squeezing it. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to give a thing away. “You done?” he said.
She smiled the kind of smile that wasn’t at all offended, but one that was more...proud, and let go of him. “Yes, I’m done. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He grabbed her tray and his, needing a moment to turn away and compose himself. Being a spy was nothing compared to the danger Emma posed. She was working with him. He couldn’t compromise this mission. Too much was at stake.
Soon, they were zooming along Route Two, their permits, passports, and his badge all locked up in belts they carried underneath their clothes. Each of them was armed and ready to run a killer to ground and take back a little boy who had somehow become a pawn.
About an hour into the trip, Emma fell asleep, but her words continued to reverberate in him as the miles ran by under his tires.
When they hit Santa Ana, they were discreet, asking about the teen in the picture with the Santa Muerte tattoo who might have brought an infant in for treatment. Most people were happy to see them go, but a brave nurse told them in low tones that he’d been in the office. As far as she knew, he was instructed to let the infant rest. Perhaps they stopped for the night in one of the hotels on the outskirts of town.
Completely exhausted, Derrick and Emma got back into the car, stopped to pick up some food and headed for the hotels. There weren’t many. When the proprietor of one gave them a terror-filled look and said they had left about eight hours ago, Derrick and Emma decided to eat and get a few hours of sleep, then get back on the road.
Emma was in full support of this plan. She had slept, but Derrick hadn’t.
“How many rooms?” the hotel manager asked.
“One,” Derrick said, and Emma looked at him, but didn’t say anything in public. He took the key and they drove to the room and entered, each with a backpack, what Emma called a quick pack: change of clothes, water, first-aid kit, rain poncho, flashlight with batteries, nonperishable snacks and a lightweight blanket.
“One room?”
“Safer if we stay together.” He didn’t even wait for her to argue, but headed for the bathroom, dropping his pack near the door. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“I can take the first watch.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “All right, but we get on the road in a few.”
* * *
He closed the door, and it took all of Emma’s willpower not to imagine what that man looked like without those impeccable clothes. Earlier, he’d ditched the suit for more casual clothes, but anyone with a discerning eye could tell they were just as expensive as the suits. He had good taste and an amazing butt, his shoulders wide, tapering down to that trim waist. And those eyes, so dark, so deep, she used both hands to keep from falling into them. And when he smiled, really smiled, her knees got a bit weak.
The water came on and she went to the back of the room, not satisfied until she surveyed her surroundings. She peeked out to scrub grass, sage and brush, patches of red clay visible, the Sierra Madres in the background. The sun was setting, turning the sky purple, pink and orange. The distinct silhouette of saguaro cactus was black against the vibrant sky. Turning on the air conditioner, she dropped her bag.
She’d meant every word she’d said. He was a handsome, stoic son of a gun, that was for sure. But Emma had the kind of observation skills that were almost paranormal. Derrick was good, really good at that blank stare, giving nothing away. She would expect that of a skilled operative. The fact he neither confirmed nor denied her observations gave him away.
He hadn’t admitted to anything, but she knew what he had been, even if she wasn’t sure of the government acronym. She also was one hundred percent certain that he was a bona-fide hero.
She also recognized that lone-wolf way. She was guilty of the same damn thing. Sure, she’d worked closely with a partner, but Emma had kept herself separate. It felt safer that way. After what happened with her parents, and her emotionally bankrupt grandmother, keeping Lily safe was all about remaining strong and independent.
None of that really mattered. She wasn’t here for Derrick; she was after Matty and that was her priority. Her sister, still in a coma in San Diego, was holding on and Emma had to be hopeful that she would pull through. She was confident her sister wouldn’t want her hovering around a hospital when their precious Matty was in danger. Yet Emma couldn’t quite escape the spurt of guilt for not being there.
Emma went back to the chair and checked her emails on her phone, handling some business while she waited.
After fifteen minutes he opened the door, steam wafting out. As he stepped out into the room in nothing but a towel around that ripped and cut waist, Emma’s mouth went dry. He was still damp, water trailing over the impressive, roped muscles of his chest, his hair mussed from being towel-dried. In profile, the close-cropped beard that framed those gorgeous lips of his couldn’t hide the strong angle of his jaw, the way it clenched as he grabbed his bag.
He dug in, turning his back to her, the smooth, powerful expanse rippling with his movement. Now she knew what swooning was all about. He tossed the bag next to hers in the back of the room.
When he turned with the clothes in his hands, she was still staring. He met her eyes and she couldn’t help getting more of that body burned onto her retinas. The flat ridges of his abdomen, the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the terry-cloth were worth getting singed.
He se
t one hand on his hip. “Do you want to watch me get dressed? Or have your own shower?”
“Sure,” she squeaked and that rare smile slipped across his face. She cleared her throat and rose. He was so close in the small room, she had to dance with him to get by, her body barely touching his, but so aware of him it hurt. He kept his eyes on hers, thickly lashed and heart-stopping blue.
He moved so effortlessly, fluidly graceful. A damp lock of hair fell over his forehead and it took everything she had not to smooth it back in place. His sultry gaze went darker, and man-oh-man did he have brooding down to a science. Still waters always ran deep.
“Emma? Shower? Don’t forget your bag.”
“You don’t want to watch me get dressed?” she said breathlessly.
His jaw clenched and she realized just what she’d said. “I mean, of course you don’t. I’ll...ah...grab my stuff.” She giggled and caught herself. She felt her face flame beet red and with her coloring there was no way to conceal her embarrassment. As she turned away, snagged her bag and entered the still steamy, moist bathroom, his scent lingered like a caress tingled along the skin. Shutting the door, she braced her back against it and took a deep, cleansing breath.
Boy, shoe leather wasn’t at all tasty. She would pull her foot out of her mouth and get going.
Maybe she should make it a cold shower.
Chapter 6
When she came out, he was over by the window, peering out. He was dressed in worn jeans and a blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up his powerful forearms, the shoulder holster buckled across his chest, the weapon’s butt protruding from the brown leather, the closure that held the gun in place unsnapped. He’d combed his hair, but that wayward lock wasn’t cooperating, looking soft lying against his temple.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s clear. Nothing stirring except some guys who got a bit rowdy. Sounds like they’d been drinking.”
She nodded, noting that his shoulders were tense. She didn’t blame him. They were in enemy territory. The room was steamy as she shoved her dirty clothes into the bag, dropping it near the chair by the window. Walking to the back of the room, she upped the setting on the air conditioner. “Let’s eat, Derrick.”