by Karen Anders
He’d make sure of it.
Caliche, Mexico
Derrick stood in the dark square of the small, peacefully sleeping city of Caliche the night after they had lost Matty. His hands in his jeans pockets, fingering his folding knife, were contracting into fists. The gun in its holster was pressing against his ribs. He wanted to kill someone, but the two main targets were hundreds of miles away now.
A man approached and said softly, “I was shocked as hell to hear from you. I thought you got out of this game a long time ago, son.” His thick Southern accent was the one he was born with, but it was often hidden behind so many identities and accents, Derrick had rarely heard it.
S. Robin Browne was a veritable chameleon and almost as good at espionage as Derrick. He wasn’t even sure that was his real name. Derrick straightened, glancing around the square. The guy didn’t look a day over nineteen with his blond ponytail, scruffy beard and a perpetual confident smirk, a hippie company man toting more weapons on his body than anyone Derrick had ever met, who from observation knew Browne didn’t need a damn one of them to take an opponent down. He was also one of the lost boys, an orphan like Derrick. “You never get out of this game,” Derrick said bitterly, knowing that while lies and deception were all part of his past, they were now also part of his present.
The guy laughed softly.
“I need some information.”
“Even though you pulled me away from another part of Mexico and my current mission, you saved my life, man, more times than I can count. Name it.”
“I need the name of Gilberto Ortega’s second-in-command.”
“That’s an easy one. Man, I’m not even breaking a sweat here.” He bit into an apple he had been tossing in his hand as he crossed the square. He leaned against the wall. “Sadistic son of a bitch that goes by the name of Francisco Flores. You crossed paths with him?” He took another bite. “Best to kill him swiftly and cleanly. Make sure the job is done.” He worked at his tooth, then took another bite of the fruit.
“Not yet,” Derrick said. “He’s not in the country right now, but my gut says Gilberto Ortega isn’t quite done with the area he’s carved out here in Mexico.”
“Your gut trumps even tarot cards, psychics and any form of intel for me, man.”
“Still got that warped way of looking at the world, Browne?”
“What can I say? I’m the company’s joker.” Then he grinned.
Derrick sighed. “I’d stake my life on Ortega coming back. He’s going to keep what’s his. It’s going to be a bloodbath. But he’s going to have a forerunner. So when Flores returns, let me know.”
“You’ve got it.” Browne finished off the apple and threw the core into a trash can a few feet away.
Derrick grabbed the man’s shirtfront and said in a low and menacing voice, “If you breathe a word of this to anyone or betray me, I will come back here and kill you. We clear?”
“Crystal. I got you. This one means a lot to you. I won’t take you threatening to kill me personally. But I do have a question.”
“What is it?” Derrick asked and let him go.
“Does this have anything to do with that gorgeous redhead with the amazing legs and eyes and skin—” Derrick growled “—you’ve been paling around with?”
“So, our presence here didn’t go unnoticed?”
“What kind of spook would I be if I wasn’t aware of all the potential chaos going down in my little neck of the woods?” He straightened. “I’ll give you a piece of advice for free. Don’t get involved, man. You’ll do things, dangerous things, that will get you dead because you lost your head. Screw her, but cut her loose. I’ll be in touch,” he said and right before Derrick’s eyes, the guy walked off and simply vanished.
The fallout from Gilberto’s “fake” coup, supposedly orchestrated by a rival cartel, had everyone in the area in an uproar. The rival group was trash-talking and taking all the credit; other cartels were circling around the Ortegas’ vacated piece of prime drug lord real estate and the area was quickly turning into a powder keg.
Velasco had survived his gunshot wound, reported back to the attorney general who then reported back to the NCIS director, offering his condolences on the way the case had been botched by one of his own.
When Derrick had contacted Kai, she had been sympathetic and saddened by the news. She’d ordered them both back to the US. Now that Matty wasn’t in Mexico, their only recourse was to go home, regroup and figure out their next steps.
They had a room at the hotel and he’d left Emma sleeping there to meet with Browne. He wasn’t going to tell her anything and it tore him up inside that he had to be secretive to keep her from getting any more involved. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew he’d lied to her. Exposing Emma to any more danger just wasn’t on his agenda.
He’d lied to her and he knew this jeopardized everything they had between them. He also knew what they had between them was...significant. But he knew going into this that he wasn’t sure he could change.
He closed his eyes and swore softly under his breath, hitting the side of the building with the flat of his hand.
She trusted him.
And he was going to find a way to get Matty that was completely illegal and dangerous. He was going into a world she wasn’t prepared for, didn’t have the skills to disappear and blend into like he did. She was tough, beautiful and he was in too deep, but he’d rather lose her than have her death on his conscience or have to look into those heartbroken blue eyes every day, knowing Matty’s loss was eating at her. It was in his nature and he was doomed to be a loner. It had been an illusion to think he could fight it. Putting other people ahead of himself had been what joining the CIA was all about.
He walked back to the hotel and slipped back into their room. He wasn’t trying to hide anything anymore. Emma needed him now, and he needed to be there for her.
He slipped out of his suit coat, gun holster and shirt, pulling out the weapon and setting it on the bedside table. He shucked off his jeans. In his underwear, he stood beside the bed. She was curled up on her side, still asleep, and she looked so soft and vulnerable lying there.
He slipped into the bed and she shifted automatically against him, nestling her head into the hollow of his shoulder, resting her upper body against his chest, her arm going around his waist. He clenched his teeth at the exquisite sensation of having her curl around him. He dipped his head and brushed a soft, lingering kiss against her forehead, smiling a little when she made a soft sound and turned her face toward his warmth. If only things could be this simple.
Brushing back the wisps of hair clinging to her face, he kissed her again. He stared into the darkness, thinking about what had happened on that runway two days ago. He had received something from her that he had never expected to have in his life. An emotional gift. And he couldn’t be sorry about it.
But what left his gut in a knot was that she had lost it the way she had. From his experience, Emma never lost it. She was pensive, heartbroken, and it hurt his heart to see her like that.
Releasing a heavy sigh, he gazed at her, his expression solemn. Even in the faint light, he could see the shadows under her eyes. Matty’s loss had hit her so hard. And, he admitted, him, as well.
She stirred and he brushed a light kiss against her temple.
“Where did you go?” she whispered.
“To get some air,” he whispered back.
“Any news?” she asked, her voice hopeful, and he hated that he had to be the one to dash it.”
“No, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
She caressed his waist and then his hip. Lifting herself up, she kissed his jaw. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said softly, a teasing inflection in her voice.
“I’m not the bossy one,” he said.
She snort
ed, and he rested his head against hers. He immersed himself in the scent of her, the feel of her.
“I won’t let you down, Emma,” he said gruffly. He looked at her, something painful happening around his heart when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Sliding his hand along her jaw until his fingers were buried in her hair, he drew her head down, the fullness in his chest making his throat tight. He took her mouth in a soft, comforting kiss. Wrapping his fingers around the back of her head, he held her still as he softly, slowly, brushed his mouth back and forth across hers, tormenting her, tormenting himself. “That is a promise,” he whispered unevenly against her mouth. “Nothing is going to stop me from getting your nephew back, protecting your sister and you.”
Releasing a pent-up breath in a rush, Emma slid her arms around his neck and moved on top of him. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, Derrick turned his face against her and wrapped his arms around her, wondering how in hell he would ever manage without her. Grasping a handful of hair, he clenched his jaw and turned his head against hers, something raw and wild breaking loose inside him. Inhaling raggedly, he clutched her against him. A tremor coursed through her, and she drew her knees up and pulled out of his hold.
Kissing her way down his chest, her hair cascading down his body in a sensual caress, she tugged at his shorts and pulled them off him.
His hips lifted off the bed when her mouth found him hard and pulsing. There was no way he could hide how she affected him. Her tongue swirled and he almost lost his mind. Needing her, he dragged her up his body and she forced his hands down by his head. Another tremor shuddered through her, and her body rose up, then lowered onto his throbbing erection, taking him deep inside her, where he needed to be.
Derrick clenched his jaw against the sharp, electrifying surge of feeling, his shoulders coming off the mattress as she moved once, twice against him. His heartbeat frenzied in his chest, his pulse thick and heavy, he tightened his fingers through hers in a white-knuckle grip, turning his head against the pillow.
Ah, damn. He was in love with her. It was over, and he was a goner.
Bending over him, she stroked her hands over his biceps, his shoulders, his chest, deep satisfaction purring in her throat, her breasts grazing his chest. “Derrick...” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, Derrick.” Another shudder coursed through her, and her breath caught as she flexed her hips, her hot, wet tightness gripping him, stroking him, drawing him closer and closer.
An agony of sensation shot through him, and he rolled his head again, the cords of his neck taut, and he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. He wanted her, he wanted her so badly, to just let go and come out of the shadows, to ride the hard, swelling need. Give in to her.
Then she moved again, taking him ever deeper inside her, and he went under, the fever claiming him. He groaned and flexed beneath her, driving inside her. He couldn’t stop.
* * *
In the morning they were driven to the airport for a six-hour flight back to San Diego. When they landed, they grabbed their luggage and headed out of the airport. Standing in the busy meeting area, where people were hailing cabs and crowding the curb and circling around, looking for their friends and family, Emma put her hand on his arm. “Would you come with me to the hospital?”
He should really get into the office, but couldn’t say no to her. They hailed a cab to her house and picked up her car, then drove to the NAB hospital.
When the elevator stopped on Lily’s floor, guards were visible in the hall and outside her room. So far there hadn’t been any more attempts on Lily’s life, but Derrick wasn’t naive in thinking that Ortega had given up. He was biding his time. That was all. It was going to be a race against the clock to get to him before all this died down and Emma and Lily were deemed out of danger.
He suspected Ortega wasn’t going to let any of Matty’s relatives live.
Lily looked the same, beautiful, vulnerable and young, except her bruises were healing. The doctor came into the room and said, “Hello, Ms. St. John. Your sister is doing very well. There is quite a lot of brain activity. We’re optimistic.”
Emma clutched his hand, squeezing hard. “Thank you, Doctor. That is such good news, something I really needed right now.”
The doctor left and Derrick, too intuitive for his own good, knew she needed a hug. He pulled her against him, pressing her ashen face against his shoulder. She meant so much to him. He felt her chest heave, and she pressed her face tighter against him; then, on another uneven breath, she slid her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.
Trying to ease the sudden knot in his throat, he tightened his arms around her and rested his head on top of hers, the hard knot of tension in his belly finally letting go. He gave her a few moments to regain her equilibrium; then he began rubbing her back. It took about thirty seconds, but she finally went slack against him, and he felt her take another deep breath. Running his other hand up her neck under her hair, he shifted his head and rested his cheek against her temple.
His voice was low when he murmured, “I’m going to get us some coffee.”
She settled in a chair by the bed and said, “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you.” Emma nodded, turning to talk to her unconscious sister.
As he exited the room, Derrick experienced a shot of guilt, and he felt like a first-class bastard. Inhaling heavily, he stared straight ahead and headed for the coffee machine.
* * *
An hour later they got off the elevator in the parking garage and at the car, he stopped her and said, “We have two options here, Emma. We can find a good restaurant and go for a late lunch or early dinner or we can go to my place, and I’ll fix you something amazing when we get there.”
He was rewarded with a shaky laugh. “I think maybe you’d better tell me if you can cook or not.”
He made a face. “Details.”
She smiled and flattened her hands against his back. Experiencing a flurry of emotions, he tucked his head tighter against hers and caressed the base of her skull with his thumb, her hair like silk against his hand. Waiting for the thickness in his chest to settle, he continued to stroke her neck, wishing like hell they were somewhere out of public view. He gave them both a minute, then he eased his hold a little and shifted her head so he could see her face. She looked pensive and worried.
Keeping it light, Derrick managed a smile. “So, pretty woman. What say you?”
“What are you having?” she said with a glimmer of dry humor in her eyes. “Hopefully something that doesn’t begin with ‘cup o’...’”
He chuckled and rested his arms on her hips, determined to keep this light. “No, I can promise you something better than just a carton and steaming water.”
As though she was afraid of what he would see in her eyes, she dropped her gaze. “No restaurant, okay?” she whispered.
He gazed down at her bent head, her hair shining like metal in the sun, and his chest got tight all over again. “Pop-Tarts it is,” he answered, his voice husky.
She backhanded his arm and laughed as he reached for the door and opened it for her. “Would you mind driving?”
“Not at all.” Once she was tucked into the passenger’s side, he got behind the wheel, took a moment to acclimate himself to the controls, then drove out of the garage.
She looked at him, the strain gone from her face, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes, and Derrick’s heart did a barrel roll in his chest. “You’re good at that.”
“What?”
“Managing vehicles—planes, trains, motorcycles, boats, ships, aircraft carriers. I bet you can fly anything, drive anything and absorb it in minutes. Make split-second decisions.”
“If you’re asking me if I was a spy, just come out and ask me.”
“I got the feeling you don’t want to talk about that.”
Something sweet and warm unfolded in his chest, closely followed by a more sobering emotion. Feeling a little too exposed, he shifted his gaze and tugged on a loose strand of hair. “In the past, I’ve avoided it. But with you, it’s different.”
“Were you a spy, Derrick?”
“Yes, Emma. I was a CIA field officer. A spy, spook, ghost, shadow. Man in Black.” He swallowed. He’d never told anyone, but it seemed right to tell Emma.
“I thought so, but having you confirm it feels...very good.” He took her hand and pressed it against his thigh, covering it with his own. Her only response was to turn her hand palm up, lacing her fingers through his. When he glanced at her, she was sitting with her head tipped back against the headrest, her eyes closed, as if absorbing the quiet. She looked serene and relaxed, but he could see the rigid tension along her jawline, as though she had her teeth clenched. Derrick tightened his hold on her hand, refocusing his attention on the road, his own jaw tensing. He felt as if he was standing at the edge of a deep, dark precipice, with very little room, and if he made one wrong move... He shifted in his seat. He didn’t even dare think about it.
The sun had dipped in the sky by the time they reached his house by the ocean, and he pulled into his garage, his stomach grumbling. He opened the door for her and she reached up and caressed his jaw. His lungs suddenly tight, he gave her a quick kiss on the temple.
He dragged open the patio door and led her inside, dropping her keys on the kitchen table. He grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge and held it up. She nodded and he poured her a glass. She settled at the bar and he placed the goblet in front of her.
Pouring himself some, he then raised it and she did, too. “To survival,” he murmured. She clinked his glass and drank. He filled a pan and set it on the stove.
She laughed. “That looks like you’re boiling water to me.”
He gave her a sidelong glance that had her softly sighing. “You know you’re god-awful handsome, right?”