by Nicole Helm
But she was angry, and she wanted to fling her anger at everyone who got in her way. Every second she was away from Gabby, she was going to be angry.
“Follow me,” Ranger Stevens offered, sounding far too amused.
She followed him, pausing at the door to an interrogation room. It was the interrogation room where she’d all but signed Herman’s death warrant. Where she’d set everything into motion, because she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think that had put everything into motion. Obviously the FBI had had its own thing going on. It was happenstance she had gotten mixed up in it.
It was all too much, and Vaughn—the man who’d been silent for days—had the gall to send her a note—a note!—to answer more questions.
She ignored the part where she’d been silent too. Because she was afraid if she let go of any of her rage, she’d simply fall apart.
“He’s waiting.”
She scowled at Stevens, but then she entered the room on that last wave of fury.
Vaughn stood with his back to her, his palms pressed to the interrogation table. It hurt to look at him. To look at him and not touch him. It seemed that seeing Gabby this morning had broken that dam of feeling that she’d been hiding behind since she’d shot the man who’d kidnapped Gabby.
She’d been numb for days, but now, all she could do was feel. All she could seem to do was hurt. She was afraid she was going to cry, but she swallowed it down as best she could.
“You summoned.”
Vaughn turned, and she wasn’t prepared for those gray-blue eyes, the way the sight of his body and mouth trying to curve in a smile slammed through her.
She wanted to hug him and to cry into his shoulder. She wanted him.
But despite that a world of emotion seemed to glitter blue in those smoky eyes, he merely gestured to a seat at the table. “Have a seat, Ms. Torres.”
“I think you’re damn lucky I’ve taken a vow of antiviolence, because I’d as soon shove that seat up your seat as sit in it.”
She had clearly caught him off guard with that, and she felt a surge of victory with all that anger. Let him take a step back. She wanted him to react.
“Natalie, just sit down and—”
“Go to hell.” Which was probably cruel, but she wanted to be cruel, because maybe if she was, this could be over, and she could move on. She whirled toward the door.
“I was going to let you hypnotize me.”
She whirled back, somehow every sentence he uttered making the violent thing inside of her larger. “What?”
“It’s supposed to be romantic,” he returned, clearly irritated she wasn’t falling into line.
“What the hell is romantic about me hypnotizing you? You can’t tell me how you feel unless I put you under?”
“You gave me a whole lecture about people being unable to give information under hypnotism unless they want to, and I’m trying to show you how willing I am to—”
“Then just say it!”
“I love you.”
They both stood in stunned silence for Natalie wasn’t sure how long. She clutched her hands at her chest and tried to...process that. Meanwhile Vaughn stood stock-still, his eyes a little wide as if he was shocked by his own words.
“I don’t...believe in a lot of...” Vaughn rubbed his palm across his jaw and then took a step toward her. “Natalie, I fell in love with you. Your strength, your dedication.” He swore. “And I thought that’d go away, or dull, or... I don’t want to fail someone else. I’m so sick of feeling like I failed, and I just wanted to show you that I’d do it anyway.”
“Fail?” she asked incredulously.
“Try!”
“Oh.” He loved her, and he wanted to try. He was trying to be...romantic. Vaughn Cooper. For her.
“Will you sit now?”
“No.”
His eyebrows drew together, but before he could be too confused over her refusal, she found the courage to do what she’d wanted to do the moment she’d stepped in the room.
She moved into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him through the ragged exhale he let out. “Nat—”
“I love you too,” she whispered fiercely. Because that was such a better emotion to focus on than anger. That was what she should have taken away from this morning and being reunited with Gabby, not feeling anything... Love. Hope. Faith.
“I wasn’t sure... I’m not sure I know how to go from the most important thing to me being your safety—and me keeping you safe, to you just...being safe. How does...any of this work?”
She pulled back a little and tried to smile, but a few tears slipped out instead. She could tell it bothered him, but he didn’t rush to stop her. No, for all Vaughn’s gruff, by-the-book protector conventions, he always seemed to give her the space she needed to work it out.
And hold her through it if she needed.
“My life is literally burned to the ground, and I have a sister who’s been held prisoner for eight years finally back in it. I don’t know how any of this works, but I just guess you...figure it out.”
“Together?”
“We make a pretty good team.”
He wiped away one of her tears, his rough thumb a welcome texture against her cheek, his mouth gently curved, that love shining so clearly in his eyes. “We do,” he agreed, his voice rough and...true.
Because Vaughn didn’t lie, and he didn’t sugarcoat. This man, who understood obsessions and failures, violence and the absence of it. How to keep her safe, how to give her space.
They made a wonderful team, and Natalie was certain that’s exactly what they’d continue to be.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from SAN ANTONIO SECRET by Robin Perini.
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San Antonio Secret
by Robin Perini
Prologue
Two months ago, Denver, Colorado
Dreary November clouds hung low and menacing, blocking out the clear blue of the Denver sky. Small pricks of ice laced the air, but Rafe Vargas didn’t feel the cold, even as a puff of visible breath escaped his lips. His focus lasered on the door of the warehouse.
Most of the block was deserted, but orange caution tape and cones peppered the streets. Not surprising. Rafe didn’t have to walk inside the
building to know dynamite and detonator cords crisscrossed the location. This entire block of downtown had been scheduled to be dust in a matter of minutes. Covert Technology Confidential’s resident geek, Zane Westin, better be right about the target’s coordinates.
Rafe tugged the stocking cap around his ears to camouflage his identity, bowing his head to avoid providing the surveillance camera a clear image of the patch covering his left eye. That psycho serial killer Archimedes needed to believe the man currently sneaking into the building was Rafe’s best friend and fellow CTC operative, Noah Bradford, otherwise two women might die: the woman Noah guarded and had fallen in love with, and the one Rafe had flown across the country to rescue, Noah’s sister, Sierra.
Archimedes was attempting to use her as leverage to stop Noah’s investigation. Rafe wasn’t about to let that happen, but if he had a prayer of getting her out alive, he had to locate her first.
Then again, if he found Sierra in time to save her life, he might have to kill her. Or kiss her until neither one of them could breathe—the way he’d wanted to from the day they’d met.
Either choice made his gut ache. Best friends’ sisters were off-limits for one. Secondly, and more immediately, Archimedes liked to play deadly games, and he didn’t give a rip about collateral damage. He might just murder Sierra for the satisfaction of proving he could.
Rafe palmed his Kimber 1911 and slipped through the warehouse door. He eyed a camera and ducked behind a large concrete support in a visual dead zone. That ominous and all-too-familiar tingle skittered down Rafe’s spine. He had no doubt Archimedes was watching. The man was a sick voyeur, and the moment Rafe showed himself, the serial killer would know.
“We’re clear,” a worker in a yellow hard hat called across the room to the blaster.
“Then let’s get out of here. This sucker’s going to collapse like a pancake.”
The men hurried out, slamming a metal door behind them. The clang echoed through the empty building.
Rafe checked his GPS and surveyed the open area. Yep. Drilled holes stuffed with dynamite dotted columns throughout the place. No one knew the order was on hold.
They had to keep it that way. Until he found Sierra.
He followed the trail from one of the dynamite cluster’s detonation cables until a second set of wiring caught his attention.
Well, damn and double damn.
Archimedes had been here.
Military grade dets, not used for civilian demolition. No wonder the serial killer had oozed that smug, I-know-more-than-I’m-telling arrogance during their last communication. He’d rigged the existing wire to give him complete control. Even if the demolition expert didn’t set off the charge, Archimedes could. And would.
Sierra.
Rafe’s heart thudded hard against his chest. He glanced at his watch. Hell, no. Five minutes.
If he shot out the cameras, Archimedes might detonate early. Rafe tapped his earpiece. “Zane, you’re sure about those coordinates?”
“Unless Archimedes spoofed them. And he could have. I’d give it fifty-fifty.”
“Not good enough.” CTC’s surveillance expert was the best Rafe had ever worked with. There had to be a way. “If the place doesn’t blow, Archimedes is going to set off the dynamite. Can you jam the detonation signal?”
“I don’t have the time to crack his encryption.” A curse erupted from Zane. “He’s one step ahead of us. Again.”
“What about the cameras?”
“If I disrupt them, he’ll know.” A drumming sounded through the phone. “Maybe...okay, it’ll just be a minute, but I have an idea.”
“You don’t have a minute,” Rafe snapped.
A blur of tapping sounded through the phone. “If I loop the camera feed—”
“He won’t know I’m here. Very Hollywood thriller of you.”
“I try. It’s not going to be pretty, though. If he’s watching closely enough, he’ll be able to tell.”
“Do it.”
“I already started,” Zane said. “A half minute more.”
The seconds ticked by. Rafe studied the path to Sierra’s coordinates, timing it in his head.
“That’s as good as it’ll get,” Zane said. “Go.”
Rafe catapulted from his hiding place and raced across the large concrete building. He skidded to a halt in front of a closed metal door and turned the knob. Locked. “Sierra. I’m coming for you,” he shouted.
He backed up and slammed his foot against the barrier with all his weight behind him. The door bent, but didn’t open. Another kick. A third. A fourth. It wouldn’t give way.
A loud ticking echoed in his head, his internal clock counting down the seconds. This wasn’t working, and Archimedes could discover the deception at any moment.
A large spread of debris littered the floor nearby. A piece of rusted rebar stuck out from one heap. Rafe clutched it in his hand and wedged the end in a small crack created by his assault. With a loud groan he pried the door open.
“Sierra?”
He peered through the opening.
Empty. A mound of wiring and debris filled the small room.
What the hell?
“She’s not here, Zane. Am I even in the right warehouse?”
“According to my data, she has to be within a few feet,” he said.
Ninety seconds.
Normally Rafe’s body grew ultracalm the more perilous the operation, but this was Sierra. His palms grew damp, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple. Where the hell was she?
He rounded a corner and on the opposite wall facing the room he’d just entered, he found another door. The metal was bent, slightly off center.
He jammed in the rebar and pried it open. Sierra lay in the small, cramped closet, feet bound, mouth duct-taped, her shirt splayed open, and blood trickling from a carving of the infinity symbol on her upper left breast.
Her eyes widened.
“Got her,” he said into his comm. He knelt beside her, tugging her shirt closed and slicing through her bindings with his Bowie. “You’re one tough woman to find.”
Her body trembled, and she shrank from his touch.
“Easy does it.” As carefully as he could, he pulled off the tape. “Can you walk?”
“I can try,” her husky voice croaked. She swiped at her eyes and fought to sit up.
“We can’t wait to find out.” He scooped her into his arms and pushed out of her tiny prison. He bolted toward the door. She clung to his neck. A few feet from the exit a loud explosion shuddered the building. Smoke billowed at him, rolling in the waves of a nightmare.
Visibility went nil.
Rafe felt for the handle of the door and clutched the metal. He yanked it open. The ground shook beneath him. Legs pumping hard, he carried Sierra as far as he could.
They wouldn’t make it.
The building pancaked behind them, a sonic boom knocking him off his feet. The force slammed them to the ground.
He landed on top of her, and she grunted at the force of his weight. Before he could check on her injuries, a deluge of debris shot out with the force of an artillery bombardment. Rafe shielded her with his body, hoping his Kevlar was enough protection. Dirt, dust, metal and glass battered them both, pummeling them as if they’d been tossed into the heart of a tornado.
The world had turned to hell, and he had no idea if they’d survive or end up buried alive.
Archimedes might very well get exactly what he wanted.
* * *
THE MOTEL ROOM was a dump. Clean, but still a dump. Rafe lay on the rickety, regular-size bed and stared at the water-stained ceiling, his Kimber within reach on the bedside table. A glint of early-morning light peeked between the cheap blinds, providing just enough visibility for Rafe to study, yet aga
in, the odd patterns the discolorations had created. He needed the distraction.
His body thrummed with tension, with unrelenting longing. Sometime during her sleep, Sierra Bradford had worked her way across the too-small bed and settled on top of him, her soft, toasty body pinning his legs and chest to the mattress.
Nestled against him, she was killing him with every curve, every inch of flesh. Her warm, even breath burned a hole in his chest. Her brown hair, luxurious to the touch, cascaded over his shoulder. The clean soap and hint of lilac lotion she favored danced a seduction on his senses.
Just one small movement of his hand and he could caress her silky skin. He didn’t know how much longer he could take the torture.
He fisted the rough sheets and closed his eyes against the temptation. He wanted to groan aloud, wrap her in his arms and lose himself in her. He longed to touch her, hold her, kiss her, make love to her.
Plain and simple, he wanted her. Bad. Even if he tried, his body refused to hide his need. The moment she stirred, she’d feel him. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, short of getting out of this bed.
And damned if Rafe could force himself to move. Even if he should.
He could tick off a hundred reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to give in to the urge. Sierra deserved a forever kind of man, a forever kind of love. The kind Noah had found with Lyssa. The kind her brother Mitch shared with his wife, Emily.
Not a man whose scars—both inside and out—made him damaged goods.
Rafe breathed in deep and slow, taking in every scent, every touch, burning the memory of the moment into his brain for the long, lonely nights to come. He’d never imagined he’d be this close to her. But here they were. Together. In a small room, in a small bed, with nowhere to go.
Every minute for the last forty-eight hours he’d hoped Sierra would reveal a flaw, something that would drag him down to earth, prove that the dreams she’d inspired since they’d met were unrealistic and impossible fantasies.
His prayers had gone unanswered. She was everything he’d imagined. Brilliant, resourceful, courageous, and passionate in her loyalty and love for her family.