by Lydia Rowan
His original hunch had been right.
Nola Bailey was good through and through.
Sexy, too, Cruz couldn’t help but notice. A perfect mix of sweet and sultry, the kind of woman that any man with a brain would rush home to. So what was she doing here alone?
Sam cleared his throat, pulling Cruz out of his thoughts. The kid stopped typing and looked at him warily.
“So…” Sam said.
“Spit it out, Sam,” Cruz said.
“I know I’m just the new guy, but why can’t we send her to the embassy? I mean”—Sam looked over at Nola, his gaze caressing her much the way Cruz’s had, and an inexplicable flare of jealousy sparked in Cruz’s chest—“anybody can see that she doesn’t belong here.”
“She’s with us,” Cruz said flatly.
Sam didn’t take the hint. “But why?”
“Think it through,” Ace interjected.
“What?” Sam replied. “She’s out of her depth, so why shouldn’t we just drop her off?”
Seemed simple enough and probably the approach Cruz would usually have taken. But something in him rebelled at the idea of dropping Nola off, leaving her well-being in the hands of someone else. And there were a couple of pretty huge issues he needed to sort out.
“There are two bodies in her hotel room, Sam. Maybe being discovered as we speak. So what, she just goes to the embassy and explains that it’s all a huge misunderstanding?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that might not work.”
“It won’t. And those guys who showed up at her hotel worked for someone. We need to figure out who.”
Sam’s eyes widened as he considered, and Cruz pressed on.
“And someone fed us false intel, making her the suspect, so I don’t know who we can trust. Speaking of, where did you get her name and picture?” Cruz asked.
“My guy at the airline. I trust him,” Sam said.
“Well, I don’t. Get us a full passenger list and pictures if you can. And crack that drive,” Cruz said.
Sam inclined his head toward Nola. “And her?”
“Why are you so concerned?” Cruz said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.
“We’re supposed to be the good guys, man. I didn’t sign up for hurting people, especially not innocent Americans,” Sam said, voice brimming with conviction.
The kid spoke the truth. But there was no other way. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to her. Now get that information.”
••••
Nola peeled her eyes open slowly but despite the stiffness in her body and stabbing pain in her neck, she didn’t move. The room was bright, blindingly so, and definitely not her own. She’d hoped yesterday had been a dream, a nightmare, and that today she’d be able to finish her vacation and then go home like she’d planned, laugh about that silly but realistic dream her mind had conjured up.
But it hadn’t been, and if the room hadn’t established that, the broad back that met her gaze when she opened her eyes slightly wider would have.
Cruz.
Her rescuer before, and now, apparently, the man standing between her and going home. Maybe this morning she could convince him to let her go.
“You’re awake,” he said, though he hadn’t even looked in her direction.
She said nothing.
“Come on, Nola. I know you’re awake. I can hear you thinking.”
Nola lay still a moment longer, and then finally threw in the towel. Her body screamed as she sat up, and she tossed a hand onto her neck, trying to rub away some of the tightness.
“I can’t even believe I fell asleep,” Nola said.
Then she snapped her mouth closed quickly. She didn’t need to be talking with him, and if she was, it should’ve been about how he was going to give her passport back and let her get out of this mess.
He turned then, and Nola’s breath was momentarily taken. The insanity of yesterday had been real as had the beauty of the man across from her. He was as handsome as he had been yesterday, more so, maybe. Nola was no longer in the midst of a meltdown but he was still as potent and powerfully masculine as she’d originally seen.
“Lots of excitement. You crashed,” he said, voice somewhat gruff but those amazing eyes almost friendly.
“So I still can’t go to the embassy, huh?”
He shook his head slightly, eyes still friendly but still equally unyielding.
She stood, blood rushing to her legs and a full-body stretch taking over before she could stop it. Relief at the burn and pull of her muscles as she moved filled her, and Nola closed her eyes, stood on her tiptoes, and leaned into the stretch. When she opened them, she met Cruz’s gaze.
His intense eyes caressed her with naked interest. No one, not even her boyfriend of seven years, had ever looked at her like that, like plain ole Nola Bailey and her lumpy body were the most enticing thing he’d ever seen.
A fevered rush of awareness stole over her body, and her nipples pulled tight under his scrutiny.
“The bathroom’s that way.” He nodded at a bag on the table. “Get changed and then we’ll talk.”
His deep voice only intensified the tingling pull at her breasts and stoked an intense thrum between her thighs. Again, she knew her reaction was not lost on Cruz. He lowered his gaze to her chest, and Nola’s nipples puckered even tighter. She knew he could see them through the thin fabric of her shirt.
Nola turned abruptly and headed to the bathroom, not seeing anything around her. She couldn’t, not when her body throbbed with need that Cruz had stirred with one heated glance. It was ridiculous, especially considering her life as she’d known it could well be over. But neither that, nor Carl and Sidney, nor the sense of failure that had sent her here could distract her from the memory of that heated stare on her skin.
She showered and dressed quickly, using what was left of her tapped reserves to keep her mind focused on getting out of this. After several deep, and hopefully calming, breaths, she exited the bathroom and headed back to the sitting area and kitchen. Her resolve was sorely tested when she saw Cruz standing next to the window, sunlight spilling over his form. She let her gaze take in his strong hands, solid forearms, bulging biceps, and unshaven jaw.
But she didn’t meet his gaze and instead rushed to the small table across the room.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“Chasing down a lead. They got a safe house set up, too.”
That husky note in his voice was gone and in its place was cool reserve. Before she could stop herself, Nola looked in his direction, met the blue gaze that sparked as warm as his voice was cool, and then she looked away.
“Eat,” he said, moving toward the table.
“I thought we were going to talk,” she said.
“I’ll talk while you eat,” he said.
She didn’t look at him, but she heard as he moved, watched his strong, masculine hands as he slid a glass of frothy green-yellow liquid across the table to her. The loud grumble of her stomach betrayed her, and she smiled quickly at his laugh and reached for the glass and took a sip.
“That’s pretty tasty. What is it?” she asked, again sipping at the sweet, almost-but-not-quite-soda drink.
“Nuroc mia, sugar cane juice,” he replied. “And we have xoi, sticky rice, and banh mi, Vietnamese bread for breakfast.”
“So why can’t I go to the embassy, and where did you get my clothes from?” she asked as she broke off a piece of bread.
“I went back to the hotel to see if there was anything else. I grabbed a couple of things.”
“I thought you said it was too dangerous to go back?”
“It was, but I had no choice. I needed to see if I’d overlooked anything and figure out how much of a head start we have.”
“And how much of a head start do we have?” she asked.
“None,” he said, and with that simple word, a startling realization hit her.
Nola stilled her hand and looked at him. “So they’
re going to think I killed those guys and ran off?”
When he didn’t deny it, she dropped her hand and almost threw up the two sips of juice and bite of bread she’d just swallowed.
“So that’s why I can’t go to the embassy?”
He nodded.
“I could tell them it was you,” Nola said. A shiver of unease racked her body at the thought of doing so, but Cruz seemed nonchalant.
“You could, but then they’d think you were a liar and a murderer. I’m a legit private security contractor here with the official blessing of the Vietnamese government. My denial would be backed by my two equally legit and equally welcome colleagues. Not odds I’d want to play if I were you.”
Laid out in that almost unassailably logical way, Cruz’s story rang so true Nola herself almost believed it. The statement had been more than halfway a bluff, but his retort clarified, or rather, reclarified, how totally screwed she was. And how dependent on Cruz she was.
Nola rubbed her hand across her chest as if doing so would slow her rapidly beating heart or stop the knowledge she was likely an international fugitive.
“Would you have?” he asked quietly.
“What?” she responded, focusing on him again.
“Said it was me?”
Nola pondered the question, but didn’t need to ruminate long. She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
And as nuts as it was, she wouldn’t have. Sure, Cruz had killed those men, but for her benefit, and Nola wouldn’t sacrifice him to save her own skin.
He flashed her a quick smile of approval, eyes going bright for a moment before a more serious expression returned.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” Nola whispered, her voice trembling.
In response, he graced her with the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.
“Always. You’re going to eat breakfast, and then we’re going sightseeing.”
9
Nola gaped, looking at him as if he had two heads. It was so adorable, he wanted to kiss her.
“Sightseeing?” she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.
He snorted out a laugh and nodded slightly.
“So I’m likely a fugitive wanted for murder by the police and for who knows what by God knows who else, and we’re going to go sightseeing?”
“Yep.”
“That’s the worst fucking plan I’ve ever heard.”
He barked out a laugh at the little O of surprise that shaped on her mouth.
“Don’t sweat it, Nola. You’ve earned a bad word,” he said.
“I’ve earned at least two,” she replied as she grabbed the bread again, which made him laugh harder. “So why are we going sightseeing?”
“We’re not. I’m taking you straight to the safe house until we get this figured out.”
“So… Why…? Argh…!”
Cruz easily dodged the banh mi that sailed in his direction and laughed again. “Those are good. Don’t waste them,” he said.
“I’m glad you find this funny, but you’re not the one whose ass, I mean bottom, is on the line here, Cruz,” Nola said.
He sobered then. “You either. I promise, Nola, I’ll get you out of this.” He held her gaze with his, hoping she could understand how serious he was. After a moment he grinned. “But that was pretty funny. I thought you were going to pass out.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, turning back to her plate, “I’m glad my life-or-death struggle amuses you. But just because I’m going along with this, don’t think I won’t make this as hard as I can for you if you push me. And what’s your full name? I need to know it for the hex I’m putting on you and all your progeny.”
He snorted. “You’re too nice for that. I can tell. And I’m Duarte Cruz from Seattle.”
She stopped and looked toward him. “Duarte?”
“Yep. It means ‘guardian’ in Portuguese.”
She nodded and then eyed him warily.
“Well, Duarte Cruz, I hope you live up to your name because I’m trusting you with my life.”
••••
“You’re doing a heck of a job showing me the sights for this not to be a sightseeing trip,” Nola said a little after they’d set off.
“It’s not, trust me. I wish I could transport you in a tank, but that’s not an option, so I have to make the best of it,” Cruz said, scanning the crowd around him.
He didn’t like this, not even a little, but he needed to get Nola to the opposite side of the city, and with traffic, that could take hours, hours that would leave her exposed. By foot was the best way.
“I—” She stopped and jumped back, moving out of the path of a cyclo that zoomed past them and began weaving between the slower-moving cars and buses.
Cruz, who was already close, moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder. “Watch out,” he said, squeezing her tightly for a second.
She huffed a sigh of frustration and then seemed to wilt before him, eyes wet with tears.
“Nola,” he said, capturing her gaze with his own, “I’m with you, and I’ll get you there. Let’s go.”
He slid his hand down her arm and rested his fingers atop hers. After a heavy pause, she lifted her hand and settled it in his. Her fingers were small, delicate-feeling in his, and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining them trailing across his body. Cruz shut that down as fast as he could, and lifted his mouth into a quick, and hopefully comforting, smile. She returned it, hers tentative, unsure, but streaked through with threads of hope.
Cruz wouldn’t let her down.
He squeezed her hand, and then they again set off.
They walked at a fast but not too fast clip, Cruz keeping her hand in his as he scanned the crowd. He’d known they would stick out at least a little, but Cruz wanted to blend with the tourists and crowd as much as he could, so he couldn’t move too hastily, tried to keep up the front of two Americans out for a visit.
But every second they spent outside had him on the edge.
“It’s very impressive, and so much different than home,” Nola said, breaking into his thoughts. Her usually quiet voice was raised because she had to speak loudly to be heard over the crowd. Her eyes were bright, some of the tension and stress that had crowded her eyes fading, even if only slightly.
“Different from anywhere,” he said as he guided them through a narrow street. “What do you think so far?” Cruz asked.
“Circumstances aside, it’s pretty incredible,” she said.
But she wasn’t paying attention to him, instead watching one of the card games that was taking place in a shop entryway before moving to the coconut vendor who dragged a bundle of fruit down the crowded sidewalk.
Good.
He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, and if the excitement of the city distracted her from her plight, he could stay sharp and on the lookout until they reached their destination.
They were getting closer, but Cruz wouldn’t relax until they were where they needed to be.
“Nola, do you want to—”
An unmistakable boom drowned out his words.
10
Nola heard the loud sound and the others that followed it and turned toward the noise. But all she saw was the crowd scattering, the group descending into chaotic screaming and running.
She squeezed Cruz’s hand and stared at him, confused, but he was not. As he’d been at the hotel, an icy calm seemed to overtake him, and his face was set in a determined mask. His gaze swept over the crowd, and then he moved.
But Nola was stuck, confusion and fear sealing her feet to the ground. Not even when another series of small booms sounded, closer than the last, did she move.
“They’re shooting at us, Nola, and we have to move. Now.”
Cruz spoke calmly as if this was an everyday occurrence, which for him it might have been. But when he clamped his hand down around hers, she felt his urgency, and it snapped her out of the haze that had cocooned her. He started to run, pulling Nola behind him.
She kept up as best she could, his hand tight around hers, and the whizz of bullets buzzing past her leaving her no choice but move forward. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d lulled herself into thinking this wouldn’t be so bad. A grave error on her part, she saw now.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
Chips of concrete from the building that they ran past shattered off and Nola jumped and grabbed her cheek.
When she felt warm stickiness coating her fingers, she ran harder.
••••
Fuck! Fuck!
He’d fucked up. He hadn’t thought that whoever was after Nola would come to such a public place, but he’d been mistaken, and now he and Nola were running for their lives.
The safe house was a couple of miles away. He would have made it easily on his own, but there was her to consider. He turned to her, noted the smear of red on her cheek, saw eyes wide with the terror that had only so recently left them.
Their pursuers seemed to be falling behind, the swarming crowd making the approach difficult. This was their chance. He ran faster and then ducked into a side street, pulling Nola behind him as he ran through even more card games, ignoring the vendors who called to them. And Nola kept up, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace indefinitely.
“It’s not too far,” he called back to her.
She nodded, and breathed deeply, chest heaving with exertion, face wet with sweat. But she didn’t stop moving. With each step, Cruz anticipated more bullets, but none came. Still, he didn’t slow, didn’t even think about it, wouldn’t until they’d reached their destination.
When he spotted the building, he finally slackened the pace, but stayed alert for any sign of trouble. He didn’t see anything, the sleepy neighborhood typical of the apartment blocks assigned to midlevel Communist Party and military officials. In fact, it was almost idyllic, and Cruz hoped it would hold.