Blush

by Cherry Adair

  “I’m emailing you a list of two hundred and twelve names,” she told Somerville, not missing a beat. “I want a thorough background check on all of them. Expedite this, I need it right away. I want as much as you can dig up by Sunday night. Yes, I know. Weekend. Only two and a half days. I’m sure you can handle it. Tell me when you’re ready—I’ll give you a thumbnail with what I know. I’m looking for any and all ties of the people on this list to one another. Also, I want to know if they have been involved or are involved in illegal activities, and have hidden bank accounts. Large sums moving in or out of it, too. Ready?”

  She met Cruz’s eyes across the counter and began: “Todd Wentworth . . .” She gave the Black Raven agent any details she knew about each person. She was so tempted to cross off Todd and another dozen people she was sure weren’t involved. Just like she had been tempted to drop the check on Cruz. She didn’t. It didn’t matter what she thought. Cruz was right. Everybody had to be vetted. Even him.

  It took three hours.

  Cruz made another pot of coffee, made her a sandwich, which she didn’t eat, and massaged her shoulders. Then he worked at God only knew what on his own computer, a frown of concentration on his face as his fingers tapped away at the keyboard.

  • • •

  Mia fanned her face with a sheet of paper from the stack beside her. She liked paper, a lot of paper, and printed every new list, every new bit of information they dug up on someone. And since that involved more than two hundred people, there was a shit storm of paper on the table, on the floor, stacked beside a printer that had come out of one of dozens of boxes in the otherwise empty living room.

  “We have cool fog in San Francisco,” she told him, reading as she talked. “Even in the summer. I’m not used to this ‘muggy’ stuff.”

  Her dewy skin looked as if it tasted of flower petals, and her hair clung damply against her neck, curling seductively, beckoning him closer. He ignored the temptation. He’d tossed his shirt over the counter hours ago, and wore khaki cargo shorts and nothing else. She’d changed into a red tank top and white shorts earlier. Cruz enjoyed the way the ribbed cotton accentuated her unfettered breasts, and the sharp buds of her nipples caused by him looking at her.

  Giving him a sultry look that spiked his blood, she blew a breath, which fluttered her bangs. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

  His heart did a double tap. “Away somewhere safe? Yes. Home to San Francisco? Hell fucking no.”

  She raised a dark brow. “I beg your pardon? Who put you in charge of me? I appreciate you being protective, I really do. But this is my decision.”

  Damn it. He’d put himself in charge of her. And until this shit was resolved to his satisfaction, and he knew she was safe, he was going to be her shadow. And then, like a shadow, he’d be gone at the right time. The thought wasn’t nearly appealing today as it had been a week ago.

  “You already know dark pool shit is swirling back there. It would be incredibly foolish to tempt fate. You say you’ll keep bidding up until whoever is in that pool finally runs out of capital and gives up? Stay here until that happens.” Stay here with me was left unsaid.

  Picking up one of the pens littering the table, she seesawed it between her fingers. Papers, pens, and cold mugs of coffee attested to their persistence and focus for hours. A glance outside showed that night had fallen, and blackness pressed against the windows with their ridiculous half curtains covered with fruit.

  “I can’t let other people, Todd in particular, fend off questions and innuendos without me,” Mia told him, putting down the pen and accordion-pleating a piece of paper to make herself a hand fan. “However this is resolved, the press will be like scavengers picking at the bones of everyone involved. No matter what, this isn’t going to end up neat and tidy. It’s not fair, not to mention irresponsible, of me not to be right there in the middle of things.”

  She tried out her new fan. It barely ruffled her bangs, and she tossed the sheet of paper onto the table. “Blush is mine. I have to be there to defend my company from the wolves.”

  “You’re not irresponsible, you’re agitated that you aren’t in control of the situation. You have PR people whose job it is to make sure there’s no negative press and, if there is, to mitigate it. Let them do their jobs.”

  “I want to know who it was impersonating me in China. Hell, I want to go there. See what the situation is with my own eyes.”

  “When the danger has passed, sure. But right now you have to stay put.”

  She chewed her lower lip as she pretended to consider it. But he knew better. She wasn’t going to stay in Bayou Cheniere, Louisiana, no matter what he said. He saw in the firm set of her jaw that she’d already made the decision to go home. Cruz felt a strange surge of panic.

  Getting up, he went to her and scooped her up in his arms, turning her to face him, her legs on either side of his hips. She couldn’t mistake his erection as he settled her astride his lap.

  Loosely crossing her wrists behind his head, she gave him a stern look, made sexier by the black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Sexy librarians had nothing on sexy women CEOs.

  “We still have half the people on the list to go through.”

  She’d hired an independent security company to do that job. But she was still doing her own legwork. Cruz was observing Amelia Wellington-Wentworth in action. The powerful, take-no-prisoners CEO was sexy as hell.

  “Did you ask the Black Raven people to do a background check on me, too?” Cruz asked, sliding his palms between her tank top and shorts. Her skin was damp, silky smooth, and the heat of her skin intensified the fragrance of tuberoses, making him dizzy.

  Mia lifted her arm so he could draw the fabric over her head, then settled her wrists back on his shoulders. Looking at him over the edge of her glasses, she said, “Of course, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

  There’d be nothing to find. Cruz Barcelona had a sketchy but realistic past. He’d paid a great deal of money to make it so for Cruz Barcelona and the dozen other well-worn aliases he’d used over the years for his job. They were all solid. “Of course. You’ll find out more about me if you ask the right questions yourself.”

  Her smile was faint as she lazily ran her fingers through his hair. “But would you tell me what questions to ask?”

  Placing both hands on her lips, he lifted her from his lap so she stood between his spread knees, and pulled down the zipper on her shorts. “Under the right circumstances, yeah.” He was still undecided whether he’d tell her any part of his truth before he left.

  He loved the soft fluff he revealed as he eased the fabric over her hips. Sliding her shorts down her legs, he leaned forward to kiss her satin belly, breathing in heady musk and the rich scent of her skin.

  It was as though the very essence of her had bonded permanently with his DNA. The realization should scare the hell out of him. But she fascinated him too much for that to happen. The sex was off the charts, but it was her kindness and willingness to learn new things that captivated him. She had charm, compassion, and a steel rod for a spine.

  Kicking her shorts aside, Mia said sternly, “Lose those clothes, buddy.” While he stripped, she unfastened her bra so that she stood gloriously naked between his knees.

  Cruz ran his hands up her hips, urging her forward. “This can’t possibly be comfortable, Barcelona.” Mia spread her legs over his lap.

  He eased her down on his erection and she wrapped her arms around his neck as they moved together. “Nice and slow.”

  “For the moment.” She smiled against his neck, and his penis jerked in response to the flex of her internal muscles.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said, feeling her vaginal walls pulse around his dick. “We can finish this list in the morning. By which time they might have some answers—”

  There was no warning. One moment he was nuzzling her damp throat, planning what he’d do with her naked body when they got on a horizontal surface, and the next the window beside them
shattered. Glass showered them in a slow-motion rain of sharp fragments, followed instantly by the high-pitched whine of a bullet as it whizzed inches from Mia’s head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The bullet struck six feet behind them, exploding into the wall in a burst of sharp fragments of wood and plaster.

  Cruz, having seen movement outside from the corner of his eye seconds before the strike, was already yelling “Get down!” as he wrenched her off him, off the chair, and onto the floor in one violent, jolting move. Covering her with his body.

  In a low crouch, he shoved Mia’s shapely naked ass ahead of him across the linoleum floor, then pressed her against the solid barricade of the center island, his body forming a shield.

  No more shots. For now.

  Mia stared at him blankly as he scanned her face, her naked breasts, her satiny belly, and the dark fluff between her legs for injury. Her cheeks were drained of color, her eyes all pupil. Glass sparkled like diamonds in the messy strands of her dark hair. Several tiny cuts on her throat leaked bright red blood, but other than that, she appeared unharmed.

  “Are you hit?” He kept his voice low and calm as he ran both hands up her back, over her arms, then finger-combed her hair, dislodging glass, which pinged like hail as it hit the floor. “Mia? Are you hit?” A calm came over him and he went into work mode. Cool. Focused. All his senses wide-open to receive data.

  “My heart’s manic, but I think I’m okay. We should call Detective Hammell. What’s a hunter doing way out h— Oh, my God! The hit man found me!”

  The hit man had found her a week ago.

  They’d hired another one. One who’d get the job done, no questions asked.

  Fuck.

  This time they’d sent a sniper.

  Who?

  Several options. Cruz knew what he’d been paid. If it was anyone comparable, they wouldn’t miss next time.

  He had to make sure there wasn’t a next time.

  She sucked in a breath as if in pain, but no cry escaped her lips. Instead, she ran searching hands over his chest in return. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine.” His shorts were still around his ankles. He contorted his body to yank them up. “Go upstairs, get the Beretta, and stay hidden until I come for you.”

  “What?” She blinked him into focus, eyes suddenly sharp as she grabbed his wrist in a life-or-death grip. “No! Where are you going?”

  His SIG was in the drawer right above his head, and he was already opening it to fumble around inside. “Outside to put an end to this.” He checked the clip and took off the safety.

  “You don’t have shoes on,” she observed, sounding shell-shocked but also pissed off as she crouched there, naked and vulnerable.

  Her vulnerability scared the crap out of Cruz. He pushed the fear aside. It wouldn’t do her any good. Someone was out there. Someone who’d probably watched them having sex while he took aim. Someone who’d come to do the job he hadn’t completed. Someone who wasn’t going to be swayed by beguiling blue eyes and perfect tits. Someone who was already executing his backup plan.

  Cruz tamped down his fury into a nice, neat, manageable ball of cold rage. Colors became brighter. Sounds crystal clear.

  Time to go hunting.

  “Listen up. Get your ass upstairs. Stay away from windows, keep the lights off. Get the Beretta and hide in the closet. Shoot the first person who comes through the door. No matter who the fuck it is.”

  “The first person who comes through the door better damn well be you. Put shoes on, for God’s sake, and be careful.” Her fingers tightened on his wrist. “I love you,” she told him thickly. “I’ve never in my life said that to another man other than Todd. Come back in one piece, or I’ll kill you myself.”

  Heard. Computed.

  “Don’t even think about coming outside, hear me?” Not waiting for a response, he put a hand on her shoulder, needing—wanting—more. He was already fucked. It was no longer just about sex. That entanglement was bad enough. What disarmed him was the unexpected emotional connection that somehow had been forged between them. No time to think about that now. If ever. He didn’t know who waited outside for him. “When I turn off the light, move your ass. Low and fast.”

  Slithering across the floor, he used the jamb to shield his body as he reached up to flip the switch. The kitchen was plunged into moonlit darkness. Not dark enough. Cold moonlight shone through the broken window. He gave her a shove on the ass. “Go. Go. Go!”

  She went. He listened to the soft thump of her feet taking the stairs, then raced down the hall when he heard her footfalls over his head as she ran into the bedroom. His work boots were on the porch. Not that he would’ve cared if he had to go out there barefoot. But he didn’t have to.

  Closing the back door behind him, he waited for the click of the lock. The door was flimsy as hell. Not the original solid oak. One good kick and the lock would break. Hurriedly he shoved his feet into his boots, allowing his eyes to adjust to the speckled moonlight. Scrub grass. Shadows, the glint of water. The smell of swamp and greenery accompanied by the roar of the gator.

  • • •

  Even though she listened for the slightest sound from outside, Mia jerked in response to the muffled crack of a gunshot in the distance. Her heart leaped into her throat, then started to feel as if it were skittering frantically inside her chest.

  Don’t even think about coming outside, hear me? he’d yelled.

  Was a numb nod a promise?

  She had run upstairs, naked and shivering. And she had the Beretta. Loaded, safety off. But she wasn’t damn well hiding in any frigging closet. One, because she’d be trapped in there if some bad guy came hunting for her, and two, this situation was her problem, not Cruz’s. She was damned if she let him put himself in danger to protect her. No matter how sweetly chivalrous the gesture.

  She paused just long enough to pull on black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt and dark boat shoes and grab up her purse. She wasn’t likely to hurt anyone with a pen, but the laser pointer might come in handy.

  Mia’s fingers tightened on the butt of the gun as she took the stairs two at a time at breakneck speed in the dark. Easing open the back door, she listened for any unnatural sounds. Just bugs, crickets, and the occasional splash of water. For now.

  She sprinted across the rickety wood deck and took the three broad stairs in a running leap before the next barrage of gunshots sounded. Where were they?

  Somewhere amidst the overgrown garden? No. The last shot had sounded farther away.

  On the street? From behind the high stone wall of the graveyard? The shot sounded incredibly loud in the thick, muggy moonlit darkness. There were three other dilapidated mansions on the street. All empty. Spooky dark now. Overgrown landscaping just as her house had been. Cruz and the gunman could be damn well anywhere.

  Her entire being was her elevated heartbeat as Mia ran, hugging the deep shadows of the high bushes on the left side of the long driveway. Gravel flew up to sting her ankles, sockless in her shoes. Tree branches grabbed at her arms and snagged in her hair as she moved through the dappled darkness.

  The next loud report made her body jerk in reaction. That was followed immediately by another. A shout of pain, the pounding, uneven beat of running footsteps on something hard. Cement?

  Years of jogging stood Mia in good stead as she ate up the distance, but her adrenaline and fear had her heartbeat pounding faster than it ever had in her life. Even advanced exercise classes at the gym or her tyrant personal trainer pushing her body to the point of collapse could not have prepared her for this full-out, panting sprint with her own and Cruz’s lives at stake. With strength and power beyond her human capacity, she raced to the end of the too-long driveway where the giant oak spread its branches to lay down a black shadow-blanket on the ground.

  Into the moonlight once again. Every blade of grass, every rock and stone thrown by her foot strikes in stark, high-relief black-and-white. She was a flesh-and
-blood and breathing ghost in a world of shadows and moonlight. It was surreal. It was unimaginable fear.

  Her labored breathing sounded loud in her ears as she veered left, her feet pounding down the hard-packed dirt that ran parallel to the high, crumbling stone wall surrounding the cemetery.

  The lacy wrought-iron gate stood ajar. Frozen that way for decades. Surely not enough room for a man to squeeze through, even if he was determined. She was smaller, and a lot more single-minded. She slipped through the hard lace, eyes searching, ears pricked, manic heartbeat uneven, and loud. God, it was loud. Her fingers tightened painfully around the grip of the 9mm semiautomatic as she slowly scanned the surrounding area.

  City of the Dead. Great. As if this whole thing wasn’t scary enough. Gravel roads and walkways intersected between the crypts. She tried to walk on the grassy weeds.

  Where were they? Mia stopped, flattening her spine against a brick mausoleum as she listened. Muted voices. Male. Cruz having a conversation with the shooter? The voices gave her a direction. She darted across to a mossy angel on a pedestal. Paused to catch her breath. Dear God, she needed to breathe—her abused lungs struggled to take in more air. She covered her mouth with her hand and inhaled through her nose, trying to regulate her breathing, then crept out of that shadow and made for the next. Underfoot, gravel, weeds, dead flowers, broken bottles.

  Another barrage of shots came from the right, indicating the end of the conversation. She headed that way, keeping low now, slinking between monoliths of cement and marble.

  Old death and new death.

  Eyes dry and constantly scanning the area for danger, she prayed. Please God, let Cruz be okay.

  Pleasepleaseplease.

  • • •

  Four hit men sent for Mia, for fucksake? Whoever had hired him had hedged his bet. Talk about overkill. Cruz knew where they were; he’d seen four muzzle flares in the last five minutes.

  The tomb city had street-like rows of high marble and cement edifices, allowing anyone to hide behind the structures standing fully upright. Knee-high weeds grew in thick patches on the narrow paths of crushed shell between the eight- and ten-foot-high tombs. It crunched underfoot, no matter how lightly one stepped. Some of the doors stood ajar, perfect hiding places.