by Pat White
She leaned back and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry about the slap. I wanted it to look real.”
Real, like the way his heart skipped at the concerned expression in her eyes? That was very real and it scared the hell out of him.
The waitress served their drinks and they ordered dinner. Fish and chips for Jeremy and a cheeseburger for Mercedes.
“I think our spy is gone,” she said, scanning the pub.
But Jeremy wanted to sit with his arm around this warm and caring woman for just a few minutes longer. Was that so wrong?
She must have read his mind, because she leaned into his chest again, tipping her face to study him. “If you talk to him, he’ll understand.”
“What, the bouncer?”
“Your son.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. His son—a miracle or a disaster? He still wasn’t sure.
He felt something touch his cheek, warm and soft. She was kissing him again. He opened his eyes and glanced to the back hallway, but the bouncer was nowhere in sight.
She was kissing him because she wanted to, not because she had to keep up the pretense.
He looked into her amazing brown eyes. “Why did you do that?”
“You looked like you needed it.”
She was right. He did need her kisses and a lot more. Blast, how did he end up here, falling for a woman he couldn’t possibly have?
“Talk to Andrew,” she said. “Explain what happened. He can’t fault you for not knowing.”
“No, but he could find fault in a lot of other things.”
“Like what?”
“Being married to my job, being distant,” he hesitated, “being passionless.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be able to kiss like this.”
She framed his cheeks with her hands and kissed him, gently at first, then she opened to him and teased at his lips with her tongue.
He lost it, turned his body to her and slid his hand to her back, pulling her close. Then it struck him that not only was he kissing a fellow agent, but he was kissing her in public, in front of a hundred strangers.
It didn’t matter. For the first time in over twenty years Jeremy lost his will to micromanage every moment, every piece of his life. He wanted to kiss Mercedes until they were both dizzy with need.
The sound of someone clearing her throat shocked him back to his senses. He broke the kiss and looked up at the waitress. She slid their dinners to the table and raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” Jeremy said.
She walked away, shaking her head.
He looked at Mercedes, whose cheeks flushed pink. “You’re blushing,” he said.
She glared at him. “I do not blush.” She grabbed the ketchup. “Eat your dinner.”
He watched her squirt ketchup, mustard and Tabasco sauce on her sandwich. She sank her teeth into the bun and closed her eyes, making a soft sound in her throat.
He was getting turned on just watching her. After a few bites, she glanced up.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen anyone enjoy dinner so much.”
“You’re making fun of me.” She put her sandwich down.
“No, I’m not. I’m appreciating you.”
And I’m wanting you. His thoughts had to be obvious in his eyes.
She shrugged and went back to her cheeseburger.
Then again, maybe not.
They finished their dinners, making small talk. He shared a few stories about working with the Special Crimes Initiative and she spoke mostly about her adoring little sister, bossy brothers and strict father.
“I’ll never forget having to sneak out to go to a school dance with Antonio,” she said.
“Your boyfriend?” he asked.
She shot him a strange smile and said, “Sure.”
He knew then that she had loved this boy.
“What happened?”
“I never got caught.” She leaned back in the booth. “Papi didn’t even wake up when we climbed into my second story window and fell to the floor. We made quite the racket.”
“We?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. But I was only seventeen and Antonio had no experience in the girl department. Now give him a car and he knew the name of every belt and every pipe. But he knew nothing about girls and what turned them on.”
“But you taught him?”
She slugged him in the arm. “Hey, that’s personal.”
He wondered if Antonio was her first love.
Like Nancy had been his. At eighteen.
Andrew was going to be eighteen soon. Had he fallen in love yet? Made love to a girl?
“What’s with the look?” Mercedes asked.
He stabbed a piece of fish with his fork, but had lost his appetite. “Nothing, you done?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s get back to the office.”
And just like that, he withdrew, as if behind a wall of bulletproof glass, and was gone again.
Was he mad because Mercedes wouldn’t give him the ugly details of that night? The night that she’d almost lost her virginity to Antonio? Luckily her brother Carlos caught them before it got too out of hand.
Jeremy paid the bill and they started down the street. The sun had gone down, taking the warmth with it. A chill raced across her shoulders.
“You’re cold.” He put his arm around her and held her close.
It seemed so natural to be touching this man.
Kissing this man.
She sighed, knowing that this could only lead to disaster. Just like her tryst with Michael. Of course, she hadn’t considered it a tryst. She’d thought at twenty-five that she’d fallen in love and found the man of her dreams. The only time she could remember blushing was when she’d made love to Michael. Although inexperienced, she’d practically attacked him in bed and he’d pointed out that usually the man leads in lovemaking. She’d backed off, thinking they had something real and honest between them.
Then she’d shown up for her shift early and caught the boys laughing and teasing Michael about slumming with a spic. Ignorant jerks.
Michael had been the biggest jerk of all. He hadn’t stopped them, hadn’t set them straight that he and Mercedes were in love, because, obviously, Michael wasn’t in love.
Her heart broke into a million pieces that day.
Seven years later it still stung, but it was also a good lesson. Work relationships will leave you heart-broken and potentially unemployed.
She’d asked for a transfer to another district, but her sergeant rejected her request, so, she had to put up with the stares and snorts. Luckily the FBI had an opening and it probably hadn’t hurt that she was Puerto Rican. For once, she welcomed the chance she’d been given because of her race and sex.
She’d thrown herself into each investigation to prove to the world that she wasn’t just a pretty face.
“Tired or pensive?” Jeremy asked.
“Pensive.”
“Me, too. There’s so much going on with this case I can’t get my bearings.”
Like the way we feel about each other?
“The kidnapper gets the first ransom, but wants another?” Jeremy said.
“Unless he didn’t get the first ransom.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. Is this an accidental drowning?”
“I doubt it. The Coast Guard hasn’t found the body.”
“But they found the backpack.”
“True,” she said.
“Is it an Internet abduction?”
“Eddie hasn’t found anything to support that.”
“Then a random kidnapping?”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
They walked another block in silence. It amazed her how they thought alike, puzzling through the case and drawing the same conclusions.
“We’re missing it altogether, aren’t we?” she ask
ed.
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
They started up the walkway to the office and he removed his arm from her shoulder. A chill rippled down her spine.
He hesitated at the door and looked into her eyes. A smile creased the corner of his mouth.
“I had fun,” he said.
She guessed having fun was not something Jeremy Barnes admitted to often.
“Me, too.”
He opened the door and they went inside. “Hey!” Eddie called from his desk. “Your kid here is a genius.”
Andrew’s expression hardened as if the reference to Jeremy being his father sickened him.
Poor kid. He hadn’t a clue what was going on.
Yeah, like she did?
“Look at this.” Eddie motioned to the computer.
When Jeremy leaned over to look at the screen, Andrew glared at him and started to get up. Mercedes placed her hand on his shoulder and glared right back, letting him know he was staying put. “Investigators act like professionals,” she said.
He didn’t move.
“The kid here found all kinds of interesting financial dirt about Weddle’s close circle of friends. The Lynks’ have applied for a second mortgage and the Reynolds’s recently sold stock at way below the purchase price.”
“Interesting,” Jeremy said.
Mercedes could have imagined it, but it looked like Andrew sat a little straighter with pride.
“He also zeroed in on a few questionable e-mails. This one is a doozy.”
Jeremy read the e-mail and shared it with Mercedes. It was from a grant applicant who threatened to destroy Doug Weddle and his family for ruining his life.
“This could just be a nut case,” she said.
“At least it’s something,” Andrew said. “More than you’ve got.”
“We would have found it sooner if we hadn’t been distracted by my stalker,” Jeremy said.
Andrew clenched his jaw.
The two of them were so much alike, so stubborn, Mercedes thought.
“Anyway, you’ve got a few suspects here.” Eddie slapped his hand to a small stack of folders. “Max and Cassie are meeting with the Weddles about tomorrow’s drop, Joe is following up on the wine shop snafu and Bobby went back to Mountain View to check out a lead. Max cancelled tonight’s meeting. He said we could hook up in the morning around nine.”
Mercedes glanced at the wall clock. It was nearly eight. She’d spent hours with Jeremy and it felt like minutes.
“Anyway, I’m outta here,” Eddie said, standing and grabbing his jacket from the chair. “Gonna get me some beer and brats.”
“Me, too,” Andrew said, standing.
“No ale,” Jeremy ordered.
Silence sparked between them.
“Not to worry, boss,” Eddie said, motioning to Andrew. “I’ll take care of him. He can stay with me if he wants. I got an upgraded room by mistake.” He winked.
“You sure?” Jeremy said, more to Eddie than Andrew.
It was obvious that Andrew wanted nothing to do with his father.
“No problem.” Eddie turned to Andrew. “Let’s bring the laptop back with us. I’ve got Flight Simulator VI and Renegade Soldier III on it.”
“RS III isn’t out for another month,” Andrew said in awe.
“I know.” They ambled toward the door. “See ya tomorrow,” Eddie said over his shoulder.
Andrew kept walking, didn’t even turn to say good-night.
Jeremy’s jaw twitched at he stared at the door. “Renegade Soldier III,” he muttered.
She could tell it was eating him up inside—his own son wanted nothing to do with him.
“Let’s look through these e-mails,” she said, grabbing half the stack and sitting at her desk. He didn’t move. She glanced up. “Jeremy?”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Am I?” She leaned back in her chair.
He grabbed the other stack and sat across from her. “Thanks,” he said, analyzing the first open folder.
“You’re welcome.” She paged through the first folder on the Lynk family. She had a hard time picturing these people having anything to do with the kidnapping. A second mortgage wasn’t all that uncommon these days. Then she noticed something else.
“The Lynks’ company was sold last year,” she said. “Their money problems might be worse than we think.”
“And they’re in town, supposedly consoling their friends,” Jeremy added.
She shook her head. “Nah, I can’t see them as kidnappers, can you?”
She glanced up and caught him staring at her.
“People are rarely what they appear to be,” he offered.
“Meaning?”
“They seem polite and loyal. But maybe it’s an act.”
“So they’re pretending to be something they’re not.”
“Exactly.”
She glanced back at her paperwork.
“Like you,” he said.
She looked up and found him studying her again, with that same intense look. “What about me?”
“The kiss back at the pub, were you pretending? Or did something happen that neither of us had planned?”
Heat rose to her cheeks.
“You’re blushing again,” he said, his voice soft.
She snapped her eyes back to the paperwork. How unprofessional, blushing, not denying his suspicions that she was, in fact, falling for him.
“Mercedes?”
When he said her name with that crisp accent it drew her like a magnet. She glanced at him. His eyes had turned a warmer shade of blue.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think—”
His cell phone cut him off.
“Barnes,” he answered.
Good, she’d been saved from being rejected. She knew what he’d planned to say, that he didn’t think it was a good idea for them to become romantically involved.
She felt like a fool.
“Where are you?” he said into his phone. He scribbled on a piece of paper. “We’ll be right there.”
He flipped his phone closed and stood. “Bobby’s been in a car accident.”
Chapter Thirteen
They picked up Bobby about twenty minutes south of town. He’d been on his way back from Mountain View when another car bumped him, sending his rental spinning off the side of the road into a ditch.
Too much of a coincidence, Mercedes thought. They were getting close to something.
“You should have called the police,” Jeremy said as they headed back to town.
“What, and have them poking their noses into my investigation? No thanks.”
He rubbed the side of his head where a small bruise had formed.
“Maybe we should take him to the emergency room,” she said.
“No, no hospitals. I’m fine,” he argued.
But his normally playful eyes looked grayed and bloodshot, his voice sounded weak as if he was fighting a cold. The adrenaline rush must have worn off.
“Tell us what you saw, exactly.” Jeremy glanced into the rearview.
Mercedes turned to look at Bobby over the front seat.
“Headlights,” he said. “Tall, like a truck.”
She and Jeremy shared a look.
“I thought he meant to pass me, but then he slowed down, like he’d realized he was following too close. Next thing I know I’m shoved forward and the car goes flying into the ditch. Max is going to have my head,” he muttered.
“Do you remember anything about the truck?” Jeremy quizzed.
“Other than he didn’t stop to see if I was alive? Bloody prick.” He glanced at Mercedes. “Sorry.”
“I’ve heard worse.” She smiled.
“What about the driver?” Jeremy said.
“It was pitch-black, guv. I didn’t see anything.”
Bobby leaned his head back against the seat. She could tell he was frustrated.
“Do we assume it’s the same truck?” Jeremy said
to her.
“What truck?” Bobby’s eyes popped open.
“A truck nearly ran us off the road yesterday,” she explained.
“And now he comes after me? How many stalkers do you have, guv?”
“What were you investigating in Mountain View?” Jeremy ignored Bobby’s question.
“A lead Eddie gave me on the investment club. Paul Reynolds told me the Lynks lost thousands in a genuine stock that Doug Weddle picked as a fantasy investment. It’s some sort of game, the investment club, friendly competition and all that. For some reason Lynk thought Weddle had an inside track and lost real money.”
“And Reynolds?”
“He said he’d never put real money in a fantasy game. Nice chap, offered me a pint.”
Jeremy eyed him.
“Okay, I accepted. I didn’t want to be rude,” Bobby said. “I didn’t even drink half of it, guv, honest. Anyway, it seems the Lynks have a strong motive for kidnapping.”
“But Lucas might recognize their voices,” Mercedes said.
“They could have hired someone to snatch the kid,” Bobby offered.
“Possibly,” Jeremy said.
She sensed that something bothered him. They pulled into the hotel parking lot and got out of the car.
“We’ll walk you in,” Jeremy said.
“I’m not a bloody baby.”
“No, but you’re acting like a bloody wanker. Be gracious and let us help.”
They walked Bobby to his room, speculating about the Lynks as suspects.
“Thanks, guv, I’m fine, truly,” Bobby said, opening his door.
“Very well then.” Jeremy nodded to Mercedes and they headed down the hall.
Laughter echoed off the walls as Eddie and Andrew came around the corner.
“Hey, boss,” Eddie said. “What’s up?”
Andrew’s icy stare must have torn Jeremy apart.
“We brought Bobby home,” Mercedes said. “He was in a car accident.”
Eddie’s smile faded. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. A little banged up. A truck forced him off the road, possibly the same truck that tried to run us off yesterday.”
“Description?” Eddie nodded to Andrew, who pulled out a small notebook.
It was almost as if he was Eddie’s assistant.
“A beat-up red truck, a pickup,” Mercedes said.
“Plate number?” Andrew asked.