Temptation and Treachery (Dangerous Desires)

by Sahara Roberts

  “I was so worried.” Her brother, Leonard, wrapped his arms around her, practically sagging in relief.

  Chapter Nine

  For two days he believed in the possibility of happily ever after. Then she’d gone and shot it all to hell.

  “No, baby, the sun’s too hot to go topless,” the voice cooed through the earpiece.

  Rio ground his molars as Gatlin, the team lead, shared another update on the poolside view, reminding him of her. The woman who’d made him believe in a life outside of this.

  The strike team had moved into position, Gatlin at the rear of the sprawling mansion, hours before sunrise. After spending all day on his belly, at the edge of the clearing, he’d gotten restless and started tormenting the men.

  “Sure she ain’t a desert queen?” asked a mocking whisper. “She might go from a ten to a two once we’re back home.”

  “Three B, fucker,” Gatlin shot back. A low, appreciative whistle was the only response. “These cartel guys get the hottest chicks,” he muttered.

  Beautiful. Blonde. Boobs. A trinity for the team; the words rearranged with the individual’s order of importance. Rio curled his lip. He’d be damned if he wasted another minute thinking about the beautiful, busty blonde he’d had in his life. Not after she left him waiting for weeks. “Shut your damn mouth and keep your eyes open.”

  Rio kept watch on the front of the house. The area was quiet—too quiet. Not even a guard or lookout. The scene made his gut churn. Why would Ayala, who’d been under threat of death or arrest for years, leave the house unprotected? Or was it a false lead? Were they walking into a trap? Ayala had been fighting with Guerrero for years, but over the last few months they’d escalated to a bloody turf war. Now, suddenly, he’d made a move without his usual level of precaution. Their informant had reported Ayala was grounded and heading for a ranch house. The whole situation was suspect—

  “Eagle’s got an SUV two clicks out,” Angel broke into his thoughts. “It’s moving in fast.” Rio switched screens, watching the progress and making sure they weren’t going to end up with a motorcade bearing down on them. The team was set for a coordinated strike, but if they were getting ambushed, the brush and mesquites surrounding them didn’t offer much protection.

  “Might be him,” Gatlin suggested. “The goon’s sending her inside.” Of course, even bloodthirsty killers needed someone to come home to every now and then. “See you soon, baby,” he crooned. “Oh yeah, she could definitely be a future ex-wife.”

  Rio craned his neck to one side, the muted pop relieving some of the pressure as they prepared for the payoff. He’d submerged himself in the job for the past three weeks, working at a maddening pace with a single-minded purpose. Capturing Victor Oziel Ayala, the leader of the Ayala Cartel. The man he may have allowed to get away, because he’d been tangled up with a woman. Never again. He should have stuck to “no expectations”.

  The vehicle came into sight, kicking up dust along the ranch road as it drew near. He cleared his mind while Gatlin did a final comm check, but pale blue eyes and a sweet smile flashed through it nonetheless. He tightened his grip on his weapon with a dismissive sniff, focusing instead on the dark SUV pulling into the driveway in front of the house.

  The driver, a burly Mexican man with slicked-back hair, stepped out and surveyed the area. Rio measured his breathing. In. Out. In. This arrest had been a long time coming. A goal he should never have set aside. He was determined to hold his position—motionless and undetected—until the last possible moment.

  Seconds ticked by every few heartbeats. Still, the guy remained rooted in place, sensing something and not knowing what. Finally, he took a backward step, then another, reaching for the rear door. Rio exhaled slowly, waiting while words were exchanged. The passenger emerged, a man, roughly five foot ten, with gray-streaked hair and a tailored suit. Rio adjusted the scope. Come on, turn, damn it. Finally, the drug kingpin and former businessman stepped up to the front door and glanced to each side as he reached for the knob. “It’s Ayala,” Rio confirmed. “Move in.” Adrenaline shot through his system as the team exploded from the surroundings, swarming the mansion in smaller groups.

  …

  Celeste paused, scented bubbles dripping over her arm and shoulder. Did something fall? The multi-head shower system drowned out the noise. No, not a fall, it sounded like more of a crash. Her heart sank. Leonard would be livid. Her brother was very particular about— Raat-raat-raat. Her eyes went wide as the unmistakable sound of rapid fire filtered up from the first floor. Single shots and more automatic fire echoed over her panicked breathing.

  She dropped the loofah and shut off the water. Yanking a plush towel from the ornate bar along the wall, she wrapped it around her and crouched, taking quick, careful steps so no one would hear her. Were the guards winning? Oh God, was it really winning when people were being shot and dying?

  Blinking away the trickle dripping from her hair, Celeste swallowed hard and reached for the door. Shaky fingers slipped over the knob, ineffectively. Breathe. She used a corner of the towel to open the door. Another swarm of bullets then a man’s loud cursing came to an abrupt end. Her stomach flip-flopped at the imagined scene.

  Celeste made a beeline to the foot of the bed, dropping the towel. She grabbed the T-shirt, fumbling with the seams, unable to find the bottom in her panic. A sob escaped her as she shook out the tank top, pushing her arms through the opening, then fighting with the material that kept sticking to her skin. Noise in the hallway spurred her on. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.” She pulled up the shorts she’d worn, forgoing the underwear.

  What the hell was happening? Her brother had left her to wait for their father at his ranch house, hours from civilization, over three weeks ago. Without a signal, she couldn’t call the police. She had no idea if there were any neighbors nearby, or if they’d even help.

  Now what? She looked around the room, not seeing anything with the threat looming on the other side of the wall. The door was locked…right? At this distance she couldn’t focus enough to be sure. Giving up, she started searching the room again, trying to take stock of what she had on hand. Paintings, flower arrangements, a few picture frames, and a statuette of an angel. While none of them would do much damage, she at least had a handful of missiles.

  The shooting stopped. Thud. “Oh shit.” She’d hardly taken a step when a thunderous crack stopped her in her tracks and the door shot open. Her eyes widened, and her breath stuck in her throat. A giant in dark gear blocked the entrance, a lethal-looking weapon sitting comfortably in his hands. He or they had made it past the half dozen armed guards, up the stairs, to the end of the corridor. She stifled another sob. Was anyone left downstairs? He stepped in.

  An unexpected scream burst out before she could suppress the reaction. She launched herself across the bed. Stretching out an arm, she reached for the angel. Maybe with a little luck her aim wouldn’t suck… She had too much to lose if she didn’t move.

  The intruder clamped a hand around her ankle, dragging her back. “Let go, you—” Her brain stalled on the word. She kicked, trying to dislodge his hold, refusing to surrender without a fight. Tears burned at the back of her eyes and the only name that mattered sprang to her lips. Rio. As if calling out to him would bring the help she desperately needed.

  She managed to bite back the sound just as a strong arm snaked under her, ripping her from the bed. Her back slammed against him, and her legs kicked air. The pillow she snatched slid out of the case, leaving her with little more than a sleeve of soft Egyptian cotton.

  Anger bubbled inside her, escaping in another shriek. No, she wasn’t going to be taken so easily. Straining away from him, she kicked her heels, hoping she might hit his knees. Her elbow went to his chest, hitting a pack on the vest. He didn’t budge with either attempt. Instead, he shoved her forward. She put out her arms to break her fall, but he’d thrown her on the bed, letting
the soft mattress take her weight. Movie snippets flashed through her mind like the scenes at the end of her life. Kidnapping. Water boarding. Rape. No, not when she could be…

  Within a second he brought her hand to her lower back and sent her face-first into the bedspread. He caught her other wrist, and a chunk of hair, jerking her head up and back in the process.

  Through the wet strands, she made out another figure at the doorway. Like her captor, his face was covered by a mask and goggles so she couldn’t see his expression. But he lowered his weapon, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. She was getting tossed around, and he stood there watching with amusement. “Bastard.”

  Somehow they communicated, because the guy at the door shot up and headed to the bathroom. Meanwhile, the man behind her hauled her upright. “What do you want from me?” She could picture herself like those movies where the woman was crying and mascara was streaming down her cheeks.

  The giant remained silent while he grabbed the pillowcase and brought it down over her head.

  Chapter Ten

  Rio’s gut churned as he dragged the makeshift hood over her head. Celeste, the woman he’d expected to never see again, was at an Ayala safe house. Not tied up. Not terrified. Not hoping for rescue. No, she had to be the blonde Gatlin had seen lying out by the pool. What were the fucking odds?

  She’d taken him for a fool, because he’d never suspected she’d be a plant. Someone sent to throw him off the trail. But he’d approached her, switching from his usual position at the back of the plane to sit closer. And she was nothing like the women he’d hooked up with in the past. So what the hell? Was it some fucked-up coincidence? And her claim about visiting her family? How did this clear the air with her father?

  “Clear,” Gatlin confirmed from his earpiece. The others started falling in. All accounted for. All safe. Well, he wasn’t about to give himself away before he got some kind of answers from her. And the best way to get to the truth was to keep her from knowing he was involved. That didn’t mean he’d hand her over to Gatlin. The horny son of a bitch would have to settle for being the interrogator.

  “Wait. No.” She struggled against him, but he jostled her, moving her away from the bed.

  As always, she’d thrown him. His hesitation, when he recognized her, could have cost him his life. Luckily his instincts kicked in. Otherwise she may have pulled a gun from the nightstand. All she needed was a second to end him.

  Gatlin reached out to take her, his eyes eating her up like a mutt lapping up gravy. Rio’s back went rigid. White-hot jealousy jutted through him like thorns when the other man drew near her. Oh hell no. Not after the way the bastard had been giving a play by play on her. Right now, her underwear lay on the floor, covered by the bedspread, and her shorts were little more than a hand-width long. Rio tightened his hold on her arm, fighting the urge to yank down her shirt to cover the wedge of skin at her hip. Skin that had been a flawless porcelain until now.

  He turned, signaling with fingers slashing across his throat, and glared hard enough to make the other man take a step back. That should take care of the damn grin hidden behind the mask. Rio gave her a hard nudge, leading a reluctant Celeste out of the room and down the hall despite her trying to work herself loose. They maneuvered down the stairs and out the front where he handed her over to be loaded in their SUV before returning to the house.

  Gatlin caught up to him. “What gives?” he asked off comm, hitching his head in question as he fell in step.

  A muscle ticked in Rio’s jaw. How could he explain the unexpected show of dominance? The jealousy that even now made him want to haul back and knock the shit out of the man who dared to eye fuck his woman. “I need your head in the game, not drooling over your prisoner.”

  “No shit. I get you’ve been doing this since Jesus was a corporal, but I’m no boot,” Gatlin defended gruffly. Yeah, the guy had chops. No denying that. “What the hell? I thought you’d want to get your hands on your trophy, but you kept going and found that handful.”

  Normally, Rio coordinated the strike and monitored the team’s progress. But today’s arrest was his for the taking. One of the notches he wanted on his belt. So he left Damian at the monitors, and he took a chance at bringing down one of the bloodiest cartel bosses they’d seen in years. Yet when he’d shot Ayala, from halfway up the staircase no less, he’d kept going. He’d been itching for a fight. Anything to burn the adrenaline coursing through his system. Then he found Celeste and wondered if he hadn’t gone bat-shit crazy.

  “There were enough men on the ground to load him up and get Parker to patch up his leg.”

  “Round up’s done,” Damian called through the earpiece. “Ayala’s asking for Victoria.”

  “The blonde?” Gatlin frowned.

  Victoria. Rio’s ground his molars. Had anything she’d said been true? Man, she’d pulled off one hell of a con. He felt like the world’s biggest ass. The one and only time he let his guard down, he’d ended up in bed with the cartel. Literally.

  “Yeah. She’s his kid.”

  Rio stopped cold. Son of a bitch.

  …

  Celeste was unceremoniously shoved into a hard-backed chair. A headache hammered against her temples. After hours in a vehicle, sitting away from the seat due to her hands being tied, she was grateful for the support. She shifted, adjusting her arms along her sides, pushing her bound hands through the opening under the chair’s back. With everyone refusing to answer her questions, she had no idea where she was. And no idea who’d taken her.

  “Where am I?” she asked in Spanish. Like all the other times, she got no response. Shoes squeaked and a door closed nearby, closeting her in. Had her kidnapper left? She strained to hear any sound. Nothing. But despite the door, she knew someone stood close by, watching her. If this were a scene on TV, the girl would be creeped out, or terrified, and imagining some slobbering weirdo drooling as he sniffed her hair.

  But she was neither. Somehow not being alone set her at ease, pushing fear to the edge of the wall and up in the corner. That disturbed her most. How could anyone not be freaking out over this? “I must be mental,” she shook her head, muttering under her breath.

  Something shifted in the air around her. What was it? Her pulse sped up, thrumming against her throat at a thrilling pace. Maybe her mother had been right. She was more like her father than she cared to admit. Maybe she’d been hiding a daredevil streak deep inside. And now, when her life might be in danger, she felt a sharp thrill at the unknown.

  The door opened again, letting in some of the fresher air from the hallway. This time footsteps sounded on the floor, coming closer. Unease crawled up her spine. Okay, this is more like what I expected. At least there was nothing in her stomach to come up. She scooted back against the chair, putting as much space between them as she could. She waited. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Unable to stand the building anxiety, she blurted out, “Who’s there?” Her shoulders tightened. “Where am I?”

  A long scrape, a soft thud, then the hood was pulled off her head, taking her hair along with it. Celeste narrowed her eyes, blinking to focus, shaking her head to toss her hopelessly snared locks. The man in front of her—tall, dark-haired, and steely eyed—picked up a folder from the table, reading the contents. Folder. Table. A single light shining down on them. There was no mirror along the far wall, but this felt more like the interrogation rooms on TV. Were these the good guys? The tightness in her chest loosened a tiny bit. But even television’s Richard Castle had WRITER stenciled on his vest. So who were they?

  “Victoria?” he asked.

  “Celeste,” she replied automatically.

  He looked up from the file, his lips tightening at one corner. “I have it on authority that you’re Victoria Ayala.” If not for the thin goatee, she might have missed the slight frown.

  She inhaled shakily, preparing the explanation her mother
had drummed into her head since she was a kid. “My name is Victoria Celeste Patron. But yes…” She fought the urge to fidget. For the first time, she was actually going to voice the words to a stranger. “Victor Ayala is my father.” That’s when she felt it again. A heaviness in the air, somewhere to her left. She glanced over, but going from darkness to light had blinded her. She could only make out a large outline against walls painted institutional gray.

  She turned back. “Are you the police?”

  “No.” And he didn’t offer more.

  But he wasn’t one of her father’s rivals. This was too formal. Too regimented. Hope welled inside her for the first time in weeks.

  “Do I get a phone call?” She was sure Leonard had taken her across the border, and she had no idea what rights she might have in Mexico.

  He lowered the folder, pulling a cell from his pocket and sliding it to her. The shadow stepped up behind her. The flutter in her chest came back. Something clicked, then he pulled on her wrists and cut through the ties. She brought her hands forward, massaging her wrists as she squinted into the shadows. A dark figure from head to toe, still wearing the gear from the raid. She frowned.

  “Who do you plan to call?”

  She turned her attention back, parting her lips, but stopped before she said his name. The number she’d memorized glowed a bright neon in her mind’s eye, yet she hesitated. What good would it do now? What could she say? Hi, Rio, I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I think I’m in Mexico, in custody by God knows who. She sagged. No, she wouldn’t call. They’d spent a little more than a weekend together. For her, it had changed her life, in every way possible. For him… Tears burned behind her eyes. “There’s—” She shook her head, ever so slowly. “There’s no one,” she whispered.

  “Tell me about the Rialitos Ranch.”