Whatever It Takes

by Dixie Lee Brown

  NATE DRESSED WHILE Alex showered, then went to the small cooking area and started breakfast. The aroma of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee filled the motor home. Nothing smelled better than fresh-­perked coffee. He poured two cups, took a swallow from one, and carried the other back to the bedroom, handing it to Alex as she came out of the bathroom.

  “Thanks.” Her gaze rested on him over the rim of the cup as she took a sip.

  He stepped closer and took the cup back, setting it on the built-­in cabinet beside the bed. His big hands circled her small waist and pulled her close. “Any regrets?”

  “Plenty.” She smiled and stroked his cheek with her finger. “But none that involve you.” A sparkle of humor appeared in her eyes. “That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

  Nate cupped the back of her head, lacing his fingers through her hair, and stepped into her so their torsos almost touched. Her nipples, swollen and firm, strained against the fabric of her shirt and made his lower stomach clench with need. He tipped her head back, forcing her to look at him, and held her gaze for several seconds. Desire darkened the gold flecks in her eyes to nearly negligible.

  Slowly, he claimed her mouth, savoring the texture of her lips as he moved over them. He traced the edges with his tongue until she opened for him, and he plunged in, deep and full, aching to have her beneath him again. She tasted clean and sweet, with a hint of coffee. Yeah, that pretty much described Alex Morgan.

  Nate kissed her twice more and let her go. Instead of continuing to get ready, she stepped into him, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his chest. Something about her actions assuaged his frustration, and he wrapped her up tight, dropping light kisses on her forehead.

  “Is that breakfast I smell?” Alex peered around his biceps.

  He abruptly released her and rushed back to the kitchen, determined not to burn their breakfast. Her melodic laughter followed him.

  Nate dished up two plates and they ate sitting side by side on the sofa. She drew up her long, sexy legs and sat cross-­legged, resting her plate on her knees. Her hunter green shorts hugged her in all the right places, paired with a short white tank top. She’d left her hair down around her shoulders. She looked damn good—­maybe even happy. Right. Like one night with me is going to change her life. Get real!

  “What are we doing today?” Alex finished her last bite, reached for his empty plate, and carried the dishes to the sink.

  “I thought we’d try our hands at fishing—­at least until we hear from Joe and find out what the plan is. Interested?” Nate stood and pulled his baseball cap down on his head.

  Eagerness lit up her face. “You bet! But let me wash these dishes first.”

  He walked toward her. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “No. You cooked; I’ll clean. It’ll only take a few minutes.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his.

  A jolt ran through him at her touch, and Nate reached for her, momentarily forgetting what he was supposed to be doing as he sprinkled kisses along her neck.

  Finally, she laughed and gave him a shove. “Go. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He rammed his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling her close and changing their plans for the day. Forcing himself to turn away, he walked to the door. “I’ll hoof it down to the marina and see about renting a boat and getting us some fishing licenses. We’ll get the gear ready when I come back.”

  He left her standing with both hands in a sink full of water and descended the steps of the motor home. Nate couldn’t remember anyone ever looking so hot doing housework. He’d better move along before they were both covered in dish soap.

  The sun was already hot, positioned just above the horizon in a sea of cloudless blue. The chirping of birds filled the air, and a light breeze brought with it the scent of fishy water. There were two other RVs in the campground, but neither showed any signs of life. The hundred and fifty yards to the edge of the lake made for a quiet and peaceful walk—­just what he needed to get his mind off Alex and back on the mission.

  The Patagonia Lake Marina and Resort was small and actually more of a hardware-­slash-­convenience store than a resort. As the screen door banged shut behind Nate, the gnarled old proprietor stared with narrowed eyes from behind his cash register and continued to chew on the end of a well-­used toothpick, switching it from one side of his mouth to the other. How he managed that without dislodging the large glob of tobacco that lined the inside of his lip was a mystery. His gaze followed Nate until he stopped, arms leaning on the counter.

  Nate pushed his hat back and pasted on his friendliest smile. “How’s the fishin’?”

  The man picked up a Styrofoam cup from below the counter and spat into it before he answered. “Good as it gets.”

  “Worth renting a boat?” Nate studied the man. Did the old coot greet all of his prospective customers with this level of enthusiasm?

  The man glared at him a moment longer, then returned his foul cup to wherever he’d found it and tossed a piece of paper at him.

  “Twenty-­five dollars a day—­you buy the gas and return it full. Fill out the rental agreement and there’s a one-­hundred-­dollar deposit—­cash.” The man’s watchful eyes drilled into Nate, daring him to argue.

  It would do no good to protest. This guy was the only game in town. Nate tamped down his annoyance. “A hundred dollars, huh? Refundable, I assume?”

  “Right.” The man almost smiled.

  Nate filled out the paperwork and handed it back. “Need a ­couple temporary fishing licenses too. Got any condoms?” He glanced up to see if the old man had heard him.

  His bushy eyebrows arched upward. “There are two of you?”

  Nate nodded. “Me and my wife.”

  He plopped two applications in front of Nate and moved around the counter to a shelf along the wall. “One package do ya?”

  “Better make it two.” Nate didn’t turn but he could imagine the skeptical look on the man’s face.

  “Your wife will have to sign for the license too.”

  “No problem. I’ll get her as soon as we settle up.” He took out his wallet and started counting out bills. “And you probably better sell me some gas just in case the boat wasn’t full when the last renters brought it back.” He looked up from the paperwork to see if the old man even understood his inference, but the proprietor was now staring out the window intently.

  Nate glanced over his shoulder. Two seventies-­model Ford pickups had pulled into the campground and parked haphazardly in empty camping spots. Four burly men spilled from the vehicles, handguns clearly visible on their hips. In no particular hurry, they strode toward the closest occupied RV space—­the one where his motor home sat with Alex inside.

  “Shit!” Nate shoved his wallet in his pants pocket and started for the door. His weapon was loaded and ready, but he checked it anyway as he stepped out into the sun. He considered clipping his badge on his belt, but decided against it. Joe wouldn’t be happy if he called attention to his official capacity before their mission was complete. Besides, he was just pissed off enough at the moment, he wouldn’t need a badge.

  The old man said something as the door slammed shut. Nate didn’t hear him and couldn’t care less what he’d said. He returned the gun to his shoulder holster and sprinted toward the motor home.

  As he approached the rear of the RV, he lost sight of the group of men, but he could hear them laughing and making rude comments. He slowed to a walk and hugged the side of the structure as he peered around the front. The rabble-­rousers were congregated in a semicircle near the door and they apparently weren’t going for surprise.

  One of them, a muscle-­bound Hispanic, banged loudly on the side of the motor home. “Hey, chichita! Come out and play.” Coarse laughter followed from the rest of the clan, and one greasy-­looking gringo puckered
his lips and made kissing sounds.

  It was evidently too much to hope that Alex would stay hidden inside. Almost instantly, the door flew open and she leaped into the midst of them, sending two of them stumbling backward into the dirt to the accompanying raucous laughter of their comrades.

  She stepped back until she was on the outside of the group that now stood between her and the motor home, and her hand hovered near the edge of her jacket where Nate had seen her dagger. Time slowed to a crawl. Alex’s wicked smile told him everything he needed to know. This was going to get bad in a hurry. She would fight to the death to keep from being controlled again.

  “What’s up, boys?” A chilling calm radiated through her voice as she met each set of eyes.

  The laughter gradually died and no one moved for the longest time as they watched her warily.

  Finally, one of the men drew his gun and stepped closer to her, motioning toward the pickups behind her. “Vamonos!”

  A calculating smile played across her features, and she shook her head with confident disdain. Pride wound its way through Nate as he watched her.

  The spokesman for the group apparently didn’t like being refused, especially when his men looked on and snickered. He raised his hand to slap Alex. She jumped aside into a half crouch, and her hand disappeared in a blur beneath her jacket.

  It was now or never. Nate pushed away from his temporary hiding place and walked quickly toward them. “If you boys would have called ahead, we’d have put the coffee on for you.” He spoke loudly as he threaded through the line of momentarily stunned men.

  As soon as Alex focused on him, he shook his head slightly and was relieved to see her hand ease off the hilt of her dagger.

  “There you are, sweetie.” She greeted him with a thin smile. “I was just about to come looking for you.”

  Nate stopped beside her and draped his arm over her shoulders, facing the men, who were now apparently grumbling over his sudden appearance.

  “No need.” He kissed her temple tenderly. “I’ve always got my eye on you.”

  Her lips trembled—­a tiny movement—­but she stared straight ahead at the self-­appointed spokesman for the group. Nate turned his gaze on the man too.

  These clowns apparently thought they’d swoop in and walk out with Alex. He wasn’t even ready to contemplate what they wanted her for. Regardless, it wasn’t happening as long as he was alive—­which could be a shorter time than he liked. The only way Nate could see out of this was a full-­on fight to the last man standing. They’d probably already spotted the bulge of his forty-­five under his jacket. Might have seen Alex’s dagger tucked against her side too, but Nate was fairly certain they wouldn’t be expecting the damage she could inflict. Still, he and Alex were outnumbered two to one.

  “Something we can do for you fellas?” Nate looked directly at the man who’d done the majority of the talking. Nothing would be gained by backing down. Men like these respected power as much as they craved it. Any sign of uncertainty on his part and it’d be all over but the funerals.

  The ringleader sneered. “Sí, there is. We’d like to take your woman for a little ride. You don’t mind, do you?” More lewd laughter rippled through the assembly.

  Nate smiled easily as he slowly shook his head. “That’s not happening.”

  Beside him, Alex tensed and her breathing quickened. He squeezed her arm, wanting her to know that she wouldn’t be facing these hoodlums alone.

  “Perhaps she would rather go with us than see you die.” The leader’s gaze swept over Alex.

  Nate welcomed the anger, hot and black, that coursed through him. His smile slowly dissolved, and he loosened his grip on Alex’s arm. “What do you think, honey?” He kept his eyes fixed on the dirtbag in front of him. “Do you want to go with these morons?”

  Alex gave an unladylike snort. “Not even if they had a set of balls between them.”

  A deadly silence ensued, broken only by the sounds of three more weapons sliding free of holsters. Apparently these jokers drew the line at having their manhood questioned. Leave it to Alex to cut right to the quick.

  The spokesman stepped toward them. “Perhaps we’ll teach your woman some manners while we’re at it.”

  In his peripheral vision, Nate saw the two men to his right leap toward him. He stepped back and drew his forty-­five just as the leader fastened a grimy hand on Alex’s wrist.

  The dagger flashed in front of her so fast, he wasn’t sure she’d found her mark until the burly man staggered backward, and blood flowed freely between the fingers clamped to his stomach.

  He fell, a strangled curse coming from his throat, and one of his comrades tried to catch him, but only managed to break his fall, becoming trapped under him.

  Another man turned his gun on Nate and pulled the trigger. Nate rolled and fired twice from the ground. The man went down, two holes in his chest.

  Nate rolled again and located the final man, but the gunman was too close to Alex for Nate to take the shot. He scrambled for a better position as the man stuck his gun in Alex’s face and flexed his finger around the trigger. A heartbeat later, her hand flew up and blood spurted from the man’s arm. He screamed, dropped his weapon, and backed away cradling his useless appendage. Alex stalked after him, that same faraway look in her eyes Nate had seen there the night in the bar.

  “Alex.” Nate leaped to his feet and started after her.

  She turned at the sound of his voice, shaking her head slightly as though clearing out cobwebs. “Are we good?”

  “We’re good, honey.” Nate winked at her and her answering smile was like sunshine. A whole slew of emotions tumbled over him. Foremost was pride—­he was so damn proud of her, and grateful that she hadn’t lost herself to the bloodlust that had reawakened within her. He’d give anything to hold her and tell her how amazing he thought she was . . . but that would have to wait.

  The ground was littered with fallen scumbags. One was dead, two were bleeding profusely from knife wounds, and one had been smart enough not to get up when his leader fell on him. The short, stoutly built man glared hotly while he tried to stanch his friend’s bleeding. Nate picked up their weapons, holstered his, and took out his cell phone. Who to call first? Joe or the local cops? He’d avoid both of those conversations if only it were possible.

  He whirled at the sound of a shotgun being pumped and stared at the grizzled old man from the marina, who stood at the rear of the motor home. His assessing gaze traveled from Nate to the three wounded men, lingered a moment on the dead man, and finished with Alex.

  The old coot’s face came alive with a grin. “Looks like I missed all the fun.”

  Nate’s patience gave out at that point and he was about to tell the man what he could do with his twelve-­gauge when Alex spoke.

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Ben Greeley. And who might you be?” His gaze traveled the length of her.

  “Alex Morgan.”

  Ben nodded and lowered his voice. “Figured as much. That must make your husband over there . . .”

  “Benjamin Greeley?” Nate swore under his breath. Special Agent Benjamin Greeley. Joe’s friend. What was he doing acting like a damn redneck?

  “You’re getting it now. Why don’t you make that 911 call before we take this conversation any further?” Ben eyed the wounded men again as he stepped toward Nate and Alex. “Everybody around here knows who I am, but there’s no sense advertising that there’s any connection between us.”

  Made perfect sense to Nate since there wouldn’t be any damn connection between them if he could help it. What had Joe been thinking, sending them without telling them about old . . . Festus here?

  “Making this call could put a crimp in our plans.” Nate turned to Alex and spoke in a low voice as he dialed. She touched his hand and he slid his arm around her waist.

  “
Don’t see why,” Ben said. “Self-­defense. Arizona doesn’t require permits to carry concealed weapons. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to give your statements to the sheriff. You’ll be out on the lake before the fish stop biting.”

  Nate pulled Alex closer as the 911 operator answered, and he gave the dispatcher the information she’d need to send ambulances, a meat wagon, and cops to investigate this fiasco. He ended the call and noticed Ben watching him. His eyes gleamed with shrewdness and intelligence. Shit! The old man had appeared crazy as a loon earlier. Had to be an act, or the FBI would have canned his ass a long time ago.

  Reluctantly, he released his hold on Alex and started a preliminary check of the wounded men. Letting them bleed out sounded good to him, but he was a cop and that wasn’t an option. Retrieving his first aid kit from inside the motor home, he knelt in front of the man whose forearm was sliced open from wrist to elbow. Nate tied a latex tourniquet above the wound to slow the bleeding and wrapped a gauze bandage snugly around his arm.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for the pain.” Nate wasn’t really sorry, but sometimes a little empathy went a long way.

  “Gracias.” The man refused to meet Nate’s gaze.

  “What were you guys going to do to my wife?” Nate tried to make the question light and casual even though anger boiled just below the surface.

  “Nothin’, man. Somebody paid us to grab her . . .”

  “Who?”

  The man raised his eyes and looked at Nate for the first time, then shifted his gaze toward the apparent leader of the group. “I don’t know.”

  Nate followed his gaze for a moment and then nodded. “Ambulances will be here any minute. You’ll be fine.”

  Nate picked up his first aid kit and moved to the man in charge of the group. His belly wound didn’t look too bad, but he was probably bleeding internally. Nate’s gaze went involuntarily to Alex. Would she be all right if the creep died?