“Hey,” he chastised, but she ignored him. She snatched the print out from the website and scanned the names below the faces that hadn’t been blocked out with a permanent marker.
“Here!”
“What?” he asked.
She slid into the car and leaned over to show him. “Rick Suzuki. “
“What is he, a bike?”
“No, he’s Belinda’s baby daddy. Now that we have a name, we have a way to track him down.”
Twelve
Marisela stared at the photo. In the dim glow of Frankie’s map light, she studied the face, trying to spy anything that would connect a nerdy, Asian software analyst to resort to kidnapping. She wasn’t even sure if he was the guy, but she’d run the photo by Lia. Maybe she remembered something now that she’d had a couple of hours to heal.
But it was him. It had to be.
“Rick’s a common name,” Frankie said.
“There’s not another Rick in her department.”
“But there could be a ton of Ricks in her company.”
“And her company is in London,” Marisela said, knowing she couldn’t dismiss his point out of hand. Though the odds of Belinda looking outside her department for a lover were slim, they still existed. She had so little knowledge of her sister’s day-to-day activities. Hell, she wasn’t even sure what she did month-to-month. “We need find out how many Ricks from Pro-Tech have flown into the US?”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, “but I have an idea.”
Just to be certain, she checked the clock app on her phone. If it was close to four o’clock in the morning in Florida, it was nine o’clock in London. But it was Christmas Eve, which meant there was a good chance the offices would be closed. Still, she had to give it a try.
“Can you get in to the Pro-Tech website again?”
Frankie leaned around to the back and grabbed his laptop. “Why?”
“I need the Pro-Tech Travel department, if there is one.”
Frankie didn’t ask any other questions, since her theory was easy to follow. If Rick Suzuki had not traveled from London to the United States, then he couldn’t be involved in the kidnapping. Trouble was, without massive hacking skills that would get them into highly guarded databases used by the airlines or immigration, using the computer without Titan’s resources was a no-go. However, they could still keep it simple and just make a few calls.
“I’m piggy-backing off the Tanaka’s secure wireless signal,” he said. “I can hack it, but it would be faster if you knew their password.”
She rattled off the phone number of their take-out line.
He stared at her with surprise.
“What? I don’t like to use my 4G on my phone, so Mr. T gave me the code.”
Frankie arched a brow. “He just gave it to you?”
“There might have been shots of sake involved, but beyond that, my lips are sealed.”
Once online, Frankie navigated the Pro-Tech website until he had an internal number to the company’s travel department. Marisela took a few minutes to come up with a cover—then decided she had a perfect one.
The voice that answered was sharp and chipper. “Pro-Tech Travel, Darlene speaking.”
Marisela bit back her natural commentary about how anyone would sound so happy when working on Christmas Eve. She couldn’t be Marisela right now—she had to be Belinda.
“This is Belinda Morales, employee number 35271, development division, 4th floor.”
“Yes, Belinda” Darlene acknowledged, her upbeat voice dialing down to easy recognition. “How was your flight to Florida?”
“Uneventful,” Marisela replied. “I need to know if Rick Suzuki used your department when he traveled to the United States.”
“Rick Suzuki? Of course he did. We can use the corporate account for great discounts. Do you need to get in contact with him? It was my understanding that if anyone would have his private cell number, it would be you.”
Marisela smiled. Confirmation. From this moment on, she was going to have a special place in her heart for gossipy travel agents.
“I lost it,” she replied.
“His number?”
“My phone.”
Under other circumstances, Marisela would have concocted an elaborate lie to explain how anyone could misplace a cell phone in an age when people considered them as instrumental to their daily activities as air, water and sex. But since she was playing Belinda, she kept it short and simple.
“Do you need us to do a locate on your phone?”
“You can do that?” she asked, her clipped tone slipping a bit. She cleared her throat. “I was under the impression that international usage of that application was unreliable.”
Frankie raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed that she could rattle off so many big words without tripping over them. He had no way of knowing that she’d learned the lingo from a previous case where tracking a runaway embezzler had been slowed by him leaving the country.
“It’s not entirely reliable and it takes some time,” Darlene said. “With everyone gone for the holiday, it might be hard to get someone to do it, but I can start the process.”
Marisela wanted Darlene to start the process on Rick Suzuki’s phone since she knew where Belinda’s was—in a police evidence room.
“No, thank you. I’ll purchase a new one after the holiday. But I could use Rick’s cell phone number, if you can give it to me without violating company policy. I don’t want to get you in—”
“—it’s Christmas,” Darlene said, giggling cheerily. “Besides, I can’t stand in the way of true love at this time of year, can I?”
Marisela resisted making vomiting sounds and instead remained silent while Darlene chit-chatted about the dreary London weather and how she hoped to someday come to Florida for her vacation at the same time as she tapped endlessly into her keyboard and finally rattled off the number, which Marisela repeated and Frankie transcribed.
“Is that all then?” Darlene asked.
Marisela wondered how to end the call. Would Belinda extend a traditional holiday greeting? Had the doctors and specialists her parents mortgaged their house for—twice—made enough break-throughs to ensure her sister expressed polite gratitude for help so easily offered?
“Thank you,” she said succinctly. “And Merry Christmas.”
She clicked the end button before Darlene had a chance to reply.
“He’s the baby-daddy,” Marisela said. “Apparently, their relationship made it as far as the office gossip.”
Frankie nodded. “Want to call him?”
“And say what? Do you have my sister and if you do, give her back or else? Damn. If anyone was working at the office—even just Lia, we could probably use some software to see where the phone is or the time and location of the last call.”
Frankie closed the laptop and threw it on the backseat before starting up the engine.
“You have that software on your computer?” he asked.
“On Lia’s,” she answered. “Mine has Solitaire and some game about pissed off birds that I haven’t played yet. I don’t know how to use it.”
“Luckily for you, I do. Or I can figure it out.”
He sped back toward her office and circled the building a few times. Once they’d confirmed the police had cleared out, Marisela allowed the light moment to ripple through her. She had a solid lead. For the first time since the kidnapping, she had information she could build off to track down her sister instead of guesses.
In case Detective Flores decided to send her patrol officers back, Frankie parked behind the Puerto Rican restaurant around the corner, nearly in the precise spot where she’d left her Camaro to avoid Lia figuring out her secret. So much would have been different tonight if she wouldn’t have given in to Lia’s stubbornness and had refused to let her go with her to the airport. Lia wouldn’t be in the hospital, but since she provided an important clue in leading Marisela to
Rick Suzuki, if she hadn’t been there, she might never have found a way to recover her sister.
That is, if the papa-to-be had anything to do with the kidnapping. But if he didn’t, he still had some serious explaining to do.
Frankie locked up the car and they were halfway down the dark alley that led to the back of the Titan office entrance when Marisela’s burner phone went off, followed seconds later by Frankie’s.
They exchanged confused glances, then turned away and separately answered their calls.
“Ms. Morales?”
A second or two elapsed before she placed the voice. “Dr. McFuego?”
“McClarren, but as far as nicknames go, I guess I can’t complain.”
“Sorry,” she said, searching desperately in her overtaxed brain for his real name and coming up with nothing. “I had a head injury, remember?”
“There’s nothing about you I’m likely to forget, Ms. Morales. Including you asking me to call you if I ran across any random gunshot wound victims in the ER.”
She reached behind her and grabbed Frankie’s arm. Underneath his sleeve, his radial muscle was stretched tight.
“You got one?” she asked.
“I do indeed. Nine millimeter slug embedded in the subscapularis, exactly where you’d said it would be. I don’t suppose you own a nine millimeter weapon, do you?”
“I may have purchased one or two over my life time,” she replied.
“Any of them legal?”
“Every last one.” Now. “What’s his name? What hospital is he at?”
“He’s a John Doe,” the doctor answered. “Dropped off at the ER by a black SUV, which is exactly what I told the police. He lost a lot of blood, but he was transfused and sewn up and should make a complete recovery, if that eases your conscience.”
“Why would I have a guilty conscience?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll figure it out after the police run ballistics and match the slug to a gun you own. That’s the pesky thing about owning legal weapons, Ms. Morales. They are traceable.”
Marisela cursed Titan and their ridiculous rules that their operatives carry registered guns unless they are on a specific case that requires that they don’t. Marisela had seen the cops bag her piece at the crime scene right before Frankie insisted she play injured. It must have flown out of her hand in the explosion.
“So I fired my weapon at men who’d just attacked my best friend and blew up my car. My only remorse is that I didn’t stop them from getting away.”
Dr. McClarren paused, then said, “Don’t show up here to finish the job. I’ve reported the injury to the police. There are uniformed officers waiting to question him, standing right outside his door.”
“Thanks for the recon,” she said.
“It wasn’t recon. Damn it, I’m not helping you that way.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “Lo siento. But he did hurt Lia. You need to know that.”
“Why do you think I called?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to check on her?”
His sigh was ripe with frustration. “I was the first doctor she saw tonight, so yes, I’ve checked on her progress. She’s doing fine. I’m about to go off shift, so good luck with finding the other woman he hurt.”
Marisela shut her eyes tightly. For the first time since she picked up Belinda from her flight, she could picture her family, reunited around a garishly decorated tree, sipping the coquito her Puerto Rican neighbors had brought over as a welcome gift. Only Aida probably wouldn’t let her drink because Belinda couldn’t on account of the baby. An argument would ensue that would span two languages and a lifetime of resentment.
It promised to be the most awesome holiday ever.
“Thanks, doc. I owe you. Big.”
He snickered. “How come I don’t want to know how you’d repay that debt?”
She smiled. “Because as you told me earlier, you are a married man.”
Only when she disconnected the call did she realize that she hadn’t let go of Frankie’s arm and as she’d walked back toward his car, she’d been dragging him along. And since he’d been caught up in a conversation of his own, he hadn’t fought. When she looked up, they were out of the alley.
“Gunshot wound to the shoulder was just treated at St. Joe’s.” she told him.
He picked up the pace, jogging to his vehicle. “Just got the same call from the cute blonde nurse.”
“Too bad they couldn’t have called before the police arrived.”
“At least she called,” he said, sounding entirely too wistful.
“Did the trampy little puta happen to give a description of the vic?” she snapped.
“Did the doctor?” he challenged.
“I’m sure he was too busy saving the asshole’s life.”
“Well, Nurse Lynette was not too busy to notice that he was Asian, about thirty-two and spoke with a slight British accent.”
This information caught her up short.
“But that sounds like…”
Frankie opened her car door and pushed her inside. “Like we just found Rick Suzuki.”
Thirteen
Marisela waited in the hospital parking lot, her gaze glued to the ER entrance. It was nearly five in the morning and it was drizzling. Misty drops of rain coated the windshield, diffusing the glow on the hospital’s signs until they looked like a string of Christmas lights, white, blue, red and green.
Frankie hadn’t been gone long, but she was anxious and exhausted. She checked her messages again, hoping for a note from Max or Ian or Brynn, but there was nothing but radio silence. She and Frankie had gotten far on their own with few resources other than their wits. They made an excellent team. On the job. In bed. So why couldn’t they take things to the next level?
Because they already had—a long, long time ago. They’d been wildly, madly and stupidly in love. But they’d been kids. They hadn’t realized that when things got tough, they couldn’t rely on each other. At least, she couldn’t rely on him. He’d chosen his gang over her, forever embedding a sliver of mistrust in the part of her heart that he would always and forever own. After he’d come back into her life and gotten her mixed up with Titan, the sliver had transformed into something smaller—and sharper. No matter how many times he helped her out of a jam or made her laugh, or even made her come, he was still Frankie Vega, the hijo de puta who broke her teenage heart.
When he opened the driver’s side door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“He’s awake,” he reported, shaking the rain from his jacket and hair. “Cops are outside his room. Nurse Nicki says they questioned him, but he wouldn’t talk.”
“What about his phone?”
Frankie smiled one of those shit-eating grins that told her he’d succeeded at something she’d doubted he could achieve. “She said she could probably make sure it was within his easy reach, if we gave her a few minutes.”
“How many minutes is a few?”
“Enough to make out,” he suggested.
“You always have sex on the brain.”
“That’s not the part of my body I’m thinking with right now, vidita. You sent me in there to work my charm on the nurses, but then I have no way to burn up that excess sexual energy once I’ve done what you asked. How fair is that?”
She leaned across the seat and rewarded his resourcefulness with a long, wet kiss. Then because her reflexes were slowed by exhaustion and stress, he tugged her across his lap and demanded more. Before she could do anything except lose herself in the sensations of his hand sliding up her shirt, tearing aside the cup of her bra and squeezing her nipple until she nearly screamed, he’d taken control, leaving her with no means of adequate defense.
She ripped her shirt over her head and pulled down her bra, anxious for him to ply his tongue where she most needed it. He buried his face into her lushness. She lost her hands in his thick, black hair. He suckled and teased, flicking his tongue across her sensitized flesh until she
was so wet between her legs. One sweet finger took her over the edge.
“Yea, baby, let it go,” he begged.
“No,” she groaned, shaking her head as he delved deeper, pressing his thumb to her clit. “Frankie, I can’t.”
“Yea, you can, vidita. God, I love the look in your eyes when you come for me. Makes me so hot. Makes me want to bury in deep and take you to heaven. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Two minutes ago—two god-damned minutes ago—she’d been lost in the knowledge that she could not trust him. And now, now she was lost in the reality that no matter what he did or said, she always would. She opened her eyes and watched his deep concentration while he played her like a Spanish guitar, thrumming and plucking until she cried out in rhythmic delight.
But he wasn’t done—and apparently, neither was she. With the expertise of their youth, they tumbled into the backseat, discarding only the clothes that got in the way of him sliding his thick cock into her in one full thrust. As his balls slapped against her bottom, her sated need reawakened. She grabbed his ass, digging her fingernails into the taut flesh and urging him to do her faster, harder, until the back of her head collided with the door panel and for a split second, she couldn’t see.
“Marisela?”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
“¿Qué pasó?”
“Nada, por favor, mi amor.”
He ignored her and she felt him pull away, the steel of his erection softening.
“I just bumped my head,” she explained, clutching his shoulders. For the sweetest moment, she’d forgotten her troubles, had lost herself in falling to his well-honed seduction. And damn it, she wanted that sanctuary back. Just for a few more minutes. “I’m fine.”
“No matter what I do, I hurt you,” he said.
The confession hit her hard. Despite the way her world tilted and sparkled with invisible stars, she sat up, pressed him to the backseat and straddled his lap so that her hot flesh met his needful cock.
“The lives we live, Frankie, people are bound to get hurt.” She shifted, adjusting her body so that she could wrap her hand around his erection. “You and me, we’re risk and danger. It’s the price we pay.”
Marisela Morales 03 - Dirty Little Christmas - Julie Leto Page 8