by Fox, Logan
“Then I’ll make whoever owns this heap of junk tell me where the fuck they are keeping her.”
Lars pursed his lips and nodded as if he wasn’t so much agreeing on Finn’s definition of a heap of junk as the plan.
“Shit. Incoming,” Lars muttered, flattening himself behind the trunk of a massive oak tree.
Finn just froze — he wore dark clothing on the regular, and he was covered with dappled shade. There was no way a passerby would see him if he kept still.
A bronze SUV sped down the road. Behind its tinted windows, the driver was nothing but a dark smudge, and there was no passenger to be seen. Finn tracked the vehicle with his eyes, only daring to breathe once it turned the corner.
The back of the house had a sloped driveway that led to a basement entrance. A narrow alleyway ending in a metal door ran alongside it. A delivery entrance, basement parking, and an off-loading bay. One of those might be the easiest way in, short of scaling the walls and trying to get in through a window.
“You still have those binoculars in the car?” Finn asked, casually scanning the windows as they walked past the house without slowing.
“’Course. How else am I supposed to watch ladies undressing from the street?”
“Then let’s go get them.” He looked around, trying to spot the best place for them to park while they were staking out the house. There was a steep slope on the northern side of Rhodium Drive, and what looked to be a small park. Not the best vantage point, but the least suspicious. At least they could see some windows and keep an eye on the comings-and-goings of the staff via the back.
Fuck it — it was better than nothing. Better than hoping Cora would come back to him by some twist of fate.
Especially since he knew Fate to be a conniving bitch.
22
Focus
“Get a fucking grip,” Cora murmured to herself. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them hard into her lap.
It didn’t help.
Her body felt live-wired and as conducive as copper.
It was his smell. His presence. It filled the SUV’s cab in a thick, intoxicating miasma that she breathed and tasted and felt all at the same time.
She blamed last night’s dream. A dream triggered by seeing him for the first time in a month. As much as she’d tried to hide it, he hypnotized her.
Movement caught her eye. She looked up, watching Kane approach with a bag in his hands.
Time slowed. It actually fucking slowed.
He sauntered through invisible molasses, freshly washed hair gleaming in the sunlight where it flopped over his forehead. A cigarette dangled from his crooked slash of his mouth.
His slim, tall body moved with sensual grace. A leopard, out for a stroll but still capable of intense violence, should it spot prey or competitor.
A plume of smoke trailed behind him as he exhaled, and then the car door was open and noise filled the cab as he slid inside, the brown paper bag rustling in the sudden silence.
“There’s water in there, if you want.” Kane’s deep voice trembled through her. He gave her a quick scan. “You okay there, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” she managed, after swallowing hard. “I’m fine.”
He wound down his window, exhaling out through the opening before turning to her. His knee went up, pressing against the steering wheel and transforming that crowded space between him and the wheel into a place where he could lounge.
“You gotta stay on top of this,” he said. He pulled hard at the cigarette, aiming the smoke out the window before facing her again. “That Benecio guy will eat you for breakfast if you let him.”
Of course - Kane had phoned and arranged an appointment on La Sombra’s behalf. After they’d sent her to her room like a girl who’d stayed up after her bedtime.
“Did he sound keen?” she asked.
“Sure,” Kane said with a shrug. He took another long drag, briefly closing his eyes as if he’d been too long denied a cigarette, and then held in the smoke as he replied. “Farmers want to sell their produce.”
“He’s a farmer?” Heroin came from poppies, at least. That meant someone had to grow them.
“I doubt it.” Kane took a last drag from his cigarette before tossing it from the window. “If he’s from the Guerrero mountains like Ronan claims, then he probably has a contingent of farmers growing for him. He’s a middle man — he deals with supply and demand and holds off the army when they go up in those mountains to burn down the poppy fields.”
Cora’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Her memory served a vivid snapshot of her wedding day.
Ash, raining from the sky.
Blood, blooming on Javier’s shirt.
And that exuberant joy that filled her when she watched life flicker from Javier’s black eyes.
* * *
Cora flinched as if his words had churned up bad memories.
Like when he’d burned down her poppy fields? She couldn’t know it was him. And there was no way in hell he was apologizing, either. Fuck — he’d been doing his goddamn job. What the hell would Fredericks have thought if—
A whine blocked out the thought. He gave his head a hard shake, forcing his eyes wide to focus on the blurry road. Ahead, a traffic light turned orange. Instead of plowing through it like he usually would, he slowed and came to a stop.
“Hand me that bag,” he said.
Cora did as he asked, not making eye contact until their fingers brushed. Then her eyes darted to him, wide in surprise, and dropped an instant later.
A cute pink suffused her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.
He cracked open an energy drink, downed a quarter, and tipped in some vodka. When he handed the bag back to Cora, her eyes were twice the size.
“Helps me focus,” he mumbled, putting the SUV into drive as he slid the can between his legs.
He fumbled in the pocket of the unfamiliar outfit he wore, hunting for his cigarettes.
Ronan King had been gracious at doling out clothes for him and Cora. He’d given Kane a checkered shirt, pale jeans, and a cowboy hat more at home in Texas than anywhere near the Mexican border. The shirt and jeans he’d kept. The cowboy hat he’d tossed back at Ronan with a laugh that made the Irish man’s smile slip into a scowl.
No fucking wonder Ronan hadn’t been able to get an appointment with Benecio — he radiated racism like a nuke radiated… well, radiation.
Cora wore a pale A-line dress that skimmed her waist and a pair of flat, golden sandals. It looked expensive, probably a Ralph Lauren or a Versace. Well, it was bound to catch Benecio’s attention; even if the man was a fucking queer, he’d be slathering over the designer’s work.
Her hair was shorter than he remembered. But, when he managed a longer look as she turned to glance at Mallhaven Square and its puke-perfect courtyard, he realized she’d sheared it off where the flames had consumed it.
It had been a few weeks — had she intentionally kept it that length? He’d preferred her longer hair.
Kane turned his attention back to the road. He drove onto the freeway leading out of Mallhaven and settled back in his seat to prepare for the trip to the airstrip south of Fool’s Gold County.
Despite the GPS, Owen had shown him a map with a detailed route of the trip he and Cora would be taking. It was basic as fuck, especially since the plane would be taking them straight to Tijuana.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said.
Cora shifted in her seat, but said nothing in reply.
Well, fuck; they had the rest of the trip to get to know each other.
* * *
The airfield was deserted. Cora climbed hesitantly from the SUV. Kane strode ahead as if he knew where he was going, and there was no choice but to follow.
She had to let Finn and Lars know she was okay. It was nine in the morning — if they hadn’t woken up already, they would any minute. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her, especially since she’d slipped from the h
ouse without leaving so much as a note.
At least Kane and Bailey were alive. For now, anyway. That wouldn’t have been the case if she’d ignored Ronan’s summons.
Would it?
After everything that had happened, she doubted herself. Ronan seemed so desperate to strike a deal with this Benecio it was plausible he might have been more open to negotiation than she’d originally thought.
Cora took a deep breath.
Done is done.
“You okay there?”
Kane’s voice brought her back to the present like a whip crack. “I’m fine,” she said, unintentionally blurting out the words.
He’d come to a stop ahead, turning back when she trailed by more than a yard.
“You flown before?” he asked, seeming bemused by her sudden speech impediment.
“No.” Then she looked down and frowned.
That was a lie, wasn’t it? She had a vague memory about being in a helicopter, someone stroking her hair. But the plane looked so tiny. So fragile. Even the blur of the engine fans did nothing to dispel her sudden intense belief that the thing would come apart a thousand miles up, and that she’d be falling for minutes before she struck it and died.
“It’s fun.” He grinned at her and raised his voice when the plane’s engines grumbled into life. “Here. Take my hand.”
He stuck out a hand and, for the life of her, couldn’t think of a compelling reason to protest.
So she took Kane’s hand.
His touch was electric, and he looked up at her in that moment as if he’d felt it too. But he ushered her toward the small plane instead of saying anything.
Maybe it had been her imagination.
He guided her in ahead of him. The seat was hard under her ass, and the cabin felt so confined that her heart raced. Kane sat beside her, thigh brushing thigh, and reached over her to drag free a safety belt.
Their faces were less than an inch apart when he clicked the belt into place, and he kept it close as he studied her with hooded eyes.
His lips moved.
Was he saying something? She could hear nothing but the roar of the engine. Kane grinned and wrestled a headset over her ears. The pads cushioned the noise, and she jerked when his voice flooded into her ears the moment after he’d put on a pair of his own.
“You all right?”
“Fine,” she said, and he nodded, his grin widening.
He faced the pilot. “How long, mate?”
“A few hours.”
Kane gave the man a pat on the shoulder and turned back to her. “Hear that? This’ll be over before you know it.”
But a few hours wasn’t the blink of an eye. It seemed an eternity, and she’d be stuck in the air the whole time, unable to bail out if she chose to.
That was what scared her the most — she had no power over what happened next.
Kane must have sensed something in her; he leaned over to her and whispered conspiratorially, “What color’s your underwear?”
She stared at him for a moment, shocked into speechlessness. But his eyes drew at her.
As did gravity, a moment later, when the plane taxied down the runway. When it eventually rose into the sky, the entire craft began rattling.
Her stomach remained on the ground — which was perfectly understandable since that’s where she’d been her entire life — leaving her weightless and nauseous a few thousand feet above sea level.
A hand closed over hers where she clung to Kane, squeezing her.
“Black? Pink? White?” Kane asked.
His voice drew her from whatever colossal well she’d been drowning in. She fixed her gaze on his eyes, taking in every detail of his hazel irises. The green, the flecks of brown and gold, the ring of black encircling everything.
Her ears whined at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, clamping Kane’s hand. He was here, he was calm, he wasn’t freaking out. That should have been enough to talk her down… but it wasn’t. All she could concentrate on was the sensation of being so far above the ground that her mind rebelled at the very thought.
“Black,” she blurted out, eyes still shut.
Fingers touched her knee, but just the thought of opening her eyes made her want to puke.
“Lace?” Kane enquired, in a carnal voice. Perhaps it was the low octave of his voice, perhaps the way he stroked her knee with his thumb.
“Yes.”
“Open,” Kane murmured.
She realized, even though he spoke low, she heard him clear as day through the headset.
Did that mean the pilot and co-pilot could hear her too?
She blushed a deep crimson.
Kane must have seen because he caught a hold of her chin and tipped her head so she was forced to look up at him. If the pilots were listening, they didn’t seem interested — both stared straight ahead. Perhaps Kane knew a way for just the two of them to speak, without—
“Open.”
If she’d had any doubts the crew heard her, Kane’s command annihilated it. She shook her head until Kane applied a gentle pressure to her chin.
Apparently, her legs weren’t under her control anymore. Her thighs parted as she stared at Kane, unable to look away.
Not wanting him to.
He stared back at her just as intensely. She must have looked ridiculous in her headset, but he looked like he’d been born in a cockpit, especially wearing that faded denim jacket.
Kane’s fingers paused less than an inch away from her underwear, his arm hiking up her dress to mid-thigh.
“Warm,” he said.
He’d taken his torturous time so it was no surprise that, when he stroked his fingertip over her underwear, she could feel how wet she’d become.
“Wet,” he added, the twitch of his lips letting her know just how intrigued that made him.
God, her cheeks blazed.
“Did you think about me?” he asked, his fingertip caressing her clit through her silky underwear.
Snapshots of the erotic dreams she’d had of him flickered through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but he must have already seen her answer.
“Only bad things, I hope.”
She shuddered as he pressed his knuckle against her slit, still guarded by the slip of damp fabric.
The plane banked, and her stomach twisted. She shuddered, squeezing hard at Kane’s hand. She still clung to him, their clasped hands a few inches away from where he touched her.
He drew aside her underwear with his thumb and traced a circle over her clit. Soft, then hard, then soft again.
Her eyes flew open when his breath touched on her face. He was so close; his eyes filled her world as he stroked and stroked and stroked her.
So slow, her body ached.
He raked nails over her hip bone as he tugged at her underwear.
She lifted her hips an inch, letting him drag the black, lacy panties down her legs. He left her underwear on the floor of the plane and dragged his fingertips up the inside of her legs.
“Wider,” he murmured.
She spread her legs for him. He leaned closer still, pressing his lips to her jaw, her chin. She tried dipping her head to catch him in a kiss, but he began massaging her clit.
A surprised, “Ah,” slipped out.
“My, how fucking wet you are,” Kane said. Was it the headset making his voice sound so deep and sultry? Her eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep them open while he forced coruscating waves of pleasure through her with every slow stroke of that bundle of nerves nestled between her legs. “I’m starting to think you like me a little, Cora.”
A little? That was an understatement. Her body yearned for him. If she wasn’t in the back of a plane — and fuck, in a few minutes, that might not even matter anymore — she’d be riding him like a carousel horse.
“Please,” she whispered, even though she had no idea what she was asking.
Did she want him to end her suffering? To fuck her? To kiss her?
He did neither. Kane pres
sed his palm over her pussy and dragged her lower in her seat. Her eyes flickered open when cool air touched her. He’d hiked her dress up to her hips, and was staring down at her as he brought her to a slow, deliberate climax.
She wrestled her hand free of his and grabbed a handful of his hair.
It was as soft and thick as she’d imagined it would be. He finally looked up, a gleam of such voracious hunger in his eyes that it was the last trigger she needed to come.
Her mouth fell open, her body convulsing under his fingertips as her legs snapped closed over his hand, trapping him. He teased her with his fingertips as she rode out her orgasm, slipping the tips inside her and smoothing them over her again and again.
She stiffened, throwing her head back, and let out a long, rough sigh as the final tendrils of pleasure left her body.
It was a near silent climax, except that sigh, but it took her an eternity to recover. And, all the while, Kane stroked the most intimate part of her, watching her like a lion watches a newborn foal taking its first steps.
* * *
One thing the flight had done was give him time to think about shit.
Like why the fuck he’d gotten himself on Ronan King’s radar.
Kane despised it when he couldn’t remember shit. The last thing he could recall before waking up in Ronan’s warehouse was greeting Lars at Zachary’s farmhouse. He’d still had Neo Martin in the back of his Jeep… and then what?
He hadn’t taken Neo to Agent Fredericks that was for sure — else he wouldn’t still be suspended.
The thought wormed away before he could make sense of it. They hit a pocket of air, and the Cessna rattled merrily for a few seconds.
Cora lay her forehead against his shoulder, awkward with the large headphones still on her ears.
“Crossing the border,” the pilot said. “Take a look if you want.”
Kane peered out the Cessna’s tiny window, and grinned as the landscape unfurled below them, the Rio Grande a brown snake that coiled lazily over the earth.
Obviously, Ronan didn’t want them crossing the border in anything other than a plane - it would be easy for them to alert the authorities.