Carried Away (2010) (11 page)

fluffy rug. There, he wrapped a huge towel around her, rubbed her down and picked her up in his arms. In their bedroom, he stripped back the coverlet and laid her down. Hovering over her, he brushed her wet hair from her cheeks and met her gaze with his own intense one. He slid to the floor, to his knees and opened her thighs. Her pussy at the edge of the bed, he rolled open her labia and nuzzled her channel. He licked her and fondled her folds until she moaned. Inserting one set of fingers up inside her sopping channel, he sent two fingertips of the other hand into her ass. Then he massaged her until she grabbed for his shoulders, the sheet and her sanity. She pounded and throbbed and just when she would have screamed, he flipped her over and smacked her on one cheek. She was whimpering in desperate need when she heard him snap on a condom and probe her asshole with the tip of his blunt, hot cock. Easy, babe, he growled and sank inside her one small bit at a time. Christ, you are good. He hummed in concentration as he delved farther inside her. She flung back her hair, breathing purposely, not daring to spoil the electric sensation of being taken by him in the ass. He whacked her sharply on one buttock, then the other. The sting thrilled her, shocked her and made her moan for more. He complied, then slid into her more easily, quickly and gently. He wrapped one arm around her hips and found her clit, bringing 110 Carried Away her to a fast, hard orgasm in a flashing moment of ecstasy. She came, torrid, teeth grinding, loving the possession of his shaft inside her darkest hole. At the last thrust of his own release, he pulled her to the floor and rolled her to her back. With a soft but determined tongue, he found her tender clit and lavished it with kisses that had her keening. Climbing up into another orgasm, she felt it shake her whole body for indescribable moments. As the thrill dwindled, she sank to the blissful recognition of what this lovemaking had really meant. Minutes later, she curled against him, her fingers twining in his chest hair, and told him, I have to go into that house, Grant. Ill get pictures of them, then get out fast. Make a positive ID. Finish this. She told him why she had the cat suit and how shed used it twice before. All the ballet made me agile. Its a skill I can use. I know what Im doing. Im good, quick and precise. And you mustnt stop me. I wouldnt stop you from doing your job. She looked up at him, declaring he could not challenge her on this. In the dim light streaming through the draperies, his handsome face was a study in grim acceptance. Im going with you. She rose up and kissed his lips. Before we go, I want you again. 111 Cerise DeLand Chapter Eleven By ten oclock with only one light left on in her suspects villa Coco had decided it was a good time to try to enter and take pictures of her target. She and Grant drove up the hillside, parked a half mile away, then made their way up the lonely lane, obscured by old olive trees and wild rose bushes. Grant kissed her goodbye and she made off through the grove of pines toward the house. Finding an advantageous spot on the hill, she tucked her tiniest camera into the skin-tight turtleneck of her black cat suit and turned toward the cover of trees where Grant waited. Be back in a flash, she mouthed, knowing he had binoculars up watching her. A hand to her balaclava, she patted one stray curl beneath the thin black fabric. Her blonde hair was now fully concealed. She inhaled. Ready, Coco. Go. She threw up a grappling hook to the balcony railing, felt it latch on to the concrete and hold. Tugging to secure its tautness, she shimmied up the line and remembered years of climbing thick hemp ropes in gym class in grade school. Elementary, my dear Coco. Shed always been a whiz at this kind of thing. Little did she ever think she would do it to save her fathers golden record as a diplomat. Or her own life from radicals. Hand over hand, she reached the banister. One foot to the wall for leverage, she pulled herself up and over the railing, then slithered to the terrace floor. It was covered in dried leaves from the autumn. Unswept, she thought. Bad housekeepers. Wincing, she crept toward the balcony door. Extracting a pick from her inside wrist pocket, she jimmied the lock open. Carefully. Slowly. She slid open the door and peeked inside. Dim. Dark. Good. She hustled inside. Closed the door silently. And paused. 112 Carried Away Voices. Male. Three different ones rose from the first floor. She drifted toward the far door to the hall. Back against the wall, she closed her eyes and listened to the conversation. Arabic between two men. One baritone, one bass. Then a longer discussion in Italian, understood by all three. The one native Italian speaker whom they called Bando dominated, switching back and forth from Italian to English, talking about business in America and problems there to be cured soon. Whatever those orders were, the two who spoke Arabic shared a brief aside in their native tongue about Bando and someone that even in Arabic they called capo. Coco lifted her brows at the astonishing words. Tough luck, Bando, buddy. These two Arabs dont like you, insult your intelligence and cast a few nasty aspersions on the purity of your capos virginity. Wow. A female is the head of this group? A mafioso capo! But more interesting to Coco was the topic they settled into a discussion of shipments theyd recently sent to ports in New Jersey. Women. Ukranians and Georgians. In cargo containers, they had stored over one hundred women. All destined to become prostitutes in the United States, undocumented, illegal aliens. Another eight cargo containers were on their way to Jersey, too, filled with uncut heroin. These were all slated to fly right off the docks and into circulation because this group of smugglers had perfected their system through that East Coast port. With longshoremen on the take and customs officials looking the other way, plus a few moles in the U.S. government, these guys were congratulating themselves on their cleverness. All with the help of a federal official in Washington. A woman. Coco wished she had a tape recorder with her. She had to get closer, hear more! True, her control would just have to be happy with what she told herand what she showed her. Pictures, Coco. Move your ass! She heard no one else moving around in the house. Hadnt since she entered. Now was the best time, before any of the men left the living room to go to bed which, she reminded herself, might very well be up here. 113 Cerise DeLand She reached out and pushed open the door slowly, learning immediately that the damn thing creaked. She froze a second. Tested the doors hinge. Got no sound and pushed it wider. As she slithered through the space shed made, she let her eyes become accustomed to the light refracting up from the living room below. Realizing she would be on an open balcony with free view to the living room, she was overjoyed. But she also knew shed have to be very careful how she lifted her face and how much of her body she exposed to them below. She elbowed her way forward along the tile floor, headed for the carpet runner, and hoped she could settle there, take her pictures and leave. Thats when she felt the butt of a gun at the back of her head and a hand clawing at her balaclava. Ripping it up over her face, her captor snapped her head back and had Coco reeling. You will rise now! ordered a woman with a scratchy contralto Italian accent. Distinctive. Harsh. Look at me, Miss Dalton. Coco got to her feet and turned to face her captor. It is what you came for, si? Coco blinked. She couldnt believe her eyes. This woman was the person Coco had been searching for all these years. Not a man. But a woman! With the same sharp features, the hell-black eyes and an android-like body that moved like a hermaphrodites. Part Italian? Part Egyptian? But one definitely related to the one Coco had sent to the black site. The one she had sent by mistake. Ernesto! the woman called, her smug gaze glued to Cocos. Muhammad! Ibrahim! Come up here and look who visits us! The American woman from the meeting in the desert! Just as we thought she would come, eh? Exclamations of delight drifted up the stairs. Coco willed herself to remain expressionless. Footsteps on the stairs brought all three men to stand beside their capo and view this intruder. You tried to follow me today, sneered the short, fat one with an Italian accent. 114 Carried Away My Mr. C. Chubby. And aligned with mafioso to boot, if I got all the conversation correct. He walked around her. But I eluded you. He grinned at her, his smile made sharp as a ferrets. It is good to have her come to us. We shall see, snapped the woman as she thrust the butt of the gun in Cocos guts. What do you wear, Signorina Dalton? Coco rubbed her stomach, scowling at each of them in turn, working on remaining silent until she had to speak of consequential things. One of the Arab speakers casually stepped forward to take a bit of the fabric and rub it between his index finger and thumb. Good. We should get this. What does it do? he asked Coco. She stared at him, mute. He backhanded her across the mouth. She staggered, then caught herself against the hall banister. I asked you. You will answer! he yelled. Very well. The material is hypoallergenic. Which it is. Among other things. And this means? He turned to his friend, the one who must speak Arab as well. It means it is very useful for intruding in areas where substances might harm the body. This one stepped forward now and Coco recognized him as the one who must be the brother of the man from Madrid. Irritated and imperious, this one ran his hands down Cocos body. From her throat to her shoulders, to the swell of her breasts, her waist, her hips, this man felt every muscle she had. You are very fit. Coco glared at him. And you are a dog. Ibrahim, stop this! commanded the woman. She is not here to pleasure you. We have work to do now that she has taken our lead and arrived. Coco swallowed repeatedly, fighting the trepidation that rose in her mouth. Muhammad, get the rope in the garage. We will transport her as we planned. Coco braced herself. Where are we going? 115 Cerise DeLand Ernesto, the woman said with disgust, you secure the ropes. Years on the docks mean you are more expert than Muhammad. She stuck the butt of the gun in Cocos ribs. Let us go downstairs. Oh, and give me that camera from inside your suit, Signorina. You will not take any pictures ever again. Grant waited among the pines, more anxious by the minute. Coco was taking too long. The lights were still on downstairs. At least, no changes there. But he worried. He ran a hand over his head. If he had hair, hed be pulling it out. Christ. Could he have stopped her from doing this? Once they got out of this, he was going to take her away for years, decades, damn it and keep her safe and warm. Married. He grinned. Yeah, that, too, Warwick. He heard a whistle. He turned toward the sound. Mark. He answered in a similar call. In a minute, Mark was standing in front of him. Camouflaged in greens, the two men sighed at their intolerance for delay. Shall we follow her up? Mark asked. Youre right. Shes been in there too long. Grant lifted a shoulder and began to take a run through the woods. At the foot of the hill where Coco had hoisted herself up her tether, Grant threw a grappling hook up to the same railing so the two of them could climb at the same time. Wait! Mark whispered. The garage! He pointed toward the wide doors that lifted to let out a dark Mercedes, four door, lights on, screeching out of the driveway, around the curb to bounce into the street and careen down the main road. Shit! Mark cursed. 116 Carried Away Come on! Grant snagged his shirt. Were going after her. And he headed back toward their van, on the other side of the line of pines. When they threw themselves in the front seat and slammed the car doors, Grant had the engine up, and they were pulling away in a flash. Take this! Grant dug his BlackBerry from his shirt pocket and threw it at him. What the hell? Mark caught it, took a look at the lit screen and shot Grant a pained look of delight. Read it, tell me where Im going. Roger! I see the beam. But how the hell did you do that? Mark held up the device in his palm. Grant grimaced. Shes got a tracker on. But she doesnt know it. Where the hell does she have a tracker on in that damn suit? Grant pressed his fist to his chest. His heart hurt and his stomach rolled as he thought about what these assholes might do to her if they found the answer to that. Ten minutes later they were winding along a narrow lane up the side of Mount Vesuvius where small villas gave way to larger ones. Grant had dimmed the headlights when the Mercedes had turned into this dirt lane and he was hugging the steering wheel trying to keep them on the road. Might be faster if we ditch the car and walk, Mark suggested. Maybe, I just dont want to lose them. There! Look! Theyre pulling off. Slowing. Pulling into the driveway of that villa. Stop here. Climbing out of the car, Grant paused to listen to the conversation. Damn. I know Arabic when I hear it, but tonight I need Italian! Mark elbowed him, made a hand signal for one woman and three men. 117 Cerise DeLand Shit. Grant wondered how many were inside. He and Mark would have to strike like lightning to get Coco out. Grant watched through the branches as two men hauled Coco out of the backseat and led her inside the house. From Cocos lazy gait, he could tell they had given her a sedative. Or beaten her. He ground his teeth. Gazing at Mark, he tilted his head and indicated the two of them should pick their way through the scrub. Close to the walls of the house, they each took a path round it in opposite directions to meet once more. On my side, easiest way is in through the back door on the ground level, Mark told him. No entry on my side. Let me see the GPS. Grant leaned over Marks shoulder to watch the screen with the beam rising to the second story of the house. Not good. Itll be tougher to get her out from up there. * * * * * Coco felt as if she were floating. Oh, she saw her feet climbing the steps. Knew the Italian and his buddy who spoke Arabic held her up. Understood she was going to meet someone important. But whatever the Italian had pumped into her in that syringe in Naples had washed through her like a giant wave of euphoria. Morphine? Cocaine? What? Too much, she told them and stumbled on the next step. If they hadnt caught her up in time, she would have hit her head, been down and out. Put her there, declared Lady Capo. Coco felt herself pushed into a soft leather chair. Thank god. She closed her eyes. Look at me! commanded the Italian man. Cocos eyes drifted open and locked on his dark ones. Ernesto! Lady Capo cursed at him. I warned you! You gave her too much.
Sweet, whatever it is. Even if I shouldnt love it. Coco yawned. Closed her eyes again. 118 Carried Away Strong fingers captured her jaw and lifted her face, then in Arabic, someone new cursed the Italian. This voice I know. Coco bit her lips and forced herself to look up at the man who spoke. No. No. Thats not right. She shut her eyes and shook her head. Tried again to look at him. Oh, yes, Coco. You were right. It is Jamal. But why? And is Nasar here, too? She glanced around. Yes, in the chair in the far corner. Nasar. I once thought we were friends. Did you find your Sunni poem? she asked him. The Guardia didnt want Grant or me to find it. Why not, hmm? Nasar cursed in Arabic. Did you make up this story, Coco babbled on, just wanting to sleep, just to get us to Venice? Why? Whyd you do that, hmm? She squeezed her eyes shut to think. Quicker to stop me, right? Nasar told Jamal in Arabic that she was too damn smart and to proceed with finding Warwick. You are confused, I see, my dear Coco, Jamal spoke. Open your eyes when I talk to you! Why? Hmm? I can hear you with my ears. She smiled, knowing she spoke in a long, slow slur. We need to know where your Mr. Warwick is, Jamal said, sounding like a persuasive friend. Her lips twitched. She might be drugged and sloppy with her speech, but she understood what Jamal wanted and why. But he couldnt know that, could he? Naples, she offered. In bed, she added, her mouth curving in remembrance of when shed last seen Grant there. Naked and beautiful. Lady Capo cursed in ripe Italian. 119 Cerise DeLand Coco pointed a finger at her. The capo whos a man or a woman. And Hakim. Whos he? Or is he a she? Hmm? Jamal drifted away. Then he spoke from far off. I think Mr. Warwick has followed you. You are lovers. He would not permit you to come alone. Why not? Coco thought shed play his game. Does he know what you do? Jamal persisted. Coco nodded. Does he know about who you saw in the desert? She smiled. Jamal fumed. Isnt that against your rules? To share the details of your mission? Sure is. Coco shifted in her chair. Untie my hands. They hurt. Who else knows? Coco grinned. Lots of folks. Want a list? Jamals eyes rolled. Name them. Mark and Jason. Todd. Hell, might as well make this worth her while. French police. Interpol. Nick. The Italian man scoffed, then rattled off a series of words that ended with Nicks last name, Chekov. Coco closed her eyes. That made sense. They knew Chekov in the Paris Embassy and had gotten info from him. What kind of info, Coco? Oh, yeah. Knowledge that she and Grant knew Ahmed had a computer and the murderer took it. Did Ahmed have a laptop or a desktop? she asked Jamal. And when he didnt answer, she let her gaze wander to Nasar. What was it? Sheik Nasar looked at her with fire in his dark eyes. I do not know or care. He got to his feet. Tell us where your Mr. Warwick is. I am right here, Sheik, Grant called from the top of the stairs, both arms extended, aiming his Glock at the man. 120 Carried Away Coco grinned from ear to ear. Grant, I knew youd come! Doesnt matter, murmured Jamal. The last thing Coco knew as she felt a burst of heat hit her arm was that Lady Capo had a weapon, too, and that the ugly silver thing was pointed directly at her heart. 121 Cerise DeLand Chapter Twelve The breeze off the Aegean ruffled Grants hair as he felt a taut, hot body lay beside him on the chaise longue. Late June now and the sun beaming down on the island of Mykonos was hot enough for him. Yesterday theyd arrived from Naples to stay at a small hotel near the beach. The two of them needed a rest from the grueling debriefing theyd had with more law enforcement agencies than either of them ever wanted to hear from again. Sheik Nasar and Jamal Husseini were in the custody of Interpol shrieking their heads off about how innocent they were of steering a radical group, the Stars of the Desert. Both men admitted there was no one man who was Hakim, the Judge. They created the concept to frighten Coco. The woman Coco had nicknamed Lady Capo was a hermaphrodite who was indeed a Neapolitan mafioso boss, heading an export firm. That firm sent a lot of goods into New Jersey ports, and all of it was now being inspected for contraband. Nick Chekov had lost his post in Paris and maybe his freedom, pending an investigation into his ties to Lady Capo and her smuggling cartel. And Cocos control was getting a good hard look-see by an internal CIA review board. After all that, Mark had flown them down to the Greek island, then left for Dubai to pick up Todd and the forensic team. Coco and Grant told themselves they were going to devote themselves to getting a tan. Period. This worked for Grant, not because he especially needed one, but he because he did get a charge out of looking at Coco without a bathing suit or any other stitch on her lovely body. A sight he got endless pleasure from and one he had worked too damn hard to get. And keep. He frowned at the memory of how Nasar and his people had drugged her and roughed her up. He wanted to light up their asses that night in Pompeii in revenge for 122 Carried Away how they had played him. Mark kept him sane until the carabineri arrived to help them handcuff the cartel and take them up to Naples for the Guardia to interrogate. Coco leaned over and kissed his lips. Guess what? she asked him like a kid, her color and spunk coming back now that she knew she was free of the creeps who had tracked her. I give. Tell me, babe. I got a call from Marias plastic surgeon, Coco announced as she flung herself backward, both arms over her head to grip the rungs of the chair. She is very excited about the progress they made on this last procedure. She thinks Maria has a good chance of having another operation soon. Grant reached over and cupped Cocos cheek. Terrific. And you feel better, too, right? She gave a little nod. Not so guilty. That was not your fault. You should see that in time. I will. She squinted into the sun. But there are other things I feel badly about. He stared into her sorrowful violet eyes and waited. He was not going to push her to tell him anything. She didnt owe him. She might not even be able to tell him everything about the Stars of the Desert. That was fine. He understood the top secret nature of what she had done and for whom. He loved her. He wasnt going anywhere and though she had not told him so yet, he had the feeling she would never leave him again. She licked her lips, sat up in her chair and faced him. I have to tell you why I took the job with the Agency. He tipped his head. Didnt you? Not all of it. When I was invited by Ahmed to go into the Egyptian desert to attend this meeting, I knew only what he told me about those who were going to attend. Grant nodded. I gathered that. 123 Cerise DeLand It wasnt until I came home and told my father where Id been, who Id seen that he told me more about a few of them. At the end of his career, he was a mediator in Cairo to end a civil war in Sudan. I remember. It did not go well. No. In fact, it was his last mission and it was disastrous. The failure to come to a cease-fire was because two men pulled out of the talks at the last minute. They said they were threatened by a new group called Stars of the Desert and they buckled under. The negotiations failed, the civil war went on for three years longer and... And your father, Grant went on when she got choked up and couldnt, left Cairo in despair. He refused to negotiate with terrorists and he died, heartbroken. She stared at Grant. Thousands more died in that war. My father felt responsible. You can see why I felt I had to identify them. I do. He reached out and brought her closer, her skin lusciously flush to his. It was business and personal. When we met three years ago, I had just begun. I felt I couldnt stop. And I had a wild idea that if I did it all quickly, I could come back and find you, make it up to you. She traced patterns on his chest. It didnt go that quickly. He threaded his fingers through her hair and put his lips to her forehead. We cant plan everything. She looked him in the eye. I hurt you. He smiled. Thats over, babe. Youre here now. I love you, Grant. She bent closer and brushed her mouth on his. I love you. She kissed him, softly and tenderly. I wont ever leave you again. Not for work, not for anything. Can I spend years proving it to you? He crushed her closer and took her mouth with an ardor he knew would only grow. You bet you can. But I have two demands. 124 Carried Away She laughed, an impish look in her eyes. Really? Like what? Youll marry me. Oh, darling. Yes, thatll be so easy. How about next week? As soon as we can get home and get a license. And the second demand? Youre going to have to go barefoot for awhile. She blinked. Is that so? Im gonna burn all your ugly shoes. Let me guess. I wont have a need for them any longer? He nodded. You got that right. Im not running away from you ever again. Only coming toward me. She arched her brows. Coming for you, with you? Repeatedly. She snorted. Twice a day? He took her up over his body and positioned her to let him prove the power of his love for her. Minimum. 125 About the Author An award-winning author of more than two dozen romances and mysteries, Cerise DeLand creates heroes readers crave. Cerise has met many men in her worldwide travels and created the best of the best from all the wonderful places shes lived and visited. Today, she lives and writes in wild west Texas, where a never-ending stream of cowboys, vaqueros, para-military types and diplomats stroll into town and fuel her imagination for red hot affairs. Cerise welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com. Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected]. Also by Cerise DeLand Her Three-Way Merger Laid Bare Mia Dolce Discover for yourself why readers cant get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Elloras Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless. www.ellorascave.