Dirty Little Lies (18 page)

With an eye roll, Frankie shook his head indulgently, but didn’t bother to respond. Marisela grunted, threw herself back against the seat, and crossed her arms over her chest. Maybe he was right. They’d been watching for tails—they always did—but that didn’t mean they didn’t miss her. There were a lot of people around and Yizenia was reportedly an expert at disguise. She could have been just a few steps behind them the entire time, watching them, learning about them, jumping in when it looked like Frankie and Marisela were about to bite the dust.

But why?

“Have you found Bradley Hightower yet?” she asked Max, who’d remained silent regarding Marisela’s theories.

“Not exactly. We learned that he did claim his inheritance shortly after his parents’ deaths. We found an old friend who claimed Brad wanted to start over with a new life. And that he missed the States?”

“You think he has a new identity?” she asked.

“Very good chance,” Max confirmed. “We’re digging into his brother’s life. Raymond Hightower also took his inheritance and tripled it. He moved to Switzerland. Before he died, he was a high-living entrepreneur and knew a lot of people all over the Continent. Chances are, if he kept in touch with his brother, one of his friends will know. Brynn ordered our Swiss office to make this investigation priority one. If Bradley Hightower is still alive, he’s in great danger.”

“If we can’t find him, how can Yizenia?”

Max just shook his head. They had no idea what network she could tap into. For all they knew, Bradley Hightower was already dead.

“Are we going to try and save him, too?” Frankie asked, sounding annoyed.

“Craig Bennett wants us to,” Max replied.

Marisela sat forward. “He’s talking?”

Max maneuvered the car into one of the many tunnels running around and through Boston. Traffic slowed and the glow of the headlights reflected a glittery gold off the tiles lining the tunnel. “He’s still in serious condition, but the moment he could say a few words, his wife called for Ian. Bennett was able to verify a few interesting facts. For one, he insists Evan Cole was never there that night at the campground.”

Marisela’s stomach clenched. If Cole had been innocent, then why was he marked for death? “What else did he say?”

“He couldn’t say much, except he insisted that while Evan never showed up, Rebecca Manning certainly did. She showed up on her own, uninvited. He claims she was furious when she left, but very much alive. His main concern was about Brad Hightower. He ordered us to find him before Yizenia did. Or, we find Yizenia and stop her.”

Frankie clucked his tongue. “Neither job will be easy.”

Max grinned. “Nothing in this business ever is.”

Except, perhaps, finding Tracy. She still might offer some insight no one else had.

“Did he say anything about Tracy?” she asked.

Max shook his head. “Ian didn’t ask. Bennett barely had enough energy to tell us about Evan and Rebecca. We’ll interview him again tomorrow.”

The minute they emerged from the tunnel, Max took the nearest exit and stopped alongside one of the many parks dotting the Boston landscape. The phone had gotten enough juice so they could make the call, though Marisela didn’t disconnect it from the charger, just in case. Before Marisela dialed, Max hooked into his team at the office with his own wireless connection. When they were set up to trace the signal, she punched in the numbers.

One ring.

“What if—”

“Sh,” Frankie said.

Two rings.

Marisela closed her eyes tightly, willing Tracy to answer. She’d hate to think she’d touched Parker Manning for no good reason.

Three rin-

“Hello?”

Marisela gave Max a thumbs-up. He replied with a twirling finger, instructing her to keep the conversation going.

“Hello?” the female voice asked, this time sounding nervous.

“Hi,” Marisela said.

“Who is this?” the woman replied, her voice unsteady.

“I found this phone on the sidewalk. Outside a park. In Jamaica Plain.”

No response.

“Are you still there?”

A long pause. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I’m here. I expected…it’s my brother’s phone. He must have dropped it or something.”

“Oh! Great then. There was no name or anything, so I just hit the redial feature, thought if I found someone who knew who owned the phone, I could get it back to them. It’s pretty beat-up.”

Tracy’s laugh was tentative but edgy. “No one in my family is that into technology. Keep the phone on and I’ll have him call you. Or, wait. If he doesn’t have his cell, I’m not sure how I’d find him.”

Parker Manning had both a cell phone and a land-line. Did Tracy only call him on the cell?

“Well, it’s almost out of juice,” Marisela explained, responding to Max’s continued circular movements. “Maybe I could just drop it off with you?”

“Oh, no,” Tracy answered. “I live too far away.”

Max held his hand up flat, then after a second, gave a thumbs-up. They had the location.

Marisela could have disconnected the call, but she decided not to raise the woman’s hackles. If she got spooked, she could bolt. “Why don’t I give you my cell phone number? When you contact your brother, call me and well make arrangements.”

Tracy liked that idea, so Marisela rattled off her number and then gave her best friend Lia’s name, simply because, well, she’d done it before. Many times. More times than Lia had forgiven her for, actually. To guys she met in bars. To police officers letting her go with only a warning. To salespeople calling her on the phone before noon.

She disconnected the call and turned to Max. “She said she was far away.”

Max grinned. “Not that far. Natick. About fifteen miles west of the city. I’ve got two agents on their way right now and they’ll keep her in sight until tomorrow.”

Marisela frowned. “We should go tonight.”

Then she yawned. Big and ugly and full of teeth that hadn’t been brushed, and a body that had finally started to ache now that the adrenaline from the fight had begun to wane. Max chuckled, exchanged glances with Frankie, then started the car.

They’d wait until tomorrow.

Marisela eased back into the seat and thought about their next move.

They had Tracy’s location, so she focused on that. By tomorrow, they’d likely know if Rebecca’s surviving sister had hired Yizenia, and if she had, they had a shot at finding the assassin before she killed again. But they still wouldn’t know if—or why—Yizenia had come to her and Frankie’s rescue.

Marisela couldn’t shake the impression that there was more to this story. She couldn’t dismiss the weirdness of Yizenia’s making friends with Brynn and then seducing Ian when she’d come to Boston to handle a matter that had nothing to do with the Blake family or Titan International.

Or did it?

She’d expected Max to drop them off at Titan’s home office for an official debrief, but instead, he pulled up in front of her and Frankie’s hotel.

“Go in, take a shower,” he instructed, stretching around from the front seat, “Report to the office in the morning at seven sharp.”

Frankie moved toward the door, but Marisela scooted forward and laid her hand on Max’s, blocking Frankie’s path.

“Yizenia was there, Max. I can feel it.”

Max neither agreed nor disagreed, but even in the muted light, a flash of interest played in the sparkling colorlessness of his gray eyes. “Why do you think so?”

“Who else can shoot like that?”

“Plenty of people.”

“Including you?”

He didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to. “Okay,” Marisela conceded, “but when the ME pulls the bullet, I’m betting my outrageous salary that the slug matches the one the doctors pulled out of Craig Bennett.”

“You mean the slug that was supposed to kill him?” Max asked, his gray eyes intense.

She eyed him skeptically. “Yeah. Except I fired at her. Distracted her.”

“Precisely,” Max pointed out. “You ruined her perfect record. Maybe she was there tonight, Marisela. And maybe she did set you up to be in that dark alley. Maybe she wanted you there so she could kill you herself.”

Marisela pursed her lips and ran that possibility through her mind. “Then why’d she hit the guy she hired?”

Max exchanged glances with Frankie, who didn’t look so bored anymore with the discussion about Yizenia. “Maybe she took him out before he could identify her. Maybe you got away before she could fire again. There are a million possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. Which is why you’d better watch your back. If she’s gunning for you, I don’t think she’ll screw up again.”

* * *

On that happy note, Marisela slid out of the car. She crossed the lobby quickly, catching up to Frankie, who held the elevator open for her. As soon as the doors shut, she pushed herself high on the balls of her feet. Up and down. Up and down.

She’d been exhausted in the car, but once she’d hit the crisp night air, she’d felt instantly re-energized. The blood cells pumping through her veins seemed to have little ticklers on the edges, chafing her from the inside, forcing her to move or face madness.

“Can’t stand it, can you?”

Leaning against the back wall of the elevator, Frankie had his arms crossed over his chest and a gleam in his hazel eyes that made the green flecks glimmer like shards of colored glass.

She braced herself, even as the hair on her arms reacted to a chill that didn’t exist. “Can’t stand what?”

His smile was crooked, the smirk accentuated by the slim lines of his moustache. “The rush.”

She tried shoving her hands in her pockets, but the denim was too tight, so she opted to cram her fingers into her back pockets instead, forcing her breasts to jut forward. The minute his heated gaze struck her flesh, her nipples hardened, tweaking the nerve endings so that jolts of pure fire flashed toward every pulse point in her body. Frankie’s generous lips curved into that tiny smile. Just in time, the elevator doors slid open and she beat a hasty path to her door. She slid the card key. When the tiny light turned green, Frankie slid one hand around her waist and the other up the side of her thigh.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, her voice a raspy whisper.

With a flick, he unbuttoned the waist of her jeans. He leaned in to her neck and inhaled. “I’m touching you. I’ve wanted to all day. You’re torturing me, you know that, ¿
sí?
”

“Your own damned fault,” she replied, her eyes drifting closed as his fingers danced along the lower edge of her belly. “You can’t beat your chest around me, Frankie. Get all jealous and macho. That doesn’t turn me on.”

He stroked a finger across the top of her panties. “Maybe not, but I know other ways to make you wet,
vidita
. I know you, Marisela. I know your body. I know how you think. No other man will ever give you what you need the way I can.”

He wasn’t talking about a vague, unnamed “other man.” He was talking about Ian Blake.

She arched a brow, holding back a pleasured gasp as his fingertip dove deeper. “You think so?”

“I can prove it.”

Too exhausted and too turned on to argue, she entered her room. Behind her, he shut the door. Clicked the lock. She’d already fought so hard tonight. Did she really have the power to struggle further against what was so instinctual, so natural?

But she was hot, dirty, and sore. She went into the bathroom, and peeled off her bloody, sweaty clothes. She needed a few minutes to herself. To prepare. To rein her raging hormones under control so the loving could be slow and sensual instead of hard and fast like the night before.

Unfortunately, the scalding water did nothing to lessen her overloaded senses. Every shard of water that burst against her skin enflamed her. The smell of the soap and shampoo lured her with the headiness of mint and cucumber, heightening her hunger—a hunger no simple food would sate. Then she heard him.

With steam clouding the shower, Frankie was a shadow on the other side of the glass. She flattened her palm on the door, but didn’t dare wipe a clear view. She didn’t want to see him approach, didn’t want to confront the torture she knew he planned for her. And damn it, she had no desire to resist. And he knew it. She hated the surge of confidence that knowledge gave him, but she hated missing an opportunity to make love to him even more.

Like an addict, she’d imbibed the forbidden and wanted more. She watched him shrug out of his jacket. He stretched his shirt over his head, revealing the dark, bronzed expanse of his chest, muted by the fog and glass, but perfect nonetheless. He must have ditched his shoes before he came into the bathroom, because once he shed his jeans and briefs, he was nude.

When he neared, the distinct outline of his aroused sex held her in thrall. And yet, she still held the handle to the door tightly so that he couldn’t come inside.

“Marisela, stop playing games,” he said, gently rattling the handle.

“Are you done being jealous of Ian?”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not jealous.”

“Eh,” she said, mimicking the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

“Why should I be
celoso
when I’m the one in your bathroom naked, huh?”

“But if I chose, he could have me,” she said. She cared about her ex, but she wasn’t ready for anything more than sex between them. She’d been there, done that. Her options had to remain open.

He leaned forward so she could catch the white gleam of his toothy smile. “Then know this. If you ever fuck him, I’ll be done with you.”

She stepped back, but tightened her hand on the door handle. “Is that a threat?”

“No,
vidita
, just the way it is.”

“So no man can have me but you?” She yanked the door open. “I hate to break this to you,
cabrόn
, but you’re not that important to my decision-making process. I can fuck whoever I want, whenever I want.”

He pushed his way into the shower stall. “Then fuck me now.”

“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “
Dios, ayuda me
. Never you.”

In an instant, his lips crashed over hers. His hands slid over the silky wetness drenching her skin from the inside out. His palms, dry and rough, instantly sought her breasts and buttocks. She gasped. He felt so good. So solid. So hard.