Hard to Come By (7 page)

Nothing’s really happening, Em. It’s just dinner
.

Right
.

They ordered and the waitress brought their drinks and a big basket of fresh, warm rolls.

“You have to try these,” Emilie said as she broke one apart, steam rising from within.

Derek took one and followed suit, slathering it with butter. “So tell me about this big family of yours. What’s that like?”

Emilie debated where to begin. “Well, I have five pairs of aunts and uncles, one living pair of grandparents, and fifteen cousins, plus my brother and mom. Family get-togethers are big, loud, and involve lots and lots of food. And some occasional arguing. But it’s mostly pretty awesome.”

“Do you see them often?” he asked.

She nodded. “Pretty often. Growing up, our whole social life was our family, so we still get together for holidays and major birthdays or anniversaries. In fact, this Saturday I’m hosting about thirty of them at my place for an early Mother’s Day celebration.” Emilie chuckled. “Some of the cousins can’t make it, so that number is smaller than usual.” Smaller, but still big enough to mean she had quite a bit of prep work yet to do this week.

“Smaller?” he said, eyes going wide. “Damn. That’s something.”

“Yeah. And that’s just my mom’s side. We don’t see my Dad’s side much since my parents split when we were kids.” Mostly because Dad was out of the picture. One day he’d been there, the next day he wasn’t. No good-byes, no nothing. Her mom’s family had stepped in and made sure they were taken care of, though. Just another reason Emilie cherished them so much.

Derek nodded. “How the heck do you do Christmas with all those people?” he asked, taking a drink of his water.

“Secret Santa. For as long as I can remember, we picked names. No one in my family had enough money to buy something for everyone.” Except for Manny, apparently. She thought of the hundred-dollar bills still lying on her coffee table. She’d felt too weird about them this morning to put them in her wallet.

“Damn, your family is huge,” he said. “Is it hard to manage all those people at get-togethers?”

“Oh, my God, sometimes it is. Aunt Sofia isn’t getting along with Aunt Lucia, so they can’t be seated together. Cousin Danna felt slighted because the last get-together wasn’t at her house, but there aren’t enough seats, so
everyone needs to bring folding chairs with them. Or you need two platters of enchiladas when the Espinoza cousins are coming because those boys can
eat
.”

“Wow,” he said, smiling. “I can’t imagine all that. But it sounds cool.”

“It really is, in a totally neurotic kinda way.” She laughed, thinking about all the crazy stories she had about her family. Like the picnic when the boys had all held a disgusting hotdog-eating contest and Manny had lost to Robbie Espinoza. A twelve-year-old Manny had accused Robbie of have an unfair advantage because the older boy could fit half a hot dog in his mouth at one time. The story was on the tip of her tongue to share, but the thought of sharing information about Manny brought his words slamming back into her mind.
Keep an eye out. And your mouth shut
.

Okay, see?

Now Manny’s paranoia was wearing off on her. She sighed.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, forcing the BS with her brother out of her head. Just for tonight. “I’m great. Thanks again for inviting me to dinner.”

“My pleasure, Emilie,” he said as the waiter brought their food.

They ate and talked and laughed, and it was one of the nicest nights Emilie had had in a long, long time. She didn’t feel like a divorcee or a woman who’d been cheated on or a woman who’d somehow deluded herself into thinking she had a happy marriage.

For once, she just felt like Emilie. Like a woman. Carefree and happy and enjoying the company of a man.

Looking across the table, she smiled at a story Derek
was telling about a three-legged puppy his friends had. And his obvious affection for the pup made her fall just that much more in like with the man.

And that made Emilie wonder. What did she want with this man? What was she even ready for?

She didn’t know the answers to those questions. She only knew she didn’t want this to be their only night.

M
arz felt great.

And he also felt like the world’s biggest asshole.

Great because he was having a fantastic time with Emilie. She was funny, warm, and genuine, the kind of woman you could talk to for hours about everything and anything and never once notice the passing time.

An asshole because the date was a pretense to keep her out of her house so the guys could clear out the stash Beckett had found.

Thing was, Marz had been
psyched
for the opportunity to spend more time with her. And he’d meant what he’d said—that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, and that her agreeing to go out with him made him happy. Not because it made his job easier, but because he was a man wanting to spend more time with a beautiful woman.

And, to be fair, he was a man wanting to know whether he’d really misjudged this woman. His brain knew Emilie had a pile of semiautomatics and heroin in her basement, but that
so
did not jive with how his gut read her. Elite operatives were trained to hone and trust their instincts. And right now, it was a freaking burr in his britches that he couldn’t square what he knew with what he felt.

The waiter came and they ordered coffee and dessert.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked as she rose from her chair.

“Of course. But you better get back before that chocolate cake or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.” He winked.

She scooted around the table, rested a hand on his arm, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Never get between a woman and her chocolate, Derek.”

He grinned and twisted in his seat to watch her walk away. Damn, if that dress didn’t tease him with hints of her sweet curves. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone, which he’d put on silent before Emilie had walked out of her office. Three messages.

The first was from Beckett about fifteen minutes ago and gave him the all-clear to let Emilie return home whenever he was ready, then they’d rendezvous. The second one was from Charlie and reported an address on one of Garza’s phone numbers, which was freaking fantastic news. And the third, also from Charlie, read,
Thought this might be important
and included a link. Marz clicked through to a news story.

“Aw, hell,” he said to himself as his scalp prickled. Two execution-style murders in Baltimore City today, both of known members of the Church Gang. The media was speculating about a connection to the bombing
of Confessions, one of the gang’s known hangouts, and a shootout and car chase that had occurred that same night. His team had been involved in both of those ops, so Marz
knew
those two were connected. Question was, what were these executions about? And did they represent an opportunity or a threat to his guys and their mission? “No way that’s not important,” he murmured.

“Everything okay?” Emilie slipped back into her chair.

Marz looked up and smiled.
Damn, she’s gorgeous
. She’d applied something glossy to her lips, and they were now a deep, shiny red that reminded him of a candy apple.
Bet she’d taste just as sweet
. “Yeah, just some bad stuff from the nightly news.”

“Is there any other kind?” Emilie asked. “I almost hate to read the news anymore.” She gestured toward his phone, which he slipped back into his pocket. “What happened?”

“Oh, uh, some murders in downtown Baltimore.”

Just then, the waiter delivered their coffee and desserts—the chocolate cake for her, and key lime pie for him.

“Look at that,” Marz said, “your chocolate cake is safe after all.”

Emilie reached across the table and snatched his fork, then she sliced it into her dessert. “Never let it be said I’m not a giving person,” she said, returning the fork to him with a big scoop of cake.

Marz shook his head and grinned. “Those words will never slip past my lips.” He enjoyed the taste of her dessert, which was rich and creamy and delicious. He held his plate out to her. “Try mine?”

“Nope. I appreciate it, but I’m all about this cake.”
She scooped up a piece and ate it. “Mmm,” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering shut. Her face was a mask of pleasure, making Derek wonder what else might cause her to convey those sounds and that expression.

He shifted in his seat, heat spearing through him. “So, uh, I take it you like chocolate.”

Her eyes flipped open. “‘Like’ would be an understatement. Did you ever see the movie
Forrest Gump
? There’s that scene where the guy is reciting, like, a hundred things you can make out of shrimp?” Marz nodded. “Well, that’s me, except switch out the shrimp for chocolate. If it’s chocolate, I will eat it or make it.”

“Is that so?” he asked, loving learning all these little facets of her personality.

“Mmhmm,” she said around another bite. “Ever had enchiladas with chocolate sauce?” Marz wrinkled his nose, and Emilie laughed. “It’s called mole and you’d never know it has chocolate in it, but the Mexican chocolate gives it this deep and delicious flavor that is to
die
for.” She licked chocolate icing off her fork, and Marz tried like hell not to stare. But, damn.

“If you say it’s good, I would definitely try it,” he said.

She tilted her head. “So, no one you know was hurt today, were they? In that news story, I mean.”

“Thankfully, no,” he said, his gut clenching at the thought. His team had experienced enough loss. He refused to lose even one more of the guys. Not if he could help it. Shoving the thoughts away, he took a bite of his pie and focused on enjoying the sweet-and-sour key lime. Fantastic graham cracker crust, too.

“There’s a lot I love about Baltimore, but it’s also such a troubled city,” Emilie said. “I do pro bono counseling
at a clinic up there once a week, and there’s just some rough stuff.”

Why wasn’t he surprised to learn that about her? But how did pro bono counseling at an inner-city clinic square with being involved with drugs and guns? “Oh, yeah? That’s really great of you, Emilie. Is it safe?” he asked.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s certainly a change of pace from working with college students. And it’s definitely different walking into a facility that keeps an armed guard on staff in the waiting room, but they’re good people without sufficient access to care of all kinds. I’d do more if I could.”

Their meal ended and Marz took care of the check over Emilie’s protests, and then they went out to the pier to wait for the taxi. Darkness had brought a chill to the air, and Emilie hugged herself and rubbed her arms.

Marz found himself torn in two. On the one hand, he wanted to pull her in against his chest and warm her with his hands and heat. On the other, he hated to initiate anything physical with her, given the circumstances that had brought them together. He already felt like a big enough asshole, especially since he genuinely liked Emilie. She might’ve been a mission asset—no, she
was
a mission asset—but she was also someone Marz enjoyed immensely and at any other time would’ve wanted to pursue.

Maybe he could, down the road, assuming there was a good explanation for her stash
and
she could forgive the way and reason they’d met. But he couldn’t get involved with anyone with so much shit on his plate, even if she didn’t come with a dangerous brother who might or might not be gunning for them. Marz and the
guys had to clear their names and settle the score with Church. And Marz also had to find a way to clear the air with Beckett, even if it meant tying him to a chair until the stubborn ass talked. Damn it all to hell.

“Do you want to wait inside?” he asked.

She smiled, and it almost looked like her teeth were chattering. “No, I’m fine. It’ll be here soon.”

As if her words conjured the water taxi, the boat’s navigation lights came into view. Minutes later, it drew up along the pier and they went aboard.

The chill was worse when they got under way. Marz couldn’t resist the urge to make her more comfortable. “Here,” he said, projecting over the wind and the motor, “lean against me. I’ll keep you warm.”

Emilie curled into him, tucking her face against his neck and folding her hands against his chest.

And
damn
if that didn’t feel good. There was just something about sheltering a woman’s body with your own that Marz really dug. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tighter.

This trip was longer than their earlier one as it stopped at several other piers. Emilie’s arms below the short dress-sleeves were freezing. He rubbed her skin with his hands and just barely held back from pulling her into his lap so he could hold her even closer.

“You okay?” he asked with his lips against her ear.

Emilie tilted her head back. “Yes, thanks to you,” she said, a small smile playing around her lips. She was so close . . .

Heat sparked in the air between them until Marz could no longer feel the breeze. All he knew was the thunder of his heart, the rush of his blood, and the fucking urgent desire to taste her, kiss her, claim her.

The little voice in the back of his head reciting the long list of reasons why any of that would be a bad freaking idea? He kicked that mother into a dark, distant corner.

Marz felt her answering desire in the way her pulse ticked up under his hands and against his chest, and saw it in the way her gaze flickered to his lips and away again. She wanted him, too.

Sonofabitch. He leaned down, bringing their lips closer. Her breath caught and her fingers curled into his shirt between two of the buttons as if she was pulling him down, too. Everything else died away—the boat, the wind, the other people. Until it was just them and the closeness of his mouth to hers.

“Derek,” she whispered.

It was the pleading sound of his name on her lips that did it.

Whatever had held him back in the seconds before she’d spoken disappeared in that instant. His lips brushed hers. Just a soft dragging of skin on skin that was somehow sexier for how tentative and incomplete it was, especially when she gasped and pressed herself closer, like she was hungry for it.

Jesus. Marz certainly was.

He captured her top lip between his and tugged, just the littlest bit. Continuing to tease her—and himself—he dragged his lips over her cheek, her eye, her nose, before he came back to her lips again.

And then he stopped teasing. Marz kissed her, softly but thoroughly, not waiting long at all before he gave in to the urge to taste and swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of chocolate and woman and a sweetness he couldn’t get enough of. He’d already been hard before their lips ever met, but now he was like steel. Emilie
was right there with him, surrendering to the kiss but giving back everything he gave her.

Damn, it was a good thing they were in public, because Marz didn’t want to stop.

As if on cue, they pulled up to their mooring at City Dock, and the boat bumped against the pilings. They broke apart, breathing hard and looking at one another as if neither quite knew what had just happened, or what would happen next.

Marz guided her off the boat and pulled her in against his side with an arm around her shoulders. They didn’t talk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The tension roiling between them was purely sexual in nature, and Marz didn’t know where the hell to go with that. Not with the falsehoods between them, not when he wasn’t sure where she stood or what she was involved in, not when she didn’t know their meeting hadn’t been an accident.

She shivered and tucked herself closer to him. Marz needed to fix that problem now. He pulled her into the first souvenir shop they came to. “What’s your favorite color?”

“What?” she asked with a suspicious smile. “Why?”

“Just tell me,” he said.

“Okay, it’s turquoise. Now can I know why?” she asked, laughing.

If he told her his plan, she would protest. So Marz kept quiet as he scanned the racks and zeroed in on a target—a turquoise blue hoodie that spelled out Annapolis in both letters and nautical flags. Perfect. He grabbed one that looked about the right size. “Come on,” he said, grasping her hand in his.

“What are you doing?” she said, following him.

“You’ll see,” he said. “Oh, wait.” He stopped over a table of T-shirts. If
that
wasn’t freaking Jeremy . . .
“I have a friend who collects dirty and funny T-shirts. Whatd’ya think?” He held one up to her that had a picture of a black lab with a crab in its mouth.

She smiled and read aloud: “Our dog has crabs. Dirty Dog Crab Shack. Cold beer and hot legs. Annapolis, 1649.”

“Very cute,” she said, “but who’s the other one for?”

He threw Jer’s T-shirt over his arm, grabbed her hand again, and pulled her in so he could whisper into her ear. “You, babe.” Then he kissed her cheek and led her to the register.

“But . . . we’ll be back to the car in a few minutes,” she said as the teenager checked him out.

“And by then you’ll be freezing. Besides, how can you deny me my God-given American right to spend money on souvenirs?” He handed the guy the money and accepted his change. Ripping the tag off her jacket, he held it open for her. “Madam,” he said with a bow.

Looking like she still wanted to argue, she slipped it on, and the way she snuggled into it filled him with all kinds of satisfaction.

“Thanks,” he said to the guy as he grabbed the bag with Jeremy’s shirt. They made their way back out to the street. “See, now you can enjoy the walk.”

“Well, that might’ve been the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Marz narrowed his gaze and hoped that wasn’t true, because that had been some basic decency right there. What kind of guys was she seeing, anyway? His gut clenched, both because his kneejerk reaction to the thought had been to dislike the idea of her seeing
anyone
else. Strongly. Followed closely by the interjection of cold-hard reality that it wasn’t any of his business. It
couldn’t be
any of his business.

They returned to her car far too quickly for Marz’s taste, because he wasn’t sure where this left them. This
should be
good-bye, but a part of Marz sure as shit didn’t want it to be.