Hot Pursuit (4 page)

Which was precisely as it should be. There
was no compromising the identity of HOT. Ever.

“Nope, it was just a platoon,” Matt replied
with a sarcasm he didn’t feel. Jim Matuzaki and Marco San Ramos
weren’t ever coming home again because of him. Because he hadn’t
listened to his gut that night.

Not a day went by when he didn’t think about
them. Two guys he’d shared dusty foxholes and claustrophobic caves
with, who’d watched his back more than once. He’d failed them by
not scrubbing that mission. He’d wanted to get Jassar ibn-Rashad
and save lives, but he’d lost two instead.

Ibn-Rashad was still out there. Still
planning to kill.

And Matt might not ever get a chance to do a
damn thing about it. His future with HOT was shaky at best after
the failure of the last op. His team had been inactive for weeks
while other HOT teams came and went. They’d had to sit and watch
others go into the field, knowing they’d failed at their task,
knowing others were in danger because of them.

Soon, he’d find out his fate. Next week, when
he left Rochambeau, he had to attend a hearing on what had gone
wrong out there in the desert. He would take responsibility for
what had happened to his team, and he might never go on another
operation again. His days in HOT very well could be over.

The place where he’d been shot still
throbbed. The bullet—a long, ugly mother called a 7.62x39—had
pierced the skin, but it had lost momentum going through his
assault suit and gotten stuck without passing into his body. He’d
been lucky that day, even if he hadn’t deserved it. And luckier
still when another HOT squad infiltrated the camp and rescued his
team before the rest of them could be killed.

Standing here now, in a beauty salon in
Rochambeau, was surreal at best. That sense of unreality he’d been
living with for the last couple of months grew stronger. What the
hell was he going to do if he got assigned to a desk for the rest
of his career? It would, in effect, be a demotion, even if they
never stripped him of rank.

And it would mean the end of everything that
made any sense to him.

“So how’s Christina doing?” Julie asked. “I
haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks now.”

“Fine. Nervous, maybe, but fine.”

“That’s good. She’s nice, your sister.”
Unlike you
remained unspoken.

“She is indeed.”

Julie’s gaze dropped over him then. “So you
gonna be at the lake tonight?” she asked, switching gears on him so
fast he had to shake off a sense of whiplash.

He looked at Evie, didn’t miss the look of
disbelief that crossed her face as she glanced up from the
appointment book. Her cousin had just performed a one-eighty turn
at ninety miles an hour, going from hostile to flirtatious in a
heartbeat.

“Probably not.”

Julie stuck out her lower lip. “Too bad.”

Definitely a sexual vibe there. He tried to
imagine it. Couldn’t. But he could imagine it with Evie. It’d been
far too long since he’d had a woman, and though Evie was the wrong
woman for a variety of reasons, he couldn’t help but think about
it.

“Great news, Jules,” Evie said. “Mama can fit
you in in about an hour.”

“Sounds good,” Julie said as she went and
leaned on the counter beside Evie.

“Will you be there tonight?” Matt asked Evie
as she penciled her cousin’s name in the appointment book. He
didn’t know why he was asking, since he had to attend a formal
dinner for Christina and her fiancé tonight. But he wanted to
know.

She looked up, her gaze locking with his, and
he felt the jolt inside, right at gut level.

“No.”

Julie pinched her arm. “Yes, you will. I
promised everyone I’d bring you. You’ve been in town for almost a
month and you keep promising to go. It’s been so long, and everyone
misses you.”

Evie looked skeptical and Matt felt a throb
of irritation at her cousin. “I really don’t think—” Evie
began.

“Aw, Evie, come on. It’s just one night.
Don’t be so stuck up.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Evie was clearly
not happy with the idea. She put the pencil down and grabbed
Julie’s arm. “Let’s go get some lunch. Give your sister my
congratulations, in case I don’t see her before Saturday,” she said
to Matt.

The two of them headed for the back of the
shop, disappearing behind the same flowered curtain she’d emerged
from earlier. Matt turned and sank down on the pink vinyl seat
again, feeling oddly numb and out of place.

He was home in a pink nightmare of a salon,
Evie hated him, and Jim and Marco were dead. The contrast was so
stark, so gut-wrenching. Half the time he just wanted to shout at
everyone that they had no idea what kind of things happened out
there in the world and how dare they go on as if everything was
normal, but the rational part of him knew they wouldn’t understand.
Not only that, but they’d also think he was crazy.

He thought of Evie’s dark hair and flashing
eyes. For a few minutes, she’d made him feel grounded. Real. Now he
felt the way he had for the past two months: as if he were walking
around with his guts on the outside.

“You ready, sugar?” Norma Breaux said then,
whipping Matt from his dark thoughts. She shook out a hot-pink
plastic smock and wrapped it around his neck as he sat down in her
chair.

He was ready for anything these days.

And none of it good.

* * *

French Quarter, New Orleans

The files were gone. The computer.
Everything. He’d been careless. David West melded into the shadows
of the building, peering into the dark alley. Rivera’s grunts had
been in his room. He couldn’t go back, nor could he verify what he
knew to be true. But he didn’t need to. He’d seen them, seen
Brianna Sweeney leaving with her two thugs in tow.

Once, he’d been one of them, doing as he was
told, moving into an area and enforcing Ryan Rivera’s will. He’d
been the bean counter, much higher on the brain meter than any of
those three, but he knew them intimately. Had worked with them
countless times.

Most recently with Brianna in Florida at a
place called Evangeline’s. He thought he’d evaded the organization
this time, but sonofabitch if he hadn’t quite done it after
all.

He’d wanted out, but apparently once Rivera
had a hold of you, you never got out.

Cold sweat dripped down his spine. He’d blown
it. He should have moved on by now, but he’d holed up here for the
past two weeks instead, indulging in the decadence and sin the
Quarter had to offer. He’d gotten cocky, and he’d gotten stupid.
He’d been so sure he’d covered his tracks. He was going by a new
name, and he always paid in cash.

He’d left Florida five months ago, moving
around constantly until he’d landed here. He’d been
safe
,
goddamn it! Certain he’d pulled it off. How had they found him?

He shook his head. It still swam from one too
many absinthe drips. He pressed a hand to the damp brick to steady
himself and swallowed down a flood of acid in his throat. The
sounds of revelry and jazz wafted down the alley from Bourbon
Street. The air was hot and sweet, saturated with humidity, liquor,
and the smells of spicy food.

David sucked in a sharp breath against the
bile rising in his throat. Brianna had his files now, the bitch.
Panic flooded him. Briefly, he wondered if she would negotiate. If
she would consider a cut of the money he’d taken to give them back
again.

He put his forehead against the brick and
breathed deep. Fuck no, she wouldn’t negotiate. He knew that. He’d
tried once before when he’d sensed she was as sick of working for
Rivera as he was.

But Brianna was tough, and she wasn’t caving.
And now he was out here with his dick swinging in the wind. He had
no guarantees without those files. The money wouldn’t do him a damn
bit of good if he was dead.

It had taken years to build the dossier. It
was his protection, his assurance that Rivera wouldn’t send anyone
to kill him. So long as he had the files, he was safe. Or so he’d
told himself—except that he hadn’t quite believed it enough to live
out in the open under his own name.

He should have set up an online backup, but
he’d been too worried it would somehow fall into the wrong hands.
He didn’t want evidence of Rivera’s crimes—and his by
extension—sitting on a server somewhere just waiting for the Feds
to find it.

It was different if he traded it for
immunity, but to have the Feds get all the info without him having
it as a bargaining chip?

Not happening.

Goddamn it!

Right now, he almost wished he’d taken the
chance. If he
had
parked those files somewhere online, he
wouldn’t be standing here and cursing himself six ways to Sunday.
He’d only be a simple download away from replacing the evidence,
but instead the files were gone and he was as vulnerable as a
virgin in a whorehouse.

He should have moved to a new location by
now. That was the second dumbass thing he’d done. He’d stayed here
when he should have gone south and kept going until he nearly fell
off the tip of South America. He was tired of doing Rivera’s dirty
work, tired of being the brains behind the financials and getting
nothing in return. Hell, Rivera hadn’t even recognized how valuable
an asset he could be.

But David had gotten the last laugh when he’d
skimmed a cool ten million for himself out of the Florida
operations. He wasn’t greedy—Rivera was worth far more—but he
wanted his due.

Yeah, he’d run Evie’s business into the
ground in the process. Maybe he shouldn’t have done it. Her paltry
earnings were only a drop in the bucket of his ten mil—but it had
gotten him what he wanted faster than if he’d waited another few
months to skim the money out of Rivera’s operations. Simply put,
he’d had no choice if he wanted his freedom. And he wanted that far
more than he’d wanted anything else.

David shook his head again. It wasn’t too
late for him yet. Rivera probably thought he had him between a rock
and a hard place. But Rivera didn’t know a damn thing about him if
he believed that.

There were other kinds of backups. Other ways
to hide information. David just had to go and sweet-talk Evie one
more time. A much more difficult task this time around, not only
because she was pissed at him but also because Brianna Sweeney was
on his ass.

But desperation had a way of making a man do
whatever it took. He
would
get those files back again.

And then he would disappear for good.

EVIE FROWNED AT HERSELF IN the mirror as she
turned this way and that.

“You look gorgeous, Evie. Now let’s get
moving.”

Evie turned to her cousin with a sigh. “It’s
a lovely dress, but I’m not quite sure it’s appropriate for an
evening at the lake.”

What she really wanted was to pull on her
faded jeans and a T-shirt, but Julie wouldn’t hear of it.

As expected, Julie scoffed. “Please. We’ll be
at the pavilion—and the other girls will be dressed up too, you’ll
see.”

Julie smoothed a hand over the denim mini she
wore. She’d paired it with a silk tank and a pair of pink
platforms, and she looked gorgeous. Julie was petite and cute,
whereas Evie was tall and not so cute.

Evie tugged at the hem of the dress. It was a
pale pink color with wide straps and a skirt that was a hair too
tight. And short. The three-inch heels Julie had talked her into
wearing didn’t help either. “It’s a bit short, don’t you
think?”

Julie shook her auburn ringlets. “No. It
looks amazing on you! That dress has never looked as good on me.
Blush is
so
not my color.”

Evie sighed and gathered the tiny purse Julie
had insisted she carry. “This really isn’t me, Jules. I’m a chef. I
work in hot kitchens all day and I wear comfortable clothes.”

“You aren’t a chef right now,” Julie pointed
out. “Think of it like you’re on vacation. Everybody gets dressed
up on vacation, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t feel like I’m on
vacation.”

Julie huffed. “Is this about Matt Girard and
what happened back in high school?”

Evie felt a tiny pinch in her chest. “Of
course not.”

Julie looked militant. “Good. Because that
was high school, Evie, and we aren’t there anymore. No one gives a
good goddamn that you slept with Matt our junior year or that he
bragged about it. Half those girls would have dropped their panties
in a New York second if they’d thought he’d give them a lay. Still
would.”

Evie’s skin was hot and she wasn’t quite sure
why. Because Julie was right, and she really didn’t give a shit
what people thought about her these days—her reaction in the salon
notwithstanding. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, and she couldn’t be
hurt by whispers and rumors.

No, her issues with this town were the same
issues she’d always had—the ones where she felt like there was a
box she was supposed to stay in and she just didn’t want to. Aside
from that, her only problem today had been coming face-to-face with
the boy she used to love and remembering the way he used to make
her feel.

“Fine, I’ll wear it. Let’s go.”

“Excellent,” Julie replied. “Besides, you
look hot—and you want to impress Matt, don’t you?”

Evie’s stomach bottomed out. “Why would I
want to do that?” She waved a hand. “He’s old news. Besides, he’s
not coming, remember?”

Julie laughed, her dark eyes sparkling.
“Right. Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you today? He’ll
be there.”

“He wasn’t looking at me
any
way. We
were just talking.”

Julie shook her head. “Girl, I think the heat
in those kitchens has gone to your head. Matt Girard is just about
the hottest thing on two legs, and he was definitely looking at you
with interest. He wants in your panties again, trust me.” Julie
grinned. “And if you’re smart, you’ll let him.”