Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (14 page)

“You have news for me.” Rick leaned forward, his
elbows on the counter. “You found something today.”

As if sensing the mood change, Speedy strolled off
with a yowl. Rebuke or accusation at her duplicity.

Juliana jumped at his direct words. Feeling guilty had
her forgetting her other news. “Why do you say that?”

“That peaches-and-cream complexion broadcasts every
change of emotion. “What happened? What did you discover?” Rick slipped around
the bar and entered the kitchenette. He stood so close to her his breath
ruffled her hair. Protective arms drew her against him.

She described how she’d spotted the cabinet safe and
file drawer. “I won’t have a chance to search there.” She shrugged, fighting
the need to haul him closer for a kiss.

“He’s watching you?”

She cleared her tight throat. “I don’t think so. He
locks his office when he leaves. I should’ve seen that clue before.”

“Then all we can do is wait until the
Sea Worthy
arrives at the Fish Exchange. In the meantime, you finish out your week at
Vinson as an exemplary employee.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”
Wait? But how can I, when Jordan’s
life is at stake?

“Believe me, everything will come out all right. I
know you can’t bring yourself to trust me. I understand.”

She swallowed down bile, tempted to hang her head and
tell him he
shouldn’t
understand.
How did I dig myself such a hole?
She
could tell him about Jordan now, but her instincts said to wait. Yeah, right.

His gaze heated, and tiny gold flames flickered in his
eyes. “I’ve missed you.” He lowered his head to kiss her.

“This is a bad idea.” She pushed against him, but with
no fervor in her protest.

He fitted his lips to hers with the ease of
familiarity. She sank into the sensations of his taste, his scent, his magic.
He touched his tongue to the corners of her mouth, to the seam as if
reacquainting himself with her taste and texture, requesting, not demanding,
entry.

And then her tongue was seeking his, and her lips were
stroking his as she tried to absorb him. His hand slid beneath her sweater to
fit over her lace-covered breast. Heat and need suffused her body.

“Juliana.” He clasped her more tightly against him,
lifting her off her feet. His arousal nudged her belly.

Shock waves flashed through her nerves, and her senses
reeled. Currents of desire arced between them, splintering her walls of
defense. Her skin tingled, and she felt suspended on a wave of sensation.

“You can tell me no,” he said, his voice a sexy
rumble.

Caution is overrated.
“You know where the
bedroom is.”

Swept up, she scarcely knew that he carried her to her
bed. Their clothes disappeared as if by magic. Excitement streaked through her
at the sensation of his hot skin against her. He lay on top of her, his lean,
hard body pressing her into the mattress. Heaven.

She stroked the muscled contours of his back, his firm
buttocks as he slowly caressed her breasts. His fingers flowed over her skin,
flirted between her legs, enthralled her.

“Juliana, I need you.” A moan confirmed his urgency,
and she shuddered with delight.

“Rick.
Yes
.” When he slid into her, she was
more than ready.

Her body, her soul burned. Their bodies moved in sync,
striving, stroking with the same urgency. She savored his possession, his devouring
of her, wished it could last. Tension coiled inside her and sensation spread
out from her center and rolled through her in a huge wave. He tensed, gave a
hoarse shout, and joined her in release.

On a satisfied sigh, he sank down, pressing his forehead
to hers. “That was beyond powerful. You take me places I never knew existed. My
Juliana.” He collapsed to one side. He tucked his head beside hers, close
enough to nuzzle her ear.

She was beyond examining his enigmatic statement,
beyond examining her reasons for succumbing. She would just enjoy him and this
time together.

He smiled. “It’s not too late to go out. I think I’ve
worked up an appetite.”

She kissed him, her limbs heavy, her heart filled. She
was satisfied to the core of her being, but his touch rekindled desire.

At an insistent chirping, Rick ended their embrace. “Damn.”
He set her gently away from him, then reached to the floor for his pants.

“Cruz,” he snapped into his phone.

Barely aware of his conversation, she struggled to
recover her senses. She lay boneless on the bed.

What a weak-willed ninny I am.
On her competing
lists, she had at least ten reasons for not falling in love with him, for not
even kissing him. On the other side, only one. She couldn’t even put into words
why she found it hard to deny him, to deny her feelings?

“That was Jake Wescott.” Rick tucked away the phone.
The frown etched into his brow transformed his face into his cop expression. “Cops
found a man who’d been beaten. He’s at Maine Medical Center. Has a driver’s
license belonging to Finnegan Farnham.”

Her heart plummeted into her stomach.
“Finny?”

Chapter 13

Rick demanded speed from all 345 horses in his ‘Vette’s
5.7 liter V-8, but the trip from Portsmouth to Portland seemed like four hours
instead of less than one.
Por Dios
, spring arrived slowly here. The
beginning of April and the trees still had no buds. Dirty clumps of snow on the
roadsides added to the dreary pall of the gray skies.

A glance at Juliana, huddled in the passenger seat,
didn’t reassure him. Something other than what she’d told him was bothering
her. She’d said no more than two words about why Jordan’s buddy had popped up
in Portland when he was supposed to be aboard a trawler somewhere between Cape
Cod and the Canadian border. Did she know the reason? Or only suspect, as he
did?

He found a parking space in the visitor lot, across
the street from MMC, a sprawling brick complex in Portland’s West End.

As they pushed through the glass doors, Rick’s past
slammed into him. The squeak of rubber soles down the black and white tiled
corridors. Odors of institutional bland food, lemon cleanser, and sickness.
Hushed voices comforted relatives or discussed clinical findings. Chatty voices
planned a day off.

All of that brought back memories. “I’ve avoided
hospitals since my
papá
paraded me through South Shore Hospital to show
off his son the future doctor.”

She gave him a wry smile. “He pushed. And you
rebelled.”

“I was just a stand-in for Rudy. He would have been
the doctor. If he’d lived.” Back then his father’s rigidity had made him angry.
Today the familiar odors and sounds triggered no pain, only mild resentment.

She squeezed his hand. “You had to do what was right
for you. He must have feared he’d lose another son to violence.”

Rick’s heart stopped. Juliana perceived a possibility
that had never occurred to him. Fear could’ve been the reason for his father’s
censure, for his seeming lack of caring. “That was years ago. Returning to
Miami, and his disapproval, no longer has the power over me it once did.”

“Where’s the room?”

Her agitated voice and peach scent dispersed the
memories, and he picked up their pace. An elevator and a maze of corridors led
them to the room labeled F. Farnham. Medical personnel in pastel tunics whisked
past them with medicine carts and IV stands. A uniformed cop slouched in a
chair beside the door.

Before Rick could address him, a Portland-based DEA
agent walked toward them from a lounge at the end of the hall. Someone’s fist
had once rearranged the burly agent’s nose into a bulbous mass. “Yo, Cruz, I
had word you’d be coming. Glad you got everything straightened out in your
office.” He thrust out a hand.

Rick gripped his hand. “Thanks, Harriman. How’s it
going?”

“The man in there, how badly is he hurt?” Juliana
unzipped her parka, then shifted her backpack to one shoulder. Her haunted gaze
made Rick want to pull her close.

Agent Harriman gave a low whistle. “When his beak
heals, it’s gonna look worse than mine. No serious internal damage though.
Whoever did this worked him over pretty good, but they wanted him conscious.
Doc says if Farnham’s broken ribs don’t affect his lungs, he’ll be all right.
Besides that, concussion, couple broken fingers, cigarette burns on his chest.”

Juliana gave a horrified gasp.

Rick yielded to instinct and looped an arm around her
shoulders. She pressed closer, elevating his mood a notch.
She
might not
trust him, but her body did.

“Kid’s got guts,” the agent continued. “Hid in his
rooms for two, three days trying to deal with his injuries alone. When the
landlady came to collect the rent, she called an ambulance and the cops.”

“Wonder if he spilled what they wanted to hear.” Rick
turned toward the patient’s door. “He conscious?”

“They’re keeping him doped up. For the pain. Don’t
know what you can get out of him. But see for yourselves.” Harriman shifted his
feet and rolled his shoulders.

Rick pushed the door inward for Juliana to precede
him.

MMC had made an effort to create a soothing
environment. But this patient couldn’t appreciate the watercolors of coastal
scenes adorning the yellow walls. Swathed in bandages, he lay flat on his back,
his multihued, puffy eyelids closed. An IV stand dripped meds into a vein in
his left arm, which lay limply on the green blanket covering him. That hand was
encased in bandages.

“Oh, the poor kid.” Juliana pressed fingers to her
mouth. Tears flowed.

Finny. This kid was stocky, not gangly like Jordan
Paris. Finny being here confirmed Rick’s hunch of Jordan’s location.
Apprehension and a sinking foreboding mingled in his gut.

“Wh-who’s that?” a voice croaked from the bed. Farnham’s
eyes opened, slits in a devastated landscape.

Stepping closer, Rick explained their presence. The
tang of burn medication and alcohol swabs feathered the air. “If you’re
Finnegan Farnham, I have to ask you some questions.”

“I’m Finny . . . Shoulda stayed up north.” His gaze
shifted to Juliana. “You’re Jules.” He reached toward her with his good right
hand.

“Jordan calls me that sometimes.” Juliana clasped his
hand. “What happened to you?”

“Them Mexicans . . . waited for me at my place.” He
drew a rattling breath, started again. “Jordan warned me . . . My dumb-ass
mistake. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to. I told . . .” His voice was fading.

“
What
did you tell them? Where’s Jordan?” Rick
wished he could shake it out of him. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear
it.

Finny’s head lolled against the pillow. His eyes
closed. He was slipping into Demerol-induced sleep.

The crucial bit of information, and they were losing
him, dammit. “
Farnham
, hang on, man. Tell us where Jordan is,” he urged.
“He’s in danger. Help us find him.”

Juliana squeezed Finny’s hand in a silent plea. But he
was asleep. She released his hand and stepped away. “I can tell you where
Jordan is.” Her whisper was barely audible.

“What did you say?” He was afraid to hear the answer.

She turned away from him, her muscles bowstring tight,
shoulders rigid. “They traded places. He’s on the
Sea Worthy
.”

He’d begun to suspect exactly that, but her words
rocked him like a ship’s wake. Fuckin’-A. Jordan had been on board the dragger
all this time, safe from the gang and invisible to authorities. No wonder the
fish buyer didn’t recognize Finny’s photograph. He’d never been there.

Rick would laugh if the implications weren’t so dire.
Once Olívas found Finny, he had no need to shadow Juliana. All he had to do was
wait for the dragger to arrive in Portland. Same thing the DEA was waiting for.

“Let’s go.” Gripping her arm, he ushered her from the
room just as a scrubs-clad nurse entered. His mouth taut, he marched Juliana
into the lounge.

“You
knew
.”

“I—”

“You knew it was Jordan on the fishing boat. That’s
why you were so certain he couldn’t be the one in the hospital bed. You knew
where he was.” He stabbed a finger at her in accusation.

“You don’t understand.” Wringing the strap of her
backpack, she stood in the center of the sparsely furnished lounge. She looked
distraught and defenseless—and guilty.

“No, I think I finally do understand. I suspected. Did
you know where Farnham was and when he’d return? If we’d known that, we could
have headed him off. You could have saved that poor kid in there.”

“You’re wrong.” Her chin rose in defiance. “I found
out about their switch only today. Too late for Finny.”

“Today.” The tension vising his head eased a notch.
How?”

“The Rockland fish buyer, the one we talked to, called
the office. A problem with his invoice. Something prompted me to ask him again
about Finny. He insisted there was no Finny on the boat. When I asked him to
describe the crew, he said he hardly remembered them except for one with two
different colored eyes.”

“What does that mean?” He paced a circle around her.
What
the hell else don’t I know?

“Jordan has one brown eye and one green. He sometimes
wears a colored contact because people look at him weird. Even his driver’s
license has green for eye color. The man the buyer described had to be him.”

“Why didn’t I know about this eye color thing before?”

“It never came up. I didn’t think it was important.”

“You mean you didn’t want me to know. Still hoping to
get to him first?”

“I don’t know. Everything was so complicated, so
scary. I thought I had time to—”

“Make a few lists? Add a balance sheet?” He stopped
pacing and glared at her. Se didn’t trust him, but after their intimacy, this
betrayal cut deep.