Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (6 page)

Now that the others had left, she scooted away from
him until she came up against the kitchen divider. “What was
that
all
about?”

Dark eyes wide in feigned innocence, he ambled closer.
“It seemed best if Venice thought I was your guy rather than DEA.”

“She already knows about my brother and the DEA.” His
thoughtful gesture surprised her. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken so sharply.
He
was
trying to help. She stepped away, but he held her with that
compelling dark gaze.

He wasn’t touching her, but she was locked in place as
if he’d caged her against the counter. She shouldn’t be attracted to this man,
with his effortless charm. He’d take and take and never give, just like Molly’s
men.

But he met her eyes, as if willing her to trust. Maybe
she could trust
him
, for the support and protection every cell in her
body yearned for. A little. But no way would she trust the DEA with her brother’s
life.

She turned away and knelt by the bookcase, gathering a
few volumes from the carpet. Two she set on the top shelf, a third belonged on
the next one down.

“If people think we’re together as lovers, it’ll be
easier to protect you.” He lifted three books and handed them to her. “My boss
thought it best if I protect you undercover. To draw out the bad guys.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Olívas must know the DEA is
looking for Jordan.” He probably wasn’t leveling with her, but what did she
expect? She set the books on the shelves.

“Perhaps. But the only way to find out the reason is
to locate your brother or uncover what he knows.” He handed her three more
books. “Alphabetical by author. You probably keep all your kitchen spices in
the same order.”

Taking the books from him, she nodded. “Venice tells
me it’s obsessive, but how else would I find what I need?”

He laughed and handed her the last. “My way’s looser.
A pile here, a pile there. But I know what’s in every one.”

The day’s turmoil still churned in her system. “What
do you think they were looking for? And why did they try to kill me?”

He slid a glass butterfly from her hand and placed it
on the high shelf she was eyeing. “Those sleazeballs don’t miss. They were
aiming low to frighten you.”

Only when he took her hands in his big ones did she
realize hers were trembling.

“It worked. I’m scared to death.” And angry and
violated and soiled, as if the searchers had defiled her personally. Without
Rick’s strong, comforting presence she’d be a basket case.

“As for what they were after, either something they
think Jordan might have given you or left in his apartment.”

“What? A name? A list of their crimes?”

“We don’t have enough to go on yet to hazard a guess.
I need you to tell me everything you’ve found out on your own. We’ll go from
there.” He chafed her hands in his, warming more than her fingers. “Let’s
finish here, and you’ll feel better.”

An hour later, they’d returned the living room and
kitchen to a semblance of order. Juliana put the broken items—mostly plant
pots, glassware, and a few ceramic butterflies—in a trash bag. She didn’t care
about most of it except for the butterflies, mementoes from Molly’s travels,
reminders to keep herself grounded.

“Why dump plants and potting soil all over the place?
What would I hide there?”

“Anything from a microfilm to a microchip to a
microtape. Who knows?”

When they reached the bedroom, they found the cat
sound asleep on a pile of sweaters.

“Speedy, huh?” he said.

“For Speedy Gonzalez, the mouse in the cartoons.” She
scooped up the quilt and sheets from the floor and piled them on the mattress.

“So you do have a thing against Latinos. Slow and
lazy, like this cat, is that what you think?” He dropped a crumpled lampshade
and a cracked bulb in the trash bag.

Dammit she’d have to launder everything. Then her
brain registered his words. Her mouth rounded and her cheeks burned at the
inference he’d drawn. “Oh no, I didn’t mean— It’s only— He was such a wild
speed demon as a kitten that I—”

A glance at him silenced her fumbled apology. “You’re
kidding, aren’t you?”

“Lighten up, Juliana.” With a wicked smile, he ran a
finger along her chin. Tiny bonfires sprang up in his wake.

She jerked away and lifted a broken ceramic pot. “Well,
pardon me if I can’t joke when everything’s gone to hell.”

“We’ll find Jordan. The gang wouldn’t be so worried if
he was dead. And they may have yanked all your belongings from the drawers and
closets, but only a few items got broken. They slit upholstery but not these
luscious confections at my feet.”

Her gaze swept the scattered lingerie and other
clothing. Her cheeks practically broiled. “I can do the rest of this by myself.
Thanks for your help.”

“You don’t want me folding your bras and panties? A
teddy, too. Very sexy.”

She backed away. “Look, we have to work together, I
agree, to find my brother. And in a crazy way it makes sense for us to pretend
to be—” She stopped, unable to utter the word.

“Lovers.”

“—
close
. But why can’t you be my cousin or
something instead?”

“Hard to picture a cousin being that devoted.” He
shook his head. It’s only pretend.”

“And pretending is all it’s going to be. I need to
know my brother’s all right. I have my own goals. That means not getting
involved with . . . anyone.” Especially a handsome man who could charm the
colors off a butterfly’s wings. And throw her brother into jail where God knew
what could happen to him.

“I understand
no
, and I promise you’ll be safe.”
He scooped up more lingerie. With a graceful Zorro bow, he dumped the undies in
her arms.

“You’d better go. I have to call around and see what I
can do about transportation for the next week or so.”

“No problem. Chauffeur and bodyguard Ricardo Cruz at
your service.” He snagged his jacket and ambled to the door.

“What do you mean?” She shoved her discount outlet
underwear in a top drawer before following him. She’d launder and organize
everything later. The chore would keep her busy, body and mind.

“Protecting you. What’s next on the agenda for finding
your brother?”

“No, you don’t have to do that.” How strong would her
resistance be if she rode in that small sports car with Rick every day? And
when did he become
Rick
? “There must be some other way, Agent Cruz. I
can manage.”

“I can protect you, and we can work together. Or are
we competing? It can’t be both.”

She sighed. He was right. “It’s just I’m not used to
anyone helping me.”

“Your friend will be happy. She’ll think we’re a
couple. Can you play your part convincingly?” He hooked a finger beneath her
chin and brushed his thumb over her lower lip.

Chapter 6

Later that afternoon, Rick contacted Holt Donovan.

“At first the GS went ballistic,” Donovan told him, “but
Jake and I convinced Macmillan to allow you to escort the Paris woman. That
puts her in protective custody.”

Better them than Rick facing the Group Supervisor on
that issue. He blew out a breath. “I owe you one, Holt. Juliana does need
protection. What else?”

“Nothing yet on the bullets. Portland PD found the
Lincoln in an alley. Reported stolen the day before the ambush. No prints.
Maybe the lab techs will find something.”

“Jake have any leads on the smuggled weapons?”

“He and one of the other ATF guys are out trying to
track how Olívas and company ship the weapons north and where they store them
until they have a boat. Word is this shipment contains Bushmaster
semi-automatic handguns as well as assault rifles, AK-47s and AR-15s. 7.62 and
.223 caliber bullets. And a block of C-4. Jake can tell you more later.”

Rick emitted a low whistle. “Powerful weapons and
nasty explosives.”

As he disconnected, he dragged in a lungful of air and
got back to work.

He had semi-success tracking down Jordan’s former
girlfriend. The girl’s parents gave him her phone number at UCLA, but she hadn’t
seen Jordan since graduation.

Then there was Juliana. She refused a safe house,
insisting she needed to remain where her brother could find her. And she
insisted on following her regular jogging routine. After he reminded her she
couldn’t outrun a bullet, she agreed to accept him as a running partner.

One of the local agents was letting him stay in a
furnished apartment over his garage for the duration. A shorter commute than
from Boston made up for not having his stuff. But the main perk was seeing
Juliana early in the morning, cheeks glowing pink in her heart-shaped face and
her bright hair caressing her shoulders. Torture too. He was here to find the
brother, to arrest Olívas, not to hook up with a woman connected to crooks. He
shouldn’t want her. But all he wanted to do was carry her off to bed. A couch.
The floor.

Worse, Wes Vinson had requested Juliana to sub for his
secretary for the rest of the week. She allowed a light kiss between them every
day when he dropped her off—part of their cover. Right. He tried and failed to
put her sweet taste out of his mind.

He couldn’t object to her working at Vinson Seafood.
Couldn’t tell her Vinson was one of the prime suspects in Operation Fish Truck.
But every day, fear for her twisted inside him—fear she’d be handed over to
Olívas as leverage to flush out her brother.

So far all El Águila’s men were doing was tailing her.
This time they were legal. A rented tan Ford. A DEA tail kept track of them and
reported to Rick.

*****

Frigid rain and cloudy skies had plagued them the past
two days, but on Friday morning, only a few wintry clouds splotched the pale
blue sky. Rick squinted at the glare through the windshield. Persuading Juliana
to go had taken the rest of the week, but finally the two of them headed Down
East. She’d pled a previously scheduled commitment, and Vinson didn’t object.

The weather wasn’t all that had defrosted. Sharing the
morning jogs and the daily commute seemed to make her more at ease with him.
Less suspicious of his motives. Nah, probably not. But she softened enough to
carry on normal conversations. He’d take it.

He glanced at her. She sat beside him, visibly humming
with anticipation and hope. Something—her intensity, her dry wit, her compact
curves—tied him in knots. Thinking about her made him hard as his nine-millimeter.

She pointed at the hood. “What’s with the horns? Whose
truck is this?”

“My borrowed undercover vehicle. Belongs to another
agent. Cowboy from the Wild, Wild West.” These wheels weren’t as inconspicuous
as he’d like. The gunmetal Silverado suited Maine, but the cow horns on the
hood stuck out like a palm tree in Alaska.

She smoothed her left hand across the wide console
between them. “I like it. Not as racy as the sports car, but more room.”

He enfolded her cold hand. “You should check out the
license plate.
HI YO
.”

“
Silver, away
?” With a laugh, she tugged free
her hand and opened her bag. She pulled her hair up and wrapped it with a
stretchy band. The springy curls invited touching.

Rick flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Still
no response from your calls to your uncle and your mother?”

“Uncle Grady hasn’t returned my calls. I left a
personal message for Molly on my machine, but I don’t know if she’s called to
hear it. No message back.”

“It blows me away that you call your mother Molly.”

“When I turned thirteen, she insisted. She said it
made her feel younger.”

Knowing more about her mother would give him insight
into the daughter. “You’ve hinted at her traveling and being irresponsible.”

She raised a hand against the sun’s glare. “Ever since
my dad’s death, she’s lived only for the day or for some charming man’s
pie-in-the-sky plan. My dad was one of those dreamers. He lost all his money—
our
money—several times. He had big ideas and worked hard, but things never went
his way.”

“Is accounting a way to prevent that disaster for
others? Or for yourself?”

“Something like that, I suppose. It’s what I’m good
at.”

“And your mom?”

“She finds these happy-go-lucky, handsome charmers who
fill her head with promises of a rosy future. Sometimes they lavish her with
trips and expensive gifts, but most of the time she ends up alone and
penniless. Until the next man comes along.” She frowned as if uncertain she
should’ve opened up so much.

Maybe he had only the false intimacy of the pickup’s
cab to thank, but whatever. “Doesn’t sound like her independent daughter.”

“I hope not. Don’t get me wrong. I love Molly, but we
are very different.”

“My
mamá
would roast me with the
arroz con
pollo
if I ever called her Ashley.”

She laughed. “Ashley. That doesn’t sound very Cuban.”

“She’s as Anglo as you. My parents met in Miami when
she was singing in nightclubs and my
papá
was waiting tables and going
to medical school.”

“So your dad is a doctor?”

“A surgeon. The best in Miami.” Rudy used to say he
wanted to be a physician too. Until he chose a wrong path. Before Rick could
get too maudlin, she spoke again.

“Do you have any more information on Jordan?”

The kid was probably involved up to his hairline, but
he wouldn’t tell her his suspicions. He couldn’t squash her faith in her
brother. He could use family loyalty like hers. “The sense is that he’s a
little fish and worth netting only for what he knows.”

“The same reason the drug gang wants him, I suppose.”
She cast him a fretful glance.

“Try not to worry too much about Jordan. If they had
him, they wouldn’t be following you. Think positive.”