One Kiss More (5 page)

So really, Emma’s leaving her apartment was a win for them either way.

The trick to gaining admittance to these “hot spots” was knowing someone at the door, having the cash to buy your way in, or looking like you belonged. Luckily, Landon had the cash and the look. If Galen could see him now, his friend would be laughing his ass off, right after he ridiculed him mercilessly for his taste in clothes. Galen hadn’t grown up with money. Fuck, the guy hadn’t even had parents who could get it together enough to take care of him and his sister. But they’d done well enough on their own. Though Galen didn’t have a lot of money or status, he was one of the most level people Landon knew, and there was no one he’d rather have at his back.

While Galen had spent most of his adolescence scraping by, Landon’s experience swung toward the opposite end of the spectrum. His family had wealth, privilege, and high-society clout. Landon’s own trust fund was large enough to set him up for the rest of his life. All he had to do to get his hands on the bulk of it as opposed to receiving a monthly stipend was to ditch the U.S. Marshals Service.

Well, fuck that shit.

His old man could go to hell. No way was Landon turning his back on the only thing he gave a shit about for a few bucks. Okay, so maybe it was closer to several million, not that it mattered. Though he’d grown up surrounded by old money, tight-assed corporate CEOs, and big shots without compassion or morals, apparently the worst thing his father’s only son could do was choose law enforcement as a career. There were days when Landon thought his dad would’ve been more proud had he become a drug czar or inside trader. For his dad, it was all about having weight to throw around, people to intimidate, and wealth to lord over those who would never be your better. Apparently the badge, honor, dedication to justice, and the clout that carrying a .40-caliber sidearm brought weren’t good enough.

Hugh McCabe was exactly like the assholes at Mendelson Corp. He was the sort of rich, entitled asshole who didn’t think twice about paying someone off to keep his company out of the news—or out of court. Maybe that’s why the Ruiz case had stuck with Landon after so many years. Because Javier and that dick Mike Shanahan at Mendelson reminded him of the family he tried like hell to distance himself from. Yeah, that was it. It had absolutely nothing to do with a certain fiery, dark-eyed beauty.

At any rate, Landon didn’t need his uptight family or anyone else to feel validated. Galen and the Marshals Service were his family now. At least they didn’t turn their noses up at him when he was jonesing for fast food—

“McCabe ? You copy?”

Morgan’s voice came through his earpiece and Landon snapped to attention. He was on the job and needed to get his shit straight and focus. “Yeah, I copy.”

“Do you have eyes on Ruiz?”

Landon scanned the club as he walked, weeding through the throngs of people in search of Emma. Near the VIP area, he spotted a large group of people surrounding some point of interest. It didn’t take an investigative genius to discern who was at the center of all the attention. He edged his way closer, careful to keep his profile turned to the group. Through the press of bodies, he caught sight of her dark, curling hair and his chest constricted. Okay, so maybe his obsession with the case had to do with more than just her dad. . . .

“I’ve got eyes,” he said after a moment. “She’s in the VIP lounge.”

After the initial excitement of her appearance subsided, Landon finally had an unobstructed view of the subject. It was easier to think of her as simply another suspect, rather than focus on her shapely legs, showcased by the short black skirt she wore, or the plunging neckline of her top that bared one shoulder and left little to the imagination. The way her skin glowed like oiled bronze in the low light of the club, flawless and smooth made his fingers itch to touch her.
Jesus
. Landon gave himself a mental slap to the face.
Snap out of it, you dumb son of a bitch. The last thing you need right now is to be obsessing over someone who’s a person of freaking interest!
He might be a smart-ass, but Landon prided himself on his professionalism. And fantasizing about touching Emma Ruiz was less than upstanding job performance.

“We got word our wiretap was approved. I have a team heading over to the Aspira to do the install. What’s up on your end?”

Damn. The boys in Seattle moved fast. Which was good for Landon, because he needed to get this shit wrapped up so he could get his ass home and as far from Emma as possible. “Not much. I’ll let you know when she’s on the move. So far, looks like she’s just out to be out.”

“Ah, well,” Morgan responded. “Even if tonight doesn’t produce anything, at least we got the wiretap.”

Landon shifted so that a trio of girls blocked him from Emma’s line of sight. “Yup. It’s a win.”

The hip-hop and top-forty crap the DJ was spinning did little for Landon’s deteriorating mood. As he watched a guy who was pushing seven feet tall bend over Emma and kiss her on the cheek, he could damned near hear the enamel of his molars grinding together. And when she squealed with surprise and threw her arms around him, Landon was pretty sure his jaw permanently locked. Who the hell was he? And why did it cause his chest to burn and his muscles to contract at the thought that this guy meant something to Emma?

He sipped from a glass of ginger ale, not even bothering to hide the scowl that had settled on his face. Emma and the tall bastard hanging on her every word seemed to be enjoying themselves. He could tell from her easy expression that she was comfortable with this guy. Enjoyed his company. Her smile was bright and genuine, and it caused something in Landon’s chest to crack. He imagined what it would feel like to have her look at him with that same expression, so honest and happy. Totally and completely at ease. She sipped from a wineglass as they talked and laughed, virtually ignoring everyone around them. Tall, dark, and annoying put one large hand on Emma’s bare shoulder, and Landon shot to his feet, anger burning in his gut at the intimate contact.

As if you have any right to be jealous, you dumb asshole
.

From the corner of his eye, Landon caught a man making his way toward the VIP room. This one made his hackles rise as years of training triggered his intuition. No way was this guy here to party, and the way he sauntered through the crowd, his left arm tucked tight against his body, made Landon think that he might have a piece holstered under his shoulder. Crafty bastard too, to get a weapon past the bouncers frisking people at the door. It might have been a good idea to alert Morgan of a potential problem, but Landon held back. He watched as the man pushed through the crowd, clubbers moving away from him as though spurred by some warning instinct. This guy was no stranger to intimidation. He wielded it as sure as the weapon he had stashed under his jacket.

Landon brought his phone up as though he were reading something on the screen and snapped off a few shots with the camera. Odds were they wouldn’t turn out. It was too dark and the zoom feature sucked balls. But maybe they could enhance the image back at the office and get it clear enough for the facial recognition software to pick something up. Their techs were wizards with that shit.

Landon worked his way closer to the VIP lounge, all the while committing every detail of the guy headed for Emma to memory. Hispanic male, mid-thirties, dressed like he had the cash to back up his swagger, buzzed hair tight to his skull, five-eight or so, a buck eighty at the most, with a scar below his left eye and a nondescript tattoo on his left forearm. Maybe gang-related? His lip seemed to be upturned in a permanent sneer, and his dark eyes were narrowed with suspicion. He shouldered his way past the tall, possible pro athlete Emma had been hugging and grabbed her by the arm.

A burst of adrenaline shot through Landon’s system as a protective urge spurred him forward. She did a good job of masking her panic, and there was recognition in her eyes. Emma knew the guy, but it was obvious they weren’t friends. The maybe-athlete was elevated in Landon’s opinion when he stepped in to help. Actually, he could have been more interested in asserting himself as the alpha after being shoved over, as the guy disregarded Emma’s well-being entirely for a
real
manly chest-bumping session. What was it with guys like that? They thought invading each other’s space was a show of dominance. Landon didn’t bother with trivialities. He threw punches first and asked questions later.

The look of alarm on Emma’s face commanded Landon’s attention as she stepped into the fray. As though she needed to diffuse what was about to become a very dangerous situation, she placed her hand on the chest of the athlete, careful to avoid touching the would-be gangster.

Interesting.

What in the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Emma?

Emma had agreed to meet Cesar here because it creeped her out to be alone in her condo with him. She didn’t expect to be accosted by a crowd since it was a weeknight, nor did she think Jeremy would show up since he was supposed to be out of town doing a press junket for the line of athletic wear he was getting ready to launch before the Seahawks’ preseason began. Could the night get any worse?

Don’t tempt fate by asking, Em
.

“It’s okay, Jeremy. I know him.” Cesar wasn’t doing a very good job of
not
drawing attention. And why the hostility? It wasn’t like she was avoiding him. It had been her idea to meet him here. There was no need for him to manhandle her. Though she doubted he knew of any other way. What a jerk.

“Yeah, well, someone needs to teach him how to treat a woman.” Jeremy’s deep voice rumbled in her ear. The tension in his muscles told her that he wasn’t ready to back down, and she reached up, guiding his gaze to hers.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just give me a minute?”

“Alone? Not a good idea, Em. Especially with everything that’s going on with your dad right now. Who is he?”

The problem with good friends was that they could occasionally be overprotective as well as nosy. And there was no way she was going to open up and share. “I’m a big girl, Jer. I can take care of myself.” He flashed her a swoon-worthy smile that would have crumbled the resolve of any number of girls. “Don’t you dare try to charm me with that trademark grin. I’m not one of your groupies. Order us a couple of drinks and snag a table. I’ll be back in a few.”

“All right, but hurry.” He pointed an accusing finger, and Emma marveled at how Cesar wasn’t intimidated by Jeremy’s sheer size. The guy could have broken Cesar over his knee as though he were a twig. “I’ma come after you if don’t get your ass back here.”

Thank God the music was too loud for him to hear the nerves in her laughter. If she didn’t tell Cesar what he wanted to hear, the odds were good she wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. “Let’s go,” she said as she guided Cesar out of the VIP lounge and toward the rear exit.

“You’re quite the actress,
chica
,” Cesar said in that low, sinister voice that caused chills to freeze her very bone marrow. “Did the marshals get a dose of that skill today?”

The fact that he even had to ask was enough for Emma to doubt his intelligence. “I did what you told me to do.”

“Don’t get lippy with me,
niña
,” Cesar said from between clenched teeth. “The trouble you’re in is your own doing. I wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t tried to shake down
mi patrón
.” He dragged her along, his fingers biting into her flesh.

Such a gentleman. Cesar’s mama must have been so proud of her son, handling a woman like that. What an ass. “I know why I’m in this situation. As well as what’s at stake if I don’t play ball. I didn’t say anything at my interview today. And as far as I can tell, the marshals don’t have any leads either.”

“That’s good,” Cesar replied. His jacket gaped away, and Emma caught sight of a gun resting in a holster under his arm. The sound of her pulse in her ears echoed the frantic beating of her heart, and she swallowed down the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. “Keep doing what you’re told and we won’t have any problems. Stay away from those
puto
marshals. I’ll be watching you,
chica
. And I’ll be contacting you again soon.”

Cesar turned to leave and Emma shouted, “What about my father?” How much longer was this to go on? Because at this rate, she wouldn’t last the week. He promised her they’d make the exchange after tonight. “You told me—”

“I told you I’ll be contacting you soon.” Cesar rounded on her with a snarl, his nose inches from hers. He smelled like bourbon and cigars, and Emma’s stomach convulsed. “You don’t ask me anything,
entender
? I make the rules, not you. You do nothing but sit and wait for my call.”

He turned and strode away, shoving anyone in his path to the side. Yes, she understood Cesar perfectly. She’d screwed up and he was going to make her suffer for it. Emma slumped against the wall, her limbs shaking as her breath sped in her chest. There was no use fighting the undercurrent that was slowly pulling her away from the shore of her composure. It would only be a matter of time before the tide of her actions swallowed her completely. Already she felt as though she were drowning.

She couldn’t go back to Jeremy and act as though nothing were wrong. Not while she was still so worked up. He’d see right through the act. Emma pushed herself away from the wall, and rather than head for the exit, she made her way down the employees-only hallway. Most patrons didn’t know about the back stairs that led to the roof, but Emma had been coming here for years and the manager let her use the roof access when she needed a little air. Or perspective. And right now, she was desperate for both.

As she walked out onto the roof, the early summer air cooled by the recent rain was a balm on Emma’s heated skin. She drew a breath into her lungs and held it, enjoying the cold bite. God, how she’d wanted to come clean to McCabe today in the interview room. She experienced a pleasant rush of excitement at the memory of his intense gaze. His blue eyes seemed to see into the most secret part of her, but obviously that wasn’t true, was it? Otherwise he would have forced the truth out of her. Instead, she’d snowed him exactly like she had his clueless partners. They didn’t deserve her honesty. If the U.S. Marshals had done their job right the first time around, none of them would be in the positions they were in now.