Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (13 page)

She retreated a single pace. Her mouth thinned to a
bitter line, and her eyes darkened with emotion he couldn’t read. “I was
gullible, too trusting. Jordan may have done some illegal things, but that
doesn’t change what I need to do.”

He guessed it was time to reveal what Donovan had dug
up. “You feel you have to protect Jordan because you’re afraid what happened to
your father could happen to him.”

Pain filled her gaze. “How long have you known about
that?”

“Only since last night’s phone call. I know the bare
facts. Will you tell me?”

She paced in a circle, hugging herself. Finally she
faced him. “When I was in high school, a girl—no one I knew—accused my father
of kidnapping her, keeping her prisoner, and raping her. Dad was innocent.
While we waited to bail him out of the county jail, the girl’s brothers paid
guys inside to beat him up.” Her voice hitched, and she swallowed hard.

Rick’s gut twisted, and he clenched his fists. Shit,
he should’ve dug into her father’s history sooner. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“The deputies stopped the beating before they killed
Dad, but on the way to the hospital, he had a massive heart attack and died.”
When she looked up, her chin quivered before she firmed it. “Afterward, Dad’s
accuser said she’d made a mistake and identified another man. Those deputies
should’ve protected Dad. I don’t know if Jordan is innocent or guilty, but
either way, I fear for his life.”

Dios mio.
No wonder she wouldn’t trust him—or
the DEA—to protect her brother. He scraped fingers through his hair. “Juliana,
I’ll understand if you still won’t trust me. What happened to your father was
inexcusable. But believe me, your brother is in danger from El Águila’s men if
they fear he has something on them. If I take Jordan in, he’ll be in protective
custody because of that danger. I promise to do everything I can to make sure
he’s safe.”

She stared at him for a long minute. “I want to trust
you.”

His usual smoothness failed him, and his throat
constricted. He couldn’t get his tongue around the three words he’d never said
to any woman. He smoothed a hand over her hair and conjured up a smile. “Thanks
for that much.”

He had to back off. She was being unreasonable about
Jordan, and his explanations didn’t punch through her fears. She needed time to
see things play out.

Their real differences went to the core of who they
were. Her loyalty to her brother and her grief for her father blinded her. For
the duration, he couldn’t trust her. For damn sure she wouldn’t trust him.
Hell, she was probably still hiding something from him. Juliana might never
trust him. The realization slammed him in the solar plexus.

She said nothing, only watched him with solemn eyes,
as if she could read his thoughts. Maybe she could.

He snatched his leather jacket from the wall peg and
opened the door.

Chapter 12

On Tuesday morning, back at Vinson Seafood, Juliana
held the telephone away from her ear and frowned as though the voice on the
other end emanated from Mars. After a moment, she placed the receiver in its
cradle.

She hadn’t slept much so maybe she dreamed the
conversation. If only she’d dreamed the rift between her and Rick. They’d
driven to Portland in silence thicker than a Maine fog occasionally punctuated
by brief, stinging exchanges.

“I didn’t lead you on, Juliana,” Rick said. “I
never pretended I wouldn’t arrest Jordan. This thing between us has nothing to
do with that.”

“It doesn’t matter. The attraction was mutual.”
Chin up, she feigned nonchalance. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll search Vinson’s
and cooperate with you—for Jordan’s sake. And I don’t expect any commitments
from you. Or need any.”

“Jeez,” she whispered. How could she have been so
stubborn, so stupid? Yesterday was April first, and she was the Fool. But
because of this phone call, maybe she could at least put whatever was between
her and Rick on life support.

Miracles didn’t fall in her lap every day. Because of
a wild coincidence and a trick of fate, she knew where Jordan had stashed
himself. He was safe. For the time being.

She offered up silent prayers—one of thanks and one
for guidance. She wanted to knock some sense into her brother, knock some
responsibility into his thick head. She had to stop propping him up. And she
would—once he was home and out of danger.

She’d lain awake last night thinking. Rick was right
about Jordan’s involvement with the drug dealers. He had to have known what
Sudsy Pettit was delivering along with fish. Once she had what the DEA needed
from the Vinson files, she’d deliver the evidence and Jordan’s hiding place to
Rick.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re feeling
better, Juliana.” Wes Vinson grinned as he edged a hip onto the corner of the
office manager desk. “For your sake, of course, but you know how much I needed
you these past few days.”

She hadn’t worn blusher to make herself look wan. She
crossed mental fingers that he wouldn’t detect any deterioration in her
amiability toward him. She tapped the computer keyboard, and the printer spewed
out documents. “I understand, Wes. These bills will go out today. No problem.”

He was hitting on her. She recognized his moves. He
perched on her desk for no apparent reason. He offered her his lopsided grin
while he talked about nothing.

The fine hairs on her nape rose, and she clasped her
trembling hands together. Was this man going after her because of Jordan? At
that noxious idea, poison claws jabbed at her.

She masked her distaste with a tired smile.

Vinson looked up brightly. He might as well have had a
cartoon light bulb over his head.
Here it comes.

“A new restaurant opened up on Exchange Street, Greek
food. Hear it’s great. Moussaka and stuffed grape leaves and salad with those
big black olives. Oh, and baklava. How about staying over tonight and trying it
with me?” His enthusiasm had the freckles dancing on his cheeks.

His invitation sounded hopeful for more than dinner.
Her skin crawled.

She tilted her head and slumped in regret. Beneath the
desk, she curled her fingers so tightly her nails bit into her palms. “Oh, Wes,
how nice of you. Thanks, but I can’t. I missed classes last week—” she hadn’t
attended class in much longer than that “—and I have too much to catch up on.
And my stomach’s still not a hundred percent.”

The man shrugged off the rejection with a rain-check
offer. After a few moments, he returned to his office.

Behind her, she heard muffled tones, him talking on
the phone. She stuffed the bills into their envelopes.

Where might Vinson keep secret, illegal records? In
spare moments, she was examining the accounting files. She might decipher some
deceptive bookkeeping that Rick couldn’t. But she didn’t have much time. The
Sea
Worthy
would dock in four days.

Although the office manager and two other employees
were still out sick, two clerks flitted around the office like worker bees from
computer to file cabinets to the reception desk. Boat captains phoned reporting
catches or trooped in with sales receipts and fishy odors from the Portland
Fish Exchange.

Marina workers muffled in quilted coveralls and
wreathed in the tang of varnish and fiberglass stomped in periodically with
demands for orders that hadn’t arrived, for resin or paint or electronic
equipment Juliana could barely spell on an invoice. Though warm weather
remained on the horizon, preparations for the pleasure boating season steamed
full speed ahead for Vinson’s yacht customers.

Wes had complained about high costs and low profits.
If he was involved, he’d hide the contraband-smuggling files somewhere off
limits to employees. She knew of only one place. His private office.

She swiveled her desk chair to peek through his open
office door. No longer on the phone, he bent over a file drawer behind his
desk. A cabinet door normally hid the drawer from sight. The shelf below held
not another file drawer but a safe.
A safe
.

Her heart pounded, and her mind spun. Finally. Not
that Juliana Paris, master spy, could crack a safe. But maybe she could find
the safe combination.

*****

“Hey, it’s the Prodigal Son,” Jake Wescott called as
Rick entered the Boston task force office. “Missed your sorry ass, Cruz.”

“Thanks. I missed your ugly mug too.” Rick shook the
other man’s proffered hand. “Glad to be back.”

“Been too quiet without you here,” Holt Donovan said.

“Wish I could say it’s been quiet undercover.” Rick
shook hands with Donovan and the other agents who filed over.

The chatter of welcome died as agents grabbed coats
and headed out. When the room cleared, only Rick, Wescott, and Donovan
remained.

Donovan leaned back and propped his boot-clad feet on
his desk. “I thought the damned leak was in the GS’s brain. But you kept us
looking.”

Tapping a pencil on his coffee cup, Wescott sat on the
edge of Rick’s desk. “We grabbed up the leak yesterday. Laurel in Intel.”

Laurel was always the one Rick asked to speed up
background checks or to trace licenses. “Too bad. Such a quiet little mouse. I
liked her.” He shook his head ruefully.

Donovan punched his shoulder. “You like all females.”

“Even a cornered mouse will bare its teeth,” Wescott
said.

Donovan frowned. “She had a hot affair with our buddy
Carlos Olívas. Met him in a bar. He videotaped them together then blackmailed
her. She funneled secure info to him for several months. Given her IT skills,
easy enough for her to cover up the whole thing.”

And without Juliana’s insight, Rick might not have
suggested his team look beyond other DEA agents. He’d go tell her that tonight.
If she was still speaking to him.

*****

Juliana pulled into her assigned slot in front of her
apartment building. As soon as she spotted the cherry red Corvette, her pulse
revved.

Rick unfolded himself from the low-slung sports car
and sketched a salute. Sliding down the zipper on his black leather jacket, he
sauntered over to meet her. A swagger jazzed his gait.

Just seeing him filled some of the hollow places in
her heart. It was all she could do not to launch herself into his arms. “Looking
good, Agent Cruz. So what’s new?”

He wore his official face, but at her query, a spark
kindled in his mocha eyes, and his dimple winked with a grin. “Wescott and
Donovan found the leak. A clerk in Intel. Blackmailed by Carlos Olívas. That’s
all I can tell you.”

“Oh, Rick, I’m so glad it’s over.” Her hand
involuntarily reached out to him, and she yanked it back before she yielded to
her impulse to leap into his arms. No. She’d erected a wall between them and
had to keep it propped up. “I didn’t see an official car behind me today. Are they
no longer protecting me?”

One black brow winged upward. “For some mysterious
reason, Olívas seems to have pulled in his horns. No sign of any of those
slimeballs for several days now.”

“That’s a relief. I think.” What did it mean? “What do
we do now?”

“I owe you big time. How about dinner? We never had a
real date.” He gave her earring a casual flick.

When it rained, as they say.
Two offers for
dinner dates in one day. She’d wisely turned down the first, and she shouldn’t
accept this one.

Rick was mustering all his charm on her behalf. The
pirate grin. The bedroom eyes. The tumbled comma of sable hair. Give him a day
and he bounced back with more assurance than Wile E. Coyote.

So did that make her the Roadrunner? She was running,
all right, from him, from her tangled emotions. From herself.

She didn’t have the emotional energy to evade his
invitation. Jordan was safe. For now. She had to conceal his secret until she
had evidence against Wes Vinson. She did have other information for Rick, so .
. .

“I’d love to go out to dinner with you,” she heard
herself saying. Bad move, but she couldn’t resist being with him anymore than
she could stop breathing.
I’m my mother’s daughter after all.

He grinned and placed his hand on the small of her
back as they entered the building.

His heat penetrated her parka to warm her and tighten
her nipples. Once inside her apartment, she flung their coats over a chair
back. Being alone with him in the confines of her small apartment too closely
resembled being alone in the lake cabin. The sooner they drove to a
restaurant—a public place—the better.

Speedy strolled from the bedroom to greet them. With a
purr as loud as a blender, he wound his body through Rick’s legs.

“He likes me.” Rick picked up the animal and sleeked a
hand from head to tail. The cat rumbled even louder.

The sight of his long-fingered hand caressing the
brown fur sent tingles down Juliana’s back. Retreating to the kitchenette, she
poured two glasses of a California merlot Venice had brought over—just in case.
Juliana pushed his goblet toward him across the breakfast bar. Keeping that
barrier between them might shore up her defenses.

“A quick drink and then we can leave.” He deposited
Speedy on the floor.

Her pulse beat overtime at his nearness. “You’re still
grinning. What else happened?”

“The GS—Group Supervisor—usually nails me for not
following protocol. But MacMillan was so happy about finding the leak, he
agreed to put me in for promotion. Said I was a natural leader.”

“Just what your already inflated ego needs.” She
grinned and clicked glasses with him. “Congratulations.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth. A tiny sip was all
her fluttery stomach could handle. Lord, she might as well have the words
I
know where Jordan is
tattooed across her forehead.