Running Wild (20 page)

* * *

I
T
WAS
GROWING
late when Joaquin’s cell phone rang its person-specific ring. “This had better be good news, Palmer,” he said the instant he thumbed it on. But hope scratched for entrance in his brain. Because maybe finally—finally!—he could call Munoz to tell him he had the Deluca woman.

“I’m sorry, Boss,” Palmer said. “I broke my leg on the trip down the river.”

“You told me you knew rivers!”

“I know the
Mississippi
River, but that ain’t got no motherfucking rapids—something nobody bothered to warn me this one had before I started down it! I’m lucky I got out alive. As it is, I swallowed half the river. The boat broke up on the rocks and it was only because another boat came along that I got off with just the broken leg—it coulda easily been my neck.”

Works for me
, Joaquin thought viciously, but didn’t say so out loud. The mercenary had at least been actively trying to capture the Deluca woman. And to be fair—something Joaquin was having a difficult time doing at the moment—he’d been injured in the commission of that attempt.

So Joaquin would have to...what did the Americans call it? Suck it up? Yes. He took several deep breaths to get this rage in his blood under control, then sucked it up and inquired, “Where are you?”

“Those people who fished me out of the river and pumped the water outta my lungs brought me to Rio de Villanueva, where a doc set my leg. It’s the same town we figured Deluca and her muscle were headed. So, as soon as my pain pill kicks in I’ll see if anyone remembers them. She’s a damn blonde—you can’t tell me she didn’t stick out in this dark-haired burgh like a lap dancer in church. Soon’s I getcha some information, you can at least send someone else after her.”

“That would be good. Call me back the minute you know something.”

They disconnected and Joaquin paced his office. This was
not
good.
¡Dios mío!
Not good at all. That bitch Deluca kept giving his men the slip and he’d had to come up with creative ways to avoid telling Munoz.

The drug czar was losing patience, however—that became increasingly clear with every telephone conversation they’d had. And no one needed to tell Joaquin twice that an impatient Munoz could be very, very detrimental to his health.

He’d said it before, but at this point it simply couldn’t be said enough. His future wasn’t looking bright.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time he started considering an exit strategy.

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
HE
SUN
’
S
TRAJECTORY
was in a flaming free fall toward the horizon when Finn and Mags’s train chugged into their station. Finn was ambivalent about finally reaching it. The past half hour hadn’t been a whole lotta fun, since he and Mags had spent it debating whether or not they should leave the train separately.

He suppressed a snort. Hell, why pretty it up? They’d spent it arguing, a word a helluva lot more accurate than
debating
.

Because Finn was nowhere near as pumped at the idea of splitting up as Magdalene seemed to be. He got that as diversionary tactics went, this was a good one. The men sent to hunt them would be on the lookout for a blonde woman accompanied by a man. Joaquin had to know by now that she was damn good at, the very least, covering up her hair. But damn few people mistook
him
for anything other than the American he was—even though his coloring reflected that of the general population of El Tigre, he stood out. It didn’t mean he liked the idea of not being right there if she ran into trouble.

Because, no two ways about it, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.

He felt a little less stressed about it, however, when he saw her fall in step with Maximilliano and his dad just as they reached the exit vestibule between this car and the last one. She’d wanted Finn to stay a good ten feet away from her, but the best he could do was slouch along behind her with maybe three feet between them. Four, max. Still, he was relieved she’d latched on to the kid’s father. Because the guy was big. Not merely tall, but built with massive shoulders, thighs the size of tree trunks and muscular arms that looked like they had a nice long reach. Finn wouldn’t hesitate to bet on most people thinking twice before messing with him.

Even goons with guns, who had likely been instructed not to use them in well-populated situations.

Plus, as she chatted with Maximilliano’s father—to whom she was no doubt spinning some amusing tale to explain her sudden impulse to cover up her blond hair and darken her skin with cosmetics—the child tugged Mags’s hand for attention on her other side.

They looked like a family.

When he reached the door, he kept one eye on their progress while also casting swift glances around to see who, if anyone, might look interested in them—or him, for that matter. There were several single men hanging around, but two he discounted right off the bat. A couple of others were harder to peg. They were much tougher-looking than the first guys he’d written off, but it was impossible to tell if they were searching for Mags and him, or were simply tough-looking guys waiting for a family member to exit the train.

Someone behind him made an impatient noise and, eschewing the steps, he jumped down onto the platform. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he felt more conspicuous by himself than he ever had with Mags.

Ahead of him a young man struggled to carry a stack of chicken crates. Since everyone had to exit through the station, Finn strode up to him and offered to lend a hand. At least, he hoped he’d asked if he could help with that—and hadn’t insulted the guy’s ancestry.

The boy—for that’s what Finn saw he was now that he was up close—looked at him suspiciously for a moment. Then he looked at the crates stacked almost as high as his less-than-brawny shoulders and nodded.

“Gracias,”
he said, then added something in rapid Spanish that Finn thought was a lament about the kid’s worthless brother not showing up after he’d promised to help. Or maybe that was his own experience projecting, having had brothers who’d shirked their own share of duties in their younger days.

Still, he’d recognized
el hermano
as brother, so he didn’t think he was completely off base.

They split the pile between them, the hens in his crates smelled surprisingly pleasant, sort of a combination of sun and corn. By the time they got organized and were on the move toward the station house, they were a good ten feet behind Magdalene after all. He had to crane around the side of his crates to keep her in sight, but that also had the advantage of making him nothing more than legs carrying chickens to anyone who might be looking for the
americano
accompanying Mags Deluca.

The men waiting on the platform remained outside when first Magdalene and her party, then he and the kid tromped into the station. They crossed toward the exit on the other side of the narrow waiting room.

Happily, neither did anyone suspicious-looking lurk out front when they exited into the warm golden wash that was the last of the evening light.

He’d barely taken three steps from the entrance door when a boy who looked even younger than the kid he accompanied rushed up. If his tone and Finn’s less-than-fluent comprehension of the language were anything to go by, he was apologizing profusely for his tardiness.

The boy he’d been helping set down his crates and smacked his brother on the back of the head with the flat of his hand. But he turned to heap lavish thanks upon Finn, who relinquished his share of the crated chickens to the other boy. Grinning, Finn took his leave, lengthening his stride to catch up with Mags. He arrived just as she was saying goodbyes of her own.

She turned to him as soon as their former seatmates walked away. “Tomas said there is a hotel in town
and
he gave me the name of a cheap restaurant with good food.” She flashed him a big smile. “Life is good.”

“For today, at least.”

She shrugged. “Seems to me living minute to minute is about all we can do.”

That wasn’t necessarily a bad policy, given their situation, he decided a short while later as they opened the door to their hotel room and hauled their belongings inside.

In order for Mags to remain in disguise, they decided to grab dinner first and shower when they got back. They spent the next hour slowly unwinding with drinks and steaming plates of beautifully prepared food. After their meal, he stood on the walkway while Magdalene talked to some locals about the best route through the Amazon to the general area of Munoz’s grow farm. An old guy drew them a map on the back of a paper bag and she thanked him profusely before carefully folding it into her tote. Then they headed off to buy more provisions.

Back in the hotel, Mags started shedding her clothing the minute they shut their room door behind them. Leaving a trail of discarded duds in her wake, she made a beeline for the bathroom to run a shower. He gave her five minutes of privacy, then let himself into the room.

Steam billowed over the shower rod and he watched as the cotton shower curtain to the little stall adhered to her shoulder and elbow at one point, then to her very nice butt when she bent to—hell, he didn’t know what—shave her legs, maybe? Wash her feet?

He didn’t really care why, his only thought was to get in there with her.

He kicked off his pants—the only thing he hadn’t already stripped off in the other room—and slid a condom on his already raging dick, then ripped back the curtain in a whoosh of fabric, clattering rings and additional clouds of steam.

With a squeak, Magdalene whirled to face him, her posture defensive, combative. That brief I’ll-fight-you-to-the-death attitude quickly turned to recognition, however, when he climbed in with her. Leaping on him, she twined her legs around his waist and her arms about his neck. Lifting herself up to meet his mouth, she kissed him hotly. The water had run cold by the time they climbed out again.

But they were both relaxed and smiling.

He patted her dry with the thin towel, noticing for the first time that her skin was washed clean of all the makeup she’d applied earlier. Then he swiped the now damp towel over himself while she did the girlie thing and slathered lotion all over that baby-fine skin. When she was done, he swooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, where he settled them both, him on his back and Mags curled against him with her head on his chest, her ear pressed against his heart and her arm looped loosely around his neck.

He looked down at her, soft and sleepy in his arms. “Talk to me.”

Yawning, she raised her eyes to look up at him. “Hmmm?”

“Tell me something about yourself that you haven’t told many people.”

* * *

“C
RAP
.” M
AGS
ROLLED
away from Finn. Feeling naked where she hadn’t twenty seconds ago, she looked around for something to put on.

Finn turned onto his side and braced his head in his palm. “What the hell, Mags?”

“Why do people always want to talk about all that touchy-feely stuff?” She honestly didn’t get it. It only led to raised hopes and she knew from hard-earned experience that hope was a bitch just waiting to kick your teeth down your throat.

His face lost its amusement. “Why are you always so emotionally standoffish?”

“Oh, will you give the emotional dodge-’em accusations a rest? I connect with people all the time!” And if her sociability was a way to fill a lonely void that had chiseled a permanent home deep inside of her? Well, she felt no need to air her dirty laundry for everyone in the known universe to paw through.

She blinked. Okay, Finn wasn’t “everyone.” Still, he was poking a raw nerve.

“Yeah, we’ve established you’re the goddamn life of the party. It doesn’t make you emotionally available.”

True. And every now and then she hit the wall and just couldn’t bring herself to be “on” yet one more time. But if she went to a venue where people hung out laughing and talking, it was almost enough to sit quietly and eavesdrop on the conversations of folks who were unafraid to conduct relationships.

She didn’t fool herself—she
knew
that made her pathetic, which was not a feeling she tolerated well. But she sure as hell had no desire to drag her loser tendencies out to be analyzed like one of those idiots from daytime TV who seemed actually
proud
about spilling their guts and thus demonstrating how ridiculous they were to people who, up until then, might have only suspected as much.

Dammit. Now her back was really up, but she tried her utmost to rein in her temper before she ended up spewing it wholesale all over Finn.

Only to instead do what people who felt cornered had been doing since the earth’s crust cooled: she turned it around on him. “Seriously? The man ho is questioning
my
ability to commit? Hello, pot. Black much?”

He shrugged. “I work hard and I play hard and I’ve always liked a frequent changeup in my playmates. I know I can be a little emotionally distant myself, but that’s kind of my point. Like recognizes like, baby. I, at least, am attempting to put that attitude behind me.”

“Well, bully for you.”

“He-e-yy,” he said softly and pushed upright, swinging around to sit facing her, supremely unself-conscious in his nudity. “How did this go from you coming around me so hard and sweet it damn near blew the top of my head off to all this anger?”

Fair question. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I’m not good at the deep stuff. But you already knew that, since that’s what this whole conversation is about. So you want me to tell you something not many people know? I’m...lonely, okay? Pretty much all the time.”

Oh, God. That made her sound too pitiful for words and damned if Mags Deluca would be pitied. Chin up, she said, “But here’s something juicier that
nobody
knows. Remember when I told you how I was all about the risk when I was a kid? I slept with half the lacrosse team at the Camden Boys Academy before I turned fifteen and—”

“Wait, what? Back up a minute, Speedy Riggs. You slept with half a lacrosse team?”

She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He stared at her. “Like a gang bang? All of them at once.”

“Ewww.” She didn’t need a mirror to know her expression was a study in horrified disgust. “
No
. One at a time’s not stupid enough for you? I thought it was a big
fuck you
at my parents. But I finally realized the only one I was hurting was myself, because it left me feeling, God, so icky. So I quit sleeping with boys I felt no honest attraction to, which didn’t happen until I was quite a bit older.”

And, oh, God, just shoot me now
. He sat there looking so stunned and she pushed onto her hands and knees with no thought in her head as to where she’d go—she simply wanted to remove herself from this humiliating situation.

But before she could scramble for the door, he hooked a muscular arm around her waist and tumbled her onto his lap. Settling her as easily as he might a forty-pound child, he then wrapped a long hand halfway around her head and pressed her face against his bare chest.

“Aw, darlin’, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice above her head not only as dark and smooth as a bolt of black velvet, but a subterranean rumble beneath her ear as well. “I’ve been surrounded by people all my life, so I had help when I screwed up. But you had no support system for your mistakes. I can only imagine how rough that must have been.”

She shrugged, wanting him to believe she was too tough to be overset by her screwups. But to her horror tears threatened to breech the dam with a flood of biblical proportions.