Whatever It Takes (10 page)

“Something we can do for you fellas?” Nate looked directly at the man who’d done the majority of the talking. Nothing would be gained by backing down. Men like these respected power as much as they craved it. Any sign of uncertainty on his part and it’d be all over but the funerals.

The ringleader sneered. “
Sí
, there is. We’d like to take your woman for a little ride. You don’t mind, do you?” More lewd laughter rippled through the assembly.

Nate smiled easily as he slowly shook his head. “That’s not happening.”

Beside him, Alex tensed and her breathing quickened. He squeezed her arm, wanting her to know that she wouldn’t be facing these hoodlums alone.

“Perhaps she would rather go with us than see you die.” The leader’s gaze swept over Alex.

Nate welcomed the anger, hot and black, that coursed through him. His smile slowly dissolved, and he loosened his grip on Alex’s arm. “What do you think, honey?” He kept his eyes fixed on the dirtbag in front of him. “Do you want to go with these morons?”

Alex gave an unladylike snort. “Not even if they had a set of balls between them.”

A deadly silence ensued, broken only by the sounds of three more weapons sliding free of holsters. Apparently these jokers drew the line at having their manhood questioned. Leave it to Alex to cut right to the quick.

The spokesman stepped toward them. “Perhaps we’ll teach your woman some manners while we’re at it.”

In his peripheral vision, Nate saw the two men to his right leap toward him. He stepped back and drew his forty-­five just as the leader fastened a grimy hand on Alex’s wrist.

The dagger flashed in front of her so fast, he wasn’t sure she’d found her mark until the burly man staggered backward, and blood flowed freely between the fingers clamped to his stomach.

He fell, a strangled curse coming from his throat, and one of his comrades tried to catch him, but only managed to break his fall, becoming trapped under him.

Another man turned his gun on Nate and pulled the trigger. Nate rolled and fired twice from the ground. The man went down, two holes in his chest.

Nate rolled again and located the final man, but the gunman was too close to Alex for Nate to take the shot. He scrambled for a better position as the man stuck his gun in Alex’s face and flexed his finger around the trigger. A heartbeat later, her hand flew up and blood spurted from the man’s arm. He screamed, dropped his weapon, and backed away cradling his useless appendage. Alex stalked after him, that same faraway look in her eyes Nate had seen there the night in the bar.

“Alex.” Nate leaped to his feet and started after her.

She turned at the sound of his voice, shaking her head slightly as though clearing out cobwebs. “Are we good?”

“We’re good, honey.” Nate winked at her and her answering smile was like sunshine. A whole slew of emotions tumbled over him. Foremost was pride—­he was so damn proud of her, and grateful that she hadn’t lost herself to the bloodlust that had reawakened within her. He’d give anything to hold her and tell her how amazing he thought she was . . . but that would have to wait.

The ground was littered with fallen scumbags. One was dead, two were bleeding profusely from knife wounds, and one had been smart enough not to get up when his leader fell on him. The short, stoutly built man glared hotly while he tried to stanch his friend’s bleeding. Nate picked up their weapons, holstered his, and took out his cell phone. Who to call first? Joe or the local cops? He’d avoid both of those conversations if only it were possible.

He whirled at the sound of a shotgun being pumped and stared at the grizzled old man from the marina, who stood at the rear of the motor home. His assessing gaze traveled from Nate to the three wounded men, lingered a moment on the dead man, and finished with Alex.

The old coot’s face came alive with a grin. “Looks like I missed all the fun.”

Nate’s patience gave out at that point and he was about to tell the man what he could do with his twelve-­gauge when Alex spoke.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Ben Greeley. And who might you be?” His gaze traveled the length of her.

“Alex Morgan.”

Ben nodded and lowered his voice. “Figured as much. That must make your
husband
over there . . .”

“Benjamin Greeley?” Nate swore under his breath. Special Agent Benjamin Greeley. Joe’s friend. What was he doing acting like a damn redneck?

“You’re getting it now. Why don’t you make that 911 call before we take this conversation any further?” Ben eyed the wounded men again as he stepped toward Nate and Alex. “Everybody around here knows who I am, but there’s no sense advertising that there’s any connection between us.”

Made perfect sense to Nate since there wouldn’t be any damn connection between them if he could help it. What had Joe been thinking, sending them without telling them about old . . . Festus here?

“Making this call could put a crimp in our plans.” Nate turned to Alex and spoke in a low voice as he dialed. She touched his hand and he slid his arm around her waist.

“Don’t see why,” Ben said. “Self-­defense. Arizona doesn’t require permits to carry concealed weapons. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to give your statements to the sheriff. You’ll be out on the lake before the fish stop biting.”

Nate pulled Alex closer as the 911 operator answered, and he gave the dispatcher the information she’d need to send ambulances, a meat wagon, and cops to investigate this fiasco. He ended the call and noticed Ben watching him. His eyes gleamed with shrewdness and intelligence. Shit! The old man had appeared crazy as a loon earlier. Had to be an act, or the FBI would have canned his ass a long time ago.

Reluctantly, he released his hold on Alex and started a preliminary check of the wounded men. Letting them bleed out sounded good to him, but he was a cop and that wasn’t an option. Retrieving his first aid kit from inside the motor home, he knelt in front of the man whose forearm was sliced open from wrist to elbow. Nate tied a latex tourniquet above the wound to slow the bleeding and wrapped a gauze bandage snugly around his arm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for the pain.” Nate wasn’t really sorry, but sometimes a little empathy went a long way.

“
Gracias.
” The man refused to meet Nate’s gaze.

“What were you guys going to do to my wife?” Nate tried to make the question light and casual even though anger boiled just below the surface.

“Nothin’, man. Somebody paid us to grab her . . .”

“Who?”

The man raised his eyes and looked at Nate for the first time, then shifted his gaze toward the apparent leader of the group. “I don’t know.”

Nate followed his gaze for a moment and then nodded. “Ambulances will be here any minute. You’ll be fine.”

Nate picked up his first aid kit and moved to the man in charge of the group. His belly wound didn’t look too bad, but he was probably bleeding internally. Nate’s gaze went involuntarily to Alex. Would she be all right if the creep died?

He cut the guy’s shirt open and covered the wounds with gauze, handing the man who had caught him as he fell and who still cradled his head in his lap, fresh bandages to change out as the old ones became saturated with blood. This guy was beyond Nate’s ability to help. He needed an IV and surgery . . . soon. He was still conscious, but the dullness of his eyes told Nate how dire his situation was.

“Hey man, who hired you?” Nate caught his gaze.

“I’m dyin’, aren’t I? Don’t lie to me.”

Nate let his breath out slowly. “You’ve got a chance, but it’s not looking good.”

The man nodded slightly and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he ground out the name Nate needed. “Diego Vasquez.”

Alex gasped somewhere close behind him.
Shit!
Nate would have liked to break the news to her himself when he could have held her in his arms and assured her she was safe. He turned to see her retreating, hands balled into fists at her sides.

Nate did his best to make the wounded man comfortable and then strode back to where Alex and Ben had taken seats at a picnic table in the vacant camping spot beside theirs.

He straddled the bench next to Alex. “Are you all right?”

Her forehead wrinkled with worry lines, she sighed deeply and leaned against him.

Nate wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck for a moment, hoping to take on some of the turmoil he was sure roiled just below her calm exterior. Then he raised his head and glared at Benjamin Greeley.

“What the hell is going on? Does Joe know you’re here?”

Ben’s redneck demeanor was gone, replaced with the confident, serious trappings of a seasoned FBI agent. He fixed his gaze on Nate. “He knows now. I just got off the phone with him. Had to let him know that Diego’s boys tried to grab Alex. That’s bound to change whatever plan he had in mind. Needless to say, he’s not too happy at the moment.” Ben grimaced. “I’m sure he’ll contact you after he cools off.”

“Why Alex? The slave trade is all about taking women that won’t be missed.”

“They’ve been getting a lot bolder in the last year or so.” Ben’s gaze swept over the woman Nate held in front of him. “I hear some Asians will pay top dollar for American women with black hair.”

Nate felt the shiver course through Alex, and he scowled at Ben. Damn him. Obviously, he had no idea how his words affected Alex or the memories they evoked. Nate didn’t even know the whole story, but he knew enough, and he would protect her from ever being hurt like that again.

He struggled to contain his temper. “Were you ever going to tell me who you are?”

“I tried to tell you before you dashed out of the marina, but there was no stopping you.” Ben leaned his elbows on the table. “I followed as quickly as I could, but the two of you had everything under control.” His curious gaze ran over Alex again.

Nate swore under this breath as he caught the first sirens screaming in the distance. “Well, Ben, let me be the first to tell you—­your customer ser­vice needs work, and I want my fucking hundred-­dollar deposit back.”

Chapter 8

“W
HAT?
I
’M SORRY.
I didn’t hear you.” Alex tore her gaze from Nate, who was twenty feet away answering the questions of a Santa Cruz County sheriff’s deputy just like she was supposed to be doing.

“That’s all right, Ms. Morgan. We’re about done here. I was just wondering if you always wear a dagger on your belt.” The deputy studied her with a puzzled expression.

She’d seen that look before. He regarded her as an anomaly—­an aberration. “That’s not illegal in Arizona, is it?”

“Oh no, ma’am. It’s just . . . we don’t see a lot of women packing blades, and even fewer who aren’t afraid to use one.” The young officer started to add something else, but then flipped his notebook closed and got to his feet.

Alex glanced toward Nate again, caught him looking at her, and smiled faintly. “That’s too bad. There’d be a lot less violence against women.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” The officer leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. “We’ll talk to Diego Vasquez and warn him about having any contact with you or your husband, but . . . frankly, Ms. Morgan, Diego does pretty much what he wants around here. I’d hate to see you get hurt, so you might want to pack up your motor home and get as far away from here as you can.”

His earnestness drew her gaze. “That sounds like sage advice, but my husband promised to take me fishing.” She shrugged and smiled.

He stuffed his notebook in his pocket. “I trust you’ll be careful then.” He tipped his hat and strode toward his cruiser, stopping to shake hands with Special Agent Greeley.

Obviously, Ben was a fixture around these parts. The sheriff had greeted him like a long-­lost friend, laughing and slapping him on the back. Ben had introduced Detective Nate Sanders and his wife, Alex Morgan, and spun the story he wanted them to accept as true. By the time he was done, even Alex believed they were here on vacation.

After the wounded men were hauled away, the coroner’s van pulled out with its corpse, and the uninjured perp was handcuffed and shoved in the back of a cruiser, the two deputies separated Nate and Alex and asked their questions. Clearly, it was only a formality though. Ben had already told them everything they needed to know.

Alex was good with that. Questions made her nervous.

After his interrogator walked away, Nate immediately sought her gaze and smiled. He ambled toward her and reached the picnic table at nearly the same time as Ben. Nobody said anything until the two county cars pulled away and headed down the road leading to town.

Alex was dying to feel Nate’s arms around her, to lay her head on his chest, and hear the clear rhythm of his beating heart. She craved his touch—­needed it to calm her, but he was too far away. Ben had taken the bench beside her, leaving Nate the seat across the table.

“Well, I gotta get back to the store. What will you do now?” Ben’s voice lacked its usual assurance as he rose to his feet.

“I can’t wait to hear what
you
think we should do.” Nate’s grumbled words were curt and scornful.

Alex glanced at the fiftysomething man beside her. Whatever happened between these two at the marina had obviously gotten them off on the wrong foot. That was bad because, as of now, Ben was a member of the team, and Nate would have to work with him, like it or not.

“If it were me, I’d probably step away. Go back to Tucson. Wait to hear from Joe. You’d still be close enough to help out if he needed you. Or you could put Alex on a plane and come back alone. Bottom line is Diego Vasquez is a formidable threat and apparently he’s set his sights on Alex. Don’t underestimate him, and don’t think he’s been set back by today’s little skirmish.” Ben squeezed her shoulder as he turned to go.

“Do you think Diego knows why we’re here?” Alex kept her gaze focused on the lake.

Ben stopped and looked over his shoulder. “No, not yet. But if he does any digging on the two of you, it’s hard telling what he’ll find.” From the corner of her eye, she watched him walk away.

Nate didn’t say a word, and Alex couldn’t bring herself to look at him. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt single-­handedly to blame for further endangering Marco and making his rescue more difficult. Clearly, Nate felt responsible for her safety, which pissed her off—­and eased her loneliness at the same time. Was she going crazy? Couldn’t be—­she’d been there for a long time already.

“What do you think, Alex?” Nate’s deep voice rumbled across the tabletop, and she longed to look at him, but she dreaded the sympathy that would surely be in those blue eyes.

Was her presence here endangering the mission? Or her teammates? Those were the only two questions that mattered, but she didn’t have the answers. Ben said go—­the nice sheriff’s deputy said go. She smiled when the words she’d spoken to him resurfaced in her mind.
My husband promised to take me fishing.

She looked across at Nate, the smile still pulling at her lips, and she shrugged. “I made sandwiches.”

He studied her solemnly for a moment before a grin stole across his features. “Yeah? Well, we can’t let them go to waste. Let’s go fishing—­at least until we hear from Joe.”

Alex let out the breath she’d been holding as she jumped up, rushed around the table, and slid onto his lap. “You’re all right, for a cop.”

Nate’s arms locked around her, and he kissed her quickly. “So are you . . . for an opinionated smart-­ass.”

Alex laughed and then laid her ear against his chest. He held her quietly until she raised her chin and met his gaze. “Thank you.”

He nodded and a muscle flexed in his jaw.

She appreciated him standing with her—­saving her from a fate worse than death. That went without saying. The miracle she couldn’t quite wrap her head around was that he seemed to instinctively understand how danger blurred her past and present into a twisted new reality. Telling the difference between the two had proved a problem for her. Apparently, Nate alone had the power to call her back from the brink of confusion.

“Ready?” He kissed her forehead lingeringly.

Alex unwound her arms and stood, tugging him to his feet. He adjusted his hat as they strode the few feet to the RV and climbed the steps. In minutes, Nate had the fishing gear ready to go and waiting outside the door, then returned and took the cooler from Alex’s hands. To her amusement, he flipped the lid open and checked the contents.

“Afraid I forgot something?” She stood with hands on hips.

“Where’s the beer?” Nate cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s not even noon yet!”

“It will be by the time we eat
lunch
.” Nate stepped to the refrigerator and removed two beer bottles, stuffing them in the cooler.

Alex shook her head and tried to remain stern, but a tiny smile escaped, and Nate planted a kiss on her lips just before they descended the steps.

They walked to the marina in silence. Ben nodded his agreement when they told him they’d decided to fish. A few minutes later, he met them on the dock where their boat tugged gently against its mooring. He carried a can of corn, which he assured them was all the bait they’d need, and a fistful of cash for Nate.

Alex signed for her fishing license, then found places to stow their gear in the fourteen-­foot aluminum fishing boat. A twenty-­five-­horsepower Evinrude hung off the stern, a throttle handle jutting to the closest bench seat so the driver could comfortably guide the boat.

The soft swell of the water beneath the craft as it bobbed against the dock soothed her, and the sun heating the skin of her arms gave her a sense of déjà vu. She’d become used to these snippets of memory teasing at the edges of her mind, even though they left her frustrated and more confused than ever. They were merely pieces of her shattered life that begged to be remembered. If only that were possible.

Nate shook Ben’s hand before he started down the dock toward her. Ben waved to Alex and then took off for the store.

She waited for Nate to undo the mooring lines and step into the boat. “Did you and Ben make up?”

Nate frowned and turned his attention to the Evinrude. “It’s easy to get along with a man. It’s women you have to watch out for.”

“Is that so?”

Nate pulled the cord to start the motor once . . . twice . . . three times. On the fourth try, he gave up with a muttered curse. “True story. All you need is something in common with a man. With a woman . . . I have no idea how to get along with a woman.”

“What do you have in common with Ben?” Alex’s gaze swept toward the older man as he disappeared inside the store.

Nate hesitated for a moment and grabbed the cord again. “He’s worried about you.” One more pull and the motor roared to life.

He guided the boat away from the dock, and they plugged along at a steady pace, staying thirty feet off the shoreline. Alex would have felt more comfortable if she could have quipped a sarcastic response to his last comment, but the motor was too loud. He wouldn’t hear her.

Was he really worried about her? Part of her was fascinated by his disclosure, while the rest resented the implication. It was
her
life . . .
her
problem, and she didn’t need him to feel duty-­bound to help. She’d made absolutely certain she could take care of herself. Yet it was strangely comforting to know that her safety mattered to Nate, and his strong presence by her side against those vermin who’d attacked them meant everything.

Joe and the rest of the team were like a flock of mother hens at times. Their unit had to be close. They had to trust each other implicitly. How many times had Joe repeated those words? Complete trust in another human being wasn’t easy in her world, but she was working on it.

Nate’s concern was different. His feelings weren’t associated entirely with the best interests of the team. He simply cared.

She faced the front and let the wind, and an occasional soft spray of water, caress her face. Her hair whipped in the breeze. Lone trees spotted the lakeside and birds soared overhead. They passed one other boat with two ­people on board. Alex waved and they waved back.

A few minutes later, Nate slowed the engine, headed toward shore, and approached a fallen tree, its sixty-­foot length covered with limbs that jutted into the water. He maneuvered the craft alongside the snag, cut the motor, and looped the mooring line around one of the limbs.

“Ben said this was the best fishing on the lake. According to him, all we need is corn and a bobber. I’ll get you set up first.” He pulled out the poles and tackle boxes.

Nate whistled a vaguely familiar tune as he wound new line on the reels, tied on hooks, and covered them with kernels of corn. Then he attached a red and white plastic ball—­a bobber, he called it—­six feet above the hook.

Alex could sense his enjoyment as he worked to ready the poles. His happiness warmed her heart, and it wasn’t hard to picture him spending a day like this surrounded by wife and kids. “Did Val like to fish?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but judging by the raising of his brow, there’d be no taking it back now.

“Naw . . . but she humored me.” He picked up one of the rods and handed it to Alex. “Okay, you’re all set. Scoot over and I’ll show you how to get started.”

Alex slid as close as she could to the gunwale, and Nate moved over to sit behind her. He put his arms around her and covered her hands.

“Keep your thumb on this button.” He tapped a round knob with his finger. “Bring the rod back toward you, swing the line out over the water, and release the button. That’s right.”

The line and bobber plopped into the water about twenty-­five feet from the boat. “Oh!” Alex had expected it to be much harder, and she cocked her head at him, waiting for further instructions.

“Now, all you do is keep an eye on the bobber. When a fish comes around and starts playing with your bait, he jerks on your line and wiggles the bobber. So when you see it start to go under, give a little jerk back. That sets the hook and then you just reel the fish in with this handle right here. I’ll be ready with the net. Got it?”

Alex nodded and Nate slid across to his own seat and prepared to cast his line.

“Um . . . Nate. I think I have a fish.” Alex stared at the bobber as excitement brought her to a half crouch. The red and white bubble vibrated, sank halfway, then completely disappeared only to reappear again and start over.

Nate winked at her. “When he takes it again, jerk back, and reel.”

She was so excited by the time the bobber dipped again, she let out a scream and jerked way too hard, pulling the hook, line, and bobber to the surface of the water. “Oh no! He got away!”

Nate moved up behind her and squeezed her arm. “You’ll get another chance. Reel in. Let’s check your bait.”

She dragged the line through the water until it reached the boat, and Nate rearranged her corn so the hook was sufficiently covered. Then she threw the line out again, and the minute it hit the water, something started toying with her bobber again. This time, Nate coached her on when and how hard to jerk, and she jumped up to reel in a nice-­sized fish. He must have thought she was going to fall overboard in her excitement. As soon as he netted her fish, Nate grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down on the bench seat, though a grin that matched her own seemed permanently affixed to his face.

From then on, as fast as she could get her line back in the water, she had a fish on and was reeling it in. Nate didn’t even get his line wet.

Finally, guilt got to Alex. She was having all the fun, and Nate was spending all his time helping her. “I’m going to rest for a while. It’s your turn.”

Nate just wagged his head. “Are you kidding? Watching you is the best time I’ve ever had fishing.”

His words tripped something deep inside her. No one had ever said anything remotely as sweet—­not to her. She was more comfortable with witty jabs than heartfelt sentiments. For sure, the words with which to reply escaped her, and an awkward silence closed around them.

“I’m getting hungry. How about you?” Nate started cleaning up the tackle boxes and stowing them.

Alex cleared her throat. “I could eat, I guess.” The time had passed so quickly while she reeled in fish after fish; there’d been no time to think about food. Now the angle of the sun said it was already mid-­afternoon.