Yours in Black Lace (4 page)

He chuckled at her petulant tone. “Come on, it’s not all ’gators. I saw a couple of herons and a deer.”

“Too bad the ’gators didn’t eat the deer. It would have broken up the monotony.” Stevie let out a long-suffering and exaggerated sigh.

“You could use a little boredom today.” He reached over to turn the radio on low.

She sighed again, squirming a little in her seat. Her movements caused the short blue-and-white skirt to ride up, exposing more of her long, shapely legs. His fingers itched to reach out and stroke the smooth, tanned skin, feel the lean muscle just below the surface.

The next song on the radio was a slow sexy ballad.
I’ll make love to you, baby, all through the night—

He flicked a button to change the radio station. That song was not what he needed to hear right now. Instead, he focused on the flat, tree-lined road ahead, stretching out as endless and hot as Stevie’s legs…. He had to stop daydreaming and pay attention to the highway.

This section of U.S. 41 had no emergency shoulder, just a crumbling edge immediately bordering the wetlands. It wouldn’t take much for the Jeep to end up among the palmettos and waist-high saw grass. Every time he made this trip from Miami, he got the feeling that if he stopped for too long, the fecund greenery would sprout up and make him an unwilling part of the Everglades.

Stevie dropped her arm off the window ledge and into her lap with another irritated sigh. Hiding an amused smirk, he braced for her next harangue.

“If you’d let me drive—”

“Forget it, Jayne Bond.”

“—I would have gone up to Route I-75. The interstate is a lot faster.”

He adjusted his sunglasses against the glare of the midday sun. “Maybe. But it would have been harder to keep track of the vehicles around us.”

Stevie crossed her arms under her perfect breasts and grumbled sarcastically. “No problem here. We’ve been on this two-lane, mosquito infested highway following the same slow-moving minivan for the last thirty miles.”

He silently agreed. His frustration levels had risen along with the time spent on the road, too. If they had taken the interstate, it would have only been a two-hour drive across the state. But after changing cars again, he’d decided the Tamiami Trail through Big Cypress Nature Preserve would be the safer of the two choices.

“Relax. It’s a nice day. The sun is shining. Try to enjoy the beauty that’s all around us.”

“It’s a swamp, Emelio.” The whine of the cicadas rose to a crescendo as if to emphasize her words. “All I see is kudzu vines, scrub pine and more goddamn alligators.”

She’d probably smack him, but not even her foul mood could detract from her appeal. “You know, you’re very cute when you’re complaining.”

Stevie inclined her head, regarding him with a quirk of one eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, of course not.”

He shouldn’t be flirting. But it was hard to remain aloof when black-lace letter number nine lay on the console between them. Every now and again, he noticed her glance down at the envelope and then over at him. He couldn’t wait to find out what was written inside. Maybe he’d ask her to read it to him. Out loud, in that sexy Southern drawl that caressed his senses and danced along his nerves. Maybe she’d be naked, too.

Stevie sat up straight and stared at him. “Your lips moved.”

“What?”

“I saw your lips move. Careful, Emelio. That was almost a grin. With teeth and everything.”

It had been a long time since he’d felt like smiling, and yet Stevie had brought him close twice today. He decided not to comment, not sure himself what it meant.

“Didn’t you even realize you’d let it slip? No? That’s my new mission, then. To do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.”

Whatever it took? Images from her seductive notes crowded his thoughts.

“My, my. What made you jump to that conclusion?” Her laugh was darkly sensual, and her accent slipped into the cadence of her native New Orleans. “Don’t worry,
chér.
You’ll know right sure when I start harassing you.”

You know you want me. I know it, too—

The suggestive lyrics on the radio echoed his thoughts and increased the tension within the small space of the Jeep. Emelio switched the station again. Damn, what was it with the music today?

Give in to the feelin’, ’cause you’re gonna be mine—

He clicked the radio off.

Stevie looked over, amusement glowing in her eyes. “Is something wrong, Emelio?”

“Nope. I’d just rather listen to the mosquitoes and cicadas.”

She laughed again, low and husky, as the car phone rang. Emelio picked up the earpiece so the caller wouldn’t be on the speaker. Alex’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“I’m on vacation, hombre. What are you paging me for and what the hell are you doing in my Jeep?”

“Sorry, man. I had to take your wheels to get out of town.”

Alex’s tone instantly became serious. “Talk to me.”

“The Dominican cartel sent a message. It came through the office, but somehow Stevie is involved.” Emelio was well aware she was openly listening to his end of the conversation.

“Shit. How bad is it?”

He debated less than a second about how much to say. “How soon can you get back?”

His friend blew out a breath. “I’ll be on the next plane from Baltimore.”

“We’re heading for José’s place. You can reach me there. And Alex…”

“You’re welcome. Just watch your back, since I can’t be there to do it.”

Stevie settled her sunglasses on her nose to hide the fire she knew was blazing in her eyes. Her temper idled between
annoyed
and
aggravated
while she waited for Emelio to finish the call. How was she supposed to solve her first case, her own case, if he kept withholding information?

“Now that you’ve let Alex in on what’s happening—”

“Alex is my partner. While I keep you safe in Naples, he’s going to be digging around in Miami. And not without considerable risk, since he testified against the cartel, too.” He reached up to turn the visor down over the windshield, his sunglasses apparently not enough defense against the glare.

Alex wasn’t his only partner from now on. She was damned sick of being patted on the head as if she couldn’t be trusted. She was smart and strong and determined to be included.

“Then let me tell you what
I
know, Emelio. A hundred million dollars is a lot of money, but to a drug trafficking organization, it’s a drop in a very big bucket. That means the cartel’s message can only be personal. And I’m betting it has something to do with the man you tried to get me to recognize in that one photo.”

With his eyes hidden, there was no way to gauge his expression, but she saw his lips thin and noticed his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Information is knowledge, Emelio, and knowledge—”

“—will often get you killed. You’re too smart for your own good, Stevie.” His tone suggested a reluctant admiration.

She immediately latched on to his words. “I heard Alex say once that Overtown was the end of your career with Justice. Who got killed?”

He drew in a deep breath and very slowly exhaled through pursed lips. Then he surprised her by giving a direct answer. “The man in the photo is Rogelio Braga, Frankie Ramos’s replacement.”

“What happened in Overtown?”

For a long while he didn’t reply. He gingerly rubbed the bruise on his jaw, concentrating on the road. “An informant I’d used to get evidence against the cartel double-crossed our team during a bogus drug buy. When the bullets started flying, she was killed in the gunfire.”

Stevie wondered if he realized how much was given away by the undercurrent in his voice. However things had gone wrong, Emelio obviously blamed himself. And her instincts told her he was still holding something back, so she hit him with the question that was uppermost on her mind.

“Why is Braga threatening me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds and she could almost feel his withdrawal. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Her voice hardened as she stared at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Like you said, information is knowledge.” Emelio’s eyebrows drew together. “The question is, what does he think you know?”

The thug he’d hired from outside the cartel to take care of the Madison woman had failed him. He managed to deliver the messages, but had stupidly taken it upon himself to ravage her apartment, thereby alerting her to the extent of her peril before he’d planned. Then, not only had he lost them in traffic, he’d ended up in hospital. Braga would see to it he never left.

He swallowed a mouthful of the rum, hissing through his teeth as its fire trickled down his throat. He had bigger problems than the messenger.

His former boss, Frankie Ramos, had been offered the chance to make a deal in exchange for information about the cartel. Ramos was going to spill his guts in the courtroom unless Braga spilled them first. But so far none of his people had been able to find out where Ramos was being held.

Braga slumped into his wing chair, splashing rum against the side of the tumbler. He refused to settle for less than total control. He would find the woman and he would find Ramos. It was time to call in an old and very valuable debt. There had been small favors over the years—recanting witnesses, “lost” evidence—but now something more was required.

Old Naples boasted a low skyline of pastel-painted stucco-and-glass buildings tucked among palm trees and lush foliage. Upscale boutiques nestled beside jewelry stores and antique shops. Each structure was uniquely designed with columns or archways, recessed plazas with murmuring fountains and flower-draped balconies.

Stevie pointed to a series of six-foot fiberglass reptiles decorating the sand-colored brick sidewalks. “I can’t get away from the alligators.”

Emelio chuckled. “Those are part of the ‘Gators Galore’ public art project. It’s to raise money for the Boys and Girls Club. Kind of like the ‘Fish Out of Water’ project in Baltimore and the ‘Cows on Parade’ in Chicago.”

“They dress better than the gators back in the swamp. I like that one over there, with the sparkly purple evening gown, pink shoes and gold eyelashes.”

As he breathed in the scent of warm sea air and tropical flowers, he made a right turn onto Gulf Shore Boulevard. He immediately felt the cool breeze coming off the greenish-blue water. Glancing to his left as he drove, he could catch glimpses of the sugar-white sandy beach. Only a few more minutes and he’d be home.

Funny that he thought of it that way. Mamá, Pápi and his sisters lived within walking distance of his house in Coral Gables. His parents’ house was always full of relatives and friends, music and raised voices and his family was the most important thing in the world to him.

And yet… All of that love and togetherness could be stifling at times.

As the firstborn and the only son of Cuban immigrants, he carried the burden of responsibility and parental expectation. From the earliest age, Mamá and Pápi instilled in him a strong sense of family, honor and duty. How could he face his family if they ever found out that his informant, a woman he was responsible for, had been killed? He’d never allow that to happen ever again.

Still, he looked over at Stevie and wondered if he’d made the best decision by bringing her to Naples. Of course, he knew it was right—he had to protect her—but his chest tightened with more than a little resentment over having to take her to the beachside cottage. It was his solace, his sanctuary, and in taking her there he’d have to reveal his secret perhaps.

Then he remembered the mess in her apartment, and the look of devastation in her eyes when she saw it. He’d made the only decision he could. Keeping Stevie safe from harm was his chance to regain his honor, a belated attempt to make things right again, to find some peace.

Stevie’s belly rumbled and she turned her attention from the scenery to the matter at hand. “I’m starving. Can we stop somewhere for burgers and onion rings?”

“Sorry. There are a lot of cafés and restaurants in Old Naples, but no fast-food places.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “No golden arches, no yellow bells, no red-and-white buckets? How am I supposed to survive?”

“That stuff is poison. We’ll stop by the grocers and I’ll make us an early dinner.”

Half an hour later, Emelio guided the Jeep through the security gates of an exclusive resort community. Stevie’s eyebrows shot up and she yanked her sunglasses off. Not many private detectives traveled in the kind of circles that allowed them to stay in a place like this.

After passing several streets, he turned onto a circular driveway shaded by a canopy of palm trees. Behind a wrought-iron gate, the butter-beige stucco walls and white tile roof of the Bermuda-style house gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The front formed a U-shape with tall mullioned windows overlooking the central courtyard.

Stevie looked from the house to Emelio and back. “I thought you said your friend had a ‘cottage’?”

He shrugged. “That’s what the realtor called it.”

“Hiding from deranged drug-dealing stalkers won’t be so bad after all.”

Emelio pulled onto a parking pad beside one of the sandstone gateposts and shut off the engine. He took off his own sunglasses and gazed over at the house with a pensive expression for a moment. Then he climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward the cargo section. “I’ll get the groceries.”

Stevie opened her door and got out, as well. She took only a few steps before her heel twisted on the crushed shells and gravel. In an instant, Emelio was there, cupping her elbow to steady her. His large hands felt warm and strong, and she ached to feel them on her naked body. When their eyes met, she saw the awareness mirrored in his gaze.

Would he kiss her again? The memory of that first contact had been seared onto her lips. With little effort, she recalled the shock of desire and need, the feel of his hard, aroused body against hers. But even as she waited for a repeat experience, Emelio stepped back. Though a twinge of disappointment settled in her chest, she didn’t push. She was willing to bide her time and she’d bet he was worth waiting for.

She followed the driveway, carefully picking her way on the high-heeled sandals. He reached over to the gatepost and pushed one of the sandstone cobbles aside. When he punched in a sequence of numbers on the hidden security keypad, the tall iron gates slid silently apart.

“Wow. So this is Golden Eye.” When he glanced over with a curious expression, she explained. “Ian Fleming’s tropical hideaway. He wrote most of the Bond books there.”

Amusement lit the hazel depths of his eyes. Emelio lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “Wait until you see the secret laboratory of spy gadgets hidden in the cave under the dining room.”

Stevie laughed as they walked along the pathway leading to the front door. The courtyard was landscaped on either side with dark green palmetto, sweetly scented Indian blanket, graceful sword fern and lantana in shades of purple and violet. Alone in this fabulous house, miles and miles away from danger, she could let her attraction and his interest take the natural course. Mr. Calm, Cool and Controlled wouldn’t know what hit him.

A tendril of doubt curled in her belly, but she shoved it aside. She wasn’t Tom’s insecure and intimidated little wife anymore. That was all behind her. She’d found the courage to leave, the will to fight him for a divorce and the guts to move to a strange city and start her life over.

After that, confessing to Emelio that she’d written the letters would be a breeze.

When he shifted one of the grocery bags to his side, Stevie took it from him to hold. He flipped through the keys on his ring, and then fit one into each of the two locks on the front door.

“You just happen to have the keys already?”

“I stay here as often as I can.”

He stood aside to let her go past, her heels rapping against the terra-cotta tiles. Stevie looked around the simply decorated entrance foyer, noting that the house felt smaller than it had looked from the outside. A hallway stretched the length of the house to a back door, with arched entryways on either side that led to the rooms of the house.

Stevie set the bag down on the smoked-glass accent table in the foyer. She watched as Emelio swung the mirror above it open and fiddled with yet another security system. “What happens if you put in the wrong top-secret code?”

“Bambi and Thumper show up and beat the crap out of me.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Those cute little Disney animals?”

Emelio looked at her, sympathy coloring his tone. “You must be tired. Thumper and Bambi were the two bad girls who tried to kill Bond in
Diamonds Are Forever.
”

“Oh, yeah. I love that scene. They all end up wrestling in the swimming pool.” She cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms. “I think we got off the subject, though. Whose house is this really?”

His features darkened, closing off his expression. “It’s mine, Stevie.”

“But you told Alex we were going to—”

The words died in her throat and her arms dropped to her sides when she caught sight of the living room. Her eyes widened as she walked closer.

“Watch the step.” Emelio caught her elbow again before she tripped, then leaned one shoulder against the archway, both hands shoved into his front pockets.

She barely heard him, only vaguely noting the cathedral ceiling and large windows and that the room had the same stark modernist décor as his office back in Miami. Her gaze was focused on the José Castillo paintings displayed on every pale beige wall.

Stevie knew her art, having grown up with a collection that had been handed down through the generations. She especially knew Castillo’s work since he was her favorite modern painter. But she’d never seen any of these works in a book or gallery catalogue.

“These are originals, aren’t they? These paintings have never been shown outside of this house, have they?” Her voice rose with each question as she dashed from frame to frame to frame in disbelief. “These are
your
paintings!”

He answered in a monotone. “So now you know my secret.”

“But how—?”

“My full name is Emelio José Castillo Sanchez.”

She finally turned to look at him. A scowl twisted his full lips even as patches of color reddened his cheeks.

“Come on. After I put the groceries away, I’ll show you the house.”

Stevie dogged his footsteps into the large, sunny kitchen. “I can’t believe it. Emelio, you’re a wonderful artist, one of the most talented in the world. Why would you keep something like this to yourself?”

Emelio kept his back to her as he filled the refrigerator. “Everybody has secrets, don’t they, Stevie.”

“I told you mine back at my apartment.”

“Not all of them.”

Well, he had her there. But some things about her past were better left in the past. After throwing the grocery bag away, he crossed to the other side of the kitchen, not waiting to see if she followed, which, of course, she did.

“This is the Florida room.” He waved one arm to encompass a large tiled sunroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a perfect view of the blue-green Gulf waves lapping against the powder-white sand. Despite the gorgeous panorama, she wasn’t about to be distracted.

“I admire those paintings in your office every time I come in, you’ve never said a word. When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t. No one outside of my family knows except Alex and my agent. And now you. That’s the way I want it.” He unlocked the French doors and slid them open to access the glass-walled room that enclosed the swimming pool.

She followed him out to the lanai, stepping around one of the lounge chairs as she walked. “I still can’t believe you’re José Castillo. Your work is incredible! It’s provocative and passionate and yet you’re so…”

He stopped to glance over his shoulder, curiosity lacing his tone. “So what?”

“Well…inhibited.”

Emelio arched one raven-wing eyebrow, as if she’d insulted him, and for one brief instant his heated gaze stripped her bare. A jolt of electric awareness danced along her spine, hardening her nipples before settling between her thighs.

“Whoa. What was that look?”

“What look, Stevie?” When he shifted his weight to one leg and shoved his hands into his back pockets, the pistachio cotton of his shirt tightened across his broad shoulders.

“That look you just gave me.” Stevie ran her tongue over her lower lip and sashayed over to his side. Like a Bond babe going after classified documents, she felt the heat and turned it up fifty degrees. Tilting her head playfully, she reached out to draw one finger over the hard planes of his chest.

Strands of thick coffee hair fell over his forehead, luring her attention to the gleam of mischief and more that lit his eyes. The edge of his mouth curved and he lowered his voice to an intimate purr. “I was just wondering… When were you going to tell me you wrote the black-lace letters?”

Stevie gasped out a nervous laugh as her heart skittered to a halt, then pounded back to life. “Is that what you call them? I hadn’t figured out how to tell you. When did you know?”

“I saw the stationery in your living room.” He tipped his face down, his gaze focused on her mouth. “Like I said, we all have secrets.”

“Now that it’s out in the open, and we have this place all to ourselves, what are we going to do about it?”

Emelio held utterly still, in that watchful and predatory manner she’d come to know. But his eyes gave him away. Staring into the depths of his amber-green gaze, Stevie knew she had reached him on a primal level at last. She drew closer, seducing him with her eyes, yearning for another taste of his kiss.

Then a shutter came down over his features. He reached up to sweep the hair from his forehead, looking around as if he’d just remembered where they were. Regret darkened his eyes a second before he raised his chin and stepped away.

“I have a strict policy against workplace relationships.”

He walked along the edge of the swimming pool to the other side of the room and punched in a code for the back door. From the main hallway, another arch led to the short hall of the private section of the house. He flicked one hand toward the room on the right. “This is the gym.”

Stevie leaned around him, making sure her breasts brushed across his arm, and glanced inside. Expensive-looking boxing equipment and weight sets lined the padded mat-covered floor. She studied his reflection in the mirrored panels. “We’re nowhere near the agency now.”