Yours in Black Lace (6 page)

Emelio set the front legs of the black-leather desk chair back on the floor. “What for? Alex and I already gave a week’s worth of testimony.”

Weston replied with a phony apologetic chuckle. “Hey, don’t blame me. I’m just warning you about the possibility of bringing you back as a rebuttal witness.”

Mierda.
Emelio scrubbed one hand over his face. Since the judge hadn’t excused him, he was technically still under oath and therefore obligated to appear before the court. That would leave Stevie in the hands of one of the agency’s less experienced investigators if Alex was recalled as well.

Jack’s too friendly voice broke into his thoughts. “Look, it may not even happen, but I’ve got to prep just in case. Why don’t you swing by my office?”

“No can do. I’m out of town on an assignment.” The cell phone trilled, signaling that the battery was dying. Emelio reached over to plug the charger into the wall.

“Well then, the next day. You’ll be back from…?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be in Miami by then. This case could take a while.”

Weston sighed in exasperation. “Where the hell are you?”

Emelio started to lose patience. If he were recalled to the stand, he’d deal with it. But right now Stevie was across the hall waiting for “something.”

“Come on, Sanchez. Cut me some slack. We can’t wait until the last minute to go over the court transcripts.”

“I know, I know. But I can’t reassign this one. How soon will you know for sure if you need me?”

“Soon.” When he spoke, Weston’s tone was several degrees cooler. “Depending on where you are, you can be here in a matter of hours, right? I guess I can give you about a day’s notice.”

“Great, Jack. Keep me posted.”

Damn it. Emelio hoped his partner had caught that flight from Baltimore. Cursing under his breath, he put the cell phone on the charger and dialed Alex’s number on the landline.

“Hey, partner. Are you back yet?”

“Almost. I’m just getting into a cab for home.” He heard the sound of a door slamming, then Alex’s voice giving directions to the driver. “Don’t tell Meghan, but I’m really looking forward to an uninterrupted night. Whoever coined the phrase ‘sleep like a baby’ never lived with a newborn.”

The quiet ache of jealousy surprised him. Alex had been lucky enough to find a terrific wife, and together they’d made an incredible little boy. While his best friend deserved every happiness, their friendship had naturally been altered and Emelio found himself longing for a family of his own.

He scraped the hair off his forehead. “Listen, Alex. I don’t know how much time we have to figure out why Braga sent those photos, but it just got a lot shorter.”

“Yeah? What’s happened?”

“Weston called me tonight. Said they might have to recall us on rebuttal.”

Alex’s reaction was an immediate and ugly expletive. “You’d think two years on a case would be enough without having to deal with a monthlong trial, too.”

They rehashed the investigation and arrests, as well as speculating about Stevie’s connection to Braga, until Emelio huffed out a breath and got to his feet. “Okay. We can talk about the rest tomorrow. Right now I’ve got somebody waiting.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then Alex growled in his ear. “That had better not mean what I think, Em. Not after the hell you gave me for getting involved with Meghan when she was still a suspect.”

When they’d first arrived at the Cayo Sueño Resort hunting for Ramos and Braga, he’d had every reason to think that Meghan was working for the cartel, despite Alex’s gut-level belief in her innocence. He knew Stevie couldn’t be involved with Braga directly, but somehow she’d attracted his menacing attention. As for her innocence… The letters were proof against that.

“It doesn’t mean anything, not yet.”

Alex scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?” Emelio returned to the dining room, only to find it empty. The table had been cleared, the dishes removed and the candles blown out.

“Actually Meghan noticed before I caught on. Stevie’s had her eyes on you for a while now, hombre. And you’ve done some looking of your own.”

No point in denying it—his best friend knew better. “If I could ever get off the phone, I’d do more than just look.”

“Make sure you know what you’re getting into this time.”

Emelio dismissed his warning with a rude suggestion, appreciating Alex’s concern but not the reference to what happened with his last relationship.

“See you, Em.”

“Yeah, man. Later.”

A fast check in the kitchen revealed clean counter-tops and a running dishwasher. But no Stevie. As he clicked off the cordless phone, he heard indistinct voices coming from the Florida room.

The brilliant color and dark shadow of several explosions flashed across Stevie’s face. Her lithe body curled around a throw pillow on the white-leather sofa, her hands tucked under her cheek. She must have been tired to fall asleep before James Bond had escaped from the bad guys’ lair and saved the world.

After lowering the volume on the entertainment center, Emelio covered her with the light blanket from one of the armchairs. Then he picked up the remote control and sat next to her. Impulsively, he reached down to lightly brush his fingers over the corn-silk strands of her hair. It seemed an oddly natural thing to do.

She stirred, instinctively seeking his touch. He’d never brought a woman to this house before. Even his family was rarely invited here and Alex had only stayed once. So why the hell did Stevie look so right, cuddled on the sofa beside him? Not in the mood to examine his actions, or the feelings behind them, Emelio settled in to watch Bond kick some Soviet ass.

She wondered if she was lying on Emelio’s side of the bed, and whether he slept on his back or his stomach. She wondered why he wasn’t sleeping right beside her. Flopping over, she stared at the ceiling and worked on identifying her emotions, since she was already focused on the source.

Lust,
pure and simple. She was definitely feeling lust. Her body hummed with an intense desire that had her aching for Emelio’s touch. He was so right about the anticipation. Writing the black-lace letters had been fun, but now she wanted those erotic fantasies of making love with him to become real.

Then again, love wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

Disappointment.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was also feeling disappointed. Funny how she hadn’t wanted more until he’d set a boundary on their time together. There was no way to look at Emelio and not want sex. But after seeing his paintings and discovering the passion below the surface of his professional veneer, she found that she wanted more.

Stevie pressed the edges of her palms against her eyes and sighed heavily. The stress of running from an unknown danger must have rendered her temporarily insane.

After divorcing Tom, she’d avoided men who seemed too demanding or controlling. Emelio had already proven he had no qualms about making decisions that affected her life, and yet she was still crazy about him. Or it could be she was just crazed with hunger. She’d never really finished dinner last night, as her stomach crankily reminded her.

She turned her left wrist and checked the hour. The Timex had been her father’s. He taught her to tell time on that watch, she remembered. Then he’d made himself a fortune in commercial real estate and traded his old Timex for a flashy diamond Rolex. His jewelry wasn’t the only thing that had changed….

Kicking off the covers with a scowl, she swung her legs over the bed. She assumed the Mountain Pose and she ran through a series of Yoga stretches, emptying her mind and warming up her body. When she’d finished her morning routine, she went to see about some food.

The cottage was quiet, only the tranquil sounds of the water and birdsong breaking the silence. Her bare feet padded across the carpeted floors onto the cool terra-cotta tiles as she wandered through the house. Eventually, she found Emelio asleep in the Florida room.

He didn’t look too comfortable stretched out on the sofa, his long coffee hair tousled and one arm flung over his head. Judging by the rumpled blanket tangled around his legs and hanging to the floor, he’d spent a restless night. Sunshine streaming through the glass walls highlighted the uneasy lines tightening his forehead.

It also gleamed off the stainless-steel barrel of a gun positioned within arm’s reach on the floor. She didn’t pick it up, but estimated it took a .45 caliber shell. Nine of them in fact. Emelio meant what he said about protecting her.

But why had he chosen to subject himself to the sofa when there was plenty of room in the king-size bed? Knowing him, he probably thought he was being considerate. Emelio had been so good to her in the last twenty-four hours, allowing her into his home and letting her discover his secrets. There had to be some way to show her appreciation.

Her belly gurgled again, offering a solution. An old adage proclaimed that the fastest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, so she’d wake him with a nice breakfast. But what should she make? She usually just poured herself a bowl of chocolate-frosted sugar bombs.

Beignets and café au lait—a little taste of New Orleans. She used to watch their cook make the square doughnuts for her as a girl, but she was pretty sure about the recipe. Draping the blanket back over him, she carefully leaned over to brush a soft kiss on Emelio’s cheek. He murmured something in response then continued to sleep.

In the kitchen, Stevie quietly opened and closed all of the cabinets until she found a couple of mixing bowls and a frying pan. Once she located the main ingredients in the pantry, she dropped a package of active yeast and a bottle of cooking oil onto the island countertop.

Okay. She remembered this part. She stirred the dry yeast into some hot water, then turned on the stove burner and added a couple tablespoons of oil to the frying pan. That’s as far as she got before running into a problem. Not being a gourmet cook, she wasn’t prepared for the choices Emelio’s pantry forced her to make.

Was she supposed to use all-purpose or self-rising flour for the beignets? She figured it was the self-rising since the donuts were supposed to be big and fluffy. But did she need Ten-X sugar or confectioner’s? And what the hell was raw sugar?

Passing the stove, she noticed the oil was sizzling and reduced the heat under the burner. She dumped six cups of flour into the largest mixing bowl, raising a cloud of soft white dust in the process. Then she remembered she needed milk. But was it buttermilk or condensed milk?

Damn. This was why she ate cold cereal for breakfast.

She pulled the carton of eggs they’d bought yesterday out of the fridge and grabbed the regular whole milk since it was all they had. The first egg was ruined when she crushed the shell into jagged fragments and it dripped onto the countertop.

She’d only blended the first four cups of flour into the yeast when her arm started to get tired. Tossing the wooden spoon into the sink, she opened and closed more cabinets, looking for an electric mixer. She needed to hurry because she’d forgotten to add cinnamon to the thick batter.

“What the hell…?”

At the sound of his voice, Stevie dropped the mixer on her foot and yelped in pain. Turning, she saw Emelio stare in horror at the plume of black smoke unfurling from the burned oil. In two steps, he reached the stove and yanked the pan off the heat.

He started to say something then stopped when he looked past her shoulder at the island. His features took on a strange expression while he glanced from her to the counter and back. Color warmed his face, his mouth twisted in a funny way and his eyes had a glassy sheen.

“What’s growing over there?”

“Oh, nooo!”

Stevie hobbled to the huge mess oozing out of the mixing bowl and onto the countertop. The batter had risen—and kept on rising—taking on a life of its own. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and she fought hard to keep them from spilling over while she filled the sink with hot water and dish soap.

“It was supposed to be beignets. I wanted to surprise you, but not like this. Don’t worry. I’ll clean everything up.” She looked over at him and that’s when it happened.

Amusement danced in his hazel eyes. A muscle quivered in his jaw and a little dimple appeared beside his mouth. His lips stretched until the corners turned up, slowly parting to reveal even white teeth. The grin continued to blossom on his face and then he burst into laughter.

Stevie’s tears dried instantly as she stared at him in wonder. My God, Emelio was smiling. It was a dazzling sight, so genuine and so irresistible. She’d thought he was handsome before, but with that smile he was devastating. Her heart turned over, spreading warmth to her already hot cheeks.

Holding his sides, he gasped for breath. “When you said you’d do anything to make me smile, I didn’t expect you to destroy my kitchen. It looks like a flour bomb went off.”

Stevie twisted her lips into a grimace and scooped the batter into the trash. After shoving the mixing bowls into the hot water, she tossed the spatula in after them. The soapy splashes on her T-shirt only made him chuckle harder.

“I’m glad you think this is funny. We’ll see how funny it is when you have to do all of the cooking from now on.”

“Come here, Stevie.” Emelio walked over to her side, still grinning. Taking one hand, he drew her into his arms and held her gaze as he slowly reached up. But instead of the caress she’d expected, he made a brushing motion. “You’ve got flour on your face.”

Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her forehead onto his chest, shaking her head in defeat. “Not a good morning.”

Emelio’s warm fingers touched her chin, encouraging her to look up at him. The humor in his amber-green eyes had been replaced by something else, something more. His melodic voice held a deep emotion when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

His mouth descended on hers in a kiss that was unexpectedly tender. His lips glided over hers like a whispered promise, giving and asking nothing in return. She drank in the sweetness of his kiss, and felt the warm glow of happiness spreading through her heart. He held her closer for a tight hug and then stepped back.

Emelio playfully planted a smooch on her nose before moving toward the refrigerator. “How about I fix us another breakfast.”

She glanced up at the wisps of smoke still hanging in the air. “How about we get dressed and go out to eat?”

“That’s not really a good idea.” He pulled the eggs out again and chose a steak from the freezer.

Stevie’s forehead furrowed. “Why not? We’re perfectly safe here in Naples.”

“Rule number one of ‘real’ investigative work. Never assume that you’re safe anywhere.” He set the food down and looked over at her. “I talked to Alex a few minutes ago. He sent Jason and Rick over to your apartment to investigate. There were several hang-ups on your answering machine and the building super said some guy was looking for you last night.”

She closed her eyes briefly, clenching her stomach as she slowly exhaled.

“Somebody called the office this morning, too, asking to speak to either one of us. They refused to give Tiffnee a name or say what they wanted. Braga’s sending people out to find us, Stevie, so we’re not going to take any chances.”

She curled her hand into a fist, her fingernails digging into the palm as the familiar anxiety skipped along her nerves. She couldn’t stay locked up in the house. She couldn’t. Stevie tried to hide her dread behind a show of bravado.

“You really think Braga is going to walk up to us at a sidewalk café? Maybe he’ll jump out from behind a clothing rack in one of the shops.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, an uncompromising look in his eyes. “I’m not willing to risk your life—”

“You said yourself that you never bring anyone here. You called this house ‘José’s place’ so I assume it’s in your other name. There’s no way Braga could track us down. So don’t tell me I can’t go out!” She knew she was being unreasonable, but another part of her, the part she’d paid dearly to save, protested vehemently against the idea of confinement.

Emelio’s tone became as carefully expressionless as his features. “I didn’t say you couldn’t go. I’m just strongly recommending against it.”

“Don’t do that.” She spoke from between clenched jaws as resentment coiled inside her, escalating her temper from
annoyed
to
incensed.

“I realize this is frustrating and you don’t have any experience—”

“Don’t goddamn do that!” It was happening again. Her life was being controlled again. She stared at him through hooded eyes, shaking with impotent rage. “I hate that overly logical condescending tone, like I’m some recalcitrant child.”

Emelio remained where he stood, as if he thought a sudden approach would really set her off, and yet she sensed him reaching out to her. “Tell me what this is really about.”

Verbalizing it would reveal how weak, how helpless and pathetic she used to be. In her nightmares, she still saw that house, the old rambling Victorian in Faubourg Marigny where she’d been trapped, suffocating in the confines of her fear. She had been too young, too damaged to know how to get free, certain that she deserved what she got.

She didn’t want Emelio to know. Then again, maybe if she explained, he’d understand why she wouldn’t tolerate taking orders or being restricted. Stevie pressed a hand against her stomach. “I couldn’t go anywhere—I had to ask. Whenever I did go out, Tom had me followed….”

His hazel eyes softened in understanding, but she turned away from his pity. The last thing she wanted was pity.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. But I’m responsible for protecting you and your safety has to come first.”