Книга - Trusting the Bodyguard

Trusting the Bodyguard
Kimberly Van Meter


Marissa has never needed a special ops agent…until now. After accidentally tangling with a drug dealer, she's desperate for protection. And the only guy she knows who's trained in this sort of thing is Archer Brant–the man she left because his job is too dangerous. Yeah. Kind of funny that she's now the one in a heap of danger. But the fact is, she trusts Archer with her life.Tucked away in his remote cabin, it's easy to remember why they once were so good together. Even with the threat lurking, Marissa longs to rekindle the romantic sparks between them. Being with Archer this way, she sees a different side of him. Sees more than the job. Sees the man who could give her the loving future she wants.









“You picked the wrong house to freeload in.”


Archer felt grim satisfaction in the woman’s startled jump as she spun around to face him after he spoke.

Holy hell. He knew this woman. A shaft of white-hot misery speared his insides and his voice cracked with surprise as he managed to murmur her name, though in truth it was a miracle his voice worked at all, his shock was so great.

As he stared at the face that haunted his dreams, he couldn’t help but drink in her appearance, even if he’d never admit to anyone—least of all her—that losing her had been as painful as tearing off a limb and tossing it down the garbage disposal.

“Marissa.” He recovered, ashamed at his gut reaction and the sudden leap in his heartbeat, and demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”




Dear Reader,

There is something to be said for the allure of rekindling a lost love. We all have someone in our past that we can’t help but wonder “what if?” Sometimes the road not taken is a benefit to both parties as the relationship was bound to fizzle or implode. Other times, it’s hard to ignore that section of the heart that still yearns for the one who got away because we wonder, deep down, if they might’ve been The One.

For Marissa Vasquez and Archer Brant, circumstance throws them together and the threat of danger keeps them close, but it’s love that ultimately binds them. Writing their story was a roller coaster of ups and downs as they struggled against their need for one another, and the reward was that much sweeter when they conquered their challenges.

This is the last story in the HOME IN EMMETT’S MILL miniseries. It’s been a wonderful journey. I hope you enjoy this story of redemption and second chances.

Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys (aside from really good chocolate) so don’t be shy. Feel free to drop me a line at my Web site, www.kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail at P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Happy reading,

Kimberly Van Meter




Trusting the Bodyguard

Kimberly Van Meter







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings on her mother’s portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved, to the point of reaching that coveted published status.

Kimberly, now a journalist, and her husband and three kids make their home in Oakdale, California. She enjoys writing, reading, photography and drinking hot chocolate by the windowsill when it rains.


To those who’ve had the good fortune to reconnect with their heart’s desire and equally to those who’ve found contentment in allowing the past to remain in memory.

Everything happens as it should.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


ARCHER BRANT SLIPPED his key in the lock of his front door, still surly over the forced convalescence dictated by the Bureau doc. The three-hour drive from San Francisco had at least leached most of his anger so that he didn’t feel the need to punch something any longer. He gritted his teeth against the pulsing ache in his busted-up shoulder and thoughts of a beer with a Vicodin chaser crossed his mind, but the moment he stepped over the threshold of his cabin, the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened with a sense that something wasn’t right.

Quietly pocketing his keys, he moved to the scarred oak cabinet where he kept his spare Glock and retrieved it slowly from the drawer. Once the comforting weight of the gun was in his hand, he moved through the bottom floor of his house in a security sweep. Finding nothing, he made his way up the stairs.

His ears pricked at an odd, unfamiliar sound coming from his bedroom.

Creeping along the wall, he pushed open the door to his bedroom and slid inside. Someone was in his bathroom. The air still held the balmy, damp moisture left over from a hot shower. He caught the sound of soft singing, slightly off tune and he wondered what kind of idiot broke into a stranger’s house to make use of the soap and shampoo as if it was a friggin Holiday Inn yet bypassed the valuables like the flat-screen plasma television mounted on the wall or the accompanying high-end Bose stereo system. He curled his lip. Whoever was in there was murdering a classic Journey song, and that was near enough to a crime in his book to warrant shooting first and asking questions later. Since he was supposed to be convalescing, he ignored his itchy trigger finger and his protesting ear drums and just prepared to oust his uninvited houseguest with a little force.

He moved into position along the wall, gaining an excellent vantage point, and his disposition brightened at the thought of scaring the life out of the trespasser. But as a figure moved into view of the mirror, Archer blinked and frowned with surprise. He’d been expecting a punk pimply-faced kid or perhaps a homeless man but he was damn sure not expecting to see dark hair cascading down a petite backside that was nearly engulfed in his white terry cloth robe. Strong, slim legs, rounded calves and pretty ankles met his gaze as he assessed his trespasser. A woman. A shapely woman, he noted with faint appreciation for the rounded swell of hips hidden beneath the robe, and even as his hormones pumped a healthy dose of testosterone into his veins, he looked for evidence of a partner. A beautiful woman provided great distraction for the thug that’s about to cave in your cranium from the back. That’s not how he was going to clock out of this world.

But his quick check revealed nothing, not even a bag of belongings. Then on the bed he saw something that narrowed his stare and made him swear under his breath.

A baby bottle. Leaking something wet and pale onto his five-hundred-dollar duvet. “This just ain’t my day,” he muttered, tucking his gun into his waistband. Of all the places this wayward chick could’ve stopped, why’d it have to be his? He wasn’t in the mood to play host no matter what her hard luck story was. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a short breath before stepping into view, ready to get this over with. “You picked the wrong house to freeload in,” he announced, taking grim satisfaction in the woman’s startled jump as she spun around to face him.

But holy hell, the air in his lungs evaporated and it felt as though his heart had squeezed to a stuttering stop. He knew this woman. A shaft of white-hot misery speared his insides and his voice cracked with surprise as he managed to murmur her name, though in truth it was a miracle his voice worked at all, his shock was so great. As he stared at the face that haunted his dreams and took center stage in his most private thoughts, he couldn’t help but drink in her appearance, even if he’d never admit to anyone—least of all her—that losing her had been as painful as shoving a limb into a garbage grinder. And just as permanent.

“Marissa.” He recovered, ashamed at his gut reaction and the sudden leap in his heartbeat, to demand, “What the hell are you doing here?”



MARISSA VASQUEZ’S PALMS found and then clutched the marble countertop she was leaning against. She’d rehearsed a possible explanation while in the shower but now that Archer was standing before her, looking fierce and stony, her well-rehearsed speech fled along with the strength in her knees. Suddenly, she was well aware of her near nakedness, her busted lip and the sheer improbability that Archer would find it in his heart to help her at all.

And who could blame him, she thought bitterly. The last time she saw him she was breaking off their engagement. The shock in his eyes was slowly replaced by something cold and hard and she felt her chances dwindling to next to nothing. But desperation was a powerful motivator and she had nowhere else to turn.

“I can explain,” she said nervously as she tried to hold on to a shred of dignity to get her through this. She ducked down and scooped her niece, Jenna, from the floor where she’d been hidden from view and held her close for strength. The toddler twisted in her arms to stare at Archer, her finger popping in her mouth as she watched him with open curiosity.

“Please do.” Archer’s gaze skipped for a brief moment to the baby before returning to her, and she realized she wasn’t sure where to start. He settled against the wall in a totally casual pose that belied the tense set of his jaw. She faltered and her throat closed against the rush of fear and grief that threatened to reduce her to a puddle of pathetic tears if she didn’t just start somewhere.

“Clock’s tickin’,” he said with a cruelly arched brow that emphasized just how short his patience with her was at the moment.

She adjusted Jenna on her hip while trying to keep the too large robe from gaping open. “Well, I—I needed—no, thought, that, um, well, it’s c-complicated,” she stammered. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them back. Archer was not going to help her. She swallowed convulsively when the image of her dead sister flashed in her mind and the phantom smell of her sister’s blood filled her nostrils. He was her one and only hope. And judging by the cool assessing stare she was getting, that hope had been grossly misplaced. The urge to collapse in a heap and bawl was too strong for words but she couldn’t in front of Archer. Not like this. She lifted her chin and though her mouth trembled, she managed to say, “We’ll be out of your hair soon. I just needed a place to get cleaned up.”

“Get to the explaining part, Marissa,” he growled, his expression unreadable. When her tongue seemed paralyzed, he said mockingly, “What happened to the biotech scientist who’d had her heart set on a tidy little condo in Los Gatos and didn’t want or need complications in her life?” She recovered sufficiently to return an angry stare for throwing her last words to him in her face when she was clearly at a disadvantage. But before she could rebound with a cutting comment of her own, he pushed off the wall and walked toward her, sending her pulse into an epileptic fit so that she had to breathe a little deeper to keep from visibly trembling. “Not interested in sharing details? How about this? Skip to the good parts. Just tell me how it is that you’re in my bathroom with a busted-up face and a baby. I’m a pretty sharp guy but I’m going to need you to connect the dots on this one.”

Her lip throbbed. She touched the swollen flesh with the tip of her tongue and winced with the sharp pain. It was hard to forget that she looked like hell but now was not the time for vanity. Besides, even if she had showed up looking like a supermodel, it was unlikely Archer would’ve been swayed. She waved him away, defeat and fear making her reckless. “Forget it. I thought…Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

Something flicked across his expression—grudging concern?—and it was that flash that made her pause when he said her name again.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “And who’s the kid? Yours?”

She thought of lying. But she couldn’t, not with Archer staring at her like he was. “I’m in trouble,” she said in a small voice.

“That’s apparent,” he retorted then gestured at Jenna. “And the kid?”

“My sister’s.”

“Mercedes,” he acknowledged softly, his sharp gaze narrowing in thought. “So where is that wild sister of yours, then?”

“Dead.” Her voice choked on the word. “She’s dead.”

He swore and looked away. A long time ago when Marissa had thought she was going to marry Archer, she’d filled him in on her family life that started with a single mom and an unruly sister who was more trouble than a pack of brothers, growing up on the bad side of Oakland. He must’ve remembered what she’d told him about Mercedes. He didn’t seem surprised. “Who’s the father?” he asked finally.

Marissa hesitated, unsure. Should she tell Archer the whole truth of what was going on? As she hedged, she realized her mistake. Archer, even after all this time, could still read her as easily as the Sunday paper and as he waited she knew it was pointless to lie. “His name is Ruben Ortiz. He runs the Oaktown Boyz gang on the East Side. Mercedes met him while she was cocktailing at a new club called Porters.”

“Let me guess, this Ruben character owns the club,” Archer surmised.

She nodded. “And when he saw Mercedes…he had to have her. I told her he was bad news but she didn’t listen. All she saw was the fancy cars, the jewelry and the parties,” she said bitterly, looking away before the shine in her eyes betrayed her grief. Somehow her life had been turned into an episode from a crime drama and she had no control over how it ended. Her biggest fear was that her end would be similar to her sister’s and the thought chilled her blood. “And she changed. Though, at the end, it seemed, maybe, she’d gone back to the way she was before. But it was too late.”

Archer took everything in and seemed to digest the information, yet didn’t seem overly interested in too many details. Not that she blamed him particularly. If she weren’t knee-deep in the mess herself, she’d have steered clear, as well.

“Get dressed and come downstairs. Something tells me I’m going to need a beer to hear the rest of this story.”

A pang of sadness, different from the grief she lived with now, pierced her chest and she had to wonder if coming to Archer had been the wisest decision. It was apparent water was not under the bridge. Archer still harbored some bitter feelings over their breakup even though it’d been nearly three years since that sunny day on the park bench outside her lab. She made quick work of dragging on her dirty clothes, grimacing at the stale feeling and the lingering smell of cigar smoke that clung to the fabric. She looked longingly at Archer’s closet and wished she could grab a T-shirt to slip on instead but she’d lost the right to rummage through his things with such familiarity, and so after putting a clean diaper on the baby and grabbing her bottle, she and Jenna went downstairs to face a man who was their only hope for survival.



ARCHER’S THOUGHTS WERE in a twisted mess. Thank God for training to fall back on when faced with a crisis. He could thank the Corps for the foundation and the Bureau for the fine-tuning. Marissa was in his house. With a baby, no less.

At first, his gut plummeted when he thought the kid might be hers. There was no sense in lying, he’d been relieved when she admitted the baby was her older sister’s. But the relief that followed filled him with misgivings.

He shouldn’t care who or what Marissa had been up to since the day she cracked his heart in two and handed it to him impaled on a steak knife. As far as he was concerned she could get run down by a runaway taxicab and he wouldn’t shed a tear.

So if that was the case, why did seeing her so visibly scared and physically roughed up fill him with such rage that he wanted to shoot something? Because it wouldn’t be right to walk away when she was clearly desperate. So they’ve got history. So what? That part of him was dead and long past capable of resurrection.

She came down the stairs and, even though he tried hard not to notice, he couldn’t help but remember each gentle curve of her body and the lush breasts that seemed to fill his palm as perfectly as if they were made just for him. He deliberately cut away his stare, affecting a casual pose as he cracked open his beer and took a deep slug of the microbrew.

She took a seat on the sofa, hugging the baby to her chest. The child yawned loudly and settled against Marissa. He wondered what kind of life the kid had been living with Mercedes for a mother. From what he remembered, Mercedes Vasquez had been the exotic type, with tastes that ran to the extreme, which explained the hookup with a known gangster.

But that didn’t explain why Marissa was the one sitting in front of him looking as though she’d taken a nasty crack across the face, holding a baby that didn’t belong to her.

“The cabin is just as I remembered it,” Marissa started, glancing away, as if she couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “Except the yard. I don’t remember the weeds last time I was here.”

“I’m not much of a gardener.” He placed his beer on the granite-topped coffee table with deliberate slowness, and then met her gaze. “What’s going on, Marissa? Why are you in trouble?”

She swallowed. “Ruben killed my sister.”

“Did you witness the crime?”

“No, but I know he did it.”

“How so?”

Her mouth tightened but her eyes watered. “Because he swore he would kill her if she tried to keep Jenna from him. She’d just gotten a restraining order against him the day before I found her with a bullet in the back of her head.”

“You found your sister’s body?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “Yes. In her apartment.”

Sympathy softened his voice. “I’m sorry. That’s rough. What happened next?”

She drew a deep breath. “I called 911. They came and took Mercedes away and I called Ruben.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed him to think that I didn’t suspect him so I could get to Jenna. I knew he had her. There was no sign of Jenna in the apartment and her diaper bag was gone.”

“So you went to Ruben’s house?”

“More like a compound than a house,” she nearly spat, contempt pinching her supple mouth into a hard line. “Ruben lives like a king in the Oakland Hills. He may run East Side but he sure as hell doesn’t live there. I went to get Jenna. Even if he hadn’t killed Mercedes, he isn’t fit to raise a child.”

“Wouldn’t that be for the courts to decide?” he asked, his mind quickly putting together the scenario and not liking the way it ended. She glared and tightened her arms around the baby protectively. He shrugged. “If he’s as bad as you say…”

“He is and worse.”

He let that slide for the moment. “Something tells me he didn’t just hand you his daughter.”

“No.”

“Is that how you got the busted lip?”

She glanced away, self-conscious. “Not exactly.”

“How exactly?”

“One of Ruben’s cousins caught me as I was sneaking out of the nursery. He got in a lucky punch.”

“How’d you manage to get away?” His frown deepened. “If this guy is as dangerous as you say he is, it’s likely his guards are armed. Am I right?”

She drew a shuddering breath and nodded but she didn’t elaborate.

“Marissa…”

A red stain crept up her neck, spilling onto her cheeks and she refused to look at him. Something went down at that compound that she doesn’t want to share, he mused silently, concern and his innate need to know warring with the instinct to give her some money and send her on her way. He didn’t know this Ruben character but he was familiar with the Oaktown Boyz gang—a vicious street gang with ties to the Colombian drug trade, not a bunch of posers trying to look cool. They were the real deal and very dangerous.

“Archer…I’m exhausted,” she said simply and looked to him to answer her unspoken plea. She must’ve known he wouldn’t refuse her shelter, if not his protection, and she was right. He wasn’t about to kick a defenseless woman and child out on the streets when they had nowhere to go, but she had to know also that he would do things his way, not hers.

“You can take the spare bedroom,” he said, “but tomorrow I want the whole story, Marissa, not the Reader’s Digest version or else I place a phone call and the choice is taken out of your hands.”

She hesitated, clearly displeased with the terms of his hospitality but sheer fatigue won out over her stubborn nature and for that he was secretly relieved. Marissa had never been one to capitulate easily, her pride being nearly as strong as her backbone. It’d been one of the things he’d loved about her—but also what had torn them apart. She gathered the baby close and headed for the stairs. As she reached the landing, she offered a stiff, yet grateful “Thank you” and then made her way up to her bedroom.




CHAPTER TWO


MARISSA ROSE EARLY just as she always did before her life took a catastrophic turn for the worse. While the baby still slept, Marissa went into the adjoining bathroom and quickly scrubbed her face and ran her finger over her teeth to freshen up as best as she could.

Her hair, wavy and loose, looked untamed and messy but there was little she could do about that seeing as she’d busted out of Ruben’s place with nothing more than the baby’s diaper bag and a healthy dose of insanity and rage to keep her going. She’d been too afraid to pack anything for fear of Ruben getting suspicious. And she certainly couldn’t go back to her condo because that’s the first place Ruben would’ve sent his thugs looking for her. So, she had nothing in the way of toiletries and the thought of wearing the same pair of underwear for the next couple of days was too gross to contemplate. She’d have to go shopping. Although, if memory served, Emmett’s Mill wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis; she’d be hard-pressed to find much more than the basics at the handful of small boutique-style shops on the main street.

She wandered to the window and peered through the glass to the breaking dawn. The sun crested the horizon in a warm blaze, casting gentle rays of light along the tops of bull and sugar pine trees that dotted the mountainside of the Sierra National Forest, creating an idyllic scene if she were of a mind to appreciate it. But right now her thoughts were crowded with details that she’d rather forget.

White Berber carpeting drenched in a pool of red.

Marissa squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat.

Dull, lifeless brown eyes staring at nothing.

A strangled sob erupted from her throat even as she tried to muffle the sound with her knuckles. Dead. Her sister was dead. Damn it, Mercedes.

She wiped at the wet trails leaking from the corners of her eyes and focused on the glistening patches of snow that had clung to the ground in stubborn spots, defying the warmth of the springtime sun. It wouldn’t be long before they completely melted and disappeared. Wiping the last of the moisture from her cheeks, she drew a deep breath and tried to pull what she needed from what little well of strength she had left. Archer was already awake—she’d heard his footfalls on the stairs—and he’d soon want to return to their previous topic of conversation. Whether she wanted to or not.

She checked Jenna, found her to be sleeping still, and then quietly went downstairs.

She was not surprised to see Archer in the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for anything, at 6:00 a.m. That had been one of the things they had in common. They both were ridiculously early risers. She ignored the faint sadness at the memory and gestured toward the coffeepot. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” he said, taking a sip from his own steaming mug as he looked out the wide kitchen window.

It was entirely too strange to be here with Archer under these circumstances when the last time they’d enjoyed the view from the kitchen, they’d spent the morning making love in various and inventive ways. Three years was a long time to go without…She felt heat creeping into her cheeks and she moved away before Archer could read her expression and give her one of his famous narrowed stares that would only make her blush harder. There were things she certainly did not feel like sharing at the moment and that included the details of her sex life. Up until two days ago, Archer had been the last person she’d been intimate with. She liked to tell herself that she just hadn’t found anyone compatible in that way, but you have to date to get to that next level and Marissa had buried herself in work, precluding a social life. “How have you been?” she asked, unable to stomach the silence between them. “You look good.”

He spared her a glance then returned his stare to the view, and she huffed a short breath. “I see. As soon as the baby is awake we’ll be on our way. Thanks for the bed and the pleasant company.”

The last part was probably in bad form seeing as she was the one who’d invaded his space without warning, but she was stung by his open rejection and her verbal filters weren’t functioning quite yet. She’d forgotten how rigid he could be, but it was all coming back to her in a rush of disappointment. When Archer chose to be obstinate, he took it to an art form.

“Marissa, we have to finish our talk from last night, remember?”

She stopped and turned. “The way I see it, we are finished.”

“Well, we’re not,” he said, stalking past her to the living room, expecting her to follow. She was half-tempted to charge right up the stairs just to give him the message that she didn’t take orders from him and never would, but she didn’t put it past him to throw her over his shoulder and toss her to the sofa if she tried, so she grudgingly followed. He took a seat in an oversize recliner that would’ve swallowed her but seemed to fit his frame perfectly and waited for her to sit down across from him. She gave him a cold look but sat without getting too comfortable. The tension between them was heavy enough to choke the oxygen from her lungs. “Baby still asleep?” he asked, throwing her off with his concern.

“Yes. She seems to take after her mom and likes to sleep in,” she said, covering her surprise with a bracing sip of her coffee. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I need to know everything that happened the night you took Jenna. Don’t spare any details.”

“Why?” she asked, hating to even think about that night and the ramifications. “It’s not necessary.”

“Let me be the judge of that. If you want my help, you’re going to be honest with me. I don’t want to be sucker punched by something later.”

It was a fair request. If only the details didn’t make her quake with equal parts revulsion and fear. She bit her lower lip, wondering how this became her life. Three days ago her biggest concern was whether her drug trial was going to be successful; now she was terrified of ending up like her sister and Jenna landing back in her father’s arms. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them. She looked away until she could blink them back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling in spite of her attempt to keep it level and calm. “I wasn’t thinking. I just came here because I knew that no one in Ruben’s circle would know about you or this place and I figured we’d be safe here but I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. It’s not fair to you and I’m so sorry.”

“You can always count on me, Marissa,” he said roughly, as if it cost him to admit that. “I know you wouldn’t have come if you didn’t think it was your last option but I have to know everything.”

She closed her eyes, blocking out the images that were stuck there. Sordid, disgusting and debasing images jumped to the forefront and she had to choke back a groan.

“What happened, Marissa?”

She looked away. “If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone else.” His pause made her jerk to face him and her heart squeezed painfully as she assessed him openly. His answer made the difference whether she shared or not. “Are you saying you can’t keep this between us?”

“Depends on what you tell me,” he answered, his tone deceptively mild, yet the burn in his eyes told another story. “I’m a federal agent. I can’t make the rules up as I go along.”

Contempt colored her voice. “Bullshit, that’s exactly what you do in that secret branch you work for. Eyes Only, plausible deniability…I’m not an idiot, Archer.”

“You just kidnapped the daughter of a known drug lord,” he countered, making her see red. It wasn’t as though she had a choice.

“He killed my sister! How could I leave Jenna with him?” Tears filled her eyes again but this time they were caused by rage, not fear or pain. “He’s a bastard who destroys lives. I couldn’t let her grow up with him. Not after what he did to her mother.”

Her outburst didn’t seem to sway him either way. She wiped at the moisture, irritation at his cold nature washing over her. She’d forgotten about that part of his personality, as well. Hell, had she remembered anything about him that was accurate? “You don’t know what it’s been like since Ruben came into our lives. It’s been hell.”

She didn’t want to tell Archer that she’d often felt Ruben’s gaze on her, sliding up and down her body, blatantly resting on her breasts as if it were his right to do so, not even hiding his perusal from the eyes of her sister. Mercedes had tried not to show that it bothered her, hurt her even, but toward the end, it had become unbearable. Marissa’s only escape had been work, the one place Ruben was not allowed access. The day Mercedes had decided to end the relationship, Marissa had nearly cried with joy. Looking back, she realized what fools they’d been to think it would be that easy.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, then clarified. “Physically.”

She resisted the urge to touch her bruised face. Technically, Ruben hadn’t lifted a finger. He had enough people around to do his dirty work. Upstairs the baby whimpered and she shot up. “Jenna’s awake. I have to go get her.”

Without waiting for his permission, she flew up the stairs and cuddled Jenna’s sweet, pudgy body against her own. “Good morning, mija,” she whispered against her niece’s crown and offered a word of gratitude to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, then prepared to return downstairs to the man who would settle for nothing but the truth.

The problem was, the truth was something he was likely to wish he didn’t know. God knows, she wished she could forget.



ARCHER DELIBERATELY KEPT his attention far from Marissa’s retreating backside as she hurried to get the baby. At one time, he’d thought their babies would be the ones she’d be tending but that hadn’t worked out so well. He gulped the rest of his coffee and then stood, unable to sit still any longer. His nerves were drawn tight and he was getting that edge that he always did at the start of an assignment. All that was missing was the actual assignment. And if the doc were to be believed…he was a long way from getting an assignment anytime soon. He swore and absently rubbed at his injury.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

Marissa’s voice at his back made him turn to face her. He waved away the concern he saw there, uncomfortable with the way it made him want it. “It’s nothing,” he said brusquely. He gestured toward the baby. “Does she need anything?”

She eyed him hesitantly, as if doing an internal question-and-answer session to see how the conversation might turn out in real time, then nodded. “Diapers and milk.”

“Milk I’ve got,” he said. “Diapers I don’t.”

Her full, sensual mouth—he’d never quite forgotten how it felt sliding across his own—twisted in a wry grin. “Well, I’d have been surprised to hear otherwise. Is there a store close by I could go to? I need to pick up a few other things, too, before we take off.”

He ignored the part where she mentioned leaving and grabbed a magnetic notepad from the refrigerator door. She was crazy if she thought he was going to let her leave when there was a murdering drug lord on her back. Plus there was the not-so-small detail that she’d kidnapped a toddler to deal with. It was best to keep her close for the time being. “What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t need you to do that,” she protested. “I have money and a car. I just need directions.”

“Marissa…stop being stubborn. You need supplies. I will get them for you. End of story.”

“Is this how it’s going to be?” she demanded. “You giving orders like some drill sergeant? I didn’t come here so you could boss me around. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself—”

“If that were the case you wouldn’t have broken into my house with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the piss and vinegar in your blood,” he cut in, ignoring the flash of wounded pride that followed. He couldn’t afford to be moved by that beautiful face. It was bad enough that she had haunted his dreams and made him a miserable bastard during the day for the past three years. He sure as hell didn’t need to let her get further under his skin. He grabbed his keys and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t leave. I’ll be back in an hour.” He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t take kindly to his instruction.

“I don’t appreciate being told what to do and when to do it. I’m not a child, nor your wife. I can come and go as I see fit.”

True. But he wasn’t going to see her get killed over this mess she’d gotten herself into. That was the last thing he needed on his conscience. He hardened his voice to drive the point home. “You’re on the run with a kid that doesn’t belong to you. All it will take is one phone call and your pretty little ass will be sitting in prison and that baby will return to her father.”

Her eyes watered. “You would do that to me?” her whispered voice cut at him. “You would turn me in?”

“Yes.”

He’d crushed her. He could see it in her face. He looked away so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “It’s not going to come to that. You’ll stay because I’m the only one you can trust, Rissa,” he said, his nickname for her flowing from his mouth too naturally for comfort. “Just stay put, will you?” he bit out before slamming the door behind him.

He used the drive to town to place a few phone calls. He needed background information on this Ruben guy. With any luck the man had a record and an active warrant but even as he thought it, he knew his luck wouldn’t be that good. Guys like Ruben slid in and out of bad situations on the power of their own slime and often came out the other side smelling like a rose and looking none the worse for their experience.

“I need a favor,” he said, adjusting his Bluetooth device for a better position in his ear.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting or something like that?” Rico Harley said drily. “Heard Doc didn’t give you the green light. Tough break. The downtime must be killing you.”

Rico, a fellow special ops agent who was recruited by the FBI at the same time as Archer, was the kind of man who was wicked smart and just a little on the damaged side. Made him perfect for the kind of assignments they were given. Archer also knew that Rico wouldn’t mind doing a little background for him. Rico liked to break the rules even more so than Archer.

“I need you to run a name.”

“Dating again?” Rico returned indolently.

“Cut the crap. This is serious.”

“What’s the name?” Rico said, all business.

“Ruben Ortiz, rumor has it he runs Oaktown Boyz. Name ring any bells?”

“East Side Oakland Oaktown Boyz?”

“The very same.”

“That’s some sick shit. What you into?”

He hesitated then relented. Rico was solid. “Not me. A friend.”

Rico’s bark of laughter made him growl. “Now I know you’re lying. You ain’t got friends.”

“Just run the damn name, funny boy.”

“Why can’t you do it? You’ve got clearance.”

“Not right now I don’t. If word gets out I was anywhere near the building Doc won’t ever clear me. That sick SOB is just loving the fact that I’m out of commission.”

“You might be right. For a doc, he’s a sadistic asshole, ain’t he?”

Rico’s easy laughter cracked a reluctant grin from Archer. “So can you do me this favor? Or should I ask Jeremiah?”

“Good luck with that. Jeremiah went out on assignment last week.”

Jeremiah was already out on assignment? Jealousy at his former team member getting the all-clear before him coupled with anger at himself for making such a stupid mistake drained the levity from his voice. “Fine. Call my cell when you get the info.”

Rico didn’t ask further questions, just agreed and the conversation was over. Men in general didn’t chew the fat on the phone, but men in their profession found superfluous time spent on anything that could be traced was a liability.

Yeah, they were all that paranoid. Made them good at their jobs. Archer ignored the little voice in his head that was quick to point out that he was no longer the best, but the slaughtered body of Kandy Kane, aka Cynthia Harvey, was hard to forget. He was forced to wonder if the glory days were over. The thought, a chilling one, made him edgy and twitchy. Fact was, he loved his job the way some guys loved their wives. And his wife had just kicked him out of bed. That sucked hard. Deal with it, Brant. Just deal with it, he told himself sourly. He had a kid needing diapers and a former fiancée to keep safe. No sense in crying over what couldn’t be fixed at the moment. Yeah…right.




CHAPTER THREE


MARISSA RAN A BRUSH through Jenna’s thick hair, gently finger-combing the sweet baby curls that clung to her little head and hummed a mindless tune for the child’s benefit. There was little else she could do at the moment but keep her safe and entertained until Archer returned with supplies.

She rolled her neck to relieve the tension bunching her shoulders up around her ears and groaned when a soft pop sounded. She was not the kind of person to sit idly, and doing just that was eating at her ability to hold on to her sanity. It was difficult to comprehend just how radically her life had changed within the space of two days. On the surface she missed the comfort of her routine—her early-morning run, a nonfat latte with whip cream and a quiet lunch spent under the trees in the park near the lab—but deep down there was a knot of grief that pulsed like an angry wound.

God, how she had loved her older sister but she wasn’t going to lie…Mercedes had driven her crazy with her impetuous and often self-absorbed actions. And now…her life was unrecognizable because of Mercedes.

When Mercedes had told her she was pregnant, the air had left Marissa’s lungs. Her sister’s elated expression had given her no similar feeling. Inside, she’d felt a terrible sense of foreboding. Not for the child itself, for all children were gifts from God, but she’d known Ruben was the father and he made her skin crawl.

Jenna grinned and then squealed with delight when she latched on to the television remote. Marissa smiled, her heart squeezing tightly with love for her niece in spite of the circumstances. Jenna looked so much like Mercedes that Marissa liked to pretend that Ruben had not fathered her at all. There was little evidence of his tainted blood in her angelic face and that was a blessing. In her opinion, Ruben was not an attractive man and it would’ve been a cruel joke to curse a daughter with his mug. The fact that she looked so strikingly similar to Mercedes and likewise, herself, had been a point in her favor when she’d made the decision to take her. People would not question that Jenna was her daughter if they moved somewhere where no one knew them.

But to put that plan into play, she’d have to leave everything behind, possibly even travel outside of California to safely pull that off. She sighed unhappily and fell back against the plush sofa, succumbing to a moment of self-pity for the mess she was in.

On impulse, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse. There were seven missed calls from her boss. She listened to the voice mail and cringed when she heard the worry in Layla’s voice. Layla had always been a good supervisor to work for at the lab where Marissa had spent the past six years of her life building a reputation for herself. She’d been the recipient of multiple bonuses from the company due to her successful drug trials and she was known for her work ethic. So to drop off the face of the planet was completely out of character and Layla knew it. Marissa could tell her boss was plainly worried sick by the tone of her messages.

One phone call couldn’t hurt, she reasoned.

She quickly dialed. Layla picked up on the first ring, no doubt seeing it was Marissa from the caller ID.

“Where are you? What is going on? I went by your apartment and it looks like a hurricane hit it,” Layla said all in one breath before Marissa could say a word. Layla’s concern sparked an achy feeling in her chest that made it difficult to speak at first. “Marissa? Are you okay? You’ve got me really freaked out.”

“I’m okay.” She thought of her apartment, and how Ruben’s guys must’ve trashed it when she split, and swallowed hard. “I need some personal time. My sister—”

“Of course, you do,” Layla clucked compassionately. “You should’ve told me right away. You have plenty of vacation time you can use to get you through this. Did you know our company also pays for grief counseling? You ought to look into that. No sense in paying for benefits you don’t use, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Marissa murmured, wishing she could tell Layla the truth but knew it was better this way. Besides, Layla was a wonderful boss but they weren’t friends in the strictest sense of the word. Somehow telling her boss that she’d stolen a child and quite possibly killed a man might not reflect well on her ability to remain employed. And Marissa was planning to return to her life. Somehow. “Thank you for your understanding. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’ve been pretty upset these last few days. It just hit me.” Funny, ha-ha, Marissa. She drew a shuddering breath. “But I’ll be okay in a few weeks.”

“Who do you want to take over your experiments?” Layla asked, returning to business. Marissa didn’t fault her. She had a company to keep running and those drug trials were time sensitive. “How about Danny? Or Veronica?”

She wrinkled her nose at Veronica and quickly agreed to the former. “Danny should be fine. Thanks, Layla.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome. I feel so bad about your sister but I’m glad to hear you’re okay. When I went by your apartment…well, I immediately thought the worst.”

Marissa could only imagine the destruction left behind. It burned to know Layla thought she had wigged out to the extreme and trashed her own apartment but she had little choice but to go along with it. “Extreme grief and too much wine is a bad combination,” she murmured, though she grimaced at the lie coming from her mouth.

“Enough said,” Layla replied with dry humor. “We’ve all had a moment where we lose it. Some with less reason than you. Don’t worry about it. No one is judging you on this end. I just want to see you back to work when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Marissa said, feeling marginally better that she’d tied up at least a few loose ends, but still wishing she could just close her eyes and realize everything had been a terrible dream. But she knew it was real and she had to cover her bases. “Layla, if anyone asks about me, could you keep our conversation under your hat? I just want to decompress for a bit in private.”

“You got it,” Layla assured her. “You take care, dear.”

Marissa ended the call and gazed at her niece happily drooling on a universal remote that probably cost Archer a ton of cash and wondered how exactly she could possibly “take care.”



ARCHER RETURNED WITH bags of groceries and various odds and ends that made Marissa wonder if he’d went down each aisle systematically, tossing whatever caught his fancy into the cart. She held up a rubber hot dog that squeaked. “Do you have a dog?” she asked, confused.

Archer scowled and then gestured toward Jenna. “I wasn’t sure what she’d play with. I figured something that made noise was a sure bet. Don’t kids like to make a racket?”

“I guess so but I think you could’ve found more suitable toys in the aisle with the kids’ stuff, don’t you think?”

“I bought everything they had down that aisle but there wasn’t much to choose from. So, the kid got a rubber hot dog, too.”

His demeanor was gruff but Marissa was silently stunned by his generosity. Looking at the bags littering the living room, he had to have spent a fortune. Her eyes watered but she didn’t let the tears fall. She’d cried enough lately but she was ridiculously touched by his attempt to fulfill Jenna’s needs. She reached out and tentatively caressed his cheek. He stilled and then shot a quick, suspicious look her way. “What’s that for?” he asked.

She removed her hand, wishing she’d just said thank-you and left it at that. But she’d reacted to a gut need to touch him and she’d moved before thinking it through. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I just wanted to say thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

Something flitted across his expression but whatever it was he drop-kicked it far and clear within a heartbeat as he said, “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got ground to cover and you’re not in the clear. I haven’t decided what to do with you. I’m not going to sacrifice my career for your screwup. If you remember…it’s all I care about.”

Her eyes stung as he threw her words at her again. They’d been said in fear of a future that could’ve left her brokenhearted, so she’d ended their relationship with a clean cut, thinking surgical lines might heal more easily than jagged tears, but she’d been wrong and they both paid the price.

“I’m not asking you to sacrifice anything,” she retorted, her pride smarting from his harsh rebuff. “You’re the one who told me not to leave. I was prepared to get out of your life this morning, remember?”

“Well, running away is what you’re good at. But it’s not that simple any longer. By involving me, you involved the FBI. This isn’t child’s play. We’re talking kidnapping here, Marissa. Do you even know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into? I’m half tempted to take the kid in myself for your own good. This is going to end badly, I can feel it,” he predicted with a growl that sent a shocking shudder tripping down her back.

He cared. He didn’t want to admit it, was fighting it, but deep down Archer Brant still had feelings for her. Her breath hitched in her chest and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. She knew those feelings would never go anywhere but it warmed her shivering soul that they were there.

Archer broke the growing silence with a string of swear words that he didn’t even try to censor in spite of Jenna’s presence. “I’m going to go shower,” he bit off, and then gestured angrily to the bags still unopened. “There are clothes in there for you, too.”



ARCHER STOOD UNDER the jet spray, letting the water pelt him on the strongest setting in the hopes that some discomfort would continue to remind him that he was in a mess.

He should’ve dropped her at the nearest bus station with a handful of cash and sent her on her way. That would’ve been smart. But since when was he into going the smart route? He turned and leaned into the spray, closing his eyes as the water streamed down his face. He reached forward and grabbed the bar of soap. Why’d she have to look the same as the day she left him? Was it too much to ask that she’d suddenly sprouted an excess of facial hair and a spare tire around her middle? Apparently. Marissa Vasquez had always been his weak spot. And she’d known it. She’d known he wouldn’t turn her away—hell, she’d banked on it—and now he was staring down ten different ways to tank his career in one fell swoop. Damn, talk about talent.

But Marissa looked just like she did in his dreams. Long waves of dark hair tumbled down her back and framed her heart-shaped face, drawing attention to the plump and wickedly kissable lips he could still remember tasting. Images from the past, sweaty, sultry and scorching, rose like ghosts to haunt him and his body reacted. His groin tightened with an aching intensity and he stifled a groan at the thick erection that sprang to attention, reporting for duty. God, he wanted her still. After all this time she still managed to twist him in knots.

He gritted his teeth and deliberately jerked the shower knob to cold.




CHAPTER FOUR


RUBEN ORTIZ DRUMMED his long fingers lightly against the top of his desk, silently fuming as he listened to the reports of his men.

“Manny’s in bad shape,” Raul said, his dark features inscrutable. “The bitch cut him good.”

Ruben continued to drum, thinking of Marissa and all the things he wanted to do to her. Things that weren’t nice and caused parts to rip and tear. “What does the doctor say?” he asked, his voice calm, hiding the rage inside. “Is he going to live?”

“Only if he gets to the hospital. He needs surgery,” Raul answered.

“Tell Dr. Elias to do what he can to make him comfortable. Get him whatever he needs,” Ruben said, stilling his fingers to clasp his hands together in front of him as he leaned forward. “No hospital.”

“He’ll die.”

Ruben stared Raul down. “No hospital,” he repeated, the light touch of sorrow for his cousin’s fate hidden from his voice. His empire was built on the blood of others. He was no stranger to death. Or procedure. “Hospital staff are required to report suspicious wounds to the police. Manuel would never disgrace the family by bringing down la jura over this. He has honor and honor lives on even after we die.”

Raul slowly nodded, his black eyes narrowing. “You going to make her pay for this insult?”

At that a cruel smile spread from the corners of his mouth as he answered, “In ways you can’t even imagine. Find her. Bring her to me alive.”

“What of the kid?” Raul asked.

Ruben thought of the child that was of his blood by that faithless whore Mercedes and contemplated how easy it would be to break Marissa using the girl as leverage. His mood lifted. “Bring her, as well. Oh, and, Raul, be careful with the child. She’s mine, after all.”



WITH JENNA ASLEEP for her afternoon nap, Marissa took the opportunity to get some fresh air. Archer had spent the rest of the morning away from her, cloistered in his study with the door closed, either on the phone or on the computer. A part of her couldn’t help but feel like a leper forced into closed quarters with a man who would do anything to avoid contact with her. She tried not to blame him, he hadn’t asked for any of this, but her feelings were tender just the same.

She stared out at the mountain vista, watching as the late-afternoon sun made its slow trek toward the west, and wished she could appreciate the beauty of the view instead of wondering if someone was hiding within the trees, waiting for the right moment to slit her throat.

She didn’t think Ruben would find her here but he had resources that she didn’t want to fathom and it was possible that there was little that Ruben couldn’t get if he put his mind to it.

And he wanted her. He hadn’t been subtle in his pursuit once Mercedes ceased to amuse or satisfy him. Marissa shuddered, feeling the sickening slide of his hands on her. A wave of nausea hit her, and she had to force the bile down.

“What’s wrong?” Archer asked from behind. She turned to face him and she automatically shook her head in denial. A denial he didn’t buy. “You’re pale and shaking,” he observed, coming closer.

“It’s nothing,” she lied, her teeth starting to chatter.

He eyed her with suspicion. “You’re lying.”

“I am not. I just caught a chill is all,” she said, trying to move past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her close. The heat from his body seared the skin from her limbs, so that she felt suddenly alive and desperate for more. She wanted to sink into that warmth and pretend she hadn’t cut him loose all those years ago and right now they were just enjoying a night in their cabin without danger lurking around each corner. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“I wish I knew,” he answered, the honesty in his voice cutting her to ribbons. He drew her closer, his face nearing hers, and she felt his breath on her cheek. He smelled of cedar and leather, secret dreams and heartache. She parted her lips, desperately hoping he would kiss her, yet knowing somehow that he would not. He caressed the side of her face and her eyelids closed for a heartbeat, eager for his touch, his comfort, and then he let her go. She opened her eyes and tried her best to hide her disappointment but she’d never been a very good actress so the effort was probably moot. Still it hurt to know that he had such restraint when she was close to begging. She put distance between them. He didn’t try to apologize. “Come back in. It might not be safe out in the open,” he said, and then returned inside.



ARCHER GRABBED TWO BEERS and when Marissa came in, he handed one to her.

“I don’t drink beer,” she said, declining.

“Figured you might need a little liquid courage before we begin,” he said with a shrug.

She stared. “Before we begin what?”

“Before we begin where we left off.”

Her cheeks heated and he knew she was thinking of the moment they shared only seconds ago but he shook his head. “I have to know details, Marissa. You’re hiding something and I want to know. No more pussyfooting around. I mean it. You spill the beans or it’s over.”

She grabbed the neck of the beer bottle. “I guess I’ll need that after all,” she said.

“Figured you’d change your mind.”

She twisted off the top like a pro and took a short swig. He followed, eyeing her above the bottle, noting the shake in her hands hadn’t completely subsided but she was trying like hell to make it stop. She grimaced at the taste but didn’t complain. “I don’t know where to start,” she admitted.

“Start at the part where you found Mercedes. What happened after that?”

Her eyes watered and she glanced down, and then she chuckled sadly. “You know it’s like my tears are on autopilot. Anytime I think of Mercedes…the waterworks start. I miss her so much.”

“Of course you do,” Archer said gruffly, looking away so his chest would stop feeling as if an elephant had just used it for an ottoman. “No one expects you to be a rock. But I need to know everything. I think it’s safe to say we’re not dealing with a bunch of small-town thugs. I’ve got a guy doing background on this Ruben character but the Oaktown Boyz are no stranger to FBI investigations. You’re in some serious shit, Rissa.”

“I know that,” she said, but she didn’t look as frightened as she did a minute ago. Instead, her brows were pulling into a scowl. “I asked you to keep this information to yourself. Who are you telling my business to?”

He held her stare. “Someone I trust,” he said, leaving it at that. If she wanted his help she had to let him do things his way. But he figured if he were in her shoes, he’d be touchy, too. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety,” he said quietly. His admission calmed the storm brewing in those dark eyes and she jerked a short nod.

“If you trust him…I guess I’ll trust you.”

Her statement caused an ache in his chest that was hard to ignore but he did a fair imitation at least on the surface.

“So how did you—the woman who craves stability and security above all else—” he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but he wasn’t sure he succeeded for she winced subtly at his comment “—get yourself into this kind of mess?”

She straightened and pushed stray strands of hair from eyes as dark as midnight, and a small sigh escaped. “If you think I don’t wonder that myself every moment since Mercedes died, you’re mistaken. I’d do anything to go back to my life.”

“What happened after you found Mercedes?” he asked again, hating the jealous spurt that spilled over onto his thoughts at her admission. Her work meant everything to her. The fact that she was no different from him should’ve comforted him in some way but it didn’t. It just made him feel rejected all over again.

“I called 911.”

“Okay and then what?”

“Well, I had to give a statement to the police,” she answered, but the information well trickled to a drip and she was holding on to something she didn’t want to share. “And then I went to get Jenna,” she finished, averting her eyes.

“And like I said before, I doubt he just handed her over. Plus, you’re sporting a nice bruise from someone’s fist. Let’s start with the easy stuff. Who hit you?”

Her hand went automatically to her lip and her mouth tightened.

“Was it Ruben?” Archer prompted, anger rising again at the thought of Marissa being manhandled by anyone. He forced the red-hot emotion down and focused as if she were just another victim in another case that he was assigned. “Who hit you?” he repeated, this time more forcefully.

“Not Ruben,” she answered.

“Then who?”

“His name was Manny…Ruben’s cousin.”

Archer stilled. “Was?”

Marissa swallowed hard, the telling gesture sending spikes of dread straight to his gut. He had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse in her world and by proxy his. “What do you mean? Was?”

She looked at him, her eyes misting but she didn’t elaborate.

He stared, not quite able to believe what his brain was telling him. “Marissa…did you kill him?”

“I don’t know,” she answered in a small voice, her fingers nervously fiddling with the beer label on the bottle. She met his gaze, imploring him to believe her, save her, hell probably anything aside from hauling her into the authorities, and he wanted to curse. “It was self-defense,” she started, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I swear it. He’d attacked me and there was a struggle…”

Archer had a hard time imagining how Marissa, who stood at a petite five feet four inches tall had managed to overpower a man who was likely taller and stronger unless she’d been prepared for a fight when she walked in there. “Did you shoot him?”

She gave him a wounded look. “You know I hate guns.”

“Okay…so what’d you use?”

Marissa hesitated, clearly wishing she could refuse an answer but she knew he wouldn’t quit, so she finally relented. “A knife.”

“Something small that you could easily conceal,” he surmised and she nodded. “So you knew when you walked into that place that it might come down to someone getting hurt.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t have a plan per se, I just wanted the knife for protection. And as it happened I ended up having to use it,” she added defensively.

He sighed. “Okay, so you killed this Manny guy…”

She blinked hard. “I don’t know…he was bleeding pretty badly…but maybe he lived. Ruben keeps a doctor on staff at the compound for his own personal uses.”

“Where’d you stick him?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she whispered. “I really didn’t. But I was scared and…”

“Where, Marissa?”

She glanced down at the warm beer in her hand. “In the stomach.”

“He’s dead.”

Her head shot up, her expression crumpling.

“Unless the doctor Ruben keeps around has a surgical suite at his disposal…the guy likely bled out.”

Marissa put her beer down and dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she silently wept. He looked away, not able to watch her pain without feeling it himself. But he was unable to stop from reaching out to her. He tried to ease her pain. “Don’t waste your tears on that scum,” he said. “I’m not saying what you did was okay but some people deserve what they get.”

What he didn’t mention was that he was privately glad to hear that the man who’d punched Marissa had taken a knife to the gut. Bleeding out from the stomach was a nasty way to die.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she protested, tears strangling her voice. “I just wanted to get out of there and when he hit me all I could think was ‘If I die what will happen to Jenna?’ She’s already lost so much. I couldn’t take the thought that she might lose everyone who would ever love her. Now that Mercedes is gone, I’m all she has.”

Knowing what he knew of Marissa, he sensed she was telling the truth, even if she was still skipping out on all the details.

“What was this Manny character doing with the baby?” he asked.

“He was the guard assigned to the nursery,” Marissa said, wiping at her eyes and trying to put herself back on track. “He knew I was her aunt so he let me enter. But something must’ve tipped him off that I wasn’t planning to just visit because he came back in to check and that’s when he saw me trying to climb out the window with Jenna and her diaper bag.”

“You were going to climb out a window with a baby?”

“The nursery was on the ground floor. It wasn’t like I was trying to jump from a great height. Anyway, he yanked me back inside and Jenna fell to the floor. She started screaming but before I could try to comfort her, he punched me in the face and I was seeing stars for a minute.” Marissa winced at the memory. “And then he kicked me in the ribs. Manny was always a sick bastard. He liked to inflict pain and he hated Mercedes, so when I heard he was guarding the nursery I knew I’d run out of time. I was afraid Manny might hurt Jenna because of who her mother was. But I never expected him to check on me and that was my mistake.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…” Her cheeks started to pink and she refused to meet his gaze. That in itself made him worry. Something she’d done was more shameful to her than stabbing a guy in the gut. She squeezed her eyes shut as she answered haltingly, “Because Manny knew I’d—I’d come there at, ah, Ruben’s request.”

“Hold on. Why would you do that if you thought Ruben killed your sister?”

Tears sparkled in her eyes as she cried, “Because I knew he wanted me and if I pretended to play along…then he would let his guard down long enough for me to get out of town with Jenna.”

She’d slept with him. That’s what she wasn’t saying. What she was dancing around, too ashamed to admit. She’d slept with Ruben to save her niece. He swore under his breath. He stood and walked a short distance before Marissa’s voice at his back made him stop.

“Don’t you dare judge me,” she said, her voice hot but wounded, as well. “I did what I had to do to save her life. You don’t know what kind of people Ruben deals with. She was a novelty to him. He wanted her because she was his blood, not because he loved her. He pressured Mercedes to get an abortion and when she refused, he beat her in the hopes that she would lose the baby. You can’t tell me that’s the kind of man who would make a good father!”

“So the first option you go with is to whore yourself to a man you despise?” he said, turning slowly, anger and pain creating a toxic mixture. He was rewarded with a sharp crack across his jaw. The slap echoed in the room, the only sound between them. He deserved it but he was too angry to acknowledge it. “Feel better?” he asked, his voice tight.

Her nostrils flared ever so slightly as she said, eyes boring into him, “My sister is dead. I’m on the run from a drug lord. And the one man I thought I could count on is looking at me like I’m trash. How do you think I feel?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, which was good because he didn’t have one for her. She pushed past him and ran up the stairs.




CHAPTER FIVE


MARISSA CUDDLED JENNA and tried to keep from sobbing. It was bad enough that she carried the stain of what she’d done like a brand on her soul but to have Archer look at her in that way…it was more than she could handle.

What had she expected? She wanted to rail at herself for being so naive and hopeful for his unquestioning support. She’d done nothing to garner that from him. She’d pushed him out of her life with the excuse that his job wasn’t conducive to the life she wanted. She’d wanted stability and quiet evenings; blessedly normal and suburban, perhaps a child or two, and a membership to the local gym. It was bad enough she had a sister who was constantly putting her on edge, she hadn’t wanted a husband who did that to her, as well.

And so she’d pushed him away when he’d been honest about not being able to give her those things because his job was dangerous and unpredictable and there might be nights that he didn’t come home at all. She hadn’t been able to deal with that future.

But where was she now? Far worse off. And alone with no one to face what was coming her way.

She shuddered and the shake of her body made Jenna twist to stare at her. She tried a smile but it felt more like a grimace and so she stopped. She kissed Jenna’s forehead. “I would do anything to keep you safe, mija,” she whispered. “Anything.”



ARCHER WANTED TO HIT something. His rage filled him like noxious smoke. Didn’t she realize that he would’ve helped her if he’d known how desperate she was? Did she think he was such a coldhearted bastard that he’d rather have her spread her legs for some thug than offer to have her back? Her wounded and broken expression haunted him, giving him the answer he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He tried to imagine that scenario with him playing the hero for her but he couldn’t follow through. She knew him better than he knew himself, apparently.

It shamed him to think he might not have helped. That he might have very well told her to solve her own problems and closed the door in her face. Hell, he didn’t know. And she hadn’t been able to take the chance, not with that little girl’s life on the line. He didn’t blame her. Even professionals who do that sort of thing—gamble with the lives of others—screw up and people die.

Just ask Kandy Kane. Oh, that’s right. She’s dead, a voice argued with himself, not giving him an inch to breathe.

The detail should’ve gone down by the numbers. Kandy was only supposed to draw out the perp—a sleazy middleman drug dealer named Vincent with connections to bigger fish—but he’d underestimated Vincent’s ability to get at Kandy. Kandy had been killed with a single gunshot wound to the head. In and out. Vincent was never caught and the assignment had failed. Two years of undercover work bled out with their only credible witness. He still saw her open, staring eyes in his imagination, stuck there no matter how many times he was forced to see the shrink.

He paced the kitchen, caught between wanting to apologize for judging Marissa and shouting at her for debasing herself.

Yet, even feeling all these things, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to console her. His gaze strayed to the upstairs guest bedroom, and he cursed himself as a coward for not being able to just go up there and say the words she needed to hear. I’m sorry.

Swearing softly, he disappeared into his study, desperate to find something to occupy his mind so he didn’t go and do or say something he’d regret—even more—than he already had.



MARISSA AWOKE TO A soft buzzing and realized her cell phone was vibrating. She frowned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes to grab the phone. Service here was sketchy, which was something she hadn’t minded. It helped to remain cut off from everything to keep from succumbing to the tempting idea of returning.

But as she picked up the phone, she saw a number she didn’t recognize. She let it go to voice mail and then hurriedly retrieved the message once it beeped softly.

The voice on the other end, soft and menacing, squeezed the air from her lungs.

“Mi corazón, where have you gone? No worries, I will find you. And when I do we shall have many fine hours together. You will beg. I promise. And when you can’t take any more, I will let you heal in the finest luxury so when I break you again it will be that much more sweet. See you soon.”

Her hand shook as she deleted the message, feeling dirty just for hearing his voice in her ear. Fear snaked its way through her bones and her teeth started to chatter. There was no escaping him. Ruben would find her and when he did…She shuddered, knowing he would do worse than kill her.

She hugged Jenna to her and was helpless to stop the sobs that followed.



THE NEXT MORNING ARCHER awoke earlier than usual with the intent to make amends in some way.

The only way he knew how under the circum-stances was to make breakfast. In this, at least, he had some talent.

He wasn’t the typical bachelor who couldn’t scramble an egg without help but then he wasn’t Chef Ramsay, either. He was somewhere in the middle.

He was halfway through the preparations when Marissa came downstairs, carrying Jenna. Her face, pale and drawn, was a direct contrast to the rosy, plump cheeks of her niece.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said brusquely, gesturing for her to sit at the bar. She did, watching him curiously with eyes that showed the strain even if she wouldn’t admit to it. “You okay?” he asked.

“I didn’t sleep well,” she murmured, looking away, which was good because he might’ve winced at her telling statement. He added another handful of cheese to the omelet he was preparing. If he remembered correctly, Marissa liked enough cheese to make it pretty gooey. She smoothed the curls away from the little girl’s forehead and pressed an absent kiss there. It was sweet and done without thought, just natural. Something told him that Marissa had been a constant in this child’s life long before her mother had exited.

“What was Mercedes like as a mother?” he asked, curious to see if his hunch played out.

Marissa smothered a yawn and shrugged. “The same as she was as a sister. Flighty. Impetuous.” She drew herself up and settled the baby more firmly on her lap, a brief smile lighting her lips. “At times generous.”

Realizing she might’ve painted a less than flattering picture, she added, “She loved Jenna with everything she had. But some things don’t come naturally to everyone. Just because women can give birth doesn’t mean they instinctively know how to mother.”

Archer would agree, with one small caveat. Marissa was a born mother. It was in the gentle touch of her hand on the baby’s forehead, the sweet curve of her smile when she looked at her niece, the fierce determination to protect at all costs.

Jenna blew a spit bubble, eliciting a genuine smile from Marissa as she wiped it away. Her expression dimmed as she said, “Mercedes tried to be a good mother. But it wasn’t until she finally realized that Ruben wasn’t a good man to have around a toddler, even if he was her father, that she really started to put Jenna before everything else. Before that…Jenna was…”

“A nuisance?” he supplied. Marissa responded with a faint rise in her cheeks and he knew she hated to admit such a thing about her sister. Speaking ill of the dead…it was just bad form, but facts were facts. He was starting to get a clearer picture of the situation. In her heart, Marissa didn’t look at Jenna as a niece…but a daughter. It made perfect sense. No wonder she acted like a mama bear, willing to do anything to save that baby. He set the plate, steaming with a gooey omelet, before her along with the cutlery she’d need. “Some people aren’t meant to be parents. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” he said softly. Marissa met his gaze and swallowed what was probably a lump of grief and guilt, and slowly nodded.

“It’s hard…I loved Mercedes so much but sometimes…I hated her for what she was putting Jenna through with that man. You don’t know what he’s like, Archer. He comes across as slick and sophisticated but inside he’s rotten.”

“His kind usually are,” he said, eyeing his own omelet without much of an appetite but he sectioned off a piece and ate it anyway. “You don’t rise to the top of any heap without skills.”

“Skills…interesting way of putting it,” she remarked in a soft, wry voice. She pushed at the omelet, probably no more interested in shoveling food down her gullet than he was but food was fuel, and it was never good to go into battle on an empty stomach.

“Eat up,” he instructed, and then in a move that surprised them both, winked. “Or you’ll hurt my feelings.”

At that she chuckled. “Can’t have that now, can we?” She took a bite and then smiled around the piece in her mouth as she clearly appreciated his handiwork. “No fair, distracting a woman with good food,” she said, cutting a small piece to blow on for Jenna. She tested it with her top lip and then fed it to the baby who accepted it without hesitation. The action tugged at a long-buried part of him that he tried to keep underground. When he’d been starry-eyed in love with her, he’d envisioned such scenes in his head. Her warmth and nurturing spirit called to his lonesome soul in a way that defied explaining. At least it had. He’d have thought after she broke off their engagement he’d have lost those feel-good feelings but no…they were still there, bothersome and confusing.

“Tell me what you know of the Oaktown Boyz gang,” he said.

She thought for a moment and then lifted her shoulder. “I don’t know much. I tried to steer clear,” she said.

Too bad Mercedes hadn’t been as smart. “What made Mercedes get the restraining order against Ruben? Had something happened?”





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