Crossfire Christmas (17 page)

There were no more words. Only touches and kisses, moans of need and gasps of pleasure. The heat detonated inside her, and Teresa held on tight, riding the shock waves of pleasure. She held on tighter as Charlie’s fingers tangled in her hair, and he groaned with the power of his own release.

Afterward, they drifted off to sleep, still cradled in each other’s arms. Her dark hair and the warmth of Charlie’s body draped possessively around hers were the only cover she needed.

* * *

S
OMETIME
LATER
IN
the night, Nash awoke to find a petite package of decadent curves spooned against his chest. When he stroked her long, soft hair down her back, Teresa shivered against him, stirring the interest of his body again.

When he looked down, he found her beautiful dark eyes open, watching him. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You were sleeping pretty hard.”

“Always taking care of me, hmm?”

Her fingers drew tantalizing little designs across his chest. “That was the deal, right? I take care of you, and you live long enough to catch the bad guys?” Her gaze shuttered and dropped to the middle of his chest. Her hands stilled. “I think I’m in love with you, Charlie Nash.”

His heart swelled at her softly spoken admission, spreading light into his dark world, filling him with a humility and hope he had no business feeling.

Similar words danced across his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to say them. This woman was too good, too sweet, too important for him to make her any promises he couldn’t keep.

Instead he captured her chin between his thumb and finger and tipped her face back up to his. “Teresa...”

Her mouth softened with a beautifully serene smile and she nodded, as if she understood the things he couldn’t say. And then she stretched up against his eagerly attentive body and kissed him. This he could do. This he could give her.

Making love the second time was a little more urgent, a little more familiar, a little more poignant. When he buried himself inside her, the lights exploded behind his eyes, and her slick body collapsed on top of his, leaving Nash utterly exhausted. He felt completely happy and strangely bereft.

His life had never been this good, yet it had never been this complicated, either. The rational side of his brain told him that this connection he felt to Teresa was all an illusion, a cosmic lining up of a sexy woman, a dangerous situation, close quarters and a man who might not have many tomorrows.

But the woman in his bed was real. Her bravery and stubbornness and compassion were all real. In his heart, something was telling him that these feelings he had for her were just as real. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that this reality could last. He’d lost too much in his life—his parents, his friends, his faith that there would always be someone who had his back, the security of believing there would be a tomorrow.

But this woman made him believe. For now. For tonight.

If he died tomorrow, he’d die a happy man.

And if he survived this hell and lived to be a hundred, he’d never regret this one perfect night he’d spent with Teresa Rodriguez in his arms.

* * *

N
ASH
WAS
SNORING
contentedly beneath the covers when Teresa stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed. Although her body was a little tired from the extra exercise and fewer hours of sleep she’d gotten last night, she suspected she still had more energy than a man who’d been shot twice less than a week ago.

Besides, she’d heard the empty grumblings in Nash’s stomach while he slept. Her own tummy was hungry for breakfast. Making sure the patient ate regularly and kept up his strength was part of a nurse’s job, too.

Besides, if she stayed cocooned in bed with Nash much longer, her foolish heart might begin to believe the passion and tenderness they’d shared could last beyond the terms of the partnership they’d made. Nash hadn’t made her any promises. And though she had no doubt that the man truly cared for her on some level, she wasn’t going to ask for any. There were any number of reasons why a relationship between them wouldn’t work—the simplest being that they lived in two different cities, the most difficult being that a drug cartel wanted him dead.

So for now, she’d tuck her heart away and take care of the practicalities that had been her responsibility from the moment they’d met.

After bundling up in her coat and pulling her billfold from her bag, she crossed over to the bed and smiled down at the familiar tawny stubble shading Nash’s jaw. She caught her ponytail behind her neck and leaned down to press a kiss to the crooked line of his mouth.

One golden eye popped open, then the other. He smiled. “Morning, darlin’.”

“Good morning, Charlie.”

The smile vanished and he sighed in disappointment. “You have all your clothes on.”

Teresa laughed and dodged away when he reached for her. “I’m hungry and we’re out of food. I’m going down to the office to see if there’s anything breakfastlike in the vending machines there.”

The sheet and blanket pooled around his hips as he sat up. He gently stretched some of the stiffness from his left shoulder and nodded toward the window. Nakedness aside, he sternly reminded her of the safety precautions that had become ingrained in her during these past few days together. “Make sure you check the parking lot before you go out. Account for all the cars we saw last night. If there are any extras, you’ll have to wait a few minutes for me to go with you.”

Determined to allow him the rest he needed, Teresa pulled aside the dusty drape and peeked out. “The two work trucks are gone, and it looks like Mr. Moscatelli is back. Otherwise, they’re the same.”

Nash nodded his approval, but he wasn’t ready to quit the protection job. He reached for his jeans and shorts at the foot of the bed. “All right. Straight there and straight back. If you’re gone too long—”

“You’ll come looking for me. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Long enough for you to get dressed.”

Teresa opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, quickly closing the door behind her. The air felt particularly brisk and damp this morning. Shivering almost at once, she pulled up her hood and stuffed her hands into her pockets. It was probably the shock of the cold after spending such a toasty night in bed that made the wintry morning feel particularly harsh. Another reason not to tarry any longer on her errand than necessary.

She hurried her steps in front of building A, checking windows the way she’d seen Nash do. But there was no movement to any of the curtains. No curious eyes on her. The traffic on the street looked like any other morning in the city. Drivers were focused on getting to work, not slowing down for a look at the Seaside’s cheesy decor.

A blast of heat and the noisy chatter of the morning news on TV welcomed her into the motel office. Although there was no one sitting behind the counter at the desk, the television and flask were certain signs that Mr. Moscatelli had paid whatever fine or bail was asked of him, and the police had allowed him to return to work at the family business. The door to the laundry-and-storage room behind the counter stood slightly ajar. Maybe he was taking a break from his television shows and doing a load of laundry.

Breathing easier at the lack of company, Teresa pulled out her billfold and inspected the two vending machines set up in the nook beside the ice machine. Her choices were limited and the prices were steep, but she inserted her cash and got a couple of granola bars and bottles of orange juice for a relatively nutritious, if not necessarily filling, meal.

She was stuffing the bottles of OJ into her pockets when she heard the gravelly voice behind her. “That’s her. She’s the one in 6A.”

She turned to see Mr. Moscatelli stepping out of the laundry room. A younger man, dressed in a suit and a long winter coat, slipped some cash into the old man’s hand as he stepped out around him. Wariness turned to surprise, then confusion, then to guarded fear.

The man in the car yesterday, the obnoxious drunk from the Shamrock Bar, perfectly sober now, walked to the end of the counter.

Teresa eyed the distance to the door as the man approached. “You. Are you following me? Who are you?”

He paused at the counter to stuff his hands into his pockets. He pulled one back out but left the other in his slacks. His charming smile and delay in answering were altogether creepy. He flipped open a wallet she recognized, dark brown and narrow, like the one Nash carried. Like the ones Cruz Moreno and Jesse Puente had both shown her.

Oh, no.

His wallet held a badge he clipped onto the chest pocket of his coat.
The mole.
“Good morning, Mrs. Smith. Or should I say Miss Rodriguez? You’ve led me and my friends on quite the merry chase. But I believe you are the key to getting what I want.”

What was in the other hand, a gun? She drifted toward the door. “How do you know my name?”

“Police reports. An introduction at the Shamrock. A chat with one of my associates at the hospital.”

How long had she been gone? One minute? Two? Five? How long before Nash got worried and came storming in here to find her? How long before he walked straight into a trap? She had to warn him.

“I forget my manners. Allow me to introduce myself.” He tapped his badge and took a step forward. “I work for the Drug Enforcement Administration out of Houston, Texas. I’m Agent Tommy Delvecchio.”

Nash’s dead friend?

The young man he’d wept for?

He
was the traitor?

“You’re dead.”

Agent Delvecchio grinned. “A bladder of blood and enough crossfire to keep Nash from checking my vital signs? Not so much. Of course, this whole week would have been much easier if the men who hired me had just done their job and killed him in the first place.”

It would destroy Nash to learn who had betrayed him and his men. One of his own team. Part of his family.

But she wouldn’t let him die.

She was inches from the door now. Closer to escape than to the man advancing on her.

And then she heard the squealing of tires on the pavement and glanced out to see a black SUV jumping the curb and speeding into the motel parking lot.

Tommy Delvecchio pulled his left hand from his pocket, showing her the cell phone he’d used to send one of his cartel buddies a text.

“Six-A,” Tommy deadpanned.

Teresa hurled the two bottles at his head, forcing him to duck. She shoved open the door as a second SUV veered around the corner into the driveway. She ran across the slick asphalt, praying, hoping.

“Nash! Nash!”

* * *

T
HE
HAIRS
ON
the back of Nash’s neck stood on end. Teresa had been gone too long. He fastened the buckle on his belt, securing the Smith & Wesson at his side, and reached for his shirt. If she wasn’t back here before he got his coat on, then he was marching down to the office, throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her back to the secure confines—

The sound of speeding tires screaming for traction on the snowy asphalt turned his blood to ice.

He was already running to his bag for backup when he heard Teresa shouting his name. “Nash! Nash!”

He whipped aside the drapes and swore. Teresa was charging across the parking lot. A black SUV was barreling toward the building from the other direction.

Nash jammed the shells into his shotgun and threw open the door. He braced the butt of the gun against his good shoulder and took aim. “Get down!”

Boom!
The recoil jolted through him, but he’d hit the front tire.

“Nash!”

He saw a blur of turquoise coat in his side vision as he aimed at the fishtailing car and pulled the second trigger. “Stay back!”

With the vehicle disabled, the driver shot to hell and the passenger clinging to whatever he could grab, the big SUV flipped, crashing into the fence around the pool and knocking over a palm tree. Nash dropped the shotgun and drew his sidearm, cradling the pistol between his hands and advancing out the door as a second SUV braked to a stop in front of the office.

“Teresa?”

“Charlie?”

Her strangled gulp squeezed his heart in an iron fist.

He turned and saw the impossible.

His aim went instinctively toward the movement at the corner of the building. A man’s arm, cinched around Teresa’s neck. A gun pointed to her head.

For a split second, his brain refused to work. He lowered his gun from the shield Teresa created, raised it again to the man who held her captive. “Tommy?”

The eager young agent who’d been so pleased with his idea for helping a field veteran like him was still looking pretty pleased with himself. But he didn’t look young or naive as he pushed the barrel of his Glock against Teresa’s temple and backed up with his prisoner to the second SUV. “You and I will talk later, Nash.”

Nash followed them a step, glanced down at the trusting hope in Teresa’s dark eyes and stopped. An unaccustomed fear sucker punched him, and anger raised bile in his throat. “Let her go.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll come quietly if I do.” The driver of the SUV pushed the door open behind Tommy. Teresa tugged at his arm around her neck, but neither it nor the gun was budging. “You’re the one Berto wants. You’ve been so much trouble that he’s here in town to finish the job himself.”

Nash didn’t know if he was that good a shot with one bum arm to trust that he could take out that rat bastard without hitting Teresa. “If you hurt her—”

The wail of sirens sounded in the distance. Someone must have called in the speeding cars and gunfire.

Tommy had reached the car with Teresa. Nash’s gaze darted down to Teresa.
I love you, Peewee.
“I will protect you,” he vowed.

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Tommy laughed and shoved her inside, climbing in behind her. “Gotta go.”

“I’m comin’ for you, Tommy.” The car door slammed shut, and Nash charged. But the driver floored it, racing forward. Nash dove into a snowdrift to avoid getting hit. The big SUV churned up slush and ice as it made a big U-turn around the pool. Nash got to his feet and chased after it, getting off a couple of low shots at its rear tires before it reached the street and careened into traffic.