Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce) (34 page)

If Emilio was indeed here, the only way to end this was to face him head on. Emerging from her hiding spot, she climbed the hill, heading for the front gate. There she rang the bell. If nothing else, she could distract Emilio from whatever he might be doing to Cooper.

The house sat quiet, the large windows empty. No one answered her summons, and soon she started tapping her foot and ringing the buzzer over and over again.

Nothing happened. Frustration took over. She tried the gates but they were locked. The only way in was up and over.

She was strong but not strong enough to haul herself up the ten-feet of iron gate with only one hand. Still, she gave it a try, only to land with her butt on the ground.

The clouds overhead began dropping rain. Standing up, she dusted herself off, and tried to remember the backyard area. More gates, a pool and a large patio. But maybe she could find an easier way in, a service entrance or something. Maybe even find Cooper was safe and sound and simply on his way back to tell her Emilio wasn’t there.

A crash of thunder rumbled over the hills. Celina headed off the way Cooper had disappeared, fighting off the tangle of shrubs and bushes just as the storm finally cut loose.

Chapter Thirty-nine

The backyard was equipped for hosting large parties. A private courtyard looked out over the hills and olive trees. The patio stretched for yards on either side of the main house, an infinity pool looking out over the water to the west. Two large stone fireplaces and an outdoor kitchen flanked the east. As Celina snuck around the outside gate, she saw a man sitting under the covered terrace in a chair facing the hills. He was spinning a golf club in mindless circles in his hand. Emilio.

“Welcome,” he said without turning to look at her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Of course he had. Smart ass. Well, she could smart-ass, too. “I rang the bell. Why didn’t you answer?”

He stood slowly, stretching, and keeping his back to her as he watched the rain pour down. He was dressed in an expensive suit and his favorite pair of Gucci shoes—the same ones he’d worn the night she’d arrested him.

He appeared unarmed, except for the golf club—a prized driver he’d had imported from Ireland while she was ‘dating’ him. “I was otherwise preoccupied. Practicing my swing, you see. Prison doesn’t allow for such luxuries.”

“And here I figured you were waiting for Valquis to return with me in tow.”

“I assumed he would be with you.” Finally, he faced her, letting his eyes scan the area behind her and to each side. Looking for his second-in-command, or perhaps he thought she’d brought other agents?

As usual, he sported a goatee and a confident smirk. “But it seems you have escaped my lieutenant.”

“I did more than escape him,” she said through the iron bars of the gate. “I shot him three times in the back, just like he deserved. He’s dead.”

Emilio’s dark eyebrows rose half an inch. “You’re lying.”

Celina raised her hands and motioned around them. “Do you see him anywhere?”

There was a moment of silence. “And now you’ve come for me?”

Where was Cooper? She prayed he wasn’t on the other side of the compound.
Charge forward and do the unexpected.
Keep him off guard.
“I’ve come to surrender.”

“Surrender?” he laughed.

His whole pursuit had been psychological. Like a commander of an army, he’d done the strategizing and sent his soldier, Valquis, to do the physical dirty work and terrorize her. Now it was her turn to get into his psyche.

Play the part.
She gripped the bars, rested her forehead against them. Took a deep breath and sighed as if in resignation. Why not give him what he’d wanted all along—to destroy her life, like she’d done to him?

“You’ve taken everything from me, Emilio. Hurt and killed people I care about. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt because of me. I just want this over, so I’m here, alone. To surrender.”

He stayed put, eyeing her with suspicion. He wouldn’t take the bait.

She held his gaze, forcing herself to appear sincere.

Still he didn’t react. Didn’t say a word. Testing her.

The predator waiting for his prey to make the next move so he could pounce. Waiting…waiting…waiting…

Damn. She held steady even though her pulse was triple-timing it. Now what?

Cooper and Emilio were diametric opposites, but there was one thing they had in common. One little chink in their armors she could exploit. She hadn’t done it intentionally with Cooper in Des Moines—she’d thought he was already gone when she’d let herself cry on the apartment stairs—but the tears had worked anyway. And now she bet she could use them against Emilio with equal success.

Forcing tears would kill her chances, though. She needed real emotions to carry this off.

Thunder boomed overhead. The rain drenched her.

Sadness and dismay weren’t hard to dig up. She was exhausted, in pain, and grieving for all the lives damaged and destroyed by the man in front of her. Ronni, Forester, the others who’d been hurt and killed…the thought of each one brought the ever-present raw, aching grief to the surface.

Her eyes burned with unspent tears. She drew on the pain; let a few tears slip down her cheeks, mixing with the rain on her face. “My friends are gone. My career ruined. Working for the FBI was my dream, the only thing I ever wanted. Now, they’ve kicked me out.” A lie, yes, but she hoped he didn’t know otherwise. “Killing Petero Valquis won’t change that. My professional and personal lives are a complete disaster. I have nothing left.”

Sliding down the bars, she acted like a woman barely holding on. “Do what you want with me, Emilio. I’m a failure. A loser. I have no fight left.”

Hugging her knees to her chest, she turned so her back was to him. As she let herself cry softly—overdoing the dramatics would only backfire—she heard the faint sound of his leather shoes on the wet patio. A moment later, he stood on the other side of the iron bars hovering over her. “How does it feel? To have your life ruined? The empire you built with your own hands, destroyed?”

Come on, Cooper. Where are you?
If she kept Emilio distracted long enough, Cooper and/or the cops Bobby was calling in would show. Just a few more minutes…

She hitched her breath, fake crying a bit more and letting her body language suggest she truly had nothing left. She was weak, broken.

At his mercy.

The predator sensed his advantage. The next thing she knew, he reached through the bars, grabbed a section of her wet hair and yanked her head back. The bars bonged as her skull smacked against them.

His voice was low but self-assured as he murmured in her ear through the gate. “You are mine, bitch. All mine.”

“I don’t think so,” a familiar voice said from behind Emilio.

Emilio whipped around, releasing her at the same time. The sudden shift made Celina pitch forward, but not before she saw Cooper take a swing at Emilio’s head with the golf club.

There was the sickening sound of crunching bone as the club connected with Emilio’s nose. He cried out, staggered against the bars. Celina jumped up, wrenching his right hand through the bar spacing and pinning it behind him. Cooper took a second swing, this one at Emilio’s kneecaps. Jammed against the gate, blood pouring from his nose over his wet silk suit, the cartel leader cried out again, cursing both of them.

Celina didn’t release his arm, even as he sank to the ground, howling over his broken kneecaps. If anything, she pinioned it tighter. No way was she letting go. “Shoot him,” she told Cooper.

A police siren echoed in the valley. A second one joined it. Cooper, soaked and smiling, acted like he was taking a practice swing at Emilio’s head. “Not necessary.”

“It is
too
necessary. Shoot him.”

“Killing him is too easy. He needs to suffer.”

“Exactly. Start with his balls and work your way up.”

“In prison. He’s got a death row stint waiting for him.”

Emilio stirred, tried tugging away from her. His voice sounded muffled, thanks to his broken nose. “I never committed murder.”

Cooper took another practice swing. “We have your prints on the knife used to carve up Chief Forester, Londano, as well as all the lovely conspiracies to commit murder charges on multiple Federal agents. The death penalty is definitely on the menu.”

Celina’s arm was shaking, trying to hold Emilio in place, even though she was sure he couldn’t walk with two broken kneecaps. Didn’t stop him from lunging at Cooper. “You’re lying.”

Cooper winked at her, wrestled Londano over onto his stomach, and handcuffed him. Patted him on the back of the head. “A word of advice. Stay in prison this time. You ever set foot out in the free world again I
will
shoot you. Right between the eyes.”

Stepping over Emilio’s body, Cooper sidled up to the gate.

“How did you get in?” she asked.

“Climbed the fence. How else?”

“I tried that. One-handed doesn’t work.”

“Nice act with Londano. I saw the whole thing. You certainly know how to use your feminine wiles against unsuspecting men.”

She stood and smiled up at him. “They do tend to work better than the tough federal agent act. I haven’t quite gotten that one down, but I’m getting better.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment. “I love you, Celina.”

She had to grip the gate bars to keep her knees from buckling. “Finally giving in, are you?”

“Yeah.” He reached through and touched her face with his fingers. “I’m giving in. You make me loco, but I’ve never wanted a woman more than I want you.”

Police cars were pulling in the drive now. The squawk of radios mingling with the sirens.

Kissing Cooper through the bars wasn’t easy, but she’d never signed up for easy. His lips were wet from the rain, the angle of their heads all wrong. He still managed to capture her mouth perfectly, teasing and seducing her to the point she nearly climbed the gate, regardless of her immobile hand, and attacked him right there in front of Emilio and the officers pouring onto the scene.

“Hands up!” one of the officers called.

Celina and Cooper both raised their hands, but didn’t stop kissing.

“DEA,” Cooper said around her mouth.

She giggled, broke away from his lips. “And I’m FBI. We’re on the Southern Cal violent crimes taskforce.”

Cooper flashed his badge, appeasing the officers, and went to find the security panel to open the gates.

The policeman nearest Celina pointed a stubby finger at her. “Hey, ain’t you that gal who was on the front of
Time
magazine a while ago? The new face of the FBI?”

Celina brushed wet hair from her eyes, and stared at Emilio lying on the ground. The
Time
magazine article seemed like a lifetime ago. She wasn’t that woman any more. She wasn’t that agent. “You must have me confused with someone else,” she said. “That agent is a rookie. I’m not.”

Chapter Forty

Carlsbad Beach

Two days later

Cooper stood near the rock outcropping, watching the familiar curvy form of a certain Fed jog the beach. Her dark hair was pulled high in a ponytail, and her gait was purposeful. She’d had surgery on her hand hours after arresting Londano for a second time and the prognosis was good. Given time, a bunch of physical therapy, and a return to gun training exercises, the accuracy in her right hand would return to one hundred percent.

Forester’s body had been released and flown home to Des Moines. His funeral was scheduled for the following Monday, and Celina and Cooper had already booked plane tickets so they could attend.

Ronni Punta was out of the hospital, and Mary, the safe house agent, had already returned to work. Dawn McBroom was still hospitalized, but improving daily. Agent Quarters and Lana Custov were also still in the hospital. Pending Celina’s testimony, Lana would be facing a full investigation and criminal charges for her actions once she’d recovered.

Celina caught sight of him waiting for her and slowed, a curious look on her face. She was sweating and out of breath, but her color was normal, and the cloud that had hung over her for the past week had lifted.

She came to a stop, sized up his clean shirt, nice jeans, and shaved jawline. “What is that in your hands?”

“Starbucks. Iced coffees.”

“Thought you didn’t do Starbucks.”

“I don’t drink Mountain Dew, either, but for you?” He shrugged and handed her one of the paper cups. “If it makes you happy, I’ll concede once in a while.”

She took the cup and he clinked his against it, giving her a smile. She eyed him, taking a healthy swig. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you seem…happy. Did Londano slip on a bar of soap in prison and break his neck or something?”

“What? I can’t be happy watching my girlfriend jog down the beach on a beautiful California morning?”

“You’re The Beast. You don’t do Starbucks. You don’t do happy. Your words, not mine.”