Intimate Enemies (23 page)

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, watching the hourglass spin. “Be there.” He so needed this background on Cassie before her whole
Do you hit women, Rio?
question ate a hole right through his stomach.

The Department of Homeland Security ICE logo came up on the secondary login screen, and Rio had to pass through two more secure areas to reach his files. He scanned for new additions.

Christo
appeared at the top of the list.

With a mix of anxiety and relief, he opened the main file to several subfiles: education, family, medical, associates, career, legal. Shit, where to start? He decided to start at the beginning and opened her family folder.

Cassie had been born in San Diego to a wealthy, older Caucasian father, Samuel Christo, and Alejandra, his housekeeper, whom he never married but to whom he left his fortune. He also gave Cassie his name. Alejandra returned to Baja to rejoin her family after Samuel died of cancer when Cassie was two.

The subject held little interest for Rio, since he’d gotten most of Cassie’s background from Alejandra herself in idle conversation. He clicked into the education section of Cassie’s folder. She’d left the estate at eighteen for college at UCSD. Graduated with honors in Psychology and stayed for medical school.

He enlarged a thumbnail photo. By the dates on her school records, she’d have been twenty-three in the graduation picture. Pretty but not beautiful. The woman in that photo wouldn’t have gotten more than a semi-interested glance from Rio. The beauty she’d become, the woman he knew now, could fascinate him for a lifetime.

He turned his attention to her medical studies. Another photo, two years later, deepened his frown. He brought them up side by side, and the contrast tightened his chest. The later image showed an entirely different person from the first—stern, serious, cold. Empty. In the second photo, her laughing eyes were dark, her sweet, almost innocent smile had transformed into a serious, flat line. The first photo showed a bright, happy, glowing college girl. The second showed… He couldn’t quite characterize the look. Withdrawal? Detachment? Hostility?

With dread tightening his muscles, he clicked into her medical history. He skimmed the contents, pausing on a hospital report of injury. His gaze drifted to the cause—
attempted rape
—and his lungs froze. His fingers gripped the edge of his computer.

“No.” He stared at the report, numb. Shaken. “No, no, no,” he mumbled, frantically clicking through the report pages in an attempt to disprove the written words, yet in the back of his mind, it made sense. A sick sort of sense.

He halted on a gallery of thumbnail photos. Photos taken at a hospital emergency room. He brought the first up to full size. A light blue hospital gown showed around Cassie’s shoulders. Her hair had been tied back, multiple, graphic images taken of massive bruising, lacerations, swelling. The damage was so extensive she would have been difficult to recognize if she hadn’t already been identified.

God almighty.
The violence unleashed on that beautiful face poisoned his blood.

From the photo, Cassie stared at him, one eye swollen shut, the other dark and flat. A tremor shivered down his arms.

Unable to look at those beautiful lips cut and bloodstained, he clicked through the rest of the images and grimaced at more photographs of individual body parts—bruises and abrasions to her arms, legs, stomach, back. Knife cuts to her shoulder, her jaw, her ribs. Her throat.

She had fought back. Like a fucking wildcat.

He turned his face up to the ceiling. Everything came together at once. His head felt full, his heart so heavy. It all made sense—her need for security within her own house, her timidity hidden by false confidence, her tendency to startle, her discomfort around men, her deep suspicion, her automatic distrust, her hatred of Saul’s manipulation.

Saul’s mention of boyfriends at the dinner table, or maybe that specific boyfriend, had triggered something for her. And when she’d lashed out, Rio had lost his mind like an asylum escapee.

“Shit.”

He clicked into her associations file. Recognized the name Natalie, the woman she’d been talking to on the phone. Not only was she an attorney, but her husband was a cop. A detective with the San Diego police in Special Investigations.

“Good Lord,” he muttered.

At least he wasn’t in Criminal Intelligence, where the detectives were in constant contact with Mexican officials regarding hot criminal activity within Mexico. While most cops deeply respected the confidentiality restrictions around current operations and undercover personnel, they were human. And cops did favors for other cops. And family. And friends.

Luckily, no information Mike got through Special Crimes would hurt Rio.

He skimmed names of coworkers, college roommates, club members, and friends until he reached relationships. The most recent listed a Blake Sharpe. A three-week relationship…three years prior?

Rio scrolled up and down the page looking for more information. It couldn’t be right. She was just too beautiful, too smart, too magnetic, too the-whole-awesome-package to have been uninvolved for three years. Though, there was that mouthy side…

“Or…Blake. I think that was it.”

Saul’s words at the dinner table drifted through his mind. The hair on the back of Rio’s neck prickled. Then, his mind shot back to his conversation with Saul in his office just before dinner.

“Had things gone the way I’d planned…”

Pieces slid together in Rio’s mind. Gooseflesh rose across his arms and chest.

“Jesus Christ.” Rio clicked on Sharpe’s name, which brought up his basic information. And in block red print beneath his name read: INCARCERATED.

He clapped a hand to his forehead, sickness bottoming out in his stomach. “
Fuck
.”

His eyes flicked to the words PAROLE DENIED below, with a date—just days before—stamped next to it. The same date Cassie had shown up at the estate. He clicked on the link and read over the California Department of Corrections report.

Cassie had appeared before the parole board the same day. She’d contested his release.

Which could only mean…

He checked Cassie’s legal file, maneuvered to the police report related to her attempted rape, scanned frantically, and found
Suspect: Blake James Sharpe
.

Rio’s muscles released all their ratcheted tension, and he sank into the sofa while rage burned a slow path through his body until he was shaking.

Fourteen

Cassie’s heart tapped an annoying rhythm against her breastbone as she stood outside Rio’s door. One low light burned in the corner of his small living room, and she had no doubt he was still awake. And still pissed.

She felt so embarrassed. So ashamed. So damn foolish.

And frightened. Scared she’d finally done it; finally chased Rio off. Just like she chased off every man who had a spark of possibility over the last few years. Oh, sure, she flirted. Even dated. But it never went further. The minute a man wanted more, she’d immediately cut ties, unable to find not only trust but interest.

For the first time, she didn’t want to close off. She didn’t want to put up a wall between herself and Rio. But it might already be too late. And if it was, she wouldn’t blame him. Her cheeks burned at the memory of her irrational behavior. Her heart filled with his love for his family, yet ached for the tragic loss of his sister. If she hadn’t heard it from Caesar first, if she hadn’t seen so much real grief in the emergency room and recognized it on Rio’s face tonight, she would have assumed it another attempt to manipulate her.

That realization had been a wakeup call.

She knew she was jaded; it came with the territory—her job, her life with Saul, the attack. But so jaded she could never trust again? Could never love again? She’d never thought so, until tonight. And she refused to let Sharpe and Saul take those pleasures away from her. She was better than that. Stronger than that.

The warm night wind played with the fabric of the wispy black rayon beach cover she’d tossed over sweet lingerie. It draped seductively over her curves, had thin shoulder straps, a deep vee at her chest, and a single, easy-release tie. She’d definitely prepared for this visit. At least on the outside. On the inside…that was still a work in progress.

Cassie stared at the heavy wooden door and dragged her wringing hands apart to smooth them over the soft fabric.

“One step at a time,” she whispered. “Freaking fix things first, idiot.”

She drew in a breath and knocked. Her hands automatically returned to tangled, wringing fingers, and she couldn’t pull them apart before Rio opened the door.

Her heart tightened with apprehension, skipped with hope. One look at his face, and her stomach dropped with dread. Still pissed. And clearly disturbed. She knew how hard it was to close the door on those horrible memories once it had been opened. Knowing she’d been the one to break that seal on Rio’s demons flooded Cassie with guilt.

“You’re the last person I expected to see tonight.” He looked over her shoulder as if he wasn’t interested in her presence. “What do you need, Cass?”

“I need to apologize,” she said. “Are you going to make me do it on your porch?”

He dropped his gaze to the stone at their bare feet and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt. He looked rugged and carelessly sexy. “It’s been a long, rough day. I don’t want to fight. Again.”

“Okay. I guess I deserve this. I’ll just say what I came to say, then.” Disappointment weighted down her shoulders. “You were right; I was completely out of line. And you were also right about me trying to get you to hit me.” That brought his gaze up. “But not because I like it; because I was testing you. Not consciously. I wasn’t planning on testing you. But subconsciously, yes. Saul brought up some bad memories for me, and I…needed to know—for sure—that no matter how far I pushed you, no matter what I did or said, I’d be safe with you.”

And now that she’d said it out loud, she realized how incredibly screwed up she still was even after she’d escaped rape, put her attacker behind bars, and been through years of therapy.

She threaded her fingers, feeling more defeated than victorious. Rio’s disinterest was probably better for both of them.

“I feel horrible that I touched such a painful place for you. If I’d known…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter; I shouldn’t have done it in the first place. That’s…what I came to say.”

She stared at his chest and held her breath. Promised herself she’d wait three seconds before she turned to leave.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Four one-thousand.

Five one-thousand.

“You never answered my question,” Rio finally said. “
Do
you have a boyfriend…now?”

The air left her lungs on a sigh, and a fresh wave of embarrassment surged. She could have avoided this whole mess with just a simple answer to his original question. “No.”

When he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, she added, “I, um…haven’t had one in a long time and…honestly…”—fear pinched her stomach—“I haven’t had many.”

Still nothing. Aggravation edged out her relief. She looked around the dark night. Heaved a breath. Finally met his eyes. “Are you really going to make me stand out here to talk about this?”

“What happened at the clinic today?”

Her shoulders slumped. She should have known she couldn’t simply show up and end up in his bed two minutes later.

Irritation burned, and she let it flare in her eyes when she met his again. “Take a wild guess, Rio.”

“Nina.”

“Yes. Nina. There are consequences to a lousy reputation. And not all of those will keep you or others safe.” She crossed her arms. “And now I’m pissed. You ass. I can’t even apologize without getting pissed at you.”

He smiled. Just a little.

“Oh my God.” A mix of humor and aggravation burned in her chest. “Don’t you
even.
”

His grin grew wide, and her heart stretched in spite of her irritation. He reached out, grabbed one of her forearms still crossed tight at her chest, and pulled her toward the door. “Since you don’t have a boyfriend, I guess you can come inside.”

“Maybe I don’t want to come in anymore.” She resisted just enough to make him put some effort into getting her over the threshold.

Cassie’s gaze skipped over the familiar space—really just a tiny one-bedroom cottage, but with the amenities of a five-star hotel. Marble, stainless steel, leather. High ceilings, lots of windows. Flat-screen television, surround-sound stereo, minibar, granite kitchen and bathroom.

Rio had set up a weight system in one corner of the small living room—which explained all those muscles she’d been dreaming about. A silver laptop sat open on the coffee table, its screen dark. The room had a soft glow from the single low light in the corner.

He closed the door, ran both hands over her upper arms, his gaze on the exposed skin of her chest. “I was pretty out of line too.”

His hands curved over her shoulders; one slipped around her nape, the other caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Cassie’s frustration transitioned into that fiery want she’d come with. Only on a whole different, deeper level. She unfolded her arms and curled her hands into the cotton of his T-shirt.

“What happened to my sister”—he shook his head—“I’ve never quite let it go. I’m overly sensitive. I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

She leaned in, pushed up, and pressed her lips to his. Hadn’t planned to, just needed to. And now that they were there, a whole lot of other need exploded in the foreground.

Rio hummed in pleasure. His eyes fell closed a second before Cassie’s did. His hand tightened on her neck, drawing her into him. His mouth opened and took hers with all that amazing heat and skill.

Within ten seconds, Rio had her body molded to his, controlling her hips with an arm low on her back, controlling her mouth with the hand at her neck. Within twenty, Cassie’s head was swimming, her body straining.