Mercy Killing (Affairs of State Book 1) (20 page)

“I see.” He touched her lips with his. Once. Twice. Pleasure jettisoned through her.

She whimpered. She ached for him. And he probably knew it. He just felt too damn good!

“But,” he continued, “why should two people need to
like
each other to indulge in an act of passion? It’s true, I don’t like you, Mrs. Davis, because I don’t understand you. But that has little to do with what excites a man.” He smiled, and her head spun at the potent kick his words gave her. “Any man who claims to understand his women is a fool.”

She swallowed. “Please, let me go.” She didn’t understand how, at the same time, she could both want and fear the same thing—
him
.

“Why should I release you?” If anything, his arms tightened around her. “Tell me honestly. Is it because you deeply love your husband and wish to honor your marriage vows?”

She refused to lie about her relationship with Peter. She hadn’t even had the time or presence of mind to ask herself why she’d stay even one more day with a man who had lied to and cheated on her.

“You are attracted to me,” Sebastian stated when she didn’t answer.

“Being attracted to someone doesn’t mean a person is compelled to have sex with them.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He tilted his head to one side, observing his prisoner. “You know, Mercy—” His accent made her name sound exotic and fluid, like sun-warmed honey. “—I believe you are a brave woman.”

“Oh?” She tried pulling back from him again, but his grip remained firm. “Why is that?”

“Because you must have heard the gossip.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed out loud, startling her. His eyes, volcanic sparks in pockets of blue-black lava, latched onto hers. “You are a terrible liar, Mrs. Davis. Of course you’ve heard. Your consulate prepares its people well. Americans stick together, warn each other about the dangers of their foreign homes: 'Don’t take the little green taxis.’ ‘Don’t wander into the Chapultapec slums.’ ‘Never walk the city alone if you are female.’ And, ‘Watch out for men like Sebastian Hidalgo.'
I am a dangerous man, no?”

“So they say,” she said stiffly and struggled to see how far she could loosen his hold. If she could manage to buy a few inches of space, she might aim an effective kick where it would at least temporarily incapacitate him. Not that this would be wise when he had scores of men capable of doing far more damage to her before she could escape his property. “Do you suppose you could let go of me now that you’ve made your point?”

This seemed to further entertain him. “If you were able to convince me that you really wanted to be released, I would do so.”

“How about I show you what a swimmer’s kick to the
cojones
feels like?”

His smile broadened. Then he kissed her, full and hard on the mouth.

Mercy wrenched her fists up between their bodies, prepared to bash him in the face as soon as he gave her room. To hell with his private militia!

But, by the time he did begin to pull away, the impulse to fight him took a left turn toward lust.

She kissed him back. With fervor. With heat, and passion, and need.

The heat of their kiss seared the back of her throat and set her knees wobbling. She opened her lips, tasted the musky flavor of an outdoorsman. Earth, horse flesh, oiled leather and fresh air, with an undercurrent of rich red wine that he must have been sipping while waiting in the dark room for her. Knowing, by some mysterious instinct, that she
would
come to him. Not to be with him like this, but to discover something he was hiding.

It struck her, in that instant, that he wouldn’t willingly let her see his secrets. He would, however, let her touch him. Because he desired her. And from the nicely stretched condition of his pants front rubbing against her stomach, she assumed he’d been thinking about her for a good long while before she walked into his ambush.

Mercy tilted her head back, protest no longer on her mind. Their eyes met and held. She’d never wanted a man inside of her this much. Never! And yet…

“I have to go,” she rasped.

This time when she tried to move away from him, he let her. “You don't want to see my art collection?” he teased.

She backed toward the hallway door, no longer obligated to retrace her more strenuous path across a string of balconies and back to her own room. “I think I’d better not look at
anything
of yours.”

His laughter rang out in the silent room. It sounded genuine, but didn’t last long. Eyes darkening, he glared at her as she felt around behind her for the doorknob. “If it weren't for my daughter, I’d order my men to—”

“Shoot me?”

He let out a long breath. “Escort you off my property this minute. But Maria expects to spend tomorrow with you, and I won't have her disappointed.”

“Fine, I’ll leave after we paint tomorrow.” Her fumbling paid off and she finally got the door open.

“Paint to your heart’s content. This room will be locked and guarded. If you try to break in again—” he shrugged “—that would be a most unhealthy decision.”

24

“Papa left before I woke up,” Maria informed Mercy, with a little sigh. They sat at a glass-topped table under a striped umbrella on the patio.

“Oh?” Mercy bit into a sweet roll. It reminded her of Sebastian’s kiss. Delicious, but with a spicy bite and a whisper of the forbidden.  In his case, the danger was more serious than an overload of calories. She couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd held her, making her feel so helpless, so confused. So hungry.

How can I feel anything for a man like that? A criminal!

Even though she hadn’t given in to temptation, she felt guilty. Not because of Peter. Because she'd failed to do her job. She’d found out nothing about Sebastian Hidalgo that would help Clay or his mission. Nothing at all! And that was because she’d let the man distract her, rattle her, all but seduce her. He'd claimed he didn't sleep with married women, but she would have bet anything that, had she encouraged him in the least, he would have slammed her down on that big old desk of his and taken her, body and soul.

He had won the match of wits. She had lost.

She
hated
losing.

But maybe this was only a temporary setback. She still had most of the day at the ranch until she’d have to leave. If she found a lick of evidence that he was running human cargo through Mexico, she’d hand the details over to Clay without regret. One stupid kiss wasn’t enough to turn her to the dark side.

Well, two kisses. She had, after all, kissed him back.

“I have to leave tonight,” she told Maria after they were settled at their easels under a Jacaranda tree at the south end of the working yard.

“You can’t go!” Maria objected.

“I’ll finish the painting of the main house this morning. After lunch, I’ll spray it with fixative to keep the pigment from dusting off. The other sketches I can work up in my studio.”

Maria picked up a stick of Rembrandt sienna and slashed a dark red-brown line across her own sketch, ruining it. “You could stay if you really wanted to,” she sulked. “If you really liked being with me.”

“I love painting with you, Maria,” Mercy assured her, ignoring the building tantrum she saw in the girl's eyes. “But I really do need to get back to the city.”

The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was little point in staying any longer, if she couldn’t get what she’d come for. Security was just too tight. She’d have to find another way to get evidence against Sebastian. If it existed.

“You can come and visit me in Mexico City,” Mercy suggested.

“Papa won’t allow it.”

“Why not?”

“He freaks every time I leave the ranch. I guess he’s right to worry. That man who attacked him at your party, he was scary.” Maria shot her a pleading look. “But I’d give anything just to go shopping like other girls. Have you been to San Miguel de Allende?”

Mercy shook her head. She’d seen it on a map though, and read about the place. The town thrived as an artist’s haven and craft market. A magazine photo spread had shown gorgeous baskets, pottery, silver jewelry. “It’s not far from here, is it?”

“Less than an hour by car. I haven’t been in years.” A wistful sigh escaped Maria’s lips. “They make the most beautiful things. Papa promised we’d go again but always says he doesn’t have the time.”

Mercy’s heart went out to the girl. Certainly safety was an issue. But if Sebastian didn’t provide chances for his daughter to connect with the outside world, she would take wing on her own one day. That would be far more dangerous than any escorted trip. Still, Mercy had serious reservations.

“What if we took a couple of your father’s men with us as bodyguards?”

Maria’s eyes brightened with sudden hope, but then dimmed. She shook her head. “I asked once. He said I am too easily recognized. Having guards almost makes it worse. We’d be marked as someone important, a target.”

“Well, that’s it then,” Mercy said, returning to her painting. “I won’t put you in harm’s way, Maria.”

“But he can’t keep me locked up here forever! I mean, can he? You’re afraid of my father too,” Maria said, her tone accusing. “Just like everyone else. Admit it!”

“No, I’m not afraid of him.” She felt sorry for the girl but seemed no room for compromise. “If there was a safe way to take you to San Miguel, I would. But I think, for the time being, we'd best forget about it.”

Maria kept glancing off into the distance, somewhere beyond the gated yard. She looked so forlorn it nearly broke Mercy’s heart. They painted for a while in silence. Mercy noted the girl’s lackadaisical efforts but said nothing.

“I know!” Maria jumped up from the folding canvas seat and grabbed Mercy’s hands, startling her. “If no one recognizes me, I’m not in danger. Right?”

“I suppose.” Mercy responded cautiously. What worried her most was the desperation in the girl’s voice.

She’d heard it before from girls Maria’s age and younger. That final plea for independence before they took to the streets. Washington, New York, Los Angeles and every big city across America was full of them. Runaways. Not even Sebastian could stop Maria if she became determined to strike out on her own.

“I know a way that nobody can possibly figure out who I am. They won’t even know I’ve left the hacienda. You promised. You said if there was a way you’d take me.”

“Maria―”

“You said so yourself,” the girl persisted. “Just for one hour of shopping, Mercy. Please. Ple-e-e-e-ease. No one will ever know.” Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “Besides, it will be ever so much fun!”

25

Walking in a stoop, an elderly American woman made her way through the crowded outdoor market. She leaned for support on the arm of a young
Mexica
boy, blue jeans rolled up at his bony ankles, baggy tie-dyed t-shirt untucked at the waist, a baseball cap stuck backward on his head, face smudged with dirt. They stopped at stall after stall under the blazing sun. The old woman admired the vivid display of crafts. The boy tossed and caught a dirty tennis ball. He looked bored and impatient to leave, as if he’d rather be anywhere but on a shopping trip with his aging grandmother.

Every once in a while, though, he paused to tip his head toward some item—a pretty blouse, a beribboned hair ornament, a silver bracelet.

By mid-afternoon, the heat had become unbearable and the woman’s bags had swollen with her purchases. Her young companion carried them toward a green convertible that looked far too racy for the elderly driver. It had drawn the admiration of all the young men in the village of San Miguel. The woman had paid a few pesos to two teenagers who offered to guard the car while she shopped. They were dusting off the hood with a professional air when she returned.

After a final stop to buy warm tortillas wrapped around spicy shredded pork from a street vendor, the woman turned her car toward the hill country.

“Can I take it off now?” her young passenger asked.

They were ten minutes out of town, heading across burnt-brick hills, desolate but for sparse cacti and mesquite.

The woman nodded. “I think it’s safe enough.”

The baseball cap came off. Maria’s long, dark hair whipped around her face in the wind. “That was fun! See, I told you it would work. And your disguise made it even better. Next time you’ll take me into the city.”

“No way. This was a one-time deal,” Mercy said firmly. At least their brief excursion should satisfy Maria’s wanderlust for a while. Mercy pulled off the scarf she’d tied over her blond hair.

Using it to wipe away the heavy makeup, she erased age lines from around her mouth and eyes as she drove. The rush of wind over the convertible’s windscreen dusted off body powder whitening strands of hair that had stuck out from beneath the scarf.

“Once was safe enough,” Mercy continued. “Two trips in boy-disguise add risk. Three create a pattern. When security is an issue you avoid doing anything the same way twice.” These rules were among those drilled into every foreign-service dependent. Vary your walking and driving routes. Don’t develop routines that kidnappers or assassins can observe then count on.