One Kiss More (19 page)

“Pretty much,” Landon agreed. “I’ve been mulling it over, and blackmail seems too easy. They’ll expect it. I think our best bet at this point is to make them believe that you could be an asset to their organization. That we
both
could be.”

“Are you suggesting I ask them for a job?” That was the last thing she would have expected. “Landon, negotiating those sorts of terms could drag this out for a week or longer.”

His expression changed when she said his name and she couldn’t help but remember the intensity in his voice when he’d demanded that she call him by his first name. Her stomach kicked up into her throat before floating down on a blissful cloud that sent pleasant shivers over her skin.
Detach, damn it. Do not think about last night
.

“It can’t take a week because Sousa doesn’t have that kind of time. Crawford said the buy is going down within a week. Suggesting they bring you into their fold is the best play at this point. Sorry, Emma, but you’re going to have to give up the reins and have a little faith on this one.”

“But what reason would I have to work for them? I mean, my God, I was trying to put them all in jail two weeks ago.”

Landon canted his head to the side and said, “Money. Money is your one and only reason. Money to pay for your dad’s medical expenses. Money to keep you both comfortable. Guys like this, they’ll understand that sort of logic, Emma. Money is power and they worship that above all else. They’ll respect you more for your greed than your selflessness.”

Nothing like lowering yourself to the level of pond scum . . . “Okay. I can do that.” Emma had spent enough time in the company of a few entitled rich assholes to know how to behave like one. Or rather, like she wanted to be one. Her phone rang and she looked at the caller ID—Cesar—before lifting her gaze up to meet Landon’s.

He flashed her a reassuring smile and said. “Show time. Let’s do this.”

Emma swiped her finger across the screen and brought the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“You sound pretty good for a dead girl,
chica
,” Cesar crooned. “My employer wants to meet you. Listen closely and follow my directions to the letter. Otherwise, I gut your
padre
like a fish. Understand?”

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this
. Emma swallowed down the lump of fear that rose in her throat, steeling herself for what had to be done. “I understand. Tell me what to do.”

Chapter Fifteen

This was the part of the job that Landon lived for. The high.

Anticipation coiled in his stomach like a snake about to strike and a pleasant rush of adrenaline trickled into his system the closer they got to their destination. Riding in the backseat of one of Sousa’s tricked-out Range Rovers didn’t even faze him, despite the fact he’d been patted down and relieved of his Glock. He knew what to expect and only an idiot would have let him ride to their destination armed. Likewise, they would have been suspicious if he hadn’t come with at least one weapon strapped to his body. Landon relaxed into the plush leather seat as though this were nothing more than a pleasant drive through the country and rested his palm high on Emma’s left thigh. No time like the present to establish proof of intimacy for their hosts. A tingle of electricity sparked from the contact, traveling the length of his arm, intensifying the rush he already felt.

Don’t get distracted. Focus on the job
.

Focus was usually the one thing Landon had a good grip on. Laser precise, his colleagues at the Portland office joked that he was unshakable when he set his mind on a task. If any of them could see him now, barely able to restrain himself in Emma’s presence, his reputation might take a hit. He gently squeezed her cotton-clad thigh, an action that he hoped came across as reassuring. All it did for him, however, was invoke fantasies of tearing her damned pants off so he could feel her naked flesh as he massaged her in his palm.

So professional
.

Emma stiffened beside him—definitely
not
reassured—and he reached over, tucking a finger beneath her chin and guiding her face until she turned to look at him. He leaned in toward her, and she mirrored his action until his mouth hovered near her ear as though he were simply kissing her cheek. “I’ve got you, Emma,” he murmured low so none of Sousa’s lackeys could hear. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She put her hand over his and squeezed. Landon reveled in that warmth, the skin-on-skin contact. “I won’t be a liability,” she whispered back. “I can do this, Landon.” She pulled back and their eyes met. A corner of her mouth hinted at a smile before she closed the distance between them and put her lips to his.

An easy, slow kiss. Petal-soft and warm. Landon’s brain buzzed and his body flooded with heat, better than tossing back a couple of shots of top-shelf tequila. When she pulled away, her dark brown eyes were heavily lidded and a lazy, satisfied smile curved her full lips. He swore if those goons weren’t in the front seat right now, there wouldn’t be anything stopping him from getting her naked and on his cock by the next stoplight. So much for his vow to keep this professional. Jesus Christ, she tied him into knots.

And it felt damned good.

Though it would have been better to err on the side of caution, Landon captured her mouth for one more kiss. Screw the job—the adrenaline rush he got from kissing her was supercharged, racing through his veins like quicksilver. He was hopelessly addicted, and if Landon thought that this mindless want of her would go away simply because he had a job to do, he was kidding himself. Nothing short of a lobotomy was going to get Emma out of his head any time soon.

The sound of snickering from the front seat caused Emma to pull away, and she averted her gaze, turning toward the window as though embarrassed. Though PDA was sort of necessary to sell the hot-’n’-heavy lovers angle, Landon supposed a full-on peep show wasn’t what Emma had in mind. He looked up to find the driver smirking at him through the rearview mirror and Landon promised himself that if shit went sour, that son of a bitch was going to be the first man down.
Let’s see your expression when I break your femur, you smug fucker
.

Rather than heading out of downtown as he’d expected, they turned toward the city proper. Did the arms dealer rent an office in a swanky skyscraper or some shit?

“Hey, I don’t suppose you’d mind telling us where we’re headed?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind,” the driver quipped. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re damned lucky to be alive right now. Other than that . . . you don’t know shit, so shut your fucking mouth and sit there.”

Oh yeah, that asshole was going to be the first one to get his face smashed into the next available sidewalk. Landon hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Emma that guys like these respected ruthlessness. And though it was a dangerous tightrope to walk, he knew that he’d have to play the part of a dirty cop and push his luck as far as it would go.

But pushing his luck only went so far with Emma sitting right beside him.

No need to invite any undue wrath quite yet. These guys were nothing more than low-level henchmen. Expendable. He suspected that Sousa wouldn’t bat a lash if Landon took one of them out. The most important thing at this point was to get Emma a meet with the head honcho himself. After that, he could form a more solid game plan.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Emma leaned in to whisper the words and Landon brushed his thumb across her jaw. He loved the way her eyes became hooded every time he touched her. As though even the slightest contact had a deep, resonant impact.

“They won’t be dragging us off to some remote location or empty warehouse quite yet.” Though he meant it playfully, Emma’s brow creased and her dark eyes shimmered with concern. “It’ll be okay, Emma,” he reassured her. “I just mean that you’re an asset to Sousa and his organization right now. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize your safety.”

“Right,” she said on an exhale. “Okay, good.”

Emma settled back into her seat, but she reached out and threaded her fingers with Landon’s as she did. It felt so natural to sit here like this, her hand resting in his. And why did that scare him more than the guys in the front seat armed to the teeth and ready to put a bullet in his head the second he stepped out of line?

The rest of the drive was quiet and Emma turned away to stare out the window at the traffic clogging the downtown streets. Landon forced his focus from the woman sitting next to him, instead listening carefully to the words of the men speaking Spanish in hushed tones from the front seats. Which did him little good since the minimal grasp of Spanish that Landon possessed was barely enough to order a burrito. He probably shouldn’t have mocked Galen so much for his fancy French talk. It might’ve been a good idea to learn a foreign language or three in case he wound up in a situation like this.

“Get out.”

Landon looked up to find they’d pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Grill. Wow, when he’d assured Emma they’d more than likely meet Sousa in a public place, he never would have assumed they’d be sitting down for a quiet lunch. Especially now that Emma was assumed dead. Totally ballsy. Thank God they’d dressed the part, because it would have been embarrassing as hell for Emma to show up in her curve-hugging workout pants. Not that Landon would have minded . . .

Emma turned, apprehension pinching the delicate lines of her face. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she said with a nod.

Once inside, the hostess took them to their seats, sans armed escort. Maybe none of Sousa’s goons were housebroken yet. Not that it mattered. Landon had enough on his mind as he surveyed their surroundings, making note of exits, obstacles, and anything that could be used as a potential weapon. A butter knife wasn’t exactly deadly, but it’d do in a pinch.

Emma’s grip on his hand tightened the closer they got to the table, and Landon noticed the guy from the club—whom he now knew as Cesar Molina—sitting next to his boss. Cesar was Sousa’s right-hand man, it would seem. Landon thought of how he’d grabbed Emma’s arm roughly that night and practically pushed her to the rear of the club. Anger burned a path from his gut all the way up his throat, so hot that Landon thought he might breathe fire and burn the asshole to a crisp.

That would be awesome.

“Emma, please have a seat.” Teyo Sousa’s familiarity with her did little to cool Landon’s jets. Rather, it put him even more on edge until he felt uncomfortable in his own skin, itching for a fight. He fixed a pleasant smile on his face and tried to keep his teeth from grinding right down to the gums.
Play it cool, man. Just settle your ass down
.

“You too, Deputy.” The invite came across as an afterthought, and the insult wasn’t lost on Landon. He was an unfortunate complication that would need to be dealt with. And wasn’t that too damned bad.

Instead of sitting down, Landon pulled out Emma’s chair. He waited for her to sit and then scooted her closer to the table, planting a kiss right below her ear as he did so. Sousa’s dark, fathomless eyes settled on him and the other man’s lips quirked into a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The obvious size-up didn’t intimidate Landon in the slightest.
Bring it on
,
asshole
.

After Landon took his seat, Emma placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her fingertips as she regarded the man who’d kidnapped her father. Landon had to give her credit—she was cold as ice, and totally in control of her emotions. Steel. “All right,” she said. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business.”

On the outside, Emma projected serenity. On the inside, fear gnawed at her stomach and clawed at her mind, urging her to bolt, and yet she was angry enough to scream at the same time. She fiddled with her wig—her head was sweating like she’d recently run a marathon—and kept her face tilted downward, careful not to make direct eye contact with any of the patrons. It was a long shot that anyone would recognize her, but her luck hadn’t been stellar up to this point and she wasn’t taking any chances. Rather than worry about her appearance, Emma tried to focus on the man she’d been brought to meet—the once childhood friend of her dad—and not the fact that Teyo Sousa had taken him right out of that prison van as though it were nothing, just so he could use a sick old man as leverage. Then again, wasn’t Emma using his money in the exact same way? Maybe they were more alike than she wanted to admit.

Sitting across from her was a man who wasn’t a stranger to decadence. Sousa was the healthy, vibrant middle-aged man her father should have been. He didn’t give off an arms dealer vibe, but rather blended in perfectly with the high-brow crowd eating lunch around them. His tailored suit had likely cost more than most people made in a month, and he held himself with a certain regality that told Emma a lot about how he thought of himself. A king among paupers who possessed the power to decimate his enemies with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. Power-player. Charismatic. Egomaniac. And presumably a few eggs short of a dozen. Wouldn’t you have to be to peddle weapons of mass destruction without even a twinge of conscience?

Beside her, Landon leaned back in his chair, the epitome of calm. She wondered if he felt even a little rattled, but then, he probably threw himself into dangerous situations like this on a daily basis. Which made her even more determined than ever to put on a good show. No way would she let Landon upstage her. She wanted him to know that, despite the fact that none of this had gone according to her plan, she was still capable of getting herself—and her father—out of this mess.

Emma didn’t need anyone to come to her rescue.

“I have to say, you’re not quite what I expected,” Sousa addressed her head-on as though Landon weren’t even there. “Though you do have your father’s stubborn streak. Even as a boy, he was like a badger. Once he sunk his teeth into something, he wouldn’t let go. Had you been anyone else, I would have simply killed your father and then come after you. But we have a history, your father and I. And even thieving little
putas
like you can be afforded leniency.”