Wise Moves (6 page)

Dane had saved her and she was arguing with him. She’d been on her own so much she’d forgotten how to take help. “I’m sorry. I should be thanking you.”

“No problem.” Cambia put grounds in the top of the pot, poured the water in and flicked on the switch. Quickly, the coffeemaker began to gurgle and spit. Cambia’s presence dominated the room, which now seemed too small.

“I don’t have milk or sugar.” More luxuries that she’d decided she could live without.

“Black’s fine.”

Having him wait on her felt awkward so she rose and from the cabinet, got down two white mugs that said Yoga Studio on them. Stretching made her wince.

“So you
are
hurt,” Cambia said.

She set the mugs down, breathing through the pain. “Just a little sore.”

He stepped toward her. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“I don’t like doctors.”

“You could have broken ribs.” He nodded toward her loose-fitting yoga blouse. “Let me see your ribs.”

“Not likely, Cambia.” The idea of his hands touching her made her more nervous than she thought possible.

He lifted a brow. “It’s either me or the doctor.”

Kristen didn’t want to press him. She had no doubt he’d drag her to the doctor if need be. Again, she’d end up in somebody’s computer system. “No doctors.” She faced him. “Okay, check.”

He pressed his large hands to her rib cage under her loose top. Her pulse quickened. But she didn’t dare move for fear his hands would touch the underside of her breasts.

His hands stretched wide, nearly reaching around the circumferance of her chest. However, his movements were all business and very gentle.

She winced as he squeezed softly. “That hurts.”

“Yes.” His chin grazed the top of her head. She was very aware of his scent, a mixture of soap and his own aroma.

His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and a thousand tiny bolts of energy shot through her body. She tried to step back but bumped into the counter.

“Stop squirming,” he said.

Unwanted desire warmed her body. “Look, I’m fine.”

He held on to her a second longer, then released her. “I don’t think anything’s broken but you’re going to be sore for a couple of weeks. Bruises can take longer to heal than breaks.”

Her breathing had grown shallow. It had been almost a year since she’d been with a man. Carlos, her fiancé, had been the only man she’d ever bedded. After he’d died, she hadn’t had the desire or the energy for another man. While she’d been on the run, there’d been opportunities for sex, but she hadn’t trusted anyone enough to take the risk.

Now, however, she was very aware of her enforced celibacy. She moistened her lips.

Cambia’s eyes darkened as he stared down at her lips.

Slowly, as if she were a skittish colt, he raised his hand to her elbow. His callused hands felt rough against her skin. Gently, he traced circles on her forearm with his thumb.

Her mouth felt dry and her heart started to pound against her ribs. All she had to do was lean forward an inch or two and her breasts would rub against the faded blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest.

So dangerous. So very dangerous.

Yet, the pull was more than she could deny. She’d been alone for so long and she wanted to feel connected to someone, if only for a short while.

Sensing the first move would have to be hers, she rose up on her tiptoes and gently kissed his lips. At first, he stood as rigid as a statue, staring down at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

She kissed his lips a second time, fearing she’d misjudged him and she was offering something that he didn’t want.

However, the second kiss was all the encouragement he needed. He banded his arm around her and gently pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. His tongue parted her lips and began to explore.

She relaxed into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Pain forgotten, her body started to hum and her nerves danced. Raw need pulsed in her veins. She’d known this man less than a day. He was a stranger. A very dangerous stranger.

Yet, emotion and desire overruled reason. Kristen needed to feel like a woman who enjoyed her sexuality. She was so tired of being the hunted, frightened creature.

Cambia’s hand slid down her waist to her buttocks. He squeezed her bottom. The thin yoga pants were little barrier to his touch and she felt as if she were naked.

He pressed her hips forward until her body pressed against his erection. The bed was only three feet away and there was no doubt now that they would be in it within seconds.

Cambia nipped her ear with his white teeth. She slid her hands under his T-shirt and up his muscled chest. He felt so good, so alive.

Kissing her again, he started to step back toward the bed, tugging her with him. She followed and reached for the thick belt buckle at his narrow waist. When her knuckles brushed his bare skin, he drew in a breath as if he’d exploded right then and there.

Kristen reveled in her womanly power. It felt so good to be in control and know what she wanted even for this very brief time.

She unhooked his belt and unfastened his pants. Her hand slid down toward his erection. He moaned. Without warning, his cell phone rang on his belt holster.

The loud sound startled her. But her desire still burned hot.

With great effort, Cambia released her. His breathing was ragged, as if he’d just run a dozen miles. “I’ve got to get it.”

“They can leave a message.” Her voice sounded unrecognizable but she didn’t care. Selfishly, she wanted this moment because she felt so wonderfully alive. And to think it wouldn’t happen now was beyond her circle of reasoning.

The phone rang again, louder and more insistent.

Cambia muttered an oath and fumbled for the phone. He flipped it open. “Cambia.”

Frowning, he turned his back to her.

The gesture felt like a rejection. And immediately, Kristen’s desire evaporated. Her mind cleared. She shoved trembling hands through her hair. Good Lord, what had she been thinking? She’d been ready to make love to this man right here.

She had not only thrown herself at a virtual stranger, but she’d given no thought to the consequences. What if she’d gotten pregnant?

Fool.

A moment’s fun could easily have landed her with more problems than she needed.

It wasn’t like her to lose control.

Cambia’s shoulders tensed. “You’re absolutely sure?” He hesitated, listening. “Fine.”

He closed the phone and replaced it carefully in its holster.

Drawing in a deep breath, Dane faced her. The desire had vanished from his face.

In its place was a coldness that made her tremble.

F
acts now confirmed what Dane had known in his gut. The prints were a perfect match. Kristen Rodale
was
Elena Benito.

And Dane had nearly made love to her. Another minute and he’d have been inside her.

Damn.
All the time and energy he and Lucian had put into finding her and he’d nearly jeopardized the entire operation. He’d acted like a teenager with more hormones than brains.

He needed to keep his distance from her. She wasn’t a woman to be desired or loved. She was business. Nothing more than bait to trap the animal Antonio Benito.

Single-minded focus on the objective had made him one of the best in the army recon unit and the bureau. And the objective in this operation was capturing Antonio Benito. No matter what the cost.

He cleared his throat, noticing the dark roots of Kristen’s hair. In his case-file pictures, she’d had long, lush black hair, and he wondered when she’d cut and dyed it blond. The hair change had completely transformed her appearance. It accentuated the high slash of her cheekbones and made her beautiful eyes stunning. It gave Kristen an air of directness Elena had not possessed.

Damn.
It didn’t matter if the package wrapping had changed. This woman was Elena Benito. She was the bait. And nothing else.

Dane needed to diffuse the energy between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things get away from me.”

Her cheeks turned a delicate red, but she held his gaze like the proud princess she was. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

He shoved his hand in his pocket, wishing she didn’t still look so desirable. “Let’s just chalk this up to bad judgment.”

For a moment he thought sadness flickered in her eyes but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Sounds good.”

She nodded toward the coffeemaker. “You still want that coffee?”

A cold shower would have been better. “Yeah, sure.”

Kristen poured a cup and handed it to him, careful not to touch him. Whatever had happened between them had surprised her, as well. Good. He wasn’t the only one off balance.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup.

She turned to pour herself a mug. “Something puzzles me.”

The cup to his lips, he hesitated. “What’s that?”

A wrinkle furrowed her smooth forehead. “What were you doing here this morning?”

The tension in her voice sharpened his senses. “We had an appointment.”

The worry in her eyes remained. “For seven o’clock. Not six.”

He grinned. Charming, not defensive. “I am a little compulsive about time. I was hoping if I showed up early I could get a jump on the project.”

The truth was he’d been outside all night. After he’d met with Lucian, he’d returned and parked down the block from her house. With cash in her pocket, he worried that she’d slip away.

His explanation seemed to satisfy her somewhat, but not completely. “You’d have sat outside for an hour waiting if I hadn’t answered.”

He shrugged. “It was a risk.”

She studied him as if trying to put the pieces of the Dane Cambia puzzle together. “You must really want the work.”

“You’ve got to have a little skin in the game if you want to build your name.”

“Right.” She drew out the word, telegraphing her uncertainty.

He set down his cup. Questions only stirred trouble. “I better start unloading. Come down when you’ve finished your coffee.”

“I’m finished. I can help you.”

“No heavy lifting today.”

She didn’t argue, a sign that her ribs still hurt. He thought about that punk hitting her. Swift hot rage sliced through him.

They headed down the hallway to the front reception area. “Why don’t you wait inside?” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute with the supplies.”

“Sure.”

She stood inside the studio as he went out to his truck, stopping and glancing from left to right. Benito, Tony, there was no telling who was going to crawl out of the woodwork.

Benito would arrive soon enough, but Dane suspected Tony wasn’t likely to come back while he was here. The punk would wait until Kristen was alone to take his revenge.

A satisfied smile tipped the edge of his lips when he remembered the fear in Tony’s eyes. What the punk didn’t get was that she had his protection now. Tony would never get a second chance to hurt her.

Dane unloaded his sledgehammer and then moved around the side of the van, out of Kristen’s line of sight. He set down the tool and snapped his cell phone out of its belt holster. He flipped it open and dialed Lucian.

The phone rang once before Moss answered. “Yep.”

“So give me the details.” He turned his back to the house, still scanning the streets for trouble.

“Like I said earlier, the prints are a perfect match. Little Miss Yoga is Elena Benito.”

“There’s no mistaking the results?” The edge of hope in his voice surprised him.

“I don’t make mistakes.” Lucian sounded offended.

“Good.” He shoved his hand through his hair. Like it or not he had a mission to finish. “So we move forward.”

“I’ll start leaking news that Elena Benito is living in Virginia. It won’t take more than a couple of days for the information to filter through Benito’s organization before word reaches him.”

“Let me handle that. I’ve got a source that could be helpful on this one.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

“And in the meantime I babysit.”

“She is the golden goose. Without her we have nothing to bait the trap with.”

“Right.”

Lucian hesitated. “You sound different. Is something wrong?”

He squinted as he looked toward the morning sun. “What do you mean?”

“Like you’re having second thoughts.”

“No doubts.”

“Good. Because I am going to catch Benito with or without your help.”

Resentment surged through him. “I don’t need a lecture. I know my job.” Before Lucian could reply, Dane added, “I do need for you to do something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a punk in this neighborhood named Tony. Early twenties. I don’t have a last name for him but ask around and you can find it.”

“I can do that.”

“This guy must have a rap sheet. See if he has any outstanding warrants. I need him in jail until this is over. He could cause problems we don’t need.”

“Consider it done.”

“Good.” He hung up, shoved the cell back in its belt holster and picked up his equipment. As he climbed the front stairs, he caught a glimpse of Kristen in the front window.

She reminded him of the fabled sirens—beauties who lured sailors to their deaths. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was as dangerous as the sirens. Yes, she appeared vulnerable and kind. But her brother was a skilled chameleon. Benito could be charming and giving. He’d seduced the Miami social world with elegant parties that included all A-list people and huge donations to the right charities.

He tightened his hold on the toolbox. Whether her heart was pure or as black as Satan’s, he would stay objective.

He owed that much to Nancy.

Kristen joined Dane in the room under construction. He stood by the large window. He wore a clean T-shirt but had on his same grungy pair of jeans and boots. From his narrow waist hung his tool belt, cocked at an angle like a fabled gunslinger’s belt.

She glanced at his long hands resting on his hips. Her pulse quickened when she thought about them on her body.

Kristen straightened. She couldn’t think this way about him. It wasn’t safe for anyone to care about her.

She flexed swollen and tired fingers, a reminder of her hard labors yesterday. “Last night it was difficult to judge the progress but this morning with the sunlight streaming in, I can see that Sheridan had been right to knock down the wall.”

Dane glanced at the skeletal frame and the exposed wires running between the two-by-fours. “By the end of today this will all be gone and you will really start to see it come together. Yesterday was a good first day.”

First day. These past months had been a study in firsts. First haircut and dye job. First bus ride. First night sleeping in a doorway. Her first paycheck.

“So where do you want me to start?” she said, walking into the room.

He turned as she approached. “I’ll take the wires out and then we knock down the wood. For now just take it easy.”

“You’re paying me to help.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough. For now, relax.”

Relaxation was tough for her. It gave her too much time to think. “Sure.”

“I’ve got to turn off the electricity again.” He’d turned the breakers back on last night in case she needed to use the computer. “Computer off?”

“I finished the entries last night. Everything is saved and it’s off.”

“You worked more last night? What about Mark?”

“Had to work late.”

“Ah.”

He studied her an extra beat. “I’ll just head to the basement and flip those breakers.”

She followed him to a small door that took them down rickety steps to a dank basement. Sheridan had given her the grand tour so she knew the light switch was at the top of the stairs. She flipped up the old switch.

A single light bulb hanging from a wire clicked on. It cast an eerie circle of light on the blackened room. She didn’t venture off the step.

He moved past her and down the stairs. “You don’t like the basement.” He opened the tiny metal door, studied the circular fuses and unscrewed the one controlling the upstairs room.

She shuddered dramatically. “Utter blackness, creepy spiders and rats. What’s not to love?”

He grinned. “Darkness never hurt anybody and chances are the little beasties that live down here are more afraid of you than you are of them.”

She heard something scurry in the corner and cringed. “That’s up for debate.”

“You’re such a girl,” he teased.

That comment made her laugh as she backed up the stairs. “And proud that I can’t throw a baseball or change a tire.”

When he reached the top he closed the cellar door. “What if you had to go down there and change a fuse?”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t deal with the things in the basement. I would if I had to. But the less monsters in my life the better.”

He studied her, his gaze razor sharp. “Are there monsters in your life?”

Her heartbeat quickened. Despite the casual tone, his question hit a nerve. Since her parents had died ten years ago, all she’d had in her life were monsters. “I suppose we all have monsters.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

He moved back toward the front of the house, to the room under construction. She trailed behind him. He turned the light switch, and when he confirmed the juice was not flowing, he pulled out a pair of wire cutters. “So who are your monsters, Kristen?”

Fear scraped her nerves. She folded her arms over her chest, feigning a bravery she didn’t have. “My father always taught me never to talk about them. Talking stirs fear and fear feeds the monsters.”

He clipped a white wire in tow. “So where is your mother?”

Questions normally put her on the defensive. But for some reason, with Dane she wasn’t afraid to answer. “My mother and father died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.” He kept his gaze on his work but she sensed he was keenly aware of her. “When did they die?”

The old pain of her parents’ death had lessened from agony to a dull throb, but it was always present. “Ten years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that. How old were you?”

Kristen hugged her arms around her chest. “I was fifteen.”

She’d barely spoken about her mother or father in years. Antonio had forbidden her to. He’d never forgiven his father for marrying Kristen’s Anglo mother after his own mother’s death. Antonio’s mother, from what he’d said, had been a quiet superstitious woman who was content to dote on her son. Kristen’s mother had been a tall, blond actress who liked to spend money and throw lavish parties. Antonio had resented his father and his second wife. He’d been thirty when they’d died in the car crash, and had taken over his father’s fortune and brought Kristen to live with him.

Dane glanced over his shoulder at her. “That’s rough.”

“It was a bad time for me.” Her voice shook only a little when she spoke.

“So where’d you go?”

She didn’t even like thinking about the years spent living in her brother’s house, let alone talking about them. “I went into foster care.” She’d used the lie often this last year. The fewer people who knew the truth about her the better.

“Was foster care rough?”

“Not really,” she lied. “The people who took me in were kind and loving. They kept me until I turned eighteen.”

His jaw tightened then released. “You keep up with them?”

“Sure. I write whenever I get the chance.”

Dane clipped another end of the white thick wire and sealed off the end. “Looks like we have more in common than I realized.”

“How’s that?”

“I grew up in foster care.”

“You did?” What she knew about foster care came from television shows and books. She needed to choose her words carefully. “Did your parents die?”

“Naw. They’re still out there somewhere alive and well. They just couldn’t tackle the work it took to raise a kid. My old man couldn’t hold down a job and my mother drank.”

“I’m sorry.” At least she’d known her parents had loved her. “Did you have a brother or sister?”

With a violent yank, he pulled the white wire though the holes it had been threaded through in the wood. He didn’t look at her but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “A foster sister.”

“You two close?”

“We were.”

“Were?”

“She died about nine months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “What happened?” The question felt rude but had slipped out before she could stop it.

He faced her, his expression a mixture of sadness and anger. For a moment, she didn’t think that he would answer. “She was a cop. She was shot and killed in the line of duty.”

A hard jolt rocked her body. Sudden, violent memories of that last night in the Miami safe house slammed into her. She remembered the shots fired, the shouts and the order from Nancy Rogers to run. And God help her, like a coward she had run.