Authors: Julie Leto
For Evan, for Raymond, for Tracy, hell, for Yizenia, Marisela raised Yizenia’s gun and pulled the trigger. Devlin crumpled to the floor.
“Wrong again, you son of a bitch.”
Shouts and alarms rocked the mansion.
Marisela dropped to her knees, wiped her prints from the grip and then gently placed the gun between Yizenia’s cold fingers. She fired again. “There,
mi hermana
,” she whispered. “
El monstruo
is dead at your hand.
Descansa en paz
.”
Marisela barely had time to slip into the secret passage before swarms of guards spilled into the room. Sirens wailed and walkie-talkies squealed with chatter. She closed her eyes tight, pressed herself into the darkest corner she could find, and willed herself not to make a sound.
You claim to be a protector, not a killer.
Once again, Marisela had lied. To Yizenia, but most of all, to herself.
* * *
From her nest on the couch, Marisela watched her best friend, Lia Santorini, pad across her apartment to answer the door. A movie droned in front of her, one of Lia’s favorite old flicks with Cher and Nick Cage about the Italian moon or something. She hadn’t been watching. Not really. Mostly, she’d been pigging out on Lia’s homemade
jujulainne
cookies, dipping them in Chianti or
café con leche
, licking her proverbial wounds.
Yizenia hadn’t been so fortunate.
But then, neither had Leo Devlin.
Immediately after returning to headquarters, Brynn had sent Marisela home. Not home to the hotel, but to Tampa. Max had whisked her off on Titan’s private jet and she’d immediately holed up with her best friend. Brynn had promised she would personally clean up the mess in Boston, and frankly, Marisela had been too shell-shocked to argue. In her arrogance, she’d insisted to Yizenia that she wasn’t a killer, but not twenty minutes later, she’d shot the lying, manipulative, unarmed bastard Devlin without hesitation. What did that make her now?
“Well, look who it is!” Lia exclaimed.
She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Lia return from the foyer with Ian trailing behind her. Even wallowing in her own self-indulging pity party, as Lia called it, she recognized a predatory spark suddenly present in her best friend’s dark eyes.
Great
. Mr. Charming meet Ms. Perpetually Charm-able.
“What are you doing here?” Marisela asked, barely sitting up from beneath the comforter.
“Marisela,” Lia admonished. “Mr. Blake came to check on you. Don’t be so rude.”
She loved Lia, she really did. But damn, she was the most gullible woman on the planet when it came to suave men like Blake.
To appease her friend, Marisela stretched out her leg and gave the dessert plate a little push with her toe. “Want a cookie?”
“You haven’t called in,” he replied. “Nor have you returned the messages we left on your cell phone.”
Lia might be gullible when it came to men, but in all other scenarios, she was damned smart. She excused herself from the room, even though chances were high she’d be eavesdropping from the hall.
“I planned to call in today,” she lied.
“And tell us what?”
She shook her head. “Hadn’t figured that out yet. Where’s Frankie?”
Ian bristled. “He had some business to attend to. He said he’d join me shortly.”
“And Brynn?”
Ian frowned. In the dim, flickering light of the television, he looked almost as miserable as she felt, if that were possible.
“She’s on her way to Spain. She has taken it upon herself to ensure Yizenia receives a proper burial.”
Marisela nodded, glanced down at her wrist. She was still wearing Yizenia’s bracelet, though she wasn’t sure why. How could she honor a woman who killed for a living? And yet, how could she not when the woman had provided justice for children like ten-year-old Ian and Brynn, when their mother had been brutally kidnapped and murdered?
Marisela realized that for at least a brief time, she’d considered herself better than Yizenia. Not in skill, but in moral fiber. Now she knew that her own moral fiber could be torn apart as easily as rice paper.
“How’s Tracy?”
“Back in therapy,” Ian replied, “though not with anyone associated with Windchaser Farm, which is being investigated for ethics violations. She wanted me to give you these,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and extracting a truly horrendous looking pair of gardening gloves with little strawberries on the fabric.
Marisela accepted them with a genuine laugh—the first she’d experienced in a week. “Okay, even off drugs, that chick is weird. I like her. Hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?”
She tossed the gloves onto the couch. When she turned, she caught Ian eyeing her warily before he assessed Lia’s apartment, which featured an inexpensive but incredibly cool decor. He strolled over to a set of classic movie posters she’d had framed, three in a row. Marisela preferred her movies in color, though she had to admit the old gangster flicks were a hoot.
“And Craig Bennett?”
“On the mend.” Ian nodded at the posters approvingly. “The doctors expect a full recovery, and now that the story of Leo Devlin’s manipulations is out, written, incidentally, by Parker Manning, he’s never experienced such a high approval rating. I have a feeling he could ask Congress to change the minimum wage to a hundred dollars an hour and they’d pass a law.”
“On behalf of former Wal-Mart clerks everywhere, I’ll give him my vote,” Marisela quipped. “What about the assassin Devlin said he hired?”
“Not as slippery as Yizenia, that’s for sure. He was picked up casing the Bennetts’ home and sang like a proverbial canary. He’d gotten his money up front, and with Devlin dead, we believe Bennett to be safe.”
“And Bradley?”
“Mr. Hightower has slipped back into his anonymous life. All is right with the world of the Boston elite again. Now, we just have to work on you.”
“I’m fine. Just needed a little R & R.”
He clucked his tongue. “You’ve been out of contact.”
“I needed time,” she explained. “You didn’t have to come all the way to check on me. You could have sent someone else.”
“And you could have raked me over the coals for sleeping with Yizenia and believing she was you,” he replied.
“Excuse me?”
He gave her the kind of withering look that only a man of unimpeachable masculinity could pull off. “You’re not going to make me say it again, are you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, her ears thrumming with the surprise. He’d hinted at this the other day, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. While she’d always known Blake had had the hots for her, and she’d made no secret of the fact that at least in a physical sense, she thought he was
mucho caliente
herself, acting on their forbidden attraction was different. Especially when he’d apparently acted on it with someone else. “Torturing you has become one of my favorite pastimes.”
“You’re very good at it.”
“Why tell me this?”
Ian slipped his hands into his pockets and casually strolled closer. Marisela glanced down at herself, wearing three-day-old sweats and a T-shirt with pizza-sauce stains. She wasn’t even sure when she’d washed her face last, though she had brushed her teeth after Lia shoved a Crest-infested toothbrush in her mouth as a way of waking her up. Still, she suddenly felt incredibly grimy. She hugged the comforter tighter and nearly had a stroke when Ian crouched down so they were at eye level.
“Honesty isn’t something we’ve ever had between us, except when it’s been necessary to complete our jobs. With Yizenia dead and with you so deeply affected, I wanted you to know, in case you wondered, why I slept with her.”
No, she hadn’t wondered. Okay, she’d wondered a little. But for him to admit something so intimate—she shook her head, trying to clear the suddenly dense fog gathering there.
“So you slept with her because you wanted me.”
Ian licked his lips and nodded. For the first time in a while, Marisela noticed how nicely shaped his mouth was. How perfect for his face.
“Do you regret sleeping with her?”
His mouth quirked into a half smile. “I know this woman. She’s Latina, headstrong, foulmouthed. A real pain in the ass. You’d like her,” he teased. “But the thing I admire about her most is that she lives her life without regrets. She does what she needs to do at any given time and then moves on.”
His confession inspired her to scoot over on the couch and pull the comforter out of Ian’s way. On his short journey to sit beside her, he snagged one of the sesame-seed-encrusted biscotti that Lia had made the day before.
Marisela suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t like Ian talking about her in such glowing terms. Made her skin crawl. Not because he was being insincere, but because admiration had never been something she and Ian had shared. Hell, she’d rarely shared that emotion with anyone.
“That’s a pretty shallow way to live,” Marisela quipped. “Never weighing consequences against purely emotional reactions?”
Ian took a bit of the crumbly cookie, chewed, swallowed, and hummed his appreciation. “If it works for you, who am I to judge?”
Marisela leaned back in the soft cushions of Lia’s couch and forced a tiny smile. All around, her life had taken a strange turn. The boss she’d practically hated on sight months ago had just admitted he admired her—even though she’d likely jeopardized his company’s stellar reputation by killing a respected Boston philanthropist, though the evidence she’d left gave Yizenia credit for the kill. Credit she would have wanted.
Marisela whipped off the blanket, stretched in her ratty sweatpants and T-shirt, attempted to hand-comb her unbrushed hair, and decided enough was enough.
“Okay then. So I’m not fired?” she asked, hands on hips.
Ian chuckled. “Did I miss a termination worthy offense?”
“Leo Devlin? Gun? Blood? Brain bits? Ring a bell?”
With a shake of his head, he snagged another cookie. “He ordered the deaths of innocent men and shot Yizenia in the back. The man was a coward. No one at Titan holds your reaction against you, if that’s what you’ve been thinking.”
A knock on the front door sent Lia scurrying by them to open it, but Frankie didn’t wait for an invite to come inside. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he stopped and eyed Marisela up and down.
“Ever heard of a shower?”
He softened his remark with a slow smile that spawned a flush of heat from deep within her. Yeah, she’d heard of showers. Had had a really interesting one with him what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Ian stood, straightened his unwrinkled slacks, and cleared his throat. “I’m off, then.”
Marisela smirked. “You came all the way to Florida just to fill me in on the post-mission details?”
“I have other business here,” Ian replied, his eyes twinkling in Lia’s direction. Twinkling? Marisela stood up straighter, trying to hook into the vibe shooting between her boss and her best friend. Okay, what’s up with this shit? He just confesses to wanting her and now he’s flirting with her friend?
Just like a man.
“Your cookies were delicious, Ms. Santorini,” Ian complimented.
Lia smoothed her hand over her long, dark hair. And was she blushing?
“Thank you. Anytime you want a batch…”
Marisela cleared her throat, trying not to blanch. Lia responded by crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Where are you off to, Mr. Blake?” Lia asked, ignoring Marisela’s guttural warning.
“Ian, please.”
Marisela and Frankie exchanged nauseated glances.
“My sister has suggested that for a while, perhaps Marisela would benefit from running a few less taxing operations. We’re reopening our temporary Tampa office. We’ll offer private investigative work. No guns, explosives, car chases, assassins, or malevolent, power-hungry political backstabbing.”
Marisela frowned. “Sounds boring.”
Ian grinned and walked toward the door. “With you in charge, I doubt that will be the case.”
He nodded and left.
“Me? In charge?” Marisela asked Frankie, who shook his head in disbelief.
“Brynn ha perdido su mente.”
Lia strolled by Frankie on the way back to her bedroom, her scowl at Marisela’s ex a deep contrast to her flirtation with Ian. “She’s not the only one who’s lost her mind.”
“What was that about?” Marisela asked once Lia left the room.
He adjusted his duffel. “Lia’s pissed at me.”
“Lia’s always pissed at you. And she usually has a damned good reason. What did you do this time?”
Dropping his bag to the floor, Frankie wrapped his hands around Marisela’s waist and tugged her close. She was sure she smelled of cookie crumbs and coffee, with a whiff or two of wine and rum and the pizza she and Lia had ordered last night. Frankie didn’t seem to mind.
Sensations surged through her, reminding her that blocking herself off from the world never worked. She needed to get out, party a little, maybe take a day trip to the beach. She was home. And now, she had a chance to work here for a little while, likely until any heat on Titan died down. So far as she knew, no one even knew she’d been at the Devlin mansion that afternoon. The bullet in Devlin’s skull and the one in Yizenia’s gun stolen from Brynn, matched. Once Titan explained their ties to Yizenia and how they’d tried to detain her, the whole mess would blow over.
And she still had a job.
“Will you be working under me?” Marisela asked, tilting her head back so Frankie could nibble on every inch of her neck.
“If I’m lucky.”
She stepped back and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m serious. Are you going to be in the Tampa office, too?”
All signs of desire dropped from Frankie’s face. “No, Marisela. I quit Titan. For good. I’m on my own now.”
“What?” She stepped back for a second, regained her equilibrium, and then shot forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Why?”
“I got a better offer.”
“From who?”
He shrugged. “From me.”
Marisela swallowed hard, trying to contain the swirl of emotion twisting through her. Frankie leaving? Frankie not her partner anymore? Frankie heading off into an unknown situation without her there to watch his back?