Sixteen hours of surveillance had his gut disagreeing with the notion, but the thing that made good criminals so hard to catch was that they often didn’t look or seem like criminals.
As the morning passed, what they didn’t get were any personal calls made by or to her that might’ve given them anything useful.
“Assuming she works an eight-to-five,” Beckett said, “maybe we should go see what we can find at her house.”
Marz inhaled to speak when he heard Emilie’s voice through the headphones. “I’m going to walk down to the coffee shop for lunch. Want anything?”
An idea came to mind, and Marz rushed to pack up his equipment. “I agree. You go case the house and I’ll find a way to talk to her. She just said she’s going to a coffee shop. Maybe I can strike up a conversation.” Beckett frowned and shook his head as if he planned to argue. “We’ll cover twice as much ground. When you’re done, come back. Easy as.”
After a moment, Beckett sighed. “Okay. But don’t take any damn chances.”
Marz smirked. “Who me?”
“Stay in touch,” Beckett said with a scowl. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Handing off the pack to Beckett, Marz nodded. For a moment, it felt just like the old days: the two of them working together and having each other’s backs; Beckett’s gruffness that was really concern in disguise. Marz cleared his throat and nodded. “You got it. Now, let’s go get what we need.”
Chapter 4
Beckett took off just as Emilie rounded the front of the building and started along a diagonal sidewalk that cut across the quad. Marz ducked behind a magnolia tree and waited for her to pass. When the sound of her footsteps receded, he leaned out to see her, letting her get far enough ahead that she wouldn’t have any reason to notice him.
Keeping the better part of a block between them, Marz fixed his gaze on the sway and billow of Emilie’s pale yellow dress until she disappeared inside a shop. When he got there a few minutes later, he followed her in and saw her getting settled at a table.
The smell of food and coffee made Marz’s stomach grumble, so when he reached the counter to order, he chose a turkey sandwich and a bottle of Gatorade. Maybe he’d grab one for Beckett on the way out. Drink in hand, he sat down at the table next to Emilie’s to wait for his food.
It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at her . . . and, man, if she wasn’t absofreakinglutely beautiful. Curves hugged perfectly by the pretty dress, a sweet, warm face, and long, wavy brown hair that made his fingers itch to be buried in it. There was no question Emilie Garza was a mission asset, but talking to her wouldn’t be any kinda hardship, either. That was for damn sure.
He cracked open his drink and took a long pull. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Emilie retrieved her laptop from a bag and opened it. Hours of studying her brother’s picture in the surveillance images they took the night they first saw him made the familial resemblance clear. Which reminded Marz that this woman was the sister of his enemy.
Right. Don’t forget it.
The waitress placed a plate with a sandwich and chips on Emilie’s table. “Here you go,” she said. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Emilie said, offering up a big, open smile to the girl.
Pretending to read something on his phone, Marz debated the best way to initiate a conversation.
Emilie frowned at her monitor and held up her hands like she was asking a silent question. She rose from her table and went to the counter. “Excuse me?”
Marz eyeballed her cell phone, tucked between the keyboard and the wall. So close.
From behind him, Emilie said, “I can’t log onto the WiFi. Can you help me?”
“Oh, no. I don’t know. I’m sorry,” one of the workers replied. Marz smiled to himself. Could there have been a better in for him?
“Okay, thanks,” Emilie said, frustration plain in her tone. She returned to her table, looking a little lost.
“Hey, uh, I might be able to help,” Marz said.
As the waitress brought his sandwich, Emilie turned to look at him and glanced at his plate. “Oh, well, I don’t want to interrupt your lunch.”
“No worries,” he said, smiling at her. “I work in IT so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Really?” She glanced to her computer and then nodded. “Okay. I appreciate it. I wanted to get some paperwork done while I’m away from the office because I can never get it done while I’m there.”
Marz pushed his plate out of the way and reached out a hand. “Let’s get you fixed up, then. Here. I’ll take a look.”
Emilie handed him the thin notebook computer and pulled a chair from her table toward his. “Thank you,” she said as she sat.
Marz inhaled, about to respond, and caught a hint of her scent, something warm and fruity. His mouth watered. “You’re welcome,” he managed as he navigated to the control panel to troubleshoot the network connection. A few clicks later, the machine connected. “See? All set.”
“Aw, my hero,” she said with a beautiful, genuine smile that reached inside him and made him want for more. “Seriously, thank you. I think I have a bad-day hangover from yesterday, so I can’t tell you how much your kindness means to me.”
Marz had three reactions. First, no way this woman was involved in criminal activity. That one was an instinctive gut-check. Second, what the hell had happened yesterday? Nothing had occurred after their surveillance began last evening that offered any explanation. And third, what else could he do to make her look at him like that again?
“Not even a thing, but I’m glad I could help.” He handed her the computer, regretting that doing so sent her sliding back over to her own table. “I’m Derek, by the way.”
“Emilie,” she said, holding out her hand. Pretty brown eyes stared at him across the narrow space.
Marz returned the shake, liking the way her soft, slender hand fit inside his own. Touching her made his brain imagine doing more. Dragging his fingertips up her arm, caressing along the V-neck of her dress, tucking a dark brown curl behind her ear. “Well, I hope you manage to get through your paperwork, Emilie,” he said, swallowing down a knot of desire.
“Thanks. Uh, me too,” she said, turning toward her work and lunch. She peeked at him from behind the drape of her curls, and it made Marz grin as he picked up his sandwich.
Eating in silence, Marz’s mind wandered. He’d had sex since his amputation. He’d met a female vet at PT with an above-the-knee amputation. They’d become friends, went out for drinks one night, and she’d been brave enough to ask him if he was nervous about being with someone for the first time, post-amputation. An hour later, they tumbled into her bed. It had been an amazing affirmation that he was still a man, leg or no leg—and he certainly hadn’t seen her as any less of a woman for missing a limb. But they’d just been friends, and she moved away to live closer to her parents.
Taking a long drink of his orange Gatorade, he tried to shake the thoughts away.
How Marz had gone from a handshake to sex, he wasn’t exactly sure. Without question, Emilie was beautiful and smart and kind—the type of woman any man would be lucky to have. And Marz was a man, a man who’d had sex only once in almost two years. But Marz was also someone who had gone through life without feeling particularly well connected—except for his years in the Army. Truth be told, he craved belonging somewhere and with someone. He hadn’t had it as a child. Maybe he wouldn’t have it as an adult, either. Maybe he was meant to walk through this life alone.
The thought drew his hand over his heart, where his shirt covered a tattoo of seven blackbirds and the letters YNWA. You never walk alone. Marz might not have had a family by blood, but he’d damn sure had a family created by the bonds of honor, shared purpose, and brotherhood—one that Merritt had shattered with his deception and betrayal. Now, his four remaining teammates were all that was left of that family, which was why getting together with them meant so damn much. After returning stateside, they’d all retreat
ed to their own corners of the world to lick their wounds, so Marz thought he’d lost them, too. But now they were back together. And damn it all to hell but Marz didn’t want that to end.
He shoved the woe-is-me bullshit away.
Thinking of his dead teammates was another good reminder that the woman beside him was an operational asset. Nothing more. Certainly not someone to look at for . . . anything beyond her ties to Manny Garza.
Right.
Movement from the corner of his eye just as Emilie’s fingers gently landed on his forearm. His gaze swung toward her.
“I’m sorry. I said your name, but you didn’t hear me,” she said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just, uh, work stuff,” he said, kicking himself for not staying present in the moment. He clued in enough to see that she had most of her belongings in her arms.
“In case the waitress tries to clear the table, would you tell her I haven’t left. Just need to use the restroom.” She gestured toward the back.
“You got it. Your sandwich is safe with me. Unless you take too long, and then I might polish it off myself.”
Emilie grinned and chuckled as she rose. “Try to resist.”
As if the words had lured him in, Marz’s gaze swept over her body. “Resistance is futile,” he said with a wink.
She licked her lips and swallowed, her gaze all tangled with his and humor still bright in her eyes.
He let her off the hook and reached for his drink. “Leave your stuff if you want. I’ll watch it for you. And I won’t eat any of it. Promise.”
She looked hesitant for a moment, then clutched her laptop tighter to her chest. “That’s okay. Thanks, though. Be right back.”
Marz nodded. Smart woman for not leaving her electronics behind. Bad luck for him, though.
He shot off a text to Beckett. Find anything? When staring at the screen didn’t bring a response, Marz finished his sandwich.
Emilie returned a few moments later. “Look at that. You resisted.”
Humor and challenge slid into his gaze as he looked at her. “Some things are easier to resist than others.”
Her laughter was nervous and embarrassed and lit him up inside, too. “You’re too much, Derek,” she said. “So, do you live around here?”
Now they might be getting somewhere. “I’ve got a consulting gig in Baltimore. Down here for a few days on business. You?”
“I work at the counseling center at King’s College, but I just live a few minutes from downtown.”
Marz nodded, hoping he could keep her talking. “Nice. Would love a piece of land right on the water out here.”
Emilie turned toward him in her chair. “We’re on the water—I mean, I am. And, uh . . .” She shook her head and it was almost like she deflated a bit. Concern slid into Marz’s gut as he watched her demeanor change. What had caused it? “Well, anyway, I’ve always loved it.”
“Yeah?” he said, feeling like he wanted to bolster her up again. “What’s your favorite thing about the water?”
She tilted her head and considered him. “Besides how beautiful it is? I’d say that my favorite thing is how peaceful it is. I love the sound of it. When I’m going to sleep, I can hear the waves against the beach. During storms, there are foghorns that go off in the distance and it’s such a . . . I don’t know, reassuring sound to me. I could sit on my porch and watch the water for hours. The movement of it, the seagulls and ospreys and eagles, the big ships going up to port.” Emilie shook her head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go on and on.”
Smiling, Marz turned toward her in his seat. “No, I liked it.” He really had, too. The sound of her voice, the thoughtfulness behind her words. This was a woman who valued the small things in life, and who understood that sometimes the small things meant a lot. His gut was once again rejecting the idea that she was in on anything with her brother.
“What do you like about the water?” she asked.
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “This probably sounds weird, but I really like to float. To just lay back, close my eyes, and give myself over to the buoyancy and motion of the water.” Derek enjoyed that feeling even more since the amputation. The water took all the stress off his limb. He shrugged.
Emilie smiled. “That is a nice feeling, isn’t it? Except growing up with a brother it was never particularly safe to do it without risking getting dunked.” She laughed, the memory clearly a fond one.
Marz chuckled. “Oh, you have a brother? Does he live around here, too?”
Something flickered in Emilie’s eyes. “He’s in Baltimore, actually. But he visits sometimes.” Marz’s phone buzzed an incoming message, attracting Emilie’s gaze. It buzzed again. What fucking timing. “Well, I don’t want to keep you.”
Scooping the phone into his hands, Marz shook his head. “You’re not keeping me. This is my free day. I’m just sightseeing and relaxing today.” More buzzes, more messages. What the hell was going on?
“Oh, sounds heavenly.” She set up her laptop again, and in his peripheral vision, Marz could just make out the forms she’d been working on. Looked like case files. “It was very nice talking to you,” she said. “I feel like I should buy you a cup of coffee or something in thanks. Or a cookie. They’re great here.”
Another buzz. Chuckling, Marz slipped the phone into his pocket as he collected his trash and plate and rose. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though. And nice meeting you, too.” Even though he hadn’t managed to nab her phone or obtain any new information, he really meant it. He’d enjoyed the conversation, enjoyed talking to someone outside all the bullshit whirling around him. He’d enjoyed her.
“Are you sure? You can’t grow up in a big Latino family without wanting to feed people,” she said, looking up at him with that sweet smile.
“I’m good,” he said with a grin. “But I appreciate it, Emilie.” Something inside him hesitated. He didn’t want to walk away. But all those messages had his gut clenched in fear and anticipation. Beckett was the one most likely to be contacting him right now, which didn’t bode well. The guy was about as reserved a conversationalist as you’d ever find, and he hated talking on the phone. Hated texting even more. If the guy could get away without communicating in any form—ever—he’d be perfectly happy. No way all these messages didn’t mean some shit was going down. “Well, take care,” he said, offering a wave.
“You, too,” she said.
When he stepped out onto the brick sidewalk and the glass door closed behind him, he noticed Emilie was still watching him.
Marz double-timed it up to the next intersection, turned the corner, and ducked into the first doorway he found. He pulled up the texts.
Jesus, seven of them. What the hell?
The first was from Beckett and listed two phone numbers that were somehow related to Garza. Bingo. If one of them was a landline, that gave them a direct connection to an address. The second read, Half basement under the sister’s house.
And then there were pictures. Marz enlarged the first one, trying to figure out what he was seeing.
“Holy shit.”
He looked at the next one. And then the next.
“Holy fucking shit.”
Sweet, kind Emilie Garza had a basement full of drugs and guns. She had a fucking stash.
So much for his gut instinct. Anger crawled up his spine and had him thunking his head against the doorframe behind him.
The sixth one read, Where the hell are you?
And the last one: Calling the team on this.
Marz couldn’t have agreed more. He needed to get to Beckett. He went to dial him when the phone rang. Beckett. “Holy shit,” Marz said by way of answering.
“Yup. Talked to Nick, who talked to Shane, Easy, and Charlie. Charlie’s running the phone numbers. The stash wasn’t obvious. It was tucked into a totally dark room with a dirty floor that might’ve been a coal cellar or something. The sister might not even know, because the place doesn’t look used. The guys are coming and we’re taking it.?
??
Digging his hand through his hair, Marz processed all this information. “We need the assets,” he said.
“Yeah,” Beckett said.
“Well, shit. You wanna come get me? Or have them pick me up?” he asked.
“Negative,” Beckett said. “Your job is to keep Emilie Garza out of the house as long as you can.”
Chapter 5
Last patient gone for the day, Emilie shut down her computer, packed up her belongings, and worried—as she had all day—about her brother. Why had he been in such bad shape yesterday? What had happened to set him off? Who had called? And where had he gone after “laying low” at her house?
She’d been so worried that, as the afternoon wore on, she began to fear she was too distracted to do right by her clients. But sometimes you just had to muscle through the bad until it got better—the last two years had taught her that. And she hated to let her patients down when they needed her.
Speaking of being needed . . .
Emilie pulled out her laptop and booted it up. The screen came alive to a form that her gut told her she might have to submit. The state’s petition form for emergency psychiatric evaluation. For her brother.
She knew exactly what submitting this form would unleash.
Procedurally, it would enable the police to pick up Manny and escort him to an emergency room for a forced evaluation. After the incident yesterday, it was the only remaining recourse Emilie saw. The one time she’d suggested he be evaluated and seek treatment for PTSD, he’d nearly taken her head off. After yesterday, she was afraid rational discussion was off the table. Way off.
Emotionally, it would set off a firestorm on so many levels. As much as Emilie believed Manny required some sort of intervention, guilt ate at her for even thinking of doing this. Her mother, who thought Emilie’s concerns were way out of proportion, would probably never forgive her. And Manny. Oh, my God, who even knew what Manny would do? But it wouldn’t be good.
It might sever the relationship with her brother forever. And that made her heart hurt. Because somewhere inside him was the boy who’d helped her build blanket forts in her bedroom when they’d been kids. Somewhere inside him was the young man who’d been so proud of her for graduating college that he’d surprised her with a car for her gift. Somewhere inside him was the gallant soldier who’d looked so dashing in his dress uniform as he’d walked her down the aisle on her wedding day.