They were all silent. She looked at each one, lifting her chin in defiance. They were angry, disappointed, disillusioned. She knew how to manage those emotions. Yet all she wanted to do was move on. Lord, she hated talking about feelings.
“I will never make that mistake again,” she promised softly.
“And what about us?” Alex demanded. “Do we trust you again, Lucy? Or do we have to wonder, every time you dole out some high-profile job, that you and your buddies have ulterior motives?”
The only sound was the steady swish of the pendulum in her longcase clock. As the seconds noisily ticked away, no one said a word. Even Dan stood still, waiting.
“I will never,” she said slowly, looking from one to the other, “lie to you again.”
Max nodded once. Dan smiled his acceptance. Alex knocked back his coffee, stood up, and left the room.
“Forget him, Lucy,” Max said quickly. “He’s being his moody self. Move on. What’s next?”
As much as she loved Max’s attitude, she had to ignore the advice. “Excuse me,” she said, getting up. “I need to talk to him.”
She found Alex on the patio, his gaze on the vista that spilled for miles, gripping the balustrade as he inhaled a breath of chilly air.
Calm that temper, Alex.
She approached him without making a sound. “Are you going to leave me?”
He started and glanced at her. “You’re such a spy, Lucy. I never hear you coming.”
“I’ll teach you the tricks,” she offered. “If you don’t leave me.”
He turned to her, the fire in his soul evident in his eyes. “I had to shoot right at her. You have no idea how hard that was.”
Oh, yes I do. Lucy closed her fingers over his. “Sometimes you have to take huge and unimaginable risks to save your principal.”
He looked hard at her. “This wasn’t just my principal, Lucy. This wasn’t just another job.”
“You love her,” she stated simply.
He didn’t answer.
“Why are you fighting that?” she asked. “I have no rules against happiness in my organization.”
“What makes you think I’d be happy with her?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
He snorted. “Hey, you called it. ‘Gorgeous, smart, and built like a centerfold.’ How else am I going to look at her?”
“It’s much more than that. You’ve met your match.”
“That I did.” He gave her a humorless smile. “And for a match, we couldn’t be more different.”
“Same with my match.”
“Who was that, Lucy?”
“He’s dead.” At his look of sympathy, she squeezed her hand over his. “I’m fine.” Of course she was fine; she’d killed him.
“My point is,” she continued, keeping her voice strong and steady, “when you meet your match, you can’t walk away from her.”
“I’m going to Cuba,” he said softly. “At least, I assume that’s where you’re sending me. And after that, who knows? London? Tel Aviv? Tokyo?”
“And your point is?”
He gave her a get-real look. “That’s hardly the foundation for stability.”
“Alex,” she said softly. “Who says she wants stability?”
“Luce, you don’t—”
She took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Come on. I have a surprise for you. I can’t give you any more of a mea culpa, but I can give you something else.”
When they returned to the library, she sat behind her desk and the three men resumed their previous positions.
“And now we move on, to Cuba.” She looked at Alex and described the job, which included guarding a high-level Cuban executive who had also been set up to appear to be part of a money laundering scheme.
“Obviously, the principal in Cuba requires exceptional personal protection. I’d like you to handle that, Alex.”
He nodded and took the dossier she handed him.
“I’d also like to launch an investigation into some of the allegations against this man, and I’m going to need someone who can dig into the laundering situation and figure out what’s going on.” Lucy looked at Max and Dan, then her gaze returned to Alex. “You’ll need a partner.”
“I don’t need a partner,” he countered with a scowl.
“You do. I’ve given this a great deal of thought.” Again, she looked at Max, then back to Alex, who looked ready to leap across her writing table and choke her.
“I have someone in mind for this assignment already, Alex. Someone you can trust,” she continued. “Someone as strong as you, but willing to work with you and not against you. Someone very smart, capable and intuitive.”
“Thank God,” Alex said dryly. “You’ve ruled out Roper.”
“You might not realize it, but Max possesses all those qualities. However—” She held up her hand before he protested. “I also need someone with unparalleled computer hacking skills.”
The first light of understanding glimmered in his eyes.
“I envision a partner who is an equal to you.” She gave into the urge to smile. “Someone who is relentless, inquisitive, unstoppable. Someone who is truly…your match.”
Dropping back against his chair, he laughed softly.
“I’m willing to hire an outsider on a consulting basis.” She picked up another file. “If this works out, we can add her to the permanent Bullet Catcher staff.”
“Are you serious?” The hope in his eyes touched her. Oh, yes. Jazz Adams was a very lucky, and loved, young woman.
She held the dossier toward him. “I like what I’ve seen on this candidate. All the qualities I’m looking for in a Bullet Catcher are there.” As he took the folder, their hands touched. “Do you trust my judgment, Alex?” she asked.
“I trust you, Lucy.”
She accepted his absolution with a single nod to the folder. “Can you teach her Spanish?”
He grinned. “We’ve already had a few lessons.”
He opened the file and let out a low, slow whistle. Dan leaned over his shoulder and looked at the picture. “You’ll have your hands full with that one, Alex.”
“You have no idea.”
And even Max laughed at that.
“I just want to let you know I’m leaving now.” Jazz felt Jessica’s soft kiss on her cheek. “Ollie’s downstairs to pick me up, Jazz. You can sleep for a few more hours.”
Jazz refused to open her eyes. “When will you be back?”
“A day or two. However long it takes to gather Denise’s son and start the paperwork up there.” Jessica pulled the blanket higher and rubbed Jazz’s shoulder. “I have to mend fences with Ollie. He’s been a good friend to me. And still is, considering he’s willing to fly to Minnesota with Denise and me.”
Jazz nodded, unwilling to pull out of sleep to discuss Jessica’s friendships. “Call me.”
“I will,” Jessica promised. “Now go back to sleep.”
Jazz curled deeper into the bed and inhaled. The guest room bed hadn’t been changed yet, and it still smelled like Alex. Wrapping her arms around the pillow, she snuggled into the down, listening for the soft beeps of Jessica setting the security alarm. Once she heard them, she let herself get lost in that heady, masculine scent that seeped into her pores and even deeper into her heart.
Would she, could she, ever forget a man like Alex Romero?
Sleep descended again as she breathed evenly, loving the memories that went with his scent. He’d slept in this bed, warmed it with his strong, long body. The ache to hold him was so sharp, it threatened to wake her.
So she settled on the memory of his lips, his laugh, the sound of his voice. Querida. Querida.…
“Despiértate, querida.” In her dream, she remembered his touch on her cheek, the feel of his breath on her ear. “Estás tan rica que te quiero comer.”
The memory of his provocative wake-up call curled her toes. The blanket moved, the bed dipped, the sheets rustled, the scent
intensified. And Jazz was suddenly awakened from the deepest sleep to the most startling reality.
Alex. Next to her. In bed. Wearing nothing but that sinful smile. He propped himself up on one elbow and a lock of his hair fell over one eye.
“Jessica let me in on her way out,” he said, touching the fading bruise on her cheek.
She remained perfectly still, buried deep into her pillow, staring at him. “Good thing, because we changed the alarm code.”
“It’s about time.” He dipped closer and touched his lips to her wounded cheek. “I missed you.”
The whispered words sent a shudder through her, tightening her tummy and every muscle below that. She stroked the hair off his forehead. “I thought you were on your way to Cuba.”
“I am.”
Her heart plummeted. “Today?”
“It depends.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her into the granite of his muscular body. “How quickly can you be ready?”
For a moment she thought he’d spoken Spanish, because the question certainly didn’t make sense in English. “Ready? For what?”
“To go to Cuba.”
She lifted her head, searching those black-coffee eyes. “Why would I go to Cuba?”
“Because Lucy Sharpe has extended a provisional job offer for you to join the Bullet Catchers.”
“She has?” Maybe she was still dreaming.
He nodded, sending the wayward hair over his eyebrow again. “And I really need you on this job, Jazz. It’ll be fun,” he teased softly, leaning to kiss her lips as he draped a bare leg over her.
Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Her heart sang. “You need me?”
“Constantly.” He winked at her. “Even though you don’t need me.”
The admission washed over her like warm air. “You need me. On this job.” She sounded like an idiot repeating his words, but they just didn’t make sense.
“I need a partner,” he said, tracing her cheek and lower lip with his fingertip, slowly easing his body against hers. “On this job…and in this life.”
Her chest ached with the breath she held. What was he saying? “I…don’t understand.”
“Would you prefer I say it in Spanish?”
She turned on her side to line their bodies up, feeling his heart hammer at the same crazy rhythm as hers. “Say it…in any language.”
He moved closer. “Te deseo…I want you.” Turning her onto her back, he eased on top of her. “Te necesito…I need you.” Then he took her mouth in a long, sensuous kiss. After, he whispered, “Te quiero.”
“Te quiero,” she repeated. I love you.
“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Jazz closed her eyes and let the euphoria envelop her. “That’s quite a big risk for a guy like you.”
“Open your eyes and look at me, querida.” When she did, he held her gaze. “I’m not afraid of risks, Jazz. I’m afraid of you believing that we shouldn’t be together because you don’t want someone to take care of you. I know you can take care of yourself—and all the people you love—and I would love nothing more than the honor of coming along for the ride.”
She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears.
“Aw, Jazz.” He laughed and kissed her eyelids. “I’ve never seen you cry before.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, her voice cracking.
He kissed her cheeks, her mouth, her throat. “I’ll never get used to you.”
Arching into him, she knew she’d never get used to this—happiness so intense it hurt, and contentment so real it numbed her.
Love. Love so wild and strong and inviting that she could barely breathe.
“Tell me again, Alex. Tell me you love me.”
And he did, using the universal language they both spoke fluently.
Roxanne St. Claire, Kill Me Twice
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