Yours in Black Lace (12 page)

“Little Havana. I keep a place here.”

She shook her head and brushed at the wrinkles in the leaf-green skirt she’d grabbed off the bedroom floor before they left. “Let me get this straight. You keep a ‘cottage’ in Naples. And now I find out that you also keep ‘a place’ in Little Havana. Even though you already have a home in Coral Gables.”

“Don’t worry, the lease isn’t under my name. It’s like a safe house. We use the apartment to meet with informants or to baby-sit witnesses before they testify.”

She rubbed an ache in her neck, the result of sleeping with her head against the Jeep’s passenger window. “You know, most people keep pets, not real estate.”

“Real estate doesn’t chew up the furniture.”

As they drove along, Stevie caught glimpses of crowded sidewalks and still-lit storefronts from between concrete buildings painted in colors like turquoise, lime and white. “Is it always this lively at two o’clock in the morning?”

“Last night was
viernes culturales.
On the last Friday of every month,
Calle Ocho,
Southwest Eighth Street, hosts a street festival with dancing, art displays and sidewalk vendors.”

Music seemed to surround her. Heavy bass beats erupted from passing cars while fiery merengue melodies beckoned from nightclubs. Street signs announced their location in English and
en Español.
The air smelled of unfamiliar spices and excitement. It wasn’t so much like driving into another part of Miami as entering a different world.

A few minutes and several turns later, Emelio parked in front of a coral-orange building. On the corner was a small grocer, what he called
una bodega.
He promised to get café Cubano and guava pastries when the store opened in a few hours. Stevie followed him up the narrow stairs to a clean but musty third-floor apartment.

She looked around at the cramped living room, tiny kitchen and short hallway leading to a single bedroom. The layout wasn’t much different from her own apartment, but the bare walls and sparse furnishings made it clear no one really lived here.

“Make yourself at home, such as it is.”

“Oh, I don’t know, chér. With a few plants, a good dusting and some cheap travel posters, this place would perk right up.”

Emelio put her suitcase and the duffel bag he’d packed near the lumpy-looking sofa and set his laptop computer on the small desk. While he unstrapped his shoulder holster, she went over to open the terrace door and let in some fresh air.

Stevie stood on the narrow wrought-iron balcony, looking down on the darkened street and listening to the rhythmic percussion of numerous drums and the fainter strumming of guitars. She cocked her head when she sensed Emelio behind her.

“What is that music?”

“That’s a
rumba,
a Cuban jam-session party. Delgado’s is just over on Sixth.” He draped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “The band is just warming up. Some nights they play until dawn.”

“Now that sounds like a great idea.” Stevie turned to wrap her arms behind his neck, gently rubbing her pelvis across his.

A slight smile of amused interest pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Dawn isn’t for another five hours.”

“That’s plenty of time for black-lace letter number seven.”

“Spoilsport.”

Emelio moved forward, trapping her between the hard metal rail and the hard heat inside his jeans. He bent his head to nibble the side of her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’ll take you right here on the balcony, right now.”

A gasp of surprise and excitement escaped her. It was just a fantasy—she never thought he’d actually be willing. But if Emelio wanted to try it… She moaned as he cupped her breast.

“Turn around, Stephanie. I’ll lean you over the railing, lift your skirt and pull your panties to one side. Then I’ll push myself inside you, taking you hard and fast and deep, until you scream your orgasm into the night.”

Stevie felt dampness flood the apex of her thighs as her pulse thundered along her veins. Her body was on fire from wanting him, vibrating with lust. She clasped the sides of his face and gave him a kiss that branded his taste onto her lips.

When she finally came up for air, he looked at her with desire and something more in his expression. Fatigue. She couldn’t ignore how tired she was, either, and so she offered him a conciliatory smile. “Number seven can wait for another time. Maybe you’d rather go inside and be comfortable on the bed.”

“Hmm. There’s a lot to be said for the comfortable approach. I can undress you completely, then take my time kissing every single inch of your beautiful body. I’ll make love to you slowly, thoroughly, until you come apart in my arms.”

Emelio took Stevie’s hand and led her through the apartment, stopping only to grab a condom from his duffel bag. In the small bedroom, they stripped quickly and kissed slowly. He brushed his lips over hers, savoring their velvet warmth. She pressed closer, opening to the gentle invasion of his tongue.

Unlike their last encounter, when fulfilling her fantasy in black-lace letter number six had damn near drowned them both in the cottage pool, Emelio took his time seducing her. The heat between them built gradually, a warm glow as opposed to a raging fire, the heat of tenderness as well as desire.

He eased her onto the bed then joined her on the thin cotton quilt. Stevie reached for him in the muted light filtering through the heavy curtains. She whispered encouragement as his body covered hers and she arched her hips to meet him. He entered her in one smooth motion, merging their bodies in the darkness.

Emelio supported his weight on his elbows, watching her face as he flexed inside her. Even in the dim light, he could see the emotion in her gaze. Stevie’s hands caressed his naked back, her touch telling him all he needed to know. Together they found their unique rhythm, urging each other to greater depths of desire.

Beneath him, Emelio felt Stevie surrender to the growing passion. It was only now, only when making love, that she would let go and give him any control. He repositioned his body, taking his entire weight on his arms and moving higher on the bed to change the angle of penetration. Stevie raised her head and traced her tongue around his left nipple.

He rocked forward so that his shaft rubbed against her clitoris, plunging deeper and faster until she cried out with the power of her orgasm. Tremors rocked his body when he finally allowed himself to follow her over the edge. The pleasure of his release was pure and explosive.

After a few minutes, his breathing slowed and he shifted onto his side. Stevie lay trembling in his embrace, her heart pounding against his chest. Emelio cuddled her closer until she drifted off. He doubted he’d be able to sleep at all. He felt drained, weary in a way that wasn’t physical.

Braga was upping the ante.

How the hell did he manage to hunt them to Naples? Emelio’s thoughts twisted in confused circles. Where had he failed Stevie? At what point had he let down his guard?

Beside him, she murmured softly in her sleep and he sighed. It honest to God scared him how much he loved her. He knew in his heart he’d go to any extreme to keep her safe. Even if that meant backing off for a while in order to make the right decisions. He had to put aside his feelings and try to remain professional. He couldn’t put her at risk again.

“Guess I lost track of time.”

At the raspy sound of his voice, she leaned down to get a good look at his face. His eyes were bloodshot and the coffee-brown waves of his hair lay in furrows from where his fingers had raked through the strands. His skin was pale, making the rough stubble on his jaw stand out in stark relief.

“You haven’t been to sleep yet.”

“Soon. I’m still trying to find out some leads.” He reached up to rub his eyes. Then he took her left hand and absently kissed her fingers.

She kneaded his shoulders, trying to ease the knots of tension. “I don’t suppose anything I could say would convince you to stop and get some rest?”

He glanced up at her with a tired smile. “I took a break an hour ago and got coffee and pastries. They’re in the kitchen.”

She started to insist he go to sleep, only to have her belly interrupt. “Thanks, Emelio. And I don’t just mean for breakfast.”

As she turned toward the kitchenette, his attention was already back on the lines of text scrolling down the computer screen. Stevie poured the foam cup of strong-smelling Cuban coffee into a mug she found in the cabinet, then popped it into the microwave along with the pastries.

Walking back out four minutes later, she swallowed the last bite of her first pastry. Emelio was still engrossed in his search. With no phone and only one computer, there wasn’t much she could do to help.

“Mind if I switch on the TV?”

“No, go ahead.” He tossed the answer over his shoulder. “The Turner Network is still showing the James Bond movie marathon.”

“Great! I hope I didn’t miss
From Russia With Love.
That’s the one with the cigarette-boat chase scene.”

“Is that why you took the Maritime Endurance class?”

“Hey, you never know when you might need to use a flare gun to set off exploding oil drums and triumph over the evil forces from SPECTRE.”

Stevie flipped on the television then settled on the sofa with her coffee mug in one hand and the remote control in the other. She was shifting around, trying to find the softest lump, when the voice from the screen caught her attention.

“Alleged drug kingpin, Francisco Guillermo Ramos, is dead. This, and other news, when we return.”

“The top story at this hour is the apparent suicide of Francisco Guillermo Ramos. The purported head of the Dominican cartel was arrested last year at a Florida Keys resort on several counts of drug trafficking and money laundering. After numerous delays, his trial began almost a month ago. Ramos, scheduled to testify next week, was discovered earlier this morning hanging from the balcony of his hotel room.”

“Three years wasted. Three years!” Emelio hurled the remote, shattering it against the wall. “Ramos made a deal with the Justice Department, then didn’t have the guts to take the stand.
Maldiga ese bastardo al infierno.
All of our time and effort comes to nothing!”

Stevie reached out a comforting hand, knowing there was nothing she could say, but he shook her off. She gazed at him for a moment, saw the anger, disbelief and frustration, and decided to give him some space.

Turning back to the TV, she glanced down at the caption to see that Jack Weston, Assistant State’s Attorney, was being interviewed. Then she looked up at his face. An itchy, tingling sense of recognition crawled along her nerves. Weston had the look of a typical all-American politician—blond hair, blond features, bland eyes—but part of her mind was screaming at her to look harder…

“Mr. Weston, can you tell us what the State’s Attorney plans to do now?”

“Obviously, with Francisco Ramos dead, there’s no point in continuing the trial. However, this unfortunate incident does nothing to sway the resolve of this office. The Ramos trial may be over, but the war on drugs will continue. We cannot allow—”

“I remember.”

“Hmm?” Emelio stood beside the sofa, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I remember! I saw him, I saw Weston with Braga!”

He stared at her, then at the television and back again, frown lines marring his forehead. “That guy?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“No, he couldn’t—”

Stevie held up one palm to interrupt. “I told you, I never forget a face. But I couldn’t place Braga’s until I saw Weston.”

She had Emelio’s full attention now, his focus intent as he stared at her. “Tell me what you remember.”

Stevie spoke carefully so that the images reeling through her mind came out as coherent sentences. “It was before Christmas. The Stocktons were having a big party and wanted to make sure the new security system we installed was working.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“The clients had us put in some sophisticated upgrades like motion sensors on the artwork and infrared in the room where they keep the safe.” She made a sweeping gesture. That wasn’t the important part. “Anyway, when an alarm was tripped in one of the upstairs bedrooms, it was my turn to discourage amorous couples looking for a place to have illicit sex.”

Emelio snorted, familiar with the situation. “Go on.”

“When I opened the door, I walked in on two men deep in conversation. They shook hands, like they’d just closed a deal. I
saw
Braga shake hands with Weston, the guy who’s helping to prosecute his boss, Frankie Ramos.”

Emelio closed his eyes and swore again viciously.

Stevie leaned forward, elated that she had finally made the association. “Weston must be part of the cartel. He’s probably been helping Braga from the inside.”

“Christ, I can’t believe this!” He raised both arms and squeezed his temples between his palms. “I have no idea how many cases against the cartel were lost on legal technicalities. I don’t know what evidence might have been misplaced or destroyed, which witnesses Braga may have gotten to…. Shit!”

Stevie’s heart beat erratically in her chest as she realized the full import of what she’d seen. “If I saw them long enough to recognize
their
faces—”

“Then you were in the room long enough for them to memorize yours.” His expression was grim. “They saw you, Stephanie, and they’ve been stalking you ever since. That’s why Braga sent the photos—to let you know he’d found out where you live.”

Tendrils of fear curled like black ribbons through her veins. She hated being afraid. But she wasn’t about to back down. “I won’t let that keep me from signing an affidavit. I’ll swear in court to what I saw.”

Admiration shone in Emelio’s eyes, but she also saw his hesitation. “Your seeing them together is damning enough to start an investigation, but not enough to hang them on. Did you hear anything they said?”

“I didn’t hear much. They stopped talking as soon as I opened the door, but I know how to find out.”

“There’s another witness?” His features lit up with hope.

Stevie allowed a slow, triumphant grin to spread across her face. “Yeah, one with an unblinking eye. When I redesigned the security system, the client had audio and video surveillance installed in almost every room of the house. I didn’t ask why, but I’m sure that party was recorded. All we have to do is get the videotapes.”

Her pulse quickened for a different reason now. She knew Emelio was upset, but she couldn’t contain her own growing excitement. She’d solved her own case, and she was finally going to get the chance to do real investigation work.

However, he didn’t return her smile. “Wait a minute. We don’t know for certain that there is a tape. And even if there was, we don’t know for how long they’re archived. The client might just use the same one over again.”

Stevie refused to consider the possibility and let it dampen her mood. Her first covert mission would involve going after a crime lord. Cool. “It’ll be easy enough to find out. Hand me my purse, will you? The Stockton’s address should be in my handheld organizer.”

As he passed the bag over from the desk, a metallic voice from his laptop computer announced he had urgent mail. Startled, Stevie let the purse slip from her grasp. She crouched down to gather her wallet, checkbook and makeup bag.

From behind her, Emelio spoke quietly. “I’ve got to get you out of Miami, preferably out of the state.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.” Stevie stood up and whipped around to look at him. His back was to her, blocking the laptop. “It’s over now. It has to be. Braga can’t threaten us once we confront him with the surveillance video.”

When Emelio turned, she was stunned to see the anguished expression on his face. The pallor of his skin, already pale, now looked ashen as the last of his confidence drained away.

“It’s not over.”

He moved aside and gestured toward the computer. Her gaze followed the line of his arm and her heart stopped. Stevie dropped her purse on the sofa and moved around in order to see the laptop clearly. Her throat constricted and she forgot to breathe. Stevie stared at the images glowing from the screen.

It was black-lace letter number six.

She and Emelio were making love in the swimming pool behind the cottage. Whoever had them under surveillance had used a telescopic lens, zooming in close enough to see the hard peaks of her nipples, the droplets of water on Emelio’s skin. God only knew how long they’d been watched—the pictures showed them in several different positions and states of ecstasy.

“Apparently another manila envelope was delivered to the office. Alex scanned the pictures and sent them as attachments.”

Stevie swallowed hard, appalled that the fulfillment of her sensual fantasy had been turned into some kind of pornographic threat. “How? How in the hell did he find us?”

“It’s possible that intruder really was a burglar, but the timing is suspect. Maybe he was a decoy or a warning… I don’t know. I can’t think.” Emelio groaned, and threw his head back. “Weston called my cell phone that first night in Naples.”

“What? What did he want?”

He shook his head. “He was trying to figure out where I was, supposedly for rebuttal testimony. Obviously Weston wanted to locate us for Braga.”

Stevie crossed her arms over her waist, almost numb from the onslaught of information. “That would explain the attacks in Fort Myers. But how did he find us at the cottage?”

Emelio reached over and manipulated the keyboard until the screen returned to the e-mail program. “There’s another picture. This is the one that made the connection. I guess my agent sent out press kits to drive up the price of that early painting.”

The digitalized image of a torn paper appeared. When the view enlarged, Emelio’s likeness filled the screen. Below it was a caption about the Hillman-Grey Gallery’s special presentation of the early works of José Castillo. Stevie didn’t bother reading the rest of the article.

“I hate this!” She swung away from the sofa, needing to move. Her eyes watered and panic threatened to break her down. It was happening again. A man’s will was closing in on her, trapping her in a state of desperation and fear.

No. Not again. She stalked back across the room. Calling upon hard-learned survival skills, she quickly tapped into her anger. While fear might paralyze her, fury would give her the strength to get through this. “We have to get that videotape. If I don’t take a stand now, Braga wins.”

Emelio shook his head, sighing heavily as he dropped onto the edge of the sofa. His eyes were bloodshot with fatigue and the edges of his mouth turned down. “I can’t let you do that. I failed you in Naples and he found us. Now more than ever, I’ve got to keep you safe.”

“Then let’s go after him and end this.”

“No. We’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay here with me guarding you at all times.”

Pride and the need for independence shot her temper from
fuming
right to
seriously pissed off.
“I really resent your dictating to me again, no matter how noble your intentions—”

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have you placed in protective custody.” Emelio stood up; his normally melodic voice so ominous as to be almost unrecognizable. “I won’t let another woman I—I’m responsible for get killed.”

“What are you talking about, Emelio?”

Stevie was hell-bent on going after Braga. That was the last thing he could allow to happen. He was tired, so damn tired, but he had to gather enough energy to fight with her once more. He’d do whatever it took, including bare his soul, in order to make her understand that her safety was all that mattered now.

He stuffed both hands into his back pockets and took a deep breath. “Lina, the woman I told you I was involved with, was killed during a drug bust.”

“She was a cop?”

“No. She was my informant.”

Stevie’s expression remained neutral for a moment, but he could see the wheels turning. Then her eyes narrowed beneath her golden eyebrows and her mouth flattened into a line of displeasure. “Please tell me I’m wrong about what I’m thinking. Tell me you didn’t take this woman’s virginity to get information.”

“No!” Emelio recoiled at the implication, stung that she would even think it of him. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like, then?”

“I’d just been transferred to the Special Operations Division from the Bureau. My first major undercover assignment was to find proof that Braga was using the
Viajes Caribe
travel agency for illegal fund transfers.” He paused. “I was supposed to get the owner to trust me, get whatever evidence I could to further the case against the cartel.”

Stevie turned away, her arms crossed under her breasts as she paced the room in long strides. “You said you had a relationship.”

Emelio was quiet for a moment, remembering. “I cared for her, I admit it. Lina was young and very sweet and I believed in her innocence. Because of that, I wasn’t thinking with my head.”

“Not the one on your shoulders, anyway,” Stevie muttered. When he shot her a dark look, her mouth twisted into a frown, but she apologized before asking, “What went wrong?”

So many things had gone wrong. Where the hell did he begin? He raked one hand through his hair. “I screwed up. Is that what you want to hear? I screwed up!”

“How?” Stevie paused near the balcony door, the humid breeze ruffling her hair.

Emelio sighed heavily and stared unseeingly at the floor, looking inward. “I was gone a lot and couldn’t always explain, so Lina thought I was seeing another woman. She tried to follow me a couple of times. One day I wasn’t careful enough. She saw me going into the Dade County Courthouse to testify in another case. Later, when she confronted me, I denied it, of course—”

“But the damage had been done.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “I take it she refused to help you.”

“Not directly. That would have been better for all of us. Like I said, I trusted in her innocence and in her love. I didn’t count on the depth of her loyalty to Braga.”

“You totally compromised your investigation.”

Her tone was coolly impersonal, and he looked up to see judgment evident in her gaze. There was suddenly more than physical distance between them, and he knew that he’d disappointed her. His shoulders slumped, exhaustion and guilt weighing on him equally.

“It was the greatest lapse in judgment of my career. The cartel used the charter flights Lina booked to move cash out of the U.S. I warned her that she’d lose the agency, that I’d charge her as an accessory and send her to jail.”