Yours in Black Lace (14 page)

Damn good thing. He would never in his life strike a woman, but right now he might seriously consider throttling one.

She’d been so caring, so concerned while she helped him to bed. Hell, she’d even rubbed his back. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the tender warmth of her touch. Stupid! He’d fallen under her spell when all the while she’d set him up.

Had she even waited for him to fall asleep before stealing the Jeep and stranding him in Little Havana? The utter shock of it had burned away any residual fatigue, leaving him pissed off and edgy and alone in the empty apartment.

Maybe that was what he resented most. Here he was supposed to be the professional and yet he’d let an amateur fool him into letting down his guard. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he should have seen it coming. Stevie never gave in without a hell of a fight.

And that worried him more than anything else. Emelio pressed a hand against the glass pane of the balcony door, resting his forehead on his wrist. Tight knots formed in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Where could Stevie have gone? He turned away from the door and suddenly focused on a photograph lying on the couch.

He walked over to pick it up and his heart constricted in his chest.
Madre de Dios.
His legs gave out and he sank onto the cushion. The close angle had perfectly captured Stevie’s beautiful smile. Her slate-blue eyes glowed with amusement as she looked at something in the distance. He saw himself in the picture, as well, his gaze oblivious to anything but her.

His expression was openly admiring, unguarded and in love. Everything was right there on his face and he saw what Braga must have—the raw evidence of his feelings for Stevie. Emelio sank back against the couch, his left hand covering his eyes.

Now he understood why Stevie thought he’d lied to her. Anyone looking at that picture would have known how much he cared for her. Except that Emelio hadn’t realized it himself, not until Naples. He’d had no idea his feelings were worn so blatantly on his sleeve. That was all his nemesis would have needed in order to plot revenge.

He leaped to his feet, raking his fingers through the tangles in his hair. In his mind’s eye he saw Lina, covered in blood and reaching out to him, her eyes shimmering with pain just before the light faded away, etching her forever-accusing stare onto his memory.

He had to find Stevie. Now.

He figured she was trying to get the videotape from the client. After that, he had no idea where to look for her. He checked his front pockets for quarters and hiked down the steps to use the pay phone in the bodega. He needed to call Alex to break the news about the Jeep and to get a lift to the office.

Back upstairs, he went into the kitchenette and heated up the last of the café Cubano in hopes the caffeine would jump-start his brain. Stevie was smart enough not to return to her apartment, but she was also relentless. It would be just like her to ignore everything he’d said and go after Weston. His mind leaped from one possibility to the next, careening his emotions from anger to the kind of anxiety that rippled down his spine and left his whole body chilled. He closed his eyes, thinking hard…

The news!

The coffee turned to acid in his stomach as he set the mug down with a bang. She’d been watching that segment about the charity ball. There must be a connection between Braga and the White Orchid Affair. She had remembered something but chose to punish him instead of revealing what she knew. Damn that woman’s stubbornness.

Stevie was walking into a viper’s nest in a bid to prove something to him. And, more importantly, to herself. Her fierce need to be in control, to not be seen as a victim, could very well get her killed. Since he didn’t know exactly what she had planned, he’d have to make some plans of his own.

For more than three years the SOD team had been united in their quest to bring down the Ramos cartel. These people had put everything, sometimes their careers and often their lives, on the line because they wanted justice and they wanted revenge.

Now, Emelio was going to ask them to do it again, but outside of channels. For a chance at Braga, he was sure they’d help him protect Stevie at the White Orchid Affair.

Madre de Dios,
just let him find her in time.

“Hi. Stephanie Madison.”

The desk clerk greeted her with a sympathetic nod. “Of course, Ms. Madison. We have your reservation. I’m terribly sorry about the situation with the airline. I’ll have your luggage sent up as soon as it arrives.”

“Thank you.” She slid a platinum credit card across the desk, grateful that her credit limit had never been reduced after the divorce. “In the meantime, can you arrange for someone at Neiman Marcus to bring over a selection of white evening gowns with matching footwear?”

“Certainly. Size…?”

“Ten. And size nine for the shoes.” Stevie gave the clerk a smile, fluttering her eyelashes. “Thank you very much.”

Entering her executive-level suite, Stevie’s heels sank into the plush jade-green carpet. Framed lithographs decorated walls papered in pale mint-and-white pinstripe. Richly upholstered dark wood furniture graced the living room and ceramic pots of flowering jasmine scented the air.

A set of ornate French doors led to a generously appointed bedroom. Luxurious cream-colored linens and goose-down pillows invited her to snuggle onto the king-size bed. Her thoughts turned to Emelio, imagining them bringing one of the black-lace letters to life in this gorgeous room.

That was never going to happen, though, not now. If he was even awake yet, he would be furious. Stevie shook off the weight of her regret. She had work to do. After tipping the bellboy, she secured her copy of the Stockton videotape in the bedroom safe.

Then she kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot to the wide glass sliders. The balcony view of Biscayne Bay ten stories below was spectacular. Seagulls wheeled through the air above cigarette boats slicing through the channel. She left the doors open, allowing a sultry breeze to billow through the floral draperies.

Stevie walked over to the antique secretary and picked up the room-service menu. After perusing the many choices of gourmet cuisine, she dialed the kitchen to place an order for a very late lunch. “This is room 1017. I’d like a hamburger, medium rare, with Colby cheese, mustard, mushrooms, lettuce and tomato. And also a large order of fries.”

She created a script in her head while she ate. Every good poker player knows that in order to bluff, you have to believe. Stevie wasn’t that great at cards but she figured she’d watched enough spy movies to pull off a decent con.

She used the hotel phone to track down the Assistant State’s Attorney, finally interrupting his family barbecue. Her pulse leaped with apprehension when he came on the line. She swallowed hard and prepared to show her hand.

“Jack Weston.” His voice was a little thick, probably from too much hot sun and cold beer.

“Hello, Mr. Weston. You’re in one hell of a lot of trouble.” She kept her tone light and cheerful, the telemarketer of his nightmares.

“Who is this?” he demanded.

“Stevie Madison.”

She sensed his recognition and alarm, but he tried to pretend otherwise. “Madison…? Madison…”

Because of him, she’d been forced to run. She’d been in hiding all week. Seething resentment gave her voice an edge before she could control it. “You want to play games, or do you want me to tell you what I know?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

She cut him off, suddenly impatient with his evasion. “I saw you with Braga at the Stockton’s holiday party.”

A grave silence came over the phone line. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. When Weston finally spoke, his voice was devoid of inflection. “You’re crazy.”

“You wish.” Stevie’s laugh was tainted with derision as she stared down at the late-afternoon sun glimmering on the blue waters of the Bay.

“Are you recording this nonsense? Because I warn you—”

“Relax, Jack, I’m on a cell phone. You’re pretty good with cell phones, aren’t you? Like I said, I saw you shake hands with Rogelio Braga. That’s not the kind of thing that will advance your career.”

The slurring of his words betrayed Weston’s feeble attempt at disbelief. “I don’t recall exactly—”

“I thought we weren’t going to play games?” Stevie turned away from the windows and paced across the room. “I’m prepared to go public unless we make a deal.”

“How can I be sure you haven’t gone to anyone with these lies already?”

“You can’t, Jack.”

Weston’s chuckle was humorless. “How much do you want?”

She hesitated, momentarily stunned by the twist in the conversation. Maybe she wasn’t the only one trying to bluff. “How do I know you’re not the one recording this?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

Stevie snorted, as though he’d insulted her, but she had to be careful not to cross the line to extortion. She was already on shaky ground for the blackmail.

Weston kept talking. “Yeah, you look like the high-maintenance type. Thirty.”

Then again, he’s the one who brought up the money. “Come on, Jack. My information is worth more than that.”

“Today’s Saturday. The banks are closed.”

“Remind me to be sympathetic.”

Weston sighed dramatically. “Fifty? Fifty thousand is a lot of money. It could take me a while.”

Her reply dripped sarcasm. “I’m sure Braga can loan you some cash.”

Another silence greeted her. It was time to give him a push in the direction she wanted him to go. “You don’t think your career is worth that much? How about your life?”

“I guess we should meet to discuss this in person.” Weston sounded resigned.

“Fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?” She’d surprised him at last. “But—”

Stevie hung up the phone and exhaled in a slow whoosh. The stress eased from her shoulders even as another emotion swelled in her chest. Pride. This was going to work. She’d found a way to take Weston and Braga down. She felt empowered, completely in control for the first time in too long. She’d made her own decisions and handled things on her own terms.

Wait until she told Emelio…

Actually, it would have to wait. She hadn’t seen a telephone in the apartment in Little Havana and she didn’t know if Emelio still had his mobile. The only way to contact him would be through the agency, if anyone was even working in the office today. After digging out her cell phone, she pressed the send button to call the most recently dialed number.

Alex cupped his palm over the mouthpiece and whispered, “She’s at the Carlyle.”

He closed his eyes briefly, relief washing over and through him at the knowledge she was still alive.

“Why would you contact Weston?” Alex narrowed his eyes in a disgruntled expression. “No, explain it to me now. I’d like to know what the hell is going on.”

Emelio’s reaction was a single vicious curse. Stevie had tipped their hand to the target. She’d taken a precarious situation, doused it in gasoline and lit the fuse so there was no way to avoid an explosive confrontation. And yet, beneath the surface, was a reluctant admiration. In her determination to take control of her life, Stevie had turned the hunter into the prey and altered all the rules of the game.

“If you live through this, I’ll probably have to fire you.” Alex sighed heavily. “In the meantime, stay at the hotel. Don’t do anything else until I get there. What? Don’t even—”

Emelio gave him a quizzical look, wondering what Stevie had said before she hung up on Alex.

His best friend and partner gave him a wry glance. “She’s going shopping.”