Deadly Intent Page 5

  Didn’t mean they couldn’t give Cooper a giant headache when one went off the deep end. “Head of security. For Rodrigo Morales. Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “God’s truth. All I need is forty-eight hours, maybe less. Agent Diaz will have this op wrapped up and we’ll be in the sweet U.S. of A. by Saturday.”

  Cooper shook his head and drove east, away from the commotion down the street. “What aren’t you understanding? Her op is done. The FBI has enough on Morales, according to Dupé, The Attorney General will be sending warrants down the pipeline in twenty-four hours, maybe less. Bring her in. If she causes an international incident, your ass is in deep shit. The president can’t afford that right now, not with his approval numbers in the toilet after the Chicago debacle.”

  Cooper’s former NSA agent, Bianca Marx, and her SEAL husband, Cal, had been at the heart of that, revealing that the prez’s VP had turned traitor. While many of the president’s constituents believed he was innocent of any of the VP’s wrongdoing, the majority of people blamed him for allowing a traitor into the White House. “He’s got to get his new immigrant policy worked out with Mexico and through Congress ASAP. Even a whiff that we have a rogue agent ruffling feathers in Tijuana with the Morales cartel, and President Norman can kiss his negotiations with Mexico goodbye.”

  Nelson’s voice suggested he didn’t care. “Diaz claims there’s another ledger she needs to find, one Morales keeps hidden. She’s going after that. I’ll keep it all quiet—her, the operation, everything. There won’t be any blow-back on the president.”

  Thomas chuckled. “How the hell did you pull off landing the head of security, Cruz?”

  “I’ll tell you over a beer when I get back.” His voice faded in and out. “You still owe me one for backing you on Operation Truth.”

  “You got it, Make-It-Rain Raines.” Thomas was texting Ronni with his other hand, probably to tell her they’d found the bath salts. “You need backup?”

  “Not yet. Gotta see how deep the shit is first. Hopefully, Diaz can find that ledger in the next day or two.”

  “You have twenty-four hours.” Cooper let go of a deep sigh. He hated giving Cruz rope on this, but pushing his agent into a corner wouldn’t help any of them, least of all Agent Diaz. “If things get ugly, Mann and I can be there in thirty-five minutes, less if necessary.”

  He was low on manpower with Ronni undercover and Bianca gone, but if Nelson needed help, Cooper and Thomas would ride to his rescue. “Don’t take chances. Morales is no one to mess with. You say the word, we’re there.”

  “Sorry I can’t help with Bliss.”

  You and me both. He hit the main drag, heading for the SCVC Taskforce headquarters. “I’ll call in replacements. Watch your six, and whatever you do, do not let Agent Diaz get hurt.”

  “Roger that, boss. Will Dupé fire me over this?”

  “I’ll do what I can to cover for your insolent ass.”

  “Thanks, Coop. Beg, borrow, and steal to get me a full twenty-four hours before the Feds come for Morales.”

  The line went dead and Thomas handed him his phone. “Replacements, huh? Who you got in mind?”

  “Mitch Holton is back from his offshore assignment and Sara Rios is also interested.” Both had worked with the taskforce before. “What do you think?”

  “Holton is good with tech stuff and knows his way around weapons. Sara’s former stint with the CIA can’t hurt and she’s a damn good fugitive recovery agent. She knew her stuff when we took down Emilio Londano. Either would be a strong addition to the team. Which one are you leaning toward?”

  Cooper hit a speed dial for Dupé. He needed a warrant for the gift shop, and he needed to inform the director that Nelson was not bringing back Agent Diaz yet. “Both. After Dupé puts my ass through the ringer over Cruz going off the reservation with the Diaz op, you may be the only man left standing.”

  “Dupé’s going to give you hell, but your hands are tied. It’s Nelson who’s going to get fired.”

  True, but then Dupé liked his taskforce agents to push the limits. That’s how they accomplished all they did.

  As usual, Dupé answered on the first ring. Cooper took a deep breath, glad for the physical distance between him and his boss. “I have good news and bad news,” he said. “Which do you want first, sir?”

  Chapter Six

  Tijuana

  Morales compound

  Her bed was in pieces. Nelson, with only one free hand, had managed to dismantle it to free himself earlier and it still lay in a state of disarray.

  The aftereffects of the vision had finally caught up with her. Her headache had spread from her temples to the back of her head. Her legs were weak. Her eyes would barely focus, and all she wanted to do was lie down with a cold rag on her forehead and sleep.

  But there was her bed, the mattress askew, the headboard detached from the frame and cockeyed on the floor. In the other room, Nelson was whistling softly. She had just enough strength to pick up the headboard and curse him, leaning it against the wall, but she didn’t exactly relish the idea of it falling on her during the night.

  With the way her body was shutting down, maybe she wouldn’t notice.

  She slumped to the floor, ignoring the sound of Nelson entering the room.

  “I’ll fix that.” He moved past her, shuffling the frame around and bolting it back to the headboard. He’d removed his biker vest and boots. “All I had to do was release this pin,”—he tapped a metal brace on the frame’s wooden spindle—“and voila, freedom.”

  In thirty seconds flat, he had the bed put back together.

  Sophie didn’t speak, using the nightstand to steady herself as she rose. Her head felt like a hundred-pound weight, her eyesight blurring. Her hand bumped the jar of wild yam cream, sending it to the floor.

  Disregarding the sheets that were still askew, she climbed into bed. The pillow gave way under her head and she sighed, closing her eyes. “Leave.”

  “The room or Mexico?”

  “Both.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Headache,” she mumbled. “Go away.”

  She thought she’d gotten her wish when Nelson walked out without another word.

  Until she heard water running and the clank of glass coming from her bathroom.

  What the hell was he doing?

  She felt his engulfing presence return. A soft, cool cloth landed on her forehead as if he were a fairy godmother fulfilling her wish. She blinked open her eyes as the mattress dipped from his weight. He set down a bottle of lavender essential oil and a second one of peppermint on the nightstand. “What are you doing?”

  “My mom used to get migraines.” He scooted next to her, his hands going under her neck to lift her head as he removed the pillow. “She was a holistic practitioner. I know a few things that might help.”

  Before Sophie could protest, or tell him she’d already used the oils on her temples—a Little Gran staple—he lifted her upper body and climbed onto the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and lowered her head into his lap.

  Oh, no. He could not be in her bed. Not like this.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructed.

  She wiggled, trying to get away from him, but she was as weak as a baby. With every protest, her head sent a spike of agony to the base of her skull. “Oh, God.”

  The scent of lavender drifted to her nose. Little Gran had been a holistic practitioner of sorts herself, using natural herbs and oils all her life. She’d never gone to the doctor, and had treated her family, including Sophie, with her concoctions.

  Nelson’s fingertips, gentle and coaxing, rubbed her temples, then tapped softly along her hairline. “Shh,” he said. “Relax.”

  Relax? He was the reason for her vision, the reason she was now in pain. He’d wormed his way into her op and now into her bed. Her body might have betrayed her at the moment, but as soon as she felt better…

  He moved the wet cloth off of her forehead and place
d it on her throat. Pressing a thumb into the area between her eyebrows, he rubbed up and over the arches of her brows, stroking, stroking, stroking…

  Sophie lost her train of thought. Her temples weren’t pounding anymore, and as Nelson worked the lines out of her brow, her whole body felt softer, lighter.

  Those diligent fingertips moved to the back of her neck. His oiled thumbs pressed into the tight muscles there, working calmly and firmly from the back of her head down into the sensitive top of each shoulder, then returning to her neck with smooth strokes.

  Sophie felt a twinge as the tendons in each shoulder began to loosen under his ministrations. His thumbs continued their path from her shoulders, up the back of her neck, massaging the base of her skull. Up and down, and…ahh…her tense neck muscles unwound in one satisfying release.

  Gently, he moved to her jaw, kneading the tightness there away. He tapped her cheekbones, stroked the indentations of her cheeks. She lost track of time, a strange electrical pulse running from her head to her toes, thrumming through her entire body.

  He rubbed the edges of her ears between his thumbs and forefingers, massaged her scalp through her hair. The next thing she knew, he raised her right arm over her head. “Just let it fall back,” he said in a low, husky voice, guiding her hand to his neck. “Put your hand here.”

  Her fingers skimmed the hair at the base of his neck, her right side exposed now to his hands. As his hand steadied hers, he ran his other down the underside of her arm, tapping and stroking over her ribs, then switching to a gentle rubbing through her shirt as he ran his hand back up her side.

  It tickled and it didn’t. His big hand brushed the side of her bra. Her nipples tightened in response.

  She forgot all about her head, opening her eyes to stare up at his face. His eyes were focused on what he was doing and she could watch him without his return gaze making her uncomfortable. He caressed the back of her shoulder, his hand diligent and confident, then ran it down her side again.

  The focus on his face brought back memories of the previous time he’d taken such care with her body. Her lower belly tensed. Warmth bloomed between her legs.

  He was irreverent and flippant on the outside; intense and powerful on the inside.

  He switched sides, bringing her right arm down and raising her left as he started the sweet torture all over again. She sighed deeply and his gaze met hers for a second.

  “Better?” he asked.

  That low, sexy voice, his very presence, would be her undoing. “Your mother knew her stuff.”

  The right side of his mouth quirked. “Most people thought she was loco, but I think she just walked to the beat of a different drummer.”

  Bet she didn’t have visions. Sophie watched Nelson’s hand moving up and down her arm, her side. Other parts of her body fired up, begging for his touch. “Don’t we all?”

  “Mmm,” was his only response.

  He moved both of her hands to the back of his neck, doing double duty on her arms and sides. For some reason, she felt exposed, even though she was still fully clothed and he hadn’t so much as leered at her.

  After a minute, he brought her hands back down.

  Taking her right hand in his, he massaged it from wrist to fingertips. His thumb pushed into her palm, then he gently pinched the end of her index finger. His own index finger and thumb slid to the soft tissue where her thumb joined her hand. “Pressure points,” he told her. “These points are linked to the head and neck.”

  They seemed to be linked to other places as well. Sophie covertly squeezed her thighs together, wishing he would end the torment and praying he never did.

  Sweat beaded on her top lip. She longed to strip off her clothes and let him work over the rest of her.

  Stop it, Sophie. No getting involved. Not again.

  Never. Again.

  Pulling her hand away, she sat up, using the cloth to wipe at her face. All the coolness had evaporated and it had instead soaked up the heat of her skin. “Thank you. I feel much better.”

  His hand lingered on her arm. He sat forward, putting his face next to her ear. “How about some peppermint oil on your neck? It will cool you down.”

  Nothing but a cold shower would cool her down at this point. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Her thighs trembled, but she knew it was from sexual frustration, not the headache. “I’m good.”

  Outside the window, night had totally enveloped the compound. Clouds covered the sliver of moon, leaving the grounds deep in shadows.

  Nelson stood as well, taking the washcloth and moving her braid to dab at her neck where a trickle of sweat coursed over her skin. He was too close again. “Why don’t you turn on the air conditioning?”

  “It’s old and loud. I can’t hear if someone’s outside or coming up the steps.” She pointed up. “I use the ceiling fan and open the windows.”

  “You’ve got me now to protect you. Turn on the air and get some sleep.”

  Tempting, but she couldn’t let her guard down. Not even if she wanted to. Being on constant alert, always vigil, was a way of life.

  He tossed the washcloth onto the dresser and headed for the living room. “Sleep well, Soph.”

  When she didn’t hear the front door of her apartment open or close, she peeked around the corner. Nelson had the stack of linens she’d brought and was making up the couch.

  “You can’t sleep here.”

  He didn’t look up. “My job is to protect you. I sleep here.”

  By the tone of his voice, there was no arguing. She closed the bedroom door and sank down onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking.

  Forty-eight hours. She had forty-eight hours to figure how to save Lexie and stay away from Nelson and his magic hands.

  For the second day in a row, Nelson woke up in Sophie’s bed. This time, he could open both eyes and he wasn’t handcuffed to the frame. Moving, however, wasn’t recommended since she had him by the hair, his head pulled back, neck exposed.

  Two of her fingers jabbed him in the Adam’s apple as she loomed over him. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

  He looked down his nose at her face. Overnight, the outside temp had dropped and cooled the room, but her body oozed heat as she leaned over him. She had wicked bedhead, her tangled brown locks showing highlights of burnt orange and golden yellow in the morning sun coming through the window.

  A wary spark lit her eyes even though her lids were still heavy with sleep. Better than the night before when the headache had caused her pretty peepers to be glossy and unfocused.

  Hard to speak with her fingers pressuring his throat, though. “Couch…was…too small.”

  Removing her fingers, she gave his hair a tug. “Bullshit.”

  “I’m six-one. That couch is made for midgets. I kept getting a kink in my neck and cramps in my legs. I needed a real bed.”

  “So you invited yourself into mine?” Now that he could halfway move his head, he saw her pajama top had a deep V. “You have a bed next door!”

  Releasing his hair, she started to swing herself off the bed. He caught her by the wrist. The sunlight bathed her face as the last of the sleep left her eyes.

  Something sizzled between them. His morning boner grew fatter. “You have a king size bed, Sophie. It practically swallows you up. The one next door is a single.”

  He saw her throat contract as she swallowed. “I don’t share and you don’t belong here.”

  Like he didn’t already know that. “I kept to my side. Never touched you.”

  Her gaze fell to his hand, still locked around her delicate wrist. “You’re touching me now.”

  All he wanted to do was drag her back into the pillows. “You didn’t seem to mind my touch last night when you were in pain.”

  “I was nearly comatose. You could have been a Martian and I wouldn’t have fought you off.”

  “Do you have migraines often?”

  She tried to pull her wrist away. “Only when you’re ar
ound.”

  He held on for a second, enjoying the way her breasts jiggled under the top as she fought the restraint. “Seems to me you slept pretty damn well after I made you feel better. You didn’t even wake up, except to cuddle me, when I slipped into your bed.”

  “How did you get in? I locked the door.”

  He tapped his chest. “Expert lock picker.”

  She stopped struggling, giving him a look that could have singed his hair. “You watched me sleep, didn’t you? Stalker.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Get over yourself. I have to keep an eye on you to make sure Guido doesn’t get you. Won’t be long before he knows I turned on him and I’m now working for Morales. Hell, he probably already knows.” He rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “When I tried to nap on that fucking couch, I nearly ended up in traction, so I came in here and decided the best way to keep you safe and get my beauty rest was to bunk down next to you. I’m on bodyguard duty, remember?”

  Her gaze raked the length of him, caught on his flagrant erection. “How could I forget?” She gave another jerk and he released her. “I did not cuddle up to you last night. You’re living in fantasy land.”

  He’d been in fantasy land all right. A visit to fifty shades of Sophia once again. Hearing the shower run for a good, long time after he’d set up camp on the couch, he’d had to fight the urge to join her and see if he could make her scream his name like she had back in the day. Imagining her naked under the water, all those curves and gorgeous skin wet and willing was too strong a temptation no matter how much she annoyed him every time she opened her mouth.

  She was breathing hard after trying to get away, and looking like she wanted to hit him. “Get. Out. Of. My. Bed.”

  Maybe not so willing, but…

  Restraint was his middle name these days. Had been since she’d screwed him over the first time they both tried to shut down Chica Bonita. So last night, he’d washed off in the kitchen sink and ignored his hard cock. Later, when he’d crawled into her bed, exhausted—he hadn’t slept in three days—and she’d sidled up next to him, it had been a test of every last, fucking nerve he had not to take her right there.