Читать книгу Green Beret Bodyguard - Carol Ericson - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Jack’s blood thumped through his veins as he strode toward the open door of the bar. His fingers twitched. He felt naked without a weapon in his hand.

“Don’t bother. He’s long gone.” Mario, crumpled on the floor, waved a bloodstained hand. “He ran off after we mixed it up, the cabrón.”

David hooked his arms beneath Mario’s and dragged him to a chair. “What happened, boss?”

Mario winced as Lola dabbed the split above his eye with a damp cloth. “I was taking the trash out to the Dumpster in the alley and heard a noise out front. When I looked around the corner of the building, I saw some guy lurking around Lola’s car. I confronted him and the dude fought back.”

“Who looks worse, boss?” David sniggered.

Lola sent him a chilly stare. “David, make yourself useful and call 911.”

Mario sputtered the one syllable that roared through Jack’s head. “No!”

Lola’s hand froze, and she frowned at Mario. “Why not?”

“I don’t want any trouble, Lolita. I don’t want any cops at the bar. It’s bad for business. You can check, but the guy didn’t damage your car.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off when her gaze collided with Jack’s.

He gave a slight shake of his head. The last thing he needed was a bunch of cops asking questions when he had a bag full of cash and Lola had his gun in her purse.

“Okay, okay, but are you hurt?”

“This?” Mario framed his face with his battered hands. “Bloody nose, cut over my eye and a few bruised knuckles. You’re a doctor. Fix me up.”

Rolling her eyes, she asked David to fetch a first-aid kit, and then set about patching up Mario. When she finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds she returned to the booth where Jack lounged, one hand on his duffel bag. Lola leveled a finger at the shot glass still brimming with tequila. “You drinking this?”

Jack rapped his knuckles on the table. “It’s all yours.”

Lola put the glass to her mouth and swallowed the shot. Then she placed a lime wedge between her plump lips and squeezed, her face contorting for a second at the tartness.

A slow burn traveled through Jack’s core as if he’d tossed back the tequila himself. It was about the sexiest damned thing he’d seen since…well, since the last time she’d sucked that lime.

Pinching the glasses between her fingers, she said, “I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel. Are you sure you’re okay, Mario?”

“I’m fine.” He tapped the bandage over his eye. “Thanks for the doctoring.”

As Jack held the door open for Lola, she tripped on the step to the sidewalk and he grabbed her elbow. “Careful.”

She shrugged him off and took a turn around her car. “Everything looks okay.”

“Anything like that happen here before?” Folding his arms, Jack wedged a hip on the trunk of her Mercedes. She hadn’t seemed to link the attempted break-in of her car to his presence. Could it just be a coincidence?

“Not to me personally, but I told you the neighborhood wasn’t too safe.”

She grabbed the handle of the driver’s-side door, and Jack placed his hand over hers. “I’m driving.”

A spark lit her hazel eyes, not quite green, not quite brown. “You don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“Actually, I do have a driver’s license, but more importantly, I haven’t had a full beer and two shots of tequila.”

“I can hold my booze.” She giggled, belying her words.

He held out his hand. “Maybe, but you’ve had a rough day, and I’ve had a rough day, and I’m not up for a negotiation.”

Stepping back, she took his measure, her gaze traveling the length of his body and settling on his face. She dropped the keys in his palm. “You win.”

Her inventory of his body had heated his blood, had made him feel more alive than he’d felt since he’d climbed down from that mountain in Afghanistan. He hadn’t forgotten the fire that could ignite between a man and a woman. Thank God.

He accompanied her to the other side of the car and opened the door for her. When he dropped in the driver’s seat and locked the doors, he turned to her. “Give me my gun.”

“Planning on using it?”

“You just said this was a lousy neighborhood.”

She unzipped her large handbag, grasped the barrel of his .45 and handed the butt to him. A woman who knew her way around a weapon.

He fished some bullets out of his inside pocket, loaded the gun and slid it under the seat. “What are you doing hanging out in a joint like this, anyway?”

“I like it, and I like Mario. I figure I owe him.” She flipped down the visor and swept a layer of gloss across her lips.

Was she trying to drive him crazy with that mouth?

Jack coughed and shifted into reverse. “Why do you owe Mario?”

“My father was responsible for his father’s death.”

He nearly sideswiped a car. “What?”

Lola held out her hand, showing him her palm. “Long story, not going there.”

“Gotcha. Where to?”

“Make a right at the corner, and then stay left. You’re going to take the freeway ramp heading south.”

He followed her directions, the only words out of her mouth on the drive to her place. Lola seemed to regret spilling that piece of information about her father, not that Jack had any right to pry. But her life seemed as complicated as his own right now.

With the lights of South Beach beaming several blocks to the west, Lola directed him to a pink Art Deco building bordered by towering palm trees.

When he pulled into her parking space in the underground garage, she turned to him. “How are you going to get back to your motel?”

He shrugged. “How I’ve been getting around all along— bus, foot, taxi.”

“You didn’t rent a car with all the cash you have?” Her low voice in the darkness of the car sounded seductive, even saying the most mundane words.

“You still need to leave a credit card when you rent a car, and I don’t want to produce a trail.”

She tossed her dark ponytail over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come up? I can give you the name of my father’s associate—the one who recommended you.”

Should he? If he sank into her pink-frosted building, maybe he’d never want to leave. Never want to face what awaited him when his memory returned. What if he had a wife? Children?

“Sure.” He cut the engine.

As Jack followed her to the elevator, he watched the sway of her hips in her tight jeans. She moved like a temptress even in those canvas Vans she wore on her feet. Not the typical uniform for a doctor, but she hadn’t been on duty. He knew her schedule.

She jabbed the elevator call button with her knuckle, and they watched for the orange arrow to move down the floors. Tapping her toe, Lola sighed. “This elevator takes forever.”

When it arrived they stepped inside, and Jack leaned against the back wall, crossing his arms. “You were off duty today, weren’t you?”

“And you’ve been following me around too long.” She punched the fourth-floor button until he thought her finger would fall off.

“Why were you at the hospital if you weren’t working?”

“Special patient.” Her eyes clouded, shifting to brown.

“Since you see kids, there must be a lot of those.”

She nodded, sealing her lips into a thin line.

He didn’t blame her for clamming up about her little patients. It had to be tough taking care of sick kids, but it was obviously a vocation she embraced—just like shelling out millions to rescue her brother or patronizing a bar out of some sense of remorse or duty.

And what about him? He apparently had a very dangerous career rescuing people he didn’t even know.

Lola slid her key into a dead bolt and then shoved it into the door handle, twisting it to the right. She pushed open the door into a dimly lit room and slapped the wall to turn on a set of recessed lights.

The room came to life in a riot of bright colors and varied textures. If the outside of the building was like pink frosting on a cake, this room occupied the center of that cake—a burst of flavor, delicious and inviting.

Lola tossed her handbag onto a floral couch, and the leaves of an exotic-looking plant shivered and bobbed. Bunches of flowers scattered about the room emitted a swirl of sweet fragrance. Slashes of modern art shared wall space with Cuban street scenes and landscapes.

Jack stood in the center of the room and turned slowly, taking it all in. This room could only belong to a woman named Lola Famosa.

A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “Do you find it a bit overwhelming? I had to take a few pieces from my folks’ place in Gables Estates, especially after Gabe…left.”

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. “This room has the variety and lushness of a rain forest, without the monkeys.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Do you want something to drink? Water?”

“Water’s good.”

She crooked her finger, and he followed her into the kitchen. The onslaught of colors continued in this room with blue-and-yellow tiles charging across the counters and multicolored dishes lining glass cabinets.

She poured two glasses of water from a bottle in the fridge and slid his across the counter. At least she’d kept a lid on the tequila.

He downed half the water, and when he came up for air he met a glance from slivered eyes—brownish this time. Lola sipped her water carefully and dabbed her lips with her fingertips. “So do you think that attempted car theft was random?”

The same thought had crossed her mind. Might as well play devil’s advocate. “You said it was a bad neighborhood, nice car like yours…awfully tempting.”

“I’ve parked there before. Mario’s known in the neighborhood for having a bad temper…and a .357 Magnum.”

“Maybe this particular thief didn’t know about Mario, his temper or his .357.”

“Maybe.” She clicked her water glass on the countertop. “Do you want Emilio’s number?”

“Emilio?”

“Emilio Diaz, my father’s associate. Name doesn’t ring a bell, huh?” She pulled open a kitchen drawer and sifted through its contents.

“Nothing’s ringing any bells.” Except Lola’s derrière in those jeans as she bent over the drawer. That rang his bells.

She spun around, pinching a card between two fingers. “Got it.”

“It’s a start. Maybe he can tell me if I have a home, a family…a wife.”

Lola’s long, dark lashes fluttered. “I doubt it.”

He plucked the card from her fingers and slipped it into his back pocket. “You doubt I have a home, a family and a wife?”

“You may have a home and a family, but no self-respecting wife would allow her husband to go gallivanting around the world saving other people’s families.” Her jaw formed a hard line as if daring him to dispute her logic.

“I don’t know about that.” He held up his left hand. “But I don’t feel married.”

Could he be lusting after this hot doctor if he were?

“That settles it, then.” She brushed her hands together. “Before you take off, do you want to see some pictures of Gabriel? Maybe they’ll jump-start something for you.”

“Sure.” He owed her that much. He was trying to find himself, and she was trying to find her brother. He felt guilty for abandoning her cause for his. The two were linked, anyway.

She flipped open the laptop on the kitchen table. Her long ponytail hung over her shoulder as she hunched forward, biting her bottom lip. Just his luck the one person in the States who held the key to his identity had to tweak his libido in all the right places. Hell, he thought he’d lost his libido along with his memory until he’d laid eyes on Lola.

Tilting her head to the side, she waved him over. She pointed at the screen. “That’s Gabriel.”

Jack spun a chair around and straddled it. He peered at the screen displaying a dark-haired man with serious eyes, a white doctor’s coat hanging on his lean frame. Dr. Gabriel Famosa.

Why would a group of terrorists kidnap a doctor and not demand ransom from his obviously wealthy family? If they wanted something other than money from the doctor…

A sharp pain sliced through Jack’s head, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The picture of Lola’s brother swam before his eyes.

Dr. Famosa was kidnapped from the street in a planned abduction.

The words came at him through the pain, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing more words to bubble from the floating strands of his memory.

“Jack, are you okay?” Lola’s hand swept up his back, resting at the base of his skull. “Do you remember Gabe?”

“I—I—” he dragged a hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp “—I remembered someone telling me Gabe’s kidnapping was planned.”

She twirled in a circle and then dropped into a crouch beside him. “You’re remembering. I knew seeing Gabe’s picture would help.”

“Slow down. It may not mean anything—just words—and those words gave me a helluva headache.”

Her smile crumpled and she pushed to her feet. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over.” The sharp pain had dulled to a throbbing ache.

Lola positioned herself behind him and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kneaded his scalp with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the soothing sensation.

“Is that better?”

He’d given himself over completely to Lola’s touch. She had healing hands, but he felt much more than solace from pain. As she massaged him, a slow flame had kindled in his belly and threatened to head south.

He cinched her wrist lightly. “That’s better. Thanks.”

Her hand fluttered over his forehead, and she pushed the hair back from his face. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. I really think you should see my friend, the psychiatrist.”

She stepped away from him and he immediately missed her warmth. God, he couldn’t afford to get too dependent on Lola. He’d take the card she’d given him and contact this go-between, get his own life back before he could be of any use to Lola and her brother.

She returned with a refilled glass of water, cupping a green gel cap in her palm. “Take this—even though I really want you to remember more, I don’t want you to go through any more pain tonight.”

He pinched the capsule from her hand and popped it in his mouth, chasing it with a gulp of water. “I didn’t try to remember. The words came to me when I saw your brother’s picture. Do you have any more?”

She clicked the mouse and jumped from picture to picture of her brother—sailing a boat, running a race, parasailing—the guy never stopped. All the while, she threw sidelong glances his way, expecting him to fall on the floor in a fit of remembrance.

Jack shook his head, stretching his legs out on either side of the kitchen chair. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

Giving him a crooked smile, Lola lifted one shoulder. “You remembered something, and that’s a start. Maybe when you talk to Emilio, he can give you more information to get the ball rolling again.”

He knew he had to leave, even though he wanted to stay here and talk to Lola all night, find out what made her tick. He was sick of his life or the lack thereof. Sick of wondering, guessing, theorizing.

He eased from the chair and tucked it beneath the table. Clamping the back of his neck and twisting his head from side to side, he sauntered to a set of long, curved windows. “Nice view.”

She joined him, meeting his eyes in the window’s reflection. “That’s why I chose this unit, for the windows on the corner of the curved building and for the view.”

“But you could be living in your parents’ house in Coral Gables?”

“Gables Estates.” She scrunched up her face as if she hadn’t just named the most exclusive area of Miami.

“Nice area.”

“Gabe stays there…when he’s not roaming the globe. He’s less fastidious about his place of residence than I am.”

Jack waited with one raised eyebrow, but she refused to take the bait. He blew out a breath, creating a patch of mist on the window, and patted his back pocket. “I’ll contact Emilio tomorrow.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t stalk him like you did me. He’s not the type of guy to appreciate a hand over his mouth or a gun in his ribs. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I didn’t follow you long, just enough to get a sense of your schedule and habits—which you should vary, by the way, to be on the safe side.”

She snorted and rubbed a fist on the windowpane, wiping out his breath. “Nice of you to worry about my safety now when you scared the spit out of me at the morgue.”

Jack lifted his jacket off the back of a chair and felt for his weapon. “What are you talking about?”

“The morgue.” She folded her arms across her chest. “When I was in there, you were creeping around outside. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lola.” He shrugged into his cheap jacket. So that was what she’d meant by the comment in the car. “I never went inside the hospital. I waited in your car.”

Her eyes darkened to a swampy green. “Really? When you jumped me in my car, I figured you were the one lurking around the morgue.”

“I didn’t jump you.” He’d never live that down…but he’d like the opportunity to try.

“Okay, whatever. I guess I can’t lay that at your door.” She bunched the material of her shirt in her fists.

Jack narrowed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Did something happen in the morgue?”

“No, no, probably just my overactive imagination.”

“I guess a morgue could do that to you.” He zipped up his jacket, feeling the weight and comfort of his gun in the pocket.

“Can I give you a ride back to your motel?”

Good thing she hadn’t invited him to spend the night. He would’ve found that offer harder to refuse.

“That’s okay. I know my way back and you shouldn’t be driving.” He held out his hand. “Sorry about my clumsy methods, but thanks for your help tonight.”

She placed her hand in his, her smooth, cool skin like a drink of fresh water. “I hope…well, I hope you get better. I wrote my cell number on Emilio’s card, if you remember anything else or if you want to talk to my friend, or…”

Jack squeezed her hand, studying her eyes, waiting for the shifting colors to give him some kind of signal. She blinked her dark lashes over the steady hazel, and Jack smirked at his foolish game.

A desperate man took desperate measures.

He allowed her to have her hand back and turned toward the door. “I’ll call if I remember anything about your brother.”

“And what if I need to get in touch with you?”

Was that the sign he’d been waiting for? The invitation to stay? He clenched his teeth. This isn’t a date, Jack.

“I have your number. Maybe I’ll pick up one of those prepaid cell phones.”

A rosy pink stole across her cheeks, but she plastered a quick smile on her face. “Good luck, then.”

Jack slipped out the door and snapped it behind him. Bending forward, he flattened his palm against the door and heard the dead bolt click into place. Without moving an inch, he closed his eyes.

The heat and vitality of Lola’s home buzzed through the door. Lola’s company had poured warmth into his soul. Her breath, her voice, her touch, had all animated him. Made him feel alive. Made him feel like more than a husk of a person. But she hadn’t asked for that role.

He turned and headed for the elevator.

He jabbed at the button, planning to exit through the garage. He’d been intent on getting to Lola’s place and hadn’t been as concerned as he should’ve been about someone following them. Maybe the would-be car thief wanted another shot at the silver-blue Mercedes.

The elevator rumbled up the shaft, taking its sweet time, and Jack shifted sideways in case anyone came through the doors. The panel slid open on an empty car and Jack stepped forward.

That was when he heard the scream.