Читать книгу No Strings Attached - Susan Andersen, Susan Andersen - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

“TASHA RENEE RIORDAN, you’ve been keeping secrets from me. When the hell did you get the chance to meet Luc Bradshaw and why do you dislike him so much?”

Tasha stared at her friend openmouthed. She had barely opened her door to Jenny’s knock before the question knocked her back a step as if it were an honest-to-God battering ram catching her squarely in the chest. Jenny crossed the threshold at the same time that Tasha remembered to breathe. And breathing was good, if a bit tricky around the ragged rhythm her heart was banging out. But she tried her best to sound calm and collected when she said, “What? I met him yesterday. You were right there, Jen.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, sweetie. You looked at him as if you knew him. So when on earth? I didn’t think you’d come up for air long enough to leave Bella T’s.”

She tried to keep it to herself; she really did. But this was Jenny, to whom she told everything, and she simply caved. “I met him seven years ago.” She shoveled her fingers through her hair and stared at her friend. “It knocked me for a loop when I walked into Max’s last night and saw that Max and Jake’s so-called brother is the Diego I told you about from my Bahamas trip.” Admitting it out loud was both scary and a relief. There was no taking it back now, but neither was it a secret any longer, pooling its corrosive acid in her stomach.

Assuming more importance than it should warrant.

Jenny’s face promptly went serious, showing why she was Tasha’s best friend. “Oh, crap, Tash. How is that possible? And yet...you were too...not you, with all that bug stuff and shooting it between the eyes and the I-hope-you-die-from-a-raging-case-of-herpes looks you gave him.”

“Oh, God.” They reached the breakfast bar dividing the small galley kitchen from the body of her living area just as her leg muscles turned to pudding. She sagged onto one of the stools and stared at her best friend as the petite brunette climbed onto the stool next to her. “It shocked the hell out of me to see him sitting there cool as you please at Max’s table. But...dammit, Jenny. I hate that I was so obvious.”

“You weren’t, sweetie. Or, okay, you were—but only to me.” Jenny leaned forward to give her a quick, fierce one-armed hug, then straightened back on her stool. “And I’ve known you damn near half our lives.” She shot her a sly smile. “And now that I know, I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out for myself. Because it makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s the only man you’ve ever reacted that passionately to.”

Tasha ignored that, since the last thing she wanted to talk about in conjunction with that man was passion. “I told him he had until today to get the hell out of town. But how do I break the news to the Bradshaw men that he isn’t their half brother if he doesn’t leave?”

“Tash. Sweetie.” Jenny rubbed the back of her hand. Gave her sympathetic but firm eye contact. “You only have to look at him to see that he is.”

“No,” she insisted—even though the truth of it had been rattling the cage she’d locked it in from the moment Diego—Luc—had said the same thing. She slid her hand out from under Jenny’s and used it to shove her hair out of her face. “He’s not gonna just go away, is he?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Crap.” She sucked in a breath. Then blew it out again in resignation. And said what she’d been thinking all night long. “What were the damn chances that the one man I never wanted to clap eyes on again as long as I lived would turn out to be Max and Jake’s half brother?”

“I know, right?” Jenny agreed. “It really is a freaking small world.”

* * *

LUC HAD JUST finished packing up his duffel bag when an authoritative fist pounded on his motel room door. Old habits died hard, and silently he unzipped the bag’s end pocket and pulled out his SIG Pro. Pistol at his side, he kept to the wall as he approached the door and stopped just this side of it. Craning around, he peered through the peephole.

And saw his half brother Max in his khaki deputy uniform shirt.

He tucked the gun in the small of his back, covered it with his shirttail and opened the door. “What brings you to Silverdale?” he asked curiously. “And how the hell did you get my room number?” As if he didn’t know.

“It’s amazing what a badge can get you,” Max said in his usual unsmiling, straightforward manner. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stepped back to allow him by. “So you came to Silverdale just to see me?”

“Yep.” The bigger man gave the room a quick, comprehensive examination that Luc was damn sure took in everything there was to take. Then Max focused his attention on him. “Can you shed some light on why Harper heard Tasha say you’re not Luc Bradshaw but some guy named Diego?”

Luc had been expecting the question in one variation or another, but now that it was asked, he realized he didn’t know how to address it. That wasn’t like him. He was the master of improvisation and deflection, killer charm his go-to line of defense. But there was something about looking into the steady, uncharmed eyes of a man who was still a virtual stranger while the knowledge that they were brothers punched him in the damn solar plexus the way it had every damn time he’d seen Max or his other half bro, Jake, this past week. He found he couldn’t lie to those eyes.

And that sure as hell threw him off his game.

This brotherhood gig might be tougher than he’d anticipated. Having grown up an only child, once he’d located Max and Jake he’d been kind of excited at the prospect of getting to know them. But he hadn’t really figured where he would fit in this new family dynamic when the other two had a lifelong history with each other. His sole excuse was he had only recently discovered that his late father, Charlie—a man he’d thought he knew inside out—had two other sons Luc had known nothing about until the day he’d cleaned out his dad’s desk and come across the information.

But thinking about it wasn’t getting the question answered, and he blew out a breath. “You want a cup of coffee? The story has background that might take a little time to explain.”

“Sure. That would be good.” Max made himself at home on the small couch in the sitting area of the narrow suite.

Luc made a cup of coffee at the amenity counter and brought it over to his sibling. “Look,” he said, standing in front of Max with both hands held easy but away from his body. “I’m going to take my SIG out of the back of my jeans real slow now, okay?” It had been stupid of him not to put it away the minute he’d seen who was there.

Max’s hand came to rest on his own pistol. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re packing a gun?”

“I thought you did a background check on me. Shouldn’t you know I’m DEA?”

“You bet. If you really were.”

“I’m gonna let that pass, since this relationship between you and me and Jake is only—what?—ten days old. I’m currently on a leave of absence, but I’ve been with the agency for thirteen years.”

His half brother merely looked at him with watchful eyes. “I’d just as soon not pull my weapon on you, so do us both a favor and don’t reach for your gun until you’ve shown me the ID.”

“You got it.” He indicated the duffel resting on the end of the bed. “It’s in my bag over there.”

Max climbed to his feet, his right hand still on the butt of his pistol. “On second thought, pull the gun out real slow like you said and put it on the table. Then I’ll get the ID for you.”

Luc felt a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was ridiculous and probably misplaced to feel proud of his half brother, but he kinda did anyhow. Because Max was clearly nobody’s fool. You never, but never, let an unknown quantity paw through a bag that for all you knew could be bristling with weapons. “Good plan.”

He did what the bigger man instructed and slowly retrieved his gun from the small of his back. Keeping his finger away from the trigger, he made no abrupt movements as he bent to place it on the table between them. Max swept it up.

Luc waved a help-yourself hand at the duffel. “ID’s in the end pocket.”

Max didn’t pat him down but he clearly suspected the possibility of a backup piece, for he kept an eye on him as he crossed to the bed, then turned sideways to keep him in sight when he reached for the pocket zipper. Luc linked his hands behind his head to alleviate some of the tension in the room and watched in satisfaction as Max’s wide shoulders relaxed a fraction.

His half brother felt around in the pocket for a moment, then made a little wordless sound of discovery deep in his throat. A second later, he pulled out Luc’s leather badge wallet and flipped it open. He glanced down at it and the rest of the tension flowed from his big body. He took his eyes off Luc long enough to give the gold-and-black eagle-and-circle insignia a closer inspection. Slapping it shut, he turned to give him a penetrating look. “Undercover?”

“Yeah.” Dropping his hands to his thighs, he sat up. “How’d you know?”

“Please,” Max said. “Diego? Plus, I doubt most field-office agents on leave feel compelled to answer a knock on their motel room door packing a semiautomatic.”

“It was a pretty aggressive knock.”

The smile Max gave him was so small as to barely be present, but Luc had been around him enough by now to recognize it for what it was: his version of a big grin.

“Then there’s the not showing up in my background check,” Max said. “My guy does very good background checks.” But he quickly sobered and pinned Luc in the beams of his hard-eyed heard-every-excuse-so-don’t-even-try-to-bullshit-me cop’s gaze.

“The question is, how did Tasha come to know?”

Thrusting his fingers in his hair, Luc scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then he blew out a breath and lowered them to his sides, tucking his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “She doesn’t know about the DEA part—she believes I’m a drug dealer named Diego and I honest to God don’t have a clue where she got that idea.” He gave an impatient jerk of one hand. “Not the name part—I introduced myself as Diego. But how the hell did a twenty-two-year-old on vacation cop to my cover?”

“Maybe you had something she found?”

“No, I wouldn’t live long if I was that sloppy.”

Max looked at him over the lip of his coffee mug. Nodded. “Where and when did you meet?”

“In the Bahamas seven years ago. Spanish is my first language, so most of the cases I’m assigned to tend to be in South or Central America. The one I was on at the time concerned a cartel in Colombia, but I was on temporary R & R a continent away from the action, so all I told Tasha was my first name. My cover first name, not my real one, because you just never know when you might run into the wrong person at the wrong time, y’know? Even thousands of miles away. And before our relationship could get much deeper than that, I got called away. I thought it was just going to be a quick check-in, but that turned out not to be the case.”

Christ, there was an understatement. And for a moment he was plunged back seven years to Andros Island.

* * *

“WHAT’S SO URGENT?” he demanded the minute the door to the safe house was opened by a silent agent who appeared barely old enough to have completed his training. Dammit, this was a too-rare R & R for him and he wasn’t happy about being summoned by Special Agent in Charge Jeff Paulson. But he had six years in with the DEA and duty first had been drummed into his head from day one.

So he spared the other agent the briefest scan before looking past him to his superior, who was seated in a comfortable-looking chair situated deeper in the room. Without glancing up from the sheaf of papers he was going through, Paulson indicated the much less comfy-looking chair across from him. “Come in and take a seat.” When Luc complied, the older man set aside the papers, locked Luc in his sights and wasted no time coming to the point. “Intel gatherers have been picking up chatter about you.”

“What kind of chatter?” He’d been an undercover operative for too many years to be caught flat-footed by much, but this sent a little punch of shock through his system.

“The word they’re hearing is that you’re gonna get yours while you’re in the Bahamas.” Paulson gave him a half smile. “Someone clearly doesn’t like you.”

And he knew exactly who. “Hector Alvarez.”

Paulson sat forward. “Morales’s second lieutenant Alvarez?”

“Yes, sir. He doesn’t like that Morales appreciates my sense of humor, because Alvarez is the original Mr. Grim. And he really doesn’t like that his girlfriend likes to flirt with me. He refuses to see that her actions have more to do with the fact that I treat her with respect while he treats her like shit than it does with any burning desire for me as a man.” He’d spent the past fifteen months with the Morales cartel and ordinarily he was all about the case. Right now, however, only one thought kept intruding during his recitation of the facts. “Tasha.”

The SAC frowned. “Beg pardon?”

“This trip was supposed to be a short break for me and I left a friend at my room when I came to meet with you. If Alvarez is bragging about ‘getting’ me while I’m here, it’s not a stretch to assume he knows where I’m staying by now.”

“I thought your SOP was to bribe the desk clerk to disavow any knowledge of you checking in.”

“Yes, sir, and I did that. But Alvarez could offer a bribe as well for ten minutes in my room and who’s to say the guy won’t double-dip in that bowl of guacamole? Shit.” He surged to his feet. “I need to get Tash out of there.” She had told him her best friend called her that shorter version of her name—and he’d thought at the time how much it suited her.

“Sit down,” Paulson said in a voice that brooked no argument. “The only thing you have to do is board the helicopter that’s going to be here in—” he glanced at his watch “—seven minutes and get your ass to D.C. for debriefing and reassignment.”

“Not gonna happen until I get her out. Sir.” He headed for the door, surprised at his own adamance. He loved his work, particularly the thrill of relying on his wits and the adrenaline rush of having to stay on top of his game at all times. New cases were usually right up his alley since beginnings were inherently more dangerous and exciting due to his lack of familiarity with the players’ quirks. Plus, as much as he enjoyed the company of women when he had a little downtime to spend with them, once he was back on the job he pretty much forgot them. If it had been any other female, he likely would have been perfectly comfortable leaving Tasha’s extraction to a DEA team.

The young agent stepped in front of him, blocking his way out, and Luc went chest to chest, nose to nose, with him. “Get out of my way, kid.”

“Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

Luc had to admit that putting his professionalism on the line for a woman—especially one he’d known for only two days—was unlike him. Yet he found himself compelled to do exactly that and he was fully prepared to go toe-to-toe with the guy in his way.

“Stand down, Bradshaw,” Paulson said, coming up behind him. His voice softened. “I’ll extract her myself,” he promised. “But you are getting on that chopper.”

He stepped back from the young agent, but his willingness to argue must have shown on his face as he turned around, for Paulson’s hardened. “This is not up for discussion, Lucas. I’ll call you in D.C. to let you know she’s okay. But you are leaving in—” he consulted his watch again, then looked up at the sound of a helicopter coming in low “—now.”

“No, sir. I’m not.”

“Then turn in your badge, Bradshaw. Because I won’t tolerate an agent who refuses orders from his superior officer.”

He didn’t have his badge with him, of course, but he opened his mouth to say Paulson could have it. Then he thought about what he was doing. His SAC had just told him he’d personally take care of Tasha himself and Luc sure as hell had no reason to doubt he’d do exactly that. “Fuck.”

And the next thing he knew he was running, hunched against the strong wash of the rotor blades, toward a chopper that was lightly settling on the back lawn. Minutes after that, he was winging away from his old case, headed for a new one.

But instead of his usual anticipation over the prospect of a new case, his thoughts were back with the woman he’d left behind.

By the time Paulson called late in the evening two days later, Luc was climbing the walls. “Hey,” he barked into his satellite phone when he saw his SAC’s name on the readout. “What’s going on with Tasha? Is she okay? Did she understand why I didn’t come back when I told her I would?”

“First things first,” his SAC said. “You were set up. The Bahamian DEU raided your hut not long after you left to meet with me and found a kilo of heroin.”

His blood iced over as he thought of the only person besides himself who had been in his beach hut. He didn’t want to believe it but— “Do you think it was Tasha?”

“No—although we thought that when we got there and found her gone.”

“Gone?” He sat down hard. “As in not there?”

“Generally what that means, son. Sources reported she flew out on the last plane to Nassau that night. We ran her through all the databases, but she’s not in any of them.”

“So she just fucking left, when she said—”

Paulson’s impatient voice cut him off. “You think you can focus on the case here, Bradshaw?”

He shoved aside his disappointment over Tasha’s defection as well as another emotion that felt suspiciously like hurt. “Yes, sir. I’m just trying to figure out when the hell Alvarez had the opportunity to plant anything. Tasha and I had just gotten there that morning.” He’d already had reservations on Andros and had talked Tasha into going with him because he’d heard the tiny resort was very private—and because he’d just wanted her to come with him.

“And you stayed in the whole day?”

“Yes.” Then he shook his head. “No. Shit. We went snorkeling that afternoon.”

“So he had a window of opportunity.”

“Yes.” Then his brain kicked in. “Jesus, he’s not the brightest star in the galaxy. If I were actually the drug dealer he thinks I am, I’d likely give up somebody a lot higher up the food chain than me to save my own ass. I doubt Morales would be happy to hear Alvarez set that scenario in motion.” His adrenal glands began pumping juice into his sytem over the thought of what he could do with this situation. Because... Oh, yeah. This could work. “Can you get your hands on a replacement kilo?”

“Huh?” There was a moment of silence. Then, “You can’t possibly be thinking about taking it back to Morales—can you?” The words were negative, but the tone...

Yeah, baby. His SAC was considering it.

“I am thinking that. It’s a fucking twofer, sir. Think about it. Alvarez will be gone the minute Morales learns what he’s done.” One way or the other, unfortunately, but the guy should have thought about all the potential consequences before he tried framing him. “More than that, it’ll likely cement my position in the cartel, which gives us the opportunity to close the case faster than we thought we could. We need to do this.”

They disconnected a short while later after Paulson promised he’d check with the director about another kilo—with the caveat that it was by no means guaranteed they’d get one. But Luc refused to entertain the idea, because he was deadly determined to see this case through.

Unfortunately, it didn’t keep him from gnawing over Tasha’s defection. What had made her decide to catch the night flight back to Nassau after all, when she’d assured him she would wait?

He went around and around on it but eventually had to shelve the whole damn mess. “Get over it, chump,” he said, his mood black. Chicks dumped guys—it happened all the time, even if he’d only rarely experienced it himself. There sure as hell wasn’t anything he could do about it. She clearly hadn’t been as into him as he had been into her.

“Well, your loss, sweetheart,” he finally growled aloud. And shoving his wallet into his back pocket, he went off to find something to distract him from the pointless what-ifs pinballing around in his brain.

* * *

“SO WHAT WAS THE CASE?”

“What?” But he shook his head to bring himself back to the present and told his half brother a condensed version of what had gone down that day. Then he simply stared at the big deputy for a moment.

“Christ, Max,” he finally said. “I was blown away to see her in your dining room last night. Then when I followed her out to the backyard, she was beyond pissed, which I don’t get, ’cause like I told you, I thought she’d run out on me. Yet she was furious with me.” Remembering her parting words, he rolled his shoulders. “And maybe with reason.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What reason?”

“Last night she said that thanks to me, she’d spent two nights in a Bahamian jail.”

“So either there was a failure to communicate between the two countries’ drug enforcement agencies, a clerical screwup—or somebody lied to you, Slick. I don’t know the players, but I know Tasha. And I gotta tell you, if there was any lying going on, I doubt it was her.”

“Yeah.” Luc doubted it, too, because she knew just enough about his cover to get things wrong—and they were things she shouldn’t know at all. Plus, she was crazy furious with him, which she’d have no reason to be if she had taken off.

He met Max’s eyes and didn’t doubt his own eyes were every bit as hard as his half brother’s. “And you can take it to the bank that I will get to the bottom of this. But first,” he admitted, “I have to convince Tasha that I’m not a drug dealer. Then I need to get her to talk to me long enough to learn exactly what happened that night so I can figure out where to go from there.”