Читать книгу Navy Seal To The Rescue - Tawny Weber - Страница 11

Safe.

Safe was good.

The sand seeping between her feet and sassy wedge sandals, Lila stumbled in his wake. She was glad he was holding her arm, since her knees were gooey now that the adrenaline was gone.

She blindly went along with no idea where he was taking her. Gorgeous body and a little flirting aside, she couldn’t figure out what it was about this rude man that made her feel safe, but she’d take it over the faceless guys with guns.

The image of the chef hitting the floor flashed through her mind again, the sound of his body crashing to the floor, the red spray across the walls.

She wanted to ask him to slow down, but Lila’s breath jammed in her throat, choking on the words before she could utter them. She blinked hard and tried to focus.

That’s when she realized that they’d left the beach, heading into the tall trees of the rain forest.

Where was he taking her?

Was it really safe?

Was he?

Get a grip, Lila told herself. And she needed to get it fast, before she ended up like the stupid blonde in every horror movie who went into the basement to check a noise.

“Let’s call the cops,” she said, trying to pull free of his grip on her arm. “I want the police.”

She dug her cell phone out of the pocket of her capris with her spare hand.

“Smarter to use a landline where we’re going to call the local station. But if you want, go ahead and make the call yourself.”

His easy disregard calmed a few of her nerves. Not all of them, but enough that she was able to get a better look at where they were going.

Not a neighborhood, per se. But a tidy row of thatched-roof houses, bordering a low hill leading into the forest. A pair of elderly men sat smoking in front of one house, both lifting their hands to her escort in a friendly greeting. Since neither said a word about his dragging her along by the arm, she had to wonder if this was some weird courtship ritual of his.

A weary looking woman swayed in the open doorway of one house, patting the back of the crying babe in her arms.

“Colic again?” Lila’s rescuer called out.

“Again and again,” the woman returned in a singsong voice. “We’ll be hurting too much to sleep for a little while yet.”

“I keep telling you, a shot of Jim Beam will take care of the problem.”

“Is the whiskey for him? Or is it for me?” the woman asked with a laugh.

“Whatever works.”

It was his easy humor as much as the crying baby that reassured Lila enough to have her tucking the phone back in her pocket. Either way, she’d wait for a little privacy to call the police. Privacy and, she decided with a deep, calming breath, a few minutes to get herself under control.

The man might be gruff and overwhelming, but she was pretty sure he was safe. Or, safe enough, she amended, watching the way his muscles flowed as he strode a step ahead of her. He had a slight limp, like he was favoring his right leg. She frowned, squinting at the scars crossing, bisecting and wrapping around his knee. She wasn’t an expert, but that looked fresh, to say nothing of painful.

“Slow down,” she insisted. When he frowned, she made a show of pointing to her feet. “I’m wearing heels. So unless the bad guys are actually chasing us, let’s keep it to a reasonable pace.”

He didn’t bother to hide the roll of his eyes, but he did slow his pace. Enough, she was glad to see, that he wasn’t limping as badly.

From the front, the house looked smaller than the others, barely bigger than her apartment in San Francisco. But it had impressive hardware on the door and windows, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a state-of-the-art alarm system.

“Worried about break-ins?” she asked as he reached for the doorknob. As soon as he twisted it, she realized she had her answer. It wasn’t even locked.

“Not my place.” He pushed open the door and gestured her inside. He gave her an impatient look when she hesitated. “It belongs to a friend. He’s not here a lot, so he keeps it secured.”

Okay. Lila wet her lips. As she hesitated, a loud crash came from the path they’d come from, followed by a couple of gruff shouts. Lila rushed through the door so fast, she almost tripped over his feet.

“In a hurry?”

“It’s been a crappy night, okay?” she snapped, hurrying over to peek out the front window. The same old men still sat, smoking. The same woman still swayed, singing. But nobody else was out there. She pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to calm the sharp jabs of fear.

“It’s been something, all right,” he agreed under his breath, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Lock it. Please. Lock the door.”

His eyes skimmed over her face, and even though she could feel his exasperation, he silently turned the lock.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

She looked around with a frown. The bulk of the square footage seemed to be in this main room, with a pair of doors on the end leading to what she assumed was the bed and bath. The furniture was simple. A long black couch and a huge black recliner stood in the center of the room, both so big she was surprised they fit in the room. A table and two chairs were shoved in a corner next to a refrigerator that looked older than the house itself.

Something about cataloging the room calmed her. Enough so that she started to feel her legs again and her hands started to tremble. She didn’t want to close her mind; she wasn’t ready to see the scene in her head again. But she figured she had a handle on the babbling enough to make a coherent report.

“We should call the police now.”

“You sure? Maybe you want to wait a few more minutes. Think it all over again.”

Lila turned to stare.

The man was gorgeous. Even in the sad light put out by one rickety looking lamp, he was a work of art. From his sculpted jaw that needed a shave to his eyes, as dark as his midnight-black hair, he had the looks. The body, too, she remembered. She didn’t let herself ogle it for the same reason she wouldn’t let her mind reenact the murder. Because she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

But she couldn’t deny the man had it all going on.

All that, and he was still an idiot.

“You think I went running willy-nilly down the beach on the verge of hysterics, then grabbed on to you, all just for entertainment?” She barreled on before he could say anything to go with the amusement in his eyes. “You think I threw myself into your arms, that I made up the whole story about seeing something that horrible? Why? Just to get your attention?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t believe me,” she said with a scowl. “So why did you bring me here?”

“To give you time to calm down before you did something stupid, hurt yourself or hurt someone else.”

“Aren’t you the hero,” she muttered, turning her back on him and pulling out her cell phone.

“What’re you doing?”

What did he think she was doing?

“I’m calling the police,” she said, shooting a defiant look over her shoulder before pressing the keys. One. One. One.

Before she hit the seven, a hand reached over her shoulder to take the phone.

“You sure you want to call the cops?” he asked, his voice a slow rumble vibrating against her back. Irritation made it easy to ignore the sensations coiling in her belly, but Lila figured it was smarter to step away regardless. No point in letting her body get stupid ideas.

“Look, buddy,” she snapped, turning to face him rather than leave all that temptation hulking at her back. Mistake, she realized as soon as she stared up into his dark eyes. Big mistake. But she was good at ignoring mistakes, she reminded herself before taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know how things are handled in your world. But in mine, murder means we call the cops. So get out of my way and let me do that, then you can get back to your beer and your beach and whatever the hell else actually matters to you.”

Lila wished that her voice wasn’t shaking almost as hard as her hands, but a person could only take so much.

“You need to calm down,” the man said, obviously impervious to her nasty tone and cutting words.

“You don’t believe me?” she accused, slapping her hand on his bare chest to keep him from walking away. “Why? Why would I make something like that up?”

His eyes locked on hers for a long heartbeat, then dropped to her hand. Her fingers tingling, Lila dropped it to her side. His gaze met hers again and he shrugged. A slow shrug that was just as indifferent as the rest of his attitude.

Years of being ignored, of having her simplest wants and needs and thoughts dismissed as inconsequential exploded in Lila’s head.

She used both hands this time, not to stop him from walking away, but to shove him back a step. Ignoring the look of amused surprise on his face, she gave him another shove. There was something about having a man’s full attention that filled her with a feeling she barely recognized as power.

God, it felt good.

“Call the damned police. Call them now,” she ordered, her voice vibrating with fury. “They’ll figure out what happened. They’ll find Rodriguez.”

“You’re sure?”

She slapped her cell phone against his chest.

Ignoring it, he gave her one last, long look, then stepped over to grab the receiver of an ancient rotary dial phone and made the call.

He spoke Spanish in the local dialect, his words flowing too fast for her to make out more than every third. Her eyes widened when she realized he was actually talking to the chief of police.

“Sí. Rodriguez,” he confirmed. “Casa de Rico.”

Lila held her breath, waiting for the rest of the conversation, but the only thing she heard from then on was grunts on her pseudo rescuer’s part until he said goodbye.

“They’ll meet us there.”

“Someone else probably called it in by now,” she mused, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she thought it through. “There’s no way nobody noticed the chef on duty missing and didn’t go looking for him.”

“No calls from that location or in the vicinity.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked.”

Oh.

“Let’s go then,” she said, heading for the door. “We want to be there when they get there.”

“Give me a minute.”

A part of her wanted to unleash that fury again, to yell and demand and see him respond. But he was already doing what she wanted, she realized. So letting loose her anger wouldn’t be a show of power. It’d just be showing her bitch face.

So Lila stayed silent while he stepped out of the room.

She glanced out the window, noting that the baby must have fallen asleep because the swaying woman was indoors now. The forest was a tangle of shadows in the dark, but she could still make out the path to the beach. She squinted, wondering if she could see the ocean from here. Maybe in the daytime.

But she could see well enough that she’d notice anyone coming their way. Cops. Killers. She stared until her eyes watered, but nothing moved.

She was so focused on watching out the window that she almost screamed at the sound behind her.

It was the beach bum, still shirtless but wearing jeans and heavy black boots instead of cutoffs and bare feet. He strode over to a drawer and pulled out a gun. A black, lethal looking weapon that had her breath knotted in her throat so tight she could barely breathe. He pulled out the magazine, checked it, then shoved it back in place before tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. He snagged a T-shirt off a pile on the chair. Pulling it over his head, he strode to the door and threw it open.

Without a word about the gun.

Why that should make her nervous after everything else that’d happened, she couldn’t say.

“I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”

“I’m going to the restaurant,” she snapped. “You remember, the scene of the crime.”

“Of course you are.” He gestured toward the open door. “After you.”

“Do you have to be such a jerk?” she asked as they headed through the tree-covered path.

“Do you have to be such a drama queen?”

“When I see a man murdered right in front of me, yes. I think I’m entitled to wear the drama crown.”

His lips twitched.

“Yeah, I suppose you are. If you did.”

It took her a couple of seconds to puzzle that out.

“You honestly don’t believe me? Why would I lie? What purpose is there in making something like that up?”

It wasn’t until he’d joined her on the path, his steps just a little hesitant, his gait just a little off, that Lila realized she’d thrown herself into his arms, gone with him into a strange place, leaned on him for emotional support and was dragging him back to a murder scene.

And she didn’t even know his name.

* * *

“Who are you?”

What difference did it make? When Travis shot the blonde a questioning look, she amended, “I mean, what’s your name?”

“Hawkins.”

“That’s it? Just Hawkins?”

He didn’t figure they were going to be exchanging mail. Or, despite the appeal of her pretty little body and sea witch eyes, good-mornings over sex-tangled sheets. So, yeah, he shrugged. That was it.

“I’m Lila.”

“Okay.”

She stared. Blinked. And stared again.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “Just, okay? Could you be any ruder?”

“I’m sure I can if I put a little effort into it.”

He didn’t know if that puff of sound she made was a laugh, but it made him grin.

“Just walk me back to the restaurant and help interpret with the police,” she told him. “Then I promise, I’ll leave you alone with your beer and your beach.”

“Anything you say. Lila.” He put a little extra agreeableness into his tone. The kind he used with irritating officers who were superior in rank only.

“Just for that, I want an apology before you drop your butt back in that hammock.”

Travis shot her an impressed glance. The woman must be better versed in Smart-Ass than the last admiral he’d answered to.

“Or?”

She stopped on the path that led from the beach to the restaurant and gave him a long study. Then her smile flashed, sassy and challenging.

“Or I’ll keep bugging you until you do.”

Damned effective threat, he silently acknowledged as she continued with surer steps toward the boardwalk, then up toward the side door of the bar.

Smarter than the front entrance, he supposed. The fewer people who saw her, the less flak she’d get later. He knew enough about the local policía to know they weren’t going to be too thrilled at being hauled out of their comfy chairs on a bogus call.

“Get your apology ready,” she said, giving him a snotty look over her shoulder as she grabbed the doorknob. Travis didn’t bother to tell her to forget about it. The doors around here automatically locked on both sides.

She gave it a twist and tugged it open just an inch.

“Quiet,” she whispered. “They might still be in there.”

Huh. Travis frowned at the door, then touched the Glock nestled at the small of his back. He silently followed her inside, first looking toward the door to the kitchen, then toward the office.

“The door wasn’t closed before. And the body? It was lying there in the doorway. Where is it?” she asked, her words so quiet they barely floated on the air. Her gaze slid to his just long enough for him to see the sick dance of nerves in her eyes, then with a sharp breath, she started for the office.

He liked the way she didn’t back down, despite her fear. But Travis still laid his hand on her arm, halting her steps. He drew in a long breath through his nose, noting the faint scent of solvent.

“Wait.”

She stopped and bit her lip, looking at the door, then back at him, then at the door again.

Nobody stormed out with guns blazing, but Travis still had a nasty tingle dancing down his spine.

He didn’t know if they really were standing in a murder scene or not. But his senses told him that something definitely wasn’t right here.

Maybe she felt it, too. Or maybe she simply realized that safer was smarter. But Lila gave him another considering look, then took two steps back and to the side to place his body between her and the door.

“Why aren’t the police here yet?” she whispered.

“They probably don’t see this as a priority.” He didn’t bother to keep his voice down.

“Murder isn’t a priority?”

“We take murder quite seriously, senorita.”

As one, Travis and Lila looked back. A short man stood—posed, was more like it—in the doorway to the kitchen, giving them both enough time to take in his leather pants, waxed mustache and slicked-back hair. Standing behind him was a man so nondescript, Travis was surprised he didn’t simply fade into the background. A handy skill for a cop, he supposed.

Lila gave a relieved sigh, but Travis didn’t figure it was either cop’s looks that had her tension lowering even as his rose. It was more likely the shiny silver badge hanging from the waistband of the man in the lead. The shorter man murmured something they couldn’t hear, but whatever it was sent the other scurrying away.

“Montoya.” Travis grimaced when it was just the three of them.

For a brief second, he considered shifting positions with Lila. The fact they stood at an alleged murder scene where possible killers had been carried less potential threat than the man walking toward them.

“Senor Hawkins. Why would you be involved in this, might I ask?”

“I asked him to come with me,” Lila said, walking forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Lila Adrian, and I witnessed a murder.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dismissing her in a single glance, Montoya studied Travis out of dark, beady eyes. “And you, Senor Hawkins? Did you witness this, as well?”

Travis debated. He’d had run-ins with Montoya before. The man had a serious hate-on for members of the US military, considered them all cocky hotshots who should stay in their own country and off his beach. Still, the whole helping a damsel in distress thing was simple enough. But he suspected that the minute he said he hadn’t seen jack, Montoya would toss him out the door, intimidate Lila into recanting anything that’d disturb his comfy existence and maybe grab a drink before heading back to his carefully structured office.

Then Travis could head back to his own carefully unstructured hammock and comfy nonexistence. Which was, after all, priority number one.

He glanced at Lila, noting the way her brow furrowed and the frustration in her eyes at Montoya’s dismissal. He could practically see the smart-ass remarks balanced on the tip of her tongue; she was just waiting for a chance to jump in Montoya’s face. Which was all the excuse he’d need to toss her in a cell and make his point to the town council about the trouble with tourists.

Travis sighed. Looked like his hammock was going to have to wait.

“I’m here with the lady,” he told Montoya. “You want the details of what happened, ask her. She can fill you in.”

* * *

Okay...

Lila’s stomach clenched. Her nerves, already frayed near to breaking with the events of the evening, jangled dangerously. She didn’t know what had caused the tension between the cop and the beach bum, but it felt significant. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Lila looked from one man to the other and back again. She couldn’t read either’s expression, but there was enough malice in their words to make her throat dry.

“Senorita?” After a long stare at her companion, the policeman gave her a questioning look. “Why do you claim to have seen a murder?”

“What?” Why? Claim?

Nerves forgotten, Lila scowled. Her fists clenched at her sides. Before she could snap at him to kiss her butt, the beach bum—Hawkins, she had to remember his name was Hawkins—touched her. Just a single finger to the small of her back for barely a second. But it was enough to warn her to reel it in.

So she gritted her teeth and tried to do that.

“Earlier this evening, I saw a man killed in the doorway. That doorway.” She pointed her still clenched fist toward the office. “Someone shot Chef Rodriguez.”

“How do you know Chef Rodriguez?”

“What difference does that make? I saw him fall to the floor covered in blood, right there in that doorway.”

The policeman held her gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he stepped around her and Hawkins and walked casually toward the office. Lila cringed, seeing in her head the body fall again, the blood splatter.

Wait.

Her eyes tracked the cop’s steps, not so much to note his progress as to check the walls. The floor. Where was the blood?

Where was the body?

“This is the office where you thought you saw a man fall, senorita?”

The policeman threw open the door and gestured inside. Unwilling to move any closer, Lila craned her neck instead and tried to see the body. But the floor was bare of a body. Nowhere to be seen was a hurricane of scattered papers or broken furniture.

Lila rubbed a hand over her trembling lips.

“There is no dead body. No blood. No evidence of any wrongdoing,” the cop enunciated in careful English. “Perhaps you are used to attention in your country, senorita. But we frown upon such fabrications here in Puerto Viejo.”

He gave the office one last look around, then swaggered over to shift his intimidating stare between Lila and her companion.

“I’m not making it up,” she breathed, shaking her head. Not sure why, since he hadn’t believed her either, Lila shot Hawkins a beseeching look. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Why don’t you check on Rodriguez? Make sure he’s not floating facedown somewhere.” The suggestion was made to the cop, but Hawkin’s eyes didn’t leave Lila’s.

“Perhaps you should remember that we have no use for hotshots such as yourself here in Puerto Viejo, senor.” His beady eyes shifted between the two of them again before Montoya smiled.

Lila wanted to ask what the hell that meant. She clenched her fists, ready to demand to speak with the chief of police, the mayor. Whoever the hell was in charge.

But between his flat gaze and those small, sharp teeth, the cop reminded her of a shark. The kind of shark that’d chew her up and spit her out without so much as blinking.

So she kept her mouth shut.

“I will overlook your games this once, senorita. But only this once.” With that, and another sneering sort of smile, the policeman strode down the hall and out the door.

Leaving Lila with no dead body, a raging headache and a gun-carrying grouch.