Betrayed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 9) (15 page)

“You never visited in a regular pattern though, so I knew I had to sit back and wait for you to show again. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure you were
el Santo
, but the moment I saw you in person, I knew you were an operator from the way you moved. I did more research, looking at your travel patterns. I’m not the most patient hitter out there, but I managed to wait it out, and in this case it paid off.”

That all made sense but it also scared the shit out of him, to realize how vulnerable and transparent he’d been, when the whole time he’d thought he was untouchable. And he had a whole new level of respect for just how fucking smart she was. How patient and formidable a foe she’d make.

He shook his head slowly, impressed in spite of himself. This young, gorgeous woman sitting in front of him had managed to do the impossible—figure out his identity when no one else ever had, and then proceed to sneak past his defenses.

So, are you ever going to ask me out?
She’d flung the verbal challenge at him, and he’d taken the bait.

Talk about a swift kick in the ego.

“Why did you target me?” he asked. “I didn’t kill your former handler.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Frank wasn’t just my
handler
. He was the closest thing to a father I’d ever known.” She drew in a deep breath, seemed to work at calming herself before continuing. “I needed to find Villa.”

Bautista tensed at the mention of the other Fuentes cartel enforcer. The one he’d hunted and killed for Perez.

“He was involved with Frank’s murder, maybe even the one who’d planted the cyanide, and I couldn’t track him down on my own. Then I heard through the grapevine that Perez wanted Villa ‘dealt with’. So, you being Perez’s right hand man and all, I knew you’d be the one going after him.”

And she’d been right.

He remembered the exact conversation he’d had with Perez, when his boss had ordered him to “put Villa down” like the rabid animal he was. After weeks of investigating various leads—weeks when he’d become more and more attached to the pretty volunteer who it turned out was actually using him—Bautista had finally gotten insider knowledge that Villa was planning to do a hit in Key West on that fateful day back in June.

He’d driven down there the morning after he’d spent the entire night tangled with Georgia in her bed.

Ignoring the thousand other questions about the more personal aspects of his so-called “relationship” with her, he focused on the Villa op. “That morning, you followed me to Key West.” It was the only way things could have unfolded the way they had.

“Yes.”

He didn’t know how she’d managed it without him noticing, but she had. Unreal. “You knew I was going there for Villa.”

“Yes.”

It was incredible. That she’d been able to slip past his defenses in the first place, and in the second, that she’d been able to follow him to Key West without him ever being the wiser. How had he been so blind? So oblivious?

“And then what?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’d tracked Villa to Clancy’s house.” The dirty cartel money launderer Villa had been sent to kill. “Then what happened?” He wanted to know if she’d been close enough to have actually seen any of it.

“Marisol and the rest of her legal team showed up at the target house. Villa took out Clancy and most of her team. He would have killed her too, if you hadn’t been there. I saw you rescue her and followed you back to Miami.”

“How did you see me?” he demanded. He’d only made the last second, knee-jerk decision to save Marisol because he knew her. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood. She was a nice person, not to mention innocent. He hadn’t been able to stomach standing by and watching her die when he could prevent it.

That fateful decision had almost cost him his life.

Georgia maintained eye contact with him, unflinching in the face of his growing anger. He admired that.

Grown men who had considered themselves hardened killers had been known to weep and piss themselves when he showed up to confront them, long before he’d ever pulled out one of his blades and gotten to work on them. But not Georgia. She held her ground, undaunted.

“I was hidden in the front garden of the lot across the street. I had plenty of concealment and you were too busy saving Marisol to notice me,” she said.

True. “And then you followed me to the marina in Miami,” he finished.

She conceded that with a nod. “I knew Villa was close by, and I knew the FBI thought you were to blame for killing Clancy and the others. Only Marisol and I knew the truth and since I couldn’t go to them to clear your name, I went onboard the boat you’d left her on and asked her to do it.” She faltered for a second, looked down at her hands. “And then everything went to hell.”

Yeah, it had, and he bore the scars to prove it.

“Why did you care about clearing my name?” he asked, heart rate picking up.

“Because. It wasn’t fair for you to take the fall for someone else’s actions.”

She was lying, holding something else back, he could see it in her eyes. It made him wonder. Had she wanted to help him because she had feelings for him?

He dragged in a breath, trying to make sense of it all. “But you helped them. My grandmother. Marisol. You helped them both when you didn’t have to.”

She’d tended to his grandmother with such gentleness, and she’d protected Marisol when Villa had attacked at the marina. He just couldn’t accept that it had all been fake, that she’d done it to fool him. Didn’t
want
to believe it.

He wanted to believe there was something of Julia alive in her still.

Her pale blue eyes flashed up to his, surprise and a little confusion in their depths. “They were innocent.”

“But if I was one of your targets, hurting my grandmother would have been a good way to hurt me. You had the means and the opportunity.”

Her expression transformed into one of disgust. “They were never my targets. They hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve to suffer. So I did what I could to help them. I may be a hitter, but I’m not some pathological killer. I still know right from wrong, no matter what you think of me or what I’ve done.”

So that part of Julia was real at least. And he and she were far more alike than she realized.

“Then what about me? I was a risk to you after all was said and done, if I ever suspected what you were up to. You’re a pro. I was a loose end you should have eliminated once I led you to Villa, for your own safety. So why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” Logically, it didn’t make sense to him.

The question hung between them like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Suddenly Georgia lurched from her chair, blurting “None of your business,” as she darted around the table.

Bautista exploded out of his chair and cut off her retreat to the stairs, bodily blocking her way. She stopped dead a few feet from him, her face turning even paler except for the bright pink fever spots in her cheeks.

“None of my business?” he repeated, his tone low, as dangerous as he felt in that moment. The beast he kept so carefully caged was rattling the bars, ready to break free. It wanted to devour her.

She raised her chin, stared right back at him with such defiance that part of him couldn’t help but be impressed. “That’s right. Now get out of my way. I’m done talking.”

I don’t think so, angel.

She’d protected his grandmother and Marisol. She’d tried to clear his name.

A woman like her wouldn’t do all that unless she cared about him. A lot.

He stalked toward her, a pulse of savage satisfaction hitting him when she backed up, kept going until her hips hit the table.

He stopped inches away from her. Close enough to breathe in her tempting scent, for him to see the way her pupils dilated, and knew it wasn’t from fear. Not if the way she curled her fingers around the edge of the table was any indication, as though she was afraid she might be tempted to touch him otherwise, and the way the pulse in her throat fluttered hard and fast.

She still wanted him. He knew she did, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He just wasn’t sure if there was anything more to it than simple chemistry.

His need to find out was hijacking his common sense in a way that could prove dangerous.

“Why?” he pressed, needing an answer. An honest answer. “Why didn’t you try to kill me?” She’d been so far off his radar in terms of seeing her as a threat, she might even have managed it. Another sobering realization.

She was breathing fast now, her breasts rising and falling in a rapid rhythm that might have distracted him at any other time. He could see the outline of her nipples beaded against her shirt. Aroused, confused, and fighting both like hell.

It made his blood run even hotter. The beast inside him roared, demanding to be let loose.

He didn’t dare set it free, because once he put his mouth on her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Her eyes searched his, full of irritation and something else he couldn’t define. “Because I couldn’t, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Shaking his head, he stopped fighting the need to touch her and took her face between his hands. Her cheeks were warm, too warm, but her skin was so damn soft and despite everything he wanted to kiss her, take care of her.

All the lies she’d told him and herself didn’t matter right now. He wanted to see her let her guard down for him. Wanted to pull her close and hold her tight, tell her everything would be okay because he would
make
it okay, if only she’d open up and trust him.

Georgia froze at his touch and drew in a shaky breath, her gaze filling with unease.

He didn’t let go. Couldn’t. This was too important. He still woke at night with her scent in his nose, still heard her voice echoing in his ears as she cried out his name, and still felt the shape of her body imprinted in his skin.

He couldn’t go on like this, the not knowing was killing him. Apparently the universe wasn’t done jerking him around yet though because as it turned out, living without her was a thousand times harder than dying for her.

“What about the rest?” There was no way she could misunderstand what he meant. That night he’d spent in her bed was permanently burned into his mind. “Was that all a lie too? Part of your cover?”

A flash of anger obliterated that trace of vulnerability in her eyes. “You lied to me too.”

He shook his head. He’d even tried to tell her what kind of man he was. “No I didn’t. Not ever. I withheld certain things for safety reasons, but I never outright lied to you about who I was or tried to manipulate you.” But she’d done exactly that to him.

She swallowed but didn’t deny it, her body stiff. Because she knew he was right.

He gave her a tiny shake, kept his hold firm but gentle, careful not to hurt her. God dammit, he was aching inside, felt like his chest might explode. “Was it all a lie, angel?”

She closed her eyes at the endearment, the word he’d whispered to her that night while he’d caressed and kissed every inch of her body. “Let me go,” she whispered.

I wish the hell I could, but I can’t.

He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. She flinched but didn’t fight him, and now he could feel the fine tremors wracking her slender frame. So afraid to come clean, to admit she’d felt something for him.

“Just tell me,” he whispered back, insistent. “Give me that much.”

Her eyes opened. He raised his head enough for her to focus on him, waited as she searched his gaze. The torment there speared him.

“Why? What does it matter now?” she asked, her voice a mere wisp of a sound.

“Because it does,” he answered. Her response meant
everything
, and it was the reason he was standing here in this kitchen with her now.

It was the main reason he’d put his signature on that damn contract and signed his life away to the NSA. For this one answer and the prayer that there might still be a chance… “It matters to me.”

A few taut seconds passed before she answered. “You already know the answer.”

Not good enough. He wanted to shake her for real, force the truth out of her. His grip on the sides of her face tightened a fraction. “
Say
it.”

“
No
,” she cried.

Before he could figure out whether she’d just answered his question or if she’d merely put an end to the conversation, she wrenched her head free, shoved both hands against his chest hard enough to knock him back a half step and scrambled past him.

Facing him warily at the bottom of the stairs, she shook her head, and the unexpected sheen of tears in her eyes hit him in the stomach like a sledgehammer. “Like I said, I’m done talking. Now just stay the hell away from me.” With that final command she turned and raced up the stairs.

Alone in the kitchen with his heart in his throat, he closed his eyes and took his first deep breath since she’d come out of her bedroom.

She cared. Or at least, she had.

And it fucking terrified her.

Bautista knew exactly how she felt. Because they had unfinished business that needed to be dealt with.

And there was no way in hell he could ever stay away from her now.

Nico jerked awake when his phone rang, disoriented for a moment until he realized his head was resting against the window. Grabbing the phone from the passenger seat, he winced as he sat up to answer it, surprised to find that it was morning already.

Sleeping in two-hour snatches in the front seat of his rental car for the past two days wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but he’d needed to be able to move at any moment. Disappointment filled him when he saw it wasn’t Melissa calling. She should have his burner phone number on her phone’s display. He missed her like hell.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Anything?” Diego asked, his tone uncharacteristically tense.

He sighed. All the leads he’d followed had been dead ends. He’d searched for any sign of Georgia and Bautista and so far come up empty. “No, not a damn thing. I’m going to try one more time and then I’m heading to Maryland. She’s not in any of the hospitals I checked in the area. They’ve probably taken her to headquarters at Fort Meade by now.”