Mia Zachary - Yours In Black Lace

Stevie crossed her arms under her perfect breasts and grumbled sarcastically. “No problem here. We’ve been on this two-lane, mosquito infested highway following the same slow-moving minivan for the last thirty miles.”

He silently agreed. His frustration levels had risen along with the time spent on the road, too. If they had taken the interstate, it would have only been a two-hour drive across the state. But after changing cars again, he’d decided the Tamiami Trail through Big Cypress Nature Preserve would be the safer of the two choices.

“Relax. It’s a nice day. The sun is shining. Try to enjoy the beauty that’s all around us.”

“It’s a swamp, Emelio.” The whine of the cicadas rose to a crescendo as if to emphasize her words. “All I see is kudzu vines, scrub pine and more goddamn alligators.”

She’d probably smack him, but not even her foul mood could detract from her appeal. “You know, you’re very cute when you’re complaining.”

Stevie inclined her head, regarding him with a quirk of one eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, of course not.”

He shouldn’t be flirting. But it was hard to remain aloof when black-lace letter number nine lay on the console between them. Every now and again, he noticed her glance down at the envelope and then over at him. He couldn’t wait to find out what was written inside. Maybe he’d ask her to read it to him. Out loud, in that sexy Southern drawl that caressed his senses and danced along his nerves. Maybe she’d be naked, too.

Stevie sat up straight and stared at him. “Your lips moved.”

“What?”

“I saw your lips move. Careful, Emelio. That was almost a grin. With teeth and everything.”

It had been a long time since he’d felt like smiling, and yet Stevie had brought him close twice today. He decided not to comment, not sure himself what it meant.

“Didn’t you even realize you’d let it slip? No? That’s my new mission, then. To do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.”

Whatever it took? pImages** from her seductive notes crowded his thoughts.

The feel of my bare breasts rubbing against your chest makes my pulse race. Then you pull me into your embrace, your hands gliding down my naked body as you lower your mouth to my waiting lips….

Thinking about the possibilities was enough to strain the placket of his jeans. “That could be interpreted as sexual harassment, you know.”

“My, my. What made you jump to that conclusion?” Her laugh was darkly sensual, and her accent slipped into the cadence of her native New Orleans. “Don’t worry, chér. You’ll know right sure when I start harassing you.”

You know you want me. I know it, too—

The suggestive lyrics on the radio echoed his thoughts and increased the tension within the small space of the Jeep. Emelio switched the station again. Damn, what was it with the music today?

Give in to the feelin’, ’cause you’re gonna be mine—

He clicked the radio off.

Stevie looked over, amusement glowing in her eyes. “Is something wrong, Emelio?”

“Nope. I’d just rather listen to the mosquitoes and cicadas.”

She laughed again, low and husky, as the car phone rang. Emelio picked up the earpiece so the caller wouldn’t be on the speaker. Alex’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“I’m on vacation, hombre. What are you paging me for and what the hell are you doing in my Jeep?”

“Sorry, man. I had to take your wheels to get out of town.”

Alex’s tone instantly became serious. “Talk to me.”

“The Dominican cartel sent a message. It came through the office, but somehow Stevie is involved.” Emelio was well aware she was openly listening to his end of the conversation.

“Shit. How bad is it?”

He debated less than a second about how much to say. “How soon can you get back?”

His friend blew out a breath. “I’ll be on the next plane from Baltimore.”

“We’re heading for José’s place. You can reach me there. And Alex…”

“You’re welcome. Just watch your back, since I can’t be there to do it.”

Stevie settled her sunglasses on her nose to hide the fire she knew was blazing in her eyes. Her temper idled between annoyed and aggravated while she waited for Emelio to finish the call. How was she supposed to solve her first case, her own case, if he kept withholding information?

“Now that you’ve let Alex in on what’s happening—”

“Alex is my partner. While I keep you safe in Naples, he’s going to be digging around in Miami. And not without considerable risk, since he testified against the cartel, too.” He reached up to turn the visor down over the windshield, his sunglasses apparently not enough defense against the glare.

Alex wasn’t his only partner from now on. She was damned sick of being patted on the head as if she couldn’t be trusted. She was smart and strong and determined to be included.

“Then let me tell you what I know, Emelio. A hundred million dollars is a lot of money, but to a drug trafficking organization, it’s a drop in a very big bucket. That means the cartel’s message can only be personal. And I’m betting it has something to do with the man you tried to get me to recognize in that one photo.”

With his eyes hidden, there was no way to gauge his expression, but she saw his lips thin and noticed his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Information is knowledge, Emelio, and knowledge—”

“—will often get you killed. You’re too smart for your own good, Stevie.” His tone suggested a reluctant admiration.

She immediately latched on to his words. “I heard Alex say once that Overtown was the end of your career with Justice. Who got killed?”

He drew in a deep breath and very slowly exhaled through pursed lips. Then he surprised her by giving a direct answer. “The man in the photo is Rogelio Braga, Frankie Ramos’s replacement.”

“What happened in Overtown?”

For a long while he didn’t reply. He gingerly rubbed the bruise on his jaw, concentrating on the road. “An informant I’d used to get evidence against the cartel double-crossed our team during a bogus drug buy. When the bullets started flying, she was killed in the gunfire.”

Stevie wondered if he realized how much was given away by the undercurrent in his voice. However things had gone wrong, Emelio obviously blamed himself. And her instincts told her he was still holding something back, so she hit him with the question that was uppermost on her mind.

“Why is Braga threatening me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds and she could almost feel his withdrawal. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Her voice hardened as she stared at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Like you said, information is knowledge.” Emelio’s eyebrows drew together. “The question is, what does he think you know?”

ROGELIO BRAGA SLAMMED his fist against the oak surface of his desk. Bloody useless fools!

Frustration mingled with disgust and had him moving to the wet bar to pour a tumbler of dark rum. One of his first tasks when his takeover was complete would be to reorganize. He would eliminate anyone who dared substandard performance. Incompetence could not, and would not, be tolerated under the new regime.

The thug he’d hired from outside the cartel to take care of the Madison woman had failed him. He managed to deliver the messages, but had stupidly taken it upon himself to ravage her apartment, thereby alerting her to the extent of her peril before he’d planned. Then, not only had he lost them in traffic, he’d ended up in hospital. Braga would see to it he never left.

He swallowed a mouthful of the rum, hissing through his teeth as its fire trickled down his throat. He had bigger problems than the messenger.