Wicked Temptation: The Lost Treasure (The Paladin League #8)

Chapter 1

Trujillo, Puerto Jardin

South America

Iona Desmond battled to hide her exhaustion. A week of being drugged and held captive had left her running on fumes, and this morning hadn’t given her a second to breathe.

She’d been interrogated by a Special Forces captain. Expected, maybe, but still irritating. She was the injured party here. And now this.

Negotiating with that same captain to protect her sister.

Sending Ayla back to Los Angeles and trusting hired bodyguards not to fall prey to the kind of money a Russian mob boss could toss around was asking a lot. Too much. But Ayla’s man was on this team. He would keep her safe as long as his CO didn’t ship Ayla back to the States.

All she had to offer in exchange for her sister’s safety was her help with their operation.

She just wished she didn’t feel like she was about to collapse. Even now, she’d cataloged what she could see—exits, angles, obstacles. It was a habit she hadn’t tried to break.

Most people would assume someone working for a nonprofit like the Paladin League couldn’t offer much help.

But Archer’s briefing before she’d left LA had made it clear the captain knew the truth.

That her boss ran a covert arm that rescued stolen artifacts and that he hired people with certain skills. And trained them further.

The dining room didn’t look like it belonged in a safe house.

Grimy yellow walls and a too-cheerful red gingham runner created a strange contrast. The table sat twelve—enough for the entire Special Forces team—but only Io, her twin, the captain, and one other man were present.

Ayla’s man. A ceiling fan with three stubby blades tried, and failed, to stir the heavy air.

She was mid–staredown with BD when she caught motion. A flash of camo. Since neither the captain nor Oz reacted, she guessed it was another team member.

A man asked, “Why are you dressed like you’re going to an office?”

Io’s head snapped toward the voice. “Cal!”

Her breath punched out of her lungs. For a heartbeat, everything inside her went loose—knees, chest, the tight coil of dread she’d been carrying since the moment she woke up.

Relief slammed into her so hard her eyes stung.

He was here. Solid. Familiar. And her body reacted before her brain could remind her why that wasn’t safe anymore.

The room narrowed to the shape of him—broad shoulders, rolled sleeves, the familiar ink on his forearms. A hot, dizzy rush flooded her chest. Her body didn’t care that their relationship was over. It never had. But wanting him had never been the problem, being wanted back for herself was.

He was supposed to be in Germany, not here. Not where she had to see him, feel him, react to his presence.

Not working covert ops.

Not stepping back into her life like her heart hadn’t already paid the price for loving him.

When he’d already made it clear he didn’t want the real her.

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking. He appeared wired, keyed up, and exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept.

And then he was moving. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough, too tight.

She met him halfway without thinking. Relief crashed through her so hard her knees nearly gave out.

His hands closed around her arms, steadying her, anchoring her, and the contact gave her the first comfort she’d had in days.

Her muscles slackened all at once, her fingers curling into his shirt because her body recognized safety.

Io didn’t mean to cling. God, she hated that she still could.

Didn’t mean to reach for him like she hadn’t learned better.

She didn’t mean to breathe him in like he was the one steady thing left in a world she hadn’t been able to control.

But after a week of captivity, his presence dissolved the last of the fear she’d been holding tight in her spine.

Her body sagged into his without permission, without hesitation, without shame because right now, she needed this. Needed him.

“I got you, Wild Thing,” he murmured. His voice was rough, but the endearment ran over her skin like a caress. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Her eyes slid shut. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel the solid weight of him, the rise of his chest against her cheek, the way his arms tightened.

Maybe he was irritated with her—toward the end he usually had been—but for a moment, she let herself pretend he cared.

She leaned into it just long enough to let the relief settle deep, to let her heartbeat slow, to let her body believe she was no longer in danger.

Only then, only once she was grounded again, did the rest of it start to seep back in.

The silence.

The hurt.

The memory of him walking away, but even if he was annoyed, his hug made her feel safe, secure, and she couldn’t force herself to release him.

“Baggs,” BD said somewhere behind them, “how do you know our guest?”

Cal inhaled sharply and his muscles tensed.

“Io is my wife.”

The words hit her like a jolt. Of course he’d say it like that—direct, unvarnished, a fact dropped into the room like a grenade.

Her stomach twisted. She kept her eyes closed for one more heartbeat, wishing she could stay in the place where she felt safe and not the place where reality waited.

She hated that part of her still wanted the title he’d walked away from.

Silence sharpened around them.

Io stepped back.

Cal’s arms tightened for a split second, and then he released her.

The loss of his warmth was immediate, a cold draft across her skin despite the humidity of Trujillo.

She forced herself not to reach for him again.

Forced herself to remember why she shouldn’t.

She’d already learned what happened when she let herself believe she belonged with him.

She turned to her sister.

Exactly what she’d expected. Hurt, anger, tears. “Ayla—”

“You got married?”

Oz moved to Ayla’s side. Io felt a flicker of gratitude and irritation. It had always been her job to protect Ayla. To absorb the hard things so her sister didn’t have to.

She shot Cal a look. “We eloped. We went to Las Vegas while Cal had leave.”

“Vegas? Did you get married by an Elvis impersonator?”

Oz tugged Ayla closer.

Io felt her temper climb. “Sure, showgirls and all. What else would you get at a Vegas wedding? Certainly not a real chapel with a real minister.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. I’m sorry I hurt you, but you don’t get to take free shots at my wedding.” Cal and Oz stayed wisely silent.

“When did you get married?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Hell. “January.”

“It’s July.” Ayla threw that out like a gauntlet. “You had months to tell me.”

“And the marriage isn’t in your personnel file,” BD added to Cal. “I would have seen that.”

Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

BD waited. When Cal stayed quiet, he said, “Notification protocols, benefits, next-of-kin—”

“Io has her own health coverage. She’s not dependent on me.”

She wasn’t dependent on anyone. Not now. Not ever.

“And if you were injured or killed?” BD pressed. “I never would have known to contact Ms. Desmond.”

Io flinched. She didn’t want to think about Cal dying, but his job came with risks. Serious ones.

Ayla’s gaze was sharp, wounded. “That’s why I didn’t see you in February, isn’t it? You were with him!” She pointed at Cal as if she were a noir detective.

Sighing, Io said, “Cal was stationed in Germany. The commute to California was a little tough.”

“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t call. Or text.”

“It wasn’t a vacation.”

“It was a honeymoon.”

That hit hard. Io was too tired for this. Cal stood behind her, close enough she could feel him, and she wished, just for a second, that she could lean into him the way Ayla leaned into Oz. But she was the strong one. The one who held everyone else up. She didn’t get to lean.

“Ay, I’m not going to argue. I’m sorry I hurt you. It was never about hurting you. If you want to keep ripping at me, we can do it later. In private.”

“I don’t want to rip at you, I just want to know why you shut me out.”

Io eyed the table. She could reach it, hold on, stay on her feet. Her energy was gone and Ayla’s questions were the hard stuff.

They’d both been shaped by their parents, but in opposite ways.

Her vision blurred. The room tilted. She swayed.

Cal moved before she even registered she was unsteady enough to fall. It was pure instinct, nothing more. Certainly not love. She knew that. But his arms locked around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Solid. Unyielding. Familiar in a way that made something inside her crack.

“I got you, Io,” he murmured, voice low against her ear. “I told you that earlier.”

She let her hands drift to his, trying to remember how to stay upright. Her muscles trembled with the effort.

“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?” Io forced her gaze to meet her twin’s. Her throat burned. “Because we got married in January and it was over in March. That’s why. Happy now, Ayla?”