Chapter Nine
A hiss ignited the sensitivity in her teeth as Socorro’s physician added another stitch in Maggie’s forearm. Could’ve been worse. She could’ve ended up burned at the stake with the rest of the bodies. Would have if Jones hadn’t showed up.
“About three more. Keep breathing.” Dr. Piel—a woman Maggie judged to be around late thirties, maybe early forties—worked quickly as blood seeped from the four-inch gash. “I’m sorry the topical anesthetic isn’t doing anything for you.”
“I’d rather feel it.” Because it meant she was still alive. That Toledano hadn’t gotten his way. Though she could use a few more days before her next abduction. You can run, but you can’t hide. The masked soldier, the one who seemed to outrank Sangre por Sangre ’s own beloved heir, was on a mission. He and his unit never broke orders. Never gave up. He’d destroyed the SD card, burned the bodies of the American soldiers she’d witnessed slaughtered. They were ready to kill her and cover up the whole operation. And for what?
Orders. The word seemed to bury deep in her brain, waiting there between every thought. Soldiers like that—like Jones and the rest of Socorro’s operatives—went to extreme lengths to complete their assignments. But soldiers thrived in the field. They liked getting their hands dirty. They weren’t resigned to shuffle paperwork from behind a desk. The plan had to be handed down. But from whom? Sangre por Sangre ? Or someone else?
Pain kicked her back into a bright white room so out of place in Socorro’s headquarters. The lights were getting to her. The aches were getting to her. The lack of sleep and food and pure confusion were getting to her. Adrenaline only carried a person so far, and Maggie had run out of that a long time ago.
“All done.” Dr. Piel tossed the curved needle and surgical thread into a stainless steel bowl on the moveable cart beside her. The physician seemed meticulous, moving with confidence and efficiency. It was easy to imagine how she spent her nights when she wasn’t on call here. Most likely with her nose in a nonfiction book and a glass of wine in one hand. Surrounded by expensive upholstery, good art and an entire library at her disposal. Definitely not the kind of woman Maggie would’ve been friends with in her past life, or even the type who scrolled through Pinterest. “I’m going to wrap a bandage around this to keep you from snagging the stitches on anything. Try to keep it from getting wet and let me know if the pain gets worse. I cleaned it out the best I could, but there’s still a chance of infection.”
“Thank you.” Maggie stared down at the angry red pricks along her opposite arm where glass, rocks and embers from the fire had made their marks. It was nothing compared to the welts and internal damage several days of interrogation had left behind.
“How’s the back?” Dr. Piel disposed of her latex gloves in a hazardous materials bin on the other side of the medical suite before she collected her tablet from the counter. “Any changes I should be made aware of?”
Maggie scrunched her toes around the dust that collected inside her shoe from her left leg dragging behind her as she, Gotham and Jones had made a run for the truck mere hours ago. The numbness had spread from her toes, into her ankle, up her calf and now around her knee. She didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know how long she had before she lost use of the leg entirely, but it didn’t really matter. She’d walked straight into a cover-up that had the potential to change her life if she dug deep enough. And she had to move fast. Things like this came with a deadline. If she was going to be the one to break the news, she couldn’t waste another second. And she couldn’t let anyone try to stop her. “A little soreness in my lower back, but it’s getting better.”
“Good. Be sure to keep me updated if that changes.” The good doctor made a few notes on her tablet, too distracted to read Maggie’s lie straight from her face. “I don’t see any other injuries that need immediate attention. Feel free to take ibuprofen as needed, get into a nice hot shower for the muscle aches and sleep as much as you can.”
“I will. Thank you.” Maggie slid off the examination table, careful to hold her weight in her arms and not her left leg. She’d gotten good at pretending over the years. That her marriage was perfect, that her family and friends hadn’t hurt her when they’d taken her ex’s side, that she deserved this new life she’d created. Keeping her leg steady as she walked out of Socorro’s medical suite was just another version of that.
She headed back into the black corridor, the awareness of being watched instantly pressurizing between her shoulder blades. Not out of fear. Familiarity. Trust. Relief. The knot in her stomach almost released, but Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted it to. Because the second she gave up her guard, she put herself at risk. And she’d come too far to take a step back now. “You don’t have to follow me around, you know. I’m not sure I could even find the front door if I wanted to leave. This place is a maze.”
“What did the doc say?” It took nothing for Jones to catch up to her as she shuffled down the hall.
“Apart from the gash in my arm, everything looks fine.” Lie. Her toes caught on a grout line in the black tile, and Maggie forced herself to slow down. To take a breath as her chest tightened. Jones had done nothing but fight for her, to the point of risking his own life and the lives of his team. She owed him the truth about the side effects from whatever Toledano had injected into her spine, but telling him only guaranteed her sitting on the sidelines. Or letting Socorro take control of her life. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Not again. “I’ve been ordered to take a long hot shower and sleep myself into a coma.”
“I think I can help with that.” Such a simple statement, but one that held so much meaning if she let herself read into it.
Maggie pulled up short of the kitchen. “Are you offering to help me shower?”
“What? No.” Pure panic contorted his handsome features as Jones raised both hands in surrender. His palms had been cut up—like hers. A scratch cut through his hairline and came dangerously close to his eye. Scabs would start building in the next day or so, but right now, everything was fresh. There were still streaks of dirt around the wound. He hadn’t been to see the doctor. He’d waited outside that room for her. “That’s not what I meant. Unless you need my help. Then, yeah. I can do that.”
“At ease, soldier. I think I can manage on my own.” Her upper lip stung as she found herself smiling. She’d never seen him flustered before. It made him human. Maggie leveraged one hand against the wall as she rounded into the kitchen. As much as she wanted to follow straight through with Dr. Piel’s orders, she couldn’t do any of it until she had something to eat. Training for her first marathon last year had taught her the body physically couldn’t repair itself without the proper macronutrients. She’d feel better faster after a substantial amount of calories. “I needed the laugh, though. Thanks for that.”
She could almost feel his hand at her lower back. Just waiting for her to need his help. But the part of her that’d picked herself up off the floor after her divorce wouldn’t let her rely on anyone but herself. It was that part that’d given her the courage to leave everything she’d known behind and gotten her the job with American Military News . This was who she had to be now.
Morning sun peeked out from behind the canyon walls protecting the small town less than a mile east. What would it be like to live in a place like that? Outside the city, away from the mania and rush. Where neighbors knew each other’s names and checked in with homemade goods and smiles. To live slow and without the pressures of trying to keep up with everyone else. Her heart craved that. Or maybe she was just tired. And beat up. And bleeding. Maggie used the galley-style kitchen counters to take her weight as she passed through to the oversize dining table on the other side. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I make a mean omelet, if you’re interested.” Jones moved about the kitchen with a grace she’d never be able to pull off even if she wasn’t injured. He grabbed a pan from one cupboard and a cutting board from another before verbally greeting each of his items as he collected them from the refrigerator. “Peppers, onions, eggs, cheese, salt, pepper and my secret ingredient. Our logistics coordinator is something of a chef in her downtime. She’s been teaching us to cook in case we have to fend for ourselves.”
“Great. I’ll take three.” She eased herself down onto the nearest chair, giving up her need to put her back to the wall so she could see the entire room. “And I’m not kidding.”
“You got it.” He dumped his haul on the counter with a little too much force, splitting the bell pepper along the top. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?”
The question shouldn’t have meant much, but she wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked her that before. If they’d ever put her well-being first. Her ex certainly hadn’t, and her parents had turned over that responsibility to herself long before she’d left the house at seventeen. “No. I’m good. Don’t all of you soldier types know how to fend for yourselves in the field?”
“MREs are not the same as a home-cooked meal.” He cracked an entire dozen eggs, one after the other, against the countertop before dropping them into a mixing bowl.
“So there’s no one cooking you meals at home? Girlfriend, wife?” She shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t any of her business and the answer wouldn’t change anything between them. They’d been thrust together for the sake of survival. That was it. There wasn’t any version of her story that included getting involved with another man capable of breaking her. And Jones Driscoll had the ability to break her. “Boyfriend?”
“I live here.” His smile cracked at one side of his face as he whisked the eggs together and combined them all in a pan to cook along with the cheese before he started dicing vegetables. A gravitational pull suddenly held her pinned to her seat. This wasn’t the soldier who’d pulled her out of danger. This was the man beneath the armor. The one who might’ve existed before his brother’s death. And he was giving her, of all people, the gift of seeing it firsthand. “And, no. I don’t have a significant other, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Gratitude and raw desire propelled her to her feet. Maggie put everything she had into getting to her feet. Her leg tried to keep up, but she was losing her own determination to hide from him. Stopping mere inches away, she reached for his face, framing his jaw between both hands. “That’s too bad.”
She dragged his mouth to hers.
A BURST OF adrenaline twisted his stomach tight.
Jones knew this kind of excitement. It was the same feeling he lost himself in when heading into the field for an assignment. There was nothing like throwing himself into a dangerous, chaotic situation, and knowing his life would never be the same when he came back out.
The laceration on Maggie’s lip caught against the oversensitive skin of his mouth and rocketed his heart rate into overdrive. It elicited a growl from somewhere deep inside his chest and seemed to urge her on. She parted her lips and gave him access to everything he’d denied himself over the past two years.
Jones let the whisk fall from his hand and speared his fingers into her hair. Bits of dust lodged against her scalp, but that only added to the explosion of sensitivity coiling through his system. Her palms pressed against his chest as though trying to convince herself this was a bad idea, but at the same time giving her the stability she needed to stay upright. And, damn, she tasted perfect. Though he hadn’t expected any different over the days they’d been together. He’d known long before this moment she would be an indulgence he’d never be able to get over.
She dug her fingers into his shirt, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to push her limits. Because no matter how much either of them wanted this, he couldn’t give her anything beyond this moment. Despite his desperation for contact that had nothing to do with his work, they were on two separate paths. Him facing down a bloodthirsty cartel with Socorro, and her clawing free of a man who hadn’t taken her at her worth. This... This was all there was.
And he’d take it. Every second. Every hour. Every day she’d lend him. He’d soak it all up until he couldn’t take any more. He was selfish in that way. He knew that now. Because crossing the lines—breaking orders and risking his entire military career—into enemy territory hadn’t been about saving Kincaide from his captors or keeping his brother from suffering more than he had to. That’d been part of it, but Jones realized deep down it’d been about holding on to that single connection for himself. Of not having to lose one more person in his life. Of having someone who gave a damn about him as much as he cared about them. And he cared about Maggie. More than he wanted to admit.
Jones broke away from the kiss, curling his arms around her middle to pull her closer. His mouth found the highjacked pulse at the base of her neck as she tipped her head back.
“Something smells.” Her words were breathy. Not entirely coherent. And he couldn’t help but love the fact he’d done that to her. That he’d cost her an ounce of that legendary control.
“Sorry about that.” Though he wasn’t sorry enough to stop. “I haven’t showered.”
“No. Not that.” She set her hands on his shoulders and pushed. “I think your omelet is burning.”
The smoke detector’s alarm pierced through the pleasant haze and ripped Jones from the edge. He set Maggie back a couple of feet as smoke filled the kitchen. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he shut off the stove and tossed the mess into the sink as fast as possible. Water scorched the pan and most likely warped the metal, but he’d just have to buy Jocelyn a new one. He grabbed the dish towel hanging from the front of the oven and flapped it in front of the detector to clear a bit of the smoke. The alarm ceased its deafening beeping, and Jones’s blood pressure started coming down. “Look what you did.”
“Me? You’re the one who forgot you were cooking. I’m innocent in all of this.” Maggie waved one hand in front of her face. A smile that had no business visiting a moment like this brightened her face and gutted him faster than any blade. She reached for the dining table behind her and took a seat. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my distance. Because I still want eggs.”
Jones whipped the dish towel over his shoulder and set about pulling another carton of eggs from the fridge. “Save me from the cartel. Make sure I don’t get shot. Help me escape from being burned alive. Cook me eggs. Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Caddel?”
“You could do it without a shirt.” She leaned back in the chair, completely at ease, and damn, he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
And it was right then he knew. Maggie’s life hadn’t always revolved around the idea she could change everything by meeting some goal she’d convinced herself would finally make her happy. She’d been in survival mode. Not just running for her life from the cartel over the past few days, but from being the person her ex branded her as to her family and friends. He could see why breaking a story that had the potential to shoot her to the top of her profession would look so tempting. To prove her worth, that she was someone, that she meant something. And Jones wanted to give her that.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said.
He set to work cracking another dozen eggs, then whisked them together with the cheese to start a second batch of omelets. That kiss had brought him down to his baser instincts. Going much longer without a full stomach would finish the job. Jones layered a base of eggs in a new pan and let it sit while he started chopping the vegetables. “Why don’t you tell me what happened after the accident instead?”
The playfulness drained from her expression, and he hated himself for being the root cause of her anxiety, but if they were going to live up to the deal they’d made at the start of all this, they needed to be honest with each other. That was the agreement. No secrets. No holding back. Maggie cut her gaze to some invisible speck on the table, scratching at it with one finger. “All right. I think the men who took me from the SUV were US military. Active. From what I could gather from the short—and terrifying—conversation I had with the leader of their little party, they were ordered to cover up what happened the night of the ambush.”
He’d assumed as much in the mere minute and a half he’d engaged with the unit. Though her theory was new. Jones tossed the vegetables in with the eggs and let everything cook together. Straight up accusing the military of a cover-up wouldn’t get them anywhere but a dark hole in which neither of them would escape. They needed proof. “Cover up how?”
“They recovered the SD card with the photos I’d taken. It was right there in front of me. Within reach. I don’t know how they found it, but I guess that doesn’t matter now. I tried to grab for it, but...” Her voice turned almost wispy, as though she were trying to bury some kind of emotion she didn’t want him to see. “The soldier in charge made quick work of destroying it. That and the bodies Toledano burned before you got there. I’m not sure they had any part in that, but from what I could tell they were working together.”
“Sosimo Toledano is heir to Sangre por Sangre ’s entire organization. As soon as his old man kicks the bucket, it’s rumored he’ll take control. Why the hell would the military or any part of the federal government partner with him?” And why would they cover up the lieutenant’s dirty work? Jones was on the verge of letting the eggs burn again. He forced himself to take a minute, to wrap his head around what this all meant.
“That’s what I want to find out.” She let her hand fall away from whatever she’d tried digging off of the table. “He told me I was the last piece of the puzzle. They were going to kill me, too.”
Jones flipped the first omelet, ensuring it was cooked all the way through before slipping it onto a plate with a sprinkle of green onion and his special ingredient: sour cream. He handed it off, his thumb brushing into her palm. “I’m not going to let that happen, Maggie.”
And he meant it. No matter what deal they’d struck when they’d gotten into this mess together, he wasn’t going to put it ahead of her life. Sangre por Sangre wouldn’t have to just go through him to get to her. Jones would bring the entire US government down on its head if he had to, and if that didn’t work, he’d get her out of the country. Someplace safe. Where she could live the life she deserved.
“I’m not so sure you get a say anymore.” Her skin warmed against his for a series of breaths before she pulled the plate to the table. That contact stayed with him as he went back to the stove to start another, tunneling deep into bone. “This is delicious. Who knew someone who communicates in differing levels of growls could cook this well?”
“I think that was a compliment.” Jones finished up another omelet and brought it straight to her plate.
“Don’t get a swollen head.” She stabbed another mouthful of egg and took a bite. Most people might have been grossed out by her ability to talk and eat at the same time, but there was something real and raw about the way she’d opened up to him. About her marriage, her family, her career. His gut said that didn’t happen often, if at all. But that maybe she was keeping something else to herself. “It’s been over a day since I’ve had anything—I almost forgot what good food tastes like. For all I know, you’re the worst cook in America, and I can’t tell the difference.”
“I’ll take it.” A laugh he failed to strangle vibrated up his throat as he took a seat opposite her. It felt uncomfortable and out of place, foreign, but right at the same time. He’d spent so much of his life trying to be as small as possible—in foster homes, at school, in the military—so as not to gain attention, but with her, he felt...himself. As though he could say or do anything without earning criticism or judgment. Jones reached to grab a bite of omelet from her plate.
She poised her fork above his hand, ready to strike. “I said you’re a good cook. Not that I would share. One more move, and you’ll never use that hand again.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
“There’s a reason I’m still here.” The small muscles in her jaw flexed and released in an attempt to keep her smile under control, but he could see right through her. Had from the beginning. “I won’t go down without a fight.”
Pure desire tightened his insides. Jones dropped his fork against the table and hauled her against his chest in less time than it took for her to suck in her next breath. “I think I’ll take my chances.”