Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Roman leaned back against the wall in the suite’s common area and watched Harper quickly erase all evidence the team had ever been in El Raval over an hour ago.
Mauricio’s murderer had gotten away because his driver was clearly a hell of a lot more familiar with the city streets, but the bottom line was it was all Roman’s fault they’d lost him. The moment he’d been within reach, Roman hesitated. He paused in stunned silence because he’d recognized the man.
“He was tying up loose ends,” Chris seethed, upset about their failure.
But it wasn’t Chris’s fault. Roman shouldered the blame, and the guys were too nice to lay it on him when he damn well deserved it.
“Whoever hired Mauricio didn’t want him talking, which means he could’ve helped us find who took out Ezra,” Chris continued.
“The police should be showing up to discover Mauricio’s body soon.” A.J. lowered his phone from his ear. “Just sent in the anonymous tip.”
“No signs of torture, so this was a quick in-and-out hit,” Chris commented, and Roman could tell by the way Chris scrutinized the floor as he paced that he was trying to work through the problem in his head.
They’d gone back to Mauricio’s place after the killer escaped to search for evidence. No laptop that they could find, which was odd in itself. And nothing else aside from the materials the man used to create the car bomb. They left the evidence there so the police could put two and two together.
“Looks like we have a new target package. Mauricio’s killer,” Wyatt spoke up.
Roman knew the identity of the target.
And he couldn’t open his damn mouth.
Not yet.
Not without figuring out why Carmen’s bodyguard had been there.
“We need a line of communication with the police. A contact that can feed us intel if they find something before we do.” Wyatt tossed his ball cap onto the couch. “I’ll see if Director Spenser can pull some strings.”
“My cousin was the mayor before his death,” Roman began. “And my family has plenty of pull. I’ll reach out to them—in person would be best.” He needed to talk to Carmen and his uncle, anyway. “But I should go alone,” he tagged on, starting for the door when Wyatt shot out his arm to stop him.
“First of all, it’s zero three thirty hours. I highly doubt you ringing Carmen’s bell at this time is the best idea. And second of all, you should get a few hours of rack time. You were hit by a car. You’ll be worthless to us if you’re not fully in the zone.”
The guys knew Roman wasn’t himself after the shit that happened on the street. He’d never have let a suspect get away like that, and they were blaming the fact he had a concussion, but when he told them the truth . . .
“We don’t have time to waste.” Roman looked around the room. No one else had slept all night. Why should he rest?
Wyatt set his hands on his hips, a small luxury Roman now missed. If he so much as touched his right hip, he’d have to bite back a hiss. It was that sore. Least of his problems, though.
“This isn’t a request.” Wyatt stared him down, and what else could Roman do other than follow the chain of command?
“I’m done,” Harper spoke up as if oblivious to the staring contest Roman was having with his team leader.
“No trail that we were ever near Mauricio’s neighborhood.
” Harper set the laptop aside. “But the vehicle that dropped off our murderer before we arrived didn’t have plates, and a black Acura isn’t uncommon.
And the guy had his mask on when he first arrived, as well as when he left. ”
Had she missed when the man lifted his mask to reveal his identity to Roman, or was she protecting Roman? No, she would have called him on that, right?
He was almost glad she’d come up empty, not connecting the killer back to Carmen’s bodyguard. For now, at least.
At the news, Roman said, “Wake me in two hours. And if I have to sleep, so does she.” He cursed under his breath, then retreated to his bedroom. The sooner he talked to Carmen, the better, but that woman would smell weakness on him if he showed up tired and without showering first.
He stripped down to his black briefs, deciding not to sleep naked like he usually did, what with everyone in the other room, then started for his bed and tripped on the foot of the chair by the small desk.
His right knee caught the brunt of his weight when he fell.
And, oh yeah, that sent a shooting pain through his hip and up his back.
He growled in a low voice and set his palms on the floor in front of him, trying to get back up.
Hell, Carmen would be right if she saw him like this. He was weak. And it ripped him apart. He had to pull himself back to normal and not act like he’d been hit by a damn car, or he’d never survive being in this city for another twenty-four hours.
“Roman?”
He sat back onto his heels, hands on his muscled thighs at the sound of Harper’s voice.
He hadn’t heard the door creak open. She got the drop on him, and that’d make him a liability as an operator.
He was officially a weak link and having a weak link on Echo Team could get his brothers killed. Or Harper.
“Sorry, I was worried you fell.”
He didn’t turn to find her. He could barely get himself to move. All of the drugs were officially out of his system since the hospital, and Advil wasn’t cutting it.
He listened to the door close, assuming she wasn’t going to leave with him on the floor, even if he was only in his briefs.
Harper slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of him, offering him her hand.
How much of a broken man did he look like to her right now? His heart shriveled at the idea, one he wanted to erase from his mind.
“Let me help you.” Her voice trembled as if it hurt her as much to look at him as it did for him to have her pity directed toward him.
He didn’t deserve pity. And he didn’t want it.
“You’re the one that should be in bed. I’m fine.” He set a hand to the ground and tried to stand without assistance, but she reached for his forearm and offered her support anyway.
Once they were both upright, he watched as her eyes traveled from his feet on up to his bare chest. A slow journey that had him surprisingly two seconds away from going hard. What is wrong with me?
How could he be thinking about sex? He wouldn’t be able to hide an erection in his black briefs from her.
“Come on.” She urged him to the bed as if he couldn’t walk by himself, then she peeled back the covers and climbed in first, keeping her jeans and tee on. “You said I need to sleep, too. I think it’s safer if we’re together.”
He set a hand over his jaw.
Definitely not safe.
“The guys are outside the room,” he said when his hand fell, and his arms tensed at his sides.
Her gaze continued to travel over his nearly naked body as she rested her head on the pillow and covered herself with the comforter. “It was Finn’s idea to stay with you. Make sure you actually sleep.”
“Are you forgetting the last time we slept in the same bed?” And shit, poor choice of words because maybe she had forgotten.
“Puerto Rico.” She rolled her tongue between her lips . . . annnd, what pain in my hip? “But you hadn’t been hit by a car back then, so you don’t need to worry now.”
“No, but I’d been stabbed.” A wannabe pirate had punched Harper, and Roman had lost his mind at the sight. The man cut him with a knife to get him to stop attacking him like a rabid dog.
Harper closed her eyes and grimaced as if reliving that memory for the first time.
“We can’t move on if we keep winding up back in the same—”
“I can’t be alone,” she cut him off, her voice quivering.
He wasn’t used to seeing this side of Harper.
She kept her walls pretty sturdy, and she rarely lowered them for anyone to see what she was thinking or feeling—basically, a hypocrite for being pissed at him for having the same problem.
And tonight he’d learned she’d been keeping a secret from him, too.
God, we’re a pair. He sank onto the bed a moment later. His mind unsure, his heart and body raring to go.
She turned her back to him, fluffed the pillow, but then inched her body closer to his. On autopilot, he pulled her tight to his chest and slid an arm over her waist beneath the covers to hold her against him.
Her ass was perfectly positioned in front of his cock, and she was about to feel just how not over her he was.
This was how they’d always slept together last year. And every morning since they’d stopped sleeping together, when he woke without her next to him, had been breathtakingly painful.
He was too tired to pry his hand off her and put the distance between them he knew he should. Too greedy not to feel her safe in his arms.
And when he fell asleep, the last thing he thought about was the song A.J. had played in the SUV a few hours ago by Kane Brown, the same song that he couldn’t handle listening to, either.
When he and Harper had gone to his friend Emilia for help in Sicily back in October, Roman about fell off his chair when that same song had popped up on her playlist. Of all the songs for Emilia to play.
Harper basically jumped from the table and fled, and it had taken all of his restraint not to follow her when Rory had offered to check on her.
It was “their song,” though. Harper had called it that, at least, which made sense since it’d been the song playing before they made love for the first time . . .