CHAPTER 2
Imogen
Of all the things Imogen expected to find in El Jaguar’s house, Mateo hadn’t been one of them. Though she refused to admit it, her legs were still unsteady. The sight of him had been as shocking as being doused with a bucket of ice water. Now, when her head needed to be focused on finding her brother, her ex clouded her thoughts.
The moment she’d recognized him, dressed in a suit—of all things—she’d been appalled that he could’ve changed so significantly. Her first thought had been to wonder how he could go from being a police deputy to slumming it with the cartels.
Working undercover was . . . new. As new as his attire. The old Mat never wore suits. Over the year they were together, she’d managed to get him into one only once and under duress. It had been for a political meeting disguised as a charity function held at her parent’s house. Her mother had insisted she make an appearance, and she hadn’t wanted to go alone.
Not that she hadn’t loved Mat in his jeans and a button-down, but he’d looked so dapper in a three-piece suit.
Because it was the same day he broke her heart, the recollection was as vivid as a painting. Every detail had been etched into her being. Imogen sighed as the hall in front of her blurred with the memory.
“Oh my,” the soft declaration from the matron standing next to her made Imogen turn.
She’d been checking nameplates, looking for hers and Mat’s at one of the ten, eight-person tables set up along the far wall of the busy ballroom. Her mother never shorted on fresh flowers or the chance to show off their wealth, and the room glittered with opulent decorations. But those didn’t shine as bright as the man walking toward her.
A smile tilted Imogen’s lips as she caught sight of Mat. Somehow, he seemed taller in the dark suit. The black jacket made his shoulders look even broader, and the white shirt made his hazel eyes pop. She’d always loved their color. Not quite brown, not quite green. They straddled the line between two hues just as his heritage stretched across two cultures.
When he drew near, it became apparent how uncomfortable he was. He stuck his hands in his pockets, then immediately withdrew them like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
Tugging at his tie, he cleared his throat. “Gen, how long do I have to stay in this monkey suit?”
She chuckled then used his lapels to anchor herself as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a welcome kiss. “I don’t know, deputy . . .” She gave him a thorough once-over. “I kind of like this image.”
Instead of the smile she’d expected, his eyes clouded over. Sensing his unease, she stood on her toes again and whispered toward his ear, “I like you in jeans, too, vaquero . But my favorite picture . . .” she paused for emphasis, unabashedly pushing her breasts into his chest before finishing with, “is you in nothing at all.”
Imogen’s shoe caught on an uneven tile, and she stumbled. She managed to right herself as the memory slipped away. Mat wasn’t her cowboy anymore; the last thing she needed was to be picturing him naked . . .
Rugged perfection is how she remembered him. Wiry muscles that suited his long limbs, warm skin a shade lighter than hers, and dark hair that did little to hide his impressive— Stop it!
Imogen gave herself a shake. Time to remove the words naked and Mat from her vocabulary. She couldn’t handle the images they conjured. Focusing on her surroundings, she glanced around to see no one had witnessed her clumsiness.
Gracias a Dios.
Exhaling a huge sigh, she continued heading for Mat’s room. He’d told her to come back tonight, and if she didn’t think he could help, she wouldn’t have entertained the idea of meeting him in his private quarters. But she’d spent the majority of the day doing actual cleaning. Her feet hurt, she couldn’t get the scent of bleach from her nose, and she’d chipped a nail.
The only thing she’d found out so far was that she dove into the deep end without bothering to learn how to swim first. She was desperate to find Emiliano, and desperate measures meant asking Mat for help.
Because she refused to drown. Even if seeing him today had threatened to melt the ice wall she’d built around her heart. It’d be easier to keep her head above water if he hadn’t tried to seduce her in the hallway. Or pretended to. She was well aware of the distinction. The fact he hadn’t really wanted to kiss her but had just been giving the camera a show to avoid suspicion left a bitter taste in her mouth. Physically, her body remembered him and had responded. Against her wishes. At least, that’s what she chose to tell herself.
You still love him.
Imogen shoved that thought away as soon as it surfaced. She couldn’t think about it now.
The sight of Mat would be hard enough to endure, but his voice . . . the timbre of it with its hint of a drawl still lit her up inside. She ached in places she’d forgotten she had. All the pain he’d caused her in the past threatened to spring up at her, but she crammed those memories back into the deepest, darkest corners of her heart where they couldn’t hurt her again.
Mat didn’t care about her. He likely never had. Her feelings for him, however . . . those had been real. Too real. Five years ago, she’d thought she’d found the person she wanted to grow old with, only to realize his view of the future didn’t include her.
Her heart contracted painfully as if some hateful monster gripped it in a fist and squeezed. She’d hoped she’d moved past this, but running into Mat had made it clear—she’d merely buried the heartache for a while.
She might be heading toward thirty and the designation as a solterona , according to her mother, but that was fine by Imogen. She’d rather be a spinster than some egotistical blockhead’s fifí wife. Even though she’d been born into the upper-class world, her destiny was her own, and she’d be damned if she let her parents, a man, or even society dictate that for her.
Squaring her shoulders, she smoothed the frilly white apron she wore over her gray maid uniform, using the gesture to mentally sweep her past with Mat under the rug. As far as she was concerned, it held no bearing on the present, and right now, she needed his help to find her brother.
With a grumble of reluctance, she lifted her hand to knock on Mat’s door.
Please, God. Give me strength.
◆◆◆
Mateo
At the quiet knock on his door, a tremor ran through Mat. It was Imogen. He’d been worried she wouldn’t come like he’d asked. He rose from his seat in front of the sleek electric fireplace, tugging on the end of his shirt sleeves to straighten them. He paused at the door, anticipating and dreading seeing her again.
After running into her in the hall earlier, he’d let her go with strict instructions to be only a maid. To do nothing suspicious and avoid the lieutenant’s men at all costs. If she were here now, maybe she’d managed to listen to him for once.
When they’d been together, he loved and hated how strong-minded she was. It meant she’d often butted heads with her family and him. Though five years had passed, he hoped she hadn’t lost her spunk.
As much as he’d tried to ignore them, echoes of their past had hounded him all day. Apart from his mother, Imogen was the only woman he’d ever loved. But when it came down to it, love wasn’t enough. Not when she came from Texas royalty and his pedigree was nonexistent.
Before the sour memory of their last day together could do more than burn its way through his gut, he wrangled it into submission.
The past was the past.
What he had to focus on was what to do with Imogen in the present. Her showing up made his current job not only that much harder, but it added to his workload. The last thing he needed was a distraction when he was close to finishing his assignment.
Even so, he refused to leave her to her own devices. She’d already made a horrible decision, placing herself in the lieutenant’s house. If she kept snooping around, she was bound to get caught, and he had zero illusions about what would happen after that.
Mat shook the horrifying images from his mind and unclenched the fists he’d made in response. He usually kept a clear head but the thought of anyone hurting Gen . . . it hazed his vision in red and stirred a fiery rage in his blood.
She’s not yours anymore.
If she ever was. He may have been the one who walked away, but she’d made one thing clear.
A familiar resignation flooded him.
It was for the best he found out that his position in society meant he’d never measure up to hers.
Taking a deep breath, Mat opened the door. At least Imogen looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Her hand hung in the air mid-knock, and she had her bottom lip caught between her teeth. A sure sign of her indecision. If he had to guess, she’d been standing there debating whether to walk away or knock again.
“Hello, Imogen.”
She dropped her hand, released her lip, and shot shards of ice at him with her eyes. “Mateo.”
He leaned against the doorframe and lazily took her in. The gray maid’s dress, with its white collar and cuffs, was supposed to help her blend into the background, but the richness of her dark hair and glowing skin meant she stuck out in the best possible way. Or worst, since he needed her to remain invisible to the cartel.
He wasn’t above appreciating the way she looked for himself, though. The one thing their relationship had always had going for it was the sex. The bedroom had been the place where their different backgrounds didn’t matter. Hell, it was probably what made it so much better than anything he’d had prior or since.
Remembering, his eyes greedily drank her in. The white ruffled apron should have seemed ridiculous, but all he could think about was a fantasy where she wore that and nothing else. The buttons down the center of the blouse gapped, straining to keep their hold over her ample bust. They must’ve given her the smallest size uniform because not only was it a tad too tight, it managed to be too short, even on someone with her stature. She barely topped five-three, but while petite, she had curves in all the right places. Curves he remembered in minute detail.
“Are you going to invite me in or what?” The irritation sharpening her voice made him smile. Maybe it was petty, but he wasn’t happy about her being here. The least she could do was suffer for it some, too.
“’Course I am.” He stepped out of the way and pushed the door wide. “Come on in.”
With his recent promotion, the lieutenant had upgraded him to a suite of rooms. He had his own living room, separate bedroom, and bathing room.
As Imogen swept past him, her perfume surrounded him. Ignoring its pull, he reminded himself the seductive scent was another thing he had to talk to her about. She needed to lose it unless she wanted anyone with a working olfactory nerve to know what room of the house she’d just walked through.
Imogen strode past the leather chaise in the sitting area straight for the chair by the hearth. The fireplace’s white plaster surround stretched to the ceiling, narrowing as it reached the top. It was set on low and mainly for aesthetic value, not warmth. Not that it couldn’t get cold in northeast Texas, but spring was already bringing higher temps.
The lounge chair she’d chosen was where he’d intended to sit as it faced the door, but he wasn’t going to argue with her over it. Not when he needed to talk some sense into her.
The chair had a deep seat, and she perched on the edge instead of sinking into the burgundy fabric. As soon as she sat, she crossed her arms over her chest, demanding, “Well?”
Mat raised a hand, asking her to wait a moment. Grabbing a remote off the end table by the chaise, he turned on the TV hanging over the fireplace. He’d already drawn the dark gray curtains on the room’s two windows for privacy, but he didn’t want to chance anyone overhearing what they talked about.
With the latest soccer match on loud enough to muffle their words should anyone be listening, Mat settled on the chaise. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he faced Imogen.
They hadn’t been able to get into it in the hall earlier, so he asked her now, “Why do you think the Lazcanos had anything to do with Emil’s disappearance?”
Her cupid’s bow mouth stretched into a thin line. “Are you defending them?”
Mat resisted the urge to scrub his hands over the dark hair on his jaw in frustration. “No, Gen. But I need to know what you know if I’m gonna be able to help you find your brother.”
She sighed, and her shoulders drooped as she broke his gaze. “He was using,” pausing, Imogen refused to meet his patient stare before continuing, “recreationally. I don’t know who his dealer was, but it had to be a Lazcano.”
Whether she realized it or not, she didn’t really answer his question. A thoughtful frown tugged at Mat’s lips. “What about enemies? Was there any evidence of foul play?” He cocked a brow and asked what he thought was a reasonable question. “How do you know Emil’s not just on a beach somewhere takin’ a break?”
An outraged noise bubbled out of her throat before she shot to her feet. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.” She blinked, and he caught the shine of tears before she scored him with, “But you’ve changed. You’re not the same man I knew, Mateo .” The way she uttered his full name with such disdain nearly made him cringe.
Where his anger burned hot and bright like a flame, hers was a block of dry ice. It had the ability to sear you with its freezing coldness, leaving frostbite in its wake.
He stood, mainly to block her exit. “In case you forgot, princess , I’m tryin’ to help you.”
He didn’t think eyes of such a warm color could appear so cold, but her chocolate gaze turned as hard and impenetrable as a brown diamond. She lifted her jaw and asked with scathing directness, “And how, exactly, does interrogating me help?”
Mat clenched his teeth. If he wanted her cooperation, he had to rein in his irritation. After a calming breath, he tried a different tact. “I’ve been undercover here for over a year. If Emil had anythin’ to do with the lieutenant, I’d know about it.”
She wilted at his revelation, and he reached for her hand to give it a comforting squeeze. Even though they were no longer together, a part of him would always carry feelings for her. “I’m sorry, Gen. But I ca—”
Imogen jerked her hand out of his grasp and shook her head. The fact she clearly didn’t want him to touch her penetrated his chest like a falling icicle. Its cold bit then spread into an icy numbness.
“No. He wouldn’t just vanish. Unless the cartel made him. I know they had something to do with it.” Renewed fierceness entered her voice. “And if you won’t help me find him, I’ll do it myself.”
By God, she tried his patience. “No. You won’t.”
When she stiffened and opened her mouth, he bulldozed over any complaint she was about to make. “Before you try and freeze my head off, just listen, ‘kay?”
After a moment, she gave him a nod, so he told her, “I already sent word through the lieutenant’s scouts to bring me any information they have on Emiliano Sanchez. I’m gonna get a message to the Rangers, too. We have more resources than the sheriff’s department. One way or another, we’ll find him.”
Imogen’s eyes glistened; when she spoke, her voice had lost the ice. “Thank you.”
Hoping she didn’t let those tears escape, he added, “The best thing you can do for Emil, is go home. Every second you stay, you’re at risk of discovery. If the Lazcanos find out what you’re doin’, your brother won’t be the only one missin’.”
“No.” She scoffed as if he hadn’t just told her what she was doing would likely get her killed.
It was maddening. Enough that anger started to burn a trail up his throat. With a growl, he grabbed her shoulders. “This ain’t a game, Gen. You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
“I won’t sit around and do nothing based only on your word. Five years is a long time.” Again, her gaze froze him out, and he didn’t miss the implication behind that statement. She didn’t trust him. “I’m the only one making Emil a priority. There’s no way I’m leaving without knowing what happened to him.”
Imogen’s lack of trust in Mat stole the oxygen from his lungs, extinguishing the fire of his anger. He dropped his hold on her. When he’d regained his breath, his voice sounded as empty as his chest felt. “It has been a long time, but I’ve never not made good on my word. If you can’t trust me, and you stay . . . at least let me show you the ropes so there’s a better chance of both of us keepin’ our heads?”
Knowing she’d won, a small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll accept your terms, vaquero .”
Cowboy.
Hearing her use the nickname she’d sometimes teasingly called him tightened his stomach muscles. It was a big step up from Mateo, and if he was being honest, he liked hearing it roll off her tongue. A little too much.
Before he could tell her, he heard the latch to his room click, and he grabbed Imogen for a kiss as the door opened behind them.