Just the Messenger Page 5

  The alcohol burned down Gene’s throat pleasantly as, in lieu of replying, he took a sip of his drink. Grace had retreated to the kitchen to fetch more booze, and Gene knew he had little time with Marco to get the plan straight.

  “What’s going on with Bell?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t have time for games, Marco. These guys are closing in, and if they kill Warren, I don’t get my money. Plus, there’s a death on my hands. Plus, the cartel gets to continue operating in the city for who knows how long. We can struggle for power later, if you don’t mind.” Gene sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling Marco’s questioning gaze on him. Gene was not usually so open, and he figured Marco expected a trap of some sort. In truth, his nerves were getting to him. Adding Grace to the equation had hurt him more than it had helped. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had a strong urge to keep that girl safe. And, having given her the job of messenger, that wasn’t going to be easy. He’d have to trust Marco. Which he did. What he didn’t trust was the IIB.

  “He’s going to Colombia. And he was talking to Rinkleton about it.”

  Gene groaned. “I thought as much. I was hoping it wasn’t true. I hope he’s right about Rinkleton. If the man can be bought by drug money, we’re all in for big trouble.”

  “He can’t. He’s been working undercover with them for years now. He wouldn’t risk it.”

  “His tenure with them is exactly the problem,” Gene warned. “When you work in a certain scene for too long, things that are not normal start to seem normal. It’s part of the disguise, sure, but you start to think and act like your subject.”

  Marco shot him a sharp look. “Like you?”

  Gene let the insult slide off his back and simply shrugged. “Yeah, like me.” He took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. He’d left the IIB years ago, almost a decade now. Marco hadn’t even known him when he’d been involved in the organization. His reasons for leaving had nothing to do with money or mob dealings, but he had no need to clear his name. He didn’t owe Marco anything. “Anyway,” he continued, “Grace is going with you. I’ve already told her.”

  “What?” Marco crossed the room to him and took him by the shoulders. “No.”

  “She’s Venezuelan. She’ll be fine.”

  “No. It’s dangerous there. We’re not going on vacation. We’ll be in the jungles and forests, trying to get information on the interceptions of drug trades and the capture of drug lords. She has no place there.”

  “I have every place there.” The feminine voice drew both men’s gazes to the kitchen entry. Grace held a glass of cabernet in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other. She took a sip of the white wine. “I’m going,” she said, looking at Marco. “Now, you tell me what to do.”

  Grace hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt. Looking at the two steamy men in her living area, her breath caught, as much with nerves at what they had in store for her as with desire. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was too simple in taste to have fantasies of two men at once, and she was too naive to be a spy or a messenger or whatever she was. She was an out-of-work librarian, not a seductive, secret-keeping agent. She was out of her league. The men knew it, too. They looked at her for just a moment before continuing with their conversation as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She padded over to Marco and willed her hand not to shake as she handed him his glass. He nodded in appreciation, but his eyes didn’t leave Gene’s face.

  “How old are you, man?” he asked the photographer.

  “Forty-one. Why?”

  Marco blew out a breath. “So you were just a kid, then?”

  Gene looked annoyed. “Yeah, just a kid. But even a kid knows when he’s being dicked over. And it’s not like I joined the mob, for Christ’s sake. I took a payout and moved to New York. And don’t think the collapse of their mafia business three years later had nothing to do with me. I did my part from behind the scenes, after I left the IIB.”

  “Are you saying—”

  Gene cut Marco off. “I’m not saying anything other than you should use your brain before spouting your mouth. But that’s something the Internal Intelligence Bureau doesn’t teach.”

  The title dripped off his tongue like venom, and Grace shivered at his tone.

  “Let’s talk about now,” Gene said, “and forget my past. It’s not relevant here.”

  Grace forced herself to speak. If she didn’t get some answers, these men would leave her in the dark. And she’d be damned if she’d go to Colombia as a clueless messenger. She was done playing around.

  “Exactly what is relevant, then?” she asked, her voice apparently startling the two men again. She laughed, her tone on edge. “Listen, you people involved me in this. You’re going to have to start expecting me to speak.”

  They exchanged glances, Marco looking amused and Gene looking tired. Finally, the photographer cleared his throat.

  “Okay, so let’s start from the beginning. But remember, I’m only telling you what you need to know.”

  Grace snorted. “I’ll settle for anything more than nothing.”

  “Remember the files you delivered to Rinkleton?”

  Grace nodded. How could she forget?

  “Rinkleton is a mole stationed in the Angel’s Drug Cartel that operates out of the city. He’s been there for years, quietly gaining trust and slowly trickling information back to us and to the IIB. We pay him handsomely for our info. Agents don’t like to work with us.” He jerked his head at Marco.

  “Why not?” Grace asked.

  “I have a history with the IIB that I’m not going to go into,” Gene replied. “And barring that, the organization thinks it walks on water and is the only operation that can bring in results.” He laughed out of the side of his mouth. “If you ever meet an FBI agent, ask him about the IIB and enjoy the grimace of disgust on his face.”

  “Shut up, Gene,” Marco interjected. “There’s a reason we think we’re good.”

  Gene nodded. “True, but you need help this time, and Marco, I’m trusting you as a friend on this one, not as an agent. You involve me in your little organization’s political games, and there will be consequences.”

  Marco made a motion as if to shake in his boots, and Grace laughed.

  “So are you guys friends, or what?”

  “Yes,” they answered in unison.

  She took a large gulp of wine, thinking about just how friendly they were, then her mind flitted to the danger she was taking on by working with them.

  “And what about me?” she asked. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “What? No!” Marco exclaimed. “We were just playing with you.”

  “Well, don’t.” Grace’s voice was monotone. “I don’t want to be played with.”

  Her face heated at the obvious double entendre, but the men let it slide.

  “Our job at Hardy Photography is to help any organization willing to pay us find information they seek in the form of photographs and intel. Right now, we are to secure photos for CableNette that will help Warren Bell break the cartel story, and break it first. The pictures you saw were going to the hands of the cartel members to help convince them that Bell was just killed and not heading down there.”

  “Why doesn’t he just break the story?”

  “He’s a newsman. And a television newsman, at that. He can do liveshots, but he can’t go forward with any actual allegations until he’s got the evidence all lined up. What I mean is, he’s got to report the story, and the IIB has to go in and bust them within moments of the video. Right now, he’s just gathering information. That info has to get back to the IIB. And Bell couldn’t care less about them.”

  Marco rolled his eyes.

  “But, without their protection, Bell is basically a dead man. CableNette knows that. So, to protect their star, they’re willing to pay a lot of money. And they have to ensure that they actually receive the information and the photo e
vidence, because once the government gets it, you can be sure it’s not going to share it with the press. Even if it was the press that helped get the info.”

  “But don’t they have their own guys working on this?” Grace asked.

  “Well, yes,” Marco said. “But Bell has been able to get a lot farther than our guys.”

  Gene snorted, but Marco waved him off.

  “I’ve been in charge of monitoring relations between Rinkleton and Warren Bell, and keeping the reporter safe. We struck a deal with CableNette so that we’re all working together. Right now, he’s CableNette’s star and the IIB’s major evidence gatherer.”

  “Wait, so where do you play in?” Grace turned to Gene.

  “CableNette doesn’t trust the IIB. We’re the insurance.”

  “Does Warren know about any of this?”

  “Well,” Gene said, looking up to the ceiling as he chose his words. “He is a top-notch investigative reporter. I highly doubt he’s in the dark. However, we’ve never spoken.”

  “I’m working as one of his assistants right now,” Marco added. “I’m sure it’s irregular to pick up an assistant that follows you everywhere and offers to go to Colombia with you. But, he’s tightlipped, and he’s just followed along with us. I have a feeling as long as he gets the glory, he doesn’t care who helps.”

  Gene laughed. “Fucking reporters. So predictable.”

  “But what about me?” Grace asked.

  “Well,” Gene said, “other than your little show at the café earlier, no one knows who you are. That’s imperative. Plus, you speak the language, and you’re an attractive woman. I’m setting up with CableNette right now to have you tag along as a photographer. Meaning, you, Marco and Warren Bell will travel to Colombia together. Marco will be protecting the reporter and trying to siphon information off him. You’ll be taking pictures. Of everything you see. And if anything happens down there, you’re getting out. Alone. Marco is stuck with Bell, but you’ll be a free agent, and we’ll need you back here with the information.”

  “How will I get out?”

  “Don’t worry about that. All you worry about is packing a bag. Nothing too much. You’ll have to travel light. You’ll leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to wait for you here. And keep an eye on Rinkleton. He might be changing sides, and that’s a huge danger for us, given all he knows.”

  Gene smiled a self-satisfied grin and finished his drink, holding up the empty glass. Grace took it from him and went to the kitchen to refill.

  When she returned to the room, Gene had seated himself on the couch and Marco was gone. She tried to hide the disappointment she felt, but she couldn’t have done a good job as Gene lazily waved his hand at her.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Grace,” he said. “You’re going to be spending two weeks with him starting tomorrow.” He turned to her and patted the couch.

  “Tonight,” Gene said, feeling a predatory smile cross his lips, “you’re all mine.”

  “And what if I say no?” Grace asked as she handed him his drink.

  But she sat down beside him and didn’t move away when his arm draped over her shoulder to caress her breast. Her nipple puckered at his touch, and his fingers fondled the taut tip that strained against the fabric of her tight shirt. “No bra?” he asked, marveling at the feel of her just under the flimsy fabric.

  “Well, I’m at home,” she said softly.

  “What about panties?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for a reply, instead twisting his torso to reach down to see for himself.

  Beneath the softness of her worn sweats, nothing greeted him but molten heat, shocking his flesh at the touch. She shuddered and bit back a moan, the sound reverberating in her throat instead.

  “No need to be quiet.” Lust edged his gritty voice as he bit out the words, feeling the blood rush to his groin. It filled his length, forcing him to slip down on the couch to ease the pressure there. Butterfly touches hovered at his thighs, and his balls drew up in delicious anticipation. With a deft flick of her wrist, Grace undid his pants, and he shifted to let the garment slide down past his knees.

  “Have you done this before, Agent Merced?”

  Apparently the false title amused her, for she laughed, the sound light and airy and tantalizingly female. “Only just about two hours ago.” She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

  Gene knew she was remembering the scene in the sitting room. As much as he craved Marco’s hard muscle and manly lines himself, he felt a stab of jealousy at her expression. He didn’t want her thinking of the other agent as they made love tonight.

  He brought his hand to her face and tilted her chin toward him. “Look at me,” he whispered, as he drew her in for a searing kiss. Their tongues tangled in a clash of wanton desire, the kiss deepening, ending only when they were both gasping for breath. He trailed his lips down her neck to her breasts, lapping at the nipple under her shirt. The grainy texture of the fabric over her peak drove his senses wild, and he closed his teeth over it in a gentle bite that had her writhing and arching up to him for more.

  He sat back, surveying her as her face fell when his touch left her. “Keep your eyes open,” he said. “See me.” The commands left no room for defiance, and she steadied her gaze on his face when she rose from the sofa and knelt before him. Her normally stormy eyes had the look of a calm ocean on a cloudy day, and Gene could see his reflection in them mixed with the glint of the light up above.

  She nuzzled the inside of his thighs, breathing deeply of him and smiling in apparent approval before taking his sac in her hand and massaging it until it tightened to a solid mass just below his jutting erection. Taking her eyes from his features for a moment, she stroked him, letting her fingers linger on the tip just long enough to spread the moisture beading there to his shaft. She teased him with a light run of her tongue up the length of him before taking him in her mouth in a smooth movement that left him lightheaded. Using her tongue on the head on the upstrokes, she moved her mouth up and down him rhythmically. He eased back to a lying position, and pleasure arrowed down his spine, intensifying when her finger found the spot between his balls and asshole, pushing it in time to her suction. He had never had such a good blowjob in his life, from a woman or a man.

  “Grace, you are so beautiful. So fucking sexy.”

  He buried his fingers in her hair, egging her on, setting the pace, fucking her mouth with his engorged member as release beckoned ever closer. When she slipped a finger into his hole, he groaned his passion, the sensations swirling around him, threatening to take him out to sea with them. He tried to get a grip on himself, to hold back his climax, but then she looked at him. Her beautiful, charcoal eyes, darkened with her own desire, seemed to melt, their streaks of amber entrancing him. Her look told him she was his. All his. Did she lie, or would she be his and his alone? Gene wanted that. He wanted her. All of her. No matter the consequences. The deep feelings shook him to his core as the shock of his possessiveness held him suddenly in its grip. They weren’t wanted. Gene cursed his sloppiness that he would allow such emotion to creep up on him like this. Gene Hardy didn’t bother with relationships. Gene Hardy was only in it for the sex and the money.

  She hummed against his ramrod cock and pushed him over the edge. Spurts of cum shot into her throat over and over again until he was completely spent. He relaxed back into the couch, waiting for the fuzzy feeling of orgasm to flee, leaving that familiar sense of vague disgust and need to escape. But it didn’t come. Instead, as he looked at her where she knelt before him, her head nestled on his leg, licking her lips as contentedly as a cat, nothing came to him but satisfaction. He petted the tendrils of her unruly hair and breathed in the scent of cinnamon and wine on the air. And he wished her to be his.

  Fear wove its way around his heart. He knew from experience that feelings as strong as the ones he was dealing with only ended in wreckage, and sometimes death. He strai
ghtened, ignoring her surprised look as he pulled up his slacks.

  He couldn’t let her see his weakness. He couldn’t have a weakness. He would squelch this.

  “Be ready by 9:00 tomorrow night. You’ll meet Marco at the airport by 10:00 p.m. I’ll send a car.”

  He didn’t look at her as he shut the door behind him. He heard the door reopen and knew Grace was peering after him, but he didn’t turn around. If he did, he might go back to her.

  Chapter Five

  Stepping out into the hot sun with her carry-on bag, Grace surveyed her surroundings. The trees seemed to waver in the heat, and a droplet of sweat wound its way down the back of her neck. She dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and cast a glance behind her at Marco, who trailed her by two paces. They’d taken an overnight commercial flight but had sat in different areas of the plane. She shrugged, guessing now would be as good a time as ever, and strode over to Warren Bell.

  “Hi,” she said, thrusting her hand in the reporter’s direction. “I’m Graciela Merced. I’ll be tagging along for CableNette, taking photos.”

  “I know. Sorry I didn’t have time to meet you before we took off. I was told you were competent and that’s all I need. Nice to meet you now,” Warren said, without missing a beat. He shook her hand briefly then reached in his pocket for a small mirror, in which he studied his short brown hair. He turned to Marco. “I think Colombia calls for ‘reporter studiously wearing glasses’, don’t you?” He whipped out a pair of stylishly squared rims.

  Marco smiled and shook his head. “Nah, Warren. Think about the sun off that glass. All of your stand ups are going to be outside.”

  The reporter put on a mock frown. “Hrrmph. I suppose you’re right. Contacts it is, then. Just as well. No one can resist these baby blues, am I right, sister?” He elbowed Grace.

  It made her giggle. Warren was nothing if not charming.

  Marco put his weight between them, pretending the purpose was to engage Warren in talk about the upcoming shoots, but Grace saw the look in his eyes. It said “back off”. Her heart warmed inside her chest at the thought. There was something about Marco that made her skin shiver, and she couldn’t shake the feelings of affection that came with the sensation.