Seduction Under Fire (24 page)

Aaron gritted his teeth.
Come on, Camille. Where are you?

One thing at a time. For now, he had a rabbit to catch. He snapped a fresh magazine into his gun. “Perez jumped out the window. But he’s not going to get very far.”

“We’ve got your back,” Dreyer said, running behind him.

They leaped from the house to see Perez had made it as far as the dock.

“The bastard better not have a key to one of those boats,” Santero muttered, squeezing off a handful of rounds.

Perez leaped onto the deck of the yacht and disappeared from view.

“Cover me,” Aaron said, running.

The yacht’s cabin door opened. Perez must’ve been crawling because Aaron couldn’t see anybody. He cleared the rail of the boat and nosed his gun around the doorframe. “Nowhere to go from here, Perez. Come out with your hands above your head.”

“Think again,” said Perez from inside the cabin.

Santero and Dreyer moved into position on either side of the door. Santero pulled another stun grenade from his belt and handed it to Aaron. With a signal, Santero kicked the door open and Aaron tossed the grenade in.

Flash. Boom.

Aaron rushed in. Dreyer flicked on the light.

Perez stood amid the smoke near the stateroom door, his eyes watery and blinking, a sneer on his lips. His knife rested across Camille’s throat.

Chapter 17

A
aron held himself in check but his entire body quivered with fury and dread. He visualized capping Perez in the forehead, but he couldn’t take the chance of hitting Camille or Rosalia, who huddled under the table. Three assault rifles against one knife were great odds, except that Perez had to already know he was going down, so threatening his life with their guns was useless. Unless another variable entered the equation, their strategy boiled down to reaction time and opportunity.

Like the day they were kidnapped, Aaron met Camille’s gaze with a look of fear that she countered with one of iron-willed determination. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod of warning.

“Aaron, I’m okay. He threatened Rosalia. I had to do something. Get her out of here.”

Santero slid into line with Aaron, his rifle trained on Perez, too. “Dreyer, that’s all you. Take the girl to the chopper.”

Perez rattled the knife against Camille’s throat. A trickle of blood dripped onto her shirt. “Rosalia belongs with me, her father. I can give her more than her
puta
of a mother, living in a roach-infested apartment. With me, she’s part of Mexico’s royalty, with the money and privilege that comes with my power.”

Aaron forced his gaze from Camille to Perez’s knife hand. It was suddenly clear why Perez wore gloves and why a knife was his weapon of choice.

El Ocho.
What a fitting moniker. Rodrigo Perez had no thumbs.

Dreyer waited for Perez to finish his tirade, then crouched. “Come on, Rosalia. I’m going to take you back to California. Your mom’s waiting for you there. She misses you.”

“Get behind me,
mija,
” Perez bit out. “Don’t listen to these strangers. Listen to your papa.”

Rosalia covered her ears and wailed louder. “I’m scared.”

“I know you’re scared, sweetie,” Camille said. “But remember what I told you? I’m going to take you to your mama. You have to trust me. Go with Agent Dreyer.”

“No,
mija.
They’re lying to you. All of them.”

After a long, soulful look at her father, Rosalia crawled into Dreyer’s arms. “I want my mommy.”

Cooing words of comfort, Dreyer whisked her from the room.

Fearing Perez’s fury at his daughter’s choice, Aaron took a step nearer, training his sights on Perez’s elbow. “Stop moving that knife, Perez, or I’m going to move it for you.”

Camille’s hand flexed, catching Aaron’s attention. Then her thumb retracted, as if she was counting down from five.

Whatever plan she’s cooking up, she’d better not get herself killed.

Next to Aaron, Santero adjusted the grip on his rifle, his gaze on Camille’s hand same as Aaron’s was.

Three...two...one...

In a blur of movement, she grabbed the wrist of Perez’s knife hand and locked her other hand around his elbow, seizing control of his arm and knife. She ducked under the elbow she held and pivoted, thrusting his wrist at his gut, stabbing him. As Aaron and Santero rushed forward, Perez released the knife with a howl of pain.

Camille twisted it farther in, then kicked him in the groin. He staggered, pulling the knife from his body.

Shouting a warning, Aaron lunged for her. She ducked and the knife sailed over her head.

Santero squeezed a round off and hit Perez between the eyes. He stumbled backward through the stateroom door and crumpled to the ground.

Aaron fell as the knife connected with his chest. Pain blossomed from his torso to his limbs. He fought to keep his eyes focused and his breathing even.

“Aaron!” Camille knelt next to him. She ripped the wet-suit material from the wound site.

“Hurts. Is it deep?”

“No. Looks like the wet suit stopped it.”

He angled his head and saw she was right. The knife had penetrated only about a half inch into his skin, hindered by the thick material and the zipper. He gnashed his teeth together and yanked it out with a grunt. Camille pressed a towel to his chest to staunch the blood flow.

“Camille,” he said. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

He took her hand. “I am sick and tired of people trying to kill you. It’s getting on my nerves.”

She let out a half laugh, half cry. “You’re not the only one. How about we don’t let it happen again?”

“Deal.”

Santero wandered over from his inspection of Perez’s body. He toed Aaron’s foot. “Hey, you sure this broad needed us to rescue her? She seemed to be doing a bang-up job on her own.”

Aaron smiled through the pain. “Knowing Camille, she would’ve been just fine without us.”

“You know that’s not true,” she said quietly.

He winked.

Santero cleared his throat. “So, Fisher—Camille—those were quite the moves you put to that scumbag. Impressive. And totally hot. I’ve got to stay in Mexico to take care of this Vega cartel family Montgomery gave us a lead on, but how about next time I’m in the States I take you to dinner?”

Nice try, pal.
Cringing in discomfort, Aaron pushed himself up and stood nose-to-nose with Santero.

“What?” Santero said. “I don’t see you staking a claim on her.”

“Staking a claim on me?”
Camille spluttered.

“I got this, babe.” Aaron wound back and slammed his fist into Santero’s jaw...and it was as sweet as he’d imagined. “You’re a chauvinistic jackass, Santero. No woman likes to be treated like a piece of meat. You ought to learn some respect.”

Santero rubbed his chin and regarded Aaron with a look of grudging admiration. “Guess that settles that.” He nodded toward the door. “Choppers are out front. Let’s roll.”

* * *

The morning after their chopper flight to a Navy vessel in the international waters of the Pacific, Aaron found Camille sitting on deck, staring at the line of the horizon over the ocean with stormy eyes. His favorite worry wrinkle slashed a deep line between her eyebrows and her fidgety fingers twisted the bottom hem of her shirt.

He’d come to talk with her about their future, to help her realize that she loved him as much as he loved her, but clearly she already had some heavy stuff on her mind.

She spared Aaron only a glance as he sat beside her.

“I’m going to quit my job on the police force.”

He cradled her hand in his. “Good.”

“I’m not sure what my next career will be, but I wasn’t meant to be cooped up behind a desk.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I’m going to take your advice and start over, build a new life for myself. A happy life. I want to get my passport and see the world.”

Sounded great to him. He didn’t think Dreyer would have any qualms about granting Aaron a nice, long vacation before he started his new position as an ICE agent. “Where do you want to travel first?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just pick a direction and go.”

Aaron pulled his face back. He was missing something. “You mean
we.
”

“Excuse me?”

“
We’ll
pick a direction and go.”

“Oh, Aaron, no.” Her voice was heavy with sadness. “You don’t have to act like you want something more from me. I knew all along it was temporary.”

What the hell was she trying to say? “What, exactly, do you think is going to happen between us once we get to San Diego?”

She looked distraught. “You know what’ll happen. You’ll get on with your life and I’ll get on with mine.” She hesitated, then pressed on. “If you’re insinuating that you’d like to keep the option open for an occasional fling, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I have it in me to be friends with benefits, or whatever it’s called these days.”

“Friends with benefits?”
Now he was insulted. He pulled his face back. “You think I want us to be friends with benefits?”

“You’re right. Of course you don’t.” Her eyes brimmed with moisture she tried to hide by turning her back to him.

The tears were like a slap to Aaron’s face. His anger evaporated. “This whole time, you thought I was going to leave you the first chance I got?”

“You will. Monogamy’s not your gig, remember? And anyway, I’d never pressure you. You have to know that. Even if it turns out I’m pregnant, you don’t have to worry. I won’t ask you for anything.”

“What?”

Her outrageous assessment of the situation took his breath away. If he didn’t know her so well, he’d be insulted. But know her, he did. He should have guessed that instead of trying to convince her she was in love with him, it was going to be the other way around for Little Miss Martyr.

He took her head in his hands and forced her to meet his eyes. “Camille, I could no more walk away from you than I could walk away from myself.”

The twisting of her shirt grew more agitated.

“Talk to me.”

Tears spilled over her cheeks. “You are a wonderful man, the best I’ve ever met. You shouldn’t settle for someone less than perfect—someone who’s broken.”

“Broken?”

“My leg...”

Aaron shook his head at her flimsy logic. “I think I can work around a five-year-old gunshot wound.”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder. My hand shakes.”

“Unless you’re worried you won’t be able to shoot me should you get it in your mind to, I hardly see how that matters.” He grinned in an effort to coax her to do the same, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“You could have any woman you want.”

“Damn right I can. I do, right here. What’s the real problem, Camille?”

She screwed her lips up. “I can’t make you happy. If you settled for me because you were trying to do the right thing, you’d grow to resent me.”

“Don’t I get to decide what makes me happy?”

“Yes, but—”

“So if I say the idea of spending the rest of my life with you makes me happy, are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

“But—”

He put a finger to her lips. “Hear me out, okay? You and me, we belong together. All that eternal bachelor stuff I used to think I wanted? I was so stupid. I had no idea how perfect and wonderful it felt to really love someone the way I love you.”

“You love me?”

Stubborn woman. “More than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being.”

“You love me?” Camille sat as though frozen, her eyes glazed over, weighing this new information. “Why didn’t you tell me so sooner?”

Aaron chuckled, relieved she believed him, and hauled her onto his lap. “I didn’t want to scare you away. Please say you’ll let me take care of you for the rest of your life. Please tell me you can love me back.”

She smiled and stroked his jaw. Good. They were getting somewhere.

“These past two years, I wrote off my feelings for you as physical attraction,” she said. “But that night in the ferry, after we planted the bomb, I couldn’t deny it anymore. I realized I loved you, but I thought it would take a miracle for you to have feelings for me.”

He scoffed. “It wasn’t a miracle. It was inevitable. The first time I saw you kicking some serious cartel ass, I was a goner.”

“Aaron, are you sure about this? I don’t think I’d survive if you changed your mind.”

He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. “Don’t be so afraid, my proud warrior. I’m not going to hurt you.” He poured his love into a tender kiss.

* * *

Four days later, the water of the San Diego bay glittered in the afternoon sun as the Navy vessel docked. The journey home had been uneventful. Two days into their trip, word came from ICE headquarters that Santero and his team had delivered five members of the Vega family to Mexican authorities, including Ana and Ramón. They faced a laundry list of charges in their own country, as well as extradition to the United States.

While a piece of Aaron halfheartedly wished he could’ve assisted in the Vega family’s capture, all he really wanted to do for the time being was lay low with Camille—and maybe, if luck was on his side, the baby they’d created.

After a first emotional night, Rosalia had settled into the idea that she was returning home. Camille’s own mothering instincts had taken over and she had doted on her new charge with calm self-assurance. On the phone with her boss, she’d lobbied hard for a discreet reunion between Rosalia and her mother, but Aaron had a feeling that was impossible. Rosalia’s kidnapping and rescue was far too sensational a story to be ignored by the ravenous American press.

After much debate, Aaron and Camille alerted Jacob and Juliana to their arrival, but not their parents. Camille, who especially hated being the center of attention, wanted only to hand Rosalia off to her mother, meet Jacob and Juliana’s new baby and drop off the grid for a while. They owed ICE and the police innumerable hours of debriefing, but certainly they were entitled to some downtime after spending weeks on the run.

Two unmarked police cars, an ambulance and at least a dozen people met them at the marina. A woman with auburn hair and a stout build pushed through the crowd and reached the boat first.