The Virgin's Night Out (11 page)

Still, he had plans to stay alive long enough to get out of this hellhole, to be in a place where the air was clean and fresh, to feel a woman’s body against his own.

There
was
a woman. He didn’t remember her name. It had taken him weeks to remember his own after the head injury that had nearly killed him.

But he knew her face. He knew her smile. And he knew if he covered her wide, mobile mouth with his, he’d know her taste.

Because of her, and those memories, he ignored the prostitutes that Luis was able to get into the prison. In this section of the prison, it was more like a resort, a laughable mockery, considering what most of the men were in here for. This was where the power was—men with money could get just about anything and being in jail didn’t change anything. Money could make a jail stay a lavish vacation, whores brought in for your pleasure, top-end electronics so a man could keep up with his business and
cells
that looked more like
apartments
. It was no wonder the drug trade still thrived—and not just because people in the States wanted those drugs with a blind obsession but putting the heads of the cartels in prison didn’t do shit to shut down a cartel.

“He wants to see you.”

D.B. slanted a look over his shoulder at Hector.

There was no point in asking who
he
was.

It could only be Luis.

“Yeah?”

Hector, nervous now, nodded.

“He wanted me to let you know it’s time for you to return the favor.”

Fuck
. Morosely, D.B. stared at the floor.

Luis hadn’t saved his life out of mercy or as a magnanimous gesture. He’d done it because he’d decided D.B. might be useful. Looks like the boss was ready to collect.

The boss
—

Wiry gray hair. Penetrating green eyes and a hard jaw—D.B. saw himself in a chair, heard a man speaking.

You sure you want to take this job?

Job…

The memory fell away and he shook his head.

A job.

He’d been working a job.

“He’s got a job for you, ghost.”

D.B. ignored the name. They’d called him the ghost for weeks.
Because you slip in and out of places and nobody sees you
.

“Any idea what it is?”

Hector shrugged. “I’m just his money man. He doesn’t share.”

There was a flicker in Hector’s gaze, though.

Something that spoke of nerves.

D.B. tended to handle Luis—and his men—with a modicum of caution and a hell of lot of suspicion. That faint glimmer of fear in Hector’s eyes did nothing to allay D.B. either.

“What’s up?” he asked softly.

A thin smile twisted Hector’s lips and he lifted one skinny shoulder. “Not your concern, my friend. Not your concern.”

D.B. found himself in Luis’
cell
—what a joke.

It wasn’t palatial or anything the man would choose outside this prison, of that, D.B. had no doubt. But there was a bar stocked with booze, a big screen T.V., a long, low sofa that looked like a custom piece and when D.B. entered, Luis was sharing a glass of wine with a woman so beautiful, she could make a man’s teeth—and cock—ache.

Looking away from her, he focused on Luis. “I heard you wanted to speak with me,” he said, automatically speaking Spanish.

Luis understood and spoke English, but he rarely chose to use it.

Because he understood the pecking order, D.B. did the smart thing.

“Yes, yes, my friend. Come. Sit.” He swatted the woman on the thigh. “Give us some privacy.”

With a lazy smile, she rose, her eyes lingering on D.B. as she walked by.

“I think she likes you,” Luis said, lifting a black brow as the woman left, leaving Hector, D.B. and Luis alone. “Perhaps after our business is resolved, I can let you have her.”

“I’m good.” D.B. stood waiting, hands at his side. He knew he looked relaxed. In reality, he was tighter than a bowstring.

Luis didn’t look surprised. A smile curved his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his wine and took another sip. “I watch you, you know. Even before you…” Luis made a gesture toward his brow, indicating the fading red scar D.B. now carried. “You’re strong. Fast. Clever. You kill without hesitation but you only do it when you must.”

“I like breathing.” D.B. didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

With a low chuckle, Luis nodded. “A wise man.” He put down the wine glass and linked his hands over his flat belly. “You are aware that you live because of my men. After you were injured, you were brought to us and I was asked to allow you to be cared for.”

“Yes.”

“It is time you repay me for my kindness.” The words were delivered in a genial tone, but Luis’ eyes were hard.

“What did you have in mind?” D.B.’s gut was twisting hard and viciously now.

“Nothing a man of your skills can’t handle.” Luis waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve recently been made aware of a…mole? I believe that is the phrase you Americans would use. I have a mole among my people. Now…” he leaned forward. “I am used to having moles. I have moles among my competition. But this one…he has made me angry. He’s working for your government.”

As his blood turned to ice, D.B. fought and won the battle to keep his voice steady. “Sounds like a fool.”

“Yes.” Luis’ lids drooped. “A fool.”

He didn’t…? D.B. wracked his brain. He didn’t work for the government, did he? No, he didn’t think he did. He
had
—

Another flash of memory had him closing his eyes. A hot desert wind, two men at his side, all of them laughing. The uniforms were dusty and their faces tanned dark by the relentless sun.

Yeah. Yeah he had worked for the government. He’d been a soldier.

“Ghost?”

D.B. shook the memories away. “I’m sorry…” he rubbed his temple. “Sometimes I remember bits and pieces.”

“What did you remember?” Luis looked intrigued.

Figuring that it would stupid to lie since these men might know more about him than
he
did. “Soldiers. The desert…” Something else worked free and he grimaced. “Camels.”

“Were you a soldier?”

D.B. scowled. “I think I was. You said government and that one bit is there. I can almost remember more, but it’s just not there.”

“Yes.” Luis nodded solemnly. “It must be difficult, to be here with no memory of why or how.”

“I’m dealing. What was it you wanted from me?”

“I want you to kill the mole,” Luis said gently. Head cocked, he continued his avid study of D.B. “This man has been reporting to the government and interfering with my business. And now it seems he’s reporting on…friends I have here.”

If D.B. hadn’t been so edge, so aware of everything, he would have missed the subtle tensing of the man who had walked in with him. Hector didn’t flinch, didn’t freeze, didn’t even look up from the book he was reading. He carried the book everywhere and never seemed to finish it.

He might not get the chance now.

But D.B. wouldn’t kill him. “Who is—”

Hector sighed and rose.

Luis looked at D.B.’s slender companion for the first time. “I was good to you, my friend. I paid you well and treated you as my brother. And you betray me.”

Breathe
. D.B. fought to his expression empty as he looked at Hector. Hector angled his body slightly, away from Luis. And then he winked, facing D.B. so that only the American could have seen.

D.B. lunged but he didn’t reach him in time.

Hector’s book had a narrow space carved into the pages.

The knife inside was thin and sharp and Hector smiled as he shoved it into his throat.

It was a perfectly placed strike.

Hot blood pumped out of the man with each beat of his heart as D.B. caught him and eased him to the ground. “You stupid fuck,” he said.

He would have tried to figure a way out of this. He would have tried…

“…
rea
…”

“What?” He bent lower, listening to the weak voice—weak and getting weaker.

“
Be…ready…soon
…”

The words weren’t even words, just his lips moving. D.B. couldn’t even be sure that was what she said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the shiny shoes Luis liked to wear.

“That is unfortunate.” Luis crouched in front of him and there was an expression on his face—sadness, perhaps—but fleeting. “I need to know what he was telling, what he knew, who he looked for.”

“You don’t know?”

Luis shook his head.

D.B. ducked his head and under the guise of studying Hector, he closed his eyes.

Be ready
.

Son of a bitch.

“Shhhh….”

Sloane rushed to the side of the crib, already making hushing sounds. The squalling little infant’s cries only got louder when she bent over the crib.

A small, angry face peered up at her.

With a smile, Sloane scooped her up. As she turned, she caught sight of the clock—a silly cow served as the minute hand, with a moon counted down the hours. The numbers were stylized forks and spoons. “Well, Dani, you slept a solid four hours there.” She pressed a kiss the baby’s soft cheek. “Mama appreciates that, dollbaby.”

The baby continued to scream her distress.

She was wet and she was hungry and she wasn’t happy with the situation.

Sloane continued to make soothing noises under her breath as she changed her daughter. It took just a moment—she’d fumbled her way through the first few diaper changes, but with Danielle staring down the final weeks of her second month, Sloane considered herself an old pro at this.

Still cradling the baby, she moved to the rocker and sat down. A few quick adjustments and then she guided Danielle’s mouth to her breast. The hungry infant latched on and Sloane closed her eyes, her head on the padded back of the rocking chair.

Drowsy, she sat there rocking. Normally, she enjoyed the soft, quiet sounds of the night when she woke to feed the baby. But the peace she often found seemed to elude her.

Low murmurs drifted to her and she knew she wasn’t the only one awake.

Danielle drifted back to sleep and she gave herself another moment to cuddle before putting the baby down in her crib.

She didn’t go to her room, though, connected to the nursery by a long, skinny bathroom. Instead, she ducked outside and stood at the railing, staring down in the darkness of the first floor.

She heard another low voice.

Detouring by the bathroom to grab her robe, she headed downstairs.

She couldn’t think of too many things that would drag her brother out of bed this late at night.

Her heart raced and she fought not to let herself hope.

It had been months.

Those bright, shining slivers of hope quickly turned to daggers of agony when the longed-for news never came.

When she stood in the doorway and the conversation went silent, she realized she was holding her breath.

Taylor glanced at his wife and then at Hal, who took up position at the kitchen island, papers spread out in front of him. He looked like he was ruling over a small kingdom. Hal Morris had been a lieutenant in the army until he retired.

He’d always intimidated Sloane.

When his pale green eyes came to hers, she lifted her chin and stared at him.

Hal rarely had more than a few words for her and even fewer smiles. He nodded shortly at her and then looked at Taylor. Her brother was staring at the table but as she shifted her attention to him, he dragged his hands down his face.

“He’s…” She swallowed and blinked her eyes, fought to clear them. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“No.” Taylor looked at her then and she saw something that might have been
relief
in his eyes. Relief. Hope. “We found him, Sloane.”

Her heart leaped into her throat.

She pressed her fingertips to her lips as if that would stifle the shaken gasp.

We found him.

The night started out like most.

Loud and awful, with D.B. looking over his shoulder without letting anybody know he was doing so. It was second nature to him, something that came so easily and it hadn’t surprised him when he’d had that memory of walking the sands of a desert in Iraq.

He hadn’t had any other memories work free, but he wasn’t surprised.

Sometimes, he thought maybe he’d never remember—he’d go through his life with just these vague flashes that were more like snapshots of somebody else’s life, rather than his own.

Luis’ money had talked and a few months ago, D.B. had found himself and Hector moved to a larger cell, one that housed just the two of them. The beds were by no means luxurious, but they were comfortable and now he was alone in the room.

Hector had been nearly a week.

D.B. could still feel the hot blood on his hands, still see the man’s intent eyes as he tried to speak.

Be ready
.

D.B. wondered if he’d imagined it, or if Hector had been saying something else. Or warning him. About Luis? That the man was a snake? No warning needed. He wouldn’t trust that man for love or money.

His mind was drifting and the silence wrapping around the place was gradual.

It wasn’t until he heard a low whistle that he realized the place was
too
quiet.

Slowly, he sat up.

The whistle came again.

He answered.

It was an instinctive response, some gut-deep need that told him to use a particular set of notes, one that echoed, but didn’t copy the initial whistle.

There was no other sound but D.B. didn’t stay where he was.

He slid off the bed, taking with him the knife he’d ended up killing to keep.

He didn’t feel too bad about it, since the man struggling to take it away had been dead-set on using it to cut D.B.’s throat open. The guards had turned a blind eye to the entire mess and D.B. had kept his damn knife.

Now he stood against the wall, the weapon in his hand as he strained his ears, trying to listen.