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  Sousa gave her an appraising look. “I’ve done pretty well for quite a while without your particular set of skills, Emma. And as far as the marshal goes, who’s to say I don’t already own a dozen exactly like him. What makes you think I need you at all?”

  Emma smiled. “This is the technology age. Pretty soon, operations like yours are going to be run by people like me at twice the efficiency with triple the secrecy. As far as Landon goes, we’re a package deal. No negotiation on that front. And I can be a pretty big pain in the ass when I don’t get what I want.”

  “Really? Because I see you as nothing more than a minor inconvenience at this point.”

  Emma leaned in as though sharing a secret. “Oh, but I took your money so easily. Aren’t you even a little worried about what other information I could already have my hands on?”

  Any good humor at their table quickly evaporated with Emma’s words. “You know nothing.”

  Emma took a sip from her water glass. Sousa’s accent became thicker, more defined when he was agitated. A nice little tell to let her know that she’d gotten under his skin. All she needed now was to plant a seed of doubt and let his imagination do the rest. If Crawford’s intel was correct, Sousa needed to get his hands on his money ASAP. If he was worried about who else might be digging around in his business, he might be tempted to keep Emma around for a while. At least long enough for him to get his hands on the bomb. And in doing that, she hoped to ensure her dad’s safety as well.

  “I know more than you think,” she said.

  Sousa leaned over and whispered something to Cesar. The other man pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial, barking orders in Spanish to someone on the other end. Emma only caught half of it, but it sounded as though Cesar was making arrangements for another field trip. Great. In what felt like seconds, they were surrounded, four of Sousa’s men standing behind them and drawing curious stares from the other diners. Not exactly the way to deflect attention. Blond wig or not, Emma could easily be recognized if the right person was curious enough to give her a good look.

  “This meeting is over,” he said. “Good afternoon, Miss Ruiz. Deputy.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Their prompt dismissal didn’t leave any room for continued discussion. Landon sensed Emma’s panic mounting as her eyes grew wide, her expression full of worry. If she let her emotions get the better of her now, they were as good as screwed.

  “What about my dad?” Emma asked, her voice little more than a controlled burn. One of Sousa’s guys grabbed her by the arm and she jerked free, causing curious murmurs to erupt around them.

  “It’s time to go,” Landon said softly as he urged her away from the table. He threw a pointed look Sousa’s way and added, “I’m sure this isn’t over.”

  Sousa didn’t respond, simply returned Landon’s stare with one of his own. Cold. Calculating. Emotionless. Whether he decided to use Emma or not, it was clear that they were as good as dead once she was no longer useful. She knew too much for her own good. Her bravado had touched a nerve, and though Emma had played her part exactly as Crawford had expected her to, Landon doubted their situation would have any other outcome regardless of her behavior.

  And Crawford probably knew it.

  As they turned and headed out of the restaurant, his skin crawled with the sensation of being watched. A burst of adrenaline dumped into Landon’s gut, spreading through his limbs as they walked, and he held his arms tight at his sides to keep from swinging at the first available body. He was painfully aware of the fact that he had no weapon and they were outnumbered. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t be a scrappy son of a bitch when he needed to be, and if push came to shove, Landon was going to be sure to take some of Sousa’s men with him.

  The same dark blue Range Rover was parked outside of the restaurant waiting for them. Landon had to give these guys credit: they’d stepped out of the box with their vehicle color. No stereotypical black rigs for these criminals. They were met by three more escorts, two of whom weren’t any of the guys who’d dropped them off. Just how many people did Teyo Sousa have on the payroll, anyway? And how many of them did it take to guard one crooked marshal and one agitated hacker? If anything, Sousa was showing how big a coward he was if he had to hide behind so many to see his dirty deeds carried out.

  Either that or Emma was way more intimidating than Landon gave her credit for.

  “Get in the car.”

  The new guy was rougher around the edges than the rest of Sousa’s employees. Though most of them sported ink of some kind, this guy sported tattoos on his forearms as well as on each of his fingers right above the knuckles. He was tall, corded with bulky muscle, and wearing ragged jeans and a T-shirt rather than the more expensive clothes the other guys favored. And whereas most of Sousa’s guys were Latino, he’d be surprised if this MMA-looking dude spoke a lick of Spanish. It wasn’t only his clothes or tats—or his white-bread appearance—that had Landon on edge, though. This guy had a hardness to him, a bone-deep iciness, void of emotion, that went beyond a bunch of thugs who peddled weapons and women to the highest bidder. Even hardened criminals had a tendency to wear their negative emotions on their sleeves. They were brash, impulsive. But not this guy. One look at him and Landon knew that he’d checked his emotions at the door a long time ago. All of them. One of these things is not like the others....

  Emma paused at the open car door and gave their escort a wary glance. He returned the gesture with one of his own—a snarky grin that showcased a set of deep dimples and banished his hard edge for a brief moment. Then, he winked at her. What the fuck?

  Ordinarily, Landon’s first thought would be to get up in the guy’s business. Especially since, for all intents and purposes, Emma was supposed to be his girlfriend in this scenario. Whether or not it was true was inconsequential. He should bust the SOB straight in the face for even giving her a sideways glance. But there was something about his expression. The guy wasn’t coming on to Emma. He wasn’t even remotely hostile. Which meant that he had to be Crawford’s inside guy. It would explain his look, anyway. Most undercover guys lived the part. And it looked as though he’d been undercover for a while.

  “Where are you taking us?” Emma asked. Landon appreciated the way she asked their escort at large, though he doubted she had any clue that one of these guys could be undercover SOG. “I want to see my dad.”

  The driver and front-seat passenger exchanged a knowing look. Crawford’s easy-peasy plan was turning into one big clusterfuck. “Get in the car, Emma,” Landon murmured. He urged her up into the backseat and took a quick look around before he climbed in behind her. A second vehicle parked behind them carried three or four more guys, all of them presumably Sousa’s. Their entourage was bigger than he’d thought. Closer to seven or eight guys than just a few. He suspected they weren’t heading back to the hotel any time soon, which meant their meeting with Sousa had been nothing more than a chance for the arms dealer to size up his opponent.

  The question was, had he found Emma worthy?

  She sat ramrod straight in her seat, hands folded in her lap. He needed her to relax. These guys scented fear like a pack of hungry wolves and they wouldn’t waste an opportunity to exploit any weakness. “I was sort of looking forward to lunch,” Landon remarked. “I’ve wanted to eat there ever since I got to town. I feel cheated.” He smiled at her and leaned in, knocking his shoulder against hers. “Did you see the porterhouse the dude at the next table was eating? I seriously wanted to jack it right off his plate.”

  Emma’s shoulders relaxed with his words, no longer creeping up toward her ears with tension. “The food is really good there,” she said with a wan smile. “Jeremy took me there for dinner once and they have the best crème brulee I’ve ever eaten.”

  He might have coaxed her into relaxing, but at the mention of Jeremy’s name, Landon’s tension level jacked up into the stratosphere. Screw their life-or-death situation, the fact that they were surrounded by har
dened criminals who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them in the blink of an eye. Nope, what really, really got under his skin was the thought of Emma with another man.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  Landon’s jaw clamped down and he had to force it open as he asked, his voice tight, “So, remind me, who’s Jeremy again?”

  One of Sousa’s guys snickered from the front seat and it took every ounce of control he had not to lean forward and punch the asshole in the back of the head. Emma quirked a curious brow and her luscious lips curved into a half smile. She leaned in close until her mouth hovered near his ear and whispered, “What’s the matter, McCabe, jealous?”

  A shock of heat bolted down Landon’s spine and settled in the region right below his hips. It was absolutely perverse that he could be so turned on given their situation, but his body didn’t seem to give a single shit. His hand acted of its own volition, snaking around Emma’s waist. His own voice was thick when he replied, “You have no idea.”

  Just like any hopeless addict, Landon reveled in the rush of excitement that filtered through him and welcomed the threat of the unknown looming before him. It was the reason why he jumped out of airplanes, climbed cliff faces without safety rigging, dove off of bridges with nothing more than a tiny parachute to save his ass. And it was why, when he had no idea if their next few moments would be their last, all he could think of was kissing Emma Ruiz one more time.

  He unbuckled her seat belt with his left hand and pulled her close to him with his right. He couldn’t be bothered with trivialities like the buckle-up law when his body urged him to hold Emma as close to him as possible. The other passengers melted away into the background of Landon’s mind until there was nothing left but the two of them. Whoever this Jeremy was, Landon was going to make damned sure that Emma never had a reason to think about him again.

  “Unless you plan on sharing, I’d reconsider what you’re about to do.”

  Landon didn’t have to turn around to know the voice speaking low from behind him belonged to Crawford’s guy. Common sense was nonexistent when all he could think of was touching Emma, kissing her, inhaling her scent. His heart beat triple time and he was so damned wired all he could think about was fighting or fucking, and it would take one or the other to calm him the hell down. Get a grip and keep your head straight. He inclined his head to let the other man know that he understood the gentle warning. Sousa’s guys were still ruthless scumbags after all. If they didn’t have any problem peddling innocent women in the sex trade, they certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about hassling Emma given the chance. And Landon’s overzealous behavior would be nothing more than a green light for these bastards. If he didn’t respect Emma enough to keep his hands off of her in the presence of an audience, why should they do the same?

  He eased Emma away from him and reached over her to secure the seat belt across her torso. Her brow knitted in a strange mixture of hurt and confusion, and her expression sliced through Landon’s chest like an old, rusty blade. Ouch.

  A heavy sigh deflated his lungs completely, though it did nothing to calm him down. Landon eased his head back on the rest and closed his eyes in an effort to shut out his surroundings so he could gain even a small glint of clarity. How much worse could he fuck things up with Emma before this was all said and done?

  Did he even want to know?

  Landon switched gears faster than a safety running in a touchdown from an interception. Whatever the guy sitting behind him had whispered in his ear, it had been enough to cause Landon to put on the brakes. Emma’s emotions were already raw and close to the surface; she didn’t need the added stress of Landon’s hot/cold treatment. If he was merely playing the part of the overzealous lover, fine. But how about a little follow-through? Why put on a show and make her feel like a meal that’s about to be devoured only to be put back in the fridge and allowed to cool? And why was she more pissed off about the words putting an end to their play than the fact that she was being carted off to God knew where for whatever reason? Her infatuation with Landon had officially become a sickness. Or, more accurately, an unhealthy addiction.

  The rest of the drive passed in stoic silence. Sousa’s henchmen weren’t big on small talk, and even if they were, Emma wasn’t interested in shooting the bull. If anything, she spent the drive contemplating how much she was going to enjoy seeing them all arrested and thrown in some hole to rot for the rest of their lives. The accumulated acts of atrocity carried out by Sousa and his people probably went way beyond anything Emma could imagine. If she could help, even a little, to put these guys away, she’d do whatever she could.

  It’s what her dad would want her to do.

  Emma folded her hands in her lap and tried not to think about the man sitting beside her, or the others to the rear and front of her. If she did, she’d lose her cool, though for two completely different reasons. Though she’d promised Landon she could play her part, Emma was starting to think that the sooner this was all over, the better. With every passing minute, Landon became more to her than simply the embodiment of a young girl’s fantasy. And the real live Landon McCabe might be harder for her to get over than any crush she’d ever had. After they arrested Sousa and dealt with the issue of her dad—hopefully his unconditional release—he’d go back to Portland and whatever life he had there. And Emma would go back to hers. The problem was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to that life.

  Emma rested her head on Landon’s shoulder. Angling her mouth near his ear, she murmured, “How long will I have to be dead?” without really realizing the impact the words would have on her. As though she’d taken a full-body tackle, the air left Emma’s lungs and her chest ached. Did it really matter how long she remained in this purgatory of nonexistence? Her life had been empty and hollow for a long damned time before all of this started.

  The look that Landon gave her conveyed the sort of sadness and regret that accompanied a death. He turned so that his mouth rested high on her cheek. As he cupped her face in his warm palm, his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I wish I could answer that for you, Emma, but you know that’s not possible.” He kissed her cheek and down her jaw as though to mask their private conversation and whispered words. “We can’t be having this conversation in mixed company. No red flags, got it? Try not to worry about it, though, okay? We’ll work it out, I promise.”

  McCabe probably shouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep. There was more to it than the issue of her faked death, and she knew it. She’d committed crimes. Hacked a bank account. Stolen money. Did it matter that the crimes had been committed against criminals? If anyone found out what she’d done, her professional life would be over. Clients wouldn’t trust her and her reputation would be forever marred. Too late for that sort of regret now. Maybe Jeremy could help get her a job at Cen-turyLink Field selling corn dogs or something.

  The car slowed to a stop and Emma took in their surroundings. They’d left the city behind and the Industrial District stretched out before them, almost a city in itself comprised of myriad warehouses and storage yards, with Puget Sound beyond. It occurred to Emma that worrying about her future might be a moot point. She’d taunted Sousa, dangled his stolen money in front of his face, and she doubted he’d let her go with nothing more than a slap to the wrist.

  “All right, princess, time to get moving.”

  At their tattooed escort’s words, Emma climbed out of the car behind Landon, only to find herself flanked on all sides by Sousa’s men. What did they think? That she’d bolt the first chance she got? They were all heavily armed, and she wasn’t about to try and outrun a bullet anytime soon. Landon walked beside her, his gaze roaming over their surroundings as though cataloging every detail to memory. A large warehouse loomed before them, and Emma took a cleansing breath as one of Sousa’s men knocked three times in succession, twice quickly, and then three times again. The door swung open and their small entourage parted to allow them passage inside.

  Well, everyone but one guy. H
is smarmy expression left little to the imagination, and he looked Emma up and down like she was a tree he’d like to climb. An anxious knot coiled tight in her stomach as she walked through the doorway, partially obstructed by his large frame. He crowded her on purpose, pushing his body into hers, and whispered something in Spanish about how he wanted to sink his teeth into her ass. Eww. The thought of having any part of him in contact with any part of her made Emma’s stomach turn. Her skin crawled as he bent over her and his breath fanned across her face. He took up the entire doorway, forcing Emma to turn to the side in order to sidle past him. His body touched hers in more places than was appropriate, and Emma stifled a gag. The dude reeked of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke. She’d rather lick a spoon she found on the street than get up close and personal with one of Sousa’s lowlife employees.

  So far, she’d engaged in thievery, experienced life-threatening situations, gone nose-to-nose with an arms dealer, and become a spy and coconspirator. And none of it got under her skin the way this skeevy walking cliché did. Blech.

  In her haste to get past the olfactory nightmare invading her space, Emma didn’t notice the storm brewing to her left. From the corner of her eye, she caught Landon staring in her direction. Brows pinched, his mouth a hard line, the expression on his face spoke of barely contained rage. If looks could kill, Sousa’s guys would have melted into puddles of goo, like those Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark. His teeth were clenched so tight it almost distorted his features, squaring his jaw. He bent at the knees, his powerful thighs bunching under the denim as though he was preparing to launch himself at the guy, who still hadn’t bothered to get out of Emma’s way and let her through the door.