It’s because of who she is I so easily succumb to her power.

  Greer is magnificent as she rides me. I try to touch her between her legs, but she bats my hand away, wanting to keep all the control to herself.

  She wants to get herself off as she does the same for me.

  And it’s magnificent when it happens. It doesn’t take long as both of us couldn’t have been more primed to topple off the edge and into orgasm together. My hold on her hips tightens as I growl my release, hips pumping upward just once to make sure she takes every drop of me. Greer issues a long moan as she comes, tightening around my cock and biting down hard on her lower lip. She huffs a sigh of contentment and collapses forward onto my chest.

  I almost begrudge her the moment of tenderness that always used to come after, because while that may have just been the best orgasm I can remember in what seems like forever, I also know it’s so damn good because it’s Greer.

  And I don’t have her.

  We should be nothing to each other but a means for sexual gratification.

  I try to let anger burn through me, and admittedly, it spurts and sputters, but then it fizzles. I’m too sated to be mad, and because there’s nothing in my life that has ever felt as good as holding Greer in my arms, I embrace her tightly. Our hearts rest against each other, slamming at first but then settling into a steady thud where they beat in matching cadence.

  I’m contented not to move for a while, but it’s Greer who rolls off, settling on her side.

  She used to prop her head in one hand and stare down at me while we talked. She doesn’t do that now. Instead, she scoots several inches away so we’re not touching, removing all intimacy until we become virtual strangers again.

  I twist my neck to look at her. She rests her head on the pillow, tucks a hand under it, and scrutinizes me. “Why didn’t you introduce me to your son?” she asks.

  My brows knit in consternation. “What?”

  “When we went into your house, you introduced me to Cage but not to Ethan. Was it punishment for the past? Or am I so awful you don’t want me tainting your son?”

  “Jesus, Greer,” I growl as I sit up, planting one palm on the mattress and angling my body toward her. “Is that what you think?”

  She shrugs, but her cheeks turn pink so I know I’ve embarrassed her.

  As well as hurt her, clearly.

  Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I sigh and give a slight nod. “I purposely didn’t introduce you to Ethan, but not to punish you. I did it so he wouldn’t see how conflicted I am. And he would have been able to read me in just the matter of an introduction. I didn’t feel like getting the third degree from him about you.”

  Greer’s expression is blank, as if she didn’t hear a word I said. Then she blinks and asks in wonder, “Your son knows you that well? He can read you within a few words?”

  I nod, smiling more to myself than at Greer. Ethan and I are tightly bonded. Always have been.

  “That’s enviable, Ladd,” she murmurs, her eyes shining with what I take to be happiness for me.

  It seems we’re talking about deep stuff, which was the premise I knocked on her door to start out with.

  Scooting up against the headboard, I snag a pillow and lodge it behind me for support. Greer lies gloriously naked, head tilted slightly to look up at me. She has no qualms about her nudity and makes no move to cover herself. I’m the same… feeling completely comfortable beside her.

  “Why did you come to see me ten years ago?” I ask.

  She doesn’t bat an eye at my question. I’m sure she’s been expecting it at some point.

  “It was a mistake,” she says quietly.

  “No,” I say sharply, shaking my head. “You don’t get to pawn off that visit as a mistake. You had a reason to come see me, and I fully understand the reason you didn’t stay. But I want to know what led you there.”

  “It was a mistake,” she repeats, but then adds, “I mean, it was a mistake to let you go, and I was coming to tell you that. That I realized my mistake and I wanted to apologize. And I wanted to see… if there could still be something between us.”

  Anger, regret, and sorrow all well up in me.

  She was too fucking late as I had moved on.

  I knew it was fast, meeting Britney and jumping into a heavy relationship. We married fast, too, and she got pregnant quickly. We both wanted that perfect house in the burbs and of course, a baby. Britney and I wanted the same things, so I didn’t wait. I moved on and left Greer in the dust, and when she came looking for me, it was too fucking late.

  I don’t know whether to be mad at her or myself.

  Probably both.

  “You should have let me know you were there,” I admonish.

  “Why?” she demands on an almost shrill laugh. “You were married! You weren’t going to leave your wife because I’d had a change of heart.”

  “Change of heart?” I ask, my own heartbeat thudding at what that could mean.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says dismissively and starts to roll away from me.

  My hand shoots out, nabs her upper arm. She looks back over her shoulder, and my eyes flick briefly to her infinity symbol that matches mine. “It does matter.”

  Greer laughs again, but it’s flat and bitter sounding. “Why? Were you going to leave Britney? Let me answer that for you. You were not because you are a good man and loyal, and she was your wife and pregnant. So there was no point in making myself known to you.”

  Greer is right about that. I would have stayed with Britney, definitely out of love, because of course I loved her. But it would have been mainly out of loyalty.

  I loved Britney, but never like I loved Greer. My feelings for Britney were warm and secure, whereas my love for Greer had no boundaries, hurt as much as it pleased, and was such a catastrophic loss when we broke apart, I probably cheated Britney out of my full heart.

  Greer tugs her arm free and moves from the bed. I could push her into telling me about her change of heart, but I expect it would end in an argument, and neither of us needs that.

  Besides, like she said… it doesn’t really matter.

  What’s done is done, and a change of heart means nothing right now.

  CHAPTER 16

  Greer

  Frankie Orellana was not an easy man to pin down. It took the better part of today after we landed in San Salvador to arrange a meeting. We clearly couldn’t use the same CIA resource that Ladd had availed himself of when he came down to rescue me. There’s no way we can trust anybody under Gayla Newman at this point.

  It’s sad really that I don’t have a single person who I’ve partnered or worked with over the years while with the Company that I could trust to help me out here, even if only for an information exchange. Maybe it’s just me, but I never developed a close camaraderie with anyone other than Ladd.

  It’s not like I entered the CIA because it was a long-standing family tradition. My parents were about as far from clandestine government work as could be.

  When I went to college, it was for international studies. I had thought I might work in an embassy as a translator since I was already fluent in Spanish and Portuguese. While in college, I took Russian more on a lark than anything. Turns out, I have the rare ability to pick up foreign languages quite quickly, so I also added Arabic to my course load.

  I have no clue how it happened, but word reached the CIA, and I was approached and recruited while finishing my master’s. They were very interested in someone who was fluent in two languages and nearly fluent in two others. What I didn’t possess in terms of accent and regional dialects, they assured me they could get me up to speed via their immersion courses.

  It was a lot to consider.

  The CIA offered good money and additional education. I’d always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, so the field work appealed to me as well. I was in good shape, and I knew how to fire guns because we always had them at home for protection. It was at least worth a closer look, so I traveled to Langley for an interview.

  Funny, I can’t even remember the person who interviewed me or what we talked about, but she must’ve said something right because I accepted their offer.

  And now here I am, trying to bring down an arms dealer with a personal vendetta against me who is being helped by a higher-up at the CIA. I’m paired with the only partner I ever felt a bond with, and actually had loved almost to distraction, in a Central American city with only each other to depend on.

  Oh, and we’re not really speaking to each other, despite the fact we’ve had no-holds-barred sex twice, but that’s neither here nor there.

  In order to track down Frankie Orellana, the Vecindario 18 member who originally fed information to Ladd, we had to rely on Bebe Grimshaw’s skills. She hacked through a complex maze of digital information, coupled with some magic witchery, and was able to come up with a cousin who was very close to Orellana.

  We spoke to Bebe and Dozer from our hotel on a secure satellite link through a laptop, and I made what Ladd later told me was a mistake by asking the details of how they found this cousin. Bebe was more than happy to give the overly long and complicated discourse of how she dove deep into the Orellana family and their finances, finding this cousin who seemed to have more money than the others. He had fishy-smelling ties to a mid-level drug supplier in San Salvador, and at age twenty-two was dealing on the streets and making what would be considered big bucks for someone from a poor Salvadorian family. I mostly tuned out the technical part of Bebe’s information but homed in on the family ties.

  This cousin was young and stupid, and when Ladd and I approached him with bulked-up evidence that Bebe gave us about his drug ties, combined with a threat to turn him in, he was all too happy to act as an intermediary between us and Frankie Orellana.

  Ladd merely wanted him to pass on a message… an offer, so to speak. He was to tell his cousin that Ladd had fifty thousand dollars for a small piece of information that he wanted similar to the last time he met with Orellana. We didn’t have to mention Mejia’s name to the cousin, but Orellana would know what we wanted.

  Of course, the cousin got a gleam in his eye at the mention of the money, and I could tell he was thinking how he might alleviate us of our monetary burden—which was safely secured back in our hotel. Ladd had growled at him in perfect Spanish, “Wipe that fucking look off your face, or I’ll dump your bullet-ridden body in the Rio Lempa.”

  This scared the cousin sufficiently that he promised to pass on the message to Orellana, which included an address to a restaurant where we wanted the meeting to take place that evening at seven p.m.

  We chose a dining establishment that would never be frequented by Vecindario 18 gang members. It’s upscale and swanky and caters to the wealthy. The last part of the message the cousin was to deliver was that Orellana needed to dress appropriately so as not to draw attention to himself.

  Ladd and I are at a square table that accommodates four, sitting across from each other. We each have a glass of wine and an appetizer to share, waiting to see if Orellana takes the bait and shows up. We both feel like he will because not only is fifty grand a lot of money, but this restaurant is in a section of town far removed from gang habitation and violence. The likelihood of him being recognized by any of his brethren is low and should make him feel safe enough to sit down with us.

  Ladd and I both packed outfits that would allow us to dress up sufficiently for this restaurant, which serves the wealthier citizens and tourists. We’re posing as a married couple enjoying the flavor of the city, blending in with hundreds of others. The hotel we’re staying at is five-star and should keep us off Mejia’s radar. It’s definitely the best cover to keep us out of gang territory where we might be recognized.

  And yes, we have to assume that Mejia is planning for us to come after him. After his failed attempt to take me out, he knows I won’t sit back and wait for it to happen again. The man is smart, and he knows I’ll be on the offensive. People will be looking for us the same way we’re looking for Mejia.

  We wait for Orellana in silence, which has been our go-to form of communication—or rather lack thereof—since last night in Miami. The sex was raw and uninhibited, and it reminded me that nothing and no one could ever make me feel so lost to a person. The years melted away, and I remembered every nuance to our foreplay and lovemaking. His body was the same, his hair perhaps a little grayer, but his intuition and knowledge of exactly what I needed hadn’t diminished at all. I felt so in tune with him that it actually scared me.

  And when it was all said and done, Ladd wanted to know why I sought him out ten years ago, and I admitted I’d been wrong and had a change of heart. I was mortified to make that admission and refused to elaborate, much to his consternation. But it would’ve been a waste of our energies to go there and would’ve served absolutely no purpose. Just as my trip to see him had served no purpose all those years ago because there was nothing left for me with Ladd.

  “Orellana… coming up behind you,” Ladd says in a low voice, drawing me back to the present.

  His eyes are fixated over my left shoulder. I don’t bother to turn and look at the man coming our way, because even though he and I have never met (to my knowledge)—and he most certainly was not one of the gang members involved in my abduction and near rape—he may have seen pictures of me. Those most recent photos of me were with my long, blond hair. I’m now a brunette with hair just above my shoulders, and I’m wearing heavy evening makeup tonight. I keep my back to him as Ladd watches his approach.

  Orellana must be close because Ladd jerks his chin toward the chair to his right—which would be my left—and from my peripheral vision, the Vecindario 18 gang member pulls out the chair. I look up at him and we lock eyes.

  There is absolutely no recognition in his face, which tells me a few things.

  It could be that he has an amazing poker face and knows exactly who I am, but I’d never know it because he schools his features so masterfully.

  I’m good at reading people, so it’s more likely we’ve never crossed paths and he’s never been shown my picture. If that’s the case, it tells me he’s fairly low on the totem pole and probably doesn’t have direct contact with Mejia. His information will be coming by word of mouth or gang gossip.

  “Frankie,” Ladd greets him politely. The man sinks down into the chair, and I’m impressed that he looks nothing like a gang member. He’s wearing dress slacks and a button-down shirt. His hair is styled and he’s clean-shaven. I suspect there must be an identifying tattoo near his lower neck or collarbone as the only thing that looks out of place is the shirt fastened all the way to the top, lending him a slightly nerdish quality. I hadn’t noticed his hands before he sat down, but he keeps them on his lap, and I’m guessing they bear tattoos that would not exactly fit in at this restaurant.

  A waiter approaches and asks Frankie if he wants a drink. The man is no dummy and politely declines. He doesn’t intend to stay long and is going to do very little talking or interacting with anyone so that he becomes forgettable.

  When the waiter leaves, Ladd doesn’t mince words, keeping to Orellana’s native Spanish so there is no misunderstanding. “I need to know where Mejia is and what he’s been up to since you and I last met.”

  “I don’t want to get involved,” Orellana says, keeping his attention solely on Ladd and not sparing me a glance.

  “You’re full of shit, Frankie.” Ladd leans to the side and slides the leather satchel that contains fifty thousand dollars out just a bit for him to see. “You want the money, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Orellana looks around the restaurant, seeming ill at ease.

  “There’s no one here to recognize you,” Ladd points out, bringing Frankie’s attention back to him. “This is a quick in-and-out deal. You give me what I need, I hand this over to you, and we never see each other again. Mejia never knows we spoke.”

  The man wants his money, and while I’m sure he’s worried about crossing Mejia, he probably thinks the risk of getting outed for his duplicity is low. It only takes him ten minutes, but he spills everything about Mejia, including where he’s currently located as well as gossip that’s filtered down through the Vecindario 18 gang. Apparently, Mejia is seeking justice for his son’s murder during a raid on his weapons compound by a rival gang.

  Ladd doesn’t miss a beat over what is clearly erroneous information. Mejia knows damn well it wasn’t a rival gang if he’s in league with Gayla Newman.

  When Ladd has all the info he needs, he hands over the satchel, and Orellana slithers out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

  I pick up my wine and take a sip. When I set it down, I look across the table at Ladd. “So, does he really not know about our involvement in the death of Diego Mejia? If he’s wrong about that, he could be wrong about the other information he fed us.”

  Ladd shakes his head, not in the negative, but in that frustrated way that says there’s no way to tell. “It’s a possibility his intel is bad all the way around. It’s also a possibility he’s fucking with us. That he knows Mejia has a hit out, and he’s not willing to throw him completely under the bus. Or…”

  He trails off, leaving an ominous silence, but I know exactly where his mind is going. I finish the thought for him. “Or this is a trap. Orellana let Mejia know we’re here and asking for information, he fed us exactly what Mejia wants us to know, and now he’s going to be waiting for us when we show up.”

  Ladd’s expression darkens with shared worry.

  “It’s a definite possibility,” I murmur thoughtfully, knowing our goals haven’t changed. We have to be more prepared for the contingency that Mejia will be waiting for us, but we still have to proceed.

  The waiter reappears, wants to know if we’re ready to order. We’ve already perused the menu, so I order a pork dish with sauteed chard and herbed polenta, while Ladd orders lamb. It’s low on Salvadorian fusion, but this restaurant caters to tourists who may not like the regional cuisine. Which sucks… because I love this country’s food. My favorites include pupusas served with sour cabbage salad, pasteles filled with spicy chicken and vegetables, and sopa de pescado—or Good Friday soup—filled with seafood, tomatoes, green peppers, and lots of cumin, my favorite spice.