His bluntness made Brea laugh. “No, here isn’t a good place at all. I guess I don’t have to worry that you don’t want me anymore.”

  “Oh, baby… If I could have stopped wanting you, I would have saved you from me a long time ago.”

  “Then I would have missed out on the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Damn it, you’re making resisting you hard. Literally.” Pierce grimaced as if he was trying to focus. “Why is Matt still in town? Did something happen?”

  “No. He said he’s taking a vacation. The weather is supposedly better here.”

  “No supposedly about it.”

  “He might have mentioned his…um, nether regions appreciating a break from a Wyoming winter.”

  “Only you would describe a man’s balls that way.” The smile that creased his face now, just like the first one he’d ever flashed her, transformed him. She’d forgotten how brutally masculinely beautiful he was.

  “I’m polite.”

  “To a fault,” he teased. “You’re adorable.”

  She smiled. “I suspect Matt thought I was helpless, so he stayed around because you weren’t here.”

  His smile widened. “That’s Matt. He’s a good son of a bitch.”

  A gust of wind surged and blew. Despite Pierce’s big body, she found herself shivering in the December chill.

  He wrapped his arms around her again. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I don’t have one. It was warmer when I left my house this morning.” At Pierce’s frown of displeasure, she tsked. “Don’t pass judgment. Where’s yours?”

  “I’m not cold. You heading home?”

  “I was planning to.”

  “Did Cutter tell you I was here? I followed him back from the party.”

  “You went?”

  “Thinking you’d be there, yeah.”

  Now she regretted that she’d begged off. Then again, if she’d gone, she would have both blubbered all over Pierce and thrown herself at him in front of everyone. Still, she hated that she’d lost even a minute with him. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You did.” The tears that had teetered on her lashes fell as she cupped his cheek. She warmed when he kissed her palm. “Seeing you is the best surprise ever. Cutter didn’t say anything because he had an unexpected visitor waiting inside for him.” She dropped her voice. “Shealyn West.”

  “Holy shit. Yeah?”

  “I think she came to claim her man. So our ‘engagement’ is off.”

  Pierce instantly looked as if he wanted to punch something, namely Cutter’s face. “Goddamn it!”

  “Don’t say that. I’ll still be safe without the lie.” She sent him a disapproving scowl. “I let your F-bombs slide, but…”

  “Fine. I’ll try to watch my tongue,” he groused. “Let’s get you home.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and led her down the steps, toward the parking lot.

  She frowned. “Daddy will be there.”

  “Then that’s not going to work.”

  “I know. It’s awkward you two haven’t met yet.”

  “I’m not so worried about that.” Pierce scratched at his scruffy beard. “I’d be happy to rectify that after a shower.”

  Did he imagine her father would be pleased to meet the man who’d gotten his daughter pregnant at something near midnight while danger all but dripped from him? Was he crazy? Yes…and that was part of his bad-boy appeal.

  “Daddy is probably in bed, so I don’t think that’s an option. What are you worried about?”

  “That he’ll hear you screaming and come busting down your bedroom door while I’ve got my head between your legs. That would be an awkward-as-fuck first meeting.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “You weren’t worried about the sounds I made before you left for Mexico.”

  “Extenuating circumstances.”

  Brea had to smile. “How about I come to your house?”

  “Only if you leave your car here and let me drive.”

  So that none of Montilla’s spies would see her car at his house, Brea supposed. “That’s fine.”

  He led her down the stairs, pulling her with him into the shadows, then guiding her through the pitch-gray cold until they reached his Jeep. “Do you think someone has been following you? That they’re watching us now?”

  “Not likely. But I’m not taking chances.”

  He tucked her into the vehicle, then ran around and bounced into the driver’s seat, pulling out of the lot with a watchful scan of his surroundings.

  Something had spooked him. And knowing Pierce, the minute they really got alone, he would start seducing her…and she wouldn’t be able to think enough to ask questions.

  “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t even try to put her off. “When I got to Mexico, it didn’t take long to track Montilla to a new compound. I observed him for about two weeks. I got a good handle on his schedule, his habits, the compound’s weaknesses. Then I found an insider willing to betray his boss for cash, so I paid the bastard for answers and access. I had a fucking plan ready to roll. But the stupid son of a bitch started throwing around his extra cash in town a few nights back. Questions flew. The next morning, Montilla put a gun to his head in front of everyone, demanding answers. I’m presuming he talked. I could tell he blubbered. Then Montilla blew his brains out and sent everyone in the compound searching for me.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I tried to get back to my rental car in town a few miles away, but they’d already found it and torched it. I spent eight days hiding in the desert before I sneaked into Mexico City, where I could disappear.”

  Brea’s heart stopped. She reached for his hand, gripping it desperately. “Stop this. Stop it now. Forget him. Don’t go back. We’ll leave here and—”

  “I can’t.” Pierce scanned the mostly empty roads and made a right. “He’s not going to give up until he finds us. So I’ve got to find him first.”

  “But if something happens to you…” Pain wracked her chest just thinking about it.

  “Then he won’t come after you. You’ll be safe because if I’m gone, he’ll have won. The only reason he wants you now is to hurt me. But I’m going to end him. I’m not going to put you in that fucking position.”

  Brea wanted to scream that she didn’t understand…but she did. She wanted to rail at the horror and unfairness. But that wouldn’t change anything.

  “So how long are you here?”

  “I’ve got a flight back at oh-five-hundred on Monday.”

  Her breath froze. She tried to swallow down her tears, because he needed her to be strong, but her fear fused with her hormones. She started to sob.

  “Baby, no. Don’t waste tears on me.”

  “Stop saying that! I love you. For a month, I didn’t know if you were alive. I didn’t know if you were coming back. In barely thirty hours, you’re leaving again and—”

  “Shh.” He stroked her crown with his big hand. “We have the rest of the weekend. I’m sorry I’ll miss your doctor’s appointment on Monday.”

  Appointment? It took Brea a moment to remember… “How did you know I have an appointment with my ob-gyn?”

  He hesitated, as if he was looking for the best spin on the truth. “I might have found the paperwork when I was searching your room the night I realized you were pregnant and made a note about the date and time.”

  Brea wasn’t even surprised. In fact, she was almost touched.

  “I’d planned to be home for that. Of course, I’d planned for Montilla to be decomposing by now, too.” He sounded bitter that the drug lord wasn’t.

  “The baby’s gender reveal is Monday.”

  He frowned as he took her hand. “Damn it. I’m so fucking sorry I won’t be there, but your safety is more important.”

  She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “I need you to put your head in my lap now.”

  Was he suggesting… “Pierce, I’ve missed you, but I’m not doing that to you while you’re driving.”

  Despite the heavy pall of angst and sadness, he laughed as he approached the red light outside his neighborhood. “I’m not asking you to suck my cock, pretty girl. At least not yet.” He sent her an unexpected grin. “But you should hide so that if any of Montilla’s goons are watching my house, they see me, not you.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous, too? Won’t they kill you now that they know you’re hunting him?”

  “Not here. Not in secret. Montilla is arrogant. The way he deals with his enemies is mostly for show. When he had me captive, he only beat me in front of people. As I observed him over the last few weeks, he only raped and murdered with an audience. It doesn’t suit him to sneak here and snuff me in the dead of night. I’ve become an official thorn in his side, and he’d want to make a public example of me. Since he can’t, what he really wants is to get his hands on you because then I’ll either tell him where to find Valeria and his son to save you or suffer horribly as you die.”

  Brea didn’t understand these violent people and their twisted games, but she grasped that Pierce knew far better how to keep her and their baby safe.

  Trembling, she scooted to her right and settled her head on his thigh. She felt his heat, smelled his male musk. Inhaled more of the danger dripping off him into her nostrils. Despite everything, it stirred her.

  Then again, Pierce always did.

  Instantly, he laid a protective hand on her head. “Just until we pull into my garage.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Always.” She breathed him in again.

  “But if you’re motivated to make me feel good while you’re down there, I won’t object.”

  “Pierce…” Her body ran hot at the thought. The notion might be reckless, but it was tempting. And they had so little time together before he had to leave…

  “What? It’s been a long month without you.”

  She craned her head to look up at him in the dark. “No pretty señoritas?”

  He shook his head. “Like it or not, I’m all yours. And in less than five minutes, I’m going to strip you bare and prove it.”

  Her body tightened. Her womb clenched. She pressed her thighs together in longing.

  Brea got bold and cupped the obvious bulge through his jeans.

  He let out something between a curse and a groan as he got harder under her palm. “Baby… Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

  She’d missed him so, so much.

  Finally, his thigh below her cheek tensed, and the Jeep shot forward. He drove like a madman through his neighborhood, slinging left, then right, then left again before coming to an abrupt halt. He reached up, and the mechanical purr of the garage door opener resounded above them. He pulled into the garage and hit the button again. She lifted her head.

  Matt stood in the door between the garage and the house, weapon drawn, wearing a mean scowl. When he caught sight of them, he lowered the gun with a sigh and tucked it away. “Hey! I didn’t expect to see you, man. When did you get back to the States?”

  “Earlier today,” Pierce said as he hopped out of the Jeep and shook Matt’s hand.

  As Brea eased out on the other side and inched around the front of the truck, Matt whipped off his cowboy hat and shared a bro hug with Pierce. She approached, and the man’s angular face softened as he wrapped an arm around her, giving her a friendly squeeze.

  “Hey, little thing. How you doing? Who was at Cutter’s door, this one?” Matt thumbed in Pierce’s direction.

  “No. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Get your fucking hands off my woman,” Pierce growled good-naturedly…mostly.

  Brea giggled as Matt released her and held up his hands. “Just being friendly, man.”

  “Find another woman to be ‘friendly’ with. I’m going to go get friendly with my woman now. We’ll talk later.”

  Was he kidding? He’d all but announced they would be having sex. Her face flamed hot. “Pierce!”

  “What? Matt knows I haven’t seen you in a month, so he knows where I’ll be spending the night.”

  She blushed. “It’s impolite to talk about the bedroom.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. A lot nicer, too.”

  Matt burst out laughing.

  Brea frowned. There was a grand joke, and she clearly didn’t get it. “What other way is there to put it?”

  “Inside you.” Matt tried to wipe the smile off his face—and failed miserably. “That’s what One-Mile meant.”

  “You’re a fucking mind reader.” Pierce fist-bumped him before he wrapped an arm around her and swung her off her feet, against his chest, ignoring both her red cheeks and her surprised squeak. “You mind holding down the fort, man?”

  “As long as you lovebirds keep it down. I don’t need to be reminded of what I’m not getting in this town.”

  Pierce pushed his way through the door and emerged into the foyer, killing the nearby lights with his elbow and throwing the space into shadow. “Probably not going to happen. You’re better off turning up the TV.”

  “Yeah?” Matt laughed uproariously and winked her way. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a screamer, little thing.”

  She gaped at them, her face broiling with embarrassment. “I… You…”

  Pierce chuckled. “Have I ever told you that you’re perfect and I love you just the way you are?”

  Brea closed her mouth. When he said stuff like that, it was hard to be angry.

  And when he took her upstairs, into his dark bedroom, and slowly pulled off her clothes, worshipping her with his sure caresses and soft strokes of his tongue, she forgot that Matt and every other person in the world existed, because, for her, there was only Pierce.

  Friday, January 9

  One month later

  Outskirts of Mexico City

  One-Mile pulled his hoodie over his face and bowed his head against the pelting rain. Normally this part of the globe was a sweltering cesspool of humidity and humanity, but Mexico City—like a lot of the world—was recovering from a hectic Christmas and a raucous New Year’s. He’d missed both of those at home, and he hoped Brea understood. But Montilla and his band of thugs hadn’t taken a week or two off to celebrate the holidays. The average citizen, however, seemed to be partied out. Most of the tourists had emptied from the streets and seemingly gone back to their responsible, desk-jockey lives. So tonight, he walked a largely uninhabited route to his destination, his breaths forming white puffs in the unusual chill.

  After nearly another fucking month in this shithole, tonight was hopefully the night Montilla would die.

  One-Mile gave the son of a bitch credit. While he’d gone back to the States and weaponed up, thinking he’d have to declare open war to snuff Montilla, the weasel had gone deep into hiding. He’d changed locations, doubled security, increased surveillance, restricted those coming in and out to a few trusted lackeys, varied his schedule, and generally made this mission fucking impossible—except for one appointment he never missed.

  One-Mile didn’t intend to miss, either. He only had one shot.

  Finally, he made his way from the dark, dirty street into the mostly empty hotel. It was a terrible dive in the middle of an even worse slum, but if Montilla died from a kill shot he fired here, this place would rate five fucking stars in his book.

  The stucco walls had probably been white decades ago and a row of scarred windows faced a street known for violence. He’d slept in worse, and the idea of unguarded slumber in a real bed after weeks of catnaps on the cold ground was damn appealing. But if all went well, he would only be here a handful of hours. Then he’d be on a plane back to the States. Back to Brea and their baby. And on to his future.

  If it didn’t go well, he’d be captured, tortured, and killed.

  One-Mile glanced at his watch. Just after seven p.m. Time to set up was running out.

  He checked in, bribing the front desk clerk with extra cash to forego the ID requirement. Within two minutes, he walked up the darkened stairs to the third floor, key in hand, and entered the room he’d requested.

  Last week when he’d followed Montilla into this slum, he’d scoped out this motel, walked it inside and out, figuring out exactly which room he needed to finish this job—and this asshole. The unit he’d chosen had a big window with unfettered views inside the building across the street. It also had direct access to the interior stairwell that led either down to the multiple exits in the lobby or up to the roof. And bonus, if he had to go up to avoid detection, he could climb to the adjacent parking garage from the top of the hotel, disappear into the alley behind, and be gone in under a minute.

  Escape routes weren’t a problem…unless he fucked up.

  Glad for his water-repellant backpack and the plastic tarp he’d wrapped his gun case in before he’d tucked it inside, he set up his MK on its tripod at the window, attached the scope, and focused on the front of the run-down gray-brick business across the street, pinpointing a second-story opening. This week, a redhead half Montilla’s age waited for him, pacing.

  After double-checking his equipment and perfecting his angle, One-Mile opened the old-fashioned window, heedless of the damp chill. The downpour had dried up to an occasional spit. Even better, the hotel’s external light above seemed to have burned out, leaving him in charcoal shadows.

  Breathing through an adrenaline rush and his pounding heartbeat, he hunkered behind his scope and set in to wait.

  He was ready.

  At precisely nine p.m., the girl across the street suddenly jerked and reluctantly opened her door. And what do you know? Montilla walked inside, right on time, as he had every other week, sporting a lascivious leer and a boner.

  Only a lowlife drug lord worth millions would come to a slum for a ten-dollar teenage prostitute. Depraved fuck.

  Montilla didn’t say anything before pulling off her T-shirt. Since she wasn’t wearing a bra, her small breasts popped free. Then he pushed her down to the bed, lifted her skirt, and spread her legs before shrugging out of his water-beaded jacket.

  The redhead closed her eyes, bracing herself, as his hand dropped to his zipper and he yanked it down.