CHAPTER 9

Ten Years Ago

RPOV

The black water of the warm ocean seemed to caress me as I carefully made my way through the surf to the dark, deserted beach. Through my peripheral vision, I could see identical figures like myself easing out of the water to either side of me. Reaching the sand, I sprinted toward the foliage and undergrowth that edged the beach. Once under cover, I unpacked my waterproof backpack, quickly and silently assembling the M4 carbine that was inside and pulling on my night vision goggles.

Checking my compass, I moved through the forest to the designated rendezvous point, arriving the same time as the five other men of the 75th Ranger Regiment did. Our mission was to infiltrate the compound of a known drug lord, seize him, and get out. Our asset on the ground had assured us he was on the island tonight. It was a little under a klick from our current position, and with some silent hand gestures, I fell behind the senior NCO, Watson, who took point.

We moved as stealthily as possible through the trees and foliage, fanning out behind the point and keeping our eyes peeled for any sentries.

Watson held up his left fist and we all silently dropped, blending into the night with our black gear. Watching closely, I saw Watson crouch down and aim his rifle. After a few moments, he fired a single shot. The noise-suppressor on the carbine caused the only sound to be a slight pop and that could barely be heard unless you were close. Standing, he began walking again, motioning with his left hand for us to follow.

This was my first deployment in a special op as a Ranger. I wasn't nervous, but anticipation and tension thrummed in my veins. I had to be careful not to let it make me jumpy, but make the adrenaline channel into a calm alertness. If I reacted too quickly or moved too fast, I could alert someone to our presence and compromise the entire mission.

Two more sentries were dispatched much the same way in the next thirty minutes until, finally, we stood looking into a compound lavish by even the most exorbitant luxury standards. We'd been fully briefed on the layout and knew that the master bedroom was on the top floor in the southwest corner. Watson and I were to capture the target while the other two provided cover and backup.

We stole silently across the grounds, watching for any movement from the house. All was quiet. Our asset had promised to disarm the security on the house and we all tensely waited as Watson's hand slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. When no sound erupted into the night, I quietly let out my breath.

Moving into the house, I could detect noise and laughing coming from below us. That would be the distraction for the numerous guards and underlings. A few local girls hired to entertain for the evening.

I followed Watson across the foyer and up the stairs, our flexible soled boots making no noise on the polished wooden staircase. We edged down the hall, pausing before open doors to make sure the rooms were empty. When he reached the master, Watson gave me a signal and I stood on the opposite side from him, removing my night-vision goggles. This was the most dangerous part. If someone was waiting on the other side, first in would be hit.

Watson turned the knob and pushed the door slightly, pressing back against the wall and waiting for a moment, then opening it further and stepping inside.

The room was spacious, elaborately decorated and with thick carpeting under my boots. A veranda was open to the outdoors, the gauzy curtains looking ghostly as they lifted inward with the slight breeze. A huge bed stood in the corner and it was there that Watson crept. He'd pulled out his Beretta now, also with a noise-suppressor. I followed him, my eyes moving back and forth around the room, watching for anything that would threaten us.

Two figures lay sleeping in the bed. Watson's hand moved to cover the man's mouth at the same time as his Beretta pressed against the side of his head. The man jerked awake but froze when he saw Watson.

Watson slowly removed his hand from the man's mouth and crooked his finger in the universal symbol for "come." The man's now frantic eyes flicked to the woman asleep beside him. I stood on the other side of the bed, my own Beretta millimeters from her head.

Watson repeated the gesture, his face emotionless.

The man, Manuel Ortega, got up from the bed, being careful to not wake his wife. Watson motioned with the gun and Ortega walked in front of him towards the door. I followed them.

The smallest of noises alerted me. I turned swiftly to see the woman in the bed had sat up and now had a gun leveled at me. My instincts took over and I fired one round into her forehead. She jerked and her body fell back lifeless on the bed.

Ortega shouted and when I turned back to them, saw that he was wrestling with Watson for his gun. I couldn't get a clear shot and suddenly Watson was dead on the floor.

The door burst open and a younger man came through. He wasn't Mexican but Ortega fired off a rapid volley of Spanish at him. Ortega aimed the gun at me and I dived for cover. I didn't want to shoot him – our mission was to take him alive. I radioed for backup, hoping the noise hadn't alerted the guards partying below.

Aiming my gun, I squeezed off a shot and was gratified to see Ortega bellow in pain, clutching his arm. His hand had automatically dropped the weapon.

The young man seemed to notice the dead woman in the bed. With a roar of fury, the young man suddenly launched himself at me, recklessly tackling me to the floor and pinning my gun beneath me.

Ortega started yelling again, telling the man to run, escape. I remembered that Ortega had an adopted son named Miguel. He threw a vicious jab to my kidney and ran for the veranda just as Ramirez and Wells came through the bedroom door. Ramirez grabbed Ortega while Wells picked up the gun. I was on my feet and running for the veranda, ignoring the burning in my side.

On the veranda, I was momentarily taken aback to see that it didn't have stairs and yet, the son wasn't there. I was breathing hard from exertion and it took me a second to hear the sound of the zip line. I cursed the fact that I didn't have my goggles on and reached upward searching...there. A nearly invisible zip line ran from the veranda to the edge of the property.

Holstering my Beretta, I yanked off my belt and threw it over the line, wrapping it tightly around both hands. Pushing off from the edge of the stone balustrade, I slid rapidly down the line, gaining speed as the ground flew by beneath me.

Wary of what awaited me, I judged my timing and ditched the line about ten feet from the woods, dropping and rolling to absorb the impact. Listening, I could hear rapid movement through the woods. It must be the son. I took off after him, radioing my position as I ran.

The branches and undergrowth tore at me as I moved as swiftly as I could. Sounds in the forest were muted and as I crashed through, the only sound I could hear was my own breathing and those made by the man I followed.

I gained on him and finally tackled him, wanting to take him alive. He twisted underneath me as we flew through the air and I saw the glint of a knife. We hit the ground and I locked my hand on his wrist. Rolling in the dirt, we grappled, each of us fighting for our life. Bringing his elbow up, he shoved it into my jaw and I tasted blood. But the motion had cost him leverage and I pushed the knife into his gut.

He froze, his eyes wide in surprise and pain as he looked at me. I sucked in gulps of air, my muscles tense with adrenaline. A crashing blow landed on the back of my head and everything went black.

When I woke, he was gone.

Present Day

RPOV

I stood motionless in the street, staring after the motorcycle, the image of Stephanie's face burned in my mind. She trusted him. It had been plainly written on her face. They were close – physically. She'd had no qualms about touching him or pulling her skirt up to straddle the bike behind him.

I fought for control. Every muscle in my body straining to do something, hit something, hurt someone like I was hurting. I'd never felt like this. Not even when I'd seen her with Morelli. I hadn't liked it, but I'd accepted it. Now it felt as though something precious had been stolen, snatched away from me. Jealousy ate at me like a living thing. Stephanie was mine and I'd be damned if some punk was going to come along and steal her in three fucking months. Stephanie and I had a history. She'd been mine for a long time, though I'd only just realized it.

I headed back to the hotel, showered and checked my email. Nothing yet, but it would come. I fell asleep with images in my head tormenting me, images of Stephanie naked, her head thrown back in passion, clutching a nude man to her as he moved between her legs.

I was jolted awake a few hours later by my cell. Grabbing it, I punched a button.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Hey, Boss," Bobby said. "Didn't mean to wake you, but I thought you'd want to see this."

I was instantly awake, sitting up in the bed.

"What is it?"

"We got a hit on Steph. I'm sending the pictures now."

Hurriedly climbing out of bed, I pulled up my email on my laptop, watching as a new message downloaded.

"And Boss," Bobby continued, "you're not going to fucking believe who she's with."

SPOV

The drive back to Pirate's Cove was exhilarating, as it always was on Michael's motorcycle. He drove with his right hand, his left sliding up and down the bare skin of my thigh. The feelings that had sparked by the side of the pool today came to the surface again now, and I could feel the same heat curling low in my stomach. His palm was rough against my skin and my imagination couldn't help but think of how his hand would feel other places on my body. By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was already at a slow burn.

As he helped me off the bike, our eyes met and something unspoken passed between us. I unconsciously licked my lips, my gaze falling to his mouth. With a low groan, he pulled me to him, our lips meeting in feverish haste.

I couldn't help but think of Ranger. I'd held off so many times when we could have been together. He'd wanted me, I'd always known that. In the end, what had my reluctance to sleep with him gotten me? A heart that had been broken anyway, only without some of the good memories I could have had.

I resolved not to do the same thing with Michael. He may not be The One, but I cared about him and he cared about me. We were young, unattached and strongly attracted to one another - and one or both of us could have been killed tonight. I couldn't think of any reason not to reach for a little bit of happiness while it was being offered to me, and before it was too late.

Our tongues entwined as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself closer to him. His erection brushed against my stomach and I felt an answering heat pool between my legs. Michael's hands moved to the back of my neck, untying my dress until it fell to my waist, baring my breasts. His lips moved down my neck until he reached my breast, palming one, his thumb brushing my aching nipple as he took the other in his mouth. My breath came in pants as he caressed me and I was distantly aware of the sound of the surf pounding against the sand.

Michael's hands fisted in my skirt and he inched it up until I felt his palms brush the backs of my thighs. My skin felt on fire and I craved his touch. Thoughts of Ranger suddenly flew through my mind, and to my dismay, I felt a stinging behind my eyes that I ruthlessly suppressed. Ranger had made his decision. Now I would make mine, and it was to go on with my life.

Michael's fingers hooked the elastic on my panties and pushed until I felt the whisper of the fabric as it fell down to my feet. Warm air caressed my naked skin as Michael bunched my skirt at my waist, his hand slipping between my legs.

"God, Stephanie," he murmured against my lips. "You're so wet."

I couldn't respond, my breath catching as a finger slid inside me. A whimper escaped me when a second finger joined the first, thrusting slowly in and out of me. My knees felt like jelly and I clutched his shoulders to remain on my feet.

Michael suddenly withdrew his hand, hoisting me up in his arms and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. My hands began working frantically at his belt and I didn't bother paying attention to where he was taking us. He only made it as far as the porch before he sat down on one of the chaise lounge chairs with me straddling him. I'd gotten his pants undone and was relieved and turned on to see he wore nothing underneath. My attention was momentarily caught by a deep, horizontal gash about two inches long low on his abdomen. It looked like whatever had made it had been painful and my fingers gently traced it. His hard cock sprang free of the fabric into my waiting hands and Michael hissed when my fingers closed around him, scar forgotten.

"Sorry I couldn't make it to the bedroom, babe," he ground out, spreading my thighs wide as he settled me over him, pushing inside me in one smooth motion.

A sharp spike of pain went through me at the endearment and I was instantly furious at Ranger. How dare he? Even now, as another man was inside me, I wasn't free of him. Was I destined to be forever in love with him, never able to fully love someone else because a part of me would always long for him? I imagined how Ranger would react to a lovesick woman pining for him, and it wasn't with compassion, but rather disgust and pity. The image in my head of Ranger looking at me with barely disguised contempt made my blood thunder through my veins in anger. I would be rid of him, I vowed. I would drive him out of my head, and fucking Michael seemed the perfect way to start. All Ranger wanted me for was to fuck me? Well, he could get in line.

I ground my hips against Michael's, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. He groaned in response, his hands tightening on my hips and he pushed into me. I tore at his shirt, buttons flying everywhere, until I was able to push it off his shoulders and down his arms.

Michael rocked me forward, his cock pushing against a sensitive spot deep inside me, making me moan in need. He pulled me forward so my breasts were pressed against his chest. I gasped at the feel of my skin against his, my head falling back as his lips moved down my neck.

"Harder," I begged, and he complied, thrusting hard and fast into me until I felt I would break apart. Then I shattered, a scream flying from my lips. And, in that moment, I didn't know if I was screaming in pleasure or in fury.

RPOV

I sat unmoving, staring at the pictures displayed on my laptop. They'd been taken tonight, while I'd been canvassing Old Town for Stephanie. Now I knew where she'd been, and I was having a difficult time absorbing it.

She'd been with Michael, of course. The screen of my laptop was littered with photos of them having dinner, talking, laughing. Michael was holding her hand and touching her. There were pictures of them dancing, his hands all over her, kissing her, holding her much too close. I could feel a pulsing in my jaw as my hand moved, relentlessly paging through the photos, committing them to memory. The conversation with Bobby replayed itself in my head.

"His name is Miguel Reynolds Ortega," Bobby said. "Adopted son and only heir to Manuel Ortega." Bobby fell silent, waiting.

Holy fucking shit.

"The same one that got away ten years ago?" I asked, desperate for Bobby to deny it.

"Yeah, Boss. The one and same. And he's been busy since daddy went to prison."

"Tell me."

"After he disappeared, no one heard from him for several months. When he emerged, his father's empire was already being broken apart and gobbled up by rivals. Miguel, or Michael as he goes by now, joined forces with Franco Aldalpe and his cartel. He worked for them for a couple of years, then organized a coup within the organization. Some say he offed Franco himself. Whatever he did, no one crossed him after that and he began his quest to regain his father's empire. Over the last few years, the Feds have suspected him of taking over numerous cartels, but haven't been able to find anyone that's willing to betray him. Out of fear or loyalty, no one knows."

Bobby said he'd send more information via email and I gladly hung up.

Flipping again through the now memorized and hated pictures, I wondered if Stephanie knew who he was. Somehow, I doubted it. Guys like Michael Ortega didn't willingly tell their business secrets to just anyone. And now Steph was in a hell of a mess, though she didn't know it.

Bitterly, I wondered if this was Fate's retribution. There were hundreds of men on Key West whom Stephanie could have dated. Michael Ortega was one of the single most dangerous men in the western hemisphere.

But so was I.

SPOV

I rolled over sleepily in the bed, a satisfied smile curving my lips. Michael slept beside me. He'd carried me upstairs where we'd made love again in his bed. Afterwards, he'd thrown a sheet over our naked bodies and I'd drifted off, curled in his arms.

Now, it was warm in here and I couldn't go back to sleep. I thought a shower might help me feel less sticky, so I crept out of bed and tiptoed my way into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was standing under a strong spray of hot water in Michael's shower.

I reached for the soap and froze.

Bulgari.

My hand shook as, almost unconsciously, I picked up the bottle. I carefully opened the cap and brought it to my nose, closing my eyes as I inhaled the fragrance.

My eyes stung with tears and this time I let them fall. The bottle slipped from my nerveless fingers and fell unheeded to the floor. Sinking down, I sat on the shower floor, my knees tucked to my chest, and sobbed.

Regret ate at me like a living thing and I hated it. I didn't want Ranger to still have this power over me. I had no doubt that he was moving on with his life, 1,300 miles away in Trenton, and no doubt glad to be rid of the ball and chain around his neck known as Stephanie Plum.

Michael was a good man. I was lucky to have found him. He deserved better than a girlfriend who was still in love with someone else.

The sobs wracked my body and I couldn't seem to stop, water mingling with the tears on my face. The Bulgari had spilled and now the smell surrounded me. It seemed as if Ranger himself were there with me, my imagination painting his face in shadows of disappointment and judgment.

My soul felt ripped in two, part of me wanting desperately to move on, the other part needing Ranger so badly it was a physical pain. At this moment, I didn't think there was anything I wouldn't do to just hear his voice again.

Hands touched me and I jumped, a scream ripping from my lips.

"Shh, sweetheart, it's just me."

Michael was there. He'd opened the shower door and crouched down next to me. Oh God, the last thing I wanted him to see was me crying.

"What's the matter?" he asked, gently brushing my wet hair out of my face. I shook my head.

"I don't want to talk about it." My voice was small and hoarse and I couldn't look him in the eyes for the guilt I was feeling.

He seemed to accept that, instead of asking more questions, he simply stood, pulling me up with him and wrapping his arms around me. I rested my face against his chest.

The water sprayed over both of us, warming me, and Michael's hand rubbed soothingly up and down my back. I thought again of how lucky I was. Not many men would be okay with finding their girlfriend crying after making love.

I pressed my lips to his chest, tracing the contours with my tongue. His breath hissed between his teeth and I felt his cock harden against my stomach.

Michael lifted me unceremoniously against the shower wall, opening my legs and thrusting inside. My mouth found his, my whimper swallowed in our kiss. Wrapping my legs around him, I clutched his shoulders as he moved inside me.

His thrusts were slow and deep, intended to drive me to the edge and keep me there. Finally, I was begging him to let me come and sobbed with relief when he moved hard and fast. Stars exploded behind my eyes and I cried out. Michael's hands dug into my rear as he came inside me.

Lowering my legs back to the floor, Michael held on to me until I was sure I could stand. He kissed me again before grabbing the soap and washing gently between my legs.

"I'll be out in a few minutes," he said as I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a voluminous robe.

At this point, I was really thirsty and decided to head downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. A single light burned in the kitchen, enough to see by. Grabbing a glass, I filled it with ice and water from the refrigerator and drank it greedily down. I refilled it, drinking it more slowly this time and wandered back to the living room.

Pausing, I looked out the windows. The moon was full and its light played on the waves. It was beautiful. I tried not to think about all that had tormented me in the shower. My emotions were too raw, my peace of mind too fragile to contemplate my choices at the moment. What was done was done. I just had to learn to live without Ranger and there was really nothing else to be said.

Plopping down on the couch, I tucked my feet up under me and grabbed the remote to flip on the TV. In the dark, it was hard to see the controls, so I guessed at which one was the power and pressed it. To my surprise, it didn't turn on the TV but a door slid silently open in the wall next to it.

For a moment, I just sat there. Michael hadn't said anything about this. Curiosity finally got the better of me and I got up and walked to the door.

It was dark inside but lights turned on when I stepped through the doorway. I jumped in surprise before realizing that no one was with me – there must be a sensor or something.

I looked around the room.

My glass fell from my hand and shattered on the concrete floor.