“No, it was something. Something upright.”
“Keep going. If it’s your imagination, it won’t slow us down. If it isn’t, the closer we are to house, the better.” He didn’t look at her.
Octavia nodded in agreement. That made sense.
She hurried to catch up with him, wincing as a rock shifted under her foot and dig into the soft flesh, right through the thin leather. Beyond Ángel’s wide shoulders, she watched the shadows and solid shapes of the homestead grow steadily larger and more distinct. There was a modest house and three or four sheds off to one side. All of them were surrounded by a perimeter of trees and bushes that would take incredible amounts of water and tending, out here.
The bushes and small trees were moving restlessly in the pre-dawn breeze that had sprung up. Octavia could feel it brushing against her arm and her flesh was goosebumpy, yet she was warm from walking. If they stopped, she would get cold.
She saw the flash appear among the trees before the sound reached them. The sour whine sounded at the same time one of the rocks at their feet jumped and rolled.
“Rifle!” she shouted and pulled Ángel down by jumping on his back and throwing him forward.
He cursed and rolled out of the way. He kept rolling, until he was lying behind one of the bigger rocks in the vicinity, a thing that was nearly two feet high. If the marksman wasn’t good enough to hit them at this distance, then the little rock would be more than enough protection.
Octavia scooted over to lie behind the same rock. “Who is shooting at us?” she demanded. “Who is this friend of yours that owns this place?”
“He’s not a friend,” Ángel said evenly. “He works for my father. He doesn’t like the work any more than I did.”
“How do you know that?”
“His teenage son died from a speedball.” Ángel shrugged. “I figured he might help us just to get even.”
“So who is shooting at us, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is not good,” Octavia decided.
Ángel sighed.
“What?” she demanded.
“You have a habit of stating the obvious.”
“So?”
“Actually, you have a habit of speaking. Period.” He shrugged. He didn’t look at her.
“So how are we going to get to the house if someone you don’t know is taking pot shots at us?”
He rolled on his side and looked at her steadily. “Do you have any ideas? I’m not a soldier.”
“What makes you think I am?” she demanded. She tugged at the sheer top. “Look at me.”
He did.
Octavia drew in a breath that was shaky. “Don’t look at me that way,” she said, her heart pounding.
“All in all, I figure you’re DEA,” Ángel said. “That makes you the closest thing to a soldier right now. So you tell me how we get around the bastard with the gun.”
She stared at him. Nothing would come. No words. No thoughts. Just pure shock.
Ángel shrugged. “I haven’t told anyone what you were for over a year. You can relax. Besides, there’s no one here to tell.”
“You…knew?”
“Only a woman completely devoid of intelligence would allow my brother to hook up with her. You’re not stupid, so there had to be another reason. Then I saw your face when Bear Dawson was killed. You knew him, didn’t you?”
She swallowed. This was where she should deny it. Tell him he was full of crap. “He was my handler…” she whispered.
Ángel nodded. “I’m sorry. It was a shitty way to go. If it helps, I took the body out into the desert and buried it, so Severo couldn’t get his hands on it.”
Octavia let out a breath that shook. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “I think that’s why we’re both running now. My father wanted to send a message with that body. I took that away from him.”
“I’m glad,” she said stiffly.
“So am I.”
Octavia studied him, seeing him differently. “It must have been horrible, living with your family, feeling the way you do.”
Ángel shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear. You didn’t volunteer for undercover work because you thought it might be interesting. You put up with my brother for a year. It takes more than passing interest to hold someone in place despite Severo drooling on them.”
Octavia drew in a breath. “He’s your
brother
. Don’t you have any feelings at all?”
Ángel rolled back onto his stomach and peered over the rock. “Not anymore,” he said flatly.
Another shot fired. It didn’t come close to them.
“You think Severo set up whoever is shooting at us?” she asked.
“I think my father told him to take care of you and me, then forgot to explain how he wanted it done. Severo is dealing with us with his usual psychotic style and then some.”
“The mess at the house in Manuel Benavides…that wasn’t usual, not even for him.”
Ángel sighed. “Figure out how we’re going to get to the house, will you? He’s got us pinned down here. That means someone is doing a big circle, trying to come up on us from behind.”
“I’ve been watching all around us since the first shot,” she assured him.
He glanced at her. “Good.”
Octavia sat up. There was little danger she’d be shot. Whoever had the rifle would have to aim
away
from them to actually hit them and even then, it would be an accident. The distance was too great for the man’s aim.
Another shot flashed from the barrel and the bullet whizz past them harmlessly.
“We could just walk right up to him,” she suggested. “He couldn’t hit the side of a barn if he was standing in it.”
“Or run, once we’re closer. Closing in at a sprint on an attacker tends to unnerve anyone.”
“Not in these boots, sorry.”
“I can do the running. I’m bigger, anyway.” He got to his feet with a little snap of muscles that made Octavia sigh. She just didn’t have that sort of energy left. He held out his hand and she took it only because she really did want help getting up.
He hauled her to her feet with a power that made her stumble forward. He caught her and put her back on her feet, his hands around her waist.
He didn’t let go. Not immediately.
Octavia caught her breath. Her heart was thudding with a peculiar erratic beat that seemed to be feeding into her limbs and her pussy. She looked up at him.
Ángel was staring at her, his black-eyed gaze flicking over her. “Are you even Mexican?” he asked, his voice low.
“Five generations Italian American.”
“Your Spanish is flawless.”
“I had reason to be fluent.” Only, that was past history. All she could think about was his hands on her waist, just above the band of her jeans.
He was thinking about that, too, for his fingers moved gently. Then he tugged at the chiffon of the tank top. “Take this off and you’ll have whoever is holding that rifle bug-eyed long enough that we could walk right up to him and take it out of his hands.”
“If I thought it would work, I’d take the bra off, too.”
Ángel swallowed. “Let’s start with the top. Hold off until we’re closer. Then, if you reach back behind you, as if you’re going to take off the bra, too, it will hold him still.”
He stepped back, letting her go. Then he started walking, heading directly for the farmhouse and the thick copse of green bushes around it. She followed.
The light was growing steadily and now Octavia thought she could see where the rifleman was located, behind a stumpy row of cactus on the very edge of all the green. She couldn’t bring herself to call him a marksman, not even in her mind.
Two more shots were fired as they headed for him. Neither came close enough to make them flinch.
“A really shitty shot,” Ángel breathed.
Then they both fell silent, concentrating on where they were walking. It was one thing to disparage someone’s aim. Deliberately putting themselves within range this way was unnerving, though. It took all her courage to keep walking.
They drew closer to the house. An owl hooted his dawn call, breaking the heavy silence that had gathered around them.
Octavia kept her gaze on the cactus shield. It would look as if she was staring right at him and if he was watching them through a scope, he would see her steady stare. That might unnerve him even more.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Ángel murmured.
Octavia pulled the tank top off, pausing to stretch and work her shoulders and belly in a sinuous way that drew attention to her torso and the lacy bra. She flipped her hair, shaking it out.
“Jesus Maria…” Ángel breathed.
“You said befuddle him. I’m befuddling, so shut up.” She started walking again, giving her hips a slightly more exaggerated swing. As she caught up with Ángel, he started to walk alongside her once more.
She rested her hand on her hip, above the band of her jeans, her fingers just inching underneath the denim. She kept her gaze on the prickly plants ahead, trying to spot the joker among them.
Something streaked out of the bushes behind the rifleman, heading straight for him. The dark shape was moving way too fast for Octavia to make out any detail.
There was a yell, then a scream, as the dark shape bent over. The scream cut off abruptly.
“What the hell?” she breathed, in English.
Ángel shook his head. “I didn’t think there was anyone left on our side.”
They picked up their pace, almost running toward the line of cactus. The light was growing enough for them to pick their way over the rocks and not break their ankles.
The shadow straightened up. It was human-shaped. A man. He turned to look at them.
Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. Impossibly tall….
Octavia halted. So did Ángel.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold in the cry that wanted to emerge.
“Bear…” Ángel said, his voice wooden with disbelief.
Bear Dawson held out his arms. “It’s okay. I know it’s a shock, but it’s really me.”
Octavia’s eyes prickled with painful tears.
“I
buried
you,” Ángel said.
“Not very deep, thank God,” Bear said. “The standard six feet would have pinned me down a while longer.”
Octavia ran across the twenty yards that separated them, barely noticing any of the pebbles under her feet. Bear watched her come toward him, the same patient smile on his face that he nearly always wore when he dealt with her.
She didn’t stop when she reached him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Bear didn’t try to stop her. His arms came around her and she was lifted off her feet. He was kissing her back with as much sudden ardor as she, when she had never in her life so much as touched his shoulder.
Octavia was crying as she kissed him and that was what finally made her pull her mouth from his. She needed to breathe and needed to think. The only thought that was circling right now was how
nice
it felt in his arms. How good his mouth was against hers.
Ángel cleared his throat.
Bear put her back on her feet. He was frowning, his eyes narrowed, his brows almost together. He looked from her to Ángel, who stood scowling, with his arms crossed.
Then his frown eased. “Oh Lord…we’re the trinity.”
“Holy Trinity?” Ángel asked, bewildered.
Ángel was having trouble controlling the direction of this thoughts. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of Octavia kissing Bear with heartfelt abandon, her body straining against him. The way Bear had been holding her said there was an old relationship there. A deep one.
He had no idea why he resented that history.
As Bear picked up the dead rifleman and threw him over his shoulder with no apparent effort, Ángel tried to dismiss the confusing wash of images and feelings and concentrate on the thousand and one questions he had, that he wanted answers to so he could assess the threat facing them.
Bear nodded toward the house. “Why don’t you go in and get comfortable. The place is empty and I think the owners took off fast. Dinner is still on the table.”
“Word has passed about my brother’s…project,” Ángel said shortly. “They’re heading for the hills to wait it out.”
“That’s something I need to talk to you about,” Bear said. He patted the leg of the body over his shoulder. “Recognize him?”
Ángel bent to study the face. There was a strange angle to the neck that told him what Bear had done to him. The face was unknown to him. Ángel straightened up. “It’s not one of Severo’s men. Not one of my father’s, either.”
“I don’t recognize him at all,” Octavia said, pulling the see-through black shirt back on and extracting her hair with a casual flick.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bear said. He glanced at them both. “I’ll deal with this carcass. You go and find food and supplies. You were heading north, yes? Across the border?”
Reluctance to reveal their plans made Ángel clamp his jaw together.
Octavia nodded. “By foot.”
“It’s a good plan. You should stick to it,” Bear said. “Go on. I’ll come and find you in a few minutes. Then we need to talk.”
“Bear…!” Octavia called as he walked off, the body over his shoulder not slowing him down at all.
Bear turned, still walking, so that he was striding backward. “Call me Remmy,” he said. Then he turned again and strode off around the bushes and out of sight, moving fast.
Ángel touched Octavia’s shoulder. The contact with her skin, even through the shirt, made his fingers tingle and he wondered for the hundredth time what was happening. It was as though he was sexually attracted to her, even though he wasn’t. Well, not much. Well—
Tell the truth to yourself at least, Ángel
, he reminded himself.
It was an old habit, telling the truth to himself. There had been no one else in his life for a very long time who he had dared to tell the truth to, which left him alone to hear it. It was the only way he had kept things straight in his head, while playing for time, placating his father and staying alive.
The truth was, he did want her. He always had. It had only taken him a few days after Severo had brought her back to the compound and installed her in his bedroom for Ángel to figure out Octavia wasn’t what she appeared to be. She portrayed the role well. Once he had started to wonder why she was there, though, watching her closely had convinced him she was not the bimbo everyone else had assumed she was. It was a very careful, well-maintained role but a mask, nevertheless.