Page 34 of Wicked Suspicion

It took an instant to realize she was teasing him. Case couldn’t remember a woman ever doing that. Sure, the guys on his team gave him shit because he looked young, but women? Some flirted with him or teased him sexually, but they didn’t gently rib him like Nyx was doing. Maybe he was weird, but he liked it.

“You’d think a fiancée would offer some sympathy to her betrothed.”

“Sorry, hon, you volunteered to help me. No sympathy for you.” Nyx pushed her braid behind her shoulder. “Señor Vargas worried you’d be a distraction. I convinced him that you wouldn’t be. Let’s not prove him right when he asks me for a progress report, okay?”

She said it with her smile in place, but Nyx wasn’t joking any longer. She was concerned about Vargas if they didn’t make a dent in these papers.

Case nodded. “Laser focused. I promise.” Reaching over, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can do this. We can do this.”

He got back to work. This wasn’t some school assignment he didn’t want to do. This was about keeping his Fireball safe from a drug lord.

Chapter 15

Señor Vargas had sent a red evening dress, matching heels, and a makeup bag with her guards to the suite with instructions. She was to be ready in an hour and she was not to wear her hair in a braid. She’d gone with her usual top-of-the-head ponytail. It left most of her hair loose but also kept it out of her way. Mostly.

Nyx’s hands shook as she raised the hem of her formal gown to go down the stairs. This was a scenario she hadn’t thought to worry about and she had a good imagination.

The dress only had one shoulder and it fit her body closely, as if it had been tailored specifically to highlight her curves. It was elegant, but it was also sexy. Case had hated it. He’d nearly gotten himself shot trying to accompany her from the room when the guards arrived for her.

Because he’d thought the same thing she had. That she was possibly going to find herself used sexually. She didn’t want to think the word rape, but it popped into her brain anyway.

She wobbled on the stairs, and one of Vargas’s men caught her elbow, holding on until she regained her balance. “Gracias,” she murmured, her throat too tight to manage more volume.

She didn’t have a clue what was going on. Her questions—Case’s demands—had gone unanswered.

They stopped in the foyer. The floor was beige and black marble, with two steps up to the entryway. Double wrought iron doors were surrounded by two windows and a half-circle window above it all, also covered with wrought iron. Nyx hadn’t paid much attention to it on Saturday, but now she had nothing else to do.

Except worry.

The wait didn’t last long. Vargas arrived in a tuxedo. If it weren’t for his dead eyes, he might have been attractive, even with the scar on his face and the slightly crooked nose. She guessed he was close to fifty, which made him nearly twice her age. His dark, wavy hair appeared freshly trimmed, and his tux and dress shirt were pressed. She was no expert, but the shirt studs appeared to be real gold. As he reached her, she smelled cigarettes. He must have just finished smoking.

He offered her his arm. Puzzled, Nyx took it. The gown had a court train which made walking extra difficult, especially for her. She wasn’t used to dressing up. He was patient while she maneuvered the two shallow steps up to the door, and that was unexpected.

Nyx wished Case was with her, that he was the one in a tuxedo, offering her his arm. Then she’d be excited, wondering what surprise he had in store for her.

With Vargas, she didn’t want any more shocks. The dress and her instructions were enough for one day. She wanted to know why they were headed to the front entry and why she was in an evening gown. One of her guards moved forward to open the door. A limo was idling in the circular drive, the fading evening sun glinting off the metal.

She needed both hands to lift the hem of the dress, and the drug lord quietly waited for her at the car. The guard who’d caught her elbow earlier remained at her side, seemingly ready to rescue her again if necessary. Nyx was flummoxed. What was happening? Why was she being treated as a guest and not a prisoner?

When she reached the limo, he gestured for her to get inside.

Her stomach knotted. Leaving the grounds without Case couldn’t be good for her. But she didn’t see a way to avoid it, not with Vargas, his driver, and two guards nearby. Then there were his patrols, the men on the wall, and assorted other armed gangsters. Another gesture, this one impatient, and Nyx gathered up her skirt.

She tried to be graceful, but the gown tripped her up despite her best efforts, and she fell into the car. Luckily, she landed with three-quarters of her butt on the seat and slid over to the far side. It took some effort to arrange her clothing, so it wasn’t twisted around her legs.

Vargas sat beside her, and his two men took the seat opposite them. It dawned on her then that they were dressed in tuxedos as well. Bodyguards for their boss, not prison guards for her.

The partition between the passenger compartment and the driver was raised, but Nyx felt the car rock slightly as the man got behind the wheel. In a moment, they were underway. She wanted answers, but it was hard to think clearly. She needed to be better. Her dad had taught her to contain the fear. She could handle herself.

It took time. They’d left the compound and were driving on a narrow two-lane asphalt road before she gathered enough courage to speak. “Where are we going?”

Without glancing at her, Vargas said, “Trujillo.”

Which answered her question yet told her nothing. She doubted he was returning her to her hotel. Would she have a chance to escape?

As if reading her mind, the drug lord turned to her. “Before you consider doing anything foolish, I’d remind you that your fiancé remains on my property. He will feel the brunt of my anger should you do anything that displeases me.”

Nyx nodded. “I understand.”

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