Page 30 of Wicked Ambition

“That’s fucking great. I hoped it would take them a few days to think of that.”

She squeezed his hand. How long before they surveyed wig stores? Her disguise wouldn’t be worth much if they discovered she was a brunette now.

“Keep breathing.”

Ayla nodded, her eyes meeting his. The intensity in his gaze reassured her, and she took a deep breath as ordered, trying to steady her nerves. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Not when her sister’s life was at stake.

Glancing over at Baggs, she tried to get his measure. His brown hair was shaggy, but much shorter than Oz’s. He wore a black leather bracelet on his left wrist and a silver one on his right. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, she could see a few tattoos—a dagger on the inside of his left forearm, surrounded by some other design curling over from the front side. A complementary design was also on his right forearm, just below his elbow. His beard was neatly trimmed, kept tight to his face, and when he glanced over at her, she could see concern in his eyes.

Ayla was unsure what to make of him. Was he the tough guy his appearance suggested or was his worry real? She didn’t know, but he was helping her and Oz look for Io. Her instincts said he was dead serious about doing what he could to find her missing twin.

“Pollita, can I have my hand back? We can skate by with you not eating, but Baggs and I have to finish our food before we can leave.”

She didn’t want to give up the comfort his touch provided, but Io wouldn’t need anyone’s support in this situation. Reluctantly, Ayla released him, not because she wanted tomeasure up to her sister, but because they needed to get out of there. They needed to find her twin before the mob did. The Russians continued their conversation, but Baggs wasn’t translating.

“What are they saying now?” she asked him, careful to speak in Spanish as softly as Oz and Baggs were.

“Nothing important. They’re complaining about the food.” Baggs wiped his hands on his napkin and reached for the coffee. “A pair of real cheerful dudes.”

Ayla tried to conceal her tension, but Oz wasn’t eating quickly and neither was his friend. Their leisurely pace ratcheted up her nerves. Careful to keep her voice as soft as possible, she asked, “If their boss is as dangerous as you led me to believe, why are they willing to cross him?”

Oz’s reaction was barely perceptible, but Ayla thought he stiffened. “There are factions within the big boss’s organization with loyalties to different lieutenants.”

Baggs added, “The defiance won’t be flagrant. They’ll make it look as if they had no other choice.”

“Or that it was an accident.” Oz shrugged and started talking baseball with his friend.

She nearly growled. They were chatting about some Puerto Jardinese sports team, and her sister was missing. Oz reached over and gave her hand another squeeze, calming her.

The touch was momentary, there and gone before she could hang onto him, but it steadied her anyway. At least enough for her to realize that it would appear strange if they sat at the table without talking to each other, and sports was as good a topic as any. Besides, two men gulping down their food like a pair of five-year-olds would look suspicious.

They kept talking as they ate, and Ayla marveled at their ability to maintain a casual conversation while a pair ofmurderers sat a couple of tables away. She wished she could muster a fraction of their composure.

Her back was to the mobsters. Ayla wasn’t sure if that made it harder to stay calm or easier. She had to trust Oz and his friend to keep her safe because she couldn’t see what the Russians were doing. It was difficult. Baggs was a stranger, and although she’d spent the night with Oz, he wasn’t that much more familiar to her.

Memories of their encounter came to her. The gentleness of his caress, the way he made sure she was ready for him, and the care he took to guarantee she enjoyed the sex as much as he did. He didn’t have to do any of that. They could have had a quick fuck, and then he could have pushed her out of the room. Instead, they’d spent the entire night pleasuring each other. If she hadn’t snuck out the next morning while he’d been in the shower, they might have even had another go.

The surge of regret took her by surprise, and Ayla tried to focus on something else. Io. Where was she? How much danger was she in? Could they reach her in time? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

Oz placed his hand over hers again, letting her know he was aware of her. That he was taking care of her. His touch grounded her, helped her find her equilibrium. Softly, he said, “Hang on, Pollita. A few more minutes and we’re out of here.”

Ayla nodded, and although she kept her head lowered, she scanned the café again, looking for a distraction. Her own thoughts were causing her too much trouble.

Her gaze connected with a woman at a table kitty corner from theirs. She had brown hair, dark eyes, and appeared average. Ayla couldn’t pinpoint her age. The woman could be twenty-five or she could be a well-maintained fifty.

The woman’s lips curved briefly in acknowledgment and then her gaze went past Ayla, took in the Russians, and continued to the other side of the restaurant. Someone like her, looking for a distraction, she decided.

Lowering her head farther, Ayla noticed shopping bags around the woman’s feet. She must be doing the same thing as they were—stopping for lunch after hitting the stores.

Oz and Baggs were discussing batting averages, and Ayla decided it had to be less stressful to sneak out of the café than to sit here, waiting. It felt as if it had been two hours, but a quick glance at the time said it was less than ten minutes. She could do this. She had to do this. If she didn’t, and she got killed, who would rescue Io?

“Perdóneme,” a feminine voice said.

Ayla nearly screamed. Her focus had been inward, and she never noticed the woman from across the café get up and walk to their table. Up close, she could see she was probably in her twenties or thirties and around average height. She’d been right about the dark eyes. They were brown and Ayla felt her gaze assessing her.

Oz stepped in and handled it. “Sí?” His tone didn’t encourage conversation.

The woman wasn’t easily put off. Her question was directed at Ayla. “You look familiar to me. Have we met?”

---