Unidentified_A Novella Duo Page 8

  “Why can’t someone from THS help her out?”

  “Dec’s with me here in DC.” Her voice turned serious. “We’re working on a plan to trap Silk Road.”

  Diego’s blood ran cold. Silk Road—a black-market antiquities ring—was dangerous. “Alone?”

  Darcy snorted. “Unfortunately, no. We’re working with the FBI.” She said the acronym like she’d just admitted to catching an infectious disease. “Cal, Logan, and the others are in Mexico working on a dig. Ronin is off with Peri on an Arctic holiday.” Darcy made a sound. “Who goes to the Arctic for a vacation? Anyway, my friend needs help. And I want someone I can trust.”

  Diego blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Yay! I’m so grateful, Diego. Especially since she’ll be coming up your gangplank any second now.”

  He scowled, raising his head. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I’m good.” There was amusement in Darcy’s tone now. “Now, can I please ask you to be nice?”

  Nice? Why would Darcy think he’d be an asshole to a stranger…? Wait. “Darcy.” He drawled her name as he stood.

  “She needs your help. She has a dying grandfather.”

  “And she’s a fucking smart-ass DEA agent. The last time I saw her, she boarded my ship and slapped handcuffs on me!”

  “It was all a misunderstanding! You wouldn’t let her board, and she had a job to do.”

  “I don’t run drugs.”

  “They were searching every ship in the marina, Diego. All just a misunderstanding. Be nice.” Darcy hung up.

  He scanned the docks, glimpsing a few people. His gaze swept over several people heading in his direction, before it zoomed in on a woman walking with a commanding stride along the floating walkway. Cuffed, navy-blue shorts showed off long legs, and a white T-shirt clung to full breasts. A long fall of chestnut-brown hair was loose and a slim backpack rested on one shoulder.

  This time there was no pantsuit, tight braid, or tactical vest with DEA emblazoned on it.

  Nope, Agent Sloan McBride looked almost normal. She moved with an efficient, energetic stride that told everyone she could handle herself.

  As she got closer, her gaze flicked up and met his. She was still too far away for him to see the color of her eyes.

  But he remembered. They were gray-green and framed by dark lashes.

  “Damn you, Darcy,” he muttered to himself.

  Sloan McBride strode up the ramp to the ship.

  Diego Torres didn’t look pleased to see her.

  But she was a woman who worked in a male-dominated profession, and she’d never let a scowling, rugged face deter her before. Even one as mouthwatering as Diego’s. He wasn’t classically handsome—his nose had been broken before, and his cheeks were covered in sexy stubble. But perfect had never been that attractive to Sloan.

  “Hi.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “Darcy tell you I was coming?”

  He slid his cell phone into the pocket of his faded denim shorts. “About one minute ago.”

  Ouch. His voice was several degrees colder than the water lapping at the hull of the ship. Thanks, Darce.

  “I need your help,” Sloan said.

  “Planning to slap some handcuffs on me and order me around to get your way?”

  The mention of handcuffs made her belly flutter. The last time she’d seen Diego, she’d been in a hurry to stop a large drug shipment from leaving Miami. Maybe if she’d explained things better, things would’ve gone a lot smoother with Diego Torres. But at the time, she’d been running on coffee and no sleep, and under a tight deadline.

  “Sorry, I left my cuffs at home this time.”

  Dark, silky eyes stared back at her, and an image slammed into her head. For a brilliant second, she imagined what it would be like to have six-feet-plus of hard muscle covered in smooth, brown skin under her, cuffed and at her mercy.

  God. A hot flush raced over her skin, and she cleared her throat. She wasn’t here for that. She had a job to do, a very personal one.

  She tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’m on a leave of absence from work.”

  “Well, wish I could tell you that it was a pleasure to see you again.” His scowl deepened.

  Double ouch. “Look, I was in a rush last time we met. I was running on fumes and no sleep, and in the middle of a really big operation. You were not being helpful, and things were time sensitive—”

  “You boarded my ship without a good explanation. Nor did you—”

  “I had a warrant.”

  “You could have explained.”

  “I didn’t have time,” she snapped. “Sixteen-hundred pounds of cocaine were headed out on a ship, and I needed to stop it. You didn’t need to be an asshole.”

  He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She watched those muscled arms flex, and remembered that he’d been a Navy SEAL. He had not gone soft since he’d left the Navy.

  She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, all right? I really need your help.”

  He was quiet for a beat, and then he leaned against the railing. She took a second to look over the deck of his ship. Everything was neat and tidy, the deck was clean, and there were stacks of all kinds of equipment, half of which she didn’t recognize.

  “You’re after an emerald,” he said.

  Sloan nodded. “My granddad has been trying to find it for over three decades.”

  “He’s sick.”

  Pain shot through her. “Cancer. He’s put up a good fight for three years, but he’s not going to win.” Her grief stole her breath.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Diego’s quiet, sincere words hit her. “Thank you. I want to do this for him, and let him hold the gem before he…” It was unbearable to think of her world without her granddad in it.

  “Treasure hunters already salvaged the front half of the Atocha, and lots of people have tried to find the missing part of the ship. What makes you think you can find it?”

  “Because I’m a genius.”

  His lips quirked. “Modest, too.”

  She smiled. “I don’t play games, Mr. Torres. And you already know I detest wasting time.”

  “Right. So, tell me how you plan to find it?”

  “I minored in computer science at college. That’s how I met Darcy.”

  “So, you’re a computer whiz, too.”

  “Yes. I’ve been working on a program to simulate weather patterns, storms, ocean currents. The Nuestra Señora de Atocha and another ship with it, the Santa Margarita, sank in a hurricane off the Keys in 1622. Spain attempted to recover what they could and found over half of the Margarita’s cargo. But the Atocha went down in deeper water, and another hurricane swept in about a month later and scattered the wreckage even farther.”

  “And you think after all this time, that a fancy computer program will find her?”

  Sloan smiled. “Yes. I’ve been plugging in simulations of the weather, how the ship likely broke up, the effects of the second hurricane.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You really know where the missing part of the ship is.”

  “I do. And I’d like your help to locate it and bring the emerald up.”

  His dark gaze moved over her face and she stared right back at him. He was so damn attractive. Damn her for having a weakness for rugged men.

  Diego reached up and stroked his stubbled chin. “Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

  Perceptive man. She wasn’t surprised. She’d seen his service records, knew he’d been a hell of a SEAL. And now he ran a successful business. There were brains behind the brawn.

  “My apartment here in Miami was ransacked. They didn’t get my computer program, but they took all my notes on the Atocha. All my data, and everything about the emerald.”

  He cursed. “Silk Road?”

  “Darcy and her brothers think so. The Emerald Butterfly is something that would attract them. I’m pretty sure they’ll be right on my heels.”


  Diego cursed again, his gaze moving over her shoulder. “You said you left the handcuffs at home. Did you leave your handgun, too?”

  She frowned. “No.” She had her personal Glock holstered at the small of her back.

  “Good.” He pulled a massive Desert Eagle handgun from the back of his shorts.

  Her eyes widened. “You want to shoot me for suggesting we work together? Seems a bit excessive, Torres.”

  He threw her a look. “Two big guys are heading this way. Both armed.”

  Coolness ran over Sloan, and she dropped her backpack and smoothly drew her Glock from the back of her shorts. She stepped up beside Diego and turned. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I just did.” He sounded unhappy.

  She rolled her eyes. “Can we save the banter for after, and just take care of these guys?”

  Chapter Two

  Diego crouched by the railing. “They’ve split up.” He couldn’t see where the men had gone. They were using the other docked boats for cover.

  “Plan?” Sloan’s tone was cool and even.

  He scanned the deck. “Let’s face these fuckers head-on.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Big, bad SEALs can’t be subtle, can they? You just rush in with guns blazing.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “You have a better idea? Maybe flash your badge at them and ask them nicely to put their guns down?”

  “You are so annoying.”

  “Right back at you, McBride.”

  “It’s Sloan.” She looked over his ship. “And I do have an idea. We take up positions on the other side of your deck and let them come aboard. Lure them right in and then take them down.”

  Diego considered it. “Okay. But if you get my ship shot up, I’m getting payback.” He wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her across the deck. He circled racks of diving equipment.

  “I’ll pay for any damages,” she said.

  “Oh, you’ll pay. But I won’t make you pay with money.”

  She frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He smiled, but then he saw a flash of movement at the ramp and he waved his hand. They ducked down behind the racks. Sloan’s body brushed his. She didn’t fidget, just moved into position, gun aimed and gaze steady.

  “Here they come.” Diego focused, feeling his usual pre-combat calm wash over him. The two big bruisers came up the ramp, both holding handguns.

  They fanned out, cautiously crossing the deck.

  “Ready?” Diego murmured.

  “Oh, yeah.” Then she raised her voice. “Gentlemen? Are you following me?”

  The men froze in place, then crouched.

  “We want to know the location of the shipwreck,” one of the men called out.

  “Let me guess,” Sloan said. “You’re Silk Road.”

  “Just give us the coordinates and we won’t hurt you.”

  Sloan snorted. “Can you believe these guys?” She looked pissed and insulted.

  “Nope,” Diego said.

  She raised her voice again. “Do you guys know what I do for a living?”

  Diego watched the goons through the gap in the storage rack. He saw the men share a confused look. Idiots. You never went in without all the intel.

  Sloan shook her head. “You didn’t do your research. That’s lazy.”

  The men looked angry now, the larger guy’s face becoming mottled.

  “There’s only one of you,” the big guy bit out, “and two of us.”

  Diego looked at the deck. Really big idiots.

  “I’m done.” Sloan popped up and fired.

  The gun flew out of Goon One’s hand. He cried out and stumbled backward.

  Goon Two dove and fired, bullets pinging off metal.

  They were hitting his ship. Assholes. Diego rose, firing at the same time Sloan did.

  “I’ll keep them pinned and you circle around.” She didn’t even look at him as she issued her orders.

  He nodded, moving quietly, and ducking behind some equipment. He knew every inch of his deck intimately, and the Navy had trained him very well at sneaking around. He made his way closer to the two men.

  They were both firing in Sloan’s direction. He hoped to hell she stayed in cover. Crouching, he stopped, eyeing the patch of open deck he needed to cross to reach the Silk Road men.

  Suddenly, the men straightened and turned away from his location. Diego swiveled his head and saw that Sloan was out in the open, purposely drawing their attention. The little fool.

  That’s when he spotted movement behind Sloan. A third man, creeping closer to her.

  Shit.

  Diego pivoted and ran. He powered across the deck toward Sloan. He heard the men cursing, and more weapons fire. Sloan stared at him, anger in her gaze. He raised his gun, firing at the shape over Sloan’s shoulder.

  The man yelled and Diego slammed into Sloan. He spun midair, turning so he was on the bottom. They hit the deck, sliding in behind some crates.

  “Fuck, Torres. You’re ruining the plan.”

  “Third assailant.”

  “I saw him,” she said, voice sharp. “You didn’t have to rescue me so dramatically. Do I look like a clueless civilian to you?”

  Diego rolled to his knees, and Sloan did the same. They both came up firing. “Dios, you’re busting my balls in the middle of a firefight! For stopping you getting a bullet.”

  She snorted. “I was hardly going to get hit.” She paused to fire. “And I have no interest in your balls, Torres.”

  He fired again. “Really?”

  “Really. Cover me.”

  She leaped over the crate, and he cursed. He rose and fired again.

  She strode out like some badass warrior queen. She hit one goon in the arm, and he spun away with a shout. Next, she landed a hard kick into the second man’s midsection. He slammed into the railing.

  Where was the third one? Diego spotted a flash of black. He pressed one palm to the crate and leaped over. He charged at the man, his face grim.

  The goon’s blue eyes widened. He fumbled to get his gun up, but Diego calmly raised his weapon and fired. The man jerked, just as Diego felt a sharp burn on his arm where a bullet grazed him.

  Diego tackled the man to the deck. With two vicious punches, the man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped down, unconscious.

  “Torres! Watch out.”

  At Sloan’s shout, he swiveled. The first man, covered in blood, stood with a large knife clutched in his hand. He bared his teeth.

  “Really?” Diego shook his head and walked steadily toward the man. The man lunged and Diego dodged. It had been a while since he’d been in a good knife fight. He grinned.

  The man looked at his grin and frowned. Diego bent his knees, ready for the man’s next move.

  Suddenly, a lean body pushed into Diego, knocking him out of the way. He watched Sloan kick the man, knocking the knife out of his hand. She jumped up, landing a vicious roundhouse kick to the man’s head.

  The man fell like a sack of bricks. He clutched his head, writhing on the deck, groaning.

  Sloan kicked the knife away, and then yanked something out of her pocket. He realized it was a plastic zip tie. She leaned down and tied the man’s hands together.

  “What the hell?” Diego snapped. “I had it under control.”

  Gray-green eyes flashed at him. “Just stopping you from getting a nasty slash.” She shot him a smug smile. “I am in law enforcement, and you’re an innocent civilian.”

  He grunted. Dios, she was a ball-buster. And exceptional in a fight. He could watch her fight all day long.

  She turned, clearly searching for the other two men. Diego spotted the two goons disappearing down the gangplank, one leaning heavily on the other.

  Diego moved toward them, but Sloan shook her head. “Let them go. I’ll make a call, and have someone come and pick up this idiot.” She toed the man at her feet.

  Then her gaze zeroed in on Diego’s arm. “Is that your blo
od?”

  He looked at the sleeve of his battered T-shirt. “It’s minor.”

  “Get inside and get your first aid kit. Let me see it.”

  Dios, more orders. “It’s nothing—”

  “Now, Torres.” She strode up the steps leading into the dining room and galley. “I need you all in one piece for this treasure hunt.”

  He watched her ass and long legs as she moved ahead of him. Damn, for once he was happy to follow her orders.

  Sloan felt hyped up from the fight. Adrenaline ran rampant through her system.

  Some agent friends had stopped by and carted off the sullen Silk Road man, and the skirmish had left her even more eager to find the Emerald Butterfly.

  She’d recovered her backpack and entered the galley. Instantly, she spotted Diego sitting at a table, a towel wrapped around his arm. Her gaze hit his bloody shirt and her stomach rolled. At least it looked like the bleeding had stopped. An industrial-sized first aid kit rested on the table.

  Then she looked at the magnificent painting on the wall and sucked in a breath.

  He looked over his shoulder. “It’s called The Cave of the Storm Nymphs. Done by a British painter, Poynter.”

  “It’s amazing.” It was a dramatic image, with three beautiful, naked nymphs lolling on their treasure in a cave, while a sinking ship floundered outside in the waves.

  “It caught my eye.” His dark gaze burned into her. “Apparently I have a thing for bloodthirsty women.”

  She made her way over and opened the first aid kit. She fished around and found it was well-stocked.

  “Shirt off,” she ordered.

  For once, he did as she asked without talking back. His face was composed, and if he was in pain, he wasn’t showing it.

  He gripped the back of the shirt with one hand and yanked it over his head. Sloan froze.

  Holy. Hell. The man was pure, solid muscle. His chest was like marble slabs with hard pecs, and a ridged, six-pack abdomen. She saw a faint trail of dark hair leading down into his shorts. His skin was all sleek and brown, with no white tan lines. She guessed he had genetics to thank for that.

  Her gaze fell on the intricate black ink that covered his left shoulder, bicep and pec. She’d never had a thing for tattoos before, but Diego wore his well. So well. She peered closely at the markings. They looked like Aztec designs to her, but she was no expert.