Chapter 8
Drink this, Viviana.”
Hearing his voice as though it was coming through a wind tunnel, Viviana shook her head. Struggling to breathe, she clung to the edge of the table. Jax’s chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it up next to her and sat down.
Grasping her arm, his voice was cool, authoritative. “That wasn’t a request, Viviana. I want you to drink this now.” As if he were dealing with a child, he bargained with her. “After you finish this and I’m confident you won’t faint, I’ll trade you the water for a stiff shot of Maker’s Mark.”
Desperately needing the liquid courage, she grabbed the glass from him and drank it down. Choking on the rush of liquid hitting her throat, she coughed frantically. Jax pounded on her back and tugged her closer to him. His soft tones were layered with irony. “Although, sweetheart, if you’re having trouble keeping down good ole H2O, perhaps we should hold off on the scotch.”
Viviana glared up at him, fighting to keep her angry tears from falling. “Goddamn you, Jax. Give me that Maker’s Mark now, or . . . ”
He quirked a brow and visibly sought to squelch his grin. “Or you’ll do what, Viviana? Throw a temper tantrum? Kick and scream until you get what you want?”
Her fury rising, she spat out, “I hate you, Jax. More than I knew it was possible to hate someone.” She stopped her tirade for a moment, then corrected herself. “The only person I despise more than you is that sniveling coward Francis Fleming.” Glaring at him, she persisted. “He told you, didn’t he? That goddamned fucking coward betrayed me. So help me God, when I see him again, if I ever allow myself to be within a hundred yards of him, I’ll, I’ll—”
Jax interrupted her. “You’ll do what, Viviana? Attack the man who could barely keep from crying when he called me today? Harangue him for loving you so much that he can’t bear the thought of seeing you hurt again?”
She sniffed. “I wasn’t hurt and wouldn’t have been. All I was doing was my job.”
Jax held up his hand. His voice was contained, but the anger underlying his words was patently obvious. “You’re right, Viviana, you weren’t hurt . . . this time. But you are also wrong. You were not doing your job. To be clear, you were doing the opposite of your job. You were doing precisely what you and I agreed you would not do.”
Turning away from him, she looked longingly at the liquor cabinet, wondering if she was steady enough to get her own goddamned scotch. Shocked that her legs had lost whatever strength they had and were as useful as rubber bands, she sank back in her chair. The last thing she would do was ask Jax for anything, even a much-needed double shot of Maker’s Mark.
Jax reached for her chin, forcing her to look at him. When she jerked away, refusing to let him touch her, his eyes narrowed further. If anything, his low voice was more dangerous. “Let’s go back to Francis, the man who called me today and ‘ratted’ you out. I presume that is how you would describe his frantic call that hideous night, telling me that you had been abducted by the criminals you were clandestinely trailing. Or maybe we should talk about Mick and Greg, your supposed partner and commander, who had to have been as shocked as Francis when you calmly declared that Carlos Mendes had agreed to arrange a meeting for you with none other than Raphael Torres.”
Jax reached over and turned her chair so she couldn’t avoid looking at him. “You remember your partner and your commander, Viviana? The two men who led the Lolitas raid to free you? The men who found you drugged out of your mind and beaten nearly to death by the assholes who were minutes away from gang-raping you?” His voice thick with banked anger, he added softly, “Mick O’Reilly told me, Viviana, with tears streaming down his face, it was a sight he will remember with horror until the day he dies.”
When she averted her eyes and tossed her head, he grasped her chin, insisting that she meet his gaze. “Are those the men you are calling traitors, lily-livered cowards? Men who would gladly give their lives to protect you, to keep you from getting hurt?”
Calling on her significant cache of chutzpah, Viviana shrugged dismissively. “Well, none of those overbearing men have to worry about ratting me out, because I will never again confide in any of them . . . ”
Jax’s eyes flashed dangerously as he nodded in agreement. “You are correct, Viviana. Because you will never have anything to tell Francis, or Mick, or your commander that you haven’t already told me.” He made a visible effort to contain his anger, then said carefully, “As we agreed, Viviana, your Lone Ranger days are over. In that you are now part of a high-level team.”
Viviana threw up her hands and whirled on him. “Don’t you get it, Jax? I don’t want to be on your fucking team! I hate teams. I won’t do them. They move too slow, talk too much, and won’t take chances. For God’s sake, Jax, admit it. I’m the one who managed to meet with Carlos Mendes my first day out.” Holding her thumb and index finger a scant inch apart, she added fiercely, “And I am this close to meeting with Raphael fucking Torres! Tell me, which one of your high-powered team members could have done that in less than a day? Mick? Bannon? Serge Stryker, who is so busy investigating me that he probably has never heard of Raphael Torres?”
Jax again held up his hand to stop her, then nodded in agreement. “You are correct. No one on our team has cultivated the sources you have and is as skillful as you are at using them to get to the bastards we’re after.” When she frowned, trying to figure out where he was going with this, he added, “There is not one of us, myself included, who could have accomplished what you did today. Which is why we need you on our team.”
Viviana stared at him and tried to keep from screaming, but she was undone by her frustration. “Dammit, Jax, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a team player, and I refuse to be on your stupid team.”
Jax leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at his ankles. The banked anger gleaming in his slate-hard eyes belied his seemingly relaxed pose and quiet tone. “Ah yes, Sergeant Moreau, and therein lies the rub.” When she frowned at him, not understanding, he added, “The problem, Sergeant, is that you will be a part of the team as I have ordered, or as we agreed, your days at the SJPD are over.”
When she reared back and started to speak, he raised his hand. “It’s your decision, Sergeant. But do know this is your last warning. I want you on our team. We need your insight and expertise. But more than that, I want you alive, unhurt. If I have to take away your badge to keep you safe, so be it. It would be a great loss to this police force to lose you, Sergeant Moreau, but if that is the choice you make, we’ll survive. And so will you.”
He rose to his feet and walked over to his well-stocked bar. Taking down a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two glasses, he returned to the table. Sitting down in the chair beside her, he poured a healthy amount in each glass and handed her one. His voice was cool, his posture relaxed. Holding her gaze, he said, “It’s your choice, Sergeant Moreau. But please know this is your last chance to stay on this police force.”
He lifted his glass to her and nodded to hers on the table. “Your decision, Sergeant?”
Viviana struggled to keep from shrieking and attacking him verbally as well as physically. Her frustration flared. She didn’t have to see the cool resolve in Jax’s eyes to know that this truly was their Armageddon. He’d warned her what would happen if she went out on her own—off the reservation, as he called it. Swallowing the gorge in her throat that was threatening to choke her, she reached for the glass on the table.
Jax caught her hand and shook his head. “Your decision first, Sergeant. Then whatever you decide—we will seal it with a toast.”
Fighting the tears blurring her vision, Viviana choked back a sob. Not able to keep her voice from shaking, she glared at him and spit out, “Fine, I’ll join your fucking team.”
Jax’s lips quirked up at the corner, but he managed to suppress the incipient smile. He clicked his glass against hers. “Thank you, Sergeant. It would have been a huge loss to this police force if you chose to leave.” Raising his glass, he took a hearty swallow and nodded to her, indicating she should do the same.
Viviana didn’t know if it were possible to swallow past the grapefruit-sized lump in her throat but did know she might collapse if she didn’t get a massive shot of the Maker’s Mark soon. Taking as large a swallow as she dared, she fought to keep from choking on the potent alcohol. Strong tremors shook her as she tried to contain her angst. When Jax reached out and took her hand, she tried to jerk it away, but his grip was too strong. His voice was calm, as if they hadn’t just been through a donnybrook of her making.
“I’ll let the team know that we will meet tomorrow morning at nine a.m. At that time, we will create a plan to take advantage of the remarkable progress you made today and figure out how best to capitalize on it.”
Viviana stopped trying to free her hand when it became clear that he wouldn’t let her go. Instead, she found a spot on the table and stared at it, daring it to disappear. She knew if she looked at Jax she would burst into tears. Keeping her head down, she took small sips of the invigorating alcohol until she was reasonably certain she could face him. Glancing up at him, she shouldn’t have been surprised at the concern she saw in his expressive eyes or the deepened crease on his forehead. She even allowed herself to acknowledge that this conversation may have been as challenging for him as it had been for her.
Meeting her gaze, he gave a short laugh. “Given that this has been a difficult day, I hate to load this on you.”
At her questioning frown, he said, “We have a dinner invitation for tonight, Viviana. One I’m afraid we can’t refuse.” Before she could reply, he said, “My parents unexpectedly arrived in town today. It appears they are determined to meet the woman I’ve told them I’m crazy about.” When she didn’t answer—because she couldn’t if she’d tried—Jax continued. “They wanted to see my condominium, but since it’s your home as well as mine, I suggested we meet at Delmonico’s. Can you be ready by six p.m., tiger?”