Chapter Three
Camila braced herself when she followed Jaeger into his building in Lower Manhattan. Thankfully, he hadn’t talked much as he drove his sleek German sports car to his place. She felt like a lump of sadness had clawed its way down her throat and stayed there, with no chance of moving.
Torto is dead. Her eyes begin to water again, but she fought the tears brimming her lids. She tried to swallow, her throat dry and raw. Flashes of the moment she’d walked in her apartment and found her furry best friend lying on the floor, lifeless and stiff, inundated her mind. She shook her head, desperate to get rid of those images. Her temples throbbed, and she felt the blood expanding her veins. Burning.
“You okay?” Jaeger asked, probably sensing her pain.
She gave him a sideways glance but didn’t manage to say anything.
For the first time since she’d met him, she appreciated, and even found solace, in his silence. Her heart heaved with sadness, the memories of Torto popping in her head. Why would anyone want to hurt a defenseless animal?
Because this person is sending me a message. A chill rolled into her stomach. Someone wanted to hurt her even if she didn’t know the reason. Maybe I should tell my brothers. The thought stabbed at her. No. She’d solve this mess without their help. That’s why she’d hired Jaeger. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he could protect her.
She wasn’t that young girl who needed her brothers’ help to get rid of an unwanted suitor anymore. She was a grown woman who wanted to make a stand for herself. Giving up now would mean she took care of herself when things were smooth, but not when they got hard—and that type of person she refused to be. After all, she wanted to be a respected counselor one day, which meant a degree of anonymity when it came to her personal life. She didn’t need to headline the criminal pages. Her focus would be her clients, not former stories on the newspapers. If she looked for the police, her future career would be vulnerable.
A hot throb drummed in her throat. She’d cried a lot but never had she cried in front of a stranger this much. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to regroup herself and think about the next step.
“Come.” He gestured when the elevator halted. Sadness and doubt wrapped around her like a coat, her eyelids still tender and cheeks warm. His place was a tad bigger than hers and, surprisingly, tastefully decorated. Not that she expected him to live in a shitty shack, but the lines and few accents surrounding the hallway and open, airy living room surprised her. The floor was distressed hardwood, the furniture a mix of traditional and contemporary. Brown leather sofas divided the space, metal and glass coffee and side tables were scattered about logically, and two large TVs hung side by side on the sandy-colored wall.
A tiny brown Chihuahua ran to him, yapping and wagging its tail.
He carried the dog to another area of the apartment, with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry.”
She blinked back more tears. Her heart raced at the memory of how happily Torto greeted her whenever she arrived at home, even if she’d been gone for a few minutes to get the mail. “It’s okay,” she lied, but her restrained voice betrayed her.
“This should have crossed my mind.” To the dog he said, “Sit down.”
She slid off her oversize bag, letting it fall on the floor, and then sat on one of the sofas. What a strange feeling. She’d lost both her parents, so she’d had firsthand experience on dealing with grief. Yet knowing about it did nothing to help her accept the loss of Torto. “Some people say it’s just a dog, but he was my companion ever since I lived in Brazil. Having him here meant having a little piece of my family and homeland with me.”
“I…” He scratched his head. Would he offer his condolences again? He reached to his cabinet, grabbed a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses from another, and filled them up. “Here.” He walked to her, holding the glasses.
She accepted one, trying for her fingers to not brush his. She glanced at the clear liquid and realized that was the best he could offer her. Didn’t take a shrink to know Jaeger Bauer didn’t enjoy sentimental conversations, and maybe the alcohol would help numb the pain.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the glass to her lips and drank it all at once. A burning tightened her throat for a few seconds, and when she sat the glass on the coffee table her limbs loosened a notch.
“Better?” he asked, and she noticed he’d emptied his glass, too.
“Is that what you do not to feel?” she asked him, her brain barely catching up to the words escaping her mouth.
He sat across from her. “Not often. I train and work and deal with each day one at a time.”
“Whom did you lose?” she asked, composing herself on the sofa and crossing her legs. The way he talked about things had to mean he knew a thing or two about losing people. He drummed his fingers on the glass.
He shook his head. “Working for you will be easier if we don’t try to be friends.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Something tells me you’re not exactly an expert at making friends.”
He smiled. “You got that right.”
Why didn’t he smile more often? Okay, so it wasn’t a happy-go-lucky chuckle or anything. He curved his lips and slowly showed his straight white teeth, the grin sneaking up on him before he could dictate himself not to, she imagined. “Okay, nonfriend…what’s up with the tiny dog? I’d picture you with a Rottweiler not with something that can fit in doll’s clothes.”
“He belonged to an old neighbor who passed away. I offered to walk the dog when she was sick, and after she died I thought she’d want me to keep it.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
“It’s not like I’m curing cancer. Pork Chop’s just a dog,” he said then, maybe realizing his words, sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She waved him off. “It’s okay. I understand what you mean. It’s still nice of you to care for him. And you can bring him to the living room. I promise I’ve run out of tears. Some warm interaction with another being would be good,” she said, then immediately regretted her moxie. She avoided glancing at him and massaged her temples. Droga. What a crappy, crappy day. The night didn’t look much better either.
She closed her eyes. Maybe she’d lied to him about the tears, she realized as a hot sting pricked her eyelids. No. She clamped her lips shut and tensed up her whole face, willing sadness away. She felt something move around her, the weight in the sofa shift a bit.
When she opened her eyes, she found him sitting next to her. He put his hand on hers, and a sizzle traveled up her arm. “We’ll find who did this to your dog, Camila. I promise you.”
“Thanks.”
He looked at their hands together, and she wrestled the need to interlace her fingers with his. Why would the thought even occur to her? The guy didn’t want to be friends, let alone… A thrill rushed down her back. Lovers.
The threat of a stalker and the loss of her dog had affected her common sense, that had to be the explanation for this attraction. Why else would she feel hot and bothered by such a subtle touch? She studied his hand on hers, hoping he wouldn’t move it. Somehow, his long fingers on her flesh gave her a sense of security, like he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
The dog yapped from the other room, and he withdrew his hand. “We’re still working on manners. His previous owner pretty much let him do everything.”
Maybe keeping Pork Chop after his owner died wasn’t such a chore to Jaeger—but was too macho to admit to it. She should be relieved Pork Chop interfered and they broke contact, yet a part of her she couldn’t understand wished for more.
…
“You should eat,” Jaeger said, when he took a piece of supreme pizza and put it on a plate for her. Two hours after their arrival at his place, and he’d decided ordering in would be the best thing to do. His regular diet consisted of protein shakes, coffee, and takeout, which meant his fridge and pantry weren’t stocked.
Why did I touch her hand and not let go? The freaking dog had more sense than he did. He’d give Pork Chop an extra treat tonight for keeping him from making a fool of himself.
Maybe bringing her here was a bad idea. He’d never brought a client to his place before, let alone a woman. The women he screwed he preferred to meet at a hotel and keep things honest from the beginning. Why would he give anyone the illusion of a potential relationship? He’d had a great marriage and he’d done the whole family thing. He’d lost the two people who mattered the most. End of story.
Hell, the only type of sex he enjoyed involved restraining his partners to keep a safe distance from them. Wouldn’t be fair to any woman to keep them from getting what they wanted or deserved in a relationship. So setting the tone from the start was more than a strategy—it was the only way he operated.
“I love pizza. The world needs more pizza,” she said, bringing the slice to her mouth. They sat across his dining table, which he rarely used for eating. Thankfully, his cleaning lady kept it clutter-free and polished; otherwise, it would be topped with books, electronic gadgets, and whatnot.
“The world needs a hell of a lot.”
“You’re so vague. You choose your words carefully, and you don’t give much away,” she said, reaching for a napkin behind him.
“Thank you.”
She winked and leaned closer as if sharing a shameful secret. “I didn’t mean that as a compliment.”
He figured. The nearness of her caused his blood to pound in his veins. He rocked back on his chair, gut clenching. “Tony should start sending those files soon,” he said, remembering the text he’d received ten minutes prior from his employee. Talking about work and their reality gave them a buffer zone. Camila had been through enough for one day.
“Sounds good,” she said and had another bite.
He had a couple more pieces himself, preferring to eat in silence and keep his mouth busy. Thankfully, she did the same, so they didn’t have to engage in small talk. He’d already messed up, holding her hand like she was his damn date. Why make it worse?
When his phone pinged, the sign he’d been waiting for, he checked to make sure Tony had sent the email. Once confirmed, he took Camila to his office where three different computer screens occupied the dark oak table. Maybe he should start letting the cleaning lady into his office. Camila skimmed the area, but if she found anything unusual, she didn’t comment.
He gave her the nice, swiveling chair and grabbed the one on the corner and sat next to her. Her sweet scent intoxicated him—a blend of a different flowers, resulting in a sophisticated feminine fragrance. When he’d been married, he enjoyed his wife’s perfume. What was it again? He blinked. Five years and he didn’t remember anymore. He bet Ellen would remember were she in his position. Damn it, he’d give anything for that to be the case. He shouldn’t have been late to work that day. If he hadn’t, he would have made it home for lunch as promised—and he’d have arrived before the motherfucker who killed Ellen and Trevor.
“Jaeger?” She nudged his elbow.
He blinked, and he should thank her for yanking him out of his reverie, but as he glanced down he found her soft hand clasping his elbow. His gut clenched, and he jerked away from her like she had attacked him. Shit. She frowned at his overreaction, and he cursed himself inwardly. “Let’s get to it,” he said.
“Er, sure. Everything okay?”
Nodding, he typed his passwords and soon the download started.
“This seems like a lot of stuff,” she said.
“Yes. I had him send video a few days before you got each letter so we wouldn’t miss anything, just in case.”
“Did he simply walk in and ask to see the files? That sounds too easy.”
If it sounds too easy, that’s because it is. “Does it matter how we’ve gotten these?”
“Was it illegal? Do you or this Tony guy owe a postal worker sexual favors?”
A chuckle floated up his throat. Her concern was endearing. Why would she care how they got a hold of files? “You don’t have to worry. The post office lady promised to be gentle.”
Her infectious laugh made her seem even younger. “Really? Because I bet you can handle it rough,” she said playfully, but his body took her joke all too seriously.
He tensed up, his cock straining against his pants, and suddenly he was glad he had the desk to conceal his throbbing erection. What the fuck? He’d answer to the regular stuff—touches, boobs, legs, ass. The simple sound of laughter plus an innuendo shouldn’t get him all worked up. Never had he thought about his clients sexually. She was the first, and he had to end it before she got hurt. “Let’s see if you recognize anyone. There’s a lot to go through.”
She nodded then focused her attention on the black-and-white images of people going in and out of the post office from different angles of street cameras. He watched her for an instant and studied her profile. Long eyelashes framed her eyes. Her nose was a tad long, adding complexity to her pretty face. Her kissable lips—shit. He’d started again…
“Should I watch for anything in particular besides someone I may know?” she asked, and he blinked a couple of times.
He cleared his throat and eyed the computer screen. “Leave it up to me. Just search for a familiar face.”
Minutes stretched into hours until he finally flicked off the screen. “We’re done for the day.”
She yawned. What good could watching the recordings bring if she could barely keep her eyes open? He needed Camila fully alert and lucid. They could finish in the morning.
“You’re sleeping in the guest room,” he said. “I’ll bring you some sheets.”
The guest room consisted of a queen bed, an empty dresser, and a nightstand he no longer used. He rarely entertained and never had people over for the night, so the decor wasn’t a priority.
“You can leave your things here,” he said, opening the door for her.
She walked in, and he dashed to the linen closet to grab a couple of sheets and an extra pillow. When he returned, she had placed her bag and a small case of toiletries on the dresser.
He sat the linens on the top of the mattress. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
She turned to him with a hint of a smile. “Nah, I’m good.”
He nodded quickly and avoided looking at her in the eye. “Get some sleep. You had a long day.”
Camila shortened the distance between them, and he cleared his throat. He should just go; he didn’t need to tell her anything else and God knew every second dragged. Tension charged the air, and his nerves sizzled on high alert. His groin stirred, and he made himself a mental note to search for some ancient ritual that could teach him not react to sexual stimulation. Or in this case, not react to the nearness of Camila Duarte.
She lifted her hand and touched his chin until he stared into her gleaming eyes. Eyes mysterious like a book whose language he couldn’t read. “Jaeger,” she said in her musical, sexy accent.
“What?”
She stretched to her full height and whispered, “Thank you.”
He opened his mouth to protest her gratitude, but which argument could he possibly use? Bringing clients to his place wasn’t his thing, nor was wanting to protect for a motivation other than money or doing the right thing.
She kissed him on the cheek, a quick peck, enough for him to feel the warmth of her body envelop him. He inhaled her scent, sure that her signature fragrance would be trapped inside him for much longer than a release of air allowed.
“Welcome,” he said in a low voice, turned around, and closed the door behind him—desperate to create a safe distance between them.