She made a scoffing sound. One kiss and she was thinking about marriage again. But that was what her upbringing forced her to think about. Women from her culture who slept around were considered sluts. And she wasn’t able to get her early training out of her head. If this was leading nowhere, she should tell him she wouldn’t see him again. But why do it so quickly? She could be pushing him away when he was still making up his mind as to what kind of relationship he wanted.
Shane forced himself to breathe deeply and get his body back under control. He’d never wanted a woman more, even though he’d vowed that he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone after the sting of his divorce. His relationships over the past year had been few and far between—and casual. He liked it that way. Sex with no strings, because he didn’t have to think about the future with anyone he took to bed.
But this evening had confirmed his suspicion that a casual relationship was the wrong way to go with Elena. For a whole lot of reasons. He suspected she was a virgin. Not because most women her age would be, but because of the culture she came from and the way she’d kissed him—with enthusiasm but not a lot of skill.
If he wanted to keep seeing her, he’d have to think carefully about where they were headed. And not only because she’d mentioned marriage when he’d asked her what she was planning for her career. There was another factor as well. He still had the problem that she was a prime suspect in the S&D case. And if their relationship was going anywhere, he’d have to satisfy himself that she wasn’t into something illegal.
But did he have to stay away from her while he figured it out?
He snorted. What was he hoping—that he could act serious, then catch her with her hand in the cookie jar, giving him the perfect excuse to congratulate himself on making a timely escape?
Elena pulled her keys out of her purse, unlocked her front door, and stepped inside her apartment. She’d been wrapped in the rosy glow of the kiss. Suddenly she was back to reality, and she didn’t like what she saw. The first thing she noticed was that the light she’d left on beside the sofa was off. The second thing she noticed was a strong coppery odor that smelled like it had nothing to do with her apartment. She was about to back out the door when she saw the figure huddled on the end of her sofa and stopped short.
It was her brother.
“Alesandro.” He had her key, and after she hadn’t answered the door, he’d let himself in.
When he made a moaning sound, she rushed toward him and went down on her knees in front of him. As soon as she saw him, she knew that the odor she’d smelled was blood. His nose was bleeding, and one of his eyes was black. Bruises and abrasions spread across his face, and the collar of his dress shirt was torn. He looked like he’d been in a fight and lost badly.
“Madre de Dios.”
He raised his head and squinted at her through his good eye. “You came home. Finally.”
“What happened to you?” she gasped.
He made a sound deep in his chest. “It’s what I told you.” He gave her a direct look. “Where were you?”
She felt the question thud against her. “Out to dinner with a friend,” she answered, holding her breath for him to ask who she’d been with, but the answer seemed to satisfy him. Or maybe he wasn’t in good enough shape to focus on her social life.
“What you told me?” she asked, trying to understand what he was talking about.
“The guys who want that information from S&D. They want me to persuade you to get it. And they gave me some extra incentive.”
His flat words made her feel like he’d knocked the breath from her lungs, but she managed to ask, “How did you get involved with them?”
“I did some work for them. Easy jobs. Like taking a car from a particular parking space.”
“Stealing a car?”
“I’m not sure it was stealing. But that’s not the point. They want more now. They beat me up as a warning. Next time they’ll kill me—unless you get me that thing from S&D.”
Her head was spinning as she tried to work her way through what he was asking.
“I don’t even know what I’d be looking for.”
“Something Arnold Blake stole from the company. Information about a new product that isn’t on the market yet. But it’s a big deal. He got it, but then he held out for more money and didn’t turn it over.”
“You said they killed him.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head in confusion. “How were they supposed to get what they wanted if he was dead and couldn’t tell them where he’d hidden it?”
Her brother raised one shoulder. “They’re violent men. They beat people up to get what they want. But maybe what they did to Blake was a mistake. Maybe they leaned on him too hard. Did too much internal damage or something. They could have done that to me tonight—and I wouldn’t be here begging you to help me.”
She felt her throat close. He was right. He looked awful, and he was lucky he’d gotten here under his own power.
“Would they do something to my car?” she asked suddenly.
“Like what?”
“It wouldn’t start, and the mechanic said the spark plugs were loose. He said that was unusual.”
“They might have done it.”
“Why?”
“To make you worry.” He gave her a sharp look. “Stop asking questions about your damn car. You have to get that thing for me.”
“I don’t know what it is,” she repeated, trying to make him understand that she was in no position to do what he wanted. “And why would it still be there? Wouldn’t they have cleaned up his work area?”
“No. It was left alone.”
“How do you know?”
“They have inside information. They told me his office hasn’t been touched.”
“Not even by the police?”
“Of course by them. But they didn’t take anything away.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
When she started to object, he rushed on. “If it’s not the truth, then I’m a dead man.”
Her brother reached for her arm, squeezing his fingers into her flesh. “Blake must have left it somewhere around his work area. You have to check through his stuff.”
“Why his work area? He could have taken it home.”
“If he had, the guy who wants it would already have it.”
“We can get help.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m dead.”
Her stomach clenched. She felt like she’d stumbled into an alternate universe where nothing was as it seemed.
Still trying to be logical, she said, “But someone would already have checked Blake’s work area.”
“And they didn’t find anything,” Alesandro insisted, a note of desperation in his voice. “But it’s got to be there.”
Feeling like they were going around in circles, she asked, “How do you know?”
“Because the men wouldn’t be asking me to get it if it didn’t exist.”
His logic didn’t make perfect sense. Someone was making impossible demands, yet she wasn’t going to waste her brother’s energy by arguing with him. Instead, her mind was racing as she thought in detail about what he wanted her to do.
“There are security cameras at work. I can’t just go into the building and up to Blake’s desk.”