Page 3 of K-9 Justice (New Mexico Guard Dogs #6)

CHAPTER THREE

She felt as though she needed to wash off the evil.

It seemed to seep in from the walls, the floors, the top-of-the-line appliances and pretty tile. The bedding calling to her very sleep-neglected brain. She wouldn’t touch any of it. This entire compound had been bought with the blood of thousands of innocent lives. Lives she’d sworn to keep safe from the cartel. Most she’d been too late to save.

Carson must’ve come here before. During his assignment.

Their conversation wouldn’t stop replaying in her head. She’d accused him of losing perspective over the course of this assignment. She’d practically called him out as a cartel soldier who mindlessly followed his next order, and she hated herself for it. But worse, she hated her admission of how much she’d worried about him while he’d been undercover. Feelings weren’t her strong suit. They’d done nothing but betray her and had been used against her in the past. And some habits died hard.

“Hungry?” He was the only one who could breach her personal space without triggering her defenses. Carson offered her a bowl-like plate of something orange and creamy with beans. “Cannellini beans with garlic, cherry tomatoes and onions.”

“You just happen to have all the ingredients for my favorite comfort meal on hand?” She couldn’t resist the promise of food or the fact that he’d taken the time and consideration to cook for her after what they’d been through tonight. Was it tonight? She wasn’t sure how long ago a gunman had ripped apart the life she’d built separate of her crusade.

He withdrew the plate a couple of inches. “Is this your way of saying thank-you?”

A tendril of shame heated in her cheeks, and she took the plate. She was boxing him in as a potential threat when Carson had done nothing but fight beside her in the limited time they’d been thrust together. “Thank you.”

The heat felt good in her hand. Grounding and strong. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the plate and everything to do with the partner handing it to her. A partner she’d missed more than anything. Ivy took her time with the first bite, letting the combination of garlic and onion soothe her down to her very bones.

Carson backed off, giving her space in a seemingly endless expanse of emptiness surrounding them. “Better?”

“Much.” Calories had a way of making everything better, but she’d never gotten over his cooking. No matter how many times she’d tried re-creating the recipes in the old recipe book his mother had put together for him when he’d gone off to college, it wasn’t the same.

“Still think I’ve been brainwashed by the cartel?” he asked.

The soup lost its taste, and suddenly she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought. “You’ve been invested in learning everything you can about Sangre por Sangre for the past two years. You’ve done things for them. Gotten to know the men and women that make up their ranks. Is it so hard to believe you may have started coming around to their way of thinking?”

“Going so far as to serve you up on a silver platter?” He was right there. No longer concerned with her need for personal space. The heat of his body drove through her T-shirt and soothed the aches of hitting the railing.

Ivy directed her gaze to the plate of food in her hand. He knew her better than anyone else in the world—inside and out—and there was a part of her that wanted to convince herself he would use that information against her. Only that part was lying to her. “We’ve been fighting this virus for so long, sometimes I start seeing threats where they don’t exist.”

Carson slipped his index finger under her chin and notched her gaze higher to meet his. “I’m not the threat, Ivy. Not for you. Ever.”

Her nerves frayed under his touch, and she was instantly lost in the feel of him. Of having him this close. How long had they starved themselves of moments like this? How long had they let the job rule how they interacted with one another? Pretended their mission was more important than their feelings for one another?

Too long.

She was the one to maneuver the food he’d made from between them. The plate missed the edge of the kitchen island and fell. Glass exploded from the impact, spreading far and wide with the soup across the tile. She didn’t care. Neither of them cared as she rose onto her toes and crushed her mouth to his. Ivy arched into him, pressing against him in an attempt to make them one, and the hollowness she’d suffered without him these past two years waned. In seconds, she was breathless. He did that to her. Had from the beginning.

It didn’t matter that they’d been partners, that the FBI had put rules in place to keep agents from getting romantically involved. There’d always been a loyalty from Carson she couldn’t ignore. Not just to the job. To her. In a lifetime of always looking for the best way to survive, for once, she’d felt as though she had someone at her back. And, damn it, he felt so good.

“I’ve missed you.” Her words vanished into his mouth. In his arms, she wasn’t the head of the Pentagon’s only weapon against Sangre por Sangre . She wasn’t calling the shots or grieving the loss of one of her best operatives, and with that came a sense of freedom. Of unburdening. It had been so long since she’d given herself permission to drop the weight of responsibility at her feet. But Carson made it easy to be herself. Safe.

“I missed you, too.” He moved his hand over her rib cage—right where she needed him—but pain spiked into her chest and down her hip.

She sucked in a hiss of air, pulling back, as she grabbed her side. Lightning streaked across her vision. Ivy tried to swallow the nausea climbing up her throat, but there was no stopping it as long as her ribs were screaming for relief.

“You’re hurt.” Carson didn’t waste time waiting for her to deny it. Dropping behind the island, he pulled a first aid kit from underneath one of the cabinets.

“It’s nothing. Just a bruise.” Reality was rushing back. Too fast. She wasn’t ready to let go of the past few minutes. Because she wasn’t sure how much longer it would be until they allowed themselves to drop the roles they’d taken on again. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”

He stood there. Waiting. Waiting for her to let him help her. To be the one who burst into the room and fixed everything, as he had during their last case together. But the truth was, they weren’t those people anymore. Time and violence and death had contorted them into something hard and unrecognizable. “Yeah. Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

“Excuse me.” Ivy wouldn’t question his confidence. He’d been here before. In this place. In what capacity, she didn’t know, but he was obviously more familiar with the cartel’s setup than he’d reported.

She memorized the layout as she moved into the hallway, catching an office first. Cleaned out. What were the chances Sangre por Sangre had left something behind for her to use against them? What resources had they been forced to give up when the last few remaining lieutenants had gone underground? Her fingers itched to find out, but the pain in her side hadn’t subsided.

She bypassed the bathroom as her legs threatened to collapse right out from under her. Adrenaline had run out within minutes of the ambush. She hadn’t eaten anything other than that single bite of dinner in close to twenty-four hours as she’d tried to piece Dr. Piel’s movements together from the past few days. Her go bag was stocked with food and water, but she’d left it back in the living room. As much as she hated to admit it, a piece of her needed the distance from Carson. To work this out. To put things back in perspective.

Ivy leveraged her hand against the wall as she moved down the too-long corridor. Room after room, stripped, abandoned. Papers discarded, shredders overflowing. Until she found one room furnished with an actual bed. The pressure of keeping it together popped before she managed to close the door behind her. Big breaths did nothing to counter the hurt pressing into her from all sides. Her nervous system was processing Dr. Piel’s murder, the ambush at the apartment, the reunion with the man who’d promised her forever, the kiss they’d shared. The reminder a killer had slipped out of her reach. It was trying to bring her back to neutral, but there was just so much stuff in the way. She barely had time to take in the setup of the rest of the room before hiding away under the covers.

Cutting off her senses was the only proven method of bringing her out of a tailspin. It had been a long time since she’d felt this…powerless. But the past few days had compounded until she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to take her next breath. At least, not anytime soon.

A low moan registered through the heavy comforter a split second before the mattress bounced with additional weight. A wet nose prodded underneath the seam of the blanket until Max had fully made her way inside the barrier between Ivy and the rest of the world.

“You always seem to know when you’re needed.” She wrapped one arm around the German shepherd, giving in to the warmth and the weight of the symbol of the relationship she and Carson had once created together. It all seemed so broken now. Foreign and strange. The longer Ivy stroked Max’s fur, the sooner the pressure subsided, until she almost felt like herself. Almost. There were still a few pieces missing and unsure, but Max made the edges less sharp.

If she was being honest with herself, Carson had, too. He’d helped get her out of the apartment. Protected her when the gunman had taken aim. He’d risked his life to ensure she kept hers. That hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart.

But as sleep dragged her into unconsciousness, a single thought followed her under. One Ivy hated to consider at all but would be reckless to ignore.

That despite the attack on the safe house tonight, Carson was still utilizing cartel resources. And she wasn’t sure she could trust him anymore.

* * *

She and Max had fallen asleep together.

Carson couldn’t tear himself away from the sight as the past superimposed over the present. Of Ivy surprising him with the pup once he’d been released from the hospital at the end of their last case. Of the sheer look of joy on her face, so different from the woman he’d come to know as a partner. No longer burdened. But free. They’d been through hell together. Nearly died for one another. He’d lost one of his kidneys in the process. The kidney his mother had donated to keep him alive when he’d gotten sick a few years ago, but Ivy had done something unthinkable at the time.

His partner had given him one of her own.

She’d saved his life in more ways than one.

It was a miracle their blood types had matched. Her work with the FBI and her crippling terror of becoming victim to any kind of vulnerability had kept her healthy and strong, and when the time had come, she’d been there for him when it’d mattered most. Had brought them closer together than ever. But something had changed.

Ever since he’d accepted this assignment.

These past two years had separated them physically—he couldn’t deny the shift—but what he hadn’t expected was the emotional fallout keeping them apart now. The fallout that made him feel like he’d made up everything between them up to this point.

This job, the one he’d taken to find the killer they’d let slip away, had been their only chance to cut Sangre por Sangre off at the knees, and they’d done a hell of a job together. The cartel was dying off. What else could he do but finish what they’d started together as a thank-you for everything Ivy had sacrificed for this cause?

The transplant scar—doubled in thickness now—prickled with awareness as Carson watched the slow rise and fall of Ivy’s shoulders. Secret exchanges of information, coded messages, slipped documents—they were nothing compared to being with Ivy in person. Feeling her pressed against him, hearing her breathing change as he got close. He’d taken a risk going to that apartment last night. Now, faced with the possibility his cover within Sangre por Sangre had been blown, Ivy was all he had left.

A stab of regret cut through him. Rising through the cartel’s ranks hadn’t been a singular event or a solitary one. The men and women—the soldiers—he’d fought beside had become friends in a sense. People who considered him one of their own. He’d laughed with them, mourned with them, fought with them. Most of them were dead now, but there were a few who’d gone to ground. If he wanted to find the bastard who’d killed Dr. Piel and the three women before her, he’d need their help.

“It’s rude to stare.” Ivy shifted on the bed, careful not to wake Max. They’d both learned early on how illogical a German shepherd could be when ripped out of her beauty sleep, and they’d paid for it several times in the way of torn clothing and chewed shoes. Neither of them could risk it at this point. The clothes they were wearing were all they had for now. But all Carson could do right then was admire the sunrise coming through the window framing Ivy’s face. “How long were you going to let me sleep?”

“As long as you needed,” he said. “Figured you could use the rest before we decide where to go from here.”

“And by here, you mean using a cartel property as a safe house.” The severity in her expression had drained in sleep, leaving a hint of the woman he remembered before they’d gotten themselves in this mess.

Coming here might not have been the best choice, but they’d made it through the night. He probably wouldn’t have been able to say the same for a Socorro property. Sangre por Sangre had learned the locations of each and every hideout Ivy’s operatives utilized. Carson didn’t know where upper management had gotten the intel, but he hadn’t been willing to risk putting her in more danger. Not when he’d just gotten her back. Keeping her here—close—was his only option. “Not going to let me live that one down anytime soon, are you?”

“No.” She maneuvered out of bed with nothing short of grace despite her constrictive clothing and the sidearm holstered beneath her blazer. Her blouse had earned a few more wrinkles, almost making her human. She let her hand sweep down Max’s back. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten. I remember bringing her home the night you came home from the hospital. Neither of us could even get off the couch after the surgeries, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just wanted to be held, and we all ended up asleep in the living room of your tiny apartment.”

A warmth he’d convinced himself he’d been cut off from a long time ago prodded at his chest. That night had changed everything. Given him a small glimpse of the future he’d do anything to have. With Ivy. Little did either of them know it would be one of their last together. “A lot can change in two years.”

“Yeah.” She seemed to come back to the moment right then. Stiffening. Treating him as though he were a stranger despite her very blood coursing through his veins. “Does this place have coffee?”

“Already brewing.” Carson dipped for the duffel bag at his feet. He tossed it Ivy’s way. She caught it, but he hadn’t expected anything less.

“I’m going to get cleaned up. I think there’s still glass in my bra.” His former partner disappeared into the attached bathroom. Within seconds, the sound of water hitting tile emerged underneath the door, with a thin veil of steam escaping with it.

It would be easy to cross this room, to open that door and reclaim what they had. He’d strip her free of that makeshift armor she presented to the world and join Ivy underneath the water. He’d memorize her body—her taste—all over again and remind himself what he’d been fighting for all this time.

But he wouldn’t.

Max stretched across the bed, rolling to her back. The German shepherd was still half-asleep. As though these four walls could protect them from what was coming. Carson knew better. There was no escaping the cartel. Least of all for him. And he wasn’t going to take Ivy down with him.

He peeled himself away from the bedroom door and forced himself down the hall. Mere weeks had passed since the last time he’d holed up in this compound. Upper management had given him the responsibility of recovering a large fentanyl shipment moved from one of their distribution warehouses during a Socorro raid. Scarlett Beam and her DEA partner had torn the place apart in an attempt to recover the boy Sangre por Sangre had abducted to force the DEA agent’s compliance. Billions of dollars in fentanyl had simply disappeared into thin air. No trace. No witnesses. No profit for the cartel.

Carson had made sure of it.

Though a handful of soldiers had paid the price. People he’d gotten to know in this very compound. Through late nights. Rounds of beers. War stories. Family regrets. A hook had caught in him. One that refused to let go. No one else could see it. No one else understood. He’d been tasked to walk a line between two competing worlds, and his loyalties had split over the course of this assignment. His heart and soul had been committed to ending the cartel’s evil influence on innocents, to stopping the destruction they’d caused from the very beginning. But living among Sangre por Sangre had shown him there were innocents caught on both sides. Family members of soldiers, even some soldiers themselves whose loyalty had been based on fear more than respect. He couldn’t abandon them. Now one of those worlds was on the brink of destruction. What was he supposed to do then?

Carson shoved the memories to the back of his mind as far as they would go at the sound of movement from the hallway. Max’s nails ticked off the tile as she searched for breakfast. “What’ll it be today?”

She gazed up at him with those big black eyes that had seen too much in their short amount of time together. More than a companion should see.

“All right. Pancakes it is.” They were Ivy’s favorite, and since he’d taken the liberty of stocking this place back when he’d been working for the cartel, he was sure they had the ingredients to do it. Carson went through the pantry cupboards surrounding the refrigerator. “Any opinions on toppings?”

“I’m partial to raspberries.” Her voice struck him harder than he expected. As though his entire nervous system had been waiting for a hit of her. Stepping into his peripheral vision, Ivy scrunched a towel into her hair, the ends of which contrasted with her light skin tone across her shoulders and collarbone. She took a seat on the other side of the island. “But I’ll take anything other than a granola bar at this point.”

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. The black tank top and cargo pants weren’t anything special, but they weren’t Ivy. Not the FBI agent and security CEO he’d come to know. The woman across the kitchen from him was the one he’d gotten to know behind closed doors. In the privacy of their homes as they’d figured out how to become more than professionals. More than partners. And he couldn’t help but stare. “You clean up nice.”

“It’s amazing what a toothbrush and a shower can do, isn’t it?” She tossed the towel onto the back of the other bar stool. “There was talk of coffee.”

“Help yourself.” He motioned to the mugs and pot on the counter to his right as he grabbed for the base pancake ingredients. “Sorry to disappoint, but there aren’t any raspberries.”

“I’m not hard to please when it comes to food.” Ivy maneuvered into the kitchen—close enough for him to feel the leftover heat of her shower—and filled two mugs with straight black coffee. The way he’d come to like it given the cartel didn’t spring for sugar and creamer on most jobs. Handing one of the mugs off to him, she seemed to melt at her first sip. “Hunger is the worst feeling in the world. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid it most days.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the memories of the few times they’d been caught in the middle of a stakeout without something to eat. He’d never seen a more perfect example of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in those moments. To the point he’d started packing snacks in his vehicle. For her. “I remember.”

A softness filtered across her expression then. “Everything seemed so much easier back then. We took orders, we did our jobs and we went home at night. There wasn’t this…nervousness that followed us around.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” Making pancakes slipped off his priority list, much to Max’s annoyance as she poked her nose into the side of his leg. But all Carson had attention for was Ivy. For this sudden introspection she seemed to fall into. “You and I are more than equipped to handle anything that comes our way. We’ve proved that a dozen times during our time with the FBI alone.”

“You mean apart from the possibility the cartel could come through those doors at any second and kill us both?” Ivy wrapped both hands around her mug as though it were some kind of life vest. “This feels different.”

“Because we don’t have the resources of the FBI behind us?” he asked. “Or because you think Dr. Piel might’ve been involved with Sangre por Sangre ?”