“You, too.”
The line went dead. Frustrated he couldn’t move things along any faster and beginning to feel claustrophobic, Linc walked out of his office, down the hall to the open guest room door. Carly sat at her makeshift desk going over work invoices on her laptop.
“It’s still Sunday,” he said, drawing her attention. “I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air. How would you like to go fishing?” He wouldn’t have thought of asking any of the other women he’d dated. But this was Carly, and since he loved to fish, it was worth a try.
Her features lit up and she grinned ear to ear. “Really?”
He grinned back. “You really want to go?”
“Of course.” She shoved back her chair and stood up. “Joe took me fishing all the time. I admit I haven’t been since I left home and I’m not all that good at it, but I’d love to go fishing.”
Linc looked into those pretty blue eyes and something shifted inside him. He told himself it was nothing. Hey, what man could resist a woman who liked to fish? But he was no fool and he knew it was way more than that.
The feeling had been building since the day he’d seen her standing in the graveyard, grieving for Hernandez, a man she barely knew, grieving so deeply for her grandfather. Building since he had watched her take the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler and bull it into submission.
Building every time he took her to bed and buried himself in her sweet, responsive body.
The truth burned like a neon sign in his head. Carly Drake was the woman for him.
The problem was he didn’t think she would believe him.
And until he had dealt with El Jefe and Carly was safe, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to convince her.
Putting the thought aside, Linc went out to collect the gear they would need while Carly went to get ready for their fishing trip. She walked out of the house in cut-off jeans with a ragged hem and a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt, her hair plaited into long golden braids, one on each shoulder. A pair of worn, rough out leather hiking boots covered her feet.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Linc grinned. She reminded him of a twenty-first-century Daisy Duke, so damned cute, he wanted to throw her over his shoulder caveman-style and carry her back to bed.
“The way you look, it’s going to be damned hard to concentrate on catching fish,” he grumbled. And he meant hard in more ways than one.
Carly laughed and he forced himself to focus on something besides the tightness in his jeans. “We’re taking the Jeep,” he said, wondering if he could find a place private enough the guards wouldn’t see them, glad he’d tossed a blanket into the back.
Carly’s cell started ringing just as they reached the vehicle. “Hold a sec.” Pulling the phone out of the back pocket of her jean shorts, she pressed it against her ear. “This is Carly.”
When the color leached out of her face, Linc knew his fishing trip was about to be canceled.
* * *
“Ms. Drake. It is good to hear your voice.” Every muscle in Carly’s body went tense. It was him. Raul Zapata.
“I assume you have been expecting my call,” he said.
Her hand shook as she signaled to Linc, who was already striding toward her. Carly held the phone so he could hear.
“If you want the truth,” she said, “I was hoping I’d never hear from you again.”
“Now is that a nice thing to say to your business partner?”
The notion sent a chill down her spine. “What do you want?”
“I have something for you to deliver. You will receive instructionstomorrow, telling you where to pick up the cargo and what time. Have a truck ready to leave.”
“How do you know I’m not still working with the FBI?”
“Because you know what happened to Hernandez and you are smart enough to know if you do not do as I say, it will happen again.” The line went dead.
Her insides were shaking, making her stomach churn. Tears welled, spilled over onto her cheeks. “I wanted to go fishing.”
