Her eyes grew round with panic. “No, if you do that my sister is dead.”
He felt no satisfaction in threatening her. “Then cooperate with me.”
A pained expression crossed her face, then she seemed to come to a decision. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and met his gaze again, showing her spunk in the way her eyes sparked. “My sister married a man who is mixed up in something bad. Something that neither Jillian nor I have anything to do with. Now she’s been kidnapped.” She glanced at the stones on the table. “Those are her ransom. If I don’t deliver them to—” she frowned but there was no mistaking the unshed tears filling her eyes “—to Fort George by noon tomorrow, he’ll kill her.”
Anticipation revved in his veins. “Who is he?”
She wiped at an escaped tear. “I don’t know,” she ground out. “We didn’t exchange pleasantries.”
She stepped closer, her pretty face taking on a pleading expression that jabbed at Blake. He fought off the sensation. He couldn’t let her get to him. He wouldn’t be that weak. His job was his life. And he wouldn’t let anything interfere with his job. Especially not a beautiful, gutsy woman, no matter how much respect she stirred in him.
“Please, you have to let me go. My sister’s life depends on me giving that stupid necklace back.”
“I could charge you with smuggling or even terrorism,” Blake stated, gauging her reaction. Her distress appeared sincere. But he had to be sure. He had to know she wasn’t involved. That she wasn’t lying to him.
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She seemed to be reeling in her temper. “I’d never laid eyes on that necklace until last night. Apparently, my sister’s new husband gave her the necklace.” She slashed the air with her hand. “A man broke into my apartment looking for it. He said Travis stole it from someone named Santini. And now some madman has threatened to kill Jillian if I don’t give him the necklace.”
“Santini is a madman. A dangerous madman.” Deciding he’d pushed enough and needed to proceed with a more gentle manner, he motioned to the chair. “Have a seat, Ms. Cantrell.” He purposely softened his tone. “May I call you Liz?”
Slowly, she sank onto the edge of the chair, poised as if she’d bolt at any second. He reluctantly admired her grit. “That’s fine.”
He studied her for a moment, appreciating the delicate line of her jaw and the high jut of her cheekbones. She was really a striking woman. But not in a made-up or pretentious way. Her attractiveness was natural and came from within her. He’d read the dossier on her and knew she ran an antique store left to her by her deceased father. If this were a different situation, he’d want to know more about her. Did she like antiques? Or was she keeping her father’s dream alive at the expense of her own? And what did this woman dream about? Who was she deep down inside?
A fighter. He knew that for certain.
Shaking off the uncharacteristic musing, he said, “I’m Blake. Agent Blake Fallon with Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It’s my job to help secure the northern border of our country from illegal activities. Activities that Santini engages freely in. Do you understand?”
“Of course. I’m a law abiding citizen. Normally, I wouldn’t... I have never broken the law.”
Appreciating her attempt at defending herself, he kept his tone soft as he said, “Liz, I do want to help you.”
She scrunched up her nose in obvious confusion. He was momentarily distracted by the cute motion.
“You’ll help me?” she asked. “How?”
He took no triumph in having her right where he wanted her. If they were going to see this through, he needed her to be willing to do what he asked of her. “You’ll need to help me, too.”
Her eyes narrowed in wariness. “What do I have to do?”
Valuing her caution, he placed his palms on the table to keep from curling his fingers into fists. The burn of anger at Santini simmered below the surface, ready to boil any moment. “Help me bring down Idris Santini.”
A little V appeared between her eyebrows. “Who is this Santini character?”
Blake’s fingers dug into the table. “A very bad man. He killed a fellow ICE agent in cold blood.”
Sympathy flooded her eyes. Blake tried to look away but couldn’t. Her gaze pulled him in, made him want to make her understand the magnitude of the situation. “Our intel had put him at the docks in New Jersey. Liam and I were the closest agents. I was in Manhattan, and Liam was in Atlantic City. Liam arrived first and, without back up, tried to prevent Santini from boarding a freighter. When I arrived Santini had Liam on his knees. I watched the man put a bullet in the back of Liam’s head and toss him off the side of the pier like garbage.” Blake’s fingers curled into tight fists. “Liam should have waited for me.”
“Would you have waited for him?”
The question so quietly asked had the power of a chainsaw and ripped through him, forcing him to confront a truth he hadn’t wanted to face. “No. I would have done the same.”
“And then you’d be the one dead.”
Acid burned in his gut. He wanted to believe he wouldn’t have let Santini get the drop on him. But Liam was the best there was. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, her voice gentle.
He leaned forward. “And now Santini is threatening the life of your sister and her husband. We need to work together to bring him to justice and rescue your sister.”
Blake vowed to take Santini down if it was the last thing he did. And this woman was the key to Blake’s revenge and redemption. He just needed her cooperation.
“Why should I trust you?” Liz asked with skepticism lacing each word.
Blake stared her in the eye and flattened his hands on the table. “You have no choice if you want to see your sister again. In order for us to succeed, we have to trust each other.”
No choice.
Staring at the man across the metal table in the interrogation room, Liz clenched her jaw until her teeth ached.
ICE agent Blake Fallon.
He took the acronym to a whole new level. She didn’t doubt ice ran in his veins. Waves of tension rolled off him, adding to her own anxiety. And yet he watched her with measured patience as if he had all the time in the world. There wasn’t an extra ounce of fat to him, no softness whatsoever. His lean frame and wide shoulders blocked her view of not only the door but also the exit. He had a strong jawline, defined cheekbones and eyes so dark she could see her reflection.
Could he see how terrified she was? Did he even care? She knew that wasn’t fair. His story of his friend’s death left an impression. He blamed himself for something that was out of his control. Most likely he thought he could have prevented the tragedy. She had a feeling control was important to him.
And he wanted her to trust him because he said so.
Well, that wasn’t how trust worked. He had to prove himself trustworthy if he wanted her to believe that he could help her. Because from where she was sitting, it appeared as if he wanted to intimidate her into doing whatever he wanted her to do. To bring down Santini. A man who had murdered his friend. And now held her sister captive.
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