Her gaze darted left, to where Trey stood like a six-foot wall ornament, flipping his KA-BAR knife in his hand like Rafe had seen him do countless times when bored. Something flashed in the redhead’s eyes, but when her gaze slid back to him, it hardened to green steel.
The slow, upward curl of her lips alerted him to the smart-mouthed remark about to be unleashed. “Maybe instead of asking me stupid questions you should put some ice on your boo-boo. Untreated swelling could cause permanent damage.”
He leaned to within an inch of her face. Fuck-and-him. Despite the layers of San Pedro Sula grime caked on her otherwise perfect porcelain skin, a vanilla scent clung to her body. It almost made him forget that her swift kick and good aim were the reason he actually did just get done icing his fucking balls.
“We have ways of making little girls talk,” he warned. “And trust me, it’s no day at the spa.”
Her gaze flickered over his shoulder. “I’ve never been a spa kind of woman. Ask your mute friend there in the back. After all, we were practically raised as brother and sister.”
*
Once Penny got over the fact that her surrogate big brother was lounging on the sofa across the room, it was easier to shift her focus—at least temporarily—to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Blue-Eyed.
Rafael Ortega looked like a walking sin stick, not a single ounce of softness anywhere on his body. His broad shoulders could perch a pair of economy-line sedans, and his snug shirt amplified a defined chest and quarter-bouncing set of abs. Everything about the man was rock hard and chiseled, but it was his biceps that had her close to drooling.
Nearly as big as her thighs, they bunched and flexed each time he staunchly folded his arms across his chest, the movement giving her a sneak peek of the tribal tattoo hiding beneath the hem of his sleeve. He was so not her type—too large, too intense, and way too brooding. But that didn’t stop the butterflies from forming in the pit of her stomach—and a bit lower.
Penny sat on the threadbare couch and forced a smile she hoped looked confident. “Nice place you have. A little compact for men of your size, but nice. Cozy.”
“Forget the sarcastic small talk, Penn,” Trey growled from across the room. “You owe me a few answers, so let’s get to why the hell you’re in Honduras.”
Fake it till you sell it. The words of her mentor at the bail enforcement agency had her lifting her gaze to Trey’s. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“When you waltz your sweet ass into one of my missions, you most certainly do. You’re a goddamned social worker. You have no business walking the streets of San Pedro Sula as if you’re GI-fucking-Jane.”
“I can count the number of e-mails and phone calls I’ve gotten from you over the last few years on one hand, so don’t pretend to know my business. I’m not sixteen anymore. I don’t need your lectures, and I sure as hell don’t have to explain myself to you. The sooner that sinks into your head, the smoother this conversation will go.”
Rafe blocked Trey’s path in one step. In a low murmur, the two men exchanged words that pinched Trey’s lips into a tightened frown.
A few seconds later, Rafe turned, locking her in his sight. “I think we’ve gone about this the wrong way, Red.”
She matched his disarming half smile with one of her own and watched every line on his already chiseled face go still. “My name’s Penny. And you didn’t seem too concerned about stepping off on the wrong foot when you shoved a gag into my mouth, tossed a sack over my head, and hurled me into the back of a van.”
“Had to do something before you ended up injuring yourself.”
“Is that why you had me tied to a chair for hours, too? To protect me from bodily injury? You know what would’ve protected me even more? Not being manhandled at all.”
Penny, one point. Blue Eyes, zippo.
His eyes narrowed, taking her bait. “Then the next time you get the urge to take a stroll, do it during the day and not in a seedy part of a foreign city. The only people who trample through the San Pedro Sula warehouse district are either looking for trouble or they are the trouble. For all we knew, you could’ve been a human trafficker looking to make a sale. You were someplace you didn’t belong.”
“He knew who I was.” She tossed a blatant glare at Trey and got a stony look in return. “Isn’t that right?”
Trey’s continued silence turned Penny’s insides into a pinball machine. She shifted her eyes to the plans littering the coffee table—schematics, maps, photographs, and itineraries. Considering their dark-wing commando look, none of it was surprising, except for one photo tucked beneath all the others.
Her hand reflexively reached for it, a knot instantly forming in her stomach. Gleaming back at her from the black-and-white picture were a familiar pair of cold, dark eyes.
Someone called her name, but she couldn’t answer. Tunnel vision narrowed her focus, darkening the corners of her sight until the harsh stare of the man in the photo morphed into the concerned eyes of Rafael Ortega. Catching her chin between his fingers, Rafe gently forced her gaze upward.