Bound to Danger: A Deadly Ops Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

him. Even if it was fake, she would have no clue, but she doubted a Miami police officer would have escorted him into the room if he were a liar. She had a ton of questions for him, like why the hell he’d fallen off the face of the earth eight years ago, but knew now wasn’t the time. “Why does the NSA want to talk to me?” She’d talked to the police and even Homeland Security, but she knew nothing about the NSA or why they would possibly want to talk to her. She couldn’t remember anything about last night.
    How many times did she have to explain that?Instead of returning to the bed she sat on the bench and crossed her legs. She felt ridiculously small compared to him when he remained standing, but she didn’t have the energy to walk back to the bed.
    “I just want to go over the events of last night, Ms. Cervantes.”
    Tears burned her eyes as she glanced down. “Really? You’re going to call me Ms. Cervantes? That’s lame, Cade.” Not to mention that hearing “Ms. Cervantes” made her think of her mother, which made her want to cry.
    He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Maria. What do you remember about last night?”
    “Nothing. It’s a giant blank, so I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.” She was tempted to ask him why he even wanted to know, but at this point she figured asking questions would invite more conversation. And that cop had said when they were done, she could go home. Right now she couldn’t handle this glaring blast from her past on top of everything else. It was too surreal that the man who had hurt her so badly, the man she’d lost many tears and sleepless nights over, was in her hospital room.
    He watched her carefully for a long moment before sliding a plastic chair a couple of feet in front of her. He turned it around and straddled it, the almost relaxed position putting her at ease, though she wasn’t sure why. There was something about him that was calming, which was weird because of his large size and her residual anger. She glanced at his tattoos, watching the muscles and tendons flex when he crossed his arms over the back of the chair.
    “Tell me what you do remember.”
    She took a deep, ragged breath and was glad her voicedidn’t shake when she answered. “I remember waking up in what looked like a war zone. Or what I imagine one would look like. Everything around me seemed to be burning. The Westwood mansion was . . . in ruins and two paramedics were putting me in the back of an ambulance. They put an oxygen mask on me and I must have fallen asleep or passed out again, because the next thing I remember I was waking up in a hospital room to find a doctor shining a tiny flashlight into my eyes.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
    “What’s the first thing you remember before that?”
    She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. “I remember . . . throwing up.” She opened her eyes then. “I was sick for over a week and staying home from work. The last week I’ve been at home and miserable and my last memory is clutching onto my toilet at home and hurling.” A gross image, but he didn’t seem to mind and she didn’t care what he thought. She started to stand then, needing to get the hell out of there and away from this man and his mesmerizing eyes. And she was pissed he was in her room after he’d ignored her for almost a decade.
    When he didn’t make a move to get up, fury detonated inside her. Her mother was dead, her father was still out of town, and she had a lot of arrangements to make while she tried not to fall apart. She had nothing to tell the authorities that would be of any use. How could Cade not realize that? If she knew something she’d tell them. Anything to bring her mother’s murderer—or murderers—to justice.
    “Why were you outside out of the blast zone when the bombs went off?” he asked calmly, still not moving.
    Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way. “What? If I don’t even remember being at the