Santerra's Sin: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  Another round of shattering glass erupted, followed by a solid thud and the splintering sound of furniture breaking.

  “Please, keep working. I can handle it,” Blue said.

  “Hey, I’m just the cook.” Diego snagged her gaze as she turned to go. “Of course if it’s the salsa they’re fighting over, you just give a yell and I’ll see what I can do.”

  She studied him for a moment, as if unsure what to make of her new almost employee. Diego let her look her fill, but inwardly cursed his newly fast tongue.

  Stay quiet, stay in the background, observe, learn, protect. That was his function. He didn’t like having to be reminded of that. Especially when he was the one having to do the reminding.

  The bar fight didn’t overly concern him. The only person he needed to worry about was standing in front of him. And from the sounds penetrating the thin walls, Diego doubted the altercation was anything other than a typical barroom brawl.

  Finally she shrugged and let a hint of a smile curve her lips. On a soft sigh that got all tangled up somewhere inside him, she said, “A woman’s work is never done.”

  Turning back to his chicken, he chopped a bit faster.

  The uproar blasted louder for a second as the door swung open then muted slightly as it shut. Diego waited ten seconds, scraped the sliced chicken onto the cold half of the griddle, covered it, then moved easily and quietly to the door.

  Not that anyone would have noticed if he’d knocked down half the pots and pans in the place. He eased the door open just in time to hear the cocking of a shotgun.

  Blue’s smoky voice somehow managed to rise above the din. “Flaco, take your hands off Jimmy and put the glass down before I blow away the only thing keeping your wife from leaving you. Tigger, I see you sneaking out the door. Since you suddenly seem in an all-fired hurry to leave after busting up half my place, why don’t you do me a favor and send Sheriff Gerraro?”

  “Blue, no, it’s okay. No sheriff, por favor.”

  The pleading voice belonged to Flaco. Apparently he was more afraid of the law than of disappointing his wife. Not a very smart man.

  Diego shifted a bit so he could watch Blue. She nodded to the man at the door. “Okay, no sheriff. Tigger, you stay and help clean up this mess. You boys owe me a couple of new stools and a tray of mugs.”

  When Jimmy and Tigger opened their mouths to protest, she leveled a steely-eyed glare at them. “I’ll forget the beer you wasted on my floor and the green felt I have to repair on the pool table.”

  To give them some credit, they held up under her intimidating stare far longer than Diego would have guessed. At least ten seconds elapsed before they finally nodded and silently went about picking up the remains of their fight.

  Once he was certain everything was back to normal, he headed to the kitchen.

  He was halfway to the griddle when he paused. Something wasn’t right. He stilled completely and replayed the scene he’d just observed, focusing on the background noises.

  When he hit on what had stopped him, he moved swiftly back to the hall. The door to Blue’s office was closed. It had been open several inches when he’d stepped out minutes before.

  Diego flattened his back to the wall and slid his hand to the black titanium knife handle that rode above the waistband of his jeans, just behind the edge of his apron. The knife slide free without a whisper. At five inches it was more than lethal. He balanced it in his fingers with practiced ease.

  No light in the office. No noise.

  Slowly, silently, he let the door drift on its uneven hinges, his back once again flat to the wall.

  No reaction.

  Diego crouched and moved closer behind the door. Just as he edged in enough to see inside there was a soft whoosh. Papers, a whole stack of them, cascaded to the floor.

  He’d already memorized the layout of her office. His diving tuck and roll put him squarely behind the short end of her desk. More papers and folders went careening across the floor as Diego came up just over the edge of the desk, knife arm poised for immediate action.

  Nothing.

  The thud of a book snapped his attention to the window behind her desk. The darting shadow had barely registered when the knife was already winging in deadly pursuit.

  It impaled the object in the upper left shoulder. Enough to slow and allow capture without causing unconsciousness. Perfect hit.

  Unfortunately, he’d just nailed a poncho on a coat tree. He’d known it before the knife hit.

  “Damn.” He didn’t usually make such an obvious mistake. That nine out of ten men would have not only fired, but “killed” this particular target did little to ease his frustration. He was better than that. He didn’t make mistakes.

  The falling book had simply tilted over the coat-rack. No one else was in the cramped room. But someone had been. Someone who had upset the precarious balance of chaos. Who? And had they been taking something … or leaving something?

  Diego knew the caliber of men he was up against. Trained killers. He understood the mentality intimately. The only difference between him and them was motivation for the job they performed.

  They wanted Blue Delgado as a bargaining chip to use against her father. And they would go about securing that chip by any means available. And when they were done, the chip would be expendable.

  Diego’s job was to see that they never had the chip at all. He would also use any means available to him. His only edge was that he knew they were coming. They didn’t know he was there. And if everything went down as planned, Blue would never know there had been a threat in the first place.

  After all, it would be a little difficult explaining to her that she was being used as a pawn against a dead man.

  A shout echoed down the hall from the bar, preventing further investigation.

  “Oh, hold on to your backside, Gordo. Or better yet hold on to Joe’s, he might enjoy that.”

  Blue’s good-natured chuckle was drowned out by the raucous complaints of her customers.

  “Yes, the food is coming,” she continued. “Get the rest of that glass off the pool table, por favor.”

  Her father had been right about one thing. The lady could handle herself. She was bold, confident, and as self-contained as any man he’d ever met. In a word, she was deadly.

  To his instincts. And therefore to herself.

  No time to deal with that now. It was enough that he’d learned his lesson early and with no real consequences. It wouldn’t happen again.

  He gauged the distance to his knife, still buried in the poncho. Too far.

  Damn. And it was one of his favorites, though it served him right for being so damn trigger-happy all of a sudden.

  He slipped across the hall and back into the kitchen, taking his place at the griddle just as Blue came into the room.

  “Fajitas almost ready?”

  She’d just had her bar nearly trashed and faced down enough beer-fueled testosterone to put any man on edge, yet her voice flowed into his system as smooth and easy as the apricot brandy he knew Tejo kept stashed behind the flour canisters.

  Diego shook his head. She was doing it again.

  “Coming right up.” He felt her pause hang in the air behind him like a breath trapped in his lungs. He also felt her gaze roam his body. It was as distinct and visceral as if she’d used two hands instead of her black eyes.

  “Good.”

  One word shouldn’t cause that deep, undeniable twitch low inside him. If he could just find a way of completing this job without having to listen to her voice.

  She stepped to his side, leaning in to see what he was cooking.

  He managed not to tighten every muscle in his body.

  “Smells great.” She put her hand on his biceps. It flexed hard, the instant reaction totally beyond his control.

  She stepped away and he tried not to release an audible sigh.

  “I’m taking this tray,” she added, obviously referring to the one loaded with bowls of chips and
pots of salsa. “Bring more.”

  So she thought she could command him as easily as a couple of drunks? “Sí, señorita. Pronto.”

  “See that you do.”

  There hadn’t been the least trace of sarcasm in his voice, yet he knew she’d heard it loud and clear anyway.

  The lady was sharp.

  The lady was also going to be the death of them both.

  There was a pause, then she said, “I’ll have your paperwork ready to fill out just as soon as the after-work crowd settles down. I’ll give you your schedule before you leave tonight.”

  The job. He had to get back in her office before she did. “Fine,” he answered, but a glance over his shoulder told him she’d already gone.

  Diego arranged the bowls of fajita fixings on a large serving tray.

  “Three more weeks, Santerra,” he muttered. Three more weeks and Del would testify against Hermes Jacounda. And then, for all intents and purposes, Seve “Del” Delgado would cease to exist.

  Diego would never see his team leader again. Or Del’s daughter either.

  No matter how badly he might want to.

  TWO

  Blue stepped into her dark office. She closed the door and leaned back on it, blowing out a long slow breath. Her new employee put a whole different slant on the word intensity.

  For a man of few actions and even fewer words, he was the most controlled person she’d ever run across. Except, perhaps, for herself.

  She’d watched him. Had found herself surprisingly unwilling to stop, in fact. His every movement and word was precise, nothing wasted. Direct with an answer, confident in his abilities …

  And heaven knew he made a damn fine salsa.

  The perfect cook. Certainly better than Leroy, whose cooking skills were marginal at best. He had lasted a whole six months before suddenly deciding to head east for greener pastures.

  So why was she standing there debating how to tell her perfect cook that she wasn’t hiring him?

  She shook her head and pushed away from the door. She should just hire the man. Tejo liked him, after all. She smacked the light switch on just as someone rapped on the door.

  She opened it and found her dilemma standing two inches away.

  “Tejo needs you out in the bar.”

  She ignored the warm hum of his voice. “I didn’t hear him buzz me.”

  “He didn’t buzz. He shouted.”

  She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him. She didn’t offer up that information. “Thanks.” She stepped past him. “You about done with the cleanup?”

  “Close. Five minutes.”

  “Fine. Let me go see what Tejo’s yelling about.” She heard her uncle now, grumbling somewhat loudly in Spanish. “Meet me in my office in ten and we’ll go over the terms of your employment.”

  “Will do, boss,” her new cook said, then turned back to the kitchen.

  So much for gratitude, Blue thought as she headed toward the front. Not that he’d looked smug. He hadn’t looked … anything. Just a man who knew he could do the job.

  She shook off the disquiet niggling at her instincts. Instincts she rarely defied.

  The last time she had it cost her her home, her car, and five years of her life.

  “Where have you been?” Tejo demanded, stomping toward her, wiping down a glass as if he had a personal vendetta against the water droplets clinging to it.

  Her mind snapped out of the past, and with that came a measure of relief. And control. Blessed control.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I was about to give our new employee a rundown of Blue’s rules before you so kindly bellowed.”

  Tejo paused in his wiping. “So you decided?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but gave a sharp nod. “Good girl.”

  “Since when?” She smiled and shook her head. “Smart woman,” she corrected. “Or trying to be for a change.” Before Tejo could break into his favorite topic—that being Blue’s life and what she should be doing with it—she went on. “You about ready to shut down for the night?”

  “I am.” He jerked his head to the window, frowning at her. “But Flaco out there has the idea that he can stay here in the bar tonight.”

  Looking past Tejo’s shoulder, Blue could easily see the shadow of Flaco’s old Ford parked next to her bike.

  She turned back to her uncle. “He’s not drunk. But Sandy heard about the fight and won’t let him back in the house.” Seeing the argument coming, she added, “He already gave me forty dollars toward replacing the glasses he broke, Tejo.” She looked at the now covered pool tables. “He can toss a sleeping bag on one of them. He’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t care about Flaco’s comfort. That’s not my worry and you know it. I don’t like the idea of you being upstairs while—”

  “I can take care of myself, Tejo,” she broke in, trying hard not to sound defensive. “You of all people—”

  “Problem?”

  Both Blue and Tejo turned to find Diego standing in the doorway leading in from the back hallway.

  Tejo started to speak, but Blue waved him silent. “Under control,” she said smoothly. “You done back there?”

  He nodded.

  Without looking back at Tejo, she walked toward Diego. “Come on, then. Let’s get this done so we can all go to bed.”

  If she hadn’t turned her head at that precise moment, she’d have missed the brief spark that lit his eyes. Eyes so pale a blue it was as if the desert sun had bleached all the life out of them. It was barely a flash.

  Her mind rejected it almost immediately. Her body was a bit slower on the uptake.

  Was that the reason she was leery of hiring him? Because she might actually be attracted to the man? She could handle that. Handle him. She moved faster down the hall. “I have some rules. No big deal, but I do expect you to follow them.”

  “I’ll be here on time. Everyone that wants to be fed will get fed. If I’m working during a mealtime, that will include me. I’ll clean up before I leave. If that works for you, then you have a new cook.”

  Blue stepped into her office and waded behind her desk before responding. He made it sound as though he was doing her a favor.

  Actually, she supposed he was. She hated to cook. And her customers weren’t too happy about her filling in for Leroy either.

  Sifting through one of the many stacks on her desk, she swore for the thousandth time that she was going to clean out the whole place.

  “Here, read this and fill these out,” she said, handing him the folder and searching for a pen. When had the clutter exploded? She really had to get more organized, she thought with a frown. Now she was starting to sound like her ex-husband.

  God forbid.

  “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” Diego folded the papers and slid them in his back pocket.

  There was no denying the man had presence. After her divorce she had chosen to live out on the edge of nowhere, but the desert hadn’t parched all of the feeling out of her body.

  Santerra was tall, his shoulders a bit on the broad side, and his hips undeniably lean. In fact he was lean all over, but not in a slender, sleek way. No, he was more rangy. Raw. Her eyes flickered briefly to the sharp angles of his cheek and jaw. Hungry.

  She blinked and looked back to her desk, spying a pen tucked between piles of folders. She slid the ballpoint out and reached across the desk with it.

  “I have one, thanks.”

  She absolutely didn’t blush. Not ever. The fact that she came even close brought her head up and her shoulders straight.

  “Fine.” She dropped it back on the desk without a glance. “No drinking while you are on the job, not even one cold cervesa. Shoes are a must. Jeans and a T are fine, wear a clean apron every day. Follow all the health and safety codes listed on the sheet I gave you. If I get fined by the state because you break a rule, it comes out of your pay. I take care of the lunch crowd, so your day will start at three. Just leave me plenty of salsa. If things are slow
, you get a dinner break, if not, you eat on the fly with me and Tejo. I won’t expect you to cover anyone else’s job. We close right about now every night. If the crowd thins early you can be out of here by midnight, except on Fridays and Saturdays. You have Sunday and alternate Mondays off. The hours are long, the pay isn’t great, and your only backup for the time being is me. Start one fight and you are out of here.” She paused for a breath, then said, “If that works for you, then you have a job.”

  His gaze never wavered, those bleak eyes of his unnerving. “I’ll be here tomorrow at ten of three.”

  “No overtime pay.” She smiled. “No brownie points either.”

  He patted his pocket. “The extra time is in case you have any other questions. No pay expected.”

  He glanced unexpectedly at her mouth, then back to her eyes. “No brownie points either.” His voice was warm and rich.

  She fought the urge to wet her bottom lip.

  The sound of the bar door opening and shutting, followed by men’s voices, filtered down the hallway.

  “What’s up?” Diego nodded casually to the doorway.

  The tension in the room didn’t lessen, but the focus shifted. Blue had the unmistakable impression that there was nothing casual in the request. Why? Was Diego afraid of something? Running from something?

  Smart questions a smart woman should have already asked.

  Like he’s just going to tell you?

  Still, she decided then and there that this employment was on a trial basis until he’d proven himself or until her instincts died down. Or until he proved her instincts right. Whichever came first.

  The voices grew louder. Diego looked to the door then back at her. His expression was only mildly curious.

  She still didn’t buy it. She shrugged. “One of our customers is bunking here for the night.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Homeless.” She smiled. “At least until his wife forgives him.”

  “A regular, then.”

  “Regular enough.” She ran a quick survey of her office. She really did need to come down a little early in the morning. So much for the target practice she’d planned.