Marisela Morales 03 - Dirty Little Christmas - Julie Leto by Contemporary Romance Page B

needed to know about it.
    She programmed her name and cell number into his phone, then returned it.
    He glanced at her entry, then at her. “You swear that this isn’t gang-related?”
    She stared straight into his eyes. “This,” she said, holding up her wrist, “is old news. I’m not putting my neck on the line, or yours, for stupid kids trying to score street cred. This is life and death.”
    She reached out her hand to seal their tentative trust. He eyed her skeptically, then pulled a second cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it to her.
    “What’s this?” she asked, plugging in her info into the second phone.
    “Most hospital workers carry two cells—one for personal calls, one for business. If I hear anything and if I decide to call you—which I’m not promising I will—I won’t be doing it from my official phone.”
    Marisela couldn’t help but grin as she programmed her number into his second phone. How could she resist a good-looking man who was smart and thought ahead? Too bad he was married. Her personal code of behavior wasn’t extensive, but it had always included a ban on messing around with another woman’s man.
    When he took her palm in his, forcing her to yet again note the warmth and softness of his skin and the intense blueness of his eyes, she wondered if she could stick to it.
    “Your wife is one lucky woman.”
    He tugged her close so that his aquamarine twinkle nearly blinded her. “You have no idea.”
    She allowed herself three seconds to inhale the crisp scent of aftershave clinging beneath the odors of sweat, blood and disinfectant, then made her way out of the ER. She hopped the fence and slid into the passenger seat of Frankie’s retooled GTO, parked just out of range of the streetlamp. Two hours had passed since the explosion and she wasn’t any closer to locating her sister, but at least now, she had somewhere to go—something to do, even if it meant breaking and entering.
    “Find out anything?” Frankie asked as she clicked her seatbelt.
    “The truck was a new buy,” she said as he turned south out of the lot, heading back to her office. “But if Lia’s mother talked to the police after I left, which I’m betting she did, they’re going to be waiting for me. Let’s hit that Ford dealership on Dale Mabry—the one closest to the airport. Lia saw their sticker on the SUV that took Belinda.”
    Frankie turned down a side road, driving slowly because of the overflow of cars parked in the street rather than in the narrow driveways that led to one-car garages. She took a second to drink in the lazy quiet of the neighborhood before she leaned into the back seat and retrieved her bag. Inside, she’d stuffed her go-to goodies—extra ammo, burner cell, lock-picking tools, black, soft-soled shoes, dark jeans and a turtleneck. She whipped off the scrub shirt and punched her fists into the sleeves of the knit top, her stomach flipping a little at Frankie’s guttural growl at the sight of her favorite bra.
    “Do we have time for a…diversion?”
    “ Que desea ,” she taunted, though admittedly, she wished they had time to pull over to the side of the road for a quick distraction. “Just drive.”
    “I take it we’re staging a break-in?” he asked, trying to cover the lusty tone in his voice by turning up the radio.
    She wiggled a little more than was strictly necessary as she pulled the snug sweater over her curves. “The bastards either bought or stole their vehicle. I’m going to find out which one.”
    Though Dale Mabry highway was the busiest thoroughfare in Tampa, the eight-lane highway was mostly deserted when they did a quick recon around the dealership, noting the security measures with a combination of previous knowledge and equipment Frankie kept in the trunk of his car. Fifteen minutes after he pulled in to the bankrupt electronics box store next door, he disabled the security cameras in the back lot right before Marisela breached the interior