depleted of his strength and ability to move.
Did anything feel as good as the warm, postcoital embrace of a man’s arms?
Cruz smoothed a hand up and down Shanice’s back, and she moaned, stretching and rubbing against his hard body. She’d for sure sleep well tonight, but she didn’t feel like sleeping right now. She wanted to remain awake so she could continue to enjoy snuggling with him in the dark. When morning came, their mission to get inside the Logan Investors office would interrupt this comfy feeling like sunlight interrupts the darkness of night.
“What was your life like growing up?” Cruz asked.
Shanice considered the question before answering honestly. “Fun, for the most part. My parents were very strict and I led a sheltered life. I didn’t get to go to a lot of parties and do the normal things kids and teenagers do where they stay out late and get into trouble. Most of the time I was at home with my mother and father. When I was old enough to go out on the weekends, I was always with my cousins. I still had fun, but for other people it might be considered boring.”
He played with a curl near her ear. “You were a good girl.”
She laughed. “Pretty much. I never got into trouble, and I obeyed curfew, the whole bit. A complete and total goody two-shoes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Cruz said. “I could’ve used some restraint when I was younger.”
She shifted her head on the pillow to get a good look at him. “Tell me something about yourself.”
He looked at her and she waited, hoping he would share. Cruz was guarded and had erected barriers between them, but she wanted to know him, really know him. Not the persona he originally presented but the man—the real man beneath the code of silence and abs of steel.
“Living in Cuba, I often felt like my life was destined for a dead-end,” he said, starting slowly, as if trying out this idea of sharing a part of himself. “My parents died when I was young, and I didn’t have any brothers and sisters. My father’s mother lived in Canada, so I went to live with my mother’s mother when I was nine. Like a lot of the older folks, she was satisfied with her life, but I was like many of the young people. We were restless and wanted something more. We wanted more freedom, and for us, the United States was where we wanted to be. The first time I tried to come here, we were stopped by the Coast Guard and turned around.”
“That must’ve been difficult,” Shanice said.
“Very. We had drifted on the water for twenty-five days, so to have to go back was very disappointing. That didn’t stop us though. We made our second attempt six months later and were successful. I was fifteen. I stayed with an uncle and aunt who had immigrated to the States many years before. I went back a handful of times to see my maternal grandmother, before she died. ”
“How did you end up working for the government? You never really explained to me who you work for, either. Are you CIA?” She hoped her many questions didn’t cause him to clam up.
“I don’t work for the CIA or FBI.” He paused. “I work for an agency that officially doesn’t exist. Unofficially, we’re part of the U.S. Department of Justice. Our job is to protect the country from domestic and international threats. The agency is always on the lookout for new recruits, usually people like me—troublemakers, preferably with no close family ties. If you’re a smart criminal, even better. They can use your criminal background as leverage to convince you to work for them. I was constantly in trouble, and they approached me when I was in jail for beating the crap out of a guy who assaulted a girl in the bathroom of a house party I’d attended. It wasn’t my first assault charge. Since I was eighteen and faced a long stretch, working for them was an appealing alternative.”
“If your agency doesn’t exist, what happens if you’re hurt or…die?” Her voice shook on the last word.
He shrugged. “Nothing. The government would act as if they never heard of me, and they’ll behave as if they didn’t send me on the mission.”
“But if you work for the Department of Justice—”
“We work for the department, but we’re not restricted by their guidelines and protocols.”
“Oh.” Shanice played with a hair on his