Free Intimate Enemies by Joan Swan

back to his work. Cassie continued to stand at the slip, staring at nothing for several minutes. Minutes that seemed to go on forever. She just stood there. Completely still.
    Rio did enough moving for both of them. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned in circles, rocked his weight from one foot to the other. He was about ready to walk down there and wring her beautiful neck when she reached up, rubbed her face, and heaved her shoulders in a sigh.
    Normally, he would have guessed by her body language that she was hurting. Rio recognized the signs of pain, because he had squelched a fair amount of emotion since the funerals too—guilt, anguish, loneliness. But the lingering doubt about their…thing…on the beach last night made him wonder if he was reading her right.
    He thought of their meeting as a thing because it sure as hell had been more than a kiss, and he didn’t know what to call it. Maybe foreplay. Because while their hands hadn’t been all over each other, their bodies had been. And by the way she’d encouraged him, he wondered now if they would have ended up in bed if he’d let their kiss go as far as she’d wanted.
    And, shit, he couldn’t be thinking like that now. Thoughts of sex with her channeled all his blood to his dick. There was no room for any of the feelings or want or need she brought out. Emotions put him at increased risk in an extremely hazardous environment. Totally unacceptable. Especially now that he had Cassie’s safety to consider, regardless of her agenda or motives.
    She finally scuffed a foot at the wooden planks and wandered back toward town. Rio waited for her to disappear, put his game face back on, and headed to the dock. He called to Mario, who scrubbed the weathered wood with a wide push broom two rows over.
    The big man’s head lifted, and his gaze locked with Rio’s. “Señor Santana.” He lumbered forward and offered his hand. “Good to see you. What can I do for you?”
    Rio shook Mario’s hand and lifted his chin in the direction Cassie had gone. “What did she want?”
    A flush bloomed under Mario’s double chin. His fingers closed around the broom’s wooden handle, and he leaned into it. “Nothin’. She just come to visit the slip.”
    “You talked for fifteen minutes, Mario. What did she say?”
    Mario’s dark brow fell. Anger heated his eyes. Rio had found only two groups of men in town who stood up to him—men who made honor a way of life and men who lived stupid and died young. Mario was the former.
    “I no need these problems, hey?” Mario said. “I already answer the fèdèrales’ questions jus’ like you ask. I no do nothin’ wrong.”
    Rio pulled out his wallet, fingered through the cash, and forced the bills into Mario’s hand. “What did she say?”
    Mario shoved the bills back at Rio. “I no want your money.”
    He put a firm hand over Mario’s and eased it back. “You’ve earned it, Mario. And all I want is information.” He paused, then added, “To keep her safe.”
    Mario’s scowl turned skeptical, but he pocketed the cash.
    “She ask about Alejandra and Santos.” He lowered his voice as if someone might be listening. “When I saw them last, if I know them well. She want to know who uses the yacht, if they brin’ guests.” He shifted on his feet, wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand, and looked down at the dock. “Then she ask if I know Santos’s amigos. Was he part of a gang? Did they have the same tattoo he wore on his shoulder? Did they ever ride on the yacht? Who was on the boat the day it blew? She ask about maintenance, and Enrique, the mechanic.”
    Shit. Mario wasn’t the only one who didn’t need these problems. And, double shit , she was in way deeper than Rio had guessed.
    “What did you tell her, Mario?” Rio added a tell-me-and-you-won’t-get-in-trouble threat to his voice.
    “I tell her nothin’.” His hands came out, palms waving toward Rio. “I tell