Page 95 of Bad Rio

“Maybe we should go.” In perfect agreement, the boys nodded to each other.

“You don’t have to leave,” Becca said. “You boys stay right there.”

John’s gaze went from Becca to an unsmiling Rio. He gave them both a hard glare. “Uh, yeah, we’ll go.” They disappeared.

Becca scowled at their retreating backs.

“I’m done with the black ops,” Rio told her. “Took a job with a buddy of mine in Austin. A private security business. Remember Ben Paxton? Well, now, I’m an instructor. I go to work each day, come home early in the evenings. No more hazardous night missions. No more flying bullets.”

Stiffly, she said, “I’m sure that’s nice for you.”

“Well, we do use live rounds at the training facility, but our safety protocols are stringent. The danger is minimal, nothing like my old life.”

She took a difficult breath. Never had she imagined he’d want a life like that—a normal one. Like other men. Not that it mattered to her. They were nothing to each other. Nothing.

“Nice dress,” he said. “Pretty color. It suits you.”

She smoothed the bright fabric. “Thanks.”

“Have you missed me?”

She glanced at her computer screen. In her chest, her heart continued to beat like a jungle drum. Collecting a sheaf of papers from her desk, she shuffled through them. “I’ve been busy. Really busy. Lots of work to do, you know. For mydamn hubcaps.” Now, why had she emphasized those words?

Rio lowered his eyes. “About that, about your business here.” He hesitated, groped for words. “I’m sorry. Really sorry for those things I said.” He gazed at her, a worried frown creasing his brow. “First, I have to tell you this: you saved us. That day when Harrison tried to force us into his hotel room. Your makeup-tossing trick. It worked. For once, I was the one needing rescue. You did it, Becca. You saved our lives. I didn’t.”

She shrugged awkwardly. “You’re the one who shot him, not me.”

“Maybe we worked as a team, then,” he allowed. “You forced his attention away, and you gave me the Glock. You get the credit for keeping us alive.” He looked around. “And now you have this company.”

“Yes.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip, forgetting it was cold. It tasted terrible and she wished she could spit it out. Instead, she swallowed the bitter brew. “My dad recently transferred ownership to the boys and me. I’m really proud of De Monte Wheel Solutions.” She gave him a frosty glance.

“That’s great.” For the first time since she’d met him months ago, back when he’d tossed her out of the window of that Mexican cantina, he looked uncertain. He dropped his head, rubbed the back of his neck.

The idea of Rio being unsure about anything gave her pause. Imagine that, the arrogant Rio Lang feeling tentative. He put a hand out toward her, then let it drop.

Becca pursed her lips. Well, this had gone on long enough. She shoved to her feet and he rose with her. “If there’s nothing else? I have work waiting.” She walked to the door, stood beside it.

“Two minutes,” he said on a low growl. “Just give me a little more time before you throw me out. I’m working up to something.” He chuckled, but the sound was awkward, self-conscious.

She crossed her arms. “Sorry. I don’t have time today. Send me an email.”

“Becca.” He whispered her name, ran a hand over his forehead. “I know now why I disparaged your hubcap business. I—I was jealous.”

“Huh?” She frowned. What in the world?

“I envied your devotion to your father, to your uncle. The way you mother your brothers, in a good way, of course. How you care for everybody here at the company.”

She waited, still lost.

“Even the kids write you notes.” He gestured at her bulletin board filled with childish drawings. “You have purpose in your life,” he went on. “I didn’t. Traveling around the globe for Uncle Sam, getting shot at, shooting back, what was that worth?”

She kept her arms folded over her chest, but she couldn’t let that go. “But you rescued people. Hostages. You saved their lives.” He’d saved hers, but she didn’t say that aloud.

“I did. But it was just a job. I didn’t care about any of them. I just got them away from captors. I was paid. I didn’t have what you do—a reason to feel good about my life. So, I cut you down, tried to make you feel small. But it didn’t work. I was the small one, not you.”

She pushed off the wall and let her arms drop to her sides. At least the man had some humility. She could appreciate how difficult this apology must be for him.

Still, nothing had changed. He’d left her, trampled her feelings, abandoned her. “Quite a confession. Well, you said you’ve become an instructor now. I suppose that’s gratifying for you.”

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