Read Fatal Pursuit (The Aegis Series) for Free Online Page B

hesitated on the third step and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now, Ryder. If you’re here in the morning, fine. If not, have a nice life.”
    The two disappeared up the stairs. Alone, Jake stood where he was, staring after them.
    Have a nice life? After all their years working together, that was all she had to say to him?
    The hotel manager cleared his throat. Jake glanced in that direction. The man frowned, shook his head as if Jake were a complete idiot, then disappeared into the back room.
    Jake looked back at the empty stairs. Have a nice life? She’d seriously said that, as if he were nothing but an acquaintance? Have a nice life? As if they hadn’t spent every day of the last three and a half years together? Oh, fuck that.
    His vision turned red. Every muscle in his body urged him to go up to her room and set her straight. He took one step toward the stairs, then heard Eve’s voice in the back of his head, yelling, “Are you freakin’ losing it?”
    He stopped, held up his hands, realized his palms were sweaty and his fingers were shaking. He closed his hands into fists. Eve was right. He was crossing the line. If Marley wanted to hook up with some random loser, what did he care?
    He didn’t. That was the point. He’d only come down here for his plane.
    He moved back for his pack, tossed it over his shoulder, then stepped out of the hotel and onto the street. It was still hot and muggy as hell, but at least out here he could breathe. He drew air deep into his lungs, blew it out. Did it again until the red faded from his vision and he could see straight.
    Salsa music spilled out of a bar across the street. Determined to get Marley Addison out of his head for good, he crossed the street, moved through the open archways that led into the cantina, found a spot at the bar, and dropped his bag at his feet.
    The bartender, a twenty-something Colombian man with dreadlocks down to his shoulders, looked Jake’s way from the end of the bar and lifted his chin. “You want something, amigo ?”
    English. Good. Jake wasn’t in the mood to struggle through his limited Spanish. “Yeah, tequila.”
    The bartender chuckled, tossed a rag on the bar, reached for a bottle from the counter behind him, then moved Jake’s way. “Here.” He poured clear liquid into a shot glass and handed it to Jake. “You like this better. Trust me.”
    Jake eyed the bottle. “That’s not tequila.”
    “It’s guaro. Better than tequila. Colombian specialty.” He nodded toward the drink in Jake’s hand. “You like.”
    Screw it. As long as it was strong, Jake didn’t care what the hell he was drinking.
    He tossed the shot back. The taste of licorice splashed across his tongue. Then a burn like acid shot down his esophagus and ripped through his chest before settling like a rock in his stomach.
    He coughed. Lowered the glass. Coughed again and gasped for a breath.
    The bartender and the patrons sidled up to the bar around him burst out laughing. “That’s firewater,” the bartender said. “Good stuff, hey, amigo ?”
    He refilled Jake’s glass, poured himself a shot, and tossed it back as if it were nothing. “Sure to cure anything that fucks with you.”
    Jake breathed deep and eyed the bottle in the bartender’s hand. Aguardiente was written in cursive across the front. Several other people at the bar held up their empty shot glasses. The bartender made his way down the wooden surface, refilling shots with the nasty anise-tasting liquor as if it were liquid candy.
    Laughter echoed around him. Salsa music floated in the air. The burn faded from his chest, and a growing warmth radiated outward from his belly. He glanced down at the full shot glass in his hand, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. The bartender set a beer bottle in front of him.
    “To chase,” the bartender said. “Drink up, amigo . You look like you need it.”
    Jake’s mind flashed to Marley. Holed up across