Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (10 page)

“But what if I get classified information in the process?”

“I trust Chessie, but for God’s sake, don’t put her in harm’s way. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you, and the rest of my family will kill me.”

“Understood.”

“And I mean
anything
, Mal. Half your job is to protect her, and the other half is to guide her around Cuba.”

“What about getting the information you want?”

Gabe grinned and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet on the desk, a cocky son of a bitch again. “That’s the third half.”

But Mal leaned forward with one more question. “What are you going to do if you find out…if you don’t like what I learn about Isa?”

Gabe immediately put his feet back down and leaned all the way over the desk to make his point. “If she didn’t die peacefully and naturally, I will find out who is responsible for killing her and pluck out their eyes, break every bone in their body, and then stab them until they bleed out. What do you think I would do to anyone who even thinks about hurting someone I love?”

Mal swallowed against a dry throat. “Nothing less.”

Chapter Seven

Half a million dollars?

She’d stripped down, fallen into bed, and spread her legs for a prison guard who’d gone to jail for embezzling half a freaking million dollars? A loser with forty-two postal address changes in thirty-eight years who still had some holes in his whereabouts?

This had to be the icing on a cake of bad choices in men.

“Damn it,” she mumbled as she cruised through another database, unearthing one shocking piece of information after another. “You sure can look like one kind of person on paper and another in bed.”

Why would Gabe trust this guy? Why would he trust her safety to him and the project of finding his most precious possession—a child? To be fair, Gabe was a fantastic judge of character, and he must know something that wasn’t in these databases.

She brushed back some hair that fell over her face, vaguely realizing it had dried in the few hours since she’d showered and started researching her new “partner.” As soon as Nino brought her clothes, she’d be marching over to Gabe’s office for some answers.

Still wrapped in a fluffy Casa Blanca-supplied bathrobe, she pushed the computer away and walked through the French doors to the pool deck that overlooked a glorious water view. Turquoise waves lapped at white sand, a stretch of beach dotted by the bright yellow umbrellas that were a signature of this high-end resort. The sound of gulls and the occasional song of a kid’s laughter floated up from the sand, making her ache in a way she didn’t understand.

No, she understood. Sometimes it seemed like her love life was one long series of bad choices, all of them denying her the chance for that sound to be
her
child. And instead of being melancholy, she needed to get mad.

Mad that Mal wasn’t the one-night stand she’d hoped to have; now she had…feelings for him. She fisted her hand and banged the railing like she could punch the feelings away. She had to. He couldn’t be more wrong for her.

She closed her eyes and blocked out the postcard view, replacing it with the stark black-and-white data that she’d discovered about Malcolm James Harris, thirty-eight years old, born in Houston, Texas.

High school dropout, arrested for a drunk and disorderly at eighteen, enlisted in the Marines, did two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, then got out. More moves around the country in at least a dozen states—that’s where the holes were—with three stints as a prison guard. Then he joined the Maryland Reserves, got sent to Guantanamo, spent a few more months with no real address, then was at Allenwood as a prisoner…charged with stealing half a million dollars in federal funds.

He wasn’t a common thief; he was a big-time, showstopping thief.

And he’d never lay a hand on her again.

She closed the collar of the robe, as if she were physically blocking his access to her, and even that made her feel…sad. Mad. Frustrated.

Obviously, she’d never have sex with him again. Damn it.

That decision should suit her just fine—considering what she wanted in a man, and it sure as hell wasn’t a world-class embezzler with a list of forty-two different postal addresses. But it somehow
didn’t
suit her to think he was off-limits. Not primal her. Not Chessie who lost all control in a hotel with a stranger.

How could she forget how amazing that had been? How could she look at that face and not remember how his whiskers rubbed her thighs? How could she look at his mouth and not remember the taste of every kiss? How could she do this job for Gabe, pressed up next to Mal in an airplane, and not relive the way he owned every inch of her body and made her melt?

She jumped at a knock on the villa door. “Get a grip, Chess,” she mumbled, pushing off the railing, mentally preparing to deal with her grandfather. Gabe might have told Nino about the child, but the “my partner is an embezzler” vault should stay closed for now.

He knocked again, harder.

“I’m coming, Nino. No need to beat down the door.”

She waited for his typical response, a muttering in Italian or butchering of an English idiom, but there was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. Before she opened, she peeked through the peephole and sucked in a quiet breath. That was so not Nino.

Aw,
man
. This wasn’t fair. Even distorted by the lens, Malcolm James Harris, transient thief, was all dark and smoldery. How was a woman expected
not
to fall into bed with him…hours after they met?

Because he stole half a million dollars, that’s how. Imagine what he could do to a woman’s heart.

“I have your bag from the airport,” Mal said.

Well, she had wanted to talk to him alone, so this was as good a time as any. She tightened the robe again. She would have preferred to have real clothes on, though. And maybe a little makeup.

Not that she felt she needed to impress him, but she could use a dose of confidence in the face of his flawlessness.

Flawlessness? He was a thief with forty-two former addresses, one of them a prison cell.

“Let me in, Francesca.”

The demand, spoken low and slow and without any doubt that she would let him in, did stupid things to her stomach. She opened the door, and he rolled the suitcase in, following close behind. Stepping back, she looked up at him, self-consciously pulling the robe tie.

“Are you going to blush every time you see me? ’Cause it’s a dead giveaway.”

She was blushing? She touched her face as if she could wipe away the heat. “I’ve been out by the pool.”

Wordlessly, he nudged her into the hall toward the living area, carrying her suitcase for her. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” she said, a little ticked that he acted like it was his idea.

She dropped into one of the chairs, but he stayed standing, his torso blocking all the light from the patio. “You can sit down,” she said.

He wore baggy shorts that showed strong, muscular calves with a dusting of dark hair. Sneakers that were at the very least a size twelve and a plain white T-shirt that showed off the result of hours spent at the gym. Or maybe he’d pulled hard labor in prison.

He loomed over her. Too close. Too big. Too good in bed
and how could she stand to not have that again, even just once?

“You want to know if I told him, don’t you?” he asked, obviously misreading her expression of horror at that last thought.

“What I want is for you to sit down. I know you didn’t tell him since your teeth are intact, you bear no bullet holes, and your arms and legs are still attached.”

He gave just enough of a smile to make her stomach do a somersault, and he did perch on the armrest of the plush sofa, taking away a little of his overpoweringness. A little. “Proof that our liaison is still a secret.”

“Liaison?” She almost choked on the word. “That’s a pretty fancy word for stupid.”

His jaw opened just a little in reaction. “You think it was?”

This time she did choke. “Well, it wasn’t smart.”

“Yeah? And what makes you think that?”

“First clue? Your midnight escape.”

“Okay, yes. Once you said your name and I put two and two together, I knew—”

“Gabe would beat your ass if he found out you seduced his sister.”

“Not what I was going to say. And newsflash: I’m not scared of your brother.”

She shot a dubious brow up.

“I’m not. That’s not why I left.”

“So did you leave because I didn’t have a half million dollars you could steal?”

For the first time, a flicker crossed his dark eyes. Shame. Remorse. Maybe a little regret. Enough to almost make her want to take back the comment.

“That didn’t take long,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

He gave her a direct look. “Would you like to know why I left, or would you rather share all the details of my life you’ve found online?”

She felt her own flash of remorse for digging into his private life, but pushed it aside. “Yes, I’d like to know why you left when you found out who I was.”

“You said you were visiting your brother in Florida, so I figured I better get down here overnight, get my marching orders from Gabe, and get on the road before your flight landed. Save us both that awkward moment.”

She fought a smile. “When you find out the stranger you slept with is your mission partner. Definitely awkward.”

“So how do you want to play this?” he asked. “Our secret or not? It’s your call, Chessie.”

Chessie
. So much for Francesca whispered in the heat of passion. She wished to hell that didn’t disappoint her, but it did. “I’m afraid it’s not our secret at all.”

He just looked at her. “Who did you tell?”

“No one, but I have to show you something.”

He looked surprised when she stood and walked to the bedroom door. She heard his footsteps behind her as she headed to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and picked up the cracked device she’d had in her jeans pocket. Holding it in her palm, she showed him.

“I found this on the bedrail in your hotel room when I was retrieving my clothes.”

He looked at it and visibly paled beneath his tanned skin. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“Yep. And with, it would seem, an audience.”

He reached for it, but she shut her hand over his, trapping the bug between their palms. Electricity danced up her arm at the contact that felt both familiar and scary.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“But you are. I can tell by the look on your face you’re planning your next move, which will be
out
and
far
and
fast
.”

“How would you know that?”

She managed a wry smile. “Forty-two addresses in thirty-eight years. And those are the ones that are registered.”

His gaze tapered. “That’s some thorough background check you did.”

“I’m nothing if not thorough,” she told him, freeing her hand.

He took the bug and flipped it in his hand to see the other side. “You destroyed it?”

“Yeah, I, um, might have freaked a bit when I found it and realized our, um,
liaison
had been overheard by…someone.” But who? Did he know?

“We have to tell Gabe about our hookup now,” he said simply.

Hookup
. She closed her eyes and pretended it didn’t bother her.

“And he’s going to pull us both from this assignment,” he added.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because if someone is following me, it could be dangerous for you if we’re together.”

“Why the hell would someone be following you?”

He just stared at her, a look she knew so damn well from her brother. Need To Know. Need To Know. Always the freaking Need To Know and she didn’t.

Irritation ricocheted through her. “I was in that room, too, Mal. I’m involved whether you like it or not.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sorry that he dragged her into this or sorry their
hookup
happened?

She had to let that go. It
was
a hookup. “Does that device have a tracking system in it?” she asked.

He turned it over and over in his hand. “I don’t think so. It’s pretty low-tech.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Maybe one of the housekeepers puts it in the rooms and gets off on people…liaising.”

He didn’t smile at the joke. “’Fraid not, Chessie. We have to tell Gabe and let him make the call.”

“Do we, really?” Maybe Mal wasn’t afraid of Gabe’s wrath, but Chessie sure as hell wasn’t prepared for his…disappointment. And wrath.

“Yes, we do. There’s no room for argument, because this could change everything.”

She blew out a breath, knowing deep inside that arguing was futile. “Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll go with you. In fact, you should hang back and let me do the dirty work because I might be able to save your ass by taking most of the blame myself.”