Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (27 page)

The woman nodded as she held the cross still, letting the light filter through the stone, where there must be tiny words.

“
Un bebé
,” the woman said.

“A baby?” Mal stepped closer, but Chessie was faster, inching next to the woman, who handed her the rosary.

But the woman had lost interest in the rosary, tapping the money in her hand as she brushed by Mal. She mumbled an offering of ten more minutes and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Oh my God, Mal,” Chessie whispered, peering at the stone with the window light behind it. “It is a message! You’re right.” She turned to him, surprising him with eyes wet with tears. She handed it to him, her hands—her whole body—shaking. “Read it.”

He took the chain and held the cross to the light, the center made up of a round red jewel about half an inch in diameter. Mal squinted at the tiny letters, each word punching his gut.

Gabriel Rafael Winter 29 Junio 2011

“Chessie.” His voice was thick in his throat. “We found him.”

“We haven’t found him yet.” She was already at the computer, fingers flying, typing so hard and fast it was a wonder she didn’t break the keyboard. “But I have a name and a birthdate and a beautiful, working password of
chimneyeight
—thank you very much—that just opened up a world of possibilities.”

He stood behind her, putting both hands on her shoulders just to feel the vibrations humming through her body. The buzz of determination and relentless optimism and…hope. The woman was damn near overflowing with the one thing he hadn’t even thought existed.

“Got it!” She practically jumped out of her seat. “I found him, Mal! I found him! Look.” She pointed to a line of text, and he read it out loud.

“
Gabriel Rafael Winter, nació el vente y nueve de junio, en el año dos mil once, a Isadora Winter
.” He squeezed her shoulders and translated. “Born June 29, 2011, to Isadora Winter.”

“Oh my God, look, Mal.” She pointed to a word on the screen.
Adoptado
. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes,” he replied. “He’s been adopted.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “Someone adopted my nephew? How can Gabe ever get him back, Mal? How?”

“I don’t know. But first we have to find him.”

Chapter Twenty-one

By the time they neared their hostel, they had a plan, which Chessie clung to as tightly as the rosary that had been engraved for her nephew. Ramos was the person who’d given Chessie the rosary, and surely he’d known what he was doing when he handed her that information.

Mal didn’t one hundred percent agree with that, but he was willing to go back to see Ramos in the morning on the off chance he’d tell them who’d adopted the child. But he was sure that
Señor
Ramos helped local orphans, which most likely also included getting them out of the country, which would explain his secrecy, and he wasn’t likely to easily spill the name of the family who had Gabriel.

She put the rosary in her bag and took Mal’s hand as they walked into the dark and dingy building they currently called home. They headed downstairs to the basement and down the hall, but Mal stopped short five feet from the door.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

He pointed to the scruffy thatched mat in front of the door. “I left that corner over the threshold so it would only move if someone’s been in the room.”

“Housekeeping?”

Even as she said the word, she knew how ridiculous it was. They hadn’t seen anyone who looked anything like a maid since they got to this dump. He turned, surprising her, suddenly pulling her into a tight, deep embrace.

“Mal, I—”

His mouth came down hard on hers, a breath-stealing kiss so unexpected she grunted and tried to pull back, but he was having none of it, pushing her against the wall and devouring her mouth.

“Listen to me,” he murmured into the kiss. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

She nodded, her heart suddenly pounding for more reasons than just the pressure of his body against hers.

He pinned her to the wall, kissed her neck and finally worked his mouth to her ear. “If nothing’s missing, then we have to find what they left behind,” he whispered. “Most likely audio, because I’d spot a camera.”

The room was bugged?

“Work with me, Chess,” he said. “We’re going to use sex as our cover. Just follow my lead.”

She nodded.

“Act like you like this,” he breathed into her ear.

She
did
like it. She just didn’t like…someone watching or listening to just how much she liked it.

“Please,” he insisted, the word sounding like a plea for sex, but she knew it wasn’t. “You get on the bed while I look for a
condom
.”

But he didn’t mean condom. Not for one second, and she knew that. He squeezed tighter, silently telling her what to do.

“A condom. I like that plan.” She slid her hands up his arms, squeezing his muscles, closing around his neck to tell him she would give him a hundred percent on this. “And you know how I like a good
plan
.”

He pulled back long enough to wash her with a look of gratitude. And a little challenge. This was a test, and she was going to pass.

He kissed her again and went to the other ear to whisper more instructions. “Every word, every action has to be believable.”

She nodded.

“And it’s all about sex.”

Only it wasn’t. It was all about finding a bug.

“You distract on the bed. Talk to me, seduce me, do what you have to while I search for it.”

“And then?” She dragged out the words and stroked his head as if begging for sex talk and not a plan.

“Contingency, Francesca.”

In other words, go with the flow.

“I like that,” she said, purposely coy.

“And then we’ll get out of here,” he murmured. “Just follow my lead.”

She answered with the openmouthed kiss of a desperate, horny, sex-charged woman, not a determined, deceptive, mission-focused agent.

But that’s what she was now.

She dragged her hands down his chest, vaguely aware that his heart hammered like hers. “Whatever you say…” She tried to sound sexy and provocative, but still get her clear message across that he could trust her. “I’ll do.”

His eyes grew smoky, and his mouth almost tipped in a smile. “In the room, Francesca.
Now
.”

She damn near melted from anticipation and the way the demand turned her on.

That was no good. This had to be an
act
. A really good act.

She let him walk her to their door, holding him tight, kissing his shoulder, caressing his back like any lover would while he found the key and opened the door, then banged it hard and dead-bolted it.

“Are we—”

“Shut up,” he insisted, punctuating that with a kiss so hard he slammed her right against the wall.

He cupped her breasts and pushed into her, pretty damn hard for a man who was acting, glancing over to the wall behind the bed before backing away. But she could see his eyes were open, searching everywhere he could while kissing her and turning her around.

At her ear, he breathed, “Make a lot of noise. I need it for cover. Don’t ever stop talking.”

Make noise. What the hell should she say?

“Talk sexy to me, Francesca.” He guided her to the bed and pushed her on it. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me, baby. I’ll get a raincoat.”

Talk sexy. Make a lot of noise. Of course, she was speechless and frozen like a statue.

Some freaking spy she made.

Leaving her on the bed, he backed against a wall and was slyly scanning the room, probably on the off chance there was a camera. Abandoning that, he threw her a look that said everything
. Do it, Chessie. Play the part. Be a spy. Be my partner.

And all she wanted in the whole world was to prove herself to him. And, maybe, to herself.

Kneeling on the lumpy mattress, she fingered the bottom of her T-shirt. “I can’t wait for you to strip me,” she said, inching the shirt up provocatively.

“Oh yeah. I’m going to strip you.” But he was digging through his duffel bag, feeling around, carefully pulling out clothes and shaking them.

“Oh yeah, hurry up, baby.”
Hurry up, baby
? She was going down as the worst dirty-talker ever. What the hell would Gabe do? Gabe would go all-in and fry his partner’s ears.

“I want you to fuck me, hard.”

Mal whipped his head up, eyes wide at the words. She saw his mouth slacken ever so slightly. His eyes flickered with encouragement, and then he went back to work.

Okay, dirty talk. Dirty talk. “I…I…want you…” Hopefully, whoever was listening or watching didn’t speak English.

Unless they were CIA.

Oh
God
. What if Gabe saw this? Well, he’d say she was doing her job in the field. That she came from a family of badasses and…deserved to bear the Rossi name.

“I want your mouth all over me. Licking. Sucking.” She closed her eyes, slowly pulled her top off so she could finger her nipples over her bra. “Everywhere, Mal. Right here.”

Mal finished that suitcase and moved to hers, glancing up at her. “I intend to. And you won’t be able to walk when I’m done.” Impatience edged his voice, and she suspected it wasn’t because he was desperate for sex. Where was the bug?

“I don’t want you to be done…I want you to be inside me all night.” The words were coarse and crude and not what she liked, except…her hands dragged down to her jeans, playing with the snap. “I want you inside me. Your big cock. Hurry!”

His head shot up with a look that said he was doing his damn best.

She unzipped her jeans, making it slow and noisy and as stripper-y as she could. “You know what it’s going to feel like, Mal. Heaven.”

“Hot and wet and tight, woman.”

It didn’t sound like him. He’d never talk like that to her. Which helped remind her that this wasn’t real—anything either of them said or did was for the benefit of whoever might be listening or watching.

She pushed her jeans open and slid her hand inside her panties. Well, the words were working on her, at least. She touched herself and moaned noisily with her head back.

From under her lashes, she saw him look, his eyes flashing for a moment, then he gave her an all-business, nearly imperceptible nod. “Nice.”

The move or her spy work? “I’ll show you nice. Get over here.”

“Yeah, baby. Show me,” he said, pressed against a wall and carefully digging through the other suitcase. “And
tell
me,” he insisted. “Tell me how you feel.”

In other words, make more noise and cover for him.

“I feel…” At her long pause, he looked again, the message in his eyes clear. “I feel sexy when I’m with you. It makes me want you so bad, Mal. I’ve always wanted you.”

He switched to the last bag, not even looking at her as he searched.
Okay, here we go.

“From the moment I saw you…” She caressed her womanhood, half proud of herself, half furious with her body’s response to something that was supposed to be fake. He finished searching her suitcase, tossing it aside and starting on the window casing and vent. “I wanted you—to kiss me, to taste me, to fill me up until I scream for more.”

That got his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, his brows slightly raised. “Yeah, baby.” His voice sounded gruff. “I want that, too.”

“Then find that condom, honey.”
Because I can’t keep talking like a rejected page from Penthouse Forum for much longer. And I might come.

“I’m still looking for what I need,” he said. “But you’re making me hot, baby.”

“I’m hot, too.” Oh man
. Lame, Chess.

He threw her a quick smile. “That’s good.” He gave up on the window and moved to the only other piece of furniture in the room, a cheap dresser. He opened the top drawer. “Maybe they’re in here,” he said.

“Hurry up, Mal. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” She touched her hard nipple, scraping the lace of her bra.

What a weak-ass she was. No decent spy would actually get turned on by this. Mal was all business, that’s for sure.

He turned to give her another look, pausing in his search to stare at her. His eyes darkened. His jaw locked. His chest rose and fell with one tight breath. “Keep going,” he said, his voice more than a little rough.

Or maybe not.

She pushed the jeans over her hips and shimmied out of them just to make more noise, moaning the whole time, leaving her thong on. “My panties are wet, Mal.” He didn’t even look, working his own way down to the lower drawer. Of course he didn’t look, because a real spy would use a more effective P-word than panties. “Mal, my pu—”

Suddenly, his fist shot in the air with a thumbs-up, then he beckoned her closer. “C’mere, baby,” he said. “Come over here and see…what I got for your wet panties.”

She scooted off the bed and stepped closer to see. Under a yellowed, crispy piece of tissue lining the bottom of the drawer, there was a tiny disc she recognized immediately.