Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (5 page)

If he found out… No, Gabe would freaking kill her for this, and then he’d call in their brothers to hunt the guy down—Marc would do that. JP would threaten him with more jail time. And then, for good measure, he’d tell their cousin Zach, who’d put his fist through the guy’s–

Something popped into the air, breaking away from the bedframe as her top snapped free.

“What the—” She looked down at the spread on the floor. A black disc lay against the cream color, making her jerk back at the possibility it was a roach.

But then a tiny red light flashed once right in the middle of it.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, reaching her hand closer but not actually touching it.

It flashed again. This was a bug, all right. But not the creepy-crawly kind.

Though every bit as creepy. Very slowly, Chessie backed away, covering her mouth as the horrific reality of this settled over her.

The room was
bugged
—and the light said the bug was active—and all that mind-blowing, body-quaking, orgasm-making sex she had enjoyed so boisterously?

She sucked in a slow breath as the implications piled up one by one. This could be used against her. This could be sent to her family. This could turn up on the Internet.

But this was
his
room. Someone could be after him. Holy hell, he
could
be an escaped convict! And she’d inadvertently aided and abetted him. Or had just unknowingly become an alibi in a murder.

Holy God, the list of possibilities were endless, and not one of them any good.

She stood, suddenly aware of how very vulnerable she was, uneasily looking around for the camera that might be in the room, too.

“Son of a…” She stopped herself from saying another word, silently slipping into her cardigan and buttoning it with trembling hands. She had to get out of there. She had to get out of Atlanta. And not by way of the airport, either.

A plan started to form, point by point. Check out. Take cab to car rental. Leave for Barefoot Bay tonight. She’d already checked the driving time in the airport after the flight was canceled. Eight and a half hours for regular people. Chessie could make it in seven. And a quarter. So she’d be there by eight thirty or nine at the latest.

Shit, her luggage. Plan snag.

No, no. Her bag would make it to Fort Myers because she was booked on that plane, and she could get it from the airport that afternoon.

Okay, a plan. She loved a plan. A calming, direct plan to counteract the raw stupidity of casual sex with an escaped prisoner in a bugged room.

Her hands shook as she tried to pull on her ankle-high boots.

“You are so not cut out for field work,” she mumbled, then remembered the bug and slammed her mouth shut. Shit. She had to get out of here.

Snagging her handbag, she looked around for anything else she might have left, besides her dignity and sanity.

Oh, his Allenwood federal prison T-shirt.

Should she take it? Or leave it? Instinct and self-preservation made her grab the T-shirt and stuff it into her bag.

But then there was the bug, still on the floor, still flashing a slender red beam of light. She took a step, then another, and let her boot heel
accidentally
crush the small device.

“That bug’s dead.” Then she scooped the pieces up, stuffed them in her jeans pocket, and hustled out the door, already reviewing her steps and loving her new plan. This could be good. Gabe would think she was heroic for driving all night. And she’d make it in time for peppers and eggs, and some good old Italian food love from her grandfather.

It was all good. Her big mistake was nothing but a bad memory.

Define bad.
She could still hear his baritone voice and his clever little expressions.
Define okay, Francesca. Define solid.

Here’s how she’d define bad: going off plan. And she would never, ever do that again.

Chapter Four

Ninety-eight…ninety-nine…one mothereffing hundred.

Gabe bounced to his feet after the last one-armed push-up and shook out his burning tricep, stomping around the fifteen-square-foot back porch he’d turned into his simple home gym, complete with a punching bag and set of weights under the awning, and one bench. No matter where he lived, or what hellacious country he woke up in, Gabe figured out a way to take care of his temple.

He squinted into the sun, already nearly in the middle of the sky over Bareass Bay, as he’d taken to calling his prison in paradise. He used to get up early, but these days? He didn’t even sleep, so he’d start working out at dawn just to get the hell out of his misery.

He wiped his face with a T-shirt and looked around the tropical cul-de-sac. Palm trees swayed against achingly blue skies, the breeze heavy with the ever-present salt smell of the bay just on the other side of a lush garden. Beyond that, the high-end villas and expansive private beach of Casa Blanca Resort & Spa sat like a jewel in the Gulf of Mexico.

It was still a prison for him now that his only reason for choosing to live in this out-of-the-way playground was…
deceased
. Well, technically, his reason was proximity to Cuba, but the reason he wanted that proximity was…
dead
.

Unless the child she’d left behind really was his. Then he had another reason to be here. Another reason to live at all.

In the days that’d passed since he learned that he’d never see Isadora Winter again, the pain still burned a hole in his heart, infusing every breath he took with the unfamiliar blackness of mourning.

But he refused to let it break him.

Not until he found out if her four-year-old son was his. The name Gabriel was only one clue. And the age, of course. Now came the hard part, and if his team would just get here, he could get them briefed and started.

He had to know. Had to. If he had a son, well, he’d move heaven, earth, and the whole fucking island of Cuba to get that kid. If he didn’t, then it was time to accept the loss of Isa forever. Until then, he lived in limbo, which felt a lot like hell, despite the postcard surroundings.

He pushed open the back door into the bungalow’s kitchen and sucked in a noisy breath. And got nothing but the lingering aroma of last night’s veal Marsala.

At the sound in the hall, Gabe turned to find his grandfather lumbering toward him, his white hair brushed as neatly as the mop could get, his crisp shirt—Pepto pink today—buttoned like he was on his way to the Oval Office for a press conference.

“Do you want some breakfast, Gabriel?”

“You look too dolled up to cook, old man. I’ll wing it.”

“Pffft!” Nino yanked an apron from a hook and waved one of his massive, gnarled hands. “I dress for my job, Gabriel. And part of my job is feeding you.”

Gabe stifled a smile, not bothering to tell the octogenarian that no one expected him to show up in his office dressed for a funeral. Gabe rarely wore anything but board shorts and an old T-shirt, but then he was only a “consultant” to McBain Security. And by consultant, he meant that Luke McBain gave him free office space in exchange for the occasional bit of advice on how to run the resort’s security firm.

That way, Gabe had a safe cover for his
real
work of helping people who needed to stay off the radar and turn up with new lives. The US Marshals might think they owned that space with wit-sec, but Gabe knew shit that put those jokers to shame. And, based on the number of clients ready to throw money at him for private-sector witness protection, his idea was freaking genius.

But he couldn’t do the job alone. He’d brought his grandfather into the fold for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the old man was possibly his favorite person on earth. Well, his favorite person still living on earth.

So Nino Rossi, commonly known as Uncle Nino to the family, became Gabe’s personal assistant, a job the eightysomething-year-old man did with surprising vigor.

But only for a half day. The rest of the time he puttered in a corner of the farmette that belonged to the resort and he cooked. Like a god. And he was Gabe’s only sounding board on most days, which meant…he should know what was about to happen.

When Chessie showed up, he couldn’t hide the truth from Nino, and he honestly didn’t want to. He just wasn’t sure how the old guy would respond to a great-grandchild currently locked in Cuba. But it was time to find out. He loved Nino too much to keep him in the dark, and his grandfather had proven himself to be beyond trustworthy with the secrets of their undercover business. If he could just get Nino to get along with the one other woman on the resort staff, a housekeeper, who was “in the know” about the business, then they might have a good thing going here.

But first, the news.

“I have a surprise for you today,” Gabe said, walking to the refrigerator. “Since you’re hitting the stove to do your thing, l’ll dish up good news.”

Nino put his hand on the refrigerator door, holding it closed. “If you gulp down milk from the bottle, I’ll…” He made a fist. “You’ll eat this instead of eggs.” The words rolled out with an Italian accent as faint as the threat itself.

Gabe easily yanked the door open, reaching for a plastic container. “Fuck it, Nino, we got separate bottles for this.”

“It’s not healthy, that habit of yours.”

Gabe shot him a look. “I know, bacteria. You told me. Bring on the botulism, baby. I just sweat out every little bugger in my body, and I need my milk, old man.”

Nino gave the apron tie a good pull, making sure it protected Brooks Brothers’ finest.

He pushed Gabe out of the way of the open fridge to get eggs from the carton. “Gimme the good news, Gabriel. A new client? Another make-believe honeymoon couple like the last two?”

“Hey, that was sheer genius,” Gabe replied. “The MMA trainer on the run from the mob pretending to be married to the hot lawyer who had a stalker? Dude, that kind of undercover gig was exactly why I started this business. They’re not complaining that the fake honeymoon turned real, by the way.”

Nino made a classic Italian mug and shrugged. “I give you that, grandson. It worked out. So who’s our next undercover client? I’m getting really good at that fake paperwork. Can I make up the names again?”

Gabe stifled a proud grin. The Marshals would be lucky to have such an assistant for wit-sec. Plus, Gabe got paid obscene money, and even though Nino didn’t want a dime, the old man’s bank account would have a tidy sum before long. He might not want to spend it, but someday he could leave it to all those Rossi and Angelino kids who loved his cranky old ass.

“Sorry to say I’m not taking any clients for a few weeks, but we are getting a guest, and she’s your second-favorite grandchild.”

Nino turned, his eyes wide and, to his credit, unsure. He loved the whole brood equally, though everyone was convinced they were his favorite. Didn’t matter; Gabe
was
his favorite.

“Chessie’s on her way,” Gabe said, saving him from making the wrong guess.

“She is?” He beamed. “I liked it when she was here before, but she left so quickly. More computer work for you?”

Not exactly. “She’s helping me find someone,” Gabe explained, mentally pumping up for the big news.

Nino chuckled as he chopped peppers and onions like a cooking ninja. “That’s what Chessie does. She finds people with those busy fingers on the keyboard. Who are you looking for?”

“A boy.”

Nino didn’t answer, but a frown formed as he moved on to the eggs. When Gabe didn’t offer more, the other man looked up with a question on his weathered expression. “For a client?”

“For me.” Gabe took a slow breath and poured a giant bacteria-free glass of milk into a real glass, since that might make Nino predisposed to be happy about this. “He’s my boy.”

Nino’s whole body stilled, the whisk dripping with raw eggs. “
Scusi
?”

“Maybe my boy. We don’t know yet.”

The old man’s jaw loosened, and a sound came out, not quite a word, not really a grunt, completely a demand for more information.

“Look,” Gabe said, putting the glass on the counter with too much force. “I had a…” What could he call it? A thing? A romance? An affair with the love of his life? “A
friend
on that last assignment at Gitmo.”

Nino still stared.

“And I’ve been trying to find her for years.” Five years. Five
long
years. “I had a good lead, but the files were encrypted, and that’s why I flew Chessie down here a couple of weeks ago. Turns out she—my friend—had a kid.”

“Your kid?” Nino asked.

He tried to imagine Isadora with another man and couldn’t. Not then. Not ever. “Possibly. Probably. I don’t know.”

“A woman had your baby and didn’t tell you?” Nino’s voice lifted sky-high.

“Maybe had my baby. We haven’t confirmed it.”

“
Cavolo
!” Nino choked, the Italian curse cracking his voice. “Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

Most likely because it would put the kid in danger. Or maybe it would put Gabe in danger. Or her. There were plenty of reasons she’d make the choice, but he’d never know unless Junior came with his mother’s diary.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “And I may never know because she…” Fuck the world, he hated to say the word. It made it so real. “She died.”