Fate Book Two (2 page)

I heard the sound of our three Spanish guitar players strumming Villa-Lobos,
Prelude No. 3
, signaling my cue.

My heart, knowing that I would be spending the rest of my life with Paolo, glowed warmly in my chest as I took my father’s arm and marched down the windowless corridor toward the chapel. Before entering the arched doorway, my father stopped and looked at me one last time. “I’m proud of you, Dakota. You’re a strong person. Much stronger than I was at your age.”

That was a strange compliment, but whatever. My father was all about being tough.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said quietly. I didn’t attempt any additional words, knowing I might burst into tears.

My father and I journeyed the last few steps and stopped in the wide entryway, permitting us a full view of the chapel. Soft afternoon sunlight poured in from the stained-glass windows above, casting cheery red, blue, and yellow lights over the room, where white rose petals peppered the red runner leading to the altar and white roses overflowed from every corner of the small historic church, giving the rustic charm an elegant upgrade.

My mom had done a magnificent job. I wanted to take in every inch, every second, and every breath. A girl only gets to live this moment once. Hopefully.

My eyes traveled up the aisle to where my mom stood with her blonde hair neatly pulled back, looking as elegant as ever in a white pantsuit. Oddly, though, her wide blue eyes screamed panic. The priest, a short, chunky man who generally smiled, also had an expression of creepy terror.

My father immediately tensed and reached into his coat.

A gun. He’s reaching for a gun. What the hell is happening?

“No! It’s okay!” my mom screamed at my father, holding up her hand.

That’s when I noticed the glaring absence of the groom.

“Um…Um…Where’s Paolo?” Had he gone to the bathroom? Maybe he needed to fix his bow tie?

My mom shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know, baby. He was here a few minutes ago. He said he was going to check on you.”

The guitar players, dressed in blousy red shirts, halted their nuptial serenade and exchanged glances.

“But,” I said, “Dad was the only one who came…” My voice trailed off.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
Panic hit me hard. Not just for Paolo, but for my parents, too.

I turned to my father, who blinked in that strange sort of way indicating he was extremely agitated or worried.

“Go out the back door,” he commanded. “Head to this motel on the west side of town.” He handed me a key with the name Motel Ranita printed on a little frog-shaped tag. Although my parents were staying with Paolo and I in the guest room at our beach condo, it wasn’t at all unusual for a man like my father to have a contingency plan. Paolo had three ready to go on any given day, including backpacks carrying cash and new identities stashed all over town.

I nodded frantically. “Okay. I’ll take Mom. Just find him, Dad. Please.”

I ran toward the altar and grabbed my mom’s trembling hand. We sprinted to the back exit, and outside were immediately blasted with the muggy, hot mid-June air. We headed straight to the gray sedan, keys waiting in the visor—yes, another contingency—and headed to the motel, taking five turns through town—no more, no less—as Paolo had taught me.

“Dakota, baby.” My mom gripped my arm as I tried to drive calmly to our “safe house.” “Don’t worry. I’m sure Paolo is okay. There’s got to be an explanation.”

Of that I had zero doubt. Paolo had either been taken against his will or had split on me. Neither option would leave me unscathed.

Lord, let it be cold feet. Just be all right, Paolo. Just be all right.
Because anyone who might take him wouldn’t be the sort to play nice with his body parts. And if they’d found him, that meant they’d found us, too.

Why is this happening?

Because you’re a magnet for trouble. Just like Paolo said.

~~~

Four Weeks Earlier

“Who would have believed it?” Paolo’s dark eyes focused on the crashing waves as we settled ourselves on the red picnic blanket. Only a few minutes’ walk from our beachfront condo, this was our favorite spot—coastline as far as the eye could see, turquoise water, and the softest sand in the world.

“Believed what?” I asked, trying and failing to dust a bit of sand from my bare arms. This time of year—May—the air was so thick with humidity that my skin felt permanently sticky, which was why I was in shorts-and-tank mode these days. Same for Paolo. Not that I minded the weather, but it did take a little getting used to. Paolo, on the other hand, was a chameleon and had blended right in to our foreign home from day one. Of course, he had olive skin that tanned to perfection, he spoke fluent Spanish, and he loved ocean sports: scuba, spearfishing, sailboating. He especially loved anything with a little danger mixed in (
spies—can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em
), which was why he’d been trying to convince me to ditch the church wedding and do our vows in one of those skydiving ceremonies. Somehow, plummeting to the earth at one hundred and twenty miles per hour while screaming “Until death do us paaaaart…!” didn’t seem romantic.

“It sounds like a good way to have the shortest marriage in history,” I had said.

“It’s symbolic,” he’d replied, but then saw my expression and dropped it. He knew I’d be heartbroken not to get to wear my dress. Anyway, he never did say what a skydiving wedding symbolized.

Paolo continued staring at the water, his angular, unshaven jaw clenching. “I still find it hard to believe I’m here, living this life, about to marry the woman I love. I think I’m the luckiest man on the planet.” A gust of wind blew his black hair to the side. It was a lot longer than when I met him, the sun-bleached tips reaching his earlobes.

“I never would’ve believed it either, but I think I’m the lucky one.” I reached over and squeezed his hand. It was much larger than mine and rough with calluses from all of the training, exercising, and activities he did. I always found it strange how his hands, so gentle and tender with me, especially in bed, were also deadly weapons. And thank God they were. He’d saved my life with those hands not once, but three times. Paolo was tough as nails. But he looked like a hot underwear model and had a heart of gold.

“Yep. I definitely got the better end of this deal,” I said.

He turned to me and tipped his head slightly to one side. “How can you say that?”

Because all he got was a woman with wild red hair who burned easily and he had to worry about protecting all the time.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. “You’re smart, resilient, and goddamned gorgeous. And you’ve given me something I never thought I’d have: hope.”

I knew Paolo had it rough growing up, but he’d done a damned good job of bouncing back and making something of himself—graduating at the top of his class in six semesters with a degree in science, technology, and international affairs, speaking a gazillion languages, and working for one of the most powerful people in the world: my father. Of course, he’d left that all behind for me. His biggest hurdle now was letting go of the past—something he’d said he’d done, but I suspected wasn’t true. From time to time, I caught the subtle look in his eyes when his mind drifted off somewhere unpleasant. Like now.

I beamed at him. “You know I’m here for you whenever you want to talk.”

He shook his head and then those sensual, full lips—bordered by several days of thick black stubble—formed a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sour the mood.”

“You didn’t. I just want you to know that—”

“Oh. I get it,” he said teasingly. “You just completed your first semester of college and now you want to play with my brain.”

“Well,” I shrugged, “I do plan to be a child psychologist.”

He laughed and shoved my shoulder, tipping me over.

“Hey!” I snickered. “That was dirty.”

He quickly grabbed my hand and yanked me back up, swiftly taking the opportunity to steal a kiss.

The feel of his supple lips moving over my mouth was an instant turn-on. He was a man who knew how to control every muscle in his body with the utmost discipline but would let it all go when he was with me. Only with me. And when we made love, it was like free-falling through a sky of sensual bliss. Even better was how lost he seemed to get in us, and how he enjoyed my body (and I, his). He especially reveled in how quickly I now responded to him. With the slightest touch of that little spot just under my earlobe or even brushing the back of his hand across the tip of my nipple, my body exploded with uncontrollable flutters. Right now, however, he began slowly sliding his hands up my bare inner thigh, triggering an eruption of ravenous sexual need.

I placed my hand on the side of his face, enjoying the roughness of his prickly stubble on my fingertips, and kissed him deeply. I felt his hands sliding up my arms to my shoulders, and just when I thought he was going to push me down on the blanket for a little sunset-beach makeout session that would leave us sprinting home to our bed, he broke the kiss.

“What?” I asked.

The corners of his delicious lips curled into a devilish smile, and two little dimples made an appearance. “I’m not some floozy, Dakota. You can’t just show me those hard little nipples peeking through your little pink shirt and expect me to drop my pants.”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “You are a total man-floozy. Don’t deny it. And don’t work me up if you’re not going to deliver the naughty sausage.”

He burst out laughing and shook his head. “Naughty sausage…you do have a way with words.”

“Stop talking and start kissing me, you little tart,” I said.

He held up his index finger. “Ah. But then you’d miss the surprise.”

“You’re taking off your shirt so I can lick your six-pack?” I said in jest.

“Better.” He twisted around and grabbed his vintage army-green backpack, the one he always carried with him on hikes.

“Ha. Right,” I said. “As if anything could possibly be better than—”

He whipped out a very expensive Chianti from Italy, the same wine he’d once treated me to on the day he proposed. Paolo had said it was like velvet sex in a glass and, of course, me not being a drinker, I didn’t know anything other than it was a yummy wine.

“I thought we’d toast to your accomplishment. A full, completed semester,” he said.

Awww…I so love this guy.
“Can I lick your abs after we toast?”

“Maybe,” he said in a deadpan manner and then began digging through his bag. “Dammit. I forgot the corkscrew.” He quickly hopped to his feet. “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To that store around the corner.” It was a small mom-and-pop that sold sodas, beer, chips, and stuff right next to our favorite café less than a block away, down the beach. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Nope. You just sit there and enjoy the view.” By now, the sky, which was lit with shades of lavender and deep orange, was beginning to darken as the sun set behind us.

I shrugged as Paolo jogged down the beach and then took a right, disappearing behind some palm trees in the direction of the store.

I leaned back on my hands and watched as the sky swirled with vibrant colors while the sun made its final retreat. It truly was a magical place. Quiet, rustic, charming.

After a few minutes, Paolo hadn’t returned, and I wondered if the little store didn’t have corkscrews, so he’d decided to jog back to our condo. A minute’s run for him.

My mind drifted for a moment, watching two large blackbirds swooping down to the ocean’s surface, scooping up fish.

“
¿Qué haces aquí?
” I heard a deep voice say from behind me and felt a pair of hands grip my shoulders.

Thinking it was Paolo goofing around, doing one of his many accents, I swiveled my head. “What took you…” My voice trailed off when I realized it wasn’t Paolo. This guy was in his mid-forties, and his face looked like he’d washed it with motor oil.

“Oh shit.” I twisted my body and jerked forward, away from the man, but when I attempted to scramble to my feet, he caught my wrist and jerked me back. Losing my balance, I fell to my side in the sand. That’s when I saw the guy holding a shiny something in his hand.

Yep, a knife.

On my side, I pushed up. “
¿Qué quieres?
” What do you want?

“
Tu dinero
.”

He wanted my money, but I didn’t have any. I had no purse, no wallet,
nada
. I didn’t even have a key to the condo because Paolo said he’d take his.

I shook my head and told him he was out of luck. That’s when he decided to stick the knife out toward me, and that’s when I spotted Paolo jogging toward us from the corner of my eye. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to look over the man’s shoulder and alert him that my fiancé was coming up behind him, especially when I noticed Paolo had stopped, pulled something from his pocket, and then started running fast.

“
No tengo dinero, señor. Te lo juro
.” I don’t have any money, I promise. I pulled my shorts pockets inside out to show him.

Just as the man stepped forward to do whatever to me, Paolo was there, pressing the corkscrew to his neck. “
Suelta la navaja o te mato
.” Drop the knife or I’ll kill you.

I could tell from the hard, cold look in Paolo’s eyes that he wasn’t necessarily thinking, instead relying on his training that was like second nature to him. It was as if he had a place inside his head where emotions and doubt didn’t exist, allowing his focus to zero in on one thing and one thing only: remove the threat.

“Wait.” I held out my hands. “Don’t kill him. We don’t want any problems with the police. And we don’t want to have to explain why we killed someone.” Paolo looked at me and—holy crap—I could tell he was pissed. He really wanted to put a corkscrew in this guy’s neck. “We’re getting married in a month. I don’t want to have to run. Let’s just call the police.” I pointed to our favorite café, where they knew us and had a phone.