Undercover Pursuit (15 page)

Criminals fell in love, too, right? After all, look at Luke.

No. He couldn't let himself love Scarlett. Couldn't love the way she smiled at him, the way she looked at him as if he might be some sort of action hero. Couldn't love the trust in her eyes, the way she kissed him—

Oh, boy. He managed a smile for Benito. “I hope so.”

Benito gave him a wink as the music started.

Luke scanned the crowd. The guests sat in chairs, draped white for the event, two rows with a center aisle. A blood-red carpet led up to the floral arch under which the priest waited. Two Lost Breezes staff members stood outside the cabana, ushering the noninvited guests to other parts of the resort. In the corner, the bartender
tried to look unobtrusive, restocking the bar. A white-gloved usher stood with his back turned, as if waiting for the bride.

Not brides. Please, not brides, plural. Because, really, why would Scarlett risk her life again for him? After the way he'd treated her? After the things he'd said that reopened her wounds?

No, she wouldn't—shouldn't—show up. Because he didn't deserve her.

He glanced at Claudio sitting in the front row, smiling as guests congratulated him.

Would they shoot him right off, or would they wait until the end of the ceremony? Probably it would be something private, and as Claudio said, it would involve sharks.

As for Augusto, well, Luke had pegged that right. So far, no Scarlett, thus, no Augusto.

If Luke had been working with Stacey, he would have expected her to show. Expected her even to know how to line up help protecting Lucia. But Scarlett—

I'm sorry, God. I let You down. I let us all down.

The music started. A flautist stepped up and, accompanied by the keyboardist, began an aria that, had it been his own wedding, might have made him start to tremble.

He, like Benito, turned to look at the end of the aisle, to admire the bride as she stepped up to—

Scarlett was lined up right behind Lucia, and while Lucia appeared a radiant beauty, Scarlett could stop his heart in his chest.

And right then, he actually wanted it to be true. Wanted to be standing at the altar, a groom waiting for his bride. This bride.

Scarlett had swept up her hair, ringlets hanging down
to frame her face. A splash of sunshine warmed her nose. He couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't want to see the hope in them.

He didn't want her to see his fear.

No, God, this wasn't—

Luke had made his peace with God, sitting in that bathroom all night. Made peace with the fact that he'd screwed up, and that while he'd slink into heaven, perhaps, it would only be out of a divine contract of redemption, not because God actually wanted him there. Still, he was ready to face up to his betrayals, to his mistakes.

He was ready to die.

But Scarlett was not.

“Oh, no.”

Benito looked at him and he realized he'd spoken out loud. He flashed Benito a quick, hard smile.

“Getting cold feet?”

Freezing. But then, he let himself look at Scarlett, finally meet her eyes.

Instead of a bright, love-struck shine, he read calm. She didn't even flinch as she looked at him, confidence on her face, as if she might be saying “Trust me.”

Trust me.

Oh, God, he wanted to. And even as he thought it, he realized that yes, yes, he did trust her. Did believe in her.

Trust me.

Except, now he heard a whisper inside, something other than his own voice.
Trust Me.

Yes.

Please, yes. I want to trust You, God.

Because, despite his betrayals, despite his mistakes,
God had sent him Scarlett. To heal his heart. To show him that no, not all women lie.

Some of them, in fact, surprise you with their loyalty.

And that's when a man appeared behind Lucia. Six feet of nasty slicked up for the day. He edged up behind her, grinning to his nephew as he slipped past both brides and into the cabana.

And Lucia met his eyes and nodded.

Augusto.

Leaner than Claudio, Augusto bore the Sanchezes' dark looks, although a scar ran along his cheekbone, as if he, too, understood betrayal. From the front row, Claudio stood, and for a moment, the crowd watched what might have been, in a different time and place, with a different family, a heartwarming embrace.

Two brothers, reunited.

Two murderers, sharing a moment.

Yes, Luke might be ill again, right on Benito's shiny white shoes.

Then, chaos erupted.

The flautist dropped to her knees, abandoning her instrument and pulling from her case a handgun while the bartender turned and—hello,
Chet!
—produced a Glock he'd clearly smuggled in with the rum.

“Freeze, Augusto!” called one of the resort staff who suddenly appeared armed and advancing on Augusto. Vicktor Shubuikov, Stryker operative who'd shed his Russian accent and added a tan.

Then he spotted his pal Brody, who had—thank You God—moved in front of Lucia, as if that's what all resort employees did when weapons appeared.

Every man in the wedding party, save Luke, produced
weapons, including Claudio, who backed up in front of his brother. “Stay back!”

Claudio directed his words at the cadre of vested CIA agents who surrounded the cabana, their semiautomatic weapons trained at the guests, most of whom hit the sandy floor, their heads covered.

It happened so fast that Luke barely processed the entire scenario. His eyes found Scarlett.

Still that calm, almost confident gaze.

And then, someone fired.

He saw her flinch, and that's what made him launch himself toward her, although he might have already been moving. More shots, more screaming.

Scarlett.

Luke had one thought, even as he saw Benito fall, even as the man started to writhe, hands pressed to his gut, blood spurting between his fingers.

“Help!” Benito cried.

Luke glanced at him and in that blink of time, Scarlett vanished. He turned back to the groom, who looked up with pain in his eyes. “What's going on? Where is Lucia?”

Seriously? Could it be that Benito really hadn't put the pieces together?

“I'll find her,” Luke said, and he meant it. Because, indeed, even a criminal could fall in love. He pulled off his jacket, wadded it up and shoved it against Benito's abdomen. “Hold on.”

Then, he dove toward the flautist. She'd taken a position behind the piano, holding her own as a bullet pinged past her.

“Stacey,” she said fast, not sparing Luke a glance. “Sorry I'm late.”

“I need a weapon,” he said. She nodded toward one
of Claudio's men, bleeding out not a few feet away. “Where's Augusto?”

“I don't know. Somewhere in the mass of people.”

Talk about a mess. Still, maybe some semblance of the plan remained intact. Get Lucia. Put her on the chopper. He left Stacey—who, yes, would have made a good stand-in as maid of honor with her ability to shoot straight—and took off, scrambling over the walled edge of the cabana, scooting around to the entrance.

No Lucia.

And no Scarlett, who he hoped had run screaming from the shooting. Not a chance, probably.

He crouched next to the entrance, praying Brody had grabbed them both.

“Luke! Over here!” Brody gestured from the door of a scuba hut.

Luke scrabbled across the sand, and hallelujah, he nearly broke out into tears when he spotted Scarlett with her arms clasped around a sobbing Lucia.

So much for the perfect wedding day.

But when Scarlett looked up at him, tears smearing her makeup, surrounded by the ruffles of her beautiful dress, he wanted to cry a little, too.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded.

Thank You, thank You, God.

He turned to Brody. “Chopper waiting?”

“Yep.” And then Brody gave him a wink. “Fancy duds.”

“Just cover us.”

He took one look at Lucia and scooped her up in his arms. “On my tail, Scarlett. Don't look back.”

Then, with Lucia's face buried in his chest, his bride
hanging on to his pocket, Luke swept out of the scuba hut and across the damp sand toward the chopper.

Shouts and gunshots pinged around him, and he knew someone had seen him escaping with the brides. “Run, Scarlett!”

He ran off the path, putting the playground, the hammocks, the snack hut between them and the shooters until finally he spotted their getaway vehicle, a majestic Seahawk.

His cohort at Stryker International, Mae Lund-Stryker, sat at the controls, gesturing them on board the special-ops chopper, her red hair in a braid down her back.

Luke set Lucia on the deck. “Nice ride. You borrow this from the navy?”

Mae grinned at him. “Something like that. Let's go!”

Luke turned, intending to hoist Scarlett on board. “C'mon, Scarlett!”

But she stood away from him, a look on her face that stopped his blood cold.

In fact, his world ground to a halt with one quiet word.

“No.”

“N
o?”

Luke stared at her, actually repeating her word.
“No?”

And for a second, Scarlett's resolve wavered. She returned in her mind to that moment at the door of the cabana, the sky clearing behind her, the red carpet before her, her groom waiting at the altar, when she'd wished, with everything inside her, that this might be real.

That she might be the bride, with this breathtakingly handsome groom waiting for her, an unexpected life ahead. Something permanent.

No longer a temp.

Because, as she'd stood there, she'd known, as if some sort of voice from heaven had spoken, that only Luke could be her hero. Only in his arms could she find her happily ever after. And, while he thought they were still on a mission, she'd stopped playing games.

Probably that first time he kissed her.

She wanted to kiss him now. Wanted to throw herself into his arms, to fling herself back into the fairy tale.

To be the princess.

But the gunshots in the distance, the shouting, cut
into her dream and shook her back to reality. “No.” She gathered up her dress and took another step back. “This is where it ends.”

“What are you talking about? Get on the chopper, Scarlett. We don't have any time—”

“
You
don't have any time. I have one more day of vacation and a wedding to get to.”

He frowned at her, confusion on his face.

“My sister is getting married today, remember? In about an hour.”

“And—?” Luke stared at her. “She doesn't want you there.”

She tried not to flinch at that. “I know, but it doesn't matter.”

“Scarlett—”

“Luke, I stood there, ready to walk down the aisle to you, and I saw your fear. I wanted the happily ever after for us, but it isn't real. I know you were afraid of your mission going south—”

“Of you getting killed!”

“But Bridgett wore that same look when I accused her of stealing Duncan at the engagement party. She was truly afraid I'd take him away. She loves him, Luke. And even if I am not in the wedding, she deserves my blessing.”

Even as she said it, the truth burrowed inside. Despite Bridgett's narrow world, Scarlett had made it smaller with her hurt, her wounded attitude. Instead of joining in on the joy, as Lucia had done yesterday for her make-believe wedding, Scarlett had begrudged Bridgett happiness.

Sure, she'd filled in. But she'd never really been part of the fun, a part of the joy.

And perhaps that's why Bridgett had turned on the nasty.

No more. At least one sister would get her fairytale wedding, her happily ever after today.

“I have to go to my sister's wedding,” she said again, this time with finality in her voice.

Again, a confused look from Luke. “I don't understand. After everything she's done—”

“Luke, that's why I'm here.” She continued to back away, now gathering up the tremendous layers of silk. She would keep the dress. Maybe ship it home.

And what? Wear it around the house on Saturday mornings? Remember how Luke appeared when he burst into the scuba house, panic on his face? How his gaze had landed on Lucia with such relief?

How she'd wished that he'd been running after her?

That was the problem, wasn't it? He'd been here to protect
Lucia.
Not to sweep Scarlett off her feet. He proved that when he picked up Lucia and ran with her to the chopper.
On my tail, Scarlett!
She was always just the afterthought.

“Go, Luke. I'm fine. The cavalry is here and I have a taxi waiting. Go with Lucia.” She steadied her voice, kept it firm.

But he didn't move. “Did you—did you arrange this?”

“I called your pal Chet last night. He and I figured out some communication. I didn't think I'd be able to go through with it until I saw the bartender wink at me. I guessed it might be your friend. I knew then that we'd be in good hands.”

“So you put this together.” Luke shook his head as if still trying to comprehend her words.

“No, you did. I just helped you finish it.”

“Scarlett, I don't know how to thank—”

“You don't have to. But this is goodbye, Luke.”

“Luke! Chet just radioed in. They caught Augusto. It's over. Get in—the team is on their way,” the pilot called.

Scarlett saw the debate in his eyes. He glanced back at Lucia, who had curled into a ball, sobbing.

She took the opportunity to turn away before he saw her tears, before she got onto that chopper and only prolonged the pain. Because then what? They'd get back to the mainland, get Lucia calmed down and then Luke would turn to her and…declare his undying love? Propose?

The story just didn't end that way for girls like Scarlett. Especially not with heroes like Luke. She'd never been the pretty one, the one the boys wanted. And as soon as the game was over, Luke would snap out of whatever feelings he'd conjured for her in order to complete his mission, thank her—as he was about to do now—and give her a one-way ticket back to Rochester.

She had to walk out of the story first, if only to give herself a moment of dignity.

“Scarlett!” She heard his voice at her back, but the chopper churned up his words. She cast a look over her shoulder as Luke's team ran up to the chopper—the bartender, the flautist and the valet who'd whipped out some sort of weaponry and thrown her and Lucia to the ground before ushering them to the scuba hut.

Clearly, not an employee of the Lost Breezes Hotel.

“C'mon, Luke!” the man yelled, and Scarlett took that as her cue.

She hit the sidewalk, scampered up the stairs to her hotel and opened the door to the lobby.

She didn't look back as she heard the chopper roar, preparing to lift off into the sky.

The hushed coolness of the hotel with its piped-in music belied the rush of her heartbeat. She spied Raoul standing by the door, white-gloved, glancing past her to the chopper, his face knotted in confusion.

“Taxi?”

“Uh…as you wish,
señorita.
” He opened the door and whistled. One of the hotel town cars pulled up. He held the door for her as she passed. “I thought your sister was the one getting married. Are you getting married today, too?” Raoul glanced at her dress.

Scarlett shook her head. “He…backed out.”

“I'm so sorry.” He opened the car door for her.

“It's okay. I expected it.”

“His loss.” Yes, well. His relief, more likely.

She leaned back in to the seat, closing her eyes. “The lighthouse, please.”

The car started forward, then jerked to a stop. She opened her eyes and caught herself on the seat in front of her as she flew forward. A body stood in front of the car, then circled to the passenger side.

Beside her, the door opened. “Leaving already?” Claudio said as he slid in beside her. He draped his arm over the back of her seat, then pressed his gun to the driver's neck. “Drive.”

“Where are we going?” She couldn't believe words actually came out of her mouth, but they did, and they sounded angry. Huh. Good for her.

“On a little boat ride.”

And then she had no words at all.

 

“Benito!”

Luke tore himself away from the view of Scarlett
running away from him and looked toward the voice behind him, screaming. Lucia was nearly crazy with horror as Chet and Brody carried Benito to the chopper, Benito with one arm over each of their shoulders. Vicktor, their Russian compatriot who'd played the role of white-gloved usher, clasped Benito's legs.

They settled him on the deck as Lucia grabbed his hands. “Benito, oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

Luke came at them, his training kicking in. Brody was already at work over Benito as Luke removed his jacket from Benito's grip, now sodden with blood. He looked at the wound. Two more inches and the bullet would have hit him instead. “Help me search for an exit wound, guys.”

Brody moved to his side as Benito groaned.

“Got one.”

Good. One bullet, two holes. The math added up. And it didn't look too serious, out of reach of major organs. “It's a clean through-and-through it seems. But he needs a hospital.”

Lucia scooted Benito's head onto her lap. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he said softly. His eyes held tenderness. “I know.”

Luke stared at him, trying to sort out his reaction. Lucia, too, because she looked up at Luke. Benito took her hand. “I knew about the information you were leaking to the CIA.” He glanced at Luke. “You were sent here to protect her, right?”

Luke nodded.

“I thought so. Well, at first. And then I wasn't so sure. I thought you really loved Scarlett.”

I did.
The words nearly made it out but Chet peered at
him with a frown. Brody was breaking out the medical kit.

I do. That's what he meant to say.

What he'd wanted to say.

Would have said, if she'd made it all the way up to the altar, if they had gone through with the wedding. I do. And I do again, later, after she had a chance to figure out what she wanted. If she wanted him.

Which, she clearly didn't.

No. This is goodbye, Luke.
That was a clear message. At least she hadn't lied to him, told him she loved him.

He must have dreamed up that part from his wishful, broken heart.

He looked again at Benito. “You knew about Lucia?”

Brody handed Luke a syringe of morphine. He injected it into Benito's leg.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “And I knew that someone was trying to hurt her. I thought it might be one of my father's valets, but then I began to think it might be my father. Especially after everyone on the boat—including you and Scarlett—came back clean.”

“You knew about the raid?” Lucia said.

He closed his eyes and nodded. Luke snapped on a pair of gloves.

“Are we all in?” Mae asked.

“Just about. Give me a second here,” Luke said as he wrapped Benito's arm in a rubber tube, searching for a vein. “Wait until I get this IV in.”

“I knew. But I also knew why. I'm so sorry about your friend, Lucia. I figured out why you were here a long time ago. But I didn't care. I loved you, Lucia, and I hoped I could earn your love. Your trust. It's not all that easy to leave the family, and I hoped…”

He winced as Luke started an IV. Clearly the narcotics hadn't entered his system yet.

“…I hoped that when the time came, you'd tell me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I was hoping we could start over, a new life in America. Or…anywhere.”

Benito glanced at Luke, who looked at Chet. He nodded. Probably, yes, they could work that out. Benito's testimony, on top of catching Augusto, would seal the deal on the demise of the Sanchez operation.

“I forgive you, Lucia. I don't care that you betrayed me. I know you love me. And I want to start over.”

Start over.

But that was just it, wasn't it? How could they start over with so much against them? With their mistakes and sins and betrayals?

“Marry me today,” Benito said. “At the hospital. Please?”

Her expression made Luke turn away. See, that was what he wanted.

The chopper lurched, and Luke lost his balance, nearly tumbling out. “Wait!” Chet yelled, turned to Luke. “Where's Scarlett?”

“She left,” Luke said. He couldn't manage more than that, but Benito gave him a look that might have been followed with a good shaking if he'd been able to move.

“She left?”

Luke looked away and checked the man's pulse.

“Did you tell her that you love her?”

And then he couldn't answer because shame welled up inside his throat, choking him. After all she'd done, after she'd saved all their lives… “It's better this way.”

“For who?” Benito thundered, which did nothing for his pulse.

It didn't matter, however, because Chet was pulling Luke out of the chopper, to Mae's shrieks of fury. He separated Luke from the whir of the chopper, Luke's shirt in his fist. “What's going on?”

“I…”

“Are you in love with this woman?”

And Luke looked up into the eyes of the man who had taught him what it meant to take a risk on love, to heal and move forward, despite the horrors of the past, and he could do nothing but nod.

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“Because…because what if I turn out like my old man?”

And there it lay, raw and horrid, and Chet looked at him and…smirked?

“You are so not your old man, Luke. You aren't even close.”

“What about D.C.?”

“What about D.C.? That happened two years ago. This is about now. And you being a very different guy. A changed guy. A guy who's staring a second chance in the face.”

A second chance.

“Don't live your life looking over your shoulder at the guy you were, Luke. Run after the guy you know you can be. The guy God will help you be. ‘Forgetting what is behind and focusing on what lies ahead, run the race set before you…' We all make mistakes, Luke. But that's what grace and new mercies every morning are about. Trusting God to wipe the slate clean and give us a second chance.”

Looking forward, not behind. Choosing to trust, not to fear.

Choosing loyalty, not betrayal.

Because even though he'd been unfaithful to God, God hadn't,
couldn't
be unfaithful to him. Because God wasn't a betrayer. He was truth and honesty and loyalty and love.

And Luke had a glimpse of what that looked like, felt like, in Scarlett.

Maybe getting into her cab had been the second chance he'd been longing for. Who knew her undercover identity had been that of Happily-Ever-After Girl?

And he'd let her go.