Undercover Pursuit (6 page)

Claudio's conversation hovered in the back of his mind.
Oh, how I love the sea.

What if he just grabbed Lucia and made a run for it? It would dismantle three years of undercover work and alert the entire Sanchez clan, far and wide, and they'd make it as far as the Cancun airport.

I promise I won't let anything happen to you, Scarlett.

And then she'd look at him with those green eyes, disbelief in them, because he'd done an oh-so-stellar job of earning her trust thus far. He'd be lucky if she didn't try to slam the door in his face.

Or, on his foot, which he'd shove into the door to make sure that didn't happen.

Because, really, he did need her. At least for about six more hours, until he could figure out her airtight alibi explaining why she suddenly ditched the wedding of her best friend.

He wasn't above staging an all-out fight. A brilliant breakup in front of the entire Sanchez clan, preferably because he'd betrayed Scarlett with an onboard fling. However, that would most likely get
him
thrown off the boat.

No, he needed to make it seem as if
she
had done the betraying, because his getting kicked off the yacht wouldn't help anyone.

Especially Scarlett and Lucia.

Maybe he could make Lucia kick Scarlett off the boat. But what could make the bride oust her best friend from the wedding?

He could use a few ideas right now. He even lifted his face to the hot sun, as if he hoped heaven might be listening.

What was he thinking? God hadn't listened to him since the day he'd broken one of the Cardinal Rules.

Like, do not commit adultery.

Yeah, Luke might as well resign himself to the fact that God wasn't going to trust him again, thanks.

So, instead, he sat on the deck, wishing he'd brought his sunblock, hoping Scarlett would at least listen as he jammed his foot in her door and begged for a second chance.

The yacht finally docked at the far side of the resort, and Luke did his best not to run until he had rounded the side of the hotel. Then, he took off down the coral pathway to the villas.

He knocked on her door, putting his hand on the frame then removing it. Then putting it back.

The maid opened the door, holding a handful of towels.
“Si?”

“I'm looking for the woman who is staying here. Is she around?”

“No,
señor,
she left.”

“When will she be back?” As if the maid would know.

“No, no,
señor.
Left.” The woman flipped to Spanish. “She took her bags and moved out.”

“She left. Left?”

“Si, señor.”

Left?
Scarlett had left the island? But what about her sister's wedding?

Luke turned away from the door and walked out into the sun. Of course she left. Because that's what the people he really needed did in his life.

Because that's what he deserved.

“W
hy can't I have the coffee and chocolate wrap?” Scarlett stood on the wooden mat in the private room, her hands over her upper body while the spa technician applied, as one would butter, a paste of sea mud on her torso. The woman had already mudded her legs, wrapping them in plastic. Given one good push, she just might topple over. Now, she attacked Scarlett's stomach. Scarlett averted her eyes.

“Because this pulls the toxins out of your body. You'll be five pounds thinner, I promise.” Bridgett lay on her back, staring at the ceiling after being slathered in yogurt.

The other two bridesmaids had moved on to Mayan massage and facials. Thankfully, Scarlett had started with a pedicure, her toes now a lovely passion pink, something that at least made her feel pretty while encased in mud.

And she might have forgone the mud wrap altogether if her sister hadn't hooked her by the arm, trotted her through the tiled hallways of Dream On Spa, with the aromatic smells, the rush of waterfalls, the piped-in harp music. Or perhaps that was live. Could be, since the spa cost a small fortune—or rather, cost Bridgett a small
fortune, thanks to her handing over her credit card to Scarlett. But a woman who had a penthouse in New York and a chateau in France could probably afford to treat her bridesmaids to a little luxury, right?

“The wrap will help you get into the dress. Debbie was a bit less, well, hippy, than you are. So we had to take your dress in for her after…well, you know.”

“Thank you for that reminder.” Scarlett lifted her arms as the technician wound her in plastic wrap. “How many times do I have to apologize? I agree I shouldn't have had that champagne. It went right to my head.”

“I've already forgiven you.” Bridgett's plastic crinkled as she peeked out from one of the cucumber slices covering her eyelids. “Really.” She gave Scarlett a smile that made the drying yogurt on her face crack. “Why do you think I set you up with Dylan?”

Payback? “I don't need a date, Bridge. Really. I can do just fine on my own.”

Bridgett didn't move. “If you were doing just fine on your own, you would've never thought you and Duncan were actually an item. You made that relationship into more than it was because you're afraid of a real one.”

Scarlett opened her mouth, but apparently Bridgett had more to say.

“You spend every night with your nose stuck in a novel, dreaming up some hero, when you should be going out and finding one in real life.”

“I don't need a hero—”

“You know what I mean. A man. A real man, not a make-believe character.”

“And that's Dylan?”

“He's Duncan's cousin. And yes, he's very nice.”

“He has rough hands.” Even as she said it, the memory of Luke's hand in hers swept through her mind, his
strength as he'd led her across the yacht, as he'd helped her onto the dock. She closed her fists as the technician began to massage the mud onto her arms.

“Dylan has mechanic's hands. But he's very nice. Give him a chance.”

“I wish you'd stop setting me up, Bridgett. I'm not a charity case.”

Bridgett drew in a breath. “Maybe I just want to make sure you don't have any relapses.”

Oh, why hadn't she taken the ferry? She could be sitting on an airplane right now.

No, why hadn't she simply agreed to help Luke last night? Agreed to watch Lucia's back? How hard could it have been? And maybe, for once, she'd actually live the romance novel instead of just read it. Not that Luke would be truly interested in her, but well, they would have pretended.

That might have been better than having her dance card filled by Dylan from Davenport.

“There won't be any relapses. I promise, I am not in love with Duncan.” Anymore. “And I know he didn't love me.” Even if he did. Maybe. But probably not. “And most of all, I want you to have the most wonderful day of your life.” Really.

Really.

Bridgett smiled. “Thanks, sis. I know we've never been close, but the fact that you would come and help me on such short notice…” She removed a cucumber. “Maybe I overreacted by booting you off my wedding party. It was just so…unexpected. One second you were making a toast, the next, accusing me of stealing your boyfriend. As hard as it was, I had to keep the big picture in mind. My perfect day versus your pain. I really didn't have a choice. I'm sure Mom and Dad would have
understood, too. They always saw the big picture.” She gave her a sad smile and returned the cucumber.

The big picture. As when they'd uprooted their ten-year-old from her life in Minneapolis so their teenage daughter could pursue a life as a runway model? When her mother had moved to Milan for a year so Bridgett could get a better toehold in the modeling world, and sent Scarlett to boarding school? How about when her father used her camp tuition to fly them all over to Paris to watch Bridgett's first big show, only to leave her in the hotel room while they “networked”?

And they certainly saw the
big picture
when they'd listed Aunt Gretchen as her guardian in case of their sudden deaths. Spinster Aunt Gretchen, the hoarder who lived in a bungalow in south Rochester, hidden away behind stacks and stacks of used books.

At least after their accident, Scarlett could hide herself away, lose herself inside a different world. Every time she picked up a book, she saw herself as a new heroine, caught up in a new adventure. And yes, she loved Aunt Gretchen, despite her idiosyncrasies. She might have only known how to cook chicken potpies, but at least Aunt Gretchen never treated her like leftovers.

In fact, with Aunt Gretchen, Scarlett felt like the center of the world.

Probably how Bridgett felt every single day.

What would that be like? For someone to see only you? For all the pining she had done over Duncan, she'd seen only Bridgett in his eyes at the engagement party.

That's why Scarlett had grabbed that second glass of champagne. Everything sort of blurred after that.

“Of course I understand why you replaced me, Bridgett.” What else could she say?

The technician wrapped Scarlett in a large towel then helped her ease back onto the padded table. She set two cucumber slices on Scarlett's closed eyes. “Twenty minutes. Don't move.”

“Can't you just feel the minerals seeping into your pores?” Bridgett said.

She tried not to imagine tiny bugs eating away at her skin. She just wanted a shower.

“I can't wait for the party tonight. You did talk to the chef, right? About the menu?”

Talk to the chef—check.

“Would it be okay if I ditched the party, Bridge? I'm really tired.” In fact, this mud only made her more exhausted, pressing into her, heating her to her bones—what was in this stuff?

“You're going to miss the party? For what, a book?” Bridgett laughed. “C'mon and live a little.”

“I live just fine, thank you. I enjoy my novels.”

“Your novels are wrecking your life. It's why you haven't been able to settle down, find the right job, go after the man you want. It's why you're a temp, and still single, Scarlett. You think at any moment, you're going to be caught up in some high-seas adventure, or even a spy story, and that suddenly you'll become some sort of secret agent—”

“No, I don't—”

“Oh, please. Like I didn't see the pile of suspense novels in your room.”

“That was years ago. I don't have…well, I read other genres now. Like, uh, romances.”

“Which is your other problem. You have in your head the perfect man, this superhero who will appear out of nowhere, march in and sweep you into his arms. I've got news for you, sweetie. He ain't comin'.”

Her voice held just enough edge for Scarlet to wonder if they were still talking about her.

“No, he's just a figment of your imagination. And I promise, if he does walk in, he's got an agenda and is packing lies. So I think you need to figure out that the best guy for you is Duncan's cousin Dylan from Davenport, who may not be a superhero, but he'll come home every night and be the guy you can count on. That's reality, Scarlett, not some hunky guy out of a romance novel.”

Scarlett didn't even know where to begin. Maybe she'd start with the obvious. “I don't want Dylan. And I don't need a romance hero. I just want a guy who makes me feel like…well, like I
could
be that girl in the books. Someone strong and capable and beautiful. Someone who he believes in, and who trusts him back. And it wouldn't hurt if he had strong hands.”

“Fine, live in your fantasy. It's never going to happen.”

Scarlett took a long breath, hating how her sister's words sank into her, found her bones.

“I can't believe I've found you. I've been looking everywhere.”

The voice was very, very familiar. And welcome. Too welcome. What? How—

She reached for one of her cucumber slices, her arm crinkling against the plastic wrap as she moved.

Luke. He stood above her, looking at her as if she might be toxic.

“Hi—”

But she didn't get more than that out before he reached under her and swept her into his arms. “I need you, Scarlett,” he said, and carried her from the room.

 

“Nice digs. What did you do to get banished to the tower, Rapunzel?” Luke stood at her window, staring down at the town of Isla Mujeres, yellow-and-red motor scooters dodging golf carts, blue boats docked at the pier, sailboats floating in the harbor.

Yes, this might be a nice place for a vacation. If he were the vacationing sort.

“Funny.” Scarlett's voice came through the closed bathroom door. She'd showered at the spa to get all that mud off her while her sister had barreled out of the wrap room, her bathrobe pulled tight.

“What are you doing? Who are you?”

“I'm a friend she met on the ferry, and I need her help.”

“But she's helping me!” her sister had said. She had the voice of nails on a chalkboard.

Thankfully, when Scarlett finally emerged clean and dressed, she cleared it all up before her sister unraveled. “He's a friend, sis. I promise, I'll make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

And right then, something stirred inside Luke, something he couldn't put his finger on. A calm, a loosening in his chest.

Then she turned to him and said, “How can I help?” And he decided there must have been something soothing in the mud she'd bathed in. What happened to Miss Don't-Touch-Me who he'd met in the cab?

He'd briefed her on the ride back to the hotel, and she had let him into her room, locking herself in the bathroom. Probably taking another shower. Mud, really?

But it gave him time to send her information to Artyom to create the appropriate biography, should Benito go hunting.

He turned away from the window. “I thought you had the villa.”

“My sister forgot to make my reservation. I had the room that was supposed to be for her other maid of honor for one night. They forget to cancel it. But I got booted for other guests this morning. I'm probably lucky that I didn't have to sleep in one of those hammocks outside.”

“Your sister forgot to make your reservation? Aren't you the maid of honor?”

“I'm a fill-in temp. I
was
the maid of honor, then I got fired and then my replacement broke her leg in Vail. So, it's back to me.”

“Tough gig, being your sister's maid of honor. She's a real prize.”

“You have no idea. Try being her sister.” The door opened. She stood in the doorway, her skin clean, her green eyes bright even without makeup, her hair pulled back into a slick bun under a green headband. She wore a pair of white shorts, only a shade lighter than her legs, and a lime-green T-shirt. And she looked at him without a hint of chill.

In fact, he might label her look as downright warm and friendly.

Here he thought he'd get ice queen back after ousting her from her spa treatment. But she'd seemed almost, well, eager to jump on a boat teeming with terrorists for the rest of the afternoon.

Oh, why had he thought this might be a good idea?

He'd have to stick to his plan—get her on the boat then convince her to betray him. She'd get ousted, he'd get to stay. “So, how does someone get fired from being a maid of honor?”

“Easy. She accuses the bride of stealing the groom.”

“Stealing the groom? As in your groom?” Ouch.

“No. Well, see, Duncan and I were good friends. We'd spent a lot of time together and I thought we were more. We held hands.”

He tried not to react. Oh, he tried.

“Yes, I did read way too much into that. Obviously he wasn't into me because a measly two months after my sister breezed into town, they were an item. Six months later, well, I'm at their engagement party, champagne bubbles coming out of my nose, standing on a chair and calling her a man-stealer.”

“That'll get you fired any day.”

“Yep. The worst part is that even as I was saying the words, I realized the truth. He never loved me.” She raised a shoulder. “I was a fool.”

Yes, well he could relate to that. He almost wanted to reach over, run his hand down her arm, pull her close, because he truly understood the pain behind those words. “Considering the circumstances, I think your sister should be grateful you showed up.”

She blinked at him, then smiled. “I probably owe her. And don't worry. She's not taking any chances. Remember how I thought you were my date?”

“Oh, did you? Really?”

She grinned at him. “Well, my
real
blind date showed up. Dylan from Davenport. He's a mechanic.”

Luke smiled. So maybe it wouldn't exactly be torture to spend the next five hours with her. Even if they did have to end up in a nasty fight in order for her to get kicked off the boat.

More than that, he'd have to embarrass her, make her look like a tramp. A man-stealer, hopefully.