by Regan Black
“Thanks. That campground by the lake in Florida is my happy place,” Charlotte confessed. “I think about it when I’m stuck in the more challenging conversations.” Her current challenge was how to casually inquire if Mark was seeing anyone. She wanted a kiss—to get over him—but she wouldn’t ask if he was currently involved with someone.
Patricia beamed. “Those weeks with your family were some of my favorite summer vacations. We’re planning a big bash for the Fourth of July at the beach house. Everyone is coming. Why don’t you join us?”
“Oh.” Yes! Yes! Yes! Teenager Charlotte was doing back handsprings; adult Charlotte wasn’t so sure. As much as she loved the Rileys, more time around Mark could undermine her efforts to leave her crush in the dust. Especially if he agreed to her fantasy-ending kiss tonight. “I don’t know...”
“No entitled jerks with more money than taste, just the family, I promise,” she added, making Charlotte grin. “It’s an ocean view rather than the lake, but we have plenty of room and a decent stretch of the beach all to ourselves. And no one will hassle you about your inspiration and influences.”
It sounded like the most wonderful adult version of the best parts of her summer memories. “Are my parents going down?” A much safer question than inquiring about Mark’s love life.
“They will if I have my way about it,” Patricia replied with a conspiratorial grin. “There’s plenty of time between now and then. Even if you can’t make it for the holiday, you’re welcome anytime. We’re a relatively short road trip from here.”
“Thanks.” A tide of sincerity and gratitude washed over her.
They’d managed to find a small gap in the crowded gallery and Charlotte caught a whiff of fresh air coming in from the rear doors. Her body instantly relaxed.
“Go take a break,” Patricia urged. “You’ve earned it. I’ll tell Marisol you went upstairs to mingle.”
“You’re the best.” She gave the woman who’d been her second mother a quick hug and then dashed for the back room and outside.
The night air, salted with the nearby Atlantic Ocean, brushed away the odor mash-up of people and perfumes, wines and hors d’oeuvres. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, the tension flowing out of her shoulders.
Out here, no one asked her the same question in forty different ways. No one pressed her for an educated opinion on masters like Picasso or the potential of their first grader’s latest finger painting. The solitude was marvelous, restorative bliss.
Until she noticed she wasn’t alone.
Chapter 2
Mark had been headed back inside the gallery after speaking with the security team monitoring the perimeter when he heard the back door open into the alley. He stopped short, holding his breath until Charlotte emerged. She’d always craved quiet and solitude, needing more of both than anyone else he’d known. Not wanting to disturb her hard-earned break, he paused, unmoving, in the shadows.
The way she tipped back her head and lifted her arms as she stretched back put him in mind of the legends of beautiful sirens that lured sailors to their deaths. Fanciful but true. And yet more proof he needed to get back to doing the real work with his team.
She shook back those lush waves of her golden red hair and he immediately felt guilty for lying to his mother. No, he didn’t want to settle down, but he suddenly had Charlotte on his radar. He tried to shove the foolish thought away, but there was something different about her tonight. Less quiet kid and more enticing woman.
His mother thought his hard experiences made him all wrong for Charlotte. She saw the beauty in the world; he saw the violence. But maybe, if she was amenable, they could have some fun before those differences caught up with them. Just thinking of how to phrase that suggestion left him feeling like a jerk. She deserved better than a friends-with-benefits fling to pass the time.
He cleared his throat, cringing when she whirled around. “Easy. It’s just me. Mark,” he added, when she squinted at him.
“What are you doing out here?” she queried.
“Same as you,” he said. “Enjoying the extra elbow room.”
“Bliss, isn’t it? Your mom is covering for me.” She gathered her hair up in her hands, lifting it off her neck and sighing a little.
His pulse stuttered and he couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. It was like the drowning drills in SEAL training, but way more rewarding. Her purely casual move wasn’t a deliberate temptation, yet the way her dress gathered and dipped across her sumptuous curves made it an alluring display.
The devil dancing on his shoulder taunted him, dared him to reach over and caress that vulnerable nape of her neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was seeing anyone. Which was irrelevant. He couldn’t give into this strange, amped-up attraction. He liked her, respected her. She deserved more than a temporary fling with him, a man whose only art was war.
“From what I hear, that kind of crush is a good problem to have,” he said.
“Crush?” she echoed. “Oh, sure. My agent is thrilled by the turnout.” She let her hair tumble down, her hands falling limp at her sides. “What I wouldn’t give to get out of here early.”
“Why?” He was genuinely curious. “You’re the star. Even the snobs are praising you.”
She plucked at the front of her dress, fanning herself. “You know I’ve never liked being the center of attention.”
No, she hadn’t. Her tendency to avoid attention had been a foreign concept to him when they were young. He and Luke had always been striving to keep up with or outdo their older siblings. “After tonight, I think you’d better get used to it. You’re a celebrity waiting to happen.”
“Maybe,” she said with more than a little regret. “I might be the only person desperate to avoid my fifteen minutes of fame.” Her gaze locked with his. “If you tell Marisol or anyone else I said that, I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”
He laughed. Charlotte was definitely a habitual good girl. “Anything I can do to help?” He’d step up and be her buffer—as a friend.
She tipped her head back again, her hands on her hips as she studied the inky sky above. “Yes.”
He took a step closer. “Name it.”
“Buy out the gallery so I can go home and get some sleep?”
Her warm smile dazzled him. The urge to agree was on the tip of his tongue and it had nothing to do with helping a family friend. He had a crazy, primal motive to please her, body and soul. Mark mentally took a step back, rattled by this sudden, pressing response. How had a few random thoughts led him here?
“Relax, I’m kidding.” She smoothed her hands over her dress. “It’s good to have your support. Good to see you,” she said, pacing away. When she turned back, she was nibbling on her lip. “Did you see a painting you liked? Wait.” She waved her hands as if she could erase the words. “Don’t answer. It’s not a fair question.”
Her nerves were climbing, giving Mark pause. She wasn’t the type to fish for compliments, though he was flattered she might want his opinion of her work. How to answer without gushing and embarrassing them both? “You have one with the view of the ocean from a cliff,” he began. “Several, actually,” he added. “But I’m talking about the smaller one in the series.” He held his hands about a yard apart. “That would—”
“You saw a whole series?” she interrupted.
“Yes.” The way she stared at him, as if she didn’t quite recognize him, raised a prickle along the back of his neck. Maybe he’d been wrong and the biggest canvas and the smaller paintings weren’t all variations from the same setting. He barreled on anyway. “The painting I mentioned reminds me of sunsets in Monterrey,” he explained.
“Most people don’t realize that’s the same setting,” she said. “They take one look at my headshot and decide my wild mermaid hair is the origin of an ocean fixation.”
Mer
maid hair. He liked that. The description suited her. “You shouldn’t trust people who don’t like the ocean.”
“Says the navy SEAL who started out as an army brat.” She laughed, the merry sound washing over him as sweet and light as the stars winking overhead.
It would’ve been nice to kiss her, to taste the bright energy surging through her. Charlotte was oh, so tempting, but his mother was right. He was all wrong for her. All he could offer any woman at this point was a fling with an eventual end date. His career came with serious pressures and so far, he couldn’t seem to hold a woman’s loyalty and trust.
Kissing Charlotte would only twist things up within the family. This burst of attraction would pass. Tonight was an anomaly, something wonderfully intriguing about seeing her as an accomplished woman. She was familiar to him and yet brand-new. He wanted desperately to take her hand, to feel the strength and tenderness that must be an integral part of how she transferred those dynamic scenes to the canvas. “We should get you back inside.”
Her lips parted, but the reply was cut off by the noisy rumble of a heavy engine approaching. Immediately, he went on alert. Who would be coming down this alley at this hour at that speed? Something wasn’t right.
He turned, blocking Charlotte from view as two men jumped from the rear door of a cargo van at the end of the alley. Both were dressed in black from head to toe, with black ball caps pulled low, shielding their faces.
“Mark Riley?” the man in the lead asked. He was lean compared to his barrel-chested partner.
To Charlotte, Mark whispered, “Go back inside.” To the slim man coming toward him, he said, “Who’s asking?”
“Come with us.” Slim approached while the second man remained with the vehicle, a handgun visible in a tactical holster at his belt. “There’s a security issue at the base and we need your assistance.”
That was a load of crap. He wasn’t active on any team right now. If there had been real trouble, his commander would’ve called him. “Show me an ID,” he demanded.
The leader reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun instead of a badge. Eaton’s men. Had to be. He started calculating how to get out of this without putting Charlotte in danger. She hadn’t moved.
“How can I help?” she whispered from behind him.
“Go find Dad or Matt,” he replied.
He kept his gaze on the leader’s gun while her high heels clicked rapid-fire against the pavement. She’d be clear in a few seconds. Instead of the door, he heard a startled scream. He swiveled around to see a man dressed in the catering uniform blocking the door to the gallery and holding a gun aimed at Charlotte.
Where in the hell was the security team?
Jumping forward, Mark caught Charlotte around the waist and twisted, shielding her before the waiter could take an accurate shot. “Stay close to me,” he ordered.
She tucked up behind him, her hands on his waist as he angled his body, putting her between him and the brick wall of the building. The odds favored the three armed men, but they couldn’t possibly want to open fire and draw more attention. The security patrol must have noticed the van. He expected backup any second now.
“Walk away while you can,” Mark said evenly to the aggressors. “Walk away and there won’t be anything to charge you with.”
The waiter and Slim advanced.
Mark swore under his breath. Charlotte couldn’t escape in either direction without going through at least one of the men who’d come for him. “Whatever Eaton’s paying you, I’ll double it if you leave now,” Mark offered, just to test the reactions.
None of the men reacted to the mention of Eaton’s name or the money—but who else would know his name and pull this kind of stunt? Being outnumbered didn’t faze him. Alone he’d take them down fast, but if Charlotte got hurt simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he’d never forgive himself.
“Mark?” she queried.
“Trust me?”
“Yes.”
That single confident syllable empowered him. Solutions rolled through his mind. He had to get her safely away.
“Into the van.” Slim motioned with his gun. “Both of you.”
“No,” Mark said. “I’ll come without a fight, as soon as you let her go back inside,” he countered.
Behind him, Charlotte gasped a denial.
“Come on.” He spread his hands. “She’s irrelevant and it’s her first solo showing. Have a heart.”
“Cooperate and we won’t kill her,” the waiter said, closing in from the side. “That’s heart.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Charlotte snapped, and brandished one of her high heels as a weapon.
Both the waiter and the leader closed in on them. Mark sized up his opponents and options. The fact that they’d not fired a shot told him they were afraid of drawing attention to themselves. They must have just figured he’d go along with their thin ruse. He would use their poor planning against them. Taking out the waiter gave Charlotte a path to escape. He lunged, grasping the waiter’s shirt. Hauling him close, he shoved him hard into the leader. The momentum knocked the gun from the waiter’s hand and blocked any shot the leader had.
“Run!” Mark barked at Charlotte, driving the men toward the alley opening to give her time to safely reach the gallery door.
The waiter recovered and came at Mark with lightning-fast punches and kicks. He recognized the type—a martial arts enthusiast with more confidence than sense. Blocking most of the blows, Mark lost his breath when a kick connected with his ribs. He had to twist under another flurry of flying limbs, and took a kick to the shoulder that would have knocked him out cold if it had landed on his jaw. He had to get on the offensive or he’d take a severe beating.
Where was the perimeter team? He wasn’t fighting off kidnappers in stealth mode out here. Mark now assumed the lack of response meant this crew had taken them out somehow. At least Charlotte would raise the alarm inside.
Seeing an opening, Mark shot out his leg and tripped the waiter, following the man to the ground as he fell. He used his size advantage, driving his knee into the man’s rib cage. The leader shouted and the waiter groaned, curling into himself protectively. Mark bounded to his feet to deal with the man in charge.
“Get in the van or I kill her right now,” Slim said in a snarl.
Mark spun around to see the man guarding the van had caught Charlotte while Mark was preoccupied with the fight. The guard had her pinned against the wall of the building with a meaty fist around her throat, the pressure clear by the pain etched on her face. Mark’s vision hazed red around the edges.
Charlotte’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Sorry,” she rasped. Barefoot, her toes reached for the ground while her fingers scraped at the man’s arm in her struggle to breathe.
Good grief. She’d gone on the attack, tried to help him fight, rather than run for safety. He could sort out why later. Right now, he had to make sure she didn’t suffer any further pain or humiliation.
“Move,” the leader demanded.
Mark held his ground. “Let her go.”
The leader fired once, the bullet slamming into the brick inches from Charlotte’s head. The blood iced in Mark’s veins. “We’re all going.” The man raised his gun again. “Will she be riding along dead or alive?”
Mark raised his hands, surrendering. He couldn’t win here without risking Charlotte. “Lead the way.” The man holding Charlotte hurried her into the van and Mark obediently followed.
She was shoved to the end of a bench and the guard cuffed her hands to a long chain looped around a bar bolted to the panel behind the bench. Mark was led farther down the bench and handcuffed the same way beside her. It was uncomfortable, but both of them could move the length of the bench and almost rest their hands in their laps.
The leader hauled the groaning waiter to his feet and dumpe
d him in the back of the van, as well. Sliding the cargo door shut, he then climbed into the passenger’s seat up front while the guard took the driver’s seat. Moments later, they were speeding away from the gallery.
A clock started in Mark’s head as he gauged distance and direction. He had to bide his time. Mentally, he tallied every rough gesture or rude word Charlotte had endured, vowing to make each man pay.
From his place on the van’s floor, the waiter sat up, glaring at them as he recovered from Mark’s brutal tactics.
Next to him, Mark felt Charlotte’s body trembling, though her eyes were dry now and her jaw was set. “You wanted a way out of the evening,” he said to Charlotte, trying to distract her.
“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she murmured. “I’ll be more specific in the future.”
“Clarity is best,” he agreed, giving her a confident smile. “I’m betting our limo was once an ambulance. Maybe they’ll wind up the siren.” He wasn’t counting on it. As he scanned the vehicle, he also noted the interior door handles had been removed.
“Why are you so calm?” she wondered aloud, easing back to study his face.
He wished he could put his arm around her, give her real reassurance. “Because it’s too soon to panic,” he said breezily. “Would it help if I broke his nose?” He tipped his head toward the waiter.
“Shut up.” The man’s command held zero authority.
The driver jerked around a corner and Charlotte was tossed into him, landing on his battered shoulder. The cuffs jerked against her wrists and she cried out.
“You okay?” he asked, gritting his teeth against the spike of pain.
His anger was mounting over failing her and allowing the waiter to land some solid blows. He could score his lousy performance later; the pressing issue was finding a chance to get her out of here.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
