Barefoot With A Stranger

by Roxanne St Claire

  The moment was still crystal clear in her memory: She’d located in the encrypted database a woman Gabe had been asking her to find, only to discover the word “deceased” next to her name.

  Overcome by his emotions and unwilling to explain anything to Chessie, Gabe had left her the room, and Chessie had done what she always did in a crisis—look for more information to make sense of it. What she’d found didn’t make sense at all, except that it did. A boy named Gabriel left behind by a dead woman.

  “So, we’re in Cuba,” she said, opening the computer. “We have our cover. We get past customs, security, and clearances. Then what?”

  “You’ll start in a town about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Havana. My best contact in Cuba told me to look for a Ramos family on a farm in Caibarién.”

  While she typed the name into Google Earth, Mal snorted. “Caibarién? The town that time forgot.”

  “You’ve been there?” Chessie asked.

  “I’ve been all over Cuba,” he said.

  “Which is why he’s the perfect person to be your partner for this job,” Gabe reminded her. “But he’s right. It might be waterfront, but Caibarién is a pretty sad place. Don’t expect palm trees, sunshine, or umbrella drinks. Just go to this farm and find out what you can. Get in and get out.”

  Frustration zinged through her, as it always did when directions were vague and…squishy. “Be specific, Gabe. What do we do before we get out?”

  “Find Gabriel Winter,” Gabe said.

  “And I absolutely can’t do that online?” Couldn’t she just use her computer to start digging? Not get on a plane with some sexy guy who gave her one crazy night of toe-curling sex and then took off like a thief in the night when he found out her name.

  “Maybe you could do it online, Chess,” Gabe said, exasperation clipping his words. “But. I need proof. I need DNA. I need a…piece of this kid. Hair, skin, a toothbrush. Something.”

  “We go in and get this kid’s toothbrush?” she asked, her voice rising. “Like the witch’s broomstick?”

  “We can do it,” Mal said. “We’ll find the child, ascertain his situation, get some DNA, and come back.”

  His confidence was…attractive. And a little scary. “But how do you just waltz onto a farm and steal a four-year-old’s toothbrush?” she asked.

  Gabe looked skyward in disgust, but Mal took over, touching her arm. “We’ll be creative,” he said. “We’ll interview the family, take a little footage.”

  “Yes, video, please,” Gabe said, his voice more emotional than Chessie could ever remember hearing it.

  “And while we’re filming,” Mal said, “you can slip into the bathroom and find his toothbrush. Or comb his hair for the camera and get some strands on a brush.”

  She finally stared at him, hating the fact that she was dying to put her hand over his and lean closer. That mouth was like a freaking magnet. “You make it sound easy.”

  “It will be, Francesca.”

  The name slid off his tongue and heated her like he’d just dripped liquid mercury through her veins.

  “It will be?” she managed.

  “If we are together, in concert, as a team.”

  Her heart rolled around and knocked on a few ribs during a free fall to her stomach. “Together…” she whispered the word.

  There was no way—no way in heaven or hell—she could travel with this man and not end up back in bed with him.

  “Can you do that?” Gabe asked.

  “Can I not?” she replied to a different worry.

  Gabe grinned. “I knew you were the right person for the job, little sister.”

  She finally found the power to pull her hand out from under Mal’s hot touch, focusing on Gabe. “Yeah, well…if we can’t get the DNA, surely I’ll know if he’s your child when I see him.”

  Gabe shook his head vehemently. “That won’t help me when I kick down doors and shoot fuckers dead for the right to get him.”

  “Gabe,” Mal said sharply. “You can’t go there.”

  Gabe looked away and outside at the expansive resort gardens beyond what looked like a home gym he’d built on the back deck.

  Chessie suddenly realized this was why he was in Barefoot Bay. This woman had caused Gabe to turn his life upside down, come to this resort, start a business that was really a cover, and seek his past.

  Which turned up a child.

  She had to remember what was at stake here. This child was her nephew. And if she didn’t go with Mal to Cuba, she knew Gabe would, which obviously was not a good thing.

  “Can you tell us anything at all about him, Gabe?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

  He exhaled silently, as if he’d been holding that breath for the whole time it took Chessie to finally realize what truly mattered.

  “I can tell you when I think he might have been born, if my math is correct. I know when I last saw…his mother. If the child is mine, he would have to have been conceived before I left”—he glanced at Mal—“that last time.”

  Gabe had been in Miami for a while, then off the radar, then, boom, he’d shown up in Boston a few months after their cousins had opened the Guardian Angelinos. All he said was he’d quit working as a consultant for the CIA, and he’d picked up assignments for the family company. No mention of a woman in his life, ever.

  “So what’s the math?” Mal asked. “Sometime in 2011?”

  “Summer,” Gabe said. “Would have been born in summer of 2011. Much after that, and he can’t…be mine.”

  The twist of pain in his voice cut right through Chessie. “I can do this,” she reassured him.

  Mal’s eyes flickered with a hint of admiration. “We can do it,” he corrected.

  Gabe flopped back in his chair. “Which is why I picked you two.”

  Maybe, maybe not. She knew her brother well enough to know that if someone else had opened that file, someone else would go because Gabe would involve as few people as possible.

  And that thought only reminded her of the bugged hotel room.

  Yes, she’d destroyed the device, and on the ride down, she’d gone over everything she and Mal had said. Anyone listening would know they had sex—good, loud, lively sex—but she’d whispered her last name to him, and they’d barely talked after that.

  But she had to tell Mal about it, and soon.

  “Hey, I’m really tired,” she said, the lie rolling easily off her lips. Truth was, she felt fiery and alert. And burning with the need to tell Mal about the bug, without telling Gabe. “Can I go to that beachfront villa you promised me?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Gabe agreed. “You drove all night, and you two have a long travel day ahead. You’ll stay here, Mal. I need to finalize some details anyway. Nino can take you on the golf cart, Chess.”

  Chessie pushed back from the table. “Nino really ought to get my bag at the airport. Can’t Mal drive me?”

  Mal looked up, visibly surprised at the suggestion.

  “He doesn’t know where the villa is,” Gabe said.

  She looked hard at Mal, and he returned the stare, just enough silent communication in his nearly black eyes to give her hope that he’d go along with this emergency plan.

  “That’s okay.” He stood. “I can figure it out and take her there.”

  Gabe shook his head. “For crying out loud, you can drive a golf cart yourself, Chessie. I need to talk to Mal.”

  No matter what they decided or who might have planted that listening device, she had to tell Mal first, alone and fast. Then they could decide what to tell Gabe, if anything.

  “When you’re done, then,” she said, putting a light hand on Mal’s arm, trying not to think about the dusting of hair on his corded forearm and how it made her body quiver. “I’d like to get to know you better if we’re going to be on this assignment together.”

  Mal’s brow lifted slightly. He definitely took that suggestion the wrong way. Well, let him. If it got him alone with her, she’d have accomplished her goal.<
br />
  “If that’s what you want,” he said, making no move to get out of her touch.

  Gabe muttered a curse. “Go to dinner tonight if you want to play twenty questions with your life histories. I need Mal all day for some other stuff. Come on, Chess. Golf cart’s outside, and I’ll tell you how to get to the villa.”

  If she pushed any harder, it would just be weird. She’d have to wait until they were alone, if Gabe ever let them be alone before they landed in Cuba. For all she knew, he was going to fly to New York with them.

  That’s how overprotective her brothers were. And that’s why she followed his orders for now, because if he found out the truth…no, Chessie didn’t even want to think about it.

  Chapter Six

  Mal watched Chessie drive off in a golf cart, still trying to discern the unspoken signals she’d been sending him. She was mad? She had every right to be after he skulked out in the middle of the night. She was scared? He got that she didn’t do field work and might think she was in over her head, but she didn’t strike him as a woman who cowered easily.

  Most likely, she wanted to cook up a story in case Gabe somehow figured out they’d met. The former CIA consultant was whip-smart and could easily spot discrepancies if he interrogated them apart from each other. He didn’t think they’d done a bang-up job of pretending they’d never seen each other before, but then, he was trained in nuances of spying and she wasn’t.

  “She’s gone,” Gabe said, giving him a nudge.

  “I see that.” Mal kept his gaze on the asphalt trail that Chessie had taken to the resort.

  “Then stop staring after my sister.”

  Mal turned and blinked at Gabe, bracing for the shakedown. He was totally ready to man up to what happened, but not without Chessie’s permission. This was her family relationship at stake, and he had no right to kiss and tell. Even under some torture from Gabe, he wouldn’t crack. He’d stay silent until they agreed otherwise. “I just wanted to be sure she followed your directions,” he said.

  Gabe looked skyward.

  “How else would I know if she’s going to be a good partner on this assignment?” Mal demanded.

  Gabe tipped his head, no doubt loading up two barrels of sarcasm and accusations.

  “She seems reluctant,” Mal added. “Are you sure she’s the right person for the job?”

  Blue eyes the same deep Wedgwood blue as Chessie’s—why the hell hadn’t he noticed that when he met her?—narrowed like a pitcher about to wind up and throw a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball. Mal braced for the assault.

  “For one thing, she’s lovesick over this dick-brain bozo who’s been stringing her along like she was fishing line on the end of his pencil-sized pole.” Gabe put his hand on Mal’s shoulder and guided him toward the road that joined all the bungalows on the cul-de-sac. “Maybe you can help in that regard.”

  Mal’s steps slowed. Help? Gabe was giving him permission?

  “I mean, you could be like a father figure, but not one of her brothers or her cousin.”

  Mal choked. “A father figure?” Oh hell no.

  “She might look up to you.”

  Or up at him, from flat on her back. Like she did last night. “Hate to break it to you, big bro, but I’m not that much older than she is. She’s thirty, right? That’s what you put on the passport.”

  “Yeah, but…” Gabe shook his head and led Mal to another one of the Spanish-style bungalows. “Shit. I keep forgetting she’s not sixteen.”

  “She is certainly not sixteen,” Mal said, keeping all irony out of his voice. “And I’m thirty-eight. Definitely not old enough to be her father.”

  “But you are wise,” Gabe shot back. “One of the best spooks I know.”

  “Used to be,” he said, this time not able to keep anything out of his voice. Not the longing for his old life, not the bitterness for how it had been taken away from him.

  Even if it was by his own doing.

  “The main thing is that you’re not her brother or cousin, so maybe she’ll listen to you,” Gabe continued, his brain obviously on his sister’s past and not Mal’s.

  “Define listen,” he muttered. ’Cause he was pretty sure Gabe didn’t mean Mal should be teaching her the things they covered in the sack.

  “She’s a planner, our Chess,” Gabe said. “She’s obsessed with things being done in order and by an agreed-upon agenda. Must be the computer programmer nerd in her. She’s never made an impulsive move in her life.”

  Yeah? She was pretty fucking impulsive last night. “That so? Why is that?”

  “Who knows? She’s the baby of the family, so maybe we’ve overprotected her a little bit.”

  “A little bit?” Mal joked.

  “Fine, a lot. And I’m the worst, probably, so I guess that’s why I should be the one to encourage her to get out of her, you know, comfort zone.”

  Oh, he knew her comfort zone. He remembered exactly how it tasted. “I’m sure she can get out of it when she really wants to.”

  “But she’s never been interested in the family business beyond computer shit and claims she’s not an adventure and danger junkie like the rest of us.”

  He considered that. If true, she sure acted out of character last night, or maybe Gabe didn’t know his little sister at all.

  “In my opinion, I’m doing her a favor with this gig,” Gabe continued. “She needs to get out and see the world and stop obsessing about settling down and having kids. She hears that clock ticking.”

  Well, that took Mal out of the running. Not that he wanted to run with her, but it was good to know what she was about. Although, last night? There was no settling down going on.

  Mal glanced in the general direction she’d gone, trying to reset his understanding of Chessie. “Maybe you see her one way, but she acts another when she’s out in the world?”

  Gabe shot him a look. “She’s my sister, man. I know her better than anyone.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “Chess needs to get out more, so this job is perfect. Especially if you can make her forget that fuckwad she’s been with for a year.”

  And two months. And ten days. “How do you think I’m going to do that?”

  “Make her love life in the field, bro.” He elbowed Mal. “I want her to move here and work for me, so help me sell this shit.”

  Not exactly how he was thinking about making her forget her ex. But, if Gabe was right about her life goals, Mal was all wrong for her. Hell, with his life, he was all wrong for any woman who wanted more than one night of a good time. That’s all he could offer.

  Gabe walked to the door of the last bungalow on the cul-de-sac, but stopped a few yards away. “Now let’s talk about what I really want from you down there.”

  “Not to guide her through Caibarién and act as the producer of a fake documentary while she snags some DNA?” He’d had a sneaking suspicion it was more than that when Gabe briefed him on the phone a few days ago.

  “Well, yes, that, and…” Gabe turned to Mal, a world of hurt in his eyes. “I gotta know what happened to Isadora, Mal.”

  He stared at his friend, completely understanding the request. Except… “You know I’m banned from ever entering Gitmo, right? They think I’d have some kind of access to secret files, so denied access is part of my punishment.”

  “Punishment?” Gabe snorted. “That part’s a blessing. But, you don’t have anywhere near the prison. She left our…her…kid in Caibarién, so there must be a clue there. Someone must know something. Maybe why…she stayed there after I had to leave.”

  Mal eyed Gabe closely. “Are you pissed at her for not telling you?”

  He didn’t answer right away, looking off with uncertainty in his eyes. “She couldn’t leave Cuba if she had a baby, because he would have been a Cuban citizen and you know they wouldn’t let him go easily. And she knew as well as I did the consequences of me returning to the island.”

  Death. That was the consequence. The pricks who wanted him dead
would never touch Gabe on US soil, or anywhere else, but if he tried to enter Cuba? He wouldn’t make it through José Martí airport without a bullet in his back. Even Gabe. Especially Gabe.

  “I just have to be sure no one knew that she and I were….” He closed his eyes. “If someone took her out as vengeance against me, that someone’s gonna die.”

  He didn’t bother to argue or suggest that the someone dying might be Gabe if he made the mistake of trying to go to Cuba. Why state the obvious? “Investigating her death is not a two-day job, Gabe. You need a spy on the ground, a professional who can infiltrate and dig. You know I can’t do that for very long without getting on the CIA radar. Drummand still has spies in the country and a staff up in DC that does what he wants them to do.”

  Gabe looked skyward at the mention of the CIA supervisor they’d both worked for when they were at Guantanamo Bay prison on assignment.

  “Whose dick does Roger Drummand suck to keep his job anyway?” Gabe mused. “He can’t still be getting a paycheck based on the power of his father’s reputation.”

  “Like hell he couldn’t be. William Drummand’s face is practically etched in marble in the entry of Langley, still the most-revered Cold War spy ever to come through the agency.”

  “I met him once,” Gabe said.

  “Don’t tell me. He has an ego the size of Russia, lives on his past glories and expects his son to do the same?”

  “Actually, he was a cool old dude. Powerful as shit, yeah. And he really cares about the agency.”

  Mal snorted. “Then that apple fell far because Roger’s not even fit to tie Dad’s shoes. Every assignment and promotion he ever got was because of his last name. When William Drummand kicks, Roger will be shuffled to an even less important job than whatever he has now.”

  “But in the meantime…” Gabe reminded him.

  “In the meantime, I have to remember that uncovering an embezzler in his organization was probably Roger Drummand’s greatest career achievement. And if he thinks I got the money they never found and he could lock me up again, it would be another feather in his almost bald cap.”