Roxanne St. Claire - Barefoot With a Bad Boy (Barefoot Bay Undercover #3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “I haven’t told anyone, anywhere. But a blind man could see the resemblance.”

  “Not even your pal Dex?”

  She shook her head. “I mean, Dex knows I have a child, of course. He was the first person I called when I found out I…” Her voice trailed off when Gabe clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.” He twisted the key in the ignition, hard, and whipped into the road. “Am I ticked off that I didn’t get to see him pop out and scream, or piss in the bathtub for the first time, or shove his first Cheerio up his nose, or whatever other Daddy milestones I missed? Yeah, but it’s done, and we have to move forward and do what has to be done for that kid.”

  She smiled. “He’s never pissed in the bathtub.”

  Gabe snorted. “Oh yeah, Mom? Has a little wiener, doesn’t he? He’s pissed in the tub.”

  But she repositioned herself and put a hand on his arm. “He is awesome, isn’t he?”

  “Hell yeah. He’s a pistol. I can’t wait to…” Raise him. Know him. Love the shit out of him. “Figure things out.”

  She dropped her head back on the headrest with a noisy sigh. “I’m tired of that euphemism. Tell me your plan.”

  The adrenaline of his anger dissipated as he threaded through the streets and made his way back to Barefoot Bay. “Look, you don’t need to make up for all that time I missed by leaving him completely. And you can’t beat yourself up for your mothering, ’cause that kid would test Mother Teresa.” He threw her a grin. “That’s some robust DNA right there.”

  “It’s not just guilt over you or him that’s driving this decision,” she said. “I am definitely in danger because of my role in that operation. I don’t know who and I don’t know why, but as long as someone wants me for whatever reason—vengeance or retribution or whatever—I am a liability to him.”

  “So let’s find out who wants you.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  He shot her a look. “Not at all. If he knows where you are, he’ll show up. I say let’s draw the em-effer out and cut his heart into small pieces. Then you’re not a liability, just a plain old mom with a handful of a kid who has a father willing to help. And I will not teach him my way with words.”

  She laughed softly. “That might be genetic, too. He just hasn’t learned all the words yet.”

  He stopped at the light and put his hand on her leg. “I’m serious. It’s a little risky since we’re in the dark, but without knowing who or what you’re up against, we don’t have a choice.”

  “I have a choice,” she said. “I can get a new name and new home and a new life.”

  He eyed her for a long time, then turned back to the road. “I thought this new model came with lady balls.”

  She shot him a look. “She does.”

  “Then use them. Let’s bait and break.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “I make everything sound easy. That’s one of my many gifts.” He pulled into the convenience store parking lot to set his plan in motion, but she didn’t notice because, once again, she had her eyes closed and her hands on her temples.

  “It’s not that easy,” she admitted. “You can’t imagine how I’ve changed. Inside and out, all the way through.”

  What the hell did that have to do with fishing for a freak who wanted to hurt her or the kid? “But you love our son, right?”

  “Of course I do!” She pushed at her head like she could squeeze the pain out of it. “You don’t understand…” She lost her voice, the words strangled in her throat.

  “Then explain it to me.”

  She took a few slow breaths, and he could practically see the discomfort easing up. “It’s too hard to explain, but…” She turned to him and reached a hand up to touch his face. “I’m really starting to remember why I loved the holy hell out of you.”

  “Then work with me. We’re professional spies, baby. If we can’t do this, who can?”

  She looked at him for a long time, her dark eyes wide, that sweet lower lip trapped between perfect white teeth. Isa used to bite her lip, too, when she was uncertain about something. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asked on a whisper. “You have every reason to hate me, to want me gone, to keep Rafe for your very own.”

  “I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do and because he’s our son.”

  “Gabriel, my angel.” Those eyes filled, and when she closed them, a tear meandered down her cheek.

  “Let me be that for once.” Using his thumb, he wiped her cheek, lingering over the soft, creamy skin of a prominent cheekbone that she hadn’t had before.

  “I want to,” she whispered. “I want to so much.”

  “Then let’s start. Right now.” He nodded toward the store where he’d parked. “First thing we want to do is let the world know where you are. And this is the best possible place to start.”

  “At the local convenience store?”

  “Not your average 7-Eleven. This is the Super Min, and you’re about to meet the equivalent of the town crier. If you want your name spread around, Charity Grambling is the old bag for the job. Let’s go.”

  She gave a shuddering sigh, then pressed her fingers against her forehead.

  “What?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t want to fall back in love with you, Gabe. I can’t take the pain.”

  “That makes two of us.” He lifted her chin and brought her face closer. “Are we doing this or what?”

  “Doing what? Falling in love again?”

  “Baiting the baddie.”

  But she just searched his face, her expression as ragged as if he’d answered the other way. Were they falling in love again? Not as long as she wasn’t being straight with him about why she’d leave Rafe. He might believe her, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. She still wasn’t telling him everything.

  “I’m not sure it will work,” she finally said.

  “If it does, and we get your guy, you can stay with Rafe. Isn’t that what you want?”

  She swallowed, silent. And all his red-hot alarm bells went screaming again. But he wasn’t going to get it out of her here and now. It would take some finesse.

  “I want him to be safe,” she whispered.

  “Then get out your real ID, Mama. We’re going fishing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lila stepped out of the spacious villa bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders after a long, hot shower.

  She stopped cold at the sight of Gabriel Rossi stretched on her bed, shirtless, dress pants on but not buttoned, bare feet crossed, an iPad on his lap and a Scotch on the rocks on the nightstand next to him.

  Her breath trapped in her throat. “Oh, I didn’t expect you here.”

  “What part of ‘I’m staying in the villa’ didn’t you understand?” He looked up from the tablet, dropping his gaze up and down her bare-but-for-a-towel body. Heat rolled through her.

  “The part about being on my bed, in my room, and not out there, waiting for me.”

  He looked back down at the tablet without lingering on her barely dressed body, and that heat cooled to something more like disappointment.

  “This is more comfortable,” he said. “And we can talk while you get ready.”

  Talk. Not that she wanted anything else—not that she wanted to admit, anyway—but it was a little tough to be reminded that she didn’t look anything like the woman whose body and face he once adored to the point of distraction.

  He, on the other hand, was in even better shape, with a six-, no eight-pack, ripped chest, and perfectly cut biceps that assured her he still started each and every day with a hundred one-armed push-ups.

  Whatever he was reading on that tablet was more interesting than her nearly naked self. Okay, that was good, she rationalized.

  She’d finally rid herself of the afternoon headache and wanted so much to keep the pain at bay. The solution
was simple: feel nothing. And since he obviously felt nothing, she could do the same.

  She walked to the closet, turning her back on him to study her meager wardrobe. “I wasn’t planning on another holiday party,” she said, pushing around hangers that mostly held beach cover-ups and sundresses.

  “Gotta get you out there, blondie.” He tapped the screen.

  “I thought we did that pretty effectively with our twenty-minute Q&A session with the town busybody this afternoon.” No surprise, Charity Grambling, owner of the Super Min, gushed over Gabe, and he’d had her lapping up everything he said.

  And he’d said plenty.

  “Oh yeah, Charity is probably over at the local newspaper filing a story as we speak. ‘Former CIA operatives invade Mimosa Key.’ Did you see her drool when I mentioned you’d done undercover work?”

  She pushed another outfit aside. “But it was so weird. I’m so used to hiding, to staying low and deep and quiet.”

  “Not on this mission. You wave those CIA and MI6 colors like you’re a freaking spook cheerleader. When they ask specifics, suggest they’d die a swift death if you told them anything. Then tell them some fake shit. People suck that crap up with a straw.”

  “So that’s the plan for tonight at this Christmas party given by the resort owners?”

  “Yep. Everybody who’s anybody at this resort and the surrounding area will be at the Walkers’ house tonight,” he said. “Including my grandfather, sister, and…” He looked up. “Mal. You think you can handle that?”

  She pulled a little black dress out and considered what jewelry might snazz it up. “I already ran into him last night, and it was fine. He’ll never recognize me as Isadora. Trust me, I was in Roger Drummand’s face for years, and he never once suspected I wasn’t exactly who I said I was. Same will be true of Mal, and if he’s inclined to check my story, Lila Wickham will show up in intelligence agency databases, saying exactly who I say I am—a former MI6 agent sent to the CIA to work on a task force who ultimately stayed in DC.”

  “You know he and my sister nearly died trying to find Rafe.”

  She felt the pain of that comment right down to her soul. “And you know that I can never apologize to them for that. Or thank them for ending my assignment by getting rid of Drummand. Or tell Mal how much I appreciate that he found my note to you. Gabe, they can never know the truth about me. No one can. Isadora is dead and will always stay dead, along with Gabriel Rafael, her son.”

  “Our son,” Gabe corrected, glancing at the picture of Rafe he’d returned to her, propped on the nightstand again. “And be prepared: There will be questions and interest in us.”

  “Us?”

  “Everyone will assume this is romantic,” he said.

  “Well, we better have our story straight, then.”

  “And as close to fact as possible.”

  That was the mantra of a good cover, she knew.

  “So,” Gabe continued. “We’re ex-lovers from a former CIA gig, friends now. You have a son. When he shows up in the picture, they’ll all know who fathered that child. Done, case closed.”

  But what about when she left?

  She pushed the thought aside, not willing to feel anything that could possibly give her a headache. Any profoundly strong emotion would bring on the first thrum of pain at the base of her neck.

  Still holding the black dress, she took a few steps closer to the bed, inching past the sheer netting tied to the four posts that gave the room a West Indies tropical feel. “What are you doing on the computer?”

  “Research.” He picked up his drink and raised the glass to her with his index finger extended. “I’ve been poking around a few classified sites that I can still sneak into. This operation you were part of was really deep. Not a word of anyone involved in anything like it.”

  “As it should be, and if you had asked me, I would have told you that.”

  “I was just checking.” He held out his drink to her, a lock of his hair slipping over his forehead. “Want a sip?”

  Heat shot up her spine as she fought the sudden urge to knock the Scotch to the floor. “Don’t you believe me? Why are you checking up on me?”

  He lifted a brow. “Careful, blondie. Your Isa is showing.”

  “You don’t have to dig through files for information about me. Tell me what you want to know, and I will supply it.”

  “And the ice woman cometh back.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you or do you not believe I am who I say I am?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why?” She flicked a hand toward the tablet. “Why check my story?”

  “Believing isn’t the same as trusting.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her brow this time. “Careful, your Gabe is showing.”

  “I’m not the one with a split personality.”

  “Neither am I.”

  He pushed the iPad to the side. “Really? Because, honestly, with a little light mining, I think I can find Isa in there.”

  Of course he could. He could find her and bring her out again. Because she was never so real or so happy as she had been with Gabe. Then she’d fall into his arms, his bed, and his heart.

  “Please don’t try.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  But she had to. The headaches…she had to tell him. She opened her mouth, the truth right there, ready to come out, but then she closed it again. Too much shame and pain for that conversation, at least now.

  “There’s nothing about me to distrust,” she finally said, purposely changing the subject. She held up the dress and tried for casual. “This is the best I can do on short notice. I’ll put it on, and we can get going soon.”

  She turned, but he grabbed her arm and held her there. “Hang on a sec.”

  “What is it?”

  “Would it be so bad to bring her back?”

  “She can’t come back to life, Gabe. The agency would never allow it, and that was part of the release I signed to get—”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He drew her closer, strong enough to bring her to the bed and force her to sit next to him. “Her personality. Her passion. Her…heart. That’s who you really are.”

  “Not anymore.” That much passion would make Lila’s head explode in pain. “Have you tried?” He sounded so hopeful, it broke her heart.

  “No. I’m not Isadora Winter anymore.” Not that green-eyed, freckle-skinned young spy with a little overbite that made Gabe crazy when she used it anywhere on his body. Now she was a skinny, brittle, self-protecting brown-eyed blonde who got raging headaches when she felt anything like she was feeling now.

  He studied her for a long, long time, caressing her face with his haunting, hot gaze, his lips parted, his whole body…too close. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, but something had a hold on him as he stayed stone still and let electricity spark in the air between them.

  She lifted her chin in defiance and, maybe, in hopes of a kiss.

  He dashed that hope and drew back. “My friends and family are going to tell you about how miserable I’ve been lately.”

  The non sequitur threw her. “Okay.”

  “You should know it hasn’t been easy for me. I came here with one goal, to be closer to the place where I thought my former lover might be. When I found out…” He looked away. “I swore to God I would never let myself fall like that again. Never.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Because I intended to keep that vow, but now Isa’s not dead. But she’s not really alive, either. So I can’t be in mourning, but I can’t exactly be happy. It’s the worst of both worlds.”

  “In other words, it would have been easier for you if I had stayed away. Dead. Out of your life.” She could barely utter the words, they hurt so much. But the truth did sometimes.

  He leaned closer to her, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face to him. “I want to find her in there,” he whispered. “I want you back.”
<
br />   She slowly shook her head and stepped away from the bed before her head, and heart, betrayed her.

  *

  For someone who had mastered the art of lying low and staying out of the spotlight, Lila’s shell cracked wide open as Gabe waltzed her through the crowded hacienda owned by Lacey and Clay Walker and introduced her to as many of the forty-some guests as he knew.

  Was that because she was playing her part so brilliantly, like a trained spy, or because the real woman was starting to emerge? Still so many unanswered questions. But now, he had to play his role, too. Which wasn’t tough.

  As a “consultant” to McBain Security, Gabe knew most everyone there. The adults, anyway. The party was overrun with rug rats who all seemed to have similar names: Evan, Emma, Eddie, Elijah, and one little wild child named Maya.

  The place was rocking by seven thirty, with the spicy aroma of Poppy’s Jamaican cooking wafting from an oversized kitchen, Christmas carols playing through a whole-house sound system, and the echo of kids’ laughter.

  Lila hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, but her dark eyes sparkled, as festive as the twelve-foot Christmas tree and as warm as the fire that added to the holiday atmosphere.

  She chatted up strangers, answered questions about her reasons for taking a holiday in Barefoot Bay, and stayed close enough to him to set so many tongues wagging he felt like he’d gone to a party at a dog kennel.

  “Well, well, well, we meet again.” Chessie sidled up next to Lila, but her pointed look was aimed directly at Gabe. “And this time you’re with my brother. You didn’t mention that you knew him last night.”

  “I didn’t catch your last name and missed making the connection,” she said.

  “Not the first time that’s happened.” Mal stepped closer. “Right, Francesca?”

  Chessie gave him a secret smile and then waved Nino over from a few feet away. “Nino, come and meet Gabe’s new friend.”

  The older man glowered at her, elbowing his way closer. “Don’t embarrass him.”

  “Gabe is unembarrassable,” Chessie said, holding her hand out to Lila. “Sorry you couldn’t stay at the dinner last night.”