by Bonnie Vanak
Jarrett quietly studied her as she thumbed off the phone and placed it into her backpack. “You don’t do anything by half measures, Adler. Red paint? That man was a prime donor poised to fund housing I need for the women I employ.” All her pent-up emotions tumbled out. “You don’t care about anything, do you? Just like before.”
Something flickered in his gaze. “You don’t want him as a donor. I do care. I care about hustling you out of here.”
She searched his face, the grim set of his jaw. Something was going on and he wasn’t about to tell her. Jarrett was a SEAL accustomed to secrecy. But her life was transparent now and she hated secrets.
“Joseph Augustin is a respected member of the upper class here in St. Marc. Why wouldn’t I want him as a donor?”
His gaze flicked around the courtyard. “Not here. We need to talk someplace where we won’t be overheard.”
Fine. “The hotel has a walkway around the gardens.”
As she reached down to grab her backpack, a staccato burst of gunfire exploded in the streets below the hotel. Jarrett leaped to his feet and pushed her down to the ground, covering her body with his own. His muscled weight pinned her down. She heard a handgun’s slide being racked, and looked up to see Jarrett, weapon in hand, crouching low. Screams and shouts erupted around her, and heavy footfalls pounded against the concrete courtyard.
Jarrett spoke into her ear, his deep voice rumbling. “I told you, this country isn’t safe. Now do you believe me?”
CHAPTER 2
“Those shots were in the neighborhood below the hotel. It’s nothing, Jarrett.”
Twenty minutes after the gunfire, after the hotel manager had walked around and assured everyone there was “nothing” to worry about, Jarrett perched on the edge of his chair. His Sig Sauer tucked back into his holster, he stared at Lacey. His ex-wife’s words didn’t comfort him. “Nothing? With the president of the country dining within bullet range? Don’t think so.”
Lace shook her head, pushed back at the long fall of her hair. “I’m starved. I hope their griot is good here. It’s expensive enough.”
Hungry. She wanted fried pork and he wanted the hell out of here.
But he’d talked her into having dinner with him while she waited for her donor to arrive at the hotel for drinks later. And that particular donor wasn’t getting within ten yards of Lacey.
He’d make sure of it.
He should have left her pinned to the ground, then tied her up with the linen tablecloth and carried her to his hotel room, trapping her there until morning.
Jarrett grunted as he sipped the bottled water the cheerful Ives delivered to their table. Lace had been in St. Marc far too long. Too easily dismissive of gunshots. He partly admired her cool aplomb under pressure when everyone else had run off screaming, and partly wanted to shake sense into her.
All those tours he did in the Middle East, despite the strain on his marriage, he’d never worried about Lace. Lace was safe, back in the United States. No one could hurt her. The marriage had died, but his protective streak and his feelings had not. Now she was in this place, with riots popping up like sniper fire, and he’d be damned if he turned his back and left her.
He’d feed her and stall her leaving the hotel. What if she’d driven off, headed down that same street where the gunfire erupted? A stray bullet could have hit her...
The grim image of Lacey slumped over the steering wheel, blood streaming down her head, turned his stomach into ground glass. Forget the danger Ace had mentioned. There were hot spots all around that could kill her.
Jarrett gave the menu another glance and as Ives returned, ordered in fluent French one order of griot with rice and beans, an order of broiled grouper for himself and a bottle of Bordeaux. Beaming, Ives walked off.
Lacey seemed paler at the order of French wine than she did at the gunshots. “I really don’t need to drink and I’m really not that hungry after all...”
“My treat.”
She sat straighter. “I have money.”
“No worries. I’ll pay for dinner. Call it a peace offering.”
“Why are you here, Jarrett? You didn’t just come to this hotel and find me because you have nothing better to do with your vacation. What’s the deal?”
“I have leave and came here to visit Ace.” At her confused look, he added, “Kyle Taylor. He’s staying with his sister Aimee at the resort she runs on Paix Beach.”
“I didn’t know Kyle was here. I see Aimee from time to time.”
“He’s on medical leave. Busted his knee on his last deployment so he came here to visit Aimee and her kids.” Jarrett’s jaw tensed. “And keep an eye on her because of the increasing violence.” He looked around. “When is Augustin getting here?”
“Paul said he’d phone and let me know. What’s going on, Jarrett? Why all the secrecy? Does this have to do with my dad?”
Jarrett nearly laughed. The venerable Senator Alexander Stewart had refused to speak to Jarrett after they’d announced their elopement years ago. Her old man still blamed Jarrett for the marriage and the eventual breakup, calling him an “adrenaline-seeking hot dog.”
“Your father doesn’t know I’m in St. Marc. But he’d agree with me that it’s not safe for you here, Lace.” Jarrett leaned on the table and locked gazes with her.
“I’m not part of your life anymore, Jarrett. You never cared what happened to me before.”
The accusation stung. “You were once part of my life, and I did care,” he said quietly. “I care what happens to you now, Lace.”
She looked troubled at the thought. “You really think the country is headed toward another civil war? Everyone is hopeful that the elections will change that.”
“If the current regime, and the military, allows a new president to take over.”
Lacey gnawed at her lower lip. Jarrett watched, both sorely tempted by her lush mouth and worried as hell. He hoped she realized what he didn’t say was more important than the information he offered. The White House had been closely watching the sitch here and was prepared to order US military intervention if a military junta seized control of St. Marc. It had happened in the past, so the possibility was quite real.
One reason he’d chosen St. Marc as his destination. He wanted to check on Ace and nudge Lacey into leaving before the country exploded and it became harder to hustle her pretty rear end off the island.
“What have you heard from your sources?”
Jarrett drew in a deep breath, not daring to say more. “Things are heating up a little too much.”
“This is the city. The countryside is different. Quiet, peaceful, where I live.”
He knew the stubborn line between her two silky eyebrows. Hell, he should have tied her up and carried her away.
Jarrett sipped his water, studying his ex. Her hair was longer now, and she had shadows beneath her eyes, and looked too thin, but she was still lovely. She no longer wore floral perfume, but he could smell the apple shampoo she used when he’d tackled her to the ground.
She smelled like home, and it amplified his sense of loss.
“You’ve changed. No more designer outfits?” He eyed her worn khaki backpack. “Or purses?”
“My priorities changed.” Her mouth lifted slightly. “But I still have my pink Michael Kors bag. It’s in storage. Doesn’t go well with T-shirts and worn denim jeans.”
“I remember that bag,” he mused. “You bought it shopping the day I returned from Iraq.”
His body tightened as he remembered. He’d returned from a grueling deployment, drained and numb, the images of what he’d done haunting him. Jarrett had showered twice, scrubbing his body until the hot water ran out, still feeling the sand between his toes, the grit in his teeth. And then he’d sat in the living room, staring at the walls.
Lacey had walked into the house, the pink Michael Kors bag hanging from one slender shoulder, her lithe body covered in the sweetest pink sundress, her feet stuffed into pink designer sandals.
Even her toenails were painted pink. She looked so cute, sexy and so American that all the pressure in his chest finally eased, morphing into pure sexual interest.
She’d dropped the bag in the living room, run into his arms. And then she’d looked into his eyes, really looked at him, and saying nothing, led him straight into the bedroom. The sex had been hard and rough, a purging of every damn thing he’d seen and done. Then they’d showered together, and had sex again, and afterward, they’d grilled burgers and she sat on his lap as they finished a bottle of white wine, and before they’d fallen asleep, they’d made love three more times.
Six weeks later the little white stick she’d taken into the bathroom showed two pink lines. They had conceived their baby that day...
Jarrett squeezed his beer bottle so tight his knuckles whitened. Didn’t want to think of the time after that, how glowing and happy Lacey had been, and then growing paler and sicker, and worried at the bleeding the doctor assured her was normal, just spotting...
The past was the past.
Ives brought the wine and uncorked it with a flourish. As they ate, Lacey asked him about his work. He made noncommittal answers, as he always had, and turned the conversation to her life here in St. Marc. Maybe if he could discover why she was so determined to stay, he could coax her into leaving and finding something better back home.
“How the hell did you end up here in this part of the world?”
She sipped her wine and nodded. “Not bad. Remember how I told you I spent time here in high school when Dad was appointed the US ambassador to St. Marc? I developed an affinity for the people and learning the culture.”
Odd. He’d forgotten her time abroad. She’d seldom mentioned it during their marriage, maybe because she knew her father disliked Jarrett intensely. He blamed Jarrett for Lacey’s dropping out of college and getting married, no matter how much she insisted it was her idea.
Enthusiasm lit up her face as she described Marlee’s Mangoes, the NGO she’d formed to help poor women and children. She’d started the charity from her share of profits from a coffee plantation in St. Marc. Marlee’s Mangoes operated out of a twenty-five-acre farm a good two-hour drive from the city. She harvested fruit from mango trees, and her staff prepared a popular mango jam and salsa she hoped to start exporting.
Lacey waved her hands, illustrating the operation. He studied those hands with curiosity. Once she’d never failed to go without her weekly manicure. Now those nails were unpainted and filed down to the quick.
“The marmalade is well-known around the island. I have contracts with several high-end restaurants that cater to tourists who come here from the cruise ships or vacation at the beachside resorts.”
“How did you get started?”
“I came here four years ago when Paul offered me an opportunity with his coffee business. He owns the plantation and factory where they process the beans. And I fell in love with the people, and the culture, and realized there was a need I could fulfill for poor women who had no place else to go. So I bought a small farm to start Marlee’s Mangoes.”
Four years ago, shortly after their divorce. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Buying a farm is a huge step. Isn’t land expensive here?”
“Outrageous, but I bought the farm from the son who inherited the land after his dad died. I went to school with him here in St. Marc and got the land cheap, even before it went on the market.” She grinned and his heart gave a little jump. Once she had grinned like that at him, and he fell hard and fast.
“Paul needed the capital for his coffee business and he needed help. I enlisted my dad’s help to set up a new processing factory to wash the coffee beans and sun dry them. We sell those beans to companies in the States.”
Jarrett was deeply impressed.
“Not bad for a college dropout, huh? With my share of profits from the coffee business I funded Marlee’s Mangoes. But...” She leaned forward, her gaze sparking with life. “I’m very happy to announce that our NGO is now fully self-sufficient and no longer operating in the red. This is a huge deal for me because I’m teaching the women to be empowered, to learn skills that will grow their futures.”
Candlelight flickering on the table showed the pink flush on her cheeks. “It may sound idealistic, but I believe in these women and their potential. Some lost their husbands to violence, but many were victims of abuse. They’ll do anything for their children, and just want a chance for their kids to have a better life.”
Admiration filled him. Lacey always had a tender heart for the underprivileged. “It sounds like a terrific project. How did you come up with the name?”
Her expression fell. She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “That’s private. I can’t talk about it.”
He let it slide. Jarrett noticed she drank very little wine. He lifted the bottle out of its silver bucket. “It’s very good. Would you like more?”
She shook her head. “One glass is my limit. I have to drive.”
Plan A out the window. She wasn’t going to get drunk and spend the night here. Time to put Plan B into action.
“Excuse me,” he murmured.
A pass of a few twenties to Ives, and he found himself in the hotel parking lot standing before Lacey’s older and somewhat battered SUV. It didn’t take long. Jarrett returned to the hotel, washed the grease off his hands in the men’s room and went to their table.
Their food arrived and as he picked up his fork, Lacey handed him the hot sauce without asking. Amused, he shook the sauce over his broiled fish. Marriage did that to you. You had habits that your spouse knew, and those habits were hard to break. But he was quietly pleased she’d remembered his preferences.
She ate quickly, keeping her gaze focused toward the hotel’s front. As the hour passed, her animated conversation grew quieter.
Lacey realized her donor was not going to show up. She dug out her cell and excused herself.
Jarrett polished off his meal and waited, nodding at Ives as he came to check on their wine. He’d slipped Ives money earlier to pass a bottle of the hotel’s finest rum to Augustin in apology for the thrown paint incident. If Ace’s intel proved right, and Ace’s intel always proved right, the bastard was drunk as hell right now on his favorite liquor. He didn’t want him anywhere near Lace.
Sure enough, Lacey returned, palming her cell phone, her expression dejected as she resumed her seat. “He’s not coming. Paul said Monsieur Augustin is inebriated and doesn’t want to go anywhere. Paul is staying with a friend tonight and said he’d call him tomorrow.”
And by tomorrow you’ll be gone. The man’s bad news, Lace. Will you trust me on this for once?
He signaled for the waiter. “Would you like dessert?”
She stood and he stood, as well. “I have to leave, Jarrett.” She stuck out her hand. “Thank you for dinner. It was nice to see you again. I hope you enjoy your stay in St. Marc.”
Instead of shaking her palm, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth. The kiss was a bare brush of his lips, but she turned pink. Desire and recognition flared between them, and her breathing hitched.
Then she pulled away, picked up her backpack and walked off, hurrying as if she wanted to get away from him fast.
He sat down, sipped more wine to quell his raging hormones, which urged him to run after her, sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to his room. Straight into his bed, where they could get reacquainted in a much more pleasant way.
He waited.
Ten minutes later she stormed back to the table. “My car’s dead.”
Jarrett tilted his head. “Oh?”
“The battery is gone. Damn it, Jarrett, why did you do this? I need to get back home.”
“Yes, you do.” He leaned forward. “Home to the United States of America. That’s your home.”
Lacey dumped her backpack. “You bribed someone.”
He shrugged. “Money talks in these countries. Think, Lacey. I paid cash for someone to point out your car so
I could remove the battery. What if I wanted to blow up your car instead?”
“Will you stop being so paranoid.”
“It’s my job to be paranoid and protect citizens like you. You’re not going anywhere. You’re spending the night here.”
Then he added in a gentler tone, “You couldn’t drive all the way back to your home this late, anyway. It’s too far and too dark on these roads. Stay here, and things will work out.”
Her mouth trembled as she sat. “I can’t stay here. This is an expensive hotel. I’d planned to go to the L’Étoile d’Amour.”
Recognizing the name as a place one of his teammates had visited during a deployment here, Jarrett choked on his sip of wine. “The Star of Love? Lace, that’s a place where you pay by the hour and you bring your own sheets!”
“It’s inexpensive and only for one night. And I know the owner.”
Jealousy wormed through him. “How do you know the owner?”
“He’s donated to my NGO.”
Long as the man didn’t donate anything else, like his DNA. Jarrett inwardly swore. Why was he reacting like this? He’d thought his feelings for her had died. Obviously not.
Hands on hips, she glared at him. “I’ll hire a taxi and go there. You can’t keep me here.”
Think fast. Don’t let her get away. If he lost her for the night, he lost her for good.
Jarrett went to her, clasping her shoulders, feeling delicate bones beneath her soft skin, feeling her quiver beneath his touch. “You’re right. I can’t. Don’t go, Lacey. I’ll make you a deal. Stay the night here and I’ll give you a ride back to your compound tomorrow. You can make arrangements to return your truck.”
Anger faded from her expression, replaced with wariness. “Spend the night with you, in your room?”
Oh, the possibilities, but Jarrett forced away the temptation. “I’ll pay for your room tonight. Tomorrow we’ll leave. I want to see this place you’ve talked so much about.”
