Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  Maybe it was fair that someone was targeting him now. But he didn’t want anyone else caught in the crossfire. Not Gina, not her tough naval officer. Not anyone aboard the ship.

  He stiffened as the phone on his desk rang shrilly.

  He glanced at the number, noted the unfamiliar area code and was tempted to ignore it.

  But Tobias had been a professional too many years to ignore his duty now. He took a deep breath, swept up the phone. “Security.”

  Static crackled.

  “Hello?”

  He heard a click, as if the phone call had been routed.

  And then the voice swirling out of the past. Deeper than he expected. Cool and hard and professional. The sound brought pleasure and unbearable pain—along with a jolt of immense pride.

  “I’ll be coming aboard tomorrow. I’ll be with the first group on deck in Puerto Vallarta. We’ll meet in your office at 1100 hours.”

  “Who is this?” Tobias had to ask. He had to hear the words.

  “You know damn well who this is.”

  His hand closed on one of the cold picture frames. He saw the boy the way he’d once been, full of hope and love, standing with a used bicycle that might have been a rare treasure made of gold. “Say it. Say the words.”

  “Still giving orders?” The tough voice cut like cold steel. “Too bad for you that I stopped listening years ago. So let’s get one thing straight. This is business, pure and simple. I’ll do what I have to do, and then I’ll leave. Don’t read anything into it because I’m not your son, and you’re definitely not my damned father.” The phone slammed down.

  Ishmael Teague.

  Once Ishmael Hale, before he’d taken his mother’s maiden name in a move that had severed the last strand of connection between them.

  Tobias didn’t move. He felt a sharp, burning pain at his chest. He forced himself to relax, to take steady, controlled breaths. He needed his work more than ever now. Without it he would go right over the edge.

  He and Gina were alike that way.

  So he sat in his desk chair, working to stay calm. Finally he succeeded.

  Years before he had been assigned to work a mob-connected case in Hollywood for the FBI, and his cover had been as a stuntman. He’d been damn good at the job, too, Tobias thought. One day, after a grueling scene in which he’d been dragged by a runaway horse, he caught the attention of the Duke himself. John Wayne had leaned back in his lanky way, stretching long legs in front of him. Tobias could never remember the exact words, but the message had been clear.

  If you have a choice, die in the saddle.

  It was advice Tobias meant to take seriously. It had prompted him to help Gina and buy her some time.

  He glanced down at the pictures on his desk, shoving away all the pain and cold regrets.

  He damn well wasn’t going to go out any sooner than he had to. Meanwhile, he had the safe to recheck and a call to make to Lloyd Ryker in New Mexico. After that there was a stubborn witness waiting to be interviewed in the infirmary.

  IZZY TEAGUE STARED DOWN at the neatly sorted papers, the carefully chosen ammunition next to maps of coastal Mexico, all stacked in water-tight bags on his desk. His eyes were as cold as the memories that flooded over him from a past that had finally stopped waking him up at night.

  His first sleep-away camp.

  His first bicycle.

  His first fishing trip.

  His hands clenched as he bit off a curse.

  Old news. He wasn’t going to waste his time in a tearful trip down memory lane.

  He had no regrets. On a bright summer day in August his father had packed his bag and left without an explanation or a backward glance. That same day Izzy had learned the price of letting anyone get too close.

  He had never made that mistake again.

  His mother hadn’t remarried. Stubborn and energetic every day of her life, she had made a lonely, outcast boy feel loved and valued when he was too smart or too fast—or too black—to fit in.

  Izzy didn’t miss his father. Only a bastard would walk out and leave his family flat, without one letter or phone call in the years that followed. Izzy figured he was better off without that man in his life.

  Now fate was tossing them together again.

  He pushed back his chair, shouldered his single travel bag and flipped off his office lights. Lloyd Ryker had apologized when he brought up the mission. Agents had no business dealing with family, he had explained. Emotions clouded judgment, brought conflicts of interest and forced painful choices.

  Not for him, Izzy had said flatly. The man named Tobias Hale was a stranger in every way that mattered. The blood tie between them was an accident, an irrelevant twist of fate and nothing more. If he had wanted to, he could have found Tobias anytime, using the security and surveillance skills that made him a key asset to the Foxfire program.

  But Izzy had never had the slightest interest in looking. His father was dead. He had died the day he walked out on his mother without any sign of regret. The memories of that man were buried in the same trash with all the other broken and ruined things from Izzy’s past.

  He walked outside and kicked his door shut with one foot. All that mattered now was tracking down Enrique Cruz and taking him off the board for good. The last time they had met, Cruz had nearly killed Izzy.

  Oh yeah, this was definitely personal.

  Cruz would not be walking away this time. The rogue agent’s extraordinary abilities had to be contained before he inflicted more suffering on innocent people. And he’d struck cleverly, hoping to force Izzy’s support by threatening the life of his father in half a dozen anonymous e-mails.

  Except Cruz hadn’t done quite enough research. Because Ishmael Teague didn’t care a damn whether his father lived or died.

  ENRIQUE CRUZ TOOK his time looking at her.

  She was well worth looking at, with skin like silk. Golden hair that tumbled around flushed cheeks. She was hot and reckless and didn’t give a damn about ethics or rules.

  When he’d heard about the job she wanted done, he had been shocked at his good luck for putting him exactly where he wanted to be. Of course Blaine hadn’t guessed that. As far as she knew, he was a freelance computer hacker with a general grudge against authority.

  Every employer knew Cruz by a different name. In Asia he had been Rock Malone. Hollywood movie names always impressed them.

  In France he was Peter DeNiro. He always let them think he was a distant relation to Robert.

  In Colombia he was simply known as Carlo. He had killed the only two men who had asked for his real name.

  Now people knew better than to ask.

  Here on the cruise ship, he used a completely new identity based on papers set up months before. After completing his work at the security office, he’d vanish into the night, find his waiting car and collect his millions from an eager buyer.

  But he had time before the drama began, and he intended to enjoy it.

  The cabin was dark. The handcuffs swaying in his fingers clicked softly. He wasn’t surprised that Blaine couldn’t take her eyes off the cuffs. Her face held revulsion—along with curiosity. They always wondered what it felt like to give up control, he thought grimly. Even the tame, quiet ones.

  And Blaine was definitely not tame and quiet.

  He gripped her hands, snapped the cuffs in place. He liked the fear that darkened her eyes, paled her cheeks.

  “What are you doing? Damn it, I never agreed—”

  “Of course you didn’t. That’s the whole point.”

  “But—”

  “Shut up, Blaine.” It took only a flick of his wrist to toss her back onto the bed. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be off the ship with his stolen package. In forty-eight hours he’d be somewhere south of Fiji sipping absinthe on his private beach.

  It bothered him a little that the job seemed so easy. The security chief was experienced, but an amateur, and there had been no sign of any Foxfire men aboard. If so, Cru
z would have picked up their energy immediately.

  Of course, he hadn’t gone out for meals or any activities. He wasn’t about to push his luck. The stubble he’d grown covered his features nicely, and cosmetic surgery had filled in any gaps. Even if Wolfe Houston or Lloyd Ryker stood next to him, neither one would have recognized him.

  A pillow hit the floor.

  Blaine’s eyes glinted with fury. But she couldn’t look away. Cruz knew that his scar fascinated her.

  He slid his hand along her chest and over her thighs, watching desire smoke in her eyes. She was a real little bitch, his Blaine. Too bad he couldn’t take her with him afterward.

  But there could be no loose ends once he left the ship. Ryker would have dogs and men combing every inch of deck and checking every contact.

  Cruz’s eyes hardened. He’d never go back into Ryker’s cage. His millions would buy him a few more years of safety and time to plan his next act of revenge.

  Meanwhile, Blaine was cursing, trying to wriggle free.

  But her eyes gleamed, hot with fear and excitement. And Cruz had a few hours to kill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  TRACE DUCKED A PAIR of volleyballs, skirted a limbo contest and strode across the deck. By habit he assessed the passengers around him, alert for any movement that seemed out of the ordinary.

  Gina was in her kitchen making pâte à choux, whatever the hell that was. Tobias was running his monthly scan of all employee ID cards and checking for current invalid photos, which would keep him safe in his office for another two hours while Trace ran an errand.

  He was going to have to brief Ford McKay on the new developments. The man was not going to be happy when he learned there was a threat aboard the ship, and Trace couldn’t blame him for that. But he owed it to McKay to warn him. Navy SEALs had a tendency to jump right into a problem, and Trace couldn’t chance that.

  He checked both fore and aft promenade decks, hoping he could engineer a “casual” encounter, but the McKay family was nowhere to be found. He had made it his business to know that the triplets were at the junior camp, where they were now learning the intricacies of nautical knots. He had spotted Carly McKay hunched over one of the shipboard computers, manipulating an arcane photography program. That left her nice and tidy, too.

  So where the hell was the SEAL?

  “Hey, honey, are you free for dinner tonight? We could have an amazing dessert. Your cabin or mine?” A slightly drunk female voice drifted across the deck.

  Then he heard a familiar voice in response. “Thanks for asking, but I’m having four gorgeous redheads for dinner in my cabin. Prior arrangements.” Ford McKay was carrying a water bottle under one arm and a child’s lunch box under the other. He smiled politely at a brunette in a bathing suit that could have fit inside a medicine bottle.

  The woman blew out an angry little breath. “Some of us have all the luck.” She flounced off, showing an extraordinary amount of cleavage.

  Trace glanced at Ford McKay. “They hit on you, too? Even with the wedding ring?”

  “Morning, noon and night,” McKay said. “It drives Carly nuts. My girls think it’s pretty funny. Of course we told them that the ladies want to go have ice cream. I figure we can buy two or three more years of innocence before we have to explain the intricacies of serial dating and protected sex.” McKay gave a little shudder. “Just thinking about it gives me gray hairs, pal.”

  Trace chuckled. “And you’ve got to do it not one time but three times. Good luck.”

  Ford’s eyes narrowed. “No way. That’s one conversation that’s taking place as a family unit.”

  This was a different side of fatherhood, something that Trace had never envisioned. It amused him to see the tough Navy SEAL sweating over a family biology session.

  It also, in some obscure way, left Trace feeling jealous. “How about a run up on the sports deck? If you can’t escape them, at least you can outrun them.”

  Ford’s eyes narrowed. “Works for me. Except something tells me we won’t be discussing table settings or party drinks.”

  The man was sharp, but Trace had expected nothing less. He simply nodded, and neither man spoke as they made their way across the crowded exterior deck, up a flight of stairs and onto the jogging track. They had a 360-degree view of the ocean, shimmering blue and cool as far as the eye could see. Seabirds circled madly.

  Off to the west, Trace saw a gray body breach in an explosion of white foam. “Damn, that was a whale.”

  “I’d say so.” Neither man moved, stunned by the majesty of the water’s largest mammal engaged in a leap for sheer pleasure.

  Trace preferred the bustle of a working military ship any day, but he had to admit that a view like this would be hard to forget. He slipped his water bottle into a pocket and set up an easy pace, matched by Ford.

  “Let’s have it. My girls told me about the kitten, and I chewed their tails big-time, but you’re not frowning at the Pacific because of a stowaway cat.”

  “I wish I were. I was told to speak to you by someone you know. Izzy Teague,” he said quietly.

  “I know Teague,” Ford said flatly. “If he’s involved, things aren’t good.”

  “I gather you two worked together once or twice?”

  “Not at liberty to discuss it, O’Halloran.” Ford’s mouth was set in a flat line as he glared out at the sea. “I sure as hell didn’t come on this trip to take care of business. If there’s a hint of a risk, I want my family off the ship now.”

  “We have no reason to think the ship or its passengers are in danger.”

  “It’s Diaz in Colombia, isn’t it?” Ford’s voice was cold as a North Sea wind.

  “Not Diaz. He came up clean.”

  “Diaz is never clean.” Ford stared out at the water, waiting for Trace to fill him in. “You need backup? Is that it?”

  “It may become necessary. Mainly I need to know you and the redheads are safe. We can’t afford any surprises.”

  “So you’re warning me ahead of time to stay out of it unless you give me the signal?”

  “That’s about it.”

  Ford stared out at the water. “You can’t tell me anything more?”

  “Someone has targeted the Chief of Security aboard the cruise ship. The man may attempt to board sometime during the cruise if he isn’t already here.”

  “You’ve got my help.” The SEAL’s voice hardened. “But I want my family put off at Puerto Vallarta.”

  “We could do that, but it would be a signal to anyone running surveillance that we are aware of the plan and taking precautions.”

  “I won’t put my family in danger,” McKay snapped. “When the bullets fly, anyone nearby can get hurt. What about the rest of the passengers? Aren’t they entitled to protection?”

  “They’ll get protection. We have an undercover team coming aboard tomorrow.” Trace didn’t mention the Foxfire divers who were boarding the ship from the seaward side sometime in the night, ready to be placed in secure cabins. They would remain out of sight as backup in case the threat escalated.

  The fewer people who knew that fact, the better. There was little doubt Cruz had eyes and ears on board the ship.

  McKay shook his head. “Not good enough. I want my family out of range. Make up some excuse. We’ll have Carly pretend that she got an urgent assignment.”

  “And you would stay behind? Another tip-off, I’m afraid. Anything that calls attention may actually put your family in danger. So I have to ask that you leave them right where they are. We don’t want our suspects to panic and run. Or worse, start shooting.”

  “I knew a backyard vacation was a better idea,” McKay said grimly. As the two men jogged along the windblown deck, he scanned the horizon. “When I married Carly, I swore I would never allow my job to put her at risk. I can’t go back on that promise now.”

  “Izzy is bringing someone in especially for them. She comes highly recommended.”

  “She?”

  “Y
ou have blinders about women in field positions?”

  “They’re just as good as the men I’ve fought with. Some were much better. If Izzy picked her, she will be the best of the best.” McKay rubbed his shoulder slowly. “I just don’t like the idea. You and I both know there are no guarantees.”

  “We also know it’s a bad idea to rock the boat.”

  McKay wound down his run and walked to the rail, staring out over the water. “I’m trying to believe that.” He leaned one elbow on the rail and turned. “So what’s the magic code word, just in case things heat up?”

  “Izzy will find you. But don’t waste sleep. We’ve got everything covered.”

  But with Cruz, nothing was ever completely covered.

  THE MAN WAS DEFINITELY good with his hands.

  He had grated, sliced, whipped and pureed his way through almost three hours of nonstop work. Gina frowned, shoving her hair back out of her eyes. Through it all, Trace was precise and uncomplaining. His spatial sense and reflexes were impressive.

  And with both sleeves rolled up high, he had fantastic forearms. He could be a line cook for her any day.

  She reminded herself he’d be gone as soon as his business was done. Maybe in hours.

  Footsteps approached behind her. “Brownies are done.” Walking past from the oven, Trace ran a hand along her waist.

  Her pulse kicked.

  As he turned back from the refrigerator, he leaned down for a swift, hungry kiss that left her cheeks warm with color.

  “You can’t…”

  “Sure I can.” He pulled her closer and his tongue brushed hers, hot and unexpected.

  She frowned, shoving her hair back out of her eyes, seeing the challenge in his eyes.

  An act.

  Take this for an act, then.

  She turned, wrapped her arms around his neck and forgot that she was in a busy kitchen. Forgot that he was leaving and this was just a performance she had agreed to carry out.

  Because it was definitely no act for Gina when she slid her body against his and felt his thighs tighten. His fingers locked on her waist.

  She didn’t want him to let her go. Not ever. She didn’t want to stop feeling this alive and reckless.