by Mallory Kane
“I may be late for the next several days.”
Rosita picked up his suit jacket and rolled it up with the shirt and tie. “No problem. My son and his wife have gone to Disney World. They ask me to go, but I told them all that walking was for young ones.”
“What are you, Rosita, ninety?”
“I am sixty-three, you bad boy. I made you paella for dinner. As soon as the tea cakes come out of the oven, I’m leaving. Tonight is my favorite television night.”
Sean showered quickly and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that said Miami Heat. When he came out, the apartment smelled of cookies. Michaela was waiting in the kitchen doorway. When she saw him her whole face lit up.
“Daddy! Try my cookie.”
He swept her up into his arms and took a big bite of the strangely shaped cookie she held.
“Mmm. It’s good.” He kissed her sugary cheek and breathed deeply of her precious, bubblegum, little girl scent. “Who’s Daddy’s favorite sprout?”
“Me!” She pointed her thumb at herself.
“That’s right. And don’t you ever forget it!”
“Don’t you ever forget.” She shook her finger in his face, and he grabbed it and pretended to bite it off.
His eyes stung as she giggled and jerked her finger away.
Don’t you ever forget it. He hugged her tightly and deliberately locked away the doubt his ex-wife had tried to plant in his head.
“Say good-night to Rosita.”
“G’night, Rosita. Thank you for the tea cakes.”
“Do you know what we’re having for dinner tonight, sprout?”
“Hot dogs!”
He laughed as he headed for the kitchen. “Not quite. We’re having paella.”
“Pie. Eee.” Michaela stretched her mouth this way and that, trying to say the word. “I don’t like it.”
“Sure you do.” He set her in her chair and served up a small portion in a bowl. “Here you go. It’s chicken and rice—sort of.”
She picked up a tidbit of chicken with her fingers. “I like chicken.”
“I know you do, sprout.” Sean grinned and his daughter grinned back. “But use your spoon. You’ll get more that way. Then when we’re done, we’ll get your bath and I’ll read you a story.”
He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eight. He needed to work out the details of the ransom drop. He never went into any situation without being fully prepared. But it would wait until Michaela went to sleep.
He didn’t want to miss one second of the time he had to spend with her.
TWO DAYS LATER, everything was in place for the drop. Carlos had received a call from the kidnappers. As Sean had planned it, Carlos pretended to be too weak to talk, so Sean took the phone and identified himself as Carlos’s personal bodyguard. He’d refused to meet them in an abandoned warehouse in a shady part of town and countered with an area in the middle of downtown Miami near police headquarters.
The man on the phone grew angry, but Sean hadn’t lost his cool. He’d taunted them, saying they wouldn’t dare try making the drop near Weddings Your Way. His bluff worked. The drop was scheduled for six o’clock in the evening on the far side of Weddings Your Way’s large cul-de-sac.
Sean checked his watch. It was five-fifteen. He was in Rachel Brennan’s office, along with Sophie, Montoya and a petite blonde who hadn’t sat down since she’d entered the room. She was standing by the window, looking out over the grounds of Weddings Your Way.
Rachel Brennan was pacing. “We’re ready, Rafe?” she asked.
Montoya’s dark brown eyes snapped. “Absolutely. There is ample visibility on all sides. I have three video cameras set up. We will get everything on tape.”
“But your men know not to approach, right?” Sean asked, repositioning the worn baseball cap that was sitting on his knee. He was restless. He wanted to be outside, in place, in case the kidnappers came early.
“But of course. My men are experienced in surveillance. There will be no mistakes.”
Sean heard the words Montoya had bitten off. This time. It was a dig at Craig Johnson and by association, Sean.
His fingers tightened on the baseball cap but he forced himself to keep quiet. He’d wanted to use his own security team, but Montoya had argued that if the kidnappers were watching the place, they’d know all the regulars. A host of new people would spook them. So there wasn’t a single member of Botero’s security team here except for Sean himself.
Montoya’s distaste at having to work with him was obvious. Sean could appreciate that the other man was as angry and frustrated as he was that Sonya had been kidnapped right in front of Weddings Your Way. But the important thing was to get Sonya back.
Now wasn’t the time to get into a turf war.
“Sophie,” Rachel went on. “You understand that you have to be completely in control at all times. You’re going to be walking across that cul-de-sac alone.”
As Sophie nodded, Sean studied Rachel. Her appearance fit with her wedding planning business—all feminine and cool and carefree. But her attitude didn’t. She exuded an air of authority that seemed more suited to a law enforcement organization.
Sensing a movement from his right, Sean glanced at Sophie. His gaze followed her hand as it slid down her thigh, smoothing the material of her gray pin-striped skirt. Her reaction to stress. She was in her usual uniform—pencil-thin skirt that stopped just above her knees; soft, expensive long-sleeved blouse; and those sheer black stockings. Today she wore black sling-back pumps. She couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for navigating uneven pavement carrying a suitcase full of money.
“Sean?”
He realized he was staring at Sophie’s legs. He dragged his gaze away and acknowledged Rachel.
“I was asking if you had any last-minute changes.”
He shook his head. “Not unless you can convince Ms. Brooks to wear something more appropriate.”
Sophie’s blue eyes glinted. “I don’t see anything wrong—”
Rachel waved a hand. “If you can pry Sophie out of that tight skirt and those panty hose, be my guest.”
Rafe Montoya burst out laughing. Isabelle, the petite blonde, joined him.
Sophie’s face turned a bright becoming pink, and Sean was surprised to feel a grin soften his own features.
“I could give it a try,” he said with a sidelong glance at Sophie, whose eyelids fluttered as her cheeks flamed brighter. She smoothed her skirt again.
“Oh, please. Get a room,” Rachel said, chuckling.
It was a much-needed break in the tension.
Sean stood, wiping the grin off his face. “Let’s take our places. We have about a half hour, and if they come early, I want to be ready.” He headed for the door.
Sophie put her hands to her burning cheeks. Rachel’s offhand remark to Sean Majors had come way too close to the dream she’d had the past two nights that she couldn’t seem to shake. A dream in which he’d done exactly what Rachel had said. He’d managed to rid her of her skirt, make a mess of her blouse, and run his hands up the silk-clad length of her thigh.
She’d woken up shocked and uncomfortably aware of her body’s unfulfilled needs. She never had those kinds of dreams. Ever.
As she followed him down the marble staircase into the main salon ahead of her, she took the opportunity to study him. What was so different about this man that he showed up in her dreams?
Then, when he’d appeared this morning, driving a truck containing the logo of Weddings Your Way’s landscape service, and dressed as a hired gardener, Sophie had found herself facing another, equally intriguing side of him.
Gone was the impeccably dressed young executive. His faded green T-shirt with the ripped-out sleeves exposed tanned, well-muscled biceps and emphasized his broad shoulders. A pair of ancient jeans molded his lean hips and powerful thighs. The jeans had to be ten years old or more. No designer on Earth made prefaded jeans that fit like that. As he reached the bottom of
the stairs, he donned the frayed baseball cap.
Isabelle, walking beside her, nudged her, then nodded at Sean’s jeans-clad butt. Sophie’s face heated up again. She sent Isabelle a stiff smile.
Still, she couldn’t deny Isabelle’s message. Her coworker was right. Botero’s chief of security was sexy as hell.
She’d already acknowledged to herself that he was extraordinarily handsome. But today he looked earthy and supremely male, nothing like the sophisticated executive who’d grilled her about everything she’d seen on the day of the kidnapping.
This man, with his hair curling slightly around the edge of his cap and his strong neck and excellent body, exuded danger—the kind of danger that had gotten Sophie in trouble years ago. The kind of danger she’d avoided ever since she was seventeen.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and waited for her. His face was solemn, his jaw tight, but she didn’t miss the flicker of his eyelids as he checked out her skirt and her legs.
“You sure you can walk in those things?”
She stopped one step from the bottom. In her three-inch heels, she was almost six feet tall, and standing on the step above him, she was able to look down on the six-foot-two security chief.
“Pretty sure,” she said primly. “I’ve been doing it for years.”
His eyes were back to clear teal blue today, reflecting the faded green of his T-shirt. He took a step backward. “I’ll be trimming the shrubbery on the west side of the house. I won’t notice anything until you start across the cul-de-sac. Then I’ll look up. It would be too obvious if I ignored—” he stopped for an instant, then gestured toward her “—all that.”
She lowered her gaze and suppressed a smile as she stepped off the stairs, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She wasn’t unmoved by his obvious admiration of her figure. She wouldn’t be human if it didn’t please her that a man as handsome as he was found her attractive.
Rafe headed out the back door, through the pool area, to check on the video-surveillance setup. Isabelle followed Rafe, and Rachel had remained upstairs. She would watch from the third floor.
“You know where Montoya has positioned the long-range rifles. They will be trained on the pickup men. They obviously can’t be too close, because of the width of the cul-de-sac. There’s nowhere to hide.”
She nodded. “Two are in the next house down, and one is on the roof of Weddings Your Way.”
Sean touched her arm. “Don’t worry. We’ve got you covered.”
The brush of his hand against the sleeve of her blouse was reassuring. She looked down. “Your fingernails.”
He frowned at her and glanced down at his hand.
“They’re not dirty.” She touched one square-cut nail.
“Trust me, they won’t be looking at me.” He smiled at her and her heart fluttered. “Now I’m going outside and getting to work. I need to be sweaty and totally focused on my job when they get here.”
Sophie swallowed and nodded.
“Remember, don’t exit the building until two minutes after six. Even though they specified six o’clock, I doubt they’ll approach until they see you. Just walk straight across the cul-de-sac, set the plastic bag down under the sign, and turn and walk back. Don’t look back. Don’t react to the sound of the car. Just walk, don’t run, back to the building and get inside. Got it?”
She took a long breath. “Got it.”
Sean went out the back door, leaving Sophie alone in the cavernous, elegant main salon of Weddings Your Way. She stepped over to the front doors, beside the bag that contained the ridiculous sum of money the kidnappers had demanded.
Checking her watch, she saw that she had seven minutes until she could open the double doors and walk out. It was going to be a very long seven minutes.
SEAN SNAPPED viciously at the shrubs with the pruning shears, not cutting anything, but working up a sweat. With dark sunglasses and his baseball cap, it should be easy to observe the action without being obvious about it. He hacked at the greenery a few more times, then lifted his cap and wiped his brow with his forearm. Not hard to work up a sweat in Miami in July.
He checked his watch. Two minutes after six. Where was Sophie? He put his cap back on and pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead. The hot Miami sun gave everything a bright, overexposed look. The three immense houses visible on the street reflected the sunlight like polished metal. The street itself shimmered in the hot still air. With a flip of his head he dropped the shades back down onto his nose and squinted up the road beyond the cul-de-sac sign. Nothing. Not even a garbage truck.
He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t expected the pickup men to show themselves before the drop was made. He was sure they were watching. He had that itchy back-of-the-neck feeling. They would probably wait until Sophie had set down the sack and gone back inside. They might even wait until dark.
He reached behind his back and patted his paddle holster. His T-shirt barely hid it, but it had to do. He wasn’t about to let her walk out there without his personal protection. He’d allowed her to become embroiled in this and he wasn’t going to breathe easily until she was safe.
He heard the faint rhythmic clicking that signaled Sophie’s high heels on the marble terrace at the front entrance.
She walked across the terrace and stepped off the curb onto the paved driveway. She moved slowly and deliberately, her head held high, her fingers wrapped securely around the bag. He knew it was heavy, about forty pounds. But she seemed to manage it without too much of a problem.
Sean used the tail of his T-shirt to wipe sweat off his cheeks and neck, never taking his eyes off her sleek, perfect figure. From her silky blond hair to her even features, to that dynamite figure and those incredible legs, she looked to him like the perfect woman.
If he were interested, she’d be just his type. Of course, he wasn’t. Not at all. He had Michaela, plus a more than full-time job. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to date.
Still, there was something about Sophie Brooks that appealed to him on a primal level. He enjoyed looking at the female form, especially one as sexy and sleek as hers. But it was more than just her looks that drew him. It was her attitude. Her demeanor.
Something about her resonated within him, like a tuning fork that picks up a perfect pitch and vibrates long after the sound should have faded.
A place deep inside him began to burn. It was a slow burn, a smoldering hunger he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
He hefted the pruning shears and pretended to cut some more leaves as he surreptitiously watched Sophie nearing the sign. She glanced around.
“No, no, Sophie. Just set the bag down and come on back,” he whispered.
She angled her head slightly, almost as if she’d heard him. Then she bent at the knees and set the bag carefully just under the sign.
As she rose, she looked sidelong up the road, then started back toward the Weddings Your Way building.
The faint sound of a car engine caused her steps to falter.
“Come on, Sophie. Get back inside. I don’t want you hurt!”
Sophie heard the car gun its engine. Don’t look back, Sean had warned her. But her CIA training and instincts told her to never leave her rear unguarded.
She retraced her steps back to Weddings Your Way, but the muscles of her back tensed as the car drew closer. Why hadn’t they stopped at the sign to pick up the bag?
Suddenly, the engine’s roar was too close. Sophie glanced over her shoulder, her hand reaching for the holster at the small of her back—the holster that wasn’t there. She was no longer a CIA agent.
The large black car was accelerating toward her. But just as soon as the realization hit her brain, the driver torqued the car sideways and skidded.
She heard a shout from the direction of the house and saw the glint of sunlight on metal.
She dove for the ground as a shot rang out. Her knees hit the pavement and she rolled, coming down hard on her shoulder as a second shot
followed the first. Her elbow screamed with burning pain, but she kept rolling until she reached the edge of the pavement.
Sophie lifted her head just as something landed on her back. Something hard and hot.
Chapter Three
The car spun, spitting gravel, as two shots popped.
A harsh voice boomed in Sophie’s ear. “Stay down!”
She lay under the heavy weight of Sean’s body, the sharp gravel biting into her cheek and palms. His chin rested against her hair and his left arm shielded her head. She tucked her face into the crook of his elbow.
The car’s roar faded, its tires screeching as it rounded a corner. Sean’s weight lifted for an instant, then he rolled off her. She sat up in time to see him reach behind his back and slide his weapon into his paddle holster.
He rose from a squat, his long, muscular thighs straining the faded denim of his jeans. As Sophie rose, Sean gestured at Rafe, who had rounded the building and was headed their way, his cell phone to his ear. He nodded in Sean’s direction.
Apparently satisfied that Rafe’s team was tailing the car, Sean turned his attention to Sophie. “Are you hurt? Did you get hit?” His face was smeared with dust, emphasizing the lines between his nose and the corners of his mouth.
She shook her head and took his outstretched hand.
“Sure?” His gaze surveyed her swiftly and competently. He touched the torn sleeve of her blouse, gently lifting the ripped flap of silk to examine her shoulder. Instinctively her hand brushed his away. “I’m fine. I banged my shoulder when I rolled.”
He met her eyes. “Quick thinking, and an excellent move.”
Sophie pulled her gaze away from his and looked down, avoiding the question he hadn’t voiced. Who taught you to move like that?
Her silk gabardine skirt was ruined. Gravel had scraped the sheen off the fabric, and dirt and grass stains crisscrossed it like a finger painting.
She brushed at the material and winced. Turning her palms up, she saw the abraded skin. “Ow,” she muttered.
