by Dana Marton
“Think of it as acting. Pretend. You walk that line and pretend you have the best tan, pretend that you’re the most beautiful woman they are going to see today. This whole mission is all about pretending. Look at this as practice.”
“I’ve been pretending my whole life.” Sam’s words had the ring of stark truth to them.
Anita swallowed the sadness that came over her, her heart going out to the young woman. She couldn’t picture growing up without a family. Hers was large and boisterous, very traditional and fiercely loyal. They could love with a passion and hold a grudge with a passion. Which is why her conviction had split them in two. There were those who believed the presented evidence and the judge’s ruling and those who didn’t.
“One of us should get in, right?” Carly asked. She was good at keeping her focus on the project.
Anita looked toward the judges. “At least one.”
The plan was that if any of them became a finalist—and would then be introduced to the judges—the lucky gal would bring up her work-place, Savall, to Cavanaugh and try her best to pique the man’s interest. The trick was now to make it to the final. And Sam didn’t stand much chance if she walked down the “runway” that was drawn into the sand looking all insecure and with her shoulders hunched. Anita glanced at the time on her cell phone and sat up.
“Better get ready. We have less than five minutes before lineup begins.” She brushed some sand off her legs as she stood and tugged her hair into place. She normally wore it up or in a long braid down her back, but for this event Carly had convinced her to leave it loose. According to her, it looked more smokin’ that way. It was also a pain in the behind, there being too much of it to be manageable.
“Good to go.” Anita smiled at the other three, trying to look reassuring. “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Carly said.
Gina nodded and plastered a smile on her face. She understood what undercover missions and role-playing were about.
Anita scanned the faces of the crowd that had gathered to watch the contest, looking for Brant and spotting him easily. He had promised to keep visual as well as radio contact. Each woman wore a necklace with a different medal that held micro transmitters; invisible earpieces were in place. They were unarmed at the moment, however. No place for a gun in a bikini. She felt pretty safe nevertheless. The area of the contest was cordoned off, special security in place. The governor himself was the guest of honor at the pageant.
Brant was protecting them from afar, watching for anyone suspicious in the crowd. More than the governor’s security detail that surrounded them, Brant Law made her feel safe. She didn’t have to like the man to admit that he was good at what he did.
They walked up to the forming line and found their spots. They’d already filled out the paperwork, received their numbers and had them pinned to their bikinis. Anita was first, then Gina, then Sam, then Carly; about fifteen women were in front of them. There were fifty-six contestants all together who would soon be whittled down to ten finalists.
They waited until the head of the jury, a well-built, blond Swedish-looking guy, welcomed the contestants and spectators, thanked the jury members, ran down the list of rules again and wished good luck and good fun to all. Then the first contestant, a wispy college girl in a white thong bikini walked down the runway, sashaying her twenty-something behind and Anita experienced a few moments of self-doubt not unlike Sam’s. What was she doing here, competing with women ten years or more her junior?
She’d been thinking mission, she reminded herself, and pulled herself tall, missing her heels.
“Bravo. Bravo.”
Number one got a nice applause from the spectators and gave up the runway to number two, an even younger girl with a Julia Roberts smile.
Anita watched the contestants go one by one, trying to figure out what the jury thought based on their facial expressions. The female jury members were evaluating in deep thought, watching through narrowed eyes, making notes. The men just grinned from ear to ear, none more enthusiastically than Cavanaugh.
Then it was her turn and suddenly the nerves returned. Deep breath. Confident. Think Latina pride. She almost had it when she spotted Brant behind the judges. Her composure faltered. Don’t look at him. She relaxed her muscles and stepped forward. The twenty-yard walk—ten there and ten back—seemed the longest of her life. But she smiled and moved with the kind of easy fluidity that came from growing up salsa dancing.
She smiled at the judges, smiled at the crowd, in case the applause at the end influenced the votes. She caught a face she thought familiar—half a face—as the man was hidden behind the last row. But by the time she got back to the lineup and could turn around to look one more time, she could no longer spot him.
Nerves pulled her muscles tight all of a sudden. She bumped into the woman standing in front of her. “Sorry. I just got distracted. I think I saw an old friend,” she said, knowing that Brant would pick up the information through the transmitter. “Hey,” Anita said, scanning through the crowd again, “is that lady in the back row over there on the hotel side waving at you?”
“I don’t think so,” the body-sculpted brunette said, then went back to ignoring her.
Gina was walking toward the judges desk with the easy stride of an athlete, smile in place as if she had done this a hundred times before. Nothing rattles that one. She’s as tough as they come.
Sam went next and Anita was more nervous for her than she’d been for herself. But Sam did a fine job and got a good applause from the onlookers. Cavanaugh looked decidedly taken. Likes them young, does he?
Carly strolled toward the judges, a tiny bit stiff, but it was barely noticeable. She was the tallest of the four of them, model material, not that she was aware of it. Her genuine, unstudied grace only added to her allure.
From the corner of her eye, Anita caught somebody watching her, felt the short hairs rise at her nape. But when she turned, she didn’t see any familiar faces, nor did anyone seem to be staring at her in particular.
Diosmio, this whole thing was turning her paranoid. She shrugged off the odd feeling she was getting. She was in a bikini pageant, every man on the beach was here. Of course they were watching the contestants.
BRANT SCANNED the crowd as the head of the jury thanked all the contestants again then read the numbers of the finalists. Anita was in. He wasn’t surprised. Then the judge went on to read Gina’s number, then Carly’s, then Sam’s. Four out of four. They deserved it.
The finalists were invited to lunch with the judges, which was to start in an hour and the spectators were reminded that the final results would be announced and the Beach Beauty crowned during the beach party at seven o’clock that evening.
He watched the crowd and Anita alternately, knowing that if he could sneak a gun in despite the Governor’s security, then so could somebody else.
The gathering was breaking up, everybody going about their business, heading for air-conditioning, no doubt. At close to eleven, the air was almost unbearably hot. He pulled back into the cover of the cabanas and waited for the women as they pulled beach dresses over their bikinis. If the judges had eyes, all four would be in the top four and Anita the Beach Beauty.
The thought stopped him cold. Where the hell had that come from? He was and always had been into blondes, probably a vestige of his younger years when he had a vintage Marilyn Monroe poster above his bed. He looked at Carly—she fit the bill. Didn’t do much for him, oddly, which was just as well since these women were criminals in his care. He shouldn’t even think about looking at any of them in any other way.
But Anita had something about her. Those dancer’s legs and all that gorgeous hair and that superstrength steel inside her insanely feminine body. There was fire in her and plenty of it. Maybe he noticed her that way more so than the others because the first glimpse he’d had of her after arriving to the island had been in an intimate situation—with Lambert.
Michael Lambert. The bac
kground check on the man had come back clean. Had he had contact with Anita since the party? He needed to ask.
He waited for them to pass him on their way back to the office where their changes of clothes waited, ready for lunch. They picked up their beach bags from one of the cabanas that fell outside of the security cordon. Now they were armed. He breathed a little easier.
Then he spotted some guy running after them and Brant’s hand went to his back, to his gun. He waited. Maybe they left something on the beach. Or maybe he wanted a phone number from one of the women. Could be he was one of the organizers with some last-minute instruction.
The man slowed and glanced around. The row of cabanas blocked the contest area from sight and the people still around. Brant waited, his instincts prickling. He didn’t want to make a rash move. He had to be sure. Then the guy reached to the back of his shorts.
“Hey!” Brant took off in a full run toward him even before he saw the gun.
As hoped, his sharp shout gained him the attention of the man as well as the women. The guy took off running into the maze of cabanas. Brant went after him, aware that the women fanned out and did the same.
Where the hell had he gone? Brant swore. He hadn’t wanted to start shooting, not with the governor’s security detail this close. The four women were conducting a clandestine operation on the island, they sure as hell didn’t need to come to anyone’s attention. He would use his gun only if it was inevitable, only if he had no other options left.
Tires screeched ahead.
He abandoned the cabana jumble and ran toward the road.
“The fish market.” Anita was there before him, pointing to the other side.
“Get back. Find cover with the others.”
She gave him the look. “I don’t think so. He was after me.”
“I don’t care.” He was going into a dangerous situation and he preferred to go into it alone. Not only because instinct pushed to protect her, but also because he did not fully trust the women. He wasn’t yet sure what they were about. Did he really want them armed behind his back?”
Anita wasn’t giving him a choice. She was moving ahead already.
The fish market was deserted this time of the day, the air too hot to have food out. The flies were in full attendance, however, attracted by the overpowering smell. About a dozen rows of stands lined the market, each passage way thirty or forty yards long, most with roofs or sun umbrellas over the worn desks and empty crates.
Gina, Carly and Sam caught up with them and pulled their guns from their beach bags, went for different rows. They did seem to be working like a team, moving fast and well together, no hesitation in any of them. Nick must have given them a hell of a training in those two short weeks at Quantico. Regardless, he made sure to keep track of where they were.
He kept the closest eye on Anita. She was the one who’d been shot at the night before. Whoever the guy was, he was most likely here for her.
He heard a noise from behind to the left and spun around just in time to avoid a half a brick sailing toward his head. There were a lot of them lying around, holding down the stained tarps that covered some stands.
Somebody was moving low that way. The brick had been a distraction.
Brant crouched and crept forward.
A shot went off somewhere ahead of him. It hit wood, judging from the sound. They were all down now, in cover. He didn’t want to call out to check if everyone was okay, didn’t want to betray his location or the location of the women.
He stalked forward, careful not to make any noise.
To his right, a bamboo stick swayed along with the small wicker baskets hanging from it. He moved that way to check it out, closing in until the target was in sight.
The man whirled around and squeezed off a shot at him, but Brant was faster. He had the guy on the ground facedown, his right arm twisted behind his back until he dropped the gun. Brant put his knee into the guy’s back to make sure he was secured.
“It’s okay. He’s disarmed,” he called out and heard the women moving around as they were making their way in the direction of his voice. “Everyone okay?”
“Yes.” The responses came in one after the other, from all four.
He let himself relax.
Anita got there first, which meant she’d been closest, which meant the bastard had been trying for her and not one of the others.
Police sirens came to life in the distance.
“Are you okay?” she asked Brant, then her concerned expression froze as he pulled the guy standing and got a look at his face.
Her eyes went wide and she stepped back. She seemed stunned as if the world had just spun with her, forcing her to struggle to regain her footing. The blood rushed out of her face, leaving her pale. “William?”
Chapter Four
“You know him?”
All Anita could do was stare at the man Brant was holding, disbelief and an overpowering sense of betrayal numbing her.
Sam and Carly came up behind her, then Gina, who stepped between Anita and William, keeping her gun out while she made sure the man was fully secured.
“Why?” Anita asked, finding her voice at last.
William shrugged without looking at her, his lips pressed tight. He was angry. He’d been angry at her before. For normal reasons. Right now he was mad because he hadn’t succeeded in killing her.
The thought seemed utterly unreal and bizarre and just incomprehensible. “Why?”
“Let’s get out of here.” Brant pushed him toward the road. “I’m parked by the carousel.”
“My car is closer. Next to the boat rental,” Gina said.
The women had all come in her SUV, sticking together as much as they could since the shooting two nights before.
“Okay.” Brant tucked his weapon out of sight then pulled his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Carly. “You and Sam take my ride and follow us.”
Gina linked her arm with William’s on one side. Anita stepped up to do the same on the other, although touching him was the last thing she wanted to do. Sam and Carly walked casually in front of them, Brant brought up the rear.
William looked at her for the first time and tugged at her arm.
“Wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” Brant said from behind. “She’s changed a lot since you two last met, whenever that was. My money would be on her.”
William stopped, either because he believed Brant or because he accepted that he was clearly outnumbered.
Anita put one foot in front of the other, her mind reeling. The whole scene seemed so unreal, she half expected to wake and find it was all a dream.
They made the short walk to Gina’s SUV in silence. Sam and Carly waited for them to get in before they walked off to Brant’s car.
Gina drove, William in the front passenger seat, Anita sitting behind Gina and Brant behind William, holding his gun to the seat from behind.
“If you have any doubts whatsoever whether I would really pull the trigger, do put your mind at ease. I wouldn’t hesitate for a second,” Brant said in a voice that sent chills down Anita’s spine.
She sat in the back in shock, a million questions going through her head. How long had she known William? Six years, at least.
It had to be a mistake. Why would he do this to her?
The question grew to fill her head and push every other thought out. It had to do with the money. William had set her up and let her go to prison. The acute sense of betrayal left her body numb.
“Where to?” Gina asked after she paid for parking and pulled out into traffic.
“Go toward the industrial park.” Brant grabbed his cell phone from his pocket.
She expected him to call Nick, but when he talked, it was in a foreign language she didn’t recognize—kind of like French, but not exactly.
The car was slowing and Anita leaned to the middle to look through the windshield. There was a police block up ahead. Traffic was backed up for a hundred yards or so.
<
br /> “Should I turn around?” Gina asked.
Brant thought for a second. “Take off your dress.”
Gina stepped on the brake—they’d reached the end of the line—and did as he asked, but not without a disgusted grunt.
“Where is your number?” Brant asked.
“In my bag.”
Anita reached for the bag—still stunned and confused and overwhelmed—and handed the wrinkled-up sheet of paper to Gina, along with the safety pin to attach it to her bikini. Then she took off her own dress and did the same, rolled down her window all the way. She understood what Brant wanted them to do—take the cops’ attention from the men.
Get over it. Get over it now. Deal with the situation at hand. She leaned out the window and watched the proceedings at the head of the line. There were only five cars between them and the police. The first car was finally let go. The next held only a single woman. They let her pass after a cursory inspection. The car after that, with two young guys inside, got a more careful look. They even made the driver open up the trunk.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to draw attention,” Brant told William.
William didn’t respond, just stared in front of him.
She wanted to reach over and shake him. She wanted answers.
Not here. Not with a police checkpoint just a few yards ahead. They all needed to remain calm, to preserve the careful equilibrium in the tension-filled car.
The next couple of minutes that it took to get to the head of the line were spent in silence.
“I’m sorry for the delay, but there’d been a disturbance at the beach earlier. Can I ask where you are headed?” The young cop who walked up to them was smiling at Gina. “You look like you are coming from the beach.”
“Oh, my gosh, something happened? We were just there. We are both finalists!” Gina was squealing with excitement as she squirmed in her seat.
Squealing.
Gina.
