Undercover SEAL

by Paige Tyler

  Shit.

  Nash had been willing to play this out for the sake of the mission, even if all he really wanted to do was beat the crap out of the guy. But now that Leon had a weapon, all bets were off. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill this asshole.

  “You’re going to look fucking stupid with that knife sticking out of your ass,” Nash told him.

  Leon laughed, holding the knife low and away. Like a man who knew what he was doing with a blade.

  Nash dropped into a defensive stance, waiting for Leon’s first move, when a low male voice intruded from the doorway.

  “Leon, the boss wants you.”

  Nash didn’t have to look to know it was one of Munoz’s guards. For some reason, the cartel boss wanted to put a stop to the fight before it was over.

  Leon didn’t seem eager to leave, but another sharp reminder from the other man finally broke through the fury. He pointed the tip of his knife at Nash. “This isn’t over,” he muttered.

  Tossing the chef’s blade onto the island with a clatter, he threw an angry look in Bristol’s direction, then walked out of the kitchen. The other guard followed.

  Nash looked at Bristol. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, the little quiver in her voice the only indication of how scared she really was. “Thank you. For helping me, I mean.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  “And while I’m grateful, it was stupid of you to do it,” she added.

  “Bristol!” the older woman scolded.

  “You know I’m right, Isabella,” Bristol said then looked at Nash. “Leon is a sociopath. He would have killed you with that knife without giving it a thought.”

  “He would have tried,” Nash corrected, then shrugged. “We all do stupid things, but in my defense, I have to admit I have a hard time thinking straight when I’m around a beautiful woman.”

  Bristol sighed. “You don’t have to shower me with compliments. I already thanked you.”

  He grinned. “Who said I talking about you? Maybe I was talking about Isabella.”

  The older woman blushed but laughed. “I think you need to be careful around this one, Bristol. Something tells me that he might be more dangerous than Leon.” She regarded Nash thoughtfully. “But Bristol is right about Leon, Señor Chapman. Watch yourself around him. He’ll stab you in the back given the chance.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Nash promised then looked at Bristol. “Are you going to be okay tonight? Do I need to worry about Leon coming back to bother you?”

  Bristol studied him for a long time with those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers. A man could lose himself in that perfect gaze. “I don’t think Leon will try anything else tonight. He only came after me because my father allowed it. And my father only did that to see what you would do.”

  He did a double take. “Why?”

  “Because my father is a very manipulative man.” She gave Nash a small smile. “Thank you for worrying about me.”

  Nash opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t a big deal, but the way Bristol was gazing at him tied up his tongue in a knot.

  “Good night,” she said.

  “Good night.”

  Giving him a nod, she left the room, Isabella at her heels. The two of them might think Leon was the dangerous one around here, but from Nash’s perspective, Bristol was the one he was going to have to watch out for.

  * * * * *

  Someone knocked on the door of Nash’s bedroom before he’d had a chance to do more than wander around and locate the bathroom. But hey, that was still an accomplishment. The bedroom Munoz had given him to use was larger than his entire apartment back in San Diego. Hell, the bathroom by itself would have swallowed his whole living room.

  As he reached for the doorknob, Nash wondered if it was Leon with a big ass knife in his hand ready to pick up where he’d left off. He was almost disappointed when he saw it was Dalton and Roman. Years of experience as a Navy SEAL told him that he and Leon were going to fight at some point. Nash would rather get it over with so he could have a good night’s sleep.

  He opened the door wider, motioning them in. “I was wondering when you two would show up.”

  Nash hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to either of them after his little run-in with Leon. No doubt they wanted to know what the hell had happened in the kitchen, and why Leon had spent the rest of the evening staring daggers at Nash. But before he could even open his mouth, Roman held up an index finger up to his lips and shook his head.

  Taking a black box the size of a cell phone out from an inner pocket of his suit jacket, Roman slowly moved around the room, poking his head—and the box—under and around every nook and cranny in the place. Bed, couches, dressers, lamps, TV—even the air conditioner vents and ceiling fans. Only after he’d gone around every corner of the three-room suite twice did Roman tuck the box back in his pocket and give them a nod.

  “It’s clean.”

  Dalton frowned. “You seriously think Munoz would bug his own house? Damn, you’ve been doing this too long. You’re getting paranoid.”

  “Hell, yeah, I’m paranoid.” Roman snorted. “And it’s the only thing that’s kept me alive doing this damn job so I keep doing it.”

  Nash couldn’t help but notice the bitter tone in the man’s voice and would have asked him why the hell he kept doing this damn job if he hated it so much, but Roman spoke first.

  “So, what was that shit with you and Munoz’s personal security guard?” he asked bluntly, coming to stand in front of Nash. The expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t happy. “You realize how bad things would have gone if you’d screwed up and killed Leon, right? Failing the mission would have been the least of our problems. Munoz probably would have murdered us all.”

  Nash chuckled. “Glad to hear you were never worried about me being able to handle Leon.”

  “I couldn’t care less if he’d have killed you,” Roman snapped. “That wouldn’t have endangered the mission nearly as much as the other way around. Might have even helped it because it would have forced Munoz to accept the weapons without a demonstration.”

  “Good to know you’ve got my back,” Nash muttered dryly. He was surprised at the CIA agent’s complete lack of concern when it came to his life. Even Dalton seemed shocked. “But as it turns out, you don’t have to worry about Munoz getting pissed about the fight. He purposely set things in motion to make sure Leon and I went at it.”

  Roman eyed him doubtfully. “What makes you say that?”

  “It turns out that he wants me to work for him.” Nash shrugged. “Hell, he basically pimped his daughter out to me as a fringe benefit.”

  Just saying those words out loud pissed Nash off all over again. Roman, on the other hand, merely looked calculating.

  “What does he have to gain pitting you against his right-hand man?” the agent asked.

  “I don’t know for sure yet,” Nash admitted. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was a test to see if I’m a suitable replacement for Leon.”

  Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. “What does his daughter think of her part in the recruitment?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s not thrilled with it,” Nash said. Though it definitely explained why she’d looked at him like she hated him when they first got to the villa. “But something tells me that Munoz doesn’t care what his daughter thinks.”

  Roman began pacing the room, a thoughtful expression on his face. “This job offer concept could really work for us.” He glanced at Nash, but his eyes were focused on a spot a hundred miles away as his mind apparently worked through the covert math. “You getting with Munoz’s daughter has some serious potential. From what I saw, she seemed to connect with you during dinner. And after you ran to her rescue, I’m willing to bet she’s even more into you. Do you think you can work the daughter? Maybe on that yacht tomorrow? Use her to get an inside track on the info we need on her father?”

  Nash ground his jaw. He wanted to point out tha
t the daughter had a name and wasn’t guilty of any crimes simply because her father was a dirtbag. But he kept his opinion to himself and gave Roman a noncommittal shrug.

  “Maybe.”

  Roman nodded. “Good. I’m meeting Munoz later tonight. He wants to talk about another weapons deal. Something bigger than surface-to-air missiles this time. If I get a chance, I’ll explore this rift with his daughter and see if there’s anything we can use.”

  “Careful with that,” Nash said as Roman headed for the door. “Bristol won’t be of any help to us if you alert Munoz to what we’re trying to do.”

  Hand on the doorknob, the CIA agent looked over his shoulder at him and Dalton. “I’ve been playing these games since the two of you were in diapers. You worry about the woman. I’ll handle her daddy.”

  With that, Roman walked out, leaving them standing there staring at each other in disbelief.

  “He’s not that old, is he?” Dalton asked. “Or do we just look that young?”

  Nash shrugged and walked over to collapse on one of the two expensive leather couches in the living room. Crap, it had been a long friggin' day.

  “I might be wrong about this, but I get the feeling you aren’t thrilled with the idea of using Bristol to get dirt on her dad,” Dalton said, unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat on the other couch.

  As his friend leaned back and stretched out an arm on either side of him, Nash caught sight of the underarm holster rig Dalton wore…and the large Glock automatic nestled neatly inside it.

  “Where’d you get the tactical Tupperware?” he asked. “Because you sure as hell didn’t have it when we showed up today.”

  “This?” Dalton asked, motioning at the gun and the three extra magazines in a holder on his belt. “I was schmoozing with a few of Munoz’s guards earlier and when I mentioned that I’m your bodyguard, they were nice enough to let me borrow it. Professional courtesy, I guess.” His friend pinned him with a look. “And if you think you distracted me with that question, you didn’t. What’s going on with Bristol? I heard the two of you talking at dinner, and I saw your face when Leon went after her. You were in full-on SEAL mode and ready to kick some ass.”

  Nash didn’t bother to deny it. He and Dalton were closer than most brothers. The guy would know in a second if he were lying. “She was in trouble. I went to help.”

  “You like her,” Dalton said flatly. “Four hours after meeting the daughter of the cartel boss we’re supposed to help send to prison and you’re in love.”

  “I just met her, so how the hell could I be in love, doofus?” Nash leaned back, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Look, Bristol is in a shitty situation. Having a dad who’s a dirtbag doesn’t automatically make her guilty by association, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Dalton said. “But you don’t think she might be playing you? Saying exactly what she thinks you want to hear to get what she wants?”

  “It’s possible,” Nash agreed. “But aren’t we doing the same thing?”

  “Yeah, but we’re the good guys.”

  Nash replayed the day’s events through his head. Between getting pulled into a CIA operation they knew absolutely nothing about and running a sting that involved putting dangerous weapons in the hands of a cartel boss, to playing games with a woman’s life and working with a fed who’d practically admitted he couldn’t care less if Nash and Dalton got killed in the process as long as the case ran smoothly, none of those things struck him as something the good guys would do.

  “You sure about that?” he asked Dalton.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I CAN’T REMEMBER the last time I saw you in a bathing suit,” Isabella said.

  Bristol glanced down at the simple black one-piece barely visible under the cover-up as she and Isabella walked down the stone steps leading from the villa down to the pier where the yacht was waiting for them. Isabella was right. It had been a while since she’d worn one.

  “I sure as hell wasn’t going to wear one hanging around the pool so my father’s guards could ogle me,” she said.

  Isabella carefully held onto the railing as she moved down the steps. “But you’re wearing one today.”

  “Because I’m going out on a boat,” Bristol reminded her, wondering why this was even a topic of conversation. It wasn’t like she was wearing a skimpy bikini. She probably wouldn’t even take off the cover up. “What else would I wear?”

  “That’s very practical of you.” A smile curved the corners of Isabella’s lips. “No chance that a certain attractive and charming American might also have something to do with your choice of clothing?”

  Bristol opened her mouth to deny it but stopped herself. Isabella knew her too well to try lying to her. She’d call Bristol on it in a second. Not that Bristol would lie to her. Isabella had always been like a second mother to her, and since her real mother’s disappearance, the woman had done everything she could to do protect Bristol from her father.

  All that said, Bristol wasn’t exactly sure how to put the answer to Isabella’s question into words. While her father had demanded she “be nice” to Nick, he hadn’t told her what to wear. She’d made that decision completely her own. Partly because of Nick. And partly because if she somehow managed to escape she couldn’t swim in the jeans and T-shirt hidden in the bottom of her tote in a waterproof bag. But Isabella didn’t know about her escape plan.

  “It’s complicated,” she finally admitted as they reached the dock and made their way toward the large yacht moored at the end.

  Like almost everything her father owned, Lydia’s Dream was expensive and opulent. But since many of her fondest memories of her mother included this boat, Bristol ignored her father’s habit of over-the-top displays of his criminal wealth this once.

  There were two guards waiting for them at the bottom of the gangway and two more already on the yacht. No doubt they were on board to keep a close eye on her and report back to her father. Thankfully, Leon was nowhere in sight.

  “Anything involving a man usually is,” Isabella said with a laugh. “But in this case, I think the situation is probably simpler than you’re making it out to be. Señor Chapman is a very attractive man who’s clearly interested in you. He’s also the first man you’ve ever met willing to stand up to your father and his guards. You’re intrigued and want him to know it.”

  Bristol lifted a brow behind her sunglasses. “By wearing a bathing suit?”

  “Women are blessed with the knowledge that men are clueless when it comes to recognizing any kind of subtle hint. So, we’ve had to develop alternative methods to let them know we’re interested in them. Flashing some cleavage and showing off a lot of leg is just one of the ways to tell a man that.”

  Bristol stopped halfway up the gangplank to gape at Isabella. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Isabella waved a hand. “Just because I don’t have any children of my own doesn’t mean I don’t understand how the process works. In fact, I’m quite good at that part of it. I’m simply giving you the benefit of my experience with men, if you care to take advantage of it.”

  Bristol shook her head. Clearly, there was a side of Isabella that she didn’t know very much about. “You know I always want your advice, but none of that applies to Nick and me. He’s an arms dealer my father is trying to recruit into the cartel, not boyfriend material.”

  Isabella nudged her further up the gangway. “Perhaps. Do you mind if I ask you a simple question then?”

  Bristol wasn’t so sure that was a good idea since there was no telling what was going to come out of Isabella’s mouth next, but she nodded anyway. “Okay.”

  “What was the last thing you remember thinking about before you fell asleep last night?” Isabella asked, stepping aboard the yacht.

  Bristol almost said she didn’t remember, but then she screwed up and actually thought about the question. She blushed as an image of a bare-chested Nick came to mind.

  Isabella laughed. “I thou
ght so. Don’t worry, I’m not judging,” she added when Bristol started to protest. “As I said, Señor Chapman is a very attractive man.”

  She shoved the image of the half-dressed arms dealer out of her head, which was a rather difficult task. “Assuming for the sake of argument that you’re right and I am interested in Nick, wouldn’t it be easier to simply tell him that?”

  Then what? They’d live happily ever after? Not likely since she intended to make a run for the border that afternoon.

  Beside her, Isabella was staring at her like she was dense. “Oh, dear child, if you tell a man what you want, there’s no incentive on his part to keep working hard. He’ll expect you to make everything easy on him, and then where would you be?”

  “Perhaps together,” a gruff voice said from behind them.

  Bristol turned to see an older man with a head of shaggy, salt and pepper hair, a heavy mustache, and skin tanned dark from years in the sun. He cracked a smile the moment he saw her, and Bristol found herself running over to hug him.

  “Alejandro! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

  The captain of Lydia’s Dream beamed at her. “Too long. But you are here now and that’s all that matters. Though you shouldn’t let Isabella fill your head with crazy talk of making life hard for someone you’re interested in. Take an old man’s word for it, when two people play games with each other, they both lose.”

  Isabella laughed. “Says the man who doesn’t like to work hard for anything. Who are you going to believe, Bristol? The woman who helped raise you or the man who only loves his boat.”

  Bristol could only smile as the two old friends traded barbs with each other. Isabella and Alejandro had flirted with each other as long as she could remember. Bristol had always assumed it was all in fun, but looking at them now, she wasn’t so sure.