by Cindy Dees
They small-talked for a while after the meal, letting their food settle and establishing their cover as intimate acquaintances. Eventually, Mitch murmured, “Shall we dance?”
She glanced over at the dance floor. She’d spent plenty of time in jet-set discos and was a fair dancer, but the way the Cuban women were moving to the hot salsa rhythms was a little intimidating. Nonetheless, she smiled over at him and stood up. He took her hand and led her out onto the floor.
She needn’t have worried. The music and the moment took hold of her and moved her body for her. Mitch’s golden gaze dared her to let go, to meet him halfway. And safely surrounded by a wall of perspiring, gyrating bodies, she did just that. She threw her head back, closed her eyes and let the music roll through her.
* * *
Mitch took advantage of every gaze in the joint being riveted on Kinsey to scope out the patrons. She was obviously a trained dancer and moved with a lithe fluidity that made sweat pop out on his forehead. She seemed to be having that effect on a lot of men.
He recognized a number of the usual suspects—local criminal bosses, smugglers and a few midlevel drug traffickers. What he didn’t see were the top-level government officials and high rollers Camarillo ran with. Damn.
He let the locals get an eyeful of Kinsey, then he gathered her close to his side, laying definite and aggressive claim to her as he escorted her, flushed and laughing, from the dance floor.
“That was fun,” she proclaimed. “I want to dance some more.”
He grinned. The princess was surprisingly uninhibited when she let her hair down. “How ’bout I take you to the hottest band in Cuba?”
“Lead on, good sir.”
He looked down at her. She shone as brightly as the sun, joy bursting forth from deep within her to illuminate her whole being. Ahh, to dive into that light, to lose himself in it, to chase away the darkness in his soul...
She was not for him. Not her innocence, not her agenda to prove herself to her ex-fiancé or her father or whoever pushed her buttons. She was merely playing at being a spy and looked as if she thought this was all some elaborate James Bond game. She wouldn’t be shining so brightly when she had to live in constant fear or run for her life. Or when she came face-to-face with death. He sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to introduce her to the dark side of night.
But deep in his heart, he had a sinking feeling he would be the one to do just that. This mission had blood written all over it.
His pleasure sapped out of the moment, he took Kinsey’s elbow and guided her out of the club. “C’mon. Time to throw our line into a bigger pond.”
This time he drove them out to the island’s north shore and its casino strip, Little Las Vegas. He pulled in at an exclusive hotel and handed over the cruiser’s keys to a valet. He took possession of Kinsey from the bell captain, who’d solicitously helped her out of the car, and they strolled into the lobby. He made a point of ignoring the unobtrusive surveillance cameras sprinkled more thickly than any regular hotel warranted. With a nod to the concierge, he led Kinsey confidently through the lobby and back to the beachside casino.
She didn’t act impressed by the assault of flashing lights, jumbled neon colors and noise as they stepped onto the gaming floor. But then, she’d probably been to the swankiest casinos in the world already. Being around a woman like her could seriously deflate a guy’s ego. Good thing he had no ego. He was a sewer rat, a creature of the night, and he had no illusions to the contrary.
They approached an unmarked door near the back of the casino. It was remarkable only for the burly guard lounging casually on a bar stool beside it.
“Private gambling parlor?” Kinsey murmured.
“Nope. That band I promised you,” he muttered back.
They stepped up to the guard, and Mitch nodded. In quiet Cuban, he dropped the right names and words into a few sentences. The guard looked Kinsey up and down appreciatively, and Mitch gritted his teeth. This was exactly what she was here for. No amount of money could pay for the legitimacy she gave his cover. No sewer rat could land a woman like her in a million years. Even in a sleazy little red dress, she radiated so much class it dripped from her. If the entry passwords happened to have changed since he was last here, Mitch would give it better than even money the guard would let them in, anyway, just because Kinsey looked so damn good.
For whatever reason, the guard reached out and keyed a rapid number sequence on a wall-mounted security pad. A green light came on over the number pad and the guy gave the door handle a tug. With a smarmy smile for Kinsey, the guy let them in. Mitch hung on tightly to his right fist, which seemed to have developed an alarming need to bury itself in the guard’s leering face.
And then they were inside. While the last place had been as much restaurant as anything else, this place was primarily a dance club. The music was loud, the dance floor dominating the two-story space.
“Wow. Good-looking clientele,” Kinsey commented.
He cast a glance at the row of unattached women artfully draped on bar stools around the margins of the room. “Hookers,” he bit out.
Kinsey threw him a startled look. “Will the men in here think I’m one, too?”
Mitch grinned down at her. “Honey, there’s not a man alive who could look at you and see a hooker. You’re a princess from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.”
“Thanks, I think.”
His smile widened. “It’s a compliment. Besides, I’m not leaving your side for a second in here. No other man’s getting a shot at you. You’re taken.”
“Who all is here?”
Mitch didn’t spare a glance for the male clientele. He already knew who they were. “Government types. Management-tier guys in organized-crime rings. Businessmen looking to grease palms.”
“Sounds like an unsavory lot.”
“You hang on to that thought, princess. Don’t mess with these guys. They’d chew you up and spit you out.”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know about that. They can’t be much worse than politicians and lobbyists. Or, heaven forbid, social climbers.”
“Good point. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure.”
He guided her over to the bar and shouted in Cuban to the bartender to be heard over the blaring Latin-disco fusion music. Two condensation-covered glasses were forthcoming momentarily. He handed the red-orange one with the umbrella to Kinsey while he took the clear one.
She took a sip and nodded her approval. She leaned close to shout in his ear, “How did you know what I’d like?”
He turned his head, putting his mouth practically on her ear. “My Chicks 101 class, freshman year of college. Fastest way to get girls drunk and frisky is to feed ’em fruity rum drinks they can suck down like Kool-Aid.”
“Frisky, eh?” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. God, he’d love to bottle all that brilliance, then guzzle it until he was completely drunk on it. “Since I seem to have missed How to Pick Up Guys 101 in college, what’re you drinking?”
“Water.”
“Water?” she echoed, surprised.
He leaned even closer, dropping a light kiss on her neck, just below her ear. She gasped as obvious sexual vibes rattled through her. He was all kinds of happy to share his suffering of that ilk with her. Belatedly, he murmured, “I never mix alcohol and firearms.”
Watching her unfocused gaze, it clearly took a moment for his words to sink in. He smiled to himself. So responsive, his princess.
“You’re armed?” she mumbled back, alarmed. “How’d you get through the metal detectors?”
He grinned and replied conversationally, “Did you know they make ceramics these days that are stronger than steel and more heat-resistant?”
She considered that for a moment. “So, I can pretty much forget feeling safe
on an airplane ever again?”
He laughed. “Nah, you’re okay most of the time.”
“Maybe if you were there to handle anything that came up. After this is over, can I hire you to fly with me everywhere I go?”
Their gazes met. Blue melted into gold. He murmured, “I’ll fly anywhere with you, princess.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she murmured back.
“You do that.”
The music shifted into a slow, sexy ballad of love and loss, spurned lovers and heartbreak. But the melody spoke of smoky nights and unbearable passion. The ocean pounded outside and the muggy air made tendrils curl around Kinsey’s face, accentuating her beauty even more. He shouldn’t do it but had to get his hands on her.
“Dance with me,” he murmured.
Without a word, she laid her hand in his and followed him out to the dance floor. The lights were turned down, the singer wailing for her lover to come back. He drew Kinsey to him, sighing in pleasure as her slender body gently pressed against his, absorbing his hard angles and power into her softness. It was like coming home. So right. So perfect. Her fingers played with the short hair at the back of his neck, her thigh rubbing gently between his. In heels, she was only a few inches shorter than him and her cheek rested against his neck. A single thought filled his brain, crowding out mission and duty until he could form only a single burning sentence. He needed her.
They swayed together like that until the singer’s voice rose in an angry anthem to swearing off lovers forever and the song ended. He snorted mentally. How very dramatic.
Kinsey lifted her head off his shoulder but did not step away from him. She murmured into his ear, “We’ve attracted some attention.”
“Honey, you’ve attracted all kinds of attention.”
“I’m talking about the pair of men in black suits at the table by the window. East end of the room. They don’t look any too happy to have spotted you.”
Kinsey’s words jolted him like a bucket of ice water to the face. Work. The mission. Both missions. Which sharks had taken the bait first? Camarillo’s men or Zaragosa’s?
Chapter 8
“Let’s go for a walk.”
The grim tone in Mitch’s voice jolted Kinsey out of the magical haze enveloping her. Regret for the loss of his strong arms around her, his hard body cradling hers, stabbed her.
She sighed. “Is this walk for business or pleasure?”
“All business.” He smiled down at her suggestively, his voice entirely grim under the sexy expression.
Taking her cue from him, she leaned into him, draping her arms around his neck wantonly and flashing him her best seductive smile. “Shall we, then?”
He reached up to untangle her arms, kissing her fingertips as he set her away from him. “C’mon. Let’s make these guys earn their paychecks.”
She was surprised when he led her toward the back of the dance club and not the door they’d come in by. But then she spied another exit leading out to the beach. A bouncer/guard nodded to them as they stepped outside into the muggy night. Salt hung thick and warm in the air and she could all but feel her hair frizzing up.
“This way,” Mitch bit out.
Drat. He was back in full-blown work mode. They moved quickly across a flagstone patio and toward the sand.
She stopped at the step-down onto the beach. “Just a second. I have to take my shoes off.” He frowned, and she added, “I can move a lot faster this way. Besides, it helps maintain our cover of being lovers to walk barefoot in the sand.”
“You learn fast. Let’s go.”
They stripped off their shoes and then slogged off through the sand, running toward the beach. She laughed brightly as if it was actually fun, while cursing Mitch for making her do this. Perspiration popped out on her forehead. Good thing she wore waterproof mascara and not much other makeup.
They stopped at the edge of the ocean, the waves just lapping over their toes. Mitch startled her by sweeping her up into his arms. “Look over my shoulder and tell me if you see any men who’ve just come outside.”
“Yeah. A pair of them.”
He swore under his breath. Against her lips he muttered, “Off to my right, there are a series of cliffs and sand dunes. We’re going to head for those and see who follows. Stay just at the edge of the water. The sand is firmest there and gives the best footing.”
“Two more men just stepped outside,” she announced.
“Are they talking to the first pair?”
“Nope. If anything the two pairs look to be avoiding each other.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Let’s go.”
Interesting? They had no less than four thugs commencing tailing them and he thought it was interesting? She’d hate to see what made him nervous. They took off at a jog, holding hands. He laughed at her, his gaze as grim and bleak as the black ocean behind him. She laughed back, worry no doubt shining back in her gaze.
Mitch led her along the beach until a series of rock outcroppings and undulating crests of sand rose on their right. The beach took a sharp turn, and the second they rounded the headland, Mitch swerved inland fast.
“Stay on the rocks,” he hissed. “We can’t leave footprints in the sand.”
They leaped and skipped like mountain goats across the rocks. Her feet burned from the rough stone, but something in the urgent set of Mitch’s shoulders kept her from complaining. They climbed for maybe a minute and then, without warning, Mitch grabbed her arm and yanked her down into a crouch beside him. She looked back toward the beach and their pursuers, and was startled to see how high up they were. It was probably thirty feet down to the water’s edge.
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
“Seeing who’s motivated enough to follow us.”
In another minute, the first pair of men burst around the headland at a full run. They paused, obviously searching for her and Mitch. She started to duck, but Mitch grabbed her arm and muttered under the muted roar of the ocean, “Don’t move.”
The two men ran on.
After they’d gone and the crash of waves was all that remained, Mitch murmured, “In conditions this dark, they’d have to be right on top of us to see our faces. But they can still pick out movement at a distance. When you’re hiding, standing still is more important than being out of sight.”
“Who were they?”
“Given the high-quality suits, the short hair and the general bearing, I’d say they’re government.”
“Why would they follow you?”
“They’re likely part of the faction that wants Zaragosa eliminated, and they know the U.S. will send in someone like me to watch his back. I’m a known American operator in certain government circles. As soon as they spotted me, they would’ve followed me.”
“With the intent to do what?” she asked in alarm.
“Get me out of the way so they can take out Zaragosa.”
“As in kill you?” she squawked.
He shrugged. “It’s all right. Now that I’ve seen their faces, I know who to go after myself. I’ll capture one of those guys and find out who he works for. Or, if neither of them will cooperate, it won’t be that hard to get names on them after they’re eliminated and find out who they’re aligned with. I’ll have that faction cleaned up in a few weeks.”
He sounded awfully confident of his ability to casually take out a whole group of well-connected and probably well-protected people. Her father had warned her. But still the question entered her mind: How dangerous was Mitch, anyway?
She glanced down at the beach. “We’d better be still again because here come two more guys.”
Mitch froze beside her, predatory focus pouring off him. It was like crouching beside a tiger, seconds before it sprang for the kill. The moment was dangerous. Thrilling. A sec
ond pair of men paused as they rounded the headland, searching the way the first pair had. Their faces turned up toward the cliffs, and Mitch hissed on an indrawn breath. He must recognize them. She studied the two men’s faces as carefully as she could in the scant light, memorizing their features. Who knew if she’d recognize them in the light of day, but it was worth a try. This pair was more casually dressed than the first pair, both wearing white cotton shirts untucked over dark slacks. Their hair was longer, and their general demeanor less disciplined than the first men. She’d lay odds these guys were not Cuban government.
The men took off in a jog, moving on down the beach.
“Who were they?” she ventured to whisper. With the ocean below, she could probably have shouted safely, but Mitch’s hunting alertness seemed to call for whispers.
“Camarillo’s men. I’ve run into the taller one before.”
And it didn’t sound as if that had been a friendly meeting. Mitch’s voice dripped with contained violence.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now we wait.”
“For what?”
They’ll come back this way eventually. Their cars are back at the casino. Once they’ve given up the chase, we’ll turn the tables and follow them.”
“Which pair are you going to follow?”
He turned his gaze on her, frustration glinting in it. “That’s a good question.”
“Too bad we can’t split up and each take one pair,” she tossed out.
Mitch reacted violently. “No way. You’re not leaving my side until we take out Camarillo and those two down on the beach.” He paused and then added, “I guess that settles that. We go after Camarillo’s flunkies and hope they lead us to him.”
And then what? Her brain knew Mitch intended to kill Camarillo, but now that the reality of it was one step nearer, cold dread formed a knot in her stomach.
How long they waited up on that cliff, she wasn’t sure. Long enough to relax a bit. Long enough to be aware of Mitch’s contained power against her right side. Long enough to start fantasizing about turning to him and kissing him to distraction, stretching out on the sand beside him and making love in the shadow of the ocean’s majesty. Long enough for Mitch’s jaw, and then his whole body, to go tight and for him to glance over at her and mutter, “You can stop that now.”
