by Lucy Score
“We’re going to run for those canoes,” she said, pointing at the heavy timber rack that held six polished wood boats. That should give you better cover.”
“Okay,” he gritted out.
“On my mark.” They tottered and stumbled, changing direction twice. Bullets tore into the ground, and Waverly felt a stitch in her side. They made it safely and she shoved him under the lowest canoe. “Gimmie your tie,” she instructed. His blunt fingers were shaking too much so she worked it free for him. She tied it around his thigh above the wound. “You got an extra piece on you?”
“Ankle,” he told her, this time in Russian.
She found the clutch piece on his left leg. It was a thirty-eight and wouldn’t hold up long against whatever semi-automatics her friends up the hill had. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“You have any ideas who would do this? ’cause they sound serious.”
In the dark, she could just barely make out his headshake.
She wasn’t buying that but didn’t have time to run an inquisition. She’d go in blind. “Stay here and stay alive,” she told him.
“Petra?”
“She’s safe. Your buddy Yurgei got her on a boat. They’re probably across the lake by now.”
“Who are you?”
Waverly flashed a grin. “I made a couple of spy movies,” she said.
She left him under the canoe and darted around the stand into the edge of the woods. She waited for the hail of bullets, but none came. They were probably pulling out. If this had been a kidnapping attempt, they knew they were shit out of luck and it was only a matter of minutes before some serious law enforcement came knocking.
She stayed off the path, away from the lights, and battled her way uphill over rocks and tree trunks. She paused every thirty seconds or so to close her eyes and listen, but the night was quiet.
Waverly pulled herself onto the deck at the far end of the house and belly crawled under the teak table. Lights were on in the house, but they had been when they left. There was no movement.
Holding the gun in both hands, she moved to the patio doors. Seeing no movement inside, she slid the door open. The gun battle had happened here, she gauged from the broken glass and blood. Upstairs all the way to the right, she spotted one doorway open, a spray of bullet holes decorating the wall around it. Grigory’s office.
Shit. Dante had been snooping, and that’s probably exactly where he went.
She cleared the room, stepping around debris and puddles of blood. There had been wounded, but no bodies.
She ran up the stairs, heart pounding. Would she find Dante? Was he alive?
She sprinted the length of the walkway to Grigory’s office door. There was blood here, too, but no body.
There were lights turning into the driveway. Someone was coming. Waverly ran down the hall into her room. She grabbed her phone and bag. There was no time to search all three floors of the house. She hustled back to Grigory’s office, did one final sweep, and finding nothing, let herself out the balcony door.
By the time the new arrivals pushed through the front door, Waverly was two-hundred yards into the woods on her phone.
She stumbled once and pressed on. She found a spot against a boulder under the cover of a copse of pines and pulled out her phone. “Kate, I need a way out and a lift.” She closed her fingers around the coin she wore on the long chain. The sharp pain in her side drew her attention, and she probed it. When her fingers came away wet, she swore. “I think I was shot.”
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Waverly closed her eyes on the lounger. Where the hell was Dante? It had been five days with no contact. Was he dead? Was he hurt? Was he being held prisoner?
If the studio knew, they weren’t spilling it. They had a cover story for him though. According to the entertainment news, Dante was enjoying an impromptu vacation in the Seychelles cementing speculation that his relationship with Waverly was once again on the fritz. The news about Petra had been just as vague and less than truthful. There were reports that after a home invasion by an unstable suspect in Lake Tahoe, Petra was on lock down in a safe, undisclosed location. It was clear that someone was doing major clean up on what must have been a shit show on all sides. How many players were there? she wondered.
Dante had to be alive, Waverly told herself. He wasn’t just a pretty face. He had the skills and training that an intel officer would have, but he also knew how to talk himself out of any situation. He was alive, and she would find him… and kick his ass for making her worry. But he was out there. And she was going to drag him out of whatever deep shit he’d gotten himself into. They were partners, friends. He was the first man she’d trusted since Xavier.
Waverly needed answers, and if no one was going to give them to her, she was going to go out and get them herself. She wasn’t the helpless kid she’d been. Now, she was just as dangerous as the bad guys.
But right now, all she could do was heal and wait. She let the sun and the warm breeze soothe her mind until it floated away into dreams. Dreams that Xavier invaded. His hands stroking her skin, his voice, rough and raspy. Those brown eyes that held the fire of a thousand hearts.
Something woke Waverly where she dozed on the lounger. Even before she was fully conscious, she knew she was no longer alone. She was slowly reaching for the gun she had tucked under the magazine at her side when he spoke.
“Nice rehab, Angel.”
CHAPTER THREE
Xavier Saint, all six-feet-three-inches of him, leaned against the trunk of a palm tree looking entirely too relaxed. He’d finally grown out his military haircut. Now his hair, a shade darker than the dirty blond she remembered from years ago, was worn short on the sides and longer on top in a stylish cut. He was missing his trademark dark suit and instead wore golf shorts and a short sleeve white button down. A very nice watch flashed on his wrist, and aviators covered his eyes. He had a day or two’s worth of stubble covering that granite jaw.
He looked like a rich playboy on vacation. But she knew better.
Waverly hated the instantaneous physical reaction her body had to him. Her palms were sweaty, and a deluge of adrenaline sent her blood pumping fast and hard through her system. Her nipples—the traitors—tightened with memories of what that stern looking mouth had done to them.
“This is private property,” she said evenly. She wanted to march over to him and slap him across the face with a blow so hard it would echo across the entire island. But she didn’t want him to see her wince when she got up. Besides, she knew what happened between them when they let anger get physical. Fireworks. Orgasmic fireworks that shook her to the very core.
And she was never going to let that happen again.
“Don’t disappoint me, Waverly. Aren’t you dying to know how I found you?”
She was, and that pissed her off. “I couldn’t care less what you’re doing here. So why don’t you do me a favor and take a nice long walk off of that dock?”
He pushed away from the tree and ambled toward her. Her pulse thudded louder with every step that brought him closer to her. Every cell in her body was screaming in recognition. She couldn’t hear the ocean over the blood pumping in her head.
She realized the gauze from her bandage was sticking out and yanked down the hem of her tank top. If he was surprised that she didn’t jump up or try to run, he didn’t show it. Xavier just sat down at the end of her lounger, comfortable as could be.
“I missed you,” he said.
No other combination of words in the English language could have pissed her off faster. She hung onto the anger with both hands in a white-knuckle grip. “I’m going to give you to the count of five to get off my property before I call security.”
It was a bluff, but besides pulling the gun from under the magazine and shooting him, it was all she had at the moment.
He grinned. “Don’t you know better than to lie to me, Angel?”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. It
had been his code name for her and had morphed into an endearment. There had been a time in her life that she had longed to hear that word from Xavier’s lips. Now it felt like lemon juice in a gunshot wound.
“Or what? You’ll call your security?” he smirked. “Go ahead, beautiful. Let’s see who comes to your rescue.”
Now she really wanted to shoot him.
“I don’t need to be rescued anymore. I learned a long time ago that you can’t depend on anyone to keep you safe.”
It was a dig and a deep one.
Xavier said nothing but reached for her foot, a move he’d made dozens of times before. She yanked it out of his grasp and planted it squarely in his chest instead. “Back off, X.”
That gorgeous smile, and the hand he ran up her calf, told her she wasn’t pissing him off. No, she was turning him on and that was worse. She didn’t want to test her immunity to him when she was already weakened. With her entire body already singing, she knew how it would go if he made a move on her. So she shut it down, unleashing the inner Ice Queen.
“You’re wasting your time here. I got over you a long time ago, Saint.”
The noise he made was somewhere between a growl and purr. “I never got over you. And I finally gave up trying.”
Words that she would have given anything to have heard years ago. But the time for that, for them, was long over.
“Stop talking and get your ass back on the boat.” The ice was melting as the rage bubbled to the surface. She hated him, hated her reaction to him. He was coming at her when she was at her weakest, but she wasn’t going to fall under that spell again. She would never go back to that.
“I’m not going anywhere, Angel.”
“Last chance before I call security,” she said. Her fingertips brushed the grip of the gun, and it gave her strength.
“Angel, I am security.”
She was shaking her head before the word left her lips. “No.”
“Oh, yes. Say hello to your new head of private security.”
“I didn’t hire you!”
He leaned casually on his elbow, enjoying himself.
“You didn’t have to. Your father took care of that.”
It brought her to her feet and the anger masked the pain enough that her scowl was all for him. “We are not doing this again.”
Xavier stood, and she felt the prey drive jumpstart her heart. She was always the prey with Xavier. He closed the distance between them. “Oh, but we are, Angel. And I’m looking forward to it.”
“How did you find me?”
“There’s my girl. I could bore you with the details like flight manifests and Marisol Cote’s spontaneous family vacation to the Dominican Republic only with a ticket to Belize City. Then there are the property records… clever girl buying this place under a corporation name, by the way. But the important thing is I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?” she couldn’t think. Not with his fingers toying with the edge of her silk robe. Not with anger and lust roiling within her to create one emotional volcano.
“Your parents and everyone else in the world think you’re in rehab after an accident that didn’t happen.”
Her eyes must have betrayed her because he stepped in on her leaving no room for escape, no room to breathe.
“That’s right, Waverly. There’s no police report of you and a DUI or you and a traffic accident in the United States or Canada. And I highly doubt the media was reporting on a fender bender with a golf cart in Belize.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You flew here from Reno, Nevada, on a private jet five days ago. And judging from your wardrobe,” he paused to look her up and down, “it wasn’t a scheduled trip. So why don’t you tell me, Angel, why exactly you’d be willing to let everyone, including your five years sober mother, think that you were going to rehab after hurting yourself in a wreck?”
“It’s none of your fucking business, Saint.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Everything you do is now my business.”
“My father hired you?”
“He did.”
“Then I’m firing you. I’m twenty-five now, X. I make my own decisions.”
“Try it, Angel, and I’ll be on the phone to your father in ten seconds telling him that his little girl isn’t getting her life together in rehab. She’s sunning herself on the beach in Belize. And I won’t stop there. I’ll get our pal Gwendolyn Riddington-Macks to draft a statement for the media, and I’ll have your lawyer file a suit against every publication that printed the story and the unnamed source at Target Productions who confirmed it.”
He was blackmailing her. And ironically enough, he was blackmailing her with the truth. But the truth was what could do the most damage right now.
“What do you want?” Her voice was calm, almost bored, but inside she was seething.
“A whole lot more than you’re willing to give me right now. But I’m a patient man.” Xavier ran a thumb over her lower lip, and she didn’t bother stifling the urge to bite it. Her teeth sank into the flesh. Xavier tossed his sunglasses onto the cushion and backed her up until she found herself pinned between him and the thick trunk of a palm tree. “God, I missed you.” His mouth was on hers, and her last coherent thought fled her mind as the ghost of flames long extinguished consumed her.
She refused to open for him, refused to yield. She stayed cold, at least until his tongue teased the seam of her lips. On a sigh, a moan, she opened to him. But she wouldn’t yield. She fought to be the aggressor in a tangle of lips and teeth and breath. It was violent, beautiful, cruel. The pain of the last five years reared its head and poured itself into the kiss. She wanted to brand him with the hurt that had scarred her so long ago.
Xavier whispered dark promises against her mouth that had her shivering with desires rekindled. He was hard and throbbing against her. Her breath came in jagged pants.
His hands skimmed down her sides toward the curve of her hips, and she yelped in pain as he cruised over her wound. That quick slice of pain brought her back to earth faster than gravity. She shoved against him, needing space more than she needed oxygen.
“Did I hurt you, Angel?” His hands were suddenly gentle, his voice soft.
Yes. She wanted to shout it through tears. Yes, he’d hurt her. He’d destroyed her, and just looking at that gorgeous face was killing her now.
This couldn’t be happening. She’d promised herself, vowed, that she would never again let herself be gutted by Xavier Saint or any man. She was Waverly Sinner. She bowed to no one. Remembering the hurt, clinging to it, she drew herself back.
She looked at him coldly. “You’ll never be able to hurt me again, Xavier.”
“Waverly.” Her name on those lips brought a new pain blooming to the surface.
“What? You’re on the payroll again, so you think sex with me is one of your benefits?” She wanted to draw blood, to hurt him the way he’d hurt her.
His hands dropped to his side and she felt victorious… and guilty.
“Who said anything about payroll? I volunteered.”
“Good, then you’ll be even easier to get rid of,” she snapped.
“Angel, there’s no shaking me loose this time. I’m going to find out what’s going on, and I’m going to help you out of this mess, even if I have to drag you out by your hair.”
“Hey, Wave, wait’ll you see the dress Mari found y—holy fuck.” The shopping bags Kate held tumbled to the deck as she took in the scene.
“Are your fingers broken?” Mari snipped at her from inside. “Don’t just throw—Aye, mierda.”
“Ladies,” Xavier said, inclining his head to where Kate and Marisol stared open mouthed on the deck.
Waverly took control—and another step away from Xavier. “Kate, Mari, I don’t know if you two remember Xavier Saint. He was with us for such a short time and left us so suddenly.”
Xavier stepp
ed up to her side. “God, I missed your smart mouth,” he murmured.
“Fuck you, Saint.”
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“What do you mean he’s working for you again?” Kate said several decibels above conversational level.
Waverly pulled the pillow off of her face and glared at Kate from her position on the bed. “My father hired him to guard me after I get out of rehab.”
“So fire his ass and send him packing. What’s the studio going to say when they get wind of this?” Kate demanded from where she lay on the floor next to Waverly’s bed.
“I’ll find a way to get rid of him before that becomes an issue,” Waverly said with more conviction than she felt.
“What are you going to do, kill him?”
“Maybe just maim him,” Waverly decided. “He wouldn’t be able to keep up with me with a leg shot, right?”
“Is it just me, or is he even better looking now than five years ago? I mean, it should be criminal to look that fine,” Kate said wistfully.
“Kate!”
“What? I’m sorry, but he’s like a freaking god or something. How are you going to control yourself with him under the same roof?”
“Kate!” Waverly yelled it this time.
“Sorry.” Kate pulled herself up and put her elbows on the bed. “I’m just… thrown. He is the last person I would have expected to show up here. I would have been less surprised to see some gun-wielding maniac from Tahoe or—”
“For the love of God, Kate, shut your mouth!”
“Sorry. Sorry. I just—Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! Dante’s missing, the studio isn’t telling me anything, I got shot, and Xavier Saint just waltzed back into my life threatening to blow my cover!”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“No… maybe.”
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Xavier set up his laptop on the eat-at bar in Waverly’s kitchen and ran his WiFi password hacker.
It had gone better than he thought. He’d been braced for bloodshed, deserved it even. Walking out on her hadn’t been easy, and looking back, he knew it hadn’t been right. He deserved worse than what she’d dished out, and that concerned him. Her energy seemed off. Oh, she was mad enough, but it wasn’t sparking out of her like it would have five years ago.
