Undercover Pursuit

by Susan May Warren

  “You’d better just be watching. I can give you my deathbed word that there won’t be anything but watching going on, buddy.” She shot a look at his hands as if they’d wandered somewhere. “Touch me once and you’ll pull away a nub.”

  Oh! Uh. No, he hadn’t meant—now he felt like a letch.

  Which made all the anger dissolve. He wasn’t that guy. She actually looked as if he’d offended her, her eyes reddening just a bit. So much for the iceberg agent.

  “Look, I’m sorry—”

  “Let’s just get to the wedding and try to stay out of each other’s way.”

  “Yeah, that’s going to work.”

  She took a breath, and it trembled on exhale. “I really, really don’t need an escort, you know. No matter what anyone says.”

  Oh, he wanted to punch something, hard. “I’m not sure you quite cleared that up for me.”

  “Jerk.”

  Just swell. They’d have to start acting like a couple soon, because the moment they got on the island, Sanchez’s men were sure to be watching. “You could try to cooperate.”

  “Cooperate. You want me to cooperate. Okay, this is me, cooperating. I’m the queen of cooperating.” She drew in a long breath, then bit her lip and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she tried not to…cry?

  And right then, he had the strangest urge to push that errant dark caramel curl of hair away from her face, turn her toward him. Look right into her eyes.

  Look who wasn’t as tough as she thought.

  Interesting. He wasn’t sure what buttons he’d pushed, but something had her rattled.

  He and Chet were going to have a long chat when he got to the resort. But he’d come a long way since the navy had discharged him for his temper, and he now had a let’s-play-nicely-with-others voice. “We both know what’s expected, and I promise, I’m going to watch your back if you watch mine. So let’s make the best of it, try to get along. How about we start over?” He put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Scarlett.”

  She glanced over at him and sighed. “Fine. Nice to meet you, Luke.”

  That was a start. “Aren’t you hot?”

  Her eyes darted to her turtleneck then over to him and his cotton Oxford.

  Finally, she said, “Okay, yes, I’m boiling. I should have layered, so I could have shed as I came south, but I was in a hurry. I didn’t even get the call that I was coming here until…I guess almost two days ago now, and I had so much to do that, well, I forgot to dress for the weather.” She lifted one of her feet, probably marinating inside her blue fuzzy boots.

  “Yeah, I only found out yesterday. Good thing we could put this together so fast.”

  “So, you didn’t know you were coming, either? Aren’t you in the wedding party?” She regathered her hair into its ponytail, then fanned her face with a business card she held in her hand. For an operative, she had a small-town look about her—a sprinkle of freckles on a small nose, a little extra padding on her—instead of the hard-edged, lean-bodied look of a woman who could flip him in hand-to-hand combat. She looked just normal enough that they might pull this thing off.

  “No. I’m just here for you.” He winked at her, and again, she gave him the oddest look, one that made him lose his smile.

  “I thought you were a groomsman.”

  “No, that’s not part of the plan. But you’re a bridesmaid, right?”

  She nodded, staring again out the window. “Except my maid-of-honor dress fits someone else. I probably won’t eat for three days. If it even gets here.” She sighed and leaned back. “I can’t take any more glitches.” She shook her head.

  Glitches?

  A mariachi band from the driver’s radio filled the silence.

  What glitches? “Is it something I should be worried about?”

  “I think we’ll live through it.”

  Good. Because survival always topped his priority list.

  She closed her eyes, as if she weren’t worried, either.

  Fine. Okay. He stared out the window as the cabbie drove them through the city.

  At least she had stopped calling him names.

  The driver let them off at the ferry entrance, and as she wrestled her carry-on out of the car—Luke offered to do it, but she’d rebuffed him—he bought their tickets.

  “It’s leaving, come on!” He took off, but that crazy bag she’d opted for—which completed the tourist façade well but made him want to throw it in the ocean—clipclopped over the deck and down the cement pier. He finally returned for it and picked it up.

  “I can take it.”

  “I’m sure you can, but we can’t miss the ferry.” He gestured to the man waiting for them and didn’t put down the bag until they had climbed aboard and gone to the top deck.

  “Thank you.” She sat on the bench and breathed out, lifting her face to the sun. “I’m sorry for being on edge. I just don’t like surprises. And, frankly, you’re not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Hadn’t she been given his file to read also?

  She gave him a small smile, a shake of her head. “I’m just used to…it’s just better if I go it alone.”

  Yeah, well. “I prefer it, too, actually.”

  She sighed. “I don’t like it. It’s just the way it is.”

  He sat next to her, breathing in the salty air and the tang of coconut oil, listening to the cry of gulls overhead. The sky had turned a cerulean blue and a slight breeze off the ocean skimmed the sweat from his skin.

  He could think of worse assignments.

  She, too, seemed to relax as the boat pulled away from shore, cutting across the nearly translucent blue swatch of water between Cancun and Isla Mujeres.

  “I have to admit, the good part about my job is the freedom to choose my own schedule. And take off when I need to. And I needed this.”

  Yes, maybe he did, too. An assignment away from the cramped, cold quarters of his Prague apartment. He could already feel the sun baking his bones, uncoiling the tension of the past year. Years, actually.

  “I don’t want to walk into any surprises. Is there anything you need to know about me?” he asked. “We should make sure we look like an actual couple by the time we get there.”

  Although she’d put on her sunglasses, he saw her eyes widen. “I thought we’d ironed this out. I don’t need your help.”

  “That came through loud and clear, but since I’m here, for the sake of world peace, let’s work together.”

  She leaned over, pulled her feet out of her boots and took off her socks. She had cute toes with pink painted nails, a do-it-yourself job. “I guess you’re right. We’re all fixed up—it would spare us complications. Fine, you can be my date.”

  Awesome. Except her tone might make a guy just throw himself overboard. Still, he tried a smile, just to be neighborly. “I promise to be the best wedding date you’ve ever had.”

  She pulled down her glasses and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she might be trying to see through him. “Really, I meant it about the nub thing. Just because I’ll let you dance with me doesn’t mean—”

  “Got it, Scarlett. Just enough to be believable.”

  She pulled off her glasses and sighed. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know what you heard, Luke, and truthfully, any other girl might be flattered by your dedication. But I’m just here for the wedding, and I’d like to see it go off without a hitch.”

  “Agreed.”

  She smiled, nodded and replaced her glasses. “Good. Everyone just needs to calm down.” She pulled out a cap, put it over her hair and lifted her face back to the sun. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

  Right. Luke folded his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. Just fine. “I trust you,” he said. What choice did he have?

  TWO

  “I don’t know, Chet, there’s something about Scarlett—er, Stacey. I don’t think she likes me, for one. I clearly offended her.”

  “I think she thought that I expected a sort of, well, more rea
listic relationship. But the woman has more than a ‘Keep Away’ sign around her neck. She’s wired with a thousand volts of don’t-touch-me. And talk about cold. I think the Sanchez family is going to see right through us,” he said into his international cell phone.

  Luke sat on the edge of the king-size bed, watching the surf pound the reef, spit froth into the air and break on the coral outside his Lost Breezes cottage. He had taken off his shoes, letting the tile cool his feet, and in a second, he fully planned on jumping in the shower and washing off the sweat of the sun, the saline of the ocean and the still-stinging reception of Miss Hot-Around-the-Collar.

  Scarlett had barely spoken to him the rest of the ferry ride, or even as they’d hailed another cab to the far end of Isla Mujeres, the Isle of Women, where the resort of Lost Breezes sat on the northern tip. He picked up a towel folded in the shape of a swan sitting on his bed, shook it out and rubbed it over his forehead.

  “Stacey is from the private sector, but she came highly recommended by my pal David Curtiss. He mentioned that she was a lone wolf, but she said she was very capable and knows what she’s doing.”

  Luke pictured Chet in his office in the Czech Republic, staring out at the snow along the Charles Bridge in Prague.

  “So, you’ve never met her?”

  “Just on the phone. But I’m confident she can handle herself. She probably is used to working alone, but this is a couple’s job, so you need to get her to warm up to you.”

  “Believe me, no matter what I said, it was the wrong thing. It felt pretty chilly over on the port side of the ferry.”

  “Listen, Luke. If Sanchez’s men think you’re anything other than Lucia’s special guests for her wedding, they’ll take you out into the middle of the ocean and leave you for the sharks. Lucia has been working too hard and too long for this mission to go south.”

  “Scarlett’s probably right. I could get the job done better solo, too.”

  “No, you couldn’t. You need Stacey to act as Lucia’s bridesmaid and your fiancée, otherwise you won’t be able to stay close enough to Lucia to get her out of there when the CIA moves in on the Sanchez family. This mission all hinges on Lucia walking down the aisle on Saturday night. Augusto Sanchez will come out of hiding, and the CIA will finally get their hands on one of Panama’s biggest crime bosses. We need you on-site, watching Lucia, or she could get killed. And she needs someone there to remind her that she’s not in this alone. That’s Stacey’s job. Lucia’s already had one scare.”

  “I thought you told me the accident in the market wasn’t an attempted assassination.”

  “The CIA said it wasn’t. But that’s why she called for help. She’s scared, Luke, and you gotta keep her calm. Focused.”

  Everyone just needs to calm down. Scarlett’s words made a little sense now.

  Luke stood up and leaned against the doorjamb that led out to the balcony. The salt weighed the air, layered his skin in grit. “And why, exactly, did Lucia call you?”

  He heard Chet sigh. “We met in D.C. We’re old friends.”

  Old friends. Luke didn’t want to explore that meaning too far, but it was no wonder Chet didn’t want to take this job. After all, Chet was recently married and he didn’t need any reminders of past liaisons. Luke knew what ghosts could do to a guy—suck him back to the past, into his mistakes. No, Chet deserved a fresh start with his bride, Stryker International pilot Mae Lund. Luke’s silence pushed Chet into confession.

  “We may have had some sparks, Luke, but mostly, we were just friends. She was just a young law student, and I was in and out of the country with Delta Force. It wouldn’t have worked. However, I also know Benito—her fiancé—from my Delta days, and if I showed up, he’d know Lucia had been betraying him, romantically and possibly otherwise.”

  “Chet, is Lucia expecting you?” Perfect, just perfect. At least he now knew what not to say.

  “No. She’s expecting one of my men. My capable, get-the-job-done-despite-personal-feelings men. That’s you, Luke. But you might have to do more than just your job here, Luke. The Sanchez family has to believe that you and Stacey—”

  “Scarlett.”

  “—are a couple, at least in public. So turn on some charm or something. You’re good with the ladies—or at least you were. Dig deep and find that old lady-killer.”

  Luke walked through the bedroom to the tiny cement bathroom, turned on the faucet then stared into the mirror. He needed a shave. “I’m not that good, Chet. And besides, I’m not the guy I was.”

  He hadn’t been that guy since he woke up one day to angry pounding on his hotel room door, looked at the woman on the other side of the bed and realized he’d turned into his lying, cheating father. Only Luke’s lying and cheating hadn’t exactly been his fault. Not that it mattered, in the end.

  Chet’s voice softened. “No, you’re not. I know that.”

  “Besides, this girl isn’t going to be charmed. She’s a straight shooter, and she’s not into playing games.”

  “So be the new guy—the gentleman.”

  The gentleman. He hadn’t had much practice in that arena, either. Last time he had a date, the previous president had been in office.

  “Most of all, get the job done. Keep Lucia—and Stacey, for that matter—alive. No matter what it takes.”

  “Okay, boss.” Luke said goodbye and hung up. Then he picked up the note left for him at the check-in desk. His “fiancée” hadn’t stuck around long enough to read it with him, and of course, she’d booked her own solo accommodations.

  Not that he expected to share. But in today’s world, it might make convincing the Sanchez clan they were a couple just a smidge easier.

  But perhaps this was for the best, because, just for a second, sitting beside her on the boat, watching her purse those unpainted lips that made her appear more innocent girl than hired muscle, well, he’d felt something shift inside. Add that to the way, for a second, she seemed even hurt, and yes, she’d unglued him long enough for him to wish he could take back his words in the cab—the ones that had put the pain in her eyes.

  He went to the sink, washed his hands, pressed a towel to his face.

  Stared at the familiar villain in the mirror.

  Yes, he would turn on the charm, but only for the sake of the mission.

  Three days was going to feel like eternity.

  He opened the note and found a hand-scrawled script. “Meet us on the boat by five for drinks and dinner. Lucia.”

  Unfortunately, by the time they’d arrived, the cocktail hour had come and gone. Thankfully, he’d found out Scarlett’s room number after greasing the palm of a valet in the lobby, one who had seen them enter the hotel together. It never hurt to make friends with the staff, and Raoul looked like a guy Luke might need later, so he added a retainer to his information gratuity.

  And, with the twilight already hovering over the sea, Raoul had found a boat willing to skipper them out to the yacht.

  Yes, the fun was about to begin.

  Now these were the accommodations she’d hoped for—an ocean view, the sound of the seabirds, the briny redolence of the ocean. She loved it all, just as she knew she would. Not that she’d ever been to the sea before, but she’d read about it plenty of times in the romance novels that lined her shelves. And everything she’d read about Mexico and Isla Mujeres had told her she’d love it.

  And to think she’d nearly missed all this.

  Never again, champagne.

  And while she was at it, she should probably calm down about her sister fixing her up again. Luke certainly wasn’t a cretin. It could be much, much worse. Her sister might have found her a mechanic from Des Moines. Yes, it was possible that she’d ever so slightly overreacted to being paired with one of her sister’s cast-offs. She wished he hadn’t mentioned that he’d been “around the block” a few times, however. What, was that supposed to remind her that he was slumming with her?

  For a second, the image of him leaning over a plate of sush
i with her sister in some high-rise restaurant, the lights of New York City twinkling like starlight, shot into her brain.

  Yes, perhaps he was simply reminding himself that normally his dates had a tan and wore less on their trips to Mexico.

  She didn’t want to know.

  I really do know what I’m doing.

  She just bet he did. But not with her, thanks.

  I’m not just here to watch.

  She’d nearly run from the cab, screaming. Really, she didn’t even know where to start with her shakedown of Bridgett when she found her.

  So much for calming down.

  I’m here to do a job, same as you. A job? As if she was some sort of mission? Befriend the bride’s lumpy sister—someone has to do it.

  It hurt more than she’d imagined, and frankly, he could have started out with a little charm, even if he’d had to fake it.

  In fact, if he had led with something sweet, she might not have been so militant about going stag.

  She shook Luke’s arrogant words away. It seemed she’d set him straight after her comments on the ferry, however. He’d behaved himself after that.

  Still, a girl didn’t have to have it pointed out to her that Luke, her nondate, might have been a good catch in other circumstances, with his wind-tousled golden-brown hair, brown eyes, the hint of fresh sun bronzing his skin as he considered her this afternoon.

  I don’t want to walk into any surprises. Is there anything you need to know about me?

  Just what had Bridgett told him? My pitiful sister—she’s a temp, you know, has been for nearly ten years—needs a date for the wedding. Do you know she actually thought my fiancé was in love with her?

  Scarlett winced as she imagined Bridgett’s voice. Nope, she didn’t care how dedicated the man was, didn’t care that Bridgett had flown him in. A girl had to stand up for herself, be her own hero. She didn’t need Mr. Plus-One, thank you very much.

  In fact, given the chance, she might have just found a plus-one on her own.