Undercover Pursuit

by Susan May Warren

  Yes, this might be a nice place for a vacation. If he were the vacationing sort.

  “Funny.” Scarlett’s voice came through the closed bathroom door. She’d showered at the spa to get all that mud off her while her sister had barreled out of the wrap room, her bathrobe pulled tight.

  “What are you doing? Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend she met on the ferry, and I need her help.”

  “But she’s helping me!” her sister had said. She had the voice of nails on a chalkboard.

  Thankfully, when Scarlett finally emerged clean and dressed, she cleared it all up before her sister unraveled. “He’s a friend, sis. I promise, I’ll make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

  And right then, something stirred inside Luke, something he couldn’t put his finger on. A calm, a loosening in his chest.

  Then she turned to him and said, “How can I help?” And he decided there must have been something soothing in the mud she’d bathed in. What happened to Miss Don’t-Touch-Me who he’d met in the cab?

  He’d briefed her on the ride back to the hotel, and she had let him into her room, locking herself in the bathroom. Probably taking another shower. Mud, really?

  But it gave him time to send her information to Artyom to create the appropriate biography, should Benito go hunting.

  He turned away from the window. “I thought you had the villa.”

  “My sister forgot to make my reservation. I had the room that was supposed to be for her other maid of honor for one night. They forget to cancel it. But I got booted for other guests this morning. I’m probably lucky that I didn’t have to sleep in one of those hammocks outside.”

  “Your sister forgot to make your reservation? Aren’t you the maid of honor?”

  “I’m a fill-in temp. I was the maid of honor, then I got fired and then my replacement broke her leg in Vail. So, it’s back to me.”

  “Tough gig, being your sister’s maid of honor. She’s a real prize.”

  “You have no idea. Try being her sister.” The door opened. She stood in the doorway, her skin clean, her green eyes bright even without makeup, her hair pulled back into a slick bun under a green headband. She wore a pair of white shorts, only a shade lighter than her legs, and a lime-green T-shirt. And she looked at him without a hint of chill.

  In fact, he might label her look as downright warm and friendly.

  Here he thought he’d get ice queen back after ousting her from her spa treatment. But she’d seemed almost, well, eager to jump on a boat teeming with terrorists for the rest of the afternoon.

  Oh, why had he thought this might be a good idea?

  He’d have to stick to his plan—get her on the boat then convince her to betray him. She’d get ousted, he’d get to stay. “So, how does someone get fired from being a maid of honor?”

  “Easy. She accuses the bride of stealing the groom.”

  “Stealing the groom? As in your groom?” Ouch.

  “No. Well, see, Duncan and I were good friends. We’d spent a lot of time together and I thought we were more. We held hands.”

  He tried not to react. Oh, he tried.

  “Yes, I did read way too much into that. Obviously he wasn’t into me because a measly two months after my sister breezed into town, they were an item. Six months later, well, I’m at their engagement party, champagne bubbles coming out of my nose, standing on a chair and calling her a man-stealer.”

  “That’ll get you fired any day.”

  “Yep. The worst part is that even as I was saying the words, I realized the truth. He never loved me.” She raised a shoulder. “I was a fool.”

  Yes, well he could relate to that. He almost wanted to reach over, run his hand down her arm, pull her close, because he truly understood the pain behind those words. “Considering the circumstances, I think your sister should be grateful you showed up.”

  She blinked at him, then smiled. “I probably owe her. And don’t worry. She’s not taking any chances. Remember how I thought you were my date?”

  “Oh, did you? Really?”

  She grinned at him. “Well, my real blind date showed up. Dylan from Davenport. He’s a mechanic.”

  Luke smiled. So maybe it wouldn’t exactly be torture to spend the next five hours with her. Even if they did have to end up in a nasty fight in order for her to get kicked off the boat.

  More than that, he’d have to embarrass her, make her look like a tramp. A man-stealer, hopefully.

  He felt a little sick. He should probably inform her of his entire plan. But his gut said she wouldn’t play along, couldn’t be trusted to embarrass herself. What woman would deliberately act like a floozy? Certainly not someone who looked so clean and innocent, so freshly scrubbed.

  No, he couldn’t tell her. Not until she couldn’t back out. “I think mud becomes you,” he said, then didn’t know why.

  “My skin feels like it’s been dipped in lemon cleanser, all tingly and sharp. My sister got a yogurt wrap. I was shooting for the chocolate and coffee—oh, forget it. What’s next, double-oh-seven?”

  She grinned, all bright and shiny.

  Uh-oh. “This isn’t some sort of field trip, you know. This is the real deal. There will be men with guns. Maybe hidden, yes, but still, these aren’t your neighbors in Iowa.”

  “Minnesota.”

  “Right. But the truth is, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think I could keep you safe. I mean, they’re not going to dig up the fact that you’re really an undercover cop, are they?”

  “What, you mean my ten years in the FBI? Not a chance. They wiped out those records when I became a receptionist.” She widened her grin.

  “You’re real cute.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but he chalked it up to that professional charm he was supposed to be using. “Here’s the plan. Unfortunately, we’re going to be spending the rest of the day at sea.”

  “Wow, that’s a real bummer, especially here in the Caribbean.”

  He held up a finger. She closed her mouth and folded her hands. Oh, brother.

  “I cannot stress enough how serious this is.”

  “I’m serious. I’m serious.”

  “Okay. Listen. You have to hang around Lucia while I try and figure out who on the boat might be trying to hurt her. Benito was right on that account—someone on the guest list wants to scare her, if not kill her, and we have to find out who. I’m going to give you a tiny alert device, and if you get into trouble or are afraid of anything—even just a shadow—you press it and I’ll be there.”

  “Like a butler.”

  “Like a guy trying to keep you and Lucia from becoming shark bait. I did mention the bloody shark on the deck this morning, right?”

  “On the way back to the hotel. But I was so busy picking bugs from my teeth, I wasn’t sure I caught everything.”

  “Hey, motor scooters are the mode of transportation around here.”

  “I rented a golf cart. Windscreen. No bugs.”

  “They move at the speed of a sea slug, and I needed to find you fast.”

  “I’m not complaining. How did you find me?”

  But he was stuck, for a second, on her words. I’m not complaining.

  He hadn’t complained, either, as she’d locked her arms around his waist. Something about the way she hung on as he motored through the streets, in and out of cars—

  “Luke?”

  “Honestly, you had me scared for a bit. I thought you’d left. I went to the cottage and the maid told me you were gone. I was already halfway to the ferry launch in my head when one of the valets I know asked if I was looking for you, and then told me he’d rented you a golf cart and given you directions to the spa.”

  “Raoul. He was very helpful. I need to ask him to check on the dinner menu.” She made a face. “My sister is having a cookout on the beach tonight.”

  “I’ll have you back in time, I promise.”

  “And how, Mr. Tour Guide, will you do that?”

  �
�Let’s get your stuff.” He reached for the carry-on bag, tossed it on the bed and unzipped it.

  Her smile vanished. “Whoa there, fast fingers. You’re not going through my things—”

  “We have to get going. I’m not sure how long they are going to be in port, and I don’t want them to leave without us.” He opened the suitcase. “No wonder this thing weighs a ton. I can’t believe you got it in the overhead.”

  “Listen, a girl can’t have too many books.”

  He reached in and pulled them out. “Six books? Six. What did you think you were going to do here? I thought you were going to a wedding.”

  She snatched the paperbacks from him. They flew out of her hands and onto the bed. “Yes. But, you know, just in case there was downtime.”

  “Downtime, or escape-from-your-sister—or should I make that blind date—time? Certainly you didn’t expect to read all six of these.”

  “I don’t know what kind of mood I’ll be in. I have to bring different genres. Sometimes it’s helpful for a girl to have a backup plan. Just in case Dylan from Davenport happens to be a little too handsy.”

  The thought churned a strange feeling inside, one he didn’t want to scrutinize. He looked over at the book covers. “Looks like all the same stuff to me. What are those, bodice rippers?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. No, most of them are romantic suspense, but this one is historical romance, and—”

  “They’re all romance.”

  “So what? I like romance.”

  “You know, those stories aren’t real life. No one falls in love forever.”

  “Just like a guy doesn’t come in and sweep you into his arms?” She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

  He felt his face heating. “Well, not unless there is a national emergency.” He looked back to the suitcase and started rifling through it. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She grabbed at his wrist, pulled it away. “I’ll pack, thanks.”

  “You just need a swimsuit, maybe a cover-up. And flip-flops. A hat.”

  She began to pile the clothes on the bed.

  “I said a swimsuit.”

  “What do you think this is?” She held up a pair of shorts and a long tank top.

  “A mumu. Where’s your bikini?”

  “I’m from Minnesota. I don’t have a bikini. You’re lucky I have these shorts.”

  “Okay, we’ll stop by the store and get you a bikini—”

  “I’m not wearing a bikini!” She picked up one of the books and threw it on the bed.

  Then she glanced at him and picked it back up, turning it over to read the back.

  “Do not tell me you are thinking of bringing that with you.”

  “Well, maybe not. I might bring a different one…”

  “You’re going to be spending the day on a luxury yacht. With a very nervous bride-to-be. This is not a time to read.”

  “It could be. You never know when a good book might come in handy.”

  “Fine. Take it.”

  “Wait—I have to see if this is the one I want.”

  He grabbed the book from her and scooped up the rest of her clothing with the other hand. “Please tell me you brought a beach bag.”

  She held up her hands in surrender. “I just hope that’s the right book.” She opened the top of the suitcase and pulled out a canvas bag. “If I read the first chapter and hate it, then I’ll have nothing else to read.”

  “Cry me a river. C’mon.” He threw her stuff in the canvas bag.

  “Stop.” She put her hands on his chest. “Really, I need to know the plan.”

  “Okay…I just need you on the boat long enough to convince them that yes, you do exist and we are together. But it’s not permanent. I have a plan to get you off the boat and out of this mess, so don’t worry.”

  “Really? What kind of plan?”

  By making you betray me. By pushing you into the arms of another man. By embarrassing you and throwing you off the yacht. But the words stuck inside his chest.

  “Can’t you just trust me?”

  He didn’t realize how raw and fresh those words sounded until they tumbled out, until they lay between them.

  Or how much it might sting, like salt on old wounds to have her step back, smile and say, “Of course I trust you.”

  SEVEN

  If this was the life of a secret agent, point her to the dotted line. Yes, she could get used to the attention of stewards, the ocean lapping against the hull of the boat, the laughter of guests as they motored off the end of the yacht on Jet Skis some three decks below.

  Around them, as far as the eye could see, the ocean stretched out in a deep indigo, even as the sun began to bleed into the horizon.

  She could also get used to Luke’s almost gallant attention as he watched her through his aviator sunglasses, not to mention the feel of his hand on her back as he’d layered sunblock onto her skin. Not that SPF 30 would make her feel any less exposed than she did in the two-piece barely bikini Luke purchased for her in the gift shop. Good grief, she hadn’t shown this much skin since birth. But really, it was nothing out of the ordinary here. Next to her, Lucia wore a white string top and thong. And she had the gorgeous tan that suggested she spent more time than not in her three patches of fabric and a rubber band.

  Lucia lay on her back, her face to the sun, her giant bug-eye glasses covering most of her face, one arm lifted over her head as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Certainly not as if someone might be trying to kill her. Honestly, Scarlett had begun to have her doubts. But why else would Luke woo her onto this boat?

  “So, you live in Minnesota?” Lucia said. Scarlett opened her eyes, realizing that their upper deck was cleared of any other souls.

  “I do. I’m a receptionist. Well, last Tuesday was. Wednesday through Friday I was a file clerk at a dentist’s office. And then on Friday nights, I stock books for the library, although that’s just volunteer, unless a spot opens up. I really love Saturdays, though, because I’ve been working at this same dog kennel for three years and I just love holding the animals while Adam rinses out the stalls. Fun.”

  Lucia looked over at her, drew down her glasses. “You work in four different places?”

  “Oh, no, I work for one company—Rochester Temps—but they send me wherever there is a need. Sometimes I temp for the same company for two or three weeks. Or I just go for a day. It depends. But at the kennel, they just keep asking me back.” What would her fellow temps say if they saw her right now, getting a sleek tan on a multimillion-dollar yacht?

  She’d landed the best temp gig in history.

  “So, you never know where you’re going to be from one day to the next?”

  “Nope. It’s exciting. Except, well, sometimes it can be stressful, always learning new office rules, but I’ve discovered that most offices have the same expectations. Come in, do your job, keep your mouth shut, adapt, smile and keep their secrets.”

  Luke had come off his perch by the rail to sit in a chair beside them. “Sounds a little like what I do.”

  It did? “Really?”

  “Sure. New assignments every week, having to work with what I have.”

  She glanced at him, searching for indictment, but he only grinned down at her. “So, you’re saying I’m sort of a secret agent?”

  “Just so we’re clear, my job title is security specialist, but if you want, I’ll call you a secret agent.” The sun on his hair turned it to bronze, and he had the nicest smile. She certainly wouldn’t complain about hanging out with a guy who had the build of a hardworking man—strong arms, amazing shoulders. She had noticed, however, a webbed scar just above his knee, peeking out from below his orange swimsuit. Sure his job was just like hers. She didn’t remember getting wounded changing the toner on a copier. Maybe someday he’d trust her enough to tell her how he got injured.

  Footsteps clumped on the stairs, and Luke went to the rail. Scarlett lifted her head as Benito
ascended the top step. He held a cold beer in his hand. “Roll over, chiqua, I don’t want you to get burned.”

  Lucia smiled at him, greeting him with a kiss. He sat down at her feet at the end of the chaise and glanced over at Scarlett. She could admit that she’d conjured a different image in her head when Luke described him. The son of a so-called real estate mogul from Panama, she expected him to be all hairy-chested swagger. Instead, Benito seemed clean-cut, trim, even a politician of sorts, the way he greeted her when she boarded. I’m so glad to meet my bride’s best friend!

  Frankly, she had to ignore the smallest twinge of regret at her subterfuge role. She’d never been a liar. But, as Luke explained, big causes justified little lies.

  Maybe.

  “Hello, Benito,” she said, lifting her sunglasses.

  Benito ran his hand up Lucia’s leg. “I went through all my guests. None of them seem to have any reason to hurt us, but I will have a man outside our door tonight.” He glanced at Luke, however, as if there might be one stone unturned.

  Or maybe her overactive spy brain simply imagined the sudden shift of energy when Luke turned, folding his hands over his chest.

  Benito took a sip of his beer. “So, how did you two meet?” He looked at Scarlett and it took her a moment to realize that he referred not to her and Lucia, but her and Luke.

  She glanced at Luke. He drew a breath.

  “In Italy.”

  It was the first thing that came out of her mouth, and now they had to stick with it. Whoops. Luke looked at her and she smiled at him.

  “Right,” he said. “Uh, I was…”

  “On a tour of the vineyards. I was taking a cooking class. And our tours met up for a—”

  “Tasting. Only, she doesn’t drink wine.”

  “You don’t drink wine?” Benito frowned.

  Scarlett picked up her now-lukewarm orange juice. “It goes right to my head. But I do like…rigatoni.”

  “Actually, her favorite dish is bitecchine di cinghiale, don’t you remember, darling?” Luke grinned, something dangerous in his smile.