Undercover Pursuit

by Susan May Warren

  She had enjoyed Benito’s surprise. And the way Luke grabbed for her glass, clearly distraught. Okay, so maybe she’d gone over the top, but he deserved it. Betray him? Get herself thrown off the ship? Be accused of man-stealing? Never in a thousand years.

  Her smile vanished. Except at this rate, she and Luke might both be thrown off the ship and wow, had she made a mess of his mission.

  She cupped her face with her hands. They reeked of garlic and rosemary. Her stomach churned. Oh, please, she just wanted to go home.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She leaned her head back against the door. “I don’t know why I do this—dream up some other life for myself than the one You’ve given me. I have a good life—a job that I like, friends, my aunt who loves me. I don’t know why I thought this might be my chance to—”

  “So, you’re having woman problems?”

  The voice came through the door and she stilled. It sounded like Benito, only deeper. With more menace.

  She got up, moving into the shadows to look out the window.

  On the deck outside, Luke sat on one of the lounge chairs, his head down, his arms folded across his chest as if defeated. “Hello, Claudio. Yes. She’s angry with me.”

  A bigger man leaned on the rail, not far from him. Claudio? Benito’s father?

  She stepped closer to the window, held her breath.

  “I’ve been watching you two.”

  Luke’s head came up.

  “It’s my job. People are always trying to worm their way into my family, and I have to watch out for snakes.” Claudio took a drink of whatever he held in his hand. “There’s something off with you two. I know you said you were engaged, but she doesn’t look like a woman in love. She looks like a woman trying to make you happy. A woman you might have hired.”

  Did he just call her a prostitute?

  “Are you calling my fiancée a…hooker?” His voice held indignation.

  Thank you, Luke.

  “I’m just saying that I don’t think she’s quite what you think. Or maybe you’re not quite what we think.”

  Uh-oh…

  Luke gave a weak laugh, and hello, if he thought her flirting sounded pitiful—

  She opened the door, stepped out onto the deck. “Luke, honey, are you coming in?” And she even added a tremble, as if she might be worried.

  Luke looked at her, swept the surprise from his face, smiled. “In a minute.”

  But a minute might be too late, gauging by the expression on Claudio’s face—the narrowed eyes, the way he considered her. She closed the door and walked out onto the deck into the moonlight. “No. Now. I’m so sorry I got angry with you. I just want to make sure I get some shopping in, but I know how you hate it. How about if I go to the mainland tomorrow? You can stay here.”

  She turned to Claudio. “That would be okay, right?”

  “Of course. We’ll be docking in the morning to check on the preparations for the rehearsal dinner and the wed ding.”

  “Perfect.” She kept her smile and sat down next to Luke on the chaise. Lifting her hand, she ran it down his face, catching his eyes. “I want to make my future groom happy.”

  And, despite the melodrama of the words, she delivered them from a place inside that didn’t seem pretend. They felt, in fact, much too real. They shook through her, made her catch her breath, look away.

  She caught Claudio with his eyes on her, as if testing her words.

  What was a girl to do? She turned back to Luke, leaned forward and kissed him.

  She’d expected something halfhearted from him, something to remind her that he was only pretending, but he must be a better actor than she gave him credit for because his hand came up, caught in her loose hair, and he pulled her against him.

  She knew she shouldn’t enjoy it, shouldn’t let the feel of his lips on hers go to her head, but…

  But his other arm came around her and tucked her into the pocket of his arms. Then, he kissed her back. His kiss swept every thought from her head—the romance of the sea, the gentle rock of the boat, the sound of the night. All of it lost as she let herself sink into his arms.

  Luke.

  His hands tangled in her hair, and when she pulled away, he met her eyes. For a flash, she glimpsed something unmasked in them.

  Fear, maybe. A vulnerability.

  Then he blinked and the game resumed in his smile. “Yeah, baby, it’s time for bed.” He took her hand, pulling them both to their feet. “Buenos noches,” he said to Claudio, then led them to the cabin.

  He wasn’t really going to sleep in her stateroom, was he? But of course, they were supposed to be engaged. Assumptions had clearly been made. Thankfully the room had an inner bedroom off the living room.

  She entered behind him and watched him shut the door.

  She could still feel herself in his arms. Oh, wow, this would hurt tomorrow when she walked away from him. When she took Dylan’s arm at Bridgett’s wedding and pretended to want to be there.

  “I’m sorry I let you down tonight, Luke.”

  He glanced up at her, his eyes unreadable. He had such beautiful eyes—she hadn’t really noticed them before, how golden brown they were, how they could pull her heart from her chest.

  “You were…brilliant.” His voice emerged rough, as if rife with some sort of emotion.

  “What?”

  “You were brilliant out there with Claudio. I…wow. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re right. I underestimated you.”

  “It’s the least I could do. And now you’re off the hook. Tomorrow I’ll leave, and you can stay. Good luck.”

  She turned to go, but he caught her arm.

  And in that moment, with the moonlight puddling on his face, with his eyes shining, she just wanted to step into his arms and kiss him all over again.

  But this was pretend. Period.

  As if to remind her, Luke said softly, “Thanks for being a such a good sport.”

  Right. A good sport in their game. She nodded, pulling herself away. “Not one foot off the sofa, bub, or you’ll regret it.”

  He smiled at her joke and she tried to match it. But it probably came out foolish, just like her. So, she fled to the bedroom, locked the door and pressed a pillow to her face lest he hear her cry.

  The nightmare always started with a knock on the door. Regardless of where he found himself standing in the dream—at the picture window overlooking the D.C. cityscape, or in the bathroom, staring at his bloodshot eyes, or even sitting on the side of the bed, watching Darcy sleep—the knock startled him, brought him to his feet, to the door.

  And every time, although he expected it, although he’d lived through it, he opened the door unguarded, as if expecting a tray of breakfast. Instead—and too often he woke himself up with a roar of warning—a man the size of a linebacker stood in the hallway, his eyes dark, his fist already cocked. Luke jerked, even in his sleep, as the blow landed on his jaw, as he spilled back into the room.

  Sometimes, pain even exploded through his head, down his spine, shaking through him as he turned, fell to his knees.

  Tried to clear his head.

  “Gary, what are you doing here?” Darcy said as she roused, her eyes on his assailant. Something cold slicked through him.

  She knew the man.

  Worse, as she clutched the sheet to herself, as her eyes rounded, the truth hit Luke in the solar plexus.

  She was married.

  And when Gary grabbed him again by the collar, he didn’t even throw his hands up to protect himself. He just took the blow because he deserved it.

  Still, he should have stood in the way when Gary grabbed his wife, when he shoved her toward the door, scooping up her clothing. And when Darcy turned back, fear in her eyes, he should have run after her.

  Only this time, when she turned in the dream, it wasn’t Darcy who peered back at him, who mouthed his name, whose hazel-green eyes spilled over with tears.

  Scarlett.

  And Gary
—he had changed, too. No longer the irate former D.C. cop, estranged from his wife but still very possessive of her, his face morphed, darkened, twisted—

  Benito.

  Luke stood, shaken, pain seeping into his body, glued to the floor as Benito jerked Scarlett’s arm, as he yanked her out into the hotel hallway.

  No—no—“No! Stop!” Why couldn’t he move? His body had gone dead, paralyzed. “No!”

  “Luke, wake up. Luke!”

  He felt hands on him, and the voice reached into the nightmare to pull him free, to propel him out of the icy grip of fear and into—

  Their darkened stateroom. Kneeling next to the sofa, her cool hand on his shoulder, Scarlett peered down at him, concern on her face.

  “You were yelling. At high decibels. I had to stop you before the coast guard banged down the door. Who’s Gary? And who can’t he have?”

  Luke sat up, the sheet falling to his waist. The air-conditioning raised gooseflesh on his skin. He shivered and reached for his shirt, draped over the back of the sofa. Scarlett got up and stepped back, her arms folded over herself as he pulled it on.

  His hands shook as he fumbled with the buttons.

  “Luke?”

  He left the buttons and put his feet on the floor, needing something to steady himself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She didn’t move. He waited for her to leave but she simply stood there.

  “What?”

  “Please. Really? I’m going to go back to sleep after that?” Her voice softened, and then she sat down on the arm of the sofa. “You know, strangers make good listeners.”

  Only she wasn’t a stranger, was she? Not after they’d spent the day together. Not after—

  The kiss. That’s what triggered the dream. The kiss that she’d delivered after cluing into Claudio’s curiosity. The kiss that had probably saved his hide—both their hides. The kiss that had turned into something dangerous, because suddenly he’d forgotten why he was on the yacht, forgotten Lucia and the Sanchez family, and only Scarlett remained—her soft lips, the way she curved into his arms. She smelled good, too—coconut oil, the salt of the sea. Yes, he’d forgotten his mission and simply wanted to disappear with her, in that moment when he’d felt safe.

  Trusted.

  He wanted to be with a woman he could trust, who trusted him back. Someone with whom he didn’t fear betrayal.

  Someone, perhaps, like Scarlett.

  They were in big trouble. Because small mistakes led to gigantic ones, the kind where people ended up hurt. Or dead. “I apologize, Scarlett. I never should have kissed you.”

  He expected something of a flinch, perhaps, but she seemed nonplussed, lifting her shoulder. “I know it’s all a part of the cover. An act. Nothing but pretend.”

  Her words stung more than they should have. Because with her sitting there, the moonlight turning her eyes to emeralds, he didn’t want it to be pretend.

  A lifetime ago, he might not have cared. He might have taken that line between pretend and reality and wiped it right out.

  But today, he cared. Today he wanted to be the kind of man who didn’t have to apologize to himself, to God.

  Maybe she saw it in his eyes, too, because she came over and sat beside him. “What is it?”

  He couldn’t look at her. Not without wanting to kiss her again.

  “I just have to make sure we stay focused.” He ran his hands through his hair.

  “Of course we will.” But her voice wavered, just a bit. As if she didn’t believe her own words.

  He knew she didn’t understand. They had to keep this pretend. “Listen to me. That wasn’t just a nightmare—it was a memory.” Maybe if he told her the kind of man he truly was… “I got someone I cared about killed.”

  He didn’t want to look at her but he couldn’t help it. Perhaps he longed for the disgust, something to really shake reality into her. But no—concern, even sorrow, creased her face.

  “Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry.”

  He got up, put space between them.

  “But you were calling my name, too.”

  He was? He looked at her.

  “What happened, Luke?”

  He turned away from her. She looked so sweet and pretty in the moonlight. “I was in a dark place. I had just left the military—or rather, the military had left me. I had a lot of anger.” He stood at the window. “My father was a jerk and he left me and my mom when I was thirteen. He already had another family in a different city. But the affair that broke my mother happened in our own home.”

  He could still hear the shouting if he let himself. “She found him in their bed with the neighbor. One of her best friends.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned and looked at her. “I hate adultery. I caught one of my superior officers stepping out on his wife during an overseas R and R and it just pushed all my buttons. I sort of lost it. It was the last of too many fights, and it wasn’t beyond me that maybe I’d worked out my anger at my father on the guys who I saw betraying their wives. But the navy doesn’t appreciate baggage, and they didn’t ask me to reenlist. In fact, they discharged me without honors.”

  “Oh, Luke.”

  “Yeah, well, guess what?” He looked away from her. “Like father, like son.”

  Again, nothing. She just stared at him. This woman was not at all what he expected.

  “I came back to D.C., bunked with my mother and promptly made a mess of my life. Drinking and fighting, and I met this girl at a bar and we hooked up almost right away. Had a weekend romance that I declared true love. I was ready to propose when I answered a knock on the hotel room door. In comes her husband, leading with a right hook, and I went down hard. Not just from his cheap shot, but because I realized, right then, I’d turned into my dad. Of course, she was married.”

  “You weren’t being your dad, Luke.”

  He looked at her then, wanting to believe the grace in her eyes.

  “I was on my way, for sure. I couldn’t believe she’d lied to me, so I did nothing when her husband dragged her out of the room, and nothing when she looked at me, terror in her eyes. I should have known, but my pride—and probably my shame—wouldn’t let me move. I couldn’t believe she’d betrayed me.” He blew out a breath. “Or that I’d betrayed myself.”

  “What happened?”

  “The next morning, her body showed up in the alley outside the hotel.”

  “Luke—” She started for him, but he couldn’t take that.

  He held out a hand. “Don’t. The only thing good that came out of it was finding myself at her funeral, lurking in the back, hoping no one saw me. There, God got my attention. I ended up at the altar, long after they’d taken the casket away. The pastor found me, and God did, too. I walked away from the old Luke, became a new Luke. A guy who works hard to keep his promises. To not betray anyone.”

  “To keep people safe.”

  She crossed the room and stood in front of him. Oh, he wanted to touch her, to press his hand to her face. “Yes.”

  “But it still haunts you. The memory of letting her go.”

  He found himself caught in her gaze. Somehow he nodded.

  “You need to forgive yourself, Luke.”

  “I’ve tried. But I can’t get past the fact that although I know God has forgiven me, I can’t erase what happened. Sure, I’m sorry, but that doesn’t change what I did. And therefore, I can’t imagine why God would be on my side. I keep waiting for Him to betray me, to walk away.”

  She took his hand but he couldn’t look at her.

  “God isn’t like your father, Luke. He’s not going to betray you. And he doesn’t treat us as we think we should be treated.”

  She said the words so softly, they shouldn’t have hurt the way they did. And he didn’t need to flinch. But he did.

  She reached up and pressed her hand to his face. Soft against rough, cool against the heat of the sun.

  “I know. But I
just can’t get it from my head to my heart.”

  “You’re not like your father, either, Luke.”

  “I’m trying not to be. I keep thinking, what if it’s in the genes? What if I was born with an adulterer’s heart?” What if he never figured out what had made his father roam, so he could turn it off in himself? “I haven’t exactly dated since.”

  Something flashed in her eyes but she blinked and it was gone. “Not everyone is like that woman who lied to you.”

  He heard her, then. Heard the words she meant. I’m not like the woman who lied to you.

  Or perhaps he only hoped he’d heard it. Because the words swept over him like a cool, sweet rain, into his bones, his heart.

  Scarlett.

  He pressed his hand to hers. He wanted to kiss her. To pull her close, hide her in his embrace, kiss her with the emotions that buzzed right under his skin. Something about her—the way she looked at him, maybe, so much trust in her eyes.

  Or acceptance. Yes. His story, his sins, hadn’t rattled her, hadn’t sent her running. And perhaps that, more than anything, was what stopped him.

  He could love her. The thought coursed through him. He could love her—her creativity, her courage, the way she kept up with him—and in a second he saw himself with her. He saw a future together.

  Oh, wow. He pushed her hand away, breaking from her before he did something stupid. Pretend. This was only pretend.

  Well, maybe not this part, the part where he found himself alone with her in the stateroom, thoughts of her in his arms cascading through his brain. No, this was very painfully real.

  And this part could get them both killed. Because what she didn’t get was that, standing at the doorway, seeing the fear in Darcy’s eyes, his soldier instincts should have kicked in. He should have thought further than his hurt to ask why she’d stepped out on her husband. Why his name on her lips resounded with fear. Why she looked back at Luke with terror, not shame.

  Instead, he’d focused only on her betrayal, and it blinded him to the danger wrestling her away.

  Yes, pretend could swiftly turn to reality if Scarlett kept looking at him like that. He wouldn’t see what was coming, could let Lucia—and even Scarlett herself—walk right into danger.