Not for him, Izzy had said flatly. The man named Tobias Hale was a stranger in every way that mattered. The blood tie between them was an accident, an irrelevant twist of fate and nothing more. If he had wanted to, he could have found Tobias anytime, using the security and surveillance skills that made him a key asset to the Foxfire program.
But Izzy had never had the slightest interest in looking. His father was dead. He had died the day he walked out on his mother without any sign of regret. The memories of that man were buried in the same trash with all the other broken and ruined things from Izzy’s past.
He walked outside and kicked his door shut with one foot. All that mattered now was tracking down Enrique Cruz and taking him off the board for good. The last time they had met, Cruz had nearly killed Izzy.
Oh yeah, this was definitely personal.
Cruz would not be walking away this time. The rogue agent’s extraordinary abilities had to be contained before he inflicted more suffering on innocent people. And he’d struck cleverly, hoping to force Izzy’s support by threatening the life of his father in half a dozen anonymous e-mails.
Except Cruz hadn’t done quite enough research. Because Ishmael Teague didn’t care a damn whether his father lived or died.
ENRIQUE CRUZ TOOK his time looking at her.
She was well worth looking at, with skin like silk. Golden hair that tumbled around flushed cheeks. She was hot and reckless and didn’t give a damn about ethics or rules.
When he’d heard about the job she wanted done, he had been shocked at his good luck for putting him exactly where he wanted to be. Of course Blaine hadn’t guessed that. As far as she knew, he was a freelance computer hacker with a general grudge against authority.
Every employer knew Cruz by a different name. In Asia he had been Rock Malone. Hollywood movie names always impressed them.
In France he was Peter DeNiro. He always let them think he was a distant relation to Robert.
In Colombia he was simply known as Carlo. He had killed the only two men who had asked for his real name.
Now people knew better than to ask.
Here on the cruise ship, he used a completely new identity based on papers set up months before. After completing his work at the security office, he’d vanish into the night, find his waiting car and collect his millions from an eager buyer.
But he had time before the drama began, and he intended to enjoy it.
The cabin was dark. The handcuffs swaying in his fingers clicked softly. He wasn’t surprised that Blaine couldn’t take her eyes off the cuffs. Her face held revulsion—along with curiosity. They always wondered what it felt like to give up control, he thought grimly. Even the tame, quiet ones.
And Blaine was definitely not tame and quiet.
He gripped her hands, snapped the cuffs in place. He liked the fear that darkened her eyes, paled her cheeks.
“What are you doing? Damn it, I never agreed—”
“Of course you didn’t. That’s the whole point.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Blaine.” It took only a flick of his wrist to toss her back onto the bed. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be off the ship with his stolen package. In forty-eight hours he’d be somewhere south of Fiji sipping absinthe on his private beach.
It bothered him a little that the job seemed so easy. The security chief was experienced, but an amateur, and there had been no sign of any Foxfire men aboard. If so, Cruz would have picked up their energy immediately.
Of course, he hadn’t gone out for meals or any activities. He wasn’t about to push his luck. The stubble he’d grown covered his features nicely, and cosmetic surgery had filled in any gaps. Even if Wolfe Houston or Lloyd Ryker stood next to him, neither one would have recognized him.
A pillow hit the floor.
Blaine’s eyes glinted with fury. But she couldn’t look away. Cruz knew that his scar fascinated her.
He slid his hand along her chest and over her thighs, watching desire smoke in her eyes. She was a real little bitch, his Blaine. Too bad he couldn’t take her with him afterward.
But there could be no loose ends once he left the ship. Ryker would have dogs and men combing every inch of deck and checking every contact.
Cruz’s eyes hardened. He’d never go back into Ryker’s cage. His millions would buy him a few more years of safety and time to plan his next act of revenge.
Meanwhile, Blaine was cursing, trying to wriggle free.
But her eyes gleamed, hot with fear and excitement. And Cruz had a few hours to kill.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TRACE DUCKED A PAIR of volleyballs, skirted a limbo contest and strode across the deck. By habit he assessed the passengers around him, alert for any movement that seemed out of the ordinary.
Gina was in her kitchen making pâte à choux, whatever the hell that was. Tobias was running his monthly scan of all employee ID cards and checking for current invalid photos, which would keep him safe in his office for another two hours while Trace ran an errand.
He was going to have to brief Ford McKay on the new developments. The man was not going to be happy when he learned there was a threat aboard the ship, and Trace couldn’t blame him for that. But he owed it to McKay to warn him. Navy SEALs had a tendency to jump right into a problem, and Trace couldn’t chance that.
He checked both fore and aft promenade decks, hoping he could engineer a “casual” encounter, but the McKay family was nowhere to be found. He had made it his business to know that the triplets were at the junior camp, where they were now learning the intricacies of nautical knots. He had spotted Carly McKay hunched over one of the shipboard computers, manipulating an arcane photography program. That left her nice and tidy, too.
So where the hell was the SEAL?
“Hey, honey, are you free for dinner tonight? We could have an amazing dessert. Your cabin or mine?” A slightly drunk female voice drifted across the deck.
Then he heard a familiar voice in response. “Thanks for asking, but I’m having four gorgeous redheads for dinner in my cabin. Prior arrangements.” Ford McKay was carrying a water bottle under one arm and a child’s lunch box under the other. He smiled politely at a brunette in a bathing suit that could have fit inside a medicine bottle.
The woman blew out an angry little breath. “Some of us have all the luck.” She flounced off, showing an extraordinary amount of cleavage.
Trace glanced at Ford McKay. “They hit on you, too? Even with the wedding ring?”
“Morning, noon and night,” McKay said. “It drives Carly nuts. My girls think it’s pretty funny. Of course we told them that the ladies want to go have ice cream. I figure we can buy two or three more years of innocence before we have to explain the intricacies of serial dating and protected sex.” McKay gave a little shudder. “Just thinking about it gives me gray hairs, pal.”
Trace chuckled. “And you’ve got to do it not one time but three times. Good luck.”
Ford’s eyes narrowed. “No way. That’s one conversation that’s taking place as a family unit.”
This was a different side of fatherhood, something that Trace had never envisioned. It amused him to see the tough Navy SEAL sweating over a family biology session.
It also, in some obscure way, left Trace feeling jealous. “How about a run up on the sports deck? If you can’t escape them, at least you can outrun them.”
Ford’s eyes narrowed. “Works for me. Except something tells me we won’t be discussing table settings or party drinks.”
The man was sharp, but Trace had expected nothing less. He simply nodded, and neither man spoke as they made their way across the crowded exterior deck, up a flight of stairs and onto the jogging track. They had a 360-degree view of the ocean, shimmering blue and cool as far as the eye could see. Seabirds circled madly.
Off to the west, Trace saw a gray body breach in an explosion of white foam. “Damn, that was a whale.”
“I’d say so.” Neither man moved
, stunned by the majesty of the water’s largest mammal engaged in a leap for sheer pleasure.
Trace preferred the bustle of a working military ship any day, but he had to admit that a view like this would be hard to forget. He slipped his water bottle into a pocket and set up an easy pace, matched by Ford.
“Let’s have it. My girls told me about the kitten, and I chewed their tails big-time, but you’re not frowning at the Pacific because of a stowaway cat.”
“I wish I were. I was told to speak to you by someone you know. Izzy Teague,” he said quietly.
“I know Teague,” Ford said flatly. “If he’s involved, things aren’t good.”
“I gather you two worked together once or twice?”
“Not at liberty to discuss it, O’Halloran.” Ford’s mouth was set in a flat line as he glared out at the sea. “I sure as hell didn’t come on this trip to take care of business. If there’s a hint of a risk, I want my family off the ship now.”
“We have no reason to think the ship or its passengers are in danger.”
“It’s Diaz in Colombia, isn’t it?” Ford’s voice was cold as a North Sea wind.
“Not Diaz. He came up clean.”
“Diaz is never clean.” Ford stared out at the water, waiting for Trace to fill him in. “You need backup? Is that it?”
“It may become necessary. Mainly I need to know you and the redheads are safe. We can’t afford any surprises.”
“So you’re warning me ahead of time to stay out of it unless you give me the signal?”
“That’s about it.”
Ford stared out at the water. “You can’t tell me anything more?”
“Someone has targeted the Chief of Security aboard the cruise ship. The man may attempt to board sometime during the cruise if he isn’t already here.”
“You’ve got my help.” The SEAL’s voice hardened. “But I want my family put off at Puerto Vallarta.”
“We could do that, but it would be a signal to anyone running surveillance that we are aware of the plan and taking precautions.”
“I won’t put my family in danger,” McKay snapped. “When the bullets fly, anyone nearby can get hurt. What about the rest of the passengers? Aren’t they entitled to protection?”
“They’ll get protection. We have an undercover team coming aboard tomorrow.” Trace didn’t mention the Foxfire divers who were boarding the ship from the seaward side sometime in the night, ready to be placed in secure cabins. They would remain out of sight as backup in case the threat escalated.
The fewer people who knew that fact, the better. There was little doubt Cruz had eyes and ears on board the ship.
McKay shook his head. “Not good enough. I want my family out of range. Make up some excuse. We’ll have Carly pretend that she got an urgent assignment.”
“And you would stay behind? Another tip-off, I’m afraid. Anything that calls attention may actually put your family in danger. So I have to ask that you leave them right where they are. We don’t want our suspects to panic and run. Or worse, start shooting.”
“I knew a backyard vacation was a better idea,” McKay said grimly. As the two men jogged along the windblown deck, he scanned the horizon. “When I married Carly, I swore I would never allow my job to put her at risk. I can’t go back on that promise now.”
“Izzy is bringing someone in especially for them. She comes highly recommended.”
“She?”
“You have blinders about women in field positions?”
“They’re just as good as the men I’ve fought with. Some were much better. If Izzy picked her, she will be the best of the best.” McKay rubbed his shoulder slowly. “I just don’t like the idea. You and I both know there are no guarantees.”
“We also know it’s a bad idea to rock the boat.”
McKay wound down his run and walked to the rail, staring out over the water. “I’m trying to believe that.” He leaned one elbow on the rail and turned. “So what’s the magic code word, just in case things heat up?”
“Izzy will find you. But don’t waste sleep. We’ve got everything covered.”
But with Cruz, nothing was ever completely covered.
THE MAN WAS DEFINITELY good with his hands.
He had grated, sliced, whipped and pureed his way through almost three hours of nonstop work. Gina frowned, shoving her hair back out of her eyes. Through it all, Trace was precise and uncomplaining. His spatial sense and reflexes were impressive.
And with both sleeves rolled up high, he had fantastic forearms. He could be a line cook for her any day.
She reminded herself he’d be gone as soon as his business was done. Maybe in hours.
Footsteps approached behind her. “Brownies are done.” Walking past from the oven, Trace ran a hand along her waist.
Her pulse kicked.
As he turned back from the refrigerator, he leaned down for a swift, hungry kiss that left her cheeks warm with color.
“You can’t…”
“Sure I can.” He pulled her closer and his tongue brushed hers, hot and unexpected.
She frowned, shoving her hair back out of her eyes, seeing the challenge in his eyes.
An act.
Take this for an act, then.
She turned, wrapped her arms around his neck and forgot that she was in a busy kitchen. Forgot that he was leaving and this was just a performance she had agreed to carry out.
Because it was definitely no act for Gina when she slid her body against his and felt his thighs tighten. His fingers locked on her waist.
She didn’t want him to let her go. Not ever. She didn’t want to stop feeling this alive and reckless.
This happy. Crazy or not, he made her pulse skip and the air dance.
Someone cleared his throat behind her.
Gina looked up to see John Riley, Tobias’s youngest security officer, standing beside the stainless steel counter.
“Sorry to bother you.” He looked a little embarrassed. “Tobias asked me to come and see if you needed help.” He glanced at Trace, then looked away. “I mean, carrying the stuff for the meeting tonight. The poker stuff, I mean.”
Gina smoothed down her hair and tried to settle her jangled nerves. “Tonight. Sure. I’ve got the things ready. If you want—”
“She doesn’t need help,” Trace cut in calmly. “I’ll manage whatever she needs to carry. But thanks for stopping by.”
Riley glanced at him again and smiled a little. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He gave a little nod at Gina. “I’ll tell Tobias that everything’s covered.”
TRACE WAS AS SUSPICIOUS as hell.
He had the uncomfortable feeling that jealousy might have played a small part in his reaction, but he wasn’t letting Gina walk anywhere with anyone he didn’t trust.
And that meant just about everybody.
At seven-forty-five on the nose they took the elevator down to the third level crew deck and stopped outside a room like any other. Beyond the door, Trace heard male laughter and the drone of a TV football announcer.
Yeah, he was suspicious, all right. “You sure I can’t come in?”
Gina shook her head. “Sorry. It’s one of our rules. Pain of death, no outsiders.”
Trace frowned. “You must play for high stakes.”
Gina made a noncommittal sound. “High enough. But we don’t discuss it with anyone. Another one of Tobias’s rules.”
Trace leaned down, sliding his fingers along her cheek. “I could convince you.” He bit her ear gently.
“You think?”
He moved closer until their thighs brushed. He felt her breath catch. “Honey, give me five minutes and I’ll kiss you until you forget how to breathe. Then you’d let me in.”
The double entendre was deliberate. He wanted her to feel the same heat he was feeling. This had gone beyond being an act.
Truth be told, it had never been an act for him.
Laughter echoed down the hall. Tobias was coming closer, making a
joke about his favorite hockey team. Trace leaned down, his mouth brushing Gina’s. His hands skimmed her ribs, closing beneath her breasts and tracing slow circles that left her shivering.
Tobias walked by and raised one eyebrow.
Somebody else gave a good-natured whistle.
The cabin door opened to the noise of a football game. The two men vanished inside.
“Distracted yet?” she murmured.
“Which side are you on, honey?” Trace released her and put her canvas bag into her arms. “You know, I really love to play poker. Are you absolutely sure I can’t go in?”
“Absolutely sure. Tobias’s rules.”
What the hell was so secret about a poker game?
The door opened, and Tobias stuck his head out. “You coming in or not, Gina? We’re ready to deal.”
Trace had a quick view of small tables set up with poker chips and beer. A big TV on the far wall displayed ESPN.
Poker, all right.
“Go on, honey. Knock ’em dead. I’ll pick you up later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
INSIDE THE SMALL CABIN, ESPN was blaring and beer was cooling on ice. Chips and pretzels and six kinds of dip were scattered over the various surfaces. Most of the men had their feet up with cigars in hand.
Unlit cigars.
As soon as Gina closed the door, they zipped open their basic black gym bags.
A beer can popped. Someone sat back and sighed. “Hell, have you ever seen mohair like this? Talk about soft.”
“It had better be at $32 a ball,” Tobias grumbled.
Suddenly there was yarn everywhere. Knitting needles appeared.
Riley opened a can of beer and nodded at Gina. “Did you get the stuff in San Francisco?”
“All here. Merino wool for you. Homespun alpaca from Uruguay for Tobias. Three new sock patterns and a set of cable needles. Six skeins of hand-painted cotton, too.” Gina smiled. “In case anyone wants to make a lace tank top.”
Code Name: Bikini Page 21
