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Bullseye: Seal
Carol Ericson
A Navy SEAL's mission it to protect a vunerable target – not give in to temptation…Saving Gina De Santos from attempted kidnappings is one thing. But Navy SEAL sniper Josh Elliott’s assignment requires getting close to the ravishing widow to ascertain what she knows. And that feels more dangerous than combat. In her presence, Josh has to remind himself she’s not to be trusted.Gina’s drug kingpin father had been negotiating with terrorists when a CIA raid killed him and Gina’s husband. Now someone is after the vulnerable single mom and her little boy. Traveling to the Caribbean seeking clues, Josh and Gina find their sizzling desire overpowering. But when they’re attacked again, they must overcome their mutual mistrust to survive at the hands of an unknown enemy.


A navy SEAL’s mission is to protect a vulnerable target, not give in to temptation...
Saving Gina De Santos from attempted kidnappings is one thing. But navy SEAL sniper Josh Elliott’s assignment requires getting close to the ravishing widow to ascertain what she knows. And that feels more dangerous than combat. In her presence, Josh has to remind himself she’s not to be trusted.
Gina’s drug-kingpin father had been negotiating with terrorists when a CIA raid killed him and Gina’s husband. Now someone is after the vulnerable single mom and her little boy. While traveling to the Caribbean in search of clues, Josh and Gina find their sizzling desire overpowering. But when they’re attacked again, they must overcome their mutual mistrust to survive at the hands of an unknown enemy.
“I’m going with you, Josh.”
“You’re going to stay in the room with the door locked. I don’t want you anywhere near this situation.”
“You just said it wasn’t going to be dangerous,” Gina insisted.
“I didn’t say that.” He cupped her face with one hand. “Let me face the danger. You’ve faced enough—all your life.”
She blinked her eyes to dispel the tears gathering there. Nobody, not her mother, not Ricky, not the DEA, CIA or the FBI, had ever once acknowledged the fear and danger she’d lived with her whole life.
She thought it had come to an end that day at her father’s compound, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. Only now she had Josh Elliott to protect her, and if he thought she needed to stay in the room for this encounter, she’d do it.
She nodded and sniffed. “All right. I’ll wait in the room, but you’d better be careful.”
“This is what I do.”
Was it? Then what had he been doing at her father’s compound the day the men in her life had been killed?
Bullseye: SEAL
Carol Ericson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com (http://www.carolericson.com/), “where romance flirts with danger.”
To Jeff B., my favorite marine and consultant
Contents
Cover (#uccdea037-08fa-5b63-9f9d-5d0803aca685)
Back Cover Text (#ucb0cc8ca-0ab6-5816-a62b-a7c33fa30d71)
Introduction (#u46f7bcc7-5abc-5438-afdb-dde18fdc49b4)
Title Page (#u0e93b1ec-dd8b-5e5e-89bc-7f2a78e98892)
About the Author (#u460433a4-156f-5fd1-a1e0-87af525276d5)
Dedication (#uad182634-5e9b-5bda-8068-325cb4c917d3)
Prologue (#u3d0c3b18-be3d-5fff-bf39-ebb6ee98432c)
Chapter One (#u25869e7d-6695-5899-b1f7-e3308b438367)
Chapter Two (#u52ab8d8b-14a0-55b1-a0b0-9fe0c926a434)
Chapter Three (#u9d38eda4-10a6-5091-afb8-1c716826a5e5)
Chapter Four (#ufa079c57-63e4-51b8-acd3-ad65397b84ae)
Chapter Five (#u3dc5d721-da04-5833-bf77-3bdf4b493314)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
The boy tottered close to the edge of the shimmering pool, and Josh Elliott held his breath. A woman, her long, dark hair falling over one shoulder, swooped in and plucked up the toddler, lifting him over her head. The boy’s face broke into a smile, his little body wriggling with joy in his mother’s grasp.
Safe in his mother’s arms—or he would be once she got the hell out of there.
Josh puffed out of the side of his mouth to dislodge a bug crawling on his face. He’d become part of the dense foliage on the hillside in this southeast corner of Colombia, not far from the Amazon. If this mission took any longer, the plants would grow right over and through him.
The woman dipped next to a chaise longue to grab a towel and tucked it around her child’s body. She gave a curt nod to the men gathered at the other end of the pool, and then headed for the house via the sliding glass doors. Josh released a long breath.
A voice crackled in his ear seconds later. “Go time, boys.”
Josh swept his M91 away from the retreating figure of the mother and her child and zeroed in on his intended target—her husband.
Ricky Rojas folded his arms, his expensive jacket tightening across his shoulders, as he cocked his head in the direction of the three men seated at the table. What Josh wouldn’t give to hear their conversation right now—their plots, their plans—but his SEAL team’s assignment didn’t include capture and interrogation.
It only included death.
These men had already killed and would kill again. In the crack of two seconds, his team would be responsible for bringing down a high-ranking member of a vicious terrorist cell and the mastermind of a brutal drug cartel...and a few of his associates.
And the father of that child.
Josh swallowed. The kid would get over it, especially after he learned what a scumbag his old man had been. The wife? That might be another story.
A muscle ticked in Josh’s jaw. They’d been told to keep the woman out of the range of fire. More senior people than he had made the determination that Gina Rojas had nothing to do with the Los Santos drug cartel.
If they believed the daughter of Hector De Santos, the kingpin of Los Santos, and the wife of Ricky Rojas was an innocent bystander while her father and husband traded arms and passage to the United States for terrorists in exchange for drugs, who was he to question their common sense?
A pretty face could still buy wiggle room out of anything—and Gina Rojas had a pretty face and a body that could bring a grown man to his knees.
Once the kills were accomplished, the CIA would be descending on the De Santos compound to search for leads and evidence, but he and his teammates would be long gone, swallowed up into the Amazon.
A maid scurried from the palatial house to deliver a tray of drinks to the men on the patio. When she disappeared inside, the crackling in his ear resumed.
“All clear. And five, four, three, two...”
At the conclusion of the countdown, Josh dropped his target, and all the other men fell with him courtesy of the other navy SEAL snipers positioned in trees and dug into the hillsides ringing the compound.
The maid rushed from the house and threw her hands in the air. She must’ve been screaming because several other servants joined her on the patio.
Josh shifted his scope to encompass Gina Rojas emerging from the house, without her son, thank God. While the domestic staff flailed and scurried about or dashed off for parts unknown, Gina stood still like a statue amid a battering sea. She put her arm around the hysterical maid and surveyed the carnage, her head held high, her gaze sweeping the hillside.
“Josh. Josh, you on the move?”
“Copy that.”
He lowered his sniper rifle from the intriguing sight of Gina Rojas’s unflinching demeanor and began to break down his weapon.
Either this hit was no surprise to Gina...or she didn’t give a damn.
Chapter One (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
Thirteen months later.
RJ raised a chubby hand before spinning around and grabbing his new friend by the arm to drag him to the slide.
Gina sniffed as she waved to her son’s back.
“It’s better than having him cling to your leg, isn’t it?” Denise Reynolds, the owner of Sunny Days Daycare, winked.
Gina rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. “Much better, but did he have to get over that stage so quickly?”
“RJ’s an outgoing boy. He makes friends quickly, very adaptable.”
“He’s had to be.” Gina hoisted her purse onto her shoulder and shrugged. “There’s been a lot of upheaval in his young life.”
“I saw from your application that you’re relatively new to Miami.” Denise bit her lip. “And I’m sorry about his father, your husband. That he’s deceased, I mean.”
“Yes, just over a year ago.” Gina sniffed again for good measure. “We’re still...adjusting.”
“Well, I think Sunny Days is just the place for him to adjust. One month and he already has a best friend, who started just a few days after he did.”
“He already talks about Diego nonstop. His mother introduced herself to me right away. The boys already had one playdate and we’ll be arranging another for them in the next few days.” Gina’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Everything okay?” Denise tilted her head to one side, her perky blond ponytail swinging behind her.
“Just a pesky client.” Gina patted the pocket of her light jacket. “Thanks for everything, Denise.”
Gina whipped out her phone as she walked back to her car. She couldn’t go into cardiac arrest every time someone sent her a text. Wedging her hip against the cinder block barrier between the daycare’s parking lot and the walkway to the center, she swiped her fingertip across her phone’s display.
Then her heart skipped two beats as she read the familiar words. Where are the drugs? Where are the weapons, paloma?
The same two questions, along with the endearment, texted to her every day for almost a week now, from the same unknown number. She’d responded to the text in several different ways already.
Wrong number.
Wrong person.
I’m calling the police.
It didn’t seem to matter what she texted back. The same two questions came back at her each day as if on autopilot—with the same endearment. Only Ricky had called her paloma...when things were good, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
She could call the police. She snorted and dropped her cell phone in her pocket as she opened her car door. Then she’d have to go through the whole process of explaining who she was and watch the officers’ faces change from expressions of concern to scowls of suspicion. They might even call in her old pals at the Drug Enforcement Administration, and they could start grilling her again.
She’d take a pass. In the meantime, she’d continue to ignore the texts. The person texting her wouldn’t try to make contact...would he? And that person couldn’t be Ricky. Ricky was dead...wasn’t he?
Glancing over her shoulder, she pulled out of the daycare’s parking lot and checked her rearview mirror as she joined the stream of traffic. She had nothing to tell anyone who made contact with her, at least not about any drugs or weapons.
On her way to the realty office, she turned up the music to drown out her own thoughts and the memories of that day at her father’s compound in Colombia. The CIA agents who’d swarmed the place after the carnage had interrogated everyone on the property, including her, for several hours.
They’d tossed the place, looking for money, drugs, arms—and they didn’t find one single thing. As far as she knew, not even her father’s computers had revealed any information about his thriving drug business.
The US and Colombian governments had seized all her father’s assets—but they hadn’t found everything. Then the CIA turned her over to the DEA and the fun started all over again. She had no desire to repeat that experience.
She wheeled into the parking lot of the realty office and dragged her bag from the passenger seat as she exited the car. She’d just passed her licensing exam but didn’t have any listings of her own yet. She had to start from the bottom and work her way up, but she’d never been afraid of hard work.
The real estate business may not be her calling, but she’d had to find some gainful employment after she’d lost her business—the restaurant-bar she’d developed and run with Ricky before...before.
She slammed the car door. She’d tried bartending since that’s what she knew, but that hadn’t been her calling either, not if she couldn’t run the place, and she didn’t like leaving RJ with her mother so many nights of the week.
Gina yanked open the door of the office and waved to Lori, who was on the phone. Lori wiggled her fingers in the air in response.
A stack of binders piled on her desk greeted Gina and she plopped down in front of them with a sigh. Faith, the Realtor she was shadowing, had left a yellow sticky note on the binder at the top of the pile asking her to remove the old listings.
Gina flipped open the binder and perused each page, checking the house against a roster for those listings no longer on the market. For each lucky house that had sold, she slid the flyer from beneath the plastic sheath, making a neat pile on the corner of the desk.
Lori ended her call and slumped in her chair. “Clients from hell right there, but they’re looking high-end, art deco in South Beach, and I’m going to do my best to find the perfect place for them. Can you do me a favor?”
“If it involves white binders, I’ll pass.” Gina heaved the first completed binder off the desk and dropped it to the floor.
“It involves meeting a client at a town house. It’s empty. Owners already moved out, and it’s an easy show. I’ll cut you in on a portion of the commission if this person buys it.”
“Is this buyer one of your clients?”
“No. The sellers are my clients. This person is a walk-in. Just called this morning.” Lori jiggled a set of keys over her desk. “Easy show.”
Gina wrinkled her nose at the rest of the binders. “Sure. Give me the details.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gina was sitting behind the wheel of her car with a file folder on the seat beside her, cruising to South Beach. She enjoyed this aspect of the job more than sitting at a desk reviewing Florida property laws and regulations.
As she flew past the strip malls and heavily residential areas, she could understand why Lori wanted to spend her time selling in South Beach instead of this area, but Gina found the relative serenity of the southern end of Dade County preferable to the hubbub in South Beach where she and RJ had landed with Mom after the debacle in Colombia.
Debacle—was that what you called the deaths of your father and husband at the hands of some unknown snipers?
The Spanish-style building came into view on her right, the beige stucco, arched entrances and red-tiled roof a copy of several other residences on the street. This was a town house, not a condo, so it had a door open to the outside and two palm trees graced either side of the entrance.
Her heels clicked on the tiled walkway to the front door, and a palm frond tickled her cheek as she inserted the key into the lockbox. Pushing the door open, she left it wide, surveying the small foyer before taking a small step down to the living room.
She glanced at the flyers in her hand and left a stack on the kitchen counter. She should probably familiarize herself with the place before the potential buyer showed up, starting with the kitchen.
All the appliances cooperated as she flipped switches and turned handles. The kitchen didn’t boast the most high-tech gadgetry she’d ever seen, but everything worked and had a neat functionality. She could get used to a place like this.
She had to get out of Mom’s condo—and all it represented.
She poked her head into the laundry room off the kitchen, noting the side door to a small patio, and then backtracked to the living room. The gas fireplace checked out, as did the blinds shuttering the arched front window. The sun filtered into the room, as she pulled them back. A set of sliding glass doors to the right led to a small patio, a stucco wall enclosing it.
Finishing up with the half bathroom, she headed up the staircase to investigate the two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master had a nice walk-in closet, and she mentally filled the racks with her shoes and layered the baskets with her sweaters.
She closed the closet door behind her with a firm click. She was here for the buyer, not herself, even if that buyer was late.
She glided into the second room, trying not to imagine RJ’s toys stacked in colorful bins against the wall.
A sound from downstairs had her pausing at the window that looked out onto a small patio in the back. She cocked her head, and then heard the shuffling noise again.
She walked to the bedroom door and called out, “Hello? I’m upstairs. I’ll be right down. Take a flyer.”
Facing herself in the mirrored closet door, she straightened her jacket and smoothed her hands over her dark pencil skirt. For good measure, she rolled open the closet door and peered at the empty rods and shelves. The place looked mint.
As she slid the door back into place, a bang had her jerking and literally clutching the pearls at her neck. What was the buyer doing down there?
She raised her eyes to her reflection and swallowed as the hair on the back of her neck quivered. Why hadn’t the client answered her?
She’d taken a safety class as part of getting her Realtor’s license and knew the dangers of women flying solo while showing open houses. But this was no open house. Lori had made an appointment with this person, had gotten identifying information from him over the phone.
Sweeping her tongue across her lips, she backed away from the mirror. She strode to the bedroom door, calling out, “Hello? Are you still here?”
She jogged down the stairs, her muscles tense, her senses on high alert. When she reached the bottom step, she tripped to a stop.
The blinds across the window that she’d just opened now shuttered out the sunlight. Her gaze darted to the front door, now closed.
A clicking noise from the laundry room acted like a cattle prod and she lunged for the purse she’d foolishly left on the kitchen counter. Strapping the purse across her body, she ripped open the side pocket and grabbed her .22, the cool metal of the gun in her hand giving her courage.
She flicked off the safety and rounded the corner of the counter into the kitchen, holding her weapon in front of her. Not a great start to her career as a Realtor, but she’d do what had to be done to protect herself. That much she’d learned from Hector De Santos.
The door from the laundry room to the back of the building stood ajar and Gina crept toward it, locked and loaded.
Her heart pounded as the laundry room door suddenly swung open and a large man filled the frame of the doorway.
She raised her gun and took aim at his head. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”
Chapter Two (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
Josh didn’t trust Gina Rojas as far as he could toss her, but even he didn’t expect her to hold him at gunpoint this early in their relationship.
“Whoa, there.” He raised his hands, his own weapon heavy in the pocket of his jacket. “I’m just here to look at the town house.”
She narrowed her dark eyes, her nostrils flaring as if sniffing out his lie. “Why are you sneaking around?”
“Sneaking?” He spread his hands in front of him. “Just thought I’d check out the laundry room and this back door.”
“And the blinds?” She didn’t seem to be buying any of this since her deadly little .22 was still pointing at his face.
Blinds? “Yeah, the blinds.”
“Why’d you close them?”
His pulse ticked up even higher and it had nothing to do with Gina’s weapon leveled at him. Someone had been here before he’d arrived, had closed the blinds and the front door—and then escaped out the back when he showed up.
“Testing them out.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m sorry I gave you a scare. I’m really just here to look at the town house if you want to show it to me.”
“What’s your name?”
Wasn’t her arm getting tired hoisting that gun?
She would be expecting the name of the person who’d made the appointment to see the place—and he couldn’t give her that.
“I’m Josh Edwards. Is this an open house? I’ve been looking in this area for a while, saw the for-sale sign, saw the car in the driveway and the open door. I figured I could take a peek.” He lifted his shoulders and twisted his lips into what he hoped was a passable grin. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea.”
Gina’s grip on her gun relaxed. “I’m expecting someone else at any minute.”
“Understood. Can you show me around until they get here...without pointing the gun at me?”
Gina lowered her weapon and it dangled at her side, but she shook her cell phone at him in its place. “That other buyer is going to be here soon, and my office knows where I am and when to expect me.”
“Good.” He dropped his hands. “You can never be too careful.”
Especially if you were involved with drug dealers and terrorists. Was that why Gina was so jumpy? And was this buyer she was expecting the one who closed the blinds and hightailed it out the back door when he heard him at the front door? Why would anyone do that, unless the intruder planned to steal Gina’s purse, which she’d left out on the counter?
Or unless that buyer had a different motive altogether.
“Let’s start over.” He edged away from the laundry room and into the kitchen just in case she changed her mind and decided to take a shot at him. About a foot away from her, he extended his hand. “Josh Edwards, and I’m interested in the town house.”
She tucked her gun into the purse hanging sideways across her body and took his hand. “Gina De Santos, Four Points Realty, and I’ll be happy to show it to you.”
De Santos? She’d ditched Ricky’s name already?
She strode ahead of him into the living room. “Let’s open up those blinds again and get some light in here, since it really is a good feature of the place.”
While she tugged on the cords of the blinds, his gaze lingered on her backside, round and full beneath her slim skirt. She hadn’t lost anything in the looks department in the past year.
He turned toward the sliding door to the patio. “This is nice. Should get lots of sun.”
She joined him, smelling like some tropical hothouse flower. “Yes, but there’s enough room out here for a table, a few chairs and an umbrella in case the sun gets too hot. The wall is tall enough to restrict a small dog...or children. Do you and your wife have children?”
“Me? No.”
She raised her dark, sculpted brows at him.
Had he come off too strong? He’d decided long ago never to bring kids into this world. Look at her own son.
They returned to the kitchen where she pointed out a few features that held no interest for him at all.
“The laundry room—” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder “—you’ve already explored. Do you want to go out that back door, or did you see enough?”
He hadn’t seen enough. He hadn’t seen the person who’d been in the house closing the blinds.
“I’m good.”
“You’ll love the upstairs. For a single guy like you? Roomy master suite with a second room for an office or gym.” Her gaze traveled up and down his body as she brushed past him.
The look she gave him made him hard in all the right places but he’d better rein in his galloping lust or she might pull that gun out on him again. Why’d she think he was a single guy? He’d said no to the kids, but he hadn’t denied the wife. Probably had something to do with the look in his own eyes when she waltzed past him.
He followed her up the stairs, pinning his gaze to her swaying hair instead of her swaying derriere. If he could remember that she was most likely complicit in her father’s deeds that would be enough to splash cold water on him. How could she not have known what was going on in that compound?
“Here’s the master.” She stepped aside and gestured him into the room.
He wandered around and poked his head in the closet, which he couldn’t imagine filling in a million years. “Impressive.”
While she was still talking about east-facing windows and views, he blew past her into the next room, anxious to make his initial report, anxious to get away from Gina De Santos and the way she stirred his blood.
“This room is smaller, has the mirrored closet doors. Could work as a gym.” Again, that appraising inventory of his body that made him want to flex every muscle he had. “Or an office. What is it you do?”
“Software development. I work at home.”
“This would be perfect for you.”
They completed the tour of the town house and returned to the kitchen where she shoved a flyer at him. “What do you think?”
“I like...everything about it.” He tore his gaze away from her liquid brown eyes and squinted at the flyer. “Might be out of my price range, though. Do you have a card?”
“Of course.” She flattened her purse against her body as she unzipped the top, and he could see the outline of her gun in the outside pocket.
That purse was specifically designed for a weapon. The lady was serious about her self-defense. But why?
“Here you go.” She snapped a gold-embossed card on top of the flyer. “Office number and cell.”
He skimmed a finger across the glossy flyer. “This isn’t your listing? It says Lori Villanueva is the listing agent.”
“I’m helping her out. She was busy today.”
Did that mean the intruder hadn’t expected Gina to be here? Maybe it was just a thief looking for a quick prize, but then he’d missed the purse on the counter.
“Your original client never showed up.”
She gave a little jerk to her shoulders. “Happens all the time.”
“Then I’m glad I stopped by, so you didn’t have to waste your time.”
“I am, too, and I apologize for drawing down on you.”
“Perfectly understandable and advisable...for a woman in your position.”
She lifted her chin. “My position?”
“A Realtor working on your own. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“My feelings exactly.” She scooped up the rest of the flyers and tapped their edges on the granite. “Call me...if you’re interested in the town house.”
“Will do.” He left her to lock up the place and slid into the front seat of his rental.
He was interested all right—just not in the town house.
Josh pulled out his phone and texted a message to Ariel, his contact person on this assignment. He knew better than to question why he was reporting to a nameless, faceless woman instead of his superiors in the navy.
He’d been pulled off a deployment in Afghanistan and sent to Colombia with a short stop in the United States. His commander had briefed him there and the assignment dictated he return to the United States and make contact with Gina Rojas—De Santos. Done.
Ariel’s response instructed him to compile a report on his first meeting...and to pursue the relationship to find out what Ricky Rojas’s widow knew.
Easier said than done. He didn’t have the savvy of that smooth SOB Slade Gallagher or the aw-shucks cowboy twang of his other teammate Austin Foley.
But he’d definitely seen a spark of interest in Gina’s dark eyes when she’d assessed him. He’d had to capitalize on that, since he wasn’t ready to tell her he’d been the navy SEAL sniper who’d killed her husband, even if he had been sent to Miami to protect her.
He looked up as Gina exited the town house and swiveled her head in his direction.
Lifting a hand, he pulled away from the curb. He didn’t want her to think he was waiting for her or stalking her. She was jumpy enough. He’d have to put that in his report, too.
He made his way back to his hotel in the much more crowded area of South Beach. Whichever government agency was sponsoring this little reconnaissance mission had some deep pockets. Or maybe they’d just put him up in this swanky hotel because of its proximity to Gina’s mother’s place, who must still be living high on the hog courtesy of her former husband’s drug money—not that the DEA could prove it or find it.
Back in his hotel room, Josh flipped open his laptop and wrote up a report on his initial meeting with Gina De Santos. He left out the part about the sparks that had flown between them, although Ariel would probably tell him to use that to his advantage.
He hit Send on the email with its attachment and pushed away from the desk. He wandered to the window with its view of several pastel art deco buildings. At least that’s something he’d gotten out of his previous relationship—a little culture thrown in with all the cheating.
Snorting, he turned his back on the art deco and flipped on the TV. He’d already figured out the hotel carried the channel with the UFC fight. He’d take the UFC over art deco any day—maybe that’s why his ex cheated on him.
He reclined on the bed, placing his laptop beside him. Wouldn’t want to miss an urgent message from Ariel.
He had no idea why the navy was sending a navy SEAL stateside to keep tabs on a dead drug dealer’s daughter, but he’d figured it was the same reason why they’d sent two of his sniper unit team members on similar assignments in the past few months—Vlad.
Had their old nemesis really been the man behind the drugs-for-arms deal involving De Santos’s cartel, Los Santos?
If that were the case, Josh would be only too happy to thwart Vlad’s plans.
The fight proved to be too one-sided to hold his interest, and he clicked through the remote to find something else. As he settled back against the stack of pillows to watch an old comedy, his laptop dinged, indicating a new message.
He dragged the computer onto his lap and double-clicked the email.
Ariel’s message left nothing unclear. Get close to the subject to exploit or protect.
It didn’t sound like Ariel and her bunch, whoever that was, believed Gina was as innocent as the CIA agents did a year ago. Exploit? If Gina had intel about her father’s old operation, he’d be expected to get that from her. Protect? If she did have that intel she could be in danger from her father’s old associates...or others.
Did Gina think she could play with fire and not get burned?
He dipped his hand in his front pocket and flicked the corner of the card he’d pulled out. Gina’s office number and her cell number. Maybe he could offer to buy her a drink for showing him the town house...or demand she buy him one for pulling a gun on him.
Get close to the subject? He had no problem with that order—no problem at all.
* * *
GINA PEEKED INTO RJ’s room one last time. The soft breathing and tousled, dark hair on the pillow drew her in like a magnet and she tiptoed across the carpet and crouched beside his bed.
She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them against his temple, whispering, “Sleep tight, baby boy.”
“He won’t even know you’re gone. You know what a heavy sleeper he is.”
“Shh.” Gina sprang to her feet and shooed her mother from the doorway of RJ’s room. “Even a heavy sleeper is going to wake up with all your yammering.”
Mom placed one hand on her curvy hip and shook her other finger in Gina’s face. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? You haven’t been on a date since Ricky’s death, and you’re scared. Do you want a few tips?”
“From you?” Gina raised her eyebrows. “No, thanks.”
“The first tip—” her mother breezed past her and picked up her oversize wineglass “—you should have your date pick you up at home, like a gentleman.”
“Meeting him at the bar was my idea. I barely know the guy. I don’t want him to know where I live.” Gina leaned toward the large gilt-edged mirror above the fireplace and drew her pinky finger along the edge of her lower lip to fix her smudged lipstick.
Mom clicked her tongue. “You have to open up and trust a little, or you’ll never get anywhere.”
“Like I trusted Ricky?”
“Ricky was such a handsome boy, so charming although a little weak around the chin.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should’ve married him.”
“Don’t be silly. I draw the line at men in their twenties. Now, give me a hot thirtysomething...”
“Mom.” Gina made a cross with her two index fingers. “Way too much information.”
Her mother, a vibrant and attractive fortysomething, smiled and took a sip of wine. “How about a glass of vino to get rid of those jitters?”
“I don’t have jitters. I’m meeting a possible client for a drink.” She grabbed her concealed-carry handbag with the special compartment for her .22 and hitched it over her shoulder.
“Oh, now he’s a possible client? I thought this was purely social. Possible clients can see you at the office or arrange for a day of looking at houses.”
“I’m looking at him as a possible client because I need to start building a business. I can’t be Faith’s gofer forever.”
Mom leaned against the center island in the kitchen, cupping her wineglass with two hands. “Are you sure the real estate business is for you? I don’t see much passion for it.”
“It’ll grow on me. I have to do something. I can’t just tend bar. It’s a dead end.” Gina slipped into her high-heeled sandals, feeling a spark of excitement for the first time in a while.
“Get your own place going again. You did such a good job with that little Tex-Mex bar you had in Austin.” Mom held up her hands. “I know you don’t have the money, but I do. I could be your first investor.”
“I can’t do that, Mom. I can’t take your money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gina. Don’t be proud. I earned that money.”
“It’s dirty money.” Gina flung open the front door and slammed it behind her. She caught her breath and waited outside to make sure she hadn’t woken up RJ.
Her mother called through the door. “He’s still sleeping. Get a move on.”
Gina blew out a breath and crossed the hall to the elevator. Mom knew her too well. She’d been right about the nerves, too.
Josh Edwards’s call hadn’t surprised her too much. She’d felt the pull between them, had noticed the way he’d assessed her but wasn’t sure he’d act on it. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to act on it. Her trepidation had more to do with the fact that she didn’t trust her instincts anymore rather than the fact that she hadn’t dated since Ricky’s assassination.
Maybe if she just pretended this was a work function, she wouldn’t fall under Josh’s spell. She’d keep her guard up and her .22 close.
The elevator landed in the lobby, and she crossed the marble tiles to the front door, waving at Enrique, the security guard at the desk.
Stepping into the night air of Miami, she inhaled the slightly sweet and spicy scent carried on a light breeze. She noticed this smell only here in South Beach—a combination of the perfumes and colognes of the women and men out for a night on the town and the savory odors from the restaurants lining the sidewalks and the occasional food truck hawking authentic Cuban food.
The bar she’d picked for her date with Josh got a good crowd on weeknights, but didn’t command the standing room–only business of some other, more popular clubs. Cicero’s would do for a quick drink and some informal chatter—that’s all she could commit to right now.
She made a left turn at the corner and crossed the street. Squaring her shoulders and hugging her purse to her chest, she stepped into the bar and did a quick survey of the room.
Josh, sitting at a corner table facing the doorway, raised his hand.
Gina wove between the high cocktail tables until she reached the corner of the bar. As she approached, Josh stood up and grabbed her chair, holding it out for her.
Ricky had always done that, too—didn’t mean a damned thing.
“Thank you.” She scooted the chair closer to the table, hanging her purse over the back, gun compartment on the outside. “Have you been waiting long?”
“I got here about fifteen minutes early. You’re right on time.” He tapped the glass in front of him. “I just got some water, but I hope we see that waitress again. It’s busy for a weeknight.”
Gina turned an appraising eye on the scene—attractive waitresses, a good number of bartenders hustling up drinks and sharp busboys cleaning up tables as fast as customers vacated them. “Management’s on the ball here. We won’t wait long.”
The waitress appeared at their table seconds later, as if she’d heard Gina’s assessment. “Ready to order now?”
“I’d like a mojito, please. The house rum is fine.”
“Sounds way too exotic for me. I’ll have a beer, please. What do you have on tap?”
The waitress reeled off a list of beers from memory, and Josh selected an IPA.
Gina folded her hands on the table. “Have you given any more thought to that town house?”
“I might want to see a few more.” Josh quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you have any more to show me?”
“I can show you whatever you like.” She bit her bottom lip. Did that sound like a come-on? She had to admit that Josh looked fine tonight—his short, almost black hair slicked back and a sexy scruff on his jaw.
She cleared her throat. “I mean, I can show you condos outside our own office’s listings. Just tell me what you like.”
His dark eyes glittered as they seemed to drill into her.
“I mean, tell me what you’d like to see...in a condo.” She grabbed a menu tucked against the wall and skimmed the appetizers without seeing a thing.
Josh’s intensity was off the charts up close and personal like this, face-to-face over a small table. With that stare burning a hole in her, anything she said sounded like a double entendre.
“I like that area. Maybe I’ll make a list for you.” Josh tapped the edge of the menu. “Do you want to order some food?”
“Not really.” She blinked at the menu in her hands and then held it out to him. “Do you?”
“No, thanks.”
The waitress saved her from any more inane conversation by delivering their drinks.
Gina poked at the mint leaves with her skinny green straw. “Where do you live now?”
“I’m new to Miami. I’m staying in a hotel not far from here.” He took a sip from his beer, watching her over the rim of his mug.
Why did it seem as if they were having a conversation as a subtext to the words they were speaking? Every word from their lips felt loaded with meaning. Was it just this crazy attraction between them? She’d felt crazy attractions before—they never ended well.
If he could afford to stay in a hotel in South Beach long-term, he could afford a nice little town house just about anywhere in Miami.
She sucked up some of her drink and the cool mint tingled against her tongue. “Staying in a hotel must get...tiresome.”
“There are certain advantages. I don’t have to clean up after myself, or cook.” He winked.
She studied his face. The wink didn’t match the man. It was almost as if Josh was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, or maybe she’d gone from not trusting her instincts to analyzing every word and every facial tick.
“How about you? I assumed you picked this bar because it was close to where you lived. Are you in South Beach?”
“We’re temporarily staying with my mother, who has a condo here.”
“We?” He casually curled a hand around his beer mug, but his knuckles appeared white.
She dragged her gaze away from his hand gripping the glass and met his dark eyes. Maybe he thought she was ready to spring a husband on him. Would a child be worse?
“My son and I. I have an almost three-year-old.”
“That’s great. Pictures?”
“Really? I don’t want to bore you.” Was this an act? Feign interest in the kid to get to the mom? Was this something men did? The last time she’d dated she didn’t have a child, so this was new ground for her.
“Family pictures don’t bore me.”
Her fingers traced over the weapon stashed in her purse as she reached for her cell phone. Cupping it in her hand, she tapped her phone until she found a few current pictures of RJ.
“Here he is.” She held the phone sideways in the middle of the table, so they could both see it. She had no intention of handing her phone over to him.
“Cute little guy.”
She swept her finger to the next photo. “Here he is with his newfound friend from daycare.”
Josh squinted at the picture. “They look like buds.”
She pulled the phone back. “My son just started going to that daycare, so I’m happy he made such a fast friend.”
The waitress dipped next to their table with two more drinks.
Josh glanced up. “We didn’t order another round.”
“I know.” She slapped down a cocktail napkin and placed the second mojito on top of it. “A friend of yours at the bar ordered one for you.”
Gina twisted her head to the left, her gaze tripping over the patrons at the bar. “I don’t see anyone I know. Did she give her name?”
“He and no.” The waitress shrugged and spun around to return to the bar.
Josh downed the rest of his first beer and pulled the second one toward him. “You have generous friends.”
“Are you sure it’s not one of your friends? I don’t see any of my friends at the bar, not that I have many here in Miami.”
“I don’t have any.” He clinked his glass with hers. “Maybe it was a mistake. Should we drink up before he realizes it?”
One side of her mouth turned up in a smile, but she didn’t feel like smiling. That was too weird. Who would be buying her drinks?
“Can you excuse me for a minute? I’m going to use the men’s room.” Josh shoved back from the table. “I’ll swing by the bar to see if I recognize anyone.”
“Maybe once this person sees you up close, he’ll realize he made a mistake.”
“You’d better take a sip of that drink before he can take it back.”
As Josh walked toward the restrooms to the left of the bar, Gina picked up the second mojito and sniffed it.
A black scrawl on the cocktail napkin caught her eye and she dragged the napkin toward her with her index finger.
The words jumped out at her.
Dump this guy. You’re still married. Meet me behind the bar down the block from Joanna’s place, paloma. R.
Chapter Three (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
As he washed his hands, Josh leaned into the mirror and practiced winking. He was pretty sure that was a move his slick buddy Slade would’ve tried, but Gina had looked at him like she was staring into the face of Ted Bundy.
Maybe whoever sent that second round of drinks over noticed how badly he was tanking with Gina and was trying to help him out? That was a strange move for someone to make. If a friend of hers was at the bar, why not come by and introduce himself?
Maybe the guy was there right now and having better luck with Gina than he was. Could she be any more uptight? Maybe Ariel and her bunch had sent the wrong SEAL out here to do the job.
He yanked a couple of paper towels from the dispenser, dried his hands and tossed them into the trash before shoving out of the men’s room. He held the door as two men came barreling through.
When he walked past the bar, nobody stopped him to claim responsibility for the drinks. He approached the table and sat down. Gina greeted him with a tight smile, her purse clutched in her lap, the second mojito untouched.
“Everything okay?”
“No, actually.” She folded over the corner of the damp napkin beneath her empty glass. “I just got a call from my mom, and my son isn’t feeling well. He woke up, and he’s asking for me. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to leave now.”
He watched her lips as they formed the lie.
“That’s too bad. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Just a stomachache, but he needs his mom.”
“Of course.”
“I can leave some cash for my drink.”
“I’ve got this one.” He stood up as she shot up from her chair. “Can I walk you back to your mother’s place?”
“No, thanks. It’s not far and it’s still crowded outside. I’ll be fine.” She stuffed a white napkin into her purse. “W-we could try this again...if you want, later.”
“Sure. I’ll make my list of requirements first—so we’ll have something to talk about next time.”
The zinger seemed to go over her head. “Fine, yes. Call me.” She pivoted toward the front door and practically leaped over the tables to get there.
As soon as she disappeared, Josh tossed some bills on the table and set Gina’s full glass on top of them, since her second mojito seemed to be missing its cocktail napkin.
He’d seen a back door to the bar by the restrooms and made a beeline to that hallway. He slipped through the door and jogged toward the alley that led to the street. He flattened himself against the stucco wall and peered around the corner.
As he expected, Gina had already passed the alley. Her white jeans stood out in the crowd. She stood out in the crowd.
He joined the stream of people on the sidewalk, edging toward the curb, keeping cover. She glanced over her shoulder once or twice, but each time he stepped off the curb into the gutter and out of her view.
She turned and crossed the street, and he jaywalked to get out of her line of sight. He edged around the corner and spotted her several feet ahead of him.
Maybe she’d been telling the truth about her son. Her pale face and wide eyes when he’d returned to the table screamed scared rabbit, but maybe that’s how she looked when her son was sick. Hell, what did he know about having kids?
Her mother’s pastel-colored condo loomed down the block, and he’d have to end his sleuthing once Gina went inside. He’d probably never find out the truth about why she ditched the date early. It was probably that wink of his.
Then she passed the front entrance to the condo and his heart rate picked up. She wasn’t going home to check on her sick child?
With one final twist of her head, Gina ducked into what looked like a bar almost a block down from her mother’s condo. Hello. Maybe she wanted to pick up some ginger ale for the kid’s stomach.
He didn’t plan to blow his cover now by barging into the bar after her, so he cut down a small side street after the condo and headed to the alley running behind the buildings, including that bar.
He strode down the alley toward the back of the establishment, hoping it had a rear entrance. As he reached a Dumpster, a vision in white jeans and a red top stepped into the alley from beneath the black-and-gold awning of the bar’s back door. A yellow light spilled over Gina’s form beneath the awning.
Josh jerked back and ducked behind the Dumpster. Luckily, the light bulb that had been screwed in above the Dumpster lay in shards at his feet. Even if Gina glanced this way, he’d be nothing more than a shadow in the night.
And glance, she did. Her head turned from side to side as she rested a hand on the purse pressed against the front of her body.
Josh crouched and waited. She waited. They both waited for something...or more likely someone.
A slight movement across the alley caught Josh’s attention and he melted against the wall, watching beneath half-shuttered lids.
A man emerged from the darkness, creeping like a jungle cat in his all-black clothing, his focus pinned on Gina, still in the doorway of the bar.
Josh’s muscles tensed and his finger twitched as if it were on a trigger. He remedied that by slipping his hand in his jacket pocket and gripping the gun nestled there.
Through narrowed eyes, Josh followed the man’s silent approach toward Gina. Could she see him coming at her through the blackness of the alley? The only light past the condo building was shining right on Gina. Where were the other lights from the other businesses? Josh nudged a piece of broken bulb with the toe of his shoe. Was this light broken by design?
A thrill of adrenaline percolated through his veins, and he hunched forward.
Gina’s head jerked back. She’d spotted him—the predator.
She threw out one hand and her voice carried in the enclosed space of the alley. “Where is he?”
The man’s voice came back, too low-pitched for Josh to hear a response.
“Where?” Gina tossed her long hair over one shoulder, giving a good impression of a woman in charge—but Josh picked up the tremor in the single word.
Once again, Josh missed the guy’s response, but he pointed to the end of the alley.
Did Gina know this man? Would she go off with him? Josh couldn’t allow that without knowing the identity of the man first. Somewhere in his job description for this assignment he’d read the word protect.
Gina shuffled forward without much enthusiasm, or at least not enough for her companion, who took her arm.
Wrong move, buddy. She shook him off and stepped back. “He can come here.”
“He can’t.”
This time Josh heard him loud and clear.
“That’s the only way.” Gina shifted her stance toward the door, but the man was beside her in a second, his hand on her shoulder.
She twisted away from him and that’s all Josh had to see.
He stepped out from behind the Dumpster and startled a cat who’d been crouching and watching, too. The cat yowled in protest at being outed from his hiding place, and two white ovals in the night turned toward Josh.
Josh took one step forward and that was enough for Gina’s pal. He shoved Gina against the door where she stumbled and went to her knees.
“Hey!” Josh took off, but the man was anticipating his move.
He spun around and sprinted down the alley.
Josh ran up to Gina. “Are you all right?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m going after him.”
“No!” She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, but he slipped away and chased after the man who’d reached the end of the alley and a cross street.
Josh pumped his legs to catch up, but a white sedan squealed to a stop and the man jumped into the back seat. Josh sprinted to the end of the alley and tried to get the license plate of the car, but it had already woven into traffic and all he could see was a white blur sandwiched between two other cars and a bus.
Josh spit out an expletive and dived back into the alley. When he reached Gina, she’d pulled herself up and was brushing dirt from her white jeans.
“What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“It’s a good thing I did.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “What was that all about? Did you know that guy?”
She backed up against the door, pinning her shoulders against it. “Are you some kind of creepy stalker? Was it you who closed the blinds and the door of the condo yesterday? I should’ve shot you when I had the chance.” She patted her purse. “And I still might.”
“Me?” He jabbed an index finger into his chest. “What about that guy? Was he, or was he not trying to get you to go somewhere with him.”
She blinked and brushed some hair from her eyes. “I suppose so, but he was trying to take me to someone I know...knew.”
“Don’t you think that’s suspicious? Why didn’t the person just come to you?”
“That’s what I was telling him when you appeared out of the shadows like some kind of night crawler.”
“Thanks for that visual.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “And you weren’t telling him that. You’d already told him and it didn’t look like he was taking no for an answer, and then when I showed up like a night crawler, the dude pushed you and I’m the creep?”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a creep, too.”
Josh closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“Why should I?” She jutted her chin forward in a manner that told him she was ready for a long siege.
“Oh, I don’t know, because we were on a date and you lied to me to get away and meet some creep in an alley. I figure you owe me an explanation. I even bought the drinks.”
She sagged against the door, her once-proud shoulders slumped forward. “He said he could take me to my husband.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. If she really thought Ricky Rojas was alive and well and living in Miami, he had some really bad news for her.
* * *
GINA FLINCHED AT Josh’s expression of shock. If they did have any chance at a normal, dating kind of relationship, she’d have to open up to him about her life at some point. She just didn’t expect it to be in a dark alley with her hands stinging from a fall and this suspicion between them.
Josh cleared his throat. “You’re married?”
“I—I don’t know.” She rubbed at a smudge of dirt on the thigh of her jeans. “It’s a long story.”
Josh reached across her and opened the metal door of the bar. “Let’s have another drink and you can tell me all about it.”
She poked her head into the bright hallway that led to the noise and conviviality of the bar, and it all seemed so normal. She’d never told anyone her story and it bubbled and hissed inside her like some malignant concoction. She might not want to tell Josh Edwards the whole sordid tale but eking out a little at a time just might ease the pressure.
“Why the hell not?” She swept past him into the bar and the door slammed behind him as he followed her.
They couldn’t find a table, but two stools beckoned at the end of the curved mahogany bar and they claimed them.
Josh rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Beer, please, whatever’s on draft. Do you want one of those minty things again?”
“I’ll have what he’s having.” She planted her elbows on the bar, hooking her feet around the legs of the stool.
Josh didn’t waste any time. He spun around on his stool, bumping her knees with his, and leaned toward her. “Let’s start with the basics. Are you married or not?”
“I was married to RJ’s father, but I thought he died over a year ago.”
Josh’s dark brows collided over his nose. “You thought he died?”
“Yes, but the scene was kind of chaotic at the time, and I never actually saw his dead body. I mean, I saw his body, but for all I know he could’ve been faking it. I was told he’d died.”
“Why would someone tell you that if it weren’t true?”
“There are reasons, and I can’t get into those.”
The bartender placed their beers in front of them and Josh absently clinked his mug against hers. “What makes you think he’s alive now? Just because that violent individual in the alley told you so?”
“That’s not all. There have been a couple of other signs...messages.”
“From him?”
Her hand jerked at Josh’s harsh tone, and the beer sloshed over the side of the glass and ran down her hand. She plucked a cocktail napkin from the artfully arranged stack and dabbed her knuckles.
“A couple of texts using a...nickname that nobody else would know.”
Josh leaned back and took a gulp of beer. “Why would your husband text you? Why not call you or better yet, walk up to your mother’s place and knock on the door?”
She flicked the beer mug with her fingernail. How much should she reveal to this man she’d just met yesterday? Telling him the whole truth, that her husband and father had been involved in the drug trade and both had been killed at the same time in a planned assassination—would make anyone run for the exit.
That’s not something you just blurted out on a first date.
“It’s complicated, Josh. He wouldn’t be in a position to just come to me freely.”
“Sounds...dangerous.”
“It is.” She twisted her hair around one hand and then dropped it as the strands abraded the scrapes on her palm. “That’s why I don’t want to drag you into it from your safe and sane world of software development.”
“Yeah, safe and sane.” His lips quirked. “Sounds pretty far-fetched to me. Would you really go off with a stranger in search of your husband? Or did you know that man in the alley?”
“Never saw him before in my life.”
Josh shook his head. “I can’t believe a savvy woman like you, a cautious woman like you, one who carries a .22 in her handbag on a date...”
She touched the purse hanging over her knee.
“Yeah, I know you have it in there. Anyway, can’t believe someone like you would traipse off with a stranger promising to take you to your dead husband.”
“I...” She pressed two fingers against her lips. She knew she’d been taking a risk meeting that man in the alley, but she had to know if Ricky was alive. “You’re right, but he offered a compelling lure.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like to me—a lure. That man in the alley wants something from you and figured the best way to get you to go with him was the story about your dead husband.”
Hunching forward, she grabbed his wrist. “But what if it isn’t a story? What if RJ’s father is alive? I have to know.”
“Forget about it, Gina. He’s dead.”
She flung his arm away from her. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything. I’m sorry I told you.”
“Why, because you don’t want to hear the truth?”
“It’s a possibility. Don’t you understand that? I have to know for sure, for RJ’s sake.”
“He’s dead, Gina.”
“Stop saying that. How can you be so sure after hearing just a portion of the whole story?”
“I am sure.”
“Why?”
“Because I was there when your father and husband were shot and killed.”
Chapter Four (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
Ice water raced through her veins. She gulped against the sensation of drowning, but the air never seemed to make it to her lungs. She sputtered and gasped.
The stranger across from her squeezed her knee. “Do you need some water?”
“Water?” She gurgled. Why would she need water when the stuff threatened to overwhelm her?
“Gina, are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this.”
“Spring what?” She pressed her hands to her face, her skin cool and clammy beneath her touch. “Who are you? What do you want from me? Have you been the one sending those texts?”
His lying eyes widened. “Texts? Someone’s been sending you texts?”
She tried to hop off the stool but forgot her feet were hooked around its legs, and she fell forward instead. His arms curled around her, breaking her fall as she landed against his chest.
“I’ve given you a shock.” He gently lifted her from the stool and set her on wobbly legs. “A table opened up in the corner. Let’s grab it.”
She didn’t want to grab anything with this man, but she couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought, never mind launch some kind of offensive against him.
She allowed him to lead her to the table and she plopped down in the chair.
He placed her mug of beer in front of her. “Have a drink.”
Wrapping her hands around the heavy glass, she raised it to her lips and gulped down half the mug. Then she wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Are you going to tell me who you are or am I going to whip that weapon out of my purse for encouragement?”
He had the nerve to smile, if that’s what that twist of his lips meant.
“I’m glad to see you’re coming around. You had me worried there for a minute.”
“Stop stalling, Josh Edwards, or whoever you are.”
“Josh Elliott—only a partial lie.”
She ignored the hand he held out to her. “That doesn’t tell me a thing. What are you and why are you stalking me and how do you know about my father and my husband and how they died?”
“I’m a United States navy SEAL.” He pulled out a wallet and snapped an ID card on the table between them.
Pressing her lips into a line, she poked it with her finger as if it could bite her. It looked official, but she knew all too well anything could be faked or forged. “And?”
“We assisted the CIA in Colombia when they took down the controlling members of the Los Santos drug cartel and the two terrorists they were meeting.”
She flinched, nearly biting her tongue. “Terrorists?”
“The two men your father was meeting with that day—known terrorists.”
The ice in her veins turned to molten lava as rage coursed through her system. “My father was meeting with terrorists in his home, while I was there? While RJ was there?”
“Afraid so.” He cocked his head at her.
He didn’t believe she didn’t know.
“How did you assist the CIA? I didn’t see any military there that day.”
He blinked once, his spiky black lashes falling over dark eyes filled with secrets. “That’s classified information. Let’s just say we were there for protection.”
“Not mine.”
“Did the CIA...rough you up?” His jaw tightened.
“Did they pull out my fingernails under a bright bulb? Not quite, but it was no picnic, and the DEA was even worse.”
“I’m sure it was...traumatic to lose your father and husband in that manner.”
She flicked her fingers. “That was then. This is now. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to protect you.”
She snorted. “From what?”
“From that man in the alley who pretended he was going to take you to your dead husband.” He steepled his blunt fingers. “From whomever is sending you text messages.”
The worry she’d been experiencing ever since she’d received that first text washed over her once again, and she clutched her stomach. The sudden pain in her gut could be from mixing mojitos and beer, but she didn’t think so.
“Ricky really isn’t alive?”
“No way.”
She took a slow sip of beer this time and licked the nutty taste from her lips as she considered this latest piece of news. Would this navy SEAL have any reason to lie to her...about this?
“I still don’t understand. Why am I in danger all of a sudden?”
Folding his arms on the table, he lifted his chin. “Why don’t you tell me what was in those texts?”
She dug her cell phone from her purse and skimmed through her messages. She stopped at the first one she’d received and read it aloud. “‘Where are the drugs? Where are the weapons, paloma?’”
“Paloma? Dove.”
“I-it was Ricky’s nickname for me. Nobody knew about that name. That’s why I believed that man tonight when he said Ricky was alive.”
“I wouldn’t put much stock in that. Ricky could’ve told anyone about it. Drugs and weapons? What do you know about drugs and weapons?”
She jerked back, putting more space between her and Josh’s intense gaze. He might be here to protect her, but he didn’t trust her.
She didn’t trust him either.
“I don’t know anything about drugs or weapons. I had nothing to do with my father’s business and didn’t even know his business until shortly before I was married.”
“Once you knew his business and your husband’s was drugs, why would you choose to put your son in danger by bringing him to that house?”
Gina crossed her arms, digging her fingernails into her biceps through the material of her silk blouse. She locked eyes with Josh, but this time the passion that kindled between them was anger, not sexual attraction.
She let a long breath out between her teeth that turned into a hiss. “It’s complicated.”
“And the other texts?” He sank back in his chair and sipped his beer.
“Same exact words, except the last message I received in the bar when you were in the restroom.” She pulled a crumpled napkin from her purse and flattened in out on the table in front of him.
“Clever. He must’ve been the one who bought us the drinks.”
She dropped the phone on top of the cocktail napkin. “My father was a drug dealer. I don’t know anything about weapons.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m not sure you want to know the truth.”
“Bring it.”
“Your father, and the Los Santos cartel, had started dealing with terrorists out of Afghanistan. In exchange for the product from their poppy fields, he was going to supply them with weapons...and passage into the US.”
Now she did feel sick.
She bent forward, leaning her forehead against the sticky table, her hair falling around her face. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that.”
And then she remembered what he’d done to her and she could believe it.
“Gina? Are you all right?”
Balancing her chin on the table, she peered at him through the curtain of her hair. “Not really. I thought this was all behind me.”
“Can you think of any reason why your father’s associates would be contacting you?”
“Is that who you think it is?” She blew the hair out of her face, as she raised her head.
“That’s a good possibility.”
“Could it be the Feds?” She splayed her hands on the table, wiggling her fingers. “Maybe they’re trying to trap me?”
“I think I would’ve been told, since essentially I’m reporting to the Feds.”
“The FBI? DEA? You’re working with them?”
“What did you say before?” He rubbed his knuckles across the stubble on his jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“But what you’re telling me is that if it was some federal agency trying to trap me, they wouldn’t have sent you out here to protect me from that agency.”
“Exactly.” He placed his hands over her restless fingers. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions. Can you try not to go off on me? I’m just asking.”
Her gaze shifted to his broad hands covering hers. God, his touch felt good—warm, secure. She nodded. “I won’t go off on you.”
“Is there any reason why these people would think you know something about your father’s business? Did he give you any information? Leave anything to you?”
“There wasn’t much left.” She slipped her hands from beneath his. Unless you counted the bank account on Isla Perdida. The same type of account her father had set up for her mother when they split, the one Mom had been using ever since to fund her lifestyle. Blood money.
“They seized all his assets...and mine.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He drummed his fingers against his glass. “They must think you know something. They wouldn’t contact you, otherwise.”
“They’re sadly mistaken. Do you think I’m in danger from them?”
“You could be.” Sounding casual, Josh lifted his shoulders, but they were stiff, indicating anything but casual.
“Great.” She pushed away the mug of beer. “What was your original assignment? Get close to the grieving widow? Why the pretended interest in the property? Why not just approach me?”
His gaze floated over her left shoulder and she wondered if he’d heard her. Then his attention snapped back to her face. “I thought it might be better to get to know you in a nonthreatening way first. I did shock you with all these revelations, didn’t I?”
“Partly because I thought you were a mild-mannered programmer.” Although there’d been nothing to suggest Josh Edwards/Elliott was mild mannered in any way, shape or form—her gaze skimmed over the powerful muscles on display beneath his shirt—especially form.
“My instructions were to get close to you.” He cleared his throat. “This is a new type of assignment for me, so I wasn’t sure about the best approach.”
His lips twisted into a half smile, and her gaze lingered on his strong jaw imagining for a second what it would feel like to get close to Josh Elliott. Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “Honesty?”
“What?” The hand holding his beer mug jerked, and the amber liquid sloshed into small waves.
“I said you could’ve tried honesty in approaching me.”
He curled his hands around the heavy, beveled glass and stared into its depths. “You really would’ve been open to a navy SEAL on a secret assignment appearing on your doorstep?”
“It’s not like you were personally responsible for the deaths of my father and husband.” She rolled her shoulders. “Besides, I accepted you when you did tell me the truth, didn’t I? I mean, we’re sitting here sharing a beer.”
He held up one finger. “Ah, that’s because I saved you in the alley, and you were still shaken up. I’m not sure you would’ve been so...accepting otherwise.”
She screwed up her mouth and didn’t bother refuting him. The man in the alley had shaken her up and she hadn’t appreciated Josh’s intervention at the time. Now that she knew Ricky really was dead, she was grateful for his protection. This might be a new type of assignment for him, but he’d caught on quickly.
Digging her elbow into the table, she buried her chin in one palm. “How exactly did the Navy SEALs fit into the raid on my father’s place?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“Okay, top secret.” She tapped her fingertips against her cheekbone. “What now?”
“Keep your eyes and ears open, and be careful. I’ll be here to look out for you until we can figure out why your father’s associates are trying to contact you.”
“If they tell me anything, I’ll be sure to pass it along to you.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Tell you anything? Why and how would they have the opportunity to tell you anything?”
As she studied his glittering eyes, a chill touched her spine. In that instant she had an odd sense that she was staring into Ricky’s eyes again. Josh’s expression contained that same single-minded ferocity that Ricky had, but surely, Josh had a passion for good and justice, not evil and greed.
“I mean, if they text me again or, God forbid, call me since they seem to have my cell phone number.”
Josh leveled a finger at her. “You’re not going to run off and meet anyone again, are you?”
“No. I just thought...” She glanced down and studied her fingernails as she trailed off.
“Ricky’s dead, Gina.”
“I know.” A single tear puddled in her right eye. Ricky had died a long time ago.
Josh slouched back in his chair and downed the rest of his beer. “Are you ready?”
She tapped her phone to wake it up, and the numbers of the clock glowed in the dark bar. “My mom’s going to think I had one hot date.”
“If you want her to think that, you need to take a couple of deep breaths. Your face looks—” he touched a finger to her cheek “—tight.”
His fingertip seemed to scorch her, to brand her. She sucked in a breath, and then shook her head. He was right. The events of the evening had taken their toll on her. The fear still had her senses buzzing.
“With any luck, my mother will be sound asleep and not lying in wait to ask nosy questions.”
“Did your mother have any contact with your father after the divorce?”
“Divorce?” She dropped her phone into her purse. “Your sources aren’t very well-informed. My mother and father never divorced, but they had very little contact after the separation.”
“Did they separate after she discovered his business, or did she know his line of work before they married?”
“Top secret.” Her lips formed a thin line, and she dragged her finger across the seam. If Josh, and the US government, didn’t know the details of her parents’ lives, she sure wasn’t going to inform them.
She still had to protect her mom.
Clasping her purse to her body, she pushed up from the chair. “I’m ready to go.”
Josh hopped up beside her and placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the still-crowded bar. They spilled onto the sidewalk, joining the rest of the late-night revelers, stragglers from spring breaks across the country and snowbirds escaping the last ravages of winter in the Northeast.
A few steps later, and a popping noise had the press of people scattering and yelping in confusion.
Gina tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and stumbled off the curb. The cars in the street honked, as people surged into the road from the sidewalk to escape the firecrackers.
As Gina stood on her tiptoes to find Josh, she noticed from the corner of her eye a car peel away from the curb where it had been illegally parked. She turned toward the white sedan, and the back door flew open. A man lurched into the street and made a beeline for her.
Taking a step backward, Gina bumped into someone who wouldn’t budge. She put a hand out. “Excuse me.”
“Stop pushing, lady. Somebody’s gonna get hurt.”
“Yeah, me.” She twisted her head back around, and the man from the car was an arm’s length away.
Gina shifted sideways, but the man anticipated the move.
His fat fingers clamped around her upper arm and he almost lifted her from her feet as he dragged her toward the sedan.
She dug her heels into the asphalt. She was no match for him, but Josh was.
“Josh! Josh!”
As they got to the open door of the car, Gina grabbed onto the door frame. The big man peeled her fingers from the metal and twisted them back. She screamed amid another flurry of pops.
It was the driver of the car who’d been tossing firecrackers out the window.
Her abductor gave her a hard push from behind, and she fell face forward across the leather seats.
The man from the front seat growled, “Welcome back, Mrs. Rojas.”
Chapter Five (#u384220e4-1c6b-5e90-9906-f81936431ef2)
The firecrackers were some sort of diversion. Josh craned his neck just in time to see Gina carried into the street by a sea of people.
He swallowed hard and plowed his way through the panicked pedestrians, losing sight of Gina in the process. A big white sedan, the same one that had carried away her assailant in the alley, blocked his view of the rest of the street and when he saw a large man at the open door, Josh’s heart slammed against his chest.
He pushed a few people out of his way, and then jumped on the trunk of the car, sliding to the other side.
The big man was stuffing Gina into the back seat of the car.
Josh drew back his fist and landed it against the side of the man’s head. The man stumbled back and Josh shouted, “Get out of the car, Gina!”
Encouraged by a pair of legs in white denim that appeared in the doorway, Josh went at the big man again who was quickly regaining his composure and reaching into his pocket.
This bunch didn’t want a dead body in the street any more than he did, but the big guy would probably make an exception for him. Josh charged the man, which felt like running into a brick wall. He grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it behind his formidable bulk in one fluid movement.
The guy grunted and Josh continued to apply pressure until the man dropped to his knees. The driver began to get out of the car, but the whoop of sirens stopped him in his tracks.
Josh kicked the man’s fat gut before leaping over his body and making his way back to the sidewalk. The whole attack took seconds, and the cops were rolling in for crowd control.
The squeal of tires told him the men in the sedan weren’t going to stick around to answer questions about why they were tossing firecrackers onto a crowded sidewalk.
Josh’s gaze swept up and down the street. Had Gina run to her mother’s building? He squinted toward the purple awning, hoping to see her waiting there for him.
When someone wrapped an arm around him from behind, he spun around, fist clenched.
Gina held up one hand. “It’s just me.”
Warm relief rushed through his body and he pulled her into his arms. It’s what he’d been wanting to do all night anyway.
“Are you all right? That big guy wasn’t the same one from the alley.”
“No, but I think the driver was the same guy.”
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Did he hurt you?”
“Just my fingers.” She shook out her hand. “They really want me to go with them, don’t they?”
“They sure do. They were behind the firecrackers. They wanted to create a panic and separate us.”
“It worked. I nearly got trampled in the street. Before they drove off, I tried to get a license plate but there was no plate on the car.”
“They’d never allow themselves to be traced through something like a license plate. Even if the car had one, it would’ve been stolen.” He squeezed her shoulders before releasing her. “But good thinking.”
“Maybe I should’ve just gone with them.”
“What?” That was not good thinking. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe they’d just tell me what they want and I could tell them I didn’t have it, and they’d leave me alone.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“You know that’s ridiculous, don’t you? You already know what they want. They texted that to you—drugs and weapons. And you already told them you don’t know anything. Do you think they believe you?”
“I don’t know.” She tucked her fingertips into the front pockets of her jeans, crossing one leg over the other where she stood. “I didn’t recognize those two tonight, but some of these guys have to be past associates of my father. Maybe I can reason with a couple of them.”
“You don’t follow the news much, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does it look like the drug cartels are big fans of reasoning with anyone?”
“But my father...”
Josh sliced his hand through the air to stop her. “Your father was a vicious killer getting ready to deal with terrorists.”

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