Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (7 page)

And Mal and Chessie exhaled in perfect unison.

“I’m sure it will,” Mal said quietly.

“As long as there’s a good, clear game plan to follow,” Chessie added.

Gabe laughed. “Well, it is Cuba, so plans are, what would you say, Mal?”

“Subject to change,” he replied.

“Then blown to shit,” Gabe added.

Chessie made a face like she didn’t like the sound of that. “Why do you need us both?”

“Mal can’t go into Cuba solo, even with the new ID I cooked up. With a woman, he’ll fly more under the radar.”

“Why not a different woman?” Chessie asked, her tone telling Mal just how much she didn’t want to go.

“Chessie’s new to field work,” Gabe explained to Mal.

“And he’s a prison guard,” she fired back. “So neither one of us is exactly trained for a mission.”

Gabe got right in her face. “He’s not your run-of-the-mill prison guard, okay, Chess? He speaks decent Spanish and knows the entire island like you know a computer.”

“Then let me use one.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re the only person on earth besides the people in this room who knows about this kid.”

“Which is probably the real reason I got the job,” she said, no small amount of sarcasm in her voice.

“Maybe it is,” Gabe agreed. “But whatever my reasons, you’re going to do this for me because…” He swallowed hard. “Because that child could be your nephew, and I think you are incredibly qualified to find him.”

Chessie softened visibly. The fight went out of her as her shoulders sank and her eyes shuttered closed. “Of course,” she whispered. “I would do anything for you and for…your son.” She glanced at Mal and gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. “And I’m sure Mal and I can
work
together.”

She put enough emphasis on
work
that he could figure that message: work and only work.

“Good.” Gabe gestured toward the table nestled near sliding glass doors. “Nino,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Feed us, old man.”

“You got it, Gabriel!”

“And you two…” He draped one arm around Chessie and one arm around Mal and pushed them a little closer. “You are going to love each other.”

Six inches apart, they could barely look at each other, let alone manage a reply that wouldn’t be loaded with irony.

Chessie was the first to slip away, narrowing her eyes at her brother. “I swear to God, if you say we pretend to be married—”

“Married?” The word caught in Mal’s throat.

“What do I look like?” Gabe scoffed. “A man with no imagination? You think I’d pull that same stunt twice?” He scooped Chessie back under his arm and led them both to waiting chairs at a table covered with papers, fake passports, airline tickets, and an open map of a country Mal would prefer never to step foot in again.

“You are traveling to Cuba as a production duo to make a documentary on how the new political climate is changing life for the common man and children,” Gabe said, urging Mal into the chair next to Chessie.

They were so close, Mal had to make an effort not to touch her. Which was damn hard as her scent—a sexy, feminine, peppery scent that reminded him of last night—teased his nose.

He stole a look, close enough to see traces of makeup under her eyes, smudged during her overnight drive here. His gaze dropped to the top button of a black sweater he had stripped off her about twelve hours ago and landed right on a tiny hickey under her collarbone.

Holy shit. Talk about a dead giveaway. He tried to give her a look, to tell her to cover it, but she refused to look directly at him.

“All right, then,” Gabe said, taking the other seat and picking up some papers.

Under the table, Mal bumped her with his leg, forcing Chessie to look at him. He surreptitiously flicked his T-shirt collar, trying to silently tell her to button the sweater and cover the evidence.

She just gave him an incredulous look. And he gave her one back. It was only a matter of time before Gabe—

“Is that a fucking hickey on your neck, Chess?”

Instantly, Chessie yanked her sweater over the mark that Mal would have bet a grand she hadn’t even known she had. Mal gave the slightest
I tried to warn you
side-eye.

“I thought you broke up with Matt the Asswipe,” Gabe said.

So there really was a Door-Matt who broke her heart. Of course there was. Because when he was busy assuming she was a lying spy making shit up, she was a perfectly innocent woman sharing her personal history.

And he took her to bed.

And she…didn’t hate it.

“Shut it, Gabe,” she said, finally closing the top two buttons. “I…it was…” She looked anywhere but at Mal. “It was…
nothing
.” She put too much emphasis on the last word. Way too much.

But Gabe wasn’t letting it go. “He’s not good enough for you, Chess. You deserve better.”

“He’s not
that
bad.” She lifted one judgmental eyebrow in Mal’s direction. “I mean, he’s never been in jail or anything.”

Damn, the woman had a mean underhand zing.

Gabe pushed a paper to the side. “No, but I will be for killing him if he puts his turd-eating mouth on your neck again.”

She puffed out a breath. “Do you mind?” she demanded.

“I mind like hell,” Gabe continued. “I hate that little scum-sucker and—”

“It wasn’t him!” she exclaimed.

For a long moment, no one said a word. To Mal, the only sound was the sizzle of eggs in a pan, and the steady beat of his pulse as he waited for her to make the call. Gabe would go bat-shit crazy, no doubt about it. But if she wanted the truth out there, Mal would own up to what happened.

Gabe lifted one brow. “You’re seeing someone already? You just dumped that douche.”

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Can you please stop? Either you get off my case and stop treating me like I’m thirteen, or I’m back in my rental driving to Boston. Which is it, Gabe?”

They both stared at each other, sibling sparks crackling. So the whole clan could hold their own in a fight, Mal mused.

Finally, Gabe looked down at the map. “You’ll fly into Havana,” he said.

Chessie leaned back, crossed her arms, and shot Mal a warning look, and this one he could read like a billboard.
Don’t mess with me.

And all that did was make him want to
.

* * *

Breakfast had been finished and cleared, and Nino had gone off to work. Gabe had reviewed the plan multiple times, and Mal seemed to fully understand it.

But Chessie was having an impossible time focusing, her brain still stalled on the fact that she was going into the field—something she’d never wanted to do—with a man she stupidly had a one-night stand with the night before.

“You get this, right, Chess?” Gabe demanded, no doubt sensing her lack of concentration on the maps and paperwork in front of them.

“Yeah, I get it.”
Don’t like it, but I get it.
“We’re flying into José Martí International from New York, with press passes and these passports, posing as two independent producers filming a spec documentary about how the new relations with the US are affecting the everyday man in Cuba with a focus on the children and their future.” She looked up, kind of proud of herself. “I get it. But how do we stay in contact with you?”

“Satellite phones will work, maybe outdoors in the more rural areas. I’ll give you two. You can take your computer, but Internet is unreliable.”

“Unless you’re on Gitmo or you know how to access a Canadian server,” Mal added.

“I can do that,” she said brightly, thrilled that someone was finally speaking her language. Even if it was
him
.

“You have all the clearances lined up, Gabe?” Mal asked, his deep, sensual voice a constant reminder of the things he’d whispered to her last night.

Kiss me, Francesca. Do you like that, Francesca? I want to taste you, Francesca.

“Francesca!”

Her head popped up at the sound of the very word she’d been thinking, but it wasn’t Mal’s sexy use of her full name. It was Gabe, looking dark and angry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“I was just thinking…wondering…um…”

Mal put his hand up. “Give her a break, man. She’s probably exhausted from driving all night and it’s legit to wonder how and why we can get in and get around Cuba so easily.”

She resisted the urge to smile at him, though she was begrudgingly grateful for the backup. And she seized on the excuse.

“Of course I am,” she said. “I know relations are normalizing and we’ve reopened an embassy and Americans can essentially travel there with ease, but of all countries to slip into undercover, it seems like a challenging one.”

“It’s really not,” Mal assured her. “Even before all this happened, Americans could get in for the right reasons. It’s Cubans they don’t want to let out.”

“And certain Americans they really don’t want to let in,” Chessie added, eyeing her brother.

“Obviously, I’d go if I could,” Gabe said. “But I trust Mal.” At her look, he added, “And you.”

Chessie could feel the blood drain from her head and pool in her stomach, the image of that flashing black listening device she’d found in the hotel room burned in her memory. Could he trust either of them?

“Clearances,” Mal repeated, bringing the subject back on topic. “Do you have them all lined up?”

Gabe tapped his sizable chest and puffed a breath. “
I
arranged this. Of course I have clearances. I have everything you need, but it is Cuba, so you will step into shit now and again. You’ll have to be nimble and ready to rock some new plans if things get dicey.”

Dicey. New plans.
Nimble
.

Not a single thing that felt comfortable to Chessie. She didn’t like dicey. New plans meant something had gone wrong with the old ones. And the only place she was nimble was on a keyboard.

“So, let me get this straight, Gabe,” she said, gathering her wits, because it appeared she needed every single one. “We’re going to a Communist country under false pretenses with fake names and a plan that’s written on toilet paper blowing in the wind.”

Gabe grinned. “Pretty much how I roll.”

She stared at her brother. “You know I don’t work like that. I need steps, dates, times, maps, codes, and detailed information. Preferably on a screen in front of me. In an office. In a country I’m welcome to visit. That’s pretty much how
I
roll.”

She could feel Mal’s ebony eyes again. “You’ve never done anything spontaneous, Chessie?” he asked.

She might kill him. Was that an option in this plan?

Was he trying to make her writhe in misery?
The flashing-neon hickey on her neck wasn’t agonizing enough? “Spontaneity rarely works out well for me. Especially recently.”

They stared at each other for a second, just long enough for Chessie’s mouth to go bone dry and her heart rate to kick back up again. Did he have to be so freaking gorgeous? Did he have to undress her with his eyes and give just enough of a smile that she could remember everything that mouth did to her?

“Chessie, I know,” Gabe asked, making them both whip around to give him their attention. Here it comes, Chessie thought. Here it comes.
We are so busted
.

“What?” she asked, mustering innocence.

“I
know
you don’t want to do this. I know it’s not in your wheelhouse, Chess.” Gabe put his hand over hers. “But I need blood on the ground.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You won’t shed any,” he assured her. “But you’re family. And this boy could be, too. I need to find out.”

She felt her eyes shutter in disgust at his use of the ultimate F-word, and the fact that he was essentially misreading her hesitation as fear. She wasn’t afraid of the field. She was just afraid of complications in the field.

On a sigh, she reached into her bag for the laptop sleeve like a baby grabbing a blankie.

“Family,” she muttered, thinking back to a few weeks ago when she’d last been here, helping Gabe hack a jump drive he’d stolen from the TV and radio station that broadcasted news from the States to Cuba.

The moment was still crystal clear in her memory: She’d located in the encrypted database a woman Gabe had been asking her to find, only to discover the word “deceased” next to her name.

Overcome by his emotions and unwilling to explain anything to Chessie, Gabe had left her the room, and Chessie had done what she always did in a crisis—look for more information to make sense of it. What she’d found didn’t make sense at all, except that it did. A boy named Gabriel left behind by a dead woman.

“So, we’re in Cuba,” she said, opening the computer. “We have our cover. We get past customs, security, and clearances. Then what?”

“You’ll start in a town about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Havana. My best contact in Cuba told me to look for a Ramos family on a farm in Caibarién.”

While she typed the name into Google Earth, Mal snorted. “Caibarién? The town that time forgot.”