Undercover Pursuit (10 page)

One that she reacted to appropriately by holding her stomach and nearly racing off the yacht.

He watched her go and felt a little sick himself.

Now he got up, leaned against the open door of his villa and stared at the blue sky, trying not to think of Scarlett.

“I was thinking that Lucia was scared to death, and that if I wasn't on board, she might just ditch the entire shindig, not to mention there might really be someone out to hurt her. We found a speared shark outside her door yesterday morning.”

“A shark?”

“Yeah—as in, the Sanchezes have a way of making people shark bait.”

“So who do you think it could be?”

“I don't know. I spent the day watching everyone on the boat—no one seemed overly interested in the bride. Except Benito, of course.”

“Do you think it's him?”

“I hope not. This entire mission seems to be one snafu after another.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I was wondering what happened—I got a text from Stacey that her plane was delayed.”

“She never showed, and Scarlett got in my cab instead. She seemed—well, I know she's not an agent, Chet, but she's fast on her feet. She duped Claudio not once but twice, and even made a gourmet Italian dinner for Benito and Lucia.”

“Stop. Just…stop.”

Luke heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “What?”

“I just want you to be careful. I hear it in your voice—it's more than admiration. You care about this woman.”

“Of course I care about her. She's been a real trooper—”

“No, I mean
care.
Like you cared about Darcy.” Chet had just started recruiting him around then, and he and Chet had a number of long phone conversations, during which Luke realized he could happily work for—and be friends with—ex-Delta Force captain Chet Stryker. Probably he'd let him too far into his personal life, however. But he'd had to give the man a reason why he'd wanted to get out of D.C. and start his new job, ASAP.

“Scarlett is nothing like Darcy. Nothing.”

Chet didn't respond and Luke walked out to the villa porch, watching the surf froth in the coral baths below.

“You have to get rid of her, Luke. I don't care how. She's not safe.”

“She's my fiancée.”

“Try not to say that with so much conviction.”

“I'm just pointing out that the Sanchezes might not buy the whole seasick thing for the wedding.” He was hoping so, but Benito had already asked about her, twice.

“Then figure out how to break up.”

Luke ran a hand down his face. “Tried that. I wanted her to betray me, maybe come on to Benito. She…she's not great at betrayal. But if I break up with her, then I get booted from the party and she stays. Then Lucia has no one. I needed Lucia to feel betrayed and kick Scarlett off the boat, but she didn't quite catch on. Now, they're
actually bonding and I think Lucia feels safer with her than she does with me.”

Chet said nothing while the breakers roared below. Finally, “Just keep them both safe, and try not to get yourself killed in the process. I'll see you in twenty-four.”

“What? Wait, you're coming here?”

“I'm packing my sun block now. I'll be in touch.” The line clicked off and Luke closed his phone. In his head, he'd hatched a loose plan last night to claim sickness. With luck, he'd get Lucia to “check in” on her friend right before the ceremony…and in time to whisk Lucia away before the fireworks. Of course, Scarlett, hopefully, would be long gone.

Long. Gone.

He tried not to let those words choke the air out of him.

Lord, I'm so sorry I got Scarlett into this mess. Please help me keep her safe.

“You. Are. Fired. Get out of my villa!”

The voice carried over the top of the waves, and it sounded so familiar.

There, below him, next door, a woman—yes, Scarlett's sister—leaned against the rail, wrapped in a bathrobe.

And there was Scarlett now, touching her sister's arm. Even Luke winced as her sister shrugged her away. “I don't care if I ever see you again.”

Scarlett stood there for a long moment, as if waiting for a response. Then Luke saw her withdraw.

The sister never moved.

What was that about?

Before he could stop himself, he turned away from
the surf, walked through the villa, and opened his door just as Scarlett passed by outside.

He could have stayed silent, let her walk by, out of his life, out of his reach.

Could have retreated back to his quiet, protected world.

But the gentle touch of her hand last night as she'd pulled him out of his nightmare lingered, and he called out, “Scarlett!”

She turned. And his heart nearly left his chest when he saw her wipe her cheek.

She'd been crying.

He shouldn't descend his stairs, shouldn't catch up to her, shouldn't put his arms around her, as if they might be a real couple. But he had apparently stopped listening to himself and had started to act on instinct.

And this instinct, for the first time in years, felt right. “Are you okay?”

She pushed on his chest a little, disentangling herself from his arms. “I'm sorry.”

“What happened? I heard your sister yelling.”

“She fired me from her wedding.”

“Again?” He didn't mean to say it quite that way. “I'm sorry.”

But despite the crushed look on her face, a smile started to sneak onto her lips. She pressed a hand to her beautiful mouth and it seemed she couldn't decide between crying or laughing. “Yes…I can't seem to keep the job.” Her attempt at humor dissolved, however. “My sister ate mushrooms.”

Her sister ate mushrooms? “I don't understand.”

“She's allergic to mushrooms, and I forgot to ask the chef to make sure there were no mushrooms in the food last night. Apparently they put mushroom bullion into
the marinade and now she's covered in hives and she wants to move the wedding to Saturday night.”

“Saturday night? The same time of the Sanchez wedding? That's a terrible idea. We can't risk any collateral damage. You can't let her do that.”

“In case you missed something, I was fired. From being the maid of honor. I think her words were something like, ‘Stay away from my wedding.'”

“Why did she fire you? I mean, it was just a mistake.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples as if trying to clear her head. “She thinks I'm still after her fiancé.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He walked with her down the coral path. Something about her demeanor…the way she kept sighing, shaking her head, suggested there might be more. “Scarlett, what aren't you telling me?”

She stopped. Looked away, past him and into the surf. Shook her head again.

“I am your fiancé, you know. You can tell me anything.”

That earned him the smallest of smiles. But it vanished as her hand brushed her shiny cheek. “I can hardly believe she said this, but she said it was my fault that our parents died. That they were headed home from New York City to my play. Of course, I had hoped they'd come—I was in a boarding school in Minneapolis.” She moved forward to the beach, kicking through the sand. Her voice seemed to recover. “I can't figure her out. My entire life, from the age of ten, was about following her around the world, supporting her career. My parents finally put me in boarding school when I was fourteen to give my life some stability.” She waded into
the water, the waves washing upon her feet. He joined her, letting his toes sink into the sand. “They died when I was sixteen.”

“I'm so sorry about your parents.”

She glanced at him, her eyes shining in the night. “It was a long time ago. But their deaths left a pretty big hole in my life.” She reached down, picking up a starfish as if it might be glass. “I've always been amazed by these. Did you know they can lose one of their arms and it will grow back?”

He watched her face as she lifted it to the sun, something sweetly honest about the way she stared at the starfish.

“This is my first time at the ocean. I always wanted to see it, but we never had time.” The wind took her hair, wound it around her face. He barely stopped himself from pulling it away, wrapping the strands around his fingers. “We were going to go when I was twelve, during winter break from school, but that's the year my sister got her first big international gig and my mother had to take her to a photo shoot that week for some magazine.”

“Sounds like your life revolved around your sister's career.”

“She got her big break when she was fourteen. It only seemed right that we support her.”

“And you?”

“My father stayed home with me while my mother traveled with Bridgett at first. And then we started to travel with her, and they homeschooled us. Then, finally, my parents moved to Italy with my sister and they sent me to boarding school in Minnesota.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I loved it. I got involved in theater and
wrote for the campus newspaper. And then…then they were killed and the funds dried up and I moved in with my aunt.”

“And your sister?”

“She went on to become a supermodel in Europe.”

“And now she's marrying Duncan? Don't take this the wrong way, but…”

“Something doesn't compute? I know. But she won't tell me why she just appeared one day in Rochester. She seems to be set on marrying him and settling down as a desperate housewife, so who am I to argue? We haven't been close for ages. The last happy moment I remember was the Christmas before she started modeling.” She dug her toe into the sand.

“We put on a song and dance—you know the sisters' song from
White Christmas?
”

Maybe. He might have seen it once. “Nothing comes between my sister and me?”

“That's the one. We did it for our parents on Christmas Eve. It was the last time we ever shared the limelight. But see, I adored her, I wanted her to succeed. I was enthralled with her life.” She traced the starfish. “In fact, when I was sixteen I even auditioned. I didn't tell anyone who I was, but I figured, if my sister was gorgeous, certainly the agents would see something in me. So I dressed up and went in for an interview with an agency that was recruiting and…” Her shoulder lifted, then fell.

And?

He waited for it as she searched for the words. His chest tightened the longer it took.

“They told me that I didn't have a future in modeling.” Her tone said their words hadn't been quite that
polite. She sighed. “I realized then that I was supposed to stay in the shadows.”

He didn't agree with that at all, but she probably wouldn't hear his words of protest. Not right now, at least. “What happened with you and your aunt?”

“She still lives in Rochester. I visit her on Sunday afternoons, for chicken potpies and book reviews. Romances, don't ya know.” She looked up and winked at him.

That wink could make him forget his name.

She turned back to the sea, put the starfish down in the waves and lifted her face to the sun. “‘Let my heart, the sea of restless waves, find peace in you, O God.'” She glanced at him. “Augustine wrote that. My heart, the sea of restless waves.” She drew in a breath. “My sister accused me of always wanting to be the center of attention.”

“Oh, that's rich, coming from her.” He'd met her sister, thank you.

“She might be right. She said that's why I never keep a job—because I always want to be the savior.” She lifted a shoulder. “I do like showing up to save the day. Maybe I've always had a bit of heroine wannabe inside of me.”

“I think you have a lot of heroine inside of you,” he said softly.

She smiled, the cutest dimple forming on her cheek. “That's sweet of you, but you and I both know I am not a heroine. I'm just a temp. And really, I don't have to be the center of attention. At least, I don't have to be special to the world. I'd be happy to just be special to one person.”

You're special to me.
The words filled his mouth and he wanted to let them free. Dip his hand into hers,
pull her close and forget that they were supposed to be pretending.

Because this moment didn't feel like pretend. No, as she looked up at him and met his eyes, it felt real.

“I'm sorry you got fired. I wish I could fix it.”

“It can't be fixed. But I still have to figure out how to stop her wedding. Or move it away from the resort, maybe. She was slotted to have her wedding on the beach at noon, but if she moves it to the evening, she'll still be on the premises when the Sanchez raid goes down.” The waves rose to her ankles. “I'm afraid for her. She can't be here.”

“And you can't be here, either. I can't risk it. You're going to have to play sick for the rest of the weekend and miss the rehearsal dinner.”

“What about you?”

“I'll go to the dinner, pass on your regrets, claim I need to stay to look after you. By then, of course, you'll be off the island.”

“Of course.” Sadness tinged her smile. “And I do feel fairly sick, so it's not a lie.”

She glanced at him, something vulnerable in her gaze. “Can I ask how you got hurt?”

“Hurt?”

“Your leg?”

“Oh.” She'd noticed that? He hadn't talked about that mission with anyone but the Stryker team, how he'd had to drag Chet out of a terrorist's camp. Chet still kept tabs on his daughter via the CIA. She'd forced him to leave her behind to marry an Iranian prince and become an information asset for the U.S. “I was shot rescuing a friend.”

“Are you okay?”

The sweetness in her voice had the power to unravel
him, and he heard the words again.
You're special to me.
Perhaps she could see that because her smile warmed. And he couldn't help himself from reaching out then, touching her face, tucking her hair behind her ear.