Undercover Pursuit (4 page)

“My boss,” Luke said quietly, trying to read Scarlett's face.

Scarlett turned to him and said, “So, this Stacey is supposed to be here protecting Lucia?”

“Yes.”

“As a bridesmaid.”

“Maid of honor. My friend from college,” Lucia said.

“And if you aren't protected—”

“Then someone is going to kill me.”

Scarlett looked at Luke and shook her head. “I'm an idiot.”

“No, you're not.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I should have known that a guy like you wouldn't be my date. I don't know where my head was.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

She stood up before he could ask. “Listen, Lucia, I am really sorry about messing things up here. And I pray you'll be safe.” She turned to Luke. “Take me back to the island and I'll get out of your hair. You can track down this Stacey girl and get back to your mission.” She held out her hand to Lucia. “Nice to meet you.”

Lucia didn't move. She looked at Luke, her eyes glued to him.

Luke blew out a long breath.

Scarlett lowered her hand. “What's the problem?”

“Uh…Scarlett, I really don't know how to tell you this but, see, you went through security with me. And…”

Wow, he needed a drink—possibly more than water. Although those days were over, too. He sighed.

“Luke—”

“You can't leave.” Lucia found her feet. “If Luke takes you back to the island and returns alone, they'll know something is up.”

“What? No.” She'd gone white, and he grimaced as he delivered her fate.

“She's right, Scarlett. You might not be Stacey Meyer, but you
are
my fiancée. At least for the next three days.”

“My sister needs me. I can't stay here. She's expecting me to help her with her wedding—I have to pick up her dress!” Her voice shrilled as she lunged for the door.

Luke hated himself just a little when he caught her, his hands closing around her arms. And he felt even worse when he went all military on her, dropping his voice. “Scarlett. I absolutely cannot let you walk out of here.”

I
f this was a romance novel, she wanted to turn the page.

Go to the next chapter.

Maybe throw the book against the wall.

“Scarlett—”

“Stay away from me, whoever you are!” Scarlett pressed her hands against the walnut door of Lucia's bathroom, a room that just might be larger than her entire one-bedroom apartment back in Minnesota. Definitely nicer, with the oversize soaking tub, the blue-veined marble vanity, the mirrored wall that only accentuated her distress.

She couldn't look at the fool in the mirror one more moment. So she turned against the door, slid down to the cool tile floor and rested her head on her knees.

“My name really is Luke,” the voice said on the other side, softer now. She imagined him sitting on the floor also. His voice came right through the crack, right into her ear. “Luke Dekker.”

A kind, even soft voice. Not at all like the voice that had slipped a knife of fear right through her, cold and steely and lethal just moments earlier. “You have to
know that I truly thought you were my contact, Scarlett, or I would have never gotten into the cab with you.”

“I got in the cab with you.”

Silence. “What I mean is, I'm sorry that I assumed you were…”

“A secret agent?” For the first time, she let those words out, slippery as they were on her tongue. A secret agent. “You really believed I was your contact? That I could pull off this mission, whatever it is?”

“Protecting Lucia, and…yes. Well, truthfully, I had a couple moments of hesitation, but you were so, well, cold on the taxi ride, with all your ‘I have to work solo' comments, that, yes, okay? Yes. I thought you were her. I thought you were my contact. My partner on this op.”

“Didn't you get a picture?”

“I did. But, well, it looked like you. Sort of. People change, especially for roles. She had your hair. And your bone structure. And it was a black and white—oh, for goodness' sake, let's all admit that I am an idiot.”

Oh, sure, that made her feel all better. “Well, if it eases your pain at all, I thought you were the man my sister set me up with for the weekend.” Although, if interrogated, she might admit that she'd had her doubts, too.

Simply put, Luke Dekker just didn't seem like the kind of guy who would say yes to being set up with Bridgett Hanson's kid sister. He seemed capable of landing his own dates, thank you. No, Luke Dekker had a sort of “Bond, James Bond” aura that should have tipped her off from the beginning.

This isn't my first time around the block.
His words came at her now and she winced. To think she'd thought he'd been hitting on her.

She just might stay in the bathroom forever. Die here. The bathtub might make a good coffin.

“I suppose we should start over again,” he said through the door. “I didn't mean to scare you back there. We can work this out.”

She recognized the tone—the one he'd used at her villa door this evening, the one that contained such villainous charm, the one that had cajoled her into this desperate excursion.

No. Call her a fool—twice even—but she knew when to cut and run from a temp job. She stood up and opened the door. “We're not starting over. We're ending this little game, Luke. Once again, take me home.”

He had both hands bracketed on the frame of the door. She didn't know what she'd been thinking—that he'd simply shrug and say, “Sure honey, let me rev up the boat”? Because after one look at his expression, she went to slam the door shut again.

He caught it with his hand and used the other to push it back, to shove his way inside.

“Get out!”

“We went over this. I can't do that, Scarlett. They probably took your picture. They know you're my date—my fiancée. We're in this too far.”

She backed up, reaching for anything. Her hand landed on the blue ceramic soap dish. She held it above her head and he stared at her as if she had contracted malaria. “For crying out loud, I'm not going to hurt you.”

She looked at the soap dish, then back at him. He didn't seem menacing. Just a guy standing on a plush, blue bathroom carpet, his hands now in his pockets, as if trying to keep her calm. He didn't even look like an operative, special forces or whatever he might be.
Okay, sure, he had some decent shoulders, and those arms—fine, he probably worked out regularly. Still, an operative should have a weapon of some sort. And couldn't he have just taken the door?

Not if he was trying to make friends.

She hung on to the soap dish.

He sighed and what looked like real disappointment crested over his face. He reached out, showed her his hands, then sat on the side of the bathtub. “Let me tell you what is happening here.”

Besides the ruin of her sister's wedding?

“That woman out there, Lucia, has put her life on the line for the past three years by dating Benito Sanchez. He's the youngest son of a guy named Claudio Sanchez, who just happens to be the brother of Augusto Sanchez. Augusto is a terrorist, among other things. If you'd like, I could get specific, but I don't think you need those images in your brain. Suffice it to say that he doesn't specialize. He's a drug lord and has a healthy stake in human trafficking on this side of the equator. The CIA and a few other three-letter organizations have been trying to lay their hands on him for years. But no one knows what he looks like, and he's painfully slippery.”

He leaned forward, pressing his hands together as if he might be praying. “Lucia's roommate in college disappeared during a trip to Panama, and Lucia, who grew up in Brazil as the daughter of an American ambassador, found out that Augusto's organization was suspected in her murder. She had met Benito while in boarding school and decided to work with the CIA to see if she could wheedle her way into the Sanchez family. It's taken three years, but finally, we have a chance at catching him.”

“I never thought Benito would ask me to marry him.” Lucia slipped into the room, her hands wrapped around her tiny waist. “Or…that I'd fall in love with him.” She gave a small, tight smile. “But the wedding gave us the perfect opportunity to ferret out Augusto. He loves Benito. He won't miss the wedding.”

“And the CIA will be waiting for him on Saturday night, right before Lucia walks down the aisle.”

Saturday night. “My sister gets married Saturday morning. We're having the reception on a yacht,” Scarlett said.

“Good. Then she'll be long gone by the time the fun starts.”

“And what happens to Lucia?” Scarlett set down the soap dish and looked at her.

“She leaves before they find out who betrayed them.”

“And Benito?”

Lucia closed her eyes. Clearly, without Benito.

Scarlett didn't know who she felt sorrier for, Lucia or poor Benito, who thought Lucia loved him. Yes, poor Benito.

“It sounds like you have it all worked out.” Scarlett's voice emerged with too much steel. She understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end of betrayal. “You don't need me.”

“But we do need you.” Luke stood up. “Like Lucia said, someone tried to kill her last week.”

Scarlett glanced at Lucia, whose eyes had reddened. Lucia nodded. “I was in the market and a car slammed into a vendor's kiosk, nearly hitting me. The CIA thinks it was an accident, but someone in the Sanchez household has been following me.” She glanced at Luke. “That's why I called Chet. I knew he would believe me.”

“And I'm supposed to stop this person? I'm just a
temp. I file. Type. Arrange parties, sometimes. I hate to tell you this, double-oh-seven, but I'm not the girl you'd hoped for. My most lethal skill is my driving, I assure you.”

This got the smallest of smirks from Luke, even as he shook his head. “That's why I'm here. To watch your back.”

“So, what, I'm just supposed to—”

“Hang out with the bride. Let me know who's with her, and where she'll be, and when. Be her maid of honor.”

The maid of honor. Oh, boy. “I'm already the maid of honor at my sister's wedding. And if I'm not there, she'll have a meltdown. If you think this guy Augusto is dangerous…”

Another smirk.

“I can't, Luke. Even if…” Even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. Right?

“They will make it look like an accident,” Lucia said to Luke. “I think I'm safe in my stateroom. Benito is often here, and he has guards on the boat. Everyone aboard has been checked for weapons, so I think I only need protecting when I'm in public.” She touched Luke's arm. “Maybe Scarlett's right. And if you're with me, I'm sure it will be okay,” she said, sounding anything but sure.

Scarlett wasn't sure why Lucia's words tugged something inside her. Lucia clearly loved Benito and—

“I know you're right. The last thing I should do is involve a civilian,” Luke said.

Yes, that made sense. But wait, she wasn't a complete idiot. How hard was it, anyway, to be Lucia's maid of honor, to make sure no one got too close to her? “I don't
have to be with my sister every moment,” she said before she could stop the words from slipping out.

Oops.

But really, the goons on the deck below did believe she had come with Luke. She couldn't walk out on the bride, could she?

But Luke had already decided. She saw it on his face. “We'll stage a fight and break up.”

“What? No. I'm not getting into a fight with you.”

“Why not? You're so good at it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“See?” But his grin was halfhearted. “I'll tell them we had a fight, or better, that you were seasick. That will at least keep you off the yacht.”

“Fine. Whatever.” But she couldn't help the disappointment. “Just…take me home.”

Or rather, to the island.

Or…what? She didn't know what she wanted. She glimpsed herself in the mirror over the bathtub. She almost didn't know that woman—her dark hair wind-blown, shoulders bare, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a look of determination she didn't know she possessed.

In fact, she sort of looked like a secret agent.

“I'm sorry I got you into this mess, Scarlett. I'll make sure you get home safely.”

Awesome.

She gritted her jaw as she brushed past Lucia, not looking at Luke. Picking up her jacket on the way out, she climbed down the stairs, gooseflesh raising on her legs.

The murky black of the ocean tossed the yacht, and she had to grab the rail as it pitched her off balance.

A warm hand pressed her back and she whirled around.

“Sorry.” Luke withdrew his hand.
Touch me once and you'll pull away a nub,
she'd said.

Real nice, Scarlett.

She refused to grab his steadying hand as she made her way down the side of the boat, climbing down to the deck and, finally, holding down her skirt to maneuver onto the motorboat.

Luke climbed in beside her. “You okay?”

Her eyes burned. Maybe not, but she nodded, because she couldn't figure out why she wouldn't be.

They rode home, the motorboat cutting over the waves, slamming into the troughs, jarring her bones. Wrapping her jacket around her, she drew up her knees, trying not to shiver. The lights of the island sparkled on the waves, the stars overhead dusty across the sky. Luke sat in the front, sometimes turning to look at her.

Always with that stoic expression.

I'm sorry.
The words lodged in her throat, because frankly, none of this was her fault.

Not really.

They pulled up to the dock. As she tried to find her balance, he rose, hopped to the dock, then reached out as if to pull her up.

She debated a moment then took his hand. His warm, strong hand. He pulled her to the dock.

In the darkness, with only the moonlight on his face, his eyes on hers, she suddenly didn't want to leave. Didn't want to slink back to her shadowed hut. Didn't want to wake up in the morning back in her own skin—Bridgett's unremarkable little sister.

“I can make it from here,” she said.

He drew in a breath. “Again, I'm so sorry for the trouble. Have a good wedding.”

“You, too.”

“It's just a job.”

That's right, it was. But it was one she, the temp, might have liked to try. The truth came at her fast, with the bite of regret. Yes, she might have wanted to see if she could save the day.

“Good night, Luke. Sorry you weren't my date.”

He smiled. “Me, too. Good night, Scarlett.”

And then, like the mystery he was, Luke climbed back into the boat and disappeared into the curtain of night.

 

Luke just wanted to keep going, lose himself in the black expanse of the ocean.

How could he have mistaken Scarlett Hanson for an operative? And then, even briefly, considered that she should take Stacey's place? That more than anything seemed proof that he'd lost function of his brain synapses.

He'd kept staring at her in the boat as they'd gone back to shore—not that he meant to, but disbelief kept him glancing back at her, huddled in the jacket, her eyes huge in the moonlight.

Chet would kill him.

And where was Stacey?

Even better—how was he supposed to keep Lucia safe? He'd have to stay on her like glue, but with Benito nearby and without a date for cover…

Yeah, that could get interesting.

He knew a little about how jealousy could warp a man's brain, turn him violent. The last thing he needed
was Benito throwing him off the yacht for perceived wrong intentions.

The boat churned through the ocean, spray misting his face.

Sorry you weren't my date.
For a second, on the pier, he'd nearly pressed his hand to her cheek, his heart giving the strangest leap at her goodbye, as if he actually hoped she'd stay.