Undercover Pursuit (7 page)

He felt a little sick. He should probably inform her of his entire plan. But his gut said she wouldn't play
along, couldn't be trusted to embarrass herself. What woman would deliberately act like a floozy? Certainly not someone who looked so clean and innocent, so freshly scrubbed.

No, he couldn't tell her. Not until she couldn't back out. “I think mud becomes you,” he said, then didn't know why.

“My skin feels like it's been dipped in lemon cleanser, all tingly and sharp. My sister got a yogurt wrap. I was shooting for the chocolate and coffee—oh, forget it. What's next, double-oh-seven?”

She grinned, all bright and shiny.

Uh-oh. “This isn't some sort of field trip, you know. This is the real deal. There will be men with guns. Maybe hidden, yes, but still, these aren't your neighbors in Iowa.”

“Minnesota.”

“Right. But the truth is, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think I could keep you safe. I mean, they're not going to dig up the fact that you're really an undercover cop, are they?”

“What, you mean my ten years in the FBI? Not a chance. They wiped out those records when I became a receptionist.” She widened her grin.

“You're real cute.” He wasn't sure why he said that, but he chalked it up to that professional charm he was supposed to be using. “Here's the plan. Unfortunately, we're going to be spending the rest of the day at sea.”

“Wow, that's a real bummer, especially here in the Caribbean.”

He held up a finger. She closed her mouth and folded her hands. Oh, brother.

“I cannot stress enough how serious this is.”

“I'm serious. I'm serious.”

“Okay. Listen. You have to hang around Lucia while I try and figure out who on the boat might be trying to hurt her. Benito was right on that account—someone on the guest list wants to scare her, if not kill her, and we have to find out who. I'm going to give you a tiny alert device, and if you get into trouble or are afraid of anything—even just a shadow—you press it and I'll be there.”

“Like a butler.”

“Like a guy trying to keep you and Lucia from becoming shark bait. I did mention the bloody shark on the deck this morning, right?”

“On the way back to the hotel. But I was so busy picking bugs from my teeth, I wasn't sure I caught everything.”

“Hey, motor scooters are the mode of transportation around here.”

“I rented a golf cart. Windscreen. No bugs.”

“They move at the speed of a sea slug, and I needed to find you fast.”

“I'm not complaining. How
did
you find me?”

But he was stuck, for a second, on her words.
I'm not complaining.

He hadn't complained, either, as she'd locked her arms around his waist. Something about the way she hung on as he motored through the streets, in and out of cars—

“Luke?”

“Honestly, you had me scared for a bit. I thought you'd left. I went to the cottage and the maid told me you were gone. I was already halfway to the ferry launch in my head when one of the valets I know asked if I was looking for you, and then told me he'd rented you a golf cart and given you directions to the spa.”

“Raoul. He was very helpful. I need to ask him to check on the dinner menu.” She made a face. “My sister is having a cookout on the beach tonight.”

“I'll have you back in time, I promise.”

“And how, Mr. Tour Guide, will you do that?”

“Let's get your stuff.” He reached for the carry-on bag, tossed it on the bed and unzipped it.

Her smile vanished. “Whoa there, fast fingers. You're not going through my things—”

“We have to get going. I'm not sure how long they are going to be in port, and I don't want them to leave without us.” He opened the suitcase. “No wonder this thing weighs a ton. I can't believe you got it in the overhead.”

“Listen, a girl can't have too many books.”

He reached in and pulled them out. “Six books? Six. What did you think you were going to do here? I thought you were going to a wedding.”

She snatched the paperbacks from him. They flew out of her hands and onto the bed. “Yes. But, you know, just in case there was downtime.”

“Downtime, or escape-from-your-sister—or should I make that blind date—time? Certainly you didn't expect to read all six of these.”

“I don't know what kind of mood I'll be in. I have to bring different genres. Sometimes it's helpful for a girl to have a backup plan. Just in case Dylan from Davenport happens to be a little too handsy.”

The thought churned a strange feeling inside, one he didn't want to scrutinize. He looked over at the book covers. “Looks like all the same stuff to me. What are those, bodice rippers?”

“Oh, for goodness' sake. No, most of them are ro
mantic suspense, but this one is historical romance, and—”

“They're all romance.”

“So what? I like romance.”

“You know, those stories aren't real life. No one falls in love forever.”

“Just like a guy doesn't come in and sweep you into his arms?” She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

He felt his face heating. “Well, not unless there is a national emergency.” He looked back to the suitcase and started rifling through it. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”

“Yes, thank you.” She grabbed at his wrist, pulled it away. “I'll pack, thanks.”

“You just need a swimsuit, maybe a cover-up. And flip-flops. A hat.”

She began to pile the clothes on the bed.

“I said a swimsuit.”

“What do you think this is?” She held up a pair of shorts and a long tank top.

“A mumu. Where's your bikini?”

“I'm from Minnesota. I don't have a bikini. You're lucky I have these shorts.”

“Okay, we'll stop by the store and get you a bikini—”

“I'm not wearing a bikini!” She picked up one of the books and threw it on the bed.

Then she glanced at him and picked it back up, turning it over to read the back.

“Do not tell me you are thinking of bringing that with you.”

“Well, maybe not. I might bring a different one…”

“You're going to be spending the day on a luxury
yacht. With a very nervous bride-to-be. This is not a time to read.”

“It could be. You never know when a good book might come in handy.”

“Fine. Take it.”

“Wait—I have to see if this is the one I want.”

He grabbed the book from her and scooped up the rest of her clothing with the other hand. “Please tell me you brought a beach bag.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “I just hope that's the right book.” She opened the top of the suitcase and pulled out a canvas bag. “If I read the first chapter and hate it, then I'll have nothing else to read.”

“Cry me a river. C'mon.” He threw her stuff in the canvas bag.

“Stop.” She put her hands on his chest. “Really, I need to know the plan.”

“Okay…I just need you on the boat long enough to convince them that yes, you do exist and we are together. But it's not permanent. I have a plan to get you off the boat and out of this mess, so don't worry.”

“Really? What kind of plan?”

By making you betray me. By pushing you into the arms of another man. By embarrassing you and throwing you off the yacht.
But the words stuck inside his chest.

“Can't you just trust me?”

He didn't realize how raw and fresh those words sounded until they tumbled out, until they lay between them.

Or how much it might sting, like salt on old wounds to have her step back, smile and say, “Of course I trust you.”

I
f this was the life of a secret agent, point her to the dotted line. Yes, she could get used to the attention of stewards, the ocean lapping against the hull of the boat, the laughter of guests as they motored off the end of the yacht on Jet Skis some three decks below.

Around them, as far as the eye could see, the ocean stretched out in a deep indigo, even as the sun began to bleed into the horizon.

She could also get used to Luke's almost gallant attention as he watched her through his aviator sunglasses, not to mention the feel of his hand on her back as he'd layered sunblock onto her skin. Not that SPF 30 would make her feel any less exposed than she did in the two-piece barely bikini Luke purchased for her in the gift shop. Good grief, she hadn't shown this much skin since birth. But really, it was nothing out of the ordinary here. Next to her, Lucia wore a white string top and thong. And she had the gorgeous tan that suggested she spent more time than not in her three patches of fabric and a rubber band.

Lucia lay on her back, her face to the sun, her giant bug-eye glasses covering most of her face, one arm lifted over her head as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Certainly not as if someone might be trying to kill her. Honestly, Scarlett had begun to have her doubts. But why else would Luke woo her onto this boat?

“So, you live in Minnesota?” Lucia said. Scarlett opened her eyes, realizing that their upper deck was cleared of any other souls.

“I do. I'm a receptionist. Well, last Tuesday was. Wednesday through Friday I was a file clerk at a dentist's office. And then on Friday nights, I stock books for the library, although that's just volunteer, unless a spot opens up. I really love Saturdays, though, because I've been working at this same dog kennel for three years and I just love holding the animals while Adam rinses out the stalls. Fun.”

Lucia looked over at her, drew down her glasses. “You work in four different places?”

“Oh, no, I work for one company—Rochester Temps—but they send me wherever there is a need. Sometimes I temp for the same company for two or three weeks. Or I just go for a day. It depends. But at the kennel, they just keep asking me back.” What would her fellow temps say if they saw her right now, getting a sleek tan on a multimillion-dollar yacht?

She'd landed the best temp gig in history.

“So, you never know where you're going to be from one day to the next?”

“Nope. It's exciting. Except, well, sometimes it can be stressful, always learning new office rules, but I've discovered that most offices have the same expectations. Come in, do your job, keep your mouth shut, adapt, smile and keep their secrets.”

Luke had come off his perch by the rail to sit in a chair beside them. “Sounds a little like what I do.”

It did? “Really?”

“Sure. New assignments every week, having to work with what I have.”

She glanced at him, searching for indictment, but he only grinned down at her. “So, you're saying I'm sort of a secret agent?”

“Just so we're clear, my job title is security specialist, but if you want, I'll call you a secret agent.” The sun on his hair turned it to bronze, and he had the nicest smile. She certainly wouldn't complain about hanging out with a guy who had the build of a hardworking man—strong arms, amazing shoulders. She had noticed, however, a webbed scar just above his knee, peeking out from below his orange swimsuit.
Sure
his job was just like hers. She didn't remember getting wounded changing the toner on a copier. Maybe someday he'd trust her enough to tell her how he got injured.

Footsteps clumped on the stairs, and Luke went to the rail. Scarlett lifted her head as Benito ascended the top step. He held a cold beer in his hand. “Roll over,
chiqua,
I don't want you to get burned.”

Lucia smiled at him, greeting him with a kiss. He sat down at her feet at the end of the chaise and glanced over at Scarlett. She could admit that she'd conjured a different image in her head when Luke described him. The son of a so-called real estate mogul from Panama, she expected him to be all hairy-chested swagger. Instead, Benito seemed clean-cut, trim, even a politician of sorts, the way he greeted her when she boarded.
I'm so glad to meet my bride's best friend!

Frankly, she had to ignore the smallest twinge of regret at her subterfuge role. She'd never been a liar. But, as Luke explained, big causes justified little lies.

Maybe.

“Hello, Benito,” she said, lifting her sunglasses.

Benito ran his hand up Lucia's leg. “I went through all my guests. None of them seem to have any reason to hurt us, but I will have a man outside our door tonight.” He glanced at Luke, however, as if there might be one stone unturned.

Or maybe her overactive spy brain simply imagined the sudden shift of energy when Luke turned, folding his hands over his chest.

Benito took a sip of his beer. “So, how did you two meet?” He looked at Scarlett and it took her a moment to realize that he referred not to her and Lucia, but her and Luke.

She glanced at Luke. He drew a breath.

“In Italy.”

It was the first thing that came out of her mouth, and now they had to stick with it. Whoops. Luke looked at her and she smiled at him.

“Right,” he said. “Uh, I was…”

“On a tour of the vineyards. I was taking a cooking class. And our tours met up for a—”

“Tasting. Only, she doesn't drink wine.”

“You don't drink wine?” Benito frowned.

Scarlett picked up her now-lukewarm orange juice. “It goes right to my head. But I do like…rigatoni.”

“Actually, her favorite dish is
bitecchine di cinghiale,
don't you remember, darling?” Luke grinned, something dangerous in his smile.

“Oh, yes, what did it have in it again—cheese?” She looked at him, her eyes widening under her sunglasses. He looked to be enjoying this too much.

“Wild boar and prunes. You were a pro.”

She kept her smile. “But I loved what Chef Baghatti said…what was it?”

“Bellissimo?”

“No, no.” She sat up, swinging her legs over the lounger. “It was such a breathtaking place. I saved for a year to be able to go, and of course, I went by myself because I was hoping I might find true love.” She winked at Benito. “I was sitting in the Adirondack chair by the pool when Luke walked in, and of course, there were these two women from Paris who thought they might catch his eye. They drove me crazy the entire time, always Paris this, and Paris that—I think Chef Baghatti wanted to throw them into the wine cave and lock the door. Sure enough they got up and strutted toward Luke, and wouldn't you know it, he wasn't watching where he was going and he knocked one right into the pool.”

“I didn't mean to,” Luke mumbled. “I had my eyes elsewhere.” His gaze tracked to her, and warmth rushed through her. She probably needed to get out of the sun.

“Anyway, Chef Baghatti saw what happened and he convinced Luke to leave his tour and join ours. Said we were aligned under the stars or something.”

“Actually he said,
‘Quando ì fui preso, et non me ne guardai, chè i bè vostr'occhi, donna, mi legaro.'
The words flowed out of Luke so easily, as if they really had met in Italy, really had fallen in love under a waxen moon, this exotic man and his high-adventures girlfriend. They scooped all the breath from her. Luke met her eyes with a smile that reached right through her. “When I was caught, I put up no fight, my lady, for your lovely eyes had bound me.”

Oh. Uh…

“That's very romantic,” Lucia said, pulling down her glasses. “So, it was love at first sight?”

“Yes,” Luke said.

“Yes,” Scarlett whispered.

“There is nothing sweeter than true love.” Glancing at Luke, Benito nodded, camaraderie in his expression. Then he raised his bottle and Scarlett reached for her glass. She met his in a toast.

Luke's smile, however, dimmed for just a second, hidden from Benito as he picked up his sweating soda from the table. But his voice betrayed nothing amiss. “To true love.”

Scarlett lay back on her lounger, his words still in her ears.

Benito finished off his beer and kissed Lucia. “I think that Scarlett and Luke should cook for us something of Tuscany.”

Her mouth opened.

“Yes, Benito. We would love to, after the wedding—” Luke said, his voice easy.

“No, tonight. Cook for us tonight.”

Tonight?

But Luke shrugged. “No problem. What do we need, darling?” He turned to her, took another sip of his drink.

What did they need? He didn't
seriously
believe that she'd been in Italy, right? She'd…she'd, well she'd lied. She'd never been to Italy, never even taken a cooking class. She'd simply drawn from a scene in a book—

Oh, wait. He smirked at her.

“Basil. And…” What was that other Italian herb? “Oregano. And fresh mozzarella. And—”

“I don't think we can come up with a wild boar.” Benito smiled. “But I'll have my people find the rest.” He kissed Lucia on the forehead.
“Salut!”

Oh, no.

He got up and climbed down from the deck.

Luke continued to smile.

“Are you serious? We're going to cook?” Yet, for a rich, aromatic moment, she saw herself with an apron tied around her waist, Luke standing behind her, his arms encircling her, stirring tomato sauce, pressing a kiss to her neck—

“This is perfect,” he said, probably reading her thoughts.

Yes, it was, wasn't it?

He set down his drink, his voice pitching low. “I couldn't figure out how to get you off the ship, but oh, Scarlett, you're brilliant.”

“I am?” She was?

“Yes.” He walked over and picked up her hand, kissing it.

She stared at him. “I don't understand.” But she did relish the tingles that went up her arm, right into her brain.

Maybe he'd…what if he
wasn't
acting? What if he felt it, too, the sparks between them as they'd spun that lie, the taste of romance on this clear blue day. What if he really meant it?

She smiled up at him.

“You're going to get drunk and come on to Benito.”

You're going to—
What? “Wait! What did you say?” She yanked her hand out of his grasp. “I'm not going to do any such thing!”

His smile dimmed. “Just calm down, it's a great plan.”

“It's a horrible idea. Why on earth would I ever do that? First, I don't drink—you know that.”

“You don't have to drink. I'll teach you a trick that makes it look like you're drinking only you're not. You'll be sober, but Benito won't know that.”

“Why would I want him to think I'm drunk?”

“Because a sober girl wouldn't try to seduce him.”

“I will not try and
seduce
him! What a horrible thing to say. I'm…well, I'm a Christian for one, and two, I'm…engaged!”

And of course, her voice had to tremble, her insides suddenly jumbled. But he'd just kissed her hand, just looked at her as if he…

It was all part of the mission. Part of adapting. A temp job.

What a fool she'd been to think he might actually be interested in her. She'd blame it on her sunstroke.

She looked at Lucia. “Are you okay with this?”

Clearly not, from the stricken look on Lucia's face.

Scarlett turned to Luke. “Why?”

His smile had cooled, his expression dark. “Because, like I told you in the hotel, this is a short-term gig. You need to get off this boat. And I have to stay. And the only way I can think of is for you to offend your best friend here. Lucia, you have to kick her off, and Benito has to believe it.”

Lucia sighed.

“Lucia—” Luke started.

“I know, I know. I just…” Lucia swallowed. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Scarlett tore her gaze off Lucia and turned back to Luke. “No,
not
fine. This is your magnificient plan? I'm not going to have anyone think I would betray, well, my fiancé—” she pointed to Luke “—and you—” she turned to Lucia, “my best friend. What kind of person would that make me? No. I'm not a man-stealer.” Her jaw tightened and she pinned a glare on Luke. “And you know it.”

His mouth tightened a little around the edges. “Of course you're not. But it's a good plan, and it'll work.”

“Well, what if I don't want to leave? I don't
have
to leave. Lucia needs me, right?”

“Don't answer her,” Luke said darkly.

Lucia drew in a long breath.

“It doesn't matter what she says. I'm not leaving.” Scarlett got up, grabbed her wrap, snaked it around her waist and slipped into her flip-flops.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen. I'm going to learn how to cook.”

 

Luke had recruited a regular Julia Child. Scarlett stood in the kitchen, a towel around her waist, slicing a piece of freshly grilled tenderloin into strips, her hair back in a curly ponytail, putting more effort into the meat than she probably needed to.

He settled his hands on her hips, intending to lean in and whisper in her ear for the benefit of Benito's chef, who now tossed an arugula salad. Scarlett jumped and rounded on him.

The knife dripped dark juice and he peddled back, hands up. “Don't kill me.”

“I should.” She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned back to the meat. “I still can't believe you suggested what you suggested.”

He could admit that after she'd left, and he'd had a moment to allow the fresh air to clear his brain, he didn't exactly love the idea of her flirting with Benito. Something about the images of her in Benito's arms just made his stomach tighten.

“What are you making?”