Undercover Pursuit (9 page)

He could still hear the shouting if he let himself. “She found him in their bed with the neighbor. One of her best friends.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned and looked at her. “I hate adultery. I caught one of my superior officers stepping out on his wife during an overseas R and R and it just pushed all my buttons. I sort of lost it. It was the last of too many fights, and it wasn't beyond me that maybe I'd worked out my anger at my father on the guys who I saw betraying their wives. But the navy doesn't appreciate baggage, and they didn't ask me to reenlist. In fact, they discharged me without honors.”

“Oh, Luke.”

“Yeah, well, guess what?” He looked away from her. “Like father, like son.”

Again, nothing. She just stared at him. This woman was not
at all
what he expected.

“I came back to D.C., bunked with my mother and promptly made a mess of my life. Drinking and fighting, and I met this girl at a bar and we hooked up almost right away. Had a weekend romance that I declared true love. I was ready to propose when I answered a knock on the hotel room door. In comes her husband, leading
with a right hook, and I went down hard. Not just from his cheap shot, but because I realized, right then, I'd turned into my dad. Of course, she was married.”

“You weren't being your dad, Luke.”

He looked at her then, wanting to believe the grace in her eyes.

“I was on my way, for sure. I couldn't believe she'd lied to me, so I did nothing when her husband dragged her out of the room, and nothing when she looked at me, terror in her eyes. I should have known, but my pride—and probably my shame—wouldn't let me move. I couldn't believe she'd betrayed me.” He blew out a breath. “Or that I'd betrayed myself.”

“What happened?”

“The next morning, her body showed up in the alley outside the hotel.”

“Luke—” She started for him, but he couldn't take that.

He held out a hand. “Don't. The only thing good that came out of it was finding myself at her funeral, lurking in the back, hoping no one saw me. There, God got my attention. I ended up at the altar, long after they'd taken the casket away. The pastor found me, and God did, too. I walked away from the old Luke, became a new Luke. A guy who works hard to keep his promises. To not betray anyone.”

“To keep people safe.”

She crossed the room and stood in front of him. Oh, he wanted to touch her, to press his hand to her face. “Yes.”

“But it still haunts you. The memory of letting her go.”

He found himself caught in her gaze. Somehow he nodded.

“You need to forgive yourself, Luke.”

“I've tried. But I can't get past the fact that although I know God has forgiven me, I can't erase what happened. Sure, I'm sorry, but that doesn't change what I did. And therefore, I can't imagine why God would be on my side. I keep waiting for Him to betray me, to walk away.”

She took his hand but he couldn't look at her.

“God isn't like your father, Luke. He's not going to betray you. And he doesn't treat us as we think we should be treated.”

She said the words so softly, they shouldn't have hurt the way they did. And he didn't need to flinch. But he did.

She reached up and pressed her hand to his face. Soft against rough, cool against the heat of the sun.

“I know. But I just can't get it from my head to my heart.”

“You're not like your father, either, Luke.”

“I'm trying not to be. I keep thinking, what if it's in the genes? What if I was born with an adulterer's heart?” What if he never figured out what had made his father roam, so he could turn it off in himself? “I haven't exactly dated since.”

Something flashed in her eyes but she blinked and it was gone. “Not everyone is like that woman who lied to you.”

He heard her, then. Heard the words she meant.
I'm not like the woman who lied to you.

Or perhaps he only hoped he'd heard it. Because the words swept over him like a cool, sweet rain, into his bones, his heart.

Scarlett.

He pressed his hand to hers. He wanted to kiss her. To pull her close, hide her in his embrace, kiss her with the
emotions that buzzed right under his skin. Something about her—the way she looked at him, maybe, so much trust in her eyes.

Or acceptance. Yes. His story, his sins, hadn't rattled her, hadn't sent her running. And perhaps that, more than anything, was what stopped him.

He could love her.
The thought coursed through him. He could love her—her creativity, her courage, the way she kept up with him—and in a second he saw himself with her. He saw a future together.

Oh, wow. He pushed her hand away, breaking from her before he did something stupid. Pretend. This was only
pretend.

Well, maybe not this part, the part where he found himself alone with her in the stateroom, thoughts of her in his arms cascading through his brain. No, this was very painfully real.

And this part could get them both killed. Because what she didn't get was that, standing at the doorway, seeing the fear in Darcy's eyes, his soldier instincts should have kicked in. He should have thought further than his hurt to ask why she'd stepped out on her husband. Why his name on her lips resounded with fear. Why she looked back at Luke with terror, not shame.

Instead, he'd focused only on her betrayal, and it blinded him to the danger wrestling her away.

Yes, pretend could swiftly turn to reality if Scarlett kept looking at him like that. He wouldn't see what was coming, could let Lucia—and even Scarlett herself—walk right into danger.

So he marched over to the sofa, grabbed the sheet and a sofa pillow, tucked them under his arm and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Scarlett didn't exactly stand in front of the door, but she didn't move, either.

“Outside. I need fresh air. Lock the door behind me.”

She moved aside. He didn't dare look at the hurt on her face.

“W
here on earth have you been? I've been worried sick about you.”

Bridgett glanced over at Scarlett as she stepped out onto the balcony off her sister's villa.

Oh, sure she had. In fact, Bridgett appeared downright wrung out with concern, wrapped in a fluffy cotton bathrobe, lounging on a chaise under an oversize umbrella on the deck outside her villa, her hair wrapped in a turban, zinc oxide slathered on her nose and lips. Someone, please, get a doctor.

“You don't have to get snippy about it. I really was worried.”

Oops, had Scarlett said that out loud? She sank down into the opposite chaise and drew in a breath of the ocean, crashing and frothing on the coral and rocks below. The sky appeared nearly cloudless, save for the rim of darkness on the far horizon. “I'm sorry, I just meant—”

“I mean, one minute you're getting a body wrap, the next some strange man practically carries you off. Did I mention that he told me he'd have you back by dinner?”

He did? So perhaps that accounted for Luke's quiet
ness this morning, the way he stood at the rail, watching the boat skim the waves toward shore. He'd seemed friendly enough on the surface, but anyone who really knew him could tell that something ate at him.

Except she didn't really know him, did she? Scarlett thought she'd had a glimpse, for a second, last night. The man behind the façade, the man awakened by his own failures.

I couldn't believe she betrayed me…or that I'd betrayed myself.

She saw it all as he'd explained it—the horror on his face as he realized that his girlfriend had duped him, that he'd aided and abetted her cheating on her husband.

Never mind that he'd slept with a woman he wasn't married to. But he'd explained that part, too, and she saw his desire to be a new Luke, a man who worked hard to keep his promises.

Not everyone is like that woman who lied to you.

She hadn't quite meant to put so much vulnerability into her voice when she said that, but it slipped out anyway, and for a second, when he'd looked up at her, all the pretend vanished.

At least for her it had.

For a long—too long—moment, she wished herself into his arms, kissing him without the performance and instead with what had started to stir in her heart.

No, for her, it had ceased to be pretend. So she'd had to…well, pretend.

She'd had to act as if it hadn't nearly turned her inside out to see him crying out in his sleep, to see the torment in his eyes at his own guilt, his own shame. She had to act as if she didn't want to take him into her arms and soothe away the demons.

Today, when she'd left him on the boat, she had wanted with everything inside to hole up in her cabin and refuse to leave. She'd even managed to let him kiss her goodbye—a peck really, one that had the warmth of the Minnesota she'd left behind—without clinging to him.

Because, for Luke, it was all still pretend.

And not only that, but now she knew why. He'd never let himself love someone he couldn't trust. Someone he thought might betray him.

Not everyone is like that woman who lied to you.

And the life he'd chosen certainly didn't give him any chances to change that, did it? Good grief, he not only expected her to betray him, he'd practically demanded it.

Bridgett was still rattling on about her disappearance and how she'd missed the barbecue and—

“And of course, I don't mind so much if you want to explore the island, but you have a perfectly good date, you know. Dylan waited for you at the party, but you didn't show up. He's a nice guy, and you'd like him.”

“I don't need help finding men.”

And as soon as the words left her mouth, Scarlett wanted to grab them back.

“Oh, really? Because who is that guy, Scarlett? He looks like trouble to me. You know, I've been around the world quite a bit, and met all sorts of men, and he has a definite rogue aura about him. I'll bet he's a player.”

“Like a gambler?” Because, yes, Luke definitely played a dangerous game.

“No. A playboy. A man who uses women.” Bridgett pointed at her, her green eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. “Take it from me, you need to stay away from those types.”

She put so much vehemence into her voice, Scarlett believed her. She had no doubt her sister had met exactly that kind of man before she wound up in Rochester, Minnesota.

Why she'd ended up in Rochester, Minnesota, Scarlett never really knew. Bridgett did an effective job of dodging that question with, “I needed a change.”

Apparently that change meant invading Scarlett's ordered life, turning it upside down.

But she couldn't begrudge her sister a happy-ever-after, even with Duncan.

Duncan. Funny, she hadn't thought about him in, oh, over twenty-four hours. That felt good.

“Luke's not a player.”

“Then what's he doing with you?”

Ouch. “Why, thank you, Bridgett. Because what man would want to be with me if he wasn't using me?” Then again…

She blinked back a sudden burning in her eyes.

Bridgett reached for a glass of sweating orange juice. “Now you're just putting words in my mouth. You know what I mean.”

No, she didn't. But she probably didn't want to, either.

“He's a friend, nothing more. But if it will make you feel better, I'll be sure to lift his wallet and you and Duncan can run it for prints.”

“You laugh, but this is how innocent, unsuspecting women get burned.”

She wasn't an—well, yes, innocent, but certainly not unsuspecting, was she? Oh, she could taste the words on her lips—
I spent the day on a yacht, protecting a mole in the Sanchez family.
But even as she rolled them around her mouth, they had the feel of the fantastical.

She probably wouldn't even believe herself if she said it out loud.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here for the barbecue, Bridge. I'll be around from here on out.”

And she would, because Luke had made a point of asking her if she felt better, and suggesting that perhaps she should spend the next twenty-four hours on land after she got done shopping.

Clearly her vicious bout of seasickness had returned.

Lucia was due to get married tomorrow evening anyway, and by that time, the notorious Augusto Sanchez should have arrived, just in time for the CIA or whoever to move in. With great relief, Scarlett had done the math and realized that Bridgett, getting married on the far side of the resort, would already be down the aisle and on her way to her reception, safely out on the dinner yacht when the fireworks started.

“Yeah, I'm sorry you weren't here, too, because you were supposed to approve the menu—”

“I did approve the menu.” She had, hadn't she? Or had she been too busy being swept up into Luke's world of high-stakes suspense?

“If you were, then how did I end up like
this?
” She opened her bathrobe. An angry rash layered her skin—a mesh of reddened bumps that started from her collarbone and disappeared down the V of her swimsuit.

“What is it?” Scarlett reached out as if to touch it, then yanked her hand back.

“An allergic reaction! And recoil is exactly what Duncan is going to do on our wedding night, I just know it.”

Duncan had let Scarlett into the room earlier, barely
acknowledging her as he'd brushed by her. Trouble in paradise?

“How did it happen?”

“Mushrooms! They used a mushroom bullion in the marinade for the shish kebabs. Twelve hours ago, I couldn't even feel my lips and my eyes swelled shut. It was a good thing one of my bridesmaids had some allergy tablets, or I'd be in the hospital. As it is, I have to keep taking oatmeal baths.” She lowered her dark glasses, and yes, she still appeared puffy around the eyes. She pressed on a couple of the hives. “I think they're going down…” She glanced at Scarlett, with what looked like hope. “They'll go down, right?”

“By tomorrow morning?” Scarlett opened her mouth, searching for the right words.

“No, we have to move the wedding to tomorrow night. I can't walk down the aisle pimply and ugly.” Bridgett's voice wavered, and if Scarlett didn't know her better, she might have thought her sister would burst into tears. But Bridgett didn't cry. She simply ordered.

“You have to rearrange everything, Scarlett. Talk to the caterer, the yacht driver, the wedding guests. You have to fix this.”

Scarlett stared at her. Fix this? Somewhere in the back of her mind something niggled, a sort of moan, or perhaps screaming, but she couldn't grasp it. “I don't know…”

From across the ocean, probably from the port, a horn sounded.

Then, with a whoosh, realization hit her hard. “No, no, you can't change the wedding. That won't work, not at all.” Because she had no doubt that Augusto Sanchez would not go quietly into the night, or into the custody
of the authorities, which meant that innocent bystanders, like her sister, might get caught in the cross fire.

Bridgett frowned at her. “What are you talking about? Of course I have to change the wedding! I can't walk down the aisle looking like I have the measles.”

Scarlett schooled her voice, forcing the panic away. “You're beautiful, sis, I promise. Duncan won't even notice on your wedding day. He'll be focused on you.”

“He won't notice? What, do you think he's blind?”

Her mouth opened.

“Oh, wait, of course you do. Because he didn't see how much you loved him—how much you
still
love him. Of course you want me to walk down the aisle a mess. Because you're trying to sabotage my happy day!”

“Bridge—” Scarlett could hear warning sirens.

“I'm not going to let you wreck my wedding.” Bridgett pulled off her towel and shook out her long blond hair. “I knew that's why you really came. You didn't want to help me—you wanted to try and persuade Duncan not to marry me.”

“Why would I—”

“You probably told the chef to put in the mushroom bouillon—”

“Don't talk crazy—”

“And that's why you weren't there! I should have guessed it!” Bridgett stood over her now, shaking.

Scarlett took a breath and backed away. “I didn't do anything of the sort, Bridgett! Get ahold of yourself!”

“Then why don't you want me to have my wedding tomorrow night?” She slapped her hands on her hips, glaring at Scarlett.

And Scarlett had nothing. Well, nothing but the truth, but that just might be worse than nothing.

“Perfect. The one person I thought I could count on.
I should have known better. You've been sabotaging me my entire life.”

“What?” Hey, now, Scarlett wasn't the one who dragged the family around the world, parted her sister from friends, forced her to retreat into a world of books. “You're the one who sabotaged lives. You and your precious modeling career.”

“My modeling career fed you and paid for your college education. You don't seriously think that Aunt Gretchen had enough money to feed and clothe you, did you? I sent her checks every month. Which I would have never had to do if Mom and Dad hadn't been killed trying to get back for one of your stupid theater performances.”

Everything inside Scarlett stilled, her thoughts simply wiped clean, her body without feeling. Her voice came out wire-thin. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don't play stupid. Dad—it was always Dad—said they had to get back home because you were in some silly play.”

A silly play.
Twelfth Night.
“I was Olivia.”

“Whatever. I was doing a photo shoot for
Vogue. Vogue.
I'm not sure if you've heard of it. And they left to go see your little high school play.”

“I'm sorry.” She wasn't sure why she said it, perhaps simply because that's what she'd said that night when the prep school director came into the theater, took her aside, told her the news.

I'm sorry.

“Whatever. Everything has to revolve around you, Scarlett. I'm not sure why—maybe it's because you don't feel important. But you always have to be the heroine and save the day. Oh, I'm an idiot—of course! You keep your silly temp jobs because you
like
being the savior!
The one in the red cape. Well, you can put away your cape, honey, because I don't need anyone to save me, or this wedding. In fact, I should have stuck to my gut instincts. You. Are. Fired. Get out of my villa. I'm getting married tomorrow night and you'd better be far, far away.”

“Bridgett.”

But she'd turned away, her hand snaking up her sleeve to scratch.

 

“You did what?” Even ten thousand miles away, across two oceans and seven time zones, Luke had to hold the phone from his ear.

“What do you mean you recruited a civilian? Unarmed, untrained, unprotected—”

“I protected her, Chet.” Well, as well as a guy could while trying to sleep outside on the deck, his eyes glued to both Lucia's and Scarlett's stateroom doors the remainder of the night.

Not that he'd gotten any shut-eye anyway. The minute he let himself doze off Scarlett and those gorgeous doe eyes came back into his brain and turned it to knots.

Or he had nightmares of Claudio figuring out how he'd been played, grabbing Scarlett and making everyone pay.

So, yeah, maybe he'd put the phone back to his ear and let Chet have at it. “I admit that it might have been a bad idea.”

“Bad? Try catastrophic. What were you thinking?”

Maybe he hadn't been. Maybe Luke had simply panicked. But it seemed like the right thing at the time—all the way up to that kiss.

In fact, she played the part so well, it felt as if he
might actually have been kissing his real fiancé goodbye today, when he'd spun the story of her being seasick.