Barefoot With a Bodyguard (Barefoot Bay Undercover) (Volume 1) Page 19

  “It’s on Mimosa Key, you know it?”

  She nodded. “It’s pretty there.” She gave Gabe an alluring smile. “Are you really giving away free trips?”

  “Press comp packages,” John said. “So don’t try and flirt your way into my freebie, Martinez.”

  She laughed and put her hands on her hips. “I can try.”

  “And you can succeed,” Gabe assured her. “Especially if you let me sit in here for a few minutes and download my presentation.”

  “Oh, hell, for a trip to a resort, you can give me the presentation,” she said.

  John rolled his eyes. “Give him an empty flash drive.”

  Gabe pulled out his phone and pretended to be checking messages while he took the guest chair in her cubicle, clicking on one of his favorite apps to send a text. Surreptitiously, he aimed his phone directly at John’s pocket while Amber unlocked a file cabinet.

  As Gabe took out his laptop, John’s phone beeped twice. He read the text and sighed. “I need to sign for a package in the lobby,” he said. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Bit…Bishk…”

  Gabe laughed. “It’s just Bill, and I’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll make the copy of this presentation and leave it at the front desk for you. Do you have a card?”

  “Sure.” He brought out his wallet and gave Gabe a card. Gabe handed him one back, complete with the Casa Blanca logo in the corner and a number that rang only at Nino’s desk.

  “If you like the presentation, call me and I’ll arrange your trip.”

  John shook his hand, considerably warmer than when Gabe first arrived. “Great, thanks.”

  After he was gone, Amber handed him a tiny thumb-sized drive from a small pile on her desk. “You can show me the presentation,” she said. “I’d like to see this place.”

  “Sure.” The longer he talked the better, and if that failed, all he needed was for her to leave for two minutes, maybe three. Her cube was situated privately enough, and the position of her computer would work for him.

  He loaded up the canned Casa Blanca PowerPoint, glancing up to catch her looking at him. Hard. Interested.

  He gave a slow smile. “How long have you worked here, Amber?”

  “Since I got out of college about three years ago.”

  Why would Malcolm Harris have her name? “You a tech guru?” he asked.

  “Not really. I’m in what you’d call distribution.”

  The first point on the chain of smuggling flash drives full of news and information into Cuba. But a PR guy at a hotel wouldn’t likely know that, so he just nodded. “Have you always been in this department?”

  “I interned here, like Johnny, when I went to UM.”

  “Good school,” he said, giving her an impressed nod.

  She shrugged. “I was born and raised in Miami, so I’d really love to move somewhere else.”

  She had zero trace of an accent, but few young Cuban-Americans did. And based on her looks, name, and choice of jobs, he was certain of her descent. “Parents or grandparents move here?”

  “My grandparents brought my mom over on the Mariel Boatlift in 1980. She was ten and had to leave two brothers who are still there.”

  He gave her a look. “Is she going to be reunited with them when the diplomatic knots get untied?”

  “She hopes they’ll come here, but nobody really knows what’s happening yet. Still too soon to get hopeful.”

  He looked up from his computer screen, studying her, guessing her weakness and soft heart. “That’s why you work here, then.”

  Amber laughed. “It sure isn’t for the money. Like, I couldn’t ever afford to stay in a resort like that.” She pointed to his laptop monitor showing a stunning shot of the endless white sand and turquoise water of Barefoot Bay. “Holy crap. I’d love to go there.”

  “I’m trying to get it featured in one of Radio and TV Martí’s travel segments, so when Cubans come to America, they’ll visit us.”

  She gave him a screwed-up face, then shook her head, her expression a blend of amusement and disdain. “You know that Cuba is a poor country,” she said, as if speaking to a five-year-old.

  “I know.”

  “And that very few Cubans actually get our news,” she added. “And they aren’t, you know, resort goers.”

  He knew that, of course. Every job, every undercover operation he’d ever been involved in, had some thin ice, and he was skating over it right now with this “advertising” shit. Of course, no resort in the free world would spend time and money promoting to poverty-stricken Cubans who weren’t even sure how the new world order would shake out for them.

  But it had gotten him this far, and now a good old-fashioned sob story would do the rest.

  “Amber.” He leaned closer and held her gaze. “My boss is Cuban, second generation, just like you. And Hector is trying to find his cousin, who he’s lost touch with for ten years. Hector’s cousin—Jorge Salazar—you don’t know him, do you?”

  She gave a sympathetic smile. “There are about ten thousand Jorge Salazars in Cuba, Bill.”

  Which was why he picked the name. “Anyway, my boss is hoping that this footage will reach his cousin somehow, so he will know he has a place to go in the United States.”

  “If the whole deal goes through with these two governments, your boss’s cousin will be able to come to the US openly and easily. How would Jorge know the footage is for him, and why would Hector go to this trouble?”

  Because he didn’t exist. “Hector’s cousin has been in some trouble with the law,” he lied easily. “Leaving Cuba, no matter what the legalities are for average citizens, won’t be easy for Jorge.”

  She sighed and looked at the screen again. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but even under those circumstances, we’re not likely to use your stuff for a fluff piece on a travel segment.”

  “I know, but I was hoping…could you help?” He put his hand out and placed it over hers. “This is a desperate, broken family.”

  “Cuba is full of desperate, broken families,” she said. “Which is why I do what I do.”

  “Distribution? How does that help families?”

  “I’m the liaison with the volunteers on the ground who distribute our flash drives. The broadcast signals are blocked almost entirely by the Castro regime, but these things”—she picked up one of the flash drives on her desk—“these are like little gold nuggets we hand out to the country.”

  Gabe studied the device, thinking. What would the connection be? Why would Malcolm send him here? Gabe wasn’t sure, but he trusted his friend and his instincts. “How do you find the volunteers?”

  “Well, they’re activists who want to be involved.”

  Activists. That sounded about right. “And how do you reach them?” he asked, pressing because he sensed this lead was going somewhere.

  “I have a list.”

  A list he now wanted so badly his mouth was watering.

  He gave her hand a squeeze and slid his strategy to what would work with her, and it wasn’t talking about lists of activists. “It’s about the families, isn’t it?” he asked. “The broken families who want to be reunited.”

  “It always is with Cubans.” She gave a smile. “And I’ll see if I can help you. I’ll try to convince the guys up in features to do something.”

  “That would be great. And I’ve taken enough of your time. Let me finish saving this, and I’ll be on my way.” He stuck the drive into the laptop and secretly slipped his hand into his suit pocket, touching his phone. It rang immediately, and he took it out and looked at the screen. “Speak of the devil. It’s Hector.”

  “Tell him you’re having success,” she said. “It will give him hope. That’s all we all want, anyway.”

  Damn right.

  “I’ll be right back.” She stood and gave him a smile, and he blessed her good manners as she gave him privacy.

  While he carried a soft one-sided conversation with no one, he reached into his other pocket and pulled o
ut the far more memory-heavy flash drive he’d been carrying all along, slipped it into a USB port on her computer, touched the mouse, slid it over to the C drive, and hit copy. His gut told him there was no way they’d keep something so sensitive in the cloud, and he didn’t have time to go searching for one, anyway.

  In less than fifteen seconds, a green light flashed, and he ended his call with his imaginary friend.

  Then he copied the standard Casa Blanca Resort & Spa sales pitch onto the drive she’d given him, closed his laptop, and stood as Amber came around the corner.

  “Do you have any more information than the name Jorge Salazar?” she asked. “I might be able to help your boss in a somewhat more efficient way than what you’re doing.”

  Two words. Two words was all he had to say. One woman’s name.

  But he couldn’t take the chance. No one could be trusted. Amber might be one of the good guys, but that was no guarantee she could be trusted. He had most of her computer in his pocket, and that was better than giving away the name of someone he…someone who mattered so much.

  “Sorry, that’s all I have,” he said.

  “Well, call me if you get more.” She pressed a business card into his hand. “Or your boss, he can call, too. And you don’t even have to give me a free weekend at the hotel.”

  “Okay, thank you. Thank you so much.” He shook her hand and left the way he came in, dropping one flash drive at the front desk, as promised, but walking out with information he hoped would get him closer to the one thing he wanted most.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  By midday, Alec and Kate were both damp with sweat as the sun blared down on the patio, the hours of sparring and teaching, laughing and fighting—and, holy shit, so much touching—had taken their toll.

  And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

  “Okay,” she said, wiping her brow, her chest rising and falling with the need for more air. “This time I am getting away from you.”

  “You haven’t yet,” he reminded her with a sly smile.

  “I came close, though. Even with your damn duct tape.” She pointed to the roll they’d used half of teaching her how to break it.

  “One more time,” he said.

  “All right.”

  “You know what to do, Kate.”

  Her gaze dropped for a second to his crotch. She hadn’t yet even tried to knee, punch, or grab him there, and she should. Not that he wanted his dick on the receiving end of her surprisingly strong knee, but it was definitely the most effective technique he’d taught her, and he wanted to be sure she could get the job done.

  “Let’s do a real-life situation.” He pointed to the table where she usually worked. “Sit and study.”

  She rolled her eyes and let out a grunt. “Don’t remind me of what I haven’t done yet today.”

  “You fully escape one attack, and you’re free.”

  She shook her head, a trickle of sweat meandering over her temple, sticking to a lock of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. “But I’m not free,” she said on a sigh. “How long do I have to stay in prison because some lunatic might hurt me?”

  “I know the feeling,” he said.

  She stepped closer, squinting up in the sunshine. “Do you? Who’s after you, Alec? Why can’t you just stop them?”

  His chest and gut squeezed with how badly he wanted to tell her. How much he wanted to hold her sweet face in his hands and stroke her pale skin and tell her all his dark secrets. Then he wanted to lay her down and bury himself and his sorrows in her body.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’d love to play poker with you.”

  He touched his own face, wondering how it had betrayed him.

  “What were you thinking just then?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s at the root of all our problems, Alec. I do want to know.” She reached a hand up to his face. “I really want to know, and you really want to tell me.”

  He took a breath and almost confessed. Everything. Almost. Instead, he snagged her arm and pulled her forward, purposely rough, getting a wide-eyed gasp in response. He flipped her around to pull her back against him, instantly feeling her find her balance.

  Good, good.

  She lifted a foot and tried to hammer his toes, but he jumped out of the way. She managed to get the very tip of his thumb and pull, but he was just strong enough to escape her shaky grip.

  “Come on, Kate,” he urged near her ear, half attacker, half encourager, the way he egged on all his students. “Leopard’s punch, thumb gouge, trachea twist. Do something!”

  He locked his grip and used his calf to buckle one of her knees, enough to knock her off-balance, but she kept her footing and jabbed her elbow into his stomach.

  “Not a soft target,” he reminded her as her arm might as well have hit a concrete wall when he flexed his abs. “Find it, Kate.” He jerked her body a little to juice up her adrenaline. “Find the vulnerable spot.”

  “Damn it!” she exclaimed, making every effort to whip out of his grasp.

  “Soft target!” he reminded her. “Wiggling gets you nothing!”

  He lifted her a few inches off the ground, just to show her how light she was, how small and, shit, perfect in his arms.

  She flailed for a second, then caught herself, turning just enough to land the heel of her hand under his nose

  “Yes!” he grunted, throwing his head back at the punch of pain, but not letting go.

  And, wham, her fist came down on his cock like a brick, nailing him hard, and instantly, he let go while she scampered away, hooting for a second with her victory. Then she stopped and put her hands over her mouth.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  He bit his lower lip hard enough to almost draw blood, agony shooting from his dick to his brain and back again like lightning bolts. “I’ve had worse,” he ground out, his jaw clenched.

  She came closer to him, still covering her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he ordered, blinking as the first white-hot wave subsided. “You did what I taught you to do.”

  “Is it broken?”

  He bit back a half laugh, half moan of misery and shook his head.

  “Are you—” She reached out her hand, and he didn’t even give it a second of thought, grabbing her again and pulling her into him, twisting her around, and damn near flipping her over.

  “Never come back!” he ordered. “He’s just a mad bear now, and you’re really putting yourself at risk.”

  She froze, on only one foot, completely off-balance, a little shocked. Then she sucked in a breath and gave a merciless kick at his knee and another jab with her elbow at his mouth, and burst out of his arms, throwing herself free, ending up one foot from the side of the pool.

  “Take that!” she barked at him, her eyes glowing with success.

  “Kate!” He stood frozen, pain and pleasure colliding. “That was awesome!” He pointed at her, then drew his hand back before she schooled him by bending another one of his fingers.

  She made two fists of victory and danced like a happy little boxer. “I beat you, Alec Petrov.” She grinned at him. “Now what do I get?”

  Kissed. Touched. Sucked. Licked. Possessed.

  He took a step closer, silent and intent on doing all those things and more. “Kate,” he whispered, not surprised his tortured voice came out gruff.

  She stared back at him, her feet braced, her arms taut. Even her shoulders were squared and ready for a fight.

  “You’re the best student I ever had.”

  A slow smile pulled on her lips as he came a step closer.

  “And the best looking.”

  She tipped her head at the compliment.

  “And definitely the smartest.” He was barely a foot from her now, their gazes locked, her chest rising and falling with strained breaths that pushed her
dampened breasts against the tank top she wore.

  “So I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said softly, finally closing the space and putting both hands on her shoulders. “But you have to pay for that.”

  Her eyes widened, no fear but plenty of anticipation. “Really?”

  “Really.” He gave a solid shove, and she gasped and started to scream, but hit the water with a huge splash before it came out. By the time she sputtered up for air, he was in the pool with her, ready for her retaliation. She came up fighting and splashing and laughing and so damn beautiful, he could have cried.

  He let her dunk him, then pulled them both up and gave in to everything he was feeling, covering her mouth with a kiss that made them both wobbly as they stood in four feet of water. She leaned into him, dragging her hands over his body as he did the same to her, so damn happy to touch her like this. No threat, no test, not a single bit of doubt that this was what they both wanted and needed.

  She murmured his name and clutched him tighter, pressing against him as they explored wet clothes and sweet flesh and a whole different kind of soft targets. He closed his hand over her breast, and she swayed a little, kissing him while she stroked his back and ass and then where his erection somehow grew despite her earlier assault.

  “Alec,” she murmured into his neck.

  “Kate.” Blood slammed in his head.

  “Kate!”

  Her hand closed over his dick.

  “Katherine Louise Kingston!”

  And they nearly exploded apart from each other, whipping around to see an older man with white hair and a murderous look in his green eyes.

  “Dad.” Kate whispered the word, biting back a shocked and self-conscious whimper. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think a better question is what are you doing?”

  Alec never really wanted to die more than he did right at that moment.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Despite the sun, despite the thick robe wrapped around her, despite the fact that she still burned from one of her more embarrassing moments, a chill shot through Kate as she processed what her father had been trying to tell her since his unexpected arrival.