Barefoot With a Bodyguard (Barefoot Bay Undercover) (Volume 1) Read online

  “His hand?” None of this made sense, but…his hand? “What are you talking about?”

  “Show her,” Gabe said.

  He looked a little pained at the order, but he stuck his right fist forward so she could see the purplish-black writing tattooed on his fingers between his knuckles, exactly where he’d land a punch.

  He didn’t hold them long enough for her to make out the symbols. No, letters. The Cyrillic alphabet? So, Russian or Slavic, she presumed.

  “It says kill,” Gabe said in response to her frown. “And he will, if he has to.”

  “Why do I have to hold his hand?”

  “Because that’s not a tattoo he got while he was drunk with his friends. It’s a tag that identifies him, and there are people who would love to separate that hand from his body, along with other choice parts, so do yourself a favor and help him cover it—casually—when you’re out. Got it?”

  So who was protecting whom, exactly? “I don’t understand.”

  Gabe grinned, a playful, charismatic smile that probably set the hearts of hundreds of women into high gear. “Sorry, but one of the first rules of undercover work is that you don’t know everything, because what you know can hurt you.”

  “I don’t accept that,” she said.

  Gabe gave a soft snort and shared a look with the other man, a silent bonded-male communication that irked her even more.

  “Let me ask you this,” Gabe said. “Do you accept death?”

  How did she answer a question that ridiculous? She didn’t get a chance, because he got closer and continued, “Because I just read the latest little love note your father received, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but someone is getting off on the idea of locking you in a basement, raping the shit out of you, then cutting your body up into small pieces and, as he so poetically puts it, ‘dismissing the evidence’ in his kitchen disposal.”

  Blood drained from her head so fast she felt dizzy. “What?” She whispered the question, vaguely aware of a man’s hand on her shoulder. A huge, strong, surprisingly warm hand that was exactly what she needed to stay standing.

  She’d had no idea…

  All joking evaporated from Gabe’s expression. “You got yourself in the sights of one sick fuck, what can I say?”

  She struggled to speak. Dad never told her that. If he had… “It really said that?”

  “That’s one of the more tender ones. Believe me, all you need to know to be safe is what you’ve been told. You have two contacts, other than me and Conan here. Nino Rossi, my grandfather, who I predict you will grow to love, because everyone does, is in on everything and able to take you two wherever you want to go, within reason. Poppy, your housekeeper, is also on my payroll. She knows you’re undercover, but not your real identity. With the exception of the head of all security, Luke McBain, not another person at this resort—not the chef, owner, gardener, massage therapist, front-desk person, cabana boy, doorman, or the pretty blonde who flies the hot air balloons can or will know who you are.”

  “But what if—”

  “Don’t get friendly with guests, but don’t act weird either. You’re on your honeymoon, so no one will go out of their way to bother you, but you don’t want to bring attention to yourselves by acting like you don’t know or like each other. In fact, I prefer you drooling over each other in public. If you speak honestly to one person or let on to anyone that you are not who they think you are, I wash my hands of both of you. And, trust me, I have spies everywhere, and I will know if you so much as think about your real identity around another person anywhere on this island.”

  Kate stared at him, wanting so much to cling to her righteous indignation about being told what to do by yet another man. But all she could think was…lock you in a basement, rape the shit out of you, and…a kitchen disposal?

  As if Benjamin could read her thoughts, his fingers tightened on her shoulder. And then, without thinking, Kate lifted her hand and put it over his. His tag that said kill.

  Awesome, just awesome. What a fabulous vacation in paradise this turned out to be.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Gabe said, his gaze noting the touch. “Oh, here, this is why I came over here in the first place.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black bag. “Don’t go anywhere without these.” He flipped the pouch to the bodyguard, who easily snagged it with one hand. “And I didn’t make up a backstory about how you met and all that shit. You can dream one up together.”

  “We don’t need that,” Kate said.

  “Yes, you do.” Gabe headed toward the front door without looking back. “Follow the rules, kids, and everybody stays alive.” Without waiting for an answer, he let himself out.

  Benjamin opened the bag and poured out something that clinked in his hand. “Hardware,” he said, holding up a small ring with a not-so-small diamond. “His and hers.”

  And they didn’t need that, either. “I swore I would never, ever wear that handcuff again.”

  “It goes on your finger.”

  “Very funny. It does the same thing as a handcuff—traps you.”

  He handed one to her and took the much larger gold band for himself. “See if it fits.”

  It did, sliding easily over her knuckle and feeling as heavy as the one she’d finally ditched the day she moved out of the Beacon Hill apartment. Benjamin’s wasn’t going on so easily. He made a face as he tried to push it over a gnarled knuckle.

  “Here, I’ll help,” she said.

  He quickly turned away. “I got it.”

  Great, he was one of those kind of men. “Really? Because it doesn’t look like you do.”

  “I got it.” His voice was taut, telling her that for all his bravado, he hated this situation as much as she did. After a second, he turned back to her, his face dark with frustration. “Guess I’ll need another one. This one won’t fit.”

  She didn’t answer, going into the kitchen and grabbing some dish soap she found on the sink. “Come here,” she called as she poured some on her fingers. “Give me your hand.”

  He came around the counter reluctantly, still working the ring. “My fingers are…big.”

  Big and scarred and big. She glanced up at him, seeing nothing but shame in his rough features and riveting blue eyes. Something in her heart slipped, just like the ring as she eased it over his lubricated knuckle.

  “There you go,” she said.

  He gave it a yank. “It may never come off.”

  “You can use a saw,” she said dryly, walking by him.

  “Kate.”

  She paused, turned, and looked at him, expecting a belated thank-you.

  He swallowed, as if gathering his thoughts. His blue eyes lost all their sharpness for that moment, as he looked earnestly into hers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise you’re safe.”

  She waited for a retort to pop into her head, but she couldn’t think how to answer, because she believed him, but yet she felt anything but safe right then. Maybe it was the news that the threats were far more terrifying than she’d been led to believe. Maybe it was this whole upside-down arrangement that stole her freedom and control. Or maybe it was this big man with blue eyes and scarred hands that embarrassed him.

  She didn’t know what she felt, but it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

  Chapter Four

  Alec was in the kitchen, the room in the villa he’d come to like the best, when Kate came up to the counter and uttered the words he had been dreading the most: “I need to shower.”

  He’d never been a bodyguard before. Except for a few cursory meetings with Gabe Rossi and Luke McBain, who ran a personal-protection company based here at the resort called McBain Security, Alec was totally winging it.

  Starting with what he was supposed to do to ensure her full security while his “wife” showered.

  “There’s a shower and a bathtub the size of a kid’s pool in there.” He pointed to the one and only bedroom, down a short hall n
ext to the living area. “I put your bags by the door.”

  She crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter, still obviously not comfortable with anything—the villa, the situation, the news of how much danger she clearly didn’t know she was in. Before that, she’d been a firecracker, flinging fifty-dollar words like they were her best weapons.

  But after she found out someone really wanted to hurt her? That spark definitely got drenched. So she probably needed a good hot shower and maybe a cry. Women liked to cry in the shower, right?

  Only, she didn’t seem like the weepy type.

  “Where will you be?” she asked.

  “Sitting on the bed or in the chair in the corner, staring at the locked bathroom door.”

  Her jaw unhinged. “That’s just creepy.”

  “It’s just common sense.”

  “You think I’m going to try to escape?”

  “You’re not in jail, Kate.”

  She started to turn, then froze, narrowing her eyes. “I thought that was against the rules.”

  He knew exactly what she was referring to. “You’re right. I should call you Mathilda or Tilly or anything but your real name, but…” He let his eyes drift over her, lingering on that baby-pink sweater that draped over her body and her long, feminine thighs in jeans that were tight all the way to the ankle, where they grazed low black boots. “Kate suits you.”

  “Fine, break the rules. Call me Kate, and then I can call you…” Her voice rose in question.

  “Benjamin.”

  She tipped her head, almost smiling. He watched her, waiting, a little surprised by how much he wanted to see her smile. How much he actually needed to see her face light up, just for the raw pleasure of it. But she didn’t, and the disappointment was almost as unexpected as his thoughts.

  “Come on, you know my name,” she urged.

  “Because you insisted on telling me. Your choice, not mine.”

  “But now that I know Benjamin isn’t your real name, I’m going to obsess until I know what it is.”

  He gave a quick laugh, mostly to cover the slow burn that suddenly surged in him at the idea of her giving him that much thought. “You don’t strike me as obsessive.”

  She scooped up the handbag she’d left on the counter, flipping it on her shoulder. “All women obsess, don’t you know that?”

  “I don’t know much about women,” he admitted as she started to walk toward the hall.

  That stopped her. “But you know about being a bodyguard.”

  Why lie? “Not really. Never been one before.”

  “Then why are you one now?”

  “Gabe explained it’s a matter of convenience for both of us. I teach martial arts and have a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Plus, I was a Marine for seven years. I’m perfectly qualified.”

  Her gaze dropped to his right hand. “But you’re not entirely safe yourself, is that right?”

  “I’m a marked man,” he said simply. “That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I need a cover. You are in a similar situation. So it makes sense.”

  “No, nothing makes sense right now.” She sighed as if she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Then she glanced around the little house. “So this is it? The whole place? It seems small.”

  Actually, it was pretty spacious. But it probably seemed small for two people who weren’t actually married, or even friends. “Want a tour?” he asked.

  “Sure. How long have you been here?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “All alone?”

  He half-shrugged. “When I got here a while ago, I was…” In pretty bad shape. His broken rib had almost healed, and a doctor Gabe knew had set his busted nose. The bruises on his hands were gone now, and he was able to start slow workouts. Since he couldn’t leave the villa, he’d improvised training on the back patio.

  “You were what?” she prodded.

  “Waiting for my cover.”

  “Which would be me.” She sounded like a woman who’d finally accepted the truth.

  “I couldn’t go anywhere,” he continued. “So I watched about six hundred movies on Netflix, read some books about how to be a bodyguard, and meditated a lot. And I cook.” He gestured toward the gas stove next to him, an appliance he’d come to love.

  “You meditate?”

  “I do a lot of yoga.”

  “I thought you were making fun of yoga before.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s a big part of my training.” He felt her intense gaze on him and tried to remember the last time anything that wasn’t a fist in the face made him feel like squirming as much as right that minute. Maybe never. What the hell? She was just looking at him.

  He cleared his throat and gestured toward the spread of sofas and chairs in the living room, a dining area off to the side. Wide planks of hardwood gleamed in the sunlight that came in from the patio doors, the overstuffed pale yellow sofas not the most practical things in the world, but the whole place looked like a model home to him.

  “The living room,” he said, gesturing toward it. “And over there is the master and a bathroom. It connects to the patio, too.”

  “There? Past that vestibule?”

  “Vestibule?”

  She stepped under the archway that led to an open space that served no purpose except to hold a huge vase full of fake flowers. “This is a vestibule.”

  “If you say so.”

  She opened the door to glance into the master that was big enough to hold a king-size bed and plenty of furniture. She didn’t go in, but nodded and came back to where he was standing in front of the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the main living area.

  “A fully stocked kitchen,” he said. “Oh, and there’s a laundry room behind those doors.”

  “Mmm.” She didn’t seem too interested in the laundry facilities. “Where’s the TV where you watched all those movies?” she asked.

  “Back here.” He led her to the other side of the kitchen to a media room with a wraparound sofa. “And there’s this other bathroom.”

  “A powder room,” she said, probably wondering where the hell he would shower as well as sleep.

  He was wondering, too. One shower problem at a time, Alec.

  “Now you’ve seen the whole place.”

  “This is where you’ll sleep?” She pointed to the leather sofa in the media room, a cushy, sizable thing where he’d zoned out for days on mindless action flicks.

  “I’ll sleep where I can see you at all times.”

  She grunted softly, letting her head tip back to show how much she really didn’t like that, but all the move did was reveal her feminine and slender neck. He tried not to stare at how…flawless it was.

  “There’s a sofa in the bedroom,” he said. More like a two-person chair, but he’d already thought that through. “I’ll be there.”

  “Watching me.”

  “Watching the entrances to the villa. I told you there are doors in your room that lead right to the patio.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “This is crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy after you’ve seen the threats your father is receiving.”

  She lowered her head and tapered her gaze. “You’ve seen them? How?”

  “I’ve been over to the security offices, and Gabe showed them to me. Well, copies. The FBI has the originals.”

  Her brows furrowed with a question, then her whole expression grew pained.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She pushed out of the narrow doorjamb and away from him. “I don’t even know where the security offices are, and you’ve been there and know my whole story and have seen these threats I’m not even allowed to lay eyes on. I don’t even know your name. Does any of that seem fair to you?”

  Actually, no. She was in a crappy place to be and probably felt like a POW. “The security offices are on the other side of the resort, by the farm that supplies most of the food to this resort.
It’s a full-service agency that handles the resort, but also provides personal protection to some Mimosa Key locals.”

  “People on this little island need bodyguards?”

  “There are a few billionaires running around putting together a minor league baseball team. Nate Ivory is one.”

  She looked impressed. “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Plus, a shipwreck that apparently has gold was found recently off the coast, and that brings security issues with it.”

  Back in the living room, she paused at the patio doors to check out the pool area again. “For a guy living in hiding for a few weeks, you sure know the local gossip.”

  “Just what Nino tells me.”

  “The grandfather.”

  “He’s been bringing me food and giving me some cooking tips. Also, Poppy.”

  “The housekeeper.”

  “That’s it,” he said. “The list of who I know in Barefoot Bay. Oh, and Luke, who’s been training me.” He realized how that must sound. “Not that I need much training.”

  She considered that, still studying the outdoors intently. “And do you have…” She finally turned to finish the question with a direct look. “A gun?”

  He held up his hands, silencing her. “Deadly weapons.”

  She didn’t turn away, but stared at his hands, no doubt trying not to recoil at the sight of his ugly, marked paws.

  “Is it Russian?” she asked.

  He glanced at the tattoo, then nodded. Gabe already told her what it said. What difference did the language make?

  “Vladimir? Boris? Mikhail?”

  He laughed again at the first names of some well-known Russian leaders, names he’d heard all his life. “None of those.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” She turned and headed toward the master bedroom, leaving him to wonder just how long it would take Miss Smarty-Pants to do just that.

  Chapter Five

  “You must be desperate to come here.” Dmitri Vlitnik poured vodka into a glass and slowly twirled it, not looking up while he waited for an answer.

  Desperate? Robyn Bickler was so far past desperate, it wasn’t funny. Now the rent was late, she’d been fired from her job, and the boy she’d followed from Philadelphia to Brighton Beach because she thought he loved her had disappeared into thin air.