Barefoot With a Bodyguard (17 page)

“Thicker,” Gabe said. “And so are you.”

“And I don’t technically work for you, Mr. Gabriel, so you can’t fire me,” Poppy chimed in. “I am on Miss Mandy’s payroll in housekeeping.”

Gabe let out a sigh. “I might have to leave Barefoot Bay for a day or two.” That is, if Mal ever called and gave him anything to go on. “And I don’t want to come back to one of you charged for murder…or dead.” He gave them both hard looks. “Work it out, okay? Share the recipes and the food love.” Although he suspected this wasn’t at all about food. A clash of cultures, personalities, and two people who both worked for one man. Two people he needed very much.

“I’ll try,” Poppy said.

Nino nodded, his scowl firmly in place.

“Now get this lasagna out of here and go eat it together.”

“What?” Nino looked like Gabe had suggested they go down to the local fleabag and bang for days.

“Without arguing,” Gabe added.

But Poppy was already using the oven mitts to pick up the goods. “I think I’ll just take this over to our newlyweds and leave it in their fridge for dinner.”

“I saw them last night,” Gabe said. “Making out on the beach.”

Poppy nearly dropped the lasagna on the desk. “You must mean someone else, Mr. Gabriel.”

Gabe laughed. “No, I mean them. I talked to them.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Fucker flipped me right on my ass. Sorry,” he said to Poppy. “I should still be covered with the jar, though.”

She reprimanded him with a look, then shook her head. “Well, I was just over there to clean, and you could cut the tension in that villa with one of Nino’s overpriced, fancy knives.”

Nino moaned. “They are not—”

“Well, they weren’t tense last night,” Gabe said. “They were pretty cozy. And headed for a couples massage and an hour with the sex doctor, my sources tell me.”

“Madame Valaina?” Poppy asked. “That’s not good.”

“Why not?” Gabe asked.

“Mr. Gabriel, they aren’t really married,” she said, so serious he almost laughed.

“I know, Poppy. I set up the cover.”

“Well, they can’t…you know.”

“I’m sure they won’t.” Although, after the way they kissed last night, Gabe actually wasn’t sure of any such thing.

“But, I don’t—” Her argument was cut off by the buzz of Gabe’s phone.

“Thank Christ,” he mumbled, reaching for it.

“Mr. Gabriel! My Lord and Savior costs ten dollars!” She pointed at the jar, and Gabe just glared at her.

“I paid it with my arbitration skills. Now take the food, make nice, and get out.”

Thankfully, they obeyed, and Gabe picked up the phone and heard the sound of his old friend’s hello. “Is it true?” he asked Mal.

“It is. I’m getting out, but, you know, they’ll keep an eye on me.”

More than one. So he couldn’t get into Cuba, either. But once he was out, they could talk freely, and Mal might know something. He hadn’t worked for the CIA or consulted for them, like Gabe, but he had a spy’s good instincts, and he knew shit. God, Mal knew shit.

And, best of all, they both still hated the same people: the ones who put him in prison on trumped-up charges. Sergeant Malcolm Harris hadn’t done anything wrong. On the contrary, he’d done everything right. But he and Gabe both had paid the price for being good guys. They both lost something. Mal lost a couple of years in prison and his reputation. And Gabe lost…

Well, that was the point of everything, right? To find what he lost. And to get her back.

“Good to hear your voice, Mal,” Gabe said. “I’m always thinking about the good old days.” He hoped that vague statement—and the fact that they both knew those days in Gitmo were anything but good—would clue him in.

“Guess we left a few open doors behind us, though.” Mal’s voice was low, always cool, always husky. It matched his dark looks, his inky eyes, and hardened features.

“As long as they’re open, dawg, and something decent is on the other side.”

Mal was quiet for a long time. “Bet you’d like to know.”

Yes, Mal, I would
. “Some things we might never know.”

“Then you need to get better information.”

Gabe’s heart kicked up as he gripped the phone tighter.
Yes, Malcolm I need better information.
A direction. A town. A name. Hope and a plan. Mostly hope.

His need for all those things was what had sent him to this sandy little hellhole that was closer to another sandy little hellhole where he couldn’t go.

“Then you should hit the news.”

There was something on the news? Plenty of current events and buzz about the changing status of Cuba, and Gabe had watched everything. Every single stream of video content had been combed and culled, but none of it gave him what he wanted. “I watch a lot of it,” he said.

“Try listening instead.”

Oh, yeah, the big guy had some impressive covert convo skills, because that was real information.

“Anything in particular you think I’d like?”

“Well, here in the country club, we don’t exactly get satellite radio,” he said, just enough emphasis on the last word for Gabe to know it was important.

Radio. Radio. And it hit him. Radio Martí, the American-based broadcaster of news to Cuba. “So, anyway, dude, when you get out, what are you going to do?”

He snorted. “Well, I sure as shit am never talking to a
reporter
again.” There was that subtle inflection, which might have been a dig at the bastard who ratted him out and landed him in jail, or it could be a clue. “But, you know, I’ll see my friends. Have a nice cold Amber Bock.”

And there was that emphasis again. He scribbled the words
Amber Bock
on a pad.

“Where are you?” Mal asked.

“Here and there,” Gabe said, having no intention of telling their invisible audience anything else.

“Some things never change,” Mal mused.

“You have, but then prison does that to a man.”

Mal laughed. “I haven’t changed,” he said coolly. “I’m still your biggest fan, Rossi.”

“God knows I could use one.”

“Hey, I gotta go. I’ll see you on the flip side, Angel Gabriel.”

Something twisted at the sad note in Mal’s voice. He’d gone down, way down, for doing the most honorable thing. Gabe would never forget that. “When you’re out, man, call me.”

“You bet.”

Gabe ended the call and stared at the paper in front of him, considering what he had. Radio Martí was basically a federally funded broadcaster that distributed news to Cuba, to the consternation of the Castro regime. Plus the word
reporter
, maybe, and the name of a beer. He’d had worse clues to find things. And he never wanted to find anyone more than he wanted to find her.

*

Kate came out of her room in a long, strapless, yellow dress, with a bikini top tie visible around her neck. She looked like she’d walked out of a magazine advertising summer clothes and beach living. All pretty and bright and warm. Except for the look in her eyes, which was sharp and cold. Still pissed, Alec guessed.

He glanced down at his own choice of board shorts and a T-shirt, totally clueless about what one wore to a couples massage at an exclusive resort. Rough and painful Russian massages after a fight were done bare-ass naked.

He swallowed at the possibility that they might also be done that way at beachfront resorts and how he’d handle that as a bodyguard. And what if her massage therapist was a man? How would he handle that?

“Ready?” she asked.

“To lay down and have my body slathered in oil and slapped by a masseuse?”

She gave him a look he couldn’t quite read.

“What?” he asked. “Is it
lie
down?” He was going for a joke, but her green eyes didn’t spark with laughter.

“Yes, and it’s…massage therapist. No one says masseuse anymore.”

He knew that, but really wanted to break her ice. “Got it. I’ll keep my mouth shut so I don’t embarrass you.” And his eyes, so he didn’t embarrass himself by springing a boner at the sight of Kate half-naked on a bed next to him.

“You don’t embarrass me. Tick me off, but not embarrass.”

“I got that, too.”

She breezed by him to the door, but he caught up to her, grabbed his ball cap and sunglasses from the table, and walked her out into the sunshine.

He slapped on the hat and glasses and put his arm around Kate’s bare shoulders, almost sucking in a breath at how smooth and feminine her skin felt under his hand. Of course, she tensed under his touch.

“It’s show time,” he reminded her, leaning close enough to whisper the words and get a whiff of her clean hair.

“I know.” But she still felt stiff as he tried to make them look like a couple.

“Work with me here, Tilly.”

She looked up at him, no sunglasses to cover the storm brewing in her eyes.

Just then, a couple came out of the front door of the next villa, laughing and talking, stopping while the man wiped some sunscreen off of the woman’s nose and finished the job with a kiss.

Kate turned away and walked a little faster, making him speed up to keep hold of her.

“We should be behaving a little more like that,” he said, knowing that anyone who watched them with even casual interest would see they had zero connection.

“And cross
barriers
?” she asked, slapping some serious attitude on the last word.

And making him remember his final words during their conversation on the patio this morning. “Out here there are no barriers.”

She nodded. “I’m cognizant of the situation.”

He stifled a laugh. “Whatever that means.”

“I’d love to teach you, but, you know.
Barriers
.”

He slowed his step as they reached the beach, adding a little pressure with his arm so she didn’t just shoot forward without him. “What exactly is wrong with you?” he asked.

She let her head fall back to really put all she had into an eye roll, which anyone could see was rich with sarcasm—including the two women in bathing suits who walked past them just that second.

“Hey, if it’s that important to school me in your great big words, knock yourself out,” he whispered after they’d passed. “But let’s not fight in public. Any one of these people could be one of those ‘eyes and ears’ Gabe warned us he had.”

She didn’t reply, but kept up her quick steps even when they were on the sand, headed toward the row of draped cabanas along the shore. This time, he snagged her with a stronger hand and stopped her. “You need to chill,” he warned her.

“I’d love to chill,” she shot back. “I came here to chill. I didn’t come here to…to…”

Another couple came closer, holding hands and umbrella drinks. They smiled at Kate and Alec, and he nodded, pulling her close, as if they’d just stopped to confess true love. He put his hands on her cheeks, her face feeling small and delicate against his fingers.

“Seriously,” he said between gritted teeth, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any other option but this place. Let’s play by the rules and make it work.”

She shuddered slightly, her jaw quivering. “I just wish you didn’t…”

“What?” he asked, half-terrified and half-dying of curiosity at what she might say.

She shook her head, biting her lip.

He kept his hands on her face because it made it impossible for her to turn away. And because it felt so good to hold her. “You wish I didn’t what?”

“Dislike me so much,” she said on a whisper.

He couldn’t have heard that right. His hands loosened and fell away from her face. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You don’t have to lie,” she said. “It’s so obvious you look for the closest hole to hide in when you have to look at me. I don’t know if it’s because you’re stuck here with me, or you think I’m some kind of prima donna, or you just can’t stand redheads, or you feel like you’re cheating on someone, or what.” Her voice rose with every word, making him pull her closer, wondering if he should just kiss her to shut her up before the lady in the orange dress and massive sunhat coming their way heard her.

“Listen to me,” he said, reaching for her shoulders to pull her in. “Just listen. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“No, we won’t,” she insisted, managing to wrest from his hands. Twenty feet behind them, the giant orange sunhat was powering closer.

“Yes, we will. Come here.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked away.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m acting stupid, and I feel stupid, but all I wanted from you was—”

“Stop,” he ordered, now able to make out the features of the woman who was about to witness all this. She had dark eyes and red lips and was riveted on their little drama on the sand.

“—a simple lesson! How hard would it be to teach me—”

“Tilly, honey,” he said firmly. “I really do want to, I promise.”

She closed her mouth, staring at him, obviously not sure what he was talking about.

“You’re right, it’s a great idea.”

“You’ll do it?” Kate drew back. “You’re not lying?”