Barefoot With a Bodyguard (21 page)

The father of her baby.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I got friends who know him really good.”

Her brain finally started working again. “Where have you been? Why did you just disappear?”

“You know…” He shrugged.

“No, I don’t know. You just vanished, Cole. You never called or came here or—”

“Forget it, okay?” He was tense and nervous and looking around, like he was searching for something.

Searching for whatever she knew about Alec Petrov.

“Is that why I saw you at Vlitnik’s house?” she asked. “’Cause you have friends who know him?”

“Yeah, and you can’t tell him where Alec is, Robyn,” he said. “They’re going to kill him.”

She gasped. “Wha—why?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugged, as if killing someone were no big deal, and she hugged herself against unwanted chills.

“But he knows that I know where Alec is,” she said, suddenly wondering if that knowledge put
her
in danger. Real danger. Like,
getting killed
danger.

She wanted so badly to rub her belly, but a sixth sense she didn’t understand kept her from drawing his attention there.

“Just make something up to tell him,” Cole said. “But tell me the truth.” He flipped down his hood to reveal more cuts and bruises on his face than she’d ever seen on him.

Cole had been fighting MMA for a long time, as a hobby and a way to make extra cash, and he was good. He rarely got hit that hard. “What happened to your face?”

Another shrug. “Usual shit. Listen, you have to tell me where he is.”

She did? What if
he
told Vlitnik and got the reward? “Cole, I really need money.”

He snorted. “So do I.”

“I
gotta
have the money.”

He eyed her hard. “Believe me, he’s given you all you’re ever going to get. A grand for next to nothing?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I told you, I got friends. Fighters. Guys who work for him.”

A chill ran up Robyn’s spine. Was Cole telling her everything? Was it really just his fighter friends who worked for Vlitnik, or was he working for that monster, too? The thought made her stomach drop, but she couldn’t help but wonder why Cole, after being MIA for five months, suddenly showed up, seeming to care more about what she knew than how she was.

“But I have to find Alec,” he said. “So tell me where he is.”

“Why?”

He rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for cash. “Alec will pay me not to tell Vlitnik. It’s called blackmail, Robyn, and it’s not a sucky way to make money.”

She stared up at him, hating the sinking feeling in her chest. She’d loved him. She still did…didn’t she? She didn’t love this shifty, lying side of him, though. “Blackmailing someone is illegal.”

He looked like he was fighting a laugh. “It’s the only way I can…” He tipped his head and softened his expression. Then he reached up and slid his hand under her hair, curling his fingers around her neck. “Hey, Robyn’s Egg. C’mere.” He pulled her closer, but the move didn’t work, and neither did the old nickname.

Robyn’s egg was fertilized now. And not only did she suddenly not trust the man in front of her, the child in her belly was worth ten of him.

“I missed the shit out of you, baby.”

Right
. She stayed stiff. “Why do you want to find Alec so bad?”

“Money, honey,” he said, inching closer. “Petrov owned his own MMA studio. He’s got cash and plenty of it. He’ll pay thousands to someone who’s inside the operation and can tell him Vlitnik’s every move.”

He certainly had enough money to stay at a ritzy resort in Florida.

She shook her head, inching away. “I’m not gonna do that, Cole. I’m”—
pregnant
—“hurt,” she admitted. “You broke my heart.”

He nodded, dropping his hand. “That’s cool. I get it. But we’re friends, right? After all that, we’re friends?”

That’s cool? We’re friends?
Oh,
hell
no. “Sure.”

“Then you gotta tell me where he is.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Listen, I’ll pay you, ’cause I know Alec and he will pay good money for this information. A shit-ton of money. Definitely more than that dick Vlitnik.”

She couldn’t speak because her brain was whirring with one question:
What’s the best thing to do for my baby?

And some small voice whispered:
Don’t say a word
. So she didn’t, just shaking her head instead.

“Robyn, if you don’t fucking tell me…” He lowered his head, his eyes narrowing the way they did before he damn near took someone’s head off. What was she thinking? He could kill her right now.

She had to tell him something. But what? If she made something up, she’d have to have proof. And the only proof she had was a screenshot of an Instagram picture and some printouts from Web sites that Selena sent her about a resort in Florida where Alec Petrov
might
be.

“Robyn, come on,” he insisted.

“He’s back in Philadelphia.” The lie just slid right off her tongue like a pat of butter.

“How do you know?”

“I saw him. I talked to him. I went to see my brother a few days ago because, you know, he’s—”

He shook his head like the last thing on earth he wanted to hear about was her brother. “You saw him? At the studio where he trains?”

He sounded like he was baiting her. Hadn’t he just said Alec
owned
a studio? As in…he didn’t anymore? She couldn’t fall into his trap.

“Oh, no,” she said, her brain ticking through possibilities. “No, no. I saw him at the”—where the hell would she have been?—“doctor. I went to the doctor. My doctor in Philadelphia.”

She had no doctor in Philadelphia, and if Cole had been a caring, loving, attention-paying boyfriend, he’d know that. And he’d ask why she’d gone to see a doctor.

“What was he doing at the doctor?”

But he wasn’t a caring boyfriend. He was shit on a stick, and she was a freaking idiot for not realizing that sooner. “Getting his head stitched, I guess.” More lies. Easy lies. “He was all bandaged up.” Because he could be, as a fighter.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah, yeah. He asked about you.” Oh, the shit she could fling to protect her baby. Motherhood was an amazing thing, considering five months ago she couldn’t have told a lie if her life depended on it. But now a life did depend on it.

Cade’s life. No, not Cade. She’d never name her child after this asshole, not even the first letter of his name.

“Robyn!” he insisted. “What did he say?”

“Just that he was, um, freelancing. Working out of a studio in South Philly, across town. A place called…” Holy crap. She snapped her fingers like she was trying to remember what Alec said. “Cade’s. Cade’s Gym. He said he’d be there for a while and told me to tell you to come in and see him if you go back to Philly.”

He looked hard at her, searching her face from eye to eye, clearly judging the whopper she’d just told him. “Okay,” he said. But she couldn’t tell from the frown on his face if he believed her or not.

“Cole, you will pay me, right?”

His scowl deepened. “I don’t remember a place called Cade’s.”

“He said it’s new,” she said. “You go there. You’ll find him.”

“And you’re not going to see Vlitnik tomorrow?”

She shook her head, finally honest. “I don’t want to go. I want you to find Alec and get money. What should I do, though? Vlitnik thinks I’m going to tell him.”

“Yeah, just call that number and tell him you were wrong.” He stepped back to the door, doing one more visual sweep of the counter tops, his gaze falling on the
People
magazine opened to a picture of the future Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Ivory at the posh resort where they’d be married soon.

Robyn literally felt her heart stop.

“God, Robyn, you shouldn’t waste your money on that shit,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I know.”

He went to the door and stepped out, obviously dying to get out as fast as he could.

“Cole?”

He turned and looked at her. “What?”

Guilt pressed down on her chest.
I’m carrying your baby
. She should tell him. She was supposed to tell him. This baby was half his. Not telling him was so, so wrong. Maybe—

“What, Robyn? I gotta go.” Impatience made his voice sharp.

No, he’d have no love or concern for a baby. It was always about looking out for number one with Cole. “You sure they’ll leave me alone?” she asked.

“Probably.”

Probably not. But if he didn’t work for them, then how would he know? “’Kay. Bye.”

She closed the door and quietly locked it, grateful now that she wasn’t sleepy. She could start the drive by midnight and be in Florida in, what, eighteen or twenty hours?

If Alec Petrov was paying anyone, it would be her. After all, she’d just saved his ass. And she had a feeling that if she didn’t show tomorrow, Vlitnik—and maybe Cole—would be back for hers.

She had to get out, fast.

It wasn’t enough. And, holy hell, that terrified Kate because…what
would
be enough?

As if she didn’t know.

She closed her eyes, but the view she’d been staring at stayed burned in reverse behind her eyelids, the crescent moon black instead of a slice of white, a star or planet burning bright right next to it. Those celestial beings shed very little light, but Kate had been out on the dark patio long enough to have her night vision and still be able to see the sands and water of Barefoot Bay.

She’d cautiously avoided Alec all afternoon and evening, studying in her room—well, trying to study. Each of them ate, alone and separately, a delicious and spicy lasagna Poppy had left in the fridge. It wasn’t a truce or anger or even an uncomfortable silence that kept Kate from her bodyguard.

It was the fact that she wanted more of him and too much time with him and, well, it was so tacky to beg. But she might beg for more. More of his mouth and hands. More of his hard body. More of his…

And not just that, she thought with a little splash of adrenaline. She wanted more of what was on the inside. She wanted to know what made him tick. Why did he seem so strong and commanding one minute and so vulnerable the next? Why was he scared of touching her, yet his fingers had been beyond capable of bringing her right to orgasm on his lap?

She just wanted—

“I don’t suppose you’d want to take a walk.”

She turned from the blackness of the night sky to see Alec’s powerful silhouette in the open doors, lit by a single light in the living area. He wore a T-shirt and shorts that came just below his knees. He must have changed and even sneaked one of his pool baths while she was hiding out, because he seemed fresh and clean and…hot.

After her shower, she’d changed into a thin linen skirt that skimmed her ankles and a loose sleeveless top, skipping a bra she barely needed anyway. But maybe she should put one on before walking barefoot in the moonlight with him.

Or maybe not.

“I’d love to,” she said, surprised at how huskily her voice came out.

He reached out a hand, silent.

And, God help her, she walked to him, took his hand, and let him lead her to the door. As he opened it, he brushed her bare shoulder with his knuckle, making her shiver involuntarily.

“It is a little cooler when the sun goes down,” he said. “You need a sweater or something?”

Something like a
bra
. “I’m okay.” Her gaze moved to the entry table where she’d dropped the sheer red fabric she’d taken from the massage cabana. “This will work,” she said, grabbing it as a wrap.

“Your Superwoman cape,” he teased.

“It did the job,” she agreed, then caught the inadvertent double entendre. “I mean, of covering your hands in front of Madame What’s-Her-Name.”

“My hands…” His voice drifted off, the thought unfinished, or kept intentionally silent, as they walked side by side to the path and followed it toward the first bridge to the beach.

If his silence was intentional, it wasn’t because anyone was around. Late on a weeknight, Casa Blanca was dim and quiet, its well-attended residents and efficient staff tucked away or out of sight. The beach was deserted, too, with all the umbrellas and cabanas removed and no wedding or outdoor event to fill the sand with tiki torches or the air with live music.

Tonight, everything was still. Except for Kate’s heart, which had pretty much pounded at double time since their session with the “breathwork” specialist.

“What about your hands?” she asked after a minute.

“You know.”

She laughed softly. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I hate them,” he said simply. “Always have, always will.”

“I guess the obvious question is why, but”—she held up her hand to keep him from interrupting her—“I know you better than to expect anything but a monosyllabic response.”

He gave her a side-eye. “You and your words.”