Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (2 page)

He’d noticed this woman on the tram, then spotted her again in a bookstore. Hartsfield was a big airport, and a double sighting of anyone was unusual, but when she just missed the empty seat five feet from his face and looked right at him for help? They might as well have put it on the loudspeaker.

Attention, Malcolm Harris. You are currently under surveillance.

And now he was going to let her believe he was duped by her ruse and awestruck by her baby blues, which got even babier and bluer when she pushed her black-rimmed glasses to rest on top of her head.

Which meant she didn’t need them and they were just part of her disguise. Amateurs.

Mal inched just a little bit closer to inspect all the pretty she was showing him. And to be sure her mic could pick up whatever he was saying, so his half-truths would have all her colleagues scratching their heads instead of their balls.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She actually took a little breath before answering, as if she had to think about it. Field rookie, no doubt. “Chessie.”

“Jessie?”
C’mon, girl, get your fake name right
.

She shook her head. “No, Chessie. Short for Francesca.”

Wasn’t like spooks to use unusual names. “You don’t look like a Francesca.”

“No kidding.” And there was that smile again, showing perfect teeth and softening her features. “That’s my mother.
Frann-ie
.” She said it in a nasal, whiny voice and rolled her eyes. “And you?”

Why lie? She knew damn well what his name was, along with his Social, his former agency rank, his famous fall from grace, and his stellar prison record. Shit, his whole miserable childhood was probably downloaded on her phone and filed under E for Embezzler.

“I’m Mal.” He added a sly smile and extended his hand over the table. “Pleasure to meet you, Francesca.”

She slid silken and slender fingers into his grip, and her mouth quirked with a tease. “I think we’re even in the weird-name department. Mal?”

As if she didn’t know. “Malcolm,” he explained. “Not so weird.”

“Traveling on business?” she asked, letting go of his hand after an extra second of contact.

Oh yeah, let’s get right down to what the hell their man was doing crisscrossing the country and headed south.
Headed to the Caymans, by any chance? Tapping into an offshore account?

“More or less,” he replied. “You?”

“Um…I’m going to see my brother down in Florida.”

Someone at Langley needed to teach the rookies to lie without hesitation. But he just nodded as the waitress arrived and placed two beers on paper cocktail napkins, and rushed to get the next order.

Chessie lifted her bottle. “To chivalry. Long may it live in the heart of a perfect stranger.”

He tapped her amber bottle with his bright green Heineken. “I’m not perfect.”
As you well know.

She locked on him a few seconds too long over the bottle. “Pretty close,” she whispered, and damn it, his body instantly betrayed his head with a low, deep, primal stir. No surprise there. He hadn’t gotten laid in so long, his balls had formed their own picket line to protest.

He took a long pull on the beer, still snagged by her mesmerizing crystal blue rimmed in navy eyes, knowing he had a challenge in his own gaze. Part of him wanted her to know he was not ignorant of her ploy, and part of him—the protesting-balls part—wanted to see just how far she’d go with this honey trap of an operation.

“You’re staring,” she observed with a pointed look.

“You’re gorgeous.” And that was no lie. With the little bit of beer moisture clinging to lips darkened by now-faded lipstick, her mouth was luscious. When she looked down, long lashes lay dark and thick against creamy skin. She brushed an escaped lock of ebony hair off her cheek, just the right blend of self-conscious and flirtatious.

Man, those pricks had pulled out all the stops today.

“Thanks.” She glanced up, all wide-eyed and womanly. “I haven’t felt very gorgeous lately.”

And now we get the made-up sob story meant to get him to open up and share. He’d stood guard in prison cells when lesser men than he were brought to their knees and made to vomit state secrets. And his training certainly taught him just how effectively the right woman could pull tales, and the truth, from loose lips.

But he could play, right? Watch this sassy doll work for her paycheck, at least.

“You haven’t felt gorgeous?” He snorted softly. “Are all the mirrors broken in…where are you from?”

“New England,” she said, sounding obviously vague. Maybe they hadn’t worked out her cover that thoroughly.

Time to needle her a little. Time to let her know he wasn’t as dumb as they thought. “Something you’re not telling me, Chessie?”

A slow burn started down by the pretty cleavage, the blush working its way up to the hollows of her sculpted cheeks. Maybe it was her obvious embarrassment at being so transparent, or maybe four years in prison hadn’t turned him into enough of a dick, because that little flush caused an unexpected twist of pity in his gut. Poor kid would be on the receiving end of a shit storm if they thought she wasn’t ready for field work.

She picked up her beer and worked hard for nonchalance. “Why would you ask that?”

He reached for her left hand and thought of a way to save her from herself. “Because I don’t flirt with married women, so if you’re hiding a husband, let me know.”

Her ring finger was bare—he’d already noted that—but she gave his hand a squeeze. “Not married,” she assured him. “And so nice to meet a solid citizen.”

He almost snorted at the irony. “Define solid,” he said, shifting his gaze away but still holding her hand because it felt so damn good to touch the smooth palm of a pretty girl, even if she worked for the enemy.

“‘Solid’ is a guy who offered his seat, bought me a drink, and doesn’t flirt with married women.” Slipping out of his touch, she searched his face, no doubt comparing the real thing to the pictures in her file. He hadn’t shaved in a week and had let his hair grow since he’d known he’d be getting out of Allenwood, but surely they knew that.

“So, what about you?” she asked, her voice just the right amount of tentative and hopeful. “Are you…unattached?”

“I’m a free man,” he said, for the benefit of any bastards listening who would like to change that status. He might be out of prison and not even on house arrest, like he thought he’d be, but he’d never be
free
. Never. He’d be hunted and watched and followed and pestered until they got what they thought he was hiding. And if they couldn’t, then they’d be happy to dream up a way to put his ass back in the slammer, just for spite.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and this time neither looked away. “And you’re from Texas,” she said. At his raised eyebrows, she laughed. “Very subtle, but I hear…Houston?”

You should know, honey
. “Dallas. And San Antonio. And…” Where the hell had he lived after that? Some trailer park in some dump. “Yeah, around Texas.”

“What do you do?”

Time. He did lots and lots of time for crime. He stalled with a long, slow sip of beer. “I’m between jobs now.”

“Ahh.” She gave a knowing nod.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m in, uh, well, I guess the best way to describe it is computer research.”

He almost laughed out loud. Is that what the kids were calling spy work today? “You must be smart,” he said, adding a smile for the sheer pleasure of getting one back.

“Well, I work for my family, so I get away with a lot.”

Family. How sweet. He gulped some beer.

“Are you looking for work in Florida?” she asked.

This was getting tiresome. Not looking at this lovely woman—he actually could do that for hours. But the volley of lies was wearing him down. He wasn’t going to lose her now, that much was certain. She’d end up next to him on the flight, then follow him after they landed. He’d be wearing her.

Which didn’t exactly suck. Because if she wasn’t one of them, this wouldn’t end here. Not a chance. And that wasn’t just his poor, lonely, unloved, semi-hard-twenty-three-hours-a-day dick talking. That was just him, starved for an easy smile, a quick wit, and that sweet something in her eyes that made him think of…hope.

He shifted in his seat, mentally repacking the ice that had slipped from his heart. Well,
hell
. Maybe he’d underestimated this woman’s talent in the field.

He leaned much closer and ran a light finger over her knuckles, daring himself not to react to the feel of her. He lost that dare. “I’m boring, Francesca. Let’s talk about you.”

She let her gaze drop to where he touched her hand. “No one calls me Francesca.”

’Cause it’s not your name.
And he couldn’t forget that. “It suits you. It’s a graceful name, with depth and class. It’s sexy.”

She frowned as if she wasn’t buying it. “It’s old school and sounds like I should be kneading pizza dough in an apron.”

“You’d look hot in an apron.” And nothing else.

She pointed to him, giving a throaty laugh. “You’re good, you know that?”

And so was she. Because, damn, this was some real electricity, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be fried. He leaned back and assessed her, wondering what they gave her as a backstory. “So who was this bonehead who made you feel like you weren’t pretty? I might have to make him eat my fist.”

“Wow. You really do take this knight-in-shining-armor thing seriously. His name was Matt.”

“Like in ‘door’?”

She gave a genuine laugh, tilting her head back with gusto. “Exactly. He was my boyfriend for the past year. And two months. And ten days.” She gave a self-deprecating eye roll. “Oh, I’m pathetic, right?”

He scanned her face for a tell, but couldn’t find one. No color rising, no averted glance, and her hand was utterly still under his. Okay, he’d jumped the gun assuming she was a rookie.

“He’s the one who’s pathetic,” he said, dying to hear the tale she’d spin. There might even be some truth in it, as he recalled from his training. “What happened?”

She took a drink and squinted back across the concourse at their gate, then lowered her glasses back to her nose as if they weren’t a disguise at all and she really was nearsighted. “Oh crap. We have trouble.”

He followed her gaze, wondering if her buddy had blown their cover. But as he watched the flock of people milling about and caught a glimpse of the departure board, he knew exactly what trouble they had.

“The flight’s canceled,” she said, standing up. “Son of a…”

He threw money on the table and grabbed his bag, following her out to the gate. “Come on, let’s go see what the deal is.”

Except he knew the deal. They’d canceled the flight to give this woman time to worm her way into his head. Yes, damn it, they had that much power.

“There are no more flights tonight,” a man informed them, sounding disgusted as he walked by.

“I have to find an airport hotel,” another woman said into her phone. “I am not sleeping in the terminal.”

Chessie looked up at him, her eyes wide, as if this news actually surprised her.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “A hotel might be a good idea, Francesca.”

He felt her shudder under his touch. A shudder that felt damn real, and damn…interested.

Just how far would this talented little spy take her mission tonight?

Chapter Two

There was a low-grade panic humming through the tight squeeze of humanity packed into the Marriott hotel’s airport shuttle. Or maybe that was just Chessie’s fried nerve endings vibrating with a bad case of
now what?

As if she didn’t know
what
.

The other dozen or so stranded travelers were griping about inconvenience, worried about room availability, questioning where they’d get a toothbrush or clean underwear. Chessie, with nothing but a handbag, laptop, wallet, cell phone, and an e-reader, was in the same boat.

But she could handle the possibility of wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours. Her tension was caused by a whole different unexpected problem—namely, taking
off
those clothes with a perfect stranger.

Damn near perfect, and getting to be less of a stranger with each passing minute. Right this second, he was the intense, sexy, attentive, and
oh so
ridiculously hot guy who made her laugh and whose muscles tensed against her every time the van hit a bump.

By unspoken agreement, they’d stuck close to each other in the airport, getting information on possible solutions, the shared travel glitch intensifying, and justifying, the connection. They’d finally walked with a small group of weary travelers to the transportation area and stayed close while waiting for the shuttle to an airport hotel reported to have vacancies.

He hadn’t texted or called anyone, she noticed, and he didn’t seem overly put out by the delay. She’d sent a text to Gabe that she’d be on the first flight to Fort Myers, leaving at ten thirty a.m., and then she did the unthinkable and shut off her phone.

Just that little act of defiance sent a shiver of anticipation through her, a little frisson of tension that made her feel like
anything
could happen. Anything and everything.