Before We Kiss (Uncharted SEALs Book 6) (6 page)

“He’s always been a chow hound,” Joe said with disgust, eyeing his omelet and single slice of buttered toast. “Used to have to share my C-rats because one box of rations didn’t fill him up.”

Morty grunted and dug into his food.

Wiley caught a hand waving from near the entrance of the cafeteria. When he had Wiley’s attention, Mike Espinoza tilted his chin toward the hallway outside.

Wiley gave Joe a glance. The old man hadn’t missed the signal. He nodded, sitting a little straighter in his chair. He’d keep an eye on Poppy while Wiley slipped away.

“Have to see a man…” Wiley said to Poppy and kissed her cheek. “Stay put until I get back.”

She flashed him a smile and settled in to talk to the men surrounding her about their impressions of the cruise—what they liked, what they thought younger, rehabilitating soldiers might like…

Mike lowered his brows and gave Wiley a stern stare as he neared.

Wiley returned the look. “Not a word,” he grumbled, knowing the look had been about his unprofessional behavior the night before.

“I’m not judging. But you have to know word’s gonna get back to the general.”

Wiley didn’t like hearing that truth—not that he was afraid of the general’s reaction, but he didn’t want Poppy embarrassed. He hoped she’d never find out that her sex life would be part of some report. “So, what do you have for me?”

“All’s quiet. Your group is still finishing their thorough background checks on all the crew.”

Not something Wiley didn’t already know. Deke had mentioned that every crew member who was there—or would be on any subsequent cruises, including the one hosting the Soldiers’ Sanctuary—had to be vetted, in case someone who was vulnerable was pressed to leave a little package aboard the ship. Or give access to systems crucial to the liner’s operation. “Anything new I need to worry about?”

Mike drew a deep breath. “Zero chatter’s been heard regarding our girl showing up on that tour bus.”

Not necessarily a good thing. Wiley would have thought that at least the people who’d been on the other end of the conversation during the attempted roadside ambush would be lighting up the air waves with the news of Poppy Shackleford’s location just off the Mexican shore.

“You have to keep her on the ship.”

Wiley shook his head. “She’s already set to hit the beach today.”

Mike blew out a breath that billowed his cheeks. “All right. But she takes the conch train along with the rest of the passengers. I’ll have men watching. And I’ll make sure they’re armed. She doesn’t go to the bathroom unescorted.”

Wiley nodded, relieved the best preparations were being made. He’d stick like glue to her for the entire excursion. When he returned to the table, everyone had finished eating. Morty was back filling another tray. Wiley slid in beside Poppy and gave her a quick smile.

“Any trouble?” she asked, her gaze locking with his.

“Still bent on heading to the beach?”

“It’s not far from the dock. We’ll be surrounded with other passengers. And I assume Mike has a detail ready to cover me.” She shrugged. “I want to go. I don’t like feeling as though I’m a prisoner.”

Her tone was even, soft. She didn’t raise her chin, signaling she wouldn’t be stubborn if he decided the trip wasn’t wise. Part of him wanted to err on the side of caution. But Charter and the DoD had their best people on this outing. “I say we go. But no disappearing acts. I’m your shadow.”

She nodded, and a smile stretched. “I can’t wait to get you into the water.”

Seeing her smile shot warmth to the middle of his chest. He cleared his throat again and leaned closer. “Another one of those fantasies?”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

He groaned softly. “Not today. I can’t be distracted.”

“Not a multi-tasker?” she murmured, a smile playing at her mouth.

“You two need some privacy,” Joe’s gruff voice sounded loudly beside them.

Ducking her head, Poppy giggled, and her cheeks flushed.

Over his shoulder, Wiley cut Joe a blistering glare. He leaned over the table, which drew in the older men. “Get into your swimming trunks. We’re heading to the beach.”

Well, the excursion
wasn’t exactly the sexy afternoon she’d envisioned, but she had to admit she was thoroughly enjoying herself. After combing the beach with Wiley, searching for seashells and bits of sea glass, she lay on a lounger in a long line of chairs beside a free-standing bar with a straw roof and attendants who wove through the chairs to deliver drinks. Her skin was tingling, and she knew she’d have to move to a covered area soon or risk a sunburn, but she decided not just yet. Lying beside Wiley, with his three watchdogs drinking umbrella’d drinks and wearing straw fedoras with lines of zinc covering their noses, she couldn’t help but feel happy. She was boneless. Relaxed. A night filled with the best sex of her life followed by a day spent with the handsome man responsible for her state… Well, a single girl couldn’t ask for more.

With a hand shielding her gaze from the sun, she rolled to her side and glanced across the small space toward Wiley, who half-reclined on his chair, his gaze constantly searching their surroundings. The man took his job seriously. Although glad his first priority was her safety, she had worn her tiniest bikini.

But he’d hardly given her a look, other than growling the moment she’d dropped her sari on the sand. Not that she was disappointed in his reaction. He wasn’t looking at her because he didn’t want to grow aroused. Something she didn’t bother fighting. She relished the feeling. Her nipples were visible against the tiny triangles shielding her breasts. She narrowed her gaze. She’d let him play possum. As soon as they returned to the ship, she’d have her way with him.

“Wheelchairs won’t be able to maneuver in the sand, but the walkway will allow access to the water’s edge.” She gazed out at the deep blue bay. “And we’ll have plenty of helpers who can get them the rest of the way into the water if they want to swim. It’s really lovely here. Well protected,” she said, glancing around the cruise line’s beachfront. Shops lined the promenade—all perfectly clean, cheerfully painted. A couple of restaurants and bars were located among the shops.

“So, this particular excursion passes muster?” he asked, finally looking at her.

“Yeah. The cruise line’s security is tight but unobtrusive. They’ll feel safe, but not smothered.”

“Is that a personal observation?”

“Yeah.” She rolled to her back and stretched her arms upward, biting back a grin as his gaze swept her breasts and belly.
Not so immune now, are you?
Feeling frisky, she gave him a sideways glance. “Want to cool off?”

Wiley dropped his sunglasses onto his nose. “You’re not ready to head back?”

Now that he’d masked his sexy eyes, his expression was impossible to read. “I’m hot and sticky, and I smell like a piña colada,” she said. “I promise we’ll go back to the boat after a quick swim.”

His mouth pursed, but he nodded. Then he reached for the radio beside him and clicked the button on the side. “This is Whiskey Charlie. Our tango wants to swim.”

She listened as one by one, the radio squawked, followed by all clears.

“Guess we’re going into the water,” he said, handing the device to Joe.

As one, the old men swung their legs over the sides of their chairs, moving to follow.

“You don’t have to come,” she said, feeling guilty for taking them away from their comfort.

Joe arched a furry gray brow. “We need to get up and move around anyway. Don’t you worry about us.” His smile was quick. His gaze, shadowed beneath the brim of this hat, was sharp.

Wiley tugged her hand until she was upright. “Last one in the water…” With a grin, he took off at a lope toward the waves.

She laughed and ran after him, diving headfirst into a small wave. The water, the sun, and the smile of the handsome man who swam beside her lulled her for a while. Helped her forget the fact she was the center of a security op.

They kicked out, stretching their arms and legs to fight the incoming waves, and then turned to catch them, gliding on the crests toward the shore. They repeated the process until she tired. Treading water, she tilted back her head to dunk her hair into a wave, loving the feel of the silky saltwater as it slid over her shoulders.

Wiley swam closer and dove beneath the surface, coming up in front of her, his hands gripping her waist to bring her in for a kiss. Thrilled he was so publicly declaring their relationship, she wound her legs around his waist and her arms around his strong shoulders.

When they drifted down into the water, she held her breath for as long as she could, enjoying the kiss, before finally pushing away to surface, laughing.

As she wiped water from their eyes, a distant sound, muffled but harsh, drew her gaze toward the sea. A plume of black smoke rose, too distant to see the source. She glanced toward Wiley, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on two jet skis buzzing from the far side of the bay toward the swimming area. One was operated by a dark-haired man dressed in a knee-length wet suit. The other carried two men, both well-built and dark. Both jet skis were speeding toward them.

“Back to the beach. Now,” Wiley shouted, turning her and pushing her toward the shore.

But they couldn’t swim faster than the men bearing down on them. She didn’t have to be told she was in danger. The target. Wiley kept behind her, trying to shield her with his body, but the jet skis separated—one driving between her and the distant beach, the other moving closer to Wiley.

When they were only ten feet away, she noted the handgun held by the second man on the jet ski nearest her. Her heart raced.

His engine quieted as he pulled nearer. “You will come with us,” he said, in heavily accented English. “Do not resist, or we will shoot your boyfriend,” he said, aiming his gun at Wiley.

A lump formed in the back of her throat. She glanced wildly at the man treading water beside her. His face was as hard as granite, his gaze narrowed with deadly intent.

The jet ski with the single operator drew up beside her. The man reached out a hand, his intent clear.

Wiley gave her a hard look. “Do what you must to stay alive,” he said, his voice harsh.

She knew what he left unspoken. He’d find her. Or die trying.

“Quickly, before your friends on the beach do something stupid,” the man with the gun said, smiling. A single rotted tooth at the front of his mouth added to his sinister appearance.

She cast a glance at the beach, noted the men dressed in Hawaiian shirts and linen shorts, in jeans and crewneck shirts, all carrying high-powered rifles and racing toward the water’s edge. Rifles braced against strong shoulders as two men went down on their knees to take aim.

Swimmers were in the water between them. People on the beach scrambled out of the way as the force converged. But the detail was too far away. Maybe they had a shot. But she knew without a doubt the minute they opened fire, she’d be dead. Rotten Tooth wasn’t letting her escape. One way or another, he’d have her. “Wiley,” she said, but her throat closed before she could say more.

He gave her a nod, his anger tightening his features and the tendons in his neck.

She pushed back her hair from her face and turned toward the man who held out his hand. She reached, letting him pull her up onto the ski, and although she hated touching her kidnapper, she gripped the sides of his waist as he twisted the gear handle. The rumble of the engine built, and the ski pulled away. Unable to stop the shudders that settled deep inside, she glanced over her shoulder, watching as Wiley and the men fanned out at the edge of the water grew smaller and smaller.

The moment the
jet skis peeled away, Wiley sliced through the water toward the beach. How the hell had that happened? They’d had men in a boat anchored half a mile off shore with radar to monitor traffic. “Jet Ski Assassinations” had been known to occur on the Mexican west coast in Acapulco. They’d planned for this contingency.

When his toes touched the sand, he ran through the water to reach Mike who was already on the radio, shouting, “Get that helo in the air. And what the hell happened to that fucking boat?”

Wiley bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart, which hadn’t stopped thudding double-time in his chest—as close to panic as he’d ever been. Who the fuck had Poppy, and where were they taking her?

God dammit, he should have put a stop to this exposure. Never let her step foot off the fucking boat. This was his fault. If anything happened… Wiley shuddered. He straightened and waited for Mike to end his conversation.

Mike lowered his radio. “Helo’s already riding the coastline. We have eyes in the air.”

“Federales? Mexican police?”

“Already called, but they’ll be too late.”

“Fucking convenient.”

“The kidnappers used an M-72 Law on the boat. We’re scooping up the men who were aboard.”

Not exactly the latest technology, but still good enough to take out a boat. Or a tank. Vehicles pulled up to the parking lot adjacent to the beach. Wiley turned to the Joe and his friends. “Make sure everyone’s off the beach and back on that conch train, heading to the boat.”

Joe nodded and reached out to pat the side of Wiley’s arm. “You go get your girl.” Then he and his friends hurried toward the parking lot where others were already herding passengers onto the train to take them back to the docking area.

After stopping only long enough to snap up his clothing and Poppy’s beach bag and sari, Wiley headed straight to the row of dark SUVs. Charter’s vehicles. He knew because Jax Keller, another ex-SEAL and Charter covert operative, stood, waving him over.

Wiley raced toward him and swung into the vehicle. Every operator they’d had watching the beach disappeared into the other SUVs. The Mexican police would have a hard time getting witness statements, but then again, who knew how many of the officers had foreknowledge of the kidnapping.

As they pulled away, Wiley began changing his clothes. “Charter notifying her father?” Of course they were, but he had to keep talking. To think out loud, or he’d go crazy.