by Elle Kennedy
What the hell?
Isabel took a few deep breaths to steady the angry beating of her heart. Fine. If he wanted to act like a total asshole, let him. She might have to pretend to be married to the man, but that didn’t mean she had to like him.
She headed for the corridor Trevor had disappeared into. She thought she heard the whir of an electric razor coming from behind one of the three doors in the hall. Hallelujah. She wondered how long it had been since Trevor had picked up a razor. Maybe he wasn’t a total lost cause, if he’d decided to shave.
Tentatively pushing open one of the doors, she peeked into what looked like an empty bedroom and then headed inside. She set her bags down on the twin bed. Trevor was evidently getting into character. Time for her to transform too.
Transform. The story of her life, she thought ruefully as she unzipped one of her bags. She pulled out the two boxes of hair dye Ethan had picked up from the drugstore in Tijuana and walked into the tiny bathroom across from the bed.
She stripped off her clothes and then, in her bra and panties, stepped in front of the mirror and examined her reflection. Becoming Paloma would be hard work, but she’d played the part enough times that she could do the transformation in her sleep.
First came the dye, which she applied to her hair. While she waited for the chemicals to do their thing, she used the weaker dye on her eyebrows, then reached for a smaller box, read the label, and wrinkled her nose. Damn. She hated the pubic hair part. The memory of the last time slid into her head and she winced as she remembered the burning sensation. Oh, and the itching…
She tossed the box back into her bag. Screw it. She would just wax it all off. Not that anyone would get to see her handiwork. Chances were, she and Trevor wouldn’t need to pay a visit to Blanco’s estate, and unless Callaghan suddenly decided he’d fallen madly in love with her and proceeded to strip her naked, he wouldn’t be getting a peek either.
The thought made her grin.
She sat on the closed toilet seat, waiting for the dye. Twenty minutes later, she was in the shower, washing the thick black goop off her scalp and watching as it swirled down the drain like sticky tar.
After she’d dried herself off and run a blow-dryer over her head, she proceeded to flat-iron her normally wavy tresses. And then it was time for the makeup.
By the time Isabel stepped out of the bedroom, more than an hour had passed, but she was pleased with her creation. Her hair, black and stick straight, cascaded down her back like a silk curtain. Thanks to the makeup, her skin was at least three shades darker, boasting of Paloma’s Brazilian roots, and the dark green contacts she’d slipped into her eyes gave her an exotic air. She wore a short white sundress with a pair of white high-heeled sandals, adding at least four inches to her five-foot-six-inch frame. The entire look was so familiar she found herself falling right back into character, her normally easygoing gait becoming the hip-swaying sex walk Paloma had perfected.
Trevor was already in the living room when she walked in, and Isabel wasn’t sure who gasped first, him or her.
The man she was looking at in no way resembled the man she’d boarded that plane with. His brown hair was now short and slicked back with gel, and his face was completely smooth, revealing a strong jaw and a cleft chin that his previous thick stubble had hidden. His right ear had a small diamond stud in it, his thick, corded neck was encircled by a silver chain, and the suit he wore… Isabel couldn’t help but appreciate his tall, masculine body, covered in a tailored pin-striped number that hugged his muscular form.
She suddenly experienced a visceral jolt of arousal that left her speechless for a moment. Oh no, not a good idea. Just because Trevor Callaghan was a bona fide heartthrob when he cleaned himself up didn’t mean she had to respond to it.
“You look… like Julian Martin, I guess,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’ve pretended to be Julian for so long it’s second nature to me.”
“Me too.” She found herself stammering. “I mean, being Paloma. Sometimes it feels like she’s actually a real person.”
“I know what you mean.”
A silence descended over the room. Isabel swallowed to soothe her suddenly dry mouth. “Did you bring in a hairdresser when I was in the bathroom?” she asked with a hesitant smile.
“Nope, I’m my own hairdresser. I’m damn good at it too, not to brag or anything. If you ever need someone to cut your hair…”
To her extreme shock, he actually smiled. An honest-to-God smile, and boy, how it altered his face. He went from harsh and soulless to warm and inviting in a split second.
And then, to her disappointment, the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, and Mr. Harsh and Soulless was back in full force.
“I’m going to call Esposito now.” He moved toward the hallway. “Hopefully he’ll be able to meet with us tonight.”
Isabel stared after him, wondering if she’d imagined that smile. Maybe the contacts were just messing with her eyes. And maybe all the chemicals she’d rubbed on her scalp were creating these weird sensations of desire in her body.
Because she couldn’t actually want Trevor Callaghan.
No, of course she didn’t.
She didn’t have a thing for dead men walking, after all.
Trevor could barely draw a breath as he barreled into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Something had happened to him out there in the living room. He’d seen Isabel Roma’s curvy body covered in that sexy dress, gazed into her smoky emerald gaze, and his body… shit, his body had actually responded.
For a moment, a barrage of forbidden images had flooded his mind. Images of him between Isabel’s long, silky legs. Kissing her lush lips. Palming those firm breasts, bringing a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it until she—
No.
He squeezed his hands into fists and banished every traitorous image from his head. His cock, which had swelled at that first sight of Isabel’s new look, now softened, retreating like a defeated soldier on the battlefield.
Gina… God, baby, I’m sorry.
He repeated the words over and over again in his head, disgusted and horrified with himself for betraying his fiancée’s memory.
Yanking his cell phone from his duffel, he marched toward the window, focusing his gaze on the residential street two stories down. It took a few minutes to gather his composure. When a sense of calm finally filled his body, he scrolled through his contact list until he reached Felix Esposito’s name. Last time he’d spoken to the guy, Esposito had taken an enforcer job for a drug runner in Bogotá. Hopefully he was still in town, but the private jet Trevor owned in Julian’s name could easily take him and Isabel to wherever Esposito was holed up. Though he hadn’t used this cover in more than a year, Morgan made sure the jet continued to travel the world in order to keep Julian’s passport nicely stamped. The jet now waited in a private airfield outside the city, where the filthy rich parked their expensive Lears and Gulfstreams when they came to town.
To Trevor’s surprise, Esposito answered on the first ring. He’d obviously kept Julian Martin’s number in his phone, because he answered with an elated, “Hello, Mr. Julian.”
“Felix, it’s been a long time,” he replied in the faint Boston accent belonging to Julian. He was supposed to be an East Coast native, but Julian’s frequent travels, in the States and abroad, had slowly eroded the thick Boston inflection.
“Too long,” Esposito agreed.
“I’ve been busy. Got myself good and married, in fact,” he added with a chuckle.
“Felicitaciones! And who is the lucky señorita?”
“Find out for yourself. My bride and I would like to take you to dinner. Are you still living in Bogotá? We just flew in this afternoon.”
“Sí, still here. Business is very good.”
“Glad to hear it.” He turned away from the window. “So, tonight? Eight o’clock?”
“I would be honored. We will meet at my favorite establishment. La Mexicana. It
is in Perdoma. You know it?”
“No, but my wife and I will find our way there.” Another chuckle. “Looking forward to seeing you again, Felix. Like you said, it’s been too long.”
Esposito, proving he was as sharp as Trevor remembered, said, “And will this be business, or pleasure, Mr. Julian?”
“A little bit of both, actually.”
“Interesting. I am looking forward to it, then.”
“As am I.”
Trevor hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. Perfect. Phase one was in motion. Meet Esposito, chat over enchiladas and that god-awful watery Aquila Light beer Esposito preferred. Isabel would charm the pants off the man, Trevor would bring up Samir Bahar’s name, and hopefully Esposito would set up a meeting with Blanco’s solicitor.
He left the bedroom, squaring his shoulders in resolve and breathing deeply in preparation for seeing Isabel again. She was sitting on the living room couch, flipping through a fashion magazine. She must have brought it with her, because no way would big, bad Morgan stock his safe house with fashion magazines. Camo pants and muscle shirts made up the extent of his wardrobe.
“It’s on,” Trevor said stiffly, avoiding her eyes.
“Esposito’s meeting with us?”
He gave a brisk nod. “Yeah. Eight o’clock.”
Before she could say anything more, he spun on his heel and stalked back to the hallway, releasing a hoarse breath. There, he’d done it. Had a conversation with the woman without once looking in her direction. Gina would be proud of him.
And Esposito will only be suspicious, a little voice taunted.
Trevor faltered. Fuck. The voice was right. No way could he avoid looking at Isabel tonight when they met with Felix. She was supposed to be his wife. His brand-new, smoking-hot Brazilian bride. Felix would instantly know something was up if Trevor didn’t have his hands all over her curvy body tonight.
He drew in a steadying breath. Fine. He could do this. Pretend he wanted to jump Isabel’s bones. He could touch her, and kiss the soft-looking flesh of her delicate neck. Maybe he’d even squeeze that firm ass of hers.
It didn’t mean he’d like it.
Kane found Luke, D, and Ethan in the small clearing a few hundred yards from the main house, where the team liked to do target practice and sometimes went just to chill out. Luke and Ethan were sitting on a couple of plastic lawn chairs, an open cooler filled with beer bottles wedged between them. No sign of Luke’s mutt, which meant Bear was probably prowling in the bushes searching for something to attack.
D stood a few feet away from the other two, a beer in his hand and a rifle slung over his shoulder. Kane was surprised to see him. D had stayed out of sight since the arrival of Isabel and Trevor, and even now that they’d left for Bogotá, he’d barely shown his face. Kane would’ve taken it personally, if not for the fact that D had always been an ill-tempered loner.
Besides, it was Luke he had a beef with at the moment.
“Why the hell did you let her talk to him?” he demanded as he neared the three men.
Luke rolled his eyes, then took a deep drag on his cigarette. “She grabbed the phone out of my hands. What did you want me to do, knock her unconscious?”
“You shouldn’t have picked up in the first place.”
“Well, I did. And Abby seemed to handle the conversation pretty well.” Luke shrugged, blowing out a careless cloud of smoke. “Wasn’t like she burst into tears or anything.”
But she’d been crying on the inside. Kane knew without a doubt that Devlin had shaken her to the core. Whatever that bastard said to Abby, it had gotten to her. She’d gone up to her room to take a nap, and he hadn’t seen her since. It grated a little, that she didn’t seem inclined to confide in him.
Bugged him even more that he wanted her to. He didn’t do heart-to-hearts. Didn’t like those mushy, annoying moments women tried to force on him. Tell me how you feel. Fuck, he didn’t want to talk about how he felt, and he usually didn’t give a damn how the women in his bed felt either. As long as he rocked their world and put a blissful post-orgasmic smile on their faces, he was perfectly content to get dressed and walk out the door.
So why did he care how Abby was feeling right now?
“Devlin spoke to Abby?” Ethan piped up, looking curious.
It took Kane a moment to remember that Ethan had been running errands in town all morning. “Yeah, earlier.”
“What did he say?”
“I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me.” With a sigh, he gestured to the cooler. “Toss me one of those.”
Luke reached in and a beer bottle sailed in Kane’s direction a second later. He caught it easily, then dropped into an empty chair. They used to have a poker table out here, but it had been smashed to smithereens by Sullivan Port, their Australian team member who hated to lose. The thought of Sullivan brought a frown to Kane’s lips. Morgan had the annoying habit of forcing unwanted vacations on his men, so there were always a few faces missing on most jobs, taken off the rotation to avoid burning out. But Sullivan had been gone for a couple of months now, which was unlike him.
“Anyone heard from Sully lately?” he asked.
“I spoke to him a couple of weeks ago,” Luke answered. He grinned. “He’s on his yacht in the Caribbean. Said he’s fallen in love.”
Kane snorted. Right. Sullivan fell in love every other day. So far, he hadn’t felt inclined to actually stay with any of the supposed loves of his life. Maybe it was an Australian thing.
“Ethan’s in love too,” Luke added, the grin widening.
“I’m not in love with her,” Ethan protested, his preppy-handsome face flushing. “Maggie’s just a friend.”
“Sure,” Luke mocked. “Because I go to a shitty bar every night, sit in the same corner booth, and gawk at my friends all night.”
The younger guy’s face turned a darker shade of red. “I don’t gawk. I only go there to talk to her.”
Kane wrinkled his forehead. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you talk about?”
Ethan shrugged. “You know, stuff. I tell her funny stories about my hometown. She tells me about herself, how she hates working for her father and how she’s saving up money to go to college in the States. She’s a really nice girl,” he said, sounding defensive. “She wants to be a doctor.”
The kid’s speech had Kane and Luke going silent. Seriously? That’s the kind of shit he talked to women about? Kane couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real conversation with a female. His chats with women consisted of sentences like “Do you like that, babe?” or “Roll over, I want to screw you from behind.” He couldn’t recall ever asking a woman what she wanted to be when she grew up.
“Wow, a doctor,” Kane finally said, still at a loss for words.
Ethan drained his beer bottle, then tossed it into the milk crate they used for empties. “What do you talk with Abby about? You’ve been spending a lot of time with her since we rescued her from the prison.”
He grew distinctly uncomfortable. Fortunately, he was spared from answering when D angrily grumbled something under his breath.
Kane glanced over. “What was that?”
Joining the conversation for the first time, D strode over, his rifle swinging against his hip. “I said, I think it’s time we sent her packing.”
Kane bristled. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.” D scowled. “I don’t like her, and I sure as hell don’t trust her.”
Kane smothered a groan. “We’ve already been through this. I told you why this rescue is important to me. That hasn’t changed.”
“And neither has Abby. Do you honestly think she’s just going to sit on the sidelines while we do the extraction?”
“She might not like it, but she’s agreed to sit it out,” Kane said grudgingly.
“And you fucking believed that? She’s not planning on sitting out, man. She’ll do everything she can to be
part of that rescue, and it’s going to get us all killed.”
The vehemence in D’s voice startled everyone. D wasn’t afraid to vocalize his objections, but he’d never done so with such passion. Kane narrowed his eyes, studying the other man, but D’s obsidian gaze revealed nothing.
“What the hell do you have against her?” Kane asked in a low voice.
“Nothing,” D muttered. “Nothing at all.”
There was another long silence, broken by the awkward clearing of Luke’s throat. “So, your girl wants to be a doctor,” he said to Ethan, his voice unnaturally cheerful.
“Her name was Emily.”
Abby stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to find Kane perched on the edge of her bed. She sat up abruptly, annoyance swirling inside her. She hadn’t even heard him come in, which pissed her off, since she’d always prided herself on possessing extremely sharp instincts. She could normally sense danger from miles away, the back of her neck tingling the moment she registered a threat. She’d once snapped out of a deep sleep at the sound of footsteps on the deserted street outside her New Orleans hotel.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. How had he been able to stroll right into her bedroom without so much as alerting her? Was it because deep down she didn’t believe he posed any danger to her?
The troubling thought reminded her of the way he’d stood up to D, and she had to wonder if maybe that was the reason for her lowered guard. Kane’s voice had been so fierce when he’d vowed to rescue those girls. Could a man who cared so deeply about a dozen innocent strangers really be a threat to her?
“Why are you here?” she murmured, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. “Who’s Emily?”
“She was my girlfriend in high school,” he said hoarsely.
Abby slid up so she was leaning against the headboard. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on here, but Kane looked incredibly uncomfortable. His chest was bare again, his defined pecs heaving as he sucked in a deep breath. And his hair looked tousled as hell, as if he’d been repeatedly running his fingers through it.