Roxanne St. Claire - Barefoot With a Bad Boy (Barefoot Bay Undercover #3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  He inched her back up again to look at her. “How many times do I have to tell you that a body and hair and face don’t make a person? It’s you I love. I know you, and I know that tongue. Tongue’s the same, right? You’re no impostor. Okay?”

  She smiled, her dark eyes dancing. “Okay.”

  “How’s the wound?” he asked. “I tried not to accidentally touch the bandage.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “And the headaches?”

  She just sighed. “Blissfully, wondrously gone. The only thing that hurts my head is figuring out who did this to me and why and how. And when they’re coming back.”

  “Luke’s on the lookout, and no one is coming near this villa or that bungalow. They’re going to have to draw you out, and next time, I won’t be alone.”

  She nodded. “But since I’m better now, can we talk to Dex?”

  He sighed. “I’m still not a hundred percent sold on him.”

  “You think he works for the Russians?” she asked.

  The thought had crossed his mind, but she’d been in no shape to discuss it. And right now? He didn’t want to ruin this and get into an argument.

  “Shhh.” He turned slowly, bringing her next to him so he could take off the condom. “Not now. You need to rest. It’s late, get some sleep.”

  He pushed up and walked to the bathroom on surprisingly unsteady legs, closing the door to pee, which would take an hour after that kind of sex.

  With one hand on the wall, he leaned forward, closed his eyes and tried—failed—to wipe the smile off his face. He loved her. And he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Behind him, a handbag she’d hung on the bathroom door hummed like a phone was vibrating in it. He frowned, because her phone was in the bedroom, he was certain of it. But the rhythmic hum was definitely a phone in there.

  After a second, the sound stopped, and he washed his hands and opened the door, ready to tell her that something had buzzed in her bag, but she was conked out. He didn’t have the heart to wake her, but then it hummed again…and he could see her phone right there on the dresser, dark and silent.

  Maybe she had another one for Rafe emergencies? He closed the door and unzipped the bag, not seeing any light or sign of a phone. But he could feel it and discovered a well-disguised zipper in the back. Why would she hide a phone there?

  He pulled it out and could see most of a text from Dexter Crain.

  He automatically curled his lip at the name. Gabe just didn’t like him.

  Check in when you can. Anxious to know if he still believes you. I know this has been a tough one, L, but you’ve done an incredible job making

  His heart stopped. Literally, he felt his chest grow ice cold at the words and unfinished message.

  If he still believes you…

  What the fuck? He started to yank open the door, then froze, his brain suddenly clear, crystal clear, like a sharp shard of ice was stabbing sense into his head.

  She was lying. She wasn’t Isadora Winter.

  His very first instinct had been right—it always was. He tapped the phone furiously, trying to read the rest of the text, but he needed a passcode.

  Four digits. A date, most likely. He tried her birthday, didn’t work. Tried the anniversary of her parents’ deaths. Didn’t work. Tried 0629, Rafe’s birthday. Didn’t work.

  So he tried his birthday and…bingo.

  He closed his eyes for a second, not at all sure he could handle reading the truth about a woman he just damn near proposed to. A woman he loved.

  I feel like an impostor.

  Because she was?

  He took a breath and read the text.

  Check in when you can. Anxious to know if he still believes you. I know this has been a tough one, L, but you’ve done an incredible job making him think you’re Isadora. Foster was an unfortunate loss, but necessary. I’m finally here, in Artemisia. Three villas away from you. See you tomorrow and we can finish this job. This time, Gabe Rossi will die.

  Words—any words, bad, good, filthy, or indifferent—escaped him.

  He considered going back and reading the rest of the texts, but he didn’t need to. The words were there, proof that she’d lied. That she knew about Foster coming. That she expected Dexter all along. Was there any other way to interpret these words?

  Maybe. But the last sentence didn’t take any brains to figure out.

  Gabe Rossi will die.

  Instead of her sweet kisses, all he could taste was the bitter, metallic flavor of betrayal.

  Everything made sense now, including why she said she was sorry a few minutes ago. Sorry for lying to him. Sorry for plotting against him. Sorry for betraying him.

  Bile rose in his tight throat, but he forced it down. No time for emotions. Not now.

  I’m sorry…I’m sorry I’m not…

  Had she been trying to tell him just now? What about the implant? She just went along with the removal so he didn’t suspect? Maybe she didn’t know about it. And what about Rafe? Was he Gabe’s child or did they just get an incredible look-alike for whatever this effed-up mission was?

  He didn’t know, but he’d find out. And the best way to get information, as any good spy knows, was to act like you weren’t looking for it. If he was even capable of that right now.

  He took a rough breath and replaced the phone, exactly as it had been. A close examination would show he’d read the text, but he’d watch her very closely. If she came into the bathroom, he’d be right next to her. He wouldn’t leave her…or sleep.

  Not tonight. She’d lie next to him, breathe on him, touch him, ask for more.

  And all the while he’d hate her more and more and more. But he had to play the game and let her slip, and then he’d take her down so hard she’d have new scars.

  Her and her fucking old senator.

  He turned to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, looking up at the mirror as it dripped down his cheeks. Like tears.

  No fucking way. He’d cried over Isadora. He’d never cry again, no matter how much this tore his soul to shreds. And he’d never trust anyone as long as he breathed. Ever.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Someone’s watching me.

  The thought woke Lila with an unsettling start, making her blink into the early morning light with a hot shot of adrenaline in her chest.

  “Oh,” she whispered, frowning at the sight of Gabe in a chair, staring at her. “Hi. What are you doing over there?”

  He lifted one bare shoulder and made a strange face. “Didn’t want to wake you. You sleep like the dead, you know. Nino would say you have no sins on your soul.”

  She let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “I have no ache in my head and am still glowing from the best sex I can remember since…the last time we made love.” She tapped the bed. “Get back over here, Rossi, and let’s do it again.”

  He stood, revealing that he was not, sadly, naked, but wore long, loose shorts. “Gotta go work out.”

  Frowning, she pushed up on her elbows, eyeing every muscle in his well-developed chest and abs. “I’m not complaining about the results, but couldn’t you postpone your exercise just a little bit today?”

  “Can’t. Have so much to do today.”

  She felt herself scowl. “Yes, I know. The doctor, the beach with Rafe. We planned the perfect day, but it starts with sex. Remember? Epic amounts?”

  His expression shifted, a slight shake of his head. “It’s a bad day for…that.”

  “What?” She sat all the way up now, oblivious to the fact that the sheet fell, exposing her breasts. His gaze dropped to them, but didn’t warm like it always did.

  Didn’t he tell her he loved her breasts last night? “Are you okay, Gabe?”

  “Yep. Just have to get out there and start doing some push-ups.”

  She pointed to the floor. “Do them here. I’ll watch, er, I mean, count.” She tried a playful grin.

  But he didn’t play. Didn’t appr
oach the bed or kiss her good morning or make a joke. He just turned and grabbed his keys from the dresser and picked up his wallet and phone, absently studying the screen.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He pocketed the keys and looked over his shoulder. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, okay.” She fought back the disappointment.

  “So you can go wherever the fuck you want. Lila.”

  She winced. “Gabe, what is wrong?”

  He shook his head like he was trying to get a thought out of it. “We need to get on this implant thing. Let’s fly up to DC.” He finally looked at her, hard. “Let’s go see your pal Dex.”

  Fly up to DC? Yesterday he wasn’t even sure he trusted Dex. Hell, he’d never trusted Dex.

  “I’ll call him,” she said. “No need to leave here.”

  “I want to see his face when we tell him. If he’s in on it, I’ll know immediately.”

  “I told you I trust him.” She whipped the covers back and climbed out of bed, trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t immediately reach out for her naked body. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe me?”

  He took a slow breath, a steadying breath. But why was he unsteady?

  “You know how jealous I get over that old blowhard,” he said gruffly.

  He dragged his hand through his hair and looked away, the morning sun highlighting bluish shadows under his eyes.

  “You didn’t sleep, did you?” she asked.

  “Not much.”

  “Why not? It wasn’t like we didn’t exhaust each other last night.”

  “I don’t know. A lot on my mind.” He stared at her. Not heated, not curious, not affectionately…all the ways he looked at her. Right now, his expression was as blank as the wall behind him. “I just don’t know,” he said again.

  But she did. She knew that look. The look of a man who trusted no one.

  Maybe just one too many I love you’s passed between them last night. Maybe he hadn’t changed that much, after all, and his inner lone wolf was howling in fear.

  “Hey,” she said. “Can we talk about this?”

  “No.”

  She inched back from the verbal slap.

  “Listen.” She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “We don’t have to rush this. We don’t have to make any decisions or moves or plans until you’re comfortable—”

  He shook her off. “I am comfortable.”

  “Really.”

  “Really…Isadora.”

  She blinked at the name, the way he said it like a cold stab of a knife through her ribs. Five seconds ago, he’d called her Lila with the same accusation in his tone.

  Why? Because, deep inside, he couldn’t love this woman who wasn’t Isadora? Or he couldn’t really love anyone?

  She tamped down the thought. “This is all going to take time,” she said, coming close to him. “In some ways, we have to get to know each other all over again.”

  He nodded slowly, searching her face. “Yeah, we do.”

  She reached up and touched his unshaved cheek, rubbing her thumb on the whiskers. “I don’t want to go to DC,” she said. “I want to stay right here with you and Rafe.”

  “Don’t you want to find out who put that implant in you? You’re the one who’s been so anxious to get started.”

  “Of course I do, and we will. But today? I just want to live one normal day with my son and my…”

  “Son’s father?” he suggested, the slightest challenge in his voice, which sliced her.

  “Yes, with you.”

  “I’m going to be gone for a while,” he said, backing away. “Will you be here?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know, just wanted you to know you’re free to go.”

  “So you said. What should I do? Spring Rafe from Nino?” she asked, trying to be lighthearted and ignore the weirdness that hung between them. “I’d break both their hearts.”

  “Well, I have stuff to do.” As if he realized that stuff had to be done fully dressed, he turned and yanked a T-shirt off the back of the chair, pulling it on. “I’ll see ya.”

  She just stood there, not even trying to hide her dismay. “That’s it?”

  He chucked her chin and kissed the air, as if…as if it would somehow pain him to actually kiss her.

  She stayed standing there after he left, staring at the empty room, trying to figure out what in God’s name just happened. She wasn’t sure, but she needed to wash it all off.

  She took a shower long and hot enough to leave the bandage on the back of her neck hanging from a single string of adhesive, so she tugged it off and dried her hair. Dressing quickly, she sat on the bed for a minute, dropping her head into her hands.

  Heartache definitely hurt worse than a—

  A footstep on the side deck pulled her attention and made her swing around to peer out the French doors.

  Gabe came back. He felt terrible, realized he’d been a jerk, and came back.

  Lila pressed a hand to her heart as if she could soothe it, standing and walking toward the doors. But there was no sign of Gabe. She stepped closer and inched back the sheer curtain, not seeing anyone, but she’d definitely heard something.

  One of the bodyguards? She peered into the morning light, not seeing anyone. She knew Luke’s men were stealthy, but this was like they weren’t even out there.

  Automatically, she opened the top dresser drawer and lifted out her Glock, only noticing then that Gabe’s weapon was missing.

  Why would he take his gun to work out? No, he couldn’t have. She’d seen him with shorts on, front and back. He had no holster. Then where was his weapon?

  Her spine prickled as she wrapped both hands around the pistol, straightening her arms, braced to fire if she had to.

  Hearing nothing, she used one hand to silently unlatch the door and inch it open, lifting her gun, peeking around.

  “Please, Isadora, don’t shoot me.”

  She spun at the sound of a woman’s voice, sucking in a breath at the sight of dark, bobbed hair and wide brown eyes. A familiar woman and face but so out of place on the deck of a Barefoot Bay villa that it took a second for Lila to actually comprehend who it was.

  “Anne?” The world tilted for a moment as Lila stared, a rush of shock and joy and disbelief swamping her. “Anne Crain? What are you doing here?”

  The woman put both hands over her mouth, her eyes welling. “Isadora. Is that you?”

  She lowered the gun, running through all the possibilities of how Anne could be here and why and how she knew Lila was Isadora. Whatever the answers, the charade was up with this woman who’d tried so hard to be a mother to her. She’d never succeeded, but Lila had appreciated the effort, although Anne had always left her sort of…cold.

  “It is me,” Lila said softly. “Dex told you?”

  Gnawing on her bottom lip, Anne nodded, coming closer, her arms out. “My sweet girl. I thought you were dead.”

  Lila swallowed hard, kicked by guilt. “I’m sorry. I hope he explained that it was a very important undercover job. I never wanted to hurt anyone, but there were only a handful of people who mattered. You were one.” She stepped closer, setting the gun on the chaise. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Of course.” Anne closed the space between them and hugged her, and like it always had, the embrace was somehow chilly and forced. She backed up to examine Lila. “He warned me you look like a different person. I would never have known it’s you.”

  Lila brushed back her hair, deeply conscious that this woman had mourned her death. “You know how many lives were saved because of this decision.”

  “Of course I do, honey. I’m married to Mr. Intelligence Committee, remember?”

  “So he told you, then.” She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. “He’s sensitive about the impact that whole operation could have on his future. On both your futures, in the W
hite House.”

  “I admit I coerced it out of him, Isa.” Her brows furrowed. “Or should I call you Lila?”

  “I’m Lila now,” she said. “Five years, and I’ve sort of grown into her.”

  “Well, you’ve done the opposite of growing.” Anne slid an arm around Lila’s waist. “You’re terribly thin, dear.”

  “It’s just…exercise and plastic surgery.” And the headaches had destroyed her appetite. “I’m not so…” Thin. She frowned at the echo of Anne’s word in her head. Had she said ‘tin’ or thin?

  “And I hear you have a child.”

  Dexter told her that, too? Well, Lila Wickham’s story was no secret, so if Anne knew that, she knew everything. She felt her whole being relax a little, so ready to drop the cloak of secrecy that shrouded her life.

  “I do,” she said. “A beautiful little boy named Rafe.”

  “Can I see a picture?”

  “Of course.” She gestured Anne inside, then picked up the gun. “Sorry about this. Training. How did you get past the bodyguards, by the way?”

  “Bodyguards? Why do you have them?”

  “Just…precaution.”

  Anne followed her inside. “Didn’t see a soul.”

  Had Gabe taken them off duty? Did he not care about her safety anymore? Swallowing that thought, she put the gun back in the dresser drawer.

  “Is this him?” Anne picked up Rafe’s photo, and her jaw dropped. “What a gorgeous little thing. Who’s the father?”

  The question threw her so much, she hardly noticed the th mispronunciation happened again.

  “Oh…he’s…” She took a breath. “A man who lives here, as a matter of fact.”

  “On this island?”

  “Yes.” Years of training made her stop and think and gather her wits no matter how shocked this visit left her. Why would Anne Crain come to her out of the blue, without her husband? “Where is Dexter, Anne?”

  “Home.” She didn’t look up, still holding Rafe’s picture.

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “Of course.” She shook her head. “This is like another grandchild to me, you know?”