by Lori Wilde
“Aren’t we?” He let go of the napkin, reached across the table, and laid his hand over hers.
His touch was electric. A red-hot jolt that stole her breath and caused a crazy montage of images to flash through her head. She saw them as they must have looked last night, naked in her bed, rolling across the sheets, having a fine old time.
“Are we?”
They stared at each other.
“We’re eating out together, talking. Isn’t that what people do when they date?”
“I should shut up.”
“Don’t shut up.”
“Why? The more I tell you, the more you’re getting pulled into my life.”
“So?”
“You don’t mind getting pulled into my drama?” She felt a heated glow of emotion light her from the inside out. He made her feel so much, so many different things. Hope and joy, fear, and concern.
“Whenever I think about you, I smile. I don’t smile a lot, Poppy.”
“I noticed.”
“You make me smile.”
“You make me smile, too.”
“We better stop smiling or everyone in here is going to think we took Ecstasy or something.”
“What I’m feeling has nothing to do with drugs and everything to do with you.”
“Abel...” She ducked her head, feeling suddenly inexplicably shy.
“Poppy,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She lifted her chin.
Abel snagged her gaze and stared deeply into her eyes. He should tell her the truth now, but she looked so pretty, and they were having a nice time and they hadn’t even ordered their meal yet. She’d gotten dressed up, taken care with her appearance, and he was going to ruin everything.
“Yes?”
He ran his hands over her knuckles. “There’s something I need to—”
“Would you like to hear about our specials of the day?” asked the chirpy waiter who’d appeared at their table.
The waiter rattled off the items, but Abel didn’t hear a word of it. He kept looking at Poppy, thinking how he was about to wreck everything.
“I’ll have the red snapper,” Poppy said when the waiter had finished his spiel.
“And you, sir?”
“That sounds good.”
“Can we get wine with that?” Poppy asked. “I’d love a glass of wine.”
“Bring a bottle,” Abel said. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but maybe a glass of wine or two would help him find the words he needed to say. I think I’m falling for you, and oh, by the way, I’ve been spying on you for the governor of Texas. “Of your best Chardonnay.”
The waiter nodded and departed, leaving them alone in the darkened corner, the soothing sound of the ocean rolling over the shore, the moonlight reflecting off the water.
“This is so romantic,” she breathed. “Too romantic.”
“What? You don’t deserve a little romance?”
“This isn’t a little romance, Abel. This is the grand seduction.”
“And you don’t deserve that, either?”
“I do deserve it,” she said, straightening her spine. “But I deserve it with strings attached. I never asked for that before, probably because I never wanted those strings before, but that’s what I want now, at this point in my life. Is that going to be a problem, Abel? You can tell me the truth and it will be okay.”
Will it? Will it really?
“Because if having strings attached is going to be an issue, we need to stop this thing before one or both of us get hurts.”
Too late, he thought. Too late.
“I want someone to do the crossword puzzle with on Sunday mornings and someone who’ll make me chicken soup when I have a cold. I want someone I can tell my darkest fears to in the middle of the night and someone to surf with and who’ll do yoga with me and teach me the things they love like the difference between a Holstein and a heifer. Someone whose interests I can share and who’ll go with me to my parents’ house on the holidays.”
I want all those things, too.
“After dinner,” he said, “let’s take a walk on the beach and talk about this.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her eyes shining with hope. “All right.”
Their meal came and they made small talk. He would have thoroughly enjoyed it if his mind hadn’t been toying with the scenario ahead of them, worrying how this was all going to play out. Would he lose her just as he’d found her?
He paid the check, then helped Poppy from her chair. He drew her close to him and escorted her down off the wooden deck to the beach below.
She leaned into his side and he wrapped his arm across her shoulder, savoring the tender connection he feared would soon be severed.
The locket at her neck glittered in the moonlight while the lanterns from the restaurant above cast shadows over the pylons underneath. It was a perfect spot to steal a stealthy kiss.
The same thought must have crossed her mind because she stopped, reaching up to wrap her hands around his neck. Abel lowered his head, his mouth already watering to taste her.
Then one of the shadowy pylons moved. Came at them, a blur in the darkness.
Before Abel could react, a figure barreled into him, knocking Abel to the ground and grabbing for the locket around Poppy’s neck. It took a second for him to realize they were being mugged and it was too dark for him to see the attacker’s face clearly.
Poppy screamed and clutched her hands around the guy’s wrist, while Abel stuck out his leg and tripped him.
The attacker fell in the sand beside Abel, his face turned away.
“Run!” he shouted to Poppy.
But his brave woman did not run. She reached down to pick up a piece of driftwood and started smacking the guy in the back of the head.
The guy raised an arm to shield himself against Poppy’s blows, then the soft driftwood shattered in her hands. The guy leaped up at the same time Abel did and he shoved Poppy backward into the water.
“Ooh!” Poppy gasped.
The assailant sprinted away as Abel turned to help Poppy to her feet. He hadn’t been able to catch a clear glimpse of the man’s features.
“Run, coward, run!” she yelled as his pounding footsteps echoed into the night.
It was only then that Abel realized she was shaking all over.
“Sunshine,” he murmured, pulling her to him, not caring that she was wet. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, but this dress is silk.”
“It’s okay. It’s just clothing.”
“Well, ha! He didn’t get my necklace, the slimy thief. This is why I don’t wear expensive jewelry. How do you rich people deal with this?”
He had to laugh. “We wear good quality fakes unless we’re around security. Do you want to call the cops?”
“No point in that. I couldn’t even describe him—could you?”
Abel shook his head.
“He didn’t get anything, and we’d just be tied up at the police station all night. Take me home instead.”
When they got back to their apartment complex, Poppy stopped in the courtyard. “I’ve got an early yoga class in the morning; maybe it’s best if we say good night here.”
“You’re not going to invite me in?”
She shook her head. “We both know what will happen if you come up with me. Neither one of us would get any sleep.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He kissed her goodnight in the courtyard, then watched her walk up to her apartment with longing in his heart. But it was only after his door closed behind him that Abel remembered he’d never told her his secret.
#
When Poppy got home from teaching her yoga class the following morning, she was disappointed to see Abel’s pickup was not in his parking space. She’d grown accustomed to him always being around. She’d planned on asking him to have lunch with her
at the sandwich shop across the street to apologize for not inviting him up last night.
The truth was, things had been moving too fast for her and after they’d been accosted underneath the restaurant, she'd just felt the need to withdraw. She hoped he would understand.
Disappointed, she went on up to her apartment and decided to pop a frozen dinner into the microwave for lunch instead.
She’d just pierced the plastic cover of her frozen dinner with a fork when her cell phone beeped, letting her know she had a text message.
Meet me at the beach just after sunset, pier 16 and wear that locket that makes your cleavage look so tempting. I have a big surprise.
The message had been sent from Abel’s iPhone. Poppy grinned. Another date. He wasn’t mad at her for blowing him off last night. Euphoria ran through her. This time, maybe just maybe, she’d found what she hadn’t even known she’d been searching for.
#
“Something’s about to happen,” Captain Higgins told Abel over lunch in Port Isabel. “Kilgore and Rogers verified that Barksdale’s contact has booked a one-way ticket back to his country of origin. He’s leaving tomorrow afternoon. Either Barksdale has already made the deal, or something’s happened to him. Either way, I want you off Miss St. John and on the buyer with Kilgore and Rogers.”
“We’re closing up shop?” Abel asked, stunned.
“I’ve already sent in the cleaners to remove the surveillance equipment from the apartment.”
“Just like that? It’s over?”
“No, it’s not over at all. You’ll be apprehending the contact at the airport.”
“I mean with Miss St. John.”
“We’ve been monitoring her phone calls and there’s nothing of consequence. Barksdale hasn’t approached her again since that day in the ocean. Clearly, she’s a dead end.”
“That might not be true, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
He told his commanding officer about the man who’d attacked them under the pier the previous evening.
“Sounds like a simple mugging to me, Black. You’re grasping at straws.”
“I think it’s a mistake to pull the surveillance off her.”
The captain gave him a dark look that told Abel he wasn’t a fool. He knew what had been going on between Abel and Poppy. “The detail is over, Lieutenant. Report to Kilgore immediately.”
Chapter Seventeen
The gathering darkness had Poppy pulling her sweater more tightly around her. After what had happened on the beach last night, she was feeling a bit apprehensive and wondered why Abel had asked her to meet him here.
Part of her wanted to just turn around and head back to her Jeep, then call Abel and tell him to meet her in the parking lot. But her adventuresome side, the part of her that liked surprises, forged on.
Nervously, she fingered the locket at her throat. The surprise better be a damned good one.
Maybe, whispered an excited voice in the back of her mind, he’s going to tell you that he loves you.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s much too soon for thoughts like that.
It might be too soon for thoughts like that, but she couldn’t help feeling it. Whether she liked it or not, she’d fallen head over heels for Abel Black. For the first time in her life, Poppy St. John was in love and she fully realized what she’d been missing.
She felt it to the very depths of her soul, like a solid vibration, like a humming mantra echoing through her every cell.
Abel.
During the day the beach was thronged with families and surfers, everyone out for a good time. But at night things changed. People staggered on the sand, laughing too loud, drinking too much. In the wrong spots, the atmosphere grew more ominous.
The beach in moonlight could be romantic, but a damp mist was rolling in, decreasing visibility and adding to the brooding mood. Anyone could be out here with nefarious thoughts on their minds.
She wasn’t a woman who scared easily. She was tough and resilient and confident in her ability to talk her way out of most predicaments, but tonight, she was spooked. Something just didn’t feel right.
A couple of times she thought she felt as if she were being followed. She cast a few glances over her shoulder but saw no one out of the ordinary.
The most difficult part was walking down the stairway that led to the lower pier. After last night’s incident, she was leery. It smelled underneath here, too. Like dead fish and the ripe stench of urine.
She was still several yards from the rendezvous spot where Abel had said to meet him. The people on the beach behind her sounded very far away. It was almost as if she were on another planet. Isolated and alone.
A strong sense of dread washed over her, and she fumbled for her phone. There was no reason to be afraid, but she’d just call him, ask him to come to her, even if it ruined his surprise.
She stopped walking to dig in the pocket of her sundress for her cell phone. The hairs on her neck lifted.
Turn, go, run, urged a warning voice in the back of her head.
But she didn’t want to give in to panic. That wasn’t the smart thing to do. Neither was coming down here alone. Why would Abel ask her to do it?
She took a deep breath, wishing she’d thought to bring a flashlight. The clouds had moved, obscuring the moon, bathing the beach in almost total darkness. She started to punch in Abel’s number, but before she could do so, a hand wrapped around her mouth, while another hand snaked around her waist and pulled her away toward the water.
#
Abel didn’t care that Captain Higgins had ordered him away from the apartment complex. He had to see Poppy. He had to finish what he’d started last night. He had to tell her two things. One, he’d lied to her, and two, he was falling in love with her.
But when he got to her apartment, her Jeep wasn’t in the parking lot, and she didn’t answer her door. He returned to his pickup and just as he reached for his cell phone to call her, the phone rang.
Rogers’ number was on the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“We’ve got trouble.”
“What is it?”
“Barksdale hacked you.”
“What?”
“He’s cloned your phone. He texted Poppy St. John pretending to be you. It would show up on her caller ID as your number.”
“Shit!”
“She’s meeting him. Right now. Pier 16. Kilgore and I are in Brownsville, but we’re on our way.”
“Right.” Abel hung up. He made a U-turn and headed for the beach.
Sure enough, Poppy’s yellow Jeep was parked in the lot.
He parked beside the Jeep and jumped out. To his left was a group sitting around a bonfire. There were several couples canoodling together in other spots scattered about. And then far off to his right, he saw a woman walking alone in the dark, a wooden pier looming in the darkness.
Poppy.
He couldn’t tell for sure if it was her or not, but he took off after her, following his gut.
She went down the cement staircase leading to underneath the pier. His pulse revved. After last night, he was instantly on alert. He quickened his pace. He would have called out her name, but the wind would have just snatched it and flung it out to sea.
Instead, he concentrated all his energy on running full out after her. It seemed like it took an hour but was probably only a couple of minutes. His foot was on the last step of the cement staircase when he heard a soft feminine gasp and saw furtive movement in the shadows.
He drew his gun. He wasn’t being caught unarmed tonight.
There were sounds of a struggle, as if someone was being dragged, and he started running in the direction of the altercation.
“Poppy!” he shouted, panic seizing him.
A muffled scream rent the air. The clouds parted like a curtain unveiling the moon and he could see everything in the brief splash of yellow light. A man was yanking Poppy into the water.
Barksdale!
/> Even though he couldn’t really see the man’s face, he knew it was Barksdale as surely as he knew his own name. Was the bastard intent on drowning her?
That was when he saw the boat anchored just offshore. Barksdale was using a boat as a getaway vehicle.
Why hadn’t he anticipated that? Why hadn’t Higgins?
Feeling like a wretched fool, he raced toward the end of the pier where Barksdale was already throwing a struggling Poppy into the boat. The moon came out from behind a cloud again and he saw Barksdale raise his hand with something in it.
Moonlight reflected off metal.
A gun!
The chilled blood that had been sluggishly pumping through Abel’s veins froze to ice. Barksdale was going to shoot Poppy!
But instead of shooting her, Barksdale brought the butt of the gun down on Poppy’s head. She stopped fighting and went limp in his arms.
Abel still wasn’t close enough to fire off a shot. He ran as fast as he could, heart slamming into his rib cage, shoes kicking up sand that seemed to reach out, grab hold of him, and yank him back.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Texas Rangers!”
Right. Like Barksdale was really going to stop what he was doing, raise his hands over his head, and surrender on the spot.
But it was protocol. Abel wasn’t going to give any scuzzball lawyer an excuse to spring Barksdale on a technicality. He’d make sure the bastard went to prison if it was the last thing he did.
Barksdale jerked on the throttle of the speedboat. Poppy was draped lifelessly over the passenger seat.
If Abel hoped to save her, he had to do something now. He should call Kilgore and Rogers, but there wasn’t time. He had to act. Protocol be damned. Frantically, he searched the beach.
What to do? What to do?
He heard salvation first before he spied it. A Jet Ski was pulling up to the pier.
Abel ran through the water, splashing and shouting, his gun in his hand. Startled, the man driving the Jet Ski fell off into the water and the engine died. Automatic kill switch.
The man raised his hands in front of his face and sank back into the ocean. “Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot. I’m getting married in a week.”
“I’m commandeering this craft in the name of the State of Texas,” Abel said, stopping just long enough to snatch the key from the band around the guy’s wrist. He stuffed his gun back into his shoulder holster, swung astride the Jet Ski, and spun around, heading into the ocean.