Blaine, Destiny - Breakfast by the Sea (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Destiny Blaine

  “You’re being paranoid,” Callan said. “She’s owned this place for several years.”

  “Intel received on Paige Lambert suggests five or six years are unaccounted for. Her parents owned this place at one point. She inherited the bed and breakfast after her father’s unfortunate car accident. I’m wondering if she came here because she received this generous oceanfront gift or if she’s here looking for an enemy, perhaps whoever may be responsible for her father’s death.”

  “Was her dad’s accident suspicious?” Callan asked.

  “To the locals? No. But after I read the report, I see red flags all over the place. His brakes went out and his car swerved off the road at a high rate of speed, plummeting into a river right outside of Savannah. No witnesses. Imagine.”

  “Maybe her father was dirty,” Connor pointed out. “She said he taught her to fend for herself.”

  Adam frowned. “We could be looking for something that doesn’t exist, so we can’t worry about Paige’s family or her past right now. What I want to find out is what a sweet woman like Paige Lambert is doing in JekyllIsland living a somewhat mundane life, minus the arsenal she keeps in her bedroom.”

  “My money is on the inheritance,” Miles said. “This property would be worth a fortune. Who wouldn’t move here and take advantage of such a showplace?”

  “I’m glad you’re not a gambling man, Miles,” Adam said, narrowing his gaze on Paige in the distance. “Remember, the stakes are high here. I’m betting whoever Paige Lambert left in her past refuses to be left behind. And with that said? I’m wagering on a woman who is terrified she might be found.”

  Paige walked toward the house again. She didn’t look like the same cheerful hostess who’d greeted them earlier.

  Adam looked at his team. “I can’t shake this feeling. Paige could be connected to the men we’re hunting, and God help her if she’s working with them.”

  “If you’re right, then our enemies are expecting company,” Connor pointed out.

  “They know we’re here,” Adam said. “I’m not convinced Paige would have anything to do with that. The pursuit of the recent release of the Most Wanted World Offenders has been a newsworthy item on every continent. In fact, our handlers are trying to get a lid on the press. Before long, our team will be exposed, along with every other super ops organization.”

  “If you think we’ve already been compromised, then we need to be prepared tonight,” Miles stated flatly.

  “I don’t know about you boys, but I came here with a loaded gun.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Connor,” Callan said. “Problem is, you couldn’t cock yours if your life depended on it.”

  “Don’t worry, little boy, when I pull the trigger, I’ll make sure it counts. I don’t shoot blanks.”

  “Knock off the bantering, guys!” Adam exclaimed, tossing each of them a manila envelope. “Now pay attention. Even though we’re still headed in the same direction, we have a new focus.

  “Paige Lambert is not our target, but we need to keep a keen eye on her at all times. She may know something, and if she does, that information could be crucial.

  “Miss Lambert lives out here all alone, in an area where the crime rate is so low that her neighbors leave their doors unlocked at night. As of right now, we’ll treat her like we would an operative assigned to another team. We’ll work her for information.

  “Paige is packing various weapons, which means she’s skilled, trained, possibly even as deadly as we are. She’s prepared for the worst because somebody out there—somebody close to her—has made her believe they’re closing in on her. Now, one of us—and Connor, I doubt it will be you—needs to befriend her, get as close as possible without wasting a minute.”

  “How close are we suggesting here?” Callan waggled his brows.

  “Very,” Adam replied. “I don’t care if you have to finger the information out of her. Fuck her for intel if you have to, but you get so freaking chummy that you become her second skin. I want her confiding her little girl dreams in you.”

  “Do you really think a woman like that will crumble under a man’s attention?” Miles asked.

  “She flinched when Callan worked his charm on her upstairs,” Connor grumbled.

  “Ouch!” Callan said. “That must’ve hurt like hell to admit.”

  Connor shrugged. “If you can get that pretty cat to meow, I’ll give you props for the rest of your life. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not going to happen, but I’ll take a pass and let you have a go at her. We don’t have much time to get what we need. Whatever she’s hiding, she’s not going to tell me, so you’re the best chance we have.”

  “I guess that’s because Jeff isn’t here yet?” Callan asked.

  “Exactly,” Adam said, clearing his throat. “Jeff presides over ‘operation ladies’ because he can magically get them to talk. If you can get this one to sing, I’ll give you the next shot at one of Jeff’s solo missions.”

  Everyone wanted Jeff’s assignments except Jeff.

  “Jeff has a way with women,” Callan said.

  Miles looked toward the beach in deep thought. “I’d love to know how. Seeing as every woman he’s ever interrogated dies a sudden death, one would think his reputation overshadows the venomous charm.”

  Adam cleared his throat. “Let’s move on. We have a lot to go over. Inside the envelopes, you’ll find your new deck of cards. As expected, this deck is full of terrorists, cartel members, and group leaders.

  “The top dogs, just like before, are the aces. Remove them from your deck. We won’t encounter them in the field, especially here. We’re on this mission looking for the King of Hearts. He’s the big daddy. He’s our target. We may luck up and stumble upon a pair of Jacks, men thought to accompany our target on international trips. Make sure you study the faces on those cards, as well.”

  “These damn cards are a pain in the ass,” Connor mumbled, sorting through the stack. “Why can’t we find an easier way to hunt the bad guys?”

  Adam glared straight ahead. “The card deck is a proven system.”

  “I don’t get that,” Connor argued. “Take, for instance, the Eight of Clubs. This guy has a rap sheet a mile long. I remember hearing about him on my last tour in Afghanistan. And he’s the Eight of Clubs?”

  “His position in the card deck is appropriate compared to the other criminals. That said, you should have a pretty good idea of how dangerous our King of Hearts can be, right?”

  Connor muttered something else, and Adam continued, quite annoyed, “Ramone Carpasia goes by several different names—Raymond, Ray, R, and variations of his last name, including Carp, Carpy, and a few others listed in the data we’ve complied. He’s always armed. Don’t consider him dangerous. He’s deadly.

  “If you meet him face to face and he makes you, he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him. There’s no chance in hell we’ll take him alive. Don’t try.”

  Miles grinned. “But what if we can?”

  Connor rolled his eyes. “What did he just say?”

  “I heard him,” Miles said. “But what if we get lucky and have the opportunity? Wouldn’t you rather see him stand trial for the crimes he’s committed?”

  The young operatives were all the same. They envisioned their names in bold print headlining newspapers and becoming the modern-day hero when they brought in notorious offenders. Sometimes it took years to correct this inappropriate train of thought. Adam and his team weren’t hired to bring in the bad guys and put them on the stand. They were hired to put them in their coffins and send them straight to hell.

  Miles didn’t let it go. “Adam, this Ramone guy would rattle like a baby’s toy if we could take him alive. You can see it in his eyes. Let’s make him face a judge and jury. “

  Adam paid attention to the footsteps under them and stared between two worn planks, noticing the mounds pushed high enough to tempt any man—himself included. “It’s not possible, Miles,” Adam said, pointing down so his cohorts could enjoy
the lovely vixen’s assets.

  Every man looked. Then, they drooled.

  Paige was one sexy woman. Her large breasts were implants. No doubts there. Her figure was probably one she’d paid for, too—with blood, sweat, and tears. She showed off those well-toned leg muscles, and they were almost meticulously carved. Such was the body of a runner.

  Smiles were in abundance with everyone having their own bird’s eye view of Paige’s barely concealed breasts. Thank God for the ingenious designers responsible for introducing sports bras.

  Callan slapped Miles and Connor squarely between their shoulders. Prepared to act, he said, “Well, you boys keep talking shop. I’ll see if I can persuade the most beautiful woman in the world to take a little hike down the beach.”

  Talk about overkill. Maybe Miles would’ve been better suited for the Paige assignment. Then again, Miles was about as charming as a jellyfish. He lured in a woman with his outer appearance, then he stung her with a razor-sharp tongue.

  “Have fun,” Connor grumbled.

  “He has it bad for our hostess,” Miles said, adding what he could to help move things along.

  “Lay it on thick, why don’t you?” Connor mouthed.

  Callan trotted downstairs. “There you are,” he sang. “I wanted to see if I could sweet-talk you into a walk on the beach.”

  “Why sure, I’d love to,” she drawled.

  Adam sighed. Where was Jeff Jacobsen when they needed him?

  Paige’s instant reply was a little too practiced, a bit too rehearsed. Twenty-four-year-old Callan O’Bree wasn’t man enough to handle an older woman like Paige Lambert.

  Adam wondered if any of them were.

  * * * *

  “I love late morning walks,” Paige commented, strolling closer to the sea.

  Callan followed her until they stood ankle deep in the cool salt water. He kept his eyes sharply focused on her breasts. Oh, boy, she could taste the good times with this young Irishman.

  She didn’t know what kind of bets had been placed in her honor, but in her experience, whenever a group of operatives—and without a doubt, these guys were on some kind of elaborate mission—worked together, they shared one common goal. Killing the enemy and poking the pussy. Since she was the only female around, she knew what she had to do. She’d make sure her guests understood she was off-limits and her body parts were under lock and key.

  “Do you like the ocean, Callan?”

  “Grew up in Tybee. Spent time in Charleston. Moved to Malibu and attended Pepperdine. What do you think?”

  She smiled, twirled around, pretended to lose her balance and oops! She fell in the water when the largest wave of the day came close enough to drench her. Laughing, she played the part well when Callan plucked her from the tide, taking the opportunity to brace her body against his. She pretended it took her a minute to regain solid footing.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, clutching her hand and gasping at the same time.

  Sure enough, her pretty little soldier boy twitched in his breeches. Bright pink was her color, and big boobs were apparently his weakness.

  Callan bracketed his arms around her waist. “Hang on, now. Get your balance before you take off fighting the current. You’re going face down next time, and then I’ll get to see that pretty little arse of yours.”

  “Excuse me? Good Lord, does your government employ soldiers or heathens?”

  “I like to think of myself as an uncivilized gentleman,” Callan said, frowning. He must’ve noted her slip of tongue.

  She giggled at his comment, but damn, oh damn, she would need to watch herself. Once Adam debriefed Callan, he’d come calling. Adam would want to know which government she supported if she didn’t call out the good old USA as her own home country.

  Callan helped her back to shore and had ample time to release her hand. When he didn’t, she stopped walking and looked down at their entwined fingers. “You move fast.”

  “You think I do,” he replied. “Take a stroll across your front porch with Connor.”

  “And you expect me to share a bed with him?”

  His nose twitched, and he snickered, a gesture most likely inspired by the nonchalant way she took the opportunity to ditch the handholding effort. Or maybe he laughed at the idea of her and Connor in bed together. She certainly did.

  “Well?”

  “I’m not for you and Connor sharing a room, but trust me, he won’t sleep in your bed. It’s against protocol.”

  “Oh, I see,” she hummed. “So I guess the other one won’t be tossed into the cougar’s den, either?”

  “Is that what you are?”

  “I’m over forty and old enough to be your mother.”

  “I don’t see that.”

  Paige felt like some star-crossed actress who had accidentally landed on the wrong stage performing in a second-rate play. Earlier, she’d been dressed for afternoon tea. After brunch, she’d changed into spandex and a sports bra. All she’d had on her mind was enticing a few good men. She’d never considered how easy that task would be given their obvious youth. A young man’s penis stood at a ready salute whenever a little cleavage was spotted. Callan might as well foam at the mouth.

  Given the material clinging to her body and the lack of padding, her nipples were erect, protruding through the bra. She folded her arms across her chest and headed home.

  “Very nice,” he said, moistening his lips. “Want my shirt?” He shrugged out of his T-shirt and immediately draped the soft cotton over her shoulders.

  God almighty. She eyed his abs and turned away.

  “Something wrong?”

  Even young men like Callan realized what crimes were committed when a woman rapidly turned away from a gaping exercise. Women—at least grown gals like herself, determined to keep their panties up rather than balled around their ankles—understood staring at a man’s six left the course open for a southernmost evaluation.

  “I need to get back,” she said, holding the T-shirt against her chest and picking up her pace.

  “You could ask Adam for a change of assignment,” Callan called after her.

  “Ask Adam what?” She played dumb. The last thing she needed was a man like Callan in her room. Heck, the last thing she wanted was any of them invading her private space.

  “Tell him you feel safe with me.”

  “And what would give you that impression, exactly?”

  “I saved you from drowning.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “Don’t worry, you don’t owe me. We’ll let the interest accrue, and when the time is right? I’ll call the loan in, and you can pay me back all at one time.”

  “That’s interesting, Callan. Any other great philosophies you’d like to share while you’re on a roll?”

  “No, ma’am,” he growled, eyeing her like he couldn’t get enough.

  Men. Some she hated. Some she loved. Unfortunately, she’d been fond of so few, she’d ended up in bed with the one she loathed the most while watching several good men die all because she’d looked their way. After Paige ran away from Ramone, she vowed she’d never give herself to another man who liked the view from behind a gun. She’d rather die first.

  Paige dropped Callan’s T-shirt in the sand. “I like a fellow who doesn’t care to bend the rules when he wants a woman. I don’t know if you’re that kind of guy or not, Callan. Whether you are or you aren’t, I hope you and your friends enjoy a challenge, because that’s precisely what I am. And I don’t need you or your crew to watch over me.”

  Paige turned toward the ocean. Skinny-dipping was in order. Callan was starting to bore her. Adam’s rules pissed her off. She needed to get her point across. No one controlled Paige Lambert. Jillian Carpasia had been the kind of woman any man could walk on, but Paige Lambert was her own person.

  With a wicked grin, she pushed down her royal blue spandex shorts and yanked her hot pink bra over her head and shoulders. The look on Callan’s face was pri
celess.

  Giving her bottom a real good sway, she marched toward the cascading blue-green waters. “And as for owing you? I don’t like banks, unions, governments, or the men manipulating the money behind any of the above, so consider this viewing as payment in full.” She skipped a few steps, waded into the chilly waters, and dipped her head under the first wave high enough to help her hide.

  Then, she swam into the sea as far as she could go. She was pretty sure that by the time she emerged, she would have a ready audience anticipating a full-fledged topless show.

  Chapter Three

  “She’s freakin’ crazy!” Adam yelled into his cell phone while pressing binoculars to the bridge of his nose. “She’s about a mile out, swimming naked!”

  He listened to the voice of reason on the other end of the phone. The team reported to an undisclosed commander, someone on the inside of politics and governmental cover-ups. They received their orders and funding from an anonymous source, someone hired to handle them and their missions. Sometimes, Adam wondered if their handler had ever been in the field.

  “Paige Lambert is a difficult woman,” the handler said. “But she’ll be worth your trouble.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you know more about this woman than you’re willing to tell us?”

  The line fell quiet, and a continuous beeping sound alerted Adam to the disconnected call.

  If the team handler didn’t want to answer questions, that’s how he responded—with a dead line equivalent to those seen on medical- related television shows. His silence often rang out as loudly as those dramatic ER scenes. Adam had a feeling they were walking into more than their handler had told them. Paige Lambert was the key, and yet, where was she? Out in the fucking sea practicing water ballet!

  Adam focused his binoculars on the floating beauty. He imagined the rise and fall of her heavy chest. He could see her legs spreading wide in the air, bending and straightening above her body. If she wanted to put on a show, it seemed a shame he couldn’t be a more attentive spectator.