by Eve Langlais
Darren called their rivalry to a halt. “We’re being watched, children.”
Those words froze Kacy from chasing after Marcus. She pivoted to look where Darren pointed. “I don’t see anything.”
“Because I caught them watching. Someone on the rooftop had a telescope pointed at us.”
“Maybe they were star gazing.”
“That requires looking up, not down.”
“We should head back to our room.” Where she could browbeat her client without witness. Wandering out to stare at the moon. Are you fucking kidding me?
“If the person watching wanted me dead, they could have killed me. They had the perfect spot to play sniper.”
“Just because they didn’t splatter your brains doesn’t mean there aren’t others who won’t. Let’s go.” Kacy laced her fingers with Darren’s and flicked her wet hair in Marcus’s direction.
Petty? Most definitely, and something she’d disparaged other girls for doing. However, she didn’t know what else to do.
She’d let Marcus touch her. And then had the tits—big, brass ones—to walk away. What she didn’t expect was the guilt. She’d hurt him and made him angry, and for some reason, that bothered her.
It also unsettled her that when Marcus laid his hands on her to throw her in the water, her skin had reacted. Her sex tingled, and she realized that one time wasn’t enough.
I still want him.
As they entered the room, she toweled off while Marcus told Darren what he’d found. The dip in the ocean had erased the more obvious scent of her actions, but her flesh still throbbed, and hearing Marcus talk in that deep rumble of his didn’t help.
Jerk.
Totally his fault somehow.
Dressing in the darkest shorts and top she could find, she twisted up her damp hair, stuck her special clip into it, and then frowned as she realized she couldn’t tuck a gun anywhere unseen.
“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, finally noticing her actions.
“You had your turn to reconnoiter. Now, it’s mine.”
“You’re leaving the cabana?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. I can’t very well investigate while cooped up in here. You should be thanking me for trusting you to babysit the client.”
“I’m not a child,” Darren retorted.
“So you claim, yet you don’t listen to instructions very well.” To Marcus, she said, “Sit on him if you have to. No more walks on the beach.”
“I don’t like you going alone.” Marcus’s brow knit.
“I’m a big girl who can take care of herself.”
“Until you run into something bigger and badder.”
She shrugged. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take. If I’m not back by dawn, get Darren out of here any way you can.”
Before Marcus could argue some more—and treat her like a girl—she left and didn’t look back. She took the beach route since, if anyone asked what she was doing, she could claim she’d taken a walk to clear her head.
Explaining her actions if she got caught at the big house snooping, though, might prove more complicated. She didn’t let that stop her. Nothing ever stopped Kacy when she gathered information. Locked doors yielded to her picks. As for alarm systems, there were ways of disarming them, but she preferred to bypass when she could.
Sneaking around, she remained conscious of the fact that there were cameras and microphones watching and listening. Most observation devices tended to be motion and sound activated to preserve battery, so she did her best to remain quiet and kept to the shadows.
The lights in the main house were all turned off, with only the faint glow of the moon outside providing illumination.
A sweep of the first-floor common areas wasn’t needed. She’d already gotten a good grasp of the layout during the reception party. She also avoided the kitchen. She doubted any secrets were kept there. What she was after was on the far side of the house, the private wing reserved for the missing owner, the one place on the island that had a locked door and panel alongside it that required a handprint. Since she doubted they’d placed her unique palm signature in the system, she opted to avoid that door and slipped outside via a window.
She didn’t have much room to maneuver. The tall turret sat on the edge of a cliff, a precarious perch with an epic view of the island and ocean. The rooftop deck topping the two stories appeared to be the same section of the building where Darren had claimed he saw someone watching.
And yet, weren’t they told the owner of the island had yet to arrive?
If indeed the owner was in residence, it would make her snooping all the more dangerous, especially if caught. But she couldn’t sit idle.
Sitting idly would mean thinking about Marcus, and she was not thinking of him. Not at all.
Inching along the outside of the building, she quietly cursed the coral façade. Sharp-edged and not forgiving on skin. Climbing it would shred her without proper protection, so she kept angling around the rounded construction, hugging it as much as she dared, her bare feet gripping at the rock, hoping it wouldn’t crumble at her added weight.
When she reached the midway mark, she finally found her opening. A patio extended out over the cliff, held in place by wooden beams buried into the rock face. A peek showed it empty of people, the lounge chairs vacant. She climbed over the glass panel half-wall and then took a moment to wipe off the smudge of her fingerprints. Subterfuge only worked if you covered all the bases.
Keeping to the side and out of sight, she inched over to the patio doors outlined in a pale glow from a light source inside. She stuck to a crouched position. People tended to look out of windows at eye level. They seldom looked down.
Slowly, so as not to set off any motion detectors, she peered in. The sconces on the walls emitted a low light and revealed that the vast first-floor space acted as an office slash living area, with a big desk to one side and a high-back leather chair and an arrangement of sofas and chairs on the other. A spiral staircase sat in the far corner of the room.
No sign of anybody inside.
A check of the door didn’t show any wires, and a quick inspection with her compact showed no invisible threads to an alarm. Then again, who would expect someone to risk falling to get to this deck?
A true security team should have.
Perhaps when she finished this job, she’d have Bad Boy Inc. send in a list of recommendations—and a quote. Harry would be so proud of her.
When sixty seconds had passed, and nothing changed, she grabbed hold of the handle and turned it. Not locked. What a surprise.
She inched in and listened for an alarm. While her compact could detect a great many electronic things, it wasn’t foolproof. A glance to either side of the doorframe showed no keypads of any sort. For a rich guy, there really wasn’t much security.
Would that laxness extend to the desk?
Nothing marred the solid wood surface, the grain distinct and highly polished. Not a single pen or notepad. Drawers on either side, plus a long, narrow one in the middle, begged for exploration.
She opened each, displaying what you’d expect to see—office supplies, pens, paper clips, a stapler, file folders labeled kitchen supplies, pool, winery, etc. While the folders opposite had names in categories such as kitchen staff, cabana staff, etc…
But nothing about business interests, and nothing about the owner.
Speaking of the owner… Who slept on the second floor? Did she dare take a peek?
She glanced at the staircase in the corner and pondered how far she should go. She might never get a better chance. Or, she might ruin everything. Once she set foot on the spiral staircase, it would be hard to hide if someone entered, or descended.
If caught, she could get tossed from the island, leaving Darren vulnerable.
Depending on who owned this place, she might even end up as shark bait.
Going upstairs would nullify any excuses she might have. At this point, she could still claim she’d wan
dered in by accident. That someone had left the door open. They probably wouldn’t believe her, but then again, those were the chances taken when indulging in cat burglar activities.
Breaking and entering wasn’t for the faint of heart. She put her foot on the bottom step and a hand on the rail.
A husky laugh drifted from upstairs.
Shoot. Someone was home.
And approaching. She felt more than heard the staircase vibrate as someone set foot on it.
Time to get out before she got caught.
Exiting onto the patio, she couldn’t have said who was more surprised, her or the person dressed in black from head to toe, including a mask over their face.
“Who are you?” he barked.
“I could ask the same,” she snapped back, using the conversation as a distraction to hide the fact that her knee rose to connect with his jewels.
He bent over with a grunt of pain, and she dropped a sharp elbow on the back of his head. He hit the ground, but her victory was short-lived as another body clad in black climbed over the railing. And then another. Two opponents plus one groaning on the ground.
A quick glance behind showed movement on the stairs, some woman in a robe coming down. Going back was no longer an option.
These guys probably wouldn’t let her shimmy around the building.
Nor would she dare, given she’d make a ripe target.
That left only one choice.
Fight.
Kacy dropped into a half-crouch and beckoned.
Being men, their square frames making their sex obvious despite the masks, they obviously thought they could take the tiny Latina.
Cocky men were stupid men. Or, as the sergeant used to say, dead men.
When it came to fighting, she didn’t think of who the men behind the masks might be, didn’t care how old they were or if they had families. Sentimentality could get an operative killed, which was why she tempered her fiery Latina side with the cold dispassion of a woman who’d killed before and would again.
Screw waiting for them to come to her. Kacy ran at them, drawing them off guard, jumping at the last minute to hit one of them in the chest with both feet. The blow hit him square in the torso and sent him stumbling back against the rail, where a roundhouse kick finished him off. He didn’t have time to yell as he tumbled over the side.
That left one fresh opponent and a groggy one getting to his knees. She peppered the uninjured fellow with a flurry of punches, sharp jabs, and quick taps, moving so rapidly and erratically, he didn’t know how to defend.
A leap and she grabbed his head, yanking it down to meet her knee. Crunch. He crumpled unconscious.
But she’d taken too long. Someone grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground.
Classic move.
Classic mistake.
Kacy smashed her head back, hearing cartilage crunch noisily and his bellow of pain. Fuck.
Would the woman inside hear it? Would she come to investigate?
Kacy jabbed her elbow into the noisy guy, and when his hold loosened, she whirled around and sucker-punched him. Then kneed him in the nuts again for good measure.
Grabbing hold of his head, she pushed him against the rail, bending him over it, and growled, “Who sent you? Who are you after?”
“Fuck you.”
That answer never worked in the movies, and yet they always resorted to it.
She rammed her knee against him again, permanently removing his chance of procreation, and was about to ask him again when a woman exclaimed, “Who are you, and what are you doing?”
Since there wasn’t really a correct answer as to why Kacy held someone pressed over the glass panel as she choked them, she decided to stay quiet.
Rather than turn around and face the music, Kacy hoped the balcony projected far enough and, using the body she held as a ramp, catapulted herself over the edge.
Chapter Seventeen
Sleep proved elusive after Kacy had left.
Darren didn’t seem worried at all that she’d gone off on her own.
“Are you just going to let her go?” Marcus asked.
“She’s a trained operative. This is what she does.”
Perhaps, but that was before Marcus had experienced the woman melting in his arms. Before he’d started to care for her.
A part of him wanted to chase after her, to provide the backup she might need. Yet…leaving meant abandoning the person he owed his life to.
It also meant disrespecting her.
The woman had trained with pros. She supposedly did these kinds of things all the time. To expect her to stop or change because he didn’t like it was wrong. Marcus couldn’t let misogyny control him. He couldn’t let his burgeoning, mixed feelings for her control his words and actions.
He had to trust her, as she trusted him.
It sucked.
Especially since he couldn’t sleep, not one wink. He spent the night on the deck, sitting on a chair, waiting for her to come back.
She eventually did a few hours later, looking worn out.
Despite all the words sitting on the tip of his tongue—What happened? Are you okay? Are you stupid? Let me hug you—Marcus remained silent when a very soggy Kacy dragged herself in. Held his tongue even if he wanted to ask why her shins bore angry scratches and how a clump of seaweed had gotten caught in her hair.
He clamped his lips shut.
Kept his hands to himself.
And sat on the back deck, watching the waves roll in as she showered—and trying not to imagine the water sluicing over her sexy, tanned skin.
His feelings for Kacy had gotten complicated. And by complicated, he meant he felt something for her that was more than lust. More than annoyance. He…gasp…cared for her.
How the fuck and when did that happen?
What happened to arming himself against emotion? Sure, Darren had weaseled his way in, the man just wouldn’t leave Marcus alone, but he should have been able to repel Kacy. She certainly made no bones about the fact that she didn’t respect him. She mocked him at every turn. Denigrated all his skills.
Melted in his arms.
When he saw her arriving weary and battered, his first impulse had been to wrap her in his arms and hug her tightly.
She probably would have gutted him for it. Little pint didn’t like being treated as if she were weak. She had a chip on her shoulder almost as big as his.
So what to do about it?
Only once he knew she was in bed—with Darren, who’d better count himself lucky he’s my friend—did Marcus finally relax. He fell asleep on the deck chair to the sound of Darren snoring and Kacy’s tossing and turning. He fell asleep wondering what he should do about his Kacy dilemma. He still didn’t have an answer the next morning. A peek inside showed Kacy asleep, and he heard the shower running.
The sight of her didn’t help matters, especially as his body thought it would be a good idea to crawl into that bed and snuggle her. Instead, he chose to go for a swim. He emerged from the ocean to find his boss standing on the beach.
“Does Kacy know you’re out here?” Because he somehow doubted she’d allowed it. She was adorably bossy in that way.
“Of course not. You know what she’d say. But we’ll never know if anyone is targeting me on the island if I keep hiding away.”
“And you’ll never hear me call you a moron if a sniper shoots you in the head.”
“If they’re that determined, then it’s only a matter of time.” Darren shrugged. “I can’t live my life in a cage.”
“The President does.”
“The President can’t eat a cheeseburger without the press harping on it. It’s not exactly a great comparison.”
“Saturated fats will kill you,” Marcus teased as he slogged through the damp sand, his toes sinking into the fine grains, and took the towel Darren handed him.
“This from the guy who says breakfast isn’t complete without bacon.”
“And eggs, with yolks, p
lus buttered toast. Mustn’t forget the toast. The white kind, not that whole wheat shit.”
“And you’re worried about my well-being?” Darren shook his head.
Marcus laughed as he towel-dried his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist. “So, what’s on the agenda this morning?” Marcus asked.
“Apparently, a nap, because you look like shit.”
“I don’t need to be pretty to do my job.”
“Good thing because you have huge bags under your eyes. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Not really, but I’ll get over it. I’ll catch a nap later when Kacy wakes up.”
“I heard her come in, but she didn’t look in the mood to talk.”
“I’m sure she’ll tell us when she’s ready.” Or once Marcus snapped and shook her for answers.
“With her sleeping, you get to be my breakfast companion.”
Food? His tummy rumbled. “Give me a minute to get changed.” When Darren didn’t immediately follow, Marcus growled. “Don’t you dare get me in trouble with little pint by staying out here by yourself. Get your ass inside.”
“When did you get so bossy?” Darren grumbled, but he listened and followed Marcus to the deck, where he sluiced off the ocean water under the outdoor shower before they quietly entered the bedroom. Kacy didn’t stir, but Marcus would wager she tracked their every step.
Inside the tiny shed, Marcus slid on a fresh security shirt and slacks. Darren stood just outside the door, making stupid commentary.
“This island is nice. Maybe I should buy an island.”
“Maybe you should. With a yacht.”
“I didn’t take you for a sailor.”
“I’m not, but at least out on the ocean I wouldn’t have to worry that you’re going to get killed.” Unless Marcus tossed Darren to the sharks.
“Ah, bro, don’t tell me you care.”
Marcus gagged. “Ugh. Don’t be an asshole. I’m more annoyed about all this overtime. Stop pissing people off, would you?” Marcus stepped out of the hut and found Darren leaning against one of the fat-boled tropical trees lining the path.
“Once we find who’s behind the attempts, life will go back to normal.”