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

by Unknown

  He gave her a withering look and held out her Glock. “No one’s going to die.” He gave her nudge. “Haul ass, blondie, we got work to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The air at Mimosa Harbor was still, silent, and heavy with salt. Dim uplights along the wharf cast strange shadows on all the boats. Lila parked Gabe’s GTO and peered into the marina that housed the locals’ pleasure craft and some fishing rigs docked along about seven or eight wooden ramps. All the while, she took slow, calming breaths.

  As planned, she waited in the spot long enough for Gabe to park Nino’s car well down the street and get here on foot. She double-checked her clip, the weapon solid and natural in her hand. From the seat next to her, she grabbed her phone, checking for a message from either Gabe or David Foster.

  Gabe would be following her by tracking her phone and she completely trusted him to stay close but out of sight. Her heart hammered at a steady beat and her body tensed in anticipation of the dangerous job.

  But her head was deliciously pain-free, as it always was when she went into work mode.

  Maybe David Foster had answers about that, too.

  When Gabe texted Go, she climbed out of the car and walked across the parking lot to the harbor entrance, her sneakered feet silent until she hit the weathered wooden deck.

  The gate to the public marina wasn’t locked, but at nearly three in the morning, the place was deserted. In an hour and a half, some hard-core fishermen might show up, but by then she hoped to be long gone and full of information.

  To incriminate who?

  Swallowing hard, she stepped onto the main dock and looked left and right, her eyes as adjusted to the dark as they could be.

  Her phone vibrated with a text from Foster.

  Last dock on the left, all the way to the end.

  She looked that way and considered the choice for a meeting place. As the docks went, it was somewhat open. That last dock didn’t have any boats on the left side, as it was most likely used for people who wanted to moor briefly then go back into the gulf. It was more visible than she would have expected, which might be safer…but it would also make it hard for Gabe to hide close by.

  She started off, stuffing the phone in her jeans pocket in case she needed two hands to brace and aim her weapon. She passed one dock jutting out, the only sound a few clanging masts in the very light breeze. A few air conditioners hummed, reminding her that there might be sleep-aboards around—innocent people who shouldn’t be collateral damage.

  “Put your phone down.”

  She turned at the voice that came from a boat that sat low in the water, a go-fast with a giant bow that shot out twenty feet from the cockpit.

  A man stood at the helm, dressed in black head to toe, his face mostly obscured by the hood of a sweatshirt. “Put your phone right there, on the dock.”

  She inched her gun up. “Step out here, David, and let me see you.”

  “David’s over there, waiting for you. I’m going to take your phone so no one can follow you.”

  And, if she actually lived after following that order, Gabe would kill her. “Not necessary. No one is following me. I’m not going there without the ability to communicate, nor am I going without this gun.” She took a step closer, as curious about his voice as she was his face. She could recognize people by their voices, by vocal patterns and the most subtle language styles.

  He had a barely there accent, but she didn’t quite get the country. But she would, if she could get him to talk more.

  “Keep your weapon. But you’re going to leave that phone right there, and then you can go. If you refuse, David will leave and take his answers with him.”

  Arabic? No, something else, but he was well trained to hide it.

  “Just come with me,” she said again, even though it meant two against one. At least Gabe would know where she was.

  “You’ll go alone and he’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  Maybe Middle Eastern, but he moved his head enough for her to catch a glimmer of pale blond hair, so that was unlikely.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Just another agent who wants the truth out. And no one else can hear, including the person backing you up by using your phone to track your every move.”

  Bastards. “The truth…about what?”

  He snorted softly. “As if we don’t all know.” He took one step closer. “Isadora.”

  Her heart fell so hard it should have bounced off the wood dock. She managed not to react, but now she had to know who she was dealing with. Gabe would find this guy, at least, when he came for the phone. And he was armed and ready for anything.

  Slowly, she crouched down and set her phone on the dock.

  “Go. Find out what they did to you.”

  She had to know. Clutching her Glock, she took off at a fast clip, staying as close to the tiny lights along the side of the dock. Likely solar-powered, since they were nearly out for the night, but she hoped they shed enough light for Gabe to see her from where he hid, probably the parking lot, so he would know she no longer had her phone.

  Turning onto the last dock, she peered out, still not seeing anyone. Along the right, five or six larger boats were moored.

  She walked slowly, weapon raised, eyes scanning the entire area. At the end of the dock, she stopped, turned, and seethed in frustration.

  “Where are you?” she demanded.

  Nothing but the sound of water lapping against the hull answered her. Had that yacht moved?

  She peered at the vessel that took up half the dock, well aware someone could be hiding anywhere, on any of the three decks, with a gun pointed at her head. The boat rocked gently again, but didn’t they all? Or was someone walking around in there…taking aim?

  “David!”

  Did he want her to get on the boat? Because she had given up her phone in slight desperation, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting on board without it. And Gabe.

  “I’m ready to talk, David. Ready to share information both ways.”

  Why? Why lure her here, take her phone, and then ignore her? She held the Glock steady with two hands, lifting high in the direction of the upper deck where someone would have the advantage over her, but knowing that anyone on the lower level of the boat could take a shot right at her.

  The boat rocked again, this time with definite weight, and she backed up as far as she could, taking in every inch of the vessel, looking for movement inside or out, waiting for a sound.

  And then a scuff, a movement on the upper deck, in the shadows, and suddenly something large and dark came flying through the air, landing on the dock with a loud thud ten feet from her.

  Not something. A dead man.

  *

  As Gabe slipped from shadow to shadow, he listened. He heard Lila’s voice a few times, unable to make out her words, but hearing her tone rise in a sharp question. Then she’d taken off toward the last dock? Had she met Foster yet? Why didn’t he hear—

  He saw a shadow move on the speedboat hidden between two large trawlers. Deep down at the helm, a man stood, weapon drawn, peering into the darkness looking for someone. Not Lila—she’d gone in the opposite direction. Her GPS wasn’t moving, but Gabe had seen her darting toward the last dock.

  No, this guy, wearing head-to-toe black and holding a pistol ready to fire, was looking for someone following Lila. Him.

  Gabe hung back, assessing the situation, using the hull of a trawler to hide himself.

  He inched out silently and caught sight of a phone on the dock right in front of the oversize drug runner’s fizzboat.

  She’d left it there?

  Good God, who trained her?

  They had. And they would know that she’d give up her phone, at least, for information. But Gabe couldn’t get to her without their lookout seeing him.

  Son of a bitch. So much for believing it was a standard little one-on-one info exchange in the middle of the night at the wharf. Those pricks always lied.

>   Gabe glanced around, sizing up the possibilities of how to get past this guy. There was one way.

  Still hiding behind the chunky side of the trawler, he took a step to the very edge of the dock, crouching down and stuffing his weapon in its back holster. Five feet between the water and the dock. He could do this. He just had to hang off the dock and work his way to the other side of the speedboat, then run to Lila.

  Or fall in the water and get a bullet in his head for the effort.

  He released his other leg and hung, bending his knees to stay dry. The wood dug into his hands, but he heard Lila again, which was enough to ignore the discomfort and start moving his hands to inch his way past the guy on the boat.

  He got a rhythm in seconds and started making progress, ignoring a burn in his shoulders until the whole dock shook with a thud of weight and he froze. Peeking over the dock, he was directly across from the guy in the speedboat.

  All the idiot had to do was look straight ahead and he’d see Gabe.

  But he’d heard the noise, too. Lowering his weapon, the man looked at a lit phone in his hand. Almost instantly, he revved the engine to life, making all eleven hundred horses scream with power and the dock shake so hard Gabe nearly fell off.

  That boat and that man could get to Lila so much faster than Gabe hanging off the side of the dock. He waited until the boat backed away, then Gabe hoisted his legs up and got one on the wharf just as the speedboat howled toward open water.

  No, toward Lila at the end of the last dock. Gabe jumped to his feet, snagged her phone, and tore down the dock just as a bullet cracked into the wood a few inches from him, fired from one of the boats.

  Ducking and pulling out his gun, Gabe ran full speed to Lila just as another bullet hit, a foot away. He didn’t care. He had to beat that boat.

  *

  Lila took a few steps closer, about to use her foot to turn the body over when the roar of a mighty engine cut through the night. The go-fast boat, she presumed. Probably with her phone in hand. It had to be the only thing with the horsepower to make that kind of noise.

  It almost drowned out the sound of a gunshot, making her stumble backward and look up to the third deck where the flash had come from.

  She ducked and took aim at the upper deck, and the shooter fired again. Way over her head and down to the other end of the dock. That shooter wasn’t firing at her, unless he was blind and stupid.

  “Lila!” She turned again, seeing Gabe’s silhouette as he ran toward her.

  He was firing at Gabe!

  “Get down!” she yelled, shooting again at the upper deck.

  But the next bullet came right at her, just as Gabe plowed into her, slamming her arm into the dock as he covered her whole body with his. He rolled her away, avoiding the another shot that ripped up the planks right where she’d been.

  The motorboat roared around to the wharf and Lila looked up, just in time to see a man scrambling down the ladder of the boat to escape. Gabe held her down, covering her completely, his weapon raised. Lila lifted her head and saw the man for one split second, his face catching enough moonlight for her to know that wasn’t David Foster, but a stranger with penetrating eyes.

  Gabe fired, but at the same moment, the driver of the boat fired at them, throwing off Gabe’s aim when he dove to protect Lila again.

  The man swung himself over the side of the boat, landed in the go-fast, and it took off. Gabe fired three more bullets, hitting the fiberglass, but if he managed to shoot either of the men, it was impossible to know. The go-fast was nothing but a distant sound in a matter of seconds. Professionals, without a doubt.

  Slowly, Gabe got off of her, and she crawled to the body of the man on the dock, squinting at the corpse as Gabe kicked it over and revealed the face of CIA agent David Foster.

  If he’d really had answers she needed, they’d died with him, which was exactly how the CIA always worked.

  In fact, the more she sought those answers, the bigger her chances of ending up exactly like this guy.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The sound of a shrill scream cut through Gabe’s sleep, followed by the rapid tap of flying footsteps, the crack of a door popping open, and the sudden oomph of a lunatic child landing on his chest.

  “Duuuuuuude.” The voice was loud. Too loud for this hour. “Mummy told me to tell you to get up.”

  He squinted one eye open, peering up at the tiny face, the sparkling blue eyes, the mop of soft brown hair, and a lopsided smile that was so damn familiar it was like staring in a mirror to the past. “She needs to pay for that.”

  “How much?” he demanded, his little fingers digging into Gabe’s bare chest.

  “Ouch! You little demon, stop.”

  “Gabe.” Lila’s soft voice came from the hall.

  “He’s awake, Mummy! I did it. Just like you said.”

  Gabe inched to the side to look beyond Rafe at the woman he’d held in his arms after they’d escaped the harbor under the cover of night.

  David Foster was the CIA’s problem now, and Gabe knew they’d swoop in and quietly handle the death, keep it out of the papers, and let residents think an indigent had shot himself.

  And they’d succeed.

  Gabe had never hated the CIA, or Dexter Crain, more.

  They’d left and gone directly to Rafe, not bothering with the villa. Nino had made a bed for Rafe out of the living room sofa, so Gabe and Lila had crashed in Gabe’s room, whispering theories and thoughts until they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  She must have gotten up when Rafe did, because now she wore baggy sleep pants he recognized as his and an oversize T-shirt that also came from his drawer. No makeup, hair in a ponytail, the sharp lines of her face softened by a smile.

  She was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her.

  He put two hands around the narrow waist in front of him. “Off, beast. I have to talk to your mother.”

  “Noooo!” He pounced on Gabe’s chest, knocking the damn wind out of him.

  “Ooof!” Gabe shot up and whipped Rafe gently to the side, laid him flat on his back and hovered over him. “Don’t say no to me.”

  “No! No! Nooo—”

  Gabe put a light hand over his mouth. “You can’t do it.”

  He blinked, momentarily silent. “Mwha?”

  “You can’t go all day, one whole day, without saying the word no.”

  He licked his palm, the little animal.

  Gabe freed him and started out of bed, suddenly aware he wore nothing but boxer briefs and couldn’t be trusted to climb out of bed and be acceptable at this hour. Especially with that beautiful woman staring at him.

  “Noooo!”

  Shit. Is this what life with kids was like? Hiding the chub and being treated like a human bouncy house?

  As if she read his expression, Lila stepped into the room, dropping a duffel bag on the floor to hold her hand out to Rafe. “Come on,” she said. He didn’t budge. “Rafe, would you please—”

  “Rafael!” Nino’s baritone boomed down the hall, and Rafe shot straight up to attention, his eyes wide. “I need my sous chef!”

  He scrambled off the bed. “That’s me,” he explained to them. “Sous chef. It means ‘under’ in French.” He stopped in the doorway and pivoted, holding up a finger and suddenly looking more like his great-grandfather than his father. “But the French can’t cook like Italians. Nino told me that.”

  He was gone before Nino bellowed again.

  Gabe fell back on his pillow and groaned, wishing he could blow out a few f-bombs, but those days were gone, too.

  “Good morning.” Lila closed the door behind her and locked it, eyeing him as she approached.

  “Finally, someone with some common sense.” He flicked the comforter aside and tapped the bed. “Get in here and take off anything that belongs to me.”

  “Gabe, I can’t.”

  “You will.” He reached for her arm but stopped at the sight of the bruising there. “Goo
d God. I hope I didn’t do that last night.”

  “If you did, it was for a good cause.” She climbed in and slid under his arm, settling her head in that spot on his chest that Isadora Winter had once owned. He loved when she was there. “You need to get up.”

  He took her hand and guided it south. “I am up.”

  “No, you need to face the people in this house.”

  “People?” He turned over, frowning. “Nino? Rafe?”

  “Plus Chessie, Mal, and Poppy.” She gestured toward the bag. “They brought me some clothes from Rockrose. And…they’re all out there talking to Rafe.”

  And looking at him. “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them he’s my son and thanked them for the clothes and came in here.”

  “Chessie.” He huffed a breath. “She knows the Cuba kid’s middle name was Rafael and she can take one look at him and know he’s mine. And she knows about Isadora.”

  “And thinks Isadora died in a car accident in Cuba.”

  His gut rolled at the thought, the mourning he’d experienced, and that his family felt just because they loved him. They loved him. She had to understand that. He lifted her face to meet his gaze. “They can be trusted.”

  “Gabe.”

  “You have to understand these are my people. Plus, Chessie’s going to work for the CIA—a move we will have to stop as soon as humanly possible. But honestly, telling them the truth is not even a choice at this point. They are going to figure it out if they haven’t already.”

  “We can’t do that, Gabe. We can’t do anything. Don’t you see? Someone in the CIA does not want this”—she tapped her head—“to get out. Not out of my head and not out in the world. And they’ll win, one way or another. We can’t fight people that powerful.”

  “Like hell we can’t,” he fired back. “Once it’s public, there’s not a damn thing they can do. Our first order of business is to get that thing out of your head. Then we have proof, and they can suck a giant bag of dicks.”