Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3)

by Vaughan, Susan

  Friends? Like hell. Every word in that husky voice licked fire across his skin. Every sip of wine glistening on those lush lips made him want to stretch her out beneath him and bury himself in her.

  Although he liked his freedom and didn’t pursue serious relationships, he never lacked for female companionship and sex. So why was he so hot for her? Hell, he knew why, and the reason began and ended with Cleo. He let his gaze roam over her, still slender but her curves had more... hell, just more. No longer a girl. All grown up, still ten years younger than him, but no longer taboo.

  She’d made a life for herself in Europe and had remarkable artistic talent. She’d acted quickly to escape paid killers. More depth in her than he’d realized. Intriguing.

  But now this impetuous run would send her into the killers’ hands. Protecting her had his priority. With an inward groan, he reined in his libido.

  He downed the rest of his wine and divided the last of the bottle between them. “Okay, we won’t mention it again. We have more pressing matters. Like your safety.”

  She shook her head, delectable lips pursed. “Even if the bad guys know where I am, like you said, and I really doubt that. They can’t get to me on the cruise. Security checks cruise cards and bags. When the trip ends, the cruise staff will drive me directly to the airport. I’ll fly to Canada on Mimi’s ticket. I’ll be safe there.”

  She wasn’t grasping the practical reality. Or she still objected to him. “Not possible. Mimi has been identified. The Venice cops are looking for you. At best, as a material witness. At worst, a murder suspect. You’ll never get past customs or airport security.”

  She recoiled as if he’d hit her with the wine bottle. Until now she’d believed that her ruse fooled everyone. “Okay, that much makes sense. But why are you doing this? Why you?”

  Hell, they’d been through it. Why was she being so stubborn? Couldn’t she see reason? Air conditioning kept the room cool, but he felt sweat pop on his forehead. “The admiral knows I run a security company, and he knows I… care about you. Two reasons he sent me.”

  Her expression hardened. “That’s my objection. He sent you. I’m twenty-eight years old. I won’t let Dad run my life.”

  Whoa. Where did that come from? Echoes of his sister’s complaints. For the first time he had an inkling of the reason Cleo’d stayed in Europe so long. Hoot Chandler was as much a hard-ass as his old man. She’d been running from him longer than from Centaur’s thugs.

  “No problem. All I'm commissioned to do is protect you until this is all over.”

  She sipped her wine and seemed to weigh his words. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “By ‘this,’ you mean Cleopatra’s necklace. I want nothing to do with that necklace or a possible copy. René and Mimi are dead. Finding it won’t bring them back.”

  He stared, his wine glass in mid-air.

  A quiver seized Cleo’s stomach. Why was he watching her like that— so intent and grim? She clutched her locket. “What?”

  He set down his glass and jabbed fingers through his dark hair. “Mimi isn’t dead.”

  She couldn’t have heard him right. She brought her hands up to shield herself. “Whatever you’re trying to do, just... don’t.”

  He grasped her flailing hands. In spite of herself, the sensation of his touch rippled through her. “I wouldn’t be so cruel. Mimi is alive. In critical condition, in a medically induced coma.”

  “It was my fault. Her getting shot, I mean.” Tears muddled her vision. “Those men must’ve tracked my mobile. The GPS signal.”

  “More than one? You saw them?”

  “Yes, two men.” She sniffed, mopped her eyes with the napkin he thrust at her. “They ran off with my suitcase. Mimi was holding it for me while I went around the corner to the ATM.”

  “Who else knows what happened that night?”

  “No one. I haven’t told a soul. I try not to think about it.” She took her lower lip between her teeth to prevent trembling. “But I... I keep seeing Mimi bleeding on the paving stones.”

  “I need to know what happened that night. Telling me about it might help.”

  She steeled herself with deep breaths and latched onto his steadying gaze. She told him everything, beginning with René’s lateness and ending with her run for the Rialto Bridge. “I wanted to wait for help to arrive but when I heard footsteps, I was afraid it was those awful men. I ran.”

  “Probably the ambulance crew. The police found no one in the streets.”

  “Oh, God, I shouldn’t have left her. But I thought she was dead. She had no pulse. No sign of breathing.”

  “Babe, you just watched Moreau die. You were panicked, shaken. And loss of blood lowers blood pressure. Makes it harder to find a pulse.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You saved Mimi’s life by calling for help.”

  She couldn’t speak for the tightness in her throat. He pulled her into his arms, and she wept against his hard chest, tears wetting the rich fabric of his shirt. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. But he smelled so good and his arms felt solid and secure around her.

  When she calmed, she forced herself to scoot away, hating the loss of his touch as his arms fell away. He squeezed her fingers before picking up his wine.

  She wiped her eyes. Other women looked gorgeous when they cried. But not her. Red nose and puffy eyes every time. She must look like the baby he thought she was. The baby she’d acted like when he sat down at her table.

  He regarded her with that penetrating gaze that heated every inch of her, inside and out. “Did you see the men’s faces?”

  “Just their backs. They were twenty, thirty meters away, in the dark shadows. The man carrying my bag was thin. The other looked shorter and chunky.”

  His straight dark brows crimped together over a turbulent gaze. His lips pursed as if holding back bad news.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  “The next day an intruder tried to get into Mimi’s hospital room.”

  She couldn’t stop a horrified squeak. “No! God, they’re still trying to kill her. Me.”

  “The attempt failed. My operative was in the room. Lucas Del Rio confronted the man, but he got away. The man Del Rio described could’ve been the thin one. The head of Centaur doesn’t care who he hurts—or kills—to get the necklace.”

  If only she’d phoned that night to break their date, her cousin would be fine. If only—Nothing. To her shame. She blew her nose. She would not cry again. “And Mimi? Will she be safe in the hospital? Is your man still there?”

  “For now. Her mother’s arriving from Toronto today or tomorrow. The police will release the information that the victim is not you but Canadian citizen Mimi Ingram.”

  “Thank God.” Her pulse jacked up a notch. “But that means—”

  “Exactly. Like I said, Centaur has the hard drive. They will find you and soon. The Centaur head—name of Marco Zervas—thinks you have the necklace or know where Moreau stashed it and the copy. The authorities don’t yet know why, but this mess also involves terrorists.” He leaned forward, his expression avid. “Do you know the location of the necklaces?”

  “I have no clue.” She did have René’s last words but no idea what they meant. “And I don’t care. I never want to see that necklace again. Or the copy. Whatever. Let the police or Interpol deal with it and the bad guys, this Centaur.”

  The corners of his mouth turned down. Damn, why did he care about finding the necklace? She was too tired to ask. And her head hurt.

  “Cleo, come with me on Tuesday. You can’t be certain you’ll be safe on the ship or the shore excursions. You can’t fly on Mimi’s ticket or passport. I can protect you.”

  She pressed her fingers to her aching temples. “I need time to think.”

  He stood. “I’ll go. For now. But whenever you leave this stateroom, I’m your shadow.”

  “I’m safe on the ship. How many times do I have to say it?” She leaped up from the loveseat and fo
llowed him to the door.

  “As many as it takes to make it true.” He stared at her, determination in the set of his chin. “Do you remember what happened to Fluffy?”

  “My turtle?” When they were kids, Thomas had found the small creature and given it to her. “Greg ran over Fluffy with the mower. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Think about it. Your shell of denial won’t protect you from real danger.” He stopped in the tiny foyer and turned, less than an arm’s length away. “Lock up, Cleo. Including the balcony door. And don’t—”

  “Open the door for anyone, not even stewards. I know. Good night, Thomas.” She ought to back away, far enough away not to feel his body heat and inhale his scent— salt air, evergreens… testosterone. But she stayed, absorbed, mesmerized.

  She felt his gaze as a palpable touch, as if he reached inside her, completing that connection she’d once believed existed.

  Hot awareness flashed in his eyes before he closed the gap and kissed her. She went utterly still as the blood leaped to her skin. His mouth captured hers, molded, and clung. He threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer, tangling his tongue with hers, tasting her deeper.

  Her muscles turned lax and her insides trembled. She wanted the kiss to go on and on and much, much more. When he ended the embrace, she couldn’t suppress a whimper.

  “Good night, Cleo.” His gaze held hers for a long moment before he left.

  She hurried to push the door shut with a firm click and set the deadbolt. Her breath hitched. So he did he want her after all. She huffed disgust at herself and walked out onto the balcony. Fresh air would clear the crazy notions from her brain. More likely that kiss was another way to get what he wanted— her cooperation.

  She’d been an idiot years ago. Apparently she still was. How had she found the guts to fake her way through that apology? Simple. Pretending she’d been drunk humiliated her less than admitting she’d been trying to seduce him all weekend. And failed. Miserably.

  Damn. If she left with him, hiding her feelings and avoiding more bone-melting kisses would be impossible.

  He was right about hiding in her shell. Running and pretending to be Mimi didn’t make her feel any better, any happier, any safer— despite what she’d said to him.

  No escape from guilt and grief. No escape from herself. And no idea what to do.

  Chapter 9

  Venice

  LUCAS STOOD WATCH at the end of Mimi’s hospital bed.

  “It’s Monday, Mimi. Your mom’s here. She’s in the doc’s office getting the lowdown on your injury. Nice lady. She’s really scared for you. Told me your real name’s Marie. Better. Classier. Like you.” He wouldn’t say so, but Mimi struck him as a stripper name. He tilted his head, examining her. Peaceful, the sleeping princess in that old fairy tale but with auburn hair.

  Yellow flowers brought by Trudy Ingram brightened the bedside table. He bent to their light smell before taking his usual seat beside the bed. Medicine trays clattered as a nurse passed by the half-open door.

  He tilted his head and linked his fingers with her slack ones, gave a gentle squeeze. The doc had said this human connection might help. Once or twice he thought Mimi returned the clasp. His imagination. Or wishful thinking. The cool touch of her small hand, so delicate, in his big paw sent a shiver over his skin. Damn, she was beautiful. Just looking at her took his breath away.

  He cleared his throat. Worked up an upbeat speech. “Hey, Marie, I’m no expert but even I can tell the swelling’s down and your color is up. The chart says no fever, so no infection. Docs say you’re responsive whenever they lighten your meds. Soon they’ll bring you out of it but I’ll be gone. Now the bad guys aren’t after you, you don’t need me.”

  He didn’t need her either. He needed to get back to work.

  “Besides, I don’t want to scare you back into a coma with this mug of mine. Don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’ll never know I was here watching over you.” That was the way he wanted it. The way it had to be.

  His phone bleeped, startling him. Then he remembered the hospital’s tech people had given his phone the green light. On the screen, Devlin.

  He slipped his hand away, leaving her fingers limp on the green coverlet.

  “Hey, Thomas, how’s it going? You make it on the ship okay?”

  “Right. Mara should work her magic on Cleo.”

  His boss’s frustrated tone had Lucas’s eyes widening. He grinned. The boss wasn’t in control? He’d have to meet this lady from Devlin’s past. “She’s on the ship, right?”

  “As Mimi, like we thought. But she insists on staying on board and continuing her masquerade. She’s afraid but doesn’t grasp the situation.”

  “You gonna kidnap her on Santorini?”

  During the pause, Lucas could almost hear his boss shudder. “It won’t come to that. What’ve you got?”

  Lucas knew better than to press the Cleo issue further. He updated Devlin on Mimi, aka Marie, and her mother’s arrival. “And I talked to Commissario Castelli. Workers renovating a building in Santa Croce found a man’s body along with Cleo’s suitcase. Suitcase had her passport inside.”

  “Dead man a short, stocky guy?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Cleo saw two men the night of the shootings. Zervas must’ve ordered the other guy to eliminate this one.”

  “Castelli said as much. Shot in the head with a nine mil. Could be the same weapon as the other shootings. He suspected the killer counted on the building being abandoned. The construction crew wasn’t slated to start for another month so the find was lucky. Glad it wasn’t me who stumbled over the fragrant corpse.” Lucas wrinkled his nose.

  “ID?”

  “Not officially. But Castelli recognized the guy. Local hitter named Panaro. The hospital’s closed-circuit system caught his partner, once coming in the employee entrance and a second time lurking in the ICU hallway. From Rome, about five-nine, wiry like the second-story man he is. Two convictions. Name’s Ricci.”

  “The thin guy Cleo described.”

  “Good bet. Castelli’s on top of it. But I’m betting Ricci’s long gone. I checked with the task force. They connected the name to Centaur.”

  “You’ve accomplished a hell of a lot in a short time, Lucas. You had time to arrange my transport too?”

  “No sweat. Easy enough while I sit here with Ma—my principal.” He had contacts and what he couldn’t work out, the CTF did. “I set you up on Santorini.”

  The two men spent a few minutes discussing security and travel arrangements.

  “Now that the news is out about Mimi’s identity,” Devlin said when they finished, “you can return to duty with the task force. Slight chance the hit men will try again, but more likely their boss cares more about the necklace. Castelli promised a uniform would watch the hallway. About the CTF, you’d better get there A-sap. I’ve had two calls from Special Agent Hunt.”

  Lucas groaned. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m ready to get back to work. Beats sitting around, for damn sure.” Except for one thing. As if Marie had touched his shoulder, he turned toward her. “But there’s no pleasing SA Jessica Hunt.”

  “Ball buster, I’ve heard, but a crack agent. She’s moving forward on finding Zervas.” Devlin’s tone carried a grin. “I need you back there too. We need new leads on him now he’s skipped London. We have to know what Ahmed Yousef plans for the Cleopatra necklace and its copy.” He paused. “Mimi’ll be safe now. She’ll be all right.”

  Did the captain read his mind? Wouldn’t be the first time. Would she be all right? The doc wasn’t saying. His gut clenched.

  “Yeah. She doesn’t need me—my protection—anymore.” And it was better Lucas leave before she woke up. “I’ll fly to Paris this afternoon.”

  ***

  Shipboard

  Thomas clicked off his phone. Not good if Lucas was hung up on Mimi Ingram. Not professional and a potential conflict of interest. Deal
with it later. Like he’d deal with his involvement with Cleo. No conflict of interest but damned unprofessional.

  Why the hell did he kiss her? The darkening of her eyes and the flush on her cheeks had torpedoed his restraint. What began as a little taste became much more, kindling a hunger he couldn’t remember feeling for any other woman. Through sheer force of will he ended the kiss before he could take her back to the bed and finish what he’d begun.

  She insisted her naked seduction in his bed was a result of too much alcohol. Thinking back, he didn’t buy it. Halfway through the evening she’d switched from light beer to Diet Coke. She’d wanted him then and she wanted him now.

  Hell, once again she had him hot and aroused. He raised his face to the cooling breeze, hoping it would take the edge off the heat inside him. The weather in Italy had been warm but the farther south the Emerald sailed the hotter the temperature. Good thing he’d packed shorts. Baggy shorts.

  The locator in his phone app showed him Cleo’s quilted backpack at the pool. He left the ship’s railing and followed the jogging track past the deck checker game and golf cage. Halting at the corner, he hung back in the shadows.

  She lounged in the sun with her two friends, a prime spot on the far side of the Olympic-size pool. No missing her. She shone like the sun in that yellow tank suit. Charming the two women she’d made friends with. An open shirt kept her tattoo hidden but not her body. Her heat rays reached him all the way across the deck. The suit’s neckline dived too damned low. Now why did that bug him?

  She sat up, a big smile on her face, and slid her glorious legs off to the side.

  He followed her gaze to a nearly naked guy carrying a plate piled with food. He crossed the end of the pool and stopped at the end of Cleo’s lounge chair.

  Thomas’s mouth tightened. Abandoning his surveillance cover, he strode to the pool-side buffet and filled a plate before taking a seat facing Cleo. She’d spot him soon enough. He was here to protect her. Seeing him nearby should remind her of that fact.