She held up her index finger. “Hang on. I need to leave a note for the neighbor girl to feed my cat.”
As she scribbled the note, Riley flung open the front door and peered into the darkness. “It’s all clear. Where does the girl live?”
“Two doors down.” She waved the piece of paper stuck to her finger with tape.
She jogged down the sidewalk and slapped the note on the outside of the mailbox. Poor Clarence must’ve hightailed it out of there when Carlos came calling. Her cat never liked Carlos. She should’ve paid more attention to his feline instincts.
She joined Riley at the rear of the BMW. He popped the trunk and heaved the suitcase inside. “When we get to my house, we’ll search the car. I haven’t had time yet.”
“Looks like you haven’t had time for anything.” Amy allowed her gaze to wander down his body to his swim trunks, now dry and hanging loosely from his slim hips. The muscles of his flat belly clenched as he slammed down the trunk.
He tugged at a stiff lock of her hair. “You, either. When we get to my place, we can take a shower.”
Her cheeks warmed, and Riley lifted one brow. “One at a time.”
How’d he see her blush in the dark? Unless the same naughty thought had popped into his head.
As she slid onto the passenger seat, Amy drew her eyebrows together. She must be overcoming her trust issues—by leaps and bounds—since she’d accepted Riley’s story so readily. Something about the man instilled confidence—and a whole lot more.
Of course, she’d been willing to trust Carlos, too, and look where that had landed her. Or had she? She’d never let Carlos completely into her life. She’d never slept with him. He had accused her so many times of holding back. That’s why she was surprised when she’d discovered his marital status. Usually men cheated on their wives so they could sleep around, not hold hands and walk on the beach.
Unless those men were sinister drug dealers with ulterior motives. Carlos probably didn’t even have a wife.
Riley hit the highway and accelerated. “So the cops didn’t believe you?”
“It’s like you said.” She slumped in the leather seat. “They didn’t find anything at the beach, and then when we got to my place, someone had removed Carlos’s body.”
“Did they question you about me?” He slid a sidelong glance at her.
She snorted. “They thought I’d watched too many James Bond movies.”
He smiled, but she heard him release a long breath. “I wonder why they took Carlos, and how. You’d think your neighbors would’ve noticed people dragging a dead body from your house.”
“Lots of older folks in that neighborhood—not much activity at night. So how’d you find out about Carlos’s connection to the drug dealers?”
“I saw his registration minutes after my contact gave me his name. It makes sense, but it doesn’t explain what he was doing at your house at the time of the drop, or why his associates killed him. What can you tell me about Carlos?”
Amy curled a leg beneath her and gazed out the window. “I met him before summer started. He was charming and interesting and he kept coming back to my beach. We started dating and then I discovered he had a wife.”
“How’d that happen?”
It sounded so petty now, but any information she could give Riley might help. Amy cleared her throat. “I—I didn’t trust Carlos. Some of his actions seemed suspicious—the parking around the corner, the excuses for never meeting at his place, the endless cell phone calls. So one day I answered his cell phone.”
Riley reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t look so sheepish. You had good reason to suspect him and you followed your instincts. Who’d you find on the other end, the wife?”
“Yep.” She clasped her hands between her knees. “Of course, now I’m not so sure. For a wife, she didn’t seem very upset that another woman had just answered her husband’s cell phone.”
“Did you confront Carlos?”
“I did and he admitted it. I immediately ended the relationship.”
Riley drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and narrowed his eyes. “She could’ve been the real deal. Drug dealers get married, too.”
“I guess.” She lifted a shoulder. “So why do you think he hooked up with me in the first place?”
“He wanted access to that beach.” His lips quirked in a quick grin. “Not that you aren’t without your charms.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. No offense taken.”
“He probably wanted to find out about lifeguard schedules and procedures and pass the information on to the guys in the boat.”
“He did ask a lot of questions, which seemed natural at the time. But what was he doing back at my place tonight? Why’d his associates kill him and why’d they come back for me...or you?”
“And now you’re asking a lot of questions, none of which I can answer.”
“How about I start asking some you can answer?” Amy shifted in her seat and studied Riley’s profile. This man with his ready grin and sarcastic quips could turn lethal in a matter of seconds. His dark blue eyes could shine with humor and cloud over with secrets just as fast. She wanted to dig deeper to solve the enigma of Riley... Riley. She didn’t even know his last name.
“I’ll answer anything you like once I’ve had a shower and something to eat.” He jerked his thumb toward the window. “We’re here.”
Riley wheeled the car into the parking lot of a nondescript apartment complex. Amy didn’t know what she expected for a safe house, but a sprawling apartment building in the middle of San Diego didn’t exactly fit the bill for a secret agent.
Riley pulled into a numbered parking slot. “Good thing I stole Carlos’s car since I left mine down by the harbor.”
“It won’t be such a good thing if Carlos’s wife reports the car stolen.”
Riley grabbed the door handle and raised his brows. “If Carlos had a wife.”
Amy scrambled from the car while Riley unlocked the trunk. She joined him at the rear of the car as he yanked her suitcase from the back and set it on its wheels. Then he ducked back inside the trunk, sweeping his hands across its surface.
“Doesn’t look like Carlos kept anything in here, but he left his jacket in the backseat along with his cell phone. We can take a closer look at the phone once we’re inside.” He slammed the trunk closed and locked up again.
Amy liked the sound of that. Riley really did plan to include her. Must be because the drug cartel had put her directly in their line of fire.
Every crisis had a silver lining.
She followed Riley to the elevator as he dragged her bag behind him. He had a small place tucked away in the corner on the third floor of the building.
He threw open the door for her, and she stepped into the apartment that had the look and feel of a standard motel. Serviceable furniture populated the living room and small dining area. The blank walls stared back at her.
“Homey place.” She tossed her purse onto one of two matching gray chairs.
“The agency isn’t known for its decorating skills.”
“So you’re working for the CIA?” Amy swallowed against her dry throat. Not great news, but she’d rather be on the run with a CIA agent than an FBI agent. Any day.
“Not exactly.” He dumped Carlos’s keychain in a basket on the kitchen counter. “They’re financing this operation, but they don’t know it.”
“That’s kind of them. So what are you, an undercover agent?” She liked the sound of that even better. Maybe she had watched too many Bond movies.
“Me?” That sexy grin spread across his face again, made sexier by the stubble on his chin. “I run a dive boat in Mexico. Cabo San Lucas, to be exact.”
Tilting her head, Amy put her hands on her hips. “You’re just messing with me now.”
“God’s honest truth.” He held up his fingers, Boy Scout–style, but Amy doubted his Boy Scout credentials, especially when that da
ngerous glint lit up his blue eyes.
Riley yanked up the handle of her suitcase and dragged it toward the back of the apartment. “Take a shower, and I’ll whip up something to eat. It’s almost midnight. You must be as hungry as I am.”
Amy’s stomach growled to punctuate his comment. Maybe she could blame hunger for making her weak in the knees instead of Riley’s devil-may-care grin. “I’m starving, but then we talk.”
“Deal.”
He disappeared through a door, and Amy followed him into a small bedroom. The neatly made bed dominated the room and for one crazy moment, she wanted to pull those covers over her head and sleep for about a week.
Riley wheeled her bag into a corner and then grabbed a T-shirt from a hanger in the closet. He pointed to another door across the hall. “The bathroom’s in there and the towels are in the cupboard. Leave some hot water for me.”
He clicked the door behind him and Amy fell across the bed. Safety.
* * *
RILEY DROPPED FOUR pieces of bacon onto the paper towel and blotted the grease from the strips as his belly rumbled. Inhaling the salty aroma of the bacon, he broke off an edge and popped it into his watering mouth.
He whistled while he whisked the eggs, halting in midrambling tune when he heard the shower finally stop. Amy must’ve thought he was kidding about that hot water.
But then she needed a warm shower more than he did. She’d held up well under the stress of the situation—no crying, screaming or gnashing of teeth—but the pallor beneath her sun-kissed skin and her wide dark eyes hinted at her fear. Or anger. The woman definitely had an edge—and he liked it.
Several minutes later, as he crumbled the bacon on top of the bubbling eggs, the bedroom door swung open and Amy tiptoed into the living room.
“Everything still okay?”
Riley concentrated on flipping the omelet. “Did you think the Velasquez Drug Cartel was in here cooking eggs and bacon?”
“You never know.” She huffed out a breath and sauntered to the kitchen counter. “They could’ve surprised you mid-egg and then enjoyed the fruits of your labor over your dead body.”
He laughed and slid the omelet onto the waiting plate. “You have a twisted way of thinking, Amy Prescott.”
“How’d you know my last name?” She clutched the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white.
Guess that warm shower didn’t do much to relax her. His gaze raked her from head to toe, taking in the warm mahogany hair falling over one shoulder and those long legs encased in the same faded denim she’d worn earlier.
“Relax, beach girl. It didn’t take a trained observer to see the tag on your backpack. I thought you trusted me now. I made omelets.”
“Omelets are the new olive branch or something?” She sniffed the air. “They smell good. I guess I’ll have to suspend suspicion to eat.”
“That’s a start. And to make things even, my name’s Riley Hammond.” He snagged two forks from a drawer and slid a plate toward her. “I’m going to hit the shower. I’ve been wearing these board shorts longer than a man should wear anything.”
Except a long lean woman like Amy.
Riley compressed his lips as if he’d spoken his thought aloud. Amy, gazing longingly at the plate, hadn’t noticed his shift from protector to wolf.
“Do you want me to wait until you’re out of the shower?” She pointed the tines of the fork at the omelet.
“Nah. This ain’t the Ritz. Dig in.”
He grabbed a clean towel from the closet and crossed the hall to the bathroom.
As he pulled the door behind him, Amy called out, “Don’t close it.”
He twisted around, raising his brows.
Two spots of color brightened her cheeks. “I—I’d just feel better with the door open. I promise I won’t peek.”
Too bad.
“You’d better not.” He shook his finger at her. “Because I’m really modest.”
Amy cackled and stabbed her omelet.
Riley cranked on the shower and bent forward as he flattened his palms against the tile. The warm water cascaded down his back, and he rolled his shoulders. As he lathered his hair and body, thoughts of Amy poked and prodded him.
He didn’t need a companion to do his job, especially not one as distracting as Amy. Even though Carlos had dragged her into this situation, Riley wanted to keep her well away from it. And well away from him.
If his wife, April, had steered clear of him, she’d be alive. But Amy was made of stronger stuff than April. Riley lifted his face to the spray of suddenly cold water to punish himself for his disloyal thoughts about April.
She was dead and had taken their unborn baby with her. Their deaths had compelled him to banish all the resentment he’d felt toward her for tricking him into a marriage he didn’t want. And he had to keep that resentment at bay or fall into a black hole of never-ending guilt.
“Your cell phone is buzzing.”
Riley shut off the water and cracked open the shower door. Amy’s hand, clutching his phone, wiggled in the bathroom doorway.
“Can you bring it over before I miss the call?” He sluiced back his hair.
Holding the vibrating phone in front of her, she stumbled into the bathroom with eyes squeezed shut. She tripped over the toilet, banging her knee on the lid.
“Don’t let your embarrassment be the death of you.” He crossed one arm in front of his body and held out his other hand for the phone.
Amy peeled her eyes open and pinned her gaze to his face as she handed him the phone. Once he had it in hand, she whipped around and scurried out of the bathroom.
Swallowing hard, he slid the phone open with his wet hand. “Hello?”
“Hope I didn’t wake you.” The colonel’s gruff voice doused any desire Riley had felt over Amy’s intrusion.
“I’m in the shower. It’s been a long day.”
“Hate to make it longer, but I thought you were going to check out that beach.”
“I’ll be on it tomorrow, Colonel. You know I’m accustomed to Jack’s hands-off leadership.” Riley pulled a towel from the rack and slung it over his shoulder, his eyes darting to the door Amy had left wide open.
“Yeah, I know. The ends justify the means and all that. Maybe that’s how Jack got into trouble. Did you go back to the beach?”
Riley’s jaw clenched at the colonel’s criticism of Jack. Colonel Scripps hadn’t been on the front line with them. Although the colonel had served his time, he filled the role of paper pusher now. He didn’t understand that Jack’s leadership fit their missions. They all would’ve been dead a long time ago if it hadn’t.
Riley blew out a breath. “We—I—plan to do that tomorrow.” The colonel didn’t need to know about Amy’s involvement. “I figured the cops would be all over that beach tonight once the lifeguard reported the incident.”
“Did she bring up your name?”
“She didn’t have it,” Riley lied smoothly. The colonel also didn’t need to know he’d blabbed his name to Amy. If he bristled at the way Jack conducted himself, he’d pull out the little hair he had left over Riley’s business model. “I’ll get right on it and report back—when I have something to report.”
As usual, Colonel Scripps ended the call. Even though the team didn’t report to the colonel in an official capacity anymore, the man was still in charge.
Riley ran the towel over his goose-pimpled flesh and hitched it around his waist. He rubbed his fist along the mirror to clear it. Then he plowed his fingers through his long hair, sluicing it back.
Wiping his hand against the towel snugly covering his backside, he poked his head into the living room. “You okay in here? How was the omelet?”
Perched on the stool at the counter, Amy tapped her empty plate. “Yummy, but I feel guilty. Come and eat your food before it gets any colder.”
“Pop it in the microwave for a few seconds. I’m going to get dressed. A guy can only go commando for so long.” He tugged at the
towel.
“Go commando?”
“You know. No underwear.” He grinned as Amy blushed. He knew he was playing with fire, but the heat felt so good.
He strolled into his bedroom and dressed quickly in shorts and a T-shirt. September in Southern California usually went out on a hot wave of summer heat—and the woman in his kitchen only made it hotter.
He sat down at the counter, and Amy placed a plate in front of him, steam curling from the yellow concoction. “Let me know if you want me to heat it up some more.”
He wanted her to heat it up a lot more, but he didn’t have food in mind. He sliced through the corner of his omelet with a fork and devoured it. “Mmm. That’s fine.”
She balanced on the edge of the stool next to him. “Can we talk now? Who was on the phone?”
“That was Colonel Frank Scripps. He pulled us all back together to find Jack and has all the right connections for this assignment.”
She nodded encouragingly. “And what is this assignment?”
“I’m looking for my buddy, Jack Coburn.” Riley sawed off another piece of egg.
“He’s involved with this drug cartel or something?”
Riley slammed his fist on the counter. “No.”
Amy’s brows shot up. “Sorry. Touchy subject, huh?”
“I’d better start at the beginning.” He ran his hands across his face. Where had it all begun? “I was a Navy SEAL serving in the Middle East. Colonel Scripps and a few other officers assembled a couple of special-ops divisions to gather intelligence and generally work under the radar of military protocol.”
“So you were a kind of spy?” The gold lights in Amy’s dark eyes sparkled.
This woman likes living on the edge. “Don’t look so excited. Our lives didn’t exactly mimic a Robert Ludlum novel. This team of officers recruited me, Ian Dempsey from the U.S. Army Mountain Division, Buzz Richardson from the Air Force Special Ops Command, and the leader of Prospero, Jack Coburn, from the Office of Naval Intelligence.”
“Prospero? Were you sorcerers like the character in Shakespeare’s play?”
“Yeah, we pulled off a lot of magic.” Riley shoved his plate away and planted his elbows on the counter. “Jack came up with the name. Usually he’d take a break from reading only long enough to round up terrorists.”
Trap, Secure: Navy SEAL Security Page 23