Finishing up with the half bathroom, she headed up the staircase to investigate the two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master had a nice walk-in closet, and she mentally filled the racks with her shoes and layered the baskets with her sweaters.
She closed the closet door behind her with a firm click. She was here for the buyer, not herself, even if that buyer was late.
She glided into the second room, trying not to imagine RJ’s toys stacked in colorful bins against the wall.
A sound from downstairs had her pausing at the window that looked out onto a small patio in the back. She cocked her head, and then heard the shuffling noise again.
She walked to the bedroom door and called out, “Hello? I’m upstairs. I’ll be right down. Take a flyer.”
Facing herself in the mirrored closet door, she straightened her jacket and smoothed her hands over her dark pencil skirt. For good measure, she rolled open the closet door and peered at the empty rods and shelves. The place looked mint.
As she slid the door back into place, a bang had her jerking and literally clutching the pearls at her neck. What was the buyer doing down there?
She raised her eyes to her reflection and swallowed as the hair on the back of her neck quivered. Why hadn’t the client answered her?
She’d taken a safety class as part of getting her Realtor’s license and knew the dangers of women flying solo while showing open houses. But this was no open house. Lori had made an appointment with this person, had gotten identifying information from him over the phone.
Sweeping her tongue across her lips, she backed away from the mirror. She strode to the bedroom door, calling out, “Hello? Are you still here?”
She jogged down the stairs, her muscles tense, her senses on high alert. When she reached the bottom step, she tripped to a stop.
The blinds across the window that she’d just opened now shuttered out the sunlight. Her gaze darted to the front door, now closed.
A clicking noise from the laundry room acted like a cattle prod and she lunged for the purse she’d foolishly left on the kitchen counter. Strapping the purse across her body, she ripped open the side pocket and grabbed her .22, the cool metal of the gun in her hand giving her courage.
She flicked off the safety and rounded the corner of the counter into the kitchen, holding her weapon in front of her. Not a great start to her career as a Realtor, but she’d do what had to be done to protect herself. That much she’d learned from Hector De Santos.
The door from the laundry room to the back of the building stood ajar and Gina crept toward it, locked and loaded.
Her heart pounded as the laundry room door suddenly swung open and a large man filled the frame of the doorway.
She raised her gun and took aim at his head. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”
Chapter Two
Josh didn’t trust Gina Rojas as far as he could toss her, but even he didn’t expect her to hold him at gunpoint this early in their relationship.
“Whoa, there.” He raised his hands, his own weapon heavy in the pocket of his jacket. “I’m just here to look at the town house.”
She narrowed her dark eyes, her nostrils flaring as if sniffing out his lie. “Why are you sneaking around?”
“Sneaking?” He spread his hands in front of him. “Just thought I’d check out the laundry room and this back door.”
“And the blinds?” She didn’t seem to be buying any of this since her deadly little .22 was still pointing at his face.
Blinds? “Yeah, the blinds.”
“Why’d you close them?”
His pulse ticked up even higher and it had nothing to do with Gina’s weapon leveled at him. Someone had been here before he’d arrived, had closed the blinds and the front door—and then escaped out the back when he showed up.
“Testing them out.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m sorry I gave you a scare. I’m really just here to look at the town house if you want to show it to me.”
“What’s your name?”
Wasn’t her arm getting tired hoisting that gun?
She would be expecting the name of the person who’d made the appointment to see the place—and he couldn’t give her that.
“I’m Josh Edwards. Is this an open house? I’ve been looking in this area for a while, saw the for-sale sign, saw the car in the driveway and the open door. I figured I could take a peek.” He lifted his shoulders and twisted his lips into what he hoped was a passable grin. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea.”
Gina’s grip on her gun relaxed. “I’m expecting someone else at any minute.”
“Understood. Can you show me around until they get here...without pointing the gun at me?”
Gina lowered her weapon and it dangled at her side, but she shook her cell phone at him in its place. “That other buyer is going to be here soon, and my office knows where I am and when to expect me.”
“Good.” He dropped his hands. “You can never be too careful.”
Especially if you were involved with drug dealers and terrorists. Was that why Gina was so jumpy? And was this buyer she was expecting the one who closed the blinds and hightailed it out the back door when he heard him at the front door? Why would anyone do that, unless the intruder planned to steal Gina’s purse, which she’d left out on the counter?
Or unless that buyer had a different motive altogether.
“Let’s start over.” He edged away from the laundry room and into the kitchen just in case she changed her mind and decided to take a shot at him. About a foot away from her, he extended his hand. “Josh Edwards, and I’m interested in the town house.”
She tucked her gun into the purse hanging sideways across her body and took his hand. “Gina De Santos, Four Points Realty, and I’ll be happy to show it to you.”
De Santos? She’d ditched Ricky’s name already?
She strode ahead of him into the living room. “Let’s open up those blinds again and get some light in here, since it really is a good feature of the place.”
While she tugged on the cords of the blinds, his gaze lingered on her backside, round and full beneath her slim skirt. She hadn’t lost anything in the looks department in the past year.
He turned toward the sliding door to the patio. “This is nice. Should get lots of sun.”
She joined him, smelling like some tropical hothouse flower. “Yes, but there’s enough room out here for a table, a few chairs and an umbrella in case the sun gets too hot. The wall is tall enough to restrict a small dog...or children. Do you and your wife have children?”
“Me? No.”
She raised her dark, sculpted brows at him.
Had he come off too strong? He’d decided long ago never to bring kids into this world. Look at her own son.
They returned to the kitchen where she pointed out a few features that held no interest for him at all.
“The laundry room—” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder “—you’ve already explored. Do you want to go out that back door, or did you see enough?”
He hadn’t seen enough. He hadn’t seen the person who’d been in the house closing the blinds.
“I’m good.”
“You’ll love the upstairs. For a single guy like you? Roomy master suite with a second room for an office or gym.” Her gaze traveled up and down his body as she brushed past him.
The look she gave him made him hard in all the right places but he’d better rein in his galloping lust or she might pull that gun out on him again. Why’d she think he was a single guy? He’d said no to the kids, but he hadn’t denied the wife. Probably had something to do with the look in his own eyes when she waltzed past him.
He followed her up the stairs, pinning his gaze to her swaying hair instead of her swaying derriere. If h
e could remember that she was most likely complicit in her father’s deeds that would be enough to splash cold water on him. How could she not have known what was going on in that compound?
“Here’s the master.” She stepped aside and gestured him into the room.
He wandered around and poked his head in the closet, which he couldn’t imagine filling in a million years. “Impressive.”
While she was still talking about east-facing windows and views, he blew past her into the next room, anxious to make his initial report, anxious to get away from Gina De Santos and the way she stirred his blood.
“This room is smaller, has the mirrored closet doors. Could work as a gym.” Again, that appraising inventory of his body that made him want to flex every muscle he had. “Or an office. What is it you do?”
“Software development. I work at home.”
“This would be perfect for you.”
They completed the tour of the town house and returned to the kitchen where she shoved a flyer at him. “What do you think?”
“I like...everything about it.” He tore his gaze away from her liquid brown eyes and squinted at the flyer. “Might be out of my price range, though. Do you have a card?”
“Of course.” She flattened her purse against her body as she unzipped the top, and he could see the outline of her gun in the outside pocket.
That purse was specifically designed for a weapon. The lady was serious about her self-defense. But why?
“Here you go.” She snapped a gold-embossed card on top of the flyer. “Office number and cell.”
He skimmed a finger across the glossy flyer. “This isn’t your listing? It says Lori Villanueva is the listing agent.”
“I’m helping her out. She was busy today.”
Did that mean the intruder hadn’t expected Gina to be here? Maybe it was just a thief looking for a quick prize, but then he’d missed the purse on the counter.
“Your original client never showed up.”
She gave a little jerk to her shoulders. “Happens all the time.”
“Then I’m glad I stopped by, so you didn’t have to waste your time.”
“I am, too, and I apologize for drawing down on you.”
“Perfectly understandable and advisable...for a woman in your position.”
She lifted her chin. “My position?”
“A Realtor working on your own. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“My feelings exactly.” She scooped up the rest of the flyers and tapped their edges on the granite. “Call me...if you’re interested in the town house.”
“Will do.” He left her to lock up the place and slid into the front seat of his rental.
He was interested all right—just not in the town house.
Josh pulled out his phone and texted a message to Ariel, his contact person on this assignment. He knew better than to question why he was reporting to a nameless, faceless woman instead of his superiors in the navy.
He’d been pulled off a deployment in Afghanistan and sent to Colombia with a short stop in the United States. His commander had briefed him there and the assignment dictated he return to the United States and make contact with Gina Rojas—De Santos. Done.
Ariel’s response instructed him to compile a report on his first meeting...and to pursue the relationship to find out what Ricky Rojas’s widow knew.
Easier said than done. He didn’t have the savvy of that smooth SOB Slade Gallagher or the aw-shucks cowboy twang of his other teammate Austin Foley.
But he’d definitely seen a spark of interest in Gina’s dark eyes when she’d assessed him. He’d had to capitalize on that, since he wasn’t ready to tell her he’d been the navy SEAL sniper who’d killed her husband, even if he had been sent to Miami to protect her.
He looked up as Gina exited the town house and swiveled her head in his direction.
Lifting a hand, he pulled away from the curb. He didn’t want her to think he was waiting for her or stalking her. She was jumpy enough. He’d have to put that in his report, too.
He made his way back to his hotel in the much more crowded area of South Beach. Whichever government agency was sponsoring this little reconnaissance mission had some deep pockets. Or maybe they’d just put him up in this swanky hotel because of its proximity to Gina’s mother’s place, who must still be living high on the hog courtesy of her former husband’s drug money—not that the DEA could prove it or find it.
Back in his hotel room, Josh flipped open his laptop and wrote up a report on his initial meeting with Gina De Santos. He left out the part about the sparks that had flown between them, although Ariel would probably tell him to use that to his advantage.
He hit Send on the email with its attachment and pushed away from the desk. He wandered to the window with its view of several pastel art deco buildings. At least that’s something he’d gotten out of his previous relationship—a little culture thrown in with all the cheating.
Snorting, he turned his back on the art deco and flipped on the TV. He’d already figured out the hotel carried the channel with the UFC fight. He’d take the UFC over art deco any day—maybe that’s why his ex cheated on him.
He reclined on the bed, placing his laptop beside him. Wouldn’t want to miss an urgent message from Ariel.
He had no idea why the navy was sending a navy SEAL stateside to keep tabs on a dead drug dealer’s daughter, but he’d figured it was the same reason why they’d sent two of his sniper unit team members on similar assignments in the past few months—Vlad.
Had their old nemesis really been the man behind the drugs-for-arms deal involving De Santos’s cartel, Los Santos?
If that were the case, Josh would be only too happy to thwart Vlad’s plans.
The fight proved to be too one-sided to hold his interest, and he clicked through the remote to find something else. As he settled back against the stack of pillows to watch an old comedy, his laptop dinged, indicating a new message.
He dragged the computer onto his lap and double-clicked the email.
Ariel’s message left nothing unclear. Get close to the subject to exploit or protect.
It didn’t sound like Ariel and her bunch, whoever that was, believed Gina was as innocent as the CIA agents did a year ago. Exploit? If Gina had intel about her father’s old operation, he’d be expected to get that from her. Protect? If she did have that intel she could be in danger from her father’s old associates...or others.
Did Gina think she could play with fire and not get burned?
He dipped his hand in his front pocket and flicked the corner of the card he’d pulled out. Gina’s office number and her cell number. Maybe he could offer to buy her a drink for showing him the town house...or demand she buy him one for pulling a gun on him.
Get close to the subject? He had no problem with that order—no problem at all.
* * *
GINA PEEKED INTO RJ’s room one last time. The soft breathing and tousled, dark hair on the pillow drew her in like a magnet and she tiptoed across the carpet and crouched beside his bed.
She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them against his temple, whispering, “Sleep tight, baby boy.”
“He won’t even know you’re gone. You know what a heavy sleeper he is.”
“Shh.” Gina sprang to her feet and shooed her mother from the doorway of RJ’s room. “Even a heavy sleeper is going to wake up with all your yammering.”
Mom placed one hand on her curvy hip and shook her other finger in Gina’s face. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? You haven’t been on a date since Ricky’s death, and you’re scared. Do you want a few tips?”
“From you?” Gina raised her eyebrows. “No, thanks.”
“The first tip—” her mother breezed past her and picked up her oversize wine
glass “—you should have your date pick you up at home, like a gentleman.”
“Meeting him at the bar was my idea. I barely know the guy. I don’t want him to know where I live.” Gina leaned toward the large gilt-edged mirror above the fireplace and drew her pinky finger along the edge of her lower lip to fix her smudged lipstick.
Mom clicked her tongue. “You have to open up and trust a little, or you’ll never get anywhere.”
“Like I trusted Ricky?”
“Ricky was such a handsome boy, so charming although a little weak around the chin.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should’ve married him.”
“Don’t be silly. I draw the line at men in their twenties. Now, give me a hot thirtysomething...”
“Mom.” Gina made a cross with her two index fingers. “Way too much information.”
Her mother, a vibrant and attractive fortysomething, smiled and took a sip of wine. “How about a glass of vino to get rid of those jitters?”
“I don’t have jitters. I’m meeting a possible client for a drink.” She grabbed her concealed-carry handbag with the special compartment for her .22 and hitched it over her shoulder.
“Oh, now he’s a possible client? I thought this was purely social. Possible clients can see you at the office or arrange for a day of looking at houses.”
“I’m looking at him as a possible client because I need to start building a business. I can’t be Faith’s gofer forever.”
Mom leaned against the center island in the kitchen, cupping her wineglass with two hands. “Are you sure the real estate business is for you? I don’t see much passion for it.”
“It’ll grow on me. I have to do something. I can’t just tend bar. It’s a dead end.” Gina slipped into her high-heeled sandals, feeling a spark of excitement for the first time in a while.
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